#three lights are lit but the fourth one is out

[writersblockiskillingme]

Russian Roulette | The Salesman

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!reader

Summary: After doing everything in your power to find the salesman who got you and Gi-hun into all this mess, he unexpectedly shows up in your motel room.

Warning/s: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2!!, angst, unspoken feelings (until now), guns, playing Russian Roulette, threatening, mocking, blood, character death, cursing (maybe, idk), tears, talk about the games, tension, reader gives off femme fatale energy, also reader has longer hair to fit into a braid but if you don't just ignore it please, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I just watched the first few episodes, and for a little while, I got out of the writers block. NO SPOILERS, PLEASE!

Prequel to this fic here!

Rain was pouring down like crazy, wind blowing around as I drove my black car with full speed as I tried to get to the Pink Motel that Gi-hun and I co-owned as fast as I possibly could after today's events. Gun that was placed on the seat next to me was jumping slightly as I drow down the road every time I hit a bump or such. My left hand gripped the steering wheel til my knuckles turned pure white as my right hand gripped the phone to the same extent.

"I found bloodstains there!" I practically shouted into my phone as I came to a stop, the images of blood seeping down the trash bags and the knife thrown on the ground never really leaving my mind. "Gi-hun is still looking, I'm sure they didn't get far from that alley."

"What do we do, miss?"

"Check all the CCTV and dashcam footage you can collect from the area and keep asking around." I continued to practically shout for him to hear me over the rain on the street, my braid swinging over on my left shoulder as I got out of the car, running towards the entrance to the Pink Motel.

"I'll join you soon." And with that, I ended the call, quickly putting my phone in the left pocket of my jacket.

I roughly pulled loose threads of hair that fell on my eyes as I quickly took out the key. However, I came to a sudden stop. Something wasn't right. I found myself freezing as I slowly moved my head to look around. That's when I noticed. The sign of the Pink Motel was lit up.

Someone is here, and they want me to know that.

I stood there in the rain for a little while before I decided to take a deep breath before entering. I walked up all the way to the fourth floor before entering, the light going on as I did. I walked into my bedroom as quietly as I could. But even before I could prepare myself for what I was about to see, just as I walked to the end of the first corner, I saw him.

After three years of endlessly, tirelessly trying to find him, he was here. Right in front of me. He was standing in front of my wall, a shining black gun in his hand, looking at the calendar on which I crossed the dates with red marker every single day for three years. Next to in was a map of the underground, every single route mapped out, drawn on, and my handwriting shone on it to.

"It's been a long time, Miss."

For a while, I said nothing. I was just standing there, soaking wet, the rain that I took with me inside dripping on the floor. I was staking in his appearance for a moment. He was just as tall as I remember, standing there in his suit. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't change one bit, like nothing changed from the moment that I fist saw him on the train station three years ago.

But it did.

His hair was longer, I won the games alongside Gi-hun, we weren't on the train station, but in my Motel room, he wasn't holding a briefcase, he was holding a gun and I didn't.

But his voice was the same, he was still as tall as I remember, I suppose his smile was the same, too. And maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same feelings he did three years ago before I gained and lost it all.

I just sighed and moved towards the table I ate. There was a towel that I threw last night. I started to pat my hair, trying to dry it off as I looked around for some dry clothes.

"You should've gotten on that plane that day." He said, looking over at me as I paused.

"I changed my mind when I saw you there." I said before continuing to dry myself.

The moment of quiet continued as I put the towel away. He tapped the map with his gun before he started to speak again. I truly didn't know how to feel. After I wasted three years trying to find him, he just shows up at my motel room. Funny.

"It looks like you've been trying hard to find me, darling." I could just hear that ignorant smirk in his voice. Motherfucker.

"Don't let it get to your head." I told him slowly, my voice completely calm. "I just wanted to thank you." I said as I took off my wet jacket, throwing it in the corner.

"Thank me?" He asked as he sat down on one of the sofas by the table next to my bed. I turned to look at him slowly, a dry jacket in my hand. That's when I noticed blood on the collar of his suit and his face. Motherfucker.

"For inviting me to the game." I said as I approached him, his eyes on me as I sat down, opposite him. "I won and took a bloody fortune with me."

He kept quiet, listening to me, his dark eyes flickering all over my face as I spoke.

"So the decent thing of me to do would be to thank you for it."

"I'm just a messenger who delivers invitations." He smirked, but before he could say more, I continued, all off my anger resurfacing.

"And just who had you deliver those invitations, handsome?" I spoke, venom infecting my every word. "Let me meet him. I have something to say to him."

"Give me the message, and I'll pass it along." He continued, giving me a smile at the end. It appears that I was right. His smile is the same.

"Oh, dear." I mockingly pouted as I crossed my legs. "I'm afraid that it's not something I can discuss with an underling like you."

His smile quivered as he raised his eyebrow. Waiting on me to continue.

"You prey on people who are hanging by a thread and corner them at subway stations." I could feel myself slowly starting to shake from anger and despair. "Someone like you wouldn't be able to understand what I'm trying to say, of course."

For a while, there was silence yet again. We were just looking at each other. Our eyes never leaving each other's.

"You know what the funniest thing was?"

"What, miss?"

"For a moment, when I was hunting you down, I was just delusional enough to think that we could actually team up. You know? Take down the games and whoever was behind them. I liked you. And I liked to think that. But now I realize just how wrong I was." I whispered, turning away from him as I spoke. Yet I still felt his eyes on me. "And boy was I wrong. You will never change. You like the monstrous things that you are doing."

"How do you think I got to where I am now?"

"I don't fucking care." I spat at him as I turned to look at him again, his expression unreadable. "I don't care how you became their dog. I just want you to bring me your master."

He looked down, sighing as he cracked his neck, gun still in his hold. After a while he spoke again.

"I used to work in the games when I was younger. I removed and burned the bodies of countless people like you."

He was the pink guard once.

"'These things aren't human. They're just trash utterly useless in this world.' I kept telling myself that and worked hard for a few years." He spoke, suddenly smiling again. "Then they gave me a gun."

The triangle guard.

"It felt pretty good." He said as he lifted up his gun, examining it. "Like my existence was acknowledged for the first time in my life. I don't know which year it was, but one day, I was about to shoot a man who had lost a game. The guy seemed familiar. Guess who it was."

I kept quiet.

"My dad." He finally said. "My dad was suddenly standing in front of me. He was in tears, desperately begging me to spare his life."

He suddenly moved his hand, placing the gun in front of my forehead, but his suddenly, quick movement did not startle me one bit. I was used to it.

"I shot him right in the middle of his forehead, and realized, 'Ah. I'm cut out for this job.'"

He was looking straight at me, his dark eyes mad. I narrowed mine at him. Was I supposed to feel sorry for him? Maybe, but I didn't. Not only did he enjoy it, but he also has no idea how it was like for me. All the things Gi-hun and I went through. All of people we lost along the way... Ali... Sae-byeok... Sang-woo...

"Whether you shoot people in there or con them outside, it doesn't change anything." I said, slowly leaning over towards him. "You have always been nothing more than their dog."

He clicked his gun, putting his finger on the trigger, his expression darkening.

"Miss." He started, his hand shaking slightly as I kept completely still. "Do you think you're special because you won the game?"

I said nothing. My expectation still as I leaned forward just a bit more, pressing my forehead directly on his gun. His dark expression broke into one of shock.

"Someone like you could never know or understand how I made it out of there alive. And how it feels to play the games."

Suddenly, he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. My expression barely changed, yet I could he on his face that my eyes old him every. Shock, disappointment and sadness.

He sighed before leaning over to me on the table that until now kept us at a distance. He was quiet for a while. I suppose he has always been that way.

"Let's play a game." He smiled at me.

I didn't say anything. He pulled out his phone and placed it on the table, letting a song play.

Time to say goodbye.

He leaned back against the seat as he lifted up his gun.

"I'm sure you've seen this in the movies." He started to explain, never breaking eye contact with me. "It's called Russian Roulette."

Motherfucker.

"Usually, you place one bullet in the gun, spin the cylinder, and pull the trigger." He said, clicking the gun in its place before pulling the trigger, explaining the game as he showed me what to do. "And before the next round, you spin the cylinder again. It rests the odds back to 1 in 6."

"I know." I mumbled and he smiled.

"But I'd like to make this game a little more serious." He smirked. "Because you're truly special, love."

"Cut to the chase." I glared at him and his stupid antics. He blinked at me and continued.

"We'll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over." He paused. "What do you say?"

"Spin the gun." I frowned.

He smirked before gently placing the gun on the table. This could end badly on both sides, but for a moment, I found myself being selfish. Maybe, just maybe, if I lost this game after everything I went through, I could die and find peace with the people I lost. I could join them and leave with the feelings I have for him, that he possibly realized, unsaid. I could finally end it all. The night terrors, the time I spent searching for him, my cigarette addiction, mourning what I lost and what I couldn't have, yet at the same time not enjoying the money I got form the games. Who could enjoy that? Who could possibly enjoy living the life that I live.

He spinned the gun, and its tip pointed at me. Without a second thought, I took the gun and placed it by the side of my head. A few seconds later, not looking away from him, I pulled the trigger. Noting happened. That chamber was empty.

I put the gun on the table. I barely had time to move my hand before he took the gun, placed it by his head just like I did and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He sighed in content as he placed the gun back on the table, smiling at me almost lovingly. I knew.

I took the gun and placed it by my head again, but before I could just pull the trigger he spoke up.

"I've always wondered how you made it out of there alive." He smiled before he laughed a little. "For, one thing, you were even terrible at ddakji."

I said nothing, glaring at him. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened once again.

He looked at me, impressed by my luck so far. I looked him straight in the eyes as I threw the gun on the table. It slid over on the other side, right in front of me.

He took the gun after he took a moment to just look at me. Not breaking eye contact, he took the gun. Leaned over to me until he was basically touching me, pointing the gun at me. Then he did something that I did not expect at all. He put the gun in his mouth.

Motherfucker.

He pulled the trigger. I winced a little. Nothing again. He laughed at my expression as I tried my hardest to keep myself composed. He slowly took the gun out of his mouth before sitting back, putting the gun back on the table.

I took the gun and as I was about to place it by my head he spoke up again.

"What's the matter?" He asked me, raising his eyebrows. "Is your mind starting to race?"

I scoffed slightly.

Motherfucker.

"Now your odds of death are 1 in 2." He nodded. "That's pretty high indeed. I'm sure you're afraid, darling. Lots going through your mind."

I said nothing.

"Let me guess what you're thinking right now." Motherfucker. "'The gun is in my hand. Screw the rules. Pull the trigger once or twice, and I can blow his face off.' Isn't that right?"

I kept looking at him, glaring as I did. All while he spoke. "If you and Gi-hun want to meet the person you mentioned earlier, the key is in my pocket." At that I allowed my eyes to travel all over him. "You can simply shoot me with that gun and take it. But I'll have you admit one thing."

He took a moment to pause, my hand still holding the gun by my head. He leaned over once again.

"That you're a piece of trash, just like Gi-hun, just like everyone else that was in the games." He leaned over more closely, our lips practically touching as he spoke. "A piece of trash who got lucky and made it out of the dumpster."

He laughed as I pressed the gun against my head, our lips barely an inch away from each other's. This was it, I thought to myself. This round will determine if I live or die. I tightened the grip on the gun, my knuckles turning white again. I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He looked at me, then at the gun and then back at me. I started to chuckle lowly, like a maniac. Perhaps I was one. I watched his face closely as I pulled the gun away from my head. The grip on the gun still tight as I pointed it at his chin before slowly opening up my palm, waiting on him to take the final, real shot.

His hand touched mine. I felt him and myself freeze at the contact as he took the gun from my hand. I pulled my hand away as he looked at the gun.

"What's the matter?" I taunted him, my face mirroring the smirk that he always wears. "Is your mind starting to race?"

He said nothing as I spoke to him.

"That's right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me." He looked pale at my words. "But... before you leave me forever this time. I'll have you admit two things."

He looked at me as I brought my hand at his cheek, wiping a little bit of blood on his face.

"You put a mask on your face and do whatever your master says. You run, bark, and wave your tail for them. You're nothing more than their dog." I told him before my voice became gentle.

He waited on me, his eyes soft.

"And regarding this." I said as I waved my hand slightly between the two of us. "You really are a dog. A dog that loves me. And... perhaps I am a fool, too. Because I love a dog that could've made it all work out for us but was too much of a coward to do so."

I leaned over to him, my hand landing under his chin, holding him.

"Admit it." I whispered as we looked each other in the eyes. "Admit that you love me, that you did ever since you gave me that fucking card."

For a moment, there was silence. His tortured eyes, looking at me. I knew. I always did. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, for a moment. This would be the last time that I spoke to him, that I could look into his eyes.

"I love you." He whispered.

All of a sudden, there was a loud sound followed by blood spraying my face as his body fell backward.

I stood up and walked over to him. I don't know how long I stood there, but after a while, I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. My hand touched my cheek as I whipped it away.

Motherfucker.

[moonstruckme]

hi!! just dropping this here as you asked: i'd love something relating to smoking with remus x reader, preferably set during hogwarts years. thanks again for considering this! <3

Thanks lovely <3

cw: smoking

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 757 words

It’s a clear night. The moon is bright and high, casting a sweet blue light onto the wood floors of the astronomy tower. A cool breeze comes in through the arched openings and swirls through the space. 

“Thought I might find you here.” 

Your head turns abruptly. You’re sitting sideways on one of the metal railings, and you inhale smoke too fast in your surprise.

“Merlin’s pants, Remus,” you cough. “You have a tracking charm on me or something?” 

Remus’ lips tug at how close to the truth you are without knowing. Though, really, he didn’t need the map to know you’d be here tonight. 

“Lucky guess,” he says. “You know, you don’t have to come up here everytime you want a smoke. You could just crack a window in your dorm like the rest of us.” 

No sooner do you recover from your fit than you’re bringing the cigarette to your lips again. “My roommate doesn’t like the smell.” 

Remus tsks. He goes to join you, setting his elbows on the railing rather than balancing atop it the way you have. “I really ought to stop selling to you. You’re getting as bad as me.” 

“Are you so bad?” you ask in a sweet tone. Remus feels warmth come to his cheeks despite the chill. “Besides, I don’t hear you bemoaning the fourth years getting dependent on your business.” 

That much is true. Remus doesn’t sell to third years or younger, but everyone else is fair game; he doesn’t concern himself with what they do with the cigarettes once they have them, or how quickly they come back for more. You’re a different case. 

The breeze picks up. Remus notes the way you pull your shoulders in close. 

“Why would you come up here without a jumper?” he scolds, tugging his over his head. 

“No, stop that. I’m fine.” 

“Just take it.” 

“Why should you be cold because of my lack of forethought?” 

Remus can think of about a thousand reasons, but the one he says aloud is, “Because I run hot.” 

It’s a dim-witted thing to mention. Remus hopes you won’t make any connections between his confession and what you learned in DADA a few years back, but something about you makes him take the risk. When you only eye him dubiously, he goes on in hopes of erasing it. 

“I’m not putting it back on, so if you don’t then neither of us will get to use it.” 

You roll your eyes and extend your cigarette. “Hold this.” 

Remus does so happily, trading you for the jumper. He really had no ulterior motives behind having you wear it, but once it’s on it sparks a ridiculous, tender warmth in his chest. He wonders if he can contrive a way to fill your closet with his jumpers so you wear them all of the time. Maybe if he pitches it to his friends as a prank…

“You want some?” you nod to the cigarette burning between his fingers. 

“That’s alright.” Remus holds it out. “I’ve got plenty. And you paid for it.” 

You take it back. “Oh, come on.” You smile as you bring it to your lips. “I know you charge five quid for these, and you only make me pay three.” 

It’s true. Remus really should stop doing that, if he wants to dissuade you from bad habits. But he never can seem to help giving you special treatment. 

“You’ll be paying full price from now on,” he fibs. 

The cherry lights your eyes, making them appear to dance with amusement. “Liar.” 

Remus pretends to hold his ground for a handful of moments. It’s a nice excuse to look at you. You’re a lovely sight, lit silvery blue by the moon and with smoke blowing from between your lips. You hold his gaze. Suddenly, having something that’s touched that mouth seems an inspired idea. 

“Alright.” Remus beckons. “Let’s have it.” 

You pass it to him with something like triumph in your expression. Tingles run all the way up his arm at the brush of his fingers against yours. Remus is painfully conscious of the feel of the filter paper between his lips, of your eyes on the side of his face as he inhales. He’s never felt more self-conscious taking a drag in his life. 

“You know,” he says around the cigarette, “I ought to finish this for you, and then cut you off.” 

“Remus,” you say, teasing, “you’d only give me the next pack for two quid.” 

Remus knows that’s true, too.

[sunnysdiary]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Paper Rings : Taylor swift

'I like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings.' (Click the link for the song!!)

Your boyfriend, Jeongin, always teases you with paper rongs until one day he actually proposes when you least expect it.

1.3k words/fluffy fluffy fluffffyyyy/ bf!Jeongin

A/N: ugh, this took FOREVER to write. first part of the music to my eyes series :)

Music to My Eyes masterlist

If there were two things your darling boyfriend, Jeongin, was known for, his teasing attitude and relentless pranks. His personal favorite? Pretending to propose—because he knew it scared the hell out of you every time.

He’d tell you to dress up, take you on romantic dates—candlelit dinners, garden strolls, lakeside picnics—anything to set the mood. And without fail, at the end of the night, he’d drop to one knee. But instead of a real ring, it was always a paper one. By now, you had an entire jar filled with them: three years’ worth of his playful antics, intertwined with the love you shared.

Tonight, you were curled up in your apartment, the lights low as yet another cheesy romance movie played on the screen. Your phone buzzed beside you.

Innie <3 lit up the display in bright colors.

Grinning, you picked up. “Is this my boyfriend?” you teased, amusement dripping from your voice.

“No, it’s the FBI. I need your credit card information,” he deadpanned, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

“Wrong number, then,” you shot back, matching his teasing tone.

“Baby,” he started, his voice shifting into something softer, more serious. “What if I told you that for our fourth anniversary, I got us plane tickets to London?”

Your heart nearly stopped. London—the one place left on your bucket list.

“If this is a joke, Jeongin, it’s not funny,” you warned, fully expecting him to burst out laughing. But he didn’t. Instead, he hummed lightly.

“I booked the tickets last month. Check your email.”

Without hesitation, you pulled the phone away from your ear, switching to speaker mode as you opened your inbox. And there it was, buried among the sea of spam and discount codes—a confirmation email for two plane tickets to London.

“Jeongin, you are unreal!” you squealed, barely containing your excitement. If you could have leaped through the phone and kissed him, you would have. “This means the world to me!”

His sweet chuckle filled your ears, warm and familiar. To him you were his world. “We leave the weekend of the fifth. That’s next week.”

You shot up from your spot on the couch, already mentally planning your outfits. “Okay, I love you so much! Are we still going out to dinner tomorrow?” you asked, grinning like an idiot.

“Wouldn’t miss it, my love. I love you more,” he murmured through the speaker before hanging up.

On the other end of the call, Jeongin leaned back setting his phone on his lap, spinning a small, real ring between his index finger and thumb. “Way more,” he whispered to himself.

Packing Night: The week of the trip, you were absolutely bubbling with excitement. Jeongin came over to help you pack the night before, of course armed with his signature prank. When you reached for another pair of shorts, he dropped to one knee and pulled a paper ring from his pocket.

“My dearest Y/N Y/LN,” he gazed up at you, eyes teasing but soft with love. “Will you be my wife?”

You scoffed, trying to sound sarcastic—though your face said everything. “Yes, Innie, I will marry you.” You held out your hand and let him slip the smooth paper onto your finger.

He rose, hands finding their familiar place on your waist, and kissed you. His kisses were perfect—warm like a summer day, intense like a blizzard, soft and velvety. You could have stayed like that all night.

“I love you so much, my love,” you whispered, your body melting under his sweet touches and even sweeter words.

You finally pried away and finished packing, setting your suitcase by the door next to his.

“The flight is at 5:00 AM tomorrow, right?” you asked, sitting on the bed with your knees drawn up.

He hummed. “I’ll wake you at 4:30. Is that okay?”

You nodded and lay down. “That should be fine, Innie.” You closed your eyes, sleep pulling you under.

You felt his arms wrap around you and heard him murmur, “Good night,” kissing the top of your head.

Departure Day: At 4:30 AM, his alarm roused you. You both dressed quickly—no shower, just a change into comfortable clothes—and trudged to his car, loading your bags into the trunk.

At TSA, Jeongin sighed, “What would happen if I just ran toward the gate?”

“You’d get arrested. Please don’t.” You smiled as the agent scanned your passports.

Once on the plane, you settled into your seats. “Okay, you ready for five days of fun?” he asked, a small smile on his face. You nodded.

Day 1: After an agonizing twelve‑hour flight, you arrived and headed to the hotel to rest.

“Ugh, I can’t wait to just…” you trailed off, plopping onto the bed with a soft sigh. “Finally.”

While you showered, Jeongin lay on the bed, the real ring dancing between his fingers. He whispered your name like a prayer to his lips.

The rest of the day was spent napping and scrolling through social media—both of you exhausted and in love. All the while, Jeongin’s nerves grew; the proposal loomed closer.

Day 2: The day of your anniversary: Morning and afternoon passed much the same—lying in bed, loving on each other. At night, Jeongin took you to a nice restaurant for dinner.

All through the meal, he repeated, “I love you,” over and over.

“I love you, pretty girl,” he whispered against your lips for the millionth time in the last hour. Then he kissed you, gently shoving you onto the bed.

“I’m going to marry you one day,” you said, eyes sparkling with love and passion.

Little did you know that day was closer than you thought.

Day 3: You woke to find Jeongin asleep beside you. You peppered kisses across his face until his eyes fluttered open.

“Morning, pretty.”

“Good morning.”

You went for breakfast at a small café you’d stumbled across.

“Iced matcha?” he asked while you waited in line.

You nodded. He knew you so well.

After breakfast, you wandered through small shops until you found a clothing boutique. You tried on countless dresses before settling on a light‑blue, knee‑length frock with delicate shoulder straps.

You stepped out of the dressing room. Jeongin’s eyes snapped up from his phone.

“Wow. You’re the most gorgeous girl in the world.”

“Oh, please,” you mumbled, heat creeping up your neck and cheeks.

“Seriously. Want it?” You nodded.

“Then take it off, and I’ll pay for it.”

He smiled. “It’s expensive—are you sure?”

“Completely.”

Day 4: The Proposal: Jeongin woke up jittery with nerves. He showered, trying to wash them away. You woke shortly after and ordered breakfast to the room.

“We could go on a hike?” you suggested, scrolling on your phone.

“How about we just walk around for a while? You can wear your new dress,” he said, nodding.

You smiled. “Sounds good!”

You showered, and he paced the room. “You make me the happiest—no, that’s dumb.” He bit at his nails. “Um…Y/N…” He crashed onto the bed with a soft thud just as you emerged from the bathroom.

“Baby, can you grab my makeup bag?” you asked, towel wrapped around you.

He handed it over. A few minutes later, you stepped into the room in your blue dress, hair curled, makeup perfect.

“Wow, you’re just…” he paused, eyes shining. “Wow.”

You laughed and walked over, hands resting on his chest. “Thank you, my love. Now come on!”

You spent the day wandering London’s streets and sights. Jeongin clung to you, buying you whatever you wanted, nerves prickling every moment.

Early evening found you in front of the London Eye.

“Hey, sweetheart?” he stopped you.

“Mhm?” you turned, soft smile on your face.

He took a breath, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Y/N, you make me the happiest man in the world. You’re my everything. You’re what makes me happy, and I want that for the rest of my life.”

He sank to one knee. “Will you marry me?”

Thinking it was another paper ring, you teased, “That’s twice in a week you’re really—” Your voice caught as you saw the real ring gleam at you. “Innie,” you gasped, tears brimming your eyes.

“Please give me an answer,” he chuckled.

“Yes! Yes! A billion times yes!”

From that moment on, you knew he was your soulmate.

[michimichim]

author’s note: Nah, cause shawty really just appeared out of the void—three years later—with this absolute mess of a piece. Yes, shawty is me.. anywhoooo, a bit rusty in my writing, but what’d you expect from a retired writer?! Thanks for checking this out, mwah, love you!

stepsister!jennie x f!reader -> tension and unresolved feelings bubble to the surface when your stepsister strolls back home five years later, flashing a shiny engagement ring and a bigger smile. what ever can you do?!

The martini is too warm, the olive sinking to the bottom like a shipwreck. You swirl the glass absently, watching the liquid cling to the sides before it settles again. It’s your third one—or maybe your fourth. You’ve lost count.

The party hums around you, laughter and clinking glasses and the occasional splash from the pool. Your parents’ house is lit up like a stage, all soft golden light and carefully curated elegance. Everyone looks the same: polished, perfect, and painfully boring.

You’re sitting on a sunbed by the pool. The music is too loud, the conversations too dull, and the only thing keeping you here is her.

Jennie.

She’s been here for two days now, and the tension has been unbearable. Two days of watching her laugh, smile, and play the perfect fiancée. Two days of watching them—her partner—touch her like they have any right to. Two days of pretending you don’t notice the way her eyes flicker to you when she thinks no one’s looking, when your parents gush over her partner.

She’s across the pool now, standing under the string lights with her new thing’s arm draped possessively around her waist. Her hair is impeccable – not a strand out of place, and her dress—crisp and form-fitting—looks like it was ironed just moments ago. It clings to her figure with an effortless precision, drawing attention to the curve, and shape of her ass every time she walks by.

And yet, they’re the one touching her.

Your jaw tightens, and you set your glass down a little too hard. The sound is swallowed by the noise of the party, but you feel it in your chest, sharp and jarring. For a split second, the mask slips—just enough for the bitterness to show. But then you exhale, slowly, your jaw relaxing as if nothing happened.

A passerby catches your eye, some distant cousin or family friend you’ve met a dozen times but can’t quite place. They smile at you, and you smile back, effortlessly slipping into the role of the charming, perfect child your parents love to show off. Your lips curve just enough to seem genuine, your eyes crinkling at the corners like you’re sharing a secret.

“Lovely party, isn’t it?” you say, your voice smooth and warm, as if you hadn’t just been seething moments ago.

They nod, oblivious, and you let them linger for a beat before turning your attention back to your drink. The smile fades as soon as they’re gone, but the act is flawless. No one would ever guess what’s simmering beneath the surface.

No one but her.

She shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not with them.

But she is, and you can’t look away.

You watch as she laughs at something they say, her head tilting back just enough to expose the line of her throat. You know that laugh—know the way it feels when it’s directed at you, warm and teasing and just a little bit wicked. But now it’s theirs, and the thought makes your heart twist.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care that their hand is on her waist, that their lips are brushing her ear as they whisper something that makes her smile. You shouldn’t care that she’s here, in this house, in this dress, with them.

But you do.

And then, as if she can feel your eyes on her, she turns.

Her gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the world stops once again.

She doesn’t smile. Not at first. But there’s something in her expression that makes your chest ache.

You shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t want her.

But you do. And it’s killing you.

Jennie tilts her head, just slightly, as if she’s considering something. Then, without breaking eye contact, she turns to her partner. She murmurs something in their ear, her lips brushing close enough, but her eyes stay fixed on you.

You can’t hear what she says, but you don’t need to. The way she glances at you over her shoulder as she walks away tells you what you need to do.

Her partner doesn’t seem to notice. No, the clown is too busy laughing at whatever she whispered, their attention already drifting back to the crowd. But you—you can’t look away.

Jennie moves through the party like she’s floating, her champagne flute glinting in the soft light. She doesn’t look back again, but she doesn’t need to. She knows you’ll follow and you know where she’s going.

The study.

Your parents’ house is a maze of hallways and hidden corners, places where two people could disappear for a while without anyone noticing. You’ve known it your whole life, and so has she.

You wait a beat, just long enough to make it seem casual, before standing up. You smooth your dress, pick up your glass, and weave through the crowd with practiced ease. No one stops you. No one even looks twice.

You’re good at this. At slipping through unnoticed, at making people believe you belong exactly where you are. You’ve had to hone it over the years, and it serves you well now as you follow her inside.

The air is cooler in the house, the noise of the party muffled by the thick walls. You pause in the foyer, listening for the sound of her heels on the marble floor.

There.

You follow the sound, your own steps much quieter. The hallway is dimly lit, the shadows stretching long and narrow as you move deeper into the house.

You find her in the study, standing by the window with her back to you. The moonlight spills in through the glass, casting her in a glow. She doesn’t turn around when you enter, but you know she’s aware of you.

You close the door softly behind you, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. For a moment, neither of you speaks. There’s a tension between you so thick, almost tangible, like a thread pulled taut and ready to snap.

She turns, and for a moment, the world narrows to just her.

Her hair flows down her back like ink spilled over silk. It’s shorter than you remember, but it suits her: luscious, modern, and just a little untamed. She looks older now, more mature, but her eyes are the same, framed by makeup that’s too perfect to be accidental. Her lips are painted red, parted slightly as if she’s about to say something, and you can’t help but think about how they’d feel against yours again.

Her dress clings to her hips, the fabric shimmering faintly in the warm yellow light of the lamp on the desk. She’s always known how to dress to kill, and tonight is no exception. But there’s something different about her now … something in the way she holds herself, the way her shoulders tense ever so slightly, the way her eyes flicker over your face.

Apprehension. Vulnerability. Lust.

You know her too well to miss it.

But that was then.

Now, she’s standing in front of you, her eyes smoldering in that faux-innocent way that drives you mad. She’s daring you to make the first move, to cross the line you both know you shouldn’t.

And you want to.

God, you want to.

Your thoughts spiral. You think about her partner, about the way they touched her earlier, and your chest tightens with a jealousy so sharp it feels like a knife.

She’s not theirs. She’s never been theirs.

She’s yours.

The thought is possessive, obsessive, and you know it’s wrong. But you don’t care. You’ve never cared about the consequences, not when it comes to her. You crave the danger, the thrill of destroying what she’s built, of proving that no matter how many people she surrounds herself with, you’re the one she craves. The one she needs.

You take a step closer, your shoes sounding against the hardwood floor. Jennie doesn’t move, but her eyes follow you, dark and waiting.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” she breathes, tere’s a flicker of something beneath the confidence. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

Your brows raise, your lips turn upward, and you take another step. “You knew I would.”

She doesn’t deny it.

The room feels smaller now, and you take a step closer, eyes never leaving hers. She doesn’t retreat, but she doesn’t welcome you either. She stands her ground, her chin tilted up, her gaze steady, but you can see them waver with each step.

Cute.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against a loose strand of hair that’s fallen across her face. It’s soft, silky, and smells faintly of her shampoo. Something a bit floral, like gardenias. Jasmine, maybe, with a hint of amber. It’s subtle but it’s there, and it wraps around you, pulling you closer.

Her hand snaps up, catching your wrist before your fingers can graze her cheek. It’s a firm grip, but not unkind, nails pressing just enough to make you aware of her touch. Her skin is warm, her pulse quick beneath your fingertips, and you can feel the faint tremor in her hand, the way her body betrays her even as her expression remains calm.

“Don’t,” she says. A warning, or maybe a plea.

You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in closer, your breath brushing against her ear as you murmur, “Why not? You’ve been looking at me all night like you want me to.”

Jennie’s grip on your wrist tightens, her nails digging in further, enough to leave faint crescents on your skin. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. Not when she’s looking at you like that. Her dark eyes wide, her lips parted just enough to reveal the faintest glimpse of her teeth. She’s shorter than you, and she knows how to use it to her advantage.

Her head tilts back, her lashes fluttering as she looks up at you, and the effect is devastating. It’s calculated, and it makes you so fucking wet, your body aching with a need you can’t ignore.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost innocent, with a wicked edge to it that sends a wave of shivers down your spine. Her breath is warm against your skin, lips so close you can almost taste her.

“Do you want me to?” With your free hand, you reach out, your fingers grazing the edge of the desk behind her. The wood is cool beneath your touch, though the air between you is anything but. You cage her in, your body pressing closer, the heat of her skin seeping through the thin fabric of her dress.

She looks so fuckable like this. So submissive. Attentive.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she exhales a shaky breath that betrays the calm she’s trying so hard to project. Her grip on your wrist loosens, her fingers sliding down to rest against your palm. It’s not a surrender, not quite, but it’s enough.

Enough to press your breasts against the swell of hers, to feel the hard buds of her nipples rub against yours through the thin layers of fabric. The sensation is instantaneous, and it sends a jolt of heat straight to your pussy. Her body arches into yours, just slightly.

Her other hand slides up your arm, her fingers trembling slightly as they wrap around your wrist. For a moment, you think she’s going to push you away, but instead, she guides your hand to her throat.

Her skin is feverishly hot, her pulse fluttering beneath your palm like a trapped bird. You can feel its delicate curve, the way her breath hitches as your fingers curl around it. The grip is familiar, she’s always loved it, she’s always loved how safe and wanted it makes her feel, in a way nothing else does.

Her eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, she looks almost fragile, like she’s afraid of what she’s feeling. But then her ashes lift, and she looks at you. The hunger in them is enough to make your stomach twist. She leans into your touch, goosebumps rise along her arms, body arching slightly, and you can feel the way she trembles. Not from fear, but from something deeper, something raw and aching.

“You’ve always known how to make me feel like this,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. Her words are soft, almost tender.

You tighten your grip just slightly, your thumb brushing against the hollow of her throat, and she lets out a drawn out sigh, teeth biting into her lower lip. You follow the motion closely. “Like what?” you ask, your voice overcome with the need to fuck her senseless, your eyes locked on hers.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilts her head back, exposing more of her neck to you, and your fingers twitch against the soft of her skin.

You used to leave bites there. Kisses and hickeys.

Her lips curve into a faint smile, but there’s something dangerous in her eyes, something that makes your chest ache with frustration.

“Like I’m yours,” Jennie says finally, her voice barely above a whisper, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut. They’re tender, almost vulnerable, but there’s a challenge in them too. A reminder of everything you’ve lost, everything you still want.

Your jaw tightens, and for a moment, you’re torn between the urge to pull her closer and the need to push her away. But then she looks at you, her eyes dark and hungry, and you can’t stop yourself. Your free hand slides down her side, your fingers brushing against the hem of her dress before gripping the fabric and slowly hiking it up. The material is soft, almost silky beneath your touch, and you can feel the warmth of her skin as your hand moves higher, revealing the curve of her thigh.

“Do they make you feel like this?” you ask, your eyes never leaving hers. “Do they touch your pussy like I do? Do they make you scream their name, hmm?”

She doesn’t answer, but she gasps, her body arching into yours as your hand slides higher, your fingers brushing against the lace of her soaked underwear. When they reach the edge of the lace, damp and clinging to her, you pause there, letting the moment stretch, savoring the way her breath hitches when your thumb drags slowly along the edge, teasing the wetness beneath.

Fuck, she’s dripping, her arousal staining the material, and when you finally push it aside, the feel of her makes your mouth water, dying to taste her, to devour her. The wetness is overwhelming, slick and warm against your skin, and you can’t help but moan at the way she gushes from just your touch.

It’s messy, primal, and it drives you wild because that’s the way you’ve always wanted it. She wants this, wants you. You press harder, your fingers sliding between her folds, and she whimpers, her hands gripping your shoulders like she’s afraid she’ll fall.

“Tell me,” you demand, your voice rough, your grip on her neck tightening. “How do they fuck you? Do they fuck you better than I did?”

Her eyes flutter shut, a slow whine escaping her lips as your fingers slip beneath the lace. Her hands grip your hand around her neck, her nails digging into your skin, and she looks at you, her gaze dark and desperate. She’s trying to stay quiet, but you know how to break her. Your fingers slide lower, dipping into her lips, and the sound she makes is almost a sob, raw, broken, and entirely yours.

“No,” she whispers, her voice trembling, and the word is like a spark to kindling. When she leans in, you don’t hesitate. You kiss her, hard and hungry, your teeth catching her lower lip and tugging, hard, your hand still gripping her neck as your fingers slide back out to swipe over her clit with a slow stroke of your thumb.

Her mouth opens to you, and the kiss is messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and saliva. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and soft, and you can taste her—the champagne she’s been drinking, the sweetness of her breath. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and you can’t get enough.

The kiss is wet, sloppy, and fucking perfect. Your tongues tangle, your breaths mingling, and the sound of it—the slick, filthy noise of your mouths moving together, of your fingers playing with her pussy—makes your stomach twist with desire.

Jennie moans into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you swallow it greedily, two fingers entering her. Her nails dig into the back of your neck, her body arching into yours, and you can feel the way she trembles, the way her breath hitches as the kiss deepens.

Saliva coats your chin, but you don’t care. You’re too lost in the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she whimpers when you curl your fingers up. Her fingers fumble with the button of your jeans, tugging roughly, and you moan, the sound muffled against her mouth. The kiss is filthy, raw, she clings to you, tugging at your body to move against yours, moaning like she’s falling apart.

Her touch is urgent, desperate, and you lean into it, your grip on her neck tightening enough to make her gasp as she reaches underneath your dress.

“Oh,” she gasps, pulling away just enough to speak, her lips swollen and glistening. “You like that, don’t you? Feeling my wet cunt?” Her words are crude, downright blunt. She grinds against your hand, her hips moving in slow, deliberate circles, and her breath hitches as you add a third finger, stretching her. “God, your fingers—fuck, I can’t—They don’t touch me like you do.”

You can feel the way she clenches around your fingers, as if begging for more, and the sound of her voice has your body melting. A low, knowing laugh escapes your lips, dark and possessive, as you lean in closer, your breath hot against her mouth.

“Of course they don’t,” you lick at her swollen lip, your voice a delicious purr. Your fingers curl inside her, the slick, wet sound of her cunt echoing in the quiet room.

Each thrust draws a broken moan from her throat, her hips jerking against your hand. “I know your body better than you do. I own you, baby. No one else can have you like I do.”

You press deeper, your thumb circling her clit in tight, relentless circles, and she whimpers, her nails digging into your skin. “I want you to think about me when they touch you. When they tell you they love you. I want you to remember my tongue in your cunt, my fingers inside you, fucking you until you beg. You hear me?”

Her response is a shuddering moan, her hips bucking against your hand as her body trembles. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice barely a whisper, but it’s enough. You can see it in her eyes, the way she’s already unraveling, the way she’s always been yours. Completely. Irrevocably.

“Good girl.” You giggle, pleased. “I love you. You’re such a good girl.”

One of her hands pushes up your dress, her fingers skimming over your stomach, reverently. Her touch feels fucking amazing – you can feel the way her nails dig into your skin. The other hand slips into your underwear, her fingers brushing against the wetness there, and you let out a low groan, your hips jerking forward instinctively.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your voice rough, and she giggles—a wicked, knowing giggle that makes your chest ache. Her fingers slide lower, tracing your folds, and you can feel the way she trembles, the way her breath hitches as she touches you.

But you’re done playing nice. You curl your fingers inside her, fucking her harder, faster, the sound of your hand driving into her loud and wet in the study.

The same study where you’ve spent countless nights, arguing, laughing, kissing, fucking. The memories flood back, so vivid.

It’s a bit romantic, no? Maybe more scandalous even. You’re in your parents’ study, three fingers deep inside your step-sister as she chants your name. Your step-sister who’s just got engaged, off to be married in a year or so.

“Look at me when I’m fucking you,” you breathe out, your voice low and commanding, and her eyes snap to yours, wide and dark and desperate. Her lips part, a soft whine escaping as you press deeper, your fingers curling just right to hit that spot that makes her legs shake. She’s so fucking tight, so wet, and the way she clenches around you makes your head spin.

Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as you fuck her without mercy. Her hips buck against your hand, her body arching into yours, and you can feel the way she trembles, the way her breath comes in ragged gasps. She’s close, so close, but you don’t let up. You can’t. Not when she’s looking at you like that, eyes locked on yours, her mouth open in a silent scream, her body writhing beneath your touch.

“Please,” she whimpers, her voice trembling, and it’s the first time she’s begged. The sound sends a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you lean in closer, your lips brushing against her ear.

“Please what?” you murmur, your voice low and downright mocking, your fingers still moving inside her. “You want me to slow down? Or do you want me to make you come?”

Jennie doesn’t answer, but her body says it, her hips jerking forward as you press harder, faster. Her fingers, still in your underwear, slide into you and you moan, the sound muffled against her neck.

Your other hand, the one that was gripping her throat, slides down to her chest, your fingers toying with her nipple through the fabric of her dress. You’re surprised to find a hard little bump beneath the material, a piercing that wasn’t there before.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, astonished, and she lets out a breathy laugh, her body arching into your touch. You pinch her nipple, the metal bar cool against your fingers, and she gasps, her hips bucking against your hand. The sound she makes is fucking sinful. How can you forget how much of a screamer she is.

“You like that?” you ask, and she nods, her eyes fluttering shut as you twist the piercing gently. Her breath hitches, her body trembling beneath your touch, and she clenches around your fingers again, hips jerking forward as you fuck her harder, and harder, much faster.

Her lips part, a soft whine escaping as you press deeper, your fingers curling just right to hit that spot that makes her legs shake. You can feel every ridge, every fold, the way her body responds to your touch, and it’s maddening. She’s so fucking close, and she tells you, breath coming in ragged gasps, clenching around you like she’s trying to keep you inside.

“Come for me,” you murmur, your voice low and commanding, and she does, her body arching into yours as she falls apart. You pinch her clit between your thumb and forefinger, hard enough to make her gasp. Her body jerks, her hips bucking against your hand, and she lets out a low, guttural moan that has you suck on the space between her jaw and neck.

You feel the way she trembles against your body, her breath hitching as she convulses. The sound she makes is beautiful. So fucking beautiful and vulnerable.

You don’t stop. You keep your fingers buried inside her, curling and pressing against that spot that makes her legs shake, even as her body convulses and her moans turn into desperate whimpers. Her eyes flutter shut, her head falling back as she gasps for air, her chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. She’s completely at your mercy, and you love it.

When Jennie’s body finally stills, her trembling subsiding into weak shudders, you lean in closer, your lips brushing against her ear. Your voice is low, dripping with mockery as you say, “So much for the future bride. Pathetic.”

The words hang in the air, a bit cruel, but what’s a little bit of hurt? You feel the way her body stiffens beneath you. Her eyes snap open, wide and shocked, and for a moment, she looks almost hurt. But then her lips curve into a faint smile, and she lets out a breathy laugh, clinging onto you.

“You’re such an asshole,” she murmurs, her voice trembling.

You smile, slow and curious, and pull your fingers out of her, savoring the way she whimpers at the loss. “And yet, here you are,” you reply.

[zeroseuniverse]

Locked Out

Word Count:815 Summary:"Me crashing here all the time." she shifted, pulling her knees up. "You never say no." Pairing: Jaemin X Fem reader

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The first time it happened, Jaemin thought it was a joke.

The knock came late—too late for casual visitors but not late enough for emergencies. He had half a mind to ignore it, curled up under his blankets with his laptop propped on his knees, an unfinished drama episode playing at low volume.

But then the knock came again, more insistent. With a sigh, he shoved his laptop aside and swung his legs off the bed, padding toward the door.

When he cracked it open, he found her standing there, arms wrapped around herself, bouncing on her heels like the hallway tiles were made of ice.

"Hey, neighbor," she chirped, way too chipper for someone standing in a dimly lit corridor past midnight. "So, funny thing—"

Jaemin blinked slowly, already exhausted. "You're locked out."

"Again." she sighed dramatically, rocking back on her heels. "My door jammed, and my landlord said he can’t send anyone until morning. So…" she trailed off, offering him an awkward grin. "Can I crash here?"

Jaemin stared at her, then down the hallway as if hoping a better solution would magically appear. But all he saw was the flickering light above her door, the one she always complained about.

With another sigh, he stepped aside. "Shoes off at the door. Don’t touch my stuff."

She beamed. "You’re the best, Jaemin!"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already regretting it.

The second time, Jaemin opened the door before she even knocked.

"Come in," he said flatly, shuffling back inside.

She blinked. "Wait, how did you—"

"You have a pattern." He flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. "If you pause outside my door for three seconds and sigh twice, it means you're locked out. If you curse under your breath, it means you forgot something inside."

Her jaw dropped. "You listen for that?"

Jaemin didn’t even look at her. "Your voice carries."

She huffed but stepped inside anyway, toeing off her shoes. His apartment was tidy, minimalistic—black and gray furniture, a single potted plant struggling for survival, and the faint scent of fabric softener clinging to the air.

She plopped onto the couch. "I think this means we’re officially friends now."

Jaemin scoffed. "No, it means I’m officially your unpaid locksmith."

"Mm. I like my version better."

By the fourth time, he stopped pretending to be annoyed.

They had both fallen into a routine. Jaemin would open the door, mumble a sarcastic comment, and she'd pretend she wasn't imposing. Sometimes, she brought snacks as a peace offering. Other times, he threw a blanket at her before disappearing into his room, muttering something about how she should just make a spare key already.

But tonight was different.

She sat on the couch with him, a half-eaten bag of chips between them, the remnants of some random movie playing in the background. Neither of them were really watching.

"Do you really not mind?" she asked suddenly.

Jaemin glanced at her, mid-chew. "What?"

"Me crashing here all the time." she shifted, pulling her knees up. "You never say no."

He swallowed, looking back at the screen. "You’re not that annoying."

She nudged his arm playfully. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Jaemin smirked but didn’t argue.

The silence between her wasn’t awkward anymore. It was… comfortable. Like you belonged here.

And maybe, just maybe, Jaemin was starting to think so too.

By the seventh time, she woke up in his bed.

Not in a scandalous way.

She barely remembered falling asleep, exhaustion pulling her under sometime during the late-night movie. But when she opened her eyes, she wasn't on the couch—she  was under warm blankets, her head resting against a pillow that smelled distinctly like Jaemin.

She turned, blinking in the morning light. Jaemin sat on the floor beside the bed, scrolling through his phone like this was completely normal.

She croaked, "…Did you put me here?"

Jaemin didn’t look up. "You were drooling on my couch. It was disgusting."

She snorted. "Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead."

"You’re welcome." He finally met her gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he quickly looked away. "Neck pain isn’t cute."

Something about his words made her heart do a weird little flip. She sat up slowly, the blankets pooling around her. "Jaemin…"

He hummed.

"You like me."

Jaemin froze.

A beat of silence passed.

Then he scoffed, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Took you long enough to notice."

She grinned, barely able to contain the warmth spreading through her chest. "You could’ve just said so, you know."

Jaemin rolled his eyes, but the tips of his ears were so red. "Shut up and go back to sleep."

And when he climbed onto the bed beside her—because technically it was his bed—she didn’t move away.

Jaemin didn’t either.

After all, locked doors had a funny way of leading to open hearts.

[stylesispunk]

"I love you, it's ruining my life" | part iii.

Joel Miller x f!reader

previous chapter | part iv

Summary: Joel tried to win you back or where Joel goes all his way to find you but things are not as easy as he thought or that's what he thinks. w.c: 5,7k warnings: angst, FLUFF. Perhaps grammar mistakes cuz I didn't check the chapter, sorry. Not my best chapter, but some hearts are going to be happy a/n: As I promised, part 3 is here! Thank you so much for all the love you gave it to the first part, I'm really happy you loved it despite the messy writing. This one is not my best, but some hearts will be mended. This was a messy week for me and I was not completely focused on this, but I wanted to give it to you. AGAIN, this part will not be the end, so a fourth and last part is already in the works to end this mini-story since I split this chapter in two :) If you have a suggestion, question, or want to talk to me, you can come to my dms or asks! Happy reading 💌 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Five years ago,

On your 25th birthday,.

Years were passing by; it was your 25th birthday, and your friends had decided to throw a grand party for you in a dowtown venue. Of course, Joel had told you he couldn’t make it; he couldn’t leave Sarah behind, and being a single father of a three-year-old at twenty-five held him back from dropping everything and just coming to your party.

You stood by the entrance, looking around at the lively scene, when you decided to give Joel a call. He had told you earlier that he couldn’t make it; being a single father of a three-year-old at twenty-five made it impossible for him to drop everything and come to your party.

“Are you sure you can’t make it?” you asked through the phone, your voice tinged with a hint of disappointment. The noise from the party buzzed in the background.

“Oh, sweetie, you know I would love to be there with you, but I’m having a party with my baby,” Joel replied. You could almost see his smile through the phone, picturing him sitting on the couch, trying to make Sarah fall asleep in his arms.

Though you understood, a part of you felt incomplete without him there, and you knew exactly why.

“Okay, then,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light and cheerful despite the sinking feeling in your chest.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, promise,” he said, his voice warm and sincere.

“Alright, Joel. Give Sarah a kiss for me,” you said before hanging up.

The party continued in full swing, but you found yourself increasingly detached from the celebration around you. The laughter and conversations felt distant, overshadowed by the thought of spending your birthday without Joel. Finally, unable to shake the feeling, you made your excuses and slipped away from the party, leaving the lively party behind.

Joel was exhausted. He had put Sarah to sleep and just sat on the couch to watch a movie, wanting to keep himself awake and make sure you would arrive home safe and sound. As the soft glow of the TV flickered in the dimly lit room, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for not being able to celebrate your birthday with you.

Lost in his thoughts, Joel was startled by a soft knock at the door. Frowning, he glanced at the clock—it was late, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He stood up, making his way to the door and opening it to find you standing there, a small, tired smile on your face.

He said your name, shocked.

“What are you doing here?” Joel asked, his eyes wide with surprise and concern. “Shouldn’t you be at your party?”

You shrugged, stepping inside and giving him a warm hug. “I was at the party,” you said, your voice soft and filled with emotion. “But I realized that there’s no place I’d rather be on my birthday than here with you,” you paused, “and Sarah, of course.”

Joel’s expression softened, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over him. “Sarah is sleeping, and you didn’t have to do that,” he said tenderly. “It’s your birthday. You should be out celebrating.”

You shook your head, your eyes meeting his with unwavering sincerity. “This is where I want to be,” you replied firmly. "Besides, I brought food,” you said, lifting bags in front of Joel's face.

Joel's smile was slow but genuine, a warmth spreading across his features as he pulled you into a tight embrace. “Happy birthday,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

As you both made your way to the kitchen, you unpacked the food you had brought. It was a simple spread—some of your favorite dishes from the party. You set the table, and the cozy atmosphere of Joel's home makes you feel more at ease.

Joel poured you both a drink, and you sat down to eat, sharing stories and laughter. The conversation flowed naturally, as it always did between the two of you. It was moments like these that reminded you why Joel was such an important part of your life.

After finishing the meal, you both moved to the living room. Joel put on a movie, and you settled onto the couch, comfortable in each other's presence. The noise of the TV filled the room, but it was the quiet, unspoken bond between you that brought the most comfort.

As the movie played, Sarah stirred from her sleep and toddled into the living room, rubbing her eyes. "Bubu?" she said, her voice sleepy and endearing.

You smiled, reaching out to her. "Hey there, birthday girl," you said softly, lifting her onto your lap. Sarah snuggled against you, her tiny arms wrapped around your neck.

Joel watched the two of you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "It looks like Sarah wanted to join the party," he said, his voice filled with warmth.

You laughed; the sound was light and happy. "The best party I could ask for," you replied, hugging Sarah close.

As the night went on, the three of you sat together, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other's company. The flickering light of the TV cast a warm glow over the room, and in that moment, everything felt perfect.

Joel glanced over at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper that he couldn't quite put into words. "You really made my night by coming here," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

"I couldn't imagine spending my birthday any other way," you replied, your heart full. "Thank you for being here for me, always."

Joel reached over and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We're always here for each other," he said, his voice a promise. "No matter what."

Joel didn’t know why his heart felt like it was exploding every time you were around.

A year had passed since you left, and Joel found himself constantly haunted by memories of you. The days had blurred together into a monotonous routine, and the nights were filled with restless thoughts of what might have been. Every corner of his house reminded him of you, from the empty chair at the dining table to the quiet, lonely evenings after Sarah had gone to bed.

Joel spent the year focusing on Sarah, trying to be the best father he could be while grappling with the void your absence had left. He poured his heart into his work, his family, and his responsibilities, but nothing could fill the emptiness that lingered in his heart.

As the months went by, Joel found himself yearning to see you again, to hear your voice, and to feel your presence. He knew you needed time and space to heal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to find you to see if there was any chance of rebuilding what they had lost.

And so, with trembling hands and a heart full of fear, Joel found himself standing in New York, pacing back and forth in front of your building. The bustling city seemed to move around him in a blur, the noise and energy contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside him. He had come all this way, but now, standing so close to you, he was paralyzed by doubt.

Had you thought about him the same way he had been thinking about you? He thought for himself while pacing back and forth over the cobblestones in front of the building you lived in.

Joel couldn’t make up his mind until the exact moment he took all this courage and flew all the way here to find you. It felt surreal to be in this city, so far from the familiar life he had known, all for the chance to see you again. The realization of how much he had missed you and how deeply he still cared had driven him to this point. Now, as he stood in front of your building, the weight of his decision pressed heavily on his shoulders.

His thoughts raced with questions and doubts. What if you had moved on? What if you were happy without him? What if seeing him only brought back painful memories you had worked so hard to move past? These fears churned in his mind, paralyzing him with indecision.

He looked up at the windows, imagining you inside, living your life. The city around him buzzed with activity, but Joel felt isolated, trapped in his own whirlwind of emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his hands still shook as he clenched and unclenched them.

Joel stood there, the city’s noises fading into the background as he lost himself in his thoughts. His mind drifted back to the moment he realized he was in love with you, a moment that had come so unexpectedly yet felt so right. It was a quiet evening, long before the chaos of the last year, when he saw you playing with Sarah in the backyard of his house. The way you laughed and the tenderness in your eyes as you helped Sarah with her tiny steps had struck him deeply.

It had always been you, he realized. Through all the ups and downs, the moments of joy and sorrow, you have been the constant in his life. Tess had been important, but she felt like a chapter in his life.

The night before he was supposed to get married, when you confessed your feelings, was etched in his memory. Your vulnerability and the raw honesty in your eyes had shaken him to his core. How he had kissed you then, driven by an overwhelming need to bridge the gap between what he had always felt and what he had denied for so long.

Now, standing in front of your building, the weight of that realization pressed heavily on his chest. He had almost married another woman, but it had always been you. His heart ached with the knowledge of the pain he had caused—the confusion and hurt that had driven you away.

Taking another deep breath, Joel forced himself to focus. He had come here to make amends, to lay bare his soul, and to hope that you could find it in your heart to forgive him. His hands still trembled, but the resolve in his heart was unwavering. He needed to see you to tell you that he loved you, that he had always loved you, and that he was willing to do whatever it took to rebuild what you both had lost.

Just as Joel mustered the last of his courage to cross the street and approach your building, he heard the sound of a car pulling up. He glanced over and saw you stepping out, laughing with a man beside you. His heart sank at the sight, a mixture of jealousy and heartbreak washing over him. The scene before him seemed to confirm his worst fears—that you had moved on and found happiness without him.

You looked radiant, your laughter lighting up the whole town, and he smiled at the sight of you.

He stood still, not knowing what to do, just asking himself, How could you be able to bear the burning feelings in your heart at the sight of him with another woman and still be so good to him? It hurt like he was feeling it now.

Joel stood there, his heart aching as he watched you, his mind racing with thoughts of the past and the overwhelming emotions he was experiencing in the present. He felt an immense sense of guilt and regret for the pain he had caused you, and now, seeing you with someone else, he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy and sadness.

His thoughts were interrupted when you looked up and locked eyes with him. The shock on your face mirrored the turmoil inside him. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the bustling city around you both fading into the background.

Your smile faltered, replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. You stopped in your tracks, the man beside you following your gaze to where Joel stood. Joel felt his breath catch in his throat, unsure of what to do or say. The reality of the situation hit him hard—he had come all this way, and now he was standing before you, unsure if he even had the right to ask you for a chance.

He was about to go when he heard your voice.

"Joel," you said, crossing the street, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

Joel took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I came here to see you," he said, his voice gaining strength. I came here to tell you that I love you. I know I hurt you, and I know I have a lot to make up for, but I couldn't let another day go by without telling you how I feel. He thought.

"Joel," you began, your voice filled with a mix of emotions. "It's been a year.”

“I know. It’s just,” he paused for a second, “forget it.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy with unresolved emotions. Joel felt the weight of them pressing down on him, his heart sinking with each passing moment. He knew he had no right to expect forgiveness or to ask for another chance. But he couldn't bear the thought of walking away without at least trying to make things right.

As he turned to go, he felt a gentle hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks. He looked back to see you standing there, your eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and uncertainty.

"Joel," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't go."

He hesitated, torn between the desire to flee from the pain of rejection and the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for redemption.

"There's a café around the corner," you continued, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. "Let's go there and talk."

He graced his lips with a tiny smile and nodded.

“Just wait here a second.”

To say you were fine would be a lie. Of course, you have been better since you were in pieces. You had thought about Joel every single night since the day you left. He was coming home to a woman who wasn't you, sleeping and waking up next to her, having a family. Perhaps on the possibility of Tess being pregnant, you were sitting across from him, the man who had once been your everything.

Joel looked older and more worn, but there was a softness in his eyes that you recognized. You could tell he was nervous, and it mirrored your own anxiety. The silence between you was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

"I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," you finally said, your voice barely audible over the hum of the café.

Joel nodded, his fingers wrapped tightly around his coffee cup. "I didn't know if you'd want to see me," he replied, his voice rough with emotion.

You looked down at your own cup, the steam rising in gentle tendrils, and took a deep breath. "How did you know my address?”

“Tommy.”

“That fucker,” you joked. 

Joel chuckled, "I know," he said, his voice breaking slightly. “But don’t blame him; I asked him.”

You glanced up, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming, and you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. "Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes. Why, after a whole year, Joel?” You questioned him, not calling him by tender names anymore. The way you called out his name felt strange and foreign.

Joel's smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of deep introspection. He took a moment before responding, his gaze dropping to his coffee cup. "Because you needed time, and I did, too,” he said softly.

You nodded, not uttering words. There was anything for you to say, or so you thought. “I-How… How is Sarah?”

Joel's smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of deep introspection. He took a moment before responding, his gaze dropping to his coffee cup. "Because you needed time, and I did, too," he said softly.

You nodded, not uttering words. There was nothing for you to say, or so you thought. “I—How… How is Sarah?”

“She misses you,” Joel replied, his voice thick with emotion. "She talks about you all the time and wonders when you’ll come back. I didn’t realize how much you meant to her until you were gone."

A lump formed in your throat as you thought of Sarah, her innocent face, and the bond you had shared. "I miss her too," you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. "She’s a big part of why I stayed away. I didn’t want to confuse her or make things harder for her."

“How could you? You were everything to her.”

“I bet Tess loves her that much too.”

Joel chuckled again. It felt almost insulting to you. “I didn’t marry Tess,” he confessed.

Your eyes widened in surprise at Joel's confession. “What?” you asked, barely able to believe what you had just heard.

Joel looked down, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “I didn’t marry Tess,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time, laden with the weight of his decision.

“But why?” you asked, your voice a mix of shock and curiosity. “I thought...”

Joel sighed, lifting his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve. “I couldn’t go through with it. It wasn’t fair to her, to Sarah, or to myself. My heart was never fully in it because my heart has always been with you.”

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions—relief, confusion, and a lingering ache from the past year’s pain. “Joel, I...”

Your words got cut. You felt shame wash over you once again. Guilt, as if you committed treason and ruined another person's life. You thought about Tess.

Your words got cut short, replaced by a wave of overwhelming emotions. Shame washed over you, followed by a torrent of guilt. You thought about Tess and the life she might have imagined with Joel, a life you had inadvertently disrupted. The weight of it all felt suffocating.

Unable to sit still, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a screech that drew a few curious glances from the other patrons. Joel looked up at you, alarmed by your sudden movement.

“Wait, where are you going?” He asked, his voice laced with concern and a hint of desperation.

You took a step back, shaking your head as if trying to clear the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. “I-I can’t do this, Joel,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “It’s too much. I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”

Joel stood up as well, reaching out to you. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly, trying to reassure you. “I made my own choices. I couldn’t marry Tess because it wouldn’t have been fair to anyone. Especially not to you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, the pain and confusion evident in your expression. “How can I live with myself knowing I caused her so much hurt?”

Joel took a step closer, his hands gently reaching out but stopping just short of touching you, respecting your space. His eyes were filled with a mix of determination and tenderness as he spoke, his voice steady but earnest. “Tess and I have talked,” he said. “She deserves someone who can love her fully, and I realized that person wasn’t me. It was a hard decision, but it was the right one for both of us. She’s moved on, and she’s happy.”

You searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity and deep affection that had always been there. But the weight of guilt and the fear of causing more pain were too overwhelming. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were to blame for the hurt Tess had gone through. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

You shook your head, the tears spilling over as you took another step back. “I can’t, Joel. I just can’t,” you said, your voice breaking. Turning away, you started to walk towards the exit, your heart pounding in your chest.

Joel’s voice rang out, louder and more desperate, stopping you in your tracks. “Will you run away from me again?! It seems like a habit of yours!

His words stung, and you spun around, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and hurt. “A habit? You think running away is a habit?” You shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to leave? How much did it tear me apart?”

Joel took a step closer, his face etched with frustration and pain. “I know it was hard. It was hard for me, too. But you can’t keep running every time things get tough. We need to face this together.”

“Us? There’s no us, Joel!” You echoed, incredulous. “You were about to marry someone else, Joel! How was I supposed to face that?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with regret. “I wish you had never told me about your feelings; I wouldn't have lost you.”

“'You would, though.” You whispered.

“You're the coward here.” He cried out.

“Did you want me to spend a whole fucking year of my life waiting for you? You were supposed to be married; you never saw me the way I saw you, and I wasn’t going to stay there to watch.” You paused. “I waited for you to call me to show me I was important, but... Listen, I don't blame you. How could I? You didn't know.” You tried to say, hoping to change the tone this conversation was taking, but for Joel, everything you said didn’t matter anymore.

“The man you were with...”

“We’re dating,” you replied, not meeting his gaze.

Joel’s expression hardened at your admission; the pain was evident in his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the anger and frustration bubbled just beneath the surface. “You’re dating someone else,” he repeated, his voice strained. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know? You didn’t think I had the right to fight for you?”

“What was there to fight for, Joel?” You shot back, your own anger rising. “You were getting married to someone else. How could I believe there was anything left for us?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair again, his movements agitated. “Fuck this,” he said, his voice breaking. He turned and started to walk past you, his shoulders tense with unresolved emotion.

You watched him go, a part of you wanting to reach out and stop him, but the pain and confusion held you back. “Joel, wait,” you called after him, but he didn’t slow down.

The weight of the past year’s emotions, the regrets, and the missed opportunities pressed down on you as you watched him walk away. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do something to make it all better, but the words wouldn’t come.

Joel pushed open the door to the café and stepped outside, the sound of the city flooding in. He paused for a moment, his back to you, as if he were wrestling with the decision to leave or stay. The seconds stretched into an eternity, the distance between you feeling insurmountable.

“Joel, please,” you said, your voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

He turned around slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger, hurt, and something deeper—hope. “I came here to see if you were good,” he said simply, his voice raw with emotion. “I don't want to accept that losing you is our fate, but if you’re happy the way you are now, I have nothing else to do here.

"Joel,” you called out his name again, but he disappeared into the crowd. Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched him walk away, a sense of loss washing over you. You wanted to run after him, to tell him that you weren't happy and that you still loved him, but the words caught in your throat.

Joel had come all this way to find you, to see if there was still a chance for the two of you, but now he was walking away, and you didn't know if you would ever see him again.

Feeling lost and adrift, you sank into a nearby chair, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. The café buzzed with activity around you, but you felt completely alone, the absence of Joel's presence like a gaping hole in your heart.

As you sat there, grappling with the pain and regret, you realized that you had to make a choice. You couldn't continue living in the past, holding onto what might have been. If you wanted a chance at happiness, you had to let go of your fears and take a leap of faith.

You wanted him to forgive you for not waiting for him, but a year after radio silence was the answer you got. Not fighting, not callbacks asking you to come back. The love you had for him felt childish, with promises made but never to keep, and maybe you had just closed the door to him.

Back in your apartment, the weight of the recent events bore down on you like a heavy burden. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sat on the edge of your bed, clutching your cell phone tightly in your hand. The breakup with the guy you had been dating had been inevitable, with your feelings for Joel still lingering beneath the surface, stronger than ever.

With trembling fingers, you scrolled through your contacts until you found Joel's name. Taking a shaky breath, you pressed the call button and waited, your heart pounding in your chest.

After what felt like an eternity, Joel's voice came through the line, filled with warmth and concern. "Baby?" he said, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Tears welled up in your eyes again at the sound of his voice, the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "Why did you have to come back to do this?" you whispered, your voice raw with pain and longing.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, as if Joel was trying to find the right words to say.

“I could prove to myself that my life could continue without you, but you had to come back and fuck up everything, Joel?

The words spilled out of you—a mix of anger, frustration, and hurt. You wanted to push him away, to shield yourself from the pain he had brought back into your life, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the love you still felt for him, pulsing beneath the surface like a live wire.

Joel's response was barely a whisper, his voice heavy with remorse. "I'm sorry," he said, the words hanging in the air between you like a weight. "I never meant to hurt you."

The tears flowed freely down your cheeks now, your heart torn between conflicting emotions. "But you did," you choked out, the pain of the past year crashing over you in waves. "You hurt me so much."

There was another pause, and then Joel spoke again, his voice thick with emotion. "Tell me how to fix it," he said softly. "And I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right."

His words hung in the air—a promise and a plea all at once. You knew that forgiving him wouldn't be easy and that rebuilding what you had lost would take time and effort, but deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope for the two of you.

"I just wanted for you to love me the way I love you," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The admission hung heavy in the air, the raw vulnerability of your words laying bare the depth of your feelings.

Joel's response was immediate; his voice was filled with regret and longing. "I do love you," he said, his words laced with sincerity. "I was just too blind to see it before, too scared to admit it to myself."

"I don't want to hear it on the phone, Joel," you said softly, your heart pounding in your chest. The thought of facing him again, of seeing the pain and longing in his eyes, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Joel were considering his response. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice filled with determination. "Then open your door," he said simply.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a heavy burden. You walked over to the door and turned the handle, pulling it open slowly. There, standing on the other side, was Joel, his gaze filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

For a moment, neither of you spoke; the weight of everything left unsaid was hanging heavy in the air. Then, finally, Joel stepped forward, closing the distance between you.

You held each other's gaze for a long moment, the silence between you speaking volumes. Then, without a word, Joel reached out. Without a word, Joel reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His gaze locked with yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a tender kiss. In that moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

The kiss was soft at first and tentative, as if both of you were afraid to fully give in to the overwhelming emotions swirling between you. But then, as the warmth of his lips met yours, something shifted, and the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and more passionate.

It was as if all the longing and desire that had been building between you for so long finally found release in that single moment of connection. You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around him as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

As your lips parted, Joel looked into your eyes with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. His voice was filled with sincerity as he spoke, and his words were a heartfelt confession of his love for you.

"I love you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but resonating with a depth of feeling that echoed through the room. "I have always loved you, from the moment you opened the door. You've been in my thoughts every day, in every moment. I can’t just pretend I want a life without you in it.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words, the weight of his confession washing over you like a wave of emotion. All the doubts and uncertainties melted away in the warmth of his love, leaving only the undeniable truth of your connection.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it," Joel continued, his voice filled with regret. "I was scared of losing you and of facing my own feelings. But now, I know that I can't live without you. You're the missing piece of my heart, the one I've been searching for all along."

You wrapped your arms tightly around Joel, pulling him close and burying your face in the crook of his neck. His warmth enveloped you, comforting and familiar, as if you were finally coming home after a long journey.

Tears of relief and joy streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the scent of his cologne. In his arms, you felt safe, loved, and understood in a way you had never experienced before.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like I did," he sobbed, not letting you go from his hold. "I felt I stabbed myself in the heart that day. God, when I read that letter...

"Do you remember the night we met? When you went to-“ You began.

"Your house with Sarah, yes. Of course I do," he continued for you.

"I lied to you that night."

His eyebrows furrowed at the words. 

"I said I had you come back home, but in fact I was going on a date with my boyfriend.”

"Did you have a

"Yes, he was a sweetheart, and I stood him up for my neighbor that night.”

"Why did you love me back then?"

You didn't reply; no words were enough for that.

"This whole time without you, God has been... miserable," he said.  "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like I did."

You reached up, gently brushing away the tears that streaked his cheeks. "I forgive you, Joel," you whispered, your voice filled with love and understanding. "I forgive you because I know that your heart was always in the right place, even if your actions didn't always reflect that."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes searching for yours for reassurance. "I love you," he said softly, his voice trembling with sincerity. "I've loved you from the moment I met you, and I'll love you for the rest of my days."

Tears welled up in your own eyes as you felt the weight of his words sink in. "I love you too, Joel," you replied, your voice filled with conviction. "More than words can express."

Joel leaned in and gently pressed his lips against yours. It was a tender and passionate kiss, filled with years of longing and unspoken love.

Wrapped up in each other's arms, you felt a sense of completeness that you hadn't experienced in a long time. Every touch and every caress was a silent affirmation of the love that had endured despite the trials and tribulations you had faced.

As you deepened the kiss, your hearts beat as one, a symphony of love and passion that echoed through the room. It was a moment of pure bliss, a reminder that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had each other, you could overcome anything.

taglist 💌: @immywonderdefender @sarahhxx03 @powellssaturn @ifall4dilfs @harriedandharassed @skysmiller @missladym1981 @brittmb115 @guelyury @heartpascalispunk @ashleyfilm @loveisacowboyyy @southernbe @pedroloml

[cheenapri]

Transactional [Yandere Illumi Zoldyck x Reader]

Day two + three

Summary: It is now day two (and three) of the trip and you are very adamant on ruining the experience; Illumi doesn’t take too kindly to that.

Word count: 14k

Notes: yandere, kidnapping, gender neutral reader, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics, mentions of past abuse, Illumi tweaks tf out, lots of arguing, reader is a huge brat and gets put in their place

Day one Day four + five Day ???

Taglist: @lilyalone @yamekocatt

Something feels off.

You’re reluctant to leave your workplace once again, staring out the window and into the shadowy abyss before you. There were a few parked cars and the road was lit up with flickering street lights, making it look like something out of a horror movie. Those lights have been broken for some time now; they should really consider fixing those. 

You worked overtime again, wanting the extra funds so you could join your friends at an upcoming concert. You originally had no intentions of going, figuring it wasn’t worth it since you didn’t care for the artist too much. They kept hyping it up, however, eventually making you give in and start working extra hours in order to pay for the expensive tickets. 

You didn’t know the consequence of doing so would be encounters with crackheads after work. 

You bit your tongue. You shouldn’t have declined that ride from your coworker earlier, but you wanted to take a quick trip to the grocery store and didn’t wish to inconvenience them further. You did have your own car, but it was at the shop at the moment as something mysteriously damaged the engine and rendered it unable to start. This forced you to walk to and from work for the last week. You sigh, your hand hesitating for a moment before you pull on the door handle and step out into the crisp night. 

It’s rather quiet.

You cautiously look around before you begin speed walking; taking a brand new route despite how unconventional it was. Unfortunately, they always seem to find you no matter what.

Not even five minutes have passed before a taxi beeps and pulls up next to you, the driver’s movements stiff and puppet-like, his eyes vacant as he smiles creepily at you. 

“It’s d-dark out… n-n-need a ride?” his speech was somewhat slurred.

This was the fourth time this week a taxi had summoned itself, the driver attempting to coerce you to hop in. You glare at him, pace quickening even further as you look for a way out, your hand slowly gripping the switchblade hidden within your coat pocket. 

“It’s f-f-free of charge… just w-wanted to m-m-make sure you go-got h-home safe… You have s-s-someone waiting for you?” he says, still slurring. 

It was always the exact same stuttered lines: state that it’s dark, ask if you need a ride, state that it’s free of charge, pretend to be concerned about you, then ask if there’s someone waiting for you.

You felt as though you were in some sort of simulation; to say it freaked you out was an understatement. 

“I’m calling the police.” you say as you bring your phone out and dial the emergency service. If he were following the same script as the others, calling the police would cause him to drive off.

He doesn’t though, he must be going off script today. 

He lingers far longer than the others have, driving as slow as your quick walking speed, jittering and jerking the steering wheel to avoid running into parked cars, expression in an almost trance-like state as he keeps his smile. He doesn’t react to you telling the dispatcher about your current situation, slowing the taxi even further when you try to linger behind it in order to give them the license plate. 

“Do you h-have any�� romantic interests?” he asks, the sheer audacity of this question caused your jaw to drop slightly. When you fail to answer in a timely manner, he keeps going. “W-What about exes? Do you… have any of those?”

You sneer at him once you finish giving his description and your current location to the operator. The person on the phone sounds a bit indifferent as they inform you that a police car is on the way and that you should try to move to a more populated area. 

“You live alone… d-don’t you?” 

You hadn’t even realized he was still talking. 

“Fuck off!” you shout at him, tightening your grip on the switchblade. You were beyond tired of dealing with these creeps. What did they want with you? You glare at him, eyes catching the gold piercing on the left side of his head — a strange place for a piercing.

Right as you were getting ready to bolt, a cop car suddenly pulled up; it’s red and blue lights causing the taxi to speed off into the night. It came unnaturally quick, but you didn’t think about that fact. You were already frantically recounting what had just happened before the male officer could even get out of the car, clearly distressed and completely forgetting about the dispatcher still on the phone. They soon hang up when the officer informs them through his radio that he’s arrived.  

He took your statement after calming you down and offered to give you a ride to the grocery store as you were still insistent on going. Your heart rate slowed once you reached the safety of the store, the presence of other, hopefully normal, people gave you a sense of relief. Rubbing your temples as you enter the store, you take your time gathering your items, picking up a few extra snacks to help relieve your stress. 

You call an Uber to pick you up as you don't want to walk home anymore, the driver was a kind older woman who advised you against being out so late despite its hypocrisy. You rushed inside once you reached home, your dog greeting you with a wiggly dance and tappy paws.

Something still felt off. 

You won’t be working overtime anymore, you’d have to cancel those concert plans. You sigh as you kick off your shoes and place your purchases on the counter. 

Your dog whines.

You walk over to the back door and open it, watching as they cautiously step out and quickly relieve themself before practically running back in, their fur standing on edge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you crouch down to pet them, trying to soothe them of their worries as well as your own. Your paranoia made you think the taxi driver was out there.

They only whined again, large eyes staring at you before darting to the living room window, their tail no longer wagging. You stand up and go to wash your hands, hoping they’re just hearing the neighbor or some critter of the night passing by.

You make dinner, giving yourself and your pup something gracious to comfort the both of you before starting your nightly routine. 

Your dog is growling at something. 

You step out of the bathroom and head downstairs, confusion on your face as you watch them pace back and forth from the living room window to the kitchen window.

You head to the back door, hoping letting them out to investigate would calm their nerves. Opening the door only seemed to make it worse, however, as they began barking, tail tucked between their legs as they backed away from you. 

Concerned, you decide to call the police again. You’d been calling them since your second encounter with the taxi drivers, your fears never being dealt with, the officers doing nothing but telling you that they’ll “take your statement and check for the taxi around the neighborhood” and to “call back if something happens.”

You’ll be found dead if this keeps up.

A female officer and her male partner arrive and you immediately explain your earlier encounter, telling them about the weird questions you’d been asked, the driver trailing you for a whole block, and the other police officer taking your statement. 

“Could you check around my house? My dog has been on edge since I got home and I’m afraid he followed me here.” you plead, not sure you’d be able to sleep tonight if they didn’t give you a peace of mind. 

They agree to check, leaving you anxiously waiting by the front door with your pup by your side. After a few minutes, you faintly hear a slight commotion, causing your heart to drop and your dog to bark. 

You continue to stand there, unsure of what to do. After a few more moments, the doorbell rings. You’re slow to open it, only sighing in relief when you see it’s the officers once again. They appear to be fine, though they look sluggish all of a sudden. The female officer informs you that it was just a raccoon hiding within the old grill out back, her words slurring and her eyes droopy.

“Oh?” you nervously chuckle, eyebrows wrinkled with worry. “Was that all?”

“Yeah… it was j-just a biggg raccoon… We’ll take your s-statement and ch-check for taxis around the n-n-neighborhood… C-Call back… if something… happens.”

There goes that exact same line again. As they slowly turn around and begin to leave, something within the female police officer’s hair reflects the porch light for the briefest of moments. You’re confused and shut the door immediately. Your hands are on your hips as you look down at your dog, worry still on your face. You let out a huff, choosing to return to your nightly routine as there wasn’t much else you could really do right now. 

Your dog has quieted down as the night progressed, much to your relief. They haven’t barked for a few hours now and slept peacefully at your feet in the living room. You’ve been talking with your friends, getting their advice about the whole situation and agreeing that you needed to find a better place to live. You hang up the call after a while and look down at the fuzzy creature by your feet. You give them one final pat before heading off to your bedroom upstairs, turning off the lights as you make your way up. 

You leave your bedroom door slightly cracked in case your dog chooses to come up and sleep on your rug. You glance over at the window — the moonlight seeps into the room, perfectly illuminating your face. 

It’s rather quiet.

You don’t know how long you’ve spent laying in bed, scaring yourself as you think about today’s   events, but you eventually fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow you could start looking for a new place to live. 

…

Something feels off.

You’re awoken, a bit groggy as you wipe your eyes. It’s still dark outside. How long were you asleep for? You give your eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, turning over on your right side.

…

Your heart jumps into your throat, all traces of tiredness instantly leave your body as you stare up in horror at the featureless, black figure standing next to your bed. 

“Don’t scream and I won’t kill you.” it warns.

Your breath hitches, you couldn’t scream even if you wanted to. What the hell is that? You scoot away from it, nearly falling off the bed in the process. 

You swallow hard, “What are yo-“

“Be quiet.” its voice was low and smooth, a complete contradiction from its appearance. “You really love making my job harder, don’t you? Why couldn’t you just get in the car the first time, hm?”

You don’t answer. Your heart was beating rapidly. You can’t read its expression, all you see is it’s big, black eyes looking down at you. You couldn’t make out any attributes of the figure, it was like one big, black blur in an almost humanoid shape. 

A few moments of silence pass as it simply stares at you, as if thinking about something, the room slowly filling with a black mist. Your eyes quickly dart to your bedroom window then back at the monstrous entity. Maybe if you’re fast enough, you could jump out the window-

“Don’t even think about it.” it takes a single step toward you. “Things will go much smoother for you if you come with me willingly. If you so choose to be obnoxious, however, I will knock you out. You have five seconds to decide what you’ll do.”

“Y-you better leave this house right now, or else I’ll call the police!” your stuttering foiled your already awful bluff. It was close enough to do whatever it wanted to you before you could even reach for your phone. What the hell was the police supposed to do about this thing anyway?

It only tilts its head, large eyes staring eerily at you. After a few moments of silence, it finally spoke, “Very well.”

You scream as it charges at you, blacking out instantly as the black mist completely engulfs the room.

.

.

.

You scream and flail your arms as if you were being attacked, eyes shooting wide open in the process. Your breathing is heavy like you’d just ran a marathon; sweat beads form on your forehead. It takes a couple seconds for you to calm down, coming to the realization that it was only a nightmare. 

A nightmare regarding a memory rather.

Your breath is shaky as you sit up on your elbow, leaning over the side of the bed. You felt nauseous, anxiety bubbling within you as you tried to control it. You look up towards the bathroom door, then towards the TV in front of the bed, then finally towards the man sitting upright behind you.

Looks like you’re still in a nightmare.

You let out a frustrated groan, throwing yourself back onto the bed and covering your face with your hands. In your daze, you had forgotten where you were, only to be harshly reminded upon locking eyes with Illumi. 

“Good morning.” Illumi starts with his typical flat tone, observant of your quick shift from disorientation to exasperation. “Are you comfortable?”

“In a way.” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to fall back asleep. You didn’t feel like having to deal with him first thing in the morning. 

He continues regardless, “You sound uncertain.”

“The bed is comfortable, yes.” you mumble yet again.

“But there is something you’re uncomfortable with, right?”

It’s him.

You let out another groan as you knew he’d keep questioning you, wanting you to explain all of your answers in explicit detail while not understanding your point behind them. You take a second to stretch before propping yourself up on your elbow once again and looking back at him.

You were skeptical about this unusual attitude of his, thinking it was a new manipulation tactic he’d randomly thought of trying. You’re curious as to how long he’d let you push him over, though.

“Were you watching me sleep all night?” you ask. Your tone hinted at a bit of annoyance which caused Illumi to tilt his head slightly.

He admits casually, “Yeah.” 

If there’s one thing you appreciated about Illumi, it was his honesty. His ability to nonchalantly admit to anything he was willing to answer both amazed and frightened you. 

“No wonder I had a nightmare.” you say, looking away from him. It took everything in you to say something so blunt, so confidently. 

Illumi doesn’t respond, confused by your sudden shift in attitude. You’d just woken up and you were already trying his patience. He keeps his attention on you, watching as you throw the blankets off and slide out of bed. You stretch yet again, back turned to him as you do so. 

“I’m hungry.” you state in an almost entitled tone.

“I’ll tell them to begin preparing breakfast now. You should freshen up in the meantime.” 

You take a deep breath. “Are you dictating what outfit I’m wearing today as well?”

Again, Illumi doesn’t respond — you turn to look when you hear the bed creak, a tad bit worried he was on his way to rip your head off. You knew you wouldn’t even have time to react if he was, though. 

He slowly walks to the wardrobe, shuffling through it for a moment before retrieving an outfit. You notice that he’s already dressed, he must’ve gotten ready while you were sleeping then hopped back into bed so he could continue staring at you.

What a creep.

The outfit was catered to your taste, but it clearly had a touch of his inspiration written on it from how… tight fitting… it appeared to be. You look at the outfit with disdain, allowing your facial features to tell him just how you felt about it. 

He’s indifferent to your scornful look, however, only staring back as he waits for you to take the outfit. He wasn’t changing his mind about this. You’re reluctant but you snatch the clothes from him, nearly stomping into the bathroom. 

The outfit turned out to be more tight fitting than you had anticipated. You hate him. 

You eventually come out of the bathroom, ignoring the way Illumi’s head immediately turned in your direction, and move to sit on the lounge chair.

He was on the phone, presumably calling the butlers to prepare today’s events — eyes still lingering on you as he spoke with them. He hangs up after a minute, fully turning to look at you. 

“That outfit looks great on you.”

You look away from him, eyebrows furrowed. “It doesn’t need to be so snug.”

“It suits you.”

“Of course YOU like it.” you roll your eyes at him, quickly getting tired of his ogling.

He takes a moment to eye you further before speaking, “Let’s go.”

You follow him out of the room and down the hall, that surreal feeling from last night returning once again. As you walk into the main section of the hotel, you instantly notice a huge lack of butlers. 

“Where did everyone go?” you ask, still looking around for other souls. 

“I told them to stay out of view since you have a tendency to stare.” he simply states, staring forward as he leads you down the halls.

You scoff at him. If anyone had a tendency to stare, it was him since his unblinking eyes never seemed to leave you. It was perspicuous that he didn’t want last night’s dinner experience to take place again, only wanting your attention on him and him only. 

“You know,” you suddenly speak up, voice a bit louder than usual, “If you truly want my opinion on things, l'd say you’re failing in terms of atmosphere. It's not normal for a place as busy as a hotel or a restaurant to be so devoid of other people, it makes it feel as though you and I are having a standoff.”

Illumi doesn’t acknowledge your comment right away, only continuing to stare forward as he attempts to process your audacious attitude. You already knew why he was doing it like this: he wanted to keep you away from what he deemed as “distractions.” you were smart enough to recognize and deflect his manipulative tactics to the best of your ability, which is how you’ve managed to retain your sanity for this long. 

You know he loves you — obsessed rather — although incapable of expressing it in a healthy manner. He arrogantly assumed you'd reciprocate the feeling with time and some gentle conditioning, but you never did out of spite, preventing yourself from falling for him as a way of fighting back. Not that you could fall for him anyway. He was far too rough with you, especially when he first brought you to the estate. He didn’t know how to handle someone so fragile, breaking your wrist when you swung on him and crushing your throat when you cursed at him. 

It took a while before you found out why he’d taken you, connecting the dots when he casually mentioned one day that he felt drawn to you before summarizing the five months he spent stalking you. He referred to you as his spouse once, but you were more of an experiment to him in the beginning, his feelings towards you cementing as time went on, confirming to him that he was indeed in love with you. You took advantage of that to the best of your ability, enticing him occasionally, giving him a false sense of your affections when you really wanted to avoid punishment, even if it didn’t always work out in your favor. 

“You’ve woken up in a bad mood, you’re just being grumpy.” Illumi finally responds.

“I’m not being grumpy. You may be used to being alone, but I’m not. For me, the lack of people takes away from the experience, it makes it hard to focus.”

Illumi swiftly glanced down at you before looking forward again, expression remaining neutral. You were dancing around the subject, hiding your true intentions under the guise of helping him improve the atmosphere. 

“I see, but I don’t think exposing you to the public would be ideal.”

“Ideal for yo-”

“Ideal for us.” he corrected, putting emphasis on the word “us.” 

Your attempts at persuading him into taking you somewhere more public wasn’t working, in fact, you were only succeeding in annoying him. Perhaps you were being too ambitious right now. 

“Surely not.” you mumble mainly to yourself, folding your arms as the two of you continue to make your way through the hotel. 

You reach the restaurant and sit at the same table, last night’s rose petals and candles still present. The butlers were nowhere in sight and there was a partition put up to block your view of the chefs. The glass wall was also covered with a thin drape, allowing light in but not see-through enough to give you a clear view of the people below.

Pay attention to him. 

“So uh,” you begin, feeling awkward as you try to get used to his direct staring once again, “what are we doing today?”

“We’re doing what I’ve planned.” Illumi states, not elaborating.

You attempt to pry for more details. “Could you be more specific?” 

“No.”

What a jerk. 

Despite the day just starting, the two of you were already getting on each other’s nerves. Since you can’t look out the window to distract yourself, you ultimately decided you would interrogate him in an attempt to fully understand the situation you were in. 

You take a long, deep breath before speaking. “You know,” you start, looking directly into his eyes, “I’m curious to know what made you decide to do all of this, did you watch some cheesy romance movie or did someone give you the idea?”

…

After a few moments of silence, Illumi slowly blinks at you. This was the first time you’ve seen him blink, mainly because you tend to avoid eye contact with him. He was caught off guard by how you directly questioned him, your bold confidence as interesting as it was concerning. 

“I was not inspired by anything. This is a simple product of my own ideas.” he stated, eyebrows slightly raised.

That’s doubtful, though you knew he wasn’t lying. 

“I see… men in romance movies typically don’t kidnap their partner, it was foolish of me to think you’d be inspired by that. Perhaps you were inspired by a horror movie?” it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact as you spoke, trying your best not to react to his silent indicators screaming at you to shut your mouth. You’d already dug yourself a hole, however, may as well keep digging. “Tell me, what inspired you?”

He’s glaring at you now, slight but noticeable. 

“Like I said, there’s no outside inspiration. I chose to do things this way on my own volition.”

“And that’s exactly why I described it as the ‘typical Illumi experience.’ it’s empty, devoid of life, and unnerving.” you say boldly.

His glare disappears, his neutral expression returning as he slowly tilts his head to the side. 

“‘Empty, devoid of life, and unnerving,’” he repeats slowly, “quite a descriptive set of words. Is it truly that way for you?”

“Yeah, I thought I made that clear by now.”

He straightened himself, blinking slowly once again. “It’s unfortunate to hear you see it that way.” 

His voice feigned politeness, turning his attention to the food now being brought to the table. The presence of the butlers doesn’t stop you from retorting, however.

“I gave you a clear solution to help you improve but since you’re so focused on isolating me, you won’t hear it.” you narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t respond until the butlers have left the room entirely. 

“Is your solution to see other people?” he finally responds in an almost sarcastic tone.

You hated the way he worded that. 

“Yes, the place is empty.”

“It’s not empty, we’re here.”

“We are two people.”

“The butlers and hotel staff are here.”

“Paying guests,” you were becoming annoyed with his intentional stupidity. “people from all walks of life who just want to enjoy some time at the hotel with us. You know what I meant.”

“You should eat before it gets cold.” he looks down, picking up a fork and beginning his unnatural eating habits. You don’t heed his indirect warning to drop the subject, however. 

You continue, “Tell me why you won’t.” 

He doesn’t even look up at you, pretending you hadn’t even said a word.

You speak again, determined to keep going until he gives you an answer. “Give me a reason.” 

“Drop it.” he replies after finishing his plate.

“I won’t until you give me a reason!”

“The reason I chose not to have people here should be evident.”

“And it should be evident as to why your little date with me is a waste of time! You refuse to listen to me at all!”

Illumi is silent. He didn’t like your tone. Your words got to him more than it should and he couldn’t understand why. He was doing everything he could to make this date go smoothly and you were doing everything you could to make sure it wouldn’t.

He didn’t like how aware you were — how aware of him you were. You should have given into Stockholm syndrome months ago, yet here you were forcing him to actually try to earn your affections. Him. A professional assassin who was raised for the sole purpose of killing, whose soul was filled with nothing but darkness. You had made it clear that he could rip you away from your past life, torment you, and force you to go out with him, but he couldn’t force you to love him. Genuinely at least.

Illumi wondered if he should even continue trying…

No. He’d put too much effort into this to call it off. You were just looking for a reaction, that’s it. 

The thought that you wouldn’t be resentful had he taken a healthier approach to your relationship does not cross his mind. In fact, his mind is clear as he gazes upon you, no emotion present on his features. 

You slowly began to eat once it was apparent the topic wasn’t up for discussion anymore. At least the food was good, even if it failed to distract you from the near deadly tension in the air. His presence felt more suffocating than normal, though he wasn’t releasing aura, causing you to quickly eat just so you could get out of here sooner.

He makes no move to stand nor does he speak once you finish, making you awkwardly sit before him a little longer. This was your fault. You should’ve just shut your mouth. The effects of his staring was taking its toll on you the longer you sat there. 

“What’s the plan? Are we going back to Kukuroo Mountain now?” you ask. As much as you hate being in that room, you’d prefer your solidarity over this.

Illumi doesn’t reply, only turning his head slightly before standing and beginning to walk out of the restaurant. He didn’t feel the need to explain anything to you, leaving you to figure it out through his actions. You considered staying seated, but ultimately got up to follow him, knowing that’s what he expected of you. 

You trail slightly behind him as he leads you out of the hotel and into the parking lot, a black Mercedes truck parked just outside the entrance. He opens the passenger side door and just looks at you, not even bothering to give you a verbal command or even a gesture. You stare at him for a moment, wanting to irritate him, before climbing inside and buckling yourself up. 

You stare at the hotel as he walks around and hops into the driver’s seat. He soon begins driving. He appears to have a destination in mind, not Kukuroo Mountain as he’s driving opposite of when you were first taken to the hotel. 

He’s not a quitter, unfortunately. 

He was taking you to a grand mall, one he, of course, cleared out. He still wanted to please you despite your earlier ungratefulness, or so he convinced himself.

The ride was soundless. He chose not to turn on the radio. His eyes unmoving as he stared straight ahead, left hand on the wheel while his right hand sat dangerously close to you on the armrest. 

There were a few more Mercedes trucks within the mall’s parking lot; you could see there were butlers inside as Illumi drove past them, the pink haired butler from yesterday making direct eye contact with you through the windshield of her car. He parked, glancing at you for a brief moment before moving to open the driver’s door. 

He climbed out of the car while you stayed put, you watched as he circled around the front to come open your door. You wished the car had magically started itself and ran him over. You take your time unbuckling yourself, sighing before taking his hand as he “assisted” you out of the truck. 

He led you inside the mall, stopping once you reached the middle of the food court. It was completely empty, just as you’d guessed. You look around as he stands there, staring down at you. Your uncomfortableness is evident as you awkwardly shift your weight and fiddle with the hem of your shirt. 

“You’re free to begin shopping.” Illumi finally stated, giving you the go ahead. 

You gave a quiet “oh” before looking ahead, hesitant to take a step. You genuinely didn’t even feel like moving, not wanting to participate in his plan to keep the date going. Eventually you begin walking, figuring since you were here, you’d get some stuff to entertain yourself with back at the estate. You felt no interest in visiting clothing or jewelry stores considering Illumi would police when you wore whatever you got.

“This is so ominous.” you mumble, hands in your pockets as you walk through the food court and into the main shopping section of the mall. You were curious to know how Illumi did it, how he was able to almost completely clear out all of these places. Did he strike a deal with the owner? Did he kill them and take over the place? You turn towards Illumi, “How come all these big places are so empty? What did you do?”

“Does it matter?” his response was quicker than you’d anticipated. He didn’t appear to be upset though, maybe you could pry some details out of him.

“Did you kill the owner or something?” you look back at him as you’re trailing ahead slightly, his eyes meet yours for a moment before looking forward again.

“That would’ve been the cheapest route, but no.” Illumi admits. “I didn’t kill them.”

“So what did you do?”

Illumi is silent for a moment, as if contemplating something. He then says, “I rented the place for a period of time.”

“You rented this entire mall?!”

“I did. For two hours to be exact, so make the most of it.”

He chose to humor your questions. Good.

Your pace is slow as you walk, taking note of how certain stores were closed down. The accessible stores contained a couple butlers and a store clerk, the butlers standing directly in front of the checkout as if trying to block your view of the clerk. You continue to peer inside but make no effort to actually enter any of the stores. 

You tried to the best of your ability to ignore Illumi’s looming presence behind you, finally entering a store that caught your eye. It was a store that sold adult craft projects ranging from diamond art, to crochet, to even DIY houses similar to the greenhouse you had. 

You quickly look around. You felt invisible, but under a microscope at the same time. The clerk looking down from what you could see of them, the butlers occasionally glancing at you with their stoic expressions but ignored your presence for the most part, and, of course, Illumi gazing directly into your soul. Examining a diamond art kit, you check the price tag out of habit.

“You shouldn’t worry about the tags.” Illumi’s voice scared you a bit despite how gentle it was. 

He’s right. You shouldn’t worry about the price tags. 

You grab as much as you can hold, almost considering buying out the entire store, but not wanting to be questioned as to why you wanted ten of the exact same craft. 

As you approach the checkout with the items in hand, the two butlers gently take them from you and proceed to purchase on your behalf.

You stand and stare at them while they do their job, Illumi placing a hand on your shoulder and nudging you back, “You don’t have to wait for them to finish.” Illumi spoke as he watched the butlers. “We can go to the next store now.” 

You don’t respond to him, side stepping out of his hold and walking out of the store. As you enter a video game store, you purchase, or rather the butlers purchased, several games, most of which you’ll probably never even play but interests you enough to grab. You’ve kept your back turned towards Illumi the whole time, a privilege only a select few could enjoy, wanting to keep him out of your line of sight as much as possible. 

“You’re acting strange.” he stated as he followed you out of the store, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just trying to enjoy myself.” you said, head lowered as you walked.

“You’re deliberately avoiding me.”

You stare down at your feet for a few moments before responding, “You're like an entity that only I can see whose sole purpose is to haunt me.” your tone was indifferent as you continued to stare down, an echo accompanying your footsteps while silence accompanied his own. “I feel like you're not even real and I’m just hallucinating.”

Illumi didn’t understand what it was you were talking about, and neither did you really, his eyebrows slightly raised as he fully turned his head to face you. 

“I’m very much real.”

“That’s the issue.” you close your eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. Which was truly better? A real person tormenting you or a hallucination tormenting you? Illumi had no words for your comment — he turned to face forward again, eyes leaving you for much longer than they ever had since you entered the mall. “I don’t even know why you’re dragging this out, it was doomed from the start.”

He’s quick to respond, “Was it? Or are you just intent on being difficult?”

You can sense a ping of his aura, causing you not to respond further. You stop walking, you’re now at the far end of the mall standing next to the escalators. You watch the moving stairs for a bit before looking up into the skylight. 

The slight humming of the escalator was strangely comforting — the sun shone perfectly down upon you, bathing you in a warm light. You looked down at your feet once more; you felt like crying. The nostalgic feelings you were trying desperately to repress were becoming too much to bear. 

Illumi watches, studying your strange behavior as you stand there with your eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” Illumi asked after watching you for almost a full minute. 

You consider ignoring him, but you can still sense him releasing the tiniest amount of aura.

“A skylight in my room would be nice.” 

“Your room is underground.” Illumi stated matter-of-factly. His response was quick, almost as if he’d predicted you’d say something like that.

“You’re more than capable of giving me a room above ground then installing a skylight.”

“I am.” he gave you a subtle side eye. He indeed had more than enough funds to make your new room, he just didn’t like the thought of giving you one. He assumed it would give you ideas, ideas he didn’t want to have to severely punish you for. 

“So do it.” you open your eyes and look at him, meeting his black, empty ones. 

“Your current room is sufficient enough.” he retorts.

“I like natural light, Illumi.” 

His aura is no longer present, his shoulders dropped slightly. He continued nonetheless, “You can survive without sunlight.”

He won't budge on your request. He saw nothing wrong with keeping you in a windowless room and having you take vitamin D supplements. This was normal to him after all. 

“Anytime I request something that would genuinely make me happy, you dismiss it immediately.”

“Your requests tend to be quite ridiculous.”

“But renting a mall isn’t?!” your voice was getting loud, you were frustrated with him. “You’d rather spend all that extra money on bullshit than something that would actually make me happy?!” 

“This date was supposed to make you happy. In fact, everything I do is for your well-being.” Illumi spoke slowly, making sure to look you dead in the eyes as he said this.

Despite your outburst, Illumi remained stoic. Not a trace of annoyance or even irritation within him, he was completely neutral.

Deep breath in, hold it, breathe out slowly.

You turn on your heel, walking past him and back towards the food court. You stop near the exit doors, peering out the glass and into the parking lot. 

“I’m done shopping.” you were beyond finished with this. 

You wish he never came up with this pathetic little date idea and just left you back at the estate. You hated the constant mind battles between the two of you; you were mentally exhausted and just wanted time away from him to reset, preferably the rest of your life. 

“We’ve been here for thirty-five minutes. We have about another hour and twenty-five minutes to shop.” he says casually. You don’t respond, only glaring at him before looking out into the parking lot once again. His eyes continue to linger on you. “You should shop some more.”

It was clear it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. 

“Save your money-” you attempt to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about my money. I’m telling you to continue shopping.” he spoke, signaling he was slowly becoming a bit irritated despite his very, very calm expression. 

“I already got what I wanted.” you glare at him again.

You knew exactly what you were doing. You were intentionally rushing so you could leave sooner and waste the money he’d used to rent the mall.

He was aware of this. 

“Do you not know how to enjoy yourself at a mall? I’m giving you a great privilege here.”

“It’s hard to enjoy a mall under these circumstances.”

“You’re just being difficult.” Illumi retorted, trying to make it seem as if your unhappiness was your own cause. 

“That’s NOT-”

“Watch your tone.” his voice sounded menacing, causing you to shut your mouth immediately.

His aura returned, his patience was running thin. You’re quiet for a moment, glancing out into the parking lot and daringly taking another step towards the doors.

“Can…” your voice is low as you speak, “can we just go back to Kukuroo-“

“Let’s continue shopping.” Illumi cuts you off once again.

You’re not daring enough to take another step, let alone actually make your way through those doors, as much as you want to. You continue to stand there despite Illumi’s request. Would you even be able to open the door before he grabbed you?

Your question was unfortunately answered when he moved swiftly and stood directly in front of you, basically teleporting before you. He cupped your face just as fast in a firm, almost tight hold, forcing you to look up at him. His hands were surprisingly warm.

“(Name).” he’d drawn out your name in a sickeningly soft tone, his eyes failing to match the gentleness of his voice. It was a sight you didn’t want to behold. You step back, to which he lets go, and turn to proceed back into the main shopping section. His eyes linger on you before he clapped his hands together once, all traces of aura instantly vanishing. “I’m glad you’ve decided to enjoy this experience further, (Name).” his voice was still soft, almost cheerful as he followed close behind you. 

Your heart is still beating rapidly as you walk through the mall, slowly taking your time exploring each of the stores. You don’t buy anything though, you were simply staring at the merchandise as if they were artifacts in a museum. Illumi starts pointing out things you’d like, or rather things he’d like on you, when you fail to make a purchase after the third store. 

Only an hour remaining.

You began staring at items for far too long, attempting to shave off as much time as possible, ignoring Illumi when he asked if it was something you wanted. He bought them anyway so it didn’t matter. He began purchasing anything you stared at, annoyed but not commenting on your stubborn attitude.

Only thirty minutes remaining.

As you walk the halls, you choose to stop and examine a statue you’ve passed at least three times. Illumi stands awfully close to you.

“You’re testing my patience, (Name).” he says. You don’t feel his aura, thankfully, but you knew you were pushing him too far.

“I don’t know what you want-”

“You know exactly what I want.” he slowly brought his hand to rest on your shoulder. You don’t sense any hints of mischief behind it, but you knew better than to trust it. “I thought this would’ve been a nice way for us to bond, but, of course, you’re obstinate.”

“Bond?” you ask, voice somewhat soft from the threat of his hand on you.

“Yes.”

“How?” you asked. Despite being held captive for months, you still fail to fully understand how Illumi thinks. You can feel his grip on you tighten slightly before resting once again.

“We bond whenever we are with each other, that’s how it works.”

You’re too tired to correct him, not that he’d understand anyway. “Tell me,” you start, “what is the purpose of this, Illumi?”

“This is the second time you’ve asked me this.”

“You never answered why you’re doing this, you only stated you weren’t inspired by anything and chose to do this on your own free will. I’m asking you why you’re doing this.”

Illumi is quiet for a few seconds before responding, “I wanted to spend time with you, that’s all.”

“Really?” you questioned.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” you brought your hand up to your chin, trying to think of a possible ulterior motive. There was definitely more to this, but you couldn’t think of what it was. 

Only twenty-seven minutes remaining. 

“We don’t have much time left here. I believe it would be wise for you to do what I expect of you.” Illumi states as he removes his hand from your shoulder.

You go along with it, just wanting to get it over without being overwhelmed by Illumi. 

One minute remaining.

You half assed the last twenty-six minutes of shopping, but it was good enough for Illumi. He didn’t complain, or speak at all really, as he watched you hand the butlers random items you’ve picked up.

Once that was done, he led you outside and back into the truck, a weight being lifted off your shoulders when you felt the wind blow against your skin.

You didn’t bother asking him about the next location, knowing he wouldn’t tell you. He put on some music this time; he must be feeling better. 

Your tiredness instantly evaporated once you realized he was driving into the city, other Zoldyck trucks joining and forming a motorcade around the two of you. 

The car comes to a stop on an empty street, your eyes scan the butlers standing guard, locking on the pink haired one for a split second, before moving to the blockades blocking off side streets. Illumi does his chivalry deed before walking you towards the bus stop. 

Your head doesn’t stop swiveling, turning towards the buildings, to the lake, to the butlers, to the birds pecking at the ground, to the approaching bus. 

“Is this a tour bus?” you ask, instantly recognizing it as you’d been on one with your friends before. 

“Yes.” he responds flatly. 

As the bus pulls up, you get a good look at it. It was a big, red double decker bus, the windows a little too tinted to be legally owned by any company. You’re a little quick to climb inside once the doors open, it was empty aside from two butlers seated at the very back.

“Can we sit on the roof?” you ask, wanting to feel the breeze on your face but also wanting a vantage point to scout for other signs of life. 

“No. Sit here.” 

Illumi doesn’t offer any reasoning, only pointing to a row of seats on the right side of the bus. You take the window seat and Illumi sits next to you, caging you in.

Perhaps you should’ve let him take the window seat instead.

There’s a screen in front of you playing a pre recorded audio commentary as the ride begins, it was the only voice heard within the bus. Your heart sinks a little when you see people walking about and civilian cars waiting at intersections. It was a normal day for them. 

You look forward, then behind you, ignoring Illumi and the butlers’ curious eyes, as you confirm that the bus indeed was part of another motorcade. You slump slightly, looking out the window and at the curious faces of pedestrians completely unaware of what was going on. 

You had barely caught anything the audio commentary had explained about the various landmarks you’d passed, too busy reminiscing on past times to even care. The bus had done a full loop around the city, soon coming to a halt at the bus stop it picked you up from. 

Instead of walking you back to the truck, Illumi holds your hand, correctly this time as he didn’t give you time to freak out, and walks you to a nearby grassy area along the lakefront. His hold was a little tight.

There was a large blanket set out underneath a lone cherry blossom tree, Shiori setting down a singular basket, bowing to the both of you, then leaving. 

You both settled onto the blanket, Illumi sitting unreasonably close despite the vast amounts of space. You allowed yourself to relax a bit regardless, taking in the view of the lake mixed with the falling cherry blossom petals. You paid no mind to Illumi as he fumbled through the basket, using hand sanitizer but not offering you any.

He carefully unpacked the contents, laying out a meal too small to be enjoyed by two people. You silently glance over at it before looking forward again. The view was nice, various skyscrapers and buildings lined the horizon, and a few clouds decorated the big, blue sky. 

It was silent, you and Illumi haven’t spoken to each other since you got on the bus — it was better that way. Illumi savored your docile demeanor, content that you were finally relaxing around him for once. He wasn’t fixated on you surprisingly, only gazing upon the city view before him.

You’d sat there for about ten minutes, relaxing enough to shut your eyes as you envisioned yourself in another place, before Illumi finally spoke up, “Aren’t you going to eat something?”

You slowly opened your eyes, looking at the mini meal sprawled out on the blanket, then at the fork Illumi held tightly before closing them again. 

“No.” you said simply. This was a trap.

Illumi tilted his head as he looked at you. “Why not?” 

“Why aren’t you eating?” you question him instead. “You’ve been holding that fork for a while now, and yet you haven’t reached for anything.”

You were suspicious. This was a one person meal and Illumi was holding the only fork you could see yet made no move to use it. This could only mean one thing.

“This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

You sit upright. “Where are all the forks?”

“In my hand.” he stated nonchalantly. “What would you like to eat first?”

You were becoming nervous. “Just give me the fork.” you state, holding your hand out to him. 

“What would you like to eat first?” he repeats, looking down at the options before him and ignoring your hand.

“Please don’t do this to me.”

“You will eat the chicken Alfredo first.”

You retract your hand as he reaches for the chicken Alfredo, opening the container and allowing its savory scent to escape. You watch in horror as he collects a few noodles onto the fork and holds it up to you. 

His intentions were clear; he was going to feed you.

“I can feed myself.” 

“I know. Open your mouth.”

“Illumi-“

The fork was shoved into your mouth, the prongs hitting the back of your throat and causing you to choke. You cover your mouth when he pulls the fork out, coughing through your nose as you collect yourself from the sudden assault. At least the chicken Alfredo was good. 

“Hopefully you’ll listen this time. Come.” 

He scooped more noodles and chicken onto the fork, holding it out to you again. You glare at him before complying, allowing him to feed you gently this time. The cycle continues until the entire meal is gone, leaving only empty containers. 

He didn't say anything else once he was finished, but you noticed a slight smile on his otherwise expressionless face. He was happy. Very, very happy. 

Both of you sit in silence for a while, Illumi enjoying your presence and you ignoring his. Eventually he stands up, motioning for you to follow. He leads you back to the truck, performing an unneeded act of chivalry as he helps you inside, before pulling onto the road, the same Mercedes trucks driven by Zoldyck butlers surrounding the vehicle once more.

Illumi had one more activity planned for the day, one he was sure you’d love: a botanical garden. He had a slight smile on his face as he drove, eyes never leaving the road but he was definitely paying close attention to you. 

It took a short while, but he eventually reached his destination, quickly helping you out of the car before guiding you through the gates and into the garden. He seemed quite eager. The garden was huge, so he expected the both of you to be there for at least two hours, walking and analyzing all the different plants.

You were partially in higher spirits as you took in the different sights and smells, your facial features softening slightly. You were docile as you followed Illumi throughout the garden, engaging in conversation with him about all the different plants. He educated you on the purposes of different plants, ones that healed, ones that calmed, and ones that were extremely toxic but had a sweet, almost candy-like flavor. You don’t question him about that. 

He felt like he was truly bonding with you for once as you engaged with him. There wasn’t an ounce of negativity within you as you walked beside him, though you weren’t exactly beaming and doing heel clicks. You were calm; that was enough for him.

The sun had set and the moonlight bathed the garden in a white glow, fireflies fluttering about in the near darkness. You two had already begun the long walk back to the entrance a few minutes ago, silent as you listened to the chirping of numerous crickets and other critters. 

“It’s nice being able to enjoy nature like this.” Illumi stated as he stared ahead. 

“Yeah.” your tone was indifferent. “I used to go on walks like this all the time, but then something really unfortunate happened.”

“Hmm.”

Illumi only gave a simple hum in response, not wanting the mood to turn unpleasant so suddenly. Thankfully you didn’t say anything else to force an argument, quiet as he led you back to the entrance and into the car. 

The drive back was smooth, the only sounds being heard was the humming of the engine and the soft music coming from the radio. He takes you to the restaurant upon entering the hotel and dinner was just as quiet. You must be too tired to challenge him as you simply stare down at your plate. Good. He was finally able to enjoy a meal with you without getting a headache.

After dinner, he took you back to your shared suite, both of you showering before hopping into bed. You immediately roll onto your side, facing away from him as you try to escape into a deep sleep. He’s sat up in bed though, silently staring at you. 

The curtain covering the balcony door was partially opened, allowing the moonlight to flood the room and perfectly illuminate your figure. The sight causes him to reminisce for a moment.

“You were happier today —” Illumi spoke, voice a bit soft, “in the later half at least.” he’s silent for a moment as he thinks to himself. “I want to discuss something before you nod off.”

“Mhm.” you lazily hum.

You’d contemplated ignoring him in hopes he’d think you were sleeping, but you could count zero times that actually worked for you before. 

“Despite the rocky start… did you enjoy yourself today?”

He was seeking reassurance. He was being vulnerable. 

You’re in no rush to respond, allowing the silence to linger longer than he’d like. You think of all the different types of responses you could give him, ones that would please him enough to get him to shut up, ones that would severely upset him, and ones that would probably lead to him laying hands on you. 

“Would you enjoy doing your favorite things with someone who torments you?” you ask, ultimately deciding your answer would be up to Illumi. 

“So you enjoyed it? That’s good to hear.”

You don’t bother to correct him, knowing it would lead to a back and forth that would never conclude. 

Illumi, on the other hand, is completely satisfied, despite misinterpreting the true meaning behind your indirect answer. He was convinced that, ignoring your earlier defiance, today had been a total success and a step forward in the right direction. 

He’d only hoped he could make even more progress with you tomorrow.

.

Day three

.

Illumi rises very early, as he usually does, and gets himself ready for the day. His movements are silent as he walks about the suite, putting his clothes on, combing his hair, and more. He stands next to your side of the bed for a moment, gazing down upon your sleeping face and admiring your relaxed features.

He stares for way longer than he intended to before quietly making his way out the suite and to a secluded area. He makes a long phone call before returning to the suite and sliding back into bed, sitting upright as he stares at the blank TV.

You stir three hours later, yawning and stretching before sitting up. You wipe your eyes then look back at Illumi.

“Morning.” he greets.

“Hi.” your voice was softer than you meant it to be.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhm.”

You slide off the bed and head to the bathroom before he could ask you more pointless questions about how you slept. You complete your morning routine, taking a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror, before opening the bathroom door and standing in the doorway. Illumi slowly looks over at you. 

“When are we leaving?” you ask, wanting to limit the amount of time spent locked in an enclosed space with Illumi. 

“Whenever you’d like.” he responded simply.

You silently maintain eye contact with him for three seconds before making a request, “I want to pick my own outfit today, Illumi.”

Illumi taps his chin as if contemplating before sliding off the bed and heading toward the wardrobe. You watch him from your spot in the doorway as he lays multiple outfits out onto the bed, all featuring short sleeved tops and shorts coupled with some form of sandals for shoes.

“Take your pick.”

Sometimes you wonder if he’s intentionally misinterpreting you just to play mind games or if he’s really that unaware. You know it’s the latter, though. 

“This isn’t what I meant.” you state as he stares at you.

“You said you wanted to pick your outfit. I am giving you options to pick from.”

You decide not to fight it as this was the most control you’ve had over your own outfit in several weeks. You pick one that seemed to have the least of his inspiration and head to the bathroom with it. 

Illumi watched as the door shut behind you, clueless as to why you still had a problem with him even when he let you do what you wanted. He doesn’t dwell on it, packing the leftover clothes back into the wardrobe and calling the butlers to prepare breakfast. 

Once you were done and ready, he escorts you to the restaurant as usual. You feel a ping of unexplainable dread bubbling within you, but don’t think too much about it, chalking it up to the thought of having to deal with Illumi for yet another day for who knows how long. 

As you sit across from Illumi, you notice the rose petals have been replaced with fresh ones, some white and pink ones thrown into the mix. You fiddle with them as Illumi blankly stares at you. 

“We will be spending a lot of time outdoors today.” Illumi said. He figured he’d be the conversation starter during breakfast today as yesterday’s breakfast conversation led by you turned out to be very unsavory. “It’ll be good for the mind.”

“Yeah, I bet.” you continue fiddling with and even slowly tearing apart the rose petals. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing?” Illumi inquired.

You don’t even look up at him. “What’s the point?”

“Do you not want to know what we’re doing today?”

“It’s not like you’d tell me anyway.”

“How do you know?”

You finally look up at him. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

You’d prefer if Illumi just kept his mouth shut as you weren’t in the mood for his pathetic attempt at a conversation. 

“For what? You’re not the talkative type.”

“I just wanted to talk.” he simply states. His voice had been slightly softer as he spoke with you.

“Is this another bonding experience of yours?” you mock, mentally rolling your eyes. 

“Yes.”

Of course he doesn’t sense your sarcasm.

“You know,” you start, noticing how Illumi stiffened slightly. “You know” was always your way of starting an argument. “communication in a healthy… relationship… is key. If you truly wish to bond with me, you’ll tell me everything you refused to tell me before.”

“I’ve already been doing that.” he states, referring to all the tiny bits of information he’s given you the last couple of days. 

“There is something bigger I want to know, something you’ve been refusing to talk to me about since you took me.”

Illumi looks down at the pile of mangled rose petals in front of you before looking back up into your eyes. He could already predict where you were headed with this and knew it would most likely lead to something that would put the progress he believed he made with you in jeopardy. You were simply seeking some sort of approval from him to talk, though.

“I’m not interested in this discussion.” Illumi boldly replies, the softness in his voice long gone. 

“It’s the least you could do, Illumi.”

“No.” he didn’t budge.

“You’re only going to end up sabotaging yourself.”

Illumi’s eyes narrowed at your subtle threat. You were basically telling him that if he didn’t have this conversation with you, you’d make the date hell for the both of you. 

“There is nothing positive that could come from this discussion; therefore, I see no reason to have it.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Illumi says boldly. You were slightly taken aback by how quickly and effortlessly Illumi pinned the blame onto you, completely believing he’d done nothing wrong. “I see no point in giving you the chance to start unneeded drama.”

“You don’t need to give me the chance, it will happen regardless. I’m throwing you a bone by trying to settle things in a civil manner.” you say, watching as his eyes narrow even more.

“There is nothing to settle. Nothing will change whether you know or don’t.”

“You’re obligated to talk to me at this point.”

“I’ve been talking to you this entire time, I’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’re only going to throw a fit and ruin what we have going on currently.”

“You think we have something going on between us simply because we didn’t argue for a few hours?” You mock, your balled up fists resting on the table.

“Yes.”

Your words are caught in your throat as you realize just how out of it he truly is. Two butlers come and deliver breakfast, gently setting the plates of food in front of you and Illumi. They quickly leave, probably sensing the tension in the air, and Illumi immediately begins eating. He’s eating much, much slower than usual, though. 

He’s staring down at his plate as he does so, avoiding eye contact with you and hoping you’d just drop it for his sake.

You don’t.

“What was… the aftermath of my disappearance?” you ask, carefully choosing your words due to past experiences with Illumi’s negative reactions. Usually bringing up this topic was punishable by strangulation. Illumi had only warned you once before not to ask him about it, not explaining why or what he’d do if you did, only leaving you to find out through trial and error. “I deserve to know that much after so long.”

The dread coupled with asking the forbidden question is building in your stomach. You instinctively hold your hands under your chin, preparing yourself in case your plan to hold this date over his head doesn’t work. 

He doesn’t look up at you, but he’s not eating anymore either. Illumi had his reasons for not wanting to talk to you about this. It wasn’t because he felt guilt or shame for what he’d done, no not at all, it was because he didn’t want to deal with your reaction to it. You were a screaming, crying mess back then and even though you’ve calmed down to some degree, you’re still quick to return to your old roots. 

He found you as fascinating as he found you irritating, no longer questioning why he couldn’t bring himself to just kill you and move on with his life. You were a breath of fresh air, someone who kept him interested, someone who kept him wondering, and someone who always managed to surprise him with how bitchy you continued to be.

The realization that you’d rather be stifled until you’re unconscious than favor his simple demand sinks into him. You truly are an unruly brat. He finally looks up at you, which causes you to stiffen.

“What do you want to know?”

Illumi was made aware that you’d never shut up about it, and he wasn’t fond of the thought of cutting your vocal cords. He caved into your threat, to some degree, thinking that if he chose his words carefully, he could make it out of this discussion with minimal damage. He’d just have to walk on eggshells for a few minutes, eggshells he put down. 

Your eyes widened slightly. Was he actually agreeing to talk with you about it?

“You’ll… you’ll tell me?” you ask, hands slowly coming down to rest on the table.

“If we can move forward quickly afterwards and you never bring it up again, yes.” Illumi responded, making sure to place clear conditions.

“I will, only if you answer all of my questions truthfully.”

“Understandable.”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you looked into his eyes, all questions you had about the subject nearly leaving you before you quickly collected yourself. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come. You open them again after a moment, staring straight into his black ones.

“Have you harmed any of my friends or family since you’ve taken me?”

“No.” his answer was quick and concise. You were relieved. 

“Was I reported as a missing person?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… influence my case at all?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly. Yes he was answering your questions, but he wasn’t elaborating. “What did you do?” you ask.

“I made sure your case wasn’t thoroughly investigated.”

“Could you be more specific? I want to know the details.” you say with a hint of irritation in your voice. 

“I paid detectives to ignore all the statements the police took from you and to limit how long search parties spent looking for you. You were concluded as a runaway.”

Your eyebrows furrow even more as you think how distraught your family must’ve been when you vanished, what they must’ve been thinking when greedy detectives fed them lies in order to make a quick buck. You hate him.

“Why me?!” you yell at him.

You were beyond fed up with this, beyond fed up with him. He tilts his head at you, expression neutral as he brought a hand up to his chin as if he was thinking. 

“Indeed. Why you?” he doesn’t say anything else as he continues to stare at you in that pose.

“Why me?! Tell me, why are you doing this to me?!”

He takes a moment to respond, “That is indeed a good question.”

“You don’t even know why, do you?”

“No. I don't.” Illumi admits casually. “But even without knowing, the need is still there.” He straightens himself again, hands moving to rest on his lap. "I originally intended to kill you. I thought you were using some kind of power to control me. Imagine my surprise when I found out you weren't a nen user."

“A nen user? What the hell is that?”

He doesn’t answer your question, only silently looking at you. When you fail to say anything further, he looks down at his plate and continues eating in his usual quick fashion. It’s over with. He’s relieved.

You ponder momentarily, looking down at the food before you as you contemplate what you’re about to say. It was a long shot, but did you really have much to lose?

“I want to talk to my family. I want them to know I’m still alive and well.” you say confidently, not a trace of fear in your voice. 

If Illumi wasn’t obsessed with you, he would’ve killed you right then and there for making such a stupid, ignorant request. His frustration is calmly taken out on the fork he’s holding, his tight grip bending the metal into all sorts of shapes as his neutral expression remains fixated on the plate before him. It was a terrifying sight.

“Absolutely not.” his voice is terrifyingly nonchalant. “This discussion ends here.”

His aura warns you. You don’t care, though.

“I want to talk to them.” you repeat.

“We are not discussing this any further. Eat your food. Now.”

“Why can’t I talk to my own family?”

Illumi looks up at you, you see something flash in his eyes. “If you talk to your family, they’ll come looking for you. And if they come looking for you, I’ll kill them. By keeping them unaware, their safety is guaranteed. I’m doing you a favor.”

Your hands balled into fists once more. “How?! How are you doing me a favor?!”

Illumi replies quickly, “By not killing them from the start.”

“How can you say that and expect me to be happy with you?!”

“Because they’re still alive.”

“And so that’s it?!” your voice is starting to get loud. “Because you didn’t kill my family, I’m supposed to love and accept you?!”

“Correct.” he states boldly.

His aura was becoming more suffocating despite his completely neutral demeanor. You grit your teeth in anger.

“You’re fucking insane!” you shout at him, slamming your fist on the table and causing your untouched drink to spill. Illumi watches as the reddish pink fruit punch soaks into the table cloth. “Why would I want to live the rest of my life with someone like you?! I’d rather you just kill me at this point, it would be mercy!”

This is why he didn’t want to have this discussion, you were forgetting your place. 

“Watch yourself, (Name).” he says as he looks up at you. “This is your only warning.”

“Fuck you.”

Illumi abruptly stood up, the force knocking his chair back a few feet. Your anger immediately vanishes, fear taking its place. He grabs your wrist tightly, yanking you out of your seat and dragging you out of the restaurant. He had enough, your audaciousness had gone unpunished for far too long. 

Your weak attempts to pull away were only met with him tightening his grip more, causing you to cry out. It felt like he’d crush your wrist if he tightened any more. The tears had already begun streaming down your face, but you refused to beg for forgiveness. 

He’d taken you back to the suite, practically throwing you on the floor as he slammed the door shut behind him. He stood there, staring down at you with a look that would normally kill. 

“I’ve been very patient with you, I’ve been very lenient with you, and I’ve been very considerate of you, and this is what I get in return?” he asks.

You remain on the floor, wiping your tear stained eyes before looking up at him. “I don’t owe you shit. You ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? You don’t know what ruining a life even means.” he takes a step towards you. He was convinced he saved your life, saved you from what would’ve been a violent death. You don’t seem to understand the type of person he is. “If I really wanted to, I could make your life a living hell. You understand that, don’t you?”

You glare up at him, your intense hatred for him evident on your face. “I hate you.”

Such a childish response should not have any sort of effect on him, but it did when it came from you. His aura quickly became overwhelming, striking you with complete and utter terror as you lay frozen on the ground. His eyes wide, his pupils shrunken to dots, and his hair floating in the air. You’d activated his bloodlust. 

His aura reached far and wide, paralyzing the hotel employees and causing the butlers to think he’d finally killed you. 

“No, you don’t. You love me.” he spoke his words as if they were fact, something you could not argue with. He takes another step toward you, eyes boring into you. “Isn’t it funny how you beg for death yet freeze in terror when the possibility of death becomes a reality?”

His voice was unnaturally soft for the state he was in. He was happy, happy that your talk of wanting to die was nothing more than a bluff, a tactic to control him. You didn’t actually want to die, you were just overreacting.

After a few seconds, he calmed down. His face returned to his neutral expression, his long hair falling back down into place. It’s as if nothing had even happened.

“Hm…” he hums, looking down at your paralyzed figure on the floor. He ponders for a few seconds before suddenly crouching down, scooping you into his arms, and gently placing you onto the bed. 

Without thinking twice about it, he lays beside you, one arm awkwardly outstretched on top of you as his head sits atop of yours. He was comforting you, though he didn’t know it. He had gotten an uncontrollable urge to do so, one he’d never gotten before, and was in no state of mind to resist. 

He stares out the balcony door as you lay unconscious in his arms. This feeling was foreign to him, just as everything relating to you was. He couldn’t comprehend how he felt right now, but knew he was at ease as he absorbed your warmth and slight twitches.

Illumi doesn’t move at all as he waits for you to wake up, awkwardly sprawled out partially on top of you as he continues to blankly stare ahead. His mind was empty, he felt no desire to dwell on what had happened, only allowing time to pass as he accepted this bizarre feeling. 

You eventually begin to stir, but he still doesn’t move, only shifting his eyes to look down at you. You slowly sit up, groaning as you do so, and wiping your eyes in the process. His arm falls lower than you’d like, causing you to grab and remove it off of you entirely. Neither of you say a word, but the tension doesn’t feel as heavy as you’d expect it to be after something so traumatic. 

Illumi remains in his awkward position, watching as you slide off the bed and head to the bathroom. You stay in the bathroom for quite some time, your quiet sniffling and sobbing reaching Illumi’s ears. He doesn’t move to check on you, or rather put a stop to your crying, choosing to sit by and let you cry it out for once. 

He finally gets up after a while, thinking he’d given you more than enough time to recover and move on. He pulls out his phone, quickly texting Shiori, before moving to knock on the bathroom door. He casually states that the two of you will be leaving soon and encourages you to come out. 

You don’t respond but you do comply after a few minutes, eyes reddened and slightly puffy. He doesn’t comment on it, only silently walking you out the suite, outside the hotel, and into the truck once more. 

Despite almost brutally murdering you twice within a five minute time span and bruising your wrist, Illumi was nonchalant. He has the radio playing so he must be in a good, or at least neutral, mood. 

He parks near his next destination — the beach — and assists you out the car as usual, his hold much, much gentler than it ever had been. He continues to stand there after shutting the door behind you though, holding your uninjured hand and watching Shiori as she appears out of nowhere. Shiori doesn’t say a word as she gently takes your injured wrist. You don’t know what she does, but the pain and bruising is suddenly gone. She swiftly bows before leaving.

You’ve never verbally questioned her magical abilities but you mentally thank her as Illumi proceeds to escort you towards the beach. You think to yourself how strange this whole ordeal is but don’t feel the need to comment on that obvious fact, only remaining silent as he takes you over to two lounge chairs set up under a beach umbrella. 

You sit down, propping your head up on your hand as you stare out into the ocean. This was relaxing. Shiori appears once again, placing a pineapple smoothie inside of a hollow pineapple on the little table beside you before leaving just as quickly, a red umbrella and a swirly straw placed inside for maximum corniness. You ignore it. 

There was a surprising sense of tranquility within you as you sat in the lounge chair; the breeze felt nice, the sound of the waves was like a massage for your ears, and the occasional seagull noises gave you a sense of nostalgia. 

Your mind was calm, yet racing all at once, a feeling you were all too familiar with. You fully relax onto the chair, kicking your sandals off and turning onto your side — away from Illumi. You rest your head on your hands, shutting your eyes as the warm sun cleansed you of your stress. 

An hour passes, then two, then three.

“The view is nice.” Illumi finally speaks, continuing to stare ahead of him as he had been doing since he sat down. 

You don’t acknowledge him, not that he minded — for once — as he retained his calm demeanor. 

Illumi continued after a few minutes, ”We’re going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You immediately sit up, looking over at him for the first time since you came here. 

“What?!” you ask, clearly distraught over this unfortunate information.

Illumi turns his head slightly, shifting his eyes toward you as he repeats himself, “We are going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.” he turns forward again. “It’ll only be for a few hours, we’ll come back to the hotel once it’s over.”

“But-but why?”

“Because we have more to do here.” Illumi states. God, you can’t stand him.

You fully sit up in the chair, “I’m asking why are we suddenly having dinner with them when you’ve never introduced them to me before?” 

“They’ve been wanting to meet you since they found out about you, especially my mother.” Illumi taps his chin with his pointer finger. “I reached a compromise last night: you said the lack of people took away from your ability to enjoy time with me, and my family won’t stop pestering me about you, so by taking you to have dinner with them, I’m killing two birds with one stone.” 

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the Zoldycks, at least his mother and father, had been extremely curious about you. Illumi had only mentioned you to his father when he was asking for permission to construct your living quarters near the Butler’s Quarters as well as when asking for his advice on courtship. The idea of Illumi being in love with someone completely caught the man off guard, but he gave Illumi what he wanted nonetheless. 

His mother found out when she questioned her husband about the construction workers, her jaw dropping dramatically before immediately bolting to find Illumi. She spread the news and hounded Illumi since then, never missing an opportunity to ask a question about you, which were all left unanswered, and even going as far as to harass Shiori and any other butlers who saw you in person. She never got the answers she wanted from them, courtesy of Illumi. 

His father, on the other hand, was patient and allowed Illumi to do his thing, thinking he was finally transitioning into the next stage in life. That doesn’t mean he didn’t order his loyal, pink haired butler to keep tabs on you, having her use her monocle to record her very rare interactions with you. He even had her join the large group of butlers Illumi took with him on his trip, giving him intel on what went on as everything unfolded.

Illumi was aware and assigned her with jobs that would keep her the furthest from you.

“What?! Why would they want to meet me?! Did you lie about me to make me seem cool?!” your voice raises slightly.

Illumi doesn’t react to it. “I only told my father that you were my partner, that’s it. I’m guessing he told my mother who then told everyone else.” 

Illumi didn’t want to introduce you too soon for one simple reason: you weren’t ready. He wanted you to be his happy, willing partner in everyone’s eyes, even those who knew better, and was concerned your lack of respect and unpredictable behavior would ruin that image. 

It made sense for them to be so curious, none of them had ever imagined Illumi of all people finding a lover and being so committed to them. They were intrigued and wanted to know who it was that Illumi thought worthy enough for his time, effort, and affections.

You’re clearly terrified at the thought. 

You sink back onto the chair, pulling your knees close to you as you think of all the different ways you’ll be humiliated and brutally tortured, how high their expectations of you must be, and how they’ll laugh when they find out you’re just a normal, average person. They probably thought you were also some kind of murderer, taking jobs and lives left and right. It was nerve-wracking.

“I don’t…” you start, “I don’t want to…”

Illumi looks over at you. “I did what you wanted, you can’t back out of it now.”

“Why'd you even bother telling me this? You never told me your plans before!”

“You said communication was key in a healthy relationship.” he answered.

You don’t say anything else to him. Whenever you thought you’d gotten the upper hand, Illumi found a way to counter it. You wondered if you would still have to meet his family tomorrow if you had kept your mouth shut the other day or if Illumi would’ve even told you about it if you hadn’t started that argument during breakfast.

He was taking you into consideration, just in all the wrong ways. 

The two of you sit in silence once again, your mind dreading tomorrow’s dinner and his mind as relaxed as can be. You continue to sit there for a couple more hours before Illumi announces it was time to head back.

Your mind never stopped racing, replaying thoughts of them attacking you over and over again. You don’t say anything during the car ride, you don’t say anything during dinner, which was much appreciated, and you don’t say anything as you ponder in the shower, only coming out after Illumi rushes you for taking too long. He slides onto his side of the bed after coming out of the bathroom, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. You were already tucked under the blankets, trying and failing to fall into a deep slumber as your mind continued to torment you with endless possibilities.

Illumi browses through channels until he ultimately settles on a random cooking show. He didn’t particularly care for it, only wanting something to fill the silence while he waited for something. You shift constantly before laying on your back, allowing yourself to watch as the contestants on TV failed to execute a successful dinner service, a British man pointing out all their faults and demanding they fix it. 

Watching the show eased some of your anxiety so you stay up for another couple of hours before you feel yourself beginning to drift off. You turn onto your side once more, getting comfortable as you try to fall asleep again. 

Illumi sees this and swiftly powers the TV off, completely turning the room pitch black as the curtain covering the balcony door was shut. He continues to sit up, however, eyes lingering on you in the darkness. 

He suddenly moves, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you towards the middle of the bed, wrapping his arms around you and causing all traces of sleepiness to leave you immediately. You shift once, slightly pushing against his arm. He only pulls you closer to him. You shift again, pushing harder this time. He only tightens his grip. He was getting way too comfortable.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your heart rate beginning to quicken.

“Holding you.” Illumi stated simply. 

It was clear by your body language that you were uncomfortable, body tense and stiff as you tried not to rub against him even more than you already had. He didn’t mind, though.

You internally curse him for spooning you as you now find yourself unable to sleep. You lay wide awake in his arms, too nervous to move due to how close and personal he was, but too uncomfortable to stay still either. You couldn’t help but shift a bit more, eventually finding a position comfortable enough to grant you the escape of a deep sleep. Illumi, however, remains wide awake, a slight smile on his face as he absorbs your warmth once again.

Tomorrow will be one hell of a day.

[kp-alice]

As You Deem Fit

Summary: Ever the generous lover, Yunho knows just the right gift to give you on your third anniversary - himself.

AKA an enthusiastically pliant!sub!Yunho x mischievous!dom!f!reader

Word count: 6 810

Warnings: free use (so seemingly dubious content but everything is fully consensual!!), oral (f rec), handjobs, pegging, butt plugs, ejaculating straps, just a lot of groping and tension in general, playful sex (they love each other so much it's lowkey gross), the tiniest speck of clothed f/naked m, an awful load of pet names

A/N: This fic is the fourth part of my sub!Yunho Kinktober 2024! The event's masterlist can be found here.

You sat on the couch in your dimly lit living room, facing your boyfriend of three years with a huge grin. As always, he'd gone above and beyond to make sure you felt loved and cherished, this time proving it by buying you that beautiful necklace you mentioned almost half a year ago. You didn't dare wish for it, knowing it was quite expensive and something you had only talked about in passing, but you were yet again beautifully surprised.

"Yu, it's so beautiful!" You marveled as you looked down at the necklace he had so eagerly helped you put on, reaching over to hold his soft hand. Much like your neck, his wrist was now adorned with a pretty yet elegant silver bracelet. Of course you got each other matching gifts. After three years together, you were practically one person split into two bodies.

"Not any more beautiful than the bracelet you've picked out for me," he grinned cheesily, mesmerized by the silver gleaming in the soft light. "I was worried my gift would be too expensive, but I see we've both decided to be generous this year."

You tightened your hold on his hand, faux offense on your face. "Nothing is ever too expensive when it comes to you, love!"

Yunho giggled at your reply, though you could sense a smidge of hesitance behind his warm gaze. "Yeah, I guess so..."

"But?" You pressed on, leaning closer to examine his expression. He was definitely hiding something.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Yunho asked back, feigning confusion. And yet, all the telltale signs were there. The slight raise in pitch, the widened eyes, the way he tilted his head to the side just a little too much.

You sighed, but there was no actual frustration to your words. "Bunny, do you really think you can fool me after three years together? I can literally see the cogs turning in your head; you're thinking about something important."

The silence between you lasted mere seconds, Yunho's facade quickly crumbling under your unwavering gaze.

Oh well, not like he wanted to keep this a secret anyway.

"Well, actually, you see," he began, a nervous smile playing on his lips the more he stalled, "I kind of have another present for you, but it's a bit... different, so to speak."

You chuckled, leaning even further forward to support yourself against his thigh. "Yuyu, if you're talking about anniversary sex then I'm afraid we've done that one already... twice actually. Not that I'm against it in any way, of course not! I'm just saying you don't have to be shy about it if that's what you had in mind."

"No! That's not what I had in mind at all!" Yunho exclaimed but then suddenly paused, "or, like, it kind of is, but uh, I had something a bit special in mind this time."

"And what would that be, pretty boy?"

Of course you had to call him that now, of all times.

You watched in amusement as Yunho's cheeks turned a deep shade of red and he began squirming in his seat. "W-well, I was just kinda wondering about what we could do that we haven't tried yet, and, uh, have you ever heard of 'free use'?"

You furrowed your brows, casting your eyes to the side as you searched your mind, but nothing came up. "I don't think so, no."

"Ah, well, it is a bit unconventional," Yunho stammered further, avoiding your gaze at all costs, "which also means that you don't have to entertain it in any way if it makes you uncomfortable! I'm perfectly fine just doing what we already enjoy, don't worry."

"Yu," you said sternly, squeezing his hand, "just explain what it is and let me decide if I'm up for it or not. Like you said, the worst thing I can say is a respectful no and then we'll just enjoy ourselves in a different way."

Yunho nodded solemnly at your words, knowing you were right. Squeezing your hand back, he took a deep breath.

"So, uh, free use is pretty much exactly what the title implies. One person lets the other... well, use them, however they want, whenever they want. You can, like, touch me as much as you like, or make me do whatever. And while this can apply to both people, where they can 'use' each other, I was thinking that, maybe, it could be just me for now? You know, since I'm the one that proposed it and everything, it makes sense you'd be the one in control because then you can do everything at your own pace and stuff."

"Huh," you let out after a short pause, taking everything in. "And you're sure it's not just because you want me to use you and shower you with attention?"

"A-ah, well, uh," Yunho stammered, letting out a nervous chuckle, "yeah, maybe a bit of that too. Only if you want to, though! Like I said, no pressure at all!"

It was your turn to laugh now. Swinging one of your legs over his lap, you shuffled even closer to him. "Of course I want to, love. How could I ever pass up an opportunity to have you all to myself? You'll be all mine to enjoy, ready to please me whenever I want. No matter what you're doing or where we are, I can just feel you up as much as I like. What's not to love about that?"

You watched a visible shiver run down Yunho's spine at your words, an almost pained expression on his face as he imagined the scene. You nudged his crotch with the leg in his lap, swiftly bringing him out of his thoughts and back to you.

"So? When are we going to do this, Puppy? Do we just start now or do you want to set a specific date or signal...?"

Yunho took a deep breath, trying to think despite the growing issue in his pants. "Well, I was thinking maybe this weekend? Since we'll both be staying at home with the day off. And I can definitely wear something to show you I'm, uh, 'up for it', or we can just confirm everything in the morning and go from there? Either is- mmh! Either is fine!"

You suppressed a giggle at his whine, not stopping the way your leg was rubbing against his growing hard-on.

"Alright then, loverboy."

Saturday rolled around sooner than expected, and before Yunho knew it, he was stirring awake in your warm, cozy bed. Even through his sleepy stupor, he could feel your hand running up and down his side, occasionally slipping forward to graze his stomach.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," you whispered tenderly as you snuggled even closer into his back, making him chuckle. "Slept well?"

"Mhm," he nodded tiredly, pressing back into your embrace. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to tell me if you're still good to go with our plan today."

Yunho's eyes snapped open at that, suddenly remembering what specifically this week's Saturday would entail.

"You don't have to agree to anything if you're unsure about this, Puppy," you gently reminded him, kissing the back of his neck. "We can just do this another time, or not at all."

"No, no," Yunho shook his head. "I do want to do this. I'm just a little nervous, I guess? I want this to turn out well since I suggested it, but because I'm not in charge, I don't know how to ensure that."

"Don't worry, hun," you reassured him softly, but then tightened your grip on his hip. "I'll make sure we both enjoy ourselves, okay?"

"O-okay."

Yunho hadn't expected you to "make sure" right after you'd asked him, but here he was, lying in bed with his face planted in the pillows, already worn out. He still had his sleep shirt on but his bottoms were long gone, discarded in the wake of your morning ministrations.

Despite your thoughtful wipe-down afterward, Yunho could still feel a forgotten stripe of lube drying on his inner thigh once he'd finally gotten up. And judging by the first few steps he took towards his wardrobe, he already knew today was going to be a long day. The plug you'd chosen for him was nowhere near the biggest one he owned, but he was still acutely aware of it with even the slightest of movements.

Well, nothing to be done about it now - you chose it for him, and he had no choice but to take what he was given and wait for further instructions.

Just as he'd managed to put on some boxers and lounge pants, the bedroom door creaked open, revealing your curious yet slightly amused look.

"How are we faring, Handsome?" You asked, unabashedly looking him up and down. Of course he chose those plaid pajama pants today, knowing you loved the way they made his thighs and ass look. "Ready for breakfast yet?"

Yunho nodded happily, closing the wardrobe again before moving towards you. "Of course! Just needed a few more minutes to get up, sorry."

"It's okay," you said, holding the door wide open for him. "I didn't start off too eager, did I?"

"Not at all," Yunho chuckled, giving you a playful smile as he passed by you. "If anything, it was actually really-"

All words from your lovely boyfriend were cut off by a startled gasp, preceded by the unmistakable sound of your hand connecting with his ass.

"I'm really happy to hear that, honey."

Just as he'd thought to himself before, today was really going to be a long day.

Despite looking forward to spending the day together, you and Yunho still cherished your alone time. Thus, an hour or so after breakfast and washing up, you found yourself in your study, working on that random report your boss had been bugging you about. Yunho had stayed in the living room, likely lounging around on the couch while playing video games or scrolling on his phone.

Either way, he wasn't doing anything important right now, and you were awfully stressed out with this whole report thing.

Which offered a very easy, enticing solution.

"Yuyu, come here!" You called out, double-checking that your progress had been properly saved before moving on with your plan.

You heard an affirmative shout back, followed by the sounds of the couch creaking and footsteps stomping down the hallway. Even at that, you could already feel your tense shoulders relax, knowing what was to come. Holding onto the desk for leverage, you slid away from it to make just enough space and waited.

A very cozy-looking Yunho appeared in the doorway. "What is it?"

"Come here," you ordered softly, though your voice left no room for disobedience.

Yunho did as told right away, shuffling over to you with curious eyes. What could it be that you wanted from him?

"Get under the desk and make yourself useful, will you?"

Oh.

"There you go, hun," you sighed out appreciatively, tangling your fingers in his hair. "Such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Yunho just hummed in agreement, too focused on the task at hand to reply properly. His tongue was laving against your clit, nose bumping into your pubic mound every now and then. He almost looked cute like this, trying so hard to please you that it turned him just a little stupid.

Your hand tugged at his hair, angling his mouth away from your clit and down. "Come on, Puppy, let me ride that pretty nose of yours a bit."

Yunho immediately complied, letting you hold him in place while you rocked your hips against him. A moan left him as he felt your wetness spread all over his nose, feeling like a mere toy at your disposal. You gripped his locks even tighter at that, the vibrations of his voice making you clench down on his tongue inside you.

Deciding you were done playing around, you tugged his head up again. Yunho didn't need to be told what to do, quickly diving back in to kiss, lick, and suck on your clit just the way you liked it best.

"Fuck! That's it, baby, I love your mouth so much," you panted as you spoke, feeling the coil in your lower belly winding tighter with every second. "Gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours."

Yunho whined at your words, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He knew this wasn't about him right now, and yet, the way you spoke to him so lovingly yet so condescendingly churned so good in his stomach that he almost curled in on himself just from listening to you.

Unbeknownst to your boyfriend, you were watching him squirm the entire time, already plotting how to fix the obvious ache in his pants.

Soon.

After almost suffocating Yunho between your thighs and sending him off to clean his face, you went right back to work. You had to admit, the quick stress relief was rather convenient, save for the sinful ideas of what you were going to do to your unsuspecting boyfriend next that were now occupying your mind.

Nevertheless, after two more hours of slaving away at your computer, you were finally done and free to join your favorite cuddle bug in the living room. He was re-watching one of your favorite dramas, giggling to himself at the characters on screen. As you approached him and the pile of blankets atop him, he didn't even say a word, just lifted up one of the corners high enough for you to slip inside with a huge smile on his face.

Once you were comfortably lying down on him, you too got quickly invested in the show, accompanied by the comforting rise and fall of Yunho's chest beneath you. With your pending work done and your favorite person under you, you could finally just shut your brain off and relax.

For a while, at least.

As the time dragged on and the episodes slipped by one by one, an exciting mix of mischief and yearning bubbled up inside you. Yunho's body felt so warm under you, so soft and pliant - it would be a shame to just let it be, right?

"Babe...?" Yunho questioned softly as your hand smoothed down his side, thinking you just wanted to ask something. When your other hand began moving as well, however, he started to realize what this might be about.

"Get on top of me, honey," you ordered, leaving Yunho to gently roll the two of you over, now with you underneath him. He tried not to lie down on you with his full weight so as to not crush you, but that was becoming increasingly difficult with your increasingly teasing touches. With each squeeze of his waist, hips, or even chest, he could feel his strength falter, leaning further down into your body.

"L-love, what are you..." he tried to question but trailed off again as one of your hands slid into his plaid pants, skipping his underwear and going straight for skin-to-skin contact. You gripped the full, firm flesh in your hand, massaging it softly before moving on.

Every remaining bit of Yunho's composure disappeared as your hand brushed the base of the plug inside him, re-igniting the fire that had been warming his belly since this morning. He hid his face in the crook of your neck with an embarrassed whine, suddenly feeling too exposed and vulnerable despite still being fully clothed.

"How's the plug feeling, baby?" You murmured softly, brushing your thumb against its base. Your other hand stilled on his hip, holding him in place in case he got too restless.

"It's really weird," he admitted bashfully. "I-I mean, like, nice weird! Like, it feels good, but it's also strange to just... have it inside all day. I keep forgetting about it and then I move even the slightest bit and it just, you know."

"Reminds you of your role for the day?" You finished for him, earning a nod in return. "So you're okay with keeping it in a while longer?"

Yunho nodded again, letting out a shaky exhale as you tapped on the base a few times. "Yes, please. Wanna be your good boy all day, be ready for you at all times."

"Good," you replied, an excited smirk on your face. "Very good."

Before you knew it, the sun was already starting to set. And as much as you'd love to keep cuddling and fondling your boyfriend, the growling in your stomach was getting a little too persuasive.

As expected, Yunho volunteered to cook dinner tonight, getting up and disappearing into the kitchen before you'd even had a chance to argue. Not that you wanted to, anyway. Whenever Yunho got into his submissive headspace, he loved to provide more than anything, and you were not about to take that away from him.

You did eventually start to get a bit bored, though.

About half an hour had passed, the drama you were watching left paused on the TV screen while you checked social media. You could hear the soft knocking of metal against wood as Yunho chopped up some vegetables, along with the sound of water boiling on the stove.

...Nothing wrong with checking in on him, right?

Sitting up with a groan, you raised your arms above your head and stretched. The couch creaked under you as you shifted your weight, but Yunho either didn't hear it or didn't think much of it.

As expected, Yunho had his back to you as you entered the kitchen, focused on pouring all the chopped-up ingredients into the boiling water. After succeeding, he sealed the pot with a lid and set a timer on the stove before resting his hands against the counter. He let out a content sigh, seemingly fully lost in thought.

His daydreams were cut short, however, when he was enveloped from behind, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Relax, baby, it's just me."

Yunho hummed in acknowledgment, all of the sudden tension leaving him again as he leaned back into your embrace. "Missed me already?"

You chuckled at the cheekiness, squeezing him just a little tighter. "Oh, so much, you have no idea." Pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck, you let one of your hands wander along his body. "Also felt like paying compliments to the chef, you see."

"A-ah, but, don't people- don't you usually do that after the food is served?" Yunho asked in a shaky voice, the hand grazing his inner thigh feeling equal parts ticklish and arousing.

"Hmm, no," you muttered into his back, one hand splayed over his stomach under his shirt while the other teased the waistband of his pants again. "I already know it will taste amazing, so might as well thank you now, right?"

Yunho's grip on the counter tightened as your fingers finally dipped into his boxers, steeling himself for whatever you had in store for him. "I mean- yeah, but- but the food-"

"Just let go, Puppy," you insisted, drawing a meek whine from him. "You've set a timer anyway, you can spare some time for me now."

"I- alright," Yunho finally agreed with a tired sigh, only to gasp when you immediately grabbed his cock in response. Clearly, you were in no mood to stall anymore.

Yunho was fully hard in record time, already pent up from your previous activities. His head hung low as you stroked him, keeping him in place with the hand on his stomach while you pressed up against him from behind. Every now and then, a small whine or whimper left his lips, causing his eyes to scrunch shut even tighter.

"W-wait," Yunho suddenly gasped, wanting to stop you with a hand on your wrist but halting before he could do so.

"What is it, honey?" You asked, brushing a thumb against his weeping tip while you placed another clumsy kiss on his clothed back.

"I need to stir the- please," Yunho tried to keep his sentences as short as possible, not trusting his breathy voice right now.

You laughed at his explanation, finding him utterly adorable right now.

"It's okay, love, do whatever you want."

Yunho was confused by your words, unsure of what you meant. The fog in his brain certainly wasn't helping either, reducing him to a panting, jittery mess.

"But- you're not stopping?" He said half-questioningly, trying to break from his daze just enough to understand the situation.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm definitely not stopping," you said with a sly grin, speeding up your movements. "But you're free to keep cooking if you want, I don't care."

When your words finally clicked in his mind, Yunho thought he was going to pass out. Or cum. Ideally both.

With a pathetic, broken whimper, he nodded in understanding, muttering a simple "Okay, thank you" in response. His left hand gripped the counter even tighter, trying to keep himself still and stable while he removed the pot lid with the other. Just as he was about to pick up the wooden spoon, however, he felt you tugging at the plug inside of him.

You watched in amusement as Yunho curled in on himself with an almost pained cry, dropping the spoon to hold onto the counter again. "Y/N!"

"What? I'm just doing my thing, you can do yours just as fine."

Yunho whimpered as you pulled at the toy again, the widest part threatening to slip out of him. He felt so powerless, your indifferent attitude leaving no room for discussion. He couldn't fault you for it either; it's what the two of you had agreed on, after all. He was yours to touch and fuck as you pleased, whenever, wherever.

Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Yunho tried to regain control of his body as much as he could, though it was near impossible with your unrelenting touches. Even as he neared the stove, he couldn't stop the involuntary twitches of his hips, trying to meet both your strokes on his cock and the pulling at the plug inside.

"There's my good boy," you cooed, watching him finally succeed at stirring the pot. "Told you there was no need to stop, you're a natural."

Whether you meant a natural at cooking or being toyed with, Yunho didn't know. Either way, a groan left his lips at the praise, dropping the spoon again to lean back into you.

"Oh? Is my pretty prince close already?" You questioned, feeling him twitch in your hand at the pet name. Yunho nodded hurriedly, shallowly panting as he rocked back and forth into your hands. The timer was showing two minutes left, giving you just enough time to get your lover where you wanted him.

"Miss, can I please cum? Please?" Yunho begged with audible urgency, brain so scrambled the title came out without him even realizing.

"Of course, honey," you said, tightening your grip on him. "You've been such a good boy so far, you deserve it.

Yunho moaned loudly at the praise, eyebrows furrowing as he finally let himself get fully lost in the pleasure. His hands reached back to clumsily grab at your hips, pressing you as close to his back as possible. He didn't seem to mind the slightly awkward angle at which the hand holding his plug was now trapped. If anything, the way it pushed the toy back in even deeper made everything else more intense.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna cum," Yunho warned through gritted teeth, already sensing this wouldn't be any small orgasm. "I'm gonna, I-"

With a cry of your name, Yunho's entire body tensed up in your hold for a second or two before releasing again, trembling with every wave of pleasure washing over him. You held him steady the entire time, helping him ride out his orgasm with slow, steady strokes on his twitching cock. Your other hand slithered out of his pants, reaching over to turn off the timer before it could startle your spent lover.

Yunho panted as he came down from his high, the fog in his mind finally starting to clear up again. He squeezed at your hip, a silent signal that it was okay to let go of him now. You did so, unwrapping yourself from him to stand by his side instead and examine his face for any signs of discomfort.

"Feeling okay, baby?" You asked gently, drying some of the sweat on his forehead with a nearby paper towel. Yunho just nodded wordlessly, every part of his body feeling like jelly, lips included.

"Good. Now let's get you out of these before you ruin them any further, shall we?"

A small gasp left him as you suddenly pulled both his pants and boxers down, but he stepped out of them anyway. Despite the embarrassment of standing half-naked in the kitchen in front of you, he had to admit it felt a lot more comfortable than boxers full of cum.

"Are, uh, are you going to bring me fresh clothes?" Yunho asked hopefully, turning to give you a quick glance before approaching the stove again. He still had dinner to cook, after all.

"No," you said simply. "I don't think you'll be needing them much in the near future, anyway. I'll just keep you warm during dinner and then we'll see what happens."

Yet again, despite how small and vulnerable he was feeling right now, Yunho knew he had no say in the situation. You clearly weren't waiting for his response anyway, considering how you'd immediately left after your reply, but not before giving his ass a quick squeeze goodbye.

Just as promised, you kept Yunho warm as you sat back down on the couch, eating your dinner together under a warm blanket. You resumed the drama on your TV, letting the two of you calm down again and enjoy the simple comfort of each other's presence. Under the thick blanket, Yunho's legs were strewn over your lap while you kept a firm hold on one of his calves.

He was not going anywhere anytime soon. Not until you'd let him.

Unlike before, you didn't let him wash the dishes this time, pushing him back into the cushions while you put your two bowls away in the kitchen. You checked the clock hanging above the door, which read 22:30. Perfect.

"Ready, Yu?" You called out, returning to the living room. Yunho was right where you'd left him, curled up on the couch. His head rose at your voice, turning back to look at you in slight confusion. "For what?"

"The bedroom," you answered plainly, meeting him with a seemingly indifferent gaze. When he didn't react, you stepped right in front of him. "Come on, Pup. Don't make me drag you over there myself, 'cause you know I will."

Yunho gulped at the vague threat, reluctantly throwing the blankets off his body and rising to his feet. The shirt he had on didn't do much to cover his bottom half, making him resort to covering himself with his hands. That plan was quickly foiled, though, as you just nudged his hands away, leaving him bare again.

The moment he'd entered the bedroom, he could feel a slight tension in the air. Turning to you, he realized you looked somewhat nervous, but fought hard to hide it.

"Well? What are you waiting for? On the bed, hands and knees."

Your command brought him out of his thoughts again, limbs moving pretty much automatically at this point. This wasn't anywhere near his first or last time in such a position, so he had no issue planting himself into the mattress, arching his back just the way you liked it. The effect was almost immediate as he heard a groan from behind him, followed by a smack against his ass. "Fuck, such a pretty boy for me, aren't you?"

Yunho just whined, spreading his legs a little wider at the praise. He could feel you getting on the bed behind him, right after gathering all the things you'd need from the box in your wardrobe. A soft hand began smoothing down his back, making him relax and steady his breathing.

"I've prepared something new for today, if you're interested."

Oh, so that's why you were nervous.

"What is it?" Yunho asked, lifting his head from the pillows to be heard properly. He didn't turn around to look at you, too scared he wasn't allowed to without your explicit permission.

"I mean," you began, your free hand moving to massage the back of his thigh, "it's nothing too new. Just a small twist on what we already do, that's all. I can tell you right now if you want, but I was thinking it might be better as a surprise?"

Yunho shivered at the proposition, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. Being surprised was one thing, but to have you surprise him while you're railing him into the next week? He wasn't sure what to expect. Which, of course, led him to only one possible reply.

"Sure."

After hiding whatever it was you were planning to use from his sight and easing the plug out of him, Yunho found himself on his back, legs spread nice and wide for you while you stretched him open. Thanks to the plug, the process was a lot easier than usual, but that didn't stop you from ensuring his comfort anyway. Not to mention you'd never pass an opportunity to have him moaning on your fingers.

"Alright baby, I think you're ready for me," you said, focused on the way his pretty hole clenched around your digits. "What do you think?"

Yunho whined at the question, trying to push back against the three fingers inside of him. "Please, I need it! I'm so hard it hurts."

You chuckled at his desperation, making the man under you blush even more. He really wasn't lying; his dick had been left alone for way too long, twitching sadly against his abdomen whenever you pressed into him just right.

"Okay, hun," you began, removing your fingers from him at once, "I'm gonna need you to close your eyes for a moment, and when you open them again, you're not allowed to look down, okay?"

Huh. Okay.

Yunho nodded wordlessly, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. He heard you get up from the bed again before shuffling around. The bedroom was completely silent, save for the sounds of his breathing, clothes rustling, and the soft clinking of metal. The mattress dipped down again, and Yunho was allowed to re-open his eyes.

"Hi," you said warmly, an amused smile gracing your lips as you looked down at his unsure expression.

"Hey," he replied tentatively, scanning your eyes for any clues on what to expect. "I, uh, wanted to ask - how low can or can't I look?"

You giggled at his question, making him smile a bit as well. "No need to worry about any of that, Yuyu. Just keep looking at me until I say otherwise, okay?"

He obliged with a nod, keeping his focus on your face even while you yourself looked down between his legs. It felt strangely exhilarating, not being able to see what was going on down there, what was going to happen to him.

"Hold these for me, will you?" You said as you pushed his legs up by the backs of his knees, waiting for him to get the memo and hold them up for you. Luckily, it didn't take Yunho too long, still lucid enough to remember one of your most frequent orders.

A cold, slick, blunt object was suddenly pressed against his hole, making Yunho flinch at the unexpected sensation. He'd almost looked down then, wishing to see which toy you'd chosen today, but caught himself at the last second.

"I'm gonna push in now, okay?" You warned him, leaning further over his body for a better angle. "Just relax and remember to breathe."

Yunho did just that, closing his eyes and relaxing as much as he could. Still, he couldn't help but tense a bit when you began pushing in, the intrusion familiar yet oddly different at the same time. His eyebrows furrowed at the thought, confused about what it could mean. Did you get a new strap? Is that why you didn't want him to look yet?

Oblivious to the turmoil raging in Yunho's head, you kept pushing further, gaze flitting between his sinful expressions and his hole eagerly welcoming you in. It wasn't until your hips met his that his eyes opened again, watching you with almost alarming intensity.

"Something's different, isn't it?"

You couldn't stop yourself from giggling at your boyfriend's puzzled face but nodded nonetheless. "It is indeed. Do you have any clue as to what it could be?"

Yunho's brows furrowed at the question, fully concentrated on finding out the answer. You could feel the faintest tug from below, watching as he clenched down on the strap-on.

"I- I'm not entirely sure, but the shape feels different. It feels a bit smaller too."

"Is that an issue?" You teased, a wide grin splitting your face. "Maybe it's not about the size with this one, who knows."

Yunho let out another confused sound at that, trying to decipher your words. Maybe it vibrates? Or inflates somehow? Or changes temperature? Okay, no, probably not that last one.

But then what could possibly make this one special?

Despite being very invested in uncovering the mystery of this strange fake cock, the moment you actually began moving, all rational thoughts flew out the window. Big or small, thanks to your skilled hips, the toy still hit all the best spots inside of him just the way he liked it, reducing him to a moaning and groaning mess.

"Miss, please! Harder!" Yunho desperately begged. With each thrust, the hold on his legs slowly began to falter, resulting in him dropping one to hold onto your back instead. You heeded his pleas, snapping into him with newfound force. His nails dug into your back, trying to steady himself while you rocked him up on the bed. His cock yet again lay neglected on his stomach, slapping around in its small puddle of precum with each thrust. This time, though, you felt more merciful, dropping one of the hands propping you up to grab a firm hold of it.

"Fuck!" Yunho cried out, throwing his head back. His chest heaved up and down, trying to keep up with the onslaught of pleasure in two places at once. "Miss, I'm so close, please let me cum, please!"

"Is that so?" You asked back, stalling for time as he thrashed under you, desperately holding back his orgasm until you'd allow it. "Wanna find out about the surprise right now, then?"

Oh, that's right. Yunho'd forgotten all about it, too distracted by you rocking his world like you always do.

Quickly nodding his head, he could only muster a dumb "uh-huh" in response.

"Look down, then."

Eagerly, he complied, even lifting his head up a bit to see better. Just as he'd suspected, this was a completely new toy, looking nothing like the ones you'd used before. From the color and the way it filled him just a little differently, to the strange shape of its base. Speaking of which, he watched as you leaned back and reached your hand - one that wasn't tugging at his aching cock - down to said base, wrapping around it.

"Gonna cum, pretty boy?" You asked, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Yes, please let me!" He replied desperately, trying to push back against your hand and strap at the same time.

"Then cum with me."

For a split second, Yunho was confused again. What do you mean, together? Were you also about to cum, completely untouched? But you didn't seem anywhere near affected enough to just cum on the spot like that, so what could you possibly mean?

Yunho was about to ask just that, but then he felt it.

Watching you squeeze the base of the strap, Yunho felt a strange pressure inside him, a bit further than the actual strap itself reached. And then he felt it again. And again.

You were cumming inside of him.

For a small moment, Yunho thought he had died. There was simply no way he could ever recover from such an orgasm, not a chance. His vision disappeared for a moment, and so did his hearing. The only thing he could feel was overwhelming pressure in his core, exploding into the most intense orgasm of his life. His chest and stomach kept tensing and relaxing, making his breath hitch with every shake of his body. Electricity was coursing through his body, from his head all the way to his toes and back.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally registered your hand on his cheek, tapping him lightly in hopes of getting his attention.

"Yunho?"

He took another big gulp of air before finally replying, "...yeah?"

"Oh, thank god," you sighed out in relief. "I was beginning to think you'd passed out on me."

"Honestly? I might have," Yunho chuckled incredulously, still in awe of everything that had just happened. His eyes had finally refocused, letting him see the curious yet worried look on your face. You were still naked, though the harness around your hips was gone. Now that his head was clearer, he could also feel a towel under his butt. When did that get there?

"I think that was the hardest I've ever cum in my entire life. Thought I had ascended for a moment there."

You laughed at his dazed response, smacking his chest gently. "Good to know at least one of us was having fun! I was so worried I had hurt you somehow!"

Although you meant it as a joke, Yunho knew there was a bit more sincerity to it than you intended to show. Sighing softly, he beckoned you closer, only to then fully pull you into his arms, chest resting against his. He could feel the utter mess he'd made that was now smeared between you but decided to ignore it for now. That could wait until his brain worked at least semi-properly again. "Don't worry, babe, I'm completely fine. Just need a moment to calm down."

You hummed non-committally, still feeling a bit unsure after having your boyfriend turn unresponsive for like half a minute. "It was good, though, right?"

Yunho chuckled, jostling your body alongside his. "Love, I literally just told you I had the most insane orgasm of my life, how do you think you did?"

Sensing you were still unconvinced, he continued. "You were so amazing today, doing everything I've dreamed of and more, and then you top it all off with this? I'm quite literally the luckiest boyfriend alive. Seriously, you have no idea how much I loved today."

You chuckled, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. "Not really, I think you gave me more than enough evidence a few minutes ago. Evidence which should get cleaned up as soon as possible before we get even more sticky and gross, mind you."

"Oh, don't worry," Yunho grinned, holding you even tighter, "that's not up to you to decide anymore."

You stilled in his embrace, lifting your head up to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the clock, love."

00:04.

Uh oh.

"So, now that our special day is over, how about you get up here and let me repay the favor, hm? I don't think I've had quite enough in your office this morning."

taglist: @justconniez @domribo @another-random-fanfic-blog @imrllytootiredforthis

Thank you for reading! And remember, feedback is always very appreciated! <3

[milla-frenchy]

His favorite game

2k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you meet a corrupt security guard. (Un)fortunately, he's hot Warnings: 18+ mdni. Javi's pov, age gap (reader is 22, Javi in his 40s), darkish, dubcon, coercion, power imbalance, degradation, oral (m), piv, creampie

a/n: this is written for @toomanystoriessolittletime 's follower celebration. I got this prompt/plot (darkish Javi P) Congrats on your milestone 🥳🥳

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 dividers @saradika-graphics

“I can suck your cock, if you want.”

Javi scoffed, until he realized she was dead serious. His dark eyes were on her, as he was leaning against his desk and she was sitting in front of him in a chair. He could see the worry in the shoplifter’s eyes. Concern that he'd call the cops. 

So she told him the first thing that came to her mind. She thought he was handsome, anyway, with his brown hair, his slim waist, and his broad shoulders. His uniform, which would look ridiculous on anyone else, suited him well. She was sure he’d be devastating, in a bar, wearing some jeans and a t-shirt. She was also pretty sure she’d try to seduce him, that man in his forties, the perfect dilf. And hopefully ending up with him in his car or in his apartment. 

“You wanna suck my cock?” he mocked. “And asking me to forget about the police, right? That's what you're telling me?”

“Yeah.”

He checked her ID, to be sure she wasn't under age.

Then he pointed at his crotch with his chin and lit a cigarette as she got on her knees and pulled his cock out. She sucked his tip, his cock, his balls, and he shot his cum deep into her throat, even before he finished his cig.

That's how it started. A week after his first day at the job. 

After he had returned from Columbia, it helped him to forget his past life. 

To forget that he didn’t get along with his father anymore, after he had told him that he wouldn’t take over the ranch. 

To forget that he had lost himself in every woman he fucked, creating an endless circle. 

To forget that he had never drunk and smoked so much in his life. 

To forget that in the past some people considered him a hero. It was as if he wanted to prove them all that they were wrong. 

To forget that he had given too much to the agency for his life to end up like that.

So since that first time, he took the habit of spotting women he could easily convince. The easy targets. Either too shy, or on the contrary those who weren’t shy at all. He really liked shutting up brats with his fat cock.

He loved the hunt, he loved spotting those who wouldn't say ’no’ to him. Either because they wouldn’t dare, or because they would easily take the challenge, the thrill, the chance of blowing him off in his office.

Javi sees a group of women passing in front of his security office. Twenty-somethings. He can notice these types of groups from miles away now. Young women who think they deserve everything because they’re pretty. Or rich. 

He watches them laugh as they walk past him. Look at him. They must think it sucks, being a security guard at a mall.

He leaves his office and follows them inside, at a decent distance. He watches them laugh, loudly exchange comments, barely hiding the way they are making fun of people who don't fit their standards. It only makes him smirk. He's seen so many of these brats pass by. 

His steps are soft, light. No one would think he was following anyone. 

He's dressed in his black uniform with the word "security" on his shoulder and his back. He pauses at the same time as them. Swirls his toothpick between his teeth, watching them.

The group finally splits up. Three of the young women head to a clothing store. The fourth, you, waves goodbye to them and goes to a record store.

He’s watching you, as you look at the vinyl record covers, then the posters on the wall. And finally, some walkmans. You don't know it yet, but you’re his target. Separated from your friends.

You leave the store, your big purse slung over your shoulder, open. 

He thinks that he really wants to wipe the smile off your face. So he steals a Walkman from the store, grateful that the mall management still hasn’t installed the anti-theft devices there. 

This isn't the first time he places an object in a woman's bag, just to get her in his office. To see how she reacts. See if she offers to suck him off, too.

He slips the Walkman into your bag, then lets you head for the exit, letting the detectors beep loudly when you’re about to leave. He quickly runs towards you, as you’re looking confused. He asks you to open your bag and you do it, sure of yourself, but then you see the Walkman.

“Come with me, miss. You'll explain yourself in my office.”

You object the whole time walking there, saying you didn't do anything. 

He’s already hard. 

He closes the office door behind you and leans against his desk. Finding yourself alone with him in this office makes you a little uncomfortable, and you shift on your feet. He takes his time, letting your anxiety build, his gaze fixed on you. Cold. Frowning. Like an adult who’s about to lecture a child.

“So, miss. I have to call the police, you know.”

“I didn’t do anything!” you reply. 

“Well, is that your purse, miss?”

“Yes, it’s my purse. But I didn’t steal this. I can buy one if I want, I can afford it.”

“Have you never heard of kleptomania?”

“No, what is it?”

“What, you don’t have enough money to pay for college?”

You roll your eyes, deeply offended.

“Anyway, like I said, I have to call the police,” he says, reaching for his phone.

“Wait!” He pauses and turns back to you, raising an eyebrow. “Mmm?”

“Can’t we… can we work it out?”

“Work it out? How do you want to work it out?”

“You take the Walkman and bring it back to the store. We forget all of this,” you say, sweeping the air with your hand, as if it was just a nuisance, something insignificant.

“So you can steal again in a few days? I don’t think so.”

“I told you…,” you start to say. Then stop. “Can I offer you some money then?”

“I don’t need your money, miss. And I’m not sure you understand how serious this is.”

You bite your lip, and he sees your gaze fall to his crotch and he tries not to smirk. It's almost too easy. 

“Wait! I can… do something for you, if you want.”

“Like what?” he says, keeping his tone neutral. He sees you hesitate. Sees the way you swallow. He leans toward the phone again, forcing you to break.

“Wait! I could do something.”

He raises his hands, as if he doesn’t understand what you're talking about at all.

"I could...." you start to say, motioning at his crotch with your chin.

“What? I got a stain or something?” he asks, looking at the spot you pointed to.

“Suck your cock,” you whisper.

“Excuse me, what?” He sees you roll your eyes and adds, “I didn’t hear you, miss.”

“I could… suck your cock.” Your eyes set downward as heat reaches your cheeks.

He doesn’t answer, he makes you wait for his reaction.

“If you want,” you add.

“You’re telling me you’ll blow me, and in exchange I won’t call the police?” he asks, as he has done dozens of times before.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.  

“How old are you?”

“Twenty two.”

“It’s the first time I come across not only a thief, but also a slut, that wants to suck my dick to get away with shoplifting,” he lies to you.

“And this is the first time I’ve come across a security guard so corrupt that he’s willing to accept it.”

“Watch that mouth.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will fuck it.”

The way you squeeze your thighs together doesn't go unnoticed.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you wanna suck my cock to leave this office free.”

“I… wanna suck your cock, so you won’t call the police.”

“Good girl,” he praises in a tone you haven’t heard from him before. Directive. Dark.

“Now come here. Get on your knees and beg for it.”

You turn to the door, worried that someone might come in.

“Don’t worry. Nobody will interrupt us.”

You walk over to him, as he’s leaning against his desk, and kneel down.

“I said, beg for it.”

“Pl…please?”

“Oh you can do better than that. Your father ever taught you good manners?”

No one has ever spoken to you like that, and the tingling between your legs makes you stop breathing for a few seconds.

“Please, can I suck your cock, sir?”

“Much better. Maybe you’re a quick learner.”

“Fuck,” you whimper. 

“You like that, huh?” 

You don’t answer, eyes fixed on the ground. He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger and makes you look up at him. 

“No need to be shy or deny it. You’ve squeezed your thighs together twice in the last 2 minutes. Take out my cock, miss,” he orders.

You comply and unzip his pants, before sliding them down his thighs. He’s hard. You pull it out of his boxers and stare at it. Holding your breath again.

“Think you can handle it?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you’ll have to. Come on.”

You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft and lick up the precum that oozes out. Giving it a few licks.

“Don’t tease. I saw you, with your friends. Thinking you're better than everyone else. I hope you can do better than that with your mouth, now.”

His degradation turns you on. You take him in your mouth, struggling to wrap your lips around his tip. You feel your panties soaking wet. You apply yourself, sucking the head, licking his shaft and his balls, which are resting heavily against his thighs.

“Keep looking at me when I’m letting you suck my cock.”

God, you think. You're so turned on that you’d let him fuck you right now. You lick his shaft, tongue flat, eyes fixed on him. Tears well up in your eyes when he forces his way down your throat.

“You wet?” he asks, his cock in the back of your throat, his hands holding your head against him. You try keeping yourself back from gagging, and nod.

“Get up,” he says, releasing you. “Take off your clothes. Show me.”

You undress mechanically, then he grabs your hips and presses you against his desk, forcing you to spread your thighs, as he slides his body between them. He presses his hand against your pussy and hisses.

“You're dripping, baby. You need it bad, huh?”

You nod. 

“Say it.”

“I need it, fuck! That's what you wanna hear?”

He smirks then grabs his cock in his hand and thrusts into you in one go, and you can't help but scream.

“Quiet,” he says, jaw clenched, covering your mouth with his hand, and starts fucking you hard.

“Watch it. Watch how I'm splitting you in two,” he says, finally removing his hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” you mumble as you look down and watch his cock plunge into you, soaked by your wetness.

“Pussy’s squeezing me so hard, fuck. Turn around,” he says, as he grabs your arm and bends you over the desk. He thrusts in again and grips your hips, slamming into you.

“Worth it?”

“Wh… what?” You can barely breathe, let alone speak.

“Whoring yourself for a Walkman?”

“Shit… I didn’t fuckin’ steal it.”

“I know,” he growls.

“What?!” you exclaim, trying to stand up, but he grabs your shoulder and presses you roughly against the desk, the weight of his body on your back, as he keeps pounding into you fast and hard.

“I wanted to wipe that smirk off your face. Make you beg for my cock. I know a slut when I see one,” he says in the hollow of your ear. He slides his hand down to your pussy and brushes your clit with his finger. Slows down the pace. Fucks you gently, trying to get what he wants.

“Now you’re gonna come on this cock. You’re gonna give it to me, like a good whore, baby. ‘cause that’s what you’re good at.”

“You’re… a fucking freak,” you pant. But you don’t fight, don’t resist. A part of you thinks it’s hot, the way he got you. And you want to come, need to come, he’s fucking you too well. You let your orgasm rush over your body, your pussy clenching on his shaft. He freezes deep inside you and comes, covering your walls in white ropes.

He stays pressed against your back, his hands tight around your wrists.

“I knew I picked a good one, today,” he smiles against your ear.

Javi p masterlist

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[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

dad rock

content warnings & word count: swearing, mild angst, mentioned/implied pining, underage drinking, drug consumption (weed smoking), nostalgia. 4.3k

✧ SCENE THREE — "FLIP CUP FUCKERY" ✧ Now Playing: "dad rock" – TRSH

You’re whooping Dean’s ass.

It starts as a game. Then a bit. Then a show. Each time you sink a flip, he groans, and someone cheers. You’re sitting across from him at the coffee table, surrounded now by half the party—backs against the garage walls, red solo cups in hand, watching like it’s a title match.

Dean’s brow furrows, jaw clenched around a smirk he’s trying very hard to keep cool.

“What the hell?” He mutters after you flip your fourth in a row. “There’s no way.”

You shrug, innocent as a crime scene. “What do you think I’ve been doing at college in my free time?”

Charlie howls. “THAT’S MY GIRL!”

Frenchie claps like he’s witnessing the downfall of an empire. Kimiko raises her cup with solemn approval.

Dean narrows his eyes. “You’re cheating.”

“You’re losing.”

Another cup. Another perfect flip.

You dance.

It’s instinctive, hips swaying, hands in the air, hair swinging over your shoulder as you twist on the spot to celebrate—your laughter bright, your dress still clinging to you in all the right ways. Your Converse squeak on the garage floor. The light hits you like a spotlight made of heat and bass.

When you stop, you catch him watching you. Not like before. Not cocky. Not casual. Like he’s really seeing you. Like he’s just realised that the girl who left last summer came back in a dress and a smile and a body full of confidence she never used to carry.

Your grin softens. Just a little.

Then—

Movement by the door.

You turn, and there they are.

Ben Hargrove, back again, stepping into the garage like he owns it, Earving at his shoulder, Victoria Neuman trailing a few steps behind, sipping something carbonated and pink from a clear cup. They look relaxed. Dangerous. Too clean for the mess of your circle.

Ben’s watching you.

Not subtle. Not shy. His eyes slide over you like he’s cataloging the angles. Like he likes what he sees.

You arch a brow. Then turn back toward Dean, still seated across from you.

You cock your head. “Rematch?”

Dean’s eyes are flicking—first to you, then to Ben, then back again. He leans back a little, stretches out his legs, sighs like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t want to admit was in his chest to begin with.

“Not now,” he says, voice rougher than before. “You already embarrassed me once, trouble.”

He drains the rest of his drink. “You did good.”

You smile.

Dean doesn’t. He just watches you.

Then you remember. Your jacket’s still folded over the workbench, and tucked in the inner pocket?

The tin.

You cross the room, fingers slipping into the familiar worn fabric, digging out the metal box covered in stickers and ink stains and time.

The second Jo sees it, she throws her hands up like she’s seen a holy relic.

“YES!” She shouts. “I knew you still had that thing! I almost forgot you carry that beat-up tin everywhere like it’s a damn talisman.”

You smirk, pop the lid with a practiced flick. Three perfectly rolled joints stare back at you like old friends.

“I always come bearing gifts.”

The joint’s between your lips before anyone else can speak.

You spark your lighter. Inhale. Let the smoke curl from your mouth, slow and sweet, like punctuation. You pass the lit one to Frenchie, who gasps theatrically and bows like you’ve knighted him.

��Mon ange,” he says, dramatically. “You spoil us.”

You light another.

Charlie has already appeared at your side, grinning. Cas accepts a drag with the solemn reverence of a man taking communion. Jack, behind him, is bouncing on his heels asking if someone brought snacks. Butcher grunts that he’ll take a hit only if someone brings him a real drink, not this beer-water. MM laughs into his cup. Even Neuman cracks a smile.

Ben’s still watching. Dean’s gone quiet. And you? You’re golden. You’re glowing. You’re everything this party needed and didn’t deserve.

You keep the last joint for yourself.

It sits snug between your fingers, your own little offering to the night. You spark it with a click and a curl of smoke, the cherry burning hot as you draw in slow, letting it fill your lungs, then exhale through your nose like you’ve been doing this forever.

You hop back up onto the workbench—your rightful place—and let the room wash over you.

It’s warm now, filled with movement and story. Butcher is bickering with Benny about some old football game in high school that may or may not have ended in a brawl. Charlie’s still shamelessly flirting with Ruby, every now and then calling something sarcastic over her shoulder. Sam is half-smiling at something Kimiko signed. Hughie’s giggling at a joke Annie whispered in his ear. Frenchie’s leaned back on a beanbag, eyes half-lidded, clearly in his blissful little contact high.

You just sit. Cross-legged on the bench, watching. Until someone calls out—

“Oi, genius,” Butcher says, raising his cup. “How’s college really goin'?”

You blink. Grin. “Define really.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, let’s hear it. You’ve been dodging the academic questions since you got here.”

Charlie spins around from where she was half-sitting on Ruby’s lap. “Ooooh—spill. What’s our little burnout studying?”

You exhale a thin line of smoke, squint through it like you’re considering lying just to see what would happen.

“Double major,” you say at last, in your best deadpan voice. “Language and art.”

Frenchie blinks. “Which language?”

“French.”

He clutches his chest, mock-offended. “You learn my mother tongue in a lecture hall?”

“Thought you’d be flattered.”

“Merde. I am betrayed.”

Charlie snorts. “I didn’t even know you could double major.”

Sam side-eyes her. “It’s literally on every application.”

You shrug. “It’s kinda bullshit. I just take too many classes and stress about all of them equally.”

Butcher grunts. “At least you’re not failin'?”

You blow smoke toward the ceiling. “Aced my last lit exam. My professor said my essay on ‘Mythic Self-Destruction in Sylvia Plath’s Confessional Structure’ was disturbingly thorough.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Charlie: “That’s the most you sentence I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Sam laughs into his drink. Frenchie looks mildly alarmed. Kimiko signs something, and Frenchie translates, “She says that explains a lot.”

You laugh, flick ash into an empty cup. “I also go to parties. Get high on rooftops. Kiss bad ideas. Don’t worry, I’m well-rounded.”

Sam squints. “Wait—so what’s your art focus?”

“Mixed media. Installations. I made a piece last semester where I suspended vintage barbie dolls from fishing wire and played distorted clips of old TV commercials in the background. Called it Domestic God Complex.”

Frenchie makes a reverent noise. “I would die for you.”

Charlie claps. “You’re the coolest person I know and I hate you for it.”

You gesture with your joint like a queen. “As you should.”

The group dissolves into laughter, warmth blooming in the space like steam off asphalt. Someone tosses you a fresh drink. You catch it without looking.

You’re still talking, still laughing, but something shifts.

Because you feel it before you see it.

Ben.

You glance through the smoke-haze and catch him standing near the garage door, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Earving, chatting like he’s only half-there. His eyes, though? Fully on you. He’s watching you like he hasn’t quite figured you out yet. Like you’re something he thought he remembered but clearly didn’t.

And then, just a fraction of a second later—you catch Dean.

Leaning against the workbench fridge again. Red cup in hand, brow low. He’s not even pretending to look somewhere else. He’s watching you too. Not just watching. Reading.

And then, beside him—Jo. Arms crossed. Mouth curled into that smug little Harvelle smirk like she knows something you don’t. She glances at Dean. Then at you. Back to Dean. And smirks even wider. It’s not unkind. It’s knowing.

You inhale slow, the joint glowing gold between your fingers, and stretch your legs out in front of you, suddenly too aware of every pair of eyes you’re under. You tap your ash into a can. Sip your drink. Cross your ankles. Let your grin return, lazy and low.

Because you might not know exactly what game they’re playing. But you’re here now. And you're winning.

You crack your knuckles.

The sound breaks through the soft lull in the garage. Laughter still bubbles around the flip cup table. The air is thick with smoke and memory, everything golden and hazy and close. You lean back on your palms, joint long burned out, tongue sticky with sweetness.

Then—

“I’m heading out for some air,” you say, quiet but clear.

Sam perks up immediately from where he’s still perched between Kimiko and Frenchie.

“You want company?”

You shake your head, soft. “I’m good, Sammy. Just need a minute.”

He nods, but his eyes linger.

You slide off the workbench and slip out the side door, your feet crunching softly over the gravel as you move into the backyard.

It’s quieter out here.

The air smells like high tide and salt grass—like the ocean’s just beyond the fence, waiting. The sky’s deep and endless, stars sharp and bright like pinholes punched through velvet. The ground is still warm under your soles, heat clinging to the soles of your shoes.

You wander until the voices from inside fade to a murmur, then drop into the grass at the edge of the yard, arms draped around your knees, eyes tilted toward the sky.

You’re buzzed. You’re glowing. The weight you were carrying when you got home feels lighter now, like the night took some of it for you.

Being home doesn’t feel like a prison anymore. It feels like a poem you left unfinished. You’re halfway through tracing constellations with your finger when a throat clears. You turn.

Jo.

She’s silhouetted in the porch light, hands stuffed into her back pockets, her curls catching gold around the edges.

“Can I sit?”

You smile. Pat the grass beside you.

She saunters over, drops down without ceremony. Stretches her legs out in front of her, leans back on her hands. For a minute, it’s just the night. The sound of the wind. The deep hum of far-off bass still leaking from the garage.

Then:

“So,” she says. “How’s it feel, being back?”

You exhale through your nose. “Better than I thought.”

She hums. Doesn’t press.

You glance over. “It’s weird. I thought it’d feel smaller. Or… I don’t know. Sadder.”

“And does it?”

You shake your head. “Not really. It feels… warm. Familiar. Like I never really left.”

“You didn’t,” she says. “Not really.”

You look down at the grass. Pluck a weed, twist the stem. Then she says it. Quiet. Almost casual.

“I know what happened. At Benny’s party.”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

She chuckles, eyes still on the stars. “Relax. I’m not telling anyone.”

You stare at her. “How do you know?”

She finally looks at you. “Dean told me.”

Your mouth goes dry. “He—he told you?”

She nods once.

You swallow. “Why would he—”

Jo cuts you off with a soft smile. “I'm his best friend, button. I see how he looks at you.”

You laugh. Sharp and instinctive. “Yeah, right. He barely even noticed me until tonight.”

Jo snorts. “You really think that?”

You raise a brow.

She shrugs. “I’ve known Dean a long time. I know how he looks when he wants something. I know how he looks when he’s trying not to want something, too.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. “He used to tease me. All the time.”

Jo looks at you sideways, head tilted. “And why do you think he did that?”

You frown. “Because I was Sam’s best friend? The annoying kid who was always around?”

Jo laughs, low and fond. “Button,” she says, “you’re cute, but you’re not that naïve.”

You groan, hide your face in your hands. “God, you’re infuriating.”

She leans over and pats your shoulder. “I know.” Then she stands, brushing grass from her jeans. “C’mon. We should head back in before Butcher starts talking about Reagan again.”

You take her hand when she offers it. Just as you’re steadying yourself, the porch light shifts—and Sam steps down the path toward you.

“You coming back in?” He asks, eyes soft.

You nod. Slip your arm around his waist.

“Yeah.”

But something’s shifted. The night’s not done with you yet. Not even close.

You follow Jo and Sam around the side of the house, gravel crunching under your Converse, warm air clinging like static. The garage glows ahead—yellow light spilling out into the driveway, music warbling from blown-out speakers. You can already hear Frenchie yelling about something, Jack’s laugh slicing through it.

Inside, it’s a riot of warmth. Bare arms and bare knees, beer cans stacked like temples, the concrete floor sticky with someone’s spilled drink. Kimiko’s sitting cross-legged on a folding chair, braiding neon string through Jack’s hair while Butcher pretends not to watch from the corner. Jo peels off to grab her drink, and Sam disappears into a conversation with Hughie and Annie near the dartboard.

You hover near the door, fingers brushing the warm metal of the garage frame.

And then—

“Didn’t expect you to come back.”

Dean.

He’s leaning against the back wall, flannel still tied loose around his waist, arms crossed, jaw tight. The air shifts. Not heavy—just sharp. Like walking through smoke that smells like something burning you can’t name.

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, doesn’t look at you. “Didn’t think this crowd was really your thing anymore, trouble. Thought college’d fix that.”

You flinch, subtle. Just enough.

He catches it. Still doesn’t soften.

“I mean,” he adds, tossing a bottle cap into a red cup with lazy precision, “you were barely here ten minutes before lighting up and holding court.”

You glance over your shoulder—at the garage, the string lights, the friends you missed all year. At Jo, laughing with Annie now. You look back at him.

“Sorry,” you say, careful. “Didn’t realise that was a problem.”

He doesn’t answer. Just tips his head back like the ceiling might have something smarter to say.

You swallow, the confusion sticking somewhere behind your ribs. “Jo said—”

He cuts you off with a laugh. Bitter. Short.

“Jo’s got a lot of theories.”

Your heart sinks a little. Like a balloon with a pinprick.

“I just thought—” you try, but he’s already pushing off the wall.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, brushing past you without looking. “I’ve got a game to win.”

You stand there for a second too long, the music washing over you in waves. The garage is bright. Loud. Your friends are all around. But you feel like a glitch in the reel of the night now. Like someone left you in the frame on accident.

The garage rolls on without you.

You don’t say anything, but when your eyes catch Sam’s across the room—his hair a mess, cheeks flushed, pupils wide and soft—he nods. Just once. Like yes. now.

Frenchie clocks it too. Of course he does. He’s already halfway to the door before anyone notices you’ve slipped out.

The three of you move like ghosts, like the secret keepers you’ve always been. Up the porch steps, through the back door. Into the belly of the house.

It’s quiet inside. Dim. Abandoned.

The kind of post-party hush where the air smells like beer, cheap perfume, and something faintly burnt. A balloon withering in the corner. Someone’s jean jacket draped over a lamp. A forgotten speaker murmuring static from the living room floor.

You head to the kitchen like muscle memory.

Frenchie opens the fridge and winces. “Mon dieu. Who put pasta in the blender?”

Sam rifles through the cabinet, victorious in seconds. “Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Lucky Charms?”

“Both,” you say, already hopping up onto the centre island like it’s your throne.

He pours a mix of each into two chipped bowls. Frenchie adds the milk with surgeon-level precision.

You take the third bowl from the cabinet, the one with the little crack down the side you always hope won’t leak. It doesn’t. Not tonight.

And then it’s just the three of you. You, swinging your legs, spoon in hand. Sam hunched over the counter like he’s decoding a sacred text. Frenchie sitting sideways on the stool, already giggling to himself.

It’s absurd how perfect it feels.

“I once dated a girl who only ate cereal with a fork,” Frenchie announces between bites.

Sam looks up, confused. “Why?”

“To drain the milk. She had texture issues.” He shudders dramatically. “Tragic. So beautiful. So cruel.”

You choke on your spoonful, laughing. “You’re such a liar.”

“I swear on Butcher’s bald spot,” Frenchie says, hand on his heart.

Sam smirks. “He’s not bald.”

“Not yet.”

You grin, nudging Sam’s foot with yours. “What about you, Winchester? Any cereal sins to confess?”

Sam squints at his bowl. “Sometimes I eat dry Cheerios in bed.”

There’s a pause.

“That’s not even sinful,” you say.

Frenchie leans in, solemn. “It is when you forget they are there and roll onto them naked.”

You howl, half-falling off the island.

Sam groans. “God, Frenchie—”

“I have lived many lives,” Frenchie says, tossing cereal into his mouth one ring at a time. “I regret nothing.”

The fridge hums behind you. A June bug taps against the window. And the three of you—high, warm, tangled in laughter—just exist.

This moment is nothing and everything. You don’t need the party. You never did. It always ends like this anyway—you three and a kitchen full of ghosts.

Halfway through your second bowl, milk gone warm, the three of you are practically crying from laughter.

Sam just finished a passionate defence of the proper milk-to-cereal ratio. “It’s a science,” he'd insisted. Frenchie is threatening to write a manifesto about spoon angles and optimal sog time. You’re giggling so hard your stomach hurts, toes curled against the cool tile of the island.

Then the back door creaks open.

Charlie’s voice slices through the peace like a rusty butter knife. “Aha. Knew it.”

You all freeze, mouths half-full, busted.

One by one, the rest of the group trickles in—arms loaded with trash bags, red Solo cups clinking together like wind chimes of shame. Butcher’s got two bags slung over one shoulder, looking like a pissed-off suburban dad. Jack’s dragging one behind him like a dead body. Jo’s already rolling her eyes.

Dean’s the last one in. He doesn’t say a word—just glances between Sam, then you, and starts gathering bottles off the counter with military precision.

Charlie sets her bags down with flair. “You three always sneak off for cereal instead of helping clean.”

“False accusation,” you declare, holding up your spoon like a gavel.

Sam points at his bowl. “This is pre-cleaning fuel.”

Frenchie lifts his own in solemn support. “We are the foundation of the cleanup crew.”

“Yeah, after you’ve eaten half the pantry,” Charlie grumbles.

Jo slides in, leaning against the doorframe. “They’re not lying. Last party they were up till five washing out the coolers and picking bottle caps out of the bushes.”

“Thank you,” you say, smug, taking a victory bite.

Dean still doesn’t look at you. Still doesn’t say anything.

Butcher dumps his bags by the kitchen door and groans. “I need a fuckin' cig.”

“Take me with you,” you say, mouth still full.

You slurp down the rest of your milk in dramatic fashion, then without breaking eye contact with Frenchie, tip the last inch into his bowl.

He gasps like you’ve shot him. “Sacrilège! That is cross contamination, you beast.”

“Blow me,” you say sweetly, hopping down off the island.

“Only if you rinse first,” he shoots back, earning a snort from Sam.

You grab your lighter from the windowsill and follow Butcher out the back door. The porch light hums above you, golden and hazy. You lean against the railing, cigarette balanced between your fingers, and Butcher lights up with a practiced flick of his thumb.

Then another presence steps out behind you—tall, broad, all golden swagger.

Ben. He lights his own without a word. Flicks the ash with two fingers. Leans back like he owns the stars.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him. Really looked. Not just across the street, or from the edge of some bonfire, or in passing at the record store. He’s unfairly pretty in that arrogant, sun-drenched way. Clean lines, stupid jaw, lips that know they’re good.

You brace yourself for smug bullshit. But instead, Butcher mutters something about Jack still being too pure to help with cleanup, and Ben snorts.

“That kid tried to use tongs to pick up a beer can,” he says. “Like he was diffusin' a bomb.”

You choke on your drag, caught off guard. Ben glances over—half a smile playing on his mouth.

Butcher cackles. “I told him he should’ve brought the salad servers.”

“Could’ve at least used salad tongs,” Ben says. “These were plastic. From a picnic set.”

You laugh, and he looks at you properly now—sharp eyes, a little amused. Not flirty. Not yet. Just aware of you.

It throws you off.

You lean on your elbows, watching the smoke curl into the air. Butcher makes some crack about Frenchie probably sorting the recycling alphabetically, and Ben answers with a lazy grin, “I once watched that dude wash an empty Pringles can. I’ve never known fear like that.”

You blink. He’s funny?

Cocky, sure. He still carries himself like a varsity ghost, like he expects the world to revolve just enough for him to step through it without bumping into anything. But there’s something else under it tonight. Something almost… easy.

You don’t talk much. Just let them go back and forth, matching each other quip for quip, tossing jabs like pennies into a fountain.

You listen. You smile. And for the first time ever, you wonder if maybe you got Ben Hargrove all wrong.

You flick the last of your cigarette into the tin and stretch your arms over your head, spine cracking like kindling. The night’s softened around the edges now—no more biting laughter or sharp stares. Just the slow unravel of everything. Butcher exhales smoke in a tired spiral beside you.

“I’m heading in,” you say, already stepping backward toward the door.

He waves you off without looking. “Try not to mop the fuckin’ ceiling again, burnout.”

You grin over your shoulder. “It’s called ambition, William.”

Inside, the house hums low, like a machine powering down. All the noise has collapsed into the corners—replaced now by the soft clatter of dishes and the hush of running water. The kitchen is glowing faintly, yellow and gold like something remembered.

Frenchie is elbow-deep in suds at the sink, half-singing under his breath in a melody that loops back on itself like a nursery rhyme. There’s flour on his cheek for no reason. Sam is at the counter, wiping down surfaces with surgical precision, brows furrowed like he's solving something cosmic with every swipe of the cloth.

You don’t speak. Just send a soft smile between them and drift onward, ghosting through the kitchen like steam.

The living room greets you like a memory: low light, the lingering warmth of bodies, the hush of sleep settling in. Hughie is sprawled across the couch like he lost a battle with gravity—mouth open, one sock halfway off. Annie’s tucked into him like a question mark, lips pressed to the curve of his collarbone, eyes fluttering in some half-dream.

In the corner, Benny’s slumped in the old armchair, arms folded, expression blank with sleep. He could be a statue if not for the occasional twitch of his foot.

You get to work without thinking—feet padding silently across the rug, hands sure and gentle. You move like this house belongs to you. Like it always has. You gather bottles and cans, flatten out the throw pillows, tuck blankets over knees and shoulders. You hum to yourself, low and tuneless, letting your voice fill the empty corners that the party left behind.

There’s a joy in it. In the ritual. In making things right again.

You wipe down the mantle and straighten the crooked photo frame—Sam and Dean at twelve and fourteen, grinning with ice cream on their faces, sunburnt and wild. You line the ceramic lighthouse back up with the edge of the shelf, just the way you know Mary likes it.

It’s like touching the bones of your childhood, soft and sacred.

Upstairs, the hallway is quieter still. The walls seem to hum with sleep.

You pass by the usual crash spots, peeking in like a guardian angel. The spare room—the one you usually claim—is cracked open. Moonlight spills across the floor in pale ribbons.

Inside, Kimiko’s curled in the centre of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Peaceful. Her hair fans around her like ink in water.

Your heart softens in your chest. You smile. Pull the door closed with a quiet click and promise yourself you’ll tell Frenchie where to find her.

And then there’s nothing left. No noise. No mess. No chaos.

Just you.

The kitchen light hums gently as you step barefoot into the grass, the screen door clicking shut behind you. The ground is damp with dew, soft and warm from the heat the earth still holds. You cross the lawn slowly, like the quiet is a fragile thing you don’t want to shatter.

The sun is rising.

A watercolour bleed across the sky—lavender melting into gold, pink mist clinging to the rooftops. The ocean, just beyond the fence, shimmers like something half-awake. The wind smells like tidewater and honeysuckle, like something eternal.

You stand there and breathe it in. This moment belongs to no one else. Not Dean. Not Ben. Not the past. Not the future. Just you.

You press your arms around your chest and smile at nothing. The night is behind you. The party, the music, the tension, the ache—they’ve all been folded into something quieter. Something whole.

The town exhales. So do you.

And as the sun lifts over the horizon, slow and golden and holy, you let it touch your face. Still glowing. Still standing. Still home.

← PREVIOUS PART NEXT PART →

author note/s: i know this one might feel like a bit of a filler, but i promise it isn't. i'm really fucking enjoying writing out all these dynamics. i worried that maybe i had tried to write too many characters into it, but i fear i might be a genius. because i do have a lot of these characters down. it's fun trying to age them down and write them as 19/20/21/22. let me know what you're all thinking, please. next parts one of my favourites. until the next one, smin signing off. all the love.

soldier boy/ben & dean taglists: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @soldiersgirl @tinas111 @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @drakulana @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @liiiilsss @0ccvltism @itshellfire @sl33pylilbunny @nevercameraready @paristheonewhoreads @podiumackles @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @spxideyver @winchestersbgirl @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @ohgodimgoungtodie @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @ambiguous-avery <3

[cozage]

Hi! Can I request Luffy fluff (of literally any sort I love him so much)

I have a joke for you also-

Where do bad rainbows go?

Prism. It's a light sentence and gives them time to reflect.

Take care 😘

AN: Anon you are literally a gem. Thank you for the little laugh, it makes my day every time I read it :) Characters: gn reader(with longer hair) x Luffy - platonic or romantic :) Cw: none :) Total word count: 650

Braids

“Everything okay, Lu?” He had been stealing glances over at you for the past few minutes, and you were starting to get nervous. 

“How do you make your hair look like that?” His fingers twitched at his side as he spoke. 

“The braid?” Your fingers danced over the pattern in your hair. “I can teach you.”

“Yes!” Luffy jumped to his feet and bounded over to you, already reaching for your hard. You barely had time to slap his hand away before he began undoing it. 

“We’ll practice on ropes first.” You gave him a reassuring smile, and you walked across the ship to gather spare rope. “It’s better to get the technique down first.”

“I don’t understand how tying a knot will help me learn how to do a cool hairstyle.”

You couldn’t resist laughing at his commentary, but you were certain that trying to explain it would only confuse him more. So instead, you settled with: “It will all come together, Luffy. Just trust me.”

He gave you a sharp nod and turned to his three pieces of rope, full of determination. 

Carefully, you guided him through the steps. Right to middle, left to middle, repeat indefinitely. Once he started to get the hang of it, you let him practice as you watched, only speaking to offer tips on when to tighten the twists or loosen his hold. 

It took about half the afternoon before you felt confident enough to let him try it on your hair. Practicing on the rope was a good start, but hair was an entirely different medium. When he finished the braid and held it up for your inspection, you handed him your hair tie. 

“Now try it on me,” you said, sitting down in front of him. “Split it into three parts and just pretend they’re the pieces of rope.”

He was eager. You could tell by how quickly he began parting your hair. But when he accidentally pulled on a stray hair and caused you to stiffen, he began to slow down and put more care into his actions. You could feel the chunks of hair were uneven, but he was more focused on the movements than the perfection.

His fingers became softer and more nimble over time. As he crossed over and pulled each piece, he checked to make sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose. And only after you confirmed it was okay did he continue onto the next step. 

His second and third attempts were more smooth, and you barely felt any pain by his fourth attempt. 

He was so proud of his fifth attempt, you decided to leave it in. The hair appeared to be evenly split. You couldn’t feel any stray hairs or tight strands. As far as you were concerned, it was as good as you would’ve done. 

Luffy loved to braid. And it turned out that he was pretty good at it. He would braid anything or anyone that would let him. Ropes, strips of cloth, your crewmate's hair; nobody was safe from your captain’s urge to practice what he had learned. 

One day, you found him off in the corner, focusing hard on trying to do what he could with his own hair. He must’ve been practicing for a while because his hair was riddled with tiny braids that stuck out against his tousled, loose strands. 

“Luffy?”

It was always easy to startle him when he was practicing. But once he realized it was you, he broke out in a grin. “Hey!”

“You can practice on my hair if you’d like.”

His eyes lit up at the offer. “I can?!”

You laid down in front of him, letting your hair fan out on the deck. You closed your eyes, feeling the sun warm your face. Yes, you could stay here for a while. Especially with Luffy. 

“You can practice for as long as you’d like.”

[strangecreaturewrites]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐍 ✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ----- mickey barnes x f/gn!reader

pre-canon au ⊹ read part one here ⊹ chapter summary: you bring mickey back to your apartment for the night, where you two get much closer. nsfw/mdni ----- warnings: oral sex (reader giving), grinding ( i wanna thank everyone who commented on/messaged me about the first part of this fic! all of you were very sweet, and i really appreciate your feedback <3 the story officially has a title, and i will be creating a masterlist post once i have three parts posted. you can follow the tag "#not a sin | strangecreature" for updates as well. hope you enjoy! ⊹ divider by enchanthings-a )

Your apartment was a fourth floor walkup fifteen minutes away from the macaron shop. The gloomy, narrow staircase always sent a foreboding shudder down your spine, and you kept looking over your shoulder at Mickey as you ascended, just to make sure he was still there.

“I didn’t know you walked to work every day,” he said, winded though he was clearly trying to mask it. “Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

“I can take care of myself,” you replied, a little breathless yourself.

You could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “I don’t doubt it,” and it made you smile too.

You reached the landing to the fourth floor, with its flickering gray-white light above the door, and at the end of the short hallway, you unlocked the door to your unit. This was your first time living in a major city, so your money didn’t go very far, but it was tolerable. It didn’t smell of old pipes or mold, and there didn’t appear to be a pest problem — what more could you ask for, given the circumstances?

The unit opened to a cozy, lamp-lit living/dining room that you decorated in a hodgepodge of thrifted furniture. The archway to the galley kitchen dominated the right wall, while your bedroom door was tucked away to the left. Right by the entry was the bathroom, the bane of your existence if only for how microscopic it was.

You stepped aside to let Mickey walk in, closing and locking the door behind him. You stepped out of your shoes and set the box of extra macarons on the side table along with your wallet and keys.

You watched him as he looked around, taking in what there was to see, and though you tried to read his expression, he only wore the contented look you most often saw on his face. He really was such a good-looking man. The way his hair fell over his eyes was so inviting; you wanted to brush his hair back, to run your fingers along the planes of his face. Your stomach rioted with butterflies.

When he turned to you, a nervous little grin flickering on his lips, you shook yourself out of your reverie.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Please, don’t be shy, I want you to be comfortable.”

Mickey chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? Here, give me your jacket, make yourself at home, please.”

You could feel yourself fretting over him a bit too much, but he let you get him settled on the couch with minimal protest. You brought him a glass of water, turned on some music for background noise, adjusted the thermostat once you got him to admit the air was a little chilly.

“It’s real nice of you, letting me stay here tonight. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me at all. I’d feel terrible if I left you on your own when I knew I could help,” you replied, dropping onto the couch next to him. Your knee brushed his as you adjusted to face him, and you wanted to find other ways to touch him. Your fingertips running along his forearm, your legs draped over his lap. Maybe he would place his hand on your thigh. Maybe you could shift closer and tuck into his side, his arm settling around you to bring you closer. Your skin tingled as you thought through all the possibilities at lightning speed.

But you held yourself back, even as your heart and mind raced on. He was your guest, and he didn’t really have anywhere else to go at the moment. Your care for him outweighed even your desire to touch him — the last thing you wanted was to make him feel cornered.

So instead, you asked him more questions about himself. With some surprise, you discovered that he enjoyed reading, mostly nonfiction, mostly world history.

“Doesn’t that get bleak?” you asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged. “Kinda. Sometimes it’s nice to know things have always sucked a lil' bit in some way. That it’s not just now, y’know?”

“I guess.”

The conversation trailed off as the music faded out, the silence buzzing before the next song came in. It was a brief interlude, not more than a few seconds, but as you looked at him, with his sweet blue eyes and his hands clasped in his lap, a wave of tenderness washed over you.

“I’ll miss seeing you every day,” you said softly, tentatively. If you’d thought it over some more before you spoke, you might’ve played it off differently, like it didn’t matter to you so much, but the truth of the statement was a weighty thing. It made you feel vulnerable to admit it, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing. The butterflies rioted again, more nervy than excited this time.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem weirded out by your confession. “Is the expedition leaving tomorrow or somethin’? We can still see each other.”

Your breath hitched. “Really?”

“Of course. You can stop by the shop anytime- or- or not,” he said, faltering toward the end with a sheepish look on his face as you hummed your disapproval, crinkling your nose.

“I am not going back there ever again. Sorry.” Maybe you were being rude, but the aura of the storefront was just too off-putting. Almost as unnerving as your apartment’s stairwell, but in a more subtle way. You wouldn’t be able to explain why if he asked you, though.

He nodded as you spoke, wincing. “I get that. Yeah. That’s okay.”

“But we can hang out when you’re done at the shop,” you suggested hopefully, nudging his knee with yours.

He kept nodding, and you noticed the pink blooming on the shells of his ears. You bit your lip against a wide smile and nudged him again.

“Or… you could come here and see me.”

His eyes widened. “Oh- okay.”

“Would that be good?”

“Yeah, yeah, that would be- so good…” You placed your hand over his where they were still clasped, and you heard his breath stutter. He looked stricken as he stared down at his lap, his expression naked in its shock, and you couldn’t immediately tell what he was thinking.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” you murmured, squeezing his hands. “Because you can tell me if I am. I’ll stop, I promise.”

He quickly shook his head, a breathless laugh leaving him as he replied, “God, no, no, don’t stop. It’s just been- a while, since the last time I was- y’know, with someone.”

Well, that’s one curiosity satisfied — and yet, it opened a floodgate in your mind. You wanted him so badly, you would do just about anything.

You hummed, shifting closer to him. Slowly, gently, you brought both your hands up to cradle his jaw. “You wanna be with me?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. His gaze softened, locked on your mouth, and the sight made you shiver.

Your lips dropped open as you pulled him into a deep kiss, and in almost the same instant, his arms curled around your body. His fingertips pressed into your back, your waist, gripping you as if you were the only thing keeping him steady. One of his hands drifted up you spine to the nape of your neck, holding you tight as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. He was trembling against you, and your head spun with how quickly you two had gotten to this point, each kiss rougher than the last. You pushed your hands up into his hair as you gave him as much as you got.

Heat poured down your spine at the first swipe of his tongue, and you closed your lips around it, sucking gently — not a tease, but a promise of what was to come.

A broken moan erupted from his throat as he pulled back.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” he panted. He mashed his forehead against yours, eyes closed, his breath hot on your skin. “I need to get a grip, wow.”

“I need to get out of this shirt.” One quick kiss. Another. “It’s very poor quality, by the way.”

With an impish smile, his hands slid down to your waist, bunching the fabric as he pulled it up your body. “I can help you with that.”

You hummed happily as you let him undress you.

Yes, he certainly could help you, couldn’t he?

When you were both stripped to your underwear, you dragged Mickey off of the couch and into your bedroom, walking backward so you could keep your mouth connected with his. You both stumbled and laughed as you ambled your way around each obstacle until you reached the bed, falling to the mattress in a tangle of limbs. The feeling of his warm skin against yours, of his hands clutching your body to his — it was the answer to every desire you’d felt lately, somehow better than all your fantasies.

You thought back to those sunny afternoons talking with him behind the counter and wishing you could cut the bullshit and bring him home, and that sense of power from before came pouring back in. He was yours now.

Emboldened, you planted your hands on his chest and rolled him over to lie on his back, straddling his hips.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” you mumbled against his mouth, and his breath stuttered and hitched as he worked the clasp of your bra. “You want me to make you feel good?”

He groaned, shoving his hands under the cups to squeeze your breasts as soon as the garment was loose.

“Hm?” you prompted him, nipping at his bottom lip.

He chanted, “yes, yes, yes,” as his hands kneaded you, caressed you. So eager. So irresistible.

You kissed down his chest, his stomach, tossing your bra to the floor. When you reached the waistband of his boxers, you licked a teasing stripe over the skin there, eliciting another wobbly groan out of him. He gripped the comforter with tight fists, and you knew he was fighting to maintain at least some part of his composure.

If you had a stronger will, you would tease him some more. You glanced up his gorgeous body to see a red flush already working its way down his neck, and you wanted to see how far you could push him, what he would do, how he would sound when he was pushed to the edge of desperation.

At the moment though, you weren’t much better off than him. Your fingers shook as they pulled down his underwear, your hand reaching for his hard cock the moment you saw it; he had to shove his boxers down the rest of the way himself, the garment was so quickly forgotten by you.

You angled him toward your mouth, rubbing your lips over the thick head before taking him in. You worked him over slowly at first, recalling the ways to move your lips and tongue — he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been with someone in a while — and your confidence grew as his breath became more and more labored. His cock throbbed as you picked up speed, took more of him in, keeping your mouth tight and plush around him. As your saliva made things slicker, your hand worked the remaining length, your palm smoothing up over the head when you had to pull off to take a breath.

The next time you sunk down, slowly, all the way until you met your hand, he gritted out, “God, look at you.”

You glanced up to find his wild, heavy eyes, his red, slack lips, his crumpled brow. The flush poured down his panting chest, and his stomach jumped when you pressed your tongue against him, tightening your mouth around him.

He was still clawing the comforter, so you reached up with your free hand to place one of his in your hair. When his fingers tightened there, tugging at the root, you moaned luxuriously, just so he could feel the vibration.

He didn’t last much longer after that, coming over your tongue with a whine.

If you had a stronger will, you would act like going down on him didn’t affect you so much. You would be seductive. You would kiss him lazily, confidently, as he came down from his high, and revel in whatever pleasure he would eagerly bestow upon you.

At the moment though, you were about to shiver out of your skin, your arousal so compounded from weeks of fantasizing, wanting, needing.

In the end, you crawled up his body, your hips pulsing against his thigh as you ravaged his mouth in fierce, biting kisses. When he rolled you over, his hands found your breasts again, and he pressed his leg tightly to your cunt as you ground against him. You whimpered too loudly, considering how thin you knew your walls to be.

You couldn’t wait for him to get hard again, you couldn’t wait for him to do anything else. You couldn’t even wait for him to take off your underwear. Your hips thrusted against him wildly, chasing pleasure until it broke, your orgasm crashing over you in electrifying pulses.

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your jaw as your body melted into the mattress. You were both out of breath, covered in sweat, and seemingly beyond words. The music you'd put on earlier drifted in from the living room, but you could only hear the impression of it, too soft to discern what song it was or who sang it.

You drifted to sleep wrapped around him, his face pressed into the hollow of your throat. The last thing you felt were his lips, brushing the dip between your collarbones, softly, slowly, as if you were something precious.

[just-shairahhh]

Wings and Venom; Part II

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader.

Part: Two of (Undecided Yet).

A/N: Hi, I'm so excited for this! I really, really hope you guys like it. I did go a little overboard. The word count on it is 7K words. It is however, a slow build romance. So, I hope you read through. And well, Happy Reading!

Part One | Part Three |

The Slytherin common room was quieter than usual, the crackling fire the only sound in the dimly lit space. A few students were scattered around the room; some casually flipping through their reading material, others sloppily scribbling in their parchments, finishing their homework on the last minute. Mattheo Riddle was sprawled on one of the couches in the darker corners, fast asleep, a book over his face; a book he was supposed to read for tomorrow’s Transfiguration test. Theodore Nott sat on the edge of a plush armchair, across the fireplace, his elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together. His gaze was fixed on the flickering flames, but his mind was far away— the weight of his thoughts already suffocating him. But he could not stop thinking. His father’s letter still sat unopened in his pocket, a decision waiting to be made. But that was not true was it, Theo thought and chuckled humourlessly.

The decision was made long before he was born. There were no decisions to be made, only orders to be followed. Now that he had begun his fourth year, the letters had only increased. Theo knew what was approaching and his body shuddered involuntarily just as the thought crossed his mind. When he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he let his mind drift to Y/n, just like he always did. She had become his quiet refuge when the weight of the world grew too heavy.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t find solace in her presence. He didn’t feel the quiet reassurance that usually steadied him. Instead, all he saw was her face—hurt, crushed, slipping away from him. And just like that, the future, the one he had let himself foolishly imagine, felt futile. Theo held his face in his palm and let out a soft groan. He could feel a headache coming on.

A faint creak at the door broke his reverie. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Enzo always entered a room with an effortless confidence, his steps light yet purposeful, a stark contrast to the heavy, purposeful strides of the other Slytherin boys. Enzo had never needed to make an entrance; he was always simply… heard. Theo had always admired that about his best friend—how he could walk into any room and immediately command attention without needing to demand it. Enzo never hesitated, never doubted himself when it came to others, especially relationships. Theo, on the other hand, had built walls around himself—this thick, impenetrable walls that he’d convinced himself kept him safe. But now, those walls felt less like protection and more like a cage.

Enzo stopped when he saw Theo, his eyes narrowing slightly. With a low sigh, he walked towards his best friend and dropped into the chair across from him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“It was our third year here, at Hogwarts,” Enzo began, lightly. Theo gave him a sharp glance, the "Not now" look flashing in his eyes, but Enzo didn’t flinch. He only kept on smiling, that knowing glint in his eye suggesting he knew something Theo didn’t.

Maybe he did. With Enzo, you never know. While Theo was always the most observant out of all the Slytherin boys, Enzo was always the most perceptive.

"When I first saw Y/n, I thought she was just like every Ravenclaw—a little too wrapped up in her books, a little too perfect, like most of them. But she wasn’t like most other people I’d met, not at all. It didn’t take long to see that she had something… something real about her, even at our age. She’s not just clever or poised. She’s got this way of making people feel like they matter. Even if she doesn’t realize it.”

Theo looked up at him, his brow furrowing slightly, unsure where this conversation was headed.

“There was this one day," Enzo continued, his eyes distant now, as though lost in the memory. "you and I were in the library. We’d been struggling with this Herbology assignment—and no matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t get it right. And the assignment was due the next morning. We were just about to give up, you remember? And then Y/n... she came over. Just slid her notes in front of you without saying a word.” Enzo paused, a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “She didn’t even ask us if we needed help. She just... knew. And there you were, looking at her like she had brought down the stars and not the notes to ‘The Role of Puffapods in Magical Botany’. She smiled at you, then at me and left just as quick as she’d come. You smiled through that entire week and some more, after that day.”

Theo’s chest tightened, a strange ache building as he listened. He could remember it like it was yesterday—you, effortlessly kind in the way only you knew how.

Enzo shifted slightly, looking knowingly at Theo before continuing again. “You had called her a sweetheart that day, albeit slowly and to me but some people in the library had overheard. The big, grumpy Slytherin calling someone a sweetheart, was so shocking to them, that word started going around and before long, she got nicknamed the ‘Ravenclaw Sweetheart’. I don’t even think she knows, till date, that it was you who had started it” Enzo chuckled softly.

“Remember that time in our second year, when Mr. Grumpy over here would not talk to us for a week and just snap at anybody who would try to talk to him?”

Theo snapped his head to the right to see Mattheo sliding onto the chair next to him. He had woken up from his nap, his book forgotten in a corner.

“Don’t you have a test you didn’t study for?” Theo rolled his eyes at him.

“Don’t you have a girl you didn’t confess to, whom you have liked for a shameful number of years now?” Mattheo counters before going back to whatever he was saying, “Anyway, he comes back one evening, happy and in a good mood, smiling for maybe the first time. He would not tell us what had happened that evening and he still won’t but we saw him stare at Y/n like a lovesick puppy from the next day and we knew it had something to do with her.”

“There was no lovesick look OR a puppy involved.” Theo defended himself rather poorly.

Enzo smiled and leaned forward, his eyes locking with Theo’s. “I’ve seen you, Theo. I’ve seen how you look at her, mate. Maybe it’s time you tell her how you feel?”

Theo swallowed before whispering, his voice barely audible “I messed up this time. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t know how to fix this,”

“I would say to forget this and get some good pu-” Mattheo started before wandering off when Theo glares at him. “I mean, get some good company. But, I don’t think that’s what you want. So, why don’t you get out of here and do the thing that you actually do want?”

Theo’s chest tightened, the internal conflict pressing down on him like a physical weight. He stood up abruptly, his mind a blur of fear and determination. He wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but his friends were right—he had to do something.

Without saying another word, he walked out of the common room, heading straight for the corridor that led to the Ravenclaw Tower. His heart hammered in his chest as he walked through the corridors, every step feeling heavier than the last. But he knew, deep down, that this was the only way forward.

.

.

.

From her spot by the window in the Ravenclaw common room, Elena watched with sharp, curious eyes as Theodore Nott slipped into their common room, the highest tower of the castle, behind a Prefect. Elena frowned, her quill pausing mid-sentence. What was he doing here? Is he actually here to hook up with someone else after what went down with Y/n the other day? Where DO men get such audacity!? Her internal monologue took a pause when she saw him looking around.

Her eyes followed him as he approached the Ravenclaw girl, a fifth-year who was already blushing furiously at the sight of him. Seriously? Apparently, even a senior was not immune to the charms of Theodore Nott. Elena scoffed, internally. She couldn't hear their conversation very clearly, but it was apparent that Nott was in control of it. His tone was low and smooth, his body language calm yet deliberate. The girl giggled, entirely too dazzled to notice when Nott's sharp eyes flicked to the parchment she was holding. A subtle charm later, and he had the room number he wanted, all without ever mentioning who he was asking about.

Elena's lips tightened as she leaned back, watching the Slytherin boy's retreating figure. If he wanted to, he could’ve guessed the answer to the riddle guarding their tower entrance—someone like him could have solved it in minutes, maybe not as quickly as other Ravenclaws but Elena was sure that he could have. But that wasn’t his goal, she observed. He wanted to apologise. And he wanted to do it quickly.

Elena's gaze lingered on him as he looked around, trying to figure out what was probably their dorm number. "What are you up to, Theo Nott?" she murmured to herself, but a faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips this time.

With a smirk, Elena watched as Theo bolted up their flight of stairs, his usually composed demeanour replaced with an almost frantic energy. Her smirk grew wider—what a sight to see the cool, brooding Slytherin look so... out of place.

But then he came back down. Her smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by a furrowed brow. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at him from her spot.

Just as she cursed his apparent retreat, he darted up the stairs again. Her smile crept back as she leaned forward, intrigued. He was persistent, she’d give him that. With an approving nod, Elena decided she’d seen enough entertainment for the night and turned back to her book.

Until she heard the footsteps again.

Her head snapped up, and there he was—coming back down for a second time. She groaned in exasperation, slamming her book shut and preparing to march up the stairs herself to put an end to this ridiculous display.

But before she could move, he sprinted up again, this time two steps at a time, his determination practically radiating off of him. Elena arched an eyebrow as she heard him knock, finally.

Leaning back into her chair with an amused grin, she muttered to herself, “Well, at least cardio isn’t a problem for him. Good for Y/n.”

.

.

.

You had just set your quill down, your eyes heavy from hours of Transfiguration notes swirling through your mind. Tomorrow’s test loomed over you, but sleep was beckoning. You were ready to call it a night when an unexpected knock shattered the quiet.

You jolted upright, startled. "Elena?" You muttered aloud. It didn’t make sense—Elena had stationed herself in the common room, a rule you'd both established long ago after realizing that your joint study sessions always dissolved into fits of laughter and gossip. But why would Elena be knocking?

Your brow furrowed as you crossed the room and opened the door, only to find... a back? Huh? Albeit a tall, well-built back. And clad in a Slytherin uniform too?

“What…?” you whispered, utterly baffled. Was Elena studying Transfiguration with practicality now, as a living, breathing subject?

You opened your mouth to speak something, anything, but before you could, the figure turned, and you froze. It wasn’t just anyone—it was Theodore Nott. Why would he be here?

Your breath hitched the moment your eyes met his. For a second, the world tilted—just slightly—as if your mind needed time to catch up with what you were seeing. He stood there, ruffled hair falling over his forehead like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing just enough to make your mouth go dry. His sharp jawline caught the dim light, and you hated the way your gaze lingered, tracing the curve of it down to the way his throat bobbed when he exhaled.

Heat curled low in your stomach, unexpected but not so unwelcome.

But then the shock hit just as hard, slicing through the moment like a blade. Your heart slammed against your ribs, torn between disbelief and something far more dangerous. “Um, Elena?” you managed, voice uneven, barely above a whisper.

Theo turned an even deeper shade of pink than the one he was already sporting. He started pawing at his face, his cheeks flushed, even more nervous now, betrayed by the way he rubbed his jawline proving just out of his element he was. He shifted awkwardly under your gaze.

“I, uh… I don’t think so?” he replied, his voice uncertain, and somehow just as confused as you felt. For a minute, the two of you simply stared at each other. He is here. He is actually here. Your senses completely abandon you as you keep staring at him, not able to say anything.

Theo stood there too, every nerve alight, his usual calm unravelling as he searched for words that didn’t sound hollow. His hands twitched at his sides—he wasn’t used to this, to standing in the doorway of someone who wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

“I…” he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, his gaze falling to the floor before daring to meet yours. “I owe you an apology.”

You cross your arms, your stance guarded yet you can feel the vulnerability seeping through. You compose yourself and don't say anything, simply wait. The silence stretched, and he felt it like a rope tightening around his throat.

Theo inhaled sharply, forcing himself to start speaking. “What I said yesterday—it was…” He faltered, clenching his jaw before continuing. “It was disgusting. And it’s not who I am. Not who I want to be. It wasn’t even about you—it was about me. About everything else. And that doesn’t make it better, I know. But I need you to know that I don’t believe in any of that pureblood nonsense.”

His words tumbled out, faster now, like he was afraid they’d stop coming if he paused too long. “I’ve spent my whole life being taught things I don’t believe in, being moulded into someone I don’t want to be. But... you know that already." He states but he sounds unsure. He doubts if you even remember. It happened so long ago. But of course, you remember. But you don't interrupt him. You simply nod, softly. "And yesterday, I was angry, and I let myself become that person—the one I hate the most. I said something cruel because I thought it would hurt less if I pushed you away first.”

He stepped closer, his hands now curled into fists at his sides, desperate to keep himself grounded. “But I was wrong. It didn’t hurt less—it hurt more. Because…” His voice dropped, and for a moment, he looked almost broken. “Because I hurt the one person who doesn’t see me as a name, a title, or a legacy. You don’t look at me with fear, or that hollow, brainwashed respect because I’m the heir to some ancient, power-starved bloodline. You don’t reduce me to a face, a presence, something pretty to look at and nothing more. With you, I feel like I can be something different—someone better. You make me feel like there’s more to me than the weight of my name, like I could be more than what I’ve been taught to be. And I ruined that. I destroyed something... good with one stupid, careless moment.”

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to finish. “I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. We’ve never been friends—not really. But just know that I’ve always wanted to be. I just… I always knew you were too good for me. I knew that from the start. But I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—let things end like this. You deserve better than that. You’ve always deserved better."

Theo’s voice grew quieter, softer, like the weight of his own words was crushing him. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For all of it. For the words, for the hurt… for making you think, even for a second, that you’re not extraordinary.”

He finally fell silent, his breathing uneven as he stood there for another second, before he turned to leave again. You simply stood there, frozen, dumbfounded and speechless, the weight of his confession pressing down on you.

This is the first time he'd spoken so much to you. And everything carried so much depth that for a moment, you were blown away by the genuineness of his words and the sincerity of his tone. Warmth seeped into your cheeks and stomach at his words. It’s funny how what you wanted to hear for so long, can leave you frozen when it actually happens. You wanted to scream that you forgive him. But somehow, you just remained rooted to your place. Theo obviously took it as a rejection. Not wanting to bother you anymore, he hastily turned around and starts descending the stairs. Finally, you manage to whisper, almost unsure, “Theodo—”

He stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. His voice, low and strained, cuts through the thick silence. “Theo. It’s Theo.”

And then, before you can gather your thoughts or summon a response, he’s gone, leaving you rooted to the spot, the echo of his words and the ache they carried lingering in the room like a ghost.

.

.

.

Elena slipped into the room an hour later, her footsteps soft but purposeful. “Y/n, are you awake?” she whispered into the dimly lit space.

You stayed silent, lying still under the covers. You weren’t in the mood to talk. The weight of the day hung heavy on your chest, and the words Theo had spoken to you played on repeat in your head like a broken record.

"I’ve spent my whole life being taught things I don’t believe in, being moulded into someone I don’t want to be. But you know that already."

And you did. The memory lingered now, vivid and raw, as you lay in bed. Back then, you hadn’t known what to make of him. You’d dismissed it as a moment of weakness from someone who was usually so composed and untouchable. Because he had dismissed it first. But now, with the weight of his confession tonight, it all began to make sense.

Your mind drifted back to your second year, after the chaos with the basilisk and the haunting stillness of your best friend frozen in Madam Pomfrey’s infirmary last week. Everything had felt overwhelming, suffocating, so you’d done the only thing you could think of: you’d escaped to the Astronomy Tower.

You hadn’t expected to find anyone there, but as you stepped into the cold night air, your gaze landed on a boy sitting in the corner, staring down at something in his hand. It took you a moment to realize what it was—a cigarette.

“Seriously?” you had deadpanned, unable to keep the judgment out of your voice. “Is Charms really stressing you out that much that a second-year needs that?”

His head snapped up at your words, and for a brief moment, you thought he might lash out or throw some snarky comment your way. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at you with an odd vulnerability that caught you off guard.

“It’s not Charms,” he muttered after a long pause. His voice was quiet, barely audible over the wind. “It’s… my charming Father.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You stared at him, unsure of what to say. He looked just as shocked as you felt, like he couldn’t believe he’d just admitted that to you.

“What do you mean?” you asked softly, taking a cautious step closer.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. He tossed the cigarette aside, letting it roll across the floor. “Forget I said anything.”

But you didn’t move. Something about the way he said it—the bitterness, the exhaustion—it pulled at you.

“Theo,” you said gently, sitting down a few feet away from him. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to tell me, but… I’m here. If you want to.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared out at the night sky, his jaw tight. But then, to your surprise, he started to speak.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he began, his voice hollow, “to feel like your whole life has already been decided for you?"

"Um, well. My parents are professors. And while they've been very supportive of the path I've paved for myself, I don't think a witch with a waving wand and a broomstick was top of their "Elder daughter's Career To-do List". Minus the crooked witch hat, obviously." You joke, with a serious tone.

"Obviously" he agrees and there it was. The first genuine smile you'd seen Theo crack in the two years you'd known him.

“My father,” he continued after a while, his tone bitter, “is one of the most powerful men in the wizarding world. Or so he likes to think. He has this… vision of who I’m supposed to be. What I’m supposed to believe. And if I don’t live up to it, if I don’t… fit into the mould he’s made for me…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“What happens if you don’t?” you asked carefully.

He let out a humourless laugh. “Let’s just say disappointment doesn’t sit well with him.”

You didn’t know what to say. The pain in his voice, the weight he was carrying—it was so much heavier than you had expected.

“I don’t want to be like him,” Theo said quietly, but the resignation and hurt was so deep in his voice that you wanted to reach out and give him a hug. But you remained seated and let him continue. “But sometimes… I don’t know if I have a choice.”

“Theo," you murmured, leaning forward just slightly, "your father made his choices. And you get to make yours." "You are not him. You never were. And the fact that you’re even afraid of becoming him? That means you never will." You said with surprising conviction in your voice.

Theo stared at you, his gaze intense, almost like he was trying to see through you. His eyes softened, but there was something else there—a question, a hesitation. Finally, his lips parted, and in a voice much quieter than before, he asked, “How do you know that?”

You met his gaze firmly. “Because I believe it.”

The silence lingered, the weight of his words still hanging in the air. You could feel the tension between you, but you didn’t want to just sit in it. There was more you needed to say, more you needed to get off your chest.

“So,” he began softly, cutting through the silence. “Why are you here? They say only lost souls seek the stars, finding quiet refuge in them. Do you know why?”

You shook your head.

He continued, “Because it’s only the stars that can silently promise you’re not alone. There are so many stars in the universe, all so far apart from each other, never knowing there’s one just like them, drifting through their lives.”

He looked at you sheepishly when he finished, “Too cheesy?” He blushed.

“Just enough.” You promised softly.

Theo looked at you again, brows raised, as if silently saying that you had the floor.

“I’ve been drowning… especially this year,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “Everything just feels so… heavy. I always loved reading and studying. It was my escape, my refuge. But now, it’s like everyone expects so much from me—teachers, friends, people I barely know—and there’s this constant pressure, this anxiety, weighing me down. I am so afraid that studying one day will feel like a chore instead of something I enjoy. And I... I can’t stop my mind from overthinking every little thing, every action, every detail. At the end of the day, I don’t even think anyone others would notice or care to check how I’m doing. And honestly? I don’t even know if I have the energy to care anymore and I don’t want to be that person.”

Theo didn’t interrupt, didn’t say a word. He just watched you, his expression softening with each word you spoke.

“And you know what’s worse?” you continued, voice quieter now. “It’s like I’m constantly pretending. I’m pretending I can keep up, pretending I don’t feel completely out of place sometimes. Pretending I’m okay. And I think that’s what everyone else does too. We all just put on these masks, hoping no one notices that we’re all falling apart inside.”

Theo was silent for a moment, processing your words, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like someone understood, like your frustrations weren’t just falling on deaf ears.

He finally spoke, his voice surprisingly steady. “That’s… a lot to carry.” You simply nod.

"I can’t fix it for you," he said, his tone soft but firm, “but... I’m here. If you need someone to listen. And, maybe... it’s okay to not always have everything figured out. You don’t have to pretend. Sometimes, just taking things one step at a time helps—focus on what you can control, and let the rest fall away. You don’t owe anyone more than that. The only person you owe something to, is yourself and you owe it to yourself to give yourself the space you are out here, creating for others, if not more.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was gathering his thoughts. “I know it’s hard, but… trying to do it all at once? It’s never going to work. You’re allowed to have limits, to need a break. Don’t be afraid to give yourself one. It’s not weakness. It’s surviving. Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who know when to step back, take a breath, and just... exist for a little while.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the tension in your chest start to loosen. For a moment, the two of you just sat there in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Neither of you knew what else to say, so you just stayed, offering each other comfort and company instead of empty reassurances.

Eventually, he stood up, brushing off his robes. “Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

You nodded. “You don't need to say that. Sorry you couldn’t use that cigarette.” You smiled.

“It’s fine. I found something better.” He smiled back.

He hesitated—just for a moment—like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. And then, without another glance, he turned and walked away, leaving you there with the lingering weight of a conversation that felt far bigger than either of you had realized.

That night, when you returned to your dorm, you found Elena sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a book she clearly wasn’t reading. You barely had time to set your things down and flung yourself down on the bed before the words tumbled out of you.

"I think I met someone today."

Elena looked up, intrigued. “Oh?”

You hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek before sitting down across from her. “Not like that,” you clarified quickly. “I just… I don’t know. He’s different. He’s quiet but not in an empty way—more like there’s too much in his head.

Elena tilted her head, considering. "That’s oddly poetic."

You sighed, letting your head drop onto your pillow. "He listens," you murmured, mostly to yourself. "Like, really listens. And I don’t think a lot of people do that—not the way he does."

Elena smiled warmly. "You sound impressed."

You let out a soft laugh. "Maybe I am," you admitted. "I just feel like—like maybe we could be friends. Maybe we should be."

It had felt like a certainty at the time. A quiet, unshakable belief that somehow, in some way, your lives were meant to overlap.

But looking back now? You almost laughed at how naive you had been.

You never became friends. Not really. Instead, you spent years standing at the edges of each other’s lives, always near enough to feel the pull but never close enough to bridge the gap. Like two stars drifting in the vastness of space—so close, yet so far apart. There were stolen glances, almost-conversations, unspoken words that hung in the air between you like ghosts. And when the distance between you started to stretch wider, when the quiet understanding turned into quiet avoidance, neither of you did anything, simply watched as time faded into nothingness… Just like the stars, shining in the dark, but never reaching each other. And that...

It hurt.

And you never understood why. Or maybe you did. Maybe you had always known.

You snapped back to reality, the remnants of the memory fading as quickly as they had appeared. Theo had been distant again lately, his mind clearly elsewhere, the bags under his eyes heavier. What had his father done this time to hurt him? He’d said something earlier, hadn’t he? Something that had made Theo’s eyes cloud over with that familiar, unreadable expression. But just as you were about to pull at the threads of the conversation today, trying to piece it together, the exhaustion of the day caught up with you. Sleep crept in, stealing your thoughts before you could recall the words that had troubled him so.

.

.

.

Exhausted, you hauled your book bag onto your shoulder, the familiar ache in your muscles reminding you just how long the day had been. The Transfiguration test had gone well—but Merlin, it had been draining. And now, your feet were dragging you to the last class of the day: Binns’ History of Magic. The idea of sitting through one of his monotonous lectures made you want to cry.

Still, as you approached the classroom, the resolve you’d built overnight kicked in. Enough avoiding, enough pretending. It was time to face the snake head-on. No more skirting around Theo Nott.

When you stepped into the room, the usual chatter greeted you. Theo was at his usual spot in the back corner, Mattheo to his left. Blaise and Enzo were sitting behind them, followed by the rest of their Slytherin entourage. Mattheo was laughing at something Blaise had said, and Blaise was already grinning like he’d won some unspoken challenge. Typical. They were like a pack of wolves, basking in their effortless charm and superiority.

Your eyes briefly flickered to Theo. He wasn’t laughing, but his lips curved faintly at the edges, like he was amused by the chaos around him. Looking back on it now, you had hardly ever seen him laughing out loud. Coming to the present, his sharp profile caught the dim lighting of the classroom, and it took your breath away, how effortlessly good he looked, sitting there like he didn’t have a care in the world. But you’d also seen the flicker of exhaustion in his eyes yesterday. He wasn’t as unshaken as he wanted people to think.

Taking a deep breath, you walked straight toward them, your steps confident despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

The moment you reached their table, you placed a hand firmly on the desk in front of Mattheo, who was turned on his back, looking behind him, mid-conversation with Blaise. He didn’t notice you at first, too caught up in whatever joke Blaise had cracked. But Blaise’s voice suddenly trailed off when he saw you, his eyes widening slightly before he elbowed Enzo. Enzo was nose deep in a novel and did a literal double take when he saw you. He quickly regained himself and eyed Mattheo to stop. Mattheo however, was too engrossed in the conversation to notice anything around him. Without a warning, Enzo reached forward and hit Mattheo on the head.

“Oi, what the—” Mattheo grumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he turned, only to freeze when he saw you. Then, that flirty grin of his spread across his face like clockwork. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Ravenclaw sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Hi, princess.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you could already feel the heat crawling up your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Theo go rigid, his gaze narrowing. The room seemed to hush slightly, like everyone was waiting to see what you’d do.

“Don’t call me that,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the tension. Gods, where did that nickname even come from?

A surprised look crossed Mattheo’s face before his grin widened, clearly enjoying the attention. “Whatever you say, princess. Now, what can I do YOU for... I mean- what can I do for youu-uuuaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh" He was quickly cut off by a rather stone faced Theo who had very subtly stepped on Mattheo's feet.

Quickly composing himself, Mattheo gets back to you. "I truly meant how can I help you? Advice? A good joke? Maybe a—”

“You can’t help me,” you interrupted coolly. “But you can move. Why don’t you go sit with Pansy? She looks a little lonely back there. Go.”

“Blimey, sunshine,” Mattheo groaned dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d physically wounded him. “What did I do to deserve this heat?”

Before you could reply, there was a sudden shove from his right. Mattheo stumbled slightly, as Theo gave him a sharp nudge.

“Get up, Mattheo,” Theo said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

Mattheo raised his hands in surrender, though the teasing smirk never left his face. “Alright, alright, don’t hex me, mate.” With a mock bow in your direction, he stepped aside, limping a little and clutching his right shoulder. But instead of joining Pansy, he shoved Blaise over and squeezed into the two-person desk with him and Enzo. The three of them now stared at you with different expressions. Mattheo had his signature smirk on, Enzo was giving you a knowing smile and Blaise looked serious, as if a little apprehensive of what was going on. But three of them had one common look, an expression that was practically screaming, Oh, this is gonna be interesting.

You ignored them, slipping into the seat beside Theo and dropping your book bag onto the desk. Professor Binns began his lecture in his usual monotone drawl—something about goblin rebellions, though you weren’t really listening.

From further up the room, you caught a flash of movement—Elena. She turned in her seat, just enough to give you a cheeky wink before turning back to her notes. You’d spent a good hour talking with her this morning, hashing out how to handle this; the situation, your emotions. And now, here you were. No more running. No more avoiding.

You sat stiffly at first, hyper-aware of Theo’s presence beside you. From the corner of your eye, you noticed how he kept his gaze fixed forward, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, so subtle you nearly missed it, he shifted ever so slightly—a millimetre closer to you.

The gesture was so small, so unnoticeable to anyone else, but it made your heart flutter and you let yourself relax a little more.

You tried, really tried, to focus on the lesson, but it was impossible. Every so often, your gaze would flicker to him out of the corner of your eye—still, but with an edge to his presence that felt almost magnetic. It was a quiet intensity, a presence that filled the space between you both without a single word spoken.

The air felt heavier, thick with unspoken things, and the all-too-familiar emotions after that night on the Astronomy Tower in second year began to creep back. What if this too remains an unspoken tremor between you two? What if it lingers like a forgotten promise that neither of you dares to claim? It’s not just the pull, the quiet magnetism, but the fear that this—whatever it was—might never come to the surface. That it might always remain a delicate undercurrent, impossible to name or tame, just like it had that night.

And there you were, sitting right next to him, feeling all of it again—the anxiety coming back, the weight, the space, the distance between you that somehow felt both too close and impossibly far.

And then suddenly, in the quiet stillness that seemed to settle over you both, Theo's voice broke through the silence. He leaned just a bit closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. A spark shot through you, and suddenly, your stomach was filled with those damn butterflies. You could feel the warmth of his presence beside you, so close, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Your body instinctively angled itself towards him, and you couldn’t help but notice how your head nearly brushed against his as he leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver racing down your spine, and your pulse quickened, like it could hear the sudden rush of your heart.

"Do you know," Theo whispered, his voice a low murmur, sending a tingle across your skin, "why Binns can never tell a good joke?"

You looked up at him, your gaze caught somewhere between confusion and something else entirely, trying desperately not to focus on how dangerously close his lips hovered over yours. You could feel the heat of him just inches away, and it was so tempting to close that gap, to lean in just a little—no. You quickly shook the thought off, attempting to focus on the moment. "No, why?"

Theo shot you a sidelong glance, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips twitching into that infuriatingly confident smirk you’d come to recognize. “Because he’s dead on delivery.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected humour, surprised by the sheer audacity of his words. For a moment, the tension shifted, and without warning, you snorted. The sound escaped you before you could stop it, and despite the intensity of the atmosphere, you couldn't help it. The way he said it—so nonchalantly—was just absurd enough to break through.

And then, almost without realizing it, you found yourself on the verge of laughing out loud.

It would have been a full-on laugh if not for the fact that Professor Binns was still droning on in his usual monotone, entirely oblivious to the small, chaotic moment unfolding just a few desks away. His lecture about goblin rebellions continued, his ghostly figure as unchanging as always. He might as well have been reading the room with zero interest—completely missing the small flicker of laughter that now danced between you and Theo.

You swallowed your laugh, but the smile lingered, and for a moment, it felt as though the world outside of that classroom had stopped moving. Theo's smirk deepened, his eyes meeting yours, the unspoken connection hanging between you both like an electric charge. You glanced at him again, a soft smile playing on your lips, but this time, you didn’t look away. You didn’t want to.

Theo didn’t make any effort to move, to shift, to break the moment. Neither did you. You both remained there, shoulder to shoulder, and all the remaining tension dissipated from your shoulders as you relaxed against him. The proximity was not familiar but comforting, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to run from it.

The silence stretched on, until suddenly, Mattheo's voice pierced through the calm. “Um, I don’t think I can see the board with these two people in front of me. Maybe they should move apart or something like... Owww—Come on, mate!”

Enzo's slap followed, and the noise was enough to make you glance back at the two of them. Mattheo was rubbing his arm, clearly irritated, while Enzo just shot you a sheepish look. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a little more hopeful, a little less guarded.

It felt like the whole room was waiting for something to shift, but maybe, just maybe, this time, the shift had already happened.

And you couldn’t help but wonder, as you glanced back at Theo—what even happens when stars collide?

.

.

.

Taglist: @nottinmyheart @whosyourgnomie

Thank you for all the love and support, you guys. I hope you like it <3

[wherescody]

Finals and Feelings

I got finals this week :) got inspired

The tour bus was quiet—at least compared to what Cody Rhodes was used to. He was sprawled out on the couch in the back lounge, still in sweats, his phone resting on his chest as he stared blankly up at the ceiling.

It had been two whole days since he’d gotten more than a few words from you. Not because you were upset—at least, he hoped not—but because it was finals week. University finals. That dreaded, chaotic, caffeine-fueled war zone he’d never had to survive himself.

He knew you were smart. He knew you were focused. He knew you were grinding for your future.

But he didn’t know how to shut off the part of his brain that missed you.

You’d sent him a sleepy “goodnight” text the night before, and that was it. No memes. No random voice notes. Not even a “look at this dumb thing my professor said.” Just radio silence.

Cody sat up, scrolling through your messages with a pout he would never admit to in public. He tapped out a text:

“Hey. You alive? Blink twice if finals haven’t devoured you completely.”

He hovered over the send button… then deleted it. Too needy? Too clingy? Probably. But dammit, he missed you.

Ten minutes later, he tried again.

“Just checking in. Proud of you. Miss you. Let me know if you need anything—even if it’s just a reminder to drink water.”

That one, he sent. And then he stared at the screen like it might respond.

Back in your cramped apartment, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks, your eyes were heavy and your brain felt like mush. You had three tabs open, two essays to finish, and a fourth cup of coffee that had gone cold hours ago.

When your phone buzzed, you barely noticed it—until you glanced over and saw Cody 💬 lighting up the screen.

“Just checking in. Proud of you. Miss you.”

Your heart squeezed.

You hadn’t meant to ignore him. You really hadn’t. It was just… exams, deadlines, stress, more stress. Every ounce of your focus was pulled into survival mode. Even Cody, sweet and patient as he was, had been pushed to the background.

You grabbed your phone and quickly typed:

“I’m so sorry I’ve been distant 😞 I miss you too. Finals are kicking my butt.”

You hit send, expecting to wait. But he answered almost instantly:

“I figured. I just needed to hear from you. You okay?”

“Tired. Overwhelmed. But okay. I promise.”

Another message popped up right away:

“Want to FaceTime? I’ll just chill with you while you study. I won’t say a word. Promise.”

You paused for a second, eyes scanning your mess of notes. You were behind, you were drained—but God, you missed him too.

“You’re clingy,” you typed, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“I know,” he replied, complete with a winking emoji. “Is it working?”

You snorted softly and shook your head, fingers moving before you could overthink it.

“Yeah. Call me.”

Seconds later, your screen lit up with his name, and when you answered, there he was—hair messy, hoodie on, lying in his bunk on the tour bus with a soft smile like just seeing your face made everything better.

“You look tired,” he whispered.

“You look needy,” you replied with a grin.

“I am needy,” he said proudly, then softened. “But I just missed you.”

And with that, he propped his phone up, letting you hear the faint hum of the bus in the background as he kept you company. No pressure. No talking. Just his quiet presence, there with you, from miles away.

And somehow, finals felt a little less impossible.

[pretzel-box]

Hi, I hope you're having a wonderful day!! I love your fanfics sm and I wanted to request GN!reader's reaction to Sebastian introducing Painter for the first time to them after a near-death experience caused by them? It can be angsty or not, entirely your choice! :D

Tags: GN! reader, slight comedy

Words: 1,2k

“How long do we have to walk?” your voice piped up after passing a few rooms with Sebastian at your side, which seemed annoyed at the constant question.

“Like I said before…the past 5 times…in the past 10 minutes…It's DOWN THE HALL.” The annoyed tone in his voice was barely something that bothered you, you just secretly believed that Sebastian is a bit short tempered.

The two of you decided to do a quick trip, escaping the boring shop duties and fleeing into the familiar walls of the blackside. At first you thought that it's another of the frequent scavenging runs, looking for stuff to trade against assets but you could only raise an eyebrow at Sebastian who passed a perfectly fine medkid. Meanwhile you stood there, holding your fourth lantern, while the other three were hanging around your arm.

“What the hell are you doing? Trying to become a damn flash beacon yourself or what?”

—

“Maybe,” you shot back, adjusting the many lanterns hanging off your arm with a familiar smirk. “Ever think about how handy it’d be to have some extra light around here? Unlike some people, I like to be prepared.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes at your half-joking comment, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, barely visible. “Yeah, sure. Because carrying a whole damn lighthouse with you is being prepared.”

You just shrugged, grinning as you fell back in step beside him, his file didn't lie, he is quick despite his appearance. “Hey, you never know when you’ll need a little extra illumination. Or, you know, when you’ll need to blind someone annoying.”

“Oh, is that what you’re planning? Using those lanterns to blind me?” he snorted, glancing sideways at you before giving your head a gentle hit on the back. “Good luck with that.”

“You think I won’t?” you teased, nudging him back with your shoulder as you walked. “I could be dangerous, you know. A real threat.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, really dangerous. I’m shaking in my coat.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sarcasm in his voice, the easy banter between the two of you. For all your differences, there was something oddly comforting about the back-and-forth, the way you could trade jabs without any real malice. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. This wasn’t the usual scavenging run, and Sebastian seemed oddly focused, his eyes darting ahead down the dimly lit hall. And aside from that Sebastian once hit you for passing by a perfectly fine medkit once, and now he's the one walking half-blind through the building.

“So, what’s really going on, Seb?” you asked, trying to catch his eye. “This doesn’t feel like one of our usual trips.”

Sebastian hesitated, his steps faltering for just a moment before he forced himself to keep moving. He seems to think about his word choice before speaking up. “I told you, we’re just… going to meet someone.”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued at the mention. “Meet someone? Out here? You know, if you’re trying to sell me to some creepy scientist or something, just give me a heads-up, alright?”

Sebastian snorted again, a genuine laugh escaping his lips this time. “Trust me, no one’s buying your smart mouth.”

“Oh, ouch,” you feigned offense, clutching a hand to your chest dramatically. “You wound me, Sebastian. You really do.”

He just squinted his eyes at your dramatic words but you could see the amused glint in them. “Look, just… trust me, okay? It’s not far now.”

“Uh-huh,” you said skeptically, but you followed him anyway. You trusted him after being stuck with him for so long. You two managed to reach a comfortable level with each other. Few more steps and Sebastian suddenly stopped, causing you to almost bump into his large form and stepping on his tail.

“We’re here,” he announced, gesturing toward an unmarked metal door. You eyed it warily, then glanced at him.

“Seriously? This is where you wanted to go?”

Sebastian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he swiped a shimmering keycard through a reader on the metallic door, and with a loud beep, the door slid open with ease. The room beyond was dimly lit, the soft hum of machinery filling the air. You could see a few lights flickering in the darkness, and a strange chill ran down your spine.

“Alright, come on in,” Sebastian said, stepping inside and motioning for you to follow.

You hesitated for a moment, but then curiosity got the better of you. You stepped into the room, glancing around cautiously. “So… who are we meeting exactly?”

Sebastian took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself for your reaction. “This… is P.AI.nter,” he said, gesturing toward one of the screens where a digital face slowly appeared, composed of pixelated lines and shifting colors. The computer itself was behind some iron-fence, keeping you from actually reaching him.

“Hello” the face said in a surprisingly smooth, almost friendly voice. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

Your jaw dropped, and you took an involuntary step back, nearly tripping over one of the lanterns dangling from your arm. “Wait a minute,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “Isn’t this the AI that almost got me killed?!”

Sebastian winced, realizing it might be possible and that he's probably at fault too, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah… about that. P.AI.nter can be a bit overwhelming.”

“A little overwhelming?!” you repeated incredulously, staring at him with wide eyes, your stare made him uncomfortable. “It locked me in a room with a giant, homicidal shark! On what planet is that ‘a little overwhelming?”

Painter’s digital face flickered slightly, and you could swear it looked… embarrassed? “I apologize for the misunderstanding,” it said. “I was merely following Sebastian's protocol. I didn’t intend for you to come to any harm.”

“Oh, well, that makes it all better, doesn’t it?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “I nearly got my brain fried off, but hey, it was just following protocol.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Maybe someone shouldn't flash sharks with flash beacons and then insist on a stare battle.” He mumbles under his breath before trying to intervene. “Look, I get that you’re upset, but Painter’s actually really helpful. And, you know… it wanted to apologize.”

You stared at him for a moment, then back at the screen. “Fine,” you said finally, though you still didn’t look convinced. “Apology accepted… I guess. But if you try to kill me again, I’m taking a sledgehammer to this entire room. Got it?”

Painter’s face flickered again, and it smiled. “Understood. I will make every effort to ensure your safety in the future.”

Sebastian let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “See? No harm, no foul. Now, why don’t we all just… start over, yeah?”

You shot him a look, but then a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, okay. But you owe me for this, Seb. Big time. Especially since it seems like it was your fault in the first place.”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “Deal.”

The three of you spend some time, first P.AI.nter made you uncomfortable since the memories of his little navipath tricks are unsettling you. But the more you got to know him, the more you felt at ease. He seems genuinely nice and interested in you, probably aiming to befriend you.

As you turned to leave, you could hear Painter’s voice behind you, sounding almost… amused. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your lips as you and Sebastian walked back down the hall, the tension finally beginning to ease.

[lyxchen]

Okay so I got inspired by this post by @fandomfourever to take a look at some of the books on In-ho's desk in the room where Jun-ho looks for him in season 1. Here's a picture and I numbers the books which I looked up so you know what book I'm talking about

(also just fyi it's almost 5am where I live but I feel the need to make this post now instead of tomorrow, if there are any spelling mistakes in this post or something is worded weirdly, that's why)

So let's go!! First book:

So book number one is the one I'm most uncertain about. The book here is titled "René Magritte, l'empire des lumières" (empire of lights) and online I found this book with the same title but a different cover. You can even read or download it here if you want. But what I also found out is that "l'empire des lumières" is a series of 27 paintings that René Magritte made over the years and they're always of a landscape at night (often a house lit by a street lamp) while the sky in the background is a sunlit sky by day and In-ho seems to like this series a lot. We can assume that because he has both a small print of it taped to the desk and again a bigger print of it framed hanging on his wall

I'm pretty sure the framed one is this one but I can't be fully sure:

Second book:

Book number 2 is "Picasso, The Blue and Rose Periods". I have to admit I didn't find out anything specific about this book, I think it's just a book about Picasso's art. If I'm wrong please correct me. Also the picture of the book I put here isn't the same cover as the one on In-ho's desk but it should still be the same book

The third book is about Monet/his art and if I'm correct it's the one by Christoph Heinrich. Again I didn't look up too much information about this one because it's just an art book.

The fourth book is "Van Gogh, The Complete Paintings" by Ingo F. Walther and Rainer Metzger. Again art book about Vincent van Gogh's art

So for book number 5 I couldn't actually figure out which book specifically it is. From what I can read it's called "Campus Life" and I tried looking that up but there were multiple books with that title (one of them was gay tho sooo...). Also maybe that's just me but it does kinda look like it could also be a notebook?

Lastly book 6:

It's called "The Catcher in the Rye" by J. D. Salinger and it's a novel from 1951 and it's about a 17 year old boy looking back on three specific days from his past. You can find the description and what it's about online. I'm gonna read through that tomorrow I think

Bonus book but I couldn't find the exact one:

This one, which is on another shelf on In-ho's desk. It's probably an art book on Picasso

So what does this tell us about In-ho? He's an artist, or at least very interested in art and he specifically likes René Magritte's "l'empire des lumières" series so much that he has two prints and a book about it