#thank you for the angst fuel Adam!

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Hate That I Love You

adam x insecure!tsundere(ithink) GNreader

Summary: You’ve been Lutes friend for a long while, and occasionally you ran into Adam; after finding out about the extermination thanks to him, you become a three party group. Except you can’t accept liking Adam, him being obnoxious and egotistical, you pretend you hate him. That blows up in your face.

Warnings: Suggestive, swearing, angst ish, hurt/comfort i think, insecurities around strength (mental and/or physical), implied but never confirmed virgin reader, readers looks get insulted nothing intense nor specific, descriptive panic attack/fainting, reader throws an object at adam’s head, NO YN, GN, No alluding to or mention of bodytype/hairtype/skin colour. oh possibly OOC adam idk, not proofread so sorry luvs, I think that’s it if not let me know! enjoy :3

Word count: 2K

Your index finger sat atop the straw sitting in your drink, moving it around the glass as you mindlessly listened as Adam ranted to you and Lute, mostly Lute, about Charlie Morningstar. You weren’t an exorcist- no, you actually didn’t know about the exterminations at all…up until recently. Thanks to one of Adam’s childish outbursts, you had a long night with Lute explaining the whole situation to you. Now you were sworn to secrecy, and conversations of the madness that the extermination were and everything they came with, AKA Charlie.

Adam wasn’t ever your buddy, he was just someone who shamelessly attached himself to Lute's hip; but you put up with it because of your good friendship with Lute. Now, he’s somehow weaselled his way into believing you were part of this weird “team” purely based off of association.

“I mean who does this long horned, pointy teeth, pussy mucher think she is?!” Adam screamed slamming his hands against the table, you rolled your eyes at him and his stupid antics. “You’re one to talk,” You replied, his eyes snapping toward you. “You’ve got both horns and teeth. Why don’t you take that funky band mask off anyways?”

Scoffing he rolled his neck side to side. “Because this is my job, my persona, how’re people gonna recognize me without it!? Duh, dumb bitch.” Muttering the insult quickly, he leaned his cheek on his palm and went back to sucking his drink.

“With all due respect sir, this is really bad news, we can’t let Charlie persuade Sera.” Lute piped up, her mask discarded showing the genuine emotion on her face. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if he was a friend, someone she was in love with, an annoying brother-like figure, or just her lazy ass boss. Maybe all of the above.

Which is probably one of the reasons you kept your tiny little crush on Adam to yourself. He was cruel to you anyways, always comparing you to someone faster, funnier, stronger, hotter at least that’s what you told yourself. Instead you chose to be more of a bitch back, acting as disgusted and disinterested as you could, especially when Lute was around as she could sniff out a lie like some psychic canine.

“Yeah, duh Lute i fucking know that. You think I've been jerking off this whole time! No, eyes, ears focused, I haven't cum in days.” He whined, throwing his head back. Lute only scoffed glancing over at you slumped back in your seat barely sipping your drink, eyes casted downward. “You don’t have to be here for this kind of talk,” Lute started saying, her hand inching across the table to yours, but she was stopped by Adam once more leaning forward, gloved palms slapping against the table.

“The fuck are you saying Lute!? We get another fucker in this circle and you wanna cast her out. Un-fucking-believeable. It’s like you want Charlie to win.” Throwing a napkin at Adam, Lute slid her hand away from you. “They’re not even an exorcist Adam, you’re the fuck head who got them in on exterminations!”

“No i didn’t, they walked in on a private conversation.” Eyebrows knitted together you lurched forward, anger fueling you. “Oh piss off Adam, how many times are we gonna go over this stupid situation! I’m not your fucking friend, i’m not ‘in’ on it, i’m here for Lute and you won’t fucking leave!”

Adam had a bored expression on his face while you ranted, unfazed by anything you’d said. Lute however bit her lip clasping her hands together. In a fight between her boss slash friend, and her friend, she didn’t know what to do. “You always have your nose up in Lute's business, it’s so annoying. Lute’s my man, okay she works for me! Guess who comes first in this business chica? Not you.” Adam mocked sticking his tongue out at you.

Standing you picked up your cup whipping it at Adam’s head, he dodge it easily, but your emotionally fueled violence made you quickly regretful as both Adam’s and Lutes eyes looked at you questioningly. You’d never really lost your shit before, and this wasn’t the worst Adam has said, so they were a little confused at your outburst, yourself included.

“Listen, Adam, I’m-“ Before you could finish Adam keeled over, laughing maniacally as you watched. After a few short laughter filled moments, Adam straightened, elbows on the table, hands hammocking his chin as he smiled up at you.

“Got some bite in you for sure huh babe, ha! I’m not surprised, honestly when i saw you i was like ‘this bitch has a face made for hell’, you probably got up here cause you were unfuckable so, like, virgin. Oh! Oh! That makes so much fucking sense dude! Ha! Bummer, I could smell the weak loser on ya, didn’t I tell ya danger tits?” Adam questioned head turned toward Lute after his animated, and very condescending speech.

Lute only looked down, not responding. Meanwhile you were horrified, you’d always felt a little less than Lute, after all she carried out holy duties, ones that you hadn’t fully known up until recently, so hearing Adam say the same things you thought of yourself, shattered you. Your face felt hot as tears gathered on the waterline of your eyes. You didn’t belong here, you said it for the longest time everyone here was mindless optimist zombies, Lute was your only lifeline, and for a few months you suppose-Adam.

You never hated him, but it’s clear he’s only fond of Lute. You’re the intruder, you’re the odd one. Clenching your fists you didn’t even bother with a come back, you slid out from your table booking it to the door. Tears unwillingly slid down your cheeks, your chest heaving as your throat closed silencing whatever weep dared to exit your throat.

You could hear Lute calling after you but you genuinely didn’t want to be followed by her, you were embarrassed; the last thing you wanted was the strong exorcist coming to witness you crumble. Throwing the door to the building open your wings sprung out on reflex, and after a few quick steps you took off. You couldn’t quite see, or breathe for that matter. Your mind lagged behind you, replaying the moments in your head that matched up to Adam’s insults.

You blinked rapidly as you attempted to focus on the clouds beneath you and breeze around you, but you couldn’t. You choked once more, your stomach convulsing inward causing you to gasp, a sob violently escaping you as you rocketed toward whatever surface you could find. Suddenly you hit something solid, stunning your flight and causing you to spin down, plummeting. As you fell, the breeze stabbed you as you cut into it, your wings sagging and loosely flailing above you, it felt so calm and freeing you didn’t feel the will to stop.

By the grace of god, however, you were caught and roughly smacked against the chest of someone, their arms clutching you tightly. You barely heard a ‘gotcha’ before your vision tunnelled, stomach flipped and you lost consciousness.

——

Waking slowly, your eyes stung the moment they opened, nearly watering at the blinding white that invaded them. Willing yourself to rise, you lazily scanned the room you laid in. A living room, coloured with yellows, creams and whites, it was, in all honesty, way too much. A large portrait of a man with a woman, meticulously scrapped out, hung above the fireplace. You’d never seen this man ever before, and the woman was too scratched out to get any idea on who it was. Suppose these people never existed as it was a painting, but there was something about the man that captivated you so deeply.

“Look who finally rose, sleeping bitchy.” You immediately felt sick, turning your head unsurprised to see Adam standing there smugly. You frowned deeply, it felt nearly impossible to twist your mouth in such a way, but there was no hiding your distaste in seeing the angel. “Why am I here, Adam.” You say scaldingly, eyes closed attempting to shield yourself from whatever foul look took over his face. “Well after your little shit show, a little over dramatic by the way, Lute left to find you, and I went for a fly. Then suddenly minding my own business I see you tryna play asteroid! Then when I caught you, your dumbass went out.”

Sighing loudly you pulled your hand down your face. “Please, admit Lute put you up to it.” Slamming a glass of water down on the table along with a platter of fruit, including oranges, pomegranates and mangos, Adam grunted moving his hand to sit on his hips. “The fuck she did, she’s not getting the praise for this one.” You looked up at him and then down at the fruit and drink on the side table just to your right, you nodded at it. “What’s this?”

You barely whispered out. Blowing air out threw his lips effectively raspberryingring the air, he shrugged. “Stuff for you, duh, you’re like sick or something right?” You nearly smiled at that, you’d never had Adam have that reaction. Quite the array of fruit as well, carefully you picked up a few pieces of orange, as well as mango that had a toothpick sticking up from them you munched down. You hummed, watching like a hawk as Adam walked across from you and sat on the other couch.

“How long was i out?” You questioned after swallowing, gulping down some water feeling the soothing sensation on your raw throat. “Maybe thirty minutes, not long. I texted Lute, I told her you were with me, safe.” That made you pause, you gazed up at him from the bowl of pomegranates you started digging into. “What? Why didn’t she come?” Adam huffed, throwing his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Because I told her not to.” Your mouth fell open eyes wide.

“Why thee holy fuck, would you tell her not to come?” Sitting up straighter you swung your legs over the side, sitting properly instead of lounging. Adam wouldn’t meet your gaze drifting off to the left and right. “Fucking… fuck!” He exclaimed almost in what sounded like exhaustion. Watching him closely, you waited as he seemed to have an inner debate with himself. Then swiftly he gripped his face and ripped off his mask.

The face you were met with was like a punch in the gut, yeah he could be compared to men you’ve seen in your lifetime probably at a gas station or cheap bar, but it was Adam. The man you’ve been trying so hard to hate, getting into cussing battles, throwing insults at each other that rolled off the back, occasionally praising each other's insults, forcing yourself to loathe him when you both kinda knew it wasn’t and now it was real. You got to look in his gold eyes, the dark thick lashes accentuating the uniqueness of his eye colour, the chin hair that crawled just under his chin -which you never expected him to have-, his tousled brown hair, thick eyebrows one eyebrow pierced - also a shock to you-.

He looked like the asshole he was, and it made you fucking sick. Trying so hard to hate him had come to this? Him unmasking himself after saving you? Cruel, you wanted to hate him, get over him not know that all he said about him being the hottest, the dickmaster, pussypounder-whatever, was probably true, that he’s hot. You were embarrassed to feel the nasty hum of jealousy claw at you when you could see the woman in the painting in your peripheral, that was obviously him, with some woman. He was wanted, and taken before.

Flicking his tongue over his lips you caught a glimpse of a tongue piercing because of course the pretty boy would get whatever he wanted without worrying about rules. He shuffled nervously biting his lip as you eyed him shamelessly, which to him was judgemental, his nerves suddenly making him feel sweaty. “Why?” You ask breathily, you were too enchanted to care how he perceived that however. His eyes properly met yours, your legs crossed subconsciously at the zap you felt just by a look.

“Youre fucking dumb you know that? You think I hang with Lute when you’re around because Lute’s there?!” Adam stood after the exclamation, his eyes shooting around the room, hands flying to his hair. “I can’t fucking do this a third time! Fuck!” Tossing a vase across the room you watched unfazed by the sudden explosion, after all this was your thing too.

“I only go round Lute like that because you’re there dumbass, i tried easing up on you; just like Lute said! But you, oh noooo little bitch, just had to be so fucking bratty.” Standing over you sneering, you made no attempts to move, not genuinely scared of his anger but instead, perhaps, a little aroused. You in a way understood where his frustrations came from anyway, you in a sense felt the same way. Might be why you lost it earlier, the yearning had gotten too real, and he seemed so focused on Charlie.

“I am so disgustingly attracted to you, not even in a sex way! And I know how to deal with that a lot better.” Swinging his hand out sassily, he smirked to himself. Plopping next to you he rested his cheek on his hand, elbows rested on his legs. Plucking an orange from the table you watched him eat it, juice moistening his lips. “You think i’d peel fruit, save, house and give water to some broad I genuinely hated? No, stupid.”

Laughing dryly, you looked up away from Adam’s intense gaze. You smiled, eyes falling from the ceiling to your lap. “God i fucking hate you,” Adam’s face looked horrified, opening his mouth to speak, you stopped him grabbing his cheeks and pulling into a searing hot kiss. Your lips crashed against each others’ lazily but passionately, opened mouthed and slightly sloppy. It was slow however, a kiss that wasn’t just a kiss, neither of you wanted to haste past such a moment, such emotion. Adam’s arms wrapped around your hips nudging you forward, understanding the message you moved in closer, your body’s pressing against each other as much as you could from the seated position on the couch.

You dug your fingers into his hair, brainlessly playing with different strands as your tongues slid along one another’s without care, tasting the orange he just ate presently on his lips and to tongue. It felt heavenly being up against him, Adam smelt so good, he was so warm and you could feel how badly he wanted this. His body jittered, his hands gripping you like you’d disappear if he loosened. Pulling away and looking at Adam, he made no effort to move eyes still closed like trying to etched this memory in his mind. You hummed lovingly, brushing hair away from his forehead. “You’re a dumb bitch.” He whispered raspily, opening his eyes, although not by much as they lidded with lust.

You smirked at him brushing your thumb against his bottom lip. “I know. You too.”

[mak-be-ghouled]

The Sound of the End of Day

2.1k Words of Angst/comfort

Mountain/Dew (and a bit of Aether)

Terzo, Copia, and other ghouls mentioned

A huge thank you to @nastylittleghouls and @divine-misfortune for their thoughts under this post:)

the tittle being from Monstrance Clock only felt right

When Copia is lifted by the Skeleton Dancers during Dance Macabre, Mountain and Dew are taken back to one of the worst days in their time topside. 

They had officially made it to the final leg of the Re-Imperatour.  

Unfathomable hours were poured into rehearsals long before the tour was even announced. Any one of the ghouls could've played the show forwards, backwards, and in their sleep. They knew the order by heart, had already performed it more times than they cared to count. 

But this one was special, Papa was adamant about how important the shows in LA would be, and the ghouls were determined to do their part for their Papa. Hell, they even had choreography coordinated with real dancers. 

And so, more rehearsals were called, plugging in the Chamber Ghoulettes and the Skeleton Dancers. Sure, the ghouls weren't exactly used to sharing the stage with so many others, but they couldn't deny the sheer talent of the new additions. They rehearsed until every moving part was perfect. Until they were certain there would be no surprises. 

But something about the crowd’s screaming, the blinding lights, the shadowy figures, the music, the lift.  

The fucking lift.  

Mountain and Dew hadn't made the connection until now.  

The audience screamed, their Papa was in the air, and the music was still going.  

But Mountain and Dew were back on that dammed stage. 

That Gothenburg stage where they were promised they’d never have to return to. That stage where they saw their former Papa for the last time. That stage where Terzo was ripped from them before they even processed what was going on. That stage that haunted their nightmares and the darkest corners of their minds.  

Papa was in the air and Mountain was stuck behind his kit. He was frozen, just like last time. Just like he had sworn he wouldn't allow himself to do ever again. It's a wonder he only stalled for a moment. Straining to focus on Rain’s base line, to keep up. His head was swimming and he was drowning. 

And yet, no one else seemed phased. Swiss was still singing, still dancing--well moving his hips in a way that could maybe be interpreted as dancing. Aurora and Cumulus were still singing and dancing together, mimicking the Skeletons from earlier. Phantom was still working the audience as always. Cirrus was still playing. Rain still stood strong, was still in time. 

But Dew.  

Dew saw it too. The moment Papa was in the air his eyes fled to Aether. But Aether wasn't there. Aether wasn't on tour. There wasn't anyone to run after Copia. Dew’s heart stutters as he scans the stage. 

Finally, his eyes land on Mountain. Just like they had that night.  

Dew was certain they’d lost another Papa. He turned to run backstage. To follow those shadowy figures this time. To do what he hadn't then. What he beats himself up for not doing. What fuels that nagging voice in his mind.  

Dew is in auto pilot. He’s straining to find tempo again. To find the right notes on his bass. Dew’s hands are shaking so hard he's not sure any of the notes he's played in the last minute have been even remotely correct. He doesn't recognize the song anymore; this isn't Monstrance Clock and his bass feel wrong. Too Small. Too Light. 

Dew sees the fear behind Mountains eyes. Knows it's the same fear that is clouding his vision too. Dew watches Mountain shake his head, desperately trying to clear the fog.  

After what feels like an eternity Mountain returns Dew's gaze. Mountain gives him a firm nod and a half smile. It's so incredibly forced but that doesn't matter. Not right now. Somehow it makes everything okay. Confirms that Mountain saw it too.  

That it's not real this time. Papa is okay this time. He won't have to watch Aether run after him this time. He won’t have to run after them both this time.  

Finally, Dew can feel his hands again and The Forum isn't spinning quite so fast. He looks down. He’s not holding a bass. Fucking of course he isn't, he's got his guitar in his hands. He thinks he might hear Dance Macabre echoing in his mind. But it's so distant. A dream maybe? This certainly wouldn't be the first dream Dew’s had of this moment. 

And then, everything goes quiet. Copia is back on the ground. He isn't shouting or fighting. He’s singing. The crowd isn't screaming in fear, they're cheering. Those shadowy figures have disappeared. The Skeleton Dancers are still surrounding Copia, but he's still there. Still standing. Copia isn't being dragged off the stage kicking and screaming. He’s safe. He’s alive. 

Mountain can barely hold his drumsticks and Dew is sure he would've dropped his guitar if it wasn't for the strap on his shoulder. They shoot each other a final glance before Square Hammer starts. Before they have to pretend like they didn't just watch their Papa get pulled from the stage, leaving them helpless.  

And yet, by the looks on everyone else's faces, they hadn't. No one seems to care.  

Dew’s stomach twists and he's positive he's going to throw up. 

Mountain’s not much better, swaying slightly behind his kit, dizzy. 

They want nothing more than for this fucking show to be over with. To know that their Papa is okay. That they didn't fail him again. To call Aether.  

As soon as Copia finishes his farewell speech, Mountain and Dew are flanking his sides. This isn't their normal spots for bows, but they have to be around Copia right now. To hold his hand. To know that he's alright. They don't want to overwhelm him. They don't want to do anything too drastic; they know how important this show is for him. But they have to know he’s okay. They pull Copia into a bone cracking hug, and while Copia appreciates their affection, something neither Dew nor Mountain are particularly fond of sharing in front of this many people, he can't help but wonder what has prompted it. 

The ride to the hotel is a blur. Mountain vaguely remembers Cirrus’s questioning glance and Swiss’s hand on his back, leading him towards the bus. 

Dew thinks he hears Rain’s voice send comments and compliments his way, the beginning of a call and response of sort, a habit they’d fallen into after Rain’s first ritual. But this time Dew’s response is just a nod, hardly even perceptible had Rain not been burning holes into him with his stare since he caught whiff of Dew’s distress during Dance Macabre.  

When they arrive at the hotel, Dew is a bit more present. Asking Copia to ensure he and Mountain room together. He reassures the pack that him and Mountain are okay. Drained, but okay.  

He tries his hardest to guide Mountain to their room. To be the life preserver he knows Mountain needs right now. But fuck does he need one too.  

He feels bad calling Aether without checking what time it is over there, but doesn't even have the time to consider anything else before his arms are moving on their own accord. Pulling out his phone and finding Aether’s contact. Mountain needs Aether right now. Dew needs Aether right now. 

Dew knew how much Mountain still thought about that night. Mountain had confided in Dew shortly after it.  

In The Pits, Mountain was ridiculed for being a plant-specialized Earth Giant. Others thought that made him soft, pointless. Earth Giants were meant to be geological, what good would a giant with a knack for plants be, that job was for the little ones. 

Mountain was paralyzed with fear. He was stuck behind his drum kit. Forced to watch as Terzo disappeared. He was helpless. Years of working on himself, his self-image, his confidence, flushed down the drain in that single moment. Again, Mountain began to wonder if they were correct. Maybe he really was soft. Useless. A sorry excuse for an Earth Giant.  

“Hi Sweet Thing. You with us?” 

Mountain is ripped from his thoughts as he hears Aether's voice. It’s crackly and a bit robotic through the speakers of Dew’s phone, but it is undeniably Aether.  

“Hmm?” 

Mountain hums, his eyes finally focusing on something for the first time in hours. 

Dew is holding his phone in front of his face, Aether is dimly lit on the other end, smiling softly at them. 

“There he is.” 

Aether's eyes light up as Mountain acknowledges him for the first time since he'd answered Dew's call.

“Wasn't right without you Aeth. Fuck. Kept looking around for you. Imagined you running after him”  

Dew laughs dryly to himself but tears fill his eyes. 

Aether wishes he could just crawl through the screen and hold his boys. He knows how much they love Copia, how much Terzo's death affected them. How much it affected himself. But he’s on the other side of the fucking world, so he just hopes his words and presence, even if though a phone screen, can provide them enough comfort to get some rest before they have to do this all over again tomorrow. Without him. Again.  

“I know baby, I'm so sorry. Wish I was there too”  

Aether smiles sadly though the phone. 

“Guess neither of us made too big a fool of ourselves though, maybe those pointless rehearsals weren't so pointless”  

Dew tries to joke, but Aether can see right through him. 

“Why didn't I see it?” 

Mountain mumbles into the space between Dew’s neck and shoulder that he’s crammed himself into. 

“What was that Hun?” 

Dew asks, rubbing the back of Mountain’s head where his hair had been tied back for the show. 

“The lift, I mean why didn’t I see it before. We practiced--Satan knows how many times-- just like you said, and I never once thought anything of it until tonight. Why'd it have to hit me in the middle of a fucking show. Probably made a dumbass of myself up there loosing time during the second to last song of the night... Was supposed to be perfect for Papa.”  

Mountain whispers the last part, but Dew and Aether are still able to catch it.  

Dew pulls Mountain closer to himself and Aether’s heart breaks, longing to reach out, to whisk those worries away. 

“Mountain, I didn't make the connection until tonight either. It was different. I dunno how, but it... was.”  

Dew silently curses himself for his lack of explanation, he knows that's what Mountain needs right now. Mountain needs logic. Something that tells him why something happened so he can avoid it next time. But truthfully Dew doesn't know. He doesn't know why tonight was different, but it was, and it fucked him up too. 

“I'm sure it had something to do with the crowd and the stage lights. I remember those helmets; you can't see shit in ‘em. Hearing people screaming, being blinded and burned by those lights, watching someone you care about, who holds the same title, in the same spot as one of the most traumatic events of your time topside. That’s probably why it was different. I know that doesn't change anything, but it does make a difference.”  

Aether adds.  

And logically Mountain knows Dew is right, that Aether is right. That it was different. But he still hates himself for faltering, even if no one else noticed.  

“Plus, I'm sure if you really did mess up, anything noticeably at least, we all would've gotten a smartass text from Swiss. I'm thinking something along the lines of ‘The All-Mighty Mountain Crumbles at the Sight of a Dangerously Handsome Multi's Hips"  

Aether jokes while drawing a rectangle in the air with his hands, mimicking a news headline, hoping to bring his mates back down to Earth.  

Dew giggles, a genuine giggle and Mountain huffs out a laugh. It isn't much, he knows that, but Aether has never been prouder of himself.  

They talk for a bit longer, until Mountain and Dew’s minds have cleared a bit and their eyes have returned to that deep forest green and the vibrant copper and ocean blue Aether had fallen so in love with, before any of this mattered.  

Mountain and Dew finally settle into their bed. Their position is awkward at best but they’re comfortable. They're Here. They have each other. Copia is alright. They're alright.  

And that's all that matters right now. 

All that can matter right now. 

[amournoir]

Hi can u do a fic where the reader and Klaus are in a relationship and the mikaelson's hate her .

Thanks

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 ┄ 𝐢

pairing: niklaus mikaelson x f!reader

count: 1.4k

warning: angst

author’s note: thanks for the request hun! 💋 p.s, here's part 2

The streets of New Orleans pulsed with life, and Y/N, Klaus Mikaelson's spirited and vivacious girlfriend, seemed to embody the very essence of the city's energy. She reveled in the thrill of the night, seeking joy and adventure wherever she went. But little did she know that her vibrant spirit was causing a storm within the Mikaelson family. 

Rebekah and Elijah, Klaus's siblings, observed with disapproval as Y/N led Klaus into the wild festivities of the French Quarter. They detested her carefree nature, seeing her as a disruption to the carefully constructed order of their lives. In their eyes, Y/N was a distraction, a youthful folly that would only lead Klaus astray. The siblings had made their opinions known countless times, urging Klaus to end the relationship. They saw her as a threat to their family's stability and tried to set him up with a "more suitable" woman— a 30-year-old socialite whose poise and maturity contrasted sharply with Y/N's exuberance. 

One evening, as the Mikaelson family gathered for a somber dinner, tensions reached their breaking point. Rebekah and Elijah, fueled by their desire to protect their brother, confronted Y/N, leveling accusations of infidelity.

“You're nothing but trouble,” Rebekah hissed, her eyes flashing with disdain. “You're not right for Nik.”

Y/N's face paled, her heart pounding in her chest. “What are you talking about? I love Klaus with all my heart,” she protested, her voice trembling.

Elijah shook his head, his tone cutting like a blade. “You're young, reckless, and unreliable,” he stated coldly. “You're only going to hurt him.”

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she struggled to find the right words to defend herself. She had always tried to be honest with Klaus, to give him everything he deserved, but now she felt like she was being torn apart by the very people she had hoped to call family.

“I love him,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “I would never hurt him, and I would never cheat on him.”

But her words fell on deaf ears, and the Mikaelson siblings remained adamant in their disapproval. Klaus, torn between his love for Y/N and his loyalty to his family, was caught in the crossfire of their bitter dispute. For days, the rift between Y/N and the Mikaelson siblings grew wider. Each encounter was fraught with tension, with accusations and misunderstandings that only deepened the wounds. Y/N felt isolated and alone, her heart heavy with the weight of their judgments.

One night, as the moon hung low in the sky, Klaus found Y/N sitting alone by the fireplace, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. He approached her, his heart aching at the sight of her pain.

“Love talk to me,” he pleaded, his voice soft with concern.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Your family hates me,” she whispered. “They think I'm not good enough for you.”

Klaus wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I don't care what they think,” he said firmly. “I love you and I won't let them come between us.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the constant pressure from his family weighed heavily on Klaus's mind. Doubts began to seep into his heart, and he found himself torn between his love for Y/N and the desire to mend the fractures in his family. In the depths of his turmoil, Klaus faced an impossible choice— to stand by the woman he loved or to appease his family by letting her go. His heart and mind waged war within him, leaving him in a state of inner turmoil that threatened to consume him.

As the darkness of uncertainty loomed over their once blissful relationship, Y/N and Klaus were left to navigate the shadows of doubt and find a way back to each other. The storm of angst and heartache showed no signs of abating, leaving them with the ultimate question…could love conquer all or would the family's disapproval be too much to bear? 

A few months had passed without another confrontation from his siblings but that silence period was over today. The Mikaelson mansion stood in silence, its opulent halls shrouded in a heavy tension that seemed to seep into the very air. Y/N, the vibrant and spirited love of Klaus Mikaelson's life, felt the weight of disapproval from his siblings bearing down on her like a storm cloud. At 23, her heart beat fiercely with a passion for life, but to Elijah and Rebekah, she was nothing more than a youthful whirlwind that threatened the delicate balance they had carefully crafted. 

It was a chilly evening, and as Y/N wandered through the dimly lit corridors, her footsteps echoing emptily, she couldn't shake the sense of unease that seemed to linger around her. The disapproving glances, the hushed conversations that ceased when she entered a room— all of it gnawed at her soul. It had been months since she had embarked on a romantic journey with Klaus, a love that burned with an intensity she had never known before. But even that powerful connection couldn't shield her from the critical eyes of his siblings.

Rebekah's icy words had sliced through the air like a blade. “You're just a child, Y/N,” she had said with a condescending tilt of her head. “My brother deserves someone who understands the dangers of our world.”

And Elijah, the embodiment of elegance and poise, had looked at her with a mixture of pity and dismissal. “Klaus is not one to be taken lightly,” he had warned. “You need to be more mature, more level headed.”

Each word had etched itself into Y/N's heart, a constant reminder of her perceived inadequacy in the eyes of those she so desperately wanted to accept her. As she entered the living room, she found Klaus standing by the grand window, nursing a tumbler of bourbon in his hand. His gaze was distant, his features etched with a mixture of frustration and weariness. She approached him, her heart aching at the distance she felt growing between them.

“Klaus,” she murmured, her voice soft and uncertain.

He turned to her, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of conflict and affection. “Y/N,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

The silence that followed was heavy, a chasm that seemed to swallow their words before they could be spoken.

“I can't do this anymore love,” Klaus finally confessed, his voice breaking the stillness.

Y/N's heart shattered, the pain more intense than she could have ever imagined. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Klaus's gaze was tortured, his emotions warring within him. “Elijah and Rebekah,” he said with a sigh. “They won't accept us. They think you're too young, too impulsive.”

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. “And what do you think?” she choked out, her voice quivering.

Klaus reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek with tenderness. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “But I can't keep going against my family. It's tearing us apart.”

The pain in Y/N's chest was suffocating, a weight that threatened to crush her. “So, what are you saying?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I'm saying that we need to take a step back,” Klaus admitted, his voice barely audible. “Perhaps it's best for both of us.”

Y/N's heart shattered completely, and she took a step back, her eyes welling with tears. “You're choosing them over me?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Klaus's eyes filled with anguish, and he reached out to her, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “Y/N…” he started desperately. “I love you, but I can't keep fighting this battle. I'm sorry sweetheart.”

The room seemed to close in around her, and Y/N turned and fled, her heartache echoing in the emptiness that surrounded her. Days turned into weeks, and the absence of Klaus felt like an ache that she couldn't escape. She could feel the weight of his absence in every corner of her life, a constant reminder of what once was.

As she stared out at the moonlit night, Y/N realized that love was not always enough to conquer the obstacles that life placed in its path. She had lost the man she loved, not because he didn't care, but because the world they lived in was too complicated, too tangled with expectations. lol She whispered his name into the night, her heart heavy with sorrow, Y/N learned that sometimes love wasn't enough to mend the fractures that threatened to tear their world apart. And in that painful realization, she felt the bittersweet ache of a love that had been both beautiful and heart wrenching—a love that would forever remain etched in her soul.

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[tessa-liam]

Turning the Page  

Now and Then

 - Chapter 9-

Choices, The Royal Romance, AU 

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son. 

Turning the Page Series Masterlist 

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Riley Brooks 

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who belongs to this series. 

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression. Cross-over fic with Choices, Perfect Match. 

Rating: M🔞Warnings - Series will contain crude language, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors. 

Words: 2498

Now and Then – 9 

Chapter Summary: Riley and William arrive in Cordonia 

Title & Music Inspiration: 

Now and Then, The Beatles                                       

When You Love Someone, Gretchen Peters, Bryan Adams 

Wherever You Will Go, The Calling 

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.  

A/N2: My submission for @choicesflashfics, Week#67, prompt #1 - “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.” 

A/N3: My submission for @choicesjanuary2024, prompt Day 25 - ‘Remembrance’ #choices monthly challenge @lilyoffandoms #choicesjanuary2024 

A/N4: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard. 

In Flight, Cordonian Royal Jet, above the Mediterranean Sea 

Looking out over the vast expanse of water below her, and under the clear blue skies above the Mediterranean Sea, no clouds were in sight ... not a white cloud, nor a black cloud. 

Riley gazed out the large passenger window of the private jet, in solace, with her memories. Everything felt calm; almost too calm. The flight from New York to Cordonia was eight hours in duration, and even though they left early in the morning, they would not arrive at the palace until late in the evening with the change in time zones. 

Trying to and not getting any rest, her thoughts returned to the events over the holidays.

...Remembering when Liam arrived at her door, in New York on Christmas Eve, a short week ago. The expression of elation on his face as she opened the door for him... 

[‘Hello, my love,’ he tenderly smiled; He was standing there with an exquisite bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, as uniformed delivery drivers from the toy store waited patiently at a distance behind him, as the Royal guard performed a security check. 

Liam stepped over the threshold, leaning down to draw her in for a kiss on the cheek, as she accepted his gift. ‘Oh Li, these are gorgeous; thank you so much.’ 

At Bastien’s prompt, the delivery people entered the brownstone with prewrapped gifts and placed them under the Christmas tree, also filling the extra space in the living room very quickly. 

Chuckling, Riley watched as Liam thanked them with a generous tip, as he closed the door after them. 

“Our son will be so thrilled at what Santa brought him; wait till he wakes up tomorrow.”  

Liam laughed, moving quickly to put his arm around her, pulling her to his side. “Who says all these gifts are just for him? Hmmm?” Riley turned her head towards him, as Liam bent to capture her lips in a passion-fueled kiss. 

“Ah yes, your gift is right here.” Liam slipped his hand inside his coat to reveal a small box, wrapped in gold with a red ribbon. “This is for you.”} 

Riley breathed out, shaking her head. 

...Remembering wanting him so badly that evening ...as he kissed her forehead to say ‘good night’ before turning to the guest room; Leaving her feeling so confused, once again. 

...Remembering how excited LiLi was when he saw his father again Christmas morning ... and the look of pure joy in Liam’s expression as he watched his son blissfully playing with his new toys. 

...Remembering the look of adoration between Liam and his son; a private and sacred bond established between the two ... a bond only meant for them. 

Riley looked down at her phone and smiled fondly at the picture of William. He was proudly standing beside his gingerbread house gift for Liam, alongside Daniel and Matteo, to smile at the camera. Riley marveled at how unequivocally her son loved his father, so quickly. As if two loose puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. There was never a doubt in her mind that William needed to be wherever his father was. The connection between father and son was undeniable. 

...and with those thoughts, she agreed to return to Cordonia.  

And now, she found herself on the Royal jet headed back, leaving behind her New York world for the place that shattered her ‘happily ever after,’ again. 

Liam, being the new, ever-doting father was pointing out to his son the shores of Cordonia through the window. She saw the look of marvel in Liam’s eyes, as he watched his son’s reaction to seeing Cordonia for the very first time. They were sitting in seats across the aisle from her as she glanced over. 

Catching Riley’s eye, Liam responded with a wink and a smile. 

"Welcome home, love." 

Riley smiled in return, as her heart skipped a beat. 

Home... 

It had been a while since she had felt this way about Cordonia. Another lifetime; so much has changed, and yet remained the same. 

***

Damien Nazario, the Interpol agent who was now permanently assigned to be William Rys's personal bodyguard, was reviewing the Crown prince's dossier, and his duties to the Cordonian crown, his new employer. Bastien took a seat beside the young agent to answer any questions he may have, as head of the Royal guard, at the rear of the plane's cabin. 

"So, Damien, any questions for me?" 

"No, sir. I believe I have a handle on the situation.” 

"Good, because you are now the official head of the security detail for Prince William, the future king of Cordonia." 

"Understood, sir.” Damien was well aware of the complexity of a constitutional monarchy. 

"Now, there's one more thing I need to discuss with you,” Bastien eyed the young agent. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Madeleine Amaranth, the former queen of Cordonia. I have forwarded her updated dossier to you." 

"Yes, I've read it through.” Damien paused, waiting for more information. 

"Good, because she has expressed malicious intent towards Prince William and Lady Riley, should they return to Cordonia." 

"Understood. I'll ensure her movements are tracked and reported inside and out of the country, sir." 

"Thank you, Damien.” 

"My pleasure, sir.” 

Bastien, looking pleased, leaned back in his chair, checking the time on his watch, as he felt the plane begin its descent. 

Cordonia, Capital 

The jet touched down smoothly on the tarmac, as the engines powered down. The cabin door opened, and the stairs were lowered. 

Riley could feel the warm breeze blow past her as she stepped off the plane. 

Taking a deep breath, Riley looked around. The air was different here. It was fresh and clean. She closed her eyes and let the wind brush her cheeks. 

Liam followed, with William sleeping in his arms.  

"Is everything alright, love?" Liam’s brows were raised in concern, noticing her hesitation. 

"Yes, I'm just taking it all in." Riley, looked down, unable to keep eye contact. 

"Are you sure, Riley? You've been very quiet throughout the entire flight home." 

"I'm fine, Liam. It is just a lot to process. I'm just a little overwhelmed." 

"All right, I understand. Let us get to the palace, so you and William can get settled and rest ... okay?" 

"Yes, thank you, Liam." 

Liam glanced over at Riley with concern as he personally buckled his son into the car seat. It was quite easy for him to see and feel the apprehension in her mood. She could not hide her emotions from him as well as she always thought she could.

Riley had remained noticeably quiet during the ride to the palace as well, looking out at the passing countryside. Liam could not help but wonder if she was having second thoughts about returning to Cordonia, and/or to him. 

As they pulled up to the palace gates, Liam looked over at Riley, noticing a small smile on her face. 

"What is it, love?" Liam spoke softly, reaching for her hand. 

Riley returned his touch with a squeeze. "This place...it's beautiful." 

"Thank you, that, it is. Welcome home." 

“William will be so excited when he wakes up.” Riley glanced at a still sleeping William as the SUV slowed to a stop. 

"I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me.... to have you both here." Liam confessed. 

"You're welcome, Liam. It's the least I can do."  

Liam's heart sank at her words. He hated the distance between them. He wanted to take her in his arms and make everything right, but, for right now, he knew that was not the best strategy. 

He had to accept that things had changed, and their relationship was different now. He had to be patient and give Riley the space she needed. 

But he also had to make her see how important she was to him. He had to show her how much he had missed her ... that he wanted a future with her and William in Cordonia. 

As the SUV door opened for her, Riley felt a sense of Deja vu. This was where she had started her journey with Liam in Cordonia all those years ago. And now, here she was, back again. 

"Do you want me to take you and William to the guest wing, or do you want to stay in my chambers?" 

"I would like to stay with you, if that's okay." 

"Of course, Riley. I would love that." 

It was surreal for Riley as she walked the pristine palace halls towards the Royal Chambers. Liam carried William, who was fast asleep in his arms beside her. 

 The memories of the past times she was here flooded her mind and her heart ached as she pushed the painful memories aside. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. 

As they reached the large double doors of the entrance to the Royal east wing, the guards opened the doors for Liam and Riley to enter. 

Riley stepped inside; the same chambers where she had spent so much time before. The familiar scent of Liam's cologne filled the air, sending a wave of longing for a past time through her mind. 

Walking into her room ... it was exactly as she remembered it. Everything was in its place, from the elegant chandelier hanging above the bed, to the intricate paintings adorning the walls. 

Riley took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, taking in every detail. 

 She felt a pang of sadness as she remembered those past times. 

After tucking William into his bed in the adjacent room, Liam came in and sat down next to her. He gently placed his hand on hers, and she looked up at him, their eyes meeting. 

"What are you thinking about Riley?"  

"I'm okay, Liam. I was just thinking about how much things have changed since I was here last." 

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her close. "I know it's a lot, but I'm here for you, and I'll help you in any way I can," Liam whispered. 

"Thank you, Liam." 

He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands, staring into her eyes intently. "You're welcome, Riley. Always. Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.” 

He moved in to press his lips to hers, and she melted into his kiss. 

It was soft and gentle, and full of longing. 

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. "God, Riley, I've missed you." 

"I've missed you, Li." 

He leaned down and kissed her again, deeper this time. 

His tongue swept across her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to him. 

Their tongues tangled together in a dance that was familiar and yet new. 

They were no longer the same people they were when they had last been together. They were both older and wiser, and the passion between them burned even brighter. 

Riley pulled away and put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palm. 

"Liam, I..." 

"Shhh." 

He placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say anything, Riley. Just feel." 

His lips found hers again, and the world disappeared. There was nothing but the two of them, lost in each other. 

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

She moaned into his mouth as he slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer. 

He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. 

"Riley," he breathed. "God, I want you so much."

“Liam, I ...” 

Liam pulled back and looked into her eyes, “stay with me tonight.” 

📌All fics & edits: @ao719 @txemrn @queenmiarys @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @alj4890 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @harleybeaumont @busywoman @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @lovingchoices14 @kyra75 @tinkie1973 @emkay512 @malblk21 @kristinamae093 @charlotteg234

📌Liam x Riley, OC: @emersyn-in-cordonia @mainstreetreader @belencha77 @walkerdrakewalker @iluaaa @mysticalfangirl @queenwalton @bascmve01 @umccall71 @choicesfrog @amandablink @ownworldresident

📌Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesflashfics @choicesjanuary2024

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Post-Mortem

Summary: Spencer wants to get back with Reader a month after their breakup, and it doesn't go the way he planned.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Angst

Content warning: Breakup, recovering from heartbreak, rejection, sad ending

Word count: 1.3k

Spencer Reid broke my heart, plain and simple. Eight months of wonder and joy were destroyed at one dinner. A romantic one, just to twist the knife more. I was sure we would’ve been together longer, which is why it felt like the world caved in when he ended it. I never felt so broken. At that moment, I could say it was the dinner to end all dinners. Because I told Spencer I never wanted to see him again.

So you can imagine his surprise (and mine) when I agreed to meet him for a coffee a month later. I took deep breaths in the car because, like the breakup, this location was just as methodical. The spot where we first met in our respective rushes to work, he decided would be the last. When opening the shop door and hearing the familiar bell ding, it's like a neck-breaking transport. And when I spot Spencer at a table, with two cups and a pastry wrapped in front of him, the reminder to breathe comes back. 

One of the most painful things about heartbreak is that it doesn’t rip up memories like your body. They’re as clear as ever when Spencer stands from his seat while we lock eyes. The chair legs scooting across the floor were as loud as it was when we came here for quick breakfasts. Quick breakfasts were never my choice, but duty calling never involves convenience. A call from Spencer’s phone was equivalent to a brace for impact. The anxiety of waiting for the pleasantries to inevitably end was as real as the others in the shop turning their heads at the sound of Spencer’s chair. Brief and dreadful.

Nevertheless, I walked forward, keeping eye contact and an optimistic look. “Hey,” I said.

“Hi.” His hand pops up to wave as his lips thin out in his classic unrelaxed half-smile. “How are you?”

I sit. “Alright.” I can lie if I try hard enough. That’s one perk of dating a profiler. “You?”

“Good.” He nods while shifting in his seat. “Yeah, good.”

“You look exhausted.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Did you just get back from a case?”

“Yeah, last night. Los Angeles.” He rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept. “I got you an iced vanilla latte.” He points to the cup, condensation already layering the outside of it.

I take a sip. It’s watered-down but sweet. “Thanks.”

He then slides the mystery pastry toward me. “And a scone.”

This will be a long sit-down. He wants it to be. I can smell the scone. Nostalgia hits hard and doesn’t apologize. “Chocolate Chunk,” I say. It’s what I ordered the first time. He and his damned eidetic memory remember how I entertain desserts whenever I eat somewhere. And I remember our last dinner, how he ended it before they even had a chance to offer the selections. I didn’t touch it. Instead, I leaned in my chair. I thought I should kick back. “Why’d you call me here, Spencer?”

He looked around the room as if others wanted to listen in on this riveting conversation. He takes his coffee and slowly sips, putting it down. “One of the victims, her girlfriend… or ex-girlfriend was devastated during our interview. They had been on a break and she —”

“Regretted the way things ended, and now that she’s dead she can’t say sorry.” I’ll admit I didn’t care for my monotone voice, but he’s told me similar stories and a range of others that cut him deep. And I listened and held him then.

Then is, unfortunately, not now.

Spencer’s eyes darted from the cup to the scone, to me, back to the scone, then to me again. “I really am sorry.” His voice is strained.

I gripped my sweater sleeves under the table, like how the dinner ended. Except I stood up from the table with my fists deep in the soft linen covering it. The anger boiling inside fueled my force as I walked out of the restaurant. It was literally a raging spectacle, despite the deafening sound of my heart cracking in my ears.

The anger had long subsided. “I know.”

His eyebrows raised, likely expecting a more spit-in-your-face response. “You do?”

“The phone calls made it easy to assume.” That doesn’t mean I answered. He called once a week, but picking up the phone any earlier than yesterday would’ve led to undignified sniffles, giving me away instantly. My broken heart has calcified significantly in record time.

Spencer nodded. “I know I hurt you, and I hope you can forgive me someday.” For a minute, I wondered if this was the workings of a genius or a psychopath (he hangs around enough of both). Because despite the cruelty of such a planned-out ending, I somehow felt sorry for him. And I hate to admit there’s a small part of me that wants to crumble to his side.

“It’ll be okay,” I told him. “Water’s making its way under the bridge.” Time was all I needed.

Quiet takes over for a brief moment between us, and even though we’ve been apart for a month, it doesn’t take away the other eight. Spencer’s eyes, puppy-like in shape and oaky in color, are as obvious as the rest of his behavior.

“That isn’t why you wanted me here. Isn't it?"

He licks his lips and shakes his head. “I was hoping… in due time, of course, we could try again.”

The sigh that came out of me was involuntary. I wouldn’t have held back my response even a week ago, and he was lucky about that. “Spencer, I’m sorry. It may not feel like it now, but I think, in retrospect, you made a wise choice.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Nothing has changed. You were just in Los Angeles.”

“But I could try harder. Like you wanted." He swallows again. “I miss you.”

Damn, that was all I thought.

“Well,” I cleared my throat. It didn’t help. “Maybe… maybe we can be friends someday. But for now, I hate to say this,” I do. “But it might be a smart idea to keep our separate ways for a while.”

The best thing I could do is avoid diving headfirst into my true feelings. To expect things to suddenly change just because he wants to return. It's vulnerability and blissful ignorance I can’t afford. Calcified is an accurate way to describe my current state, but fragility is still there. I’ve managed to get to bed without crying for a week, but the sucker punch of memories, the freshness is very prevalent. I can still pretend here.

Spencer though, no matter how hard he tries, is not a stoic person. It’s not in him. If he’s angry, it comes out in passive-aggressive remarks or emotional outbursts containing at most a single swear word. And when sadness comes, tears are sure to follow.

I see one fall, and I try to avoid erosion as he wipes the trail off his cheek. “I understand.” He doesn’t look up.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” That's all I can say. Having the tables turned is painful.

“I don’t blame you. I handled it terribly.”

I said nothing.

“And if I could, I’d —”

His phone vibrated. Brace.

“Duty calls,” I say with a lilt, and he isn't amused. I take another sip of my coffee before I scoot my chair back.  I push the scone toward him, but he stops me halfway. We don’t flinch at the contact, fingers nearly laced.

“It’s yours. You take it.” He pushed.

“I think you need it more." I push.

“Please.” He adds force.

I let go, leaving his hand alone on the wooden surface. I try to concoct a smile. “Take care of yourself, Spencer.” I stand up from my chair and turn to head toward the exit. The ding of the bell comes and goes, and the sun splashes my face with warmth. Tears collect and cool my cheeks as I walk to the car, but I let them.

[brightymir]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 || 𝐮. 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐧 + 𝐰𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬

》 contains: vivid description of gory injuries, heated arguments, tengen shouts at reader & vice versa, misspellings, final battle heavy spoilers

》 angst, hurt/comfort

》 wc: ±2k

》 uzui tengen x gn!demon slayer!reader x hinatsuru x makio x suma

》 a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this, lmk what you think! thank you so much for your continued support, have a wonderful day!

the entire room was silent, even the clattering of the utensils came to a halt and everyone held their breaths in tension. three pairs of eyes flickered back and forth between you and tengen, one filled with worry, the other with anxiety, and the other with shock. tengen set his chopsticks and bowl down, letting out a long and aggravated sigh, one that was directed at you.

your eyes were trained on the dumplings in front of you while tengen's magenta ones descended on your form. your three wives looked at each other with apprehension and nervousness, not knowing what to say at the moment.

"i thought we all agreed to retire after defeating an upper rank? what's with this sudden suggestion, y/n?" tengen's voice started out calm and soothing, trying to appease you and coax you into forgetting the silly little idea you thought of at the dinner table.

the meal started nice and slow, the four of them chatting away about the mission they had recently where they defeated an upper rank six. you were silent up until halfway, wherein you expressed your desire to go back to the corps and continue your service as a kinoe.

you resigned from the corps shortly after your marriage with tengen, suma, makio, and hina. you were the most loved out of everyone and they prioritized your safety very much, eventually convincing you to put down the sword and store away your haori in the back of your cabinet.

but life was mundane ever since. especially when you've been practicing the sword ever since you were fourteen. it is wonderful to be married to wives and a husband like them, you are grateful to wake up next to them everyday but you know that you are destined for better things, and the world needs you.

you retrieved your hands from the table and settled them on your lap, where hinatsuru held it and rubbed the back with her thumb. you watched suma as she took a sip of water while beads of sweat formed on makio's forehead.

your eyes flew up to tengen’s, yours filled with determination while his was adamant, unrelenting. 

“i... i did not defeat an upper rank. why must i retire? i’m clearly still meant for so many things and my talent is needed out there. the corps needs me, and moreso the world. i love this, i love the four of you and i love this marriage. but it’s not right for me to turn my back on those who-” you were cut off by the banging of a porcelain cup on the wood table, the contents spilling. 

you let out a choked cough and re-focused your gaze to tengen's. his eyes now, however, were filled with fury and irritation. he did not look like he will back down on you anytime soon and instead, was adamant on getting you to give up on your suggestion.

"i have already established a clear life hierarchy, and the four of you are on top of it; my priorities. i am not going back on my word and i will not allow you to put your life in danger" he retorted, voice shaking. whether fueled by anger or desperation, you didn’t know.

you heaved a sigh and inched closer to him. “do you belittle my skills that much?” you asked sharply and your three wives stood from their chair. they knew how it’s gonna be when you used that tone; things were not about to go down nicely. 

tengen’s magenta eyes looked over at you, this time filled with an incredulous look, turning a darker shade at your provocation. 

“i don’t care, i’m going to go-”

“do you not understand what i want?! are you seriously so dumb that you cannot comprehend how dangerous it is going to be from now on?! we killed an upper rank, and more upper ranks will start to emerge! are you so inferior that you didn’t kill an upper rank which is why you’re being like this?!” he shouted, voice booming and resonating in every corner of your home.

huh?

what?

inferior? who? you? 

you blinked and flinched a few times. you have never seen him this mad. he insisted on always being calm, flashy, and flamboyant; anger never seemed to be his outlet. 

you felt angry, confused, surprised, and everything all at once. your mind not functioning properly, you just reciprocated his actions the last few moments.

“s-so what?! you four were able to defeat an upper moon! everyone is alive and here, recovering! why... why can’t you let me be, tengen?! i am more than capable of helping and aiding the corps, they need me!” you shouted back and hinatsuru came to your side, attempting to soothe you. 

“goddamn it! we need you too! your family needs you; makio, suma, and hina needs you. i need you! we are retiring honorably, we all lived our lives prioritizing others-”

“and i’ll die that way if needed” you cut him off with a cold tone. your three wives gasped at your statement, suma’s eyes watering while makio looked distraught, hinatsuru’s grip tightening around your arm.

tengen had a dumbfounded look on his face, refusing to believe what you just uttered. then, his face curled up to anger and anguish, walking off from the table. the four of you stood together, listening as tengen’s footsteps disappeared into the shared bedroom. 

you wriggled off of hinatsuru’s grasp and began to walk out the front door, deciding to get some fresh air. 

you sat by the pond, looking at your reflection. you did not contemplate your choices, you knew what you wanted and you knew exactly how to get it, and you knew what you had to give up to get it. 

a few minutes later, you heard three pairs of footsteps approach you. you chuckled to yourself at the way they announced themselves. they could, after all, be as quiet as they want but chose to inform you of their presence, trying to gauge your mood and aura first. 

makio sat to your left while suma snuggled to your right, hinatsuru opting to embrace you from behind. they sat in silence and waited for you to speak. you surmise that tengen must have either given them the silent treatment or have requested them to check up on you, the latter being more likely. 

“i won’t change my mind, you know” you started and sighed, feeling your wives stiffen at your blunt words. you hear them sigh altogether, lost and at their wit's ends trying to calm down tengen and get you to change your mind.

"love, must you really go back to the corps?" makio started, trying to hide the quiver in her voice even though the firm grip she has on your arm gave her sadness away.

"y/n, can't you just stay with us? those upper rank demons are all so scary, so mean!" suma sobbed and whined, snot running down her nose which made makio smack her.

hinatsuru was calm, tracing patterns on your back. "i won't stop you from doing what you feel like you need to do. but, darling, we'd love to just have a peaceful life with you" she whispered.

your eyes, still trained on the your reflection, began to water at the mere thought of probably losing what you treasured the most. you smiled and pulled them in for a hug, pressing kisses to their temples, cheeks, and lips.

the four of you walked back to your shared bedroom where you see tengen sitting on the edge of the bed, clearly anxious and waiting for the four of you. once he sees you enter, he wastes no time in rushing up to you and engulfing you in a hug.

"oh y/n, i'm so sorry. i did not mean what i said back there i was just too caught up in my emotions. i was not thinking straight, i apologize if i hurt you in anyway. i-" you cut him off by chuckling and tapping him on his shoulders.

"it's fine, tengen. don't worry about it, i understand and i'm alright" you replied and he smiled at your statement, pulling you in for a soft kiss. his lips felt extremely warm and comforting against yours, molding perfectly like it does every time.

that night, you were all huddled up in bed. you were sandwiched between tengen and makio, their arms wrapped around your waist. suma and hinatsuru were on tengen's other side, both reaching out to you as well.

"you'll stay right?" tengen's hoarse and sleepy voice sounded through the room. it was silent for a few seconds, not a sound was made.

"hmm. i love you, good night" was all you said before drifting off to sleep. the four of them exchanged glances but did not utter a word. they simply hugged you tight and fell asleep, content that the five of you will spend a lifetime together.

or so they thought.

for what greeted them in the morning was your empty cabinet, haori missing.

and a sword that used to be hung on the living room wall next to tengen's was not in place.

the only thing that they found was the exquisite hair pin they gifted you on your birthday a few months ago, alongside a short note.

i'll come back home, when muzan is reduced to ashes. i love you all.

the next news they heard about you was that you aided and played a crucial role in the defeat of upper moons four and five. the sigh of relief they let out was large when they found out that you did not sustain any life treathening injuries.

they did contemplate going to the headquarters to check up on you but they knew you would not like that that's why they only relied on shinobu and kasugai crows to know how you were faring back in the corps.

they had hoped to see you during the hashira training but you were nowhere in sight. mitsuri noted that as a kinoe, your participation was not required and instead, was only voluntary.

when the day of the final battle arrived, shinjuro noticed how tengen was restless and uneasy. the flamboyant and collected former sound hashira was clammy and kept sighing, a thin sheet of sweat coating his forehead.

"worried?" shinjuro began, attempting to calm tengen's nerves. tengen huffed and bit his lower lip.

"they're strong, i know that, i believe in them. but even rengoku did not survive upper moon three and i barely got out alive from upper moon six. i just... i'm worried sick. i wish i'm with them but as if i can do anything in my current state" he rambled and fought back tears. shinjuro tapped him on the back three times.

"you believe in them. then, you have to believe they'll come home" the older man replied, before returning to high alert, guarding the little children of the ubuyashiki clan.

every minute felt like hours, hours felt like days. tengen thought the moon had no plans to descend. it felt like he has aged twenty years from simply waiting for the sun to rise.

when they confirmed that everything was well and safe, they went with the children to the site of muzan's ashes; relief and flowing through their bodies as they shed tears of joy.

in the midst of happiness, tengen felt a kakushi tap his arm to get his attention. he then understood and followed the woman who led him to you.

tengen felt sick. he wanted to throw up, he wanted to cry, he wanted to shout. even from a distance, he could see how bloodied and disfigured you were sitting next to gyomei. he could hear breathing, faint, but it was there. he could hear heart beating, slow, but it was there.

he knelt on the ground next to your body. you were seated, back against the cold wall, hunched over. hair tangled and messy, mouth still ejecting blood. right arm was nowhere to be found, right leg was sliced severely with countless cuts decorating the expanse of it. your stomach sliced open with a big gash, your guts threatening to spill out. your sword resting on your cold left palm.

carefully, tengen scooped you in his large arms. he held you with so much tenderness, care, love. afraid that you would slip away soon.

because you were.

your eyes were barely open, but you could see your husband. crying like a big baby. he was holding you delicately, pulling you flush against him. his teardrops fell against your uniform, quickly creating a damp spot.

he was only crying silently, afraid to startle you. he sniffled and fought back the tears when he felt you raise your left hand, resting it against his cheek.

"t-tengen, i... i'm s-so—" you had a coughing fit, more blood spewing from your mouth. tengen cried harder at this. seeing you in pain, like this, felt like his heart was being pierced by a million swords.

he hushed you, not wanting to hear how you gasped for breath, how you tried to not choke on your blood, how you fought for your life which was hanging by a thread.

"'m sorry... b-but i.. i couldn't have done it any other way." you wheezed, trying to prolong your oxygen supply even though it was getting more difficult by the second.

tengen pressed a kiss to your temple, a kiss to your eyes, a kiss to your cheek, a kiss to your lips.

"y/n... hush my love. save your breath please, please. you can make it, baby. hang on please, you told us you'll come home" he said and shed tears even harder. the kakushis around the two of you also started sobbing especially those who have always been with you after your every mission.

you smiled and opened your eyes fully one last time, looking at the beauty of your darling. your eyes filled with love and adoration, laced with pain and brimming with sadness.

"don't come up too soon, alright? live a happy life, i love you, and our wives. i love all of you, 'til my last breath" you mumbled and your eyes fluttered shut.

tengen sobbed, pulling you closer, mumbling incoherently as the cries of the kakushis from all over were heard.

hah, 'til your last breath indeed.

tears were shed that fateful day, both from joy and grief.

blood were shed that cruel day, for the sake of peace and safety.

lives were loss that historic day, all sacrificed for the future of humanity.

they were glad you passed with no regrets. but for tengen, makio, suma, and hinatsuru, you will always be their greatest.

greatest regret, greatest love, greatest thing.

© 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐘𝐌𝐈𝐑 2022 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms without permission. thank you.

[calibabii21]

|| you're a godsend || l.mk

pairing: idol!mark lee x foreigner!reader

genre: mild angst, fluff, sweet mark, a bit of flirting if you squint

warning(s): mention of anxiety, reader experiences discrimination

a/n: I'm heavy in my Mark feels (what's new), so here's a lil smth short and sweet :))

"안돼요, 현금 없음. No cash." The sales lady's adamant tone only fuels your bubbling anxiety. You signal her to give you a minute as you rummage through your purse. God why did this have to happen right now? And to you of all people. "I'm sorry, can you-" She immediately cuts you off with a sigh and grumbles to herself as she begins closing the transaction. "Wait, no-" "죄송합니다 , you can add her items to my tab."

Your head snaps to your savior, tears welling in your eyes. From embarrassment or relief, you aren't sure. "You're so kind, thank you." Sniffles now uncontrollable as you dab your tears away. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat your customers in such a way," He hasn't yet acknowledged your words of gratitude, but you aren't offended- though it seems he is.

The frown on his youthful face looking out of place. At least from what you can see. To be fair, his features are covered by a black mask. "Enjoy the rest of your day." Yet he still gave her a smile, and left a tip. In cash. You're not sure how much you meant it, but you bow and thank the lady as well on your way out of the door.

The sun is beaming as you walk side by side in a comfortable silence. Truthfully, you don't even mind the quiet. For some reason you feel a strong sense of safety when near him. "I apologize, ya know, on behalf of the owner," he looks over at you through a squinted eye, "I understand how it is being a foreigner."

When you smile his eyes immediately flicker to your mouth, then back up to meet your own. "Thank you, for stepping in. I don't think you understand how much I appreciate it. I was nervous so I wanted to stop for a little comfort snack before going to my first meeting at my new job and-" you stop yourself short, "sorry. I'm rambling."

He shakes his head letting out friendly chuckle, "No worries, it's cute." There's no added statement as he leaves you flustered and passes your snack. As your walk continues, you pull your phone out to check the navigation, am I even walking in the right direction?

Once it's confirmed that you actually are, you pocket your phone and begin excitedly eating the bulgogi kimbap you'd fought tooth and nail for. Okay maybe not tooth and nail, but surely sweat and tears were spilled. "Want some?" He cutely nods and shocks you by pulling his mask down and biting off the top piece from out of your hand. "Oh.."

So handsome. He replaces his mask and faces forward as he finishes chewing. That is, until you reach a traffic light and he abruptly turns to you with a determined look in his eyes. "You're very pretty." It's said with such certainty and confidence that you can't help the feeling of immense attraction flowing through you.

"Not gonna lie I.. find you quite handsome, myself." The two of you smile at one another and share a laugh as the light changes for you to walk. "Still nervous for your first day?" You ponder the question before shaking your head, "I'm not actually, and it's really thanks to you." You come to a stop and face him, "You're truly a godsend, how can I show my gratitude?"

"You can go easy on me for being late to our first practice." Immediately you check your phone and gasp realizing you're late for your introductory meeting. "Oh my God! Wait- how did you-" He solutes you and backs away holding his arms out with an eye smile, "Welcome to SM Entertainment, Y/N."

[lolabangtan]

STAY | 15

Back at the dorms, Jungkook misses you madly. Hate, heartbreak, and longing mix in his heart. In public, though, he’s still cold and hurtful towards you – until he discovers who’s his new roommate.

index • previous • next

Word count: 9k

Warnings: smut, dub-con fantasy, attempted infidelity.

# angst, delirious masturbation (?), clumsy anal fingering, noona + mommy kink, Jungkook is kind of messed up in this one (but who’s to blame for that except me lol), scent kink, cum play, crying, awkward hyung-junior bonding!!

A/N: thanks to Generic Club Girl 1 for starring in this chapter.

“I will issue a restraining order if you keep doing this.”

It’s too early in the morning to put up with Kim Seokjin and his antics. You haven’t even finished your first coffee and here he is, standing in front of your door like a moron. Or a creep.

“Come on,” he says, still adamant, “I’ll give you a ride. Or maybe it’s better if your boyfriend doesn’t see us together?”

His words fuel you, and you frown; why should you refrain from seeing anyone? It’s his problem if Jungkook prefers to be petty and not talk to you. In fact, it’s on him if he’s got a problem with you talking to any guy at all. Especially when he’s not willing to talk things out with you.

You groan and go back in to collect your things. “Ugh, okay, let’s go. I’m late anyways, and I don’t have my car yet.” Keys swinging around your finger, you finally beckon Seokjin to follow you down the stairs. “How have you been doing these days since you came back? Do you already have a place to stay?”

“Yeah, I’m moving into the dorms. Namjoon is great and all, but… I don’t wanna feel like I’m taking up space in their tiny flat.”

You roll your eyes. “He’d never think that.”

Like the gentleman he is, he opens the car door for you, and despite your grimace, you get in.

“It won’t be long, just until I find a proper flat that doesn’t stink,” he says, taking the driver’s seat, and smirks. “I think it’ll be fun in the meantime.”

“I’m already sorry for the poor freshman who’ll have to put up with you.”

“Speaking of freshmen…” You close your eyes and throw back your head, already tired of his unfinished question. “You have a class with him today, don’t you? You’ll see him for the first time since last week.”

Ah, it’s been a week already? Felt like a year… Seven days since you last talked to Jungkook, seven days since that awful phone call in which you were called out for doing something you don’t know yet. They never told you. Seven days without seeing him, without hearing his voice, without feeling his warm skin or making him smile. The thought alone makes your heart throb in pain inside your chest.

If only you were not so mad at him to miss him – then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“You’ll work it out, you just need to talk things through with him,” Seokjin suddenly says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

But you’d have to get near him in the first place to do that.

And you have yet to figure out how Seokjin might fit into your life, or, for now, whether it is in your best interest to even let him in in the first place. Even though things have been patched up, you still feel a simmering resentment for him inside you; he can’t just show up and ask you to forget about the pain he made you go through in the name of friendship.

“You look different.”

His voice makes you turn your head away from the window. “Hm? I didn’t do anything, though.”

“Not physically, uh…” Seokjin purses his lips. “You feel different. Like, older, in a way – but I guess that’s what happens when time passes.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” you chuckle, frowning in confusion.

But Seokjin’s eyes look softer as they stay glued to the road. For a second you get it – he feels different too, older. Time passes for everyone, even if you are the only one who seems unable to grow out of your shelf of youth. Unable to mature and break through its naivety. Unable to do like everyone else and turn your pain into wisdom instead of letting it turn into resentment.

“You really think so?” you murmur with a hopeful rise in your voice. “Lately I feel like a tall child, crying and fussing about everything.”

He glances at you. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“You must know very few people.”

“Maybe.”

“When did you know it was time to break up with her?” you suddenly ask, leaning back in the seat.

“Uh… It’s a gut feeling? Like, you start seeing signs that you’ve grown apart. I realised I didn’t care anymore, not in the way I should care about my girlfriend, anyways,” Seokjin explains while you stare at him.

His words make you ponder; you don’t feel yourself growing apart from Jungkook, if anything, you feel closer than ever. He’s just going through something, and you’ve probably hurt his feelings. This is all a misunderstanding, that’s it. You care about him in ways you never thought you’d care about anyone – you would live inside his brain and under his skin if you could.

The car pulls into the pavilion’s car park with a swift turn, and you collect your backpack from your feet.

“Just ignore everything I said earlier, you’re not old,” Seokjin jokes, closing the car door. “It’s just that I’ve had a lot on my mind lately too; we old people think a lot.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You shrug it off and say goodbye before he can even blink, not wanting anyone to see you together. Not that it’s a bad thing, but you’d rather avoid giving people something to nibble on. They have an imagination strong enough to come up with unsubstantiated gossip, they don’t need that kind of help.

The halls are as busy as always, lousy Mondays; people running up and down, beams of sunlight coming from the tall windows. It’s first thing in the morning and everyone wants to talk about their weekend.

Except you, maybe – you did absolutely nothing besides binge-watching a show and ignoring Seokjin’s texts.

Okay, here we go.

The words resonate in your head as you mentally prepare yourself to face the recently begun day when someone goes down the stairs behind you. They bump your shoulder on their way down, and you realise in shock that it’s Jungkook; Ari and Jimin are with him, and the former nudges him on the side at his rude gesture towards you. The pitiful look on her face is enough to make you want to throw up and bawl your eyes out.

Maybe this is your chance? Maybe he was trying to catch your attention somehow?

You follow him down the step. “Hey, Jungkook—”

“Let’s just sit there,” he mumbles, not even looking at you, and turns to Ari. “Noona, can you make room for me?”

With a sigh, your friend nods and scoots to the seat on her left so that Jungkook can squeeze in between them. Now the row is full, and there are pretty much no seats left except those in the front row.

At the sight, Soobin rushes to abandon his friends and sits down right in front of the professor’s desk. Jungkook watches the whole thing in silence.

“You never sit at the front,” he says when you take the chair next to him.

Does he think you’re blind—?

Oh, but you’re too tired to fight, so you nod in silence. “I guess I was feeling proactive today.” You suddenly close the book in front of you and turn to him. “So, what’s up? Neither do you.”

“I didn’t want you to sit alone… Everything cool with your boyfriend?” he asks, careful – enough to let you know that there is some gossip going around. “He looks mad pissed. Did you fight—? Sorry, it’s probably none of my business.”

“We didn’t fight,” you reply, “I just want to focus, hence my sitting here. Cool?”

“Cool…”

The class starts shortly afterwards and goes on smoothly. You manage to take notes without letting Soobin distract you too much with his chatter, though the feeling of Jungkook’s gaze burning into the back of your head is far more noticeable than anything else. You don’t know if he enjoyed your little show with Soobin, but you’re pretty sure the kid’s in need of some tough love to learn about boundaries.

When it’s time for lunch, the professor dismisses his class, and everyone leaves the classroom either chatting or with their eyes glued to their mobile phones. You collect your things before Soobin does anything and flee up the steps.

“It was kind of sad, seeing you sitting all alone.” You turn around at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. You roll your eyes by instinct. “Guess you had it coming.”

You scan him head to toe; whatever the reason for the sudden attitude, this pseudo-bad guy thing doesn’t suit him at all. It’s almost embarrassing to watch, honestly, and you want your Jungkook back. Unfortunately, this Jungkook here doesn’t seem really willing to talk things out.

And, unfortunately, you’ve built back up your walls pretty easily, even with him.

“And what did you want me to do instead? Crawl back to the friends that lied to my face because I had no one else to talk to?”

The arrogance disappears from his face and is soon replaced by a slight blush of embarrassment. With a snort, you step forward to take his arm, but Jungkook frowns in pain and shakes off your weak grip.

“Don’t touch me,” he whimpers.

He looks so handsome today, you notice as your eyes are unable to move away from his face; he looks so precious, and you miss him so much. Your heart shrinks in your chest, but you can’t stop looking at him. Your eyes are hungry for him, willing to nourish all the yearning your hands and lips can’t satisfy.

“B— Jungkook,” you groan, his name nothing but a plea, “what is wrong with you? Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

Your words only seem to fuel his irritation. “You know what you did. Don’t come to me until you are ready to answer for it— hyung, noona, let’s go, I’m hungry.”

If looks could kill, Ari’s would certainly do nothing. She’s the last one to turn around and follow Jungkook out of the lecture hall, her eyes lingering with sadness on your face. Maybe she knows something, maybe she feels that there’s something off about this conflict he’s made up. Ari knows you better than anyone in this world, after all – only after Jungkook… or not.

“Jungkook, you haven’t touched your food.”

Yeah, he knows. He knows he’s been staring at the tray ever since they got sat at the table. Jimin had proposed to eat out, but he didn’t want to go anywhere he’s ever been with you before— and even if it’s not like you’ve never been together in the university cafeteria, it hasn’t happened many times. Works for him.

Jungkook plays with the slices of pork, still silent and ignoring Taehyung’s voice, his dull face resting on the open palm of his hand.

“Hey, we can’t take three hours for lunch,” Ari suddenly barks. “Sort it out with your girlfriend or eat.”

He lowers his head. “Noona is not my girlfriend anymore.”

“She actually is,” Taehyung mutters; “you haven’t broken up yet, have you?”

The air feels awkward and silent, a cloud of tiredness heavy on their shoulders. Suddenly, the clinking sound of cutlery dropping on the tray gets their attention.

Jungkook groans loudly and shoves a spoonful of plain rice into his mouth in anger. “Uh, you’re supposed to be on my side, you know?” he then garbles with his mouth full, provoking grossed-out grimaces.

“Uh, we never took your side?” Jimin lets out a confused laugh and crosses his arms. “Never took hers, either. Friends don’t take sides.”

“Then why are you here?”

They share a look before Ari says, “Well, Y/N won’t talk to us, and it’s obvious you’re not okay.”

“So—” Jungkook straightens up in the chair out of pure shock. “You think what she did was right? Is noona the one giving you the cold shoulder? I’m—! Oh God, she was— this is so awful of you, guys.”

“Sorry, can you tune me in? I don’t see what the problem is now,” Jimin groans, his – and everyone’s – tray already empty. They seem no longer phased by the youngest’s fuss.

Ari frowns, totally baffled, and blurts out, “When did we say Y/N did nothing wrong—? Look, Kookie, I think you need to take the rest of the day off, you’re not okay…” Her boyfriend glances at her as if she was talking to a kid. “Take a nap, drink water, meditate, I don’t know… I know it seems like the end of the world, but you just have to, uh, process your feelings, okay?”

He hasn’t cried since the very day it happened. That night, he bawled his eyes out on their couch, weeping and calling for you as he curled up against Jimin. Jungkook can still remember the way his eyes burned the next morning.

Just picturing you with him makes him want to throw up.

With a dry goodbye, Jungkook gets up and decides to follow his friend’s advice. Soon, he ends up in front of the door of his dorm room; he moved in a few days after falling out with you. The dorm supervisor had called a month or so ago saying that he was accepted back in, under the obvious condition of not getting into a fight with anyone – Soobin or not – ever again. Of course, the choice between staying with you and sharing a filthy room with a stranger was clear.

Now it isn’t. At least, for the moment, Jungkook is alone in the room until further notice.

The room is dark when he walks in, closing the door carefully – Jungkook can’t risk the supervisor, who already has enough of a grudge against him, deciding to throw him out. This time he will have nowhere to go.

It’s not until he turns on the light and draws the curtains that he notices the half-empty box on the other bed. Does this mean that his days of sleeping alone are over?  Jungkook isn’t sure if he has the patience to share a room, but it all depends on what kind of roommate he’ll get. Oh, he’s bad at socialising. Nothing makes him more uncomfortable.

Curiosity gets the best of him, and Jungkook ends up walking up to the neatly made bed; there are some records, books, and figurines peeking out of the box. He can recognise a few.

Maybe having a new roommate won’t be that bad.

Now that he thinks of it, he left so much stuff behind after moving back into the dorms. Everything should still be in his room, or well, in the room you used to share. You’re not the crazy kind of ex who burns things— are you?

Ex.

“Fuck.”

It won’t do him any good to keep thinking about you. For the time being, Jungkook should better focus on the club and get through the rest of the year. His parents won’t stop asking him about his freshman year at uni, so he needs good things to say. Especially if they start asking about the nice girl they met at the swimming tournament.

Jungkook wishes he could take the bus instead of his car, but he can’t bring his things back on the bus – being spotted is the last thing he wants because he knows any of your neighbours will start asking questions. ‘Oh, Y/N, where is that handsome boy?’ ‘Did you two fall out? What a pity!’ ‘Ah, so you dumped him. He wasn’t that handsome anyways.’ They will ask you, and you will say that you dumped him for an older guy who probably has all his shit together and can last more than five minutes.

He pulls into the car park after a short ride. Just like he predicted, the lot is empty, so your shiny new boyfriend hasn’t picked you up from work yet.

Sadly, the anger has started to fade into sadness. It gets harder every day not to miss you, not to wonder if there’s anything he could have done to keep you by his side. Should he have listened to you more? Should he have pleased you better, should he have tried harder to become a boyfriend you would not be ashamed of? Or did Jungkook never have a real chance to be with you?

The flat welcomes him with complete silence when he walks in.

After mindlessly standing in the middle of the hall for a solid minute, he finally begins to discern all the sounds he has become familiar with – the soft rumble of traffic, the muffled horns, and the chirping birds. The neighbour’s television can be heard through the wall.

How could Jungkook let himself get attached so foolishly to a place? Why did he allow his heart to feel at peace here?

If only he could go back in time and keep all his hatred inside. Letting go of it, letting it turn into wise, healing love was a mistake. Now all he has is the choking feeling that he’s missing half his heart.

Shaking his head, he realises he doesn’t really have much time to play around, so he goes to his room and unfolds the boxes. The only things he has left to take are useless decorations or outerwear that he won’t need until winter, but it’s best to get it done now. And, as he imagined, it doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes to empty his drawers.

He can’t find his black boots, though. And he loves those boots.

They can only be in your room. Yes, he remembers taking them out to clean them, as summer is coming to an end, so he would most likely have put them back in your wardrobe.

After rummaging around the room, Jungkook finally finds the pair of boots under your bed. He sits on the mattress, staring at them. Suddenly he feels exhausted – as if his body lacks strength; it’s been a week since he last slept in this bed, that morning when he woke up next to you.

That morning when everything still had meaning, when you were still with him.

Just gonna close my eyes for a second, Jungkook tells himself as he lies down on the bed. The blankets hug him, almost as if reprimanding him for staying away for so long. Like a mother’s nagging. The accidental thought that he deserves to be nagged crosses his mind— because he does; he deserves to be scolded for leaving you without talking things through first. Won’t you come back to him and scold him? So that he can say sorry and return to you.

He’s so mad at you but fuck he misses you.

Closing his eyes was a big mistake. Now all Jungkook can do is picture your body on top of his body, your skin soft and warm against his skin, your lips peppering tender kisses from his lips down to his throat and chest.

It piques his craving for your presence first, a physical need to be with you. You soothe him, make him happy.

But then the feeling begins to mix with something else, something that cries for your presence in a primal way. A connection so deep it can only be achieved when his body is inside yours. The urge to kiss you gets so strong that Jungkook’s breath hitches, and he has to clear his throat to avoid letting out a moan of utter want.

He would literally die, kill, rob, kidnap, hijack a goddamn plane to have you next to him right now.

The skin on his chest feels sensitive. With the images of your face and body plaguing his head, there is a knot inside him that engorges and throbs. In a way, he’s digging his own grave.

Surely Jungkook can’t be that insane, right?

Oh, but he is. He’s crazy with want and loneliness and he misses you madly. So bad that, without a second thought, his hand goes south to cup the already half-hard tent in his pants, whimpering at the feeling.

Jungkook pictures it’s your hand rubbing the engorged head of his cock through the fabric.

But this is not enough. Hastily, the boy unbuckles his belt and pulls down his trousers, with his underwear following the same fate not long after. His erect cock bounces against his belly, and Jungkook brings his hand to his lips to spit on it while he turns around to lie face down. He’s down the rabbit hole already, so—

“A-ah,” he lets out, taken by surprise when his hand starts squeezing the glistening tip. Is this your ghost truly guiding him? “Oh, fuck…”

The memory of your hands strokes down his chest, peppering kisses. Your voice is murmuring sweet nothings, words of praise because you’d always appreciate it when he was a good boy. If his teasing and misbehaviour ignited you, his compliance would always bring out your sweetness.

Such a good boy, it says. Jungkook’s fist starts pumping faster. My baby bun.

You draw your finger down his spine, to his buttocks, until it reaches his perineum, making him chuckle nervously. “Noona,” Jungkook breathes out, “w-where are you touching?”

Let mommy have her way, will you, baby?

“But I— I’ve never been touched d-down there,” he whispers to himself, burying his face in the pillow.

Won’t you let me touch your pretty virgin hole, Kookie? It’ll feel good, I promise. Bet it’s so tight. Just get me the lube, spread your legs, and stop whining. It might hurt at first, but you’ll like it.

Your harsh tone kind of upsets him, but he figures out that you must want him so badly that you can’t help but sound demanding. That’s just the way you love him.

Jungkook doesn’t really have much idea of what he’s doing, he just knows what Jimin and Taehyung have decided to share with him about anal sex throughout their friendship. Lube it up first, as much as you can— and so he does, spurting lots of the slippery substance onto his digits before he plays with his puckered rim.

His arm starts hurting, so he turns over on the bed. Way better, he notes; now he can spread his legs, even press them against his chest. Open wide for you, so pretty, you’d love it.

His spit-coated finger strikes again, and Jungkook brings the blankets to his nose. It soothes him, your scent. In this little space, you’re still with him, you still want him. That is your thumb playing around his thighs, those are your lips smirking down at him.

The blankets, at least, still smell like you.

Jungkook’s other hand wraps around his cock again, pumping it fast to help him relax. In his mind, it’s your, jerking him off with a smirk on your face. Oh, you love watching him fall apart. You would scoot in between his parted legs and slide his cock into your mouth, bobbing your head until he starts sobbing in pleasure.

“S-shit.”

His fisted hand picks up a faster pace as it jerks his cock off with its focus on the tip.

Meanwhile, his other finger has stopped teasing his entrance and has begun to probe. The lube makes it easier while the stimulation coming from his cock has shoved him into a relaxed mental state.

“Oh—” And it finally slides in. The feeling is odd but nice – like he’s stuffed. Jungkook starts jerking off even faster, the sounds echoing through the room. “Oh, fuck, mommy! Shit—”

Knew you would love it, bunny.

He lets out a muffled moan. “Yes, yes— l-love it so much.”

Your tongue playing with his slit, your gentle finger slowly starting to work him open – Jungkook feels about to burst out in flames. His ears feel so hot, he’s positive his blood is boiling right now. The memory of your touch is easily the second-best thing in the world.

His fist messily pumps his cock as Jungkook brings the blanket to his nose. The soft scent, utterly yours, invades his nostrils and intoxicates him to the point of making him salivate.

He wants your pussy on his face to make you come until you think he’s the best you’ve ever had.

Your pretty, dripping wet pussy. Shit, having your cunt on his tongue brings him peace. Flicking your clit with his pointed tongue to bring out those sweet words of how good he makes you feel, what a good boy he is. That he’s enough. Nothing in this ugly world compares to being inside of you, he was made to make love with you – it’s his fate and home.

“M-mommy,” he calls out, eyes shut tight and eyebrows knitted together, “slow, please—” But his hands begin moving faster until his finger finds an engorged spot inside of him. “Fuck! Oh, f-fucking Christ!” Jungkook can’t stop rubbing it; it sends shivers from his core up to his very fingertips while his cock grows harder in his other hand. “Y/N! Please, please, please—! Shit, mommy, b-bunny— come, bunny come!”

Your lips feel real against his ear shell. Yeah? Does bunny want to come while mommy fucks his tight ass? Jungkook nods. What a slut.

His back arches off the bed. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck!”

Legs now spread open, Jungkook sobs in pleasure, overwhelmed. There are so many sensitive spots being ravaged right now, and there you are, hovering above him, smirking since you know fucking everything. A surprisingly sweet, gentle sparkle behind your pupils.

I love you, Jungkook.

That’s it, that’s his tipping point. In a second, his hips go from thrusting into his fist to bucking, and soon he’s coming all over his hand, his walls pulsing around his other finger.

“I—” Jungkook coughs. “S-shit, Y/N, I— I love you too,” he whimpers.

As he comes down from his high, the room suddenly feels empty and quiet. You’re not here, he remembers. The heat in his cheeks feels embarrassing, he’s just that pathetic. Then he looks down at his cum-covered palm.

You’re not here, and you won’t come back. Even if Jungkook threw his pride and self-worth out the window and crawled back to you, you won’t take him. You don’t need him. You don’t want him.

The first tear falls down his cheek, leaving a salty trail in contrast to his burning skin. His breath hitches in his throat, and soon Jungkook has to cover his mouth not to let any of his sobs out. Why did he ever decide to just accept it without trying to fight for you? Is that why you are so cold towards him? Because he was a compliant coward?

Maybe.

After cleaning himself and finishing sealing the boxes, Jungkook hurries out of the flat.

He’ll forget the tears of shame, he’ll forget how much he wants and misses you, he’ll forget that he’s in love, he’ll forget all about you. This was the last straw, perhaps; a moment of closure before he can wipe the slate clean.

Jungkook slams the boot of his car shut and slumps into the driver’s seat with a tired groan.  When he starts the car, the radio comes on by surprise. Any noise mixes with the beeping in his head, so he hurries to turn it off before his headache worsens and sets off back to the university.

The corridors of the men’s dormitory are filled with students walking around in their underwear, passing a ball around, shouting – for some reason – or with their eyes glued to their phones. Jungkook makes his way through them as he catches a glimpse of Soobin’s face and other teammates in the crowd, but he chooses to ignore them, although he does wonder what their weird faces were all about.

After putting down a couple of boxes to turn the handle, Jungkook squats down to pick them up again and walks into his room with his back turned, pushing the door open with his ass.

“Shit, so it’s true.”

The voice sounds familiar, but not too much. So, he turns around, dropping the boxes on his bed, just to face the sight of fucking Kim Seokjin standing like an idiot in front of him. His entire body freezes, or it bursts out in flames, or maybe it gets struck by lightning— whatever. Jungkook just stands there, staring at him in complete silence.

“I thought those guys in the team were kidding,” Seokjin finally says. “Or at least I hoped so—”

“What are you doing in my room?” he cuts him off.

Oh, so this is what you meant when you said your boyfriend lived on another planet; it’s obvious this is his new room, knowing that he’s been bringing in his stuff the entire morning. The reason Jungkook is asking nonetheless, well, that’s a mystery to him.

Seokjin lets out an awkward chuckle. “I, uh… I was assigned this room.”

“No.”

“Don’t worry,” the eldest says with a sigh, “it won’t be for long. I’m looking for a place already. This was just a favour from the supervisor.”

Motherfucker.

“Yeah, and there was no other room to put your ass in except this one, right?” Before Seokjin can even reply, Jungkook turns around in disbelief, hands on his hips. “He totally did this to get on my nerves.”

“Man, I… I have no idea. Just asked him for the favour.”

Wait, why is he having a conversation with the asshole who stole his girlfriend? And now he’s also his roommate. The universe hates him.

Jungkook rolls his eyes and turns around to start unpacking the boxes; maybe if he ignores him, it won’t be a deadly situation. Yeah, that’s it, Jungkook just has to pretend Kim Seokjin isn’t here, or even that he doesn’t exist at all, and he will get some of his peace back.

When he bends down to charge his phone, he notices that it’s busy charging another one already. The device makes a bubbling noise when unplugged, drawing his roommate’s attention as he recognises the sound.

Stifling a curse and making a grimace of realisation, Seokjin turns around with a smile. “Ah, yeah, I plugged your charger into my phone, I hope you don’t—”

“Well— don’t!” Jungkook unplugs the charger abruptly, the phone still in his grip. “You can’t just… go around taking my things, okay! God damn it, is there anything you’ll let me keep? Like a fucking robber…”

However, the device starts to ring, and a very familiar name shows up on the screen.

Y/N, incoming call.

Jungkook goes suddenly quiet, his shoulders now listless as he hands him back the phone. For a second, Seokjin forgets all about how nuts the guy actually is and gets a slight feeling of pity and remorse before taking the call and putting the screen on his ear.

“Hello—? Ah, yeah— sorry, didn’t see the time. Hm, yes, I’m on my way.”

Ah, yes, your Prince Charming is late to pick you up. The realisation makes him chuckle at first, but it soon turns bitter.

You truly have stopped caring for him.

The mere idea that he no longer has a place in your heart is terrifying. It’s unfair that this had to happen for Jungkook to figure out the actual depth of his feelings because now that he wants to, he… can’t do anything about it. But even if he could, could his pride ever allow him to? Crawling back to the woman who dumped him like he’s worthless.

Jungkook prefers to think it wouldn’t.

The three of them look at each other in a newly established silence. More and more often their reactions to everything their young friend says cannot be otherwise.

“I mean, you know I never say no to getting wasted at a club,” Jimin finally says, frowning, “but are you sure that’s what you want? Wouldn’t you prefer, uh, I don’t know… staying over for a movie night, maybe?”

But Jungkook only scoffs. “What, like I’m a kid? I wanna party!”

“All right, all right! Jesus…” Jimin gets up to fill his cup with water and comes back, hoping his friend has calmed down. This attitude of his is starting to get on his nerves. “Okay, let’s go out tonight, then… How about you two sleep over so we can just grab a cab? You’re always the designated driver, Tae.”

“That’s not the point!” Jungkook suddenly blurts out. “I wanna— I wanna, like, not sleep at all. A-and I’ll get fucking wasted, and I— I’ll fuck! I’ll meet a hot chick and I’ll fuck her!” he cries out then.

Jimin and Taehyung share a look.

“Do you really think you’re ready to hook up with anyone that’s not Y/N?” the latter says, playing with his drink as he feigns disinterest. “There’s no point in messing around with a girl just to—”

“I don’t need her, I don’t want her! She’s a-a bitch!” Jungkook cuts him off.

Then he gets up and goes to open the fridge, looking for another beer. Taehyung rubs his eyes; this sounds like a night to remember, that’s for sure. And if it’s not, he’s pretty sure Jungkook will make sure no one forgets about it.

A couple of hours later, they’re getting out of the cab and walking toward the club.

Yes, he has everything under control, this is not something he’s never done before: he will get drunk and make eye contact, and then everything will go on fluidly, like always. It doesn’t have to be any different from what he used to do before he fell for you. Yeah, it won’t probably be the same; he won’t tremble in expectation the way he’d do when it was you, and their touches won’t feel like your soft hands roaming down his back. It won’t be your lips kissing him, or your voice praising him because, honestly, he just wants to be good for you.

He knows all that already.

“Everything okay, Kookie?” Jungkook snaps out of his thoughts. Suddenly, he’s standing in the line at the club’s entrance, and Taehyung stands next to him. “Don’t worry, Jimin just went off to talk to the bouncer. We’ll get in any second now.”

They had a few drinks before coming. The alcohol is bubbling in his blood like soda, he feels dizzy. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea – oh, he’s regretting it now. So, so much.

His friend stares at him. “You look pale.”

“It’s just the lighting,” Jungkook rushes to say, shrugging.

“Whatever.”

And Taehyung turns around.

Jimin comes back barely a few minutes later, holding a drink and waving at them on his way. With a cheerful call, he collects them and leads them to the entrance, where the bouncer nods and steps back to let them in.

“Good thing your dad knows the owner!” Jungkook exclaims as they walk into the club, but his voice is muffled by the loud music.

He was saying it to cheer himself up, so it doesn’t really matter.

They approach the bar, first things first. As soon as they each have a drink in their hand, they will go around looking for some fun or, at least, better music to dance to. Maybe the floors underground will satisfy them, or perhaps the roof terrace where the cocktails are better.

It was weird at first, hanging out with rich people. Jungkook was expecting to spend his freshman nights out at shabby clubs – which he’s had his fair share of, to be honest – but was surprised with fancy premises and colourful drinks. You’d always complain about what he had never had the courage, saying that you felt out of place surrounded by snobby folks.

The way his head spins as the crowd engulfs him makes him realise that, perhaps, he’s had a few more drinks at Jimin’s place than he had initially planned.

“God, I wanna dance, but the music is so… ugh.” Jimin comes back to him and rests his back against the column. “Don’t you agree with me, Kookie? Can we go somewhere else?”

“What!”

Jimin rolls his eyes and yells, “I said, can we go somewhere else?”

“Where’s Tae?” he asks.

“Necking someone, I guess. Come on, let’s move! Everyone is, like, in their thirties or balding here.”

“Already…?”

The roof terrace is their next destination. There are more people on the dance floor, swinging their hips and singing along to the music. They’re younger too, Jimin notices. At least he doesn’t feel like he died and went to hell.

“Hey, hyung, I—” Jungkook turns around as soon as he has received the drink from the barman only to suddenly find himself alone in the middle of the club. Jimin’s red outfit slowly vanishes into the dance floor crowd. After that, well, he’s completely alone. “Fuck, they always do this to me, shit.”

With a sigh of resignation, Jungkook takes the first sip of his edulcorated drink.

He’s dully checking out the rooftop when a bunch of girls catches his attention; they’re eying him, giggling and harping each other with the shoulder.

Jungkook watches how one of them eventually walks up to him with a shiny smile. She flaunts her shoulders as she approaches, quite charmingly. By the time the girl gets there, Jungkook is already sweating with anxiety; no, this was not a good idea at all. He’s regretting it already.

“Hey!” she exclaims, trying to get herself through the loud music blasting in their ears. “Saw your friend leaving! Poor thing.”

The conversation doesn't last long – a ‘hello, do you study or work, where do you study, have you come with more friends, my girlfriends are single too, what are you drinking’ – until the girl, whose name Jungkook didn’t quite catch on because of the loud music, proposes to move it to a quieter place. He follows her, not quite sure what’s going on anymore.

They spot a bench on the other side of the roof terrace, where the music is muffled, and the air is cooler.

She takes a sit. “Yeah, this is way better, thank you. Anyways, so, Jungkook… I guess you don’t have a girlfriend, right?” the girl jokes with a giggle.

Jungkook stares at her in silence first. For a few long, awkward seconds. His eyes seem to blank, it looks like nothing crosses his mind, and the words can’t come out of his mouth. A second later, though, the first sob breaks through his chest.

“Oh, shit, I—”

At the bewildered look of the poor girl, who inwardly can’t stop cursing her bad luck in her choice of potential flings, he begins to cry with his face buried in his hands. She pats his back with a grimace as Jungkook leans forward on the bench, trying to comfort him. After a few more broken sobs, he finally manages to sit up again.

“She… fuck.” Jungkook wipes his tears with the back of his hand. “She cheated on me with her ex.”

“Damn— I mean, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Never mind.”

The girl picks up her glass from the floor and takes a long sip with a blank stare. Honestly, all her friends are in the most obnoxious mood tonight. She had hoped that a date for the evening would keep her entertained, or at least take her away from the boring conversation of her friends, talking about the same thing all the time. She was wrong. The least this Jungkook guy can do is to thoroughly take her through all the drama, and she will pretend she cares enough to give him her advice.

She glances at him as naturally as she can manage. “You can tell me if you want. It’ll do you good to get it off your chest.”

With a dramatic head turn, Jungkook doesn’t play hard to get and starts telling her everything; from how you met, all the way through the bet, and finally, the evening he found you in the room with Kim Seokjin.

“Talk things out with her!” she blurts out, making him flinch. “God, I can’t believe you just ran away without making sure it wasn’t a misunderstanding. And, of course, her ex was there to comfort her, Jesus. I’m pretty sure you fucked things up yourself—”

“There wasn’t much chance of misunderstanding—”

The girl rolls her eyes and gulps down her drink. “You men can be so stupid, really.”

“Hey!” Jungkook whines.

“What?”

“You…!” Jungkook frowns at her, pressing his lips together. There are still tears drying up on his cheeks, and his eyes sting with the threat of more of them. “You don’t know anything! You have no fucking idea!”

“Well, dude, I can see why she dumped you.” The girl finally gets up and walks away, but he only glances at her when she grunts, “Fucking asshole…”

Jungkook sits on the bench like a pathetic loser until the next time he raises his arm to drink he realises that his glass is empty. Since Jimin and Taehyung aren’t here to get him another one, and a drink in a place like this would cost half his allowance, he decides to get up and walk back to the dorms. First, of course, he writes a message saying goodbye in case, by chance, at some point in the night, either of them realises that he’s not there.

“Shit, shit, shit…”

You race down the stairs to the ground floor, backpack tightly hugged between your arms so that it doesn’t fly away. Your throat is dry, your chest is burning, and the back of your neck is covered with sweat from the effort, but you will make it; you will not be late.

Just as the clock strikes two minutes to twelve, you skid in front of the plastic door.

As you try to get in, however, someone pushes the door against you, and you have to step back for the safety of your face.

“Ah, Y/N, sorry!” one of the students says. “Didn’t see you there.”

“No biggie… Why is everybody leaving?”

Another girl, Nayeon, shrugs. “Doctor Lee has come down with something, so there’s no class today. We’re going to the cafeteria to grab a bite, wanna come with us?”

“Sure.”

As you walk down the hall, Nayeon gets closer to your side, making you raise your eyebrows. She just smiles and waits until the rest of the group is engrossed in a new conversation before finally talking:

“So, did you hear the rumours?” she whispers.

You shake your head. “Uh, no.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” Nayeon looks conflicted all of a sudden. “It may upset you.”

“Is this about Jungkook?”

“Yeah.”

Knew it.

With a snort, you stand in the middle of the corridor as the others, unaware, walk away. “Okay, let’s hear it. What did he do this time?”

“Apparently, Tae, Jimin, and Jungkook went out the other day, and he hooked up with a girl,” Nayeon says quietly, watching how your face loses all colour. “So, I guess it makes you guys, uh… officially unofficial? I always hoped it was just a rough patch and that you would get back together, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmur and keep going to catch up.

Don’t cry, don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Not in front of everyone, not now that you’re finally aware of the way their curious eyes fix on you.

Whatever is going on with Jungkook, it seems like he’s set his mind on it. From now on, it’s not just a crisis or a ‘rough patch’, you’re officially broken. It’s just crazy that you still don’t know what horrible deed you’ve done to make up his mind.

You pick up the tray and go to take a seat next to Nayeon. Like a swift shadow, Soobin appears out of nowhere and sits on your other side. You can’t help letting out a tired sigh.

“How are you, noona?”

“Hungry,” you simply respond, bringing the chopsticks to your lips.

Soobin laughs. “Want some of mine, then? We could share.” Without waiting for your answer, he rushes to put some of his sliced pork on your tray. “There, you can take as much as you want—”

“Listen, Soobin…”

The boy stops right away at your serious tone and stares into your firm eyes with a gulp, expectant.

“Yeah?”

Today, tired and heartbroken, you don’t have the patience to put up with the boy and his shenanigans. Maybe you should have had this conversation a long, long time ago, but only now do you realise it. You’re not angry at him or irritated, just worn out.

“You’re a good guy, and I know what you’re trying to do when you do stuff like this,” you continue, this time more gently as you lean into him. “But… I’m not interested, okay?” His eyes darken all of a sudden, and your heart shrinks in pity. “You’re out of line most of the time. And whether I’m dating someone or not doesn’t change that, all right?”

“Even when he slept with someone else?”

You raise your head, eyes wide open totally astounded. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t you want revenge? He already hates me,” Soobin explains. “But only if you and Jin-hyung are not serious, of course… Or am I out of line now too?”

“So far away from it you can’t even see it, so it seems,” you reply with an unbelieving laugh, already getting up.

You stare at Soobin for a second before you walk away; he looks certain and confident about the conversation. Maybe because he still believes he ever had a chance, but there’s something else, something about him that you can’t quite get yet. Does he, though? Does he not?

With a sigh, you take out your phone.

[Monday, 12:42 AM] You: We need to talk.

[Monday, 12:42 AM] You: Where are you? Are you on campus?

[Monday, 12:45 AM] ✨Park Jimin✨: Just about to leave class, why? What happened?

[Monday, 12:49 AM] You: I think it’s time we talk things out.

[Monday, 12:49 AM] You: Also, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest.

[Monday, 12:50 AM] You: Could you do that for me?

A group of students pass by you, and among them you see Jungkook. He seems to be doing very well, you’ve never seen him make new friends before. Maybe the idea you had of him was quite wrong; maybe Soobin was right all along. Be that as it may, you first want to make sure that the rumours are true. Not just because you find it odd, but because something inside you refuses to believe it.

[Monday, 12:56 AM] ✨Park Jimin✨: Sure, see you in ten minutes in Kang’s lecture hall, after everyone has left.

[Monday, 12:58 AM] ✨Park Jimin✨: It’s good to talk to you again :)

You don’t reply to his last texts. Instead, you walk down the corridor and go upstairs to wait by the door. There’s ruckus coming from the other side already, so your guess is that everyone is already collecting their things to leave.

Jimin, who is still standing on the treads, bows to his professor as the old man walks out, and you greet him with a polite nod of your head.

“Hey.”

You leave your backpack on the desk behind him. “Hey.”

“Good to see you,” he murmurs, looking up at you before you sit down. “How’s it going?”

“Did Jungkook really sleep with another girl?”

For some reason, Jimin did not expect any other question than this. The fact that Jungkook went around spreading the rumour doesn’t help either, but he has his hands tied on the matter; his friend doesn’t listen to him anymore.

“Do you want the long answer or the short one?” Jimin asks then.

You sigh. “The short one.”

“No, he did not.”

“Hm…” Frowning, you cross your arms, totally taken aback. “What’s the long one, then?”

Eyes looking down at his palms, the boy takes a deep breath. Maybe this is a breaking point, and he probably shouldn’t be talking about this. If this changes your mind about Jungkook, he will hate him forever. But if this helps you open your eyes to the situation, well, then Jimin will be happy – he just wants you two to be happy, together or not. And you deserve to know the truth.

“He didn’t, but he came close,” he explains. “At some point, the girl asked him if he had a girlfriend and Jungkookie burst into tears. Then he whined a bit about you, she comforted him, and the last thing I heard was the girl calling him an asshole.”

You gulp down, your stomach churning. Suddenly you feel out of breath. “So, he didn’t do it, but he tried to.”

“Well, yeah?” Jimin scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly shifting on the chair. “It was kind of his idea to go out and sleep around, but he just can’t.”

“So, he’s really going around trying to get into the pants of every girl he sees?”

“Why are you mad? He couldn’t do it! That’s— that’s good! It means he’s not over you yet,” he tries to comfort you as he kneels in front of you. “If it affects you so much, why did you choose Seokjin-hyung over him?”

You uncover your conflicted face. “If it ‘affects me’ so much…? I’m— what?”

“You sound jealous.”

That’s the last straw. With a spasm, you begin to cry, shrinking in your chair. Jimin freezes until he comes back to his senses and takes your hands, stroking them with his thumbs.

“How is ‘jealous’ the first word you could think of? How could I not be jealous?” you cry out.

“But you broke up with Kookie, didn’t you?” he murmurs, voice lower and lower. “You have no right to be.”

Suddenly calm, you let go of his hands. “Uh, yeah, that’s another thing I wanted to ask! Could someone please tell me when I broke up with him? Because, as far as I can remember, neither of us has ever sat down to talk about breaking up. He just… ghosted me.”

“But he says— he says you did. You dumped him for Jin-hyung, he heard you.”

You frown and look away as you try to find some logic. Is it an excuse? But you were doing great before finding out about the bet, so it couldn’t be that. You may be a depressive bitch, but his affection towards you seemed genuine… or not? Could this be just his long-term revenge for how bad you treated him in the past? But then, why would he crumble down instead of hooking up with that stranger? Maybe Jimin is lying.

“Are you lying?”

“Why would I?” Jimin replies with a scoff. “Jungkook begged me not to tell anyone. I’m telling you because someone has to seal up this fucking drama.”

Okay, if Jungkook did all of this out of pure convincement that you really dumped him for Seokjin, how the fuck did he come to that shitty conclusion? It couldn’t be Jin himself; you know him well enough. Maybe someone from the team? But Jungkook couldn’t be convinced like that in one day.

“I don’t know why, but Jungkook thinks I cheated on him with Seokjin, is that it?” you sum up.

“He says he heard you,” Jimin explains, sitting back on his chair. “And after what he had been hearing in the club ever since Jin-hyung came back, and knowing what he’s like, it’s no wonder that’s the conclusion he came to.”

“Sounds a bit extreme to me.”

Jimin shrugs. “Look, whatever Jungkook heard, it made him believe that you cheated on him and dumped him for your ex.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck. Seokjin’s visit, that must be it. The noise from the entrance, the door closing. You contemplated the possibility that it was Jungkook, but now that you think of it— without context, it was a weird conversation. But it’s not like he caught you doing anything wrong either, right? It’s his problem for not asking. And besides, he didn’t bother to try to solve the problem either, he just ran away whining – like he always does.

You get up and put your backpack on your shoulder as you thank Jimin for giving up so much of his precious time to answer all your questions. At least now you have a clear view of what happened.

Jimin gets up with you. “I think you should talk to him. He must be on his way to practice.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“But you’re still together! That’s great!” he exclaims.

“After he tried to sleep with another girl?” you ask coldly, arching an eyebrow. “No, thanks. She can keep him.”

And you walk out of the classroom, hoping that the warm feeling in your chest will die soon. At least before you have to kill it yourself.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

“STAY” is copyright ²⁰²² Lola Bangtan, all rights reserved.

[twiistcd]

ADAM STANHEIGHT X READER IDC WHAT HAPPENS PLLEASSSSEEEEE I need him fr

thank you for the request!! had to stop myself from writing hard-core angst plus I wrote this while listening to mitski

(I tried my best to do like a flashback type fic?? dunno if that makes sense but like yeah.)

JOBLESS MONDAY

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

⋆ ★ ADAM STANHEIGHT X READER

SUMMARY: adams dead (sorry), mostly angst but I'm trying my best, like a flashback type fic.

slightly proofread.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

I woke up, I finally managed to sleep for more then 2 hours at one time in the past week. I wiped my eyes, immediate dread fueling me as I grabbed a cigarette from the nightstand lighting it as I stood up slowly taking a long drag.

It's almost been a week and there's still no sign of Adam, I've got another police interview today.

I woke up, slept over at my boyfriends for the night. we both lived separately, but I usually end up staying over at his. I felt him press a kiss into my neck as he got up, grabbing a cigarette from the nightstand. He lit it, taking a hit before passing it to me.

I was worried, it wasn't like him to dissappear for this long maybe for an evening but longer then that he'd tell me.

It hurts me to think that he's in danger or something serious happened to him.

I've been asked the basic questions, did he any intentions of running away, did he display any signs, was there anything usual with his behaviour, etc. I assume they think im a suspect since I was apparently the person documented with him.

It was a few hours after we argued, I laid in bed alone since it had been a while after he stormed out of the apartment after we argued. I loved him but he could be so stubborn, I wasn't sure how long I've been laying in bed since I've been lost in my thoughts for a while. I suddenly heard the bedroom door open, it was Adam. I felt as he crawled into bed beside me, wrapping his arms around me as he pressed into me.

Every night I try keep hope he'll return but I can't shake the unsettling feeling that something seriously bad happened.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[14dayswithyou]

hi. /homosexually 🥺❤️ i couldnt pick one so just do your favourite !! ♡♡ also lowkey half of these are angst fuel LMFAO?

for Leon.

"feelings change, but mine about you wont" / "i am so exhausted, but i'd sleep so much better with your arms around me"

for Jae

"I'm always going to support you. without even a second thought, I'll be there when you need me. I want what's best for you." / "let's sleep together under the stars."

for You <3

"hey, guess what? i love you" ♡♡♡♡

Soft spot prompts | No longer accepting !!

Omgggg Puppy hiiiii >:3 <- with homosexual rizz <3 I did them all because you are my favourite + I love being Silly teehee

Under a "read more" because it got long!!

001.

"Just like old times, yeah?"

It was probably illegal to camp out in the woods near the lake you used to frequent as kids, but Leon was adamant on holding onto your childhood tradition ever since he returned from overseas. The Davis family always enjoyed camping with you — even as kids — but the fact that Leon had you all to himself this time made the moment even better.

This time, his dad wasn't around to ask if you wanted to go fishing. This time, his mum wasn't popping in every 10 minutes to see if you wanted any snacks. It was just you and Leon; with your limbs tangled together inside of a swag that felt far too big for just two people.

A beat passes as you both stare at each other, before the soft pitter patter of rain bounces off the the tent roof and breaks the silence. And just like how the sky opened up, Leon finds himself wanting to speak what's on his mind as well.

"My feelings for you never changed either. Even when I was back in Australia, all I ever thought about was you." He shuffles closer, "But we're reunited again, aren't we? This time, I'm not going anywhere. I belong by your side."

Your matching bracelets intertwine once Leon reaches out for your hand — much like your feelings for each other.

002.

"Haha! That one kinda looks like Teo and his pointy nose!"

It was certainly uncomfortable laying in the back of Jae's beat-up truck, but his company made it all worth it. He'd thrown in a couple of pillows and a wooly blanket over the both of you earlier, but it was only now that you started to feel the biting sting of Colrand Bay's Autumn breeze.

But the stars were pretty and the cityscape view made it all better.

"Y'know, we are sooo going to get kidnapped later..." Jae cracks a joke from beside you, "But I'll have you to support me, right? I'll offer our kidnapper my left kidney and you'll offer to pay ransom?"

Support. That's all he's ever wanted from his friends. Someone who'd be there to love and accept him for all that he was — flaws and all. Jae didn't know if he truly felt like himself yet, but he was grateful to have you by his side for every step of the way. And he was determined to do the same for you.

"Thank you, Nate. I mean it."

003.

"Omgggg wait, really? That's sooooo crazy!!"

Deciding that your words were truthful, Saint puts the unused bone saw away and unchains your arms from the table. You finally get a moment to stretch out your tired limbs, as she casually skips her way to the mod cell door to unlock it and let the light in.

The rest of the mods are waiting for you upstairs, obviously used to seeing this kind of behaviour already.

"It only took like, two days for the Stockholm syndrome to kick in! That cute doctor said it'd take at least five..." You can hear her ponder from the staircase, "But aaaa it doesn't matter!! I love you too!! ^^ Wanna go to the beach to celebrate? Maybe Jae and Leon will be there!!"

Firstly, how the fuck did they say "^^" out loud... And secondly, why is Emile in her basement as well.......

[badgerwithagun]

Hazbin Hotel theory, AKA, how time effects immortals.

I have actually found a way to fit 3 theories I made together. I am very surprised, but here we go. As you can see they are all connected to how time effects immortal being in the Hellaverse.

To start off, my theory for how old Zestial could be. A lot of people have suggested he could be from the Tudor period, due to his shakespearian mannerisms, but I have an alternative. He reminds me a lot of a character from Percy Jackson, someone named Zoe Nightshade. She is a hunter of Artemis, a clan of immortal maidens who hunt alongside the goddess. She is thousands of years old, and there are some comedic moments from her speaking in a shakespearian manner, then getting annoyed when corrected because she finds the English language irritatingly prone to change. It's entirely possible Zestial faced a similar problem but decided to just not bother changing. If so, this could mean he outdates the English language as we know it. If you don't know what I mean, just take a look at the original draft of Beowulf. Then you'll understand what REAL Old English looks like.

However, this does raise a question. If Zestial, a mortal soul who at most can't be younger than William's conquest of England, is having trouble adapting to the modern language, how come beings that date back to the start of creation, like Lucifer, Adam, Sera, and the other Deadly Sins, fully embrace modern slang. It needs to be remembered that these entities are not human. They do not age, they do not wither, their bodies are fueled by primordial magic. Even Adam only barely counts as human, with him, Lilith and Eve being the progenitors of our race. Nothing completely mortal can kickstart a globe spanning species with just two participants. It seems that with natural, ingrained magic power comes a great ability to adapt and change. This could also explain how, well, nice some of the sins are. It's entirely possible that spending millennia marinating in failure and spite can get tiring, leading to a desire to seek self care. That's part of why Stolas had been my favourite character before I found out he was 35, I loved the idea of an ancient force of evil just becoming burnt out and depressed. (Don't get me wrong I still think he's great but it's a bit of a let down. Episode one of season 2 was great for angst fans, not so much for lore fans.) This would explain a lot, and would allow me to ignore all the 'the king of lust believes in consent' memes I keep seeing. Bee for example was probably quite a bitch (hahaha) until recently, I can imagine her just randomly eating people when they annoy her. I don't even want to say what Ozzie once was. I would have said that Lucifer might have once taken a more hands on approach to running hell, but my third theory disputes that to explain why he's the way he is (sorry to string you along.) To be fair, they might not all have changed for the better. Mammon, for example. I headcanon he was once more like a Great Beast guarding his vast wealth, like the dragons of old, as his many servants brought him more treasures. Then he discovered capitalism, possibly when global trade and slavery became a big deal. Thanks Britain. I know I'd prefer to deal with Smaug than Jeff Bezos.

I also suspect that they changed mannerisms as well as behaviours. After all, it doesn't really make sense that many characters have american accents when they were around before the first humans even made it across the land bridge to Alaska. They've likely changed with the times. Not only that, their rings have likely changed. I imagine that the ring of wrath once was very similar to Sparta, and maybe after that the viking idea of Norway. As Greed is currently overrun with mafia stereotypes, it was probably once a haven for blackbeard era pirates. I also for some reason imagine Bee as having been french. No hate intended (except for when I need to make jokes about the centuries old blood feud that existed between britain and france, in which case Confound You, you snail eating poltroons!) Now here's the part you wouldn't have been expecting. With all this in mind, what was Lucifer like way back when. Well here's the thing, I think he was Irish.

I have been rereading some old british folklore, and honestly, despite the devil being a prince of darkness, the great dragon, the tempting servant, he's a bit of a failboy. Like, there's this one legend where he was digging a trench to flood some churches, only for some random lady to light a candle and cause a cockrel to crow, tricking him into thinking the sun was rising and running away. There's also the legend of Jack O the Lantern, where he came to drag Jack to hell, but jack went 'oh, lets play a trick on those priests, you turn into a multiplying coin, and I'll give it to them, and then you'll leave and they'll think they robbed each other' the devil immediately cancelled his plans to play, turned into a coin, and was unceremoniously shoved into a bag until he promised never to send Jack to hell. Even when the puritans came along and ruined everyone's fun, it was implied that instead of utilising his many minions to spread evil, the devil would just go around randomly convincing farmers daughters to do interesting things instead of being good little repressed women. I could totally see this guy personally going down to Georgia and challenging some kid to a fiddling contest for his soul, or spending years depressed making ducks because his wife left. Dear god.

[icylook]

True Love's Last Kiss

Pairing: Leon x Leri (MC)

Rating: Mature; Word count: 1252; Read on AO3

Tags: Spoilers for the AMR demo; Not canon compliant - Leon and Leri (MC) started their relationship half a year before the final battle; Established Relationship; Angst; Hurt No Comfort; Feels; Heartbreak

A Mage Reborn demo 👑✨ @mage-parivir

Fic title inspo from the song - True Love's Last Kiss (Eternal Eclipse) 🎶 🤍

“Why did you do it?”

The question grates on his mind like long nails on a blackboard. A restless needle poking at his brain.

Why, why, why?

He heard it so many times, from so many people. 

Why? Murderer. Traitor. Why, why, why?

Asking, shouting, demanding, threatening, using force so he breaks and tells them.

Why?

He endured. 

“It had to be done.” Wearily he says the same thing he said to others. Over and over again, because they wouldn’t listen even if he told the truth. He was already doomed in their eyes, maybe from the start. No one likes a stray that gets the attention of those in power and steals them from you.

“Tell me your reasons. Why did you do it?”

But the way Leon asks the same question is different. He demands like a king he is. The way he squares his shoulders like he prepares for an attack, the jut of his chin when he stands up to a challenge. The fire in his eyes, dark in their silent fury and only a gentle tremble of his voice betrays how deeply Leri’s repeated words sting. 

Right now Leri is the enemy that refuses to be conquered and he’s aware how stubbornly clever Leon is with his foes.

“I know who you are, Melmesne.” 

Oh. So they’re using that to paint him a villain. Briefly, he wonders who was so smart to dig up that particular information, serving it to their king to fuel his wrath. The venom in his voice when he spits Leri’s forgotten surname feels like a slap to the face and he closes his eyes. The phantom feeling of a knife in his chest twists without mercy. He feels it since he’s learnt in the ruins of the old laboratory of what has to be done to stop the countdown to a massacre.

“Did you plan it? Pretended to be a friend, use me, use all of us just to strike when it suits you best?” 

Leri silently watches how Leon prowls in front of his cell, like an agitated predator that would tear into his prey at the smallest provocation. He sways on his feet when he slowly gets up from the floor, his bad knee screaming in pain thanks to the hours in one position.

“Did you lie about everything? About us?”

No. 

He didn’t. Even now Leon’s accusations are like a whip cutting at him until he bleeds. And he does bleed, silently.

“Was it lie that you loved me just to bend naive prince to your will?”

No, no, no. 

It’s the first time in his life he was able to taste something as sweet as love and love back. He still does, with every bitter word, keeping it in his heart even if it shatters. 

“Tell me why you did it!”

Leon so rarely asked him for things. Leri never wanted to deny him anything. It hurts to see him like that. To hear the desperation mixed with loathing in his voice. 

Why why why-

It’s too much. It builds and builds until it finally spills.

“There was no other way!” The shout tears straight from the depth of Leri’s chest like thunder. 

Leon flinches, stopping his pacing.

Leri’s breathing hard, shivering. The sudden outburst snuffing out his fragile energy like wind a candle flame. He stumbles, limp hair covering his face as he hangs down his head. Doesn’t see Leon moving closer like he wants to catch him when he curls his dirty hands on the bars of his cell, the chains pulling at the gesture. The bruises flare with fresh pain under the cuffs, threatening to re-open the scabbed wounds on his wrists. 

He doesn’t care.

“No other way.” Leri rasps, leaning his forehead on the cold iron. A second of relief on his feverish skin. He ignores the hot threat of tears at the back of his eyes.

He recoils when Leon’s fingers close over his, holding on tight and he briefly relaxes under the warmth of his palms. 

“Leri…”

He looks up at the face of a man close to his own, bowing over him with all his frame. “Truth can save you.”

Leri blinks, lost in the green eyes so bright he feels like drowning. The hold on his hands grounds him. 

“Let me save you.” Leon whispers, earnest in his hope.

He hates to crush it. Hates the light to dim to nothing when he says softly, “Truth won’t bring back dead.” 

The chain doesn’t allow him to reach for Leon’s face, halting him halfway. His fingertips twitch in the space between them and Leon doesn’t move, gaze fixed on him.

“I promised.” 

Leon’s eyes widen. “Don’t-”

“I promised I’ll come back to you.”

“Stop it, I can’t-” The crack in his voice breaks Leri’s heart further.

The smile on his face hurts, splitting the cut on his lip. The words taste like copper. “I came back. Aren’t you glad to see me, love?” 

And before Leon’s stricken expression turns into something else Leri’s the first to withdraw, even if it pains him to do it. Stepping back, until there’s a wall behind him, sinking down to the ground in a heap. His head lolls to the side as he watches Leon’s hands flex over the bars, knuckles white in his grip. 

“You waited.”

Leon grits his teeth, jerking his arms away from the cell, eyes burning and too wet for his comfort. He angrily wipes at them, half turning from him and Leri bites the inside of his cheek to keep the hot and heavy tickle in the back of his throat from spreading up.

“Kept your word. Thank you, love.”

Leon chokes on a mirthless laugh, his gaze weighty before he turns his back at him. “You’re so cruel.” 

Before he storms out his parting words reach Leri’s ears, a raw whisper of painful secret. “May the god be merciful to you because I can’t.”

The silence when he’s finally left alone is deafening. 

First, Leon.

Then, Ilya and Saine. 

And after all of them left him, there’s Ante, who quietly peels off from the shadows to show him she’s been there all the time. Listening and observing. She steps close to the cell doors, staring at him wordlessly. The blankness of her face, the rigid stance say it all without voicing it out loud. 

“I was right about you.”

Leri looks at her, golden eyes half lidded. He hurt her companions. She would kill him with her bare hands if not for the orders of keeping him alive until execution.

He’s so tired, the cold of the floor siphoning what little warmth his battered body still has. Leri closes his eyes, the corner of his mouth curling up. 

“It’s good to be right, no?”

And when he’s truly alone the tears leave clean traces on his skin, pouring freely from closed eyes. The chasm in his chest feels almost like during the worst experiments he had to endure. He didn’t know it was possible, to feel pain this great again after what happened to Eli. The risk of having something to lose, the agony of having your heart pulled straight out of you. It would hurt less if it was done literally.

Maybe Nyx will finally swallow him in his death and he'll come back to haunt them all.

A ghost, memento of their mistake. 

But, even if they knew, it’d be too late.

Truth won’t bring back dead.

[x-avantgarde-x]

Morning sun-Viktor (pt2)

Summary: part two of my Viktor fic were we explore the feelings that a very clueless reader and a very clueless Viktor have for each other. Pt 1 it’s the reader’s pov and it can be found here.

Warnings: angst, smut at some point. This is written from Viktor’s POV, so there’s the use of the word cripple once in the fic (literally stole that line from the show). This was written I one go and it wasn’t proofread, but I guess you are used to it by now.

This has almost nothing to do with the fic itself, but the amazing @arcanescribbles made this beautiful Viktor fanart named just as this chapter and I couldn’t help but love the coincidence (go check her stuff out, she is extremely talented and all her Viktor content fuels my soul. Edit: you can also find it now at the end of this fic, thanks to it’s lovely artist allowing me to (she has my heart).

“You're the sun, you've never seen the night but you hear its song from the morning birds. Well, I'm not the moon, I'm not even a star. But awake at night I'll be singing to the birds.”

———————————————————————

“Radiant” that was the first thought Viktor had the day he met you and the first word that, as time passed, he found himself using to describe you whenever he had the chance.

There were many other words too, of course: brilliant, talented, gorgeous, smart, loving, sweet, attentive being some of them. But he always found himself coming back to the same resolution, you were radiant.

Viktor has always viewed you as this being of pure light. This entity that shines as bright as the sun, the light and warmth you irradiate just as powerful and adamant as the fireball that hangs up on the sky. And just that it’s what comes to his mind as he watches you move around his lab, putting discarded objects and books back on their place, picking different dishes and mugs that he’s been letting accumulate for far too long.

He tries to apologize, the poor man tries to step up from his chair and offer you a helping hand as he tries to take the trial of discarded plates from you. But you nudge him back to his working place, sit him back on his chair and leave said dishes on the edge of his table to free your hands. You hit his chest, jokingly, before grabbing his face and nag him about how he should take better care of himself; he tries to tell you he is sorry once more, tries to lure you into leaving the cleaning to him to tell you that this is not your work, but you take none of it and leave a kiss on his forehead before going back to taking the dirty plates to kitchen.

He feels his cheeks burn and his heart ache with a longing he can’t subside as he watches you walk out of the door, mouth left ajar as he tries to control his feelings. Once the racing inside pf his chest has calmed down he tries to get back to work, unsuccessfully.

There is one thing on his mind and one thing only. That thing being you. As analytical as Viktor is, he can’t point out when was the moment his feelings for you evolved from a sweet fondness to this unspoken adoration, to this ever so beautiful pain that is described as love, a feeling that is only supposed to exist between lovers.

Whenever you are around, whenever he has the chance to be washed by you light -by your soft words and gentle gestures- Viktor wonders if this was what Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. The burning of his skin and melting off his wings because of its heat matching the intensity in which his heart burnt for her. A feeling way too intoxicating to give it up, even if it would end up killing him.

He wonders about many things surrounding the subject of you and what it may be like if his feelings were returned, as he has noticed recently -his brainstorms over stuff related to the hexcore and their other inventions becoming fewer and fewer as only you flood his mind, and Jayce’s complaints increasing by day-.

At times, Viktor wonders how it may feel like to kiss you. He wonders if your lips will be as soft as the look (and as he imagines), he wonders if the chemical strawberry flavour of that gloss you like so much must taste just as good as you make it seem. Sometimes his mind likes to picture what it may be like to come back to you at the end of another tiring day at the lab, how it must be to sit by your side as you brush his hair -an habit you’ve recently taken up- as if by that you could brush off the tiredness of his body. How nice it would feel to go to sleep next to you, your body holding his tightly as you both fall into slumber.

Sometimes, the thoughts are a little different. As he wonders what it must be like to have you, naked on his bed, legs part open as he admires the beauty of your body. He tries to picture just how soft your skin must feel under his touch, how goosebumps would appear on your body as he ever so attentively explored each and every part of you. Viktor imagines what you must look like, what you must sound like, as he drank from your very essence fingers in and out of your hole as he laps your folds like a man starved.

He reflects on what I must feel like to have you looking at him with the same ardor in your eyes that his own behold for you. The way you would caress, kiss his body; the way you would worship him and everything that he is as if a body like his deserved to be worshipped by someone as magnificent as you.

Although he knows he would never allow himself to know the answer to his questions. He knows far too well that someone like him, a cripple from the Undercity, could never partake of the light that you bring into this world. You are a being from high above, something far away, out of his reach. Perhaps it’s because he fears rejection, perhaps it’s because he fears losing you all together from his life if he so dared to confess to you his feelings, that he hides them deep inside to protect the friendship that you two share.

At the end of the day, he comes back to his bedroom alone, walks out of the lab alone. And as he stares at the moon and the stars in the sky, the sun long gone, he reasons that it’s better this way. That as much as his heart aches for you, you are the sun, and his far from even being on of the many stars in the night that long to shine just as brightly -that longing to join the sun in the sky-.

[quietmyfearswith]

longing stares ; august walker x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count — 5,515 words

summary — in which august walker made the mistake of hurting the love of his life — thinking he had the upper hand, but in reality it hurts him even more than he cares to admit.

warnings — SMUT, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), handjob, degradation? angst?? fluff? swear words, august talking down/shit about another boy, window sex

pairing — august walker x fem!reader

summary — in which august walker made the mistake of hurting the love of his life — thinking he had the upper hand, but in reality it hurts him even more than he cares to admit.

a/n — DNI IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, so this was inspired by this post, but i wanted to twist it up a bit to fit the song that inspired me to write,,, so i hope it turned out alright :> feedback is very much appreciated! 

tagging — @cruelfvkingsummer​

masterlist | series masterlist

The pencil that he balanced between his fingers snapped into two as he saw a sleazy employee's frail hands touch her shoulders affectionately. At first the Hammer found it foolish when Sloane told him his personal office would have two-way mirrors for walls; but now he was more than thankful for it as he was sitting down behind his desk because it allowed him to watch the scene unfold without them knowing about his intense stare at them. His piercing gaze would have buried this son of a bitch who dared touch what’s his as she was burying herself with work.

Well, what was his to be more accurate. But his brain couldn’t fully absorb that fact as his fingers were hastily sending a text to Benji that he was sending someone over to his department and to keep the idiot busy for as long as it took. Leaving his phone on the table, he didn’t bother to wait for a reply as he sauntered over to the outside of his office and opened the door as he called out, “Jonathan, Benji needs you in his department. Something about a malfunctioning gadget.” The brunette pointed to himself as he wondered, “Me? My name’s Joshua.”

“In case I haven’t made it clear, I don’t care about your name, John, I just need you to get over down and check out the malfunctioning device — and I’m not talking about your brain.” Y/N gasped out loud at what August said, for it was unusual for him to talk shit about others; she could only watch Joshua as he excused himself to go to the 30th floor where he was being called for.

Once he vanished within her line of sight, she brought her eyes to look at August who had a stern expression on his face, “You, in my office. Now.” As his voice left no room for questions, she stood up from her chair and entered his all too familiar work space. “What the hell was that about, Walker?” Her hands rested on her hips as she raised her voice at him once he came in too after closing the door to give them privacy. “What was what, princess?”

He mimicked her by placing his hands on his hips too; but he didn’t have the combination of a frown and pout that she had, instead there was a smirk on his lips. “You don’t get to call me that,” Even though she loved the way the nickname rolled off his tongue and how it was reserved solely for her, she now hated how it just served as a reminder of their past, “Not anymore, Walker. So cut the shit and answer my question”

Bobbing his Adam's apple up and down, August was cursing with how cold and serious she was being. “I didn’t like the way he was getting too close with you,” There was no reason for him to fabricate a lie so he decided to just tell the truth. “Well that’s rich,” She scoffed as she crossed her arms against her chest and looked at him with disgust, “You decide you don’t want me and yet no one else gets to have at least a chance with me?”

His brain interpreted what she said differently as he slowly moved towards her, speaking dangerously low, “Yes, princess, that’s exactly what it means. No one in this fucking world gets you, because you’re all mine. I don't care if they're a rookie in the CIA or some royalty. They will have to kill me before they get to you.” If it were someone else, they would have shivered in fear once they were backed against a wall by a trained, skilled CIA agent who has planted his hands on the wall by her torso, caging her in. But not Y/N because she knew two things — one, he would never harm her, not in a way she wouldn’t enjoy. And two, she was his weakness. 

“I’m not yours, Walker,” From a venomous tone she shifted to a calmer one which surprised the man as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “You made it extremely clear that night about how what we had doesn’t mean anything to you.”

It was a miracle that August managed to open his apartment door as his focus was on leaving his marks on her neck. “Hated seeing him so close to you,” He growled without his lips leaving her skin as his foot closed the door. Lifting her up over his shoulders made her squeal, more so when he smacked her ass while he effortlessly brought the two of them to his bedroom. Y/N bounced slightly as she was dropped on his comfortable mattress.

Large hands ripped her dress in two and revealed the black lingerie set she had hiding underneath her office clothes. “You trying to kill me, princess?” August husked out as he tore his own dress shirt off before spreading her legs, thumb rubbing against her clothed core, “Princess, you’re staining through the thin cloth.” Sliding the cotton material off of her, he brought it to his nose and smelt her arousal before throwing it off the bed. Every time they ended up in his place, he sneakily hid her underwear so he could jack off to them when they aren't together.

Y/N gasped out as she felt his moustache tickle her skin as his lips left kisses on his ascent to her. A toothy grin was plastered on both their faces. His fingertips graze the under band of her bra, “As much as I love this bra,” August unhooked it and threw on the floor as his lips enveloped her breast as his hand grabbed and played with the other, “I’d rather see your body in all its glory.”

Her hands tangled in his hair as she arched her back, feeding more of her flesh to him. “Fuck bear, more please,” She moaned out loud when his tongue drew circles around her nipple before biting on the pebble. Pulling away from her tit, August smirked at her blissed out state as he undid his pants, sliding it off him as his cock sprung out. “And why were you going commando today, bear?”

Kissing her lips passionately so her smirk would be wiped off, he rubbed the tip of his cock on her slit, “Because I wanted to tease you at work,” Her mewls of need fueled his ego, her hands were clawing at his ass as she was trying to guide his cock in her hole. “What’s the magic word, princess?”

“Please! Please bear, need you so bad,” As soon as she whined out the final word August slid his cock right in her; velvet and warm walls welcomed his cock by gripping onto him tightly that it made him struggle to thrust in or out of her. Her grasp on his ass didn’t take and if anything it made her just dig her nails againdt the skin even harder, which only added to both of their pleasure.

Ruthlessly, August ripped both her hands from his plump ass to lay them above her head, his hands forbidding her to move them around His other hand lifted her leg, resting it on his shoulder, which allowed him to reach even deeper. “You like how deep I can reach in you?” Each word was accompanied by a harsh thrust to every word; her moans brought pride to his chest for they both knew he was the only one who could pleasure her this well. 

“Tell me, princess, tell me how much you like it when I fuck you,” The vein on his neck became even more prominent as he growled at her. Feeling the vibrations of his growl against her lips just made her glaze even more of her juices in his cock; a firm swat on her thigh had her focusing on his command, “You fuck me so good, bear,” She gasped out when his cock poked her sensitive flesh which made her an even more out of focus, “Only you can make me feel this good, bear. Want no one but you.”

Her words paired with the way her walls clamped down on his cock pushed him right over the edge; both of them gasped out when August pulled out of her cunt and let go of her hands. Before getting to question what he was up to, he leaned down until he was face to face with her cunt, quickly inserting his tongue on her pussy.

“Oh fuck, please bear, please rub my clit,” Graciously, his thumb rubbed on her clit as his other hand jerked his cock off while he shook his head side to side, driving his tongue even deeper in her. “Cum for me, princess,” Convulsing upon feeling the tremors of his words on her mound, she could only grab onto his head to grind her closer to her as she relaxed her body as she came.

“There’s my good girl,” He praised her while lapping her juices and drinking it all up. Opening her eyes once she felt herself significantly calmed down, she whimpered upon seeing his cum-covered moustache and red cock that was red and aching to cum. Sitting up, she moved closer to him and wrapped one hand on his balls while the other stroked the length of his cock, “Coat me in your cum, bear. Please, bear?” The innocence her eyes held contradicted the way she spoke and jerked him off sultrily — which made him throw his head back as he spilled his cum on her hands. 

Giving kitten licks on the tip of his cock prolonged his orgasm as he stroked her hair lovingly; once he let out all of his cum, Y/N licked some of the cum that spilled between her fingertips. Smiling widely, she looked up at him and opened her mouth to show how she had drank up all he had to give. Patting her head gently he praised her again, “Such a good girl for me, princess.” He kneeled beside her before taking her in his arms before collapsing beside her, August cuddled her close to him as she moved around to face him. Her finger was tracing over his jawline as they both silently cherished the post orgasmic haze they both were in. He loved being with her this way — loved the way their bodies worked in tandem. But they weren’t just a great pair in bed, Y/N was one of the few capable and intelligent employees Hammer has met. Though he often displayed a tough exterior, he could easily show her as well a vulnerable side of him.

There was an instance wherein she accidentally barged in on his night of wallowing in self-pity with the intention of fucking so she could release tension, she was instead faced with a sorrowful August. That night, she made it clear to him that he didn’t have to open up to him if he was uncomfortable. She just wanted to be there for him, even if they just both drank in silence, just so he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts.

He did end up letting her in and voicing out what was going on in his mind. Upon taking it all in she made it clear that he wasn’t the villain he made himself out to be. “You are not defined by what you have done,” Concern was laced on her voice that night as she held her face with gentle hands, “You were asked to do so in order to guarantee the safety of the whole damn world. If anything, it’s us who doesn’t deserve you.”

Just as he was about to rebut what she said, Y/N sweetly pecked his lips to shut him up right away, “Never talk shit about yourself, bear. You’re a great person and I would be more than glad to help you realize so.” From then on every time he entered his office there would be a sticky note taped on his desktop screen where she wrote something great about him.

“What are you smiling about?” He wondered as her lingering hand settled on his cheek, rubbing the prickled skin. “Just thinking about you,” Her vague answer just had him even more curious than he already was. It wasn’t unusual for the two of them to be quiet after sex, but there was something about the way she was looking at him and the way her touch seemed gentler, softer.

“What about me?” It was a rhetorical question, he didn’t expect any answer from her. So imagine his surprise when she mindlessly confessed, “I love you, August.” 

Sitting up against the headboard he stared at her with bewilderment evident on his face, “What the fuck did you say?” Clutching the blanket to hide her nudity, Y/N could not help but feel vulnerable and exposed as she sat up to level with him, “You heard me, August, loud and clear. I told you I love you.”

It was like a dagger pierced through her heart as he rolled his eyes and stood up from the bed as he rummaged through his drawers and grabbed a tank top and sweatpants, “I call bullshit on that.” Offense and hurt overcame her entire being as she hastily dressed herself up as well, “And why do you call bullshit on that?”

“Because it’s not real!” He shouted as he turned to face her shocked face; he has never raised his voice to or in front of her. Part of her was terrified — she didn’t know what he would do in a confrontational situation like this. Sensing her startled state, he then spoke in a lower tone, “The love that you feel for me, isn’t real. It’s just in your head, you’re just coming down from your high.”

Enraged she chewed him out, “Why are you invalidating what I feel? I know in myself that I love you!” Shaking his head no, August crossed his arms as he challenged, “We’re just friends! Fuck, we’re just colleagues!”

As soon as the words left his lips he could see the effect it had on her for her tears were threatening to leave her eyes and it caused him to feel as though someone had squeezed his heart roughly. “Do friends do what we do?”

Her weak voice made him feel even more bad than he already was but he still couldn’t stop himself from being an ass, “Friends with benefits do.” She smacked his chest as she yelled out in frustration, “I’m not just talking about the sex, idiot! I’m talking about whether a friend comforts you everytime you feel pity for yourself? Would a friend clean up your bruises and cuts after a hard mission? Or when I make sure you have enough homemade meals, what am I to you then?”

“Nothing,” The way he said it so casually and without a second thought should have scared her; and it did, “It doesn’t mean anything to me. You’re not mine nor are you my girlfriend.” That was the final nail in her coffin — the rude awakening that while she was out here going out of her way to make him feel loved and appreciated but he would never do the same for her, or so she thought.

“Okay then,” She shakily sighed out, “I’ll see myself out.” Bending down to grab her discarded purse but not before saying, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Walker.” Not bear or August, he called her what everyone else did. It was a painful reminder of something he had lost and not appreciated enough. It was for her own good, he thought, she doesn’t deserve to be with a monster like myself. 

His hands abandoned his position against the wall as he recalled his harsh dismissal of her, “We aren’t together, in any shape or form. You made it very clear that night.” Taking advantage of the gap he created between them as he stepped back from her, she walked away from his office before he had a chance to say anything. Sitting down on his office chair he banged both his fists on the desk, which made all the objects in it jump slightly before coming back down. Deciding that he had enough for the day, he hastily collected his belongings before exiting the office to head home. 

As he got on his motorcycle, he remembered how firm her arms clung around his waist every time she rode with him. She feared falling on the vehicle and despite August’s repeated promises that he wouldn't ever let that happen to her; secretly, he loved it when she pressed her frame firmly against his back. It made him feel loved and appreciated — and that wasn’t the only time or her only way to let him feel so.

Turning off the engine as he parked, he trotted up to his apartment and once the door opened he took in the messy state of it. Ever since her exit, he neglected to take care of it because he wasn’t impressing her anymore. Besides, he fears that once he does organize his flat he just might find more relics of their shared time. 

Quickly showering the day’s dirt, he then laid down on his bed with a hand behind his head as subconsciously — or purposely if his brain decided to torture him as well — his would often replay what happened during these quiet, lonely moments of the night. And without fail, it always gives him the urge to smack himself for breaking her that way. Truth is she was everything he wanted and needed. Upon meeting her, he knew he wanted to change for the better just so he would be deemed worthy enough to be with her. There was something about her being magnificent in her own account that made him feel inferior to her.

It also didn’t help that he had never been in a serious relationship before; he often went for hookups and one night stands since his fear of commitment did not allow him to easily open up to anyone. But with her it was as if it was his instinct to tear down the facade he displayed to the world. “I love her,” He came to that conclusion and it shook him to his core.

Before closing his eyes to enter a state of unconsciousness, he then decided that he would confess what he felt to her, beg for her forgiveness, and ask for a chance to start a relationship with her. “Gonna do whatever it takes,” He promised to himself with a smile before pictures of him with Y/N clouded his dreams. 

The moment he stepped foot on his floor, he noticed how Y/N wasn’t in her cubicle. Maybe I’ll talk to her after work, he thought to himself as he entered his office and busied himself with work.

Y/N knew it was an atrocious idea — one that could backfire in her face — but something about yesterday’s encounter with August fueled her to do so. It was nearing four in the afternoon when Joshua stopped by her cubicle to ask her once again if she wanted to hang out with him; in all fairness, he was a nice guy. But once you’ve had a taste of gold in your life, you would never settle for a nickel.

“So Y/N, I was wondering maybe we could grab dinner after this? I know this great restaurant that just opened a couple blocks from here,” The brunette nervously suggested as he leaned against her post. Not sure if August was seeing the whole exchange, she decided to stand beside him as she trailed her hand to his forearm as she sweetly smiled at him, “Yeah? What do they serve?”

Cue Joshua nervously rambling about the menu and ambiance of the restaurant as a Hammer prepared to nail down his mark on his woman. The moment he saw the sleazy boy once again drop by her cubicle, he was closely monitoring the situation and was more than displeased to observe how his woman flirted back at him. The fucking audacity you have, princess, He thought as he sauntered over there.

Gasps were emitted from both Y/N and Joshua when August stormed in to interrupt their discussion— pushing the brunette away as he pulled Y/N in for a searing kiss, ending their conversation. With his hands pressed against her cheeks, he poked his tongue on her lips as he demanded she let him in; and he could not help but smirk when she rested her hands on his arms, not pushing him away and instead feeling more of him, while she parted her lips to welcome his tongue without hesitance. 

Pulling away from their kiss, August placed a few more pecks on her lips before placing an arm on her lower back before arrogantly turning to Joshua, “Sorry pal, I don’t think the memo has reached you, so I’ll just make it crystal clear for you — Y/N is my woman so you better steer clear from here unless you want an excuse to use your health insurance.”

Nervous gulping down and walking away from her cubicle was how Joshua rescinded to the situation; while August led Y/N into his personal office despite the gasps and stares of the other employees. Right now, he didn’t give a damn about their gossiped hunches for his princess tested his patience.

““What the hell was that about, princess?” He angrily asked as he turned to her with a stern expression as he rested a hand on his hip. Opposite him was a smirking woman who threw him the same answer she was given when they talked, “What was what, Walker?”

Realizing how the tables have turned, he exhaled through his nose in order to remain calm before huskily explaining how he saw things, “What were you thinking when you grazed his arm,” To emphasize, he ran a hand in her forearm to reenact how she sensually touched the other boy, “But you know what I find the most interesting? Was the way you eagerly kissed me back; do you know what that was all about?”

His breath touched her cheek having walked up right in front of her; this distracted her for a bit as her brain scrambled to formulate an explanation for her actions. “Well?” August lifted a brow as he slightly moved his head, prompting her to answer the question.

“I don’t know what that was, bear.” Despite her timid answer, he heard it loud and clear. But what really pleased him was the fact that she didn’t use his name rather she used the nickname she graced him that one time Y/N poked fun about how hairy he was since he refuses to shave his chest hair and moustache.

“So you had no idea as to why you touched him like that when you know for a fact that you belong to me,” He clarified to her as he tilted her chin up with the other hand that wasn’t resting on his hip to get her to look at him. 

“How many times do I have to make it clear to you that I do not fucking belong to you; that is what you said to me, right?” Her bold facade quickly disappeared as he grabbed her arms, walking towards the window. Making her turn to face the window, he pressed her cheek against the glass window, “Well I’m gonna fucking remind you that you belong to me and only me.”

Rough fingertips lifted her skirt, leaving the velvet bunched up around her waist, and ripped her panties to shove it in her mouth, “Don’t need you speaking if all that’s gonna leave your dumb mouth is you don’t belong to me. You’re not gonna speak unless you state my claim on you.”

A muffled whine was all she could let out as she nodded when her pussy welcomed two of his thick fingers that were ruthlessly slamming in and out of her. His other hand creeped towards her clit as he alternated between rubbing and pinching on the hardened nub. “Can you feel your cunt dripping? This is how your body reacts to me because you want me so bad.”

With the hand that was previously on her nub, he tore her blouse open and fondled a breast, “Such a naughty princess, not wearing any bra,” Pulling on her nipple elicited a prolonged moaned as she rested her forehead against the window, “Were you planning this the whole time?”

The answer she let out was obscure with her mind fuzzy from the way his fingers were hammering in and out of her mercilessly while he helped her remain on her feet by having a firm hold on her boob. “You’re still the needy princess I know you are.”

August smirked at how she let out a pathetic moan when he pulled his fingers out of her for it proved he was right. Palms resting against the cold glass, she turned her head around and watched as he lowered his zipper to pull his cock out. “Do you even deserve to have my cock?”

Nodding her head and up down was all the response she could give him as he continued to degrade her, “I don’t think you do,” To amp up his teasing, he rubbed the tip of his cock from her clit down to her opening multiple times; causing her legs to shake in need as she moved her hips towards his tip. “You’ve lost your princess privileges the moment you talked to him,” He whispered, lips pressing against the shell of her ear.

One of her hands left the crisp window and instead sought out for the warm hand that was in her boob, clawing onto him desperately to let him know how badly she still wanted him in any way she could have him. The sting of her nails made him smile wickedly as he took pity on her and slid his whole length in one go, “That make you happy, princess?”

The side of her head leaned against the window but she still managed to nod as she was extremely thrilled for having him inside her. Blindly, her other hand left the window as she searched for his vacant hand and collapsed them together. Even though her eyes were closed as she was blissed out with the way he was pounding in and out her hole without a care; August however felt touched that there was this part of her instinctively reached out to hold his hand affectionately.

He guided their entangled hands down to her stomach so he could press her back firmly against his front, “Never forget that you belong to me, princess.” It was in that moment that his wide tip grazed her g spot so she could only mewl and nod weakly as her overwhelming gratification blocked out her senses. 

Coughing up a bit once he pulled her panties out of her mouth, her shoulders then bore the weight of his arm, “Tell me you’re all mine, princess!” He demanded as barked it out on her before biting the shell.

“I’m all yours, bear!” She gasped out when he repeatedly hit her g spot every time his cock entered her. Her velvet walls were now making it harder for the Hammer to nail her for it clung to him like glue to the point that it was almost choking his cock, almost triggering an early orgasm from him. Wanting to focus on something else, his mouth peppered kisses on the skin of her shoulders and neck with the full intention of leaving dark, purple bruises so people knew she was off limits.

Y/N never felt this simulated in all the times she slept with August; the way his cock rummaged her hole with vigour and determination made her buckle her knees, the feel of his rough facial hair prompted her to push her neck more to his lips while her feeling his hand firmly against hers made her feel loved. In the haste of a moment, she let out a confession of, “Missed you so much, bear.”

Feeling his heartbeat increase at her confession, he snapped his hips faster to drive his cock even harder to her, in tune with the way his heart beat against his chest, “Really though you didn’t want me anymore.” He couldn’t take the way she sounded so broken — what made it worse was that he made her feel this way, and he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t cause her to feel that way again.

“I’m so sorry, princess,” Hearing him apologize, she turned her to face him again and was surprised when he kissed her lips softly — in contrast with how he was driving her cock in and out of her roughly — before letting his lips rest against hers as he continued to speak, “Never gonna let you go, never gonna hurt you.”

“You promise, bear?” Her small voice made her seem even more vulnerable than she already was; meanwhile August nodded fiercely as he kissed her once again. “I promise, princess,” That promise left his lips repeatedly against her lips.

Unvolutaringly clenching her walls on his cock, she moaned out loud against his prickly lips, “I’m so close, bear. Please let me cum.” And that reminded him how he was in charge and still has to decide if she gets to cum. 

“I think I can grant you one princes privilege, what do you think?” His smirk widened upon seeing her pleading eyes looked at him and moaned in agreement. Still holding onto her hand with one of his own, the other went to graze her cheek as he coaxed her, “Cum for me, princess; let me feel how much you missed me.”

He then drove his cock deep in her to the point he repeatedly bumped her g spot which set her orgasm off — she screamed out loud as her hand squeezed his hand so tight yet it didn’t have any effect on him. Loving the way her walls immediately relaxed their grip on his cock, he took advantage of it by chasing his own orgasm.

“Take my cum, princess,” He breathed out and felt his thrusts decrease their pace while they still had the same vigour. Stilling as he shot loads of his sperm, he pressed her against him needing her to ground him back. With a kiss on the side of her temple he let out, “I love you so much, princess.”

Despite her brain being a fumbling mess, she caught on what he said and pushed herself off his cock and turned to look at him, “What?”  Her fingers were busy lowering her skirt and trying to make her blouse look presentable as it could be while August tucked his meat back in his pants so he could hold both her hands.

“I love you,” He reiterated before taking a deep breath, “I love you and it scared me to find out how strongly I felt for you — because this was something I have never felt for anyone.” A breathless gasp was all she could let out upon being presented with this information.

Sensing her confusion, August placed a kiss on the back of both her palms before speaking once more, “I know this is a lot to take in, but maybe we can take it one step at a time? We go out on actual dates so you can also let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

Her eyes were searching for any indication in his that he was just pulling her leg, “I know I haven’t shown you exactly what you mean to me — and that is due to my stupidity and immaturity — but if you let me, I will treat you like the sublime and divine being that you are. Spending those days without you made me realize the vital role you fulfilled in my existence.”

Her lips broke into a smile as her heart fluttered at what he said; Y/N lunged to him, wrapping his arms around her neck as she kissed his lips passionately. The Hammer was more than happy to reciprocate the passion she had for the kiss as he wrapped his thick arms around the middle of her back. 

“Does this mean you’ll take me back?” It was shocking how soft the tone of his voice was when he asked this to her as they pulled away from the kiss. Bopping his nose with a finger, she smiled at him before nodding, “It means exactly that, bear. I love you and you have me now. Officially, that is.”

Loving the sound of that, he pecked her lips once again and pulled away with the widest grin his lips had ever made, “I love you more, princess. You always were officially mine, you just didn’t know it yet.”

[roanniom]

The Night That Follows

Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 8,000~ 

Summary: While celebrating a successful mission, you and Poe accidently ingest a mysterious beverage that makes it hard to resist one another, helping you forget the stress that weighs you down and the friendship that you’ve been holding between you two as a shield. 

Note: This is my first ever non-ADCU fic and it is dedicated to the ever lovely and supportive @paper-n-ashes who urged me to get out of my comfort zone and cheered me on.  

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, sex pollen, drugged drink (it’s drugged with the sex pollen by a 3rd party and not with malicious intent but it still might be triggering), masturbation (f/m), PIV sex, unprotected sex, war-related angst 

When people talk about war, they often discuss the paralyzing fear, the numbing depression. Hopelessness that spreads through your veins like cold water as you face immeasurable odds and stare death in the face day after day. And you can attest to these feelings. You experience them with each dawn that breaks, muddy in the sky regardless of the atmosphere shrouding whatever planet you find yourself waking on each morning. Your life is transient, full of ships and bases and camps. The constants are the clothes on your back, the friends in your squadron (those who survive), and the x-wing you hop in each time danger calls.

The other constant is the part of war that people do not discuss. The rush of adrenaline every time you make it out of a tough scrape. Adrenaline that burns your veins, evaporating the icy hopelessness that had flooded you up until the minute your boots hit turf and your jellied knees catch up to the reality that you are still very much alive. The euphoria that crackles in your brain when you spy your best mate zooming down from above, finally landing and throwing themselves into your arms in the hug you never thought you’d experience again after their coms had gone down in a fire fight. The absolute debauchery of a night of celebration after such a fire fight. Because nobody needs to live quite as much as those who may die.

Which is how you find yourself here, on this non-descript jungle planet, the name of which you didn’t catch during your descent because honestly there have been so many jungle planets and they have all become little more than coordinates on a screen to you at this point. You and your squad have been set up with a mini-festival by the resistance-sympathizing locals as a thank you for your recent decimation of their First Order oppressors. The operation had been pretty seamless, thanks in no small part to the excellent teamwork between you and a one Poe Dameron.

Your flying today had rivaled some of his best, which is certainly saying something since Poe prides himself on being the best pilot in the resistance. You certainly gave him a run for his money, outflying TIE fighters and swiveling shuttle cannons in a perfectly choreographed tandem maneuver wherein the two of you manipulated your assailants to ultimately destroy themselves.

As you knock back a burning shot of the local alcoholic beverage, the liquid tingling and warming you all the way down, you search the triumphant crowd for the cocky pilot who had helped you set the stage for this celebration. You wouldn’t dwell on the earlier events of the day much more tonight. Wouldn’t think much of the comrades you’d lost in the struggle. That was an ache that would throb back to life tomorrow. Tonight, the priority is living.

It is then that you lock eyes with Poe Dameron through the throngs of semi-drunken revelers. His handsome face splits into a wide, cocky grin, so you adopt an exasperated smirk in response as he pushes his way towards you. Such is the game you play. A dance, if you will. Poe plays the role of the self-assured, overly confident golden boy while you, his long suffering partner, humble him with your good-natured criticism and ever rolling eyes.

“Alright there, Sweets?” Poe practically drawls as he reaches you, the nickname both a term of endearment and a teasing reference to the sweet tooth that keeps you hoarding candies of all kinds in your bunk, much to Poe’s own benefit. You beam up at him and upend your little glass to demonstrate its emptiness.

“On my way there, Fly Boy.”

“Looks like you’re falling behind, rookie. Like you did on that triple barrel twist today.”

You throw a punch that lands a little too lightly on his shoulder to produce the grunt and showy flail that he graces you with.

“First of all, you’re not allowed to call me rookie anymore. Your dumb ass might need to be constantly reassured that you’re ‘best pilot in the resistance,’ but by now I am, at worst, second best.” Your gut warms and you’re not sure if it’s the drink or Poe’s deep, full-bodied laugh in response. “And second of all, we don’t talk about the day if we make it to the night.”

Poe almost seems to sober at your words, a phrase of his tossed back at him. The smile remains, though, and he tosses an arm around you before dragging you over to the table that’s been set up with refreshments.

“Right you are, Sweets,” Poe agrees quietly. Louder now and injecting you two into the crowd surrounding the cluster of bottles, he continues, “as for you being second best pilot, I’d rather let the squad decide before you go getting a head too big to fit in your helmet.”

This receives a laugh from the crowd as well as another smattering of slaps thrown towards Poe’s chest.

“Dameron, we all know you already have your own helmet custom made so you can stuff that massive ego in there,” your friend Myrna.

“And those curls,” you add, reaching up and ruffling your hand through his hair in that way that always makes his nose scrunch up in mock anger.

“If you must know, there’s something else they also have to custom make me…” Poe says, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to slide down his chest towards the bottom of his flight suit zipper and wiggling his eyebrows. You shriek and yank your hand away.

“In your dreams, Dameron.” Poe leans down toward you so that his face is close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Or perhaps in yours?”

Suddenly a small, wrinkled face appears between you. It’s an elderly female member of the local alien race and she’s beaming up at you, holding two steaming mugs and smiling around a garbled statement in a language you don’t recognize.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…” you interrupt her, glancing awkwardly between her massive eyes and Poe’s confused ones.

“I might be able to translate!” Myrna cries out, stumbling forward with a newly refilled glass in her hand.

“You sure that’s not just the liquor talking?” Poe asks with a chuckle. Myrna waves him off and kneels unsteadily to listen to the old woman. More garbled speech issues forward as the woman gestures between you and Poe with her mugs. Myrna nods several times and gives little hums of agreement and affirmation. You and Poe trade glances of amusement during the interaction, but you have to look away when the upturned corner of Poe’s mouth begins to distract you.

“Alright alright,” Myrna pipes up. You turn back in time to see Myrna standing back up to her full height, now holding the two mugs, while the woman waddles back into the crowd.

“What’s the deal?” Poe asks, slinging his arm back around your shoulders. You resist the knee jerk actions that come to mind, both to slap his touch away and to lean into it, standing rigid instead.

“She said these are for you,” Myrna says, pushing the steaming mugs into your hands and Poe’s.

“Did she say why?” You peer at the milky, opalescent contents curiously. Myrna has already moved on, however, turning back to the pilot she’d been hanging on before you and Poe had approached. You look to Poe but he shrugs.

“I don’t know, something about you guys deserving it.” Myrna waves her hand dismissively, obviously ready to get back to her own evening. You look up at Poe, unsure, but he’s nodding and smiling.

“Hear that, Sweets? Seems like word travels fast that we’re the top two pilots,” Poe says cheekily, clinking his mug to yours before throwing back his head and downing its contents in one gulp. Your insides ignite at his acknowledgment, as well as the bob of his adam’s apple, but your eyes still flit warily to your beverage.

“We don’t even know what it is and you’re drinking it?”

“Honey, I’m pretty sure that liquor we were taking shots of earlier was actually jet fuel, I don’t think we need to be too worried about this.” Poe smacks his lips and runs his finger around the inside of the mug. “And besides, it’s really kriffing good.”

Watching the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks the last dregs of his drink from his finger makes a heat boil in the pit of the stomach. You decide you actually are quite thirsty, and since your curiosity is stronger than your apprehension, you knock the liquid back yourself.

“Atta girl!” Poe cheers you on, nudging you. The drink is sweet and thick on your tongue like a melted version of the ice cream you’d tasted once, many years ago. You can still remember the creamy texture, very much worth the credits paid to the traveling vendor who’d brought it to your village during the hottest summer of your childhood. As you swallow this liquid down, however, its cold temperature changes into a burn, similar to alcohol, though smoother than any liquor you’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Poe asks, eyebrows raised. You nod and lick your lips, sure that you’re imagining things when Poe’s eyes flicker down to your darting tongue.

“That was actually pretty good,” you concede with a grin.

“So what have we learned tonight?” Poe prompts, grabbing your mug from your hands and placing it next to his on a nearby table. You shake your head.

“Your cockiness extends to believing locals on a miniscule planet find you special?”

“The correct answer was ‘always give things a chance,’ Sweets, but you can continue being closeminded if you want,” Poe responds with a chuckle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to walk away.

“Fine!” You reach out and grab his arm before he can leave. When he rounds back on you with a wide smile you roll your eyes and refuse eye contact. “And just so you know, I’m a lot more open minded than you think, Dameron.”

“Is that so, rookie?” You bristle but as the glee raises in his eyes at your reaction you do your best to tamp it down.

“I’m…flexible,” you say, your grin begrudging. A hubbub breaks out beyond you in the crowd as the makeshift band that had assembled to play party music transitions to a particularly festive song, causing both you and Poe to watch as people begin forming an impromptu dance floor. When Poe turns back at you and raises his eyebrows, expectant, you throw up your hands defensively.

“No. Don’t look at me like that, Fly Boy,” you’re quick to say, but Poe’s even quicker, having already grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to him. Your body collides with his and his other hand finds the dip of your waist.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that I just heard someone say about being open minded?” Poe asks. In a sudden fluid motion he dips you, bending you over so that your back is parallel to the ground and his face hovers over yours. “Being flexible?”

You let him pull you back up and steady yourself with a hand on his chest to catch your balance, dizzy now, most likely from the suddenness of the motion. You’re about to toss back a witty retort, possibly something that will knock him down a few pegs, but then you catch the glint in his eye and a smile spreads across your lips unbidden.

“You get one dance, Dameron.”

~*~

One dance turned into many, as it turns out. The band, upon realizing their audience’s appetite for raucous music, had begun a steady rotation of upbeat tunes. The dance floor had expanded, spilling out of its original confines in the center of the town square and into the concession areas on the perimeter. Resistance members danced and drank, their bodies jumping and moving to the beat in one chaotic mass of excess energy and euphoria. Bodies writhe against one another in all directions as people seek out friction that can confirm to them that they did indeed survive the day’s trials.

You’re experiencing friction of your own in your little portion of the dance floor. Where things had started out innocently – energetic bouncing to the beat and moving in unison – the tone had long changed. At this point Poe is behind you, arms slung dangerously low on your hips to hold you against him, hands pressed right above your pelvis. The feeling of his chest pressing against your back, his hips bracketing your ass – you’ve lost yourself in the sensations. The rhythm of the music shakes through your muscles but instead of tense and tired, they’re loose and buzzing.

Though truth be told, they aren’t the only thing buzzing. The proximity of Poe’s hands to your lower body feels charged like a magnet. Without thinking you press your hands over the backs of his, encouraging pressure on your lower abdomen. You swear you hear Poe growl behind you has his hands pull you further to him, but it could also be the roar of the crowd. Your hips move in sync, your ass grinding against him in time with the music. Escapism in its purest form is what you’re experiencing in Poe’s arms, held against Poe’s body, matching Poe’s motions. It’s heady and distracting and everything you could ask for to make living feel like living, especially in the aftermath of a day centered on death. You’re content to let this moment last as long as the universe allows.

That is until you realize that the increasing beat you’d thought was a shift in the music is actually the rapid crescendo of your own heartbeat.

Swallowing you find your throat is thick, saliva pooling in your mouth inexplicably. You take a deep breath and allow your mind to reel. How long had you been feeling like this? Why hadn’t you noticed these feelings coming on?

One of the large hands at your hip begins sliding up along the plane of your side and you get your answer. The weight of his touch lights your skin on fire as it drags up and across your collar bone. Your breath feels ragged, rattling around in lungs that can’t seem to take in oxygen no matter how high your chest rises and falls. Poe’s hand lingers on your throat for a second so you swallow again, with even less luck than before. His hand reaches up to grip your jaw which he uses to turn your head back toward him.

Oh.

Poe continues to move behind you, his motions controlling you both on the floor, but his face is strained. Sweat dots his temples, gleaming in his curls, and his teeth seem gritted, making his jaw set at a striking angle. His eyes pin you down, however, and they keep your attention as you gaze back, wide-eyed.

“You okay, rookie?” Poe’s voice is deeper than normal, huskier. The way it reverberates through your body makes a rumbling bubble up deep inside your chest. The beginnings of a moan, perhaps? You’re quick to gasp a response before such a sound has a chance to make its way into the air between you.

“I’m…feeling quite strange.”

The hand still at your waist tightens its grip while the other rejoins on the opposite side. You have to gasp again to keep from moaning. Suddenly you’re being maneuvered forward, Poe’s guidance weaving you through the crowd with ease despite the congested revelry.

Neither of you see the way Myrna is watching you both with a knowing smirk from her place draped around her own handsome pilot beau. Or the way the little old woman who’d gifted you the beverage hovers on the outskirts of the dance floor, a proud look on her wrinkled face as she eyes your retreating figures.

~*~

You’re not really able to follow where Poe is directing you, mainly because of how the imprint of his hands on your body seems to be searing into your skin through your flight suit. While your accelerated heart rate was the thing you had been most worried about, now you are equally worried about the dull ache that has seated itself in the pit of your stomach. You bite down hard on your lip to keep the moan from spilling out, the one you’ve been suppressing since the moment you became conscious to your current discomfort.

When Poe’s stride finally slows to a stop only then are you able to take in your surroundings. Blinking, you’re surprised to find that you’re now outside of the town, far from the lights and bustle of the party, walking into the silent clearing that contains the squadron’s parked aircrafts.

“Why are we all the way out here?” you ask, unsettled by how deep your voice sounds in the darkness.

“Needed to get away from the crowd.” You’re even more unsettled by how breathless Poe’s voice is as he says his first words since the dance floor. So unsettled that you turn in his arms so you can finally take in his disheveled appearance fully.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, it’s the weirdest thing. One minute everything was fine and the next…”

“You can’t catch your breath,” you finish for him and he nods gravely. Both of your chests are practically heaving, pressing into each other with each exhale. When you become aware of this, it also brings awareness of the way his chest pressed up against yours is also adding pressure to your nipples. Since when were your nipples hard? The night is balmy, a cool breeze barely able to disturb the moist warmth that settles in the jungle terrain. You feel sweat begin to collect on the back of your neck and your hairline, much like the sweat causing Poe to shine a bit in the moonlight. And yet your nipples are hard and a shudder runs through your body, nerve endings clearly ten steps ahead of you, taking in some experience to which you’d yet to catch up.

“Wait a minute, look at me,” Poe suddenly orders, his fingers wrapping around your chin to lift your face toward his. You freeze as he stares down at you, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“What is it?” you ask, voice urgent, almost frightened.

“Your pupils are wide as planets,” he mutters, distracted fingers drawing up the side of your jaw to press to the pulse point at your throat. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“I haven’t been able to calm down,” you say, nodding but getting more worried by the second. “Why can’t I calm down? Are you feeling the same way?”

Poe’s mouth presses into a hard line and he turns away abruptly, head tilting down.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” You try to pull him back toward you but he doesn’t budge.

“I think…we’ve been drugged.”

Your blood runs cold and a hand flies to cover your mouth. You’d known tonight was too good to be true. Your mind races, making connections out of thin air, trying to place when and where you could have possibly come in close enough proximity to First Order agents to be compromised.

“But what – how – what can we do? What is it? Is it deadly?” You’re cut off by a sound issuing from Poe’s now curved body. You wonder at first if it’s a sob, which makes sense because you’re about ready to cry yourself. But then you realize it’s a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say deadly. Just exceedingly inconvenient.”

“So you know what it is then?” you prompt, tugging at his shoulder some more to try and see his face. “Tell me!”

“Well for starters I’m pretty sure it was that drink the old woman gave us.”

Fuck.

Of course. What was the one suspicious thing you’d ingested all day? The fact that you hadn’t thought about it sooner makes you want to kick yourself, but you press on instead, anxious to have the matter dealt with.

“What does it do?” You hate the tremor that colors your voice. At that Poe finally turns around and you take him in all at once, trying to assess what he could have been hiding. His tall, wide-legged stance makes it easy to notice after a few seconds. As your gaze moves lower on his body you finally see the massive tent forming below the zipper line of his flight suit.

Without even being able to mentally process what you’re looking at your body responds immediately. A rush of warmth and wetness floods the apex of your thighs and the moan that you’d so far been able to hold in finally makes it way out of your throat. Poe’s eyes, which had recently gone hooded, widen in response to the lewd sound. You clap a hand over your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his face, away from the rigid shape that had made the muscles inside you contract wantonly around nothing.

“It’s made from a plant that’s meant to accelerate sex drive,” Poe says matter-of-factly.

You almost don’t hear him because your eyes have already slid back down his body, feasting on the sight of his impressive bulge. You’d heard stories of Poe’s sexual prowess, many from the man’s own loud mouth. You knew he’d satisfied many members of the Resistance, male and female alike. But you had never truly let yourself consider what he’d be like. What he’d look like. What he’d feel like…

“Why would she possibly give that to us of all people?” You feel like you’re going to cry. The feelings coursing through your body are overwhelming.

“Maybe she went around spiking many people at the party. Maybe she just thought you and I would look hot together? You can’t blame her for that one.” Poe winks at you and it diffuses some of your angst. You let out a tense laugh and shake your head.

“How do we make it stop?” you force yourself to ask, just as you force yourself yet again to look back up in his eyes. Poe averts his own, a sheepish look overtaking his face. When he doesn’t answer you step forward and grab his arm in alarm, trying not to consider the way his bicep bulges under his sleeve. “Poe?!”

“We have to…take care of it.”

You’re launching yourself away from him before he can finish the sentence. You probably knew the answer before you’d even asked the question, but his words still sent electricity through your spine.

“We can’t. That’s…that’s crazy – you’re crazy, Dameron!”

“Hey, you think I like this? Standing here like an idiot with my dick so hard I can barely see straight?”

The sexual nature of his words, spoken so plainly and without euphemism for the first time, makes a new wave of wetness pool between your legs against your will.

“Don’t….talk about it,” you say through gritted teeth, closing your eyes in an attempt to center yourself.

“What? Don’t talk about my aching cock?” he asks, almost as a challenge. He’s frustrated now, egged on by your attitude.

“Stop it.”

“Are you about to tell me you aren’t wet right now?”

You turn your back on him in a childish and fruitless attempt at blocking out his words. When you don’t reply you hear his footsteps as he approaches from behind.

“If we’re both having the same reaction, and I’m certain we are, then I’d imagine you’re practically dripping right now.”

His words would have made your eyes cross if you didn’t have them shut so tightly. A hand molds around your hip while the other grasps at the side of your neck, both working in tandem to pull your back flush against his front. The impact, though gentle, knocks the wind out of you. Or whatever wind had been in you in the first place. His lips are at your ear then and you melt into his touch.

“If we take care of this together we’ll go back to normal.”

“…back to normal?” you ask, simply repeating and not really aware of your words.

“Exactly.”

“I…I don’t know.” Poe’s hardened length is pressing into your ass now, insistent and firm behind you. The hand on your hip migrates lower to pull you against him. A swivel of his hips causes your own to follow the momentum, gyrating in their own right.

“We can be quick,” Poe coos, his voice vibrating over your earlobe where his lips are making contact with your skin. Another low chuckle sounds. “Or I can take my time if you want. Either way, I can promise you’ll enjoy it.”

There’s your cocky Fly Boy.

You wrench yourself from his grasp and take a few steadying steps away before gaining the wherewithal to turn back and face him once more. He looks supremely disappointed, arms still outstretched in the place where you had just been.

“Does this really have to be a…team effort?” you ask, face screwed up with discomfort. Poe runs a hand through his hair and casts a distracted glance about your surroundings.

“I mean I guess theoretically one could take care of themselves – ”

“Great!” you cut him off and stalk around to the other side of his x-wing. Of course he’d brought you to his ship. You look around for your own but when you can’t find it you plop yourself down on the ground.

“Are you kriffing serious?” comes Poe’s angry voice behind you as he stomps over. “We could bang this out and feel better but you’re just going to – ”

“Oh ‘bang’ this out? Real nice, Dameron.”

“You know what I mean.” You can practically hear his eye roll.

“The other side,” you say simply, lowering the zipper on your flight suit. When you don’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, however, you pause. “Stay on the other side of the ship, Dameron.”

He grumbles but does as you say. When you finally hear the sound of him throwing himself to the ground, you lift the tab of your zipper again. However, the loud and sudden ziiiip indicating that he’s yanked open his own garment seems ring out then in the clearing and you’re inundated with mental images of what that must look like. Poe sprawled on the ground with his flight suit open and askew. You imagine the expanse of his chest, the way the muscle would ripple in the shadows of the jungle. You’d seen him without a shirt before, the arms of his flight suit tied at his waist as he reclined beneath his x-wing making repairs. Covered in sweat and grease. The memory and the subsequent lurid thoughts have you dipping your hand down into the small opening you’ve made in your clothes, not fully comfortable enough to expose yourself entirely to the elements. When you reach the place between your thighs you have to swallow the gasp that bursts forth at the realization that Poe had been right. You’re not just wet. You’re dripping.

“Fuck.”

You think you say it quietly but a chuckle from the other side of the ship proves otherwise.

“Need any help over there?”

You ignore him and try to focus in on your own body, closing your eyes. You allow a hand to ghost over your breast as you ease a finger through your folds. You feel the insistent thrumming of your pulse even down below and your breath is shallow in your chest. The images dancing behind your eyelids show you flashes, glimpses of things you try to banish from your mind. The angle of Poe’s jaw. His faint, ever present stubble. The arch of his eyebrow. The curve of his smirk. His ass in those pants.

“Sweets…”

Poe’s voice interrupts a whimper you hadn’t even realized you were releasing.

“Poe.” Your voice is small and it cracks around his name. Your muscles are contracting but nothing you do eases the sensation. It just continues building within you. “It hurts.”

“Just come over here. I don’t even have to touch you. Just let me help you through it.”

You ponder the darkness before you, the way it envelops the other aircrafts in this makeshift parking zone. You hear a shick shick shick behind you and your cunt aches. Completely in response to the siren call of Poe Dameron’s building pleasure. You’re immediately intensely jealous. Jealous of the way that, you assumed, he was having more luck getting himself off than you were, despite the fingers inside you right now. Jealous of the way his voice didn’t crack when he beckoned you over.

But most of all jealous of the fact that he’s the one currently touching his hard cock. Not you.

You will yourself to stand up, pulling your hand out of your flight suit but not bothering to zip it back up. On jelly legs you make your way to the other side of the ship. The far side, facing away from the town square and the distant glow of the party you’ve now forgotten.

As you round the edge of the x-wing you bite your lip at the sight before you. Poe is indeed sprawled out with his suit zipped all the way down. His thick member protrudes from the bottom of the opening, a fist moving up and down rapidly, pulling from root to flushed tip in skilled motions. However the eyes that gaze up at you from under his unruly mop of curly hair are not doused with pleasure and satisfaction as you’d imagined. Instead he looks pained, almost agonized. At the sight of you he sits up a bit and does his best to give you a reassuring smile though it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, rookie.”

“That’s the drink talking,” you dismiss, despite the way your stomach swoops as you move to settle yourself down next to him, careful not to make contact. “And you know I hate you calling me rookie.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, baby, as long as you start touching yourself.”

Your cunt pulses at his words so suddenly that you almost double over. Your breathing, already ragged, speeds up as you feel the overwhelming urge to have something deep inside you. Dropping your hand into the opening in your suit you halt, however, watching Poe warily in your peripheral vision. He catches you looking and reluctantly stills the hand moving on member.

“Would sitting back to back help?” he sighs. You nod, scrambling over so that your back is to his.

This is better. This is much better, you think as you dip your hand back between your legs and into the waiting slick. You drag a finger in tight circles over your clit and do your best to calm the racing thoughts that flit back to images of Poe’s body.

The body that is currently pressed to yours, though not at all in the manner you would prefer.

Poe grunts then, making you lose your rhythm.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you, you know.”

You cut your answering gasp off at the source, not daring to make a sound lest it interrupt this information that you desperately needed to here. He interprets your silence correctly and continues.

“I’ve thought about you. When I’m in the cockpit on my way to some distant planet. When not even hyper speed can get me there quick enough before thoughts of you creep in.” He almost sounds mad, but you get it. The emotions coursing through your body along with the hormones are driving you wild and you don’t know how to feel.

“What…what are the thoughts about?” you can’t help but ask.

“I’d love to say it’s your smile or your brains or something sweet like that. And I do think about those things too, don’t get me wrong,” he says on a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s mainly your body.”

You slip a third finger inside your cunt as he says this, his words and the feeling mixing to cause you to let out an unchecked moan. You feel Poe’s body shudder against you.

“Shit Sweets you’re killing me.” You feel him tense as his hand begins moving faster. “I think about how you look poured into that flight suit. The way your tits and ass jiggle when you hop into your x-wing – fuck.” Another shudder wracks through his body and you can’t take it anymore. The way you’re touching yourself isn’t the way you usually do it. Not in those rare moments where you’ve got the sleeping quarters to yourself and you’re able to get yourself off in your bunk to images of a chiseled jawline, a clothed bulge, rippling muscles, soft, curly hair…

You abruptly pitch yourself forward to balance yourself on your knees and one hand while the remaining hand redoubles its efforts between your legs. The shift in position ends your physical contact with Poe and he swivels to see.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t turn around,” you gasp out. Your new angle works in your favor as your swollen clit becomes more sensitive, pulled down by gravity so that every swipe of your finger becomes more potent. “But for the love of gods, don’t stop talking.”

Poe is taken aback by your sudden forwardness, but he doesn’t let it faze him for long. Instead you hear his renewed efforts at jerking off as the sound of skin swiping across skin, made smoother by spit and precum, gets louder behind you.

“What do you want me to talk about? How much I wish it was your tight little pussy I was fucking instead of my fist?”

The whimper you release at that statement is unlike any sound you’ve ever made and it only spurs Poe on.

“And I just know you’re tight. I know it. And wet too, just like I guessed you were. I can hear it, baby,” he practically growls and you become intensely away of the slick, creamy sounds coming from the rapid in and out, in and out rhythm of your fingers delving into your cunt. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and hear his words and wish the fingers inside you were harder, thicker, him.

“You wish it was my cock inside you, I know you do. You don’t want to admit it but you wish I was pounding into you, making you feel good. Making the ache go away.”

Your answering whine confirms his beliefs and he lets out a triumphant grunt.

“Fuck, baby. I want it, too. Bury myself deep inside of you and fuck you till that drink wears off and you’re still screaming for me, that’s how good it would be.”

“Oh gods.”

“Tell me who you’re wet for.”

“Y-you.” It comes out small. You’re shocked that you even say it, especially with how much you’ve been fighting all of this. You want it. You want it in your bones and in your blood and in your tight, spasming cunt. But you also want Poe’s friendship. Want him to tousle your hair on the way to the hanger. Want him to keep sending you funny messages over your data pad, constantly trying to outdo your own silly riddles and jokes. Want to tease him and eat dinner with him in the mess hall and slap him when he says something stupid and yell at him when he does something dangerous and cry when he doesn’t come back on time from a mission…

A sob finds its way out of your body, sandwiched between two moans. You’re not sure Poe even heard it until his voice reaches your ears again, this time gentler.

“Sweets? Is this working for you?”

You take a shuddering breath before answering.

“No.”

You practically hear Poe slump in defeat, the rhythm of his hand on his length slowing down. You bite your lip before continuing.

“Take me, Poe.”

“What?” Poe whirls around so fast you feel the air woosh over you as he disturbs it. You jump to your feet, still facing away from him and yank your flight suit over your shoulders and down your body, stepping out so it pools on the ground. He watches as you get back down on your hands and knees before him in your underwear, ass in the air, waiting for him to catch up.

“I need you, Poe. Just…just please get inside me,” you say, reaching back to pull the damp fabric of your panties aside, exposing your glistening, swollen folds for him to see.

You don’t have to ask him a third time. He’s on you so fast that you’re confused by his motions. It takes a few seconds before you realize that he’s taken your discarded flight suit and stretched it out on the ground, positioning you over it so that your hands and knees are protected from the dirt. The sweetness of this considerate action is offset by the way his fingers dig harshly into your hips, maneuvering your ass so that it lines up with his pelvis. You tilt forward, aided by pressure on your lower back which raises your click cunt to the level of his cock.  

“I’m going to make you feel so good – ”

“No more words, Dameron. Just shut up and get your cock inside – FUCK.” He spears you mid-sentence and you immediately fall down onto your elbows. Your ass still in the air, held in place by his hard grip, receives a smack and you cry out, feeling no pain. Only pleasure as the sting ripples through you and into your clenching cunt. He feels it deep inside you and groans.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shut up, baby.” His words issue forth from gritted teeth. “Always fucking teasing me with that fucking mouth.” His hips rut into yours, taking up an unforgiving pace, while the rest of his body folds over yours so his chest pressed flush to your back. One hand closes tightly around your chin, wrenching up your head and dragging a finger over your bottom lip which has grown plump from biting. “This beautiful, bossy fucking mouth. Always telling me off, telling me what to do.”

Your tongue darts out to meet his skin and his other fingers caress your chin in response. It’s a stark contrast to the almost feral way he is still clutching your hip and driving into you over and over.

There’s almost no resistance. You’re tight, cunt clutching onto his throbbing cock in an effort to keep him buried inside, but you’re wetter than you’ve ever been and it’s making his thrusts effortless. You assume it’s a side effect of the drink. But in some part of your brain you can’t believe that a plant could possibly make a man’s cock feel as good as Poe’s does right now inside you. How a plant could cause you to feel pleasure that is not simply rooted in the way his hand drags down from your jaw to wrench your breasts out of the cups of your bra. How a plant could in any way magnify the surely already intoxicating feeling of Poe’s mouth working at the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“This working, baby? This doing it?” Poe checks in then, not relenting in his thrusts. Never relenting. “You’re squeezing me, so I know your little pussy likes it.”

A shuddering gasp kicks through you before you can answer his question and he laughs. The vibrations go straight from his cock to your clit and you whimper some more.

“Your sounds. I want to record these little sounds you’re making and play them back when I’m flying. Have you fill the space in my x-wing till I can’t take it any more.” Poe presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, nipping and then laving the skin over with his tongue. “I’m going to hear these sounds in my dreams.”

“It’s…just…the drink,” you practically hiccup, barely able to form thoughts from the way your body has focused all energy, all recognitions of nerve endings to the space between your thighs. Poe slaps your ass again and you keen.

“Just listen to yourself, baby. No drink is making you sound this hot. That’s all you, Sweets.”

Before you can argue further you do take a second to listen. To the way your shallow breaths mix with whimpers and whines. The gurgle in the back of your throat when his cock bounces against your cervix. He’s right. It is hot. You are hot. You reach a hand down to your clit, desperate to increase the already mind-blowing stimulation, greedy for more.

“You feel so good. You’re sosososogood,” you barely manage to slur. Despite your inability to fully speak you make the attempt because you assume that if hearing your gasps is egging him on, your words will amplify it. And amplify it they do. Poe’s hips stutter for a second before he drops down heavier on you, thrusting deeper and from a more primal place. A hand savagely kneads at one of your breasts, playing with the nipple.  

“I’ve never been this full. I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well, baby,” Poe coos, pressing more kisses to the side of your neck.

“I need m-more,” you gasp, realizing with urgency that the pressure in your core is finally building past the plateau of the last…hour? Half an hour? How long had this been going on? All night? It doesn’t matter because Poe’s inside you and he’s listening to you and suddenly you’re being slammed into with all the force he can muster. He expertly wrings pleasure from your body and you feel yourself careening toward a release that you can’t describe. Just out of reach and full of all the potential energy inherent in an object rocketing toward the moon only to soon plummet back to the depths.

“Poe! I…I…oh fuck…oh gods…I…”

“Go on, baby. Cum.”

“You ha- ahhhh. But you…y-you…” You’re babbling. You’re incoherent, not wanting to leave him behind in the blinding ache that comes before release. Your hands are fisting in the flight suit below you, desperate for something solid, something substantial to hold onto.

“Don’t wait for me, Sweets. Let go.”

And then his hands are closing over yours, fingers interlacing and squeezing down, pinning you to the ground with white knuckles that would hurt if you weren’t squeezing him right back, finally grounded in the way you needed.

And you’re cumming.

And cumming.

You feel every muscle in your body seize and spasm and bliss roils out through you in waves. You shake and stutter under him, feeling fresh wetness gush down around his cock as he fucks you through the feeling. You keep waiting for it to stop but it doesn’t, it only intensifies. It must be a side effect. Of the drink not the man. But when you feel yourself transcending the moment, the way your soul feels like it is literally floating above you, you use the out of body experience to take in the man who is causing this pleasure. The way he cages you in, bracing you through the storm of your orgasm, giving more and more to keep the flame burning as long as possible.

His muscles ultimately seize sometime around when your soul seems to sink back into your body and you’re one again enough with your senses that you can feel him paint your walls with sticky, hot cum. He doesn’t drop his weight on you like other men have after the completion of such exertions. Other men who had focused more on the destination than the journey, leaving you as wanting for release as you were wanting for air under the pressure of their body weight. Instead, Poe pulls you of you and flops to his back in the grass beside you. Without him holding you up you crumble down, face pressing into the fabric of your rumpled flight suit instead of the dirt, thanks to Poe.

A few minutes pass, silent except for the sound of your slowing gasps for air. When your breathing evens Poe sits up on his haunches to guide you back into your flight suit. You’re sticky from sweat and your combined cum, but you couldn’t care less with your bones liquified and your eyelids heavy. Gone is the buzzing ache, in its place a heavy sleepiness. When Poe lays you, now clothed, gingerly back down on the ground you automatically curl into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your body.

Neither of you shares another word. You don’t have to.

Because shortly after you doze off. And for the first time in a long time your final thoughts before sleep overtakes you are not of the dread the morning will bring, but the solace you found in the night.

~*~

When you wake it’s to a dawn as grey as all the ones before it. Hazy with receding fog and with the promise of all the danger that looms ahead in the hours soon to follow. One of the planet’s suns has already breached the horizon, and you raise a hand to cover your eyes as you peer out from under the x-wing’s protective wing. Looking down you take stock.

Your flight suit is on but fully unzipped, leaving your chest and stomach entirely exposed, all the way down to your lower belly. A large hand covers one of your breasts, fingers twitching against your flesh as the man attached to it continues to dream. You follow the length of his arm to take in his body, tucked close into your own, equally unzipped, his broad torso showing through the gaping fabric. You watch Poe’s abdominal muscles contract with his inhales and exhales for a moment while you check in with your body.

The humming from last night is gone, that much is for certain. This makes you believe that the effects of the drink have worn off. You’re quick to question this hypothesis, however, when Poe stirs in his sleep and his hand squeezes down a bit on your breast. Your breath catches in your throat and fire shoots through your veins. A lingering symptom, you wonder. Or perhaps just a normal, biological reaction to sexual stimuli. You kick yourself mentally because of course it has to be the latter. It couldn’t be the third option which you won’t even allow yourself to fully consider.  

You require a shower urgently, it occurs to you suddenly. And food, a realization that coincides with a rumbling in your empty stomach. Knowing you’ll never have a good enough excuse to extricate yourself from this gorgeous man’s arms you steel your nerves and pull away. When you stand, Poe groans and allows an eye to crack open, his hand flying up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. You’re silhouetted against the dawn and he takes in your outline. The curves of you.

“Morning, Sweets,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep this time instead of sex.

“Morning, Fly Boy,” you reply simply with a small smile. You feel a buzzing in the pocket of your suit then and pull out your mini com unit, even more portable than your usual data pad. The message that blares across the screen and you relay it before Poe can reach his own device which had similarly vibrated.

“We’ve got a new mission. Briefing is in an hour and then we take off.” The information feels stilted as it leaves your lips. How can you feel so entirely, earth-shatteringly changed and yet in many ways everything is still the same. The sun still came up. The war still rages on.

You look down at Poe and his intense expression as he watches you makes you think that he’s wondering the same thing.

Your heart thumps in your chest, this time unaided by any drugged drink or the eyes or hands of a man whose existence seemed both your making and undoing. Routine is the only thing that can calm these nerves. Routine is what is required to survive war. Routine and protocol and boundaries.

You zip up your flight suit with finality.

“See you at the briefing?” you ask, though its more statement than question.

“Of course.” Poe’s response is quiet as he continues to watch you from his reclining position. You’re still above him and at a distance, a position he often associates with you.

You smile and give him a good natured salute before turning and making you way back toward the town where you know the rest of the Resistance members are already bustling about and preparing for the day.

Another day you hope you, and Poe, will be lucky enough to outlive.

~*~

Doing a smaller taglist since it’s a Poe fic and I’m not sure if everyone on my usual taglist is into it (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed for future work!): @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @tlcwrites @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @direnightshade @leather-flannel-liquor @fizzywoohoo @aliveandlonely @wayward-rose @safarigirlsp @emeraldsiren20 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maryforyou @maybe-your-left

[hysteriium]

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth​ they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them. 

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think. 

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader. 

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence. 

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief. 

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice. 

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.  

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–” 

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running. 

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper. 

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.” 

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he? 

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“No,” he smirked, petting your head. 

Curse his height. 

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?” 

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.” 

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.” 

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.” 

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath. 

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?” 

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars. 

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.   

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so. 

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!” 

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well… 

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it. 

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word– 

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you. 

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first. 

“Will this make you, uh, happy?” 

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?” 

“My being with you.” 

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’. 

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted. 

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm. 

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.  

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion. 

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–” 

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks. 

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning. 

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling. 

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady. 

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips. 

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold. 

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk. 

“Peach,” he cooed. 

You were going to have to reapply later. 

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him. 

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself. 

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him. 

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!” 

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with. 

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work. 

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.” 

“Hmm,” he trailed off. 

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green. 

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.  

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!” 

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed. 

“All done!” 

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.” 

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention. 

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.” 

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.” 

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.” 

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach. 

It would have to do, though.  

“Okay,” you whispered. 

He stood up now, towering over you. 

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips. 

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact. 

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed. 

“What are you–” 

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed. 

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring. 

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days. 

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving. 

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting. 

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust. 

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.” 

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.” 

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.  

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.  

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism. 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him. 

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’ 

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly. 

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth. 

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago. 

You fought the urge to run. 

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath. 

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand. 

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?” 

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.  

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.  

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–” 

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.” 

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out. 

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision. 

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology. 

Your stomach turned. 

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.  

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm. 

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt. 

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him. 

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset. 

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier. 

Pee-yew. 

Everyone here sucked. 

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her. 

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement. 

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.” 

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?” 

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear: 

I’m new to this. 

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation. 

Something had changed. 

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him. 

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response. 

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain. 

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment. 

“So what? What are you doing?” 

“What does it – ah – look like?” 

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away. 

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo. 

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but. 

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right. 

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it. 

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles. 

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt. 

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash. 

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.  

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean. 

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that. 

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good. 

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you. 

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you. 

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth. 

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.” 

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade. 

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.” 

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.” 

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.” 

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth. 

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation. 

Yeesh. 

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming. 

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here. 

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom. 

He smacked his lips. 

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse. 

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?” 

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side. 

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye. 

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her. 

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation. 

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?” 

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.  

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?” 

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.  

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing. 

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer. 

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut. 

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance. 

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed. 

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms. 

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.” 

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly. 

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again. 

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale. 

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.  

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.” 

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected. 

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–” 

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic. 

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”  

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness. 

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady. 

“Mine,” you whispered. 

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete. 

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand. 

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song. 

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice.