#you dont get it if i had seen that post like an hour before when i hadn’t read that fic i wouldnt have understood it

[spacedlexi]

"sounds nice... having a partner"

[eightpackdiaz]

90% of the pop culture references that i understand i literally only know them from fanfiction. i probably havent even consumed the media where they came from and YET

[parfaitblogs]

(totally not based on my day) but a simple request for spencer helping reader out with a bunch of chores bc she's overwhelmed with life and she decides to thank him with like the quote "best head of his life" and he's like "its okay you dont have to do that" and she's responds "but i am anyways"

it will come back ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid helps you when you're (very) overwhelmed, and you might need to return the favour.  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort & smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (m receiving). praise. established relationship. reader's overwhelmed overstimulated overworked... very enthusiastic head giver!reader. use of honey and angel. they love each other a lot. i love them a lot. i don’t think there’s d/s dynamics but if there are it’s soft dom spencer (nobody’s shocked). word count: 3.1k a/n: thank u sooo much for reading my brain ily i need to give spencer reid head asap. new format/layout for requests sort of its the same as my normal post layout... do we like... i sure freaking hope so. as always lmk if u liked this or even if u didn't but preferably if u did!!

You were exhausted. For three weeks straight, you had been working nonstop, with a wondrous total of eight hours in between shifts. You were hardly sleeping, you had hardly had a social life, hell, you never even had time to enjoy the simple pleasures of an everything shower. You felt groggy, and cramped, and everyday felt like an awful repeat of the last. A nightmare that never ended. 

Never mind the fact that you hadn't seen your boyfriend.

Always home too late to be with him in the evenings, and up too early to get coffee with him before your days started. Spencer was so patient with you, regardless. He knew it would end eventually, and he would get his girlfriend back. It was just for the month, was what you would text each other whenever the other began feeling particularly lonely. He didn't even like texting, but the time for a simple phone call wasn't available to you anymore. 

And your apartment. Every time you stepped into it you swore a new dirty dish materialised in your sink, or a new pile of clothes sat themselves in your bedroom floor. Which was odd, because you had rotated between the same two outfits for the last eighteen days — your work uniform, or your pyjamas. 

You were overwhelmed with it all. Even as your hectic work life came to an end, and you were waking up to the sunlight pouring into your room, instead of an alarm clock while the moon was still up. You were acutely aware of the mess of your apartment, and just the thought of it all left you lying motionless in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tears stung your vision as you felt the seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happened. Attempting to will yourself to get up, and yet you simply couldn't. Exhausted beyond belief, with limbs sinking into the mattress and melding to the sheets. 

You faintly heard the click of your front door lock, and if you had any more motivation in you, you'd probably get up to double check it was the only other person who had a key to your apartment, and not a burglar. Thankfully, you didn't have to, for Spencer was calling out your name, gently.

Too exhausted to even reply and alert him of where you were, you lay still until he had found you in your bedroom, his bad dropping by the doorway, feet shuffling against the rug. 

"Good afternoon," he said, finding a seat on the edge of your bed, hand resting atop your thigh, gentle circles being rubbed into the skin. 

"Is it already afternoon?" you asked him, voice quiet. 

"Yeah. How long have you been awake in bed?" 

"I don't know," you answered, voice awfully small as you felt the thick weight of frustration with yourself blanket over you. "I need to get up. The apartment's a mess."

"It's allowed to be," he said. "You've been doing sixteen hour days."

"Yeah, but I'm not today. I have the day off."

"Your first day off in weeks. I'd be concerned if you'd spent it productively."

You stared at him, unsure if the irritation that settled in your bones was because of his insistence that you not doing a thing was okay, or your exhaustion. Logically, it would be the latter. You did know that, deep down. 

Upon seeing your eyes delve into something a little more desperate, he sighed, hand sliding up to your own, gently tugging you up into a seated position. His eyebrows knitted together at your exhausted look, and you could see his brain ticking behind his eyes.

"Do you want to split the tasks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to," you shrugged your shoulders. "It's my mess."

"Honey, you're already overwhelmed, and all you've done is wake up," he answered, thumb drawing circles on the top of your hand that he still seemed to have clasped within his own. "Let me help."

"It's really gross."

"I've seen mutilated dead bodies."

"I'd argue my kitchen sink is worse."

"Oh would you?" his eyebrows shot up, lips twitching in amusement, that you found solace in, distracting you slightly from your overstimulated mind. "Do you want to have a shower?"

"Yes," you nodded your head, brain ticking over all the personal hygiene tasks you had been neglecting over the past few weeks. 

"How about you go shower, I'll start cleaning up, and you come join me when you're feeling better?"

Despite your aversion to anybody but yourself tackling the mess of your apartment, you knew better than to deny Spencer any further — he had set his mind on helping you. 

Sighing, you nodded your head in defeat. He had coaxed you up off the bed, gotten you to the bathroom, even found you a fresh set of clothes to wear, and waited with you for the water to warm up. It was really only once he was absolutely sure you had gotten into the shower, did he leave you be, and disappeared from the bathroom. 

Eventually, the apartment had been cleaned, with efforts from the both of you getting it to where it now was. 

You were a lot less exhausted, and your brain was a lot less fried now that you didn't have a million tasks catalogued within it to get done. 

You were lying in your freshly made bed — courtesy of Spencer. Your head on his chest, fidgeting with one of his hands as he used the other to wave around as he rambled about something you were no longer following. It had started as a simple explanation for why you had been so overwhelmed in the first place. Which you had asked as a rhetoric, but didn't have the heart to stop him when he began explaining. 

"You're not listening, are you?" he asked, free hand poking your side and emitting an involuntary laugh from you at the feeling. 

"I am, I am! I'm just not following anymore."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," you replied, turning and poking your head up to be level with his. "I like hearing you speak, anyways. Doesn't matter if I don't understand."

He only hummed as a response, and the two of you stared at each other for a beat, before you were breaking out into a smile. 

"Hi," you chirped. 

"Hello," he answered, perhaps a little too amused by your sudden energy. "Would you like something?"

"A kiss?"

"After all that labour I just put in for you?" he mused, but he was already lifting his head to brush his lips against yours, and was most certainly not pulling away when you eagerly connected them properly. 

You pulled back after a few moments, searching his face. "Do you want something for all that labour?"

His hand trailed up your spine, fingertips triggering a shiver to run up your back. "What do you have in mind?"

"I could give you the best head of your life."

He was clearly not expecting that as an offer, perhaps because you never had offered such a thing before. It wasn't even something you had talked about, which was bizarre (in your mind), considering he was quite enthusiastic about using his mouth on you. 

"You don't need to do that," he shook his head, but with how close your faces were, you could see the instant dilation in his pupils. 

"What if I want to?" 

"Then that's very nice of you, but my point still stands," he replied.

"Spencer, let me do something in return," your voice was nothing short of a whine, and if he was any less turned on, maybe it wouldn't have made his firm footed denial falter. Maybe you knew that.

"You could do anything but that."

"So a handjob?"

"Or that."

"You're such an awful liar," you huffed. "I can see your pupils dilating. I know you're turned on by the thought of it."

"It could just be because I'm looking at you," he answered, voice hoarse, no doubt from the arousal he was attempting to deny was there. "Romantic attraction triggers the same response in our hormones."

"But it's not."

He fell silent for a few moments, before he allowed his resolve to slip, shaking his head in agreement with you. "No. It's not."

"See! It's okay if you want it. I'm quite literally offering myself to you," you spouted. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled through his nose, words coming out through almost gritted teeth. "That's not a sentence you should be saying."

"Why not?"

His only response was to say your name chidingly, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with the shit-eating grin on your face. 

"Brat," he mumbled, lips seeking yours once again.

"Who gives really good head," you hummed against his mouth. "And would really love to show you."

"If you're insisting—"

"Which I am," you quickly interjected, staring back at him as yet another amused smile stretched across his lips. Then, he was nodding his head, and you were quite cheerfully kissing him all over again.

It wasn't that you kissed him with much fever at all — in fact, you were melting into his lips with a gentle hum. It was simply that he was kissing you back with a desperation you should be accustomed to. You weren't. 

Every kiss you received from him always felt like he was chipping away at your soul, claiming a piece of it. Maybe he was.

You mewled when his teeth nipped at your lower lip, and he was quick to take the opportunity of slipping his tongue into your mouth. Though, alerted by his sudden control over the situation between you two, you reluctantly pulled your face away from his before it could go much further. 

"Excuse me," he breathed out, scoldingly, only to be met with your hundredth grin of the day as you descended down his body. He'd take it — you smiling, albeit cockily, was much more rewarding than the concerned look you had been sporting for the majority of the afternoon. 

"I don't do this very often," you told him as you lifted your gaze to his, absentmindedly tugging his pants down his legs. 

"I hope not. You've never done it for me, and we've been together for quite a while."

"You know what I mean," you grumbled, and he was forced to poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. 

"Is this comfortable for you?" he then asked, having noticed your constant adjustments of your positioning between his legs. From nerves or comfortability, he didn't know. 

"Um. I guess so," you replied. "I've never done it lying down."

"We can do it however you prefer to do it, angel."

"Oh. Okay. Cool," you mumbled, sitting up straight and grabbing his hands within your own, tugging him over towards the edge of the bed. 

You sank to your knees on the rug, tapping his knees with your hands to part them so you could situate yourself comfortably between them. 

You were a vision if he'd ever seen one, and you weren't even doing anything. Perhaps you had noticed the effect you had on him, or maybe you were just largely enthusiastic about doing something for him, and only him. 

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, eyes flickering up to meet his face, and if this was the last sight he saw before he died, he would have no complaints. 

"Have you ever gotten head before?" you mumbled, eyes fixated on him as your hands trailed up the sides of his thighs, resting at the waistband of his boxers. 

"Yes."

"Okay," you whispered, quietly, tapping his hips so he could lift them, and you rolled his boxers down his skin.

"Okay?" he parroted. 

"Okay," you confirmed with a nod of your head. "I just wanted to know if this is going to be completely new for you or not."

As you spoke, your fingertips dragged along his inner thighs, lips following soon after, kissing up the skin. 

"I don't think that's going to matter, honey," he answered, voice breathless. 

You smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. You lifted your head back up, studying his face. He gave you a nod, a silent confirmation to allow you to go further, and you took a beat to compose yourself. It's not like he would be mad at you if it sucked, but you had had a far too awful day to not do something good. 

You hadn't done this in a while, it was true. So your hesitance came more from your brain figuring out what it actually needed to do, than your insecurities (they were there too). 

Insecurities that melted away within an instant, for Spencer's thighs tensed beneath your hands that were now holding them apart the second your lips made contact with his cock, and through your lashes you could see his head tipping back. 

Your cheeks warmed at how easy it was to get him to respond, and you wondered if the satisfaction settled in your chest was anything similar to how he felt when he did this to you. 

You started hesitant. Gentle kitten licks at his tip that probably shouldn't have been garnering such a large reaction from him. But it was, and you had to preoccupy your mouth to keep the smug smile off of it. 

Wrapping your lips around the head, he lets out the breathiest moan you think you've ever heard come from him, and your mind goes hazy. Newfound blind confidence wills you to take more of him in your mouth, and it's a quiet 'Fuck' that compels you even further. 

In hindsight, he knew he'd enjoy it. It was you after all. He knew from the world shattering arousal that the simple sight of you on your knees was. He had, in a few short seconds, mentally prepared to enjoy this.

But not this much, and certainly not this quickly. 

"I've been too selfless," he muttered as you lifted your head back up, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him as you did. When you met his gaze in question, he added, "I mean never asking you for this. I should've."

You hummed as a response (it was all you really could do), and the gentle vibrations shot heat throughout his body. A shuddering moan rocked through his body, and if not for your quick response time in pushing his hips down, they would've knocked against your face when he bucked them up.

You hollowed your cheeks, lowering your head back down, and emitting the loveliest of moans from Spencer, whose hand found its way to your hair. Upon the lack of your protests, he made a loose ponytail with his fist, gently tugging on it upwards so you could lift your head. 

You flattened your tongue on your ascend, successfully making his already weak grip on your hair go slack, within only seconds of him having grabbed it. Swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, his hips bucked up again, and you flinched. 

"Jesus—fuck, sorry, honey," he rasped, though his guilt was quick to dissipate as he saw your thumbs up against his thigh. Your movements weren't hesitant, anymore. Just slow. Tortuously slow. "Can I..." he trailed off, seemingly becoming unsure of what it was he was asking of you within seconds, but the retightening of his hand in your hair gave you all you needed to know. 

You nodded your head the best you could, and he mumbled a quiet 'thank you', allowing you to set a base pace, before taking over. 

"So good. Jesus Christ, angel. Where did you learn this? Don't answer that. Don't tell me. Shit." 

His rambling was sharp sentences, that didn't really sound like they belonged together, and certainly didn't sound like they should be coming out of his mouth. They weren't the most articulately structured phrases he's ever come up with. A thought that comforted you, because you were doing that to him. 

"Fuck," he breathed out, once more, and you came to the mental conclusion you've never heard him swear so much in his life. The thought made your stomach flip.

Fingers dug into your scalp, though not too harshly to hurt. In fact, you were letting out a quiet moan of your own at the feeling, hips wiggling. Even in his state, Spencer noticed, and he smiled.

"You—ah���okay, angel?" he asked you, and you relished in the fact that he couldn't get out sentences without moaning. 

Your response was yet another hum, and he was bucking his hips. Again.

You knew he was close for a multitude of reasons; the fact that he had quickened his gentle-turned-firm guidance of your head, his fingers tugging on your hair a little harsher than before, and the ever so lovely, "Jesus Christ—please—oh," leaving his lips, breathlessly.

It was a few more moments of that, before the fingers in your hair went impossibly tight, and the muscles in his thighs locked beneath your hands. 

The fact you had never discussed doing this, meant neither of you knew the other's stance on what to do. Thankfully, Spencer was rendered so frenzied that he couldn't do anything. 

It was a sickeningly lovely sight; you pulling back and swallowing, some of his come painting your bottom lip. His fingers twitched, before they dropped back to the mattress on either side of his body, his chest heaving just as much as your own. 

Lightheaded, you slowly brought yourself back up to your feet, and Spencer's arms were quick to wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into him. 

"Best head of your life?" you asked, lowering your lips to brush against his. 

"By a mile," he replied. 

"Just one mile?" 

"Maybe two."

Shooting him a glare, you huffed, and he laughed. "You're never getting head again, then."

He nipped your lower lip. "Okay."

"I'm putting my foot down," you retorted, disliking his lack of belief in your words. "Never again."

"I believe that."

"You should."

"Oh, I do," he hummed, sarcasm in his words making you frown. "Are your knees okay?" 

If his goal was to distract you, he succeeded, for your eyes were instantly dropping to your knees, indents from the threads of the rug evident. 

"They're okay," you confirmed, squirming as his thumbs rubbed circles into the skin on your thighs. 

"Tell me if they're not," he instructed, and you nodded. He stood up, hands sliding up to your waist. "Shower?"

"Shower," you confirmed with a nod, despite the fact that you had showered only a few hours prior. "Can we watch a movie after?"

"Yes."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖱𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖨 𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖸𝗈𝗎.' ༄࿔ L.K.

⤷ Dubcon/Noncon | Knife Play | Spanking

♱ word count: 2.3k

♱ warnings: this has darker content!! dont like? dont interact: dubcon/noncon, fem!reader, ghostface!minho, reader switches up during the ending but during the smut minho has control, knife play (1 small nick and he carves his name into readers back but its shallow), light mentions of blood, spanking, p in v with no prep or condom (be safe about this irl pls), open ending?

♱ notes: this was so self indulgent because im slowly becoming obsessed with slashers again 🥴

not properly proofread! i will go through it later in the day after i sleep <3

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

The cabin you were staying at was eerily silent as you sat in the dimly lit living room. It was a rental that you had planned to stay at for a week to spend your vacation off of work and it was absolutely beautiful during the day. Though, the forest surrounding it combined with the knowledge of just how far the nearest area with people made for a rather scary experience during the night time.

Part of you was on edge as you made your way past the floor-to-ceiling windows towards the kitchen and chills ran up your spine as you stared out those same windows only to be met with complete darkness. Not even the moon was enough to cast light on the tall trees.

‘Maybe a glass of water will help.’ You had been tossing and turning in bed for hours before you gave up and settled in the living room, only to discover that there was no signal on the TV. You were lucky to have even 1 bar as you opened your phone to check the time; 2:46 AM.

It wasn’t a horrible time to be awake, but the promise of sleep would have helped with the paranoid itching in the back of your head. Anybody could break in and nobody wouldn’t know until it was too late. And even if you knew, you were a long way from any means of help-

A sudden creak in the floorboards catches your attention. Your neck snapped towards the dark hallway, then again to the huge windows as your heart raced. The Airbnb host stated that it’s an old house so it’s known to make many noises, so ‘It was probably nothing’. You repeated this to yourself over and over again as you chugged the rest of your water and turned to clean the glass, hoping the distraction would help with the anxiety.

But just as your hand wraps around the tap handle, another creak is heard and a hand wraps around your mouth. Another slides around your front and pushes a long kitchen knife against your neck. The intruder uses his whole body to roughly push you into the counter and your heart drops as you let out a scream in surprise.

The feeling of the cold counter is almost soothing as his deep, nearly robotic, voice meets your ears. “Haven’t seen you around here before… If I take my hand off your mouth, you won’t make me angry and scream for help, right?” He slides the knife along your neck, nicking the skin there slightly as a warning.

Your lack of a response makes him chuckle and he traces the tip of the knife along your cheek, “It’s not like anybody will hear you anyway, but I wouldn’t want this pretty face to get hurt. So what do you say?” You nod as best as you can in this position and let out a quiet sob when his palm releases your face.

“P-Please…Don’t kill me.” Your plea comes out in a quiet whisper, hoping the hushed voice won’t upset your attacker. If it does, he doesn’t let it be seen in the slightest.

“Shhhhh” He tuts at you and rolls his hips forward, rubbing his hard-on against your ass and forcing your hips farther into the countertop. The pinching of your skin between your bone and the marble top makes you hiss in pain, but he ignores you and rubs your hip with his now free hand.

“Let’s play a game~” He doesn’t give you time to respond before he flips you around, wrapping a hand around your neck as he roughly pins you to the counter again.

You’re finally met with his face- or what would be his face, but is instead a long, white ghost mask that would be comical if you didn’t notice the feeling of a drop of blood running down your neck from where he nicked you.

“I’m a little stressed out, so I’m gonna fuck this sweet cunt of yours. If you play nice, I’ll let you live. But if you act like a bitch, I'll kill you!”

The joyful tone in his voice causes your skin to crawl and you let out a quiet sob of fear at the deadly ultimatum. Your choices are quite slim, and you can’t deny the ache that’s starting between your legs, so you don’t take long to nod in agreement.

“Mmmm… Smart girl. Let’s get this off of you then, yeah?” He tugs at your pajama shorts and finally moves the knife off your skin, giving you just enough leeway to move around and pull your shorts down. Once they’re far enough down your legs to drop to your ankles on their own, the unknown man behind you spins you around and immediately pulls your shirt up and over your head.

He sighs almost dreamily against the mask and you watch his head tilt down as he takes in your naked torso. You can feel his stare on you for a while longer until his head tilts further and he’s met with the sight of your pretty panties- the ones that are keeping him from his “prize.”

He curses under his breath and snakes his empty hand to the back of your neck. He grasps you tightly and uses his grip there to lead you to the huge windows, pushing you against them roughly.

“What a pretty piece of ass you got here, baby.” The hand on your neck moves down in favor of grabbing a handful of your ass cheek, landing a teasing slap there as he finishes his sentences. “Might have to go home with you- make you my little pet.” You moan both at the implication of him following you home as well as the delicious sting on your ass.

The masked man chuckles darkly and lands a harsher slap on your other ass cheek. “Call me crazy but I think you like that idea. Hmmmm? Wanna be my little kitty- my little toy for me to fuck whenever I feel like it?” You were starting to get too comfortable, and he seems to realize it. So he brings you back right to where he wants you by sliding his free hand around to your tummy. 

The occupied hand runs the sharp side of the knife around your back, leaving shallow lines that you can’t quite make out. But none of that matters. Not when he’s sliding his hand into your panties, rubbing his gloved fingertip through your soaked folds.

You’re almost thankful that he can’t tell through the gloves, but the stinging pain of the knife almost carving into your skin is diverting your attention from the rough circles on your clit. Thankfully, though, he finishes his “design” faster than you thought he would.

The feeling of a thick finger entering you grabs your attention, making you moan loudly and buck your hips against his hand. A muffled laugh is heard through the mask and his voice is husky as he speaks again, “Gonna be good for me and let me fuck this pretty pussy now, yeah?”

You don't respond right away and he pulls his finger out of you, pinching your clit meanly. “I asked you a question.” His partially wet glove comes down harshly on your ass and leaves a red mark in its wake.

You let out a squeak at the pain and apologize profusely before responding to him. “Y-Yes!”

“Good girl. You almost lost the game there, baby.” He laughs to himself and you watch in the reflection of the glass as he brings the knife down between your thighs. Part of you is horrified at what he might try, and the other part is rather aroused at the possibilities that run through your head.

But he shuts them all down when he slides the dull side against your thigh and leads it to your underwear. He runs his hand along your spine and leans you forward, pushing your ass out for him as the knife dips into your underwear- dull side up.

With this he slices downwards in one swoop, slicing your panties and causing you to gasp in surprise. You can almost hear the smile on his face as he shushes you and slices one of the sides next.

Your arms shake as they rest against the cold glass of the window and you sit there helplessly as he rids you of the ruined fabric. Once you’re left completely bare, he whistles in satisfaction and leans back.

His hand squeezes your ass cheek appreciatively as the hand with the knife rests at your hip, itching to touch you as well but knowing better than to let his guard down so easily. No matter how well-behaved you've been for him so far.

“Such a pretty thing. I really should keep you to myself.” He hums and bites down on your ear. You hear the knife get tossed beside you onto the wood floor before one of his hands slides into your hair, tangling with the strands there and tugging your neck backward. 

All of a sudden the sound of metal hitting wood meets your ears and you see the knife lying on the floor, a couple of feet from where you two stand. Then his hands are removed from you for mere seconds as he hooks his thumbs into his pants and pushes down, hurriedly shoving his boxers down alongside his jeans.

The sound of his jeans hitting the floor makes your thighs clench and he takes notice immediately. He coos from behind you and you can almost hear the smile on his face through the mask as he slides himself through your folds a few times, teasing you and testing how far gone he’s got you.

Your desperate grinding gives him the only answer he needs and he finally pushes in, groaning at the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

“Shit… You feel so good.” The cool plastic of the ghost mask meets your shoulder as he lays his forehead down against it.

You can’t hold back the whine that builds in the back of your throat and your nails scratch into the glass as much as they physically can as he starts to move already.

“P-Please…” You’re not so sure what you’re asking for. Maybe it was mercy. Or maybe, just maybe, all those months of research about some local town's serial killer were finally paying off.

But who needs to know that? The man behind you is completely oblivious as he pulls his hips back just to drive them back into you. You barely remember it yourself from the way his tip, thick and pulsing, rams into your G-spot.

So much so that you can feel your orgasm sneaking up so much sooner than it usually would. It eventually wracks through your body like a train as the hand in your hair tightens, holding you close to him as he slows his hips to a slow grind.

“Fffuck.. Tight little cunt, baby. But I’m not done just yet.” He picks up his pace once more and uses his free hand to caress your hips, squeezing the flesh there appreciatively before landing a slap against the same area.

He soothes it with another rub, though short-lived before his hand finds its home on your ass cheek. There he lands a series of slaps paired with his muffled moans as you clench around him incessantly.

The hand in your hair finally releases its grip only to find another on the back of your throat again. He uses this one to hold you in place, keeping your cheek pressed flush against the window as he fucks into you with no care.

He continues to use you like his personal fleshlight as he grunts behind you, legs shaking from his oncoming release. The same release that is left deep in your walls, swimming around before dripping out onto your abused folds.

You both moan in unison as you cum around him again, whining at the sharp thrusts that were meant to fuck his seed further into you.

He finally pulls out once your cunt is done milking him and he pulls out a phone from his jeans, snapping a quick photo with flash on before laughing to himself behind his mask.

While he’s occupied with his delusions, you decide it’s time to make your move. 

You push his chest lightly and watch as he collapses onto the couch, head tilted up at you in amusement while his arms settle on the back cushions.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep and breathy, it goes straight between your thighs and you almost moan at simply hearing him like that as well as the confident stance he’s taken. But you have a mission on your mind.

One that includes rushing to pick up the knife from the floor and not giving him a chance to respond before you’re straddling his thick thighs and pressing the knife to his throat.

His arms stay in place on the cushions and he huffs out a laugh in pure amusement, waiting patiently for you to make your next move.

What he didn’t expect was the grinding of your now leaking cunt on his now hardening cock. He moans lowly at the feeling and goes to rest a hand on your hip, only to be met with your hand slapping it away and the other digging the knife into the skin of his neck. Karma.

“I won your game fair and square. So let’s play my game.” Your hand reaches up under the mask and tears it off his face. 

He’s not sure why a potential survivor seeing his face doesn’t worry him. But when his tip catches onto your clit and you hold the knife steady against his neck, he thinks he’s just fallen in love.

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@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess

@dreamingaboutjisung @everythingboutkpop @velvetmoonlght

[emmyrosee]

helloooe i don’t know if u write for gojo (i’m new in your blog and haven’t seen gojo posts lately or maybe i haven’t scrolled far) and saw that your looking for angsty requests, can i request angst as in the different levels of gojo and reader, that gojo is so powerful and that the world constantly needs him so he can’t give reader enough attention, in a way actually hit them both in their relationship?

if not, it’s okay, i hope you’re doing fine!!

GOJO ANGST MY BELOVED-

---

"If you leave, you will come home to an empty house."

The warning falls confidently from your lips, as if premeditated and ready to be released into the air at any given trigger. Satoru stops getting his shoes on and turns to face you. Your eyes hold nothing but exhaustion, eyes under your bags dark and the lifelessness in your face sends a shiver through him. Had you looked so worn out all day?

"What... did you just say?" He whispers, brows pinching in the center in betrayal.

"You heard me. If you leave me right now, without a second thought of my regard, you will come back to nothing from me but my scent and this memory of us."

Thirty seconds ago, he smearing frosting on your nose and when you pushed him away, he’d peppered kisses over your face and fingers dug in your sides. Thirty seconds ago, you'd been interrupted in your baking by the man who would move mountains and swim oceans for you, only for his phone to ring just seconds later, calling him away like it always does.

Thirty seconds ago, he was kissing the laughter from your lips. Now, you’re threatening him.

You're cruel for this predicament, this choice and this bomb to be dropped on him mere seconds from him leaving for who even knows how long. But it doesn’t matter to him. You knew what you were getting into, and it’s not his fault he’s needed more often than not.

You should love him no matter what. As he does you.

He swallows thickly, "don't do this. Not right now."

You shrug, "this is your choice. Not mine. You know my terms.”

Bile rises up his throat and his hands tremble before fisting themselves into a little ball, "this is your choice, you doing this right now when I need to leave-"

“You always need to leave. I’m just sick of it.”

Now, Satoru just feels himself getting angry, "is this ultimatum really necessary right now? You couldn't have waited three damn days-"

"I think you're optimistic in guessing you'll only be gone for three days," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest. He sees the hurt in your features, but he merely shrugs it off as he continues to put on his shoes. “I’m not kidding, Satoru,” you warn. “You leave. I leave.”

“Then leave!” He shouts, hating the way tears sting at his eyes, “do it! I dont need you! You think I do? I’m Gojo Satoru.”

He does. Good fucking god he does, Satoru needs you like he needs water, craves food and forces breath into his lungs, he needs you like he’s paid to and loves you more than himself.

But you can’t know that. Even if not knowing it will drive you away.

You just your lower lip out and shrug, “then leave. Gojo Satoru.”

In desperation, he searches your eyes for something, anything to call your bluff, anything to tell him you’re lying, you won’t leave him. But your eyes tell him nothing, your eyes are closed off and protecting yourself from his venom.

He balls his fists and takes a sharp sniff through his nose in an attempt to ground himself.

“Maybe I will.”

He opens the door before slamming it shut behind him, the vibrations rattling his bones and making him feel even weaker than he was before. He knows that you might slam the door in a not too dissimilar way in but a few hours, cupcakes abandoned and bags packed into your car, leaving your keys in the mailbox and leaving his life for good.

All he can do is hope otherwise.

But in all the lies he can tell himself, that’s one he’s having a hard time believing.

[nmn-yty]

— ๋࣭ ⭑࿐ first time ｡o♡⋆˚｡⋆.

read part 1: here!!!

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: caring for a bunny seemed harder than you thought

tags: 「SFW! fluff! (ik the title is misleading but i promise this is all fluff!) | hybrid!lee know | referring to lee know as minho | soft!lee know (he's even cuter in this one) | hyper lee know>< | bunny bath time! | the neediest bunny ever | another sweet little kiss! | reader has no gender」

word count: 1.7k

a/n: back at it again! ik ive said it so many times throughout my blog but im truly thankful for all the likes and reblogs(◞‸◟)♡ this will not be the last of my bunny lee know endeavor but stay tuned for more hybrid, skz, and kpop stories in the meantime! also keep in mind that ive never owned any pets so the animal behavior is based on memory of things ive seen online, dont come for me pls>< anyways, i hope this one lives up to the hype of the first part, enjoy!!! (also i apologize for not posting sooner><)

+ stylized lowercase, missing punctuation (not done on purpose), and minimal revisions

a few days in and the days seemed to get harder and harder for you. not because minho was causing you any trouble, but because the fluttery feeling in your stomach kept growing the more you spent time with him. it was scary how perfect he was in every way.

you were sitting on your couch enjoying a nice hot drink, when the familiar sound of thumping on the wood floor caught your attention. you looked down to find a playful bunny minho. he was scurrying around your feet, even moving his paws to your legs.

"what's wrong?" you set your drink down on the table in front of you.

minho kept on pawing at your legs. you reached down to pick him up, placing him in your lap.

"i can't understand you when you're in the form, you know?"

he looked up at you with a nonchalant expression, you expected nothing out of him. before you knew it, you had a hybrid minho sitting in your lap bridal style, hands wrapped around your neck. the weight and size change startled you, but he loved to tease you and transform whenever he pleased.

"can i please go outside for a bit?" he was really bouncy and sounded out of breath. you had to remind yourself that he was a wild animal. although you took him in to stay in your house, his animal instincts couldn't be suppressed.

"okay, but only for a little-" he cut your sentence off by changing back into a bunny, still knocking you off guard.

he scurried off your lap and towards the back hallway, scratching at the door for you to open it. he looked back at you with those big dark eyes. they always sparkled perfectly in the right lighting. seeing him being all hyper as an animal was truly so endearing. you've always wanted someone like him in your life. the universe definitely planned out your lives to be intertwined.

you rolled your eyes from his fast movements and got up. the second you opened the door wide enough for him to fit, he dashed out onto the grass. it has still been snowy for the past couple of days, but today the grass held a light layer of snow from earlier that day.

he was hopping around the entire yard, sniffing around bushes, chewing on some of the obtainable food he could get his mouth on. you could see the footprints and tracks beginning to circle around the snow. the whole surface of your yard was being fully inspected by him.

you couldn't help but sit down by the steps of your back porch. hugging your knees in admiration, you followed minho's path all throughout the whole time you were out there. you couldn't help but get flustered about the racing thoughts in your mind. something as simple as watching him be comfortable in his environment made you feel at ease.

what you didn't know was minho found himself wanting to be human more for the both of you. it was exhausting for him at times, but he couldn't help but laugh with you, smile with you, feel with you. he never got to experience these moments with anyone before. he wanted each adventure with you to last for hours.

he looked up to find you staring at him, which made his heart race faster than it normally should. draining energy fast, he flopped on his back, waving his paws and feet in the air. getting a chuckle out of you from the distance, he felt satisfied. the sudden urge to dig overwhelmed his thoughts, getting back to his feet and digging straight down from where he was standing.

luckily, you had your mind to distract you from his actions. he started to go feral, getting the dirt and snow all over his face.

drifting away from your daydream, you found your white fluffy bunny turning brown from the dirt and snow.

"minho, no!" you quickly ran over to him, making him realize he was likely in big trouble. thinking two steps ahead, he dove out of your attempt to grab him. shocked and stunned, you still chased after him. he was running steadily back towards the house. the universe was on your side though, as the back door was closed and all minho could do was try to reach up and grab the handle. however, being in his small form, he failed miserably.

"cmon silly," you bent down to grab the squirming animal in your arms, the warmth from your body making him docile and shut down.

once you got to the bathroom upstairs, you gently set minho on the floor. his eyes were slowly closing and he tried his best to keep them open again. before he could fall asleep, he jolted himself awake, which unfortunately turned him into his hybrid form.

"do you want me to take my clothes off so you can bathe me?"

his question made you whip your head around in shock, stuttering nonsense to try and distract yourself from the image of himself being naked in front of you.

"dont be difficult... turn into a bunny so i can wash you quickly."

he let out a small whine, almost like it was his plan all along to get dirty and have this scenario go his way.

you crossed your arms and gave him a dissatisfied look. you weren't really mad at him, you just wanted the day to end quicker so you two could snuggle in bed together.

one big movement turned him small again, he hopped onto your legs, as you had knelt down to get comfortable. you turned on the water in your bathtub and ran some warm water about two or three inches from the bottom. placing him inside the tub, you grabbed a cup to scoop up the water onto his body. the first rinse was quick, he even shook some water off himself like a dog which made you smile.

the scrubbing process also went by fast, working your fingers gently through his coat, the dirt coming off completely. you picked up the cup again, filling it with water. washing the soap away, he shook his body again, trying to dry up as fast as he could.

"calm down minho! ill dry you off in a second."

the water beginning to flow down the drain, you picked up a sopping wet minho from the tub and placed him on the rug next to you. the towel to dry him was hanging on the side of the tub. you laid it flat against your lap, picking him up again and placing him on top of the towel.

you wrapped him up in the towel, trying your best not to cover up his face. you patted and rubbed the cloth into his body, making sure to cover all the spots. his ears, his tail, and his paws all becoming dry and fluffy again.

he hopped off of your lap, turning to his hybrid form. this time you expected something from that big of a leap. you were starting to learn and master his behaviors. he was sat on the floor facing you. for some reason, his hair and ears were still wet in this form. he held one of his ears out, squeezing it to wring out the remaining water off himself. you got to your knees and threw the towel over his head. going a little harder this time, you scrubbed his hair dry to the best of your ability. you noticed him closing his eyes in comfort, especially when you got to his ears.

he looked up at you through his messy hair. he hummed softly, he was so happy you were taking such good care of him. not noticing at all, when you removed the towel his bunny ears went away. he was noticeably more dry and your job was done. you turned around slightly to drape the towel on the tub again.

he let out a cute yawn, so ready to flop into bed and get some sleep. when you turned back around you couldn't help but notice some brown specks on his face. did he have freckles this whole time and you were just too star struck to notice? you reached out to rub his face, making him freeze and have his full semi-conscious attention to your actions. the specks turned to brown streaks against his skin.

"youve been digging so much in the dirt, come here."

he scooted over to you, patiently waiting for anything to happen next. you realized now his nose and cheeks were lightly covered in dirt. you reached over for a new towel and quickly turned the faucet on to run some water on it. swiping the warm cloth on his cheeks, his face became very pink. you didn't know if it was because of the pressure you applied to his face, or if he was actually having some emotional reaction to this.

his gaze was so sensual, almost like his mind had gone to mush and he could only display emotions of pure submission. his thoughts became chaotic, trying to resist the urge to tackle you and have you all to himself.

after a while you could feel your face burning up, scared about any of his next moves or words.

"why are you looking at me like that?" the dirt was almost gone. you moved closer to his face, only inches away in order to get the last bits off.

minho didn't answer you, instead he stared more intensely at you, patiently waiting for you to finish. putting the towel down, you gently rubbed the wetness off his face. even more skin to skin contact was making him lose control. the hue of pink showing from his face becoming almost cartoon like.

"mm tired," his eyes began to droop again. he wanted his last conscious thought to be that he was secure next to you. as dramatic as ever, he laid out his body in your lap, slowly beginning to drift off and finally recharge.

this feeling was starting to become a natural occurrence in your daily lives. whether he was a small bunny, a cute hybrid, or a human who could actually sweep you off your feet, you had him. he felt safe around you and wanted to be near you. using one hand to meet his hand, rubbing it gently to soothe him, you used your other hand to play with his hair. even as a human, he was still soft and cuddly. you bent down to place a small kiss on his head, making him nuzzle himself deeper into you.

part 3 is up! click here!!!

♥︎taglist: @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lunathewonyoungstan @syedazarintasnim @yourlocalstayyxi @mmarusa @yukichan67 @qwonyoung23 @cupidcures @verynormalsstuff @leezanetheofficial

© nmn-yty ★ 6.07.2024

[catatombi]

beware of fang

Hey, im gonna say it outright and state that this is a call out. people get called out for being dangerous. fangs nearly pushed 3 people to commit suicide(including myself) and i had to be hospitalized because of him, so this feels justified. Im sorry if you disagree, ill keep it short and to the point If you’ve been a long time follower of his im sure you’ve seen his vague posts about his ex friends, the cotl tumblr community and “fandom drama” with little to no context behind it, other than various people appearing on his DNI. his vague nature in the posts is intentional, he doesn't want to let on that he was abusing his friends. Ive tried time and time again to write something but it never seemed right, like what he’s done to me and my friends wasn’t severe enough to warrant something like this, but it is and i don't want to let this go any longer, esp not when he has my friends, their names, usernames and literal contact information in his DNI list Over the last year ive been friends with fang hes been horrible. Hes never changed and refuses to acknowledge what hes done to his friends and how horribly he has hurt them, to keep this short im keeping this bullet pointy Here is his carrd, he has everything neatly outlined for yall to block on every platform Dont harass, dont contact. all of this is public information so https://web.archive.org/web/20240713073710/https://fanged-info.carrd.co/#boundaries

https://fanged-info.carrd.co/ Twit: FFANGEDD / narilamb_ / mewhenimsilly Insta: ffangedd / narilamb Tumblr: ffangedd / fanged-cotl / fanged-xeno Cara: narilamb Blusky: fanged / narilamb Itaku: fanged Artfight: FANGED Toyhouse: FFANGEDD Sheezy: fanged Discord & telegram: narilamb All the people mentioned have given consent Cw !!! abuse, suicide, self harm https://drive.google.com/drive/u/2/folders/1MLMOT-qvgrX-9NnUEgpl4AkEPfixy2wG

The drive is a bit out of date, as I logged it all before april. Hes posted more awful shit and vented to me again since then Feel free to request the letter i wrote to him, i might share it anyway because it sums up my thoughts on the matter If you want any additional context feel free to ask

Fang uses suicide and self harm threats to control and manipulate his friends, hes begged me for assisted suicide and when i refused to help him commit he begged in groupchats. He begged on instagram stories as well as twitter, so much so that his twitter for suspended for 12 hours. He has admitted to wanting someone to commit suicide with him and has previously formed suicide pacts and nearly followed through on one with a friend. fang backed out first. he continues to redirect blame. refusing to take accountability for his actions. He still blames his previous medications, his ex psychiatrist, his self diagnosed BPD & OCD, psychosis, and states of beings from disorders he doesn't have (claiming to be manic or sociopathic whilst not having bipolar1 or ASPD) fang blames his (ex)friends, claiming they were projecting their mental illness onto him when they were just reacting to his abuse, that they the ones in the wrong and that how they treated him/cut him off was vile and unfair, and believes that he never got real closure when he did. it just wasn't what he wanted to hear and now feels entitled to an apology from these people when all he’s ever done is traumatize and terrorize them. He describes the amount in which he has cut over pavi, wart and kat because what they put him through and how they traumatized him. The traumatizing actions were: Kat asking for a content warning, pavi didn't want to walk on eggshells anymore and blocked him without an explanation & wart blocked him after being emotionally abused for months Hes described how he would carve their names into his thigh and told me that he will carve my name into his skin when i leave too. He demanded wart and surf choose their “real friends” and cut off their community for him because fang hated that they were being “two-faced” and hanging out with “people who hate him” He would spend hours venting relentlessly and graphically in his friends DMs, demanding their time and attention and expecting immediate replies. His friends are not professionals and shouldnt be expected to be an on-call DIY therapist for him, for hours, without consent. Fang has said he is completely unwilling to self censor for other peoples safety fang has vented to a 13 year old (they were not hiding their age) He referred to me (and our friends) as a phone person, a voice, icons. Concepts he can talk. Completely dehumanizing everyone that cared about him even to their faces. He blames his ex friends for his poor mental health and has said he wishes they watched him commit suicide, he wanted his friends to be traumatized from this (as if they werent already.) When a friend posted a screenshot of a gamenight to tumblr he had a breakdown so severe and so dangerous for so long that several of his friends has to mute the DM to keep themselves safe from his verbal abuse and suicide/SH threats He doesn't care about how triggering any of this can be for someone and will subject anyone (including people in danger) to his “venting” He didnt care about triggering me and contacted me at the worst of my suicidality in january and exasperated the danger i was in so severely I had to be hospitalized against my will before I could commit suicide. 

Im honestly not entirely sure what to even think. he knew the severity of my suicidality. he knew I had been hospitalized for an attempt in 2022, and still he chose me, probably the most vulnerable of his friends at the time to vent that heavily too back in janurary Hes a dangerous selfish person whos proven over and over that hes not getting better and isnt willing to change, i honestly had hope when he slowed down his graphic vent posts and victim blaming on twitter and insta but he decided to say fuck all and get right back into his shit train of shame and misery. Heres a link to all of the screenshot, damning ones are in important bitz if you’re not interested in going through them all https://drive.google.com/drive/u/2/folders/1MLMOT-qvgrX-9NnUEgpl4AkEPfixy2wG in these screens alone he: admits to sending his cuts to his friends, threatens to cut if i leave, admits that he was going to go through with a duel suicide and begged me for assisted suicide

warts screenshots v

full screenshots & complete context in the drive as for him claims that i was stalking him: i was scared, i was his friend. i tried so hard to be good enough and never was. the screens were a by product of confiding in my friends about what was happening and the drive was made to share w/ them i admit i prolly shouldve combed out some of it but, ykno also big phat apology for tagging cotl!!!!! only did bc fang has, please stay safe everyone, and thank you so much if you have read everything (the doc encase anyone was wanting it ! figured i;d just use tumblr regular posting method) https://docs.google.com/document/d/17QjXUEdQVd8c4GZS--vPo-xR3kgmoLl4ZmN3ROMutg0/edit?usp=sharing

edit as of 8:30pm 7/17/24 here is a link to pavi's response warts response and kats response

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .3 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 9.9k (holy shit) warnings: none for now?? hot wonwoo, lowkey obsessed wonwoo, seungcheol featuring!! y/n does like kinda get hurt (you'll see) but nothing like bad, a lot of crying?? sorry i make y/n cry so much, ᴀ/ɴ: i told myself i would post this like three days ago but i just finished the last part so here you go!! sorry sorry sorry for the delay! im also trying to go through requests at the same time so if i like dont answer for a while i promise im writing it!! just wait!! anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo 

The palace feels extraordinarily wistful tonight. 

His coat trails after him in the dark of the night. He shouldn’t be awake at this hour. It’s unhealthy, or whatever Hoshi had told him for the years when he was on the battlefield. He couldn’t help it. It was a coping mechanism of sorts. His mind would spend the day experiencing everything that happens and would spend the night sorting and processing through each and every event. And on those days where the empty company of his desolate, cold commander’s tent seemed too loud, he would take a long evening stroll around the camp grounds, brushing it off as an evening check-up on the midnight-round soldiers who seemed more asleep than himself. 

He thought the systems of his mind would have adapted to Society’s peace by now. 

Apparently not, because he found himself in a random hallway in the royal palace, thin rays of the moon streaming in through the windows and the midnight air chilling him, even through his layers. 

He hasn’t ever seen the palace so silent before. 

When he was younger, running the hallways of the palace with Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Hoshi, he had always remembered it to be bright, sunny, almost over-crowded with laughter and giggles from the maids and royal court officials who would pass by the halls frequently. Now, in the cover of a twilight moon and a midnight blanket of stars, the palace was almost eerily, strangely quiet. Silent, almost. Each flickering lantern casts soft yellow shadows along the stone and tapestry walls, illuminating the bare minimum of each section of the hallways. 

He prefers it like this, he thinks. Alone. 

Alone with the clangs and clashes of swords. Alone with the cries and yells of his far-away officers, now sleeping peacefully, forever. Alone with the tears that were spilled on off-handed solitary nights over old parchment letters. Alone with the burden of duty that seems to haunt him wherever he goes. 

He turns a corner. 

He prefers it this way. And maybe he was-

He stops in his weary tracks. 

He notices her fluttering hair first. First her dark hair that flutters with the icy winter wind from the opened window that she leans against. Then her rather thin-looking shawl that leaves nothing of her nightgown up to anyone’s imagination. And then lastly, how the moonlight shines an ethereal glow upon her face, tilted up towards the stars, lost in thought. Her posture is tense, almost as if she is expecting something to jump out of the shadows at this hour of the night. 

Well, him, technically, he guesses. But still. 

He stands, rooted to his place, as she shivers with a small breeze. One side of her shawl slips down her shoulder, but she makes no move to adjust it back up her shoulder. Almost as if she does not notice it. Her hands remain folded in front of her on the windowsill. A small hand-held lantern rests almost forgotten on the corner. 

He hesitates. Every fiber of his body begs for him to take a step closer – to take in her perfume again, to run his fingertips down her porcelain skin again, to make up for the time he had given up. 

Joshua’s words ring in his ears. 

If you really like her, you would do something. 

He takes a step closer. 

“It’s late.” 

Y/n whips around, a hand on her chest and another on the windowsill, surprised by the sudden sign of another person. The way her face slightly falls as she turns back to the window pinches Wonwoo’s heart. 

“It seems the palace is enduring a restless night,” she replies. But her words are clipped – voice soft and light but tone careful. As if she is afraid of him getting too close. 

Wonwoo takes another step, then another, and then another, until he stands behind her, leaving just enough room for another person. His eyes dart to her hands that rest against the ledge. There are white bandages, starkly contrasting against the dark stones of the palace walls, that wrap themselves around her hands. His brows furrow. 

His chest tightens. He feels his hands close into fists at his side. He tries to keep his voice casual – keep his worry from seeping in too much with his words, “What happened to your hands?” 

Y/n stiffens as her gaze drops. Her hands slowly move in to tuck into the folds of her thin shawl. “Nothing worth mentioning,” she murmurs. 

Wonwoo tries his best to force down some sort of disappointment at her short response. Her obvious attempt at pushing him away. 

For a good reason, too. 

No. 

Fix this. 

Another breeze drifts through the opened window. Y/n shivers, tightening her hold over her shawl. 

Before he can even think through his actions, Wonwoo’s hands are reaching for his coat. In the next second, when he finally realizes what he is doing, his coat is already over y/n’s shoulders, draping it over her bare skin. In a desperate attempt to prolong his distance, his fingers linger on her shoulders, smoothening the fabric over the curve. 

“It’s cold,” he murmurs. He waits for her rebuke, a snark, a comment, or a shove of his coat to his chest, but it never comes. Instead, he sees her fingers curl around the fur and pull it tighter around her. Something, deep inside of him, lights in a proud flame, seeing her draped in his furs. 

Y/n suddenly scoffs. “Is this part of your duty too?” Wonwoo easily picks up on the bitterness her voice is laced with. 

As much as Wonwoo tries to ignore the underlying stab at him, her words still sting. The words are laced with a certain pain he wished he could erase. Instead, he has become the cause of it. 

Fix it. 

“Not everything I do is duty,” Wonwoo pauses, unsure of whether to continue, “your grace.” 

Y/n stills, before a laugh is ripped from her throat. It sounds so genuine Wonwoo is almost taken aback. “What did you just call me?” she huffs, giggles flowing out of her mouth she tries to stop. 

Wonwoo can’t help the smile that spreads across his own lips at her laughter. “Your grace?” 

Why was that funny?

“God,” y/n sighs, turning to finally look at him over her shoulder. Her cheeks are a rosy red and her lips are glossed, eyes wishful for a second. “I’ve never heard you call me that before.” 

Wonwoo perks up. “Do you prefer me call you that?” 

Y/n shakes her head almost vehemently. “God, no. That would be terribly formal,” she argues. 

Wonwoo cocks his head. “But you call me that, y/n.” 

She freezes, laughter dying in her throat. “That’s-” she clears her throat, “That’s different.” 

And just like that, she stands away from him, expression guarded again. 

A blanket of silence falls between them before Wonwoo breaks it. 

“Everything I do is not just duty.” His words are firmer this time. Rooted deeper in his own conviction. 

She looks at him, eyes unreadable again. “Am I?” her voice is soft, almost as if she’s testing him. 

The question, oddly vulnerable, hangs heavy in the air – fragile and sharp. She looks especially delicate at this moment. As if one wrong word from his mouth can break her from the inside. His heart tugs painfully at the anguish he can puzzle together in her eyes. He steps closer, closing the remaining distance between them. His eyes hold hers and he wonders if she can see the longing swimming in his eyes. 

“Am I, Wonwoo?” she repeats. Every utterance of his name falling from her sweet, saccharine lips makes him feel like he’s falling for her again. 

“No,” he shakes his head. He tries to weave in every ounce of conviction into his next words, “No, y/n, you’re not.” 

They stand in silence. Y/n against the windowsill, Wonwoo in front of her. For a moment, he feels as though the silence can convey everything he had ever wanted to say to her. They stand in silence, their breaths mingling in the cold night air. Wonwoo stares into her eyes, his metal-frame glasses slipping down his nose. Her cheeks are flushed and he can’t help but think how breathtaking she looks – haloed by the moonlight, wrapped in his coat, hair cascading down, strands tickling her face. 

She breaks eye contact first, glancing down at the coat that wrapped her shoulders. “You left, Wonwoo.” When she looks back up, her eyes seem glassy, glazed over with unshed tears she refused to let out. 

Wonwoo’s throat tightens at her expression. She seems so pained. So frightfully alone that he wants to pull her in an embrace – gather her up in his arms and never let her go. Never let her go. A voice nags in the back of his mind. 

See? No good for her. You're making her cry. Fucking again. 

“Y/n,” he trails off, hand reaching for her before he physically has to force it down. Now, he is the one whose gaze drops. “Fuck, don't look at me like that,” he mumbles. 

Y/n lets out a bitter sort of laugh. “Like what, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo looks up and he can't help but feel a thick pressure behind his eyes. “I never meant to- to cause you pain,” he tries to explain, but his voice catches on the lump in his throat. “I- I have never wanted to cause- to be the cause of your- your misfortunes. Or your pain. I've only ever wanted to-” he cuts himself off. Eyes pained. If he says this now, y/n would probably scoff in his face. 

I've only ever wanted you, he wants to say, but he bites it down. 

There is now something else in her eyes. He can see it for a split second before it disappears back into the depths of her irises. When he searches her eyes for it again, she suddenly seems so vulnerable. As if she is finally letting him in. 

“I was sincere,” he starts, stepping ever so slightly closer, “at the ball.”

Y/n lets out a huff. “Before or after you kissed me?” Her face is hard again and Wonwoo wants to curse himself out. 

He runs a hand through his hair. “No, um,” he swears under his breath, “before I-” his cheeks heat and he averts his gaze, “-I kissed you,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah,” she says, “fat amount of good you kissing me did.” 

Wonwoo winces. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes. “I really am. I just-” 

Y/n suddenly covers his mouth with her hand. She shakes her head. “Stop talking.” She reaches for her lantern. “Come talk to me after you've sorted out your own thoughts, your grace.” She turns down the hall. “You said you do not view me as a duty?”

Wonwoo nods. “Yes, of course.”

Y/n gives him one look over her shoulder. Even then, Wonwoo cannot help but swallow at how his coat envelopes her figure. 

Her eyes seem more desolate in the shadows of the hall. “Then why does it feel that way?” she whispers before she turns and walks away, down the hall. Away from him. 

Again. 

y/n

It is by pure coincidence that you hear your name outside of Sungcheol’s study a couple of days after your rather forced midnight escapade with Wonwoo. 

However, it is by your choice that you stay, ear pushed up against the rather thin oak doors that are slightly ajar, a soft yellow light seeping out, listening into a conversation that apparently concerns you. 

“...marriage to …” 

Your brows furrow at the words. Marriage? Why did marriage have anything to do with you? And then you remember it’s Seungcheol. Him and his obsession with seeing you marry before he gets married. Before he opens the entirety of your powers. At this point, after everything, you might as well turn in a resignation letter or something, because you weren’t quite sure how you were supposed to survive high Society after the event a week ago. 

And you know. You’re listening to a private conversation of two men, one of whom is the king. But you couldn’t help yourself. It was like something rooted you to your position, brows furrowing as you tried to pick up all the words. 

“But why?” The voice sounds oddly familiar. “You’re not married. I’m not …marriage … who?” The sentence is chopped up but you can loosely string together a translation in your head. 

You recognize Seungcheol’s frustrated sigh. “Friend,” he mutters, “Wonwoo,” he groans. 

You freeze. 

The world around you comes to a standstill. 

You want to laugh at your continued stroke of misfortune. You and your fate’s delectable horrid need for pushing you towards someone you swore off years ago.  

“You can’t keep running from this. The elders want you to get married – preferably to someone with equal or around the same standing as you,” Seungcheol continues, and you feel your chest tighten. This feels like a page out of one of your conversations with the king. “I’m not even going as far as saying a love marriage, Woo. I cannot give you full title and power over your duchy until you do, you know this. An arranged one, a contractual one, a construct only, I don’t care.” It sounds so familiar it gives you shivers. “Just get married. If not to y/n, then to someone else. I’m not saying this again, Woo. Last time was your first warning from the council elders. This is your second from me.” 

“... I can’t. Cheol do you know how hard it is to get-” 

“-yes. I do. But you cannot take on the full title and powers without it, Wonwoo. I cannot control that.” 

A groan. Your foot taps against the floor. “I don’t know who-”

“-Y/n.” 

Seungcheol’s utterance of your name makes your heart stop in its cage of ribs. Your mouth goes dry and you finally realize the gravity of the conversation you just walked yourself into. 

Why doesn’t he ever just close his door when talking to someone?

“You know as well as I do, Wonwoo,” Seungcheol continues, a rare softness in his tone, “that the title of Archduke Jeon isn’t simply yours by name. The council has strict expectations—and right now, they expect you to marry.” He says the entire thing so matter-of-factly that you can’t even protest against it. Well, that and the fact that the exact thing was happening to you, but perhaps maybe less. Just a little bit. 

“Was all of that night because of your marriage?” Seungcheol asks. 

You backstep, blood running cold. 

What? 

Wonwoo’s next words almost tear your unassuming heart into shreds. 

“... it was.” His voice is hard. “My claim … based … marital status…” 

Seungcheol sighs. The noise shakes you to your core. 

There was absolutely no way a human could be this cruel. No way he could ever be this cruel to you. You had to mean more to him than just another duty he had to fulfill. You had to because if you weren’t even the smallest parts of you that had waited for him during the mundane pieces of life would seem so meaningless. So hellbent on your societal ousting. 

You had to be hearing something wrong. 

“Whatever you have with y/n…”

“...nothing.” 

You hear a chair scrape. It scrapes with it the remnants of your heart. You can hear it shatter onto the floor again, the pieces now so small you cannot be bothered to pick them up. There are pieces that lodge in the corners of your lungs, blocking blood vessels as cells carry oxygen into your head. Your hand grasps the wall in a desperate attempt to ground yourself

What did you even expect?

Seungcheol clicks his tongue. “You have a duty, Wonwoo. If not to yourself, then to this country, to the ducal people, to your king.” You hear the scatterings of paper. “And I advise that you fulfill that before you move on to more ambitious fulfillments.” 

That was what you were. Fulfillments. A solution for his aggravating empty ducal responsibilities. 

That was everything you were in their eyes. No, in his eyes. In his eyes, you were a means to an end. A sense of duty he felt that he had to accomplish. And of course he would go for you. Of course he would march back into your life like he had never left. Of course he would have kissed you under the moonlit twilight, not a care in the world about if anyone could see you two. 

Because he would have heard. He would have known everything already. He would have known your scandals, your engagements, your whereabouts in Society – how you were one scandal away from no prospective marriages – one scandal away from losing everything. 

You feel bile creep up your throat. 

Were you only duty for him the entire time? The entire fucking time?

Were you only a means to an end, a convenient solution, another Society whore in the rough for him? 

All this time?

You feel like your lungs are caving in. 

Your hand goes up to knock. 

Your knuckles rap against the wooden door. 

It creaks open. 

Creeeaaaaak. 

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both whip around. 

You bow:

Low, respectful, dutiful. 

You try to mask your sniffles with a quiet cough. 

“The nation’s humble servant greets the king,” you murmur. You are still in your bow when you feel a tear roll down your cheek. Your nails dig crescents into the meat of your palm. 

“Y/n?” Seungcheol pushes off of his desk, making his way over to you. You can picture his look of confusion painted on his face when you don’t rise from your low bow. It’s not like you, you know. You usually bring him into a warm embrace, a smile on your face. You usually give him a teasing bow. 

But you can’t look up right now. If you do, you know you’re going to break down sobbing in the middle of the royal study room. If you do, you’re so afraid of meeting his cold sharpened eyes and recognizing none of the imagined emotions you had found four nights ago. You’re so afraid you were terrifyingly wrong. 

Seungcheol stops right in front of you. From your line of vision, you can see the toes of his shoes. 

“Y/n.” His voice seems much more urgent, as if he’s worried. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” 

Your nails dig further into your palms. You feel the tips rip open the first thin layer of skin. You can feel tears welling against your waterline. How could his words feel so real?

“Your highness,” you whisper. Your hoarse voice echoes through the room. You can almost feel Seungcheol’s startle backstep at your sudden title. “I apologize for intruding on your conversation, but I feel as though I will not be able to attend our afternoon tea today.” 

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. 

You can feel warm tears drip down your bowed face. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your brain feels foggy. You feel foggy. 

“Why not?” A warm hand is placed on your shoulder, trying to force you up, but you refuse to budge. Seungcheol sighs. “Y/n, look at me. What’s wrong, kid?” 

Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip. Hard. The habitual nickname digs a sharp blade into your throat. “I just-” 

At that moment, your nails, which you had forgotten were still tight against your skin barrier, finally break through the last of the tension, stabbing into your palms. There is a surge of pain before the crescents fill with warm, wet, dark blood. 

“Ow,” you mumble. When you slowly open your hands, your palms are dark red. You finally lift yourself up, meeting Seungcheol’s eyes, which blow wide at your tear-streaked face. But he does not say anything. You move your hands behind you. 

“Why are you-” Seungcheol cuts himself off with a quick glance behind him. Your eyes trail his, only to see Wonwoo sitting rigidly straight, facing the other way, at Seungcheol’s desk. “-Nevermind. Why can’t you attend tea?” Seungcheol pouts. 

You swallow, mustering a small smile. Just big enough for Seungcheol to not worry. “You know. Duties. I think-” you heave in a breath, “-I think it will be best for me to head down to my estate in a couple of days, you highness.” 

It is evident Seungcheol does not enjoy your continued usage of his title because his nose scrunches and his pout deepens. “Already? You just got here,” he whines. 

You hum, eyes darting to Wonwoo’s form at the desk. He isn’t looking, but you know he can hear every single word. “It’s been a while since I’ve been down at the duchy. Plus,” you add, “I do not want to intrude on guests who feel as though I am merely a duty to be fulfilled.” Your words come out much more scathing, and when you glance at Wonwoo’s turned figure, it is frozen in place. 

Seungcheol does not get the hint because he suddenly grabs your shoulders, gently shaking you. “Who is saying that? I’ll have them exiled,” he huffs. His big arms cross across his chest. You can’t help but break out into a genuine smile. “What?” he asks, sniffing. “You come before this country,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You tilt your head. “So, actually, no, I do not,” you laugh. One last look at Wonwoo, who is tapping his foot. You swallow down the rest of your tears and force a grin. “God, you need to get yourself a wife, Seungcheol,” you hum, patting his bicep. 

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Needa find you a husband first. Then we’ll talk about my love life, Miss Cupid,” he retorts, shaking his head. “Won’t you come to tea?” 

You shake your head no. “I’ll see you around, your highness.” You spare one fleeting glance towards Wonwoo, steeling yourself. “Your grace. I apologize for my intrusion again.” You bow before you can see Wonwoo turn at your sudden calling of him. 

You step towards the door before stilling. “Oh, and if I may,” you clear your throat, “perhaps close your door in the future, your highness? You would not want unassuming,” a pause, “passerbys listening into rather private conversations.” 

With that, you close the door behind you with a soft click. 

You miss Wonwoo’s gaping mouth and Seungcheol’s taken-aback stare that you leave in your wake. 

However, you do hear one sentence before you make your way down the hall: 

“Fuck, Seungcheol, what am I gonna do?” 

That and the shattering of your glass heart you had carefully glued together three years ago. Every step you take, further into the palace, leaves broken shards in its wake. 

When you reach up, fingers brushing over your cheeks, you feel a warm wetness. Its excruciatingly amusing, really, that you keep fucking yourself over with the same man. Same stupid stupid man with the same stupid fucking face.

Him with his dark hair. Him with his glasses. Him with his gentle smile, low voice, dimpled cheeks. Him with his stupid old letters that are in a meticulously organized pile in a drawer back at your estate. Him with his fast-beating heart under your hand during the ball. Him with his piercing eyes that you can’t help but blush under. Him with his knack of squeezing your poor naive heart until it explodes into shattered glass pieces. 

You forcefully rub at your eyes, tears coming out of you in staccatoed sobs and gasps of breath. You probably sound ridiculous, gut-wrenching sobs escaping your covered mouth as you stop in the middle of a hallway, one hand against the wall as you slide down, skirt covering your legs. You must seem crazy, insane, as a lady of your standing to drop into such an alarming position in the middle of the royal palace’s hallway. 

But you can’t help it. You can’t help the tears pouring down your face, the throaty gasps of breath as your hand clutches at your heart. You can’t help your fists slamming into the brick walls until you can physically feel the stone breaking your layer of skin. And you can’t help but lean back against the cool stone, staring up at the painted ceilings of the palace, wet tracks marking every tear you shed because of him. 

And you don’t even know why you’re crying in the first place, anyways. This concept, this dreadful soliloquy of duty, of honor, of responsibility has always followed you. Has always followed him. What did you even expect? Maybe, you dread to admit it, but maybe, just maybe there was – still is – a part of you that got excited at his sudden return from the battlefield. Maybe there was a part of your heart that still longed for something, a lost spark, a reunited kind of flame, to blaze to life again the moment you two locked eyes in the ballroom. Maybe there is still a piece of you – naive and stupid – that wants to run to Wonwoo, tears in your eyes, and pour out your soul. Confess to him the extent of your missing him. Confess to him the deeper, chained parts of your memories.

Maybe that part of you still wants to let him know the space he took up in your thoughts, your everyday routine, your unconscious spirit. Still wants to let him know how violently, terrifyingly your heart shattered when twenty-year-old you, still new to Society, still new to the idea of a responsibility, of a duty, heard him and Seungcheol talk about him leaving. Leaving into the battleground of bloodied wilderness – back to the northern borders of his duchy, and thus the country. Leaving the Capital, leaving his life, leaving you for something as measly as duty? 

And you could live with it. You swear. 

If it was just that – if it was just him leaving and never coming back to face Society again, you could do it. You think you could have powered through the rest of your noble life. You would have probably settled for some second-rate high-class noble who could bring, at least, value to Seungcheol’s life in the royal courts, if not yours. You would have given birth to two children and would have then gone down south to your sprawling country estate you hadn’t been to since you were twenty. And you would go down and see the nostalgic halls that chronically had sunlight beaming down on the limestone columns. You would have gone down and seen the visages of your younger self, running, laughing, tripping, and then falling in love with a man you thought you had erased from your life forever. You would have raised your children peacefully with Nai and a governess, teaching them subjects your father had not taught you when you were six and ten. Then, maybe you would have died a peaceful death – loved by at least, hopefully, Seungcheol, Mingyu, Joshua, and your children, if not your husband, living on in memories as the one noble lady who resolutely carried her burdens with a smile. The one who was untouchable, the one who sacrificed her dreams for the duty she wore like a heavy crown.

You would have been okay with the slow burn of regret over the years. You would have turned it into something manageable, something to grow old with in your desperate solitude. 

And you would have been okay. You would have lived on like he didn’t – never – existed. 

But then he came back. 

He came back like a ghost of your past you had just finally laid to rest. He came back like a phantom resurrected with the only purpose being to torment you with the memories you had buried meticulously in each polished hallway, echoing ballroom, whisper of silk, hurried glances, judgemental eyes of Society. 

You hug your knees close, face burying as you try to hide your tear-streaked face, gasping pathetically into the silence of the palace hallway. Suddenly, the very idea of knowing what he had felt – every glimmer of hope, every wishful unspoken feeling, every lonely night you spent dreaming of a different life – was all constructed. That all of your naive daydreams were for nothing. Wonwoo’s words ripped through your psyche, like sharpened daggers: “Nothing.” 

How cruel, you think, a laugh bubbling up your throat. How cruel to have meant absolutely nothing to him. To have been reduced to a mere patronizing duty, a role he, as a man, must fulfill because of popular demand. Because the crown required it. Because the court required it. Because you were a convenient solution to such an inconvenient fucking problem. And then he just comes back from his battlefields up north with just a little more pain in his eyes – enough to tear down your walls with just a little bit of help from his stupidly sweet words. And he kisses you.

The slightest brush of his lips – a constructed play of his – it wasn’t real. It was never yours to begin with. It was a ploy into his obligation to his title, his land, his legacy, his duty. 

You feel the coldness of the wintry palace air and the frigid stone floor seep into your skin, mirroring the slow chilling of your soul. There’s a dull jab of pain in your heart. You feel stupid – foolish. Foolish to dream and even more foolish to believe he had come back for you. And now you were to bear the weight of a revelation you knew was coming. A revelation that solidified your position beside him: a duty to shoulder, a burden to silence. A requirement to complete before he advanced to the next stage. Like you had always been with everyone else. 

You don’t know how long you stare into the dull darkness when you suddenly hear a pair of soft footsteps approaching from the dark. You hurriedly collect your breath, your sobs leaving now in small gasps. Your fingers rub almost violently against your eyes, trying to compose yourself. You get to stand up – an archduchess should never be on the floor – but when you look up, the face that stares back at you makes your shattered heart press miserably into your ribs, thudding with traitorous beats of hope. 

It’s unfair how the moonlight glints and reflects and twinkles off of his glasses that sit low on his nose. It’s unfair how he looks at you with a certain sense of grief, of regret, of pained sorrow. 

“Y/n?” 

You stand the rest of your way up to your feet, whipping around to face the other end of the hallway, your scrambled mind trying to come up with some sort of excuse other than “haha, you made me cry!” to tell Wonwoo when he asks the question. 

You start, “I apologize for-”

“-It’s late.” Wonwoo’s voice is thick with some kind of emotion you can’t really understand. “And cold.” An emotion you can’t place your finger on. 

You stay turned to the dark end of the hallway, but you can feel the warmth radiating off of Wonwoo’s body. And when you feel a thick, heavy, warm cloak being placed around your shoulders, you want to tear out your thudding heart and throw it on the floor, stomping on it until it finally bursts – until it finally stops beating for someone who did not want you the same way. Who only saw you as a duty – a wish to be fulfilled. Another box to tick off on his Archduke Requirements. 

“I will live,” you mutter, shrugging off the cloak. The fabric piles to a thick lump on the floor between you and him. You feel like you’re trying to convince yourself. “Perhaps it is time for both of us to return to our chambers, your grace,” you state. But you know Wonwoo can hear you swallow the rest of your tears back, your last breath going in stuttered and gasping. 

Wonwoo is quiet behind you, and you think he’s already left (leaving you to talk to yourself and an empty hallway, which would be rather embarrassing), but you feel his presence again as he leans down – picking up his discarded cloak.

His next words fan over the open expanse of your neck. “I bid you goodnight, then, duchess.” His words are quiet and reserved, and you can hear the small clangs of his sword and the cloak chains hit against each other. For some reason, his parting formality stabs a more piercing pain in you than anything else. 

Perhaps he is also reconsidering.

The next sound you hear is his parting footsteps and a thud against a wall that sounds disturbingly similar to a fist meeting the jagged stones followed by a shudder of an exhale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Technically, you should be at Seungcheol’s tea. Technically, you should be indulging the king in his weekly rant about the royal court members, his prospectives for a wife, his dreadful repetition of his day, the like. And technically, you should be smiling and laughing with him, sipping one of the most expensive tea steeped from the tea leaves from the West. 

But every time you stepped in a hallway a little further from your wing of the palace, you felt a hard lump in your throat, the words that had pierced you last night ringing in your eardrums unfairly loud. 

The library is silent at this hour of the afternoon. The royal court had convened in the morning – a meeting you were conveniently exempt from – and the advisory council had also met just a few hours prior. The maids and servants are busy with meal preparations for supper, the knights have their afternoon training with Mingyu and Soonyoung, and every other guest in the palace is either outside in the gardens or at Seungcheol’s open afternoon tea. 

So the library is quiet. It’s cold and quiet – the kind of quiet that presses against your ears and makes your breath sound a little too loud. The kind that makes you come to a standstill at every scuff of your heels against the carpeted floors.

You’re here under the pretense of finding a book. You had to lie to Nai about liking the quietness of the library and the slanting rays of the winter sun the large windows had to offer. The lie was more the sunlight than anything. You had walked into the library wing thinking reading something, thinking of something other than your tangled mess of emotions stemming from last night, would distract your naive heart from thudding for him again. 

As your fingers graze the spines of the library’s collection, curated by the princess who was off at Reoka finishing her University education, the door creaks open behind you. 

You stiffen. 

This isn’t a common hour to be roaming around, especially as an unfamiliar palace guest. 

You can’t bring yourself to turn around until you hear the soft padding footsteps and the familiar quiet clangs of metal near you. Your heart squeezes before your mind can process who it is as you turn from your place. Under the archway opening to the private collection, where you stood in front of an old bookshelf, Wonwoo stands, silhouetted tall and almost commanding under the shadow of the arch. He almost looks as troubled as you probably do. Almost. 

You turn back to the books, feigning disinterest at his sudden presence. Your fingers pick out the first book you touch by the spine, pulling it out from its home in between the old books. 

“I thought you would be-” Wonwoo’s voice is loud against the once-silent room. 

But your barely-contained words spill out before he can finish and before your mind can catch up to your voice. 

“-I thought you would be off attending more pressing duties, your grace,” you interrupt. You can’t control how icy your words sound and you force yourself to stand facing the windows, staring out into the sparring courtyard where the knights are being led through a drill. “Perhaps fulfilling your own or taking your precious time to remind another of theirs.” 

Wonwoo’s boots, careful footsteps, scuff the carpet, coming to a stop a couple of steps behind you. He makes no move to turn you around, to say anything to you. Instead, you can feel him staring – his heavy gaze boring holes into the back of your head, almost. Grazing up and down your back. 

When the silence becomes almost awkward, he speaks. “I wasn’t aware I needed to inform you of my whereabouts, duchess.” 

Your grip on the book tightens after his last word. The same formality of last night brings up evening memories of the night prior … rather unwillingly. Your hands squeeze the book until the hard spine digs into the wounds on your palms from 2 nights, bandaged with white cotton. 

You lower your head. “Oh, I think you’ve made your priorities clear enough. No reason to inform me of anything when you speak so clearly with your actions, your grace.” 

Although you will your words to not trail off in the end, they do, with the quiet lull of your voice. You let the silence after your words stretch – thick, uncomfortable, taut – between the two of you, letting it densely fill up the atmosphere. 

“It seems you misunderstand,” Wonwoo states, like you definitely said something wrong. Like you were wrong and he was right. His words are softer but not any less firm. 

You let out a hollow laugh, fingers relaxing their hold on the book. “Have I?” Even to you, your words seem accusatory. “Then please, enlighten me on what there is to misunderstand after being reduced down to a convenient solution?” 

You finally turn, meeting his eyes in the wake. They look troubled and your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly at the detailings of the darkness under his eyes, shadowing his face. Behind his glasses, his eyes glint with something you aren’t used to. When he meets your eyes, his expression flickers. 

Frustrated, you think. And you want to laugh. Frustrated. Him. Because of you. 

He steps closer. “A solution? You think you are simply a solution for me?” His voice rises at his utterance of ‘you,’ and you almost flinch back at his sudden rise in voice. 

But when Wonwoo stares at you with frustrated eyes, a flame of indignation sparks in you. Who does he think he is to be frustrated with you? 

You scoff. “What else am I supposed to think?” You surprise yourself, even, with the rise in your own voice, echoing through the library. You can hear the bubbling smoke of the tears from last night in your words. “You suddenly show up – out of nowhere – back into Society, after three years, and suddenly you’re everywhere – talking about some sort of duty and expectation placed on you. Do you think of me as some illiterate or some unhearing noble lady, your grace?” You spit, “Do you think I did not understand what you and Seungcheol were talking about last night? About your marriage, your title, your more aspirational fulfillments after marriage? Do not think of me as stupid, your grace.” 

Your chest heaves with every snarked sentence that escapes your mouth. 

Wonwoo steps closer, eyes glancing down at your bandaged hands. “You think- That wasn’t-”

“-Don’t even,” you laugh, holding up your hand. You hope the desperation in your voice is enough to convince him to stay rooted in his place – no closer to you. Because you think if he comes any closer, you’ll actually snap. “I do think. And what wasn’t, when I heard you so clearly?” Your next words escape you before you have a chance to properly bet on the probability of them being true. “And you’re here following me into the only place I can ask for some peace and quiet for what? Because if you’re going to come up all close to me and hold my waist and kiss me under the stars, your grace, you chose the wrong day to do it.” 

You can visibly see Wonwoo’s jaw tighten, fingers curling slowly into fists. His eyes shut and then open, like he’s physically restraining himself. “That’s not why I’m here,” he mutters, composure so obviously cracked at the thinning edges. 

You cross your arms. “Then why?” 

“I came here because I wanted peace, too,” he says, his voice rough with frustration. “Because this is the one place where I thought I could breathe without feeling like I’m drowning. But apparently, even here, I can’t escape your assumptions about me.” 

He sounds so bitter that you blink, startled by his sudden tone. 

“My assumptions?” You laugh, poking a finger to your chest. “You’re the one who up and left!” You shove a finger into his chest. “You’re the one who made me not even worth a proper fucking goodbye!” 

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow and you immediately know you’re close to crossing some sort of line. “I left because of a reason, Y/n.” His voice is so calm still, compared to yours, that it stokes the fire of your anger.

And there goes his utterance of your name again. 

“Ha!” You laugh, slapping the bookshelf. The sound rings loudly against the quiet privacy of the library.

Wonwoo swallows. “You mean so much more to me than-”

You stand facing him, heart racing again as you feel the word prod at your tongue. “-Don’t do that,” you snap, stepping closer to the Archduke. “Don’t stand there and act like I mean something more to you when I’m simply a solution. You don’t need me, your grace. You need a wife, your title, to make the king happy. Me?” You laugh, and even to your ears, it sounds relentlessly bitter and sharp. “I’m the convenient solution for an inconvenient situation.” 

For a moment, you think your words have actually hurt him, because his face falters. But he quickly masks his expression. However, his lips tug down. Almost as if you had gotten some miniscule detail wrong in the fine print of your words. “Y/n, that’s not-” 

“-Then answer me,” you interrupt, sharp with accusation. “Where do I lie in your list of priorities, Wonwoo? Right after the organization of your troops? After Capital Estate renovations? Or am I closer to the bottom, near the niceties you need to uphold for society?”  

As you stare, the silence is almost deafening – suffocating – with the weight of your question. And you can physically see the guilt that finally swims in his eyes. And he goes to open his mouth but it falls shut soon after, almost as if he does not have anything else to say. And to you, that in itself is answer enough. 

“Exactly.” Your voice is uncharacteristically venomous and Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line. “You know I’m right. I’ve always been second, or third, or fourth to you and your duties.” Your words whip glass shards into the air. 

However, Wonwoo looks at you with a hardened expression, almost as if you had just insulted his honor – his pride. A flicker of pain flashes across his face. He steps closer to you, tone sharper than ever. “You think it’s easy for me?” The intensity behind his words catch you off guard. “You think I can’t– don’t think of you every waking second? That I go a day without regretting every single mistake I’ve made?” 

It must be the distance between you two, because you feel your defenses falling. “Regret isn’t enough,” you retort, mind made up. “You can regret every single thing in life all you want but it doesn’t change anything. Your regrets don’t change how easily you left – how you prioritize everything else over me.” You know. You know how selfish those words sound, but you can’t help them from leaving your mouth.

He flinches hard. The next words that come out border a frustrated yell. “I didn’t have a choice! You think I wanted to leave? To leave you? That I wanted to-”

“-Yes.” Your singular response makes him stop completely, pale cheeks flushed and body stiff. “You chose duty, responsibility. Your perfect little archduke life you always wanted. And now you want me to give back the pieces you shattered? Pieces I’ve spent months gluing back together?” Your voice trembles with anger and you don’t think you’ve ever been this angry. Or frustrated. “Don’t you even dare. I’m done.” 

Wonwoo closes the distance between you two, his breath fanning over your forehead. His fists are curled at his sides, and you know he’s holding back every word he wants to hurl at you. He doesn’t know this, but his emotions are almost palpable on his face whenever he gets worked up. Whenever he thinks the other person is wrong. And right now is no different. You can visibly see his expression change from frustration to desperation to some sort of in-between. 

“You’re done?” he repeats, incredulous. His voice is quiet, sharp, and edged with an unmasked pain. He scoffs. “Is that what you tell yourself to make it easier? That you’re done with me? That you don’t care anymore?” 

He almost leaves you speechless, words cutting into you. A pot of rage – more at yourself than him – slowly bubbles because how could he have figured you out? His stare into your eyes almost makes you give in. But you steel yourself, standing up straighter. 

“I’m done,” you state. It’s such a lie. It’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told, probably. Because if it were up to your heart, you would beg him to stay and stay and stay. Tell him how much you missed him these last few years. Tell him how much he meant to you. But you can’t. “I don’t care about you, us, or what we could have been. So just leave me alone, please. Let me forget you.” I can’t forget you, are the words you whisper to yourself in your head. You wish he could keep coming back. Over and over and over and kiss you under the darkness of the night again and again. But you don’t think you can handle the pain a second time when he leaves. 

Wonwoo stares at you, jaw tight, eyes dark with something now unreadable. You both just stare at each other, caught in the thick tension in the atmosphere. You refuse to back down from his stare, even though every passing second makes your breath come out in harder pants, even though it makes you dreadfully aware of your strangled breaths. Then, as if he’s forcing his entire body to retreat, Wonwoo takes one step back. Then another. Then another. 

“Whatever you want,” he says. His voice is cold, final. 

You try desperately to ignore how his words chill you to the bone. “It is,” you whisper, voice distant. Every word coming from your mouth feels like a big fat lie. 

Wonwoo exhales sharply, hand raking through his dark hair. You think he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t, instead turning to leave. And a small part of you shakes in fear because what if he’s giving up. But then the rational part of your mind hits it over and over until it is semi-buried inside your memories. His boots echo every step and the sound rings through your entire being. Just as you think he’s leaving, he stops, hand resting on the archway. 

“I’m not giving up on you – on us,” he states with so much confidence you might as well think you are already married or something. His voice is steady, filled with some sort of intensity that makes your heart ache desperately to run into his arms. “No matter how much you push me away and lie to yourself.” 

Then he leaves through the archway, down the hall and out the door. The oak doors slam shut behind him, leaving silence in its wake. Your chest heaves with anger, confusion, and something else. Something that feels too much like grief or regret or another one of those feelings. 

You stand there, rooted to your spot, forcing each breath out of you, but the chaos inside your mind won’t settle. Even after everything, all you can think about – wish about – is how much easier it would be if you would just let him back in. If you could just forgive him – him and everything he ever did. If you could just (keep) love (ing) him again. 

But you won’t. You can’t. Not when you know right now that he’ll always leave you behind. Whether or not the reasoning is chivalrous or not. 

You wake up the next morning to sunlight streaming through your curtained window and puffy eyes. Nai is already busy in your room, tucking the curtains out of the way of the streaming sunlight with practiced hands and tidying up the room. You eye your clothes strewn on the floor – the ones you had thrown off after going back to your room late last night from a long frigid walk in the royal gardens – with guilt as Nai picks them up, throwing them in the hamper she carries. 

“Sorry,” you sheepishly murmur, sliding out of your bed legs-first. Your feet immediately touch the fur slippers Nai had put out for you. 

Nai just looks up, a radiant but confused smile blushing her lips. “Your grace?” 

You sigh, padding over to the loveseat by the window, a blanket draped over you. “You know, for the clothes, the mess, everything,” you hum, forehead meeting the cold glass pane. You can hear, distinctly, the clangs of swords coming from the sparring grounds. Your fingertip draws small animals onto the frosted glass, fogged over by the juxtaposing warmth and coldness. 

 Nai laughs. “My lady, this is a rather trifling matter to apologize for. And I will need to not take up on your apology for that reason.” 

Your heart warms at her words. “Thanks, Nai.” 

Nai stands a few ways from you, and you know she’s studying your face – puffy eyes, dry lips, tired cheeks. “My lady,” she murmurs, stepping closer, taking one of your hands in hers. Her hands are soft – uncharacteristic of the work that she did for you. “Shall we go down to the South for the rest of this winter season?” she suggests. It catches you off guard. It was usually you who suggested leaving the Capital early because Nai had always loved the Capital. 

Your head swivels towards your maid, eyes wide. “What?” 

Nai frowns and you notice she has her brown curly hair in a braid today. Her fingers smoothen over your soft hands. “I feel as though the Capital has taken away your entire youth and color,” she admits, looking down, averting her gaze. “Especially…” 

You gently smile, pulling Nai to sit down on the loveseat. “Especially what?” 

When Nai looks back up at you, she looks almost indignant. “Especially that Archduke Jeon, my lady,” she huffs, arms crossed. “I think that dreadful man causes you much pain. I suggest you leave this season early, leave that man forever waiting for you, my lady,” she announces, hand coming down to slap her thigh. 

There’s a pause of silence and then you splutter out a laugh, hunching forward. The sound shakes through your body and your lungs finally feel a little bit empty. “Nai!” For the first time in days, you feel like it is a genuine laugh – not forced, not practiced. “How did you come to this conclusion?” 

Nai pouts, bringing her knees to her chest. “I’ve been observing, you know, my lady? I think you are much too good for that man. Even if he does send over flowers in the morning.” 

You blink at her words. Flowers? “What flowers?” You had never gotten flowers from Wonwoo before. At least not since his return to Society. 

Nai suddenly gasps, springing up. “Oh my gosh! Look at my attention span! I completely forgot to tell you, my lady!” Before you can even question her words again, she’s up and off the loveseat, almost running to the other side of the room where your delicately set-up tea table and lounge chairs rest. At your next breath, she comes running back, a large bouquet of flowers in her hands. 

Something tight entangles around your chest and you can feel the thing fill up your lungs again. 

“What- who is that from?” you ask, swallowing. To be honest, you don’t want to know. 

Nai simply shrugs, handing you your bouquet. “No idea.” Her words change into something much more casual – a tone you are familiar with from when you two grew up together. “It came with the sunrise, but I think,” she dramatically pauses, making you giggle a little, “it’s from that Archduke.” 

Her words completely stop you. Archduke. Of course. Of course he would send you flowers after last night. When Nai hums, stepping back to admire the bouquet, Wonwoo’s words come crashing back down on your briefly-empty mind. I’m not giving up on you – on us. You want to break down into tears. Really, you need to get a hold of yourself these days. You think you’ve cried more these past few days than you ever had in an entire year. No matter how much you push me away and lie to yourself. His words enrage you still. How dare he figure you out. How dare he march back into your life like he has you all planned out, your relationship all already mapped out inside his brain? How dare he make you fall for him again, just as you thought you had forgotten him entirely. How dare he send you flowers in the morning without even a thought of how you might have felt? Why you are pushing him away. Why you are forcing yourself to go to these lengths. Because you aren’t sure you can make it out alive if he up and leaves again. Because you aren’t sure if you can come out of another relationship sane if it ends in a fiery mess, let alone ends. Because you aren’t sure if you can trust yourself, let alone him, enough now to let your heart make the decision for you – the first time you did that, it ended with you in the Capital, not knowing what had hit you, and him on the battlefield, fighting it out with some enemy for a duty you knew not. 

“My lady,” Nai calls softly. 

When you look up to meet her eyes, her hazel orbs swim with a worried flurry of emotions. You crack a smile. 

“Irises and tulips, huh?” you mumble, tugging at a tulip bulb that stands up straight amongst the irises. “What a man.” Your voice sounds so bitter even to you and you wonder if Nai pities you. If she finally looks at you with the emotion you hate the most. 

“My lady,” Nai repeats. Her hand comes up to rest on your shoulder and it feels almost grounding, in a way, knowing that you at least have her by your side. “A note.” Her finger points to the side of the bouquet, in between the creamy pink parchment and the fresh winter flowers, where a off-white note card sticks out. 

You pluck the card out of the bouquet with almost trembling fingers. You aren’t ready to see – to read what he might have poured out onto a singular small note card. You anxiously fold and unfold the sharp corners, not able to turn the cardboard around from the backside, where the store name of the Capital’s most expensive flower shop glints in gold leaf. 

You sigh, closing your eyes briefly. When you open them again, you stare at the words on the front, written in almost perfect calligraphy with dark ink. You let out a laugh – though dry and humorless. “Thought of you,” you muse, repeating the three words on the card to yourself. Your fingers grip the edges of the thick paper until it crinkles. “Thought of you,” you mumble again, head dropping against Nai’s arm, eyes closing. 

The card doesn’t even need a signature. Neither does the bouquet. There is only one person who would meticulously remember all your favorite seasonal flowers, who would look back at his stupid book of flower languages you had written for your final Botany project during your years at the National Academy. There is also only one person who would be this infuriatingly obsolete with you – who would write his stupid three words on a stupid thick note card and send it over casually with the sunrise to your palace room so secretly even your maid has no definite idea of who sent it. And you would recognize the curve of his ‘f’ anywhere. 

You’re not quite sure if you’re more furious or in disbelief. Perhaps both? No, more so furious than in disbelief. Of course, in disbelief of his sudden profession of his thoughts to you, maybe. But more so furious in the aspect of the audacity of him. And you really can’t help the way it gets a little harder to swallow your spit. Wonwoo’s sheer audacity to come back into your life just to mess it all up. Just to maybe stir up some sort of hope in you until he leaves again for another one of his duties. You can just feel it. It’s like this bubbling pot of emotions you’re trying desperately to push down just in case Wonwoo actually does come too close and gets a peak at the bubbles. 

Your hands clench. 

“They’re lovely,” Nai comments, picking up the bouquet again. “The flowers fit perfectly with the season, my lady,” she adds, fingers the petals. “So fresh.” 

You prod the inside of your cheek with your tongue. “Yes, what a perfect fit,” you mutter, glancing outside. 

“Shall I set up a place for these in the drawing room?” 

“No!” You clear your throat, eyes wide at your own quick reply at Nai’s question. “No,” you repeat, this time less hurried. “Just set it up on the table here.” 

Nai raises a surprised brow at your words but does not argue, simply bowing and heading out, bouquet in hand, to find a vase big enough to fit the entire fistfull of flowers. 

When the door clicks shut behind her, you finally glance at the note again. 

Thought of you. 

You wish he could stop thinking of you. Then, maybe, you could finally erase memories of him too. Give yourself the chance to move onto perhaps bigger problems in your life (or perhaps problems you wish were bigger in your life). 

Thought of you. 

Your heart involuntarily pounds at the image of him hunched over at his desk, detailing his uselessly pretty calligraphy, just for you. Perhaps this was part of his plan? Maybe this was his tactic – the trick up his sleeve for when he wanted you to swoon for him. 

You shake your head, standing up from the love seat and heading over to your bed again.

“No, no, no,” you mumble to yourself, tongue swiping across your teeth. “Forget him, y/n. He only causes you pain.” 

But for some reason, your hand slips the note into a drawer, storing it for safe keeping with the hundreds of other letters and notes from your painfully naive youth. Even though you knew you could never go back – to then, to love, to him. 

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @mj-szaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

[01zfan]

not mine | j. sc

taken!sungchan x fem. reader | 5.9k words

i hope you guys like this! this is definitely the most angsty thing i’ve ever written.

contains: infidelity, reader is sungchan’s girlfriend’s friend, sungchan is in a toxic relationship, both of them know it’s wrong, unprotected sex (DONT BE LIKE THEM)

you were a terrible friend. 

sungchan was an even worse boyfriend.

it had started out as something so innocent. you had a class with sungchan, ironically it was intro to chemistry. he wasn’t someone you could picture yourself getting close with. it wasn’t necessarily that he was out of your league or that you were out of his, it was just that you seemed like you two had nothing in common. you secretly dreaded going to class after seeing the partner assignments posted on the online classroom. your teacher said that it was ”completely randomized”, but it seemed like the god’s had it out for you. you were going to class knowing you had to spend the next hour and a half talking to sungchan. you hoped that chemistry would fill up the awkward gaps in the conversation and that time would go by quickly. it seemed like sungchan thought the same thing, already having everything ready to start the assignment by the time you sat at the table. when you set down your stuff he looked up and smiled at you.

“you’re my partner for this project, right?” sungchan said.

you nodded your head while bringing out your own things. the awkward atmosphere was unavoidable after you had finished setting up your things. sungchan was looking at you over the screen of your computer and you cleared your throat.

“should we take the time to introduce ourselves properly?” sungchan asked.

it was a fair question to say the least. you had been in the same class all semester, but you never got the chance to actually talk one on one. the closest you got to an. interaction with sungchan was an awkward socratic seminar where you both just nodded along to good arguments that were made.

when you both introduced eachother you found out you actually had alot in common. you both had common interests and filled your time in between classes doing the same things. you still remember the shock on sungchan’s face when he found out you two shared a niche interest. you’re sure you looked the same way as he did, wide eyed with raised eyebrows. you two spent a majority of the class just talking, having to be put back on track by the teachers aide.

you and sungchan walked to the library after class to work on the project. you still look back on this moment with such regret. maybe if you had taken the initiative to go to a place more secretive your friend would’ve never met sungchan. you were in the middle of discussing possible research topics when your friend called your name. it was so loud even sungchan turned around. you saw her walking towards you, but her eyes were only on sungchan. even though he didn’t belong to you in any sense of the word, you still felt something akin to jealousy run through your body. the feeling was amplified when your friend introduced herself to sungchan without giving you a second glance.

“i’ve never seen you around before.” your friend said.

sungchan looked to you and you looked off into the distance. he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and gave your friend a smile.

“it is a big campus after all.” sungchan said with a smile.

your friend laughed a little too hard, and you were a little disgusted to see how much sungchan ate it up. 

before you could even get into the library your friend got sungchan’s number and had set up plans to hang out with him. jealousy flashed across your mind and you had to push it away. although you hated it more than anything, sungchan was not yours in any sense of the word. so you had no choice but to watch the scene unfold in front of you. 

your friend only acknowledged you while she was leaving, saying she will see you later. she had a pep in her step as she looked at her phone, texting something. seconds later you could feel your phone buzz in your hand. the message was short and sweet, the seven letters fitting in the message preview.

he’s mine.

“your friend is nice.” sungchan said.

you look at the text notification on your phone and scoff before putting it back into your pocket.

“yup.” you say curtly.

after you and sungchan were done with the project, you barely saw him. you were able to hear about him all the time, courtesy of your friend. she tells you about all the problems they are already having so early in the relationship. she tells you sungchan doesn’t know how to listen, that he’s a flirt, and too nice to other girls. you stopped trying to offer advice on their fights when your friend blew up at you for not taking her side. so you stuck to the role of the listener, nodding your head and giving half assed sounds to show you were paying attention. 

it wasn’t until a couple months later that you saw sungchan again. he came as your friend’s plus one to a gathering of your clique. they had broken up recently, something about your friend’s ex reaching out to her. every man in her life was a placeholder for her stupid ex, so you thought sungchan was free from her clutches. you don’t know why it was hard for you to pretend like you were unfazed seeing them together. there was a pang in your chest seeing sungchan go through the crowd following your friend. 

when sungchan saw you he had the biggest smile you had ever seen on him. you couldn’t help but smile back, waving at the person you missed seeing in class. you weren’t to sure why sungchan never came to your class anymore, but you were almost certain it had to do with your friend.

for the whole night you were stealing glances and sharing eye contact with him. your friend was stuck to his side the whole night, showing off her arm candy to everyone at the party. you assumed this was her way of launching the relationship, posting him on her story for the first time. you regretfully look back at the time you spent with sungchan and how you never made a move. you tried to comfort yourself by thinking he was a terrible boyfriend, something your friend had told you.

you didn’t get any time alone with sungchan until he came to you while you were making yourself a drink. he approached you with a big smile on his face, almost like he was happy to see you.

“long time no see.” sungchan said.

you looked up from the bar and you couldn’t help but smile at him too.

“you’re the one that never comes to class,” you said. “we did really good on our project, by the way.”

“i know. i moved to a different class so i can—it doesn’t really matter actually.” sungchan said.

you both sat there awkwardly, waiting for the conversation to flow the same way it did all those months ago. you weren’t sure if your friend told sungchan about you, if you knew about their tumultuous relationship. sungchan seemed to know something, because he suddenly leaned to whisper into your ear asking if he could talk to you in private.

when sungchan got you alone in the tiny bathroom, he said nothing. he looked everywhere but at you, trying to find out what he wanted to say. you thought about your friend outside, how upset she would be if she found you so close to sungchan. she left your mind as you looked at sungchan. you hated that he didn’t come to class anymore, depriving you of you favorite thing to look at in class. you would be lying if you wouldn’t look at sungchan’s back while the teacher droned on about chemical bonds and imagine what he looked like without his shirt off. it was juvenile, but it got you through the day. 

it only got worse after your project and sungchan’s absence in class made you miss him even more. without something to focus on your mind began to wander to filthier things, like what sounds he made or words he word say. being so close to him made you recall moments underneath your sheets where you pretended your fingers were his.

“i need to ask you something.” sungchan said.

you nodded your head towards sungchan, encouraging him to go on.

“why didn’t you tell me about her?” sungchan asked.

he looked sad as he explained to you how awful your friend was. all of the missing holes in her story suddenly made sense. you hated to admit you didn’t believe your friend, seeing how she acted in previous relationships. but now you saw how her toxicity effected sungchan directly. sungchan talked about her ex, how she cheated on him. you bit your tongue to stop yourself from asking why he went back. you knew that he didn’t have the answer and you knew your friend to be very charming when she had to be. 

“i’m sorry.” is all you could say after sungchan told you everything. 

i would never treat you that way threatened to slip past your lips but you stood your ground. sungchan looked at you expectantly, like he was wanting more before he got a text asking where he was. he snuck out of the bathroom and you downed the drink in your hand.

the rest of the gathering you spent drinking. you felt a deep regret for not being able to comfort sungchan, to say something more than sorry. there was no reason for you to be sorry. he had the chance to leave, it was his choice to stay. you ignored him for the rest of the party, watching your friend constantly leave the room to talk to someone on her phone. by then end of the night your friend had left to god knows where. you had assumed sungchan had left with her until you left. you found sungchan sitting outside on the stoop of the apartment building. 

when he saw you he got up suddenly, stumbling a little bit. he must’ve been drinking too.

“she had an early morning tomorrow, so she left.” sungchan said.

“she left you at this party where you don’t know anybody?” you asked.

“i know you. she told me you live in the same building as me so maybe we could catch a ride together?” sungchan asked.

“let’s do it.” you say.

you stand beside sungchan waiting for him to finish booking the ride on the phone. if he was waiting outside and was going to pay for it completely by himself he could’ve left a long time ago. you were never good at reading people, but sungchan was like an open book. you knew he was craving something tender and loving, intimacy that was lacking in his relationship. the alcohol in your system buzzed and receptors in your brain fired off when sungchan opened the car door for you.

you were in the backseat of the car together for only a moment before you scooted to the middle seat. you let your thighs touch sungchan’s before fully leaning into him. he stiffened beside you but didn’t move. when the car exited the parking he brought a hand to rest on your thigh.  you put your hand over his and looked at him. you found that sungchan was already looking at you, his eyes staring directly into yours. when the car got on the highway you took a gentle hand to his face and pulled him in for a kiss. the rest of the journey to the building his lips were on yours, sucking on your bottom lip as his hands pulled your face closer.

you two didn’t break apart until the driver stopped in front of your apartment building. you watched sungchan tip the driver extra and he followed behind you closely as you got into the elevator. 

you pressed the button to take you to the seventh floor. sungchan’s hand hesitated before pressing the number five. you couldn’t stop your heart from dropping.

“we shouldn’t.” sungchan whispered as the door closed.

“we really shouldn’t.” you agreed.

as the elevator took you up, you noticed sungchan getting closer to you. you slowly let him back you into a corner of the tiny space, your body leaned against the elevator walls. you looked up at the man in front of you, aware of how he towered over you. in any other situation you would’ve been scared, but there was something so soft about the way sungchan looked at you. 

the same hand that pulled you closer to him in the car came to rest on your face. sungchan swiped a thumb across your lip, still glossy from his spit.

“i’m a bad boyfriend.” sungchan whispered. 

the elevator door opened to the fifth floor. you and sungchan both watched the door to the elevator close before lifting both of you to the seventh floor.

that night sugnchan didn’t go to his room. he fucked you in the entry way of your room up against the wall, not even giving you a chance to make it to the bedroom. he moaned and bit your skin, telling you he wished it was you he ended up with. how he wished what he was doing didn’t feel so good. you let sungchan mark you and touch you the way he wanted, moaning in agreement to his words. you wished being a terrible friend felt bad, but all you felt was euphoria as sungchan had you pinned against the wall.

sungchan was strong but he was gentle, pressing kisses to your face as he slid in. he carried you to your bedroom and you rode him, telling him that he deserved good things in life too. when sungchan pulled you to the crook of his neck he let out a broken whine as he came inside of you. you clenched around him and he rubbed your clit until you did the same.

that night set the dynamic for your relationship. you had to set up rules and sungchan followed them with no complaints. he would do anything you told him as long as he got to come and see you. it became a part of your routine, getting a text from sungchan late in the night asking if he could come over. it got easier with time, lying to your friend. you saw it as karma for how terrible she was towards sungchan and towards you. you stopped thinking about her after a month, no longer trying to have revenge on your toxic friend. it became more about sungchan, trying to mend him back together with kisses and sex.

it was raining this time when sungchan came to you. he was soaking wet, caught in the torrential rain outside. you wanted to believe that he came here to see you, but the downcast look on his face and flower in his hand told you a different story. 

“can i come in?” sungchan asked you.

you don’t know why he continued to ask you questions like this, as if you could ever bring yourself to say no to him. you nodded your head and opened your door all the way, letting the man through.

he got water on your carpet as he took off his outer layer of clothes. sungchan stood in the entry way, waiting for you to tell him what to do. you remembered the clothes he left over at your place last time he visited.

“wait here i’ll get you a towel and clothes.” you said before walking away.

when your arrangement first started, you would always interrogate sungchan on what transpired when he’d show up at your door. sungchan would just shrug his shoulders and mutter the situation under his breath shamefully.

she’s seeing her ex again.

i was locked out.

we had a big argument.

she needed time to cool off.

after awhile you stopped asking sungchan for the details. the curiosity and worry used to eat away at you, seeing someone usually so happy close to tears. you thought you’d never see sungchan the way you saw him every late night he came to your door. you always wondered if she ever thought she was in the wrong. 

you stopped asking sungchan because you could see it physically pain him to talk about something with the wound so fresh. he would normally just tell you what happened while he had you bent over a table, or when he had your chest pressed against his. 

you knew that leading up to the sex, sungchan needed the tenderness that was absent in his real relationship. so you would wordlessly let him into your apartment, warm him up leftovers, and hand him clothes to change into. after everything, you two would snuggle on your couch together watching television. he would hold you so close and thank you profusely, gratitude you would wave off with a hand. you could tell that the moments you spent together healed him just enough to go back. you could also tell that sungchan was very grateful for everything, and he always made sure to give it back to you in bed. the night would always end with both of you just looking to the other and silently pleading. you would open the door for sungchan and he would kiss you deeply. it was the type of kiss that you thought was reserved for girlfriends only, the type of kiss that made you believe he didn’t want to leave you.

doing acts of service for sungchan always made you feel conflicted. when he was with you, couldn’t help but feel responsible for him in ways you couldn’t really comprehend. it started off with just sex. you were always determined to make him feel good like continuing to ride him even if your legs were burning from the exertion or taking in all of him even when you felt like you were being split open. maybe you looked at his face when he was in a state of bliss too much, maybe that’s what got you attached. since you and sungchan started your arrangement you found yourself thinking about him more and more. when he wasn’t around you hoped he was doing well, at night before you slept you would be thinking about him.

thinking about him so often made it hard to remember that he wasn’t yours. sungchan had you wanting to hold his hand at friend gatherings. you always came to your senses right at the last second. reaching out a hand to him you had to pull away quickly when your friend came from the other room. leaning against the wall instead of leaning against sungchan when she wasn’t looking. looking for sungchan’s face in the crowd while he followed closely behind his girlfriend. as time passed you got used to it. you knew that he was looking for your face in the crowd too. 

sungchan had his hand on the back of the couch, letting you curl into him and he traced patterns on your clothed shoulder. you two had found your own domestic routine, shrouded in infidelity. it’s all too much when you think about it for too long, that’s why you’re grateful when sungchan slightly squeezes your thigh. you look away from the tv show to him.

“i missed you.” sungchan says.

he pinches your cheek and you smile at the affection. he looked so handsome like this, with his hair slightly wet form the rain. before you knew it you were running your hands through his strands, turning your body to face him better.

“i missed you too.” you said.

sungchan leaned his head back as you continued to play with his hair. he smiled and he felt like his heart leaped out of his chest hearing that you missed him.

“how much did you miss me?” sungchan asks, eying you.

you are still playing with his hair trying to think of a quantity. you could tell him then and there that you wish he could be with you the same way he was with his girlfriend, and that you could treat him better. a million things rush through your mind, all of them being admissions of love. so instead of talking, you use your hands to hold sungchan’s face.

“you know i’m not good with words,” you look into his eyes before looking at his lips. “i can show you, though.”

a second doesn’t even pass before sungchan picks you up from the couch bridal style. you always laugh when he carries you like this, holding you like you’re nothing. 

he always took the time to set you gently on the bed, standing in front of you to take off his shirt. sungchan always made sure to show you how grateful he was, giving you a little show while he undressed himself. he knew you loved to gawk at his body. you dragged him to the edge of the bed by the waistband of his pants. you ran. a hand over his abs, hard underneath his soft skin. he was mesmerizing, you couldn’t understand how anybody could be mean to someone so beautiful.

“your body…” you said.

sungchan said nothing in response as his hands to the end of your shirt, helping you out of it. he threw it somewhere else in the room as he gently pushed your shoulders down until your back was on the bed. he helped you out of your pajama pants, leaving you only in your underwear. you move more to the center of the bed, giving sungchan the space to come lay next to you as he took his pants off. you lift the sheets and settle underneath them, lifting up the end for sungchand to slide in next to you.

sungchan liked taking off underwear underneath the sheets. you imagined he liked it because it was the most intimate that way, revealing all of yourself underneath the sheets. this wasn’t the way it was all the time though. sometimes sungchan would be extra pent up, desperate to the point that he would eat you out over your panties, or only push them to the side before fucking you. sometimes he would be a little mean, fucking into you while you grabbed onto anything for support. it was hard to decide what you preferred, the vanilla sungchan or the desperate kinky sungchan. no matter what you got, you were always satisfied.

after he got into the sheets next to you, sungchan’s hands immediately went to your hips. he guided you out of your panties and to rest above his body, dragging your heat against his clothed dick. he twitched and strained in his boxers feeling you, and you were sure you were getting slick on his boxers. you start grinding your hips into his as sungnchan lets his hands roam your body.

“i want you so bad.” sungchan says.

“you got me.” you say.

his hands go to the back of your bra to undo the clasp. you let your bra fall off of you, and sungchan’s hand goes to your breast. you try to raise your body from sungchan’s to get a better angle to grind on him, but a hand keeps you two chest to chest.

“want you close.” sungchan whines.

you keep grinding on him at a slow and grueling pace. you were getting impatient with want filling your brain. sungchan was a masochist in this way, making himself wait to fuck you until he couldn’t take it anymore. you’re sure it had something to do with the guilt of cheating on his girlfriend. you figured that when sungchan screwed his eyes shut as he dragged your hips against his that he was trying to convince himself to leave your apartment. maybe he was pretending that you were his girlfriend. these were the things you only wanted to think about when he wasn’t there, not wen his dick was pressed against you like this.

“sungchan.” you whimpered.

he opened his large doe eyes to look at you. you leaned into him closely, until your lips touched his ear.

“please fuck me.” you whispered.

sungchan lifted his hips to take off his underwear and you helped him push it off with your feet.

sungchan takes his dick in his hand and you grab it too. he has to close his eyes again to let out a content sigh. something about the way you touched him just felt so nice, something he wasn’t sure he deserved to experience. but every night you let him in, so he must have earned it somehow.

“i love when you hold it.” sungchan said. 

his voice was barely above a whisper, having to use all his effort to hold the moans back.

“you like it alot?” you said, giving his dick short pumps for emphasis.

sungchan nodded. he should really stop using the word love around you.

“i like it alot.” sungchan moaned.

“can i put it in baby?” you ask. 

your voice has become whiny too. sungchan uses his hand to quickly guide himself inside of you and pushes your hips down to take all of him. you are moaning into the crook of his neck as you slowly take all of him.

“you’re so tight.” sungchan says. ”should’ve fingered you first. i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize. it feels so good.” you whimper.

knowing that you feel good goads sungchan on. he lets you adjust only for a moment before rocking his hips back into you, pulling his face away from yours to see your reaction. he can feel himself throbbing at the way you clench around him, the way your eyes close from the pleasure.

“just wanna make you feel good.” sungchan says. 

“you always make me feel good.” you say. 

you start moving your hips the same way sungchan moves his, meeting him in the middle. you bring a hand to rest on sungchan’s hand and he sighs.

sungchan can hear your bed creak under the weight and movement of your bodies. there were times sungchan would have your bed screaming for mercy, threatening to break underneath his harsh thrusts as he fucked you. he loved the sound of the harsh creaking, wearing it like a badge of honor. but he loved this sound move—light and constant like rain. 

sugnchan couldn’t comprehend why he felt so at peace rocking into you. he brought your head from his neck to rest your forehead against his. you opened your eyes to look at him and sungchan could see his reflection in your blown out pupils. the sight makes him desperate, it brings him closer to his euphoria.

“she doesn’t treat me like you do.” sungchan said. 

your eyes didn’t change as you processed what he said.

“i know.” you said simply. “harder. please.”

sungchan lets himself thrust into you a little harder, throwing off the tempo you both had fallen into. the soft creak of the bed changes to something a little harsher. sungchan’s large hand is placed over yours on his hip and he digs the pads of his fingers into your hip bone. sungchan hold your eye contact as your hips still.

“i wish you were mine.” sungchan moans between his thrusts.

you clench around him and you cry out. you don’t know if it’s from his confession, the spot he hit, or a mixtue of both. regardless, it has you digging your nails into sungchan’s skin as a tear falls on his face.

“i wish you were, too.” you confess.

you start moving your hips again

“i would leave her if it meant i could have you.”

you shake your head at his words. you’re too close, too emotional to hear things sungchan might just be saying because he’s horny and lonely. you know that this ends with him going back until next time. so you grab a handful of his hair and tug lightly. you know sungchan loves the pain by the way he pulses inside of you.

“don’t think about her, just me.” you say breathlessly into his ear. you wished that what you said came off as jealousy. but both you and sungchan know that you are the one who occupies his mind. “cum for me, sungchan.” 

you swear you hear sungchan say i love you as he releases inside of you. he holds you tight. as he takes the lead fucking into you, his teeth biting into your sweaty skin. you have to grip the sheets beside sungchan’s head to steady yourself as he fucks you deep and hard. his thrusts and whines of your name has you cumming too. sungchan fucks you well after his orgasm, making sure you can feel the same pleasure he felt. you can’t stop yourself from kissing his forehead after breaking apart from his lips. you kiss the hair that sticks to his forehead from the sweat and the apple of his cheeks. you kiss his teeth as his pulls of of you, and he brings you into a passionate kiss as you feel him seeping out of you. 

sungchan keeps you on top of him, loving how he feels underneath your weight. you’re comforting and warm surrounding him completely. he doesn’t have any regrets about telling you he loves you, only that he wishes he said it louder so you could’ve heard it. maybe next time he will say it to you while you still have your clothes on. maybe he would tell you after taking you out on a proper date. sungchan wants to hold you there forever, he wants to cry when you slide your sticky body off of his to lay in the bed beside him.

laying there in silence with sungchan was too comforting. although your breath had settled back to its normal pace your heart was hammering in your chest. you thought it would burst if you continued to think about his offer just as you started thinking about sungchan’s offer snd how warm his hand was when he grabbed yours. you had to constantly tell yourself that you held sungchan’s hand for his benefit alone. you told yourself that he needed the innocent contact and the intimacy that came with it. you told yourself that he needed you to grip his hand a little tighter, that he needed you to turn to your side to look him in the eyes. you told yourself these lies to rationalize why you delicately brush his hair out of his face and why you scoot closer to him. 

you think about his offer again, how this could be your view every night. you would never put him through the emotional turmoil your friend put him through. maybe sungchan could be the thing that finally pushed you to cut her off completely. you could only imagine the rumors she would spread about you. it was hard to think it wouldn’t be worth it when sungchan brought you into his chest.

sungchan’s phone went off and you instinctively freed yourself from his embrace. as you sat up on the bed letting your legs dangle over the side you could feel sungchan’s eyes bore holes into your skin. the phone continued to ring. you put on your most comforting voice before looking over your shoulder at him.

“you can answer it. i don’t mind.”

sungchan doesn’t do anything but sigh before reaching to the bedside table.

“hey.” sungchan says quietly into the phone. 

the happiness in his voice was completely gone and the tender atmosphere in your room vanished. it suddenly felt so cold and sungchan felt so far away from you. 

you could hear the dull murmur of your friend on the other end of the line. you weren’t sure what she was saying exactly, but you could get the gist through sungchan’s responses.

where are you?

sungchan looked at you before turning away to focus on the phone call.

“i’m at eunseok’s.” sungchan said.

you got up from the bed to put on the rest of your clothes. you were as quiet as you possibly could be, trying not to make any sounds that would be picked up by the phone.

why is your location off?

“where else would i go?” sungchan asked. 

he looked at you as he asked the question. you held eye contact for a split second before pulling your pants up your legs.

are you ready to apologize yet?

“we aren’t going to talk about what happened first?”

you aren’t sure what your friend said next. all you know is that sungchan pulled the phone away from his ear to grimace. you could hear your friend got louder over the phone, the speakers peaking from the yelling. 

you couldn’t stand to see sungchan so distressed so you left the room. you walked into the living room, picking up clothes that were strewn around in the heat of the moment. you took sungchan’s clothes out of the dryer, gathering his shirt and pants in your hands to bring it back to him. 

you don’t know what was said after you left your bedroom, but you came back to sungchan gathering his things. you handed him his clothes, trying to seem as indifferent as possible. 

“we are going to talk it out.” sungchan said.

“that’s good.” you said.

the notion that sungchan would inevitably go back always made moments like these awkward. where he would change out of his clothes and you had to think up a question to make it seem like your friend was being rational. you started choosing silence, just telling sungchan what he needed to hear to go back to her.

sungchan got dressed and left your bedroom. you followed behind him, staring at his back as you two went through your routine. he gathered the remainder of his things, slipping his phone into his back pocket and taking his keys off your command center. he would look at you with his puppy dog eyes, silently begging you to tell him to stay. you looked at him back the same way, silently begging him to do what he wants.

something felt different when you opened the door for sungchan this time. sungchan lingered a little longer in your door way, looking at your ball up fists at your side. you looked at him too, wondering what was going to happen next. you thought you were going to draw blood from your nails digging into your palms. the tension was undecipherable and thick, making your mind hazy. 

you mind was cleared when sungchan closed the distance between the two of you. he kissed you desperately, and you reciprocated. your movements were even hastier than his, fisting the fabric of his white tee and leaning back so he was towering over you. sungchan wrapped his arms around your back and brought you closer.

you still had your lips puckered when sungchan pulled away from you. he looked down at you, adoration all over his face. his hands that wrapped around were moved to enclose your hands. he brought them to his face before kissing the back of your hands. sungchan looked scared, going over something in his mind a million times.

“can i stay here with you tonight?” sungchan asked.

you couldn’t stop your eyes from widening. his grip on his hands only tightened and you understood how nervous he felt. that’s why you immediately squeezed his hands back and nodded. sungchan pulled you into another kiss, this time slow and passionate. you closed the door and smiled into the kiss.

you were a bad friend.

sungchan was an even worse ex-boyfriend.

[ninyard]

I would absolutely love to see something about Betsy and Andrew post Easthaven!

a lil snippet of bee and andrews first session after easthaven that i dont want to get long as hell but will probably end up that way anyway??? (tw drake/thanksgiving/easthaven you know the drill)

-

It was a Wednesday, as it had been a thousand times before, and at ten to the hour Betsy thought about her first session with Andrew.

She thought about his humourless laugh, and how he'd dramatically left the room less than twenty minutes into the session. She remembered how he smelled like stale tobacco and smoke, how he smiled at her, and pushed her limits.

Betsy thought about the second time she met Andrew, the third time, the fourth time. How he'd slowly started to crack himself open and let her in, how he'd allowed himself to trust again.

Betsy thought about their last session before the holidays.

Talking about his family had always been a sore spot for Andrew, uncharted territory most of the time, with far too many boundaries and ‘do-not-talk-about’s to be worth exploring further. They had dipped their toes in on a handful of occasions, tense discussions more often than not shut down as soon as Andrew felt the conversation becoming too close.

They’d made progress, that being said - they’d spent that last session before the holidays speaking about one of the last times Andrew had seen his cousin’s family in person. How interested he was in seeing how their dinner would pan out, about how he couldn’t wait to see the look on Neil’s face when he realised what he’d gotten them into.

(Betsy would not forget Neil’s face for quite some time; stoic, unbothered, with blood on his clothes and no emotions other than Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.)

At five minutes to the hour, Andrew swung open the door with a room-shaking bang. Betsy waited for him to sit down, but he stood there for a moment too long, watching her, and only when Betsy fixed her glasses did she see why.

Betsy had never met this Andrew before.

His eyes did not have much behind them, and it startled her to read his emotionless expression. This didn’t even look like him - it looked more like Aaron, the brother who did not speak, who did not sport the same medicated smile that Andrew had for over a year. It didn't take long for her to realise it was the absence of that medicated smile that made him look so wrong; it was as natural on Andrew's face as the clouds were in the sky. Him stepping into her office without it was as if he'd stepped through the door with a new hair colour, or piercing, or a bizarrely colourful outfit he'd never worn before.

“Andrew,” Betsy smiled. At her voice, he shut the door to her office behind him, and made his way over to the couch at the back end of the room. “We’re overdue a few formalities - happy New Year, for a start.”

He didn’t respond while she made their usual cocoas, and so she filled the silence with meaningless chatter, things that she knew he didn’t care about, but were words nonetheless. She got a better look at him as she placed his mug down, and caught his eyes, glued to her, waiting, watching. Perhaps the light was playing tricks on her, but he had subtle yellow marks on the skin of his face where bruises had faded to almost nothing.

“I don’t think it’s what you want to hear but I’ll ask it anyway,” Betsy checked her seat was clear before sitting down. “How are you feeling? It’s really great to see you.”

It was impossible to tell if the pause that followed was Andrew’s hesitation or reluctance. Was he not speaking because he had nothing to say, or because he didn’t know what to say at all? It was not Betsy’s place to fill that silence, either. If any session were important to hand him the reigns, this was it. He had to do this himself.

It was ten minutes, or an hour later before he spoke. “They shouldn’t have called you.”

“When?” Betsy asked after a pause. When he didn’t answer, she continued cautiously, “In Columbia?”

His lack of a response was response enough. His dead stare, his tired eyes emphasised by un-creased cheeks, his smile nothing more than a hard line across his lips.

“They had no choice,” she said, calm and measured. “You know they had to. You know why they had to."

"They shouldn't have."

Betsy had spent over a year trying to understand Andrew, to figure out whether his smile was genuine or chemically manufactured, trying to figure out what he meant when he spoke in riddles. They'd reached a point of understanding, a point in their therapeutic relationship where she could read him well enough to know what he needed her to say. This felt like square one again. This felt like trying to read a completely new patient.

"Why?" Betsy asked, and she tilted her head ever so gently when he looked her way. "What would you have preferred them to do?"

Andrew paused, and was slow to look away before he spoke.

"I don't know."

It was quiet, and there was something else in the room, something in his voice. Something that told Betsy he meant it. He didn't know. He didn't know what had really happened to him, he didn't know who he was anymore, he didn't know why he didn't want them to call the only person who truly understood, because all of it was far too real. Betsy being there only made it official.

"Talk to me," She said, careful not to change her tone, careful to avoid falling back into the typical therapist mode that Andrew had always despised. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Andrew stared at the wall for a moment before finally moving himself into a more comfortable position, taking off his shoes slower than he usually would, tucking them up beneath him on the couch. He shut his eyes for just a second, and then turned his gaze on Betsy.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, and Betsy felt her stomach bottom out. "Why Easthaven?"

"We agreed on it." She said slowly, trying to hide the defensiveness in her voice, trying to hide the fear that an unmedicated Andrew had started to regret his decision to come off them. "I told you why-"

"That's not what I'm asking." He interrupted with a gentle shake of his head.

When they'd spoken about it, it'd been a messy scrapbook page of pasted reasonings and a scribbled out pros and cons list. There were several different truths as to why Betsy pushed for it, a truth that had been hard for others to understand, but a truth that Neil seemed to understand the best.

"Tell me why." She offered. "Why is that something you want me to answer, when you already know?"

"Because I need to hear it without all the noise."

Easthaven had always been the plan - it was difficult to concisely explain the choice as to pull forward Andrew's timeline of events, but it was something Betsy had had to explain over and over again. To her superiors, to the boards in Easthaven, the courts and parole officers that didn't understand it at all. It had been almost hardest to explain it to Andrew himself, bruised and bloody after a night of retraumatisation and a concussion that left him barely able to focus, who's only coping mechanism was to make jokes to cover the fear that he hadn't even been allowed to feel.

Betsy took a deep breath and took off her glasses before saying, "Do you remember laughing?"

Andrew looked away as quickly as the words had left her mouth. She couldn't read his face well enough to tell if he was remembering, or if he couldn't remember at all. It was a silly question though, she thought, knowing how crystal clear Andrew's memory had always been, but perhaps she wondered whether between the haze of withdrawals and events of that night had led his reaction to become somehow buried amongst it all.

Andrew had kept his past a secret for so long, even to her, that he'd nearly given it his own statute of limitations in a way - nothing can be done about it now. Betsy had promised not to pursue any legal action, perhaps against the protocols she was required to follow, for the sake of his honesty way back in the beginning. For the sake of his openness, Betsy was willing to do anything. Andrew had allowed enough time and distance to pass before he handed over even the tiniest of details about the abuse he'd faced as a child. Enough time had passed that he felt as though they were nothing more than stories. Drake would never be in his life again, whether it be for justice or for some sort of closure, so, to him it felt safe to talk about. Any time he'd found his way into a conversation, the son of the mother that could've been, it was obvious how much it bothered Andrew to talk about it; the way his eyes glazed over recounting the details, the way even the mention of his name stilled him as if he were a mannequin on display. But Drake alone was far enough away from the Andrew that sat in her office months beforehand, and he felt like it was okay to divulge the truth.

But against all odds, Drake had come back.

He'd found Andrew, he'd put his hands on him, an adult now, more capable of fighting back, but still in Andrew's eyes he'd won again. It had been funny to him, the night of, that after so many years he'd finally, naively, stupidly allowed himself to feel safe. He had stopped looking over his shoulder each and every night before he got into bed. He had spoken Drake's name freely in a therapeutic setting without fear of repercussion. Yet he had looked him in the eyes again. Yet he'd felt like that child all over again, and years and years of progress were destroyed in an instant.

And Andrew laughed.

A terrible sound, a joke in the face of shock and trauma, a flick of his wrist as if the bruises that circled it were not enough to tell him that this was not to be brushed away. Betsy remembered sitting across from him that night as if it had been only the night before. She remembered the awful sound of his hoarse laugh as well as she remembered the painfully long drive from her sisters home to Columbia. She remembered it almost as well as the foggy conversation she'd had with Abby over the phone.

She looked across that room at him now, his demeanor that of a stranger, and sighed.

Why had she done it?

For him. Anything else was irrelevant - the season, the courts and their mandated recovery timeline, the opinions of anyone who thought they understood. All of it had been for him.

To keep him alive.

To keep him safe.

"I'll tell you," Betsy lifted up the cocoa she'd sat on the table between them, to rest her lips on the warm ceramic. Andrew watched her as she spoke, and she watched his chest rise and fall after a purposeful deep breath. "But Andrew, I need you to let me finish."

[jackmanbj]

mirror mirror on the wall

AN: this is smut!💕

summary: you make a post with jack harlows favorite lingerie set and hes not to happy about it.

you watched jack leave the driveway as you quickly ran upstairs and shed of your clothes revealing a black lingerie set jack had gotten you for your birthday.

you went to the bathroom and put your hair in two pigtails and placed on some of your jewelry.

you went back in front of the mirror and pulled lightly on your hair as you posed to take your photos.

you took a couple photos and posted it on your instagram, jack being the last thing on your mind at the moment.

you went back to your bedroom and took of the lingerie changing into more comfortable clothes.

stinka💕- why the fuck did you post that y/n y/m/n?

you- what are you talking about stink?

stinka💕- you in that lingerie set? didn’t i tell your ass about playin with me?

you- sorry baby, i wasn’t thinking nothing of it when i posted it, i just looked cute!

stinka💕- just wait till i get home.

you left jack on seen as you quickly got up and went to shower and get ready for jack.

after about 2 hours you heard jack car pulling up in the driveway.

you threw your phone down on the bed and acted like you were sleeping.

when jack walked through the bedroom door you could tell he wasn’t very happy, especially since he had spammed the doors and would yell at you if you slammed a door.

“girl i know your not sleep, your not even cuddling anything you cant sleep without cuddling something.”

you slowly picked your head up to look at jack while he was taking off his belt.

“jack please, im sorry i wont do it anymore! promise!”

“no fuck that, explain to me what made you think to do that shit huh?”

“i didnt think you would be mad!”

“and you still didnt take that shit down.”

you quickly grabbed your phone ready to take it down.

“no dont take it down now, come here.”

you slowly made your way off the bed walking to jack with your head down.

he used his finger to push your head up.

“what did i tell you ‘bout posting and showing off whats mine huh?”

“i dont even get the big deal! i looked cute and everyone knows who im yours!”

“who you getting smart with?”

you rolled your eyes and jack picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“JACKMANNN!!”

“hush.”

jack walked over back to the bed and put you down.

you started taking off your (his) t-shirt before jack stopped you.

“did i tell you to undress?” “no..”

“you dont fucking listen.”

jack pulled down his zipper and looked at you.

“i shouldn’t even have to tell you this, take off my pants and boxers and suck.”

you did as you were told, you were slow when taking off jacks briefs, jack was growing impatient.

jack grabbed you by your throat and forced you to look at him.

jack had nothing but anger and lust in his eyes.

“y/n, if you dont quit fucking playing with me you wont get to cum at all, act like you got fucking sense before you piss be off.”

you quickly pulled off jacks boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach.

you grabbed it and spit on it using your spit as lube while jack grabbed your hair, making a makeshift ponytail.

you took jack all the way in your mouth.

you slowly sucked him knowing jack didnt like head to rough.

jack decided you weren’t going fast enough and pushed your head further down his dick.

you gagged and almost took jack out of your mouth but you knew better.

jack moaned as you sucked him, using your hand for whatever couldn’t fit into your mouth.

you tried to take jack out of your mouth but he pushed your head back.

“this dick not coming out of your mouth until cum is going down your throat understand?”

you nodded your head yes and went back to work.

“fuck!”

jack twitched into your mouth and came without warning.

you took jack out your mouth and swallowed before trying to get up.

“let me see your tongue.”

you stuck your tongue out at jack.

“good girl, get on the bed, face down ass up.”

you got up and walked over to the bed while jack smacked your ass.

you got into the position you were told, making sure to toot your ass up a little while shaking it lightly.

jack quickly put a harsh smack to your ass leaving the flesh to turn slightly red making you whine.

“i dont want to hear any whining, shut it up.”

you smacked your lips, earning yourself another, harder smack to your ass.

this time jack rubbed the skin while bending down to kiss it.

jack got behind you and rubbed his hand up and down your back, his hands were cold enough to make you shiver.

“you just want everybody to see whats mine huh? you just want to act like your available to every man in Atlanta and Louisville? huh?”

“no jack! i just looked cute!”

jack pulled on your hair roughly, pulling you up.

“first off, thats not my name right now and you know it, second, if you just looked cute why did you wait till i leave? huh?”

you went silent while jack chuckled and let go of your hair, your face falling back onto the black sheets.

“whats my name y/n?”

“jackman thomas ha-“

jack roughly pushed his whole length into you making you let or a gasp.

without warning jack started roughly thrusting into you making you cry out in pleasure.

“daddy!! its to much.” “no its not, take it like a G, you want to be all big and bad? take this shit.”

you shook your head no while jack lightly smacked the side of your face.

“you take this dick and i dont want to hear anything after that, you speak when spoken to, i dont want to hear anything but maybe a whimper, if you talk without bein’ spoken to your getting punished.”

“understand?”

you shook your head yes but that wasn’t enough for jack.

“i spoke to you, answer me.”

you opened your mouth to answer jack but nothing but moans came out.

“aww baby this dick got you cock dumb?”

“please..”

jack popped the side of your thigh, making you jump.

“didn’t i ask you something, this is my last time telling you to answer me y/n”

“yes jack i understand!!”

jack pounded into you harder, pulling your hair back when he realized what you had called him.

“yes who?”

“yes daddy fuck!!”

jack left go of your hair and continued fucking you, slapping your ass every other thrust.

the room filled with the mix of you and jacks moans.

“jack im gonna cum!”

“hold it.”

“i cantt!”

“i wasn’t asking you, i was telling you. hold that shit.”

you did as you were told and while jack pulled out making you whine.

“didnt i tell you no whines?”

“sorry j..”

“missionary get there now.”

you got into the position while jack raised your thighs up before roughly pushing into you, you grabbed at the sheets trying your hardest not to moan out loudly knowing jack hated when you damn near screamed into his ear while fucking you.

“look at my girl, taking this dick.”

jack started thrusting into one again making him grunt out louder then you moaned.

jack fucked you harder and harder until you released all over him making him pop your thigh.

“you lucking i didnt stop yo ass from cumin, you dont get to cum with out telling me or asking permission, you know better.”

“yes sir.”

jack didnt halt his thrusting, in fact he got faster trying to chase his own orgasm.

“daddy cum inside of me please.”

“i was planning on it.”

jack fucked into you harder and ended up cumin into you and collapsing onto your chest.

“fuck jack, we need to clean up.”

jack shook his head and got picking you up as well, he carried you to the bathroom and started running bath water.

you peed and joined jack in the bathtub to let him clean off your body.

you let your body relax onto him as he slowly cleaned you, you body tensed up when he got to your pussy, making sure to clean you off slowly to not agitate the sensitive area.

jack finished you off before cleaning himself off.

he got out before you and rapped a towel around his waste, he pulled the plug and let the water drain before helping you out.

jack put a towel around you and brought you into the bedroom.

“jack can you please put some lotion on me?”

“of course ma, was about to do that anyway.”

jack got the lotion and put it onto your body.

once he was done he pulled his t-shirt over your head and let you lay down while he put on his sweatpants.

by the time jack had gotten comfortable you were sound asleep.

“i love you ma, goodnight.”

jack kissed your temple and cuddled into you before his breathing slowed himself and feel asleep.

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Honey Cappuccino with Cinnamon

Kento Nanami x Barista! Reader SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY

You get a new patron in your cafe, a dashingly handsome, well mannered, well spoken, Kento Nanami.

wc: 13k, whoops

Content: Smut, Fluff, comfort, kind of a slow burn, kissing (ooooo!!), sex, brief fear/violence (but not sexual), small curse appearance, cunnalingus, reader is female, smoking, swearing no spit (r u guys proud or disappointed), bad ending

Ao3, Masterlist, Coffee headcannons. dont reproduce my work or post it anywhere else. i came up with it out of my head. Enjoy.

You loved your morning openings, most people would have preferred to sleep in, enjoy their mornings at home, take their time getting ready for the day, all while the sun was settled in the sky. But you loved waking up in the misty dark, walking in the clean, morning air, and setting up the cafe before the sun found its way out of bed. The hour and a half before the cafe opened felt like you were the only person in the entire world, total serenity. You could make your own coffee, just how you liked it, luxuriate in the smells of last night's prepped pastries baking to perfection in the oven, work at your own pace while listening to an audiobook or a playlist that you chose. It was the time you looked forward to most throughout the week; your perfect hour of bliss. Uninterrupted bliss. 

The ringing of the door chime was your indicator to return to reality and remember that the cafe didn’t exist solely for your own personal enjoyment, but was in fact a buzzing success. From 6 AM opening to 7 PM closing the cafe would see anywhere between 300-700 customers a day. The large majority of them just stopped in, ordering, and leaving upon receiving their coffee and scone or whatever it was they wanted. A handful you saw nearly every day. You, of course, knew their names, you were a professional. But your first rung of memory was always their orders. 

The gentleman that comes on his bike with his canvas backpack -- a double espresso with equal parts hot water to the espresso. 

The woman who comes with her daughters every morning -- two blended caramel frappes for them, three shots of espresso over ice in a large cup for her. (she pours a protein shake over it and mixes it together. She’s been trying to get you on it. You tried it once, she's onto something.) 

The college kid whose eye bags have doubled in size since they first came in. -- Iced americano, one more shot than you feel is ethical each time. 

Three shot soy latte guy, small decaf mocha woman with a fresh set of nails every time you saw her, long pull espresso always in a porcelain cup for the older woman with the faded purple lipstick, etc. etc. 

The mental list of orders must have been a mile long but you kept them all in your heart. You have seen people before job interviews, between shifts, between jobs, on breaks, days off, first dates, break ups, going to work, coming from it, anything in between. Second only to your sacred alone time, was the way you got to know the people who continued to come. Your position as a customer service worker was not without the obvious dregs of complaints and entitlement from the comers and goers, who never asked your name or about your day, and always had something wrong with their drinks, but it was all overshadowed by the kind faces you recognized so well. And nothing could compare to seeing someone for the second or third time, knowing you had secured another person a favorite coffee shop where they could feel comfortable and know that this small, but vital, piece of their life would be taken seriously and made carefully, exactly to their tastes. You liked giving people that peace, a little taste of your own. 

This morning when you opened, you got into the cafe at 4:30. Early for the 6:00 opening but you wanted to enjoy the languid morning hours a little extra today, and you did. You took your time setting the pastry display, straightening up the table, setting up the self service bar. Before you knew it, there was only a half hour left before opening. The large drip brewers were prepped, ready to fill the cafe with the rich smell of fresh coffee at the touch of a button, the last batch of lemon scones were in the oven, you had just finished counting the drawer for the register and were about to spend the last twenty minutes before turning on the open sign in sweet, perfect silence, enjoying your own favorite coffee when the bell chimed.

“We’re not open yet,” your eyes stayed closed, prepping for the first sip of your perfect morning indulgence. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. The sign is on, I didn’t realize.” A rich, oaky voice filled the echoey cafe. 

You opened your eyes and turned to face the voice. The owner of the voice was a tall man, over six feet, a full, broad figure clad in a tan coat over a dark blue button up. The outer layer couldn’t conceale the way his shirt stretched over his chest, buttons meeting, but just barely. A queer looking yellow tie spotted almost like a cheetah or a banana thankfully covered the higher up, more stretched gaps. But what struck you the most was his face, hard lined cheekbones, long, slender nose, hard set jaw, thin but full rosy lips, a set of unique green lensed glasses resting over his eyes. He was stunning, completely beautiful, the kind of beauty that could strike a god down to earth for the chance of love. You felt your throat tighten, your mouth fall open.

“I-uh, Sorry.” And yet you still couldn’t figure out how to respond. 

He took a moment to look at you, then checked his watch, pulling up his sleeve for you to see the joint of his wrist. Behind him you could see the white neon light of the open sign shining through the front window. Your face heated, mortified at how unprofessional you were being, gawking at him. 

“Oh. I am early-- I’ll come back. I’d hate for you to star----”

“No!” you interrupted, waiting just a touch too long before continuing, “You’re barely early, excuse my flippancy, please come in. What can I get you?” 

You took your place behind the counter, he moved to the other side of the counter, he scanned the menu board above your head, turning his chin up slightly, giving you a view of the muscles in his neck. Your mouth watered. You brought your eyes down to the screen in front of you, desperate to quiet the thoughts in your mind. 

“I really would hate for you to start work early. Especially for my sake I can wait outside.” 

“Don’t be silly! I couldn’t have you out there waiting when I can help you now.” 

You absolutely could, and had, on many occasions done exactly that. Letting the morning rush wait until operating hours no matter how early they wanted to “just squeak in super fast!”. But you wanted to keep him inside, bring him closer, give him anything he wanted. Hell, if he turned out to want all the money in the register you probably would have at least considered it.  

The rich voice filled your ears once again, “A cappuccino, please. With just a bit of honey, please.”

Great order, and so polite. 

“You got it.” You plugged it into the computer, the total appearing on his side of the screen, “dry or wet?” 

He cleared his throat abruptly, eyes wide behind the thick frames, “uh…?”

You didn’t realize how it came out, “more milk or more foam?” 

He collects himself, “uh wet, then.” 

You nod, “any preference of milk?”

“Whatever you have is fine.” 

You started the espresso grinder, the whirring filling the soundless air of the cafe, “this is a cafe, we have like six milks.” 

He nods, “right. Um…whatever you use I’m sure is fine.” 

You mirror his nod, “oat is, then. Anything else I can get you?” 

“One of those croissants, please.” He gestured to the pastry case, ten perfect flaky butter croissants sitting beautifully. 

“Great choice.” You smile, “I’ll get your drink.” 

You turned back toward the espresso machine as he moved to start paying on his screen of the register. You were grateful to have an excuse to turn away from him, away from the magnetism of him, to have something to focus on and hopefully regain an ounce of your composure. 

Nanami collected his breath, grateful to have your sparkling gaze out of his immediate eyeline. It takes more focus than would normally be necessary to complete his payment. Fingers trembling over the ‘no receipt’ button, his eyes drifted up again. The large espresso machine in front of you hissed and dripped the fragrant, rich liquid into the small espresso cup underneath. 

“Is this your first time in?” Your voice rang like a bell in the empty cafe, you were pouring milk into a metal pitcher as you spoke to him, not missing a drop. 

So much ease, precision, the routine of skilled work over years of honing, everything was perfectly measured, foamed, and stirred. You clearly took care in what you did, your hands were so still and even as you tipped the small fridge door open with your foot to slip the milk carton back inside. The brief scream of the milk knocked him back into his senses. 

“Yes.” He answered, hoping to keep his internal chastisement out of his tone. 

You nodded watching the milk whirlpool in its small silver pitcher, “I thought so. I don’t think I’ve seen you in before. I’m basically always here, and I think I would have remembered you.” 

A blush heated your cheeks, but you discarded it as steam, pulling the wand from the pitcher and tapping its bottom against the counter. You poured the honey sweetened espresso into a small to-go cup, and topped it with a fair serving of water before meeting the lip of the pitcher with the liquid so the foam could slide perfectly across. 

Nanami watched the smile slide across your lips, cheeks pulling upward, a satisfied sigh leaving you as you perfected the drink. His drink. His. 

He shouldn't be acting like this, he just stopped in to get a quick coffee before returning to the school. The last assignment had been grueling, he was only just finishing it. Talk about Overtime. This was ridiculous, he had been in an awful mood before walking in, miserably dragging himself through the doors of the first lit up cafe he stumbled across. And yet here he was, his previously drained heart beating, no palpitating, in his chest at just a few exchanges. You finally turned back around to face him, presenting the drink to him without its lid, letting him see the perfect line of dusted cinnamon across the foam cap. 

“Here you are!” You beamed at him, hoping to see a flicker of a smile or some kind of praise. 

He didn’t smile but you thought maybe you saw something soften in him. He accepted it across the counter, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a sip. Then he smiled. He couldn’t help it. It was perfect. Perfectly sweet from the honey, but still letting the robust bitterness of the espresso shine, the body of the oat milk complimenting the two perfectly, making the whole concoction taste like a cinnamon and oatmeal cookie that he’d indulge in in some private, anonymous, curseless cafe that he thought only existed in his mind. But he may have found it. 

“Wow. It’s excellent.” His lens-guarded eyes warmed at you through their green filters, “Thank you.” 

A chrysalis was twitching in your heart, “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” 

A moment passed as you waited for him to speak again, praying this interaction wouldn’t be over yet. The chime of the bell at the door broke you away from him, turning to see the beginning trickle of the morning flood enter. He was a nice enough guy, same thing every morning: four shots of espresso with two brown sugars in a porcelain mug that he would sit at one of the back tables in and read the morning paper no matter how ungodly early it was, but right now you wished he never dared step into your shop in the first place. When you looked back and saw the end of Honey Cappuccino’s motion to check his watch, he met your gaze once again. 

“Oh! Your croissant, I'm sorry.” You breathed out, kicking yourself for being foolish enough to think he was lingering to talk to you more, not waiting for the rest of his order.

“Right.” You heard from above you as you opened the pastry case. 

You retrieved the biggest, prettiest pastry for him and put it gently into a paper bag, straightening up to hand it to him. 

“No one going to work this early should go without breakfast.” You smiled, hoping to soften the blow of your unprofessional behavior. 

He nodded, accepting the bagged pastry, “Thank you, for indulging me so early. Next time I assure you I will be within the operating hours.” 

The chrysalis stirred again and you giggled its rhythm, “Don’t you worry. You come back anytime, okay?” 

He nodded again, before moving toward the door. You couldn't help the way your rubbernecked his exit all the way past the edges of the large shop windows. Turning back to the register and seeing your early bird regularly standing before you. Thankfully you knew his regular order by heart and could plug it in and nod through polite conversation without having to stop your rumination 

He had said Next time, implying he would come in again. You said a silent prayer to nothing that he would. At least so you could redeem yourself. So you could remind yourself and demonstrate to him  that you were a consummate professional. The rest of your day was spent smoothly, that tapping, fluttering feeling in your chest was quiet and still. You made drinks, cleaned and stocked the store, were courteous and charming with customers and coworkers alike. But you couldn’t get the man from this morning out of your mind, you didn't even ask what his name was. He would only be Honey Cappuccino Guy, for now, and that would have to be enough for now. 

Nanami entered the school still nursing the last dregs of the cappuccino, savoring the taste of honey and the memory of you in tandem. The high of your interaction was beginning to wane, the head and body ache of a night of reconnaissance and curse slaying an albatros growing denser and denser around his neck. He longed to finish his report and head home as soon as possible, already budgeting the allotment of time that felt appropriate for an early afternoon nap before resuming the chores he had left unfinished at home in a rare act of laziness. He hadn’t eaten his croissant yet, finding it rude to eat on the train, and his stomach felt barren, it seemed every part of him was echoing in discomfort. An echo that was seemingly non-existent in the warm light of the cafe. 

He sighed, rounding the corner to the small extra room that had been designated as his “office”. Not being a member of the teaching staff at Jujutsu High, there was little necessity for him to have a space of his own on its campus. He could easily complete his necessary paperwork in the common areas, or even at home. But Yaga had insisted on marking one of the empty offices as his, with some encouragement from a certain white haired sorcerer. The dwindling number of active sorcerers in the area was certainly a motive to keep each other close. So Nanami obliged, stopping by for meetings, assignments; both at their beginnings and upon their completion.  

This last assignment had been grueling, extending too far into the night, he almost felt dishonest filling out the time card associated with the final report. Nearly twelve straight hours of traveling, hunting, and fighting. It was a miracle he wasn’t delirious. He stretched back in his chair, the lactic acid that longed to settle in his back and legs crackling and redispursing. He found himself again remembering the lilt of your voice, the smell of lemon and sugar and fresh roasted grounds in the air of the cafe. The sense of peaceful indulgence carried him through the next two hours of work before he could drag himself home to shed the day and pass out, dreaming amorphously about flaky pastries and kind expressions. 

It would be almost two weeks before you would see him in the cafe again. You were restocking the milks in the small fridge underneath the counter that housed the espresso machine when the bell rang. It had been a dreadfully slow morning, mostly regulars and single, simple drink orders. It had given you plenty of time to clean, and fantasize. The large, well dressed man from eleven days ago hadn’t yet left your mind. His voice, his stature, his odd clothing, his demeanor. You were positive your memory had to have been generous the more and more you recollected the meeting, surely no one person could be so handsome. So charming, so, in the truest sense of the word, attractive. But when he stepped through your threshold once again, you found that your memory was ironclad. Tall, broad, sculpted features, odd glasses, leopard print tie, pristine styled hair, every detail of him was perfect. Your breath caught in your throat, but even that couldn’t interrupt the smile that widened on your lips. 

“It’s you.” you all but gasp out. 

He crosses toward the counter, a faint smile showing itself only on the edges of his lips, eyes wide and set on you, an expression you couldn't realize was mirroring your own awe. 

“You can say that about anyone. It’s always true.” His voice was just as smooth and even as before, you felt an all too familiar stirring in your chest. 

You laugh, “Good point. I didn’t expect to see you back. Thought I might have scared you off.” 

“Certainly not!” He can feel the burn in his cheeks, “You were kind enough to extend your hours for me. How could I not return to at least say thank you.” 

“Oh!” you chastised yourself for the twinge of disappointment you felt realizing he wasn’t here with any motive other than politeness, “It was no trouble really, it’s like the easiest drink in the world to make.”

He nods, “well, Thank you nonetheless, your work got me through the rest of mine.” 

You let out a low whistle, “That was one hell of a clock in time. Do you always go in that early?” 

“I was finishing up actually. Long project, I…lost track of time.” He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to provide you with more information, ordinarily he would dodge questions in their entirety. Truthfully he would ordinarily never be in this situation to begin with, never having been one for casual small talk.  

“Wow…that’s intense.” you couldn't imagine working such a strange schedule, what extreme hours like that must do to a person, “what is it you do?”

This is exactly why Nanami does not engage in casual small talk, does not approach topics that could lead back to sorcery or jujutsu or anything related to his job, why he does not talk to the pretty girl behind the counter. Because now he has to lie. His heart sinks, but he steels himself. 

“I'm a sort of exterminator.” He answers smoothly. Not technically a lie. 

You hum, seeing him stiffen; you’ve seen this before, folks can be cagey about their professions, and particularly assumptions made about them based on what they do, you knew when not to pry, “Hm. You must have to be on your feet a lot.” 

He’s grateful you chose a surface level observation instead of prying further. 

“Well what can I get for you today? Got another long one in the books? Should I break out the hard stuff?” You smile warmly at him, catching his eyes. 

It's then that you realize he isn't wearing those peculiar glasses that he had before. Thick green lenses absent, and amber eyes revealed in their stead. The outermost rings of his irises were dark, oaky brown, his lashes were long but faint, small freckles now visible across his nose and dappling the tops of his high, hollow cheeks. Not only was your memory not being generous, he had somehow become more handsome. You took in a shaky breath, trying to ignore the stirring inside of you. 

“One cappuccino with honey, please. Just the same as last time.” 

“You got it!” You tap the corresponding buttons. 

He pays with a card, a chime sounding as he taps against the reader. He is grateful for an excuse to look away, it feels like every time he looks at you, you’re looking back at him, so intently. He feels studied by you, hot under your gaze. He wonders to himself if the blush he feels creeping up the back of his neck is visible to you. Your smile earlier made it begin its journey from the warmth of his chest up toward the tops of his ears. His harness feels too tight, his jacket feels stuffy and restricting. He reaches up as you finish up the payment across from him and tugs his tie looser, routinely unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. It's then that he notices his hands are sweating. 

Fuck me. Pull it together. He pleads to himself accepting the receipt as you turn away.

Back facing him you begin weighing out the espresso, you can hear his footsteps as he steps off to the side. You catch your breath, gearing yourself up for your next move. The drink comes together quickly. Honey, espresso, steamed and frothed oat milk, a small dusting of cinnamon. You giggle to yourself about the cinnamon on the creamy foam mirroring the dusting of freckles along his face. God, you're pathetic. You roll your eyes at yourself and inhale. You turn back to the counter before stalling. He wasn't waiting at the counter and you had, once again, been too frazzled to ask his name. 

“Uh…H-honey cappuccino?” Your voice wavered weakly. 

He crosses over from the other side of the cafe where he had been admiring the community board, where local artists would hang their work, organizers would add flyers for local events etc. He traversed the room in three long strided steps. 

“I’m sorry, I usually ask for a name, I forgot.” You explained. 

He accepts the paper to-go cup between you, “It’s Nanami, thank you.” 

“It's nice to meet you.” You smile. 

“And your name?” He is quick to inquire. 

You tell him, smile widening, he nods and repeats it softly. He sips from the black lid, ignoring the initial shock of heat. It's just as perfect as before, a small sound of approval resonates from his chest, you wish it had less of an effect on you than it does. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented, thank you.” He offers a small, polite bow before sipping again. 

“Like I said, it's an easy drink.” you shy away from his compliment. 

“Well, I’m grateful.” He begins to step away from the counter. 

“Thank you. Have a good rest of your day.” You put on your most professional and least loaded smile, “Come by and see us again Mr. Nanami.” 

He nods at you, smiling as he turns and exits the cafe. 

And he did come by again. And again. And again. 

Beginning as once a week, then twice a week, soon he begins to factor a third visit into his weekly routine. Coffee the same every time, including sometimes a pastry; taking a particular liking to the ginger and poppyseed scones, and the oat and lemon frosted cookies, but more often than both leaving with a simple croissant. One some trips the conversation if brief; shallow, single day focused conversation topics: weather, traffic within the cafe, the pastry selection you had out that day. On other days he would ask you questions: when did you learn to make coffee? Have you always lived in this area? Etc. Some days you would be so bogged down with making orders upon his arrival that one of your coworkers would be the one taking his order instead. You quieted the rising jealousy as you heard your fellow barista giggle and swoon at his rich, staccato voice. On those days you would write his name cleanly on the side of his cup and make sure to linger at the drop off counter as you called his name for his drink. 

“Busy in here, huh?” You baited, handing him the steaming cup. 

“It seems my favorite secret cafe is not so secret anymore.” Nanami’s voice sounded truly disappointed. 

You faked insult, “You think you discovered this place? I’ll have you know we’re a local staple!” 

He let out a small laugh, sipping his drink and sighing, “perfect as always, thank you.”

“Of course Nanami, anytime.” You blush at his praise, it never gets old. 

“WIll you be here next Wednesday?” He asked. 

He had never asked for your schedule before. You tried your best to hide your excitement. 

“I will! I’m opening. So feel free to stop by thirty minutes before if you're desperate.” you teased. 

He let out a guilty laugh, “ Well, I'll see you then. Well within operating hours, I promise.” 

You nod, a bit too quickly, “Sounds good.” 

He smiled and nodded again, turning and exiting. 

Your favorite coworker who had been working the register approached you, following your eyeline as it tailed him out of the cafe. 

“Planning on asking him out soon?” She poked your side. 

“No way, Nanami?” You dismissed, “Yeah right, he’s just being nice.”

“Right.” She begins, “because he comes here every week because the coffee here is just that good.” 

Her tone is cutting and sarcastic, she pushes your shoulder lightly before returning to the register, leaving you to your own thoughts. You hadn’t considered the fact that he could actually be coming here for you, of course you hoped and fantasized about exactly that, but faced with someone else’s observation you felt…strange. Embarrassed and exhilarated. You wondered what would come on Wednesday. 

“Thanks for taking me to coffee Nanami-san, You really don’t have to treat me!” Ino Takuma beamed as he walked into the cafe. 

He was beyond excited when his mentor had asked him to have a meeting today after training to discuss the upcoming recommendations. Nanami held the door for Ino as he babbled his way inside, reciting his thank yous over and over. 

“You’re welcome, Ino. I asked you here because I have something to discuss with you. Consider it an expensed lunch.” 

“Still! Thank you so much. I’m honored that you would make time for me, I know how demanding the schedule of a grade one sorcerer can be!” Ino continued, wanting to showcase how prepared he was to take on the demand himself. 

“Lower your voice,” Nanami chastized and pushed up his glasses, shielding his eyes as he scanned the population of the cafe. It must be a slow day, only three patrons to be seen. One sitting at the bar top, reading the newspaper, and a couple seated in the front corner, focused on splitting a pastry right down the center with a small butter knife. 

“Nanami!” 

Ino watched as the muscles in Nanami’s neck appeared. Not in frustration or exertion, the way he had seen so many times before, but a completely new reflex. Dare he think, excitement? He watched carefully as his mentor was urged forward by the woman behind the counter, the beautiful woman behind the counter. Nanami was quick to cross to the empty counter, Ino trotted behind with wide, watching eyes. 

“Good morning! It’s still morning isn’t it?” You smiled craning to see the wall clock. When you turned back your gaze fell to the slightly younger man behind Nanami. He was probably twenty or twenty one, his frame similarly toned and cultivated, hair shaggy and smile twinkling, “You brought a friend. Wait! Is this your brother?”

You looked closely between the two men, both handsome, both well made men with cut features and toned, imposing bodies. A similar height, a similar build. The younger man’s coloring was slightly darker; Nanami’s eyes amber, where his were deep oak, Nanami’s blonde hair contrasted against the other’s shaggy brown hair, but you could see where a family resemblance would reside. 

“No.” Nanami answers cooly, much to Takuma’s chagrin (despite its honesty), “Ino is an apprentice of mine, I’m treating him to lunch today because of his hard work.”

“Well, congratulations, it’s nice to meet you.  What can I get you both?” You smile, side glancing at Nanami. 

Ino blushes through his order, taken by how magnetic you feel when you talk to him. Privately watching how Nanami listens closely when you talk, uses his eyebrows more in his responses to you. You know his order, you sound flirtatious as you ask if he wants his “usual”, Ino sees as Nanami’s lips curl as he nods and selects two pastries from the case to accompany their lunch. Was Nanami…flirting? It seemed everytime you would turn your back, Nanami was catching his breath, and as soon as you returned he hung on your every word. Ino was beyond delighted, he had never seen this side of his mentor before. He watches as you complete the payment, fluttering your lashes and stringing your words together. When the order is complete he follows Nanami to a table in the back of the cafe.

“Ino, I wanted to ask you…”Nanami struggled with the next part of his request. He had found himself at a loss for what to do recently, feeling his standing with you plateau, “I hope you will forgive the candor of my question, In fact I- I am slightly embarrassed to even be asking you,”

“Go ahead, please. You have helped me so much, I’d be happy to try and help however I can. ” Ino had a growing suspicion as to what could have been the subject of his inquiry.  

“The…barista, what do you think of her?”

Nanami prepared himself for anything that could come next. Ino could laugh at him, Ino could laugh in pity before explaining that it was pathetic for a man of his circumstance to be entertaining the idea of a relationship. Ino could chastise him for reading into the kindness of someone who is actively working customer service. Ino could express his disappointment of not talking about the recommendations. He could call upon Nanami’s embarrassment for his own inexperience with flirtation. Nanami prepared himself to be exposed, shamed and cursed. 

“Oh! So you know she really likes you, I think she seems funny and smart. She’s really pretty, like really beautiful. I like her outfit, and hairstyle.” Ino began just as eager and delighted as he had been when Nanami invited him to lunch.  

“Wait, what do you mean she likes me?” Nanami’s brows inched together, although subtly. 

“Oh! Well, she smiles a lot when you talk and listens really carefully, and she called your name when we got here and…”

“That’s her job, she has to be polite and accommodating.”

“Sure,” Ino nodded, “But she seemed really interested in you, not so much with me. I don't know, I guess, but it just seemed like she liked you” Ino shrugged. 

Nanami was lost in thought as Ino trailed off. Could you really like him? Your encounters were so brief, he was so stilted around you, or at least he felt as much. You were accommodating and kind because you were good at your job, it was only natural that he recognized it as charm. He missed your call of his name, signaling the drinks he and Ino had ordered were ready. 

“I’ll get them!” Ino perked up, standing quickly and heading to the pick up counter. 

You pushed the two fresh drinks forward as the shaggy haired mentee approached the counter. He had the floppy stride of a well trained dog, bouncy and excited as he hurried over. 

“Thank you so much!” He beamed. 

“You’re so welcome, enjoy. Your food should be out soon!” You smiled back. 

“Hey, can I ask?” Takuma leaned in conspiratorially, “does he come in here a lot?”

You couldn't help but indulge the genuine curiosity in his voice, “A few times a week for about two months. How long have you been working with him?”

“About two years.” He answered, “I’m so glad too, he usually never takes someone under his wing like this!” 

You smiled, cocking your head to the side, “So he’s a big deal at work, huh?” 

Takuma nodded, “Oh yeah! He’s focused and hardworking, brave and careful.I hope to be half as skilled as he is one day.”

Your smile grew at the extrapolation. It was praise befitting of the man so dedicated to his work that he could be seeking out coffee at five in the morning at the end of his shift. The younger man nodded and couriered the drinks back over to the table. You thought you saw as Nanami’s eyes flashed over to you, but behind his glasses it was hard to be sure. You smiled all the same, just in case. You returned to your work, Ino and Nanami would both wave goodbye to you with mannered ‘thank you’s’ offered as they left after their meeting. You watched as Nanami held the door over his mentee’s head, ushering him out and looking back over to you. You looked away quickly, and when you looked back he was gone. Your lower lip settled in between your teeth, replaying your memories of him in a flash before returning your attention to the steaming milk whirlpooling in front of you.  

You didn’t see Nanami for three weeks after that. 

You were today’s closer, your shift already dragging far into the afternoon. The morning crowd was tired, desperate, and reliant upon memorized routine above all else. Simple orders, simpler conversations. The evening crowd was far more likely to experiment. They are unpredictable en masse in a way that your morning regulars were not, making it so that you had to be that much more attentive when discussing menu options. Not only that but you also had to clean and secure all parts of the cafe before you could leave. On a usual day this is fine, although a complicated and oft tedious dance, but today it is much worse. Your usual array of alternative milks were on backorder meaning you were running out more and more with every order, with now replacements on their way. Also dwindling in stock were multiple menu items, including both pastries and lunch menu components, flavors, even lids for to-go cups had started to wane faster than anticipated. You recalled a conversation with your manager that ended dismissively about the coming weekend and how poorly you were prepared to do your job effectively. Your concerns had been barely acknowledged at the best and outright discarded at worst. Over the course of the last three hours you had had eyes rolled at you six times, had to remake a drink four times, been asked why your stock was so low ten times, and had to give one full refund to a customer who took it upon himself to reprimand you personally for the lack of options available to him. You tried your best to push through but the orders kept coming, and the wait times grew longer and longer, you weren’t making nearly enough progress. 

“Switch out?” Your coworker offers to you marking your wide, scared eyes gazing at the growing number of tickets. 

“Please.” You nod turning to operate the register instead. 

They nodded taking over at the espresso machine from where you left off. You approached the counter just as a woman stepped forward from the line. 

“Hello! What can I get you?” You smiled brightly. 

“Well, I don't know yet…”She was already frustrated, “I’ll tell you in a minute.” 

She turned her gaze upward to the menu board above your head, rolling her eyes on the ascent. It shouldn’t have, but it brought a hot burn of tears to your eyes. Sure, she was being condescending, but you dealt with far more pointed forms of belittlement on a daily basis. Somehow though, after the day that had already transpired, you had to choke back tears. You felt yourself shut down in order to keep from crying at such a stupid remark. You took her order without incident, asking only the necessary questions and issuing the payment efficiently. Upon retrieval of her receipt she left the counter. The tears were threatening to spill over as you sighed in relief. In an example of the universe’s kindness you saw your coworker approach, indicating to you that it was time for you to take your lunch break. You passed her quickly as she entered the floor, grabbing your bag and rushing out the front door in embarrassment. Or rather, you tried to rush out of the door. As you scrambled toward the threshold you collided with something hard, it felt like you hadn't bothered to open the door at all, study and unmoving. You bounced back, feeling a rattle in your bones as you tried to gather your senses enough to turn your head upwards. Two strong hands gripped you in place. You gazed upon the face above you, looking down with wide, green guarded eyes. 

“Are you alright? I didn’t see you, I’m sorry.” Nanami’s hands moved up your arms to your shoulders. 

You haven't ever seen his face so worried before, eyes carefully studying you, brows furrowed, hands hard on your arms, “I--i--Its been..”

Nanami sees the tears well up in your eyes, brimming and nearly spilling over, “Were you going outside? May I join you?”

You nod and he ushers you out quickly, holding the door before following in stride as you hurry down the sidewalk. He watched as you pulled a pack of cigarettes from your purse, drawing one forward, long and thin, and continued to dig inside the bag, growing more and more frustrated. Nanami pulled his own lighter from his jacket pocket, a pristine silver zippo with the characters of his name engraved at the base. He lit the end for you and watched you savor the first drag. Your eyes closed and your lips plump and pursed around the filter. When you opened your eyes and exhaled you offered him a cigarette from your pack, and he took one. Smoking the same cigarette as you made him feel close to you somehow. He lit it as you plopped down on a smoker’s bench two and a half blocks from the cafe. 

“Bad day?” Nanami asked after a beat or two.  

You groaned in response, resting your head on your hands and your elbows on your knees, cigarette dangling dangerously close to your hair. He nodded, suddenly feeling awkward and ill prepared to comfort you. You had probably left the cafe to be free of customers and work, and here he was following you. Shame rose in his chest as he realized his imposition. All the same, Nanami stood next to you, smoking silently, trying to offer you the space you needed, space he had already intruded on. The wind rushed past the both of you, the coming fall air carrying the cigarette smoke away. It seemed to trigger the raising of your head.

“Do you like your job, Nanami?” 

He was surprised. Not by the suddenness of the question but by the sincerity in your voice, and the defeated look on your face. The tops of your cheeks were wet, your eyelashes damp, the usual casual smile you carried now replaced by a deep frown. The sight tore at his heart, until now you had been a consistent source of joy for him, he never expected to see you in such duress. 

“No. I don’t.” He confessed, it was always relieving to be honest about his distaste for sorcery, he made no effort to conceal how he felt, but when he has to do it every day he finds himself pretending occasionally. 

You nod, understandingly, taking the cigarette between your lips and sliding over, for him to plop into the seat next to you and continue, “Well I love mine. I know it’s silly, it's just coffee. But, I don't know, I like seeing people everyday, talking to them, providing something they can enjoy and indulge in, no matter what happens over the course of the day. Something they can rely on for comfort.”

You shook your head, already starting to chuckle at yourself for how stupid you must sound. Before that feeling could take root, Nanami cut in. 

“It’s important. It isn’t silly at all. These people come to you to provide them with a service they can not provide themselves, something you have spent years perfecting for their benefit. You sustain people with energy, you allow them space to rest and stay cool, you offer a moment of kind conversation in a time when people feel more lonely than ever.” His voice stayed even, almost stern, as he spoke to you. 

You watched his face as he spoke, similarly stoic. He was being overgenerous, far too complimentary of your work in something as brief as a coffee stop. You knew this to be the case, it had to be. But, his words echoed the same romanticism that filled you when you had first started in coffee, you did like the idea of providing for people, you liked having a specialized skill, you genuinely cared when your customers engaged you in conversations or told you their problems, human connection was the main draw of the job. And it was why you loved it. You were able to connect with hundreds of people a day, if only for a moment. 

“What happened today?” He inquired further. 

You sighed, “Not any one thing. Just one of the bad ones. I hate disappointing people, and I disappointed a lot of people today.”

“So what?” He responds flatly, taking a drag of the loaner cigarette.  

You’re shocked, a confused laugh leaves you. 

“So what.” He repeats, “if they are disappointed, then they can get over it. Surely the next time they stop in you will take the great care of them that they are used to.” 

His voice is sincere; as though it’s the most obvious, logical line of thinking available. You wanted to defend how bad you felt, to slip into your habits of valuing the negative outlook rather than compartmentalizing. But you can’t, looking at Nanami, with his kind, intelligent eyes looking right back into yours, you’re struck by the heart of his words. You nod reflectively, considering all the situations today where you could feel the disappointment coming from a customer; each situation would be easily fixable when more resources or corresponding orders came in. You had plenty of experience diffusing situations like this, you would be able to fix them all eventually, and anything you didn’t get the chance to — was out of your hands. 

“Thank you.”

 Nanami watched as the smile returned to your face. Your eyes had dried themselves, your back stood straighter as you finished your cigarette and extinguished against the sole of your shoe. He had smoked much slower than you, he wasn't a frequent smoker anymore, an old habit that lingered from needing quick getaways from his former office, so the nicotine buzz was starting to swirl his head, he noticed a small tremor in one of his legs that he recognized as his limit. 

You tucked the butt of your cigarette into a small outer pocket of your purse. Nanami followed your motions, extinguishing his own and handing the double checked no longer burning butt to you. You tucked it inside the same pocket, holding them there to dispose of properly later in a real trashcan. Smoking was bad enough for the environment, you didn’t need to add litter to the equation. Some silly, overly whimsical part of you treasured the idea that the remnants of his mouth and the remnants of yours were in there together, getting cozy. 

He shared that thought with you, although privately. 

“How long is your break?” Nanami asked, wanting to scrub his mind of the thoughts of the indirect kiss between the two of you occurring in your pocket. 

You reached across his lap and took his left wrist in your hand pulling it over to you. His heart stopped, he didn’t dare breathe, immediately conscious of the smoke on his breath wouldn’t disturb you. You had never touched him before, excluding the collision that brought the two of you out here. Nearly three months of over the counter exchanges without a single instance of contact, broken here, with your warm, soft fingers touching the thin skin on the inside of his wrist. He watched your face as you looked at his watch. 

“About ten minutes left.” You sighed. 

You looked back at him, your hold on his arm had brought him closer, much closer than expected. You still held his wrist, his face couldn’t have been further than eight inches, you had never been at eye level with him before. You could see his face so much closer and clearer, you could see the pores on his cheeks, the discoloration under his eyes from overwork and lack of sleep, you thought you saw some deeper discoloration around the side of his eye, but brushed it off as shadow. Your eyes flicked down to his lips, thin and shapely, a full bottom lip with a soft rosy hue. When you met his eyes again you could see through his glasses, seeing that his eyes were trained on you  just as intently. You felt that familiar stirring and buckling in your chest that had become so synonymous with your feelings of excitement around him. He was so close, so focused on you, you felt intimidated, and observed. You released his rest, back into his lap. 

“Thank you, Nanami. I needed that.” You sighed, looking away from him, trying to break the growing tension between the two of you, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, I promise I'm usually better at this.” 

Nanami shook his head, similarly thankful for the severing of intensity, “don’t apologize, I understand. I’m glad I was here.” 

You took in the sidewalk and the street, the cool early fall air around the pair of you, the weather was perfect. Beautiful sun, chilly air, the smell of coming evening rain. You stood, brushing the back of your pants off for any eager fallen leaves that you had been previously too frustrated to notice. He stood quickly to meet you, adjusting his coat and sleeves to busy himself. You two took another moment to adjust yourselves before locking eyes again. You offered him the kind smile he knew so well. 

“Are you ready to head back?” Nanami cleared his throat. 

You nodded, feeling much more grounded, and grateful for this moment of respite. You walked back together, not needing to exchange words, just simply walking side by side the all too short two blocks back to the cafe’s door. Once you reached the door Nanami stalled. Something in him changed, an aura you hadn’t seen in him before 

“Would it be okay if I came by later today?” He asked, not quite looking at you, but over you and into the cafe behind you. 

“S-sure, of course.” You felt yourself shrinking, the embarrassment of how vulnerable you had just been creeping in in a vignette, shading the moment of connection you had just shared with him. 

Nanami gave a clipped nod, looking around once more before turning his gaze down to you. 

“Okay. I’ll be back here tonight. Take care of yourself.” He nodded once more before turning and heading back down the street, 

“W-wait, did you want your coffee?” Your sentence began as a call but faded into a whisper as you realized he wouldn’t be turning around. 

You watched his silhouette descend the path, turning and disappearing into the city. You weren’t sure exactly what happened, what you had done or what had called him away. But before you could dwell too long you heard the voice of your coworker calling to you, asking you for help back on the cafe floor. You looked once more down the path that Nanami had left down, before returning inside to finish your shift. 

The rest of the day passed as well as it could have, and regardless of how grueling it was moment to moment, the time passed anyway, and once the cafe had cleared itself and the hiss of the open sign was made silent, you found yourself alone. The bakers had completed their prep bakes for the next day, allowing them to cool in the large industrial freezers overnight, the other baristas had swept and mopped before clocking out and returning to their own homes. You stood behind the counter waiting on the espresso machine to complete its last cleaning cycle. Nanami hadn’t come back as he said he would, and while you were alone you didn’t feel like hiding your disappointment. You scanned through what you could have done wrong, everything you said, everything you did, suddenly all felt wrong and overly familiar. You’d scared him off. But scared him off from what, you couldn’t figure out. According to your coworkers, he was flirting, and you knew you were, at least to some degree, however fruitless you considered your efforts. 

You were too bogged down by your spiral to hear the shlucking sound coming from the back. The espresso machine's routine of purging and clicking was too loud for you to hear the store room push itself open. It wasn't until you heard the broken, amalgamated voice calling out that you felt the fear slash itself up your spine. You couldn’t decipher the words, they were too garbled, like that of someone underwater trying to speak to you through an AM radio. The pitch was too high for your ears, and too low to even exist. You stood completely still, no one else should have been able to enter the building, the only unlocked door was the front, large lights and plenty of people making it safer than exiting out the back. Some instinct in you was holding you completely still, restricting you from being able to turn around and see where the sound has come from. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move, the only thing you could think about was your coworker set to open tomorrow, and what ungodly nightmare was she going to have to walk into. Tears fell from your eyes, the wetness of your cheeks snapping you out of your paralysis, your body shaking as you started to turn and face what was coming. 

“Don’t turn around.” Nanami stood in front of you, his usual tan jacket removed, moving his sleeves up his arms, his gaze locked behind you. 

Your breath found you again, chin quivering with fear and relief at the sight of him. 

“Close your eyes.” Nanami’s voice was darker than you had ever heard before.He looked completely different, intense and large and imposing, if you didn’t know him you could have been scared of him, “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Close your eyes.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, immediately missing the comfort the sight of him provided. You heard a thunk, a grunt, a slash, and then nothing. 

“You can open your eyes.” Nanami’s voice came from right behind you. 

You turned around quickly, seeing him standing over a pile of knocked over cups and pitchers, holding what looked like a butcher’s knife wrapped in cow print fabric. His yellow tie that you had grown to admire as a symbol of him was loose around his neck. He was still looking down at the ground. Once he seemed satisfied with whatever it was, he looked back at you. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, sheathing the paddle looking blade on the brown leather holster on his back, you had never noticed it before. 

“What the fuck was that?” You couldn't help the tears that fell from you as your body started to shake harder and harder. 

Nanami put his hands on your shoulders, his grip tight and soothing, “I’m sorry you had to see that. But it’s gone now, I assure you.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you started sobbing falling against his chest. He held you tight against him, letting your tears soil his shirt and your body tremble in his arms as he held you firm. You wept until openly, feeling no shame, there was no room for shame with all the fear and adrenaline vacating your body. He made no move to quiet you or tell you to calm yourself, he simply held you close. 

“Can I take you home?” Nanami asked, his voice resounding from his chest where your ear was pressed. 

You nodded. 

Nanami had started sensing the build up of cursed energy on his last visit before bringing Ino. It was faint enough that he couldn’t place if it was coming within or from the general street. On his subsequent visits he noticed it growing exponentially, building on itself in a way that was inching toward concern. His selfish motives for bringing Ino to the cafe were overshadowed when he picked up on it as well. Confirming Nanami’s suspicion that it was an internal problem, and one growing more and more dangerous by the day. Earlier today was the first time he had noticed its effect in action. You tear stained face, the disgruntled patrons, you fevered, overworked companions. He knew he had to intervene. He had come after closing hoping you had already gone home, hoping to take care of it quietly before it became a larger problem. It wasn’t until he saw you terror-stricken with a low level curse emerging from behind that he conceded he would have to tell you. He didn’t want you to have to experience any of this, you shouldn’t have to face the reality of this world, and the monster’s within it. You deserved the same ignorance as everyone else outside of sorcery. But it was no longer his decision. 

He walked you home, which wasn’t far from the cafe, and up to your apartment. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, he hesitated briefly before following you. These aren't the circumstances he had anticipated for his first foray into your living space, but again, it was out of his hands. 

“You said ‘it's gone now’, what is ‘it’?” You asked as you locked the front door behind you, check the peephole for anything out of order. 

Nanami sighed, “It’s…a lot to explain, most of it would be incomprehensible right away. It would take me hours to make it all make sense. And that isn't a slight against you, it’s because I know you're smart that it would only take that long.”  

Your voice was returning fully, the fear having left itself behind at the cafe, “Nanami, you knew. You knew that whatever it was was there, you…killed it? Drove it away? Would it show up here? Do I need to be worried about this thing coming here?”

“No.” he was quick to shake his head, “It’s dead. Well it wasn’t ever really alive, not really. But you don’t have anything to worry about, anymore. I’m sorry it got that bad.”

“Please just tell me.” You groan, “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

And he believed you. So he told you. 

It took nearly four hours, one and a half pots of coffee, and a few crudely drawn diagrams on the back of a take out menu that he drew. But eventually you understood that what had attempted to attack you was a curse, and that curse had likely been building over a series of months or maybe years before it reached this form. He was a sorcerer, a kind of soldier tasked with the exorcisms of these curses in an intensely guarded organization dedicated to keeping curses secret and the public safe. The young man, Ino, who he had brought with him is a sorcerer as well. He explained the rank of threat, and how yours was incredibly low for any skilled sorcerer, which apparently, he was. He showed you the blade he kept on his back, the one that had been hiding just below his jacket for the entire time you had known him. He explained to you how he was able to kill the curse in a single strike, how his technique worked. When his explanations had been completed you felt strange. Stuffed to the brim with new information, most of which terrified you and made you feel powerless against a threat you could have gone through your whole life without knowing about.  But a part of you felt good, knowing there were people kind enough and skilled enough to make this an insular problem, one that did not necessitate the knowledge of the general populace out of sheer humility. 

“I understand that this must be a lot for you to take in. But, I promise you that what attacked you tonight will never show its face again. I can give you a talisman, something to keep in the cafe to keep it safe from future curse development.” Nanami had taken off his coat and harness, his blade lay on your coffee table alongside his glasses and your purse. 

“Was that why you left so quickly today?” It may have been a silly thing to inquire about in the wake of so much life changing information, but you couldn’t hold your tongue. 

Nanami nodded, “I had to run back to my..boss basically, and get a formal assignment to exorcise the curse. I’m sorry I left. I didn’t want to. When we got back the energy was too strong, I knew I would only have a few hours.” His apologized, setting his nearly complete coffee cup on the table, “But I had to make sure that nothing happened to you,” after a beat he adds, “or your coworkers.”

“So you, you saved my life tonight.” You whispered. 

The front pieces of his hair had fallen out of their usual styling, they now hung in front of his face. Through the sandy strands you met his eyes, looking tired and locked with yours. The faint bruise on his brow suddenly made sense, the bags under his eyes, the serious demeanor, it was all recontextualized. You didn;t stop your hand when it traced your middle finger over a small, well healed scar along his eyebrow. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Nanami conceded, usually not one to accept praise for his work. 

“Nanami you saved me.” Your hand cupped his cheek, “I would be a mess for someone to clean up tomorrow morning if you weren’t there.” 

He was speechless, your hand on his cheek was warming as heat crept to his face. Your eyes were so big and beautiful, your lips looked so soft as they shaped your gratitude. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Was all he could choke out. 

You had read about this. After near death experiences, or other instances of extreme adrenaline, the body could have all kinds of after effects; nausea, sleeplessness, exhaustion, arousal. The arousal coursing through your body was a natural side effect of what you had just been through, and what was right in front of you. He had been there watching over you, keeping you safe from threats you couldn't even imagine. Every day he returned was another day that he was caring for you, protecting you, trending to you. His skin was smooth and hot under your touch, the hair of his sideburns was soft under your fingers, it felt like every nerve in your body was turned up to a thousand. The quick hatching chrysalis was nearing its emergence, it was so still as you leaned closer to him. 

“You must be tired. I can go, if you need to sleep.” His resolve was faltering. 

“If you aren’t busy, I know it’s been a long night,” Your hand traveled down to his shoulder, the barrier of his shirt helping him regain some sense, “I think I would sleep better if you were here. Just for the night?”

The cock of your head and the flutter of your lashes made your offer clear. Nanami’s cheeks became more pronounced as he tried to swallow down the burning desire to have you right here. But he, too, had read about the aphrodisiac effects of adrenaline. He knew that there was a chance that your gratitude and your exhilaration were converging inside of you to make you feel like you wanted him, when you were actually just happy to be alive. 

He put his hand on your arm, “Sometimes, when someone has been through something like what you have, they may look for…other forms of excitement to help with the adrenaline dump…it’s very natural..”

The back of his neck was hot, his shirt felt too tight, his pants felt much too tight, his mouth was so wet he risked drooling right in front of you. But he couldn’t take advantage of this moment, it would be wrong. He liked you. Ino claims you liked him, but he doesn’t know for sure, it would be deplorable for him to act on this offer without knowing if this is something your right mind wanted. 

“I’ve read that before.” You nodded, looking at his hand wrapped around your forearm, he was so big, “I’ve never experienced a curse before.”

He nodded along with you, still watching your mouth move. 

“But, I’ve experienced attraction before, Nanami. I know what it feels like to want someone. And I want you.” You told him, pulling your legs up under you on the couch.  

A small shake from his head, “It’s just psychosomatic. You’ll feel better in the morning, or after a shower. It’s the adrenaline.”

“I don’t think I had excess adrenaline the morning you came in first. Or the next time, or earlier today outside. Nanami,” You dipped your head down to look up at his, “Nanami, please. I’ve been too scared to say anything, I didn’t want to seem unprofessional or scare you. But, I like you. I really like you, I think you're gorgeous and kind and funny. You’re brave and smooth and a little weird, but I like that.”

He scanned your face for signs of lying, twitching eyes, avoidant eye contact, swallowing, anything that he could rely on to keep himself from getting exactly what he wanted. But he found nothing. Nothing to let him off the hook of being honest about how he felt. 

He let out a heavy breath, his hand on your arm growing tighter, “I fell for you the moment I walked in. Everytime I went back I went for you. To see you. I think you’re so beautiful and charming. I don’t want this to be wrong.”

You shook your head, your hands returning to his face, the one he had on you now moved to the back of your couch, “It’s not wrong. Nothing about this is wrong.”

He grips your hands, looking you right in the eye. You see his pupils have grown wide, you can feel the sweat on his palms, mixing with your own on the backs of your hands. He held you right in front of him, looking over every inch of your face. You were gorgeous, His heart pounded in his chest, like it was reaching for you. He let out a grateful breath. 

“Thank god.” He couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could you. 

The both of you leaned forward in the same moment, meeting at the perfect center of both pursuits to press your lips together. The chrysalis inside of you hatched, the beating of your heart, the flapping of wet, quickly drying butterfly’s wings. He touched your neck, downy hairs at the nape of your neck soft under his fingers. He was quick to pull you by the waist into his lap. His tongue was smooth on its entrance into your mouth, tasting the underside of your own, the backs of your teeth, the coffee you had shared. The kiss was heated and smooth, personal styles learning to blend together. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hands in his hair, over the back of the couch, anywhere to offer you stability. Nanami’s hands gripped your waist, sliding under your shirt and feeling the first of the body he dreamed of. Kicking himself in the privacy of his own home for thinking of you so disrespectfully. But in your home, on your couch, with you in his lap, he wanted to worship you. The hands he had cursed for pleasuring himself to the thought of you were not reverent as they felt your hips, your ribs, the sensitive flank inbetween. He could feel your shiver as he made his way back and forth, you were sensitive there. He was toying with you, relishing in your hissing inhales, and your breathy moans. But you were never one to be toyed with, you tested a personal theory of yours, one you had formulated with your hand in your panties on nights when sleep wouldnt come and you looked to your own devices to tucker yourself out. You scratched your nails across the cropped undercut at the back of his neck, gripping and tugging at the hair. Nanami let out a strangled moan underneath you, his hips bucking into yours, and his hands gripping you tighter. Just as soon as his mouth left yours, he found your exposed neck, kissing, practically lapping at the skin there. This pulled the more embarrassingly pitched moans out of you. High whimpers as you keened against him in his lap. 

“You’re so beautiful, you’re so good, fuck.” He peppered his praise in with kisses along the column of your throat. 

You haven't heard him swear before now, the words fell from him so easily. He was clearly practiced, it made you wonder what other sides of him came easily that you hadn’t yet seen. 

“Yu-you are,” You could feel your brain covering itself in honey, the saccharine sweet feeling of him under your, on you, all around you, consuming your ability to think. 

You felt him smile against your skin, pulling off of your neck and sliding his hand around to the back of your neck. 

“I-I don’t do this very often, it’s been a while, please don't tease me too much.” This was the softest you had ever heard him, his voice was breathy and it almost came out as a beg. 

You looked down at him sweetly, his hair mussed across his forehead, buttons of his shirt seeming to have undone themselves, tie falling to either side, his chest flush in splotchy red patches. He looked stunning, the light of your living room you had previously considered unflattering, was golden hour. 

“We can take it slow, if you want.” You offered, wanting to accommodate him, the way he had already for you. 

He shook his head leaning forward and readjusting you on his lap. When he settled you back down you realized the reason for his frantic reaction. The very big reason. The pants tenting, hot, probably leaking, reason. 

You nodded, quick to understand. You leaned forward to kiss him again, making sure to grind yourself down in his lap before pulling off completely and grabbing his hand, tugging him behind you. Nanami felt drunk following you to your room, found himself almost stumbling as he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He crossed the threshold to your bedroom where you had already pulled your work pants off, standing in only a thin tank top and your panties. You approached him with mock disappointment and your bottom lip between your teeth. You moved your hands over his chest.

“I wanted to be the one to take off your shirt,” You cooed. 

Nanami’s hand found the lapels, “I can button it again if y--”

You giggled, “Next time.”

Before pulling him into another deep kiss by his neck. His hands found your hips, eager to slip one finger under the top of the waistband and feel the hidden skin. You slid his shirt down his shoulders, the tie falling along with it. Your lips smacked together over and over as you both tried to touch as much skin as was available to you. You pawed at the hard lines of his back, feeling ridges and valleys and muscles. He, similarly, was quick to find the hemline of your shirt and slip underneath. You both let out a haughty moan as he cupped one of your bare breasts. IF you had had your eyes open, you would have seen his eyes roll back in his head as he slipped his tongue between your lips once again, squeezing the tit in his hand. You freed your arms and pulled the shirt over your head as he undid his belt. 

“You’re so gorgeous.” Nanami gazed over you. 

“You’re gorgeous.” You echoed, hopping on to the bed and watching him pull his grey slacks down his legs. He wore a pair of navy colored briefs that hid almost nothing, especially the nearly black splotch of precum that had accumulated. 

“Fuck, you’re hot.” You marveled at him, his body, the evidence of the effect you had on him, his face, him, all of him. 

Nanami sucked in a quick breath, fighting his embarrassment by looking at the hungry look on your face. You were nearly naked on the bed, waiting for him. You had only your panties on, your chest exposed, nipples once puffy now hardening with excitement. Eyes trained on him, mouth panting and swollen from his kiss. He could see a small bruise forming on the side of your neck, he would apologize in the morning, flowers or breakfast, but for now it was all his to admire. He joined you on the bed, climbing over your body to do so. His torso caged you in completely, wide shoulders shadowing over your frame. He pulled you by your thighs. Taking time to stretch your legs and admire the muscle and skin and fat that made up your gorgeous form. He seemed impressed with your flexibility, at least the little click of his tongue indicated as much. His clothed cock pressed right against your panty clad pussy, both hot and begging to be aligned. He pressed his hips a little as he brought one of your ankles to his lips, kissing the ball, then up the calf. You moaned at the wet kisses, relishing in his affection. He looped his thumbs into your panties, releasing your leg so he could pull them from your legs. Nanami caught your eyes before spreading your legs in front of him, you gave him the go ahead and he sank before you, aligning himself to see your pussy spread open for him. If he wasn't drunk earlier, he was now. Sticky, dripping, gorgeous. He couldn’t hold back, he licked a long, wet stripe up you slit, tasting his first of you. 

Your body was on fire, completely electrified, and weightless underwater all at once. His tongue made its home between your labia, sharp nose being buried in your mound. Your back arched off the bed as a wanton moan left your wet mouth. Your hand flew to his hair, finding a grip for you to cling to. Your other hand held your breast. Nanami’s tongue flicked itself up and down, kissing your clit, drawing out more and more arousal from your dripping hole. 

“Fuck, you taste so good.” He says, soft enough to be just for himself. 

You can't respond, only mewl as he sucks at your clit. You release your breast and grip on to the headboard, accidentally pulling yourself away from him. Nanami grabs your hips and pulls you back onto his tongue. 

“Come back.” He mumbles, again, almost to himself. 

“N-Nanami, i-..”You are cut off by another harsh suck to your clit, his tongue circling inhumanly. 

You were so close, it usually would have taken you much longer to orgasm but the excitement coursing through your body and his skill had turned you to keening, pathetic putty in mere minutes. He flicks his golden eyes up at you, watching you start to unravel. He knows what to do, or rather what not to do, he carries on exactly as he has been, every flick of his tongue pulling you down further. It became too much, and you bubbled over. You cried out in white out pleasure, pulling on his hair. Your legs clapped around his head. He drank up everything you gave, your moans upsettingly muffled by your flesh over his ears. 

When he felt you relax again, he pulled his mouth from you, a thick, gossamer string of spit and cum connecting from his lips to your pussy. The hand from his hair fell to his face, pairing nicely with his blown out eyes and fucked out expression. He caught his breath while looking over your body, your full breasts, your tummy rising and falling as you caught your own. He moved over you once again, kissing you deeply. He tasted like you, his tongue was heavy and hot in your mouth, his hands were fast to rid himself of his underwear and pull your legs over his bare hips. You could feel the length of his cock pressing against your throbbing, overly sensitive cunt. Your outer lips, now much more sensitive from Nanami’s expert work. 

“You’re amazing.” You gasped out against his mouth. 

He hummed pridefully, kissing you again. He grinds his hips hard, hoping to prepare you further for what's to come, but he miscalculated, a rare occurrence. Both of you let out long, glorious moans as he pushes himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. Nanami shudders briefly before gaining his strength back, you dig your nails into his back, but he cant feel anything except the pulsing of your pussy around him. He may never be able to think again, not of anything other than having the hot velvet muscle between your legs tight around his cock. You whimper at his penetration, feeling him press the deepest parts of you. Tip of his cock kissing your cervix, just as passionately as he kissed you. He was not a small man by any measure, and the entirety of his cock probably made up close to eight inches, with the girth to burn as it stretched you open. 

Which he did again, catching your panting lips on his own, quick kisses between caught breaths as you both adjusted to the feeling of being joined together. He pulled his hips back, pulling a shaky moan from you, and pushed in once more. Somehow he reached even deeper than he did before, his cock arching up to press that beautiful, spongy spot inside of you, the spot that made you clit throb and your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Look at me, baby.” Nanami pleaded, “I wanna see your pretty eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open, a drunken droop to the lids as he thrusted again. He found an even, well paced rhythm. Kissing you occasionally, when one of you wasn't gasping out in bliss. Your hand moves up one of his arms, gripping his taut bicep and his sinewy shoulders. He pressed his forehead to yours, looking down your body to see his pelvis meeting yours. His cock throbbed inside of you at the sight, in turn making your walls grip him tighter. You pull him back to your lips, wanting to be consumed by every sensation he could give you. His hand by your head grips the pillow hard, ripening a hole in the casing. You move your hand up to meet his, holding it and interlocking your fingers. His grip softened instantly, becoming as sweet and generous as ever part of him had been already. You felt him twitch inside of you once more. Followed by a choked moan. 

“I-i, baby I,” Nanami struggled to get his words out as he drove himself further and further into you. 

“Please, Nanami, please.”You held him closer with your thighs, purring out his name. 

“I didn't put on a condom,” He struggled to collect himself, he knew he could be responsible with you, “I should..”

“Dont pull out,” You whine, sounding more pitiful than you intended, “please Nanami, cum inside me, please.” 

He finds your eyes quickly, his heart melting at your big watery pleading eyes. You swollen lips, you drooping, drooling mouth. How could he deny you? Nanami made quick work of chasing his own climax, thrusting harder, fucking faster, holding your body still underneath him. You feel every thrust in your throat. His pace quickens and his thrust become shallow and choppy. Nanami lets out a delicious, languid moan as he cums. You can feel his thick cock depositing load after load of cum into you. An elongated, uninterrupted E sound. He holds you at your hip and when your hand still holds his. His face is now buried in your neck. Your legs are slung over his hips along with your other hand over his shoulder. He thrusts twice more before stalling, having emptied himself, but not yet gathered the desire to pull out. When he finally comes to, he releases your tender hip and pushes himself up from above you, looking down at you. You pant up at him, taking in a post-coital vision of him you never expected, and he, the same. He flushed, sweaty, messy, drool and cum drying on his chin, hairstyle ruined by your grasping. You imagine you looked just as disheveled by half as gorgeous. Nanami, would of course, disagree. He kisses you again, soft and deep. When he finally pulls himself out of you he takes the spot to the right of you in bed. You lie together, allowing your bodies to return to a blissful equilibrium. You roll onto your side, moving a hand over his stomach. 

“So you’ll stay the night?” you gave a sly smile. 

And he laughed. Truly laughed, before kissing you again deeply. 

And he did stay the night. After a quick shower the pair of you returned to bed and slept soundly in each other's arms until he got up before the sunrise to make it back to his apartment with enough time to change before work. He kissed you goodbye and assured you he would come by the cafe. And he did, he met you right at the end of your shift, a bundle of flowers in one arm. He invited you to a home cooked dinner at his place. You were surprised at his determination to make you an established couple, but not even close to put off by it. 

“I know it’s a little unorthodox, but I am about to start a new assignment and it’s shaping up to be a lot of work. I may be indisposed for a few days. I’d really like to see you again before then” He explained as he walked you home. 

“I’d love to,” You giggled, kissing his cheek and admiring the bouquet he had picked out, “Where are you going for your assignment?”

“Shibuya.”

OOOOOOOOOOO SURPISE, anyway hope yall like it and came good. Love you all, thanks for 150 followers. Also im on my barista high horse a little, but just be normal and nice to people, and if you'd tip a bartender, tip a barista. it's the same job. I hope this was worth the wait. I have work in fiv ehours. -Doodle.

[diorsluv]

casual , part 12

“ knee deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

edwards.73

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yourusername 🥰

→ edwards.73 ❤️

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username18 OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODDD

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trevorzegras YEAHHH KID

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yourusername

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yourusername blue days for the blue gals 💙

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username28 personally i think you should drop him

username16 would now be a good time to exercise my weekly #RUTSUPREMACY privileges

liked by yourusername

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vivianliu YOU NEED A YELLOW DAY. BECAUSE YELLOW = HAPPY. BLUE - BLUE + YELLOW = HAPPY.

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username61 awww the outfits are cute

username57 our little fashion queen ⁉️

rutgermcgroarty how about instead of moping we go have a little best friends day at mini golf

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trevorzegras you’re not updating me on any of this

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username16 UR SO PRETTY HE DOESNT DESERVE U

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→ yourusername BURNNNNNNNN

next chapter notes ) i haven’t updated this in a week guys am i cooked?!?! wanna start that rut au so badly but i don’t want it to flop and i also don’t wanna put another au on hold 😔😔

tags: @dancerbailey3 @hughesfein @loveforaugust @alwaysclassyeagle @love4ldr @inhoodmood @bunting58 @crazycat-ladys-blog @smoooore @bunbunbl0gs @lilasianmeat

[elliesflower]

hii, i love your work so much <3 can u write smth about reader and abby (in a pre established relationship) where readers mind just goes completely blank as she stares at abbys arms when she works out or literally does anything and abby notices and fucks her hard and uses her strength to do whatever she wants with reader? would also be nice if u could write smth about overstimulation <3 i know its not a noticeable detail for this req but pls write black!reader bc i am too and need some abby for myself tysm 🫶

what you need [abby anderson]

pairing; abby x black fem!reader

cw; top!abby, bottom!reader, strap-on usage (r!recieving), overstimulation, dirty talk/gendered pet names, kinda leaning on bimbo/subspace territory

an; thank u so much for this request sweetheart! i hope u enjoy, please let me know what u think!! i'm sorry the ending is a little rushed, i've literally been trying to post this for like three weeks lmfao. also i did not proofread this v well so if u see a mistake no u dont <3

tags; @scandalcus @prrimordiais @roarriita

18+ only, mdni!!!!

you don’t consider yourself weak. 

but when you were looking at abby, perhaps you were. just a bit. 

“babe? the chalk,” abby’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you shook your head slightly, as if it would get rid of them, reaching behind you to grab the chalk before crossing the room to hand it to her. 

“thanks,” she didn’t even look at you, and you almost huffed. you’ve been with her at the gym for what feels like hours now, even though it’s probably only been more like thirty minutes. you started out just walking on the treadmill, but got bored pretty quickly when you realized you could be watching your girlfriend train instead. 

she was training for a pr on her deadlift, and she was getting close. you’d barely seen her this week—when she wasn’t on patrol, she was in the gym. you fell asleep before she got home almost every night, and when you woke up, she was already gone. it was driving you crazy, and now that you were together, she still was barely paying you any mind. 

she rubbed the chalk between her hands, clapping them out on her thighs before positioning herself behind the bar. you sat back down behind her and watched as she bent over, gripping the metal bar, her forearms flexing as she adjusted her grip. you practically had to wipe the drool away from your mouth as you watched her begin to lift, admiring the way her veins popped out from beneath her skin, her shoulders glistening with sweat as her muscles flexed with the effort it took to lift the weights. 

her brows were knit together in concentration as she watched herself in the mirror, gritting her teeth together and keeping her breath as controlled as possible. you couldn’t help but to feel flustered as she panted, imagining the sounds in a…much different context.

the sound of the weights clattering to the ground snapped you out of your head for a second time, and you flinched, watching as abby smiled at herself in the mirror, flexing and slapping her bicep. 

“yeah, that’s right,” she spoke, and oh, that sounded eerily similar to her bedroom voice, “that’s what i’m fucking talking about! did you see that shit?” she turned to face you now, still grinning from ear-to-ear. “beat my pr by forty pounds, i gotta get manny in here tomorrow to verify because that shit is going up on the board.”

you smiled up at her, nodding—but it was kind of hard when you were also focused on pressing your thighs together, trying to ignore the fact that somewhere along the line, your panties had become damp, sticking delicately to your folds as you watched abby training. her mouth twitched just slightly at the corner, and you swallowed. you knew abby could read you like the back of her hand, no matter how hard you tried to hide from her. 

“something wrong, baby?” she asked, feigning concern. her tank top was covered in sweat around the neckline, her forehead glistening under the fluorescents as she walked toward you. you shook your head, a bit too quickly, and it was telling. your throat felt dry, your brain absolutely scrambled as you looked up at her. she stopped directly in front of you, towering over you so that you had to strain your neck to look up at her. if there wasn’t a giant wall of windows to the left of you, you couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t just sink down to your knees and kiss her fucking feet. she looked like an angel—scratch that, god—above you as you watched her through your lashes, stomach tying in knots. 

she wasn’t saying anything. she was just looking at you, breathing heavy, with half of that stupid smile still on her face. you focused your own breathing, in and out, but it didn’t help that she was so close you could smell her, sweaty musk that could only smell good on her, and it was making you dizzy. and she fucking knew it too. 

“alright then,” she said finally, bending down to your level so that your faces were mere inches apart. “what d’you say we go clean up and meet jordan and leah for dinner?” oh, right. there was that. you could only nod, and abby’s eyes were wild, flickering down to your mouth before meeting yours again. 

“let’s go.” her voice was sharp, commanding, and she went to retrieve her gym bag. you sat silently for another moment, trying to will yourself to calm down, just a bit. you knew you’d get back to the room and she wouldn’t be able to resist—she’d have you pinned up against the wall before you could even blink. 

except, she didn’t. she tossed her bag to the ground and began gathering things for her shower, effectively ignoring, even as you changed out of your shirt extra slowly, just waiting for her to turn around and catch you. but she didn’t, and didn’t even say another word as she slipped out the door to take a shower. you scrunch your brows together, lips pouting slightly as you get dressed for dinner, making sure to put on a clean pair of underwear. you were so worked up, part of you wanted to touch yourself, right here and now—but you didn’t even want to think about how long abby might make you wait if she came back and found you knuckle deep in your pussy. so you didn’t.

dinner with leah and jordan was pleasant. leah’s cooking was insane, as always, and jordan and abby caught up on some big assignment that was coming up, still paying you little attention. after dinner, you were excited to get back to your room, practically salivating at the thought of what abby might do to you, but jordan just had to suggest watching a movie. and of course, abby just had to agree. 

you were a bit surprised when abby pulled you onto her lap on the couch, seeing as she had practically been avoiding you like the plague since the gym, and oh—she was packing.

leah rested her head on jordan’s lap on the loveseat beside you, their bodies conveniently angled just so that you were out of view. your eyes widened, breath hitching as abby snaked her arm around your waist, pulling you further back into her as she readjusted her position against the couch, effectively grinding her hips up into you. you bit your lip as you leaned back into her, glancing over at leah and jordan to confirm they couldn’t see you. she smelled like pine and her hair was down, fuck she looked so good with her hair down. 

“wassa’ matter babe?” abby whispered against your neck, and you shivered. “you’re so tense.” she punctuated her point with a hand on your shoulder, her thumb pressing into the junction of your neck. 

“nothing,” you lied, trying to keep your voice quiet and steady. “just watching the movie.” and thinking about abby flipping you over and railing you into next week. but you didn’t say that part. you didn’t even know what movie was playing. 

“mhm,” she murmured behind you, her hand trailing around your middle to meet her other, pressing you even further against her. you could feel her cock pressing into your ass, and you had to bite back a moan. you reached to grasp at her wrists, your fingers not even wrapping around the girth of them, trying to grind your hips for just a little bit of friction—anything, you’d take anything you could get at this point—but she only tightened her grip, halting your movements. 

“stop squirming,” she said quietly. “m’trying to watch the movie.” it was really unfair, how her voice was so steady, and her breathing so even. meanwhile, you thought you might explode, nails digging into her skin as you tried your best to ignore the heat in your stomach, and how you were definitely ruining this pair of panties as well. 

she held you like that, for a few minutes longer, or hours, maybe, how long was this fucking movie? your pussy was clenching and unclenching, your heart beating out of control as you tried to ignore the feeling of abby beneath you to no avail. 

suddenly, thankfully, she relinquished her hold on your waist, smoothing her hands down the expanse of your bare thighs. 

“hey, i’m getting pretty tired. i’ve gotta be up pretty early, i think we’re gonna turn in,” she said over the movie, and jordan craned his neck to look at the pair of you standing up. you really hoped your face didn’t give away how insanely flustered you felt. leah was passed out in his lap, and he gave you both a nod and bid you goodnight. 

in the hallway, abby was back to ignoring you. you could barely keep up with her as she strode ahead. you were aching at this point, genuinely surprised you weren’t leaking straight down your thighs as you watched her back muscles flex beneath her shirt. you loved this game. and she knew it too. 

she stopped just outside your door, leaning against the frame and crossing her arms as she waited for you to unlock it. before you could get both feet through the doorway, she was right behind you, chest pressing against your back as she ushered you inside, closing the door behind her and spinning you around so that she could press you against it. you gasped, flattening your palms against the door as you looked at her, your head trapped between her arms. you burned under her gaze, stomach tightening and legs going weak. 

“don’t think i didn’t see your face in the mirror while i was training,” she said quietly, grabbing the back of your neck to keep your eyes on her. you were so fucking horny you didn’t have the semblance to be ashamed as she all but taunted you.

“hm? just watching me work out gets you all hot and bothered?” you felt like your neck might snap from nodding so hard. abby laughed quietly at you, the sound only turning you on more. 

“yeah i know, because you know i could take you any way i wanted and you wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. so fucking spoiled,” she was teasing you, and you whined. “you’ve been so patient with me this week,” she pressed her lower half against you, using her hand to press the side of your face into the door, making you once again aware of the silicone cock in her pants. she could feel your pulse thrumming against her fingers, exciting her. “gonna make it all better now, okay? i’m gonna give you what you need…” her lips were ghosting over your ear, and you were quite literally trembling in her grasp, taking in a shaky breath as you waited patiently. 

“so good for me,” she grabbed you by the jaw, before she placed a kiss on your lips and pulled back, causing you to let out a pitiful whine. 

“tell me what you want,” her lids were heavy as she looked at you, her poor, poor baby—lips parted, eyes glazed over, panting with a desperate need. you pouted slightly. surely she’d give in, right? she’s already had you waiting for so long. 

she gripped your jaw tighter, making you gasp as she pressed you further into the door. you were helpless, completely at her mercy, her strength always hyper evident when she had you like this. “c’mon, tell me what you want.” you felt tears welling in your eyes, balling your hands into fists as she watched your face. 

“use me,” your voice broke through, small and weak. somehow, abby’s face remained stoic, though you saw her draw in a sharp breath. she pulled her hand away to tap at your cheek, not quite a slap, but enough that you were whining. 

“manners,” she reprimanded, withdrawing her hand completely. you let a tear fall as you were overcome with frustration, emptiness–

“please, use me, please abby, i missed you,” and it was pathetic, how a sob escaped your lips. but it was okay, because you knew she’d make it all better, her eyes going soft for a moment before she was pulling you in, slotting your lips together in a messy kiss. you could taste as your tears mixed with saliva, letting her suck your tongue into her mouth before trailing her hands down to your ass, grabbing a handful and squeezing. 

“jump,” she mumbled against your lips, and you obliged, letting her pull you in as you wrapped your legs around her waist. she carried you across the room with ease, and you couldn’t help but try to press deeper against her lower half.

“so fuckin’ pretty baby,” she mumbled against you, and she was setting you down on the table. “was so hard to not to just bend you over that couch and fuck you like you deserve,” oh god, oh fuck, you were moaning against her mouth, letting her hands find the hem of your shirt before she was pulling it off over your head, exposing your breasts. 

“bet you’d like that, hm? letting me fuck you in front of our friends, show them how dirty you really are?” she rasped, her voice holding a desperate edge. you whined at the notion, the fact that she was just as desperate for you as you were for her. you nodded pathetically as she rubbed a thumb across your sensitive nipples, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as you gripped the edge of the table. 

she dipped her head down, swirling her tongue over one of your nipples and you threaded your fingers through her hair, gripping tightly as your head fell back in ecstasy, mouth falling open in a silent moan. she kissed her way back up to your mouth as you panted heavily. she wasn’t even teasing you, she was so desperate, the heat radiating off her body as she continued messily kissing up to your neck, your jaw, back to your mouth where she parted your lips with her own, fumbling with the button of your jeans. 

“yeah, i know baby, i know,” her voice was like velvet, scratchy and soft at the same time against your lips. “just need me to take care of you, huh? that it?” she was practically manhandling you to lift your hips up and pull off your pants and panties, your tailbone connecting rather harshly with the wooden table once you were exposed—you didn’t have the semblance to be embarrassed at how it barely even hurt as your body was overwhelmed with adrenaline, with desire, with abby. 

“yes, god,” you threw your head back, wrapping your legs around her waist to draw her in closer as she sucked a fresh mark into your neck, and then another, and another, leaving you grinding helplessly against her, your wetness allowing you to rub your clit directly against the bulge in her pants. your whining was pornographic, desperate and loud, the friction clouding your mind with ecstasy. “missed you so much, abs, please–”

“fuckin’ needy,” she gritted, pressing on your lower back to get you even closer, eliciting a gasp from your mouth as you clutched onto her shoulder with one hand while the other kept you steady on the table. “barely been a week and you just need it that bad, can’t even wait for my cock?” her words were filthy, and your grinding even filthier, desperate and rough, like you were a bitch in heat—abby’s strong arm was keeping you in place as you took your pleasure, the feeling overwhelming your body as you panted and gasped, and oh, since when were you able to cum this fast? “c’mon baby, that’s it– take what you need, i got you.”

it must have barely been five seconds before you were losing it, body tensing as your hips stuttered, feeling your wetness absolutely drenching the front of abby’s pants. “oh m’godm’godfuckingchrist–” you babbled incoherently as she held you through it, murmuring praises and trying to hide her own groans by biting down into your shoulder. your used clit was puffy and sore against the rough fabric of her pants as you came down, whining as abby reached between your bodies. 

“such a fucking good girl, my god,” she praised, giving you no time to recover as she ran her fingers through your slick folds. you moaned, your thighs closing around her arm instinctively as she explored your wetness, slipping two fingers inside with ease. 

“abby, s’too much, please,” your voice was pitiful, broken and whiny as you gripped her arm, your words inconsistent with the way your walls fluttered around her fingers as she opened you up, unable to resist her, even when it felt like too much—because you know it wasn’t too much. in fact, maybe it wasn’t enough. abby knew your body, exactly how you needed to be taken apart, brought to your peak and taken care of.

“yeah? you don’t want this then?” she taunted, and took her fingers out so that she was just teasing your entrance. 

“no!” you gasped, the empty feeling making your stomach twist, tears streaming down your face. “please, i- i can take it, please, i’m sorry,” you begged, would practically say anything or do anything at this point. but you knew abby wouldnt make you wait long, smirking at you before pressing her fingers back in just as quickly as she’d pulled out. she couldn’t resist you, especially after not having you for an entire week. 

“i know you can baby, such a good girl,” she was working her fingers into you rapidly now, determined to make you come on her fingers again before she impaled you on her strap.and it wouldn’t take long, what with your sensitive cunt being abused again. you were shaking, could feel your wetness pooling beneath you, ruining the table as you moaned and panted. “c’mon, let go for me baby, let go,” her voice washed over you, started as the sweat on your hairline until it was making your stomach twist, your thighs tremble and your toes curl, your pussy gushing out for the second time already that night. 

“fuck,” you whined, clenching desperately around nothing as she pulled her fingers out of you, digging your nails into her shoulder as she ran a finger over your swollen clit again, making you gasp out her name, broken and pitiful. your heart was beating out of your chest, watching abby draw her fingers up to your mouth. your lips parted automatically, allowing her to press her fingers in, pressing down on your tongue as you sucked your juices off of her. 

“yeah, that’s it,” she breathed. “clean up your mess baby.” so full of love and adoration, but she wanted more. you could see it in her eyes as they flashed something wild, and knew she wasn’t planning on stopping. watching your pleasure was doing something to her she couldn’t even explain, practically moaning at the sight and feeling of you sucking on her fingers.

you were tired, your multiple orgasms after a dry spell catching up to you quickly, and abby could sense your sudden change in demeanor—your eyes drooping slightly as you sucked lazily on her fingers, your index finger holding onto one of her belt loops to keep you upright. you were a sight, your juices spilled all over the table, your thighs sticky and messy with your arousal. she almost took pity on you, almost. but she knew her good girl could take just one more. 

and you knew it too, what with the way she was looking at you. the thought made you feel dirty, and made you moan around her fingers, grasping on her wrist as you started sucking on them just a little bit harder, that little flame in your tummy igniting once more. you watched abby’s eyes darken as you sped up, her chest rising and falling quicker as she felt your tongue wrapping around her fingers.

“oh m’god, baby,” she groaned, and she withdrew her fingers, a string of saliva dribbling down your chin as she shuffled backwards to undo her pants. “i gotta fuck you baby, gotta give you what you deserve,” she was rambling as you leaned back on your elbows, your legs twitching as the cool air washed over your damp pussy, on display for your girlfriend. “gonna give you this cock baby don’t worry.”

“please abby,” and unspoken was please take care of me, please fuck me, please do anything you want to me, and she would. there was no doubt. you could barely see the black silicone spring free from down the line of your body as you were laid back on the table. 

“i know baby, i know,” abby gripped your hip with one hand, her blunt nails digging into the flesh with a delicious sting, and you tried to pull back when the tip of her strap brushed over your over-sensitive clit. it made your brain all fuzzy, your whole body tingling with the over-sensitivity, the push and pull of wanting more but feeling so used. “just let me in, you can take it,” she was practically cooing, teasing your entrance as you writhed on the table, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to watch. 

“abby!” you cried as she pushed past the tight ring of muscle, your back arching so that you sat up higher, the angle pressing her cock right against your most delicate spot. abby’s hand immediately came around to your back, holding you up before you dead-weighted and hit your head on the wooden table. 

“i got you, angel, you’re okay,” she was mesmerized, watching the way your body responded to her. you were so fucked out, the feeling of her cock stretching you out making you whine and pant and feel so fucking dirty. “c’mon baby, sit up. hands around my neck, you can do it,” she was pulling you up, and you obliged, reaching up to wrap your arms lazily around her neck. she snaked both arms around your waist and lifted you up off the table, causing you to cry out and bury your face into her neck. 

“that’s it, just relax,” she kept herself nestled deep inside you, almost pressed against your cervix when you wrapped your legs around her waist and whined pitifully, the sound muffled by abby’s shirt. her hands snaked down to your ass to keep you spread open as she held you still and began to thrust slowly up into your sore cunt. 

“oh m’god abby, jesus,” you cried as she fucked into you with seemingly no effort, your wet pussy making obscene noises each time she pulled out. you were already teetering right on the edge, and the feeling of her cock filling you up was going to be your downfall. she groaned each time she felt you tensing in her grip, and she was faltering with her own arousal. 

“such a good fucking girl,” she was almost growling, and you were so close, so fucking close, your juices dribbling out indecently around her as she fucked you to overstimulation. “taking everything i give you…is my pretty girl going to come again for me? hm?” you could do nothing but nod as abby bounced you up and down on her thick cock, desperate to bring you to your release. 

“well c’mon then,” she whispered against the side of your face and your eyes rolled back into your head as your pussy tightened around her, nearly suffocating her with your arms as your body was overwhelmed by your third orgasm of the night. a broken mantra of abby abby abby abby spilling from your lips as you tumbled over the edge again. 

“that’s it baby, fuck,” abby’s voice was almost as broken as yours, pulling you closer into her hips as you cried into her shoulder. 

“my fucking best girl.”

[dairy-farmer]

Yes that’s the one! Thank you so much! Do you also have it on tumblr? Twitter hides the thread when you are not a member ):

answered out of order:

brutim

cw/tw cnc

i dont but i can post it! here!

___________________________________

brutim| bruce with noncon fantasies he never shared with partners like talia or selina. but then tim gets hit with a spell that makes him say the opposite of what he wants and bruce fucks him harder than he ever has before while shivering at his 'no more! stop! help me! slower!'

bruce being so close to finishing, fucking harder and deeper and then tim, gasps, whines, and in his ears bruce hears him beg-

"not inside! not inside!"

and bruce GROANS and cums as deep as he can in tim.

it’s during one of those rare out-of-gotham cases that it happens. tim gets returned to him by a sheepish clark who is holding a squirming superboy by the ear in one hand.

“zatanna says it should wear off by morning”

IT. is a tongue curse.

a magician had seen that robin had been the one calling the shots and decided to teach him a lesson.

in the medbay tim squirms as bruce examines him, peeling off his sweat-slickened suit and prodding at his bruises and superficial cuts.

“that doesn’t hurt."

tim states matter of factly when bruce presses a finger to a sluggishly bleeding scrape on tim’s jaw.

bruce carefully removes his fingers.

that means it does hurt. it was, afterall, a diametric spell. every word that came out of tim's mouth was the opposite of what he wanted.

if he said it didn't hurt, that meant that it did. if he didn't want something, it meant that he did.

bruce had tested it out, trying to see the extent of how the spell worked.

it was only supposed to last a few hours but bruce still wanted a catalog of the incident.

'yes' meant 'no'.

'slow down' became 'faster'.

simple things like that.

expletives were interesting. when bruce ordered tim to swear at him, tim blushed and hesitantly said 'fuck'.

names seemed unaffected.

it appeared that since the words were exclamations rather than words with assigned meanings they didn't have a reversal.

bruce put tim through a set of comprehensive tests to see the extent of the spell.

if bruce told him to point to the right, tim would point to the left.

if bruce told him to write down specific words, tim would write the opposite.

but if bruce didn't order him then tim could do as he pleased. it was a fascinating effect. able to function by using compulsion.

the spell seemed to invade tim's language center, his writing ability, and his body's motions.

when bruce told tim to step closer to him, tim took a step back.

it was a remarkable effect. and dangerous.

things like this in the field could immediately effect the chain of command, orders given, and plans laid out.

if tim tried to resist saying anything at all he could remain silent.

for a bit.

but then his jaw would begin to tremble and bruce would see drool collecting in the corner of tim's mouth until tim burst out with the words.

tim's mouth was slack, pink tongue peeking out. lines and strings of drool dripped out as tim hastily wiped it away.

bruce stared for a moment longer than necessary before adding that the spell had a compulsion aspect to it.

alfred was away in europe for a few more days, leaving bruce and tim alone for the most part.

that's why bruce was in charge of tim's physical.

along with making sure he got something to eat and was showered and dressed for bed.

tim is already up in his room by the time bruce retires from the cave.

there's a small tub of ointment for tim's bruises in his hand.

he'd forgotten to hand it to tim before he sent him upstairs.

bruce knocks and lets the door creak open, peeking in to the sight of tim sitting up and staring at him from bed.

"get out."

bruce's sleepiness had a bit of its claws in him but at the sound of the soft order he startles awake.

bruce's head shoots up to face tim who is red-faced and squirming in bed.

"get out," he repeats with more force before letting out a sharp frustrated breath through his nose.

bruce feels a tug of something in his gut and enters tim's room.

tim's sleeping shirt is hanging off a shoulder. there's a bright red mark on his shoulder that will likely purple into a bruise within a day or two.

tim has pushed himself up and is staring at bruce with some hazy interest.

bruce doesn't know why he hasn't offered tim the ointment yet. instead, he's just standing in tim's room. staring.

but there's a strange tension in the air.

bruce is shirtless with just some loose cotton sleeping pants. tim is in a simple shirt and some underwear that bruce can see peeking beneath.

tim is staring at him patiently. waiting for his explanation for why he's in his room so late.

the room he's already told bruce to get out of. (but it wasn't like that was it? tim didn't mean to tell bruce to get out, he meant to tell him to come in when he knocked).

they've been here before. done this before.

where the manor was empty save for them and tim would crawl into bed with bruce.

it started innocently enough, tim tucking his face into bruce's neck, breathing him in. but then hands wandered and clothes were removed.

bruce always felt guilty in the morning.

he avoided tim for a few days out of shame and then everything returned to normal.

bruce could always reassure himself with the fact that it was always tim who came to him. tim entered his room, got into his bed.

it wasn't as bad if tim was the one who did it. who started it.

bruce felt less guilty about it.

but here...now...

bruce was in tim's room. (coming to give him medicine).

tim was staring at him and bruce held out the small glass jar.

"ointment" he offered and held it out to tim who went cross-eyed to stare at it.

"use it for your bruises."

tim sucked on his bottom lip. slowly.

bruce watched the movement of his mouth with something forming in his gut.

tim looked back up at him. eyes big, one shoulder bare with his shirt hanging off it.

"i'm not in any pain."

tim let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. bruce watched it like a hawk. "i don't need your help."

bruce swallowed thickly. something...something was in his gut coiling.

tim's tone ordering him to get out. tim's insistence that he wasn't in pain and didn't need bruce's help.

"i'll do it." bruce replied, voice oddly croaked. "i'll apply it."

"no." tim breathed, voice oddly breathless. "i don't want you to."

bruce felt a shiver race down his spine as he edged closer, form practically eclipsing tim.

bruce pressed him down with a single hand.

tim didn't resist him. tim's pupils were big, his breathing was heavier

bruce grabbed tim's bare thigh, squeezing it experimentally and listening to tim's soft hiss.

"did that hurt?" bruce asked.

he opened the slick balm that turned to an oil with the warmth of his skin.

"no." tim replied with a slight strain, like he was reluctant like he didn't mean it.

something tugged at bruce's brainstem.

bruce massaged the flesh.

he dug in expert fingers until tim let out a soft whimper.

"you want me to make you feel better?" bruce asked, voice heavy with...something.

tim whimpered.

"n-no."

tim's eyes slip closed and bruce inched closer.

"are you going to let me help you?"

tim shakily sucked in a breath and-

"n-no. no i don't want your help, please-"

bruce wasn't paying attention to tim's bruises or scratches. the little glass jar was somewhere in the sheets, bruce didn't know where. he was too focused on tim.

tim's little baby clit was pulsing under bruce's fingers as tim's thighs shook around where bruce had settled between his legs.

tim was making little murmurs under his breath, brows furrowed as bruce trailed his fingers around his slick little entrance.

"stop." tim panted.

"stop stop stop-"

bruce swallowed the lump in his throat, steadied his shaking arm and pressed two fingers into tim's wet slit.

tim arched up off the bed.

"n-no! no! bruce-" bruce felt something like agony course through him.

his jaw was clenched so tight, his body was winded up with tension.

bruce shoved tim's shirt further up his chest. his other hand not inside tim, cupped and pinched tim's little tit. he squeezed and roughed up the flesh.

he left the skin red and distressed as he pressed in closer and ground his covered cock into tim's wet seam.

"no, bruce, no-"

tim began shaking, trembling under him.

bruce knows it's because he gets overwhelmed. because it just feels too good.

it's not because he's afraid.

not because he doesn't want this. but still. tim's words and the mixed signals from his body- they just do things to bruce's brain.

he's felt guilty about his thoughts that were like this.

he's cursed himself and convinced himself there was something deeply wrong with him for desiring something like this.

a body squirming and crying under him, desperate to get away. but bruce is too big, too strong and they can't escape. they can't get away.

bruce knows it's wrong. it's a branch of depraved that is considered one of the more extreme taboos.

he's never tried it with a partner. never.

he knows the kind of women he is attracted to. strong and proud.

they'd never lower themselves to begging.

they'd never give into the indignance of pretending to be a victim for bruce. they'd be insulted, disgusted even.

it's why bruce kept it to himself. kept his shameful thoughts to himself.

bruce comforts himself with the fact that he's sickened by the thought of ever attempting something like this outside of a fantasy.

not in real life.

not when he's seen the aftermath on the streets so many times.

but still sometimes...he can't help but just think of it...

it's why he hated himself just a little bit more every time the desire reared his head and he touched himself to the thought of backing someone into a corner and using all his bulk to do what he wanted to them.

so bruce is more than a little interested in tim (he ignores the voice in his head that is telling him this is a bad idea).

more than he usually is.

because tim is soft. his body is pliant and bends to bruce's whims.

he's warm and he clings to bruce every time he bottoms out into his sinfully tight cunt. all sloppy and wet and straining against the size of bruce.

sometimes tim freezes up like one of those deers in the headlights when bruce fucks him.

with his legs thrown over bruce's shoulders, hands clinging to any bit he can hang on, mouth open and just staring at bruce with big eyes. bruce rocks into his body, meeting his eyes and holding his hips as he fucks deep and fast until tim is twitching around him.

until he's letting out soft 'unghh unghh hnngh' sounds.

but tim also likes to talk, he's vocal and offers feedback to bruce. (which bruce appreciates).

he tells bruce what he likes, tells him to keep going, to fuck faster, deeper, harder-

bruce shivers as tim whines under him. he's twitching around bruce's fingers, pussy clamping onto the fingers and desperate to keep them in even as he cries-

"no more! no more! it hurts"

bruce groans over tim, cock so achingly hard and throbbing that he's dripping with precum.

bruce is panting audibly, he can hear himself in his ears as he grinds his cock against tim's twitching cunt stuffed full of his fingers.

bruce thrusts them in down to the knuckle.

tim's body jolts, flinching against the movement. bruce crouches closer, his heart is pounding in his chest. his cock is aching with need to be inside tim.

bruce presses his fingers in harshly, spreading them, watching as tim's pretty,

red pussy strained to accommodate the stretch.

"does that hurt?" bruce asked, voice heavy with desire. he can feel his body coiled in anticipation at tim's reply. there are tears beading in his eyes, his cheeks are stained red and he's squirming.

"does that hurt tim?"

"yes!" tim cries, a little sob bursting out of him as he shook. bruce felt his hot cunt go tight around his fingers.

bruce shivered.

"you want daddy to make you hurt? huh?"

" you want him to destroy your little pussy?" bruce's voice was a near growl. his hands drifted down to his pants and began tugging them down, shivering at the warm air as it hit his cock dripping with need.

fuck. bruce had never been this hard before.

he hadn't even fucking touched himself and he was already leaking.

"no!" tim sobbed, head thrown back and tears streaming down his face "no! no! no!"

bruce shook as he tugged out his dripping fingers.

"daddy's going to fuck you-"

"no!"

"yes he is."

bruce steadied his grip on tim's hips, carefully inched closer to tim's entrance and looked up to stare at tim's tear-filled eyes that were staring at him as near inaudible 'no no no's' were being whispered under his breath.

bruce almost cooed at the sight before fucked all the way in with a single hard thrust.

tim went still under him.

"yes. he. is." bruce snapped his hips into a sharp thrust with every word as tim gasped with every push into him.

"bruce,"

tim let out the word with such a raspy voice like he was being strangled. "bruce, stop, stop, stop-"

tim's voice was increasing in urgency. bruce could see as tim's face was twisted in pleasure.

his legs desperately wrapped around bruce's hips to keep him in even as he pleaded for bruce to stop, to slow down, to get out of him-

bruce felt as something seeped into him. he felt like he detached from his body,

only able to watch as he pinned down tim's hips and began FUCKING.

tim threw his head back and cried.

"oh god! bruce no more no more! slower! oh please go slower! i can't take it!"

bruce buried his face into tim's shoulder,

groaning as he listened to tim squirm under him, breathy voice pleading with bruce to stop this, to slow down, that it hurts-

bruce started fucking harder, faster, deeper.

tim's hips arched up to meet his hard thrusts. tim was panting in his ear, breathless,

and whining with a strained voice.

bruce pumped his cock into tim's hot cunt, feeling as he split open his walls. as that tight pussy shivered around him, unable to handle his size.

tim's body was so small under him, so easy to grab and manipulate and hold down.

tim kept squirming under him, trying to get into a better position, trying to lift his hips so bruce could sink in deeper. but with the words he's saying and how he's moving. it's almost as if he's trying to escape.

"stop fighting."

bruce whispered the order to tim's ear. "stop fighting and let me fuck you."

tim went still for a moment and bruce knows what's coming. knows it from the moment tim's body refused to follow a direct order while bruce tested him.

tim can't help but do the opposite of what he's told.

bruce groans as tim tries desperately to buck him off. his legs are kicking at either side of him. tim grunts with effort as his hands press on bruce's chest, trying to push him off.

he's fighting bruce so fiercely. fighting like he doesn't want this.

tim sobs into his ears and tells him to stop, stop, stop.

bruce lays his weight onto tim, pins down his hands and fucks into tim with twice the fervor he did before.

bruce feels like something has unclasped in him. there's a swirling heat in his gut that's all demand and want for him to take.

tim stretches so beautifully for him, his cunt sucking him and letting him bottom out about despite tim's words about not wanting this,

about hating this, about hating bruce.

"i ...i h-hate you-" tim breathes out as he keens when bruce roughly strokes his clit. "i hate you i hate you- oh god, fuck i hate you so fucking much-"

bruce laps up the hot tears streaming down tim's sweetly pink cheeks.

he hums his acknowledgment into tim's brows and litters gentle kisses onto the skin.

tim sobs and shakes under him, trembling like a bird in the snow.

bruce groans as he sinks in deep, feels his balls slap tim's wet cunt and stays there. he feels tim twitch around him.

feels his hot pussy walls clamp down and try to keep him inside.

tim is straining under him, caught between sobbing and trying to squirm away from him. bruce just wraps a hand around his waist and uses his hard-earned strength to keep tim pinned to him.

bruce groans into tim's cheek as the bit of wiggling has tim thrusting up and down on his cock.

"good boy," bruce breathes, "such a good boy- you want this so badly don't you?"

"n-no!" tim's voice is thick with his sobs and tears and bruce kisses his parted mouth,

licking in and tasting the sweet slickness of tim's saliva.

"you love me fucking you, don't you? you little slut"

tim weakly twitches under him and nods his head even after a croaked "no i don't, i hate it, i hate it so much-"

bruce's cock has been steadily dripping cum the entire tim. his balls are clenched tight and bruce can feel he's right at the edge.

tim's pussy is so perfect for him, accommodating him so well and letting bruce batter the walls as he begins to pull back and sharply thrust in.

tim yelps and clings to bruce as he begins panting out low orders to his ears.

"i'm so close, just be quiet tim alright?-"

"don't let anyone in the house know what we're doing okay? just a little longer okay, i'm almost done. daddy's almost done and then he'll cum inside you, alright?"

tim's cries got louder. louder and louder until he was almost screaming bruce's name.

pleading for him to slow down, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, can't someone help him? please!

tim suddenly lets out a sharp cry and throws his head back. bruce grunts as he feels tim tighten around him, hard enough the at he can barely move but bruce just fucks. harder.

tim lets out punctuated 'ah ah ah's' with every push of bruce's cock.

tim is panting. red-faced. out of breath. almost delirious with pleasure as bruce feels tim's little clit throb under his fingers.

"nnhg b-bruce-" tim's voice is dry and raspy.

his brows are furrowed as he lets out occasional gasps. "nngh n-not inside, please."

bruce feels his eyes close. his breaths are growing heavier, his thighs are burning with lactic acid as he sinks into that sloppy wet pussy.

bruce can hear the 'squelches' in his ears as he feels his balls tighten until its almost painful.

"not inside!" tim sobs. fresh tears are streaming down his cheeks and his forehead is creased from overstimulation of bruce touching his little clitty. "no! not inside!"

"not inside! please! please bruce!"

tim is begging him not to cum in him. not to ruin him further.

and bruce almost cries as he cums, scrambling to stuff inside tim as deep as he can. he groans as he feels his cum shoot into tim.

he knows it's pooling right at the entrance of his womb.

the thought fills bruce with so much animalistic satisfaction that he humps into tim's slutty hole while listening to his whines. bruce bites and kisses at his pretty pink tits.

sucking hard enough to leave bruises before shoving his tongue into that exhausted little mouth.

bruce hums into it, as the kiss grows sloppy and thick with spit that froths down their chins.

tim whimpers occasionally.

his body slow and unreactive as bruce tugs his softened cock out and lets it rest against the seam of tim's well-used pussy.

"you're mine." bruce whispers to him. "say you're mine. you'll always be mine."

tim's eyes are heavy with sleep, he's nodding off as he says-

"n-no."

"not yours. w-wil never be yours."

bruce shivers at the words and tightens his grip on tim's hip. his wet cock, spent and tired, gets pressed back into tim's little hole with a bit of manuevering.

bruce is going to keep it there for the night.

tucked inside a nice warm hole where it belonged. plugged in until tim's pussy never forgot the shape of bruce's cock.

until he never forgot that his cunt was bruce's. his tits, his mouth, his body, his everything was bruce's.

maybe bruce should be horrified.

maybe the weight of what he's done should be sitting like a stone in his stomach. his guilt should keep him awake as well as the anticipation of morning because by morning tim will be back to normal.

he'll be back to normal and will know how much bruce liked fucking him while acting like he didn't want it. he'll know the things bruce said to him and how much he liked tim fighting against him.

maybe bruce should be more mortified.

more concerned about how tim wasn't disturbed by this.

but instead, bruce settles in. he tightens his grip on tim's hip and tucks tim's sweet head under his chin.

he breathes in deeply and sleeps without a single thing weighing on his mind.

_____________________________________________________

[senanatheskenana]

Hello! I loved your Sinclair post about their S/O leaving them. If you would like too could you please write a part 2 where the S/O comes back and the talk it out? Happy ending if at all possible only if you want too, I hope you have a great day!

I'm glad you enjoyed it :)

I hope this is ok, i tried my best but i've been a little bit rusty after my break from writing <3

Part two of this

The Sinclair Boys' S/O Comes home.

Bo Sinclair

Bo had exhausted nearly every option of where to find you.

He knew that even if the chance of getting you back was slim, he had to at least apologise- promise to be better. For once he needed to prove to someone that he was worth the fight.

Most of all, he needed to see you.

And he never admitted it, but a part of himself needed to see if you looked even a fraction of the way he did.

Bo turned up on your doorstep, hat in his hand, face covered in dirt, sweat, and who knows whatelse.

You had to admit he looked awful- worse than you'd seen him in months.

Even when Bo recognises he's done wrong, he doesn't always feel bad and her certainly never apologises for it.

Until now.

~~~~~

You stand there on the porch, staring expectantly at Bo as he struggled to find words. His throat was dry, and all of the things that he wished to say- the large speech he had spent days rehearsing and rewriting- melted into nothing at the back of his throat. He looked at you briefly before diverting his attention downward at his shoes.

"Beauregard, please say somethin'. I don't wanna stand in the cold all day," when he doesn't seem to respond, you more to shut the door on him. He panics and in a moment of adrenalin, sticks his hand in the doorframe to stop you from closing it. He doesn't so much feel it as he does hear the scraping crunch, letting out a hiss when you immediately reopen the door to let his trapped fingers go.

The next thing he knows, he's in your kitchen with a bag of ice wrapped around his hand. The lights in the kitchen are too bright for Bo, making everything but you seem hazy in the sleep deprived state hes in. You can see that hes not in a good state, but it worries you how he got here

"Bo, did you drive all the way by yourself?" you hope he says no, that Lester had driven four hours to get here. However, from looking into his truck, you know it was just him.

Bo looks at you like you're stupid. "I drove. Din't ya see the truck?"

"Don't make that face at me, Beauregard. Why are you here?"

He stares at you a little longer again, his resolve cracking further. It's been so long since he's seen you and now he can barely look at you out of shame.

"Sugar, you know i ain't the type to apologise for anythin'. An' i know you deserve someone who does..." but now he looks you in the eyes like a kicked dog, "I haven't be'n treatin' you like I shoulda."

"Bo-"

"No, please lemme say this cuz i wanna get the chance before you chuck me out." he sighs.

"I know I'm no good for you, and i know i dont deserve the time of day from you but i do love you... Sugar, i love you so much it hurts when you ain't around no more. It's like i'm continuously choking on smoke. Now I ain't trying to guilt you into comin' home- Ambrose. "

"Bo please just say it"

"I'M SORRY- I know that don't make up for how ive treated you- or anyone," Bo shifts and mores to grip your hand, "But i wanna be better for you, i wanna show you i love you, and make you feel loved"

You remain silent for a time and he feels his stomach sink slowly to his feat and he deflates, retracting his hand.

"I-I'm gon' head out soon, get outta your hair for good. I just wanted you to know i was sorry."

"No you're not, you're in no state to drive Bo. Stay the night here. We can head back together tomorrow" at that his face lights up. "You can have a shower before you get anywhere near me though," you tease.

He smirks and scampers up the staircase, "Yes, ma'am"

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent made no attempts to find you.

After all, why would he try to bring you back if you were only going to leave again.

He figured he may as well cut his losses and try to get over it.

So he tried.

For weeks.

Then for months.

But he just couldn't.

He saw you in everything he did.

He could swear that he saw you in his paintings or in visitors' cars.

Hell he thought he saw you getting out of Lester's truck right now.

Until he realised you actually were.

But something was different.

~~~~~

Through the glass he could see you hopping out of the cab of the truck, thick winter sweater consuming your figure. He's sure its one of his.

Vincent rushed through the house to the front door, swinging it open on its creaky hinges. You hardly get the chance to look at him before he's wrapping his arms around you tightly.

Lester stands to the side watching.

"Yer lucky i was drivin' west otherwise she might not've made it t'all"

Vincent turns away to sign to Lester but you dont catch it because he's moving his hands so fast.

"She's tryin' to get back to ya but ran outta gas before i found her"

He was shocked. You were trying to get back to him? Why, he was sure you wanted nothing to do with him this entire time.

He signs slower so you can understand,

'Why did you come back?'

You look at him sadly. In truth you felt bad for running away with no notice- leaving Vincent all alone with no explanation.

"I had to." you started, "Because i love you. And it wasn't fair to run away, i know, but i was scared of what you might think, or do"

Though you cant see, Vincent looks puzzled under his mask, you can tell. he signs again.

'Why did you leave- what were you afraid of me for?'

Your eyes water and you look down, arms wrapping around your torso.

"Vincent, I.." the words get stuck in your throat and he moves to cup your cheeks but you grab his hands before he can. You don't think you can say it. Your trembling hands guid his callused palms to your stomach. His eye widens when he feels the protrusion there.

There was no way. He stiffens and stays like that for what feels like forever until your shoulders start to shudder with sobs. Vincent snaps out of it and panics, trying to calm your cries. He moves to embrace you again before frantically signing to you.

'No please darling, don't cry. I'm not upset- i could never be upset with you'

You sniffle, "I'm sorry i left you. It was only meant to be for one day- to go to the clinic but then i found out i was pregnant and then i got scared that you wouldn't want it so i went to a hotel to try to think about what to do but i never manages to figure anything out."

Vincent feels his heart crack a little bit at your distress. He should've been more intuitive- maybe let you know that he'd care about you no matter what.

He gently puts his hands back on your tummy and looks at you. He doesn't even need to sign for you to know what he was trying to say.

'It'll be ok'

Lester Sinclair

Lester was a good guy, you knew that.

To you, he was perfect.

He never even raised his voice at you, and you're sure that if he even scratched you, he'd feel horrible for days.

And if you were honest, you still missed him.

You knew what he was doing was wrong but you still loved him.

Before you can stop yourself you're calling his mobile, waiting for the beeps.

He picks up after a single ring, like always.

~~~~~

"Heh-hey hun!" he tries his best but you can hear he's happy that you called him. "Is everythin' ok up there?"

You had to admit, it was sweet that even now, he cares about things like that.

"Hey, Les..." you don't really know what to say but he's patient, "Sorry im not really sure why i called."

"It's ok, please, i ain't gonna complain" you can almost hear his smile through the phone.

"I'm sorry about what i said-"

he cuts you off, "No, no you're right. What we was doin' was horrible, i know. But i- i wantcha to know that i told Bo that i ain't doing his dirty work anymore."

That surprised you. You know that Bo's a strong, stubborn character and Lester wants nothing than to impress his older brothers. This was big.

"I'm glad, Lester. Just stay outta trouble." You tease him and he giggles.

"I'm tryin' my best out here." an uncomfortably long period of silence takes over the line before he speaks again. "Jonesy misses ya... she just sorta stares at the door at night, expectin' ya to come walk through it."

It sounds sort of sad when he says it like that, he realises. "Not that I'm tryin to trick ya into comin back, im jus' sayin' that maybe you'd like me to bring her up to you some time." It's a ploy so that he can see you again, he knows.

"Oh no, Lester don't go all the way out here to let me play with YOUR dog, thats unfair." you pout through the phone and he laughs again.

"I don't know- i'd get to see you again, so it seems like a good trade, hun."

You dont know what got into you.

"Lester, I miss you."

The line is quiet again for a few seconds before he replies, "Really?"

"I know you've done some horrible stuff, but i still love you, and i dont know, if you're tellin' the truth about leaving that stuff behind, then maybe we can make it work."

He fights back a squeal of delight when he hears that.

"You stay right there, Huneysuckle, I'll be coming to get you as soon as i can." you laugh at his enthusiasm, "I'm getting in the truck, ill see you soon!"