#that I didn’t take it the first time but the second time (like 2 weeks later) I said fuck it and just used it while it was still in there

[onceinablueberrymoon]

i spy | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

scenario: after their “chance” meeting a couple months prior, pregnant!reader befriended gi-hun, and the two began meeting up occasionally for lunch, much to the salesman’s dismay. but now that reader’s gained gi-hun’s trust, it’s the perfect opportunity to gain some intel. setting: a few months after season 1; please read part 1 and part 2 first for added context! word count: 1.7k warnings: pregnant!reader; deception (poor gi-hun); no use of y/n; second person POV notes: i love domestic salesman so much (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) he will remain alive in my heart lol. there’s at least three parts left to this series, culminating in season 2 events. the next one should be coming soon, so stay tuned! this part is a big one, with lots of fluff, as always. please enjoy! borders by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics-archive!

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of your bedroom. You cracked open your eyes. It was morning. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw your husband, still asleep. His expression was peaceful. ‘Good,’ you thought, ‘he needs it.’ He rarely got a good night’s sleep as he was regularly plagued by nightmares of his traumatic past. 

You sat up slowly, resting one hand on your back and the other on your large stomach. With the baby due in a few short weeks, you tried not to overexert yourself. Not that your husband would let you, anyway.

You picked up your phone from the nightstand and noted the time: 10:00 a.m. It’d been a long time since you slept in this late.

Most of your unread messages were spam, but one text caught your eye.

Message from Seong Gi-hun: Would you like to meet for lunch? I’ll be passing by your area today. 

You’d been rather proud of your connection with Gi-hun. Ever since you first met him at the Incheon Airport subway station, you’ve maintained a casual friendship. While he had never spoken a word about the Games, he often told you stories about his daughter and his friends. You suspected he was quite lonely and isolated, and he had yet to use much of his winnings. Even so, you had somehow become his friendly confidante. 

You put your phone to sleep and closed your eyes, leaning your head back on the bed’s headboard.

Your husband and you had agreed that you would need to start asking Gi-hun for information about the Games soon. Although you knew where Gi-hun was most of the time, you didn’t know what he was planning on doing if he found your husband. He seemed determined to interfere with the Games, but you weren’t sure how he would go about doing that. 

The goal was to learn more from Gi-hun, and you would begin executing your plan today.

You felt a shifting movement from beside you, and you looked down to see your husband cuddling into your side. When he couldn’t put his arm around your large bump, he wrapped it around your thigh. 

“Comfortable?” you chuckled. He nodded sleepily, pressing closer to you. You ran a hand through his fluffy, mussed-up hair. He lifted his head to softly kiss your belly. Your heart swelled – you loved him so much.

“While I would love to stay in bed and cuddle, I have to get ready. Gi-hun offered to meet me for lunch.” You gently unraveled yourself from your husband’s hold. This seemed to have woken him up more.

“I’ll send some guards to keep an eye on you.” He sat up, reaching over to his nightstand to make a call using the landline phone that was reserved for work.

You groaned, “I’ll be fine. Gi-hun wouldn’t dare touch me, not while I’m pregnant. And besides, I have a cover story. I’ll say I saw you playing ddakji with someone on the subway, but keep the details vague. Easy peasy.”

Your husband didn’t look convinced. 

“I’ll tell them not to wear their uniforms. They’ll be undercover.”

You let out a big sigh. You weren’t winning this one.

“Fine. But I’m not bailing them out if they get caught.”

“So I saw something odd the other day…” You said nonchalantly, taking a bite of your sandwich. Gi-hun seemed intrigued as he dug into his own sandwich.

“These two men were playing ddakji in the middle of the subway station.” Gi-hun froze, mid-bite. You continued, “Can you believe it? I thought ddakji was just some kid’s game, not something played by grown men.”

You ignored his bewildered expression. “And to make it even weirder, one man slapped the other after he lost!” Gi-hun looked at you with a thousand-yard stare. You cheered in your mind – you knew you had gotten to him.

“Gi-hun-ssi?” You questioned, blinking your eyes innocently. 

“...What station?” He whispered.

“I’m… I’m not sure. Maybe Yaksu? My mind’s been all over the place late-” 

Gi-hun cut you off. “Was he dressed as a businessman? Did you see where he went afterwards?”

You nodded, “He was in a grey suit. My train came while they were still playing.” You paused. This was the moment of truth. “What’s going on? Do you know him?”

Gi-hun took a deep breath. “You may not believe me, but that salesman… He works for an organization that kills people by forcing them to play children’s games for money.”

You snorted. “Children’s games? Like what, hide and seek?”

His expression hardened. “Exactly. But it isn’t just games. People died. I was there.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “I won.” 

He proceeded to tell you everything. About the pink guards, the types of games he played, the frontman in charge… Nothing you didn’t already know, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“And that man you saw, the salesman… He recruits players by playing ddakji. If you win, he gives you 100,000 won and a card to join the games.”

You did your best to look skeptical. Really, it wasn’t hard since most people would think he was out of his mind by this point. 

But you gave him hope.

“I believe you, Gi-hun-ssi.” You turned to face him. His intense gaze softened. “If I see that man slapping people again, I’ll let you know.” 

Technically, you weren’t lying, since your husband didn’t slap you at home (unless you asked, of course). You had both agreed that slapping people’s faces was strictly a work thing.

Gi-hun’s hand lurched forward to grab yours, but his grip loosened out of fear of hurting you. 

“Promise me,” his voice shook, “promise me that you won’t approach him. Who knows what he’ll do… Especially in your condition.” Both your gazes wandered down to your swollen belly. 

“I would never endanger my baby.” You placed a protective hand over your stomach.

Gi-hun gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I recently called my former loaner and he’s agreed to assemble a team to search for the salesman.” He let his head drop into his hands. “We have to find this man before the next games start.”

“This loaner of yours… How do they plan on finding the salesman?” You asked cautiously.

Gi-hun lifted his head. “They plan on searching the subway stations from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. The salesman will surely be out recruiting people during that period.” He turned to you again. “I didn’t mean to bring you into all of this. If you see that salesman again though,” he looked at you, his eyes pleading, “call me immediately. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

Again, you nodded, this time with more conviction.

The rest of your time together was silent for the most part, an uneasiness lingering in the air. All that mattered, though, was that you had fully gained Gi-hun’s trust. But how much longer would you be able to keep it?

Returning home from your lunch appointment, you open the front door to see your husband lounging on the sofa, his feet propped up on the low coffee table. Upon noticing your arrival, he closed the book he was reading and put it aside. 

“I’ve got some key information!” You sang, waving your arm to greet your husband. He smiled, standing up to meet you at the doorway. 

“What did my detective learn today?” He took your hand and led you to sit on the sofa. He helped you put your legs up, then sat near your feet and began massaging them. 

“Lots. For one, Gi-hun calls you ‘the salesman’. Funny, isn’t it? You’re not selling anything, but with your devilishly good looks, I’d buy anything from you.” He chuckled at your comment. 

“He also said that he hired his former loan shark.” You let out a giggle. “His loan shark! The guy that Gi-hun signed his physical rights away to! I couldn’t believe my ears.” You continued, “Anyway, the loan shark and his team will be searching the subway stations for you.” You grimaced. “It’ll interfere with your schedule. They start at 10 a.m. and go until 10 p.m.” 

Your husband let out a heavy sigh and pinched his nose. “So, the entire day.” 

You nodded. “I can find more prospects aboveground. Parks, markets… There must be some in the suburbs too.” 

He seemed lost in thought as he continued rubbing the soles of your feet.

“Another thing… Gi-hun told me to promise I’d call him if I saw you again.” Your husband looked at you and quirked an eyebrow. You took your phone out of your bag on the coffee table. “Since I found you, should I let him know..?” You teased, your phone dangling loosely from your hand. 

“Oh?” Your husband smirked. “If you did,” he moved his hands up your legs to massage your thighs, “What would you say?”

You shuddered when he massaged a particular spot on your thigh. 

“I’d say… ‘Wow, that salesman is incredibly handsome.’” Your husband chuckled. You laughed, “Then, to really rile him up, I might say, ‘Maybe I will play a game with him after all.’” You cocked your head, a mischievous smile on your face. “Or do you think that’d give him a heart attack?”

Your husband laughed. He moved his hands back down to massage your ankles.

The conversation flowed between the two of you for over an hour, when your husband finally tired of massaging your aching body. He escorted you to your bedroom, where you immediately demanded that you resume your cuddling session from earlier that morning.

As you snuggled into him, you sighed. “I’m going to miss this.”

He nodded, one hand drawing circles on your belly. Just then, you both felt the baby kick. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a kick nevertheless.

“Well, maybe I won’t miss that.” 

Your husband’s repetitive circles were making you sleepy. But before you fell asleep, you heard him murmur, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

As much as you also wanted everything to stay the same, you knew things were about to change. In your career, in your family, in your friendships… The next chapter of your life would soon begin, and boy, were you in for a ride.

[queensunshinee]

So sweet- part 2 || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mention of p in v sex, oral sex), mention of an eating disorder, family drama, death in the family, cheating. It's a mess.

Word Count: 7.9k

(Part 1)

So sweet- part 2:

Art leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you. Since your back was to him, you hadn't seen him yet, and he felt like he had the upper hand. As if he didn’t need to be defensive. As if he was still part of your life. Your hair looked shorter than the last time he saw you. But then again, the last time he saw you, you told him you never wanted to see him again, so maybe he didn’t remember all the details as well as he’d like to.

Maybe he felt that "never" was subjective. That everyone could choose what to take from the word "never." That a year and a half without speaking to you was enough "never" for him, and you'd be a hypocrite if you said it wasn’t for you too. "Are you going to stand there much longer, Donaldson?" Your voice sounded the same. He'd recently discovered he hated a lot of things, but at the top of his list were all the times you called him by his last name instead of his first.

"You really do have eyes in the back of your head," he tried to joke, but he didn’t hear you laugh, not even a chuckle. He hadn’t seen your face yet, but he could guess you weren’t even smiling. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta?" you asked. If he didn’t know you, he might have thought you were fine. That this was just polite conversation between two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while and ran into each other by chance. "My first match isn’t for another two days. I couldn’t miss the funeral," he said quietly. "I’m really sorry for your loss, you know that, right?" He took a few large steps and sat on the bed next to you, hoping you’d give him this moment. Hoping you wouldn’t be angry. Not when he was trying so hard.

"She was a mean drunk," you muttered. "Not a huge loss," you added, glancing at him for a second, allowing yourself to surrender to the moment. He recognized the piercing gaze. Maybe a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, but your eyes were the same eyes. You were the same girl he used to love. Used to. Used to. Used to. Before he went on his path in life and you on yours. Before he made a decision, and then you made a decision, and then both of you made decisions. Before words were said. Before he left and you stayed. Before he opened up and you shut down. Used to.

"You’re a grown man, you should know how to tie a tie by now, don’t you think?" you asked, probably trying to lighten the sadness that filled your childhood room, located right across from his childhood room. He wanted to thank you for that. But he never knew how to talk to you honestly. Why would he start now? "Tashi usually does it," he said quietly, and you stood in front of him, starting to adjust the damn tie. You had no idea what you were doing to his heartbeat. "I’m sorry about your grandmother. I was at your parents’ house afterward. I don’t know if they told you," you mumbled.

He was so angry at you for not coming to the funeral. Because by what right did you take his tragedy and make him consumed with thoughts of you? About your absence. About your hand that could’ve held his tightly, just like you did when he was eight, and Jameson died. Instead, he held Tashi’s hand. She didn’t squeeze. She let go after a few minutes. He was so angry that at his grandmother’s funeral, more than anything, he missed you. So now, a few minutes before heading to your mother’s funeral, he squeezed your hand for a moment while you adjusted his tie, looking at him with big eyes filling with tears you refused to let fall. "Better," you said.

He didn’t think it was better. He didn’t want to argue. He just nodded. . . . Patrick couldn’t focus. Every time he hit that stupid ball, he thought about the fight he had with his dad a week ago and the dumb argument he had with you before leaving for Atlanta. He hadn’t told you yet that his parents decided to cut him off from the trust fund. He hadn’t told you that he was basically broke. Sometimes Patrick thinks you’re the only person in the world who looks at him like he understands something about life. Like he’s capable of pulling off magic at any given moment. Sparkling eyes and a smile. He wonders when was the last time you looked at him like that. It’s been a few good months. He can’t deliver. Not the damn ball and not in real life.

He hesitates. Everything he does comes with a certain delay. He knows that at 24, he’s expected to understand who he is and what he wants from life. But what he wants from life doesn’t want him back, and that’s something he’s not willing to accept. He blames his parents for the fact that he’s too spoiled. That he doesn’t know when to stop. That he can’t let go of dreams. That he has to be the best, even though he’s drowning in his own mediocrity. He moves too fast between knowing how good he is at what he does and the harsh slap of reality that comes with each of his failures. Every tournament he loses in the second round, every person who was once in his life and doesn’t want him anymore. They found something better. Something more put-together.

He saw Tashi from a distance for the second time in the last two days. Always alone, Art wasn’t with her. He wondered why Art wasn’t here. He knew Art was competing. Everyone knew Art was competing. The rising star of American tennis. Motherfucker. His dad screamed it at him when he lost it a week ago— “I wish Art Donaldson were my son, maybe then I wouldn’t be so ashamed.” Patrick won’t tell anyone that it hurt. Not because he cares what his shitty dad thinks of him. Not because he cares that Art is succeeding on an international level, breaking into the world’s top ten. Fulfilling all the dreams they once dreamed together. Patrick cares because he knows that at any given moment, he could beat Art. He’s better than Art. So how is it that Art is ranked eighth and Patrick is a nobody? No one takes him into account.

“You planning to embarrass yourself in another tournament?” Tashi’s voice crept up behind him. “You know that if he competes against me, I’ll win, right?” he asked. Overconfident. Always overconfident. “I know you’re ranked 243rd, and he’s ranked 8th. It doesn’t matter who wins this, you’ll still be a loser, and he’ll still get a Nike campaign. They asked us about a winter collection.” She was trying to hurt him. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to her—to hurt him. But he thinks only two people can: you and Art. Tashi isn’t on that list. He doesn’t think Tashi comes close to being on that list.

He thinks Tashi is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he knows. Maybe you’re the most beautiful woman he knows. He doesn’t really know- it’s blurry and messy. But hearing you moan or say his name softly, sweetly, is the most beautiful thing he knows. So maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe he measures beauty differently than he did four years ago. “Sounds good. I promise to buy a jacket with his name on it. Do you need anything, Tashi?” he tried to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to see the pathetic training session he was having with himself against a wall. “I don’t know, maybe to ask why you’re here?” She shrugged like it was obvious. Like she cared about the useless existence of Patrick Zweig. Like he mattered. “I’m competing, just like Art-” he started, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Art’s not here. How is it that you are?” she cut off the monologue he was about to throw at her. “I don’t know why Art isn’t here, Tashi.” If it were possible, his eyes would roll so far back into his skull they’d get stuck there. “Because he’s at a funeral, obviously. She’s your girlfriend last time I checked- how are you not there?” The furrow of her brows showed she was genuinely confused. But now he stood in front of her, terrified too. Whose funeral? Who the fuck died? “What are you talking about?” he muttered, feeling his heart pound. Every muscle in his body tensed. “(Y/N)’s mom passed away, Patrick. How am I the first one telling you this?” She doesn’t understand. But he does. And right now he hates Tashi. And Art, who’s with you. And himself- mostly himself- because after four years, he’s still a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. . . . You’re not crying, and you suspect it bothers your father. He looks at you strangely. As if you’re making things difficult. Because this is an event. A funeral is an event, and you need to behave the way you're expected to behave. You just can’t seem to do it. Because you don’t think you have a warm spot in your heart for the woman you called Mom for the pathetic 24 years of your existence. To anyone else, it would sound sad. Pathetic. You don’t say it out loud very often. You don’t want to make things harder for anyone. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. You considered cutting an onion before you left, just to save yourself from the weird looks from the extended family you haven’t seen in years, but Art fucking Donaldson hasn’t left you alone since the second he heard she kicked the bucket.

His hand held yours like his life depended on it. Maybe yours. Someone’s life depended on it. Definitely not your mother’s. She’s dead. You wonder if the need for sacrifice died with her. You wonder if your constant need to make everyone feel comfortable all the time died with her too. It’s exhausting. You wish you could be less like that. Your hand is sweating into his. He probably thinks it’s disgusting. He probably doesn’t like it. You miss the time when your whole world was making sure Art Donaldson was comfortable. His parents hugged you, and you’re pretty sure his mom left lipstick on you. He’s been staring at you for an hour straight. Maybe two. Maybe your whole life. You can’t know; it’s an emotional day.

You try to move your hand away from his; there’s no way this is comfortable for him. He grips harder. Doesn’t let go. Doesn’t leave you alone. Your father says the Kaddish, everyone responds "Amen" and cries. You don’t. Maybe you really are crazy, like she hinted at a few times when she got drunk and called you at an inappropriate hour. Maybe you really are the reason for every problem she ever had. Maybe you didn’t sacrifice enough. Maybe you didn’t love enough.

Maybe you just don’t know how to love, and then it makes sense that you don’t deserve to be loved. Not really. Not unconditionally. Not like your father loved your mother. Not like Art loves Tashi. Not like Patrick loved Tashi. Not like Patrick hated you. Maybe he still does- sometimes you’re not sure. Patrick isn’t here. Art’s hand keeps holding you both steady. You finally cry.

When you walk into the house, your extended family is already there. Uncles, cousins- you think you saw the grandfather of someone your father goes to synagogue with. All you wanted was to sit quietly in your room for a second. Take off the heels and the damn dress. You felt the thong digging into your ass. That’s what happens when you let a dead woman dictate what you'll wear to her funeral. A woman who had conditions for her own funeral. Who told you what dress to wear. What underwear to put on. Sometimes you wonder how many years ahead you’ll keep dragging her advice, her judgmental looks. The tongue clicks. The general dissatisfaction with the world, wrapped in fake smiles. Maybe that’s where you learned to fake so well. To fake who you are down to your core. To fake and fake until you don’t know what you want or from whom.

“You disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Art walks into your childhood room like it’s his. Like he always did. “You’re still here?” you mutter, and he hands you a plate of food he picked up from downstairs. “Where else would I be?” he sighs. As if that’s the only answer that makes sense to him. As if you two were in touch. As if you know anything about his fancy life or he knows anything about your painfully mediocre one. “In Atlanta,” you answer and place the plate on the nightstand beside you. “When’s your flight?” you ask, not looking at him as he sits next to you on the bed like he did before the funeral.

“I can stay-” he starts quietly. You know he’s looking at you, almost begging you to see that he means it. "Ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself, but you know he hears. “When’s your flight, Art?” you ask, your voice steadier, looking at him with an almost hollow expression. One that doesn’t show any emotion or maybe shows all emotions at once. A look that scared him. A look that worried you. A look you’ll think about a month from now. You’ll sit at home, writing the structure for one of your classes, and you’ll think about Art Donaldson and the empty look you gave him when your mother died. Embarrassing. Everything is so fucking embarrassing.

“Tonight,” he sums up. You glance at your phone’s clock. Sixteen missed calls from Patrick. Instinct says to call him. But it’s 6 p.m., and his first match is at 8 in the morning. “Don’t you need to pack?” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your attempt to dismiss him. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly. “Excuse me?” you snap back, not understanding the direction of the conversation. “Now. In general. What are you doing?” His gaze surrounds you from every direction. You can’t look anywhere that isn’t Art Donaldson. He reflects off the damn mirrors in this room. “Trying to sit quietly in my room, clearly,” you reply stiffly.

You remember how all your conversations used to be warm. Soft. You’d talk about dreams. About books you’d write. About tournaments he’d win. You’d kiss. He’d touch you. You’d touch him. There was curiosity. There was love. Or at least that thing you’ve spent years believing was love. The thing where you become exactly what he wants and needs and disappear when he needs something else, something better. That was the unwritten contract between you. Lately, you’ve been thinking that’s the unwritten contract between you and everyone you know. A depressing thought. You try not to dwell on it too much. On the way you please people in your suffering. Please in deprivation. Please to the point of tears, and more tears, and more tears. You try not to think about all the dreams you had when Art Donaldson -maybe- loved you. You try not to think about the joy of life. About how much you loved seeing him happy, how much you loved making him happy. How much you loved being responsible for his happiness. "Why isn’t Patrick here?" He quietly asked what he really wanted to know. He wanted to understand if you’d broken up. If you were alone. If he could laugh and say he told you so. That he told you; you had no business being with Patrick Zweig. "Because he has a match tomorrow at 8 a.m., and he trained too hard to miss it," you said it coolly, without breaking eye contact. As if it made perfect sense that you hadn’t told your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to be your confidant, that your mother had died. "He didn’t want to come?" Art continued, confused. Ice. That look again. The immediate shift in his mood confuses you, but it doesn’t throw you off balance. You know him. For the past four years, every time he’s seen you, all he’s tried to do is confuse you, to knock you off balance. It never works, at least not in his eyes.

"Hedoesn’tknow," you mumbled the words as if they were one. Quietly, knowing that what you’d done didn’t make sense. Wasn’t reasonable. Wasn’t acceptable. Didn’t fit into the unspoken rules of a relationship. "You’re an idiot." He stood up and started pacing back and forth. "A fucking moron, really." He was angry, as if he was the one who hadn’t been told your mother had died. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t have known either, but his mother told him. Whatever. "I’ll tell him when he gets back from the tournament, it’s not a big deal," you said and shrugged. Art stopped and looked at you like you’d just fallen from the moon. Like you were some natural phenomena. "If you did that to me, I’d kill you. If you thought some shitty tennis tournament in shitty Atlanta was more important to me than you, I’d murder you and then die myself. I don’t like what you have with Zweig, God knows I hate it, but how could you not tell him? Do you even understand the concept of a relationship?" He let out this Shakespearean monologue while looking at you with a half-pitying, half-angry expression. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he thought you were Tashi.

"Art, I’m not your problem. Do you remember that?" You didn’t know what else to say, so you said the only thing you knew for sure in a defeated voice. Art Donaldson was not a part of your life. "You’ll always be my problem. You should know that by now," he said, half despairing at himself. As if wondering how you both got here. As if wondering if there was anywhere else you could be. . . . Patrick was beyond frustrated. He won his first match after two and a half hours, barely. It didn’t come easy. All he could think about was how nothing came easy for him anymore, and how everything used to be so easy.

The thought that you didn’t tell him your mother had died, and then didn’t answer his calls either, hovered over his head like a rain cloud focused solely on him. He didn’t know how to approach it. He knew why you didn’t tell him- because unlike what Art thought, unlike what your dead mother thought, he knew you. He knew how you thought. He understood the mechanics behind your strange decisions. He hated that he had become someone you had to overthink things for.

That afternoon, he went to one of the courts and caught Tashi and Art’s practice. They both saw him sit down. He thinks it made Art play better. He wondered if Art imagined his face when he hit the ball. He thinks he does. Because when Tashi checkmated his relationship with Art, Patrick wrapped his life around yours as if that was how it was always meant to be, while everyone involved knew it wasn’t. While everyone involved knew that you had embroidered Art’s name on bags from the moment you learned how to stitch. While everyone knew that Art Donaldson didn’t know how to exist in the world without you.

So, Patrick took you for himself. Most of the time, he didn’t think of it as something technical, as a game he was playing against Art. Most of the time, he looked at you, really looked at you. Most of the time, he tried to make you laugh and understand the world through your own eyes. Most of the time, he tried to protect you from complex emotions you couldn’t express, from hunger. He tried to protect you from yourself, the way you protect some helpless creature. In some way, you were. In his eyes, you were helpless.

When you first started sleeping together, Patrick treated you with kid gloves, in a way he had never treated anyone before. Like you were porcelain. Like you could shatter and crumble in his hands at any moment. You had gestures and habits, ones you thought no one noticed. But he always saw. You tried to please everyone all the time. You switched from a smile to a sad look in a second, for the sake of the feelings of whoever was in front of you, for the sake of what you thought they wanted from you.

But Patrick didn’t want anything from you. He wanted to give you all the orgasms that you missed and for you to eat at least three meals a day. Some days, he didn’t know how to make you do it. Some days, he raised his voice. When he was desperate, he cried. When he was really desperate, he asked you to eat for him, so that he would be happy. That was the easy way, it always worked. He exploited a destructive mechanism someone had embedded in you (he suspects your dead mother) and used it to get you to do something he thought would be good for you. He wanted to throw up.

Art was playing well. He was playing against Tashi in front of him, and he was playing well. Too well. Patrick no longer thinks he can beat him. Not something he would ever say out loud. He wanted to ask him how you were. He didn’t want to admit that you hadn’t answered his million calls. He didn’t want to admit that he was a loser who didn’t know where his life was going. Not when Art had been with you at the fucking funeral of your awful mother. He hated that woman with everything he had. More than he hated his own father, and that had to be some kind of record. Art looked at him for a moment. The moment passed. Patrick thinks Art won. He’s not sure. . . . Patrick finds Tashi alone in the evening. Completely alone in the middle of the lobby restaurant. She suddenly looks small and fragile to him, holding a drink he can guess is whiskey or cognac or whatever it is that Tashi Duncan drinks these days. He doesn’t know anything about her anymore. Only that a few years ago, he thought he loved her, and in return, she took his best friend away from him.

When he stands in front of her, he is like a streetlight- impossible to ignore. It dawns on him, belatedly, that he is wearing her shirt. She must think he’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t think he cares about being pathetic in front of her. Because he sees her for what she is right now, and she is miserable. She doesn’t have much in life. She clings to what Art has. Which is fucked up on so many levels, but that’s reality. They both cling to things they shouldn’t be clinging to, and his eyes wander to her ring. Massive. Flashy. A bit like her, like the woman she tries to be when she’s not half-drunk and pathetic in front of him.

He places his hand over hers just as she’s about to take a sip of her drink, stopping her. He doesn’t know what he wants. Not from her, not from himself, but his lips find hers within seconds, and she doesn’t resist. He knew she wouldn’t resist- he saw it on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe more. And what a thought that is- that Tashi Duncan wants Patrick Zweig more.

They exit through the back door of the restaurant, go up to his room. Naturally. As if more than four years haven’t passed since the last time he was with Tashi. He wishes he knew what he was doing; it would make this easier. But it’s not particularly difficult, either- otherwise, he wouldn’t be pressing Tashi against the wall. Otherwise, his lips wouldn’t be kissing every inch of her body he can reach.

Hunger. Patrick feels hunger. It’s the only emotion coursing through him as he looks at her. He thinks he wants to hurt Art. He thinks about how Art was there for you at your mother’s funeral, and that was supposed to be his role, but you didn’t call him. So he strips Tashi of her shirt. Only to discover she isn’t wearing a bra. He compares her to you every few seconds. You never go without a bra. He can barely convince you to just be at home, without clothes, without defenses. Just be. He doesn’t think you’re capable of that. He doesn’t think you know how to feel at ease. That worries him more than he’s willing to admit.

“You’re thinking about her?” Tashi’s voice is almost angry as she kisses his neck. “No.” A lie. A complete lie. He can only think about you. He realized that a few years ago and stopped fighting it. You and tennis, as if that’s all there is in the world. What else even exists? What else even matters? “You’re a terrible liar,” she mutters against him, and somehow, the ugly shirt he’s pretty sure was Tashi’s -he doesn’t even know why he wore it- ends up on the floor. ‘You’re not thinking about Art?’ he should have asked, but he’s not here to ask questions. He’s here because he’s angry. At Art, at you, at Tashi for telling him, at the world. So he’s here. And they’re both shedding more pieces of their clothing and maybe their souls, because what they’re doing now has no way back. No forgiveness. They are bad people. Patrick knows it. Tashi knows it.

And after he wrings a heavy moan from her, one that follows an orgasm, she quietly tells him she thinks Art loves you. Patrick stares at the gaudy ring stuck on her finger, the ring that, in another universe, Art would have placed on yours. “Why do you think that?” Patrick asks softly, because what else is left to do? “I didn’t want him to go to the funeral. I wanted him to stay and train, but he went anyway,” she mumbles. Patrick says nothing, just nods. He would have done the exact same thing, and that’s why you didn’t call him. He would have come. Despite the dreams. Despite the tennis. Despite everything.

And Patrick remembers all the times Art called you sweet. All the times Art never wanted to tell him anything about what happened between you two. All the times Art didn’t want to talk about you. And it wasn’t because it wasn’t good. It wasn’t because other girls were better. It was because there was depth Patrick can only put his finger on now. So much happened beneath the surface- so much that Art had no words to describe it. So much that Art drowned in his own emotions. Repressed them and kept them bottled up until he found something shiny to bury his feelings in. Until he found Tashi.

And Tashi is safe. With Tashi, you can’t get lost. With Tashi, there’s a plan. With you, he just has to be himself. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. And that’s terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick understands Art in absolute terms. He lies in a hotel room, stroking the hair of a woman who isn’t you, and understands everything there is to understand about life. Mainly, he understands again- that you are so fucking sweet. And that there’s no way he can win. . . .

You're going over tomorrow’s lesson when you hear the door open. Without turning around, you already know it’s Patrick. Who else could it be? His scrutinizing gaze doesn’t waver from you, even when he says nothing. “How was it?” You find yourself breaking the silence, lifting your head toward him with a smile. He doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted. The message Art sent you lingers in the back of your mind; He’s cheating on you. -Art Donaldson- Art has his reasons to make something like this up, but you doubt he’d be cruel enough to lie about it. Not while you’re mourning your horrible mother. No matter how angry he is at you. No matter how angry he is at Patrick. You don’t think Art is capable of that. You want to believe he isn’t capable of that. Then again, you also want so badly to believe Patrick wouldn’t do it. That Patrick wouldn’t cheat on you. That he wouldn’t find someone prettier, better, more cheerful and do all the things with her that he probably can’t do with you. You don’t want to think about the possibility that you haven’t sacrificed enough. That you didn’t try as hard as you were taught to. Your fault, your fault, your fault. You don’t want to believe it’s your fault. That another love will slip through your fingers, as if you’re trying to hold water. So, you choose to say nothing, because even if it’s true, even if he was with someone else, he came home. And home isn’t big, to say the least, not grand, not dazzling. But he came back. He’s right in front of you. You’re not alone. He knows you. He knows such ugly parts of you that sometimes you’re scared to acknowledge they even exist. He knows what you refuse to recognize in yourself, and sometimes he reminds you that you deserve more than you think. Which is a bizarre thought in itself. But you let him think it, you let him believe it enough for him to believe it for the both of you. “I lost in the third round. To Peter Michelson,” he says shortly, and you nod. “No choice but to make a voodoo doll with Peter Michelson’s face,” you try to joke. He usually laughs. At least smiles. He does neither. He just stands there like a block of wood, with the same expression. “I’m sorry you lost. I wish I’d been there,” you mumble, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Anything special happen this week?” he asks, his gaze never leaving you.

Now you could tell him your mother died, but there’s no way to say it without it turning into a fight about the fact that you didn’t tell him the moment you found out. “No, nothing special, you know. My routine is boring.” You shrug and shift your focus back to the lesson you’re supposed to teach tomorrow. The Great Gatsby. A shitty book. “Nothing special at all?” he presses. “If you count the fact that Mr. Grace forgot to put in his dentures on Monday -again- and I had to sub for his class, then no.” It’s a half-lie because the thing with Mr. Grace and his dentures did happen, just not this week. Most of this week, you were at your parents’ house, helping your father deal with shiva and all the people who came by. He was completely heartbroken.

You see Patrick shake his head slightly and close his eyes. You know this is something he does when he’s trying to restrain himself. When he doesn’t want to lash out. When something is bothering him, and he doesn’t want it to turn into the biggest fight in the world. He has a bad history with fights that spiral out of control. “No one was born? No relatives died? I don’t know, maybe the woman who gave birth to you?” he says, his piercing gaze back on you. “Shit,” you mumble. Because what else is there to say in this situation? “Yeah, shit,” he stays exactly where he is, making you feel like a child being scolded. Like you dropped a lollipop and won’t be getting a new one.

“I’m sorry-” you start. “My mom isn’t dead; your mom is dead. I think I’m the one who’s sorry.” Patrick hated when you apologized. He said it was irrational with you. That you apologized more than was normal and more than people around you deserved. “Patrick,” you sigh, scrunching your nose as you try to think of a good way to explain it. “I really need to understand this, (Y/N). When were you planning on telling me your living mother was no longer alive? Another month? Two months? Two years? What was the timeline in that head of yours?” His words drip with sarcasm, like the way he used to talk to you before you became you and Patrick. Before you learned to love who he was and before he started treating you like you weren’t the worst person in the world.

“I didn’t want you to withdraw from Atlanta. You trained for it so hard.” You sigh again, quietly. This time, you’re the one closing your eyes, not wanting to look at him- and in doing so, you miss the fact that he moves toward you in giant strides. “I wish you’d told me, Little Dove. I wish I’d been with you instead of being there.” His hands cup your face as he crouches in front of you, looking up to catch your eyes. “I’m sor-” You stop yourself mid-sentence when you see his displeased expression. “How do you feel?” he asks, and you shrug in response. Because what you feel isn’t something you can say out loud, not even to Patrick. It’s not okay to feel relieved. A lot of sadness, of course. But also, relief.

“Tell me,” he insists. He has a habit of knowing the things you don’t want to say. He can look at your face and catch the slight twitch of your left eyebrow to understand what you’re feeling. To see what you try so hard to hide. You can’t beat him at this. You can’t lie to him, not too much. Not about your feelings. Not when he spent years of his life learning what to hate about you, and then a few more years learning to love it. “She wasn’t the nicest woman in the world,” you murmur quietly, like you’re confessing the most forbidden secret. Like it’s a secret that could start a world war. Like Patrick would tell someone.

“She didn’t like me.” Patrick lets out a dry chuckle, his eyes glassy as if he’s remembering something. “She used to call me Art all the time and then correct herself, like it was an accident, but she did it on purpose. So I’d know she wanted me to be Art.” His jaw tightens slightly. You can see the anger and frustration behind the fake lightness in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to say, and he sighs. His large hands wrap around you in an almost crushing hug. Almost making it hard to breathe.

But that’s how Patrick is. Everything he feels is out in the open. Everything he thinks, he says. Everything he wants, he does. And most of the time, he wants to be present in your life, which is ridiculous because there is no one more present in your life than him. He still acts like he needs to prove something to you. “I wish you’d let me take care of you, Little Dove. It would be easier.” He whispers into your hair, not letting go for a second. You can almost feel him thinking, almost see him guessing what might help you. “I know you care about me,” you say, shifting slightly to look at him, to show him that he doesn’t need to prove anything. That you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asks, stepping back slightly, scanning you, then moving toward the half-empty fridge. “What did you eat?” he follows up. “I don’t know, Patrick. I don’t keep a journal,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What did you eat, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t let up. “A sandwich,” you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Since this morning?” His eyes stay locked on you. “Patrick, my mother just died. Can we not focus on what I eat for one second? It’s exhausting,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, turning your face to the side as he steps toward you and nods. . . . "What do you want to focus on?" he asked. Patrick felt guilty. He looked at you and saw nothing but the fact that just a few days ago, he had been with Tashi. While you were mourning your unbearable mother, he was busy fucking Tashi in a fancy hotel room, at a tournament he lost and that Art Donaldson would probably win. "You," your voice was small as you looked at him, almost pleading for a break from the interrogation and the anger. He hated when you made him the center of your focus, when you tried to do what you thought he wanted you to do. So he nodded and placed a small kiss on the crown of your head, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Patrick felt like a man on a mission as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Pat-" you tried to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to. You always tried. As if going down on you was a burden to him, as if all it would take for him to spend a lifetime just like this was for you to fucking ask. "Baby, can you take these off for me?" It was a question, but there was no question mark at the end. Not in that tone. Not when he was looking up at you like that, completely in control of the situation.

So you slid your pants down slowly, trying to hold on to the last bit of control slipping away with every second he stared at you like that. He took care of your underwear himself. Leaving you bare in front of him. "Fuck, Pat," you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the wall, making him look up at you one last time with a smirk stretched across his face. And then he got to work.

His lips explored you like you were his source of oxygen. Like his natural place was buried under you, his mouth inside you. "Baby, I’d eat you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every fucking day." His grip on your thigh was ruthless. Patrick felt like he was holding on for dear life, like this was all there was left to do. Like it was all he knew. "Sweet fucking pussy," he kept mumbling into you, until his face was coated with his own spit and your slick. He was ready to take it all, everything you gave him. In these moments, everything that was yours became his, and the little that was his became yours.

So he was milking it. He licked your clit in slow, agonizing strokes- for both of you. He took his time. The euphoria would come, but he was going to enjoy it until it did. Your small whimpers made him growl directly into you. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," like a prayer. He felt it. He felt divinity in all of it. He sped up and slowed down and sped up and slowed down. Merciless to the near-sobs escaping from you. "You're so sweet, baby. Do you want to come?" And he wasn’t asking if you wanted to come for him, because he wanted you to come for yourself. Because he wanted you to always, always come for yourself. He wanted to be a vessel. He wanted to erase all the stupid patterns in your head and make sure every orgasm you had was yours and for you. "Patrick." He thought that was the only thing you were capable of saying coherently, and he was fine with that. He was selfish enough to be satisfied if his name was the only word you could say forever.

And when you came with a moan he had learned to recognize and nearly worship, he told you how good you were. How rare you were. That he was yours and that he would always take care of you. He looked up at you from below, saw the tears slipping down your face, and pressed another kiss to your thigh. One that emphasized the word always. Because he didn’t think he could ever let this go. He was too selfish to ever let this go. . . . Art peeked through the door of the room every few seconds, searching for you among the guests. At this point, he didn’t even bother lying to himself about it. Because he didn’t know what else was left for him besides admitting the truth to himself- things he was never able to admit before. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about the nights he used to lay beside you. When you didn’t even fuck. When you just lay in that rickety twin bed in his dorm room. He was willing to take that. He was willing not to fuck you if it meant you’d hold him again. More than that, he was willing not to fuck anyone ever again. But you were too sweet, you wouldn’t let him go through life without sex. The thought made him chuckle for a second. But he was nervous. So fucking nervous.

He was about to marry Tashi, and she didn’t cross his mind even once. He accidentally saw her dress, even though he told her that he hadn’t really noticed it was there. He knew she would be a stunning bride. That months from now, people would still be talking about Tashi Duncan in a wedding dress. He knew people would envy him, he knew everything. His mind knew everything.

But all he could think about was what kind of wedding dress you would have chosen. He was almost sure it would be something less extravagant; you’d try to draw as little attention as possible. But the Art he was today wouldn’t have let you. He would’ve told you that you deserved all the attention the universe had to offer. That you deserved to be seen. He hated himself for how long it had taken him to realize that. Only when you truly weren’t there. Only when you belonged to someone else. Only when you chose Patrick Zweig of all people.

Patrick Zweig, who hated you with every fiber of his being. Patrick Zweig, who Art was almost certain had cheated on you with Tashi. It should have hurt him much more than it did. But all he cared about was figuring out if this would be the thing that made you get up and leave. You had to know you deserved better. That if not him- if not Art, the guy you both knew you loved with all your heart- then at least someone who didn’t want anyone else. That was the bare minimum you deserved. For years, he’d wondered if he had something to do with how little you thought you deserved, with how low your standards were.

He convinced his mother- who probably loved you even more than he did- to take upon herself convincing you to come to his wedding. Which was almost sadistic of him. Maybe masochistic. Maybe both. But he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. Sometimes he dreamed about that day and how his hand held yours, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to die if it meant he could hold you like that again. If it gave him an excuse.

He noticed that everything about you required an excuse. It hadn’t been like that when you were his. Except you were never really his. He didn’t even understand why it had been so complicated- why you hadn’t told him that’s what you wanted (though he could have guessed). And more than anything, he didn’t understand why he hadn’t known what he wanted. Why it hadn’t been clear to him that you were his person. That you knew the deepest parts of him.

He saw you walk in and texted you, almost begging you to come to the room where he was. You could tell him to go to hell, but that wasn’t your style. No, you were sweet. So sweet that all you did was knock on the door and push it open. Looking at him while he already had his eyes on your little black dress. While he was already studying the red nail polish. While he was already focusing on the lipstick he so badly wanted to wipe off of you.

“Your mother asked me to prepare a speech. Was that your idea?” you asked. There was no coldness in your voice, which made him happy. You stepped closer and started fixing his tie. He wanted to close his eyes, but at the same time, he wanted to see you. To remember you like this; in a little black dress, in heels, standing in front of him, helping him with his tie. “What can I say? You’re my best friend,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t the truth. “That’s really sad, Art,” you said, probably referring to the last four years you spent apart. “Are you saying you have a better friend than me?” he asked, hoping you’d deny it because a yes might make him break down crying.

“It’s a mediocre speech. I didn’t know what to say at your wedding,” you sighed, confessing a secret. “Saying you don’t want me to get married would’ve been a good start,” he said, taking a risk. Because he calculated the timing, and you were late, so he had a very short window for this risk. “Don’t be ridicul—” you started, quietly. “If you tell me not to do this, I won’t get married. Tell me not to do it. Tell me it’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay,” he whispered. Not looking away from you.

The silence in the room was deafening, and the chuckle that escaped him was bitter. Fake. He felt pathetic and small and miserable, and maybe he was all those things because he never knew what he wanted in time. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. Not knowing what else to add, because what was left to add? He could see the wetness in your eyes. He knew how unfair he was being. “I’m sorry,” he echoed. He didn’t think he had ever told you that before, but he really, truly was. “Did you write something good about me?” he added. “That you’re my best friend. And that my soul will always love yours,” you said, letting a single tear fall as his rough hand wiped it away with whatever gentleness was still left in him.

It was a nice speech. Everyone applauded. Art cried. . . .

Here we are- the second part of So Sweet! Hope it turned out good enough. Thanks for stopping by and reading what I write, it means a lot. Let me know what you think. Love you guys, stay sweet! 💕

[insomniakisses]

Omggg how would omega r x omega Leah work?? Regarding to mating and claiming (that would be so cute staphhh ) I can only imagine the sass from Leah and the fact her purs sound deeper like an alphas would probably make omega r feel more safe

I can just imagine omega Leah constantly whisking away HER you heard .. H E R omega so the alphas are shit out of luck

The nest would probably be the cutest blend of masculine and feminine with two poutty omegas with swollen lips & covered necks

Omega!Leah x Omega!Reader General HCs

Meeting -

Obviously we know how they met, i did that small drabble but

Rs first day

She has scent patches on

Everyone thinks Leahs gonna be stand off ish and mean because she’s used to being the only omega at arsenal

They think she’ll be possesive of the alphas

But the second R comes in shes huffing over not being able to smell her

Grumpily tugging R to the nest and ripping the patches off to sniff at her and get her scent

Immediately deciding R is her mate now

Soft nest sex and cuddles after

Getting together -

They got together after the nest sex and cuddles

R sleeping in Leahs chest as leah held her so so so soooo close

Nibbling at your neck till her teeth break skin

It’s harder since shes an omega

But her teeth are sharper than a regular omega so she manages

Biting deep and flooding R with her venom and marking her as Leahs

This makes R very vulnerable and Leahs on high alert growling at anyone who passes by the door as R purrs deep asleep

When R wakes up Leah is ready for round 2

More messy sex and needy kisses

Then R has to really try to break Leahs skin to bite her mate mark

Once she manages Leah lets out her purr

She gets so shy and tries to stop it because its deeper and more rumbly than it should be

But R just kisses across her face and neck till Leah cant help purr and she compliments her

Telling Leah how safe her purr makes her feel and then purring RIGHT back

The two inseparable from then on.

Heats together -

Heats are hard being a couple of 2 omegas

There’s only so long they can go with just fingering, oral and tribbing

Their Omegas making them crave a knot

Its just their biology

If either wants one of the alphas then they just call

Sometimes they all come over if requested

Often the two just use toys.

Leah gets a knot toy

Its one of them straps that go in the wearer too

Both ends have the ability to knot with a click of the remote

They both vibrate too

Just the two if you taking turns using that and cum everywhere

Just needy messy sex and biting

Your heats lasts 2 weeks if theres no alphas so your all needy and sore by the end if it

Wrapped up in each other’s arms.

Nesting and mate stuff -

The two of you share a nest

Both at home and at the training grounds

Both of you just huddled together nuzzling and purring

Leah often nests more than you

She just sits in the pile of blankets till u find her pouting at u

Or if u take too long she’ll waddle out with a blanket around her from clear on her face and growling and shoving everyone away till she finds you

Then your being tugged away by her as she grumble “Mine” or “nest time now”

She often tugs you away from people

Bc ur hers not theirs

She hates the others around u

Hates when u smell like alpha or spend too much tike with one.

She needs you thats why

She didn’t know she was missing something till she met you

Now she can’t live without you

Your her baby and she’s yours

You guys have soft bonding time

Cuddles, soft sex, bathing

She loves bathing with you and washing you in her soaps so u really smell like her

And she uses yours ofc.

Just a soft, needy possessive baby that loves you more than anything.

She just wishes she could get you pregnant and have the family she wants with you naturally without the beed for all the medical stuff

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 70

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,735ish

Summary: Your relationship continues to progress as your health declines.

Warning(s): health problems, illusions to sex, talk of death

Notes: There's some time skips in here and a rollercoaster of emotions. Please send in reactions! Can't believe there's only the final 2 chapters left. HELP PLAN MY NEW LOGAN SERIES HERE.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Kissing and making out quickly become your and Logan’s favorite thing to do together. But Logan especially loved stealing small kisses as the two of you cooked, cleaned, cuddled together or just any time he could. 

Despite your hesitation, Logan took over the rent. You told Laura about getting fired but told her not to worry, that you and Logan had a plan. She argued at first, saying that she could quit school and work full time, but you quickly convinced her otherwise.

At this point, Logan was basically living at your place. He would go home to sleep and change for a few hours but he was over at your place for the rest of his free time. 

It had been weeks since your first kiss and your powers were increasingly getting worse. You were currently laying on the couch, groaning in pain. Your joints felt like they were on fire, which they probably were. You had completely lost track of time and failed to realize that it was time for dinner until Logan came home from work.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted. His eyes fell to you on the couch and could immediately tell that something was wrong. He rushed over to your side. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

“Everything… hurts…” you panted.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Didn’t… want… to… bother…”

Logan shook his head. “You’re never a bother, doll.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, sighing as he felt how hot you were. “What can I do to help?”

“Bed…”

Without another word, Logan carefully pushed his arms underneath you and pulled you into his chest. He stood up and carried you to bed.

“What else can I do for you, baby?” He asked, softly.

“Nothing,” you rasped. “I’m fine…”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your stomach rumbled. “Darlin’, have you eaten at all today?”

“A little.”

Logan sighed. “That’s not okay. Will you be okay if I leave to go make some dinner?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” He leaned in and pecked your lips. “Call for me if you need anything, alright?”

You hummed as your eyes fluttered closed. Logan sighed, hating that he couldn’t do anything to take away your pain. The cure seemed to burn a hole in his pocket as he headed for the kitchen. He knew that you were getting worse and that the cure may not work, but Logan was becoming close to getting on his knees and begging for you to try it. Though, then he remembered that if it didn't work, that he could lose you forever and he couldn’t bear the thought of that.

~~~

“Wake up, darlin’.” Logan’s soft voice began to rouse you from your slumber. “Time to eat.”

You groaned. “More sleep,” you mumbled.

Logan chuckled. “You need some food in you, baby. Gotta keep you healthy.” Your eyes blinked open until they were focused on him. “There’s those beautiful eyes.” 

You smiled. As you went to sit up, you whine. Logan’s hands were quickly on you, helping you up. His hands pressed into your back further once he felt that your temperature had dropped. He was absolutely hating this. One second he felt like you were okay and the next, he was reminded that you were dying.

“Come on, darlin’, I got you,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms.

Logan carried you down the hall and to the table. He set you down on a chair and quickly grabbed a blanket to wrap around you.

“Thanks, babe,” you smiled up at him.

“Of course,” he kissed your head before he dished you up some food and set the plate down.

“Thank you for how well you take care of me.”

“Least I could do for the woman I love.”

Your eyes went wide, completely caught off guard by the confession. “You… what?”

“Uh, yeah, I… I love you.” A brief moment of silence followed before Logan began rambling, “And you don’t have to saw it back. In fact, you never do. I’m okay with loving you like this. I’m okay with—“

“I love you, too, Lo.”

You had never see a smile on Logan’s face like the one he was wearing right now. “You do?”

“Yes, Lo, I do.”

He leaned down and captured your lips into a loving kiss. Your hand snaked up to the back of his neck, keeping his lips close, while his hands found your waist. Letting your emotions get the best of you, the chair next to you went up in flames. You whimpered into Logan’s mouth before he quickly pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry you fell in love with a dying version of me.”

Logan’s hand came up and cupped your cheek as he shook his head. “Don’t. I’m just grateful to love you as long as I can.” 

~~~

Logan and you still had yet to have sex. The two of you had made out and let it get heated, but you either stopped yourselves from going further or your powers stopped you. But there was one thing that Logan longed to do before he even had sex with you, and that was to hold your hand. It sounded stupid and simple, but it was true. He wanted to hold your hand as the two of you watched movies and as you walked the streets. He wanted to hold your hand over the consul of the car and bring it up to his mouth for a kiss. But you never let him.

One night, the two of you were cuddling on the couch. Logan reached over and took one of your hands. He noticed how you immediately tensed, but chose to ignore it. Logan began to caressing each finger and the palm of your hand. He felt each scar like he was trying to memorize them.

You bit your lip as tears began collect in your eyes. You hated your hands, how they were now rough with scars. You hated how Logan was touching one of them now, with such gentle care. But you didn’t want to pull away because you didn't want to upset him.

Logan knew that something more was going on as your hand began to heat up and flames began flicking at your fingertips. He pulled you back into him more and kissed your cheek.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He whispered. The new term of endearment sent chills down your spine. 

“Nothing,” you tried to brush it off. “I’m fine.”

“I thought that we were going to stop with those lies?”

You sighed. “I… I hate my hands… They don’t feel or look nice with all the scars on them.”

“I love your hands.” You scoffed. “I’m serious, baby.” He lifted the hand that he was already holding up to his lips and began pressing kisses to it, especially focusing on the new burns forming. “They’re so powerful and delicate at the same time. They’ve fought so hard all these years and they keep fighting hard for the ones you love… And I know that I would love holding them if you would let me.”

“You wouldn’t think that they feel weird?”

“Not a chance, darlin’. I know that they would make me feel grounded and closer to you. But I won’t press you into it if you really don’t want to.”

“I’d like to try… if you don't mind the scars.”

“Baby, I love the scars.” He kissed the palm of your hand. “Almost as much as I love you.”

“Love you, too, Lo.”

~~~

Laura came home one day to find you shivering on the couch.

“Mom!” She exclaimed, rushing to you. She touched your face and gasped at how cold you felt. She grabbed two blankets and wrapped you in them. “Mom, tell me how long this has been going on?”

“M—most of the d—day…” you stammered.

“Why didn’t you call anyone?”

“Didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“And coming home to find you like this is better?”

“Buttercup!” Wade announced his entrance. “I’m here to see— Shit!” He rushed over.

“Wade, I need you to take her to the bedroom, try to get her warmed up. I’ll grab some other items to warm her up.

“On it! Heating pad, Wade, coming right up!” Wade scooped you up and carried you to your room. He got you situated in a pile of blankets before joining you in bed, cuddling against you. “I’ve got you, Buttercup. Gonna get you all warmed up.”

~~~

“Hey, Laura,” Logan greeted as he entered the apartment. “How was—what’s wrong?” He grew concerned when he noticed she was crying. 

“I—I—I found her freezing on the couch,” Laura cried. “I’ve never felt her so cold… Logan… I’m going to lose her… I’m going to lose my mother.”

Logan pulled her into his embrace with a quiet shush. He didn’t say anything as let her cry while holding her close. He knew that there was nothing he could say to fix this. You were dying and even the cure weighing heavily in his pocket may not save you. This was a lot for all of you and it seemed that Laura was slipping through the cracks.

“I can’t lose her,” cried Laura. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Logan whispered, kissing her head. “I can’t lose her either.” Logan held her close, letting Laura cry it all out. 

“Wade’s in the bedroom with her,” she whispered once the tears subsided. “He’s trying to warm her up.”

“I’ll go switch him out.” Logan pulled away. “We’re going to get through this, kid. No matter what happens.”

Laura nodded. “I’m going to start dinner.”

Laura hurried away to the kitchen while Logan headed down the hall. Your bedroom door was open, revealing you in a pile of blankets and Wade wrapped around you.

“Lo,” you breathed out when you noticed him at the door.

“Hey, baby,” he smiled at you, stepping into the room. “Is this asshole bothering you?”

“Hey!” Wade exclaimed.

“No,” you laughed. “He’s been helpful. Not as warm as you though.”

“Good,” Logan said. “I’m supposed to be your personal heater. Off, Wilson.”

“Fine,” Wade huffed. “I’m going to go help Laura. Maybe she wants me.” He kissed your cheek before getting up and shutting the door behind him.

Logan pulled off his jacket, tossing it aside, as he slipped off his shoes. Carefully, Logan took Wade’s spot and pulled you into him.

“How was your day, babe?” You asked, pressing a kiss to the shaved spot on his chin.

“Fine,” he replied. “Just work. Wish you would have called.”

“Sorry.”

��You’ve got to start calling someone, baby. Or someone’s going to have to be home with you at all times.”

“I just hate that I’m getting worse.”

“I know, doll. Me too… You know that you could always try the cure.”

“No. No. I’m not ready to take that risk yet. I need more time… we need more time.”

Logan sighed, knowing that you were right. He gave you a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you, darlin’. So much.”

“I know, Lo. I love you, too.”

~~~

Logan began sleeping on the couch, too worried that his apartment was too far away if you needed anything. After a few nights, you began falling asleep on him while watching movies. At first, he would tuck you in once the movie was over and then go back to the couch for the rest of the night. Then, Logan started falling asleep during the movies too, with you on top of him. 

Laura woke up in the mornings to find the two of you like that. She snapped a few pictures the first couple of days but as it continued, the sight just caused her to roll her eyes.

“Have you guys ever heard of a bed?” She teased one morning. “Mom has a bed. It’s in her room down the hall. It’s big and super comfortable. It can fit both of you. Use it. Please.” Then she left for the day.

You and Logan laughed.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you,” you told him before kissing under his chin.

“Yeah?” He questioned. “You sure?”

“I’m positive. Plus, don’t you feel a little cramped on the couch?”

“Depends… are we using the bed for—“

“Sleeping. Right now, just sleeping.”

Logan smirked. “I guess I can be fine with that.”

~~~

Logan and you walked down the street, holding hands. He had just taken you to a nice dinner and the two of you were heading home.

“It’s a pretty night,” you commented.

“Not as pretty as you, my love,” Logan told you.

“Lo,” you leaned into his shoulder bashfully.

“What? It’s true. I’m the luckiest man alive to be with a woman as beautiful as you. Inside and out.”

“Even with all my scars?”

“Even with all your beautiful scars.” 

“Lo?”

“Yes, my love?”

You stopped and got in front of him. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a heated kiss.

“Take me home,” you breathed agains this lips. “Laura’s not home tonight. Take me home."

Logan quickly got you home and the two of you began making out in bed. You pushed him to lay down and you straddled him. His hands found your hips as he broke the kiss.

“Are you sure about this?” He whispered. “I’m completely okay with just kissing you for the rest of forever.”

“I’m sure,” you nodded.

The two of you began kissing again, Logan letting you take the lead completely. Your hands slipped underneath Logan’s shirt and quickly heated up. He groaned and you quickly pulled away, sitting up.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean too.”

“I know, darlin’,” he said. “I’m just worried about you. I don't want you to hurt yourself. You gotta tell me when it’s too much, alright?”

“Alright.”

“We stop as soon as you start hurting. Got it? I can handle all the pain, just not you in pain.”

“Okay.”

~~~

Logan was nothing but a perfect gentleman, letting you have complete control except for when he could tell that you were over doing it. The two of you had to take a few breaks in order for you to not burst into flames, but Logan didn’t mind as long as he was with you. Logan would remember that night as the last perfect night for a long time. 

The next morning, Logan woke up first. You were still cuddled up and naked against him and freezing. Your skin was also dry and ashy. When you finally woke, you were crying out in pain. Logan immediately got to work on taking care of you. It was a long and painful day for the two of you. That night, Logan got Laura and Wade together and the three of them decided that you could no longer be home alone. Logan would continue to work and mainly take the night shift and weekends. Wade would be over you when Laura wasn't working or going to school because both Wade and Logan pressed once again that her quitting was not an option.

It was a week later when you began coughing up ashes. And another few days after when your whole body kept setting itself on fire. It got to the point where you were now basically living in a blow up pool in the middle of the living room. It was the only way to keep you from catching fire. The problem is, they couldn’t keep the water warm enough to stop the chills.

They all put up with this for six weeks before Laura finally broke.

“Mom,” she gripped your hand tightly as you laid in the pool. “You can’t keep going like this… We can’t keep seeing you like this.” Tears streamed down Laura’s cheeks. “I can’t do this. I know that you originally said no to taking the cure, but, please mom, for me. I need you to try.”

“Kiddo,” you rasped, giving her hand the beset squeeze you could muster.

“Please mom. For me. I need you to try. I can’t watch another parent die a terrible death.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then you at least tried and I will know that.”

Your eyes fell to Logan and Wade who were behind her. You could tell that they were feeling the same.

“Okay,” you breathed out. “I’ll take the cure.”

~~~~

Notes: I am not saying which version is angsty and which version is fluffy, though they both start out angsty. I hope that you choose to read both of them.

next chapter VERSION 1 >

next chapter VERSION 2 >

[oceanista08]

[ 2 ] Shadow of you. ✧. ┊    woo jinchul x hunter!reader.

The first time you met Woo Jinchul, it was a disaster.

The dungeon was supposed to be easy—a regular C-rank quest for your party. Nothing too dangerous. Nothing worth fighting for your life. But the thing about dungeons is that they are unpredictable.

A second gate had opened inside, releasing monsters far beyond your level. Your party scattered, either dead or unconscious, leaving you alone, bleeding and barely able to stand. Your breathing was ragged, your weapon grip shaking, but you would not give up.

The last thing you expected was for reinforcements to arrive in the form of him.

Woo Jinchul cut through the battlefield like a blade cutting through silk. His movements were precise, efficient—almost unfair power for someone who wasn’t even an S-class hunter. The monsters, sensing a stronger predator, attacked him. It didn’t matter. He was faster. Stronger. Merciless.

As the last creature fell, you fell to your knees, clutching your wounded arm. He turned to you, adjusting his sunglasses, his expression unreadable.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, even—completely unfazed by the carnage.

You swallowed. “I will live.”

There was a long pause. Then he crouched beside you, his presence overwhelming even without his threatening moves. “You shouldn’t be in a dungeon like this.”

It made you uncomfortable. “Excuse me?”

“I saw your profile. You’re a lone hunter. No guild, no backup. Reckless.”

You gasped. “Not all of us can play it safe, Chief Inspector.”

Something flashed behind his glasses. His lips pressed into a thin line before he let out a sigh of relief.

“Then at least don’t take on missions alone.”

And with that, he left.

You thought that would be the last time you saw him.

You were wrong.

You weren’t sure which annoyed you more—Woo Jinchul’s constant appearances or his constant saving of you.

It wasn’t intentional (probably), but it happened too often to be a coincidence. Every time you took on a dangerous mission, every time things went wrong, he was there. Silent, efficient, and maddeningly calm.

It wasn’t until the fourth encounter that you really snapped.

It was another bad mission—this time a raid gone awry. Your team had gotten separated, leaving you stranded with a mutated orc, and despite your best efforts, you weren’t strong enough to take it down alone. Just when you thought you were going to die, Woo Jinchul appeared, dispatching the creature in less than a minute.

As soon as the fight was over, you lunged at him, anger overwhelming your gratitude.

“Are you stalking me?”

He didn’t even flinch. “No.”

“Then why are you always here?”

He adjusted his sunglasses. “Because you keep getting into trouble.”

You gasped, your patience running thin. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I never said you did.” His voice was flat, unreadable. But then, after a moment of silence, he added, “But someone has to keep you alive.”

That left you speechless.

You weren't sure what shocked you more - the bluntness of his words or the quiet concern hidden within them.

For the first time, you actually looked at him. Not just as the Chief Inspector, not just as a high-ranking hunter with a confused expression, but as a man who, for some reason, had decided to follow you.

You didn't know what to say. So you decided to say something stubborn. “I don't need your help.”

Woo Jinchul studied you for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

And then he left.

But somehow, you knew it wasn't over yet.

A few weeks later, you found yourself sitting on the roof of the Hunter Association building, watching the city lights below. The task was difficult, your body ached, and you just wanted a moment of silence.

You barely reacted as someone approached.

“You're so reckless.”

You sighed. “You say that a lot.”

Woo Jinchul sat down next to you, remaining silent for a moment before continuing. “Because it's true.”

You glanced at him, surprised to see that he had taken off his sunglasses. His sharp, tired eyes were studying you with an intensity that made your breathing quicken.”

“Why do you keep pushing yourself?

You hesitated. “…Because if I don't do it, who will?”

The silence stretched between you. The usual sharpness in his eyes softened, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

“You don't have to do it alone,” he said finally.

Your heart skipped a beat.

For the first time, you wonder—maybe Woo Jinchul isn't just keeping an eye on you because it's his job. Maybe…he cares.

And maybe, just maybe, you want him to.

(　o=^•ェ•)o　┏━┓

You should’ve known that peace never lasted long in your line of work.

After your rooftop conversation with Woo Jinchul, you told yourself you wouldn’t think about it too much. But that was easier said than done. His words lingered, his presence seemed to follow you even when he wasn’t there.

And then the incident happened.

It started as a routine subjugation request—a low-tier dungeon appearing in the city outskirts. Nothing out of the ordinary. You and a group of hunters were assigned to clear it out, expecting an easy paycheck.

But when the gate’s energy spiked to unstable levels, the truth became clear.

It wasn’t a normal dungeon. It was a break in disguise.

The monsters that poured out weren’t C-rank or even B-rank. They were A-rank at the very least. The kind that devoured unprepared hunters in seconds.

Panic broke out.

Hunters screamed. Blood hit the pavement. You barely had time to think before an ogre-like creature twice your size lunged at you.

You dodged—just barely—rolling across the cracked asphalt. Your mind raced. The others were already down. You were the last one standing. And the monster—its glowing red eyes locked onto you—wasn’t going to let you escape.

Damn it.

Your body protested as you forced yourself up. You weren’t sure how long you could hold out. Maybe you wouldn’t make it out at all.

Then, a shadow loomed over you.

A familiar presence.

And then the monster’s head was gone.

Blood sprayed, its massive body collapsing to the ground with a sickening thud. You blinked, stunned, your heart pounding—only to look up and find Woo Jinchul standing before you, his suit stained with blood, his expression as cold and lethal as the blade in his hand.

“…You again,” you breathed, dazed.

His gaze flickered to you. Checked you. And for just a second, his expression softened.

“You’re hurt.”

You exhaled sharply. “Nothing serious.”

Woo Jinchul didn’t seem convinced, but instead of arguing, he turned back to the remaining monsters. There were still four left—massive, brutal, and eager to kill.

“I’ll handle this,” he said simply.

You bristled. “Like hell you will. I’m still standing.”

He glanced at you—this time, behind his sunglasses, you swore there was something unreadable.

“…Then don’t fall behind.”

And with that, he charged forward.

The battle that followed was brutal, but with Woo Jinchul at your side, the tide turned. His attacks were sharp, precise, a perfect contrast to your agile, unpredictable fighting style. It was like you had done this a hundred times before.

By the time the last monster fell, silence stretched between you. The only sound was your ragged breathing, the distant sirens of the Association’s backup finally arriving.

You turned to Woo Jinchul, your adrenaline still high, heart still racing.

He was watching you.

You swallowed. “You… always show up at the right time.”

A beat of silence. Then, his voice—steady, but quieter than usual.

“You keep giving me reasons to.”

Something in your chest tightened.

Before you could respond, Association hunters swarmed in, cutting the moment short. But even as Woo Jinchul stepped away, his presence lingered—just like the words he had left behind.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were in more danger from him than from any monster you'd ever faced.

U•ェ•*U

Days passed, but the encounter with Woo Jinchul didn’t leave your mind.

His words, his actions—everything about him was starting to get under your skin. You hated how often you thought about him, how his quiet protectiveness made your heart beat just a little faster.

So when you saw him again at an Association meeting, you told yourself you wouldn’t let it bother you.

You failed miserably.

He stood near the front of the conference room, speaking with the Association President. His usual sharp suit, his usual unreadable expression. But this time, when his gaze flickered to yours across the room, something in your chest twisted.

You quickly looked away.

This was getting ridiculous.

But then, as the meeting ended and you turned to leave, a voice stopped you.

“[Name].”

You froze. Slowly, you turned.

Woo Jinchul stood behind you, hands in his pockets, his posture as composed as ever. But his eyes—his real eyes, not the ones hidden behind dark lenses—were watching you carefully.

“…What?” you asked, cursing how unsteady your voice sounded.

A pause. Then—

“Dinner.”

You blinked. “…What?”

He sighed. “You’re reckless, you push yourself too hard, and you keep getting into dangerous situations.”

You scowled. “I don’t need a lecture—”

“It’s not a lecture.” His voice softened. “It’s an invitation.”

You stared at him, caught completely off guard.

Woo Jinchul, the man who barely spoke unless necessary, the man who only seemed to express emotions in the subtlest of ways—was asking you to dinner.

And maybe it was the exhaustion talking. Maybe it was the adrenaline, the slow-burn tension that had been building between you both. But before you could stop yourself, you found yourself saying—

“…Fine.”

The corner of his lips twitched—just barely, almost imperceptible. But you saw it.

And for some reason, it made your heart pound.

Maybe this is not bad at all.

HEAR ME OUTTT

This man deserves more love U-U

[erodasfishtacos]

Let's Be Alone Together - Trucker!H Prt II

prompt: harry doesnt understand why he asked her to travel with him, why he cares, or why he seems so drawn to a girl who cant stop apologizing and is too kind for her own good.

word count: 3.8k words

warnings: depression, suicidal ideation, lack of resources (food), childhood trauma - this is not a light-hearted read so use caution for yourselves!

author's note:

the first part was posted on tumblr here

there are currently eight more installments of this up on my patreon and still being posted

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

---

YN had laid back down in his bed after they had settled that she would go with him, that neither of them were attached to anyone else in any way, and all this was a bit of company - nothing more, nothing less.

Harry tried to keep his mind blank as he watched the road ahead of him.

It was a slippery slope that typically never led to happy thoughts when he lets himself be alone with them for too long at once.

They would creep in, like slow-cresting waves, and then hit him with the impact of a tsunami.

His body moved in practice, subconscious motions as he shifted gears with ease, flicking the windshield wipers up a notch because this weather was brutal and unrelenting.

Normally, Harry wasn’t concerned about such treacherous conditions where the roads were a sheet of white, snow flurrying rapidly and thick enough the clog the wind streams to make it nearly blinding.

He sickeningly enough enjoyed it because of the risk.

The higher possibility of death.

It was because what was the worst that could happen?

His truck could veer off the road.?

Hydroplane off the asphalt, hitting him into a guardrail, flipping it over until he’s falling down the steep embankment?

He would never want that to happen, only for Birdie’s sake, but if she wasn’t a factor then his answer would be different, most days.

 Harry hated to admit that there were more days than not that he thought about how much he wouldn’t mind such a thing to happen to him.

His life had never been easy, it’s why he fled his home when he was sixteen, lied about his age, and had a rough-around-the-edges older man who had hired him for some odd jobs around his mechanics shop taught him everything he needed to know about driving a semi-truck.

And as soon as he could get his commercial license, he found a job that had him driving a truck from one end of the states to the other to deliver furniture from a custom brand out of Canada.

He didn’t mind the job, except for when he was granted his time off.

It was three weeks on, two off, and for people with families, children, it was rigorous schedule but they looked forward to having the extended time to relax at home before another three weeks took them away.

Harry didn’t know what to do with himself for that two weeks.

His bosses had looked at him like he was insane when he asked if he could just not take those two weeks off.

The first time, he came back to his hometown because he didn’t know where else to go, and it hadn’t ended well - he gave his mother too many chances and it resulted in him heading back out onto the road with twelve hundred less dollars in his wallet.

He never went back, left all of his belongings at his childhood home, changed his number so that his mother couldn’t get a hold of him, and cooped up in extended stay hotels wherever he landed for those two weeks.

Occasionally, he would meet a cute girl at the local bar or a waitress at the diner who he would spend a night with.

He really wasn't a one-night-stand guy or just a casual hookup either, but he sought out those women when the thoughts got dark, when the loneliness seemed overwhelming, and he really wasn't seeking out sex as much as he was comfort and intimacy even if just for a few hours.

He never felt enough of a connection with any of them to visit on his next off-time, even if he had promised it a few times to smooth over the hurt he had caused by crushing their hopes of a relationship.

His work paid for his meals during his weeks on, he stayed in cheap hotels, and didn’t spend money on anything except necessities that his company card didn’t cover which led to quite a hefty sum in his bank account.

Enough that he could purchase on his own semi-truck, used and beat to shit, breaking down every couple thousand miles and causing more financial burden than it was worth, but it helped him start his own business.

He had his own transport company now, just his truck and him, nothing fancy or overly complicated.

He could pick and choose his work, always picking the highest paid contracts, and it really made him successful.

Enough so that he could purchase a new, top-of-the-line semi which he reasoned was the best investment because not only was he purchasing his work truck but his home as he would be living out of it.

Ever since he started his own company, with no off time because he had contracts lined up to fulfill for the next year, and then some that never gave him a break - just like he wanted, no time to get too lost in his own miserable shit that he preferred to suppress. 

No time off meant no life.

Harry hadn’t chatted anyone up at the bar, hell, he can’t remember the last time that he was even in one.

He can’t remember the last time he had sex either.

At some point, the company of a woman didn't quell those thoughts.

Sex workers knocked on his cabin door quite frequently, his flashy truck drew their attention with the hopes that he would be a generous tipper, but he always shooed them off.

He would be extra pissed if they woke him.

At some point between his first job and now, his depression had worsened to a deeper state than it had ever been in his life.

Life was a routine, monotonous and never-changing, miserable and defeating.

Harry convinced himself he didn’t need people, he only needed the open road and his dog, and that would be enough to suffice.

It was…

Somedays.

But other days (most of them), Harry found this sense of hopelessness, the weird in between where he wouldn’t do anything to end his life, but he wasn’t going to go kicking and screaming if it happened.

This world wasn’t made for him, he had told himself a long time ago.

It was destined to be a path of unhappiness from the moment he was born to the woman his mother was.

Happiness, prosperity, excitement towards life had never been an option when the woman who raised him rejected it all.

Harry couldn’t possibly start to consider his own behaviors of inviting this girl on a five-day trip with him around the country.

He was just being nice, is what he’ll tell himself because he’s fine being alone, really, he is.

It’s been this way for years; this was certainly just a blimp before his life becomes routine again.

++

Birdie is always sleeping in the passenger seat during the day.

It was weird to look to the side to see the seat empty, the expensive leather worn from the amount of time her lazy ass slept there.

However, Birdie was back with YN, tucked into her like they were the best of friends, and Harry never existed.

Traitor.

Acting as if Harry hadn't nursed her back to health when she was a puppy, too young to be away from her mother, and completely reliant on Harry to survive.

Could fool him.

Harry didn’t even want to acknowledge that Birdie has never taken to another person, ever, like she had with their visitor.

YN must have not slept well for weeks at this point, obvious by the dark circle under her eyes that had been covered with thick concealer when they’d first met.

YN didn't stir from his bed until nearly five in the evening, he had kept the blinds down, and the black-out curtains drawn so that no light was seeping in to disturb her as she slept, making up for lost time.

When YN finally does wake up, after using the bathroom, she pads up to the front of the cabin, and sits in the passenger seat, legs crossed and tucked under her as she glances out the windshield at the snowy mountains ahead of them.

Harry looks over at her, his eyes accidentally falling on her chest before they’re darting back up to her face - she wasn’t looking at him anyways but the henley she was wearing wasn’t the thickest and the pebbling of her nipples was obvious.

“Sleep alright?” Harry asks, eyes already back on the road, with this weather he didn’t have the luxury of not being vigilant.

“Yes, thank you,” YN replies as she curls her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and resting her chin on her kneecaps.

Harry just nods, he’s not good at conversation, at one point he was but that was a skill he wasn’t familiar with anymore.

The extent of his communication was over the radio, letting other truckers know that they’re driving like assholes or the customers he had contracts with - that was really it.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, it’s comfortable for Harry but he can tell by the way that YN keeps looking over at him and then out the window, that it wasn’t the same for her as the only noise filtering in was the engine.

“Why don’t you have a home to go back to?” YN’s voice breaks the quiet, her voice is unsure because what were they supposed to being doing on this trip together?

Was YN supposed to keep him company by conversation since her purpose to come wasn’t sex.

Or did Harry just want the physical company?

Just a body in the seat, nothing more than that.

“Why don’t you?” Harry replies in a terse tone, it was defensive because he didn’t talk about his past, to anyone, fucking ever.

He felt emotion when he thought about what his home used to be.

It trudges up anger, helplessness, desperation.

All things that his depression helped him ignore.

He isn’t an open book, the most binded close, lock-protected type because he wasn’t going to share anything that made him vulnerable, weak, and the only thing that got him to the point was recalling what a shitty childhood he had.

Shitty was an understatement.

Harry feels instant regret for his choice of words when YN flinches at his response back, arms coming to wrap around her knees a bit tighter, and that has him cursing himself out in his mind.

He didn’t want YN to be scared of him, he could tell she was already a jumpy thing which most likely came with the required hypervigilance of the work that she does, and he doesn’t want her to have to feel that way with him.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes, a nervousness in her voice as she positions her body more towards the door, and away from him.

Fuck.

Harry doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how to say ‘sorry’ without showing emotion.

As he never did before, vulnerability was his worst fear, and he was going to do anything and everything possible to never show it.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Harry says instead, glancing over at her but she’s looking out the window, head now resting on the cold glass.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” YN dismisses easily, not turning to look back over at him.

And she didn’t say it in a way that she wanted sympathy or that anything like that.

Her voice was kind and forgiving, understanding which just shows how beat down she is.

Tired enough to just accept others' behaviors because that’s easier than fighting, accepting how people talked to her because she was so used to it that it didn’t seem like anything special when they did.

And God, that made Harry feel like absolute and utter shit.

He didn’t know YN, no, but he had a feeling that she really was a sweet girl under all the anxiousness and turmoil, and didn’t deserve that treatment from anyone.

Harry doesn’t want YN to feel like she has to get used to him treating her the same way that others have but they only have a few days together.

Why did this bother Harry so much when in the grand scheme of things, their time together was so limited that he shouldn’t care like he does, and he’ll continue to lie to himself - to chalk it up to a lame excuse.

Instead of apologizing, his voice is probably still too gruff when he responds, “You shouldn’t be used to shit like that. You need to stand up for yourself, not let people walk all over you. S’not right.”

YN picks at a loose thread of the pajamas pants she’s wearing, “I shouldn’t have asked, it’s my fault. I get why you said that.”

Harry hasn’t registered guilt as an emotion he’s had for a very long time, it hasn’t been a necessity, and it’s not YN’s fault that it's pounding inside his skull right now.

There’s something about how understanding she’s being, kind and giving him every opportunity to act like it never happened, and she deserves to be treated nicer - nicer than he was treating her too.

“S’not your fault,” Harry shakes his head, his fingers knuckling the steering wheel a bit harder because going from zero to a hundred of getting his feelings back wasn’t an easy thing to try to sift through - it was overwhelming, and he didn’t know why it was happening.

YN doesn’t say anything else, props her chin back on her knees after a while and watches the open road, her eyes trailing over the snow-capped mountain tops, to the wildlife they would occasionally see off in the plateaus. 

Harry finds himself wanting to talk.

He wants to know more about her, but he can’t do that when he just shut her out.

“You can go nap again, if you want. It’s going to be at least another hour before we’ll stop,” Harry tries to keep his voice more friendly, but it just comes out flat, monotone, bored.

YN had been leaning down to scratch behind Birdie’s ear, lounging right at her feet on the floor, perpetually dozing off - “I won’t sleep tonight if I do. If I’m bothering you, I can go back there.”

She slips her feet out from underneath her, standing up with the intention to get out of Harry’s space.

“No, that’s-” Harry cuts off when he realizes he had wrapped his fingers around her wrist to stop her, light with no real intention to stop her actions.

They both look down but Harry’s dropping his hold on her, continuing where he left off without acknowledging the touch, “That’s not what I meant. I just know this can be boring. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to feel like you had to sit up here with me.”

YN doesn’t seem alarmed or angered by the touch, she didn’t try to rip from his hold or shake him off, her body language was as calm as it had been before.

It was a relief because Harry was starting to have a sense of anxiety that YN  might be scared of him or intimidating, and he knew he came off…strong, unapproachable, unfriendly is just a few ways to describe him.

However, his intention is never to make her feel fear or concern about her safety around him.

His goal in these past twenty-four hours has become the exact opposite, an intense urge to protect her, even though he doesn’t know her or what she’s been through.

“I like sitting up here with you,” YN tells him shyly, her eyes darting away from him as she moves to sit back down in the passenger chair.

It had been a miracle that Birdie hadn’t snagged it in the short amount of time that YN had been out of it.

Harry’s chest warms at the admission, but he doesn’t let it show.

Of course he doesn’t.

Fuck, she’s pretty and Harry has to look back at the road because he could just stare, admire, and try to memorize her features because each time he gets a good look, he feels like he discovers something new about her.

He doesn’t say anything back, only leans over to turn up the heat a bit when he realizes that she has goosebumps on her arms, and she smiles to herself at that - almost like she doesn’t realize that she did.

And that anger floods in because all he did was turn the fucking heat up for her and apparently that gesture, that miniscule gesture, was enough to cause her to smile which make Harry wonder what the fuck she had gone through in her life.

Harry likes her smile, he thinks that he’d like to see it more often, and that thoughts are scary to him - all of this is more terrifying than it should be because his mind was becoming occupied with her.

So much so that he hadn’t thought much about his depression, his lowness, that dank place he tries to keep his mind out of at all today when normally it’s the only thing that is circulating in his mind.

++

Harry had been very spot on when he predicted that they would hit the next town in just a little of the hour.

He hadn’t eaten yet today and with a realization that he didn’t think that YN had either.

“Did you eat anything?” Harry asks with a frown, he knows that he startles YN a bit because they hadn’t spoken in that hour, and they probably would have if Harry had shut down the initial attempt at conversation, “At all today?”

“Not yet,” YN tells him as she sits up, stretching her arms above her head.

Harry knows to keep his eyes up because even out of his peripheral vision, he can see the flash of her smooth belly as the shirt rising just the slightest, and since when did he find his eyes wandering to that of any woman before?

It seemed that every inch of her body was of interest to him.

And even though that sounds bad, it truly wasn’t in a predatory or sexual way, it was more of an awe, admiration to how beautiful she was, and how perfectly she was crafted albeit much too skinny.

He can see the outline of her ribcage when she stretches, not enough fat on her bones to disguise them at all, her hip bones more prominent than they should be, and all of this a clear indication that she wasn’t eating enough.

And was Harry the person to talk to?

No, not really.

He was skinnier than he should be too.

Depression sucked the appetite from him, but he did enough to keep his muscles, even if his ribs are showing more than his abdominal muscles at this point but it was hard to have any motivation to care about his appearance that much. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out as accusatory as it did, he really needed to work on his tone.

YN pulls at the hem of her shirt, almost like she realized that Harry noticed how skin and bones she was under her clothes, “I am but I also learned how to cope with the hunger pains when I get them. I try to save my money to eat when it gets to that point, where it hurts.”

Harry doesn’t like that one fucking bit.

“You’re not going to do that bullshit when you’re with me, you got it?” Harry huffs, letting his irritation show and he doesn’t know how it translates - whether she gets that it is because it concerns him or that she thinks that he just finds her annoying.

It’s a tossup at this point.

“You’re going to eat when you’re hungry, no stomach pains, none of that shit,” Harry meets her eye, facial expressions firm to show that he means it.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes again, eyes wider and remorseful, “I’ll eat.”

Harry wishes he had the words to tell her not to apologize, to explain his behavior, and that it was all with good intent.

He wasn’t yelling at her, but he was concerned.

Instead of saying those things, he just grunts out, “Good.”

“Did you eat?” YN asks in return, not throwing it in his face but genuine concern in her words.

Harry holds up his coffee cup, “This is my fuel.”

“But…you have money to eat?” 

The confusion knits her brow in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

“Yeah, m’just not hungry a lot of the times,” Harry shrugs, it’s not a lie.

YN’s lip twist at the side, thoughtful as she reties the knot of the pajama pants, too big and slipping down her hips, her voice quiet like if Harry hadn’t really been listening, he wouldn’t have heard it, and she probably wouldn’t have said it again.

“I really love McDonalds.”

+

[ierr]

I like you, but how do I tell you? // katsuki bakugo

a.n ; guys I suck at summaries (which is why I don’t write most of em) ��� but trust I will get better!! this took a little long, but I still hope you guys enjoy!! would ya’ll like a pt 2? 👀👀 ALSO SERVER IS NOW UP, PLEASE JOIN🙏🏼🙏🏼

discord server!! - JOIN NOW

this was just great. what a wonderful week you had right? wrong. tonight just took the whole fucking cake of the week. here you are walking through the streets with a tank top, a black skirt and heels. you were supposed to be attending a party with your "boyfriend" but instead got hit in the fucking face with a welcoming surprise. when you walked into the house, the first thing you did was try to find him. looked in the kitchen, the living room, and finally upstairs. pushing past some people to get upstairs, you were gonna check the rooms but instead got hit with a welcoming surprise.

there he was with a semi tall blonde chick, deep kissing her, gripping onto her ass as her hands were in his hair. your heart had dropped, but you didn't feel sad no. you felt angry and…stupid. angry that after two years of dating, wasting your time. and stupid because the moment your best friend told you what he saw you didn’t believe him. alone in the dark as you walked, you pulled out your phone going straight to his contact, biting your lip you stopped walking for a second to stare at it.

'kat 🧡

you stood there just..looking at his contact name. you bit your bottom lip, clicking on the messages to see the last thing that was sent. "don't come running to me when you find out the type of guy he is." you clicked your tongue. whole time he was right, and you didn't listen giving him the benefit of a doubt. right now. he was your only option of getting a ride. you hovered over the call button, hesitant to press it, but looking around it was dark and cold. huffing in frustration you pressed on it putting it up to your ear starting to walk again, it was ringing which was good. only a few seconds went by before it went to voicemail, knew it.

"hey..kat. I know we haven't talked in over..two weeks, but uh..I kinda need you right now?. I'm stranded in a neighborhood, and I don't have money on me just..if you get this please call me back?." you sighed, hanging up the phone continuing to walk through the street. now you have no one, and have a 23 mile hike to walk back to your apartment. you huffed crossing your arms together deep in thought. you could imagine it already..the "I told you so" scoffing, hearing his voice in your head. a few minutes had passed by, still walking through the night grunting by the pain in your feet as you walked. when you made up the hill a bright light had came to your attention, and a loud engine revving making your ears perk up. you used your hand to cover the lights that were practically blinding you, but when they shut off a figure stepped out the car. you furrowed your eyebrows, reaching for the knife that was hidden in your sock before the figure came to the light.

your heart dropped. It was him. you wanted to run towards him and just..be in his arms, but you stood up straight, crossing your arms walking towards him who leaned against the hood of the car palms sitting behind him holding him up. the sound of your heels clicking against the ground made you even more embarrassed, as you walked up to him. he didn't say anything, but stare at you with a tilted head. katsuki raised a brow, you were in a black skirt, a white tank top, and black heels. "tank top and a skirt huh?." was the first thing he said scoffing, looking you up and down. you rolled your eyes looking away from him, "attending a party." he scoffed again nodding his head, "attending" right? then what's this?." he said obviously pointing out the obvious. you were standing in the cold with barely anything on. "was attending.." you looked away. katsuki grunted leaning up from the car to take off his jacket, when he didn't say anything you turned back to him only to see a jacket flying towards your face. "hurry up, and put it on before you catch a cold." you pulled the jacket off your face glaring at him, who looked back at you with a smirk getting into the black car.

you scoffed pulling the jacket onto your body going to the passenger side. It was nice and warm..you breathed in relief feeling the warmth engulf the coldness that once covered you. the car ride was very..awkward and silent, neither one of you said a word to each other. you're looking outside the car window seeing lights, and buildings go by as katsuki kept his eyes straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel as the other on the center. the sound of his fingers tapping against the leather box gained your attention, looking from the window down at his hand then at him. your eyebrows scrunched up, you wanted to say something to him, but you couldn't find the right words.

he felt your eyes on him, he knew exactly what you were thinking. your face gave it away. katsuki grunted, stopping at a red light finally facing your way which caught you off guard. he just stared at you, like he was waiting for you to say something, but it was crickets. damn y/n!. get a grip. you cleared your throat looking back down, "thank you..for getting me." was all you said, but he raised a brow. that wasn't all you wanted to say. you wanted to apologize for getting mad at him..but you couldn't find the right words. you were such an idiot for not believing him from the beginning, "that all?." his voice spook, your eyes averting to his who stared back, your eyebrows furrowed.

It wasn't. you shook your head no, sighing. "I'm also..sorry for getting into that big argument..I should've believed you from the beginning, and i'm an idiot for not..i'm just really sorry kat.” it was silent. you stared at him waiting for an answer, but you didn’t get one. just a simple nod looking back ahead. though, you would be lying if you didn’t say that didn’t hurt feelings when it did, but you deserved it. you were an asshole towards him when he tried to tell you..looking down you fought the urge to cry. tonight was just so shitty. through the car ride it was silent again, as you looked out the window you recognized you were in your neighborhood, thinking he was taking you home getting ready to unbuckle, he drove right past your apartment.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. turning your head towards him, he stayed quiet, only keeping his eyes in front of him as he drove. if this was anyone else, you would’ve freaked out..but since he is your best friend, you trust him. as you guys drove through the city, you were starting to recognize this road..after a few more minutes, katsuki stopped the car. after the dull minutes of silence he spoke, “you’ve always said this view made you feel better, so.” your heart fluttered. “kat..you didn’t have to, you know?” you said with a light chuckle, hearing him snicker. “shut up idiot, I wanted to..” from hearing your voicemail, and picking you up he knew you finally saw what he saw that day. even though he’s still upset with you he wanted to make you feel better. he cared about you..a lot more than you think. you turned back to look at the view of the city, the lights, the water..it made you feel at ease.

now sitting on his hood, as you both were admiring the city he could tell you were feeling more better. your head laid on his shoulder, as you continued to look at city. you missed this. from the days you two had stopped talking, you thought he was just jealous of your relationship with e/n, and wanted to break up your guy’s relationship, but you were wrong. when bakugo told you he saw him with another girl, kissing, holding hands, you didn’t wanna believe him. now you feel stupid for not. katsuki cares about you, weather he has a hard time showing it, you mean everything to him. growing up, and graduating u.a together you guys are inseparable. though he is very good at hiding emotion, that day when you told him to fuck off, to leave you alone..he couldn’t lie, and say it didn’t hurt his feelings when it did.

hurts more when you have feelings for a girl who was already taken.

as the wind blew, taking him out of his thoughts he felt you shiver against him. though the jacket was keeping your top half warm, your bottom half is what bothered you, shivering again feeling cold air hit your legs. he looked down with a raised brow, grunting, bringing your legs to lay ontop of his, placing his hands on top of them. it took you by surprise looking up at him. usually he would always get annoyed or curse you out for putting your legs on him, but this time it was different. feeling his hands on your thighs, his palms started to heat up, “feel better?” he questioned, you hummed..slowly nodding your head. “much better..” he only hummed in response, continuing to look in the distance. this moment together felt right? every feeling you felt after you left that house disappeared like ocean waves..you felt safe with him. he felt safe with you.

feeling katsuk’s hand on your leg softly, caressing his thumb over your skin, you couldn’t help but smile a little, moving your hand to be placed on top of his. they were rough like always, but warm with a tent of softness to them. “It’s been awhile since we been up here.” you mentioned with a small smile, looking back at him, who grinned looking at you. you looked so..beautiful, “yeah?” you rolled your eyes, squeezing his hand. “you know it has…you didn’t have to do this for me.” again with that. katsuki scoffed, pinching your leg, “would you shut up? I said I wanted to dummy.” — “I’m just saying!” rolling your eyes, “this was really sweet of you though..even after what I’ve said to you.” katsuki felt a weird ping in his heart, but brushed it off shrugging. “It’s fine.” he felt more at ease knowing you’re finally done with that asshole..but his feelings for you only kept bothering and poking at him.

you guys spent a good hour viewing the city before he decided to drive you home, this time no awkward silence or tension. it was back to normal, which you were happy about. as katsuki pulled up in front of your apartment building, he parked the car. “thank you again kat, it means a lot to me.” you smiled, hearing a small hum. “don’t do no dumb shit again, ya hear?” you giggled rolling your eyes, “just get home safe, k?” as soon as you were about to leave the car, katsuki thought to himself..should he confess? should he not? unconsciously his hand shot towards your wrist, you paused feeling his hand turning back around to look at him with confusion. “what’s wrong?” fuck. why was this so hard? was this even a good moment to tell you? “I..uh.” I like you. say it, three simple words right? “something wrong kat?” his feelings. his eye brows furrowed… say it bakugo! “I’ll text you when i’m home.” fuck! you relaxed a little, nodding with a small smile, “you better!!” his heart pounded against his chest, watching as you closed the door walking into the apartment building. “fuck.” he growled, leaning back into his seat rubbing a hand across his face.

why was this so hard?

join the discord server!!

[pebblezone]

Idk how welcome home has overrun literally all of my social media but I guess I welcome it

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[steviescrystals]

ignore this post i’m just whining again

[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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[tonycries]

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? - G.S.

Synopsis. There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, Satoru’s blindfold gets used, overstimulation (male + female), lots of cum, aphrodisiac sex, multiple rounds, making Gojo Satoru cum in his pants, breaking the bed, mating press, pet names (my girl), swearing.

Word count. 3.0k

A/N. Can you tell it’s ovulation week. PART 2 HERE. Art by @_3aem on x.

Ah~ It’s the 21st century, they should really make these curses self-exorcizing. 

It’s been a long day of dealing with countless curses and five droning clan meetings (all of which he missed, oops). Now, Satoru loiters around your shared penthouse apartment - waiting for you to come back home from work.

Hmm, maybe he’ll quickly drop by and see what the first years are up to? He probably didn’t have a class right now. 

But first, Satoru grins, opening the refrigerator to grab at the secret stash of sweets all the way in the back - something sweet.

---

It was odd to step into a tense silence suffocating your home - usually used to being met with whines of “how dare you take so long!” and “you won’t believe what that emo kid did today.” as soon as you walked in through the door.

Was Satoru running late on a mission today?  

It wasn’t surprising, the man had to be everywhere - it’s not like he always has the time to teleport and welcome you home. Yet, you still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off as you made your way into the kitchen.

Cursing whoever invented the work week, the cold air of the refrigerator hits you as you open it to grab a drink, wondering when your fiancé will be home.

Wait.

Tired brain distinctly noting the lack of that familiar flash of hot pink, you double-take as you glare at the back of the refrigerator - as if willing it to materialize in front of you. Where was that?

“That” being the gag gift your friends had given you last Christmas to playful wolf whistles. Some large slab of “aphrodisiac chocolate” - probably normal chocolate - that you’d skeptically thrown in with your secret candy stash for a rainy day. 

Satoru had ransacked your goods again, you sigh. But if he was home…then where was he?

“Toru? Are you home?” you call out in confusion, only to be met with a deafening silence. 

Concern etched on your face, you set the drink down to look for Satoru, footsteps thumping against the hardwood floors at each tense step. 

Approaching the bedroom, a low, unmistakable moan filters through the heavy door. Satoru.

Heartbeat racing and worry coursing through you, you cautiously push the door open - only to be met with a sight that makes your heart stop.

There, sprawled across your bed in just his boxers, a delicate flush spread enticingly along his sculpted body, was your Satoru. 

Something about this scene felt more than a simple evening nap. The air was heady and thick with something. Maybe it was that familiar hot pink wrapper lying empty at the foot of the bed. Maybe it was the way Satoru’s usually vibrant eyes were half-lidded, curtained by his tousled hair. 

Or maybe it was his hand squeezing the large outline of his achingly hard cock through his boxers. Circling the dark spot around his leaking tip. Massaging his heavy balls. Teasing. 

“You’re home‘ he rasps out, voice strangled and snapping you out of your trance. 

“Wha- yes. Toru, what happened?” you sputter out, eyes locked on the way his cock twitched animalistically at the sound of your voice.

In the blink of an eye, Satoru’s gotten up from the bed, muscled arms caging you against the wall. His rock-hard erection presses into your front, precum smearing through his boxers against your work clothes.

“You’re home.” he repeats, sounding as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each breath that fans your hair.

You could feel the pulsing of your cunt as your eyes flit from the sheen of sweat decorating his body to the blindfold haphazardly hanging off his neck. Satoru finally raises his eyes to look at you.

Oh, he’s already lost his sanity.

Pupils blown, those blue eyes you love now a lustful black - a predatory glint in them that made a carnal part of your cunt twitch. His mouth spreads into a wolfish grin, teeth bared as if ready to eat you up. 

A shiver runs down your spine.

“Toru…you okay?”

“You’re home.” he breathes out, as if a prayer. 

“Satoru.”

The simple call of his name sealed your fate.

The buttons hit the ground before you realize what he’s doing. Ripping your shirt off, pulling off your bra, fisting your clothes in his hands as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Too impatient - too starved - to remove your skirt, he pulls it to shreds off your hips.

“Woah- slow down there.” you squeal as he drops to Satoru knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties, tugging with his teeth. You know he’ll buy you ten more to replace what he’s torn, but jeez where was the decorum?

“Can’t” he slurs, peeking up at you with dazed eyes. Was your Satoru even here with you?

“What?” 

“Can’t stop.” he murmurs lowly, voice sending vibrations to your twitching cunt. 

And before you know it, sharp teeth bite around your panties, ripping them to shreds. Looking up at you with hooded eyes, miles away, grinning devilishly around the soaked fabric in his mouth. 

Shit, what have you gotten yourself into.

Despite your thobbing pussy, you soothe “Now, Toru. Why don’t we just-”

“Shut up.” he mutters. And he does - words catching in your throat as Satoru dives nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue urgently lapping at your juices, as if a man dying of thirst..

Nose rubbing your pulsing clit in rough circles, he breathes you in so sinfully, letting out a throaty groan as he does. He bullies his tongue past your dripping folds, stretching you, dipping in and out of your quivering entrance. Over and over. In and out.

You were losing your mind with each rough push of Satoru’s warm tongue. Dizzying pace forcing lewd whimpers out of your mouth that mix with the squelches of his mouth on your pussy. 

You buck your hips desperately into his face, and amidst his merciless abuse on your cunt, you barely notice the way he presses his body against yours. 

Shit, so this is why he’s so fucking feral - Satoru’s cock was painfully hard, swollen and throbbing against your leg. Fuck- you weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

He grind his hips into you, precum soaking your bare legs. With a low whimper at the back of his throat, Satoru’s tongue fucks you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting.

Maybe it’s the harsh abuse of his mouth on your swollen lips, nose catching on your clit just right. Or maybe it’s the feeling of your slick dripping down the corners of his mouth, onto your thighs and mixing with the precum of his aching erection. 

Before you can even register it, you’re cumming all over Satoru’s mouth, grip tight on his white locks and hips riding his pretty face.

Greedily lapping at your quivering cunt, he moans as his eyes roll to the back of his head at the sweet juices pooling around his tongue. 

In the back of your mind, you recognize the feeling of Satoru’s warm cum smearing against your leg. Did- Did Gojo Satoru just come in his underwear while eating you out?

Sinfully, he licks at the mixture of your juices dripping down your legs, eyes closed as if tasting a delicacy. He was going to be the death of you.

As soon as your high bates, Satoru stands to his full height. Towering above you with eyes that looked like he wanted to positively eat you alive.

“T-Toru…are you okay?” 

But your fiancé stays silent, throbbing erection still straining painfully against his wet boxers as he shoves you against the cold wall. Rough hands on your hips, presenting your dripping cunt to him and arching you to his will.

A large hand smacks the wall beside your head, plaster crumbling under his strength. Shit, if he keeps going at this pace then nothing in the house will survive Satoru - including you. 

You feel the cum-soaked fabric of his boxers grinding against your ass, his hands pulling and groping every bit of skin he can reach.

“Toru, take it off.” you whine out, words dripping in lust.

You don’t need to tell Satoru twice. With grace that he wouldn’t give your clothes, his boxers are on the ground, painfully hard cock hitting his abs. 

You can feel the slick dripping down your legs as you look behind your shoulder to see one hand wrapped tightly around his large cock. Pulling in slow, languid motions up to the furiously flushed tip. His heavy balls twitch as he thumbs the prominent vein along the side.

“I want-”

You can’t even finish your sentence before Satoru’s bullying his massive cock into your snug cunt. Plush walls desperately trying to adjust to his size as he sheaths himself in your hot core. 

You moan at the delicious stretch of your pussy. It’s not like you haven’t done this before - yet, where Satoru was usually suave in sex, right now it was replaced by pure, feral need. With his tip kissing your cervix as he pushed animalistically into your cunt - you didn’t know if you’d make it out alive. 

“Hah- Toru it’s too big. Ah! I can’t-.”

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed. 

Satoru presses into you inch by fucking inch, groaning at the tight ring of muscles trying to both push him out and suck him in desperately. It was so animalistic.

It seems Satoru’s body moves before his mind, hips fucking into your dripping pussy recklessly. Harsh thrusts, not even pulling all the way out to ram into you as he usually does - as if he can’t bear to part with your wet core. His balls sting your cunt as they smack against you at his unforgiving pace, strings of slick and cum connecting him to you.

“Ah- So good f’me, my girl. Always- so good.” he gasps out at the heavenly feeling of your dripping cunt sucking him back in at each thrust. “Hngh! Mmm more. I need more. Need it so bad.”

Hands arching your back into him now grope the expanse of your skin, before wrapping around your body to lift you off the floor. 

“Ah! Toru, what- hngh-” you choke on your words at the new angle. 

Satoru’s body bows into you, cock still slamming inside you at a feral pace midair. Not even a hair’s breadth between your bodies. 

With one hand he forces you to look up at him, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss. Pretty mouth sucking your tongue as he did with your cunt.

If you were in a better state of mind, you’d notice the slight glow tinging his lustful eyes. The electricity thrumming through his fingers. Yet you already knew - Satoru was absolutely losing it.

Your feet dangle off the ground as he holds you securely, length reaching impossibly deeper inside you. Prominent vein grazing that one spot over and over.

“Hngh- Oh my god, Toru. S’too much!” you pull away to whine. 

“Open your mouth.” he murmurs raspily. As if body on auto-pilot, your mouth opens, tongue lolling out for what he was about to give.

Satoru’s stream of spit is warm on your tongue, making you clench around his merciless cock. He lets out a drawn-out groan, eyes boring down at you, holding a glint of the same insanity he has when he exorcizes curses, “My nasty girl. Can’t get enough of you.”

You moan at his words, hands reaching behind you to grab on the blindfold dangling on his neck. “Toru more-” you gasp out, your tight grip causing him to bow his head with a groan, cock twitching ferally. 

“Fuck! More? You fucking want more?” he groans out, voice wrecked with pleasure. 

You let out a yelp as his teeth dig into your neck - hard enough that you were sure you’d have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up. Yet, your grip on his blindfold never waves, pulling him closer as he fucks roughly into your snug cunt. 

Ass burning at the friction of his pelvis. Pussy dripping onto your bedroom floor. Unforgiving. Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. “Ah! Toru s’good.” 

You both cum with strangled gasps. A low keen at the back of Satoru’s throat, and he’s pumping hot ropes of cum into your awaiting pussy. Tears stinging your eyes at your sensitivity, all you know is a wave of pleasure as you ride out your climax on the ramming of his hips and the how full you are of his seed.

His hand still draws hurried, desperate circles on your clit. You squeal at the overstimulation, tears clinging to yours lashes. “Toru- hngh!” you can barely get out the words, his hips slamming into yours mercilessly as Satoru milks his cock desperately on your quivering pussy. 

“Shut up. You said you wanted more. You’re gonna get more, my little slut.” he mutters carnally.

Ah, you can’t do this. You were going to fucking pass out.

“One- more.” he moans.

Your thighs clench around him, pushing your plush walls deeper as he lets out raspy whimpers with each thrust. “Hah- hngh.” 

“Shit- Toru I’m-” Your climax hits you with a jolt, body twitching in pain and pleasure from the oversensitivity as your cunt flutters around his cock - not even being able to tell when Satoru’s orgasm ends and when yours starts. 

You feel a tear hit your shoulder, overstimulation too much for his poor cock as his seed coats your walls once more. It drips out of you, forming a pool on the floor as he pulls out - for only a second before you’re thrown on the bed. 

Orgasm-hazed brain barely having time to register what is happening before Satoru stalks towards you from the foot of the bed. Unhurriedly approaching you as you scoot towards the headboard.

Your pussy jumps exhaustedly at the sight of him - eyes darkened and narrowed at you like a predator that has spotted his prey. A devilish smirk stretches across his swollen lips, glossed prettily with spit and slick. 

Toru, I-I don’-” you words slur out. 

“One- one more, my girl. Please.” Satoru whimpers, throat shot from what transpired just before. His cock twitches, glistening with cum and slick, dripping onto the fresh bedsheets. 

As he looms closer, you wonder how the fuck Satoru was still holding up - was this all because of the chocolate? You have half the mind to wonder whether he was using reversed cursed technique to keep you both alive.

You mewl deliriously at the feeling of your legs being thrown on his shoulders. Eyes blown and face flushed your favorite shade of pink, he licks a long stripe up your ankles, voice cracking as he moans sinfully. 

Satoru’s flushed tip teases your entrance, dragging along your swollen folds. Fuck. Shit. Maybe you wouldn’t even mind dying if it was with his cock rammed in your snug cunt.

Barely even lucid, he thrusts harshly into you - your tight entrance readily sucking up his flushed tip. You both hiss at the sensitivity. Surely, one of you was going to pass out. 

Hand moving to grasp the blindfold around his neck, you pull him to you. Your hamstrings burn in protest as Satoru bends down to attach his lips with yours, moving down until you were folded in half. 

Tongue tangling with yours, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, fiery with an intensity that made you unsure if either of you would make it out of this alive. 

Heartbeat roaring in your ears, you don’t notice the crack! of the bed and neither does Satoru. Too caught up in desperately reaching whatever number orgasm it was this night. 

Moans incoherent, your body convulses, nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back as the bed creaks in protest. A strangled groan leaves his mouth, cock throbbing inside you - or maybe that was your quivering cunt. At this point you really didn’t know anymore. 

“Shit- ah! Fuck. I’m- M’cumming. M’cumming. Hngh- cumming!” he whines out, voice ragged and breathing unstable. Delicate tears streak down his face, dripping onto your quivering body below him. Salty.

You can only let out exhausted whines, too fucked out to form any proper sentences.

Hot seed gushing inside you again, it overflows out of you, cunt dripping and too full to take anymore. Yet, Satoru still fucks into you until he sees stars and his poor cock is cumming dry. You can barely even feel your climax, distant tingles and the only thing on your mind being Satoru Satoru Satoru. 

The air leaves your lungs as he collapses on top of you. Skin flushed and sticking to yours. Body twitching as his poor cock neverendingly shoots blanks inside of you. Which number was this even?

That’s when you black out.

Floating in and out of dreams of blue, blue skies and mini Satorus running around, you wake up with a start. Well, as much of a start as you could with your entire body aching as if you got run over by a truck - and then an entire zoo after.

Bleary eyes taking in your surroundings, you distinctly realize that you’re spread out on the living room couch. 

What happened.

“Hey, you okay?” a hoarse voice sounds from beside you. You could barely recognize it as your fiancé’s, words jagged from…whatever it was before.

“You…are you okay?” you rasp out, raising a brow exhaustedly. Satoru chuckles sheepishly, tenderly smoothing over the blanket placed on top of you. What a change from before - are you sure this is the same guy?

“Well…the wall is crumbling, we broke the bed, and I’m pretty sure my dick won’t work again for the next couple years.” he gets out in one breath. At your silence, he continues “And I think my favorite blindfold is out of commission.”

“...wow.”

“Wow.” 

“You lecher, you ate from my secret stash, didn’t you?”

“...”

A few days later, opening the refrigerator, you’re met with a wall of hot pink. A sticky note on top reading in Satoru’s hasty scrawl, “This time you take one too :D”

A/N. Wrote this while watching The Garfield Show.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[onceinablueberrymoon]

intentionally by chance | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

part 2 | part 3 is up! scenario: a month after seeing the salesman on his way to the airport, gi-hun returns to that subway station every day, hoping to find the salesman and confront him. this is where you come in. setting: takes place after the events of season 1, but before gi-hun hires the loan shark group to search for the salesman warnings: deception; pregnant!reader; no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 1.3k notes: salesman fluff! ♡ this guy’s been plaguing my thoughts for weeks now, so i had to write about him. my first fic in years! i like to think that S1 salesman is more chill than in S2. please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“Excuse me… Can you please help me?”

The red-haired man, who was perusing the endless options of cup ramyeon, turned in your direction, but remained planted a few feet away from you. 

“Me?” He pointed at himself.

You nodded, adjusting the items you were holding in your arms. “Can you grab me that cup of ramyeon from the shelf? I’d get it, but my hands are full…” 

The man walked over and retrieved your cup of ramyeon. As he handed it to you, he noticed your pronounced bump under your sweater and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Miss, you’re in no condition to be carrying so much. Please, let me help you bring it to the checkout.”

With your approval, he unloaded the rest of your snacks into his arms. The two of you walked to the register, where you insisted on paying for his own cup of ramyeon. You suggested eating the ramyeon at one of the tables outside the subway station’s convenience store, but he insisted on sitting on a bench on the subway platform. 

“Is there a particular reason you wanted to eat here? It’s not the most ideal dining spot…” You slurped your noodles happily. The man ate slowly, popping his head up every so often and eyeing his surroundings carefully. 

“I’m… looking for something. Nothing you should worry yourself with,” he continued to eat his food while you gave him a skeptical look.

“Perhaps I could help? Well, as long as I don’t have to move very much,” you chuckled, patting your stomach. He gave you a soft smile before changing the topic. 

“Shouldn’t your husband be buying you food instead of you coming to get it yourself?” He gestured to your bag of snacks, and you giggled.

“My husband buys me all the food I want, but sometimes I just want to get out of the house! It’s no fun being cooped up all day,” you sighed. The man nodded in understanding. 

“It’s also nice to talk to other people, like you,” you smiled at him. He returned your smile, but then his eyebrows shot up when a sharp smack echoed throughout the platform. 

The man jumped up, his cup ramyeon forgotten on the bench. You turned to see where the noise had come from, only to find a group of students huddled around another student who had dropped their textbooks on the ground. From what you could hear, it seemed like they were holding them for a friend but couldn’t handle the weight.

The red-haired man froze for a few seconds, then sat back down, heaving a big sigh. 

“Are you alright, sir? There’s nothing to worry about – it was just some books that fell.” You tried to comfort the man in some way, but he brushed the incident off. 

“I’m fine. It just… reminded me of something,” he tried his best to give you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t convince you. “Don’t worry about me. Please eat,” he gestured to your unfinished ramyeon, “you need strength for your baby.”

The rest of your time together was pleasant, but you were still not convinced that the man’s reaction was nothing. You both finished your noodles, disposing the packaging and your utensils before parting ways. 

Once you returned home, you put the remaining snacks away and settled on the sofa. There were still a few hours before your husband was due home. You got yourself comfortable, curled up under a blanket, and drifted off to sleep.

“Rough day?”

You cracked open your eyes. All you could see was a blurry grey shape, but you already knew who it was. 

Blinking your eyes a few times, your husband’s handsome face came into focus, with his usually crisp grey suit looking a bit creased. His usual smirk graced his face as he looked down at you on the sofa.

“I should be asking you that. What happened to your suit?” You sat up and he sat down next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“One prospective player became violent when he lost at ddakji for the 20th time in a row. Of course, I was able to subdue him, but it took more effort than usual,” your husband tried to press down a crease on his sleeve, but to no avail. He rested a hand on your rounded belly, gently rubbing circles with his fingers.

“How was today? I trust you succeeded in your mission?” 

You scoffed, “He was exactly where you said he’d be. I was able to have a conversation with him. We even ate ramyeon together for lunch!” 

Your husband turned to face you, an eyebrow raised. “You ate ramyeon together?” He gave a small pout, “I thought I was the only one you ate ramyeon with.”

Immediately, your face flustered as you explained yourself, “Hey, you know that I would never cheat!” Then, you scoffed, “We ate cup ramyeon, alright? Not whatever fantasy you’re imagining in that head of yours.” He laughed, pecking you on the cheek.

“Oh, but I have some exciting news,” you said with a sparkle in your eyes. “He’s still looking for you. And he’s basically gone mad trying to find you.” This caught your husband’s attention.

“While we were eating, there was a loud noise. Turned out that a kid dropped their books. But Gi-hun didn’t know that. He shot up so fast I swear I thought he was possessed!” 

Your husband seemed to take in your findings carefully, continuing his circles on your bump as if they helped him focus. 

“He wouldn’t tell me what he was looking for, but he specifically wanted us to sit on the subway platform, so I think it’s safe to say he’s searching for you.” Your husband had previously informed you that he had spotted a player he had already recruited at the Incheon Airport subway station, albeit with flaming red hair. After talking with the Frontman, he confirmed that Seong Gi-hun was indeed the winner of the 33rd edition of the Games. 

Once you shared the rest of your intel with your husband, you let out a big sigh. 

“Should I meet with Gi-hun again? It’d be useful to know his location and I could maybe gather more info,” you looked at your husband who had since sat up, but he didn’t take his hand off your bump. 

He pondered your question for a moment. “While I would benefit from knowing his whereabouts, I’m more afraid of something happening to you,” his voice sounded strained. “I wouldn’t be there to protect you and our child.” 

You leaned onto his shoulder, resting a hand on top of his on your belly. “We’ll be fine. If anything, Gi-hun was also concerned for me because of the baby,” you winked. “Maybe they’re the key to earning his trust.” 

Your husband’s lips tightened into a straight line. While he wasn’t happy that you would spend time with someone who clearly despised him, you were right — your pregnancy would lower Gi-hun’s defenses. You knew how much your husband’s schedule was impacted by Gi-hun’s constant presence on the AREX subway line. It would greatly help your husband if you could keep Gi-hun at one station while he recruited prospective players for the Games. 

Your husband kissed the crown of your head and stood up, attempting once again to smooth out the crease on his sleeve. “We’ll see. I’ll talk to the Frontman to see if we can get you any additional protection. I still don’t like the idea of you being around Gi-hun alone. If he learns of our relationship, I imagine he will use you as ransom,” he clicks his tongue, “We can’t have that now, can we?” 

You shook your head and stood up next to your husband. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“For now, continue researching prospective players. I’m almost done with your last batch,” he flashed his signature smirk, which you returned with a soft smile of your own.

“On it. Rumour has it that Tapgol Park has an abundance of people down on their luck…”

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that had me going feral

hi guys, here's a part 2 to my favorite jjk fics on tumblr! note that many of these fics contain 18+ content. you are responsible for the content you consume! as always, if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors! part 1 | other bts members

➺ cold nights & blurred lines - by @awrkive

summary: jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

➺ night crawlers - by @alphabetboyluvr

summary: jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

➺ this is how you fall in love - by @jeonqkooks

summary: after years of drinking and clubbing most days of the week and leaving every gig with a different girl on his arm, jungkook feels what it’s like to want someone with his entire being.

➺ the dilf installments - by @mercurygguk

summary: this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

➺ ultimatum - by @parkmuse

summary: your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

➺ a hero's journey - by @hansolmates

summary: jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

➺ tempest - by @kooktrash

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

➺ by its cover - by @gimmesumsuga

summary: the one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.

➺ slow dancing - by @yoonia

summary: when your countdown appeared on your wrist right in the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

➺ e s p r e s s o - by @joonberriess

➺ hold me closer - by @ahundredtimesover

summary: when you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “WOULD YOU DO ANYTHING FOR ME?, BUY A BIG DIAMOND RING FOR ME?” ── .✦ ( how batboys act when they’re engaged w reader )

dollish note ౨ৎ: I lowkey crashed out over losing Americans on tiktok but this woke up to post on tumblr but hey, also can we talk about how trump used that as a pr stunt && thought we wouldn’t notice wtf like omgg the way many americans caught on, alsoo please leave some motivation for me because I just kinda lost motivation for this app after the tiktok thingy went down 🫠 tags: (batboys x engaged!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Over the moon and not afraid to show it. Dick tells everyone the second you say yes. Alfred? He knows. Random stranger in the grocery store? The metro security guy?, Yep, they know too. He’s got that goofy, lovestruck grin plastered on his face 24/7.

Wedding planning enthusiast. You thought you’d do most of the planning? Wrong. Dick’s fully invested, showing you Pinterest boards of venues, color schemes, and “Do you think Nightwing blue (dollish note: I think ‘#3366CC’ perhaps?) would be tacky for the napkins?”

Gets sappy at random times. You’ll catch him staring at you with a dreamy look, and when you ask why, he just shrugs. “I’m just thinking about how lucky I am.”, “Dick calm down you only proposed like 2 weeks ago.”

Brags to the Batfam constantly. “Guys, I’m going to be a husband! Can you believe it? Me! Richard Grayson!” Bruce pretends to be joyful a bit but he’s done hearing it for the 777x time but even he cracks a small smile when Dick won’t shut up about you.

Practices saying his vows in the mirror. You walked in on him once, and he was mortified. “Okay, but you didn’t hear the good part yet!”, “You literally finished the whole paper !!”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Acts like it’s not a big deal, but it’s huge for him. He’ll play it cool at first, saying something like, “It’s just a ring, babe.” But deep down, he’s nervous, excited, and trying not to let it show.

Keeps the engagement low-key. Jason’s not one for flashy announcements or grand gestures. He wants this to be something special between you two, not the whole world.

Protective x10. Now that you’re officially going to be his spouse, Jason is extra watchful. He’s already looking into ways to keep you safe and makes sure you’re never caught in the crossfire of his vigilante life.

Wants you to be 100% comfortable. He checks in with you constantly about the wedding plans. “We don’t have to do anything big, okay? Just say the word, and it’s done.” He’ll let you take the lead but secretly loves when you include him.

Teases you with the whole “fiancé” thing. “Hey, fiancée. Can you grab my coffee? Oh, did I mention you’re my fiancée now?” It’s his way of hiding how excited he really is.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Nervous wreck but totally in love. Tim overthinks everything after proposing. Did he pick the right ring? Did he say the right words? Is he even ready to be a husband? But every time he sees you smile, it calms him down.

Keeps it practical. Tim doesn’t want a huge engagement party or a grand wedding. He’s more focused on what your future together will look like your shared goals, finances, and making sure you’re both on the same page.

Researches marriage like it’s a mission. He has books on successful relationships, listens to podcasts, and even makes a checklist for wedding planning. You find it adorable when he starts using color coded spreadsheets.

Loves when you call him your fiancé. The first time you said it, he blushed so hard he had to look away. Now he’s low-key obsessed with hearing it. “You don’t have to keep calling me that… but don’t stop either.”

Gets emotional when he thinks about the future. You once caught him staring at the engagement ring on your finger, looking teary-eyed. When you asked what was wrong, he said, “I just can’t believe you’re actually mine.” (I would’ve smacked the shit out of him for that, I don’t do romance 🙄💪)

[hon3y-y]

Roomie!sukuna doesn't even get horny for anyone other than you anymore. You have the wettest, nastiest pussy he's ever seen- and he deserves the best so nobody but you will do. You're fucking so many other fine men now that you dont even give him a second glance when he walks out the shower in just a towel to tease you. And oh, his temper when one of your hookups pick you up and you don't come home for the weekend. Or even worse, they stay for the weekend. Sukuna has never let a girl sleep over at the apartment but now there are two colognes in the bathroom, two pairs or men's shoes at the door, and he can almost never see you in the living room without some other man hanging off your side

read the other parts here! : part 1 part 2 part 4

he’s literally so embarrassingggg it’s not even funny. he’ll walk around and flex his muscles, smirk on his puffy lips as the water drips down his ripped torso. he stands outside your open door, you’re looking down at your phone deciding on whether to spend the night at choso’s or nanami’s (pick choso, nanami gets up at like 5 am 🙄), “showers empty..” sukuna basically purr’s, resting his arm on the doorway.

and you literally could not give less of a fuck💀

you just nod, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as you focus on putting both their names in a generator and letting that choose your fate for the night. let’s just say sukuna was extremely angry when a motorcycle pulls up and you just giggle and hop onto it, kissing the stupid leather clad boy while throwing on the custom bikers helmet choso had made for you. and to top it off, sukuna had to physically restrain himself from blowing up your phone on where the fuck you are??

messages;

ryo<3: didn’t see you this morning

you: i’m staying with choso for the weekend! sorry, should’ve told you last night:/

you: i also won’t be home after wednesday satoru is taking me to this festival! i’ll send pics😋

ryo<3: have fun 👍

omfg he’s losing it. he literally will spend the whole time in the gym, refusing to be in the empty apartment for longer than eight hours for sleep. he feels like there’s a cement brick in his chest when you’re whisked away by these men. but nothing is worse than when he stays over.

he being satoru.

it was becoming a huge issue. his longest “sleepover” was a week. a week where you weren’t even home for half of it. but sukuna was. he was there for all of it.

there was now a third toothbrush taking up countertop space in the bathroom, he would find satoru’s clothes in the wash (which would always somehow be in there whenever ryo specifically had to use it??), and gojo absolutely loved to make out with you everywhere but inside of your room and sukuna started to hated it. publicly claiming you in front of the guy who literally made it possible🙄 unbelievable.

let’s just say you take a break from bringing satoru over, doing your best to settle the tension at home. but sukuna couldn’t let it go, not when he stares at the stupid fucking blue electric toothbrush and knows that it’s only temporary.

at this point he didn’t even give a fuck about the other guys, you can keep them as long as he’s added onto your roster.

it’s been a while since the two of you had a movie night. something that used to, at the very least, happen once a month has been delayed due to your extra activities. the two of you relaxed into the couch, the movie was a random one you found choosing whatever looked the best by cover and for the first time in a while, sukuna felt like he had you.

“did you buy the candy?”

“shit, yeah. i think i left it in my room?”

“go get it while i make the popcorn!” you smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling excitedly. you looked so cute and soft, and ryo got a glimpse of your cute pink panties when you bent over to grab something so he was feeling just as good. he could already picture the little damp spot he’d create after teasing you and then force you to beg and make it up to him.

he thought about it the whole walk to his room, picking up the bag and then back to the living room, fantasizing about what he plans to do. and just as he’s about to turn the corner, a head of white fluffy hair is laying on your lap, legs spread to take up the full length of the couch. and the only seat available? the one farthest from you.

“i hope you don’t mind, satoru said he missed us!”

us… sukuna looked down at gojo, looking at the content quirk in his lip while he snuggled into you more, moving one of your hands into his hair to play with it. ryo’s eye twitched before he put the bag down and went back into his room, the door slamming behind him. the noise makes you force satoru up, a pit forming in your stomach. you didn’t want sukuna to feel uncomfortable in his own house—

“damn, what’s he so mad abo- he got macha kitkats!? mmm~”

*bonus*

sukuna is literally in his room about to dry heave because??? what alternative version of himself gave him such bad karma?!? in his room like this;

but quietly, because he DEFINITELY doesn’t want you to see him like this. such a fein🤦‍♀️

a/n: i didn’t put smut because i didn’t want to get repetitive BUT should we finally let sukuna get a taste?? part 4 where he finally gets her?? lmk🫶

*not edited*