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celestie0 · 3 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.6 devil's advocate

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 6/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 10.7k

a/n. so sorry for the wait! i'm really excited for this chapter, it's one that i've been waiting for since before i even started the series, and it was a lot of fun to write. i hope you enjoooy <3 if there are typos, your mind is just playing tricks on you

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

Life after realizing you had feelings for Gojo Satoru seemed to pass by in slow-motion, as you spent a significant portion of the day consumed by thoughts of him. Although it was against your better judgment, it was nice to have your mind occupied by something that wasn’t career stress, school stress, or financial stress. It’s been a minute since you’ve felt this way about someone, and it was healthy to indulge in some escapism, right?

You find yourself scrolling through his Instagram page for the second third time today, captivated by the attractive photos of him in his soccer uniform, kicking at the ball with a determined look on his face. Your gaze fixates on the blue follow-back button staring back at you on his page, remembering that you still haven’t followed him back. Pulling your phone away from your line of sight, you glance up at the ceiling, take a deep breath, and swiftly tap the blue button. You clutch your phone to your chest right after, surprised by the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s only ten seconds before you’re back to perusing his photos.

You sigh dreamily from where you were laid back on your bed. Mina looks up at you from her desk with an irritated expression on her face.

“What’s with the dreamy sighing every thirty seconds? I’m trying to study here,” she says to you.

You throw her a look. “Oh please, I’ve had to deal with your dreamy sighs every single time you were on the phone with Todo for the past two weeks. You can handle a few of mine.”

Mina’s eyes widen at your words and she turns in her chair to look at you intently. “Wait…who are you dreamily sighing for?”

You blink in response. “Oh, uh. No one? I mean, what’s that one actor’s name–the one in that show we were watching?” You tap your finger to your lip, pretending to be in deep thought, but Mina wasn’t buying any of it since she promptly stood up from her chair and snatched your phone out of your hand. You yelp and sit up on your bed to try and grab it back from her but she has that I was the eldest sibling in my household grip on your phone.

“Is this…Gojo Satoru’s Instagram page?” she asks, extending your phone out in front of her and tilting her head to the side at the screen, as though she was trying to wrap her head around it.

“Stop! You’ll accidentally tap on something,” you’re squealing at her, arms flailing out in an attempt to grab at your phone. She eventually hands it back to you and you’re sighing with relief before flopping back down onto your bed, fingers eagerly swiping up on the screen to make sure she didn’t accidentally like one of his posts from four months ago.

“Are you crushing on Gojo Satoru?” Mina asks with her hands on her hips.

You meet her gaze with a hint of guilt. You haven’t kept Mina up-to-speed on a lot of the things that have happened within the past three weeks, including the night last week when Gojo stayed with you out on the road after you got your flat tire and then kissed you. It’s been about five days since then, and you feel that if you fessed up now, she’d be mad that you didn’t tell her right away.

“I’m…” you start as you look at her and she raises an eyebrow at you that makes you sheepishly sit up on your bed, pretty much kneeling in front of her. “Maybe. A little bit? I don’t know.”

She looks at you with surprise before walking backwards and sitting onto her bed, facing you. She presses her lips together, deep in thought, and there’s an almost concerned expression on her face. “When did this develop?”

You end up explaining pretty much everything that has happened between you and Gojo as of recently, her face staying neutral through even the most surprising details, and by the time you’re done explaining and waiting for her to give a response, you realize you’re tensing your shoulders and holding your breath.

She sighs, sulking a little and her bed frame creaks underneath the mattress. “I can’t believe you kissed Gojo Satoru and you didn’t tell me about it, like, practically the second after it happened. Also, you never told me that’s why you called me that night! It makes sense now why your car has been in ‘service’ for almost an entire week. I feel so horrible you went through that and I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s okay,” you assure her with a small smile. “I’m fine. It was really nerve-wracking in the moment,” you say as you glance down at your hands, twiddling with your thumbs as the memories of that night flash through your mind. “But having him there really helped calm me down,” you admit in a hushed tone. When you look up at Mina, she wears a soft and knowing expression on her face.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” she murmurs and returns your smile with one of her own, but her eyes still look at you with caution.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just I don’t really know Gojo that well. From what you’re telling me, he seems like a nice guy,” she comments, “but the fact he’s been really diligent in following-through with this whole film photography assignment of yours makes me wonder where his head’s at with you.” She finishes her sentence, but you continue to watch her since you could tell she had more on her tongue. “I just hope he’s not messing with you.”

“Messing with me?” you ask her. There’s a part of you deep inside that’s wondering the same thing, but the thought of having to confront that feeling in order to get an answer makes you want to stay in blissful ignorance instead.

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and looks at you for a few seconds. “Maybe I’m overthinking it. It’s just a crush, right?” Her phone chimes with an alarm noise and she grabs it to turn it off. “Oh shoot, I’m going to be late for class,” she groans, leaping up off of her bed and stuffing all of her things on her desk into her bag. She gives you a goodbye over her shoulder just before she heads out of your shared room and then you’re all by yourself.

Mina’s last question to you hangs in the air. You didn’t really know how you would’ve answered, because you didn’t know what you expected to come from your feelings, if anything at all. You’ve had feelings for plenty of other guys before, some turning into something more and others turning into nothing at all. Having feelings for someone wasn’t really something to worry about or complicate.

You lay back down onto your bed with a sigh and go to the messages on your phone, clicking on Gojo’s name. It was so bizarre that he was now in your list of actual text messages since you had his number now, but the two of you have only exchanged a few texts since that night you last saw him. He sent over his practice schedule for the week, which was pretty packed and busy since their big game on the 28th was in just two days, and when you zoom in on the picture you see that he has practice in about ten minutes from now. You assumed that since he never texted you about it, they were probably just doing drills out on the field or some other exercises. But you missed him, and you wished that you did have an excuse to visit him. You didn’t care about tweaking your camera angles, fixing the exposure, or trying out different light sensitivities for your photos so they come out immaculate. You just wanted to see him again.

Tossing your phone to your side, suddenly frustrated by how mentally drained you feel, you look around the room and decide to tidy up a bit to distract yourself from all your emotions. As you start to pick things up off your desk and place them back on the shelf, you notice that you still have a netted bag full of washed laundry to fold. You dump all of the clothing onto your bed, consisting of sports bras, multiple pairs of jeans, your nice panties and also your grandma undies. One of the articles of clothing catches your eye, and you pull it out from the pile. It was Gojo’s jacket.

Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you take in the sight of it, all the memories of that night flashing back into your head. You remember the chill of the air, the deep sound of his voice beside you, the gentle look in his eyes, his lips pressed against yours. Gojo had kissed you, so that had to have meant something, right? Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing, an emotional decision because the two of you were alone, and it was dark, and it was cold, and you two were reveling in each other’s warmth, but it was still something he initiated. It was so brief, the moment cut so tragically short that you still find yourself craving more despite the fact it happened almost a week ago. Mina wasn’t home that night, and instead of spending the rest of it curled up by yourself like you ended up doing, you could’ve easily invited him inside. You wonder if he would’ve taken you up on the offer, and how far you two would’ve gone. And now, because you were imaging it, you find it in your heart that you wanted it. Before you know it, those feelings you swore you wouldn’t complicate started to feel complicated. If all the novels, movies, poems, and folklore of this world have been any indicator, when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s always impossible to defy.

You bring the jacket to your chest, the fabric now smelling like the laundry detergent that all of your other clothes smell like, and no longer of him. It was the polite thing to do to wash it, but the absence of his scent on the soft material just made you miss him even more.

Closing your eyes in disbelief at the thought that crosses your mind, you resolve to act now and deal with whatever comes later. If you wanted to see him, you were going to see him. Besides, wanting to hand his jacket back to him wasn’t so bad of an excuse to drop by, right? What if it was a deeply sentimental article of clothing that is agonizing for him to be apart from? (a/n. he doesn’t even realize you still have it lol)

You grab your tote bag as well as his jacket and head out of your apartment, down to the ground floor, and walk down the street until you reach the bus stop that takes you to campus. You make it there in about forty minutes, the bus dropping you off near the central area. As you start walking towards the expensive art sculpture near the practice fields, you pass by the school’s mini convenience store and the bottles of strawberry vanilla soda splayed out in the display case catches your eye. You then find yourself inside buying two cans. One for him, one for you. Maybe he’ll be open to hanging out after practice, and you could properly treat him to something nice for all of his help.

Soon enough, you’re walking across the grassy hills that lead to the field. It was a slightly gloomy day today, with the sun only peaking through the clouds every five minutes or so, but it was still beautiful and something about the fresh air made your chest swell with ease. Just as you get closer, you notice Geto and Nanami walking together in your direction.

“Oh, it’s y/n!” you hear Geto say when you approach them.

You greet the two of them with a smile. “Hello, it’s nice to see you two. Are you finished with practice?”

“No, we’ve still got about two hours left, but we just finished a pretty intense set of drills so coach is giving us a fifteen,” Geto says through strained breathing, and you finally notice that the two of them looked sweaty and spent. “What’s that in your arms?”

You look down at the strawberry vanilla sodas you were carrying and then back up at the two of them. “Oh…I just wanted to bring some soda for mr. center forward, as a thanks for getting me referee permission to be on-field on Thursday.”

Nanami crosses his arms across his chest and Geto’s eyes widen. “Damn, wish I had a cute girl go out of her way to bring me strawberry-flavored soda mid practice,” Geto muses.

“I don’t think Satoru deserves this level of kindness, y/n,” Nanami tells you with a shake of his head. Geto looks over at him with a wry expression before letting out a small laugh.

You give the two of them a smile. “No, really, he’s been helpful. Is he out on the field?” you ask, standing on tiptoes to try and peer over their shoulders towards the field.

“Yeah, he is, I think he stayed back since Coach Yaga was yelling at him about something,” Geto answers and he takes a glance at his watch, “he usually doesn’t stick around to take the lecturing for longer than two minutes so he’s probably somewhere hanging around nearby.”

“That’s good. Coach Yaga scares me,” you admit to the two of them, pretending to shiver at the thought of him yelling, and this earns a smile from Nanami.

“He’s really not that scary of a guy, just pretends to be one,” Geto informs you then lets out an exhale and places his hands on his hips after fully regaining his breath. “So, you’re going to be on the field with us on Thursday? That’s awesome, please cheer for us. Also, you should come out to the house party the night before the game.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You guys still party before your big games?”

Geto laughs. “I always forget you’re not in a sorority. Yeah, we do, I think the frat just wants an excuse to go crazy and picks our game schedule to go off of. You’ve no idea how many of our players have been in massive shit by showing up hungover to games.”

Nanami lets out a disgruntled noise. “It’s irresponsible, honestly.”

You give an apologetic laugh before fidgeting with the soda cans in your arms, eventually throwing them into your tote, and then peering over their shoulders once more as an impatient feeling washes over you, the desire from earlier to see Gojo consuming you in a way that was entirely distracting. Nanami seems to notice this as he uncrosses his arms and slightly nudges Geto with his elbow. Geto sends him a curious glance before looking back at you.

“Well, anyway. If you’re free tomorrow night, come by. Pre-game parties are usually pretty hype. Yuuji’s bouncing, so he’ll let you in,” Geto says to you, giving you a kind smile.

“Yeah, I’ll try to make it,” you say, returning his smile. The two of them walk past you and you continue to trek forwards until you reach the large hill that oversees the field.

Once you’re at the top, your eyes immediately scan the field for Gojo, and you quickly spot him at the foot of the hill talking to some people. You notice the group surrounding him weren’t wearing athletic clothing of any sort, so you assumed they were just his friends. He had a bright smile on his face and just the sight of it created a warmth within you. As you begin to stumble down the hill, your legs hasty in their stride, you see him leaning down forward towards one of the girls in the group with a playful look on his face. The girl looks up at him with a tilt of her head and you hear feminine, high-pitched laughter in the air as she steps closer to him, swatting at his chest from something he says. He’s fully grinning at her now, and it’s so painfully obvious they’re flirting that the feeling in your chest that was so excited to see him quickly turns sour.

He somehow catches you standing at the bottom of the hill in his periphery and his eyes widen. There’s a moment where you hesitate, but eventually take a deep breath and make your way through the crowd. A few within the group let out confused noises from the disruption and then you were standing right in front of Gojo.

“Who’s this?” one of his friends asks, particularly annoyed since you had accidentally nudged him to the side in your stride. You could feel the wide eyes from the men and the curious glares from the women.

Gojo’s standing there shocked, likely from the fact that he wasn’t expecting you to be here, and then glances around to the people in the group. “Oh, just someone I…” he starts, his facial expression softening slightly when he looks back at you, but you’re giving him a guarded expression, “...know.”

Your mouth opens slightly in disbelief, before you quickly close it. It’s true that you didn’t really know what you and Gojo were at the moment, it’s possible you would’ve answered the same, but his description of the nature of your relationship with him still hurts. He could’ve at least said your name or introduced you. And your disappointment from his words made you realize an unsettling truth, which was that you did want more from him, and you weren’t sure if that was something he was interested in at all.

The girl he was talking to earlier is glaring daggers at your side, and you suddenly feel suffocated surrounded by a group of people watching you with interest. The man in front of you, despite getting to know him for the better part of the past three weeks, started to feel like a stranger to you all over again. You shove his jacket to his chest, and he looks down at it with surprise before hesitantly grabbing onto it.

“Just wanted to return your jacket,” you mumble to him, trying so hard to sound neutral and sane. “I washed it for you.”

You hear a few of the men surrounding you coo something suggestive, a few laughs making their way between them as the women in the group scoff in denial. You ignore them and keep your gaze on Gojo. He’s looking straight down at you and scanning your features, and you notice his face briefly contorts into one of guilt when he registers the disappointed look on your face.

Reaching into your bag, you pause when you see the two cans of strawberry vanilla soda sitting at the bottom, the smiling cartoon mascot faces on the labeling staring up at you like some pitiful conscience. You reached in and grabbed one regardless, then extended it to Gojo. He blinks at it before looking up at you. When he doesn’t immediately grab it, you also shove it to his chest until he does. When his fingertips make contact with your hand as he takes it from you, the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

You bite your lip, faltering before you speak again. “For your help. Officially even now.” Then you turn around and push through the strangers spectating the whole scene to make it over to the grassy hills. You vaguely hear Gojo call your name out from behind you, his voice quickly drowned out by the voices of those surrounding him as they continue conversation, and soon enough you’re out of sight over the hill.

—

“So, you’re telling me that this guy goes out of his way to help you for this class assignment, in a way that’s unproportionate to the favor that you put in for him, he flirtatiously teases you any chance he gets, drives out late at night to stay with you when you’re stranded with a flat, has an earnest conversation with you about life, kisses you, diligently takes care of you until you’re home safe, and then when you run into him in front of his friends, he says you’re just someone he knows?” Mina’s recounting every single painful detail as she paces around in your shared room. “I know you both haven’t had a conversation about anything after that night, which is insane because you should’ve, but at least he could’ve said you were a friend?”

You scoff from where you’re laid down on your bed. “I caught him sliding his hands up a girl’s top in the bathroom at that SAE party last week, and when he tried to explain the situation to me he said that he and that girl are just friends. So, by his definition, we’re definitely not friends.”

Mina sighs. “Honestly, y/n, I know he’s charming and he’s been nice to you, but he still has a reputation for being a player.”

You look up at the ceiling, your pillow clutched in your arms for emotional support. “He almost looked like he didn’t even want me there. Like I was an unwelcome interruption. Some sort of nuisance.” You weren’t sure exactly how to read the expression he had on his face from your unexpected visit, but your brain had a habit of settling on the worst.

Mina sits down at her desk, turning her chair to face you. You were fully sulking like a heart-broken teenager and you didn’t understand why. He wasn’t any sort of title to you, and you haven’t even known him for that long. Barely a couple weeks ago, you were still resolved to the fact that he was some sort of mystery. An urban legend around campus that you couldn’t believe you were talking to because people like him didn’t usually talk to people like you.

“Why don’t you just ask him how he feels about you? Put an end to the guessing game. Be like ‘hey, jerk, I know it’s common-place for frat dudes to kiss girls like they’re a dime a dozen. But that’s not gonna fly with me, so fess up on your intentions’. Something like that,” Mina suggests, waving a finger in the air.

You glance at her annoyed. “Were you trying to do an impression of me? I don’t talk like that.”

“You kind of do, love,” she says with a smile on her face.

You look back up at the ceiling. “...I don’t want to have that conversation with him. It’ll hurt my pride. He should’ve been the one asking me what we are now, since he’s the one that kissed me.” You turn to gauge her opinion at your words, but her expression isn’t giving any hints. “Is that petty? I feel like I’m being petty.”

“No, girl, I agree with you,” she says with a sigh, “that’s how it should be, but almost never ends up being the case.” She looks up at the ceiling briefly, a thought forming in her head, before looking down at you with a sly smile.

“What?” you ask, already wearily anticipating her response.

“You want to know how to find out how he feels about you without asking him how he feels about you?” she says like it was some sort of sales pitch.

You turn onto your side and perch yourself up on your elbow, a little too interested. “How?”

She snaps her fingers. “Make him jealous.”

You look at her apprehensively. “Jealous?”

“I mean, that’s the foolproof way to tell how a guy really feels about you. Based on how he reacts when he sees another guy’s tongue shoved down your throat,” she says with a playful shrug.

You flop down on the bed again. “Now that’s petty.” You hug your pillow to your chest again, considering the option. You didn’t even know if Gojo would feel jealous if you tried to make him jealous, it’s possible he wouldn’t even care at all if he saw you with another guy.

“Yes, petty, but so what? We’re seniors in college, now’s our last chance to be petty. After we graduate, we’ve got to be fully functioning members of society,” she sighs, “you only get to be a petty college chick once.”

“How would I make him jealous?” you ask, still dwelling on her suggestion.

“Well, SAE is having that pre-game party tonight, he’s definitely going to be there. It’s your chance,” she says, tapping at her phone to glance at the time.

You hum to yourself. The mature part of you is telling you that it’s a ridiculous idea, but the angel on your shoulder that has weathered the pain of all your confusing feelings as of lately was starting to play devil’s advocate. After a minute’s silence, you cover your face with your hand and groan. “Oh god.”

Mina looks up at you again. “What?”

“I’m gonna do it,” you say, swinging your feet over to the edge of the bed so you’re sitting up, pillow still hugged to your chest as you look at her. “I’m going to go find out how he really feels about me.”

Mina’s smiling at you and hops onto her feet. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for the toxic version of you to make her appearance.”

There was still a couple of hours before the party, so you take a shower and spend some time doing your hair as well as makeup. Wearing your robe, you walk over to your dresser and open it to pull out a pair of jeans when Mina looks over at you and sighs. You send her a look and she makes her way over to you, nudging you to the side with her hip and shoving your jeans back into the drawer.

“You’re not wearing jeans to this party,” she groans, “do I seriously have to teach you everything?” Mina starts shifting through the clothes you had hung up on your hangers, eyes landing on something that was tucked away to the side. She pulls out your black dress, the one that had long, skin tight sleeves with a sweetheart neckline and the short hem that barely fell to the middle of your thighs. She pats at the soft and silky material, pulling on it in an attempt to smooth out one of the wrinkles. “Oh, yes, honey. This will definitely do.”

“It’s wrinkled,” you say in a poor attempt to get out of wearing it.

“Nothing my straightener set at 350 degrees won’t fix,” she says to you with a wink.

It takes Mina three minutes to prepare your dress for you while you anxiously pace around the room, fidgeting to yourself, and she eventually hands it to you to wear. The dress had an A-line silhouette cinched at the waist and the top half was tight, so you decided not to wear a bra with it. Just as you’re about to pull on a pair of biker shorts underneath to cover a bit more since the short fabric was hardly doing much, Mina sends you another disappointed look.

“y/n, please, you’re killing me here,” she says. “To make him jealous, you’ve gotta get other guys to look at you. That might mean being a bit risque with the attire tonight.”

You sulk your shoulders before sighing and tossing your biker shorts back into your closet. You turn around to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress over you and tousling with your hair before gasping a little as you take in your entire appearance. You looked good, and Mina’s playful cat-call from behind you only gave you a greater kick of confidence.

“Love it, cute but sexy at the same time,” she says with a smile. “It’s your turn to be the hottie at the party.”

You two decide to take an Uber to the frat strip, arriving at the host house close to 10pm, and you can already hear the loud chanting and music inside. As you make your way up to the driveway, a gust of wind breezes by and your hands immediately hold down the fabric of your dress in an attempt to not flash the group of people walking behind the two of you. Mina looks over at you with a mischievous smile. You make eye contact with Yuuji at the entrance and he straightens his posture when he sees you and Mina approaching.

“Hello, ladies. I see we’ve switched roles here tonight,” Yuuji says with a tip of his head. “Bombshell friend,” he gestures to you, “and-”

“If you call me a casual tomboy, I can’t guarantee I won’t smack you,” Mina says to him.

Yuuji blinks at her. “Head on in,” he mumbles and you two walk past him.

It hits you as you walk inside that this is the third SAE party that you’ve been to within the past three weeks, and yet the atmosphere still surprises you every time. The music was loud, but at this one, the people chanting was even louder. You notice there were posters and flags with the school’s colors and symbols plastered up and hanging from the staircase, as well as pinned up jerseys on the walls that looked a lot like the ones that the soccer players wear during matches. Oh, and derogatory insults for the opposing school were drawn across all the decorations.

“I’m going to go find Todo,” Mina says to you with excitement and then she’s skipping off into the heart of the party, leaving you alone.

You sigh and fidget with the sleeves of your dress, looking around the party, your heart beating fast in your chest at the prospect that you’ll lock eyes with Gojo but you don’t see him anywhere. As you walk inside, you notice that people are looking at you, and when you make eye contact with some, you notice a lot of them were men, and the attention has you itching for a drink. You quickly make your way into the kitchen and are satisfied when you see the insane amount of options that you can reach for on the island. You grab a White Claw, crack the can open and when you turn around, you jump a little from the sight of a person in front of you.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the man in front of you says with an apologetic look on his face, and you recognize him as the one that was bouncing the last SAE party that you went to last weekend. “Just going to reach around you to grab…that.” He reaches around you to grab an entire bottle of tequila, his arm brushing against yours and his eyes meet yours with a smile on his face. “I remember you from last week. You’re stunning by the way, what’s your name?”

You tell him and he’s nodding his head slowly, a cheeky look on his face that you’re used to seeing when guys attempt small talk to distract from the other less-than-innocent things they have floating around in their heads. “Nice, I’m Ryota,” he says as he adjusts the snap-back he was wearing on his head, “you, uh, in a sorority?” He leans back against the kitchen counter in front of you and you wonder if grabbing the tequila was just an excuse to talk to you.

You find yourself turning away from him slightly, taking a huge gulp of the White Claw you had in your hands to realize that 8% ALC./VOL was not going to be enough to get you through the night, so you turned to face him again. “No, I’m not. Are you going to drink all that tequila by yourself or are you looking to share?”

He smirks at you. “There’s enough for two.”

You and this man you met literally two minutes ago cheers a few shots, throwing them back, and you notice that he does them almost effortlessly while you’re wincing from the fact that it’s been a long time since you’ve had hard liquor. He’s chuckling at your reactions as your face scrunches up from your third shot and you wave your hand in front of your face from the burn. A few people that walk in and out of the kitchen periodically give the two of you amused looks before walking back out into the loud party nearby.

“Can’t handle your alcohol?” Ryota asks and you sigh, your face already feeling flushed.

“I can, I swear,” you whine.

“Here, wanna?” he says to you as he hands you another shot and then he holds his outstretched arm up. You think he’s trying to cheers, so you tap his shot glass, and then he’s laughing. “No, hold your arm out.” You do as he says and he holds his arm against yours and soon enough he’s taking a step closer to you and you’re interlocking your arms at the elbow. You let out a small gasp from his proximity but his eyes on you are unwavering. He brings his shot glass to his lips and you do the same and then you both tip your heads back, the burn in your throat making you unwind your arm from him and shake your head until you’re leaning back against the island counter and you hear him laugh again in front of you.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice calls out that instantly sobers you up from the four shots of tequila you so valiantly threw back.

The two of you turn your heads to look at the source of the voice, and you see Gojo standing at the entrance of the kitchen. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him and you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest, still so shocked at just how breathtaking he was anytime you saw him. He was holding an empty bottle of alcohol in his hands. You straighten your posture but Ryota still leans against the counter nonchalantly.

“Hey, what’s up dude. Sorry, I was about to circle back with more tequila, but I got caught up in here,” Ryota says and flashes you a smile. “Do you know y/n here?”

You observe Gojo, who wears a tense expression in response to hearing his words, and then he locks eyes with you. A look of surprise swiftly passes across his face as he takes in your appearance, and you feel as if you're practically burning under his gaze. He looks back at Ryota and furrows his brow.

“Yeah, I do,” he mutters and rudely pushes right in between the two of you to make it to the fridge. “Seems like you do, too.”

Ryota seems to pick up on something from Gojo's tone that you don’t, because suddenly he’s standing up straight from the counter and turns to look at you with a contemplative expression. "I'll bring the tequila, or what's left of it I guess, out there," he mentions to Gojo, excusing himself with a brief glance in your direction. As he leaves and turns around the corner, a noticeable weight hangs in the air from how you and Gojo are alone in the kitchen now.

You lean back against the island, reaching for the White Claw you had opened earlier and take another sip. There was a muted buzz lingering in your head, and it felt good, offering a pretty welcome distraction from the fact that Gojo was standing just a few feet away from you, searching for something in the fridge. When he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, he closes the fridge door with a louder-than-normal slam, startling you, and then he turns around to face you.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he declares with an edge to his voice, and you’re already rolling your eyes.

“Sorry, pal, should I send you a notarized attendance letter three business days in advance so I don’t end up cock-blocking you in a bathroom again?” you sneer at him.

He leans back against the fridge, facing you as he crosses his arms across his chest. Damn it, don’t stare at the muscles. Don’t do it. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I don’t have an attitude, this is just how I talk to my acquaintances,” you retort as you take another sip of your drink.

He takes a step forward to you, eyes shamelessly dipping to the neckline of your dress and then a little bit further to where the hem grazes your thighs. He places his palm on the counter behind you that you were resting back on and then he’s leaning closer to you, your grip on the can in your hand tightening. He was so close that you can’t think of anything but him. His eyes are on your lips when he speaks. “Are we just acquaintances?”

You narrow your eyes at him, all of your anger from yesterday and earlier today resurfacing at his question as you look up at him straight in the eyes. “Yes, I’m only someone you know, right?”

He’s sighing and you can tell he wants to pull away from you to display his annoyance, but he stays right where he’s at. The hand that was placed on the counter slowly inches towards your waist until his thumb is brushing against the fabric of your dress just underneath your rib cage. He starts to draw slow circles on the material, pressing into your skin occasionally, and you‘re breathless from the contact. “I’m getting the hint that you’re mad at me about something, but it’s hard to care when you’re looking like this.”

You let out a scoff at his words. You’ve spent the past two days suffering from his behavior, and he’s trying to get away with it by practically seducing you. But there was also a part of you that was entirely aroused by how little he seemed to care about your attitude and how much more he seemed to care about the way you were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “Looking like what?”

The thumb that was pressing against the clothed skin of your waist retreats and his hand moves back to where it was before, laid flat on the counter next to you, except this time his other arm reaches out for the surface too. And now he’s got you caged-in, looking down at you like he’s trying really hard to not get even closer. “Looking hot as fuck? You’re kind of vain for making me say it out loud.”

You’re effectively dazed out of your goddamn mind at this point, using all the self-control you’ll have for the rest of a lifetime to not grab onto his shirt and pull him into you, all inhibitions lost to the wind. You wouldn’t even care if anyone walked in, you just needed him on you, touching you, kissing you right now. But there’s a tiny part of you that’s still mad at him, and fortunately that tiny part of you pulls through. “If you think trying to seduce me is going to make me not angry anymore, you’re out of luck.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you. You think this is me trying to seduce you? If that’s so, I’m starting to worry you won’t be able to take it,” he whispers that last part so suggestively that you’re weak in the knees from his words. He seemed so different, entirely preoccupied by taking in the sight of every inch of you in front of him that any sense of shame or guilt has left his body, and he’s just looking at you with desire.

“Satoru…” is all you manage to say as you look up at him, your thighs clenching from the arousal of just his presence surrounding you.

You see him close his eyes for a second and exhale before he opens them, his pupils all the way dilated and wild when he looks at you again. “Yeah?” he responds, his head dipping down towards yours slightly, lips just inches from yours, like he’s waiting for your permission to act.

“I…” you start, blinking up at him through your lashes, “...I was having a lot of fun earlier throwing back shots of tequila, and you kind of ruined that. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to it.” You place a hand on his chest, his gaze dropping to it in surprise as he watches you push him away from you all the way until his back hits the fridge with a thud.

“What the fuck?” he utters, his face contorted into a confusion you found incredibly comical.

You press up against him, looking up with round eyes and innocence, and you feel him immediately tense up. “Also, very inappropriate to treat someone you barely know like that. I’ll let it slide, though.”

The last thing you see before you turn away from him is his shocked expression, blinking at you with the rest of him practically motionless, and you skip out of the kitchen towards the main party happening around the corner out of his sight.

There were bustling people, a few guys coming up to you to talk to you, but you ignore them until you spot Geto, Nanami, some of the other soccer players, and a bunch of other people huddled around in a circle. You tap on Geto’s shoulder and he turns around to face you.

“Oh! Hey, what’s up, you made it,” Geto greets you, pulling you in for a brief hug which surprises you but was also pleasantly received as you hugged him back with a friendly pat. You could smell the alcohol from him. When he pulls away from you, he’s beaming. “We’re all doing rounds of shots, wanna join?”

“Oh my god, the words I’ve been wanting to hear all night,” you say and you join the circle, a bunch of people cheering as they usher you towards the center and you grab a shot glass from the small round table. A group of maybe fifteen people all raise their shot glasses up in the air, you included, and say some incoherent, non-rehearsed words of luck for the soccer team’s game tomorrow before everyone throws back their shots. You’re squealing and jumping up and down in excitement with Geto and watch as Nanami pretends to throw back his shot before dumping its contents into a red plastic solo cup in his hand instead.

“This is so much fun!” you’re yelling. “Can we do another?”

“Hey! New girl wants to do another,” one of the frat dudes calls out, which is followed by cheers and then messy pouring of tequila all over the table as people extend their shot glasses out to be filled.

Two, three, four, eventually five is your limit until you wander away from the circle, entirely tipsy at this point, over to where people were dancing in front of the DJ’s booth. You bump into some couples that were grinding up on each other, your drunk conscience shamelessly watching their movements, and then accidentally bump into a man so hard that it almost sends you falling back onto the ground but he grabs your arm and keeps you upright. His drink spills a bit out of his hand and onto your dress, making you giggle like a freak.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he’s yelling to you over the music.

“No, I’m sorry,” you yell back, and then you notice he’s wearing a jacket that mimics the patterns of the school’s soccer jersey and has an embroidered player’s number on the chest. It hits you that you’ve seen him on the field before briefly during the practices you’ve been to. “Are you on the soccer team?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says and he tells you his name but the music is way too loud to hear it, and you’re also sort of drunk at this point to register it anyways. But he was cute, and you decided you wanted to dance with him, and dance away is exactly what you do.

When he twirls you around and presses his chest against your back, your line of sight falls straight ahead to where you see Gojo sitting on a couch. Your heart sinks in your chest when you see a girl place a hand on his thigh and lean towards him, practically sitting in his lap, but the look on his face tells you he’s entirely distracted by something else. His eyes search the room for a few seconds, and when they land on you, he stills. When he tilts his head up to peer behind you and sees who you were dancing with, a look of shock crossed his face.

For fucks sake, you wouldn’t flirt with one of his teammates, right?

In your drunk, hazy mind, Mina’s words flash by in your head. The foolproof way to tell how a guy really feels about you is based on how he reacts when he sees another guy’s tongue shoved down your throat.

You turn around, reach up and pull the man you were dancing with down towards you, and you kiss him. The man hesitates, clearly surprised, before moving his lips against yours and just when you feel his hands make their way to your waist, you’re being yanked away from him by the arm. When you turn to look at the perpetrator, you see a very viscerally angry-looking Gojo in front of you and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god, he looked pissed. If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under right now.

He pulls you by your forearm over to the stairs, and you’re protesting, trying to yank away from his harsh grip, but he doesn’t budge as he takes you up to the second floor and just when you two have made it into the secluded hallway, he pushes you up against the wall, caging you into it with his body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he scowls at you, leaning in closer, tone so searing it’s enough to set you on fire.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you yell back at him, anger rising within you.

“You’re seriously turning out to be a real fucking pain in the ass,” he hisses the words, his eyes darting across your face before settling on your lips.

“Why do you care? I’m just-” you start but he interrupts you when his lips crash down on yours, taking you by surprise. His kiss was hungry, ravenous, all-consuming. So different from that night when he kissed you for the first time with nothing but tenderness. This one felt like he wanted to take everything from you, leaving nothing behind. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer to him, and your arms slide up past his shoulders, locking behind his neck, and he’s groaning against your mouth before biting at your bottom lip. When you grant him access, he deepens the kiss and the taste of him intoxicates you.

“If you imply that you’re just a stranger to me one more fucking time,” he’s growling against your mouth, “I’ll make sure we get real well acquainted with eachother against this wall right now.” His hands find the flesh underneath your ass and he easily hoists you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. “Ask me if I give a fuck if anyone sees.”

“Oh my god,” you’re gasping, his words hitting you straight to your core, and when you feel his clothed erection pressed against the flimsy cloth of your panties, the self-resolution you once had was all but a distant memory. “Satoru, bathroom, please, not here.”

When you tip your head back, giving him access to your neck and he immediately indulges, peppering kisses down your skin, you roll your hips against his and he squeezes the flesh of your ass hard to reprimand the motion before he takes you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, then setting you up on the counter.

His kisses get lower until he’s at your collarbone, and he pulls you forward towards him on the surface to where you’re sitting at the edge and he has his hands digging at the soft flesh of your thighs. You’re squirming in his grasp, gripping onto his shirt for any sort of purchase. When his kissing reaches the neckline of your dress and his finger hooks the fabric, threatening to pull it down, he looks at you.

“Please,” you ask him simply.

He raises an amused eyebrow, pulling down the fabric slowly to just above where your nipples would be set free. “You think you’re in a position to ask for anything from me right now?”

“Oh my fucking god I swear, if you don’t yank my dress down, I’ll choke you,” you threaten him.

“Careful, pretty, I might be into that,” he chides, pressing a kiss to your chest.

You grab the wrist of the hand that was still hooked inside your cleavage, and pull it down harshly so your tits are set free and he leans away from you to take in the sight. He’s mesmerized for a moment, his hand wrapping around your rib cage and thumb poking the softness from the side before it eventually reaches your nipple and starts to play with it. “God, you’re so beautiful. Remind me why we didn’t do this the first night we met?”

When his mouth latches onto your nipple, you tip your head back with a moan and you’re not able to come up with an answer to his question. Because he was right, it was insane that the two of you didn’t. Your hand runs through the short hair of his undercut at the nape of his neck and then grips at the soft strands a bit higher as he sucks and licks at your breasts. You wrap your legs around him tighter, pulling his hips to you, and from the edge of the counter you start to roll your wet panties against the bulge at his front to get relief. He groans against your chest before pulling away.

“You need to relax. Real fuckin’ desperate now compared to when you were pushing me away in the kitchen thirty minutes ago,” he scolds, his lips finding yours again and one of his hands trails up the skin of your thigh. You open your legs even wider for him sweetly and he smiles against your lips, his fingers brushing the skin of your inner thigh and then finally pressing against your clothed core. You instantly jolt, entirely stimulated by the contact, and he pulls away from the kiss to watch you.

“S-Satoru…” you whimper because it’s all you can manage to say, your hips pushing forward, craving more of his touch, but he withdraws from your heat all together and steps away from you, his grip on your hips dragging you forward until you step down from the counter and you’re standing in front of him, looking up like you don’t even know how to breathe unless he talks you through it. He turns you around to where you’re facing the mirror, and it’s the first time you take a look at how messed up he’s gotten you. Your cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes a little teary from the lust consuming you. Your tits that appeared plush and perked by the haphazard way the neckline of your dress was tucked underneath them were glistening with his saliva and you felt like you were about to go insane at the sight. You take a look at his face in the reflection, and he too looked like he was about to go insane at the sight.

“Bend over the counter,” he demands with a rough voice, but you don’t have much of a choice since he’s pushing down on your back anyways. You’ve risen up onto your tiptoes to accommodate the position and he lazily flips the fabric of your dress up over your ass before his hands hook into the side of your panties at your hips, pulling them down, and you feel the fabric practically peel off of you from how wet you were. And then he was on his knees behind you.

“Fuck, why didn’t we do this the first night we met?” he laments, marveling at the sight of you bent over for him.

“You already asked that question,” you mumble.

“Cause it still doesn’t make any fucking sense to me,” he sighs and then he drags his index finger into your folds, from your entrance that was sopping wet all the way down to your clit. You’re wiggling, pushing your hips out towards him, and you hear him let out a low, guttural sound in his chest at the sight. His finger experimentally pushes into you and you’re gasping, hand slamming against the mirror.

“You’re so sensitive. Need a second?” he asks like he’s genuinely looking out for you, and yet he doesn’t wait before pushing another finger into you regardless.

“Mhh..n-no, just need your tongue,” you say through a shaky breath, panting from where you were on the counter.

He groans at your request and pulls his fingers out of you, instantly making you whine, before giving you a different reason to whine when his tongue presses against your clit.

Your mind was going insane, still registering the shock that this was happening as you moaned from the feeling of his tongue on you, mouth latching on and sucking harshly at your sensitive core that has you writhing and grasping onto anything you could find for purchase. The man that was making a mess at the most intimate part of you right now seemed so different from that kind man last week that pressed that chaste kiss to your lips. This was like you had just summoned the devil and he was on his knees behind you.

You make a mental note to never doubt any of Mina’s advice ever again.

When his hungry lapping at your clit turns into slow, lazy licks against your folds, you whimper above him and attempt to grind against his mouth so his tongue is where you want it. “Mm…p-please, stop teasing, I wanna cum.”

He pulls his mouth from you and you feel how slick he’s made you, nothing but a mess of your arousal and his spit, before he pushes two fingers inside you and stretches you out inside with them. “But do you deserve to cum, is the question, sweetheart,” he drawls, curling his fingers inside and pressing on that spot that had your walls fluttering around him and building that tight knot in your lower tummy.

“Yes, I do, fuck,” you’re moaning as he slowly starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, “less talking, more licking my clit.”

His other hand finds your clit, fingers beginning to rub agonizingly slow circles, and you can feel the texture of his calluses across every single nerve ending of the aching bud. “What was that, baby? You want me to be stingy with my tongue? Alright, whatever you say, princess,” he sighs it like he has no choice but to be a fucking dick right now.

“No, oh my god, don’t be stingy with your tongue,” you cry out, your cheek pressing up against the mirror from the sheer desperation of wanting a release, “I’ll kill you.”

“Can’t make you cum if I’m dead,” he purrs. “God, your pussy’s going crazy right now, clenching around my fingers like it’s got a mind of its own. Can’t wait to fuck you,” he’s groaning, “so sweet, so tight, so wet. Exactly how I imagined it.”

“Y-You’ve imagined this?” you whimper to him when he starts to fully fuck you with his fingers.

“So many fucking times,” he grumbles, his other hand now gripping your ass and thumb spreading you more open. You blush from how exposed you felt to him, but the noises he was making from the deepest part within his chest made you realize he was a freak for it. He pulls his fingers out of you and then uses both hands to spread your folds apart as he laps at the wetness that was practically dripping from your entrance. “What your world would be like if this was your little ‘terms and conditions’ favor instead.”

His tongue latches onto your clit again and your knees almost buckle. “M-Make me cum and maybe I’ll finally regret the fact that it wasn’t,” you say to him, desperate to coax something feral from him that finally grants you release of the tension building at your core. You’re unable to stay still, squirming and squealing above him, so hopelessly at his mercy.

“Say you’ll never kiss another guy except me ever again,” you hear him grumble with his face still buried in your cunt.

“w-what…” you say, exhaling incredulously, “S-Satoru…you don’t make any sense…we’re not even dat-”

“Say it, and I’ll let you cum,” he tells you simply, pulling his mouth from you again just when you felt like you were about to topple over and you’re about ready to kick him in the face at this point. You try to look over your shoulder to read his facial expression but when his fingers take their position over your clit and he starts to draw stars, you quickly give up and rest your forehead on the mirror. Oh god, this was good, if he just kept going-

As if he could read your mind, he pulls his fingers from your clit entirely, leaving your core agonizingly empty from any part of his touch, and it makes you gasp. You’ve never felt more betrayed in your life.

“Oh my god, okay okay okay!” you’re screaming, sticking your ass out to him and he’s chuckling at the sight. “I’ll never kiss another guy again! Fucking hell, Satoru, please, just make me cum,” you beg, whimpering and almost crying, your thighs twitching from the urge to clench together for some form of relief in his absence.

He seems satisfied by your begging, because he immediately grabs your ass with both hands, one of his thumbs pushing shallowly into your drenched entrance, and then his mouth finds your clit again. You close your eyes shut, and you could feel that you were just seconds away from cumming as he simultaneously sucks and licks relentlessly on the sensitive bundle of nerves. It’s when he groans against your center with such a primal frequency, sending shockwaves of vibrations to your center and throughout your entire body, that you fall apart for him and you come undone so violently that your knees entirely give out, and you’re screaming his name. He wraps an arm around your legs to keep you from falling as you squirm on the counter, your walls pulsing and clenching, hips twitching, and then you’re finally calming down. You lay blissfully on the surface, head down, breathing heavily with soft, remnant whimpers leaving your lips.

You hear Gojo let out a short exhale from behind you that almost sounds like he’s in disbelief. When you turn slightly to look back at him, you see he’s palming himself through his pants and looking directly at your cunt. “You’re dripping onto the floor, fuck.” He catches a drop of slick, clear arousal as it falls from your entrance, immediately bringing it to his tongue and licking it off his finger before standing up.

You barely manage to push your upper body up so that you’re standing, shaking arms working overtime to hold yourself up, and he comes up behind you to press his chest against your back, looking at you in the mirror. He was breathing heavily too, his mouth near your ear and his eyes lidded with lust. You reach your arm up and behind him to grab at the soft tufts of hair at the back of his head, your back arching from the motion, and he groans as he pushes his clothed erection against your ass, head dropping close to your shoulder from the pleasure and he presses a kiss to your skin. The image in front of you, with his broad shoulders and frame completely engulfing yours whole, your hips slightly rocking forwards and pushing against the counter from his indulgent grinding behind you, his hand reaching up to pinch and play with your nipple, it was all so erotic that you were already aching for more. He effectively finger-fucked, licked, and sucked the anger out of you, and that was a dangerous fact.

His fingers grazed up the side of your waist that the fabric of your dress still clung tightly to, and he loosely held onto you, sighing against the back of your neck which sent shivers down your spine. His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “So pretty like this. Turn around and face me, baby, reflection’s not enough,” he says to you and you do as he says, twirling around. His eyes take in the sight of you, his thumb coming up to press at the soft flesh of your breast and you can see it in his eyes that he was worshipping you.

You finally take in the entire image of his appearance. His chest was heaving, hair disheveled, shirt was wrinkled at the front from when you were grabbing onto it earlier. There’s a crease to his brow when he looks at you, and you realize that this is not the first time you’ve seen him look exactly like this in a party bathroom. Except the last time, it was from reasons other than your own.

And then there’s that sinking feeling in your chest again.

Just when you observe that spark of intense lust in his eyes, pupils dilated like wild, see it flash through his mind that he thinks he’s about to get lucky with you tonight, you find yourself pushing him away from you for the second time tonight. You’ve got him with his back pressed up against the wall while he looks down at you with confusion, and this time there’s desperation and panic there too.

You look up at him with a discerning softness, and all those tender feelings you’ve been experiencing for the past week come crashing down on you all at once, but your heart aches with their memory. When his eyes study your face, there’s a brief second where he’s surprised to see the way you’re looking at him, and his jaw clenches slightly.

“Thanks, I really needed this,” you whisper to him, hand patting his chest reassuringly as you try to keep your composure in front of him despite the hollow feeling in your chest, “gave me some clarity. Don’t follow me.” And then you step away from him, pull your panties back up into place, adjust the neckline of your dress up over to cover your chest, then you make your way to exit.

“What? Wait-” he scrambles, sounding stunned from behind you as you open the bathroom door, walk right out into the hallway and close the door behind you, not all the way but just enough so you were out of his line of sight.

You sigh to yourself for a second as you step to the side, fixing at your hair, then take a deep breath as you walk down the hall. It registers in your mind that he listens, never following after you.

a/n. reader is soooo messy for doing this to him right before his big game lol i'm like scared for her even though i'm literally the author hahha. i hope to see you in the next one! much love

➸ take me to chapter seven!

tag list: @who-can-touch-my-boob @getitsatoru @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice (decided to tag all interacts too just so it's not missed if that's ok! love you all sm)

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flowerandblood · 1 month

Text

The Taste of Desire (AU)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: sex with soft domination, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, remorse, doubts related to sex work ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients − however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. One of his clients surprises him with her behaviour, making him experience something he has never felt before, with his own actions and emotions slipping out of his control. Sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

This oneshot is an alternative universe for my series The Taste of Shame in which Aemond meets the main character as his client. It shows how their lives would have turned out and what their first time would have been like if Aemond had done it for money. Created to celebrate my anniversary on 22 March.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other series: Masterlist

_____

He was never picky when it came to his female clients. They had to meet basic standards like hygiene, no venereal diseases and they couldn't go beyond a certain time, but once they signed a confidentiality clause, what he was going to do with them was no longer important to him.

He kept repeating to himself that he was there for them, not them for him, so he focused on giving them what they wanted in a way that didn't disturb his comfort zone.

He did not allow them to kiss or touch him with their hands − in fact, he preferred that any involvement they had in what was happening was minimal. What he found most pleasing in the whole act was his violence towards them, and the more they consented to, the more he was satisfied.

Their pleas and cries of pain combined with some subconscious pleasure that such sadomasochism gave them made him struggle to hold back the mocking smile that pressed against his lips.

They wanted to be treated like worthless objects, and that's what he was giving them, because that's exactly how he thought of them.

He didn't try to delve into considering what he thought of himself, because he decided that would end up with a visit to a psychiatrist. He was studying quantum physics, lived far away from his family and needed a steady, high source of income − since silly girls could make money from sex cams, he could make money that way, at least until he had no other prospects.

The only way to contact him was through an online form on his website, where they would write why they wanted to meet, indicate what suited them or not, and if he felt he could meet their whims, he would arrange to meet them to discuss the details and sign the documents.

Scrolling through dozens of similar messages about tying, gagging, beating and humiliation he stopped on one where only a few things were marked. He thought surprised that he wouldn't even link them to aggressive domination per se, and certainly not the kind he usually used.

Good morning. I've been thinking a lot lately about what I'd like to try, but I'm also a bit embarrassed about it. I don't know if this can be subsumed under your interests − I'm completely inexperienced, so maybe that's why I'm looking for a professional who knows what he's doing and would be able to show me what I actually need and want. I apologise for the rather chaotic explanation and send my regards. Selected practices: spanking, verbal domination, fingering

He blinked and scratched his chin, both intrigued and uncertain at the same time − he glanced quickly at her age and saw that she was younger than him. He bit his lower lip feeling that something in the idea that she was still inexperienced and only willing to explore her needs attracted him, the thought that this would be some sort of challenge for him.

He decided that why not.

She was an adult.

He looked forward to meeting her with the utmost curiosity. Her requirements were basic enough that he didn't need to prepare any extra kinks, and since she didn't want sex with penetration, it also gave him a greater sense of confidence and peace of mind − he knew he wouldn't have to chase his orgasm, imagining some woman from porn, and would be able to concentrate only on what he was doing to her.

When he heard a quiet knock on the door of the flat he rented only to meet his female clients, he got up immediately from behind his desk and opened it for her, swallowing hard as his gaze involuntarily swept over her figure and stopped on her face.

God.

This was not what he had expected.

She looked even younger than she had written; her eyes were big and bright, looking at him with fear and dread, though usually the women who came to him, learned by experience, kept their gaze meekly on the floor, waiting for him to command them to look at himself.

She was dressed in a plain white Tshirt and high-waisted jeans, a fabric coloured backpack on her back, her hair loose, shiny, dark, slightly wavy − he could smell the fruity scent of her perfume or shower gel.

He grunted quietly, trying to keep a stony face, feeling that involuntarily his gaze expressed shock. He took a few steps back and invited her in − she stepped inside uncertainly, turning away quickly as he closed the door behind her.

"Come in. Do not be afraid." He said lowly, pointing to his desk which stood in the deeper part of the flat − she walked in that direction, looking in horror at the bed standing on the other side of the room.

He heard her swallow hard, tense and red, pulling her backpack off her back − she placed it in her lap immediately after she sat down in the chair opposite him, as if trying to ward off and protect herself from him in this way.

He took his seat on the other side and tapped his index finger on the top of his wooden oak desk, thinking that he had never had a client like her before.

She was completely distracted, her gaze sweeping across the room as if she were a curious child, her fingers tightening on the material of her rucksack.

"As I mentioned, first the contract and confidentiality clause." He said calmly, handing her copies of the contract and clause he had sent her earlier.

She took them from him and looked into his eyes again, making him swallow hard; it wasn't a defiant look and it wasn't meant to seduce him. It seemed to him just the opposite − she wanted to show him that some part of her was genuinely afraid of him.

She nodded, her hands trembling all over as she took the sheets of paper in her hands − she looked around quickly and clumsily grabbed a pen.

He wondered, seeing what was happening to her, if what she wanted was really good for her and although he never meddled in his clients' decisions, he decided to intervene, for her sake and his own.

"You can still resign. I won't burden you with the cost." He said lowly, watching her closely, and saw that she flinched all over. She lifted the gaze of her bright eyes to him, her eyebrows arched in indecision, her mouth opened and closed as if she was trying to get something out of herself.

"I…I think I want to try. This one time. Do you think it's a bad idea, sir?" She asked him in a trembling, soft, girlish voice. The note of innocence that lurked in this after all defiant question made him twist in his seat, feeling surprised that his manhood swelled a little − he felt like he was literally burning her with his gaze.

He thought it was because she was so vulnerable − it turned him on that he was more experienced than her and had real control over what could happen next if she wanted it.

He chuckled involuntarily at her words, shaking his head, sighing quietly, looking at her indulgently.

"What I think about it doesn't matter." He murmured lowly, leaning comfortably against the back of his chair with a loud creak of wood.

He felt heat in his lower abdomen at the thought of her not dropping her gaze, boldly staring him in the face as if they had known each other for a long time, despite the fact that most women knew their buttocks would be red and swollen like tomatoes for such insolence.

"I would, however, like to hear your views on the matter, sir." She replied quickly, as if she recognised him as some sort of authority on the matter, a sexologist or anyone else who could give her a diagnosis.

"I am not a doctor. However, I don't think there is anything wrong with trying under controlled conditions. You also have a safe word that you can use at any time to stop whatever I'm doing. You have to decide." He said finally, and saw her nod her head, drawing in air loudly as if gathering her courage, and leaned over, signing the documents in the spaces indicated.

For some reason he involuntarily licked his lips, dried from some kind of excitement, his cock twitching hard in his trousers at the thought that she was really going to do this.

When she finished he took the papers from her, signed them and gave her one copy, reminding her of all the rules they had agreed and what she could not do.

"You can't touch me or kiss me. When we start, you are to call me sir and follow all my instructions. You are to answer all my questions by shaking or nodding your head unless I order you otherwise. I will not stop even if you beg me or cry until I hear your safe word which, please remind us, sounds how?" He asked softly, stapling the papers she had signed with a stapler, tucking them into his drawer, watching her out of the corner of his eye, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen at the very thought of what he was going to do to her.

Why was he so aroused when he hadn't even touched her yet?

"Peach." She muttered embarrassedly, looking down at her hands.

For a moment he wondered if he should add the rule he usually made where a woman couldn't look him in the eye, but something in her eyes captured him − her gaze wasn't seductive or filled with feelings he didn't want to see. He also guessed that forbidding it might overwhelm her even more, and he didn't want that.

He nodded at her words, rising, and she rose with him, holding her backpack in front of her, her shoulders raised slightly in a defensive gesture, as if she was afraid of him and the fact that she had somehow given him control over her.

He approached her slowly, looking at her vigilantly − her eyes fixed on his face as his hand took the rucksack from her arms in a gentle motion, dropping it next to her on the floor. His fingers rose to her cheeks, trailing over them, her jaw and her chin − he felt her tremble all over, surprised, her swollen, plump lips red with emotion.

Although he had never done this, he wanted to get a good look at her first − he knew that going straight to putting his hand in her panties would only frighten her and in this situation his tactics had to be a tad different.

First and foremost, he wanted to reassure her.

He saw that she had closed her eyes, trying to breathe slowly through her mouth as his hands slid down to her neck and her soft hair. He thought, smelling her fruity scent, that he would have given anything to have her kneel before him and take his achingly hard manhood into her mouth.

He decided that perhaps he would use his thoughts to embolden her a little more and let him do what he wanted.

"Such a sweet girl. You have no idea what I'd like to do with those lips." He hummed, feeling a shiver pass through her as one of his hands rose higher again, to her face, parting her lips with his thumb. "How hard I am now."

He saw the shock in her gaze, which quickly escaped down to the bulge in his trousers, her cheeks flushed as she looked up into his face again, her breathing quickened and ragged.

He sighed involuntarily at the sight.

"You can say a lot of things about me, but not that I'm a liar. Open." He commanded in a slightly cooler, stricter tone, her lips immediately parted slightly, allowing his thumb to slide deep between her fleshy, wet lips.

"Suck." He instructed, a quiet moan caught in her throat, her body suddenly quivering as the fingers of his free hand slid lower to her breast, teasing her nipple in calm, circular motions, her lips tightening around his thumb, obeying his command.

"Do you always walk around without a bra? Hm? Do you like it when men look at them?" He muttered warningly, pulling lightly on her nipple, looking at her curiously − she squirmed helplessly, closing her eyes, not knowing what to do with her hands. He could see how, in some subconscious reflex, she wanted to lift them up and embrace him, but reminded herself that she couldn't do that and lowered them again, moving him in some way and arousing him at the same time.

He couldn't remember if his client had ever made him completely hard by her behaviour itself.

"Quiet. We haven't even started properly yet, and already you want me to slap your arse?" He growled mockingly, and she shook her head quickly, drawing in air loudly, looking at him with a pleading look of her big, bright eyes, which he felt between his thighs as his cock swelled unbearably, demanding attention.

"This is my last warning. Lie on your stomach." He said coldly, although inside he felt like his body was on fire.

She obediently pulled off her shoes and lay down on the bed, watching, embarrassed, as he slipped his thumb, moist with her saliva, between his lips and licked it. He quickly pulled off his sweatshirt and shoes, leaving in his black short-sleeved T-shirt and trousers, fixing his hair with a careless flick of his hand.

"Leave only your panties on." He added, hearing her quiet squeal as his large hand gave her one, light, sharp smack on her buttock, just as an encouragement to keep her going.

"Just like that. So pretty." He hummed, watching her undress, climbing onto the bed behind her. He involuntarily licked his lips and grinned in amusement when he saw that underneath her trousers she was wearing pretty lace panties in powder pink.

He thought she was like a lollipop or candy, a sweet little gift bought just for pure pleasure.

As she pulled off her t-shirt she clung with her breasts to the bedclothes, looking somewhere sideways towards the window as if she was afraid of how exposed she was, that she was lying half-naked in front of a strange man who, on top of that, she was going to have to pay for it.

Although he cursed himself for it in the back of his head, the sincerity and naturalness of her behaviour endeared her to him − he thought in disbelief that he wasn't sure that even if she had asked him to punish her more harshly or to cause her intense pain he would have been able to do it.

Would it give him pleasure.

He took her hair aside, exposing her long neck and back, felt her shudder all over as his fingers ran along her spine.

"Are you going to be good, or should I tie you up?" He murmured and she nodded quickly − he hummed under his breath, stroking her bare skin. "Use your words."

"I'll be good. Sir." She added quickly, hearing him shift suddenly in irritation. He let out a loud breath through his nose, leaning down, grasping her wrists in his hands, placing them on either side of her head, showing her the position he expected her to hold them in.

"Your hands are supposed to be here at all times. On the pillow. If I see you take them away from here, I'll tie you up and on top of that, I'll give you ten slaps on the bottom to make sure you remember this lesson well. Do you understand? Use your words." He hissed, driving his fingers into the skin of her wrists, heard her swallow hard and nod her head quickly.

"− y-yes, sir −"

He gasped softly, pleased with her answer and the way it was going − he saw her hands tighten on the material of the pillow as he settled his knees on either side of her buttocks, lowering himself onto them so that she could feel his cock throbbing all under the material of his trousers. She stifled the cry that wanted to escape her lips by pressing her face against his bedding.

"− do you fucking feel it? − do you feel what you're doing to me? −" He muttered, trying to calm his breathing, not knowing why instead of pulling himself together and concentrating on his task he was teasing her, making his manhood painfully hard − he clamped his eyelids shut when he felt her hips begin to buck uncertainly to the rhythm of his movements.

He decided that fuck it, he would do it the way he felt like it, breaking his own rules, knowing that unlike the other women, she really needed this.

His closeness.

She sighed loudly and her whole body trembled as he pressed his face against her soft, fragrant hair, crushing her with his own weight, his hands roamed over the skin of her bare shoulders and the sides of her waist as his nose slowly slid lower, down to her neck, his fingers slipped underneath her and tightened on her soft, plump breasts as his lips pressed against her bare skin.

He heard her start to pant loudly through her mouth, surprised as he was, surely imagining it differently, writhing beneath him, his fingers digging warningly into the soft skin of her breasts, his hot breath enveloping her ear.

"− lie still or we'll do it rough − spread your thighs −" He growled, his thumbs pressing and playing with her nipples. He spread her legs with his knees, making her breath catch in her throat − he could feel her heart pounding fast under his hands, his tongue ran over the bare skin of her neck, smelling the salty taste of her sweat and the sweet taste of her perfume.

"− you're already wet, hm? − shall we check? −" He sneered, sliding the palms of his one hand down her belly − he saw out of the corner of his eye that her fingers clenched tightly on the fabric of the pillow, her whole body stiffened, her head tilted slightly as his fingertips pushed the soft, soaked material of her underwear aside, sinking into her leaking, fleshy womanhood.

"− good God − look at you − all sticky and warm −" He gasped as his fingers began to tease and squeeze her clit lightly, giving her a few encouraging strokes from which helpless, muffled sounds tried to escape her throat − his hand let go of her breasts for a moment and slapped her buttock with all his might, reminding her that she was supposed to be quiet.

He didn't even notice when he started rubbing against her faster from the top, chasing his own fulfilment, completely aroused by what was happening to her, how she was responding to him.

He felt like his cock was about to explode.

"− moan for me − let me hear these sweet sounds −" He whispered in her ear, driving his fingers harder into the soft, leaking structure of her folds.

Moan for me?

What the fuck was that supposed to be?

He sighed when she cried out loudly, clenching her eyes, writhing all under him, again and again rubbing his sore cock with her buttocks. He felt ashamed that even though he was the master of the situation, it seemed to him that somehow it was she who was dictating how it looked, or rather his inability to treat her as he did his other clients.

There was something innocent about her, that her goal was not for him to humiliate her, beat her or hurt her, but for him to guide her, to show her what she really desired and what he could do with her body.

He thought, running his fingertips over her moist, hot slit, that perhaps this was what he had been craving deep inside himself all this time.

"− ah − please, sir −" She mewled helplessly, and he felt her words between his thighs. He licked his lips, trailing his fingers over her throbbing, weeping cunt, teasing her hard nipple with his other hand, each of his movements accompanied by the loud click of her moisture.

"− what are you asking me to do? − use your words −" He exhaled, feeling that he was embarrassingly close to climax himself, and wondered if he was going to cum in his own trousers for the first time in his life.

"− please − please, put it inside me −" She mumbled out and he swallowed hard feeling her buttocks rubbing against his cock.

He froze for a moment, running his fingers over her hot, leaking folds, fighting with himself, on the one hand wanting only this, on the other the contract was different and he never broke the terms he himself had agreed to and signed.

What if, afterwards, she found that she didn't want it and decided that he had raped her, go to the police with it?

This thought sobered his mind a little, though his whole body shuddered with disappointment, his two fingers suddenly forced their way inside her with her moan of pleasure.

"− I can't − you know I can't, don't you? −" He breathed out, pressing the tips of his fingertips into the fleshy structure of her muscles, searching for the spot hidden between them.

She shuddered all over when he felt it a moment later, his thumb trailing over her clit as his two fingers dug in between her slick folds with a loud click of her wetness − he felt her whole body tense in anticipation, again and again his fingers squeezed her the way she needed it.

"− I'll be good, sir − please − please − please − I'll be good −" She cried out, her sticky walls began to clench around his fingers, sucking them inside and he closed his eyes, imagining he felt it on his hard, aching cock.

How tight she was.

He'd never done this before and he knew he shouldn't, but for some reason he was desperate, his mind clouded by what he'd seen and what he needed.

He watched her face in disbelief, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed with exertion, her lips parted sweetly in a loud, accelerated breath.

"We can do this, but on my terms. I'll just fuck you, nothing more. No money. Do you understand?" He asked her in a trembling voice, as if he wanted to make sure she understood, that it meant nothing to him, that she just turned him on too much and he wanted to take it out on her.

He saw her eyes open suddenly, fear and relief filling her gaze as she whispered just a few words without looking at him.

"Let me look at your face, sir."

He himself didn't know when he suddenly flipped her onto her back as his lips clung with a loud purr to her hard, swollen nipple, sucking and licking it − he heard her moan loudly, startled, making him lose his temper. His hands in a helpless reflex slid down to the button of his trousers and his zipper, releasing his erection quickly, he wasn't sure he had ever been so terrified and aroused at the same time.

He knew things had gotten out of hand and that he would regret it, but he couldn't deny himself, knowing that he would probably never see her again.

"Don't touch me. Do you understand? If you touch me, I'll stop and I'll slap your arse so hard you won't be able to sit for the next few weeks." He hissed, looking her straight in the face, reaching his hand into his pocket to pull out the condom −she merely nodded, her hands clenched on either side of her face, her swollen lips parted in a quick, uneven breath.

He looked at her pretty figure, her sweet, plump breasts, her flushed face, her hair in disarray, and thought helplessly that she was beautiful and that he would go mad if he didn't do this to her.

Never before had he put a condom over his length as quickly as he did then − with a quick, sure, impatient movement he slid her panties off her, already all wet with her moisture, grabbed her by her hips and pushed her closer, momentarily forcing her tight, leaking folds to let him inside her.

He didn't speak, because he didn't know what he was supposed to say either, ashamed of his own desperation as he pushed deeper into her with a sure, sharp thrust.

He began to pound into her as if he had completely lost his mind, fast and out of control − she threw her head to the side, writhing beneath him, moaning loudly, her walls wonderfully moist and hot, clenching on him so tightly that he struggled to restrain himself from cumming just yet, not wanting to humiliate himself.

"− oh God −" He muttered, looking at her as if through a fog, leaning over her, his hands found hers, her fingers clenched on them, seeking proximity − she looked up at him pleadingly, panting and quivering.

He suspected that never before had anyone fucked her at such a brutal, fast pace from which she couldn't catch her breath, her thighs spread wide before him in a gesture of trust, their bodies slapping against each other with the loud clicks of her wetness.

"− these idiots couldn't even fuck you properly, hm? −" He panted low and she only nodded, his fingers intertwining with hers in some subconscious reflex, as if he wanted to show her that he understood her, that she had a right to be disappointed, that he had no idea how any man could fail to give her what she needed.

"− my poor little baby − am I right? −" He breathed out and she cried loudly and nodded her head, something in her gaze, in her eyes flooded with tears, filled with despair, tenderness and relief made him lean lower and cling to her lips.

She moaned loudly into his throat and he felt her walls squeeze him tightly with a sudden, intense orgasm, sucking him inside as his tongue invaded between her lips. She reciprocated his kiss with such devotion that a few of his helpless, sloppy thrusts were enough to make him cum into the condon.

"− fuck − fuck, baby −" He breathed out into her mouth as if she was his, as if they were in his bed in his flat, as if he loved her and was about to have dinner with her or go to sleep lying next to her, as if she wasn't a stranger to him, her sweet scent, her innocent sounds and the taste of her mouth were all that filled his mind as he continued to rock his hips deep inside her.

Even though they had both came, they didn't stop kissing, their lips joining and pulling away from each other lazily with a loud click of their saliva, his hands roaming up and down her fingers, alternately stroking them and entwining them with his own again.

Something about what was happening between them, about this sudden, unexpected closeness calmed him and made him completely drift off.

He knew that she had wanted to touch and kiss him from the very beginning, but she still respected his decision and his rules.

And he, for some reason incomprehensible to himself, broke them for her.

He pressed his face to her cheek, panting along with her, unsure of what he should do now, distracted and ashamed that he couldn't help himself, that for the first time in his life he had overstepped the time and competence he should have given her.

And that wasn't good.

What if she thinks now that they are in love with each other, that maybe one day they will be together? If she starts writing to him and stalking him like so many women before her?

"I'm sorry." He heard her whisper and shuddered, snapped out of his reverie.

He opened his eyes and met her gaze, her hands still on either side of her head. He grunted quietly, horrified at how close she was, that he could smell her pleasant scent so intensely, her breath, the warmth of her body.

"I'm the one who should apologise. I behaved unprofessionally. I won't take money from you." He replied after a moment, and she shook her head, shocked.

"− n-no, why − I mean − after all, you did what we agreed to do − you gave me your time, I −"

"− you're not the kind of person who would enjoy a strong dominant-submissive interaction − you'd be terrified − you're worrying too much − probably those guys before me didn't ask you what you needed, hm? − that's what I thought − there's nothing wrong with you − that's my diagnosis −" He hummed, sighing heavily, lifting himself up on his elbows, placing a lingering, tender kiss on her forehead.

He slipped out of her gently with her quiet hiss of discomfort − he saw her press her lips together when he slided the shed condom off his manhood and tie it off, tossing it into the small bin standing next to his bed, zipping his trousers back up. He saw her reach with a trembling hand for her underwear and sighed under his breath, shaking his head.

"Wipe yourself well first, the tissues are lying on the table next to you. Don't you have underwear to change into?" He asked uncertainly, realising that this was usually obvious to the women who visited him, as it was to him, so he didn't warn her, thinking she would figure it out for herself.

She shook her head quickly and he sighed heavily, taking a bottle of water standing on the table, unscrewing it and handing it to her, seeing that she completely didn't know what she should do with herself now.

"− drink − you'd better just wipe yourself off and put your trousers on −" He replied and she nodded, red with embarrassment, taking a few deep sips of water without looking at him.

He turned away as she started to get dressed, running his hand over his face, recognising that he was an idiot and had completely lost his fucking mind, unable to forgive himself for fucking her even though their terms were different.

He shuddered as she approached him quietly − he thought terrified that she was going to try to touch him, maybe even thinking they were going to become lovers now, but she just held a bundle of banknotes in front of him, looking at him pleadingly.

"− I already told you I won't take it − keep it −"

"− I can't, after all −"

"− don't piss me off −" He growled, and she pressed her lips together, lowering her hand, swallowing loudly.

They stared at each other for a long moment in awkward silence to say the least − he grunted, combing his fingers through his hair, feeling that for some reason his heart was pounding like crazy.

What was happening to him?

"− consider it a gift − we both made each other feel good − right? −" He asked, as if he wanted to make sure he hadn't hurt her. She nodded and smiled softly, shyly, for some reason making him feel a squeeze in his throat.

He regretted that she had ever written to him.

He regretted that he had said yes.

He regretted that it had been so pleasant.

"− thank you − and I apologise again − I won't take up your time anymore − I wish you all the best − please take care of yourself and be happy −" She said finally, and he flinched, looking at her in disbelief − he felt that his lips were parted in shock as he looked at her dully.

He didn't know what to answer.

Only after a while did he get anything out of himself, feeling that she was due at least some perfunctory response.

"− it's me who's sorry − I also wish you all the best −"

She nodded and smiled warmly at him, before her trembling hand reached for her backpack and headed towards the door, opening it and disappearing behind it a moment later.

He looked at the bed, at the sheets where the mark of her body was clearly visible, the fact that she had just been lying there, that he had been deep inside her and had fucked her like he had never put his cock inside any woman before.

He went over there and just lay on his stomach, sinking his face into the pillow that was drenched in her scent.

For the next few days, his head was in a state of chaos − one part of him was afraid that she would reach out to him, that she would seek contact or a relationship with him, like so many women before her wanting to be special to him, to be the only one.

The other part of him was even begging for her to do it, for him to be able to free himself at last from the memories of what he had done to her, that she had broken something in him, that he couldn't look at the women who came after her.

He couldn't focus, he felt remorse, he couldn't even get aroused and he was so frustrated that, to the despair of his regular clients, he decided to take a break for a few weeks to cool down.

His friend from university, Robert, had already invited him to his birthday party a month earlier and although he didn't have the energy to go anywhere, he knew that afterwards he would be listening to him and Criston moan in class about how completely unsocial he was.

He figured that since it was only going to be a private party at his house, he might as well go there at least for a while so no one would accuse him of lack of effort.

When he stopped outside his house he got out of the car and decided to have a quick cigarette, tired and discouraged, knowing that sooner or later his savings would run out and he would have to go back to it, whether he wanted to or not.

Or find another, lower-paid job.

He sighed heavily, clamping his fingers over the base of his nose, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself. He heard movement beside him and the screech of brakes, lifted his gaze and froze when it became apparent that she had just sat down beside him from her bike, a wide smile on her lips as if she thought he was a stranger, only recognising him after a moment, her lips parted then in horror, panic in her gaze.

He stared at her, feeling his body freeze.

Fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

"Oh God. Do you know Robert?" She muttered, and he swallowed hard, feeling a tightening in his throat at the thought that she could have been his friend's girlfriend.

"Yes. Fuck. And you?" He asked her quickly with some sort of accusation, from which she swallowed hard.

"I-I, I'm his younger sister. I went to get some candles, I didn't know…"

"It's okay. I'll just go home." He replied, taking a few quick puffs of his cigarette, crushing it with his foot, turning back towards his car.

"N-no, please. Are you Aemond? Did I guess right? Robert was telling me about you. How he's glad you're coming. That you rarely talk or go out somewhere as a threesome with Criston. It's good that we met here, we'll avoid an awkward greeting. Please, don't be embarrassed." She muttered, and he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, heartbroken. They both shuddered when they heard a knock on the glass, Robert looked at them through the window and started waving at them, gleeful.

Jesus Christ.

They both headed towards her house, knowing that since he'd seen him, he couldn't run away anymore anyway. He was terrified that since she was Robert's sister, she was someone familiar, not a stranger, that this changed everything and nothing, his heart pounding like mad.

"Do you have a lighter?" She asked as they stopped in front of the front door and he shook his head, snapped out of his reverie, frowning his brow.

"What?"

"Do you have a lighter? Can you help me? I need to light the candles on his birthday cake." She muttered in a whisper as if someone might overhear them, and she was telling him an important secret. He sighed heavily and nodded, recognising that he must have been dreaming all this.

Robert greeted him with joy, all around them Criston, their family and a few of his high school friends, a whole group of people he didn't know and with whom he knew he wouldn't find common ground, and among them her.

He wished him well and gave him his present, but he was unable to focus − he met her terrified gaze, she was pointing her finger at him that she needed his help in the kitchen.

He followed her as if into the lion's mouth, watching from the side as she opened the fridge in the darkness, taking out a blueberry meringue. She sighed heavily, placing it on the table in front of him, only the lights of the street lamps around them.

"It looked better in the picture on the internet, but I did my best." She mumbled, as if she wanted to say anything that would lighten the atmosphere between them.

He felt like an idiot when their trembling hands touched as he handed her the lighter and swallowed loudly, watching as one by one the candles began to glow with the warm, bright light of the flame.

He wanted to ask her if something in her life had changed, if she now knew what she wanted and needed, if she thought about what had happened.

Was she thinking about him.

She picked up the cake when it was all ready and let the air out loud through her mouth, looking him straight in the eye.

"Let's go."

After singing a short 'Happy Birthday', Robert blew out all the candles, happy to announce that his little sister had remembered what cake he loved best, assuring everyone that it was certainly delicious.

They spent the whole party throwing surreptitious, embarrassed glances at each other − he had to empty a few glasses of strong Whisky to calm himself down, the alcohol relaxing him a little, though only seemingly, suppressing his fear, but making him start thinking about something else again.

He looked at her figure dressed in a modest mid-thigh summer dress, her hair, her face − saw the way she laughed, the way she talked to others and felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that then, being with him, she wasn't pretending.

She really was like that.

Affectionate, open, sweet, kind.

Everything he wasn't.

He swallowed heavily at the thought, sad and embittered, taking another deep sip from his glass.

"How are you going to get home? Criston is staying the night at our house, why don't you stay too? It's late." Said Robert sitting down next to him on the couch, patting him on the back in a friendly manner, already himself relaxed by the considerable amount of alcohol his body had assimilated.

He swallowed hard, looking at his sister from afar, feeling that this was a very bad idea.

"Why not." He muttered, thinking that he was a moron for looking for trouble himself, and that if Robert found out what he'd done to his sister, he'd kill him with his own hands.

Criston and a few others occupied the upstairs rooms, and he suggested he could sleep in the living room on the couch, to which Robert agreed.

He hoped this would embolden her to come to him, as he himself would never have dared to knock on her door despite how desperate he was.

At the thought that he might feel her again, his manhood reacted with an enthusiastic, intense pulsing in his trousers.

He felt that he was drunk as he began to pull off his black tight turtleneck, managing it with difficulty, pulling off his shoes, laying down dressed only in Tshirt and trousers with a quiet sigh and covered himself carelessly with the blanket, listening.

Is she going to do it or not?

And even if she comes to him, should he agree?

He felt disappointment when an hour passed and nothing happened, silence all around him and the loud snoring of someone coming from the upstairs rooms, perhaps her and Robert's father. He sighed heavily, recognising that he had made it all up, that she was surely now ashamed of him and what she had done, trying to forget it.

He swallowed hard at the thought, feeling discomfort in his stomach, and closed his eyes, figuring he would try to get at least a few hours of sleep.

He shuddered and opened them again when he heard a quiet creak, as if someone was walking down the corridor above him, but he wasn't sure himself if it wasn't just his imagination. A shiver ran down his spine and his manhood swelled all over when he heard someone quietly walk down the steps.

Whoever this person was, however, she didn't approach him but walked through the living room to the kitchen.

He felt his heart start pounding like crazy when he caught sight of her silhouette in the darkness, dressed only in an oversized white Tshirt and light shorts − she walked over to the tap, took a glass from the drawer and poured herself some water.

Should he approach her or not?

What if she gets scared?

Fuck.

He didn't even know when he just picked himself up on the couch, for some reason doing it very slowly so that his movements couldn't be heard − he felt like a predator who wanted to get closer to his prey even though he didn't really intend to harm her.

As soon as he stood up he immediately felt the room around him spin, the pleasant, intoxicating warmth of the alcohol melting through his lower abdomen making him seem less terrified of what he wanted to do than if he had been completely sober.

When she caught sight of his silhouette out of the corner of her eye she almost choked on the water − she spat some of it into the sink coughing loudly, making him freeze motionless, afraid to approach her. She quickly wiped her mouth with her hand, looking at him with big eyes.

"My God, you scared me." She muttered pale, her pretty, smooth face illuminated by the warm light of the street lamps standing in front of her house.

He stared at her for a moment, thinking that perhaps it must all have been a dream after all, that the fact that she was standing in front of him was unreal, invented by his distraught, drunken mind.

"I'm sorry." He stammered, swallowing hard, standing a good distance away from her, fighting with himself not to look shamelessly at her bare legs and her nipples peeking through from under her T-shirt.

Again.

They stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence, both of them breathing embarrassingly loudly, as if each of them was reliving deep inside themselves the fact that they were seeing each other again.

And on top of that, in her brother's house.

"I didn't know you were his sister. I swear. I would never do that to you." He finally started to speak, to explain, although he didn't know why − he had the feeling that he was trying to get anything out of himself so she didn't go back upstairs to her room.

He heard her sigh quietly, stroking her bare shoulder with her trembling hand. She shifted from foot to foot in a nervous gesture, looking somewhere to the side, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath.

"I know." She whispered, and he felt a heat in his lower abdomen and a pleasant shudder at the thought that perhaps she wasn't misjudging him, that perhaps she wasn't disgusted by him at all.

"How do you feel? I mean − are you okay?" She asked in a trembling voice, as if she wasn't sure if she should be asking this kind of question. She glanced at him uncertainly, clearly wanting to check his reaction, he stared at her stunned, completely surprised by her question.

"− I… yeah, I guess − I mean, I'm on a break from − you know − from this − right now −" He muttered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black trousers, looking at the floor, feeling ashamed and embarrassed for some reason.

It's because of you, he wanted to say.

I did it for you.

"Something happened?" She asked after a moment, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous reflex, as if she was afraid of what she would hear.

"− yes − I mean − I have doubts − I always had, but now… they've intensified − you know −" He muttered, shrugging his shoulders, feeling the tightness in his throat and stomach growing stronger, his heart pounding like mad, cold sweat running down his back.

I'm just a whore, he thought.

I sell myself for money.

She nodded her head quickly so he knew she understood.

"− I'm sorry −" She said quietly, and he looked at her dully, not knowing why for some reason his lower lip trembled, why he felt a burning sensation under his eyelids.

He was ashamed that he desired her so much, that he wanted her words but also her body, wanted to fuck her first and then embrace her and fall asleep.

Was he treating her objectively? Was he only able to think about one thing?

Sex, sex, sex, sex.

He couldn't get anything out of himself.

He shuddered, drawing in air loudly as she came closer to him, in her gaze genuine fear and worry at his condition, questioning whether she could do anything for him, help him in any way.

He knew she longed to touch him − he saw out of the corner of his eye her hand rising to touch his shoulder but falling back after a moment, reminding himself that he never allowed anyone to invade his space.

He felt like screaming.

"− do you want to talk about it? −"

He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to anyone about it, but after a while he was sitting next to her on the terrace anyway, covered in a thick, soft blanket, sitting next to her on a rather uncomfortable wooden bench hanging by chains, which he rocked back and forth with involuntary movements of his knees, lighting a cigarette from his lighter with a quiet hiss of fire.

He took a drag and let the smoke out loudly through his nose, sighing quietly, just thinking about the fact that their hips and shoulders were touching.

"What did you think of me? After all this." He asked suddenly, swallowing loudly as he heard her twist in her place, throwing him a surprised, even horrified look. She sighed quietly, covering herself more tightly with the fluffy material.

"That you are a good man."

He felt his hand with the cigarette freeze in mid-motion as he was about to take another drag and for some reason he laughed in disbelief at her words, feeling a piercing pain in his chest, his eyebrows arching in amusement.

"That I'm a good man. Good God." He hummed, taking another drag − he could see she was looking down at her fingers, ashamed of her words and his cruel reaction. He licked his lower lip with his tongue and closed his eyes, feeling that he was completely hard.

He could smell her, she was still using that fruity, pleasant, fresh perfume.

"You're a romantic, innocent soul, aren't you?" He sneered, letting the smoke out again through his nose with a loud sigh − he heard her cough quietly as the smell of tobacco rose into her lungs. She grunted quietly, her lips tightened in displeasure.

"Innocent souls come to a strange man to spank them for money?"

"You didn't want me to spank you. You haven't experienced even a hint of real, hard domination, sweet girl." He snarled, spreading himself out comfortably on the back of the bench with a loud creak of wood, the metal chains squeaking quietly each time he made another movement with his foot, putting the structure in motion.

"So why did you agree to this?" She asked finally, and he fell silent, staring blankly ahead, taking one last drag on what was left of his cigarette.

"Good question."

They both fell silent again, feeling that their conversation was starting to get out of hand, and after all, someone could have woken up, opened the window, overheard their words.

"Did you tell Robert?" He asked suddenly, and she shook her head, horrified.

"N-no, of course not. And I won't. This is between you two. He respects you very much." She muttered, lowering her gaze to her bent knees, which she held under her chin. He hummed at her statement, accepting her words with some sort of relief.

"Did that help you? Now you know what you need?" He asked impassively, letting the smoke out loudly through his mouth, dropping the remnants of his cigarette into the glass with the unfinished drink, feeling her gaze on him, her body tense, he knew she had hesitated.

"In a way." She replied, and he dared to look her straight in the eye.

She didn't lower her gaze even though he knew some part of her wanted to do so, her lips parted slightly when she noticed his hands had slipped under the blanket, into his trousers. She swallowed loudly when she heard the sound of his zipper being undone and the fabric being unfastened.

"Come here. Sit on my lap." He ordered softly, and she did so without hesitation, as if she had only been waiting for those words, something in her confidence, in her assurance, in her desire, in her hot gaze made his breath stand in his throat.

They said nothing as he slipped her shorts off her, as he lowered his trousers, finally releasing his aching, swollen erection, already leaking from his precum. He didn't protest when her hands tentatively embraced his neck, barely touching him, merely catching her balance, his free hand covering their hips with a blanket.

"I'm clean. I had myself tested a few weeks ago, after I'd already taken a break." He whispered, feeling his cock throb aggressively in his hand at the thought that he could come deep inside her if she would just let him. She nodded her head in understanding, one movement of his hand between her thighs reassuring him that no further treatment would be necessary.

"Have you been this wet all evening? Hm? Have you suffered as much as I have?" He gasped, directing the pink, fat head of his manhood at her swollen slit. She nodded again, her lips parted in disbelief and delight, her eyes closed as she felt him begin to push inside her,his thumbs spreading her folds to the sides, watching with a rapidly beating heart as he slowly opened her wide on his cock.

"− fuck − fuck, tell me you're taking your pills −" He breathed out, tilting his head back, with one sure thrust of his hips filling her tight, leaking cunt to the brim. She squirmed quietly as he began to move inside her immediately, pounding into her with deep, sure stabs, rubbing each time the spot inside her from where she could see stars.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled out, rising and falling on his thick, aching manhood, giving him a wonderful squeeze each time, from which he sank his fingers deeper into her soft buttocks, forcing her into a fast, sharp rhythm in which he hardly slid out of her, panting and grunting louder than usual, thinking only of how wonderfully warm she was, that he could feel her moist, fleshy walls with his whole being with each sure thrust.

"− kiss me −" He exhaled and groaned loudly into her mouth as her lips instantly clung to his in a sloppy, sticky dance, his tongue invading deep into her throat, a shudder went through him as one of her hands combed through his hair.

"− m sorry −" She mumbled, immediately lowering her hand, but he put his one arm around her waist and pressed her closer to him, deepening the kiss with a loud purr of satisfaction, feeling wonderful, the alcohol had given him courage, and her touch was sweet and tender, not making him feel cornered.

"− it's okay − touch my face −" He sighed out between loud, wet licks of their swollen lips, quickening his pace as her hands gripped his cheeks, as her forehead pressed against his. Her walls began to clench on him with increasing intensity, making him lose his temper, not letting her escape the brutal thrusts of his hips.

"− oh, God − fuck, where −" He only mumbled, feeling that it was about to be too late.

"− please, inside me − ah −" She mewled so sweetly that he sighed loudly, surprised to feel his muscles relax, his semen spilling deep inside her without his willpower as her walls began to suck him and squeeze him in orgasm.

They both panted loudly, rocking their hips for a while longer, pulsing and shuddering, stroking each other's faces, looking at each other with their lips slightly parted, breathing heavily.

"− shall we go out somewhere tomorrow? − you know − to the pub or something? −" He muttered embarrassed that he had wanted something more, that he broke his own rule.

He was relieved when she giggled and smiled, nodding, only to lean in a moment later and kiss him in a drawn-out manner with her soft, puffy lips. He murmured contentedly, stroking her warm, bare buttocks with lazy movements, reciprocating her caress with a loud click of their saliva.

She pulled away from him at last, her hand combing slowly through his short hair making a pleasant shiver run along his spine.

"− why not −"

371 notes · View notes

zeroeightzeroone · 4 months

Text

stubborn - han jisung

love collection

genre: angst? hurt? eventual comfort?

pairings: fem!reader (infp) x idol!han jisung (istp)

warnings: none

wc ~3k | moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"you're not hearing me at all."

you push yourself off the edge of jisung's bed, onto your feet and make your way around the room gathering the things you came with. which isn't much since he keeps some of your things in his dorm. fingers running through your locks; the state of your hair expressing the brewing frustration within you. what was supposed to be a lovely night sleeping over at jisung's turned into the two of you pushing each other's buttons.

you're quick to swing the door open and make your way into the hall but jisung's quick to follow you out.

"baby, come on!" he calls, hot on your tail, "y/n!"

"leave me alone ji!"

jisung sneers, "you wanted me to communicate more! here i am! communicating but you're walking away!"

you stop, spinning around to face the boy so suddenly that your bodies almost collide. there, in the hallway of jisung's dorm, you're standing face to face, chests rapidly heaving from your uneven breathing, the rage radiating off your bodies. feeding off each other's emotions.

"yes. i wanted you to communicate more but," your tone stern as your eyes narrow up at him, "that also meant hearing me when i'm communicating something to you! listening to me–"

"please. i've been listening to you!"

"no you haven't! it's like i'm speaking into a void when i tell you that i miss you, ji! we've been together for six months, but i've barely seen you in the past few months."

"you know how my job is," jisung crosses his arms over his chest.

"i'm not asking for you to be attached at the hip. all I'm asking is to see you more than i do right now."

"my schedule doesn't work that way. i can't always find the time for you."

"you can't? or you don't want to?" you counter with your arms crossed over your chest.

jisung scoffs at your implication, "what are you talking about?"

"you can't make time for me or you don't want to make time for me?" you look into jisung's eyes, "when we first started dating you wou—"

"–my schedules have changed. they're not the same as when we first started dating," jisung reminds you, "it's not that easy."

"you said that before too!" you remind him, with a frown adorning your lips, "you said it wouldn't be easy, i knew that, but–"

"but?"

"but..." your eyelids flutter, harshly gulping down the lump in your throat as you hold back the tears threatening to brew, "do you not want to try? do you not want to see me?"

"you know it's not like that," jisung sighs, voice laced with exasperation.

"then what? what is it like then?" the tears fall anyway.

"you knew what dating me would be like."

you scoff as you roll your eyes, "you can't keep using that defense."

"am i wron–"

you're quick to cut jisung off, "–i knew that my boyfriend being an idol wouldn't be easy, that we wouldn't get the opportunity to see each other as much as we would like–"

"if you knew then," he shrugs, "what's this all about?"

jisung's words come out colder than intended.

"this is about you not even trying to fit me in! you stopped saying 'i'll try', now its always 'i can't'!"

"excuse me? i haven't been trying? how can you say that i haven't been trying?"

"where's the effort then jisung? show me!" angry tears stream down your face, "all our texts show that i'm the one asking when you're free! that i'm checking up on you! i'm the one initiating everything."

"i'm here now, aren't i?" jisung waves his hands up and down, "is that not enough for you?"

"after today i'll probably see you in another couple of weeks, or even more than a month when i'm the one asking you to spend time with me! me! your girlfriend!"

"god, i can't do this right now," jisung runs a hand through his unruly hair, "i've got a ton of work left to do and this conversation is going nowhere."

"fine," you huff.

a few moments pass with neither of you making any moves, staring straight ahead. though you're both in each other's line of sight, your eyes don't meet. avoiding the other's fiery gaze.

your cheeks are flushed, your falling tears soaking the heated skin but you make no effort to swipe them away. your bottom lip is trembling—your whole body feels like it's trembling due to the overwhelming amount of emotion that rush through your veins that very moment. jisung pretty much mirrors you, minus the tears, the way his brows are knit together, slow and heavy breaths leaving his flared nostrils.

with a sigh of defeat, you turn on your heel, then make a beeline for the door. jisung watches you make your way to the front door, not once looking back at him as you swing the door open and shut it behind you.

and not once does he stop you from leaving.

the door shuts and jisung turns around, walking to his room where he flings the door shut behind him and pulls his headphones on. drowning out his surroundings as he tries to steady his breathing.

an hour or two passes and chan walks through the front door, expecting to see your shoes next to jisung's at the door or some other trace of you inside the dorm, but nothing catches his eye. curious, the curly haired boy peeks into jisung's room to see if maybe you'd both gone out but jisung sits there in his computer chair.

the brunette's still got headphones on, no knowledge that his hyung stands in his doorway. right as chan is about to shut the door, his eyes land on a short stack of clothes on top of jisung's dresser: your favourite shirt of jisung's and a pair of jisung's sweatpants. the sight has chan nodding his head as he slowly steps back and closes the door.

even without asking, it's clear something went on between the two of you. the clothes sitting on top of the younger boy's dresser are the same clothes you're given to wear whenever you stay over. they're jisung's clothes but he sets them aside just for you because he knows how much you love them. instead, the clothes are neatly folded and untouched.

on the way to his own room, chan sends changbin and hyunjin a text, letting them know about the current atmosphere of the dorm.

walking in through the front door of your apartment and locking eyes with your roommate, the surprise on her face is apparent. she wasn't expecting you to come home tonight as you said you'd be sleeping at jisung's before leaving. regardless of her surprise, the moment she registers the look on your face, she's rushing over to pull you into a bear hug.

oh, there go the waterworks again.

your trek home from jisung's dorm was an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least.

you would cry, be fine, see the smallest thing and cry once again. you had literally seen a dog across the street and the tears started falling once again.

standing near the front door, you're holding her tight as you cry into her shoulder. she doesn't ask what the cause of your tears are, instead she rubs comforting circles on your back whilst swaying your bodies back and forth. allowing you to let it all out, no questions asked. the look on your face when you walked through the door said enough for her. moments pass until eventually, you feel that you've cried enough.

"thank you," you say with a sniffle, pulling away from her.

she smiles, "i'm here if you want to talk, even if you don't want to talk about it, i'm still here."

...

its been three days since you and jisung have seen each other.

if you were to ask mutual friends of both yours and jisung's to point out the traits you share, other than the both of you being quite introverted. the top would be: stubborn.

were you both aware of how immature you were being, holding out hope that the other one would crack first? yes. of course.

it's just a matter of who is less stubborn and immature between the both of you.

jisung's holed himself up in the company building the past couple of days. most of his time is spent in chan's room or the dance studio (when he feels like moving) as he tries not to think about you.

keyword: tries.

you're all he can think about.

the brunette would be checking his phone to see if maybe you've sent something. jisung had gotten used to you sending him texts throughout the day but the past three days have been radio silent. he finds himself feeling incomplete without your random texts; feeling incomplete without you.

on the other hand, you've caught yourself almost texting or calling jisung first, holding yourself back for the sake of proving a point. albeit, in an immature manner, but a point nonetheless. just like your boyfriend, you're drowning yourself in work but it does nothing to get the boy with the cutest round cheeks out of your head.

three days of radio silence seemed like more than enough, the longing for each other growing as the days pass. jisung misses your random messages about anything and everything, and you miss his random selfies throughout the day.

you miss each other.

eventually, instead of the both of you being too hard-headed to admit defeat and initiate a conversation; the delay comes with the fact that neither of you know where or how to start.

you and jisung have argued before, of course. it would be unnatural for no conflicts to have come up in six months of your relationship. however, it has never gone this far.

with a deep breath, jisung raises his fist to knock at the door.

"hyung?"

from inside the room, chan hums. turning around in his chair as he calls for jisung to come inside. the door opens slowly, revealing jisung clad in sweats and a hoodie, sheepishly walking into chan's bedroom and taking a seat on the mattress.

"what's up?"

chan knows what's up. it's been quite obvious that something has been up with you and jisung for the past couple of days.

"i need some adv—... help. i need some help," jisung glances up at chan and back down, receiving another hummed reply from the older boy, "i fucked up."

jisung takes a deep breath, fingers toying at his sleeves.

"something happened between you and y/n, yeah?"

jisung nods as chan leans back in his computer chair. with that, jisung begins rambling about the argument you two had while chan listens intently, mentally noting down points he believes to be significant. as jisung retells the exchange, he's reminded of the way you looked at him, the things you said to him and how he responded back to you.

"i.. uh.. i don't know what to do," jisung's hands brush through his hair, elbows on his knees as he leans his weight forward, "i don't know where to start."

meanwhile, a floor down and a couple hours later, seungmin sits in the living room of his dorm on the phone with you. on your end, his voice comes through your phone speakers, filling your room.

"first of all, you two need to speak to each other."

"ok—"

"—i'm not done," seungmin hushes you, "how jisung managed to find someone as stubborn as he is, is beyond me but you're both stubborn as hell."

"... gee, thanks."

"you're welcome. you know it's true," even though he can't see you, you can't help but shrug with a small nod, agreeing with seungmin's statement. he continues, "but think about it like this. one reason you fought was because he wasn't prioritizing your relationship, right?"

"yeah?"

"what about right now?"

"huh?"

"is the priority right now to be as hard-headed as possible to prove a point or…" seungmin drags out the last word, "is it your relationship with jisung?"

"my relationship."

...

"well, someone's up early," your roommate gasps when you walk into the kitchen.

you're fully dressed for the day, ready to go outside. usually this early in the morning you're still asleep, choosing to wake up right on time for work instead of earlier than needed.

"i thought you had a day off?" she muses, bringing the mug up to her lips and taking a sip of her coffee.

even before you entered the kitchen area, you could smell the fragrant aroma of coffee beans, filling the air the moment you walked out of your bedroom.

"i do," you nod, going to make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, not really in the mood for coffee.

"where ya' going?"

"i'm gonna go to the dorms," you turn around and lean against the counter, "talk to ji."

"woke up early to avoid the morning rush?" the soft smile on your face paired with the sigh says enough, "how are you feeling?"

you shrug, "a bit nervous... but i'm always nervous going into serious conversations."

she chuckles, "oh yeah. i remember the conversation we had when you wanted to be a potential roommate."

the memory has your cheeks flushing, throwing your head back in embarrassment. to this day, you don't know how she chose you instead of the other, non-embarrassing, applicants. right before your roommate leaves for work, you're exchanging a quick hug and then she's out the door.

the longer you sit alone in the kitchen, stewing in your own thoughts, deliberating over the plan you've repeated in your head a million times; the more your anxiety heightens. prompting you to close your eyes before it can spill over the brim. you take a deep breath, trying to focus on your heartbeat.

the sudden knock at the door has your heart jump, the noise startling you.

you glance out the kitchen doorway, spotting your roommate's house keys hanging on the rack next to the front door. shaking your head, you walk towards the front, unhooking her keys whilst you turn the knob with your other hand.

she's always been quite forgetful.

with an amused smile on your face, you pry the door open.

"no wonder i didn't hear your keys when you left—"

you gulp, heart flipping in your chest.

its not your roommate.

the words are caught in your throat at the sight of the man standing in front of you.

han jisung's here, inside your apartment complex and right outside your front door. the hood of his brown jacket is pulled over his beanie-clad head, and the bottom half of his face is covered by a mask but the nervousness is obvious as he awkwardly shifts his weight on his feet, eyes flickering around.

"can i come in?" he asks with a soft voice.

you nod, stepping aside, giving jisung the space to walk through the front door then shutting it behind him. he discards his shoes at the door, before you're walking in front of him, leading you both into the living area. the two of you take a seat on the couch, a couple inches of space between your bodies. awkward silence lingering in the air, neither of you knowing who should speak first.

jisung clears his throat and decides to take the leap.

his hands reach up to remove the mask and hood, "where.. uh.. were you going somewhere?"

referring to the denim jeans and hoodie you've got on. his hoodie.

"i was going… to see you."

jisung angles his body in your direction, blinking a couple of times as your gaze flickers towards him.

"... you were going to see me?" you nod, "but.. why?"

now you're turning to him, brows knit in confusion. what does he mean why?

"so we could talk about… you know..."

jisung is mentally smacking himself, "no-no, i know that but you shouldn't be the one going over there.. it should be me coming to you. to talk to you, to apologize to you."

"but i have things to apologize for too…" your hands play with the ends of the hoodie you're wearing, "i... i'm sorry that i made it seem like you don't put anything into our relationship. i hurt you by saying you aren't trying. i know you do, i know its hard with your schedule and all... i—"

jisung shakes his head, scooting closer, taking your hands in his own. the mere feeling of his hands on yours has your heart skipping a beat, your skin tingling under his touch.

"honestly, i was hurt hearing you say i haven't been trying, putting in any effort," the pads of his thumbs gently caress your skin, "it's embarrassing to admit... but it did hurt my ego."

jisung's chocolate brown iris' swim with guilt and sadness.

both emotions stem from his inadequacy as a boyfriend recently; hurting the person he cares the most about. its true that you don't realize what you've lost until it's gone, and he had a taste of it for the past three days. he doesn't want to be without you, never again.

"i didn't see the mistakes i'd made, the ways i hurt you. instead, i hurt you more in that conversation, didn't i?"

the way your lips press into a straight line is enough of an answer for him.

"i'm sorry," jisung squeezes your hands gently, "i'm sorry for not putting more effort into our relationship."

"you are—"

"no, i'm not," he shakes his head, "if i was then it it wouldn't have been brought up, and we wouldn't have had that fight."

"... mhmm."

"i kept saying you knew what you were getting into dating me," a bitter laugh slips from his lips at the memory, "but i also knew what getting into a relationship. god, i fucked up."

your stomach turns and your brain starts to scatter. overthinking about what jisung could say next, hypothesizing the worst-case scenarios.

"i knew that it wasn't going to be easy... that dating me is going to be a lot harder than it would be if you dated... someone else– someone that isn't a celebrity," his fingers fiddle with your own, "you knew all of that and still said yes to me, you still chose me?"

"of course, because i want you. no one else."

jisung's cheeks get rounder as his toothy smile widens at your words. he blinks quickly, snapping himself out of his quick daze and continues.

"i haven't been the best boyfriend lately, i know that..." his brown eyes lock with your own, "i'm sorry for how i hurt you that day... even leading up to that... i know i wasn't putting in that effort and there's no excuse for that, honestly. i haven't been fair to you."

"its okay."

"its not, don't say that, baby," jisung sighs, "i know i fucked up but i'll make it up to you. i promise! i'll do everything i can to make it up to you, i'll work harder on us... i'll find a... what is it? b-balance! balance! i'll work on communicating more... j-just be patient with me? i know you already are but—"

"—you're rambling," you cut him off, knowing if you didn't he'd just continue to talk in circles.

it's adorable, it's endearing.

but you take this opportunity to apologize in return, "i'm sorry too. i'm know i hurt you too that day. i could've found a better way to bring it up to you, talk to you about it but i didn't and i'm so sorry. i need to work on that, i need to work on a lot of things but… we'll work on us, together. it'll be hard but-"

"as long as we're together."

you nod, repeating his words, "as long as we're together."

jisung's hands move up to cup your cheeks, caressing the skin gently as your own hands are circled around his wrists. leaning in, he places a kiss onto your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls away. his chocolate brown eyes graze over your face with a delighted look, taking the time to memorize your features all over again, etching them into his brain as if it was the first time all over again.

starting with your eyes. your stunning eyes that bore into his own, jisung finds himself entranced by them and the way they sparkle when you're talking about your passions, the things you love. your eyes that smile whenever you laugh at his stupid jokes.

your nose, which you've repeatedly expressed your dissatisfaction with, but jisung find absolutely adorable. the way your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when you're playfully glaring at him.

your lips. your plush, baby pink lips that jisung would kiss all day if he could, especially when you're in a pouty mood. the way your bottom lip juts out makes his heart flip. sometimes he finds himself staring at your lips, allured by the way they move as you speak.

you. you're absolutely breathtaking, beautiful. the most beautiful being he's ever laid his eyes on. the most beautiful being, inside and out that he will ever lay eyes on. he's convinced that nothing else, that no one else will captivate him, entrance him, amaze him the way that you do. the way only you do. its you, only you.

"i love you."

the three words, eight letters leave jisung's lips for the first time, directed to you, dedicated to you and you feel like you're levitating. the words, paired with the melodic vocal tone of the man sitting across from you has you breathless, the sound is intoxicating. you're addicted, so high and elated that for a moment, you wonder if you heard right.

"you..?" you're speechless.

jisung's face beams with happiness, his eyes crinkling into crescent moon shapes at the sight of your own eyes that currently resemble a lost puppy; large, round and beaming up at him.

"it was like a part of me was missing over the past three days. the past three days i didn't have you, three days without you... three days where i got the taste of what life would be like if i lost you. you, y/n, are my heart," he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, "i can't— i don't want to imagine a life without you, it would only be incomplete. i love you…"

jisung pauses, biting down on his bottom lip, trying to bite back his smile.

"fuck… i'm so in love with you."

"han jisung," you press a kiss to his lips with a hum before pulling away ever so slightly. lips brushing against his as you speak, "i'm so in love with you. it's crazy."

458 notes · View notes

princessmaybank · 30 days

Text

Good Girl

Pairings: Boyf!Rafe x Gf!Fem!Reader x JJ

Warnings: Cheating, nudes, spanking, degradation, spanking, 3some, p in v, oral (both), fingering, voyeurism, creampie, etc.

Summary: Reader accidentally sends a nude to the wrong guy.

Authors Note: This is my first time writing something like this! Please be kind! I hope you enjoy!

Moodboard

Fuck. Rafe had me so fucking horny all day. It's not even his fault..I have been thinking about him dicking me down since lunchtime. The ache between my legs was almost too much at this point. My core was begging to be touched, but unfortunately Rafe isn't home. He went on a business trip with Ward, leaving it to me to pleasure myself. He did tell me to message him any time I feel horny and he would try his best to help, so I might just have to do that.

I was home alone because my parents were making some deals over dinner with some new clients.

But before I do anything, I really want to take a shower, I feel disgusting after work every time. I work at a little restaurant called The Wreck with my friend Kie. She got me the job when I told her I didn't want to work for my parents, at least not yet. Since I started working with her, I've met her friends and they seem to like me, well for the most part. JJ is still warming up to me, and he hates Rafe for some reason. All of them do. I understand he can be an asshole sometimes, but I wouldn't go as far as to say I hate him.

After I took my shower I didn't bother putting clothes on. I wanted to send Rafe a little surprise while he was gone.

Y/N: I took this for you baby

Y/N: Photo

I quickly hit send because I was nervous about his reaction but deep down I know he'll love it. I heard a ding from my phone, letting me know I got a message.

???: All for me? Damn Y/L/N...maybe I was wrong about you

My eyes nearly popped out of my head as my heart was beating against my chest. Then I heard another ding come from my phone.

???: Photo

Only a second later and another message came through.

???: That one's all for you.

I sent my fucking nude pic to JJ?? And he sent me one back? How the hell did that happen??? I started freaking out, knowing that Rafe would fucking kill him..and me, but mainly him.

JJ: What made ya come to your senses?

I had no idea how to respond to him. This has never happened before. Maybe I should just be honest.

Y/N: oh hey..can you just delete that and pretend you never saw it...? that wasn't meant for you JJ...

JJ: if it was sent to me, I was meant to see it, the universe just works that way ;)

He saw that I opened the text and that I wasn't responding. Those three dots popped up as he was typing.

JJ: okay, hey I'm sorry. where u at rn? I'll come meet ya n we can talk bout this

My heart nearly bursts out of my chest when I read that message. I'm nervous and I don't know what to do. Fuck. I should clear the air with him.

Y/N: my house..

JJ: drop your pin

I hesitate before sending this man my address. This could go horribly wrong, and I don't have Rafe here to protect me. Whatever, I'm already in this deep and it's just JJ what's the worst he could do?

Y/N: 📍

JJ: omw

I stood from my bed and started looking for an outfit to wear. I don't know why I cared what I looked like for JJ..I shouldn't, but I did. I ended up choosing a little white skirt with a cute blue crop top to go with it.

It took maybe 10 minutes before I heard a knock at my door. I still wasn't entirely sure if I should answer it, knowing who was on the other side, and knowing what he just saw...

I decided that I should just open the door and hopefully he'll understand the mistake.

My heart started pounding again as my hand reached for the knob. Suddenly I was greeted by a familiar face...but it wasn't JJ...

"Rafe?? " I question sounding more shocked than happy. "What are you doing here?" My anxiety was through the roof at this point, knowing JJ is probably just around the corner. Rafe let himself into my house by grabbing my face and pulling me into a heated kiss. He used his foot to kick the door closed, then pinned me against the wall next to it.

"Wanted to surprise my princess. The job got done early. I landed 30 mins ago, rushed over to see you." He says all while rubbing me up and down. "Look at this fuckin outfit, almost like you knew I was coming over princess.." He reached hand up my skirt and soon realized I wasn't wearing any panties. "Naughty girl.." Rafe smirked before attacking my neck.

About a minute later there was a knock on the door. He waved it off and said to just ignore them and they'll go away. Another knock pounded from the other side of the door. "Y/N?? Are you home?" You recognized his voice. Rafe pulled away looking slightly confused before looking through the peephole.

"What the fuck is JJ doing here?" He said gritting his teeth. I toyed with my fingers and bit my lip not knowing how to tell him the truth. Next thing I know he swings the door open.

"Hey ba- Rafe?? ...Was this a fuckin set up?" JJ questioned. I shook my head no as both men stared at me.

JJ came inside and closed the door behind him before joining Rafe and I in the living room. I was told to sit on the couch so I obeyed. The guys stood in front of me towering over me with their arms crossed, trying not to kill me or each other.

"What is he doing here?!" They both asked angrily at the same time. "Can you two sit down before I continue?" I ask shyly. The guys responded with a harsh 'No' timed almost as perfectly as before.

"Okay so here's what happened..." I trail off and explained the entire situation before Rafe turns to face JJ, looking like he is about to murder him.

At some point Rafe lunged at JJ and I had to get in the middle. Rafe grabbed my shoulders trying to move me out of the way. JJ had his hands on my hips trying to keep me in between them. It felt like they were going to split me in half.

It took a while but I eventually got them to go talk it out in my room. I can't speak guy, so maybe they would have an easier time hearing it from each other.

After a while I didn't hear them talking anymore, which was concerning, Rafe may have actually killed JJ..

I went to my room and knocked before entering. I was greeted with a naked Rafe picking me up before laying me on my bed. He placed his lips on mine, giving me one of the most intense kisses I've ever had. "Rafe- whe-wheres J-" I tried to question. "Don't worry about it. He's fine. Enjoy this." He kissed down my jaw and to my sweet spot, sucking on it for as long as he could, in order to mark me.

Rafe doesn't usually give me hickies unless he is angry-fucking me. He must have sent JJ home after their talk so we could have this moment. At least he's not mad at me anymore.

"So you wore this slutty outfit for Maybank huh?" He asked and flipped me onto my stomach, hiking my skirt up above my ass. "And no fuckin panties. You really are a fuckin slut." Rafe huffed before giving me a hard slap across my ass, causing me to yelp as a tear prickled in my eye.

"I'm gonna make you choke on my fuckin cock.." He smirks before flipping me back over. He comes over and hovers my face, his knees on either side of my head. Rafe dipped his cock into my mouth slowly before full on fucking my mouth. "Mmm yeah, suck that fucking cock you whore!" He somewhat gently slaps my face, still pushing in and out of my throat.

As I was gagging on Rafe's dick I felt something down between my legs. A cold, wet, tongue met the heat between my legs and I couldn't see it. "Wait till you see her face Maybank, she makes a pretty face when you fuck her." Rafe announced which resulted in a hum from the mouth attached to my clit.

JJ was eating me out...while Rafe was fucking my face...

Fuck.

I moaned onto Rafe's dick as he continued to fuck my throat. In turn, my moans made Rafe moan. "How'd you say she liked it Rafe..." JJ questioned before shoving his cock inside of me. A loud moan escaped the best it could when he filled me up. "...by surprise, right?" He chuckled as Rafe nodded.

JJ's thrusts caused Rafe's thrusts to go faster and harder. But they both stopped suddenly. Pulling out of both of my holes and they stood next to the bed, hovering me. "What was that??" I questioned, now blushing from seeing JJ's dick for the first time.

Of course he noticed and had to be an ass. JJ smirked at me while stroking himself. "Don't pretend you didn't like it princess.." He slows his motions down before he eventually stops. "Not saying I didn't like it- just confused. You two were literally just about to kill each other, and now you're fucking me." I say confused.

"We came to a conclusion baby. You lead JJ on..and you cheated on me. But we are ready to forgive you, if you let us have some fun with you babydoll.." Rafe simply stated, making me feel like shit because that was not my intention. I tried to counter what he said, but he just shushed me.

"Whaddya say princess?" JJ asked with a smirk. "Yea I mean...it's the least I could do.." I smile sheepishly to them. Rafe stepped between my legs and gave me a long kiss. "I love you, but I want you to understand that this is a one time thing so JJ doesn't have to keep pining after you. So whatever you want from him, make sure you get it from him now, you're still mine." Rafe explained. I'm surprised he's acting this way. He never lets anyone touch his things, especially me.

"What's first?" I asked the guys. "Just let us make you feel good baby, you won't have to do any work, unless you wanna." JJ said settling on the bed next to me. "You said anything I want?" I looked up to Rafe with glossy eyes. He nods with his arms crossed.

"JJ can I suck your dick while Rafe fucks me?" I started to blush because never in a million years did I think this would be happening. "I'd love that princess." He smiled at me.

I got off the bed and got to my knees in front of JJ. My hands sat on his thighs as my mouth lowered onto his cock. "Hmmm fuck.." He moaned out, placing his hand on my head. I felt Rafe come over and line himself up with me. "I love this fuckin skirt baby.." He says before slipping into my wet pussy, which caused me to moan on JJ's dick, which caused JJ to let out a moan of his own.

The guys were trying to set a steady pace between the both of them. JJ was bobbing my head up and down in time with Rafe's thrusts, and boy did it feel, so fucking good.

At one point they made me feel so good and I let out a long moan.

"Good Girl "

I heard them both say at the same time. A string of moans were escaping us all as they continued. Rafe was pounding into me as fast as he could. JJ was now standing with a fistful of my hair, fucking my face. I popped my mouth off of JJ and replaced it with my hand. "If you two don't stop going full force- I'm gonna cum right now.." I whine out.

They both groaned as they pulled away. I got back on the bed and sat in between them, one hand each, shooting to their hair, and massaging. They both started feeling me up, placing kisses wherever they could reach. The moment was over as fast as it came. JJ sat with his back against my headboard and pulled me to sit between his legs.

Rafe crawled onto the bed after JJ put his legs between mine to keep them spread open. I couldn't close them even if I wanted to. Rafe laid between my legs and started lightly sprinkling kisses on my lower lips.

JJ attached his lips to my neck, giving me a hickey, opposite to the one Rafe had made earlier.

Rafe moved to my clit with his mouth and inserted a few fingers into my hole. I gasped and JJ put his hands under my shirt in response.

"Why ya still wearin' this baby? Shoulda been gone a long time ago.." He says before taking my crop top off. Leaving me in my bra and my skirt. He groped my tits as Rafe sucked and fingered me. I was a moaning mess. Everything felt too good. "Guys- l-like I said before..." I say but it's too late and I cum all over Rafe's fingers.

Rafe sat up before placing his fingers in his mouth, sucking off every little drop that was left of me. "Good girl.." He smirked at me. "But, you gotta cum for JJ too princess.." Rafe stated.

I was still coming down from my high. "Cum again..?" He only nodded before sitting in the chair in front of my vanity. He turned it so he could see us sitting on the bed.

"Go ahead Maybank..." He smirked. Just as he was given the green light, JJ flipped us over so he was hovering me. "Hey there princess..." He smirked before planting a kiss on my lips. This felt so wrong to do so I looked to Rafe for some guidance.

He just sat there slowly rubbing his dick, watching us. He nodded for me to continue.

Suddenly this felt so right. I was supposed to have fun with JJ, for Rafe. JJ leaned down to my ear to whisper. "You looked so fucking good in that picture you sent me." He started kissing my neck. "I know you sent it on purpose, don't worry I won't tell him." He whispered.

His hands lifted me off the bed to take my bra off. JJ threw the garment to the side, landing in front of Rafe. He kissed me so hungrily and so passionately it almost hurt. "Jayj..." I whimpered into the kiss. He started grinding his hips against me, his dick touching my clit every time. "I know princess.." He whispered. "C'mere, I wanna make you cum in doggy." He says then plants another kiss to my lips.

I got up on my hands and knees before JJ could move me. "Wrong way baby...I wanna see your face when he fucks you..." I heard Rafe say from the chair. I turned around just like he asked. JJ got behind me when I was settled. I heard a spitting sound and a second later I felt his hand lathering my hole. "Mmmm" I moaned while I grinded back onto his fingers.

"Patience baby.." JJ said before slapping my hole which resulted in me letting out another moan. He grabbed his cock and started teasing my slut with his tip. I moved to lay on my forearms with my ass in the air. My eyes wandered over to Rafe, he was still stroking himself slowly while watching us. His lips curled up into a smirk when he saw the face I made when JJ pushed his length into pussy.

I let out a loud moan and looked Rafe in the eyes as JJ slowly rocked his hips. As JJ quickened his pace, Rafe did too. Almost like he wasn't to cum with us, but didn't want...involved..?

The room was filled with the sounds of moans and skin slapping against each other as JJ fucked me senseless. Rafe had rolled his head back but his eyes stayed on us.

I felt JJ reach for my hair and pull it back, making me arch. The slightly new angle was enough to push me over the edge. "You're such a a good fucking girl for me..." JJ says as I moan out. "JJ harder.." I couldn't say anything else. It was odd moaning another mans name but they both loved it, which made me feel dirty.

JJ gladly fucked me harder. I was going between watching Rafe fuck his hand and watching JJ in the mirror. "Fuck you're so tight princess..." He dragged out. "I'm so close Jayj..." I announce with a whine. Rafe caught my attention with a low groan. I looked over and saw his cum shooting up onto his stomach.

He was still yanking himself, riding out his high, when he said "JJ I want you to cum in her fucking pussy". I couldn't help but moan, feeling JJ's thick cock in my pussy, watching Rafe cum, and him saying THAT.

JJ let go of my hair and held my hips, bringing them backwards to meet his. We were both a moaning mess and Rafe was just watching, sitting there in his mess. He looked afraid to blink, like he was going to miss something. I pushed back onto JJ's dick, wanting more, he was making me feel so good and I didn't want it to end.

"Fuck Jayj- i-im gon-gonnaaa cum" I squeal out. "Me too princess. Are you ready?" I nod after he asked. He counted us down before with both released together, screaming each other's names. I fucked myself with his dick, riding out my high.

"Good girl.." He said biting his lip, helping guide my ass. He slipped out when we were done and gave me a long sloppy kiss, trying to savor the moment, knowing it would never happen again.

Rafe walked away at some point to clean himself up, JJ and I just continued to make out to fill the silence and need. When Rafe returned we all sat on the bed talking about what just happened. "How did it feel?" Rafe asked me. "He's really good.." I say panting, getting butterflies from the recent memory. He smiled at me and JJ before speaking.

"Y/N, I loved the way your face looked when JJ was taking you from behind..." He said while rubbing my back. "I suggest we make this a regular thing." I nearly choked when I heard him say that.

Rafe Cameron...never...shares.

"I 1000% agree" JJ said almost too enthusiastically which made me giggle. "That was both the craziest and sexiest shit I've ever been a part of. Of course I'd love to." I say smiling.

He smiled and I could tell he had a mischievous thought. "Next time I wanna try something new." He smirked to me and JJ.

"I will do whatever you two want if it feels that good.." I blush, looking between both of them.

"Good girl " They are so creepy with that shit...but it's so sexyyyy.

#outer banks #jj maybank #rudy pankow smut #rudy pankow x reader #obx fic #obx x reader #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #smut prompts #rafe x you #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x reader

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hollyhomburg · 1 month

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Before I Leave You (Pt.68)

(Sneak Peek) (Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 12.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! fun fact that is actually my hand writing in the note in the moodboard....i couldn't find a pic of something i liked so i made it myself!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 68: Before I Leave you (Sneak peak)

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep.

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air.

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Checking the wounds on your hands and verifying that they’re clotting, the margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with minimal scolding). He stoops and presses a gentle kiss to the bandages after they are re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scared.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every word he says, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. you can give him one more minute) He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask. Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you. He nuzzles, and you huff a soft laugh that Namjoon feels against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?”

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tightening on your waist. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? or something? Wouldn't that be fun? Would you like that?”

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you loosely around your hips, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and emploring like a child.

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this- and imagine if you actually got your happily ever after. Just like in the movies.

But glass slippers cut. Dresses are rented not owned. Good dreams have the power to hurt- even when they’re good.

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack.

Namjoon would be a good father.

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard and even if it’s hard you do it together. Where you just get to live.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach?

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button.

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. you'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of you is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you.

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

Still- you can't resist asking Namjoon, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the worlds hurts (or to keep you in)

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Coming Saturday March 23rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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thewalkingthread · 2 months

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i found you - r.g. (moodboard)

pairing: rick grimes x reader

summary: on your search for rick, you're faced with an unknown group. little did you know, they one of the soldiers was more familiar than you thought.

warnings: NOT REVISED, violence, cursing, walking dead gore

author's note: this is loosely based off of events from the ones who live. I've only been thinking about Rick since the show aired but am going to post a Daryl one shot soon! This will definitely have a part 2!

You pressed your back against the wall of the warehouse. You glanced over at Bailey who had a grenade loaded and ready to blow. He glanced at you, waiting for you to give him the okay.

You glanced back at the group of soldiers that was slowly spreading around the open area.

They'd been on your tail for some time after dropping a bomb on the town you were tucking in for the night with a group. You and Bailey were the only ones who survived.

You were certain is was the same group. Same black uniforms, same helmets, same heaping amount of artillery on them. You were beyond doubtful that you would get out of this situation, but you had to.

You had to keep going. You had to find Rick. You had to go home.

You nodded your head at him and he threw the grenade in the middle of the warehouse before you both ran for cover. Seconds later explosion rocked the ground, the groans and shouts of the soldiers echoing through the now decrepit warehouse.

Their bodies were thrown across the floor.

"I'm going to finish them off," Your eyes darken as you step towards the dying men. You grab the red handled machete, gripping it tight as you walked.

Bailey wasn't too far behind you, keeping his weapon drawn as you approached the bodies.

You kicked over the first person, grabbing the bottom of the helmet and throwing it to the side. The man was groggy, fading in and out of consciousness but you grabbed his vest and pulled him up towards you, making sure he got a good look at your face before you slowly slid your machete through his forehead.

You dropped his body onto the ground, moving on to the next, repeating the same process. These men killed the people that were helping you. They deserved nothing short of a painful death.

There was one man left, trying his best to crawl away. You wanted to laugh at his desperation.

You kicked him in the stomach, his body curling up at the contact.

"You,"

Kick.

"Killed,"

Kick.

"Everyone!"

You shouted in frustration, grabbing the man by his uniform and pulling him up to his feet.

"Fight. Back." You shout, shoving him by his chest.

He kept his head down, probably still trying to recover from the grenade. The man stumbled back, barely able to hold his body up on his own.

You knock him to the ground, ready to end it. In one swift movement he swipes his leg against yours, causing you to land flat on the ground. You groan at the sudden impact, your machete sliding just out of your reach.

He grabs you by your helmet, pulling it towards him in a jerky motion. He's about to punch you but Bailey swings his staff at the guys back, dropping him to the ground.

You nod at Bailey, thanking him. You pulled your helmet off, catching your breathe as you reach down for your machete.

You pull the guys helmet off and swing the machete down in one fluid motion. His brings his arm up to your wrist, stopping you.

Your eyes meet and your heart seems to stop. You drop the machete to the ground, stumbling a few steps back.

Those blue eyes you've been dreaming about were now staring back at you.

"R-Ri-" You gasped out.

His face mirrored yours in complete shock. He pushes himself off the ground, closing the space between you.

"Rick!" You cried out, collapsing into his arms once he was within reach. You couldn't control the sobs that left your mouth once you were completely in his embrace.

"Y/N," Rick inhaled deeply, his lips pressing to your neck. "You found me." He mumbled.

"I found you," You cried, grabbing at his clothing, as if he would disappear if you let go even just a little bit.

Rick pulls away first, but just enough to cup your cheek and press his lips to yours. It's been damn near 7 years since your lips last touched and you could tell from how desperate this kiss was.

There was an awkward cough from beside you.

You both pull away, an awkward chuckle leaving you as you glance at Bailey.

"So is this the famous Rick Grimes?" He raises an eyebrow. You nod your head, biting your bottom lip.

"Rick, this is Bailey." You introduce the two. The give each other nods, before Bailey glances around the dead bodies.

"I," Rick starts. "I know what it looks like... But I'm not one of them. I just-" He looks ashamed.

"I know. I know, Rick." You nod your head, wrapping your arms around him again.

"Is everyone okay? Alexandria? J-Judith..."

"They're okay. Everyone is okay. Judith- she's perfect." You nod your head presses a kiss to his face. A breathe of relief leaves his mouth and his nods, relaxing his shoulders at the reassurance.

"We have to get home. Everyone- They'll all be so excited to see you." You gushed.

"It's not that simple, Y/N..." Rick frowns. "The people, these people. They're not that simple." He shakes his head.

"I can't- I can't go with you." He mutters.

"What?! Rick are you crazy?" You furrowed your eyebrows.

"I'll get away. I will." He tries to reassure you. "You have to go." His voice cracks. "Both of you, you have to go back home. More soldiers will come looking for us and you can't be here when they get here. You have to go home." He squeezes your hand.

"I just got back to you, I am not leaving your side." You say through gritted teeth.

"We don't have a choice, darling." He pleads with you. "Please, I know what I'm doing. I will find a way out. I will get back home to you, I swear." The deep groan of a helicopter catches your attention.

"You have to go. Now. Get home and tell everyone to prepare to fight, or run. Those are the only options." He mutters hurriedly. "I'm sorry this was so short. But I will find you again, my darling."

"Y/N, they're getting closer. We have to go." Bailey urges.

Tears well in your eyes as he tugs you away from Rick. You press one more kiss to his lips, savoring every moment, knowing this could very well be the last.

"I love you, my darling." He says against your lips. "So, so much."

#the walking dead fic #the ones who live #towl #the walking dead #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes one shot #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes fanfic #twd #twd moodboard

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bangtanintotheroom · 6 months

Text

Fic Announcement: Fill the Void (M)

I don't wanna decide things for myself, on my own

Finally, for the first time, I'm alone

You call me, havin' good times with a bad boy

Seems I've got a choice to make

Be my voice and I choose you to fill the void

• Pairing: Professional Dom!Hyunjin x Client!(F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Sex Worker!AU, Smut

• Rating: 18+

• Words: ?

• Summary: He’s always there to help you forget your troubles, even if it’s just for a few hours.

• Warnings/themes (subject to change for final draft): sex work, swearing, drinking, discussion of safe words and consent, giving up control, dom!Hyunjin, sub!Y/N, edging, orgasm denial, manhandling, praise, use of sex toys, dirty talk, protected sex, spanking, aftercare

• Playlist: 🎧

• Song Inspo: Fill the Void - The Weeknd, Lily-Rose Depp (Spotify | Soundcloud)

• Notes: It's funny how months ago I said I couldn't see myself writing for Hyunjin and now look at me 🥲🥟 Just a quick little idea I came up with in the last few days and I've been trucking through writing it a stark contrast to my other fics as of late 🫣! It's also been a hot minute since I've written anything rough, so forgive me if it's a bit rusty.

• Taglist: @jimilter @joontied @minisugakoobies @minttangerines @sugalaritae2 @crisle19 @codeinebelle @kookprada @saweetspoiled @effielumiere @m1sss1mp

If you'd like to get tagged for the final draft, let me know! YOU MUST BE OVER 18 AND HAVE IT VISIBLE ON YOUR BLOG!

Moodboard and teaser below the cut!

“Y/N?”

A familiar voice brought you to attention, straightening up in your seat at the tall and lean figure now standing in front of you as your stomach flipped in on itself.

“Hyunjin.”

The man smiled down at you, the red lights illuminating and shadowing the right places on his handsome face.

“Welcome back.”

Now you returned the expression, cheeks heating up despite your best efforts. He always seemed to have this effect on you.

“It’s good to be back.”

Hyunjin’s magnetic smile only widened, holding a hand out towards you. Without exchanging any more words, you took it, marveling at the warmth and delicacy of it. The opposite of what it could really do behind closed doors.

He helped you up and led you out of the waiting room and back into the hall. You saw the other patrons staring at the two of you out of the corners of your eyes, expressions ranging from encouragement to curiosity. Probably wondering what the enticing worker and the client in her wrinkled pantsuit were going to get up to.

Nothing was said as you and him walked past closed doors, the occasional sounds soaking through them. A moan. A groan or two. Some laughter. A once in a while scream of pleasure. Or pain.

The first couple of visits, you’d jump and blink owlishly at the rooms, your gaping broken by the gentle tug Hyunjin would give your hand. You were used to these noises by now; it was nothing but background music to you.

Finally, a familiar door ended up in your vision. The dark wood with the red chain wrapped around the handle had your stomach knotting in titillation. Just like always.

Hyunjin opened it and motioned you to enter first, waiting until you stepped halfway in to shut it behind him.

His designated room fit the aesthetic of the establishment, yet it had its own style that catered to its owner. Black made up most of the decor, with the occasional blocks of white and garnished by gold. With the large bed in the middle, decorated with multiple throw pillows, any passerby would assume this was a normal person’s bedroom.

But the oddly-shaped chair looming in the corner hinted at what occurred in here other than sleeping and relaxing.

©bangtanintotheroom, 2023. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

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navybrat817 · 1 year

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Send Me an Angel

Pairing: Soft Dark Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Summary: Bucky thinks you're an angel. Word Count: Over 1.8k Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, Dubcon/NonCon elements (you are responsible for your own media consumption) dirty talk, kidnapping, beginning stages of stockholm syndrome, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: My entry for @the-slumberparty 's I Spy Challenge. I've included all three prompts in some way. Happy to get back into the soft dark pool! ❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, Bucky edit by the incredible Nix, banner by the wonderful @sgt-seabass , and divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world!

It was early morning when you woke up alone in Bucky's bed. You only knew that based on the time from the clock on the nightstand since he had blackout curtains. You groggily wiped at your eyes to wake yourself up a bit more as you turned on the lamp. Caffeine would help if you had any.

Maybe you could convince him to bring you a drink if you asked nicely.

"Bucky?" you called out, your voice cracking as you began to sit up.

It took you a moment to remember that he wouldn't exactly hear you even if you yelled.

The familiar ache between your thighs stopped you from sitting up completely, the memory of the previous night imprinted in your mind. And every night since you went on your first date with the handsome bartender. While you had a feeling he'd be amazing in bed the moment you laid eyes on him, you underestimated his stamina.

Like the morning after.

You always felt a bit vulnerable when you showered, your guard down more than normal. It shouldn't have surprised you when Bucky joined you, but you still shrieked when he pressed you against the wall. You were sure you would've fallen if his firm grip hadn't kept you propped up.

"Round two and three weren't enough?" you teased as he traced the water droplets on your skin with his tongue.

"It'll never be enough," he answered, leaving a small bite on your collarbone. "I can't help myself."

"Bucky, I need to finish up and go," you moaned as he moved his hands to your ass, your traitorous body not putting up much of a fight.

"So perfect for me," he groaned against your neck, like he hadn't heard you. "You can take me again. I know you can. Just give me one more."

You did. You took all of him, just like he said you would. Like a good girl.

The sick thing was that part of you craved it.

Your heartbeat quickened at the sound of footsteps outside of the door. You learned that Bucky could be silent if he wished, so the deliberate sounds meant he wanted you to know he was there. It was considerate.

Or was it just a way to show that he was in control?

"Morning," Bucky said as he opened the door with a sheepish smile. "Sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I wanted to surprise you."

You told yourself to smile back when he held up a small bouquet. Red camellias. The same flowers he gave you when he took you out to dinner. He even wore the same leather jacket he was wearing now.

How long ago had it been since he took you out?

You were losing track of the days.

"Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you."

His smile widened, pleased by your reaction. "I know it isn't a diamond necklace, but I thought you'd like them. They reminded me of our first date."

"I remember," you nodded.

You watched as he walked over to the nightstand and set the flowers down. He shrugged his jacket off a moment later and tossed it on the recliner in the corner. He liked to sit in it some days to read.

Or watch you.

Whatever particular mood he was in.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asked as he sat on the bed beside you.

"Just fine," you smiled, bringing a finger up to trace the tattoo on his neck.

Bucky Barnes had to be one of the most handsome men to ever grace this earth. Well over six feet tall with a buff frame and a glare that could kill, he seemed more suited to be a bouncer than a bartender. The tattoos and nose piercing added to his appeal. But it was his icy blue eyes that nearly made you spill your drink when he handed it to you.

Thankfully you recovered enough to grab a seat on an empty stool and flirt with him.

You didn't know it would change everything.

"Keep touching me like that and I'll have to ruin you."

"We can't have that," you joked.

"Why not?" he asked, taking your hand before you could pull it away. He looked into your eyes as he brought it to his mouth. Instead of kissing the top of it, he turned and brushed his lips on the inside of your wrist. "Your heart is racing."

"That's what you do to me," you said truthfully.

Out of lust. Fear. Both.

"That's what you do to me, too," he said.

To prove his point, he placed your hand on his chest.

You knew it beat for you.

"Did I tell you that meeting you changed my life?" he asked.

"It did?" you replied, even though you already knew.

You searched his expression anyway when he smiled. When you spotted him that first night at the bar, his grin appeared forced when he helped other customers. It never quite reached his eyes. He told you over dinner that it was a show for others, a mask to hide how he really felt.

With you, he showed a genuine smile and softer side.

One you believed you could trust.

"I wasn't in a good place. It's hard to explain, but I felt like I was drifting through my life," he began, moving his hand to tuck the sheet around your body more. You weren't sure when you began to tremble, but of course he noticed. He didn't miss a thing. "I was actually close to quitting the bar and leaving town when you walked up and ordered a drink. I wanted to ask you out right away, but I didn't want to seem like a creep."

He chuckled and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. You found excuses to go back to the bar more often and it still took him weeks to ask you out. You thought he was being a gentleman.

"I'm sorry you weren't in a good place," you said.

"Don't apologize. This path in life led me to you and I'll tell you more about it one day," he smiled, sliding his hand over the sheet until he stopped at your hip. "You know, girls have hit on me, even a few guys, but no one got my attention the way you did."

His insatiable nature told you as much.

"And your kindness. How you listened to me. Wanted to know me," he continued, a dreamy look taking over his features. "You showed me that angels exist."

Listening to Bucky was easy. He didn't brag about anything to try and impress you. When he spoke, you knew it came from the heart. Who wouldn't want to know him more?

Especially when he seemed so eager to know you?

"I'm not an angel," you stated.

You sucked in a breath when he gripped your chin. You didn't see him move. He was so quick. Always faster than you.

Stronger.

"You must be an angel because you saved me."

If I saved you, why am I damned?

"Isn't that what angels do? They save people, right?" he asked rhetorically. "Bring them joy? Hope? Love?"

"Love?" you whispered.

Is this love?

"Love," he smiled, releasing your chin. "An angel leading me straight to heaven. That's what it feels like when I'm inside you. Fucking paradise. My warm, wet paradise."

It stunned you enough to stay silent when he bent down to kiss your forehead, your walls clenching around nothing.

Why were you reacting to him?

"But I'm selfish," he admitted against your skin as a tear slid from the corner of your eye. "Because you're my angel and I can't share you with anyone else."

"So you still won't let me go?" you asked evenly.

With a sigh, he pushed himself and moved to the end of the bed. He carefully moved the sheet to expose your ankle and check the cuff. You weren't sure if he was inspecting to make sure you weren't injured or to make sure you hadn't tried to tamper with it.

Bucky convinced you to go back to bed after he had you in the shower that fateful morning. He even sweet talked you into letting him cuff you before he split you open on his cock. When you reminded him that you had to work, once you could talk again, he said he already took care of it.

You hadn't left his place since.

Maybe if you had been thinking with your head instead of your pussy, you wouldn't be his prisoner.

"You know I can't do that," he said above a whisper, tilting his head a fraction and covering your ankle again.

You didn't shrink back when his gaze settled on you, as much as you wanted to. You shouldn't have asked that. All things considered, he took care of you. The chain was long enough that you could reach the bathroom. He kept the place warm. There was plenty of food for you.

No weapons were within reach though. The lamp and clock were bolted to the table so you couldn't hit him with them. If he had neighbors, they didn't hear your cries for help. He promised he would always know if you were in danger since he had cameras set up.

That was why it took him weeks to ask you out.

He was preparing for you.

Was anyone even looking for you?

"But Bucky-"

"Don't. You're not leaving me," he snapped, pulling away the sheet he had carefully tucked around you moments ago. "This is your home now and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy."

Except give you your freedom.

What happened to you, Bucky? What demons plagued you so much that you think you have to keep me here?

"I'm sorry," you said immediately as his eyes raked over your naked body.

"You don't even like the flowers, do you?" he asked in a small voice.

"I love the flowers. Really," you promised. A bright spot in a dark place. "Maybe we can even recreate our date right here at home. What do you think?"

He considered your words as you gave him a hopeful smile. He hadn't hurt you and you wanted to keep it that way. If he was happy, you could be happy.

Wait. Why did you just think that?

"We can," he agreed in a husky tone as he stood up and unbuckled his belt. "But for now, let's recreate the end of our date. I need to make my angel feel good."

You blinked away tears as you opened your legs without being told. If you really were an angel, why couldn't you fly away? Why did you let him clip your wings?

And why weren't you fighting harder to get out of the cage he put you in?

Poor thing. Bucky will take care of you, right? Maybe we'll see down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bartender!bucky barnes x reader #soft!dark bucky barnes x reader #soft dark bartender!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #navy and roo's sleepover #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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loserdiaz · 5 months

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tagged by the lovelies @spotsandsocks @giddyupbuck @daffi-990 @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @buckaroosheart @eowon @evanbegins thank u!

this friday i said fuck it and started the ballad of songbirds and snakes buddie au i've been wanting to write since i saw the movie. (eddie will be nothing like snow, i promise. he's more like sejanus plinth) (also what does suzanne collins have with naming her characters with anus lmao)

here's a moodboard!

and a lil snippet (it's literally all i've written so far) <33

For the first time since the games were created the tributes would be assigned mentors. Twenty-four of the Academy’s best and brightest seniors have been tapped for the job.

Eddie fantasizes for a few seconds about refusing.

He knows it wouldn't help the tributes, though. The peacekeepers would most definitely drag him out and beat the shit out of him or— Eddie isn't sure if it would be possible but the president might want to make an example out of him and throw him into the arena along with all the other tributes. So, he stays silent and lets the guilt consume him. “And last but least, District Twelve girl, Maddie Buckley. . . she belongs to Eddie Diaz.” Eddie looks up to see a terrified girl— she couldn't be older than eighteen, this probably was her last year with her name in the reaping, what are the odds. She looks a little worn down, with some dirt on her cheek and what looks like an almost faded black eye. Her lips are visibly trembling as she takes slow steps towards the stage. And then—

"Stop! Stop!" A voice breaks through the thick silence and hands appear from the crowd. A few seconds later a boy is running towards the girl, being stopped by peacekeepers just seconds before he can reach her. "Maddie! Maddie!"

He has dirty blonde hair and eyes so wide and a dark blue that reminds Eddie of a relentless, force of nature, kind of storm. He looks a little skinny but Eddie gets glimpses of muscles under the two sizes too big shirt he's wearing when the officers pull him back and the piece of clothing stretches against the guy's chest.

The boy keeps screaming, his voice becoming hoarse, breaking everytime he speaks. "I volunteer! Let me volunteer!" The boy keeps fighting against the peacekeepers and the girl is now being held back but her arms are stretched out and reaching for him.

"Can he do that?" Chimney leans in, whispering so only Eddie can hear. "Can there be two boys as tributes?"

Eddie can't look away from the screen. He sees one of the peacekeepers punch the boy but that doesn't even deter him in the slightest.

"I'm not sure. I mean, maybe?" He frowns. "I guess the Capitol only needs kids to kill each other. Why does it matter if they're a boy or a girl, right?" He wouldn't be able to stop the bitterness and anger from slipping into his voice even if he tried. "Yeah,I guess you're right." Eddie watches as his dad and Jeffery Hudson, the creator of the games, talk in hushed whispers. It feels like an eternity until the cameras focus back on district 12.

"After careful consideration, we've decided to accept this boy's eager willingness and embrace him into the 10th Hunger Games." The announcer says. "District Twelve boy, Evan Buckley… belongs to Eddie Diaz. May the odds be ever in your favor."

tagging (no pressure): @monsterrae1 @hoodie-buck @buddierights @hippolotamus @maygrantgf @underwater-ninja-13 @honestlydarkprincess @bigfootsmom @spaceprincessem @eddiebabygirldiaz @the-likesofus @wildlife4life @jamespearce9-1-1 @watchyourbuck @malewifediaz @thewolvesof1998 @fortheloveofbuddie @weewootruck @prettyboybuckley @rogerzsteven @jeeyuns @rainbow-nerdss @911-on-abc @housewifebuck @disasterbuckdiaz @athenagranted @tails89 @messyhairdiaz and anyone else who wants to do it <333

#tbosas au #the hunger games au #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #my writing #buddie wip #911 wip #911 abc #911 on abc

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jeonqkooks · 1 year

Text

our beloved summer (05) | jjk

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn't as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, drinking, swearing, crying, Sad Boy JK Hours ??, valentino!yoongi bc that should be a whole warning 🥵 even though he's there and not really there for literally 2 seconds lol

rating: PG-15

word count: 9.5k

note: this is the most stressed out i've ever been while trying to post a fic 💀 argh anyway, 2 obs updates in one month ?? is this even real life !! consider this a (lunar) new year's present from me to everyone who celebrates it and also to everyone who doesn't !! idk i'm bad at notes and i'm delirious so that's it 😗

series masterpost / main playlist ; interactive playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Hey, I feel like if we gave it one night You'd hate me less and make it alright Just wish that we could fight now I'd hold you on the comedown

Rockland - Gracie Abrams

One thing about you, is that you don’t do well with change.

After you moved out of the first apartment you got as an adult, you constantly went back to your old neighborhood even though it wasn’t close to your new place. You kept walking those familiar streets, kept shopping at the stores where the workers knew your name. At night, you still pictured yourself living there, with all of your furniture and clothes and decorations that you’ve already emptied from those old bones. Then, you imagined what the new tenant was like, if they could feel the lingering love you had for that apartment. You wondered if they were putting the coffee table you left behind to good use, or if they thought that it looked out of place among all of their belongings and had already thrown it away.

Jimin called you weird for that, but he didn’t know that you always leave a piece of yourself everywhere you go. The biggest pieces, you think, are hidden somewhere in a closet in your childhood bedroom where your mother still lives, and in the tiny space of your dorm room where you spent most of your college years.

It took you more than half a year to finally start considering your new apartment home.

Because you hate change. Change is scary. Change is walking into a pitch-black tunnel with no flashlight, not knowing what awaits you in the darkness and not knowing if you’ll make it to the other side.

That isn’t to say that change is inherently bad. You’ve experienced good changes before. Arguably, Jungkook was a good change when he went from someone you couldn’t tolerate, to the love of your life back then. You were happy with him, so blissfully happy that for a while, you forgot what it was like to experience any other emotion.

Yoongi has always been your friend. It didn’t take you two very long to become well acquainted with one another and from there, develop a good friendship. You have never thought of him as anything other than a friend. Even when he was your boss, he still felt more like a friend.

As you sit next to him in a bar too empty for your liking – but seems right for a Tuesday night – you feel a palpable shift between the two of you.

When your phone vibrates with a notification, you glance at it only to exhale annoyedly – unclear whether this frustration is directed toward yourself, or the person blowing up your mobile; maybe it’s both. That’s the nth message that Jungkook has sent you in the last couple of hours, and you don’t need to read it to know that it’s probably another iteration of the same apology. How many different ways are there to say “Hey, I’m sorry for fucking the receptionist and then having the balls to tell you that you’re the unprofessional one when you didn’t even do anything.” Apparently a lot, because the texts just keep coming.

“Jungkook again?” Yoongi asks from beside you. Fuck. You’ve mostly been silently moping since he brought you here, too enmeshed in your own web of muddled thoughts that you forgot he’s someone you need to make amends with too.

You give him a nod but still continue to stare at the drink in front of you, trying to disentangle your Yoongi thoughts from your Jungkook ones.

Taking a sip of your drink, your face manages to keep a grimace at bay as the liquid ambushes your tastebuds. You don’t like whiskey, but you need something to hate more than yourself tonight. When you set the glass down, the alcohol sloshes around like a compact sea of your own amber-colored miseries.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “This is unfair to you. I don’t know what came over me. I just want you to know that this isn’t me responding to…” To your confession.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, then I have to stop you right now.”

“Yoongi…”

“I’m not saying that you can’t turn me down, although I hope you don’t do that,” he chuckles. “I’m just saying that whatever you do, whether you give me a chance or reject me, I want you to decide after you’ve really thought about it, about me.”

You can’t say no to that; it’s only fair. Yoongi knows what he deserves. You haven’t looked at him in any other way, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t. Didn’t you say it yourself, that maybe you should start putting yourself out there? Well, here is someone coming to you before you even have to look anywhere. You may not have expected Yoongi, but then, you didn’t expect Jungkook either.

Yoongi could be the good change you need.

Nevertheless, you want to tell him you’re sorry for the other night. It should be fairly simple, but the words have a hard time dislodging themselves from your throat.

“I’m sorry about what I said that night at dinner… and what I did…”

Yoongi props an elbow on the bar top and leans forward to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Remind me what it is that you did again?”

“Come on, I’m serious.” You are grateful that he’s trying to keep it light, though.

“I’m serious too. I seem to have forgotten.”

“Yoongi…”

“Yes, Y/N?”

You sigh, shutting your eyes momentarily. Recalling the moment makes you flush with embarrassment, bringing a splash of color to your cheeks which Yoongi always seems to enjoy.

In a quiet voice, you say, “I’m sorry for throwing salt at you…”

“You threw salt at me!” He tips his head back, laughing freely. The bartender spares you two a glance at the sudden disruption. “You shouldn’t go around throwing salt at people!”

“Stop laughing! I’m trying to apologize.” You punch his arm out of habit and for a second there, you forget that your relationship with Yoongi isn’t the same anymore. Changed forever.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Jeez, why are you so violent?” He rubs the spot where you hit him, muttering under his breath something about him bruising like a peach. “Apology accepted. No hard feelings.”

“Okay, good. But I still want you to know that if you were expecting anything from tonight…”

Yoongi ruffles your hair with a scoff. “I’m not that dense. Of course I’m not expecting anything.” When you peer at him with curious and unsure eyes, he continues, “Y/N, earlier you looked like you wanted to set the place on fire and Jungkook looked like he was about to shit himself. Tonight, I’m just a friend who’s here for you if you want to vent. We’re just two buddies having a drink, that’s all.”

He makes it sound so simple, while your brain is already going haywire.

Despite yourself, you chuckle at his words. You tell him how much you appreciate it, though you don’t really tell him anything about what happened this afternoon, just that Jungkook said some stuff that pissed you off. You can’t tell him exactly what Jungkook did to anger you without alluding to the confession for which Yoongi is letting you off the hook for now.

“Do you wanna come with me tomorrow?” Yoongi asks.

“Come with you where?”

“I have a shoot with Valentino in the morning.”

“You have a photoshoot not even 12 hours from now and you’re here drinking? Aren’t you gonna wake up puffy or something?”

“Yeah, my manager would kill me if she knows what I’m doing,” he replies casually, like his manager has a telepathic connection with him and she can sense him mocking her over a drink. When people see Agust D, they tend to only see the icy exterior that he dons. That tough, maybe even callous, image has sustained him in the entertainment industry for years. For many, Agust D seems intimidating and unapproachable. That’s how you felt when you first met him too. But after a while, you got to see Min Yoongi, and Min Yoongi is nothing if not warm and tender-hearted, even if he’s a little shit sometimes. At least, that’s what he has always been like to you. “She thinks I’m getting my beauty sleep right now.”

You lightly snort at that, telling him, “Yeah, you need it.”

When you start to yawn, Yoongi calls a driver to drop you off at your place. The ride is mostly silent, because you’re tired and because you’re not sure what to say to Yoongi in the presence of a stranger taking you home. The car pulls up to your building soon enough, and before you can step out and tell him goodnight, he offers to walk you up. He takes the elevator with you to your floor, how gallant but unnecessary. When you reach your door, you wonder whether you should invite him in for a glass of water or something. If this was a week – or even just a couple of days – earlier, you would’ve had no reason to hesitate. He doesn’t ask if he can come in but instead takes one of your hands.

“I see you’ve been giving yourself some TLC. They’re a lot better now,” he comments, smoothing his thumb over your skin. You’ve been diligent with your hand care routine since he gave you that lotion. It feels nice, and it smells amazing. Besides, your hands were starting to hurt anyway.

Silence descends upon the two of you as you become aware of Yoongi touching you, and the weight of the answer you’ve yet to give him. He must feel you stiffen, because he lets you go and smiles.

“Relax, princess. Get some sleep, you’re the one who needs it. I said I’ll let you think about it, didn’t I? Stop stressing so much.” His index finger taps your cheek playfully, so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. The wink that he tacks on makes you roll your eyes. You watch Yoongi make his way to the elevator, step in and press the button for the ground floor. He maintains eye contact with you as he waits for the doors to shut, and you don’t think you’ve really noticed before how Yoongi carries himself with such confidence and poise even when he’s off-camera. That’s just the kind of person he is and it’s… kind of attractive.

You can’t even fish around in your bag for your keys, you just stand there because he keeps your gaze trained on him. His eyes are alluring even under the shitty lighting of your building’s elevator. Before the lift closes, his voice carries over from the metal box to your door, and you don’t know if it’s the echo of his low timbre in the empty hallway that makes you shiver, or if it’s just Yoongi.

“I’ve waited this long, what’s a little more time?”

One week. This is a record for you and Taehyung.

You’re still baffled by his attitude that night, and no one has cleared anything up for you. He was right, but that doesn’t mean you were wrong. You stand by your initial reaction. Could anyone really blame you for that? In your defense, who the fuck could believe that a worldclass megastar has romantic feelings for them? Not to mention that the person whom the megastar in question has feelings for is you! You, the pathetic girl who can’t seem to get over her ex. Yoongi had to sit through a whole hour of you drunkenly crying over Jungkook, for fuck’s sake!

That really wasn’t your best moment, but it’s not like you even remember it anyway.

Your phone buzzes to life with Jimin’s face taking over the whole screen – a photo of your hand squishing his full cheeks until his lips jut out. “Hey Minnie,” you greet him once you’ve swiped to accept the call.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding out of breath. “Where are you?”

“I’m at home. Where are you? Are you doing pull-ups again? You know you practically hyperventilate when you do more than 3.”

“Shut up, I’m at dance practice. But listen, have you talked to Tae yet?”

You purse your lips at the mention of his name. “No. We’re supposed to go grocery shopping tomorrow like we always do, but I guess that won’t be happening.”

Jimin hums, like he’s in thought. He doesn’t speak again until his breathing has calmed. “Well, can you go to his place right now?”

“Why?”

“He’s sick and I’m kind of worried about him. He hasn’t answered my messages.”

You frown. “Tae’s sick?”

“Yeah, he must’ve caught a cold the other day. Could you go over there and check on him? I would go but I can’t leave for another few hours.”

You agree to go, because of course you would. Even if you’re stubborn and hot-headed, no amount of pettiness could make you ignore your friends especially when they’re unwell and need somebody. Especially when it’s Taehyung who’s been there for you so many times.

You stay on the call with Jimin for another ten whole minutes even after you have said you would go, because he keeps droning on and on about how shitty Taehyung looked yesterday.

Before you go to your best friend’s apartment, you stop by your regular diner to pick up some comfort food for him, and the pharmacy for some medicine. During the rest of the drive there, you start getting a little worried. When Taehyung takes care of a sick you or Jimin, he practically goes into full mama bear mode, making sure that you’re as comfortable as humanly possible and not leaving your side until you’re a functional human being again. But when it comes to his own wellbeing, Taehyung doesn’t seem to be that concerned. It’s not that he neglects his health, but you wish that he would show himself the same kindness that he shows you.

It feels weird to use the spare key that you have to his place, considering that you aren’t really on speaking terms. In hindsight, it feels so childish. How old are you to still be pulling the silent treatment on each other?

You ring the doorbell and wait a couple minutes until you hear Taehyung shuffling to get the door from the other side. When it swings open, he tenses up a bit, not expecting to see you at all. His hair is damp; he must’ve just gotten out of the shower. Taehyung doesn’t look as bad as Jimin described though. Just some dark circles under his eyes.

You raise a hand and wave. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he parrots somewhat awkwardly. It’s understandable; neither of you thought you’d be the one to break the ice. “What are you doing here?”

Bringing your other hand up, you show him the bag you’re holding. “Brought you soup and cold meds. Jimin said you’re sick.”

His brows knit together in confusion. “Thanks…” he says slowly, “but I’m not sick?”

“But Jimin said you caught a cold and you’ve been wheezing like a dying fisherman and–” You purse your lips, catching onto what’s really happening here. “He tricked me, didn’t he?”

Park Jimin…

Taehyung tuts under his breath, shaking his head at the ground. “Mhmm.”

“He could go into acting. He sounded really worried on the phone, like you were on the verge of death.”

“No, yeah, he really could,” Taehyung agrees. “Jimin is bizarrely good at lying sometimes. We should be worried about that.”

You laugh, and that makes him feel like the air is relaxed enough for him to laugh too. It only lasts a few seconds before you’re left staring at each other again. You hate it. You really, really hate it.

You thought that the universe sent you a sign, gave you a reason to come over and make nice with your best friend. Turns out that “the universe” is really just Park Jimin and his scheming tongue. But you’re already here, and you have to talk to him eventually. Jimin might have lied, but you would’ve just waited for Taehyung to reach out first to offer an olive branch anyway.

“Well, can I come in?” you ask. It’s weird that you even have to ask.

“Of course,” he says absentmindedly, stepping to one side to let you in. He takes the bag from your hand and brings it to the kitchen while you kick off your shoes and change into the pair of fuzzy bear slippers that he keeps for you here.

You want to tell him what happened as much as you hate admitting that you were wrong.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, a sad attempt at delaying what will inevitably come.

“No,” comes his simple reply.

“Should we eat? I bought enough for two people.”

“But I’m not sick.”

“You don’t have to be sick to eat chicken noodle soup.”

Taehyung looks at you like the thought has genuinely never crossed his mind. “Interesting… Okay, then.”

You put on an episode of your favorite show while he heats up the food. When you both sit down to eat, it’s mostly silent while the TV continues to play. The most you and Taehyung thing that you exchange in these 30 minutes is him saying soup tastes like shit when you’re not actually sick, and you telling him to stop being such a hater. When you both finish, Taehyung rinses the bowls and puts them in his dishwasher.

Before you came over, you thought you would only be making him eat, take his meds, and sit there for a bit while he sleeps. If you had known this would happen, you would’ve prepared yourself for it.

But then again, you were tricked into coming.

Ugh. Just do it. You are so freaking dramatic.

“Well,” you start, keeping your voice light and trying not to stand around like you’re out of place in his apartment, “you were right.”

“About what?” Taehyung asks, wiping his hands on a towel.

“About Yoongi and… all that.”

“Oh.” His expression is one you aren’t too familiar with. There’s surprise – yes, that you’re making peace with him – in the way his brows slightly lift, but there’s something else too. Something odd that you can’t quite put a finger on, and it makes you slightly uneasy because you don’t like it when you can’t read Taehyung.

He’s pretty quick to mask it, and it makes you even more conscious that there’s something he isn’t telling you. Of course, this feeling is miniscule, practically a seed compared to the blooming garden of nerves that the events of these past few days have dumped upon you, so you can’t categorize it as a high-level priority to nitpick. You need to deal with your main concerns first, aka what to do about Yoongi and Jungkook, both individually and together, and then you can begin to inspect what’s going on with Taehyung.

It all sounds so easy in theory.

Taehyung goes to the couch and you wordlessly follow. You sit down when he pats the spot next to him – your spot. “How did you come to that conclusion?” he asks. “You know I don’t get to hear you tell me I’m right very often.”

Because you aren’t right very often, is what you almost say. It’s light and playful, and you both know it would diffuse the leftover tension, but you chuck the words aside in favor of something more serious. There isn’t that much to catch him up on, but there is a lot to unpack from the few things that did transpire over the last few days.

You give him a recap of what happened with Yoongi and subsequently what happened with Jungkook. Those are the two things weighing the most on your mind. You haven’t really processed anything; blame it on Yoongi for telling you that you have time to think things through.

One thing you love about Taehyung is that he doesn’t tell you what to do, but rather helps you sort things out on your own. Come to think of it, these conversations often take place on his couch. He’s like your own personal therapist at this point.

“Can you give me a hug?” You probably can’t ask a licensed therapist to do this, though.

He softens even more with a smile. Opening his arms, he says, “C’mere.”

You shuffle over to sink into his embrace. You sigh as you practically melt in his hold. Taehyung is a little bony, but hugging him feels exactly like hugging a giant teddy bear. He’s soft, and always knows how to hold you just tight enough, how to stroke your hair the way you like, how to be just the comforting presence you need amidst a whirlwind of anxious thoughts. And he smells like jasmine, though that might be because you keep deliberately gifting him colognes with scents that you like.

With your chin perched on his shoulder, you feel yourself start to relax, walls coming down if only briefly.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks after a moment.

You’re suddenly aware that you’re crying. You don’t know how it started, but now that the waterworks have begun, it seems like there’s no stopping. “No,” you sniffle. “Can I just…”

You feel him exhale. “Of course.”

Taehyung is one of the few people – oh who are you kidding? He might be the only one – whom you feel comfortable enough around to let yourself cry to your heart’s content.

You’ve been feeling it for days now, even before all that shit happened. Every cell in your body is constantly vibrating, with anxiety, with guilt, with a heaviness that sinks into your bones. You’re shaking even when your hands are perfectly still. People, memories, thoughts you keep only to yourself – they all phase through you, not giving you a single moment to catch your breath.

When it rains, it pours.

Everything is weighing you down like someone has tied you to an anchor and pushed you into the unrelenting, unforgiving water. Grief is an ocean and you don’t know how to swim. Your job, your friends, the unbridled mess that you call a love life… Everything is changing and you’re the same. You’re different, but somehow still the same. Deep down, you’re still that scared little girl who doesn’t know what to make of the world. Your knees are bleeding but your mother is telling you not to cry. Why can’t you cry when you’re hurting? Every minute feels like a lifetime but every day feels like it’s going by in two seconds. Things are moving so fast. Things are moving too slow. You can’t remember the last time you actually cried. Really cried. Bawled. Sobbed. Let out all the dirt until you can see your roots again. Until you originate back to being a blank canvas. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only way that can help you see things more clearly. Your vision might blur for a while but afterward, it’ll have washed everything away. At least a little bit. So you can get your footing again.

You miss clarity, or the illusion that you have any control over your life. You miss looking out the window and have something to look forward to, even on overcast days where the sun can’t be bothered to bring you light. You miss hearing your heart beat a melody that doesn’t ache, doesn’t rattle you to the core. Pieces of you have been held together by nothing but tape and glue for the longest time. Eventually, they’ll deteriorate, and you’ll go back to being skin and bones always on the verge of falling apart.

Some of your best writing was never meant for anybody to hear. The best lines that you’ve scribbled down are diary entries disguised as music, as poetry. They’re results of your lowest and weakest moments, it just happens that there was a journal lying around and you thought that if you had to keep all that sadness inside for a second longer, you would burst. Those immortalized lines represent your heartbreak, your self-hatred, your sorrow and your grief. They come from a lifetime of unshed tears, from the burden of having a heart that feels too much but is always silenced. Words are your escape when time rushes through you like a child skipping stones. Everything hurts all the time but no one knows and you don’t bother explaining to anyone how you wish you could be a different person living a different life because it seems like the universe has made a mistake with this one. How it feels like a divine power has miscalculated and misread your false stoicism as resilience. Just because a person carries it well doesn’t mean they have to carry it at all.

Sometimes you like to muse that if anyone could catch a glimpse of what it’s like inside, they’d think, Wow. How are you holding all of that weight? How are you so silent through it all? How do you live with an ache so allconsuming that I can hardly see you underneath it?

It’s the only way you know how to express yourself. But even then, when you’re screaming and burning, you’re still quiet. Those words are your heart on paper, raw and bleeding all over the place, covered in a million cracks that no one can see or even pay enough attention to notice. They’re there whether anybody likes it or not. They’re right there, red ink staining white pages, begging in a voice small like a child asking for love. Please see me. I’m here. Nobody taught me how to swim. Please see me.

But nobody does. They walk past you every day. They sit with you, smile at you and laugh with you. They leave you. They stay. They break your heart. Even when they love you, nobody sees you.

You love Taehyung, but you don’t think he understands. He knows you better than almost everyone in this world and he tries to help you in any way he can, but at the end of the day, maybe this isn’t something that a person can understand even if they want to. It’s worse, to realize that perhaps it isn’t because people don’t care enough to see it, but that no matter how hard they try, they can’t.

The only person who has ever come the closest is Jungkook, with his big doe eyes that always see through you and see into you. Sometimes, you think there might be parts of you that he could see but you still don’t. He knew things about yourself that you never want anybody to find out, and he loved you anyway. He went the lengths that nobody ever did because they all gave up after a while. Someone once told you that you felt like a fortress wall impossible to climb, that nobody had the time, the patience to wait for you. In other words, you weren’t worth it. Not worthless, just not worth the effort it would take to break down your walls.

But Jungkook showed up and tried, every day. The one person that you never saw coming. You might have resisted at first, but then you became his biggest supporter. You were rooting for him to know you, how fucked up is that? You were right there. He was so close.

And then he stopped.

You suppose that’s what makes everything awful now – to know that you should let go of him when he’s the only person who ever came that close.

You don’t know how long Taehyung has had to sit here, comforting you like this, but at one point, your stomach starts growling and you feel your best friend trying to hold back a giggle. Jungkook might have mastered the art of loving you, but Taehyung is an expert at comforting you.

“Shut up.” You wipe away the dampness on your cheeks with the back of your hand and push Taehyung off. “Crying makes me hungry.”

“Should I order us fried chicken then?”

“And soju. Get some soju too.”

Jimin is a strategic trickster. There was no dance practice. He just ran around his apartment ten times until his breathing turned ragged, which if you ask anyone, was completely unnecessary. He’s very extra, but at least it was effective.

After he got off the phone with you, Jimin immediately went to your shared phone tracker app – today was one of those times where it proves to be the most useful. He stared at the little circle with a silly photo of you as it moved from your address to Taehyung’s with a couple pit stops along the way. Jimin giggled to himself when he saw your circle meet Taehyung’s, because at that point you two must have realized already that you’d been swindled. Of course, there was always a chance of you leaving the moment you figured out you had come all that way for no reason at all, but when Jimin saw after a couple of hours that the two circles are still next to each other, he knew that you and Taehyung made up already.

Jimin sends a message to your group chat, a simple hello but Taehyung knows what he’s trying to get at. The text thread shared by the three of you lights up with a selfie of you and Taehyung each holding a chicken drumstick and wearing a content smile. In the background, there are some soju bottles, a box of chicken and some fries.

Jimin doesn’t question why your eyes look a little puffier than usual. He just replies with a smiley emoji and a thumbs up. The triumph of his mini victory almost makes him forget that there’s someone else in his home.

Jungkook peeks over Jimin’s shoulder to peek at his phone, curious to see what’s making his friend so delighted. When he sees you and Taehyung on Jimin’s screen, he sinks again, heart sitting in the pit of his stomach. The words you told him just the day before ring loud in his ears, as if they haven’t been stuck on his mind, playing on a loop.

You’re such a fucking hypocrite.

You weren’t wrong, but man, did that feel like a punch in the gut.

He goes to sit across from Jimin, taking note of every single sound that notifies his friend of a new message. For the first time, he feels like an outsider, like he’s intruding on a private moment.

“I fucked up,” Jungkook admits quietly, cracking open a can of beer and taking a long sip. It makes Jimin look up and put away his phone. “With Y/N,” Jungkook clarifies.

“Yeah, I’ve been informed. That was the stupidest thing you’ve done in a while.”

“In a while? When was the last time I did something stupid?”

Jimin doesn’t even have to think about it. He answers right away, “When you left her.”

Jungkook hums, unclear whether the noise is meant in agreement or just in acknowledgment. His tongue darts out to swipe across his dry lips before he breathes out. “I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t replied to any of my texts. I feel like a fucking asshole.”

“From what I’ve been told, you were a fucking asshole,” Jimin says lightly, his words emphasized with a chuckle like he finds Jungkook’s predicament so funny. “I can’t believe you would say that shit about Yoongi to her right after he confessed.”

Cue a pregnant pause, and a pair of doe eyes staring right into Jimin’s skull, unable to decipher if what he’s hearing is a joke or not.

“Yoongi– what?”

Jimin slaps himself internally. Shit. It slipped, he swears. “Nothing,” he sighs, but he knows it wouldn’t be dropped so easily.

“No. Not nothing,” Jungkook sits up straight and puts his chilled beer down on the table, missing the coaster entirely just to piss off his friend. “The fuck do you mean Yoongi confessed? Confessed what?”

Jimin sighs with pursed lips. “What else? What do you think he confessed to?”

Jungkook gulps, and blinks a few times. When? Why? Was that the reason you looked so distraught yesterday before all that shit went down between you and him? Who confesses to someone in a freaking break room?

Then Jungkook remembers that you and Yoongi went out for drinks last night. What did he say? What did you say? His stomach churns at the thought of something… happening between the two of you.

Jimin takes in his friend’s dumbfounded expression. “Why are you shocked?” he asks. “I thought you expected something like this. Isn’t it why you spewed all that crap about Yoongi flirting with her?”

“Fuck, I don’t know! It feels like the guy is out to get me for some goddamn reason. I thought he was just playing with Y/N to piss me off!”

Jimin shakes his head, looking thoughtful. “Yoongi wouldn’t do that to her.”

“How would you know?”

“Because when they first worked together, from the things that she told us, the stuff that Yoongi would do for her, Taehyung and I thought he liked her back then too,” Jimin says. “This has nothing to do with you.”

It sucks. It fucking sucks.

“Should I go over there?” Jungkook asks, a newfound sense of urgency in his voice that borderlines panic. He’s acting like this fact that Jimin just dumped upon him is unraveling just as this conversation is taking place, but in reality, he’s one of the last people to know.

“And tell her what? If you’ve said sorry a million times and she hasn’t responded, then saying it one more time won’t change anything.”

“What am I supposed to do when I see her tomorrow?”

“Nothing? Are you incapable of leaving things alone? If she wants to ignore you, let her ignore you. If she wants to yell at you, let her yell at you. If she wants nothing to do with you, let her do that too. Why do you keep making things worse for yourself?”

Jungkook runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “So your solution is for me to just let her hate me?”

Jimin levels him with a look, which just annoys him even more. “You had no problem with that before.”

“If you’re not gonna help me, should I ask Taehyung then?”

“Don’t go to Tae about this.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t,” Jimin snaps, and it makes Jungkook falter for a few seconds before the petulance in him clouds his better judgment.

“Why? He’s her best friend. They’re practically joined at the hip. He’s gotta be able to help me with this.”

“You really want to go to Taehyung for advice on how to suck up to your ex-girlfriend? He’s the most protective of her. What makes you think he would be willing to help you?”

“He’s my friend too, isn’t he? Shouldn’t he want to help all of us be civil with each other?”

“Yeah, he’s your friend. I’m your friend and Y/N’s too. And you’re right, all of us should get along, but we shouldn’t be put in a situation where we’d have to try. You did that to us and nothing is going to be the same again. I don’t even know why you did it. You kept your mouth shut for years no matter how hard me and Taehyung tried to get it out of you. Now you suddenly can’t make peace with the consequences of your actions? Now you want us to help you win over the person you fucked over, who is also our closest friend? I don’t get you, JK. I’m starting to regret not letting Taehyung punch you back then.”

Jungkook stares at his friend. Is this shock that he’s feeling? He still remembers that night, because he doesn’t forget a lot of things. He can’t forget it. He had never seen Taehyung – who is usually so calm and cordial – get that angry before. His friend, who is a saint of a man, felt so much rage toward Jungkook that Jimin had to physically hold him back.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Jimin asks. “You’re not used to me not being on your side all the time?”

He knows that. The only person who seems to be on Jungkook’s side is himself, and sometimes he isn’t sure if this is even true at all. What you told him at the dance studio’s opening party, what Jimin is telling him now, and even the things that Taehyung shouted at him a couple of years back – it’s all true. He knows these things already, but it feels different to hear them from other people. You’re all right; nobody is overreacting. To an outsider, it might come across as harsh, but to anyone who knows anything, it’s rightfully deserved.

Nevertheless, Jungkook admits quietly, “Actually, yeah.”

Jimin sighs, because he knows that his friend has no malicious intent toward you or toward anyone. Jimin knows that Jungkook doesn’t mean to hurt you, any more than he already has. Jungkook is even more crazed now that Yoongi is somehow a factor in all of this. It’s the insecurities bubbling at the surface. He’s panicking and he can’t even see straight. This is just his own stupid take on fight or flight. It was flight for a while, and now apparently it’s not. Jimin doesn’t really understand it, but he gets that this is his friend’s way of dealing with shit. “I tried, man. I did. But it’s really, really hard to have your back on this.”

Jungkook is well aware of it too – that to leave you alone is probably the best thing he can do at this point. Everything he says or does seems to backfire; instead of pulling you closer, all he manages to do is push you further away and make you hate him more than you already do.

But in a way, isn’t that a good thing? Better to have you hate him than be indifferent toward him. After all, there’s a thin line between love and hate. You yourself blurred this line long ago. You can do it again, can’t you?

Jungkook sits there for a while longer to finish his beer, even though he doesn’t have anything else to say. It’s clear what Jimin’s stance on this is, and no matter what he says, it’s unlikely that anyone will help him try and get back in your good graces.

Before he leaves, Jimin says something that makes him nauseous. Makes him want to fucking cry and kick something and speed over to your apartment just so you could reassure Jungkook that he’s still the one you hate the most. That all of your feelings, whether they’re good or bad, are still reserved for him and only him.

It isn’t what his best friend should tell him, but it’s what a good friend would say. It's not about Jungkook, it's not about Jimin or Taehyung or anyone else. It's about you, who has been hurt the most here.

“If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too.”

[10:48] Yoongi: Attachment: 2 Images.

[10:49] Yoongi: got yelled at for showing up puffy yesterday

You tap on the notifications and the photos pop up within seconds. It’s Yoongi at his Valentino shoot probably. He never used to send you stuff like this, nor asked you to come watch him at his photoshoots. Why would he?

You zoom in on his face to inspect if he really was puffy, but you can’t really tell. Maybe if you were a makeup artist with a sharper eye, you would see it. But under your regular-person gaze, everything seemed fine. Yoongi looked handsome in the pictures.

[10:55] You: you don’t look puffy to me

[10:57] Yoongi: so how do i look to you? ;)

[10:58] You: the fits look good

[11:01] Yoongi: i wasn’t asking about the fits

[11:05] You: and i’m telling you the fits look good anyway

[11:07] Yoongi: what about the model?

[11:10] You: are you fishing for compliments?

[11:11] Yoongi: what if i am?

[11:14] You: the model looks Not Puffy

[11:16] Yoongi: you’re no fun ;(

You consider your next reply for a moment. It doesn’t seem like that big a deal. You want to send it. It seems innocent enough, and it’s the truth. A simple praise can’t hurt, right?

Your fingertips tingle just typing the words out. You’re suddenly so jittery for some reason as your thumb hovers over the arrow symbol that would whoosh away your message. It's a good kind of jittery. You might even say that you’re excited.

[11:22] You: the model looks good too

You put your phone face-down on the table, not even checking when it vibrates with Yoongi’s response to your latest text. It’s so weird that you’re feeling like this, maybe because it’s been so long since someone has shown an actual interest in you? Or is it because it’s Yoongi? If it were anyone else, would you still react the same?

It’s weird, but not necessarily weird in a bad way. You just aren’t used to it, or it’s been such a long time that you forgot what it feels like to be… wanted? You don’t think about it often but it’s true, you’ve missed the thrill of being chased.

“So… word on the street is you have a secret song.”

Seokjin’s voice makes you glance up, wondering who he could be talking to when the only people in the room beside him are you and Jungkook – whom you haven’t spoken a word to all morning despite him glancing not-so-subtly at you every two seconds. When you got here this morning, there was already a chai latte on the table with your name on it. The order was too specific for it to be Seokjin, but you didn’t say anything.

“The street?” you ponder for a moment, knowing exactly who the culprit is. “Is that what Yoongi calls himself these days? He’s been here for what? A couple weeks? And he’s already blabbed to you.”

“So it’s true?” Seokjin leans back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yoongi said it’s real good. Top shelf kinda stuff. And you know he never says things like that.”

It’s not a song, or at least that isn’t what you would call it. Maybe more like an essay composed of sentences that go together like misfit puzzle pieces. You don’t think you would ever rework it and pitch it to anyone because it’s yours and it’s personal. You would never tell anyone about it, and Yoongi wouldn’t have come to know about its existence if he hadn’t stumbled across it in your journal by accident.

“Don’t listen to Yoongi,” you say. “At this point, I feel like you should know that Yoongi tends to exaggerate sometimes.”

“He never seems to be exaggerating when it comes to you,” Seokjin muses. You almost blush, thinking about what else Yoongi could’ve told Seokjin. He doesn’t notice the split second in which your cheeks redden just the slightest, or he doesn’t mind it enough to comment. “What’s the title?”

You shrug, saying nothing.

“You can’t even tell me the title? Damn, Y/N. Are you the CIA?”

“I’m not telling you because there is no title. There’s not even a song, just something I go back to sometimes. It’s mostly just word vomit. I promise you, it’s nothing.”

“Tell that to Yoongi. He told me whoever’s gonna get that song is one hell of a lucky bastard.”

Again, what is it with the praise? You know working with Yoongi and being associated with his last album gave your career a boost, but you weren’t aware that he was talking about you with other people. Maybe he only does it with Seokjin because they’re close, but still, it makes you itch with curiosity.

“By any chance are you gonna give it to… me?” Seokjin asks, and seems to immediately hear how flawed it sounds. You stare at him blankly, trying to bite back an amused smile, and even Jungkook turns his head to look too. Seokjin’s ears turn red in an instant. “Okay, that came out kinda wrong. I’m really, really sorry. But you know what I mean.”

You continue to stare at him until his face is so flushed, you swear he’s like a tomato that’s about to burst. You can see why Yoongi likes to tease people this way. “Okay, boss,” you acquiesce with a laugh, relieving Seokjin of the fear that he genuinely offended you. “If the song ever gets to see the light of day, I’ll make sure to ask you to lend your voice.”

“Ah, so you admit it’s a song.” He grins brightly at your empty promise, making you roll your eyes half-heartedly. He goes back to his normal shade in a minute, no longer ridiculously red like a cartoon character. “What’s it about?”

You ponder his question silently, missing the way Jungkook takes this moment to glance at you. When you look up again, he’s already averting his gaze.

What is it about? That’s a question that you yourself have never really considered. It’s about everything and it’s about nothing. It’s love, it’s loss, it’s the infinite in-between. You give Seokjin an answer that won’t satisfy him, but it’s the truth.

“I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

He tuts at you, like he was expecting the obscurity from you anyway. “You’re really not beating the CIA allegations,” he says.

You flip him the bird, which only compels him to stick out his tongue and make a face at you. Then, he diverts his attention to the person who hasn’t contributed anything this whole time.

“JK, why are you so quiet today? We’re not gonna eat you.”

Jungkook mutters something to Seokjin that you don’t quite catch because the words come out of his mouth like an inarticulate mess, which is so unlike him. He sounds jumpy, like he’s too nervous to speak in front of you. Seokjin’s eyes land on you again as he mouths a confused What?

You just shrug, and Seokjin has to take Jungkook’s weird response as him having an off day. The man checks his phone, lets out a quiet whine, then addresses the both of you. “I have a shoot this afternoon so you two will have to hold down the fort, by the way.”

You come back from your solo lunch date to an empty studio.

Well, almost empty. There’s something new that wasn’t there before.

Another chai latte waiting for you equates to another apology hoping to be acknowledged. The paper cup is still hot when your hand reaches out to touch it. You sink into your chair with a sigh. You could laugh at yourself for feeling so nostalgic at the sight of a beverage in the middle of a workday.

Jungkook walks in about 15 minutes later, and the air turns suffocating at his arrival. He feels it too, you know he does.

You chew on your bottom lip until it starts to hurt, bite down on it until it almost bleeds.

“Jungkook,” you say, catching his attention. It looks like he didn’t expect you to initiate any conversation. It’s not like you want to, but you have to. You keep having to do this, because he just wouldn’t listen. “Stop buying me drinks.”

It translates to: Stop saying sorry. Stop trying to make things right. Stop doing things you think would make me happy. Stop making me have the same argument with you over and over again.

“Because you wouldn’t hear me out,” he says, and proceeds to repeat the one thing that you’re sick of hearing from him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you verbalize it. “If it’s not about work, I don’t think it’s necessary for me to hear it, Jungkook. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You do need to hear it. Because I can’t function properly until you know how sorry I am.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Hear me out,” he says, sounding a little firmer now but you still catch the crack in his voice. “Please.”

Jungkook must take the way you hesitate to shut down him as reluctant permission for him to keep going, because he stands up and moves to a spot closer to you. Not close enough that he could reach out and touch you, but enough for you to see the tiny mole under his bottom lip and how it quivers when he looks at you.

Fuck. You’re letting him win again.

“Okay, fine. Talk then. I’m listening. You’re sorry, right? You keep saying you’re sorry for everything, but what exactly is everything? What are you even sorry about? Are you sorry about annoying me right now, or are you sorry about being a prick the other day, or are you sorry about leaving me five years ago? When did you become this pathetic, Jungkook?”

“W–what?”

“When did you become so pathetic?” you repeat. “If you had to come back, couldn’t you come back as someone better? Someone who’s sure of himself and has a good life, not this… person who has to grovel at my feet for forgiveness. Even when you were at your lowest, you weren’t like this. I don’t even know who this Jungkook is. What happened to you?”

If you think that you saw him at his lowest, then you’re wrong. He didn’t hit rock bottom until he’d left you and had to live with what he chose to do.

“You’re right. I am pathetic,” Jungkook agrees, dropping his gaze to the floor like he’s ashamed. “But fuck, I’m trying to be worthy of you.”

It’s a truth that he doesn’t want to face, doesn’t want to admit how very real it is until you’ve just said it and it fucking guts him. He knows his friends pity him sometimes, even if they don’t want to view him as someone to be pitied. No matter how much of a front he puts up, he knows that Jimin and Taehyung see right through him. They won’t say it to his face, and for that Jungkook has gotten away with avoiding this fact for so long. But to hear it from you, to watch you spell it out for him, it hurts.

He wants to mention Yoongi, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t immediately aggravate you. After all, bringing up Yoongi is what got him into this mess, isn’t it?

Regardless, he wants to ask you a question that he already knows the answer to. What does Yoongi have that he doesn’t? The answer is: A lot of things. Yoongi has a lot of things that Jungkook doesn’t, one of them being the self-assurance to not run away when it comes to you and what you deserve.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t, because he’s scared it might drive you right into Yoongi’s arms and Jungkook can’t compete with a man like that.

He can barely keep up even with just himself in the running.

There’s a big question mark that pops up in your head, along with a slight sting in your eyes that you blink away. You’ve never seen Jungkook like this before. This whole time, was it not only you who was miserable?

He looks so small that it breaks your heart. For once, you aren’t sad for yourself but you’re sad for him. It never occurred to you that he could’ve been lonely too, having to keep all of this inside because you know he didn’t share it with anyone else. You catch a glimpse of him again, like you did when you were making ramen together in your kitchen while a storm was raging outside. In a lot of ways, Jungkook is still that kid stuck in an adult’s body, lost and scared and loved you. It feels like you could’ve seen him in the same ocean while you were just trying to keep your head above water.

The sight of him, so vulnerable and astray, placates you. Your resolve crumbles, but not like it was ever that strong to begin with. You suppose you could see why he was being a jerk to you. Even though it doesn’t justify what he said, you understand just a little bit where he was coming from. You find yourself forgiving him for some of it. It’s part of letting things go, right?

But no matter how much you want to reach out and comfort him, you know you shouldn’t. What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? You’re confused and it feels like you two have been going around in a circle, looking for a solution that doesn’t seem to exist.

Coexisting doesn’t work. Telling him to leave things alone doesn’t work. What else can you do?

Why do you have to resolve a problem that isn’t even yours? Jungkook says he’s trying, but his efforts keep making your life harder and harder. You practically blew up in his face, then apologized for being harsh even though you were fully aware that you had nothing to be sorry for. You called him a hypocrite and now you’re ready to cave just because he’s on the verge of shedding a few tears. This constant back and forth between your anger and your reluctance to see that anger through is possibly the thing that’s hindering you.

You can’t – and shouldn’t – accommodate him anymore. You have to put your foot down, no matter how difficult it is with the lingering ghost of your past love.

Because you’re always weak when it comes to Jungkook.

Because you’re still holding onto something.

Because Jungkook will always be the first person that you have ever loved, and those four years meant a lot to you even if they didn’t to him. Maybe it’s even fair to say that you might never truly get over it, and that doesn’t have to be such a terrible thing. Maybe he was never the person you thought he was, or maybe you never meant as much to him as he did to you. Somehow, that’s okay. It’s manageable because it’s routine at this point. You’ve internalized it. The years have taught you that sometimes, things get shitty just because they can and you just have to deal with it.

The intrinsic pain of the human experience. C’est la vie.

What a world this is.

Is it bad that you’re thinking about Yoongi in a moment like this?

Yoongi could be your future, if you’d let him.

You should let him. Maybe this is your answer right here.

“Jungkook, let’s stop.” He looks at you with crestfallen eyes, but you have to keep going. The only way out is through. “Let’s stop. You want me to listen to you, but you haven’t been listening to me. I don’t have the strength to keep this up anymore, and I have told you that repeatedly but you wouldn’t listen. Jungkook, move on.”

You pretend not to notice how his lip trembles even more. “What if I don’t want to move on?”

This feels like a conversation that should’ve happened ages ago. Five years ago, you should’ve screamed at him, cried with him, held each other as you both fell apart. He stripped you of that right and gave you no say at all.

“You’re being awfully selfish,” you tell him, but in your head, you’re already thinking about what his words actually mean.

“Have you completely written me off then? Is there nothing at all that I can do? Because I would do anything if you asked. You know that.”

Your throat is so dry that it feels like you’re swallowing sand. You dig everything back up again until you find the memory of that day hidden at the very bottom.

It’s terrible. He’s making you relive it again.

“I remember calling for you and you didn’t even look back,” you say, but your voice breaks toward the end. “I can’t trust you anymore.”

Jungkook just stares at you then, and for the longest time, neither of you say anything. This is the first time that you two have addressed the problem, properly addressed it instead of half-heartedly sweeping it under the rug like you tried to do.

You breathe in, he breathes out. You hate the way you feel, and you resent the way he looks like he’s breaking down just as badly. There are tears in those eyes, tears that Jungkook doesn’t let spill because he defiantly wipes them away with the back of his hand after a moment.

When he speaks next, you want the world to end.

“Then I’ll earn your trust back. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I will.”

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joannaliceevans-fanficblog · 3 months

Text

Evermore: Prologue

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is a first for me. I've written pretty much all genres. But never a like this. It's been a hot minute since I've written anything! So I hope you all enjoy this one!

Summary: Y/N is a mother of a Five-month-old, a preschool teacher, and an army wife to Captain Ari Levinson. Married when they were young, friends since childhood.

Until...

Since childhood, Andy Barber, Ari's best friend, shows up at the Levinson home.

Captain Ari Levinson x Reader

then

Lieutenant General Andy Barber x Reader x Reader

Before I shut up, I would like to thank my dear friend @hollybee8917

for making this beautiful moodboard and editing! love you!

It’s a snowy Saturday, and you are home in your cozy county home on the outskirts of Concord, Massachusetts. Your five-month-old daughter, Chloe, napped in her bassinet in the living room. You had lunch cooking on the stove, a ravioli Soup for this cold, snowy day.

While you stirred the soup, your phone rang, and you knew who it was. Every day, around this time, he would call. You quickly picked up your phone from the counter. A smile formed but this time, it was a video call. You accepted the invite and his beautiful, scruffy face appeared.

Hi beautiful.

You felt yourself blushing with excitement. For being with a man for over a decade, he still gives you butterflies. You looked at his background and noticed he was in a warehouse.

What are you doing in a warehouse, Ari?

Ari sighed.

I’m about to head out. We need to clear an area and free some hostages.

You knew that was a high-stakes mission. Before you could answer, Chloe woke up. You then turned off the stove.

Honey, want to see your daughter?

He smiled as you took the phone and walked over to her bassinet in the living room. You angled the phone so Ari could better view his wife and daughter. You picked her up and smiled, kissing her chubby cheek.

Oh my god, look at her. She’s getting so big! Hi Chloe, it’s Daddy.

Chloe then turned her head towards the phone and attempted to grab it. But you knew better and stopped her from doing so.

Look, Chloe, it’s daddy!

Both of you were in awe when Chloe showed her gummy smile and famous giggle.

Honey, I have to go. I know it’s a short call, but I promise to call you back.

You never liked having him to go. But it is what it is. Ari can see the disappointment in his wife.

I know, angel, but I promise, okay?

Ari knew you too well.

Okay. I love you, Ari Levinson.

And I love you too, Mrs. Levinson.

And with that, the video ended.

It’s been a long day for Andy Barber. He had case files on his desk and just finished a month-long trial, in which he had won successfully. His colleagues had urged him to come to have a celebratory drink as a tradition for any case they won. But just for today, he politely declined and headed to his office, so here he is. Before he turned on his laptop, Andy noticed a picture frame, and he picked it up. A smile formed, and a small memory came flowing through his mind.

The photo had Ari, his wife, and him both in their uniforms. That was the day that his best friend was married.

“It's been a long time, my friend,” Andy said, placing the frame back on his desk. He made a mental note to call Ari when he returned from his tour.

A knock was heard before his hand could even turn on his laptop.

“Enter,”

The door opened, and his secretary came in.

“Sir, you have a phone call on line 3. They didn’t give me a name, but it’s urgent.” She said and left his office. Frowning, Andy picked up his phone and pressed line 4.

Lieutenant Barber, how can I help you?

Lieutenant Barber, this is Major Sam Navon.

Hello, sir; how can I help you?

The drive into the countryside of Concord was beautiful. Even with the snow, it reminded Andy of being in a snow globe. It’s been a good five months since he’s been in this town, even if he lived 20 minutes away. But he was quickly reminded as to why he was here. His heart couldn’t take it, but it would be better if it came from him.

Entering that familiar long driveway, Andy entered the Levinson home. He parked his car and sat there momentarily, trying to collect his thoughts. After taking a few breaths, he opened the door to his cat and got out. Walking towards the home's front porch, he approached the front door. With another breath, he pressed the doorbell and stepped back.

The door opened, and he came face to face with Y/N.

“Andy?”

#ari levinson angst #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #ari levinson

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ariundercovers · 2 months

Text

Standstill (When Paths Cross Pt. VIII, Javier Peña x Reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Afab!Reader (No use of y/n!)

Length: ~3.2k words

Series Summary: Chucho's been like a father figure to you since he helped you out of a sticky situation on your second day in Laredo. What happens when you finally meet his son, the former-DEA agent, who just happens to ignite you in a way that you haven't felt before?

Chapter Summary: The next week. Some shared flan, and an unexpected question.

Chapter Warnings: no porn only plot, angst, (i promise this is the last plotty angst chapter!) spanish nicknames, idiots in love, Chucho being a Dad to two idiots in love (the poor man omg).

A/N: I made a moodboard for this series! I hope it doesn't suck. I've never been great at making them. But do let me know what you think, and if you can pick up on each image! ALSO - If you're so inclined, please drop a like and a reply/reblog! I live for your feedback, and it keeps me going and keeps me writing. Did you like it? love it? hate it? I want to hear all of your thoughts! And of course, just lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist, too!

PREVIOUS PART (VII) HERE

It takes everything in you not to start calling Javi first thing in the morning, begging him to talk to you, to have a conversation, to hear you, or something. You’re regretting the way you lost it and stormed out, too. You let your emotions cloud your judgment, acted too reactionary, in the interest of yourself and not in the interest of your relationship.

But isn’t that what Javi was doing to you, too?

You heave out a frustrated sigh, staring into the abyss of your ceiling. At least you had work today to keep your mind busy and off of this mess of a situation. Belabored, you start to sit yourself up and dress yourself for the day. It feels mindless, going about your morning tasks like this, but you think some semblance of normalcy will actually help you get through these next ten hours. You can wait until then - reach out after you’ve let yourself fully cooled down, maybe.

If he’ll even answer you, that is.

You sigh, exasperated, and quicken your pace, trying to get through every step of your morning routine as fast as possible, figuring that if you keep yourself busy with moving quickly, your mind won't have time to whirr to a stop in the case of Javier Peña.

It doesn’t work.

You bemoan every action and step you took to get here, endlessly infuriated by your own inability to test out the waters before charging full steam ahead. You realize, reluctantly, that you probably should’ve eased into that conversation rather than blurt it out in the middle of the mall food court. You should’ve pressed him for more explanation, but gently, without engaging self-defense mode right away. There are a thousand things you wish you had done differently in hindsight. You can’t do anything about it now, though, so you pick yourself up, finish making coffee, and head out the door to catch the bus to the museum.

When you arrive, your co-worker, Anne, can tell right away that something’s wrong.

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” She asks you.

“Yeah. Something like that.” You sulk your way back to your office and unload your bag and the lunch you packed for yourself, tucking it away in the mini fridge on the other side of the room. Anne slides into the office, too, and takes a seat at the chair across from your desk, looking at you with expectant eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or are you going to leave me hanging? Spill.” You sigh and look at your watch - you have a few minutes before the work day actually starts, and you figure you could use some additional perspective from someone besides Chucho. So, you go ahead and rehash the situation.

By the end of it, her eyebrows are about as high as the ceiling, and her head is propped on her hand, leaning forward on the desk as if to ask for more.

“His dad drove you home? Seriously?”

“Is that really what you latched onto after all of that, Anne?” She laughs at you and sits back in her chair, arms crossing gently over her chest.

“You know you went about that all wrong, right? Even the best-seeming guy gets spooked when you start talking about marriage and kids and stuff, you know?” You sigh in agreement, shrugging slightly.

“Yeah, I know. I know now. Things have just been going so well and I think about it all the time, I thought I could just ask, you know? We’re not kids, I figured it’d be at least something he’s thought about, even not in the context of the two of us.” You sigh, melting further into the chair as you shake your head in frustration. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like he made his position pretty clear.” The deep, heaving breath that follows from your chest is as dramatic as it is comforting.

“I know,” you finally respond. Anne sits up and looks at you with a forceful glare.

“So you have to decide, then. Is he worth losing those possibilities for the future? Or not?”

~~~

You take the week to regulate yourself back into your regular, daily life. You go to work, focus as hard as you can for as long as possible, then you stop at the store on your way home, cook yourself a real meal, and eat on the couch, alone, in front of whatever shitty movie you’ve picked out for yourself today. You’re bored. And lonely. And still unbearably and unbelievably heartbroken.

On Friday, you’re partway through the shittiest of movies that you’ve managed to pick out so far this week when your phone rings. Picking it up quickly, you hear a familiar gravelly voice on the other side.

“Mija.”

It brings a smile to your face immediately. “Hey, Chucho. What’s up?”

“I made flan. Care to stop by for some?” You chuckle lightly at his suggestion.

“Now?” You ask.

“Only if you want to,” he responds.

“Is Javi home?” He pauses, but answers nonetheless.

“He is, but he’s moping elsewhere, as is the usual these days.” Something tugs at your heartstrings when he mentions Javi’s mood, unsure whether it’s because you feel eased that Javi’s grieving the same as you, or if it’s because it confirms that Javi does, in fact, feel something for you.

“Who would I be to say no to flan?” You can practically hear his smile through the receiver.

“Come on, then. I’ll save you some.”

You hang up the phone with a quick sign-off and get yourself dressed - at least, a little more dressed than you are now. You throw on a sweater and some jeans, a pair of shoes, and grab your keys, bounding out of the door and down the steps, toward your car parked on the street.

The busy city streets quickly shift to the winding roads you know and love so much, leading you all the way back to the Peña ranch. As you pull into the familiar property, you park in front of the house and turn off your lights before sitting back in your seat for a moment. You take a deep breath and work yourself up to getting out of the car and going inside. This was Javi’s house, afterall… you might see him. But you’re also not sure what you’ll do if he does show up.

Finally deciding that you’re prepped well enough, you open the car door and stand, stretching your arms and back for a moment before walking up to the front door of the house that still felt so much like home to you.

The door opens before you can even reach the handle, Chucho looking down at you for the briefest of moments before he’s crushing you tightly to his chest.

“Mija. I missed you.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him - he always gave the best hugs - and sigh into the embrace. It’s much appreciated, on your part. It turns out you’ve been craving human contact.

“It’s only been a few days, Chucho.” He finally releases you and holds you at an arm's distance away, brows scrunches behind thick glasses as he looks you up and down.

“A few days where I thought you might not ever come back. They felt like forever.”

“I told you, Chucho. Nothing’s gonna keep me away, I mean that.” You offer him the most genuine smile you can muster and he finally releases you as you walk into the house. Javi is, as you figured he would be, nowhere to be seen. There’s a flan sitting in the middle of the dining table and you eagerly take a few steps in as Chucho closes the door behind you.

“Come on. Let’s get you some flan.” Laughing lightly, you follow him into the kitchen, reaching for forks as he reaches for the plates. You meet each other at the table and he serves up two too-large slices of flan, one to each of you, before you take a seat, Chucho at the head of the table and you just next to him. “So I take it you haven’t talked to him?” he prods.

You sigh and shrug, unsure how to answer. “I’m not sure what I’d say. I know I should try, but I can’t shake the feeling that he just doesn’t want me.” The incredulous look he gives you makes you snort slightly.

“Oh, mija, you have never been so wrong. He wants you desperately. He’s like an abandoned, grumpy puppy dog right now. He wants you, very much. Anyone can tell.” You smile nervously at him, unsure how much he knows, and how much you really want to divulge.

“Okay. Maybe that’s true. But he doesn’t want a future with me. And, to me? They might as well be the same thing.” He sighs and sets down his fork, propping his chin on his fist for a moment.

“You need to talk to him about it. I don’t think that’s true, either. I really don’t.”

“But he told me that. Not in so many words, but he said he doesn’t want a future with me. Not with me, not with anyone, Chucho. I can’t convince him of something he doesn’t even want in the first place.” He sighs and reaches across the table to take your hand, softly.

“If that’s what he said to you, know that it was a terrified little boy speaking, not Javi.” You tilt your head, brows scrunching as you try to piece together what he means. Chucho continues. “I know he probably said something horrible. Probably out of fear. You don’t have to tell me what, because it’s between the two of you, not me. But I know him. And I know how he is. He’s my son.”

There’s that word again.

Fear.

If he’s not afraid of you, then what is it? The future? Commitment? Kids?

You look down at the already nearly-empty plate in front of you and swallow thickly.

“Okay, Chucho. I get it.” You sigh, feeling like you’re at a stalemate. “I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I’m supposed to reach out to him or if I’m supposed to wait for him to come to me or something in between? I just don’t know.” You rest your head against the back of the chair for a moment until you hear the sound of Chucho’s heaving sigh.

“You’ll figure it out, mija. I know you will.” You look up at him with a smile and force yourself back to vertical, reaching for your fork once again.

“You have too much faith in me.”

“No. I have just enough.”

~ ~ ~

You sit with Chucho for a long while, talking back and forth about nothing and everything like you always used to, in the days before Javi came home. It’s easy, simple, and you appreciate the companionship greatly. He lets out a yawn, eventually, and stands up to excuse himself back to his room.

“Thank you, mija, for coming over. It was getting lonely without you around.” You stand as well and walk over to him as he wraps you up in a big hug.

“Thank you for having me, Chucho. You head off to bed - I’ll clean up. I can let myself out.” He nods back at you in response with a tip of the brim of his hat and turns, hobbling off to his room. He knows better by now than to argue with you about these kinds of things.

So, you set off to start cleaning up. You wrap the flan up in some cling wrap, and set it in the fridge before you grab your plates and move to the sink, washing each of them in turn. You dry them each on the dish towel that hangs from the handle of the oven, before you decide to go ahead and just wash the rest of the dishes in the sink, while you’re at it. Less for Chucho to deal with in the morning. When you’re done, you make sure everything out on the countertop is set back in its rightful place and you straighten out the chairs at the table.

You’re sliding on your shoes and reaching for your keys on the hook near the door when you hear the telltale sound of a doorknob and then a familiar set of footsteps moving down the hallway. You stop in your tracks, unsure how to proceed, until you hear the footsteps track closer to you, eventually stopping. Turning over your left shoulder, you look in the direction of the hallway, only to be confronted with the same one you had spent the entire week pining after.

“Javi,” you huff out with a breathy sigh. His lips turn up in their tell-tale smirk, a distinct 5-o’clock shadow graced across his jawline. His hair is tousled, more unkempt than he usually lets it get. And then he opens his mouth and speaks - the sound sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“Muñeca.”

You can see something brimming in his eyes as he steps further toward you, closing the distance between you two quickly. His hands stay firmly rooted in his pockets, but he’s now in breathing distance, right in front of you. You set your keys back down and turn fully toward him, looking at him from where you stand.

“I was just, uh… getting ready to head out.” You stumble, unsure of how best to approach this conversation. Fiddling your hands together, you look away, down at your feet, as the intensity of his gaze is too much for you to bear.

“What if you stayed?” He asks. Your eyes snap back up to his, taken aback by his suggestion.

“Stayed?” You couldn’t have heard him right, right? He nods.

“Yeah. Here. With me. I know… I know we need to talk about things. I know. But… We’ll talk in the morning. I promise. I just…” One of his hands leaves his pocket and swipes across his lip, in the way it always used to - albeit much more cockily before. Hesitantly, he reaches for you, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone and you lean into the touch, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, the contact soothing you.

You blink your eyes open at him and nod once. He waits just long enough to see that you’ve truly said ‘yes’ before he’s wrapping you up into his arms, inhaling the scent of your hair like it’s a salve. Your arms circle tightly around his torso, grappling tight to his body like if you lose your grip for even a moment you might fall away from him entirely. You can feel tears brimming at your eyelids, but you don’t let them fall. Not now. Not yet.

You can hear Javi take a few deep breaths, arms squeezing you a little more tightly with each one, until he’s reluctantly pulling away from you, hands on each of your shoulders as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“Come to bed with me?” He asks you.

You hesitate - you’re not sure what to do, exactly. Do you want to stay? More than anything, really. But should you?

You blink back at him for a while, trying to figure out how you should respond. His face looks like its just as close to breaking as yours is, though, just as close to falling apart, and that realization is enough to solidify your answer.

“Okay, Javi. I’ll stay.” You nod in agreement with your words, a small smile up-ticking on his face, and he takes your hand, leading you down the hallway. When you make it to his room, he closes the door behind you and pauses, just long enough to pull you into him again so that he can press a gentle, tender kiss to your forehead. “Here, I’ll grab you a shirt-”

You watch as he fishes an old t-shirt out of his dresser for you, handing it to you before he turns back to you, seriously. “Do you want me to…” He nods toward the door, gesturing toward it with his chin. You scoff slightly and let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“No. You’ve seen me naked plenty, Javi. I’m not shy.” He responds with a serious look and turns away from you, tugging off his own button up as he swaps it for a plain t-shirt, instead. You realize, suddenly, that he’s trying to give you some sense of privacy - a moment to change, alone, with a sense that he’s not entitled to look right now. Not just yet.

You get to it as quickly as you can, tugging off your jeans and sweater and folding them, setting them on one side of Javi’s dresser, before tugging on his t-shirt and climbing into bed. You look up at him from your seated position, eager to get your hands on him again. You know there’s a lot the two of you need to work through here. You know there are tough conversations ahead. But you’re also damn sure that you’ll crumble if you can’t have his arms around you as quickly as possible.

Eventually, he turns around, smiling at the sight of you in his bed. “Cariño-“ he starts, “my bed has never looked more comfortable.” You offer him a sleepy smile, reaching one hand out for him as he climbs in. He obliges, even though it makes crawling the rest of the way over to you more difficult, holding your hand in his and pressing his lips to it gently. When he makes it over to you, he lays down, pulling you into his side and against his chest. He inhales deeply, much like he did when he first wrapped you up in his arms earlier, and you ratchet yourself to his side, throwing one thigh over his hips and digging your fingertips tightly into his ribcage. There’s a possibility that this might actually be uncomfortable for him, you think, but it’s too worth it to bother adjusting. You need this right now.

He reaches down to gather up the sheets and quilt from where they’re bunched on the side of the bed and throws them over you both, tucking you in gently as he makes sure you’re properly wrapped up.

“This okay, mi amor?” You nod affirmatively into his chest and hum, happily, feeling an ease that had been missing over the course of the week.

“More than okay, Javi. Thank you.”

“No. Thank you. I know we need to… talk. But this is- this is good. Just like this.” Nodding again, this time, as you settle back against him, you let the persistent beating of his heart soothe you. You have lots to think about and talk through together tomorrow - or at least you hope you do - but he’s right. This is good. Just like this. You’ll figure it out in the morning.

~ ~ ~

A/N: I guess it's more feels than angst. But still. One of the big moments I've been working up to in this series is coming next - I can't wait to get it out for all of you tio read!

Let me know what you think! Your interactions and comments and criticisms and all of it are so so so very appreciated!

xoxoxo

Taglist: @amyispxnk @picketniffler @kirsteng42 @vee-bees-blog @samiamproductions grippysockedtoebeans

(lmk if you'd like to be added!)

Next part HERE (IX)

#javi peña smut #javi peña fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javier peña #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #fanfic #javier peña smut #narcos fanfiction #narcos smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #no beta we die like men #writing #pedro pascal fanfiction

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separatist-apologist · 4 months

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A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

My humble offering to @writtenonreceipts for the @acotargiftexchange. Am I releasing fewer chapters because I've realized I need more than 7? YesNO STOP ASKING

Thank you again to @velidewrites for the moodboard and making me seem more put together than I am.

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Elain woke to the sound of something clattering against her bedroom window. Looking up from beneath her blanket, nothing seemed amiss. She was alone, the curtains flung open so the first rays of sunlight would wake her. That was better than servants flooding in, giggling amongst themselves and talking just a shade too loud for her to sleep through. Elain had learned the hard way that most of the working staff did not appreciate being ordered about by people they didn’t know and she hated upsetting people.

So she bathed and dressed herself before they ever arrived, perching herself in a chair by the window so when they arrived, they could set her breakfast down and fuss over her hair before swanning back out. It took all of thirty minutes.

It was silly to not want people she’d never see again to like her and yet Elain did.

Pressing her cheek back against the satin pillow, Elain was half asleep again when that clacking sound returned to her window. It was a rock, she realized. Someone was throwing rocks at her window. Or birds—that was possible, though it seemed unlikely.

Scrambling up, Elain wrapped a robe around her night dress and pulled open the balcony door to peer out into the silvery darkness. She ought to have known, because Prince Lucien was standing in the garden, grinning up when he saw her.

“I was starting to think I had the wrong room,” he whisper-shouted. “Come down.”

“I’m not dressed,” Elain complained, taking in his own casual demeanor. Gone were the jackets, the boots, the pants—replaced by a long piece of white fabric draped across his frame. There was a lot of skin on display, a warning Vassa had given her before they’d ever left.

That was the style in the capitol which made sense once she experienced the soupy heat.

So why was her heart racing? “I’m not dressed,” Elain heard herself saying.

Lucien’s grin was visible even in the dark. “So get dressed. I’ll wait.”

“Is that an order, your majesty?”

Lucien slapped a large hand over his chest, staggering backward as though she’d shot an arrow through him. “You wound me,” he cried dramatically. “It’s a request. I want to show you something.”

“So long as you swear to behave yourself.”

“I will be an absolute gentleman,” he swore, grinning once more. “Now come. Hurry.”

Elain turned, dressing quickly just like he’d asked in a breezy green gown. There was no one to help with her hair and cool enough she didn’t feel like she needed to pull the thick curls off her neck, besides. Lucien’s hair had been down, the wind blowing it against his cheek and she thought it might be nice for them both to just be as they were.

It was foolish, but Elain was growing to like the prince. It wasn’t romance—not entirely, anyway. But it was comfortable. Friendship, almost. She felt like she could tell him her thoughts without worrying he’d judge her for them. Besides, ever since Elain had told him about her desire to find out where she’d come from, Lucien had been right there with her. He knew Arina better than Elain did, teasing her for the slowness with which she worked.

Elain had always had Vassa—but no other friends. Acquaintances, certainly, whose company she enjoyed and who enjoyed hers, but not actual friends the way she wished. Now, though, she felt like maybe she could have friends. A whole life stretched before her if she wanted it.

Strange, to think that maybe she did.

Unlike Lucien, who was already outside, Elain had to sneak out the usual way. She was positive someone must have seen her, even if it was just an errant guard or a servant finishing up for the evening. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, she chanted in her head, but embarrassment had wormed its way into her chest.

She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about her.

And she was going to meet the prince alone tonight. There was no one else with him when she found him in the garden, a little leather pouch held in one hand. “I won’t keep you,” he promised, eyes bright when he took her in. “You look…wow. Nice, I mean. Really nice.”

“Where are we going?” she whispered as he reached for her wrist and began tugging her further through the garden.

“Somewhere I hope impresses you,” Lucien admitted with a sly smile. “I promise I will be nothing but a gentleman. My mother would kill me to hear otherwise.”

“Some would argue waking a lady in the dead of night is ungentleman-like behavior.”

“You’ve got me there,” Lucien smiled wider. “I confess, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Elain was suddenly grateful for the night sky overhead given it obscured the flush she knew was creeping over her cheeks.

“How will you manage to get anything done while I’m here?” she teased, bumping him gently with her shoulder.

“I have been asking myself the same question. Can I tell you a secret?”

“You may.”

Lucien ducked his head, clearly embarrassed by whatever was about to leave his lips. “When mother first told me of her plans, I insisted it was a bad idea. That there was no lady of interest to me. And I suppose this is the gods way of humbling me for my unchecked hubris.”

Elain’s heart thudded in her chest. “You sound awfully certain of yourself. You barely know me, not to mention the others who would love, I’m certain, a secret trip with you.”

He cleared his throat. “And ah…and if I said I didn’t want to get to know them…and only you? How ah…how would you react to that?”

Oh.

“You barely know me,” she whispered, her steps slowing. “You’ll change your mind when you realize how utterly dull I am.”

“I think you’re hoping I’ll change my mind,” Lucien replied, glancing down at her. “But I’m famously stubborn. Once I set my mind to something, there’s no changing it.”

“I would make an awful princess.”

“With that face? The whole kingdom will be in love with you the moment they set eyes on you,” Lucien replied easily, though there was a lingering hesitation to his words. As though he had swallowed some words he wanted to say and knew he shouldn’t.

“Lucien—”

“Just…allow me to court you, Lady Elain. All the things you imagine as inadequacies are quite charming, if you’ll allow me to say so.

You’ll change your mind. It was on the tip of her tongue and the only thing that kept her from saying so was the earnest way he’d caller in so-called inadequacies charming. He liked her. That was a revelation, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. She just assumed he’d get bored and yet…and yet they continued to walk the neat, stone laid path through the neatly trimmed hedges of the garden. Honeysuckle filled the air, warm and comfortable now that the sun had finally set. Elain’s fingers brushed against tall stalks of lavender, her other wrist still held gently by Lucien’s callused fingers.

“Here,” he murmured, fingers lacing her own as though she needed the help stepping up onto the little dock overlooking a rather large pond. She’d seen it already, though never at night.

During the day there was nothing special about it. Merely crystalline water and bright fish zipping about which was hardly worth noting. Some ladies had sat on the granite benches, fanning themselves from the heat but no one paid any mind to the water.

And what a shame they didn’t. Elain gasped at the bioluminescent purples, blues, and greens now flitting beneath the water.

“Watch,” Lucien whispered, eyes darting from her to the fish pond. Reaching into his little satchel, he tossed bread into the water. It was a frenzy of rushing water, bubbles, and color all at once.

“Can I?” she asked when the chaos subsided just enough, though the majority of the fish now hovered toward the top like shooting stars, hoping to catch a little treat.

Lucien handed her the little pouch rather than making her reach over his body to get it. She would have…might have let her fingers brush his exposed chest just to see if it was as hard as it looked. She’d never been so close to a man before. They weren’t allowed near her or Vassa on the country estate and knew a stable hand had once been quite taken with Vassa, going so far as to sneak into the house to see her.

Elain never did find out what happened to him.

She squealed with delight when it was her turn to toss the crumbly bread only to re-begin the frenzied feeding. Lucien inched just a little closer and was he smelling her hair? When she looked up at him, he, in turn, was gazing upward at the stars though she swore there was color decorating his cheeks.

“What happened to you?” she asked, giving in to impulse, though only to touch his cheek. The trio of scars carved down the half of his face was brutal—she supposed he was lucky he hadn’t lost his eye, too.

“When I was a boy, my father invaded a kingdom and some of his men killed a princess,” Lucien began, reaching for her own face to hold it gently in his hand. “The other two lived here for a time. I wasn’t supposed to speak to them…but I did. And the youngest sister held me down while the older one tried to carve out my eye. Said it was only fair since my family was responsible for her death.”

“That’s horrible,” Elain whispered, unable to take her gaze off him.

Lucien shrugged. “They only damaged it a little—I’m half blind in this eye, though I suppose one day I might be fully blind. One day, though, when father dies, I hope to go back to the north bearing the scars and see if we can’t end what our families began.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Elain questioned. Lucien swept his thumb over her cheek.

“I suppose it wounds my vanity at times. I’m forever looking for a woman who doesn’t immediately stare at them with horror, trying to figure out if they’re something that can be genetically passed down to future children…or if she’d have to grit her teeth and bear the sight of me.”

“No one thinks that,” Elain insisted. Lucien was so beautiful that the scars hardly diminished it. If anything, they made him lovelier still, branding him a warrior even if the truth behind them was hardly heroic. Before knowing, Elain assumed it must have happened during battle which made him seem fearsome. Brave.

“I assure you they do,” he murmured, his voice strangely husky. “They lament the loss of my good looks and whisper to their friends about it as though the gossip never reaches my ears. I hear it, though.”

“I like it,” Elain declared truthfully. “It adds character.”

He smiled softly. “I believe that you do, Lady Elain.”

Lucien lowered his face, inching closer and closer until her hand flew to his chest, fingertips pressing into his skin and oh. He was warmer and softer than she’d imagined. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Lucien replied, eyes searching her own. “Unless you’d prefer I didn’t?”

She’d always wondered what her first kiss would be like. Here, beneath a canopy of stars and illuminated by brightly colored fish you could only fully see at night, Elain thought this might be the most romantic evening of her life. She couldn’t speak, lifting her chin to nod just once.

Lucien’s relief was palpable. Had she said no, would he have left? Abandoned his pursuit of her entirely?

She’d never know. Lucien’s lips brushed her own tentatively, as though allowing her one final out. Elain didn’t move, still looking up at him while waiting to see what he’d do next. But she wanted this bad enough to set her teeth on edge.

Her eyes fluttered shut when his mouth pressed firm against her own. Elain couldn’t explain why, when looking at him was its own kind of pleasure. She needed to feel the moment and somehow that was better done with her eyes closed.

His mouth was soft—sweet, like amber and honey and something dark and well-spiced. It ought to have been one polite, chaste kiss. Elain suspected that had been Lucien’s original intention when he’d begun. Something sweet enough to convey his very serious interest without taking it too far.

She was the problem right then because it was her fingers that curled into his chest and her feet that stepped closer, surging upward on her tiptoes so she could kiss him again. And Lucien responded, his arm winding around her waist to hold her steady, his hand caressing her cheek. It was just, kissing him felt good, and Elain didn’t want to stop.

Now she understood how ladies were compromised. She’d always figured it was men taking advantage but if someone caught them, Elain wouldn’t be able to pretend she hadn’t wanted what Lucien was offering. And to be fair, all he was doing was kissing her. There was an edge to it—a want that was slowly starting to burn through her.

It would consume her if she didn’t stop. Elain didn’t want to stop and neither did Lucien, the two locked in their embrace, his lips all but frantic against her own. His tongue teased the seam of her lip and when she opened with a gasp, Lucien tasted her.

Elain nearly fell backward, her stomach exploding with frantic, excited butterflies. His tongue against her own felt good, surprising and overwhelming all at once. She wanted more, wanted to press herself against him and—

Lucien broke away, gasping for air as his fingers flew to his lips. “I—I shouldn’t…I’m sorry.”

Elain blinked. Did he regret it? “For what?” she replied, her voice equally breathless.

“For taking liberties, I…I swear my intentions are pure. I just…”

Lost control. So had she. Elain nodded, swallowing hard. The only disappointment she felt was that it was over and she didn’t know when they’d get another moment like this. “I understand.”

He dared a step closer. “Yes. Yes, I think you do. Come on…I’ll walk you back.”

And this time, when Lucien offered her his hand, Elain took it gladly.

Maybe his attention wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Eris paced back and forth as the sun rose, already dressed. A letter lay before him, half written to the princess of the north. Eris had begun with the usual pleasantries, the lies about her beauty and his obsession but even his poetry annoyed him. Nesta was lovely, sure, but when he’d begun penning those words, he found himself thinking about golden hair and emerald eyes and fuck Helion for employing a woman that looked like that.

A stupid woman who’d been willing to die over a book. Rising from his chair so quickly it toppled over, Eris wondered what was wrong with her? All the while ignoring that this was just a ruse to see her again rather than look for her around the palace. She was never around. Not at banquets or balls or even just walking through the halls.

Did she ever leave the library? Was she even allowed?

Why do you care?

He didn’t. She was obnoxious…and beautiful. And she wasn’t scared of him, which was a wholly new experience for Eris. All woman were a little scared and awed of him. Arina was merely annoyed. Why? Even here, the ladies regarded him with the same deference they paid his miserable half-brother. He supposed he was a decent consolation prize for any self-respecting woman.

Eris didn’t want a wife. Not from the south, or the north, or his own fucking kingdom. He just wanted vengeance, a thought so all-consuming that until recently, he’d never paid women much attention beyond a night in his bedroom. Eris hadn’t had to court someone—they made their intentions known and he merely barked out some orders.

Get on your knees was the usual, though he could be varied from time to time. No one had ever told him no and certainly never held a knife to his throat. He bet, beneath her flippant attitude, she was just as desperate to please as everyone else. And Eris knew the moment he walked back up there, she’d bow and scrape and all his interest would evaporate.

He could write that liars letter to Nesta Archeron.

So up Eris went, ignoring the soft clatter of dishes and the lilting chatter wafting up from the stairs just below. Fingers skimming the marble, his palms were sticky—from the heat.

And nothing else.

It occurred to him only when he reached the library that Arina was likely to still be in bed. She had that kind of look about her—the same one that he had, he thought ruefully. It was too late to turn back now—he’d already been spotted by two philosophers, arguing over something that had kept them up all night, if the dark circles were anything to go by.

If he turned back now, Arina would know what a coward he was. And Eris was hardly a coward. If she wasn’t there, he could insult her for her lazy ways. Women loved being insulted, right? He could practically feel his mothers displeasure which only soured Eris’s already bad mood. That mood was made worse when he opened the doors and found Arina sitting in a cushioned window seat with a frown on her face.

It wasn’t directed at him. In fact, Eris might have thought she hadn’t noticed him at all if he hadn’t turned to leave offended by the easy beauty radiating off her and she’d said, “Remind me, prince. A decade ago, what kingdom was invaded?”

“This is a strange insult, even for you,” he replied, gently closing the doors behind him, again, for reasons he couldn’t quite ascertain. “It was the Northern kingdom. Why?”

“No Southern? Not even little border villages?” she pressed, still staring down at a frayed piece of parchment in her hands.

“That does sound like the kind of barbarity your king would enjoy,” Eris said, if only to get her full attention. Arina really looked at him, then, as if she was seeing him for the first time and it annoyed her.

“You were privy to the peace talks, were you not?”

“Am I about to teach you about lying?” Eris replied dryly, not bothering to admit he’d been a child when those talks were going on. His father hadn’t allowed him in and everything Eris knew in the aftermath came from the mouths of tutors, and then diplomats. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because…” Arina bit her bottom lip, unaware of how Eris straightened his spine in response. “What are you doing up here?”

Eris blinked. “I came to demand you eat breakfast with me.”

You idiot.

Arina’s lips parted, mouth forming a soft oh. “If this about the other night—”

“It absolutely is about the other night,” Eris hissed, for all the good it did.

“We’re even,” she finished firmly, those eyes flashing. “You’ve done enough and I’m grateful for your intervention.”

“Have you ever killed a man, Arina?” he asked, daring a step toward her. She pulled her knees closer to her chin, still staring him dead in the eye.

“No,” she whispered, as if admitting some heinous sin.

“Could have fooled me,” Eris conceded, still thinking about her knife against his throat. Why did he like that memory? And why was he adding, “Now it’s my responsibility to correct your inadequacies.”

“Your—” she spluttered, setting the parchment to the side. “You have no responsibility to me, breakfast or otherwise!”

“So you won’t eat breakfast with me?” Eris asked, thinking that might be the easier sell. And maybe once he’d softened her up, he’d take her somewhere and—no, banish those thoughts before they unmake you.

Her eyes narrowed. “If I decline, are you going to threaten to tell the King what happened?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a bastard. You know that, right?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“You keep telling me so. It’s becoming humbling,” Eris admitted, his relief palpable. In truth, he had no intention of ever telling Helion anything, let alone about Arina. How the Southern King had found himself in possession of her was one thing. Potentially orchestrating her removal or worse was another.

“I don’t believe anything could humble the likes of you,” she declared, rising from her chair to let the verdant gown her wore tumble to her ankles. Golden chain straps criss-crossed against the golden brown of her skin while her hair remained utterly wild and yet somehow perfect—as if she’d woken up and carefully made curly waves of each individual strand. Maybe he was used to the glassy perfection of the women back home.

Or maybe deep down, Eris was jealous of how little she cared if he found anything desirable about her at all.

“You were going to let yourself die for a book,” he said once she’d set her parchment to her desk.

“He wouldn’t have killed—”

“Yes, Arina. He would have,” Eris replied, his voice colder than he’d intended. “What were you thinking?”

“Why do you care?” was her easy, measured response. Her expression was one of academic curiosity—as if she’d stumbled upon some tangled mystery she hoped to unravel. And that was dangerous given Eris couldn’t find an answer that was dishonest, let alone truthful.

“What a question,” he murmured instead, gesturing toward the door.

She followed without complaint, still looking up at him with interest. He wished she’d return to her open dislike.

“Why are you so interested in the end of the war?” he asked once they were out of her little sunlit office. She was a half-step ahead of him, unaware of how his fingers practically touched her bare spine.

“Just…an off-handed comment about a survivor from the end of the war,” Arina replied, eyes misting over again. “From some unknown border village close to your realm. I’m trying to determine which village was destroyed but there are no records from that time period.”

“As there wouldn’t be. Our territory had agreed to cover a hundred mile radius between Rhodes and the border,” Eris replied, genuinely curious. “It would have been war with Allsfeld.”

“Perhaps they were mistaken,” Arina murmured, though Eris could see there was no doubt on the mistake—she knew she had the location right, which meant whoever had said so was lying.

Or not who they said they were. Eris was curious enough not to press her further, nor did he take her into the banquet hall for everyone to witness. He had a suspicion she would hate being the subject of everyone's attention, especially if it was centered around him.

It was easy enough to arrange a little terrace table and have food brought to him, all with a snap of his fingers and a few harshly barked words. ‘

“You could be nicer,” Arina commented, as if there wasn’t fruit and bread and meat all situated before her.

“I could be a lot of things,” Eris replied without ire. “Tell me more about this mystery village.”

“Why would I bore you with the details?”

“I don’t mind a little boredom.”

Arina sighed, drizzling honey over a piece of bread. “The time must be wrong—perhaps in the chaos, everything has melded together. Or…”

Eris was half grinning. “Or someone is lying. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“I could be executed for telling you all this, you know,” she bit back, color warming her cheeks.

“I think I’ve established I have no intention of betraying you,” Eris replied, surprised by how truthful the words were.

Arina opened her mouth, likely moments from insulting him when her eyes snagged on something behind him. Turning, Eris caught a glimpse of Feyre Archeron rounding a corner, arm looped with some courtier he’d never seen before. Just behind the pair was his obnoxious brother and some guard whose name he didn’t know and didn’t care to know.

Eris shook his head. No, that wasn’t Feyre Archeron. Feyre Archeron was all sharp angles and scowls and this woman bore a strange sort of softness. She was far prettier than the younger Archeron and yet the resemblance…Eris couldn’t take his eyes off her. That was Nesta and Feyre’s hair, their features, their stature. He knew the shape of that face, the fairness, the shade of golden brown hair.

He blinked and they were gone, vanishing down the open hall before he could truly assess whether he was right. Shaking his head, Eris turned back to his meal to find Arina watching him with mild interest. “Have you spoken to him?” she asked, misunderstanding what had caught him off guard.

That was an Archeron—he was certain of it. An Archeron dressed in Southern fashion but an Archeron none the less. Eris wasn’t the sort to find his guilt manifesting as beautiful women—and he didn’t feel guilty for ignoring Nesta, either. He knew she was entertaining Rhysand as they spoke and if she found him more agreeable, she’d honor nothing for their handshake.

Eris was hardly a romantic.

“Is this the part where I bare my soul to you?” Eris asked, his temper rising to the surface. Did she truly think he was about to tell her anything about his family?

Arina shrugged, a gleam to her gaze he swore hadn’t been there before. Her lips curved with a triumphant smile he couldn’t make heads or tails of. What was she so pleased about?

“Did no one teach you how to woo a woman, Eris Vanserra?”

“Woo—” he spluttered, well aware his face was burning red.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Courting me?”

Was he? Eris hadn’t thought about it, but now that he sat there, staring at her, he let himself imagine another man chasing after her. Fury replaced embarrassment. Well. That was damning, he supposed.

So, like an absolute idiot, he heard himself ask, “What if I was?”

“You’re off to a bad start,” she said, ducking her head as she reached for a goblet of juice. “Though, I suppose the sunrise breakfast is a nice touch.”

As if he’d planned that out. What could it hurt, Eris reasoned as he stared her down. Inevitably, she’d do something that irritated him, thus severing the attraction he felt and he’d be free of her. And of everyone in this place, she was the most tolerable. The most knowledgeable, too. She could help him navigate the court of vipers that he found himself in, and if he was careful, might even divulge something she shouldn’t.

There were no downsides.

“Then yes. I suppose I am.”

There was that smile again. Eris couldn’t make sense of it, though he turned it over in his mind long after she’d departed with nothing more than a kiss he pressed to the back of her hand as he inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut. It was the look of a woman making a fool of a man.

It took Eris the entirety of his day, until he was practically undressing, for the realization to come crashing over him.

Clever woman.

He found her just outside the library, clearly about to turn in for the evening. She saw him coming, shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair a little wild. “You,” he hissed when he saw her.

Arina grinned. “Oh, prince. I missed you, too.”

“You’re playing games with me,” he accused, earning a pretty laugh. She came to him, ignoring his crossed arms and his scowl. And when she leaned up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, Eris turned his head impulsively, capturing her lips instead.

He’d meant to knock her off balance—to even the score between them. After all, she didn’t look as if she kissed very many men and Eris had it on good authority that he was very good at kissing. It hadn’t occurred to Eris, in the split second he decided, that he might like kissing her.

She didn’t do anything in half measures, he’d give her that. Rather than pulling away with a lady’s outrage—or slapping him, which aroused him more than he was willing to admit—Arina kissed him back.

Tentative, at first, eyes wide open to look at him. Is this what we’re doing? Those eyes of hers seemed to demand.

Eris yanked her closer.

Yes, he decided because gods above, she tasted sweet. Her lips parted, allowing him to indulge which was a mistake he couldn’t rectify. It was Eris who groaned, taking a step backward to try and push her against a wall. He wanted more of her, against reason or common sense. He barely knew her.

But he wanted her.

What would Helion trade, he wondered?

His court would assassinate him if he brought home a foreign wife.

He didn’t care. This wasn’t about marriage, besides.

It was Arina who pushed him back, lips swollen and out of breath. “What games am I playing?” she half whispered, looking as off-balanced as she had the night he’d rescued her from death.

Eris had forgotten why he’d come. “You…kiss me again,” he ordered, reaching for her face. Arina ducked deftly, just narrowly avoiding him. “What games am I playing, Eris?”

“The one where you refuse to kiss me again,” he snarled with frustration. “You know.”

“I know a lot of things. Be more specific and I’ll entertain the thought of kissing you again.”

Growling softly, he whispered. “About the princess.”

Arina’s eyes brightened. “I didn’t know. Not for sure—not until just now.”

“This could start a war if the North learned,” he breathed, advancing on her. Eris didn’t give a fuck about Nesta Archeron anymore—and he didn’t care about his own vengeance, either. He only cared about the woman in front of him and all the things he could do to her before the sun rose again. He’d worry about this revelation in the morning.

“They won’t,” she whispered, letting him wind an arm around her waist. “You’re going to keep this between the two of us for now.”

“Or what?”

She inclined her head. “No threats, Eris. You’ll keep this secret because I asked you to.”

And he knew, deep down, that she was right.

Another day without a letter from the unreliable bastard known as Eris Vanserra. Why had she thought seeking his aid was a good idea, anyway? He was likely too busy cavorting with Southern whores to be of any use to Nesta, who didn’t want such a well-used husband, besides. Not one who had that sort of reputation, at any rate.

Which made Rhysand a bad option, too. The problem with rejecting the King of Velaris was it left only one good, viable candidate— Graysen Nolan. And Nesta would be damned if she married a Nolan. Bigoted and frankly, a little stupid, Nolan was everyone’s choice for king except hers. This was supposed to be the only alternative path. Graysen was merely a nobleman’s son—Rhysand and Eris were kings, or they would be one day. They came with military might, with land, and all the richest their kingdoms commanded. Graysen could hardly compete.

Sighing, Nesta plopped onto a bench out in the courtyard, staring upward at a moody sky. Now Eris was gone and Rhysand wouldn’t stop staring at Feyre long enough to even pretend he had a passing interest in her.

Nesta could arrange Feyre’s marriage—if she hated her sister, which she didn’t—to Rhysand. And in turn, he’d get to whisk her away to the mountains, subjected to his whims which Nesta didn’t think would be cruel, but would certainly be perverted.

And having spent the last week getting to know him, she loathed the thought of making him happy.

Nesta was floundering, her whole life hinging on the decisions of men. It was unfair that she could be better than all of them, the first born of her family and heir apparent, and still be required to get married simply to access the inheritance the rest of them got merely by existing.

“I’m tired of men,” Nesta announced to the wet footsteps just behind her.

“All men? Or would you make an exception?” Cassian inquired, sitting on the bench so his back faced her and he faced the palace while she looked out at the courtyard.

“Especially you,” she lied. He was always looking at her, of course—but he mostly kept his distance.

He rose to his feet to leave, irritation rolling off him in rippling waves. She almost let him leave but at the last moment, Nesta swallowed her pride and whispered, “Wait.”

Cassian hesitated, the mist pasting the white shirt he wore to his bulky chest. She rather liked seeing him in something other than the menacing armor he wore—he looked like a real man and not a conquering god. She could see how careful he was being—like she was some kind of wild animal and any wrong move would send her fleeing.

He wasn’t totally wrong.

Though she resented that after a week, he’d figured that out. Stop watching me, she wanted to scream. Why was he the only one who seemed to notice her? “About the sword…”

He couldn’t suppress his smile. “You’re not planning to assassinate my king, are you?”

“I don’t think he’s in danger of marrying me,” he replied, catching the creasing frown on Cassian’s face. Was he blind, or just oblivious? Rhysand couldn’t drag his eyes off Feyre long enough to answer one of Nesta’s inane questions, let alone propose marriage. And Nesta couldn’t help but feel a little relief, though it was mingled with a hearty helping of dread. “Will you?”

Nesta didn’t have time to teach Cassian about Northern politics. If Eris wasn’t going to help then Nesta needed a new tactic—and it didn’t involve cutting Graysen’s throat in his sleep should a marriage contract be drafted between them.

She read. Men overthrew governments all the time. How hard could it possibly be? A good number of nobles liked her at court—if she could call more of the far flung families back, Nesta could spend the summer winning their approval and planting the seeds of dissent.

Though…she didn’t know if she could kill her father.

She’d figure it out as she went. For now, not dying in her sleep felt important and it had nothing to do with wanting to see more of Cassian. He was an unwanted, unneeded distraction, besides…and yet…

“Of course,” Cassian agreed, pulling her from her blood-tinged thoughts. “In the morning, just after breakfast.”

Nesta nodded, wondering where they’d even manage to do this. It wasn’t as if they could just train out in the open and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fling open her bedroom door and let him stroll inside.

“I know a place,” Cassian continued, reading her like a book. Nesta glowered up at him, crossing her arms over her chest for all the good it did. The man killed people as an occupation and she imagined there was nothing about her that scared him.

Which was unfortunate, given how everything about him frightened her.

Why couldn’t he be the prince—stop it.

“Shall I meet you here, then?”

Cassian shrugged his broad shoulders, outlined beneath the shirt he wore. He hadn’t bothered to lace up the neck the way so many other nobles did, nor did he put a tunic over top of it which would have given him the appearance of a well-bred gentleman. No, Cassian seemed to have made peace with the fact that he was who he was and she liked that.

“Wherever you like, Nes,” he replied casually, unaware of how the nickname clanged through her. No one else would have dared. Cassian didn’t look as if he’d even noticed he did it. Did that make her like him more or less? “I’ll find you.”

“Just like that?”

Cassian’s hazel eyes gleamed, the brightest thing in the gloom. “I could find you anywhere, princess. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

“I never do, Cass,” she snapped back, catching that half feral smile spreading across his handsome features.

Cocking his head, head tilted toward the misty sky, Cassian murmured, “My name sounds good in your mouth. I’ll see you tomorrow, princess.”

He left her there wishing he’d called her Nes instead. Wishing he’d stayed. And Nesta knew no matter how she tried to distract herself, she would be counting the minutes until he did find her. Nesta decided to make it a game just so she could prove him wrong which might settle her racing heart down.

He was just a man, and men were always disappointing.

Nesta dragged herself out of bed early enough to avoid Cassian. She went directly to the kitchen for breakfast before marching across the palace to the room that had once belonged to her sister. Nesta liked to read in the window alcove overlooking the sea, which had once been one of Elain’s favorite places. The garden was nothing but bones, but Nesta had screamed and fought to keep Elain’s room intact rather than turned into another bland, uninspired room for the roaming nobility.

Elain wasn’t coming home but that didn’t mean she needed to be erased, either. Everyone wanted to pretend she’d never existed. Nesta wouldn’t let it go. Forgetting or forgiving had never been one of her virtues.

She’d leave that to Feyre.

She didn’t believe Cassian would find her here, and thought even if he did, he wouldn’t dare step inside. And yet…she heard the heavy steps on the stone before she saw him and swore his presence made the walls shake with anticipation.

Perhaps that was just her.

Cassian seemed wildly out of place among the cream and rose and tulle, though he managed not to seem too awkward about it. Looking around, she thought she saw the spark of recognition.

“How did you find me?” she asked, hating the weariness in her voice. Why had she allowed him to?

“You know how,” Cassian replied, his eyes settling on her. “Do you want to go? Or would you like to talk about it?”

Nesta had never spoken of Elain’s death. Feyre had internalized all of it, blaming herself and Nesta had been paralyzed with fear. What did she say? Their father had become a walking shell of his former self, grieving the daughter he’d loved best and the wife he’d genuinely loved. Someone had to take care of things and without Elain, the responsibility fell to Nesta and Feyre.

They’d swallowed their grief and held the court together lest someone try and overthrow their family. They’d become sharp—ruthless—in their pursuit of it. What would Nesta even say? That she missed her?

She didn’t think Elain would be very proud of what had happened in her absence.

“I have no interest in speaking to you,” she hissed, drawing those walls up high. This was her fault—she’d brought him here—and yet Cassian wasn’t supposed to comment on it, either. He was supposed to say nothing, to not care the way everyone else did. Nesta knew, as she stood, that she’d brought him here to prove he wasn’t any better than the rest of the men in her life. He was just as disinterested, just as scheming, just as power hungry as the rest of them.

She could have softened, just a little. Nesta felt the compulsion warring with the urge to hurt him the way she’d been hurt. Maybe Cassian felt it, too, because he waited until her back was facing him to speak.

“My mother was murdered when I was a boy,” he said, clearing his throat so the words were crisp. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love.”

“How?” Nesta heard herself asking, still refusing to look at him.

Cassian blew out a breath. “She had me out of wedlock. My father, he…well. He was a piece of shit, let's leave it at that. In some places in the Spine, that sort of thing still matters and the village she lived in decided it was better to rid themselves of her than to let other women think it was okay…” Cassian choked off, not out of misery, but rage. The sound was enough to turn her head, to look at his anger.

“How old were you?” she asked, hating how badly she wanted to touch his hand.

“Three. Old enough…old enough to remember just enough, but too young to really understand what I lost.”

“What happened to you?”

Cassian shrugged, his jaw clenched. “I grew up in training grounds and war rooms.”

He seemed born for it. It was impossible to imagine Cassian as anything but a warrior, but right then, Nesta wondered who else he could have been. A farmer, perhaps? A poet? A scholar? It seemed distinctly unfair that one person could make a decision and irrevocably alter whole lives without any thought or consideration.

She took a step toward him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Cassian’s expression softened. “Don’t be. I had my revenge.”

All the air in Nesta’s body left her lungs in a rough exhale. “How?”

“I went back as a man and rounded them all up. I spared the innocent, but everyone else…I let them meet the man they made.”

I let them meet the man they made.

“I’ll never get that,” Nesta said, her despair coloring her words. “He got to march an army into my home and kill my sister, my mother…and life just goes on.”

Cassian regarded her for a moment without words. “You’d need an army if you wanted vengeance, Nes.”

“The military answers to my father,” was her perfunctory response.

“Imagine if they didn’t,” Cassian replied, dropping his voice to the softest whisper.

“I imagine so all the time,” Nesta heard herself admit. Treason. This was treason and she was stupid to confess it to a foreign King's general. All Cassian had to do was turn around and tell Rhysand, who would have an absurd amount of leverage against her. It would have been Nesta’s word against Cassian’s, and if someone was feeling anxious about her rise to the throne, she’d be thrown into the tower until they decided what to do with her.

She could be executed for it.

“I’ve seen your men,” Cassian told her, his words careful. “They couldn’t take on the worst of the southern’s forces.”

She suspected this. Helion had decimated them a decade earlier and rebuilding took time and effort. Their navy was pitiful, their army small and their coffers all but depleted. Eris Vanserra had been her best option and he’d vanished and for all she knew, was having some beautiful, heartfelt reunion with the mother who’d abandoned him.

And Nesta hated Rhysand. Hated him more than was fair, partly because he was arrogant and smug and partly because she wished Rhysand was Cassian when she knew she shouldn’t. How was she supposed to marry a man all the while wishing she could have married his friend? And Nesta wasn’t naive—she didn’t expect love. But there was something particularly cruel about wanting someone you knew you could never have.

And Cassian was someone she could never have.

“Come on,” Cassian murmured, pulling her from her thoughts. “Let’s put a sword in your hand, at least.” And when he went to follow her, fingers brushing her back, Nesta didn’t pull away. Maybe it was foolish.

But she trusted him.

It ought to have been a quiet night, lounging in an uncomfortable bed while listening to the world rage just outside thin windows. Rhys had a book and a carafe of wine he intended to down until he forgot about blue eyes and freckles that looked more like a constellation of stars.

The muffled voices of Azriel and Cassian were immaterial to him—and deeply disinteresting until his bedroom door flung open and Cassian appeared, wet and mudstreaked.

And angry.

“What happened?” Rhys asked, only a little drunk.

“Are you planning to marry Nesta Archeron?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms over the leather armor he wore. Behind him, Azriel shook his head no in warning, eyes wide.

Be careful what you say.

In all the years Rhys had known Cassian, he’d seen him worked up a handful of times. They’d raged in the camp, at the people who’d killed his mother, and at Rhys’s father before they’d eventually overthrown him. And Cassian had taken lovers in between all those moments, declaring he would die a bachelor surrounded by…well. Perhaps it was better not to say.

Cassian looked like he wanted to get his knuckles bloody and if Rhys didn’t know any better, he would have said it was about a woman.

“You know I have no intention of marrying her,” Rhys replied evenly. Rhys was too fixated on her sister, for starters, to even give Nesta the time of day but the little he’d spoken to her reaffirmed that he and Nesta were more likely to kill each other before they enjoyed marital bliss. “Did something happen?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, eyes too dark to be rational. Oh.

“We should leave this place,” Cassian said, his words catching Rhys off guard. “They’re no threat to Helion. I nearly killed one of their boys masquerading as a warrior with a wooden sword today.”

“And if she married Vanserra?” Rhys asked, swinging his legs off the bed casually. How far could he take this before Cassian exploded? And what then? Even if Cassian had developed feelings for Nesta—which didn’t seem possible given what an Ice Queen she was—there was no possibility in which Rhys could put them together. No way he’d give up his general even if it meant Cassian’s happiness.

With Nesta Archeron? No. In Rhys’s mind, he took Feyre back with him, rescuing her from this powder keg masquerading as a kingdom and let Helion absorb all of it before Eris Vanserra could get his talons into it.

Cassian turned, slamming his fist into the door frame which did nothing to the structure but likely wrecked Cassian’s hand. There it was.

“You know better—”

“You don’t know what she’s like,” Cassian snapped, his voice dripping with anger. “You’ve already made up your mind about her.”

“So enlighten me,” Rhys replied, knowing this was folly. Cassian’s lips pressed into a bloodless line, daring Rhys to punish him for disobedience. Oh, they were so fucked. If Cassian did anything with a princess, they were likely to execute him and Rhys didn’t know if he’d be able to intervene.

If Helion called on them for help taking the North, it had always been Rhys’s intention of answering that call. Cassian would have to lead the charge. Would he? Would Cassian let his soldiers sweep into Ellesmere knowing they might accidentally kill Nesta Archeron? Would he take her prisoner, force her to live in Rhys’s court against her will?

Never once since he’d met Cassian had Rhys ever doubted his loyalty.

He did right then.

“Go cool off,” Rhys ordered when Cassian said nothing. He didn’t want to hear how sweet and soft Nesta Archeron could be. Not from Cassian, who ought to know better. Cassian did as he was told, shaking out his hand before storming out, leaving Azriel and Rhys staring at the other.

“Don’t,” Rhys warned.

“I didn’t say anything,” Azriel protested mildly.

“What the fuck am I going to do about this?” Rhys demanded, turning toward a window.

“We could leave,” Azriel suggested, again, without any emotion to his words. They could have been talking about the weather, could have been discussing a nice pair of wollen socks.

“Archeron isn’t going to hand you his youngest daughter.”

Never mind that Feyre hated him. Archeron had made it abundantly clear that Feyre wasn’t available, either hoping for a better alliance with his eldest daughter or some misguided attempt at protecting Feyre.

“And if we left?”

Azriel sighed. “Nolan intends to position his eldest son for the throne. He’s a viable candidate and preferable to Vanserra.” “And if she declines?”

Because she would. Nolan couldn’t give Nesta what she wanted, which was a standing army capable of devastating destruction. He’d table her obvious ambition and if he was smart, he’d make her a mother before the ink dried on their contract.

“A coup,” Azriel replied, plopping into a chair. “And Nolan will likely marry one of the Archeron’s anyway, if only for legitimacy. We should leave.”

But their presence was keeping everything calm for the moment. No one wanted to start a fight Cassian might be able to easily end, nor did they want Rhys to lay claim to their hard work. He couldn’t help but wonder if Nolan wouldn’t pick Feyre, too. Could he stand to see another man marry her?

No.

Rhys had to do something. Had to figure out his own careful alliances before the end of the summer.

Fuck.

He was just as stupid as Cassian.

“I want you to go see Helion. Get a read on what’s going on down there,” Rhys said, wondering if there was any way to salvage the impending storm. How many of his own soldiers could he march into Ellesmere before it began to feel like an invading force? And how did he tell Archeron his nobles might be revolting beneath his nose? Did he?

For now, the answer to that was no.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Azriel promised. “You need to be careful, though.”

“They can’t hurt me,” Rhys replied with false bravado. Azriel caught him immediately.

“They could. And they would. Keep Cass close, alright? Don’t needle him too hard about Nesta…she’s not that bad, you know. She’s just sad.”

“Why would Cassian want to be around that?” Rhys scoffed, hating the look of sympathy in Azriel’s eyes.

“Two weeks enough?” Azriel questioned.

“Unless you think you need more.”

Azriel only nodded wordlessly, saying nothing as Rhys swept from the room. It was foolish to think Azriel didn’t know exactly who he was looking for or why marrying Nesta felt so offensive to him. Azriel knew everything—it was his job to know, though he liked to pretend he wasn’t a busybody, too.

She wasn’t even trying to hide from him. And this time, when Rhys found her at the top of that tower with the bow and quiver of arrows, he asked, “Can you use that thing?”

“Want to find out?”

She turned, her braid draped over her slim shoulder to look at him. “Yes.”

Maybe she heard the desperation in his voice. Or perhaps he was simply winning her over with his refusal to acknowledge the word no. Feyre swung her legs off the edge of that window and reached for her weapon, her face hidden in shadow. “Could you use it?”

“No,” he admitted. Rhys had never had that kind of aim or the patience required to sit and wait for someone to come within range. He liked to be in the middle of things, sword in hand but even that had been diminished since he’d become king. “You could teach me.”

Feyre considered this for a moment before jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s too wet for today.”

She tried to push past him but Rhys’s body took up the majority of the doorway. Fingers catching around her wrist, he asked, “Who are you waiting for?”

Feyre tried to pull her hand away but Rhys wasn’t done touching her. Tell me you’re in love with another man so I can let you go.

“He’s not coming back…and if he did…” Feyre bit her bottom lip, her expression coming into view of the flickering candle nearby. “If he did, I think I’d kill him.”

Oh.

So this was the man she’d slept with—the man her father decided had irrevocably tainted her. Rhys wanted to see it.

“Call him back to court,” he murmured, catching her by surprise.

“Is this some kind of ego—”

“I would like to watch you kill a man. Is that so unbelievable?” he asked, keeping his usual amusement from his tone. It was too much to bare when she came closer, her free hand appearing just below his neck holding a lethally sharp blade.

“What if the man I kill is you?” she asked.

Rhys’s whole body went taut with excitement. Wrapping his fingers around her own, Rhys forced her to press the blade a little rougher against his skin—until it pierced the fine fabric of his black tunic and he could feel the point directly against his clavicle.

“I’d like that, too.”

“You’re sick. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” he breathed, unable to drag his eyes off her. “You’re the sickness, Feyre.”

“You should stay away from me,” she replied, not pulling away but not pushing any harder, either. Reckless, Rhys didn’t move either. It would have been so easy for her to kill him. They were alone and he was an outsider. If she killed him, she could say he tried to force himself on her.

Cassian and Azriel would have no choice but to flee rather than risk their own executions and without an heir or clear line of succession, his home would be thrown into turmoil while the warring members of his family vied for control.

“I don’t want to stay away from you,” Rhys told her, deciding at the last minute it was better not to add that he couldn’t. That if he couldn’t convince her to love him back, he’d merely steal her away in the middle of the night and insinuate he’d ruined her so she could never return.

Mor would kill him for it, of course, but what was the alternative? Never seeing her again?

Rhys would rather she kill him right then and there.

“That doesn’t sound very smart,” Feyre replied, pulling from his grasp and taking a step back. She sheathed her blade in her boot before elbowing him hard in the ribs to escape him. He didn’t bother with a response—let her have the last word. Rhys was too busy grinning.

Unwilling to admit that the only good idea he’d ever had was her.

#elucien #look whose back back again mbs back tell NO ONE this is a SECRET

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munsonsduchess · 2 years

Text

Girls Got Rhythm

summary: eddie fucks you in his van after a show w/c: 2206 warnings: 18+ only no minors, praise, swearing, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex (you're smarter than that), slight spoilers for Vol 2 authors note: so how are we feeling Eddie Nation? That season finale was ... something huh? Anyway this is probably going to be the first of quite a few fix it fics from me because like Nick Fury said "I recognise that the council has made a decision, but given that it's a stupid ass decision I've elected to ignore it" Not beta'd all mistakes are my own and add flavour. We die like heroes. Please reblog it really helps me out!!

(moodboard by me)

The atmosphere in the bar was electric, bands had been playing all night and now finally it was Eddie's turn, they were the headline act in the Hideout that night. Long gone were the days of playing to five drunks and a group of hicks that wouldn't know good music if it slapped them in the face.

Turns out being wanted for and then acquitted of murder was actually something of a reputation builder in the metal music community. It gave Eddie a kind of street cred he didn't have before and now people were coming from all over to watch Corroded Coffin play.

Throughout it all though he had you, his number one fan. As you'd tell him again and again. You'd been there through Spring Break 86, through Vecna, him almost being mauled alive by those demobat things. You'd never once left him or dipped out when things got out of control and there you were now standing right in front of the stage in possibly the most sinful outfit you could have conjured. Eddie felt his cock stir in his jeans just looking at you, of course that was a pretty regular occurrence on its own but seeing you standing there with your homemade Corroded Coffin shirt, the shortest mini skirt imaginable not to mention your legs wrapped in fishnets leaving nothing to the imagination and Eddie didn't have to imagine what was waiting for him underneath that skirt.

You smiled up at him as he took his place front and centre on the stage, the spotlight shining on him giving his fuzzy brown curls a halo which was at odds with the devilish smirk on his lips as he began playing. The crowd had been waiting for this all night and they were going wild for Eddie and for the band, this was everything either of you could have wanted. You'd both remember this moment in time for the rest of your lives.

It hadn't been easy getting here, putting in hours in the bar waitressing and behind the bar. It was really the only place that would hire you both since you'd made it abundantly clear that unless both of you were hired then neither of you would work wherever it was and having been rejected by everywhere else you'd applied for, even the video store which Harrington assured you both would be an easy place to get hired, you were more than willing to put in whatever hours the management of the bar needed you to if it meant for one night a month Eddie could stand on that stage like the Rock Star he was always meant to be and play to his devoted fans. Even if most of them only came to see the guy accused of murder in such a small town.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

After the set you knew Eddie would be helping the rest of the band carry the equipment back to his van since as big as they were in Hawkins no one else was going to help them carry their gear. Sure enough you found Eddie stood by the stage door slash delivery entrance. HIs hair was stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck with sweat but the smile on his face told you that he couldn't care less about that,

"Hey, can I get an autograph? I'm your biggest fan" you called to get his attention, "honest I am"

"Baby you can have anything you want" Eddie grinned at you holding his arms open so you could slot yourself against him, "anything at all"

"Anything?"

"Name it"

"Well in that case" you leant up on tiptoe to kiss Eddie softly, the leather in your boots squeaking as you did so, "you looked so good up there baby"

"You look better" Eddie said, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, "couldn't keep my eyes off you. I thought I was gonna have to jump off the stage at one point and let everyone know you're mine"

"I think the amount of hickies you leave should tell people that"

"Yeah but then you cover up all my hardwork with these" Eddie laughed, his fingers playing with your necklaces, "I think I'm gonna have to prove it again"

You didn't need to ask what he meant. You could feel how hard he had gotten through his jeans and you'd be lying if you said watching him on the stage hadn't had the arousal dripping down your own thighs. You loved watching him play whenever, wherever and tonight was certainly no different.

"So what are we waiting for?"

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You had thought that perhaps Eddie would have told the rest of the guys that he'd arrange another way for them to get their stuff out of the bar that he'd take you home to your crappy little one room apartment and the murphy bed that squeaked so much your neighbour thought it was an infestation of some kind.

You should have known better. Why would Eddie bother driving all the way home when his van was right there?

Which is how you found yourself on your back with your skirt pushed up around your hips while Eddie knelt between your legs, eyes dark and hooded as he stared at your exposed pussy,

"Baby? No panties?" he breathed, casting his eyes upwards for a second to catch the way you bit your bottom lip as his fingers slipped through the mesh of your tights and ran through the slick forming between your thighs, "you're already so wet, is this all for me?"

"All for you Eddie, love you"

"I love you too sweetheart, I'm gonna love you so much"

Before you could form a sentence your brain short circuited with the sound of Eddie ripping your tights and giving himself better access to your dripping pussy. You let out a moan when he used two ring clad fingers to swipe through your folds collecting your slick and using it to push a finger into your warm wet entrance.

A few mumbled obscenities fell from Eddie's lips as he watched his finger being sucked back into your waiting cunt again and again. How your hips bucked and searched for more, he never got enough of seeing you like this.

Adding another finger he watched as you writhed beneath him, Eddie used his thumb to swipe against your clit and reveled in the broken moan that bubbled out of your throat. He knew he wasn't going to last long but he wanted to be sure you at least got off once before he did,

"Eddie, wanna feel you" you begged, "please baby, just wanna feel you"

"Ssh it's gonna be ok" Eddie reassured you before readjusting his position so he could lay between your legs and lick a stripe up your weeping cunt. Removing his fingers so both hands could grab at your hips and bring your core closer to him.

Eddie loved to go down on you. Loved the way your hips moved on their own and tried to ride his face. Loved the whimpers and moans and cries of his name you made as he tongue fucked your entrance, his fingers drawing fast circles on your swollen clit.

Your hands found purchase in his curls as Eddie sucked on your clit, his tongue drawing obscure patterns as your hips moved in a rhythm all their own chasing the high you could feel coiling in your gut. That white hot heat spreading through your veins as Eddie curled his fingers inside you hitting that spot that had you seeing stars and clenching around his fingers like a vice ,

"So good for me" Eddie praised, his fingers slowing their movements before pulling out. You held yourself up on your elbows long enough to see Eddie cleaning off his fingers before releasing them with a wet pop, "god you taste fucking amazing"

"Eddie - "

"It's ok love. I just - I need you ok?"

You nodded, this is what you'd wanted too while you watched him on that stage. Your legs squeezed together as you dripped slick onto the floor of the bar, which wouldn't be the worst thing cleaned off that floor tonight all things considered.

You reached out and helped Eddie to undo his belt buckle and the zip on his jeans. He was painfully hard and he needed to be buried inside you. To feel those velvet walls clamp around his cock was the closest feeling to heaven Eddie was sure he would ever experience.

He shimmed out of his jeans enough to push them around his ankle, you noticed he'd also chosen to go commando tonight although that might have more to do with the fact that both of you had been ignoring the every growing pile of dirty laundry in your apartment but you didn't care what his reasoning was. Right now all that mattered was there were less pieces of clothing between the two of you getting what you wanted.

Eddie lined himself up to your entrance and leant down to kiss you as he pushed himself inside. Both of you grabbing at the other, your kisses all tongues and teeth as Eddie bottomed out inside you, he waited for a moment so you could adjust until you rolled your hips to signal him to start moving.

Neither of you was interested in taking this slow it would seem as Eddie set a brutal pace almost right away. Pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in harshly filling you up to the brim each time. His tip kissed your cervix as he searched for that spot inside he'd reached with his fingers earlier. The spot that had you clawing at his back, thanking whatever gods that he'd chosen to play that night in a loose black tank top instead of his usual layers of shirts and jackets.

The sounds of moaning and skin slapping against skin filled the back of the van and you were sure people would have noticed the movement inside from the outside but if anyone did notice what you two were up to they said nothing.

You could feel that coil in your stomach tightening again as Eddie's cock brushed against your sweet spot,

"M'close Eddie" you gasped, "m'so close"

"Cum for me sweetheart" he breathed into your ear as his fingers circled your clit harshly once again drawing your climax. You clenched around him as your back arched and you came with a cry of his name on your lips.

With your sweet walls milking him for all he was worth Eddie's own release wasn't far behind yours as he filled you with his hot spend. Your walls fluttered around him as warmth spread through your limbs, nothing but fog and static in your brain as your orgasm took a hold of your body.

When you came back down you found Eddie knelt between your legs again, polaroid in hand as he snapped a picture of your mixed release dripping out of your puffy pussy, "so fucking beautiful"

When he had taken enough pictures Eddie sat the camera back down before gently using his index and ring fingers to scoop up your mixed fluids and push them back into your swollen cunt,

"Eddie" you whined,

"I know sweetheart I know" he placed a chaste kiss on your cheek before fishing some cigarettes out of the glove box, lighting one and offering it to you which you took gratefully.

Eddie watched as you inhaled the smoke before exhaling it in small clouds. He loved watching you smoke, loved the way you held the cigarette so carefully in poised fingers, the way you'd close your eyes when you drew in and the way you exhaled because you'd seen Frenchie do it in Grease and taught yourself to exhale exactly like she did.

"You're staring Eds" you teased, breaking him out of his revelry, "my tits aren't even out"

"Do I need an excuse to stare at my beautiful girlfriend?" he shot back, his smile lighting up the small space between you, "that's what I thought"

You laughed and Eddie wondered if he could record the sound and just play it forever, like the Mayfield kis and her Kate Bush tape,

"Hey, I was thinking" you said, sitting upright and stretching slightly to alleviate the kink in your back from being railed in the back of the van, "you wanna see that vampire movie tomorrow? Since we're both off"

"Whatever you want Princess" Eddie agreed instantly, he would do anything she asked of him,

"Good cause Steve wanted to double date with this girl he's been seeing - " Eddie cut you off with a loud groan and flopped dramatically onto the floor of the van,

"Why do we have'ta go with Harrginton? Why can't it just be us?"

"Tell you what if you say yes to this I'll say yes to anything you want to do tonight when we get home"

"Anything?"

"Anything"

"Oh you're on princess, you're on" Eddie's eyes sparkled with mischief and you laughed again.

God you loved this over dramatic dork.

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