#i feel like these would have been so much better if i had dedicated a fic individual jfjdksk

[chiliyue-archived]

cause i love to love, to love, to love you

↬ in which you have him all lovesick and smiles

includes; dazai, chūya, atsushi, fyodor

notes; i am gonna pretend i didn’t disappear for 2-3 months. this has been in my drafts for so long :( i tried to clean it up as much as i could but it’s really old jfjdks

DAZAI

dazai appears happy. present tense.

his typical inquiries for double suicides came to lessen to conscious degree, substituting in drinking sake together when the sun cowers, nothing but a string of nonsensical chatter proceeding each sip.

he was sticky like that: unannounced visits, impromptu phone calls, sudden changes in his schedule to accommodate yours. in any case, he isn’t one to shy from stooping as low as whining if it rewards him with your familiar face.

( his windpipes splinter before he could mutter it out loud, but the solitude that’s wedged deep in his bones for so long felt lighter when you were near. he questions how long such benevolence would last before becoming sullied by his hand… ).

…and yet all things considered, it hasn’t deterred him from courting you nonetheless. at times he can’t help but think he’s taken a bite of his own medicine when he’s the one skipping around like a helpless maiden.

and yet again in spite of it all, his brazenness remains perpetually untouched as ever. he entertains different approaches if only to coax out a new reaction from you and he’s not bashful in the slightest. so much so, he remains unruffled even under the scrutiny of your coworkers.

. . .

“ this is highly unprofessional.”

“ don’t be so mean, bella. don’t you know how much i missed you?”

your eyes flit down to the man currently using your lap as a headrest, the rest of his body stretching over the expanse of the couch. he was shameless, that much was certain, but his ability to remain unperturbed whilst in his lovey dovey state was impressive. you cocked a brow, sighing.

“ osamu.” his lips visually twitched at the call of his name; it’s a word warm on your tongue but leaves the hairs on his nape at your mercy anyway. " you saw me fifteen minutes ago—”

“ twenty.” he corrected, cheeky (and quite frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled that number out his ass). “ but it was the longest twenty minutes of my life.”

he was unrepentant as ever, experimentally positioning his head to rest on the plush on your thighs. by muscle memory, he began to absently draw shapes wherever he could reach, a crude rendition of stars decorating over the bend of your knee.

he smiles innocently when you squint at him, the gleam in his eyes unwavering. “ only a couple more minutes and i would have been yours,” you mutter out, your voice not as sturdy as you hoped. “ at home.”

dazai almost turns pouty at that. almost. “ but my love, i’ve missed you like crazy. twenty minutes is too long, how can i possibly manage?” the words come out through a breathy exhale and you watch as his lashes kiss his cheeks when he flutters them closed. “ all i could think about is you. and now i have you right here.” he hopes his words carry as much truth as the way his heart does, scurrying away the cold that's mocked him for so long. “ can’t we just stay like this a little longer? pretty please?”

resigned to your fate, you could only clamor your palms over your features— if only to salvage your waning dignity from your coworkers.

unfortunate though… that in doing so you miss the blissful smile curling on his lips as he peeks at you from below. and atsushi notes(after throughly grimacing, not expecting him to be so blunt), it reaches his eyes too.

CHŪYA

" chūya-"

" you can't flirt with me. i have a partner."

terse, stubborn and slurred. if the groggy voice wasn’t enough to confirm your suspicions, the shit-face look belonging to your boyfriend did. he was drunk. wasted if you were to speak bluntly.

in truth, it really doesn’t come off as much of a surprise; his ability to hold his liquor was nothing to brag of (despite what he may profusely argue) and you’re half-convinced he’s already forgotten his own name.

still, you don’t loosen your grip on his sleeve even under the figurative holes he’s burned with his stare. “ chūya. i am your partner.”

“you—! wha-!” his voice erupts into a sudden warble, eyes akin to saucers. " you… you are??"

he takes what’s left of his thinning rationality to study you proper; the style of your hair, your clothing, the smell of perfume/cologne, the familiar quirk of your lips—

oh, he thinks as you push back the loose bangs veiling his face. he doesn’t make any attempts to move, feet stalled and eyes blinking, evidently stunned.

you decide to press on. “ do i look familiar now…?” the lilit of your voice grazes against his ear, plucking out a faint memory tucked somewhere in the crevice of his fuzzy head.

oh. he thinks twice, the stern look bruising his face thawing.

without realizing it, he squares his shoulders in any attempt to remedy his current disheveled appearance, slumped posture pulled taut in— what he hopes— was a more put together frame. conversely, he wobbles on his feet when you continue to eat away at the distance, the ghost of your touch pushing pinpricks into his skin.

“ you’re- you’re really all mine…?” he cringes as soon as it leaves his mouth, coming off eager and hopeful. something like a laugh escapes you and he can’t tell if that’s what made his stomach turn or the alcohol. perhaps both.

“ that’s what i’ve been trying to tell you. you’re so stubborn when you’re drunk.” you punctuate the words with a kiss to his cheek, now warm with revelation. chūya, exhausting the last bits of his energy, shrinks beneath it, a gloved hand clutching his reddened face defensively.

“ why haven’t i made you my spouse yet?” he remarks it so suddenly, you nearly choke on air. he can’t even comprehend what you say thereafter or register the look beginning to contort your features, nothing but liquid courage keeping him afloat.

but- well, if there’s anything the haze trotting his head and his thinning cognition could agree on, it’s that your ring finger appears a little too barren for his liking.

( but not for much longer, he hopes )

ATSUSHI

the sudden change in atsushi’s behavior was a notable observation within the ADA, many of whom watched as the weretiger became stupefied by a face belonging to you. it wasn’t long before concluding it was all the result of a crush; the culprit of which being atsushi himself who played his hand poorly at discretion.

the lovesick chatter would leave his mouth without much rationality, waxing of "[name] this" or "[name] that," and effectively becoming on the receiving end of his praises. it was almost a routine of sorts, occupied by stutters, belated responses and his fidgety footfalls. by the end of it, he fruitlessly attempts to steady his rabbiting heart— if only to stop his blush from staining beyond his cheeks.

even now as he silhouettes by the agency door, the rattle of rain is deafened by the rush of blood to his ears. he anxiously worries the handle of the umbrella in his palms, bouncing from one sole of his feet to the other. should he just ask you? maybe he should wait… now that he thinks about it would be more appropriate to just leav—

“ damn it.” he perks at your sound of displeasure, his heart spiking. “ so much for leaving in a hurry…” you stiffen, realizing you have nothing but a coat protect you from the weather. the flimsy jacket you hurriedly plucked from your wardrobe only added flavor to your disappointment.

atsushi doesn’t miss the opportunity; his feet carries him to you before the unpleasant voice lurking deep in his subconscious bullies him otherwise. “ we can share,” he gestures to his own, silently praying his voice was leveled. it wobbles anyway and by now his knuckles are sheen white as a product of his nerves.

with the organ jumping around in his chest, he almost doesn’t register your ‘thank you,’ only that his fingers were quickly undoing the straps of the umbrella before you could change your mind ( he impulsively bought it earlier that day— his previous pair worned out and far too tiny for two people. but when you thank him with a kind smile, hands slightly brushing with each step, he argues it was the best 800 yen he’s ever spent ).

… that said, a more appropriate question is how you managed to remain naive to all his pining for so long— he’s become despairingly obvious against his own good and yet he can’t find it in himself to change himself, a perpetual lovesick look copy and pasted whenever you entered his proximity.

the same can't be said to everyone else however and he wasn’t particularly pleased when he caught wind of the bets exchanged among his treacherous colleagues. he fears it's only a matter of time before one of them blabs their tongue to you. at this rate, perhaps one of them should.

. . .

" y'know atsushi," ranpo once said, offering his companion a gleaming simper. " you reallllyyy talk about [name] a lot."

"oh.”

his heart flutters, eyes slowly blinking.

" yeah,” he smiles. “ i guess i do.”

FYODOR

" you've been awfully quiet, my dear." fyodor’s voice was just loud enough over the sound of clashing cutlery, fixing you a gaze of genuine interest. " is the meal not to your liking?"

you feel your lips twist into a frown. for being attentive, he (for once) falsely saunters pass the source of your displeasure, failing to recognize the extent of your internal woes. " no- no-" you fidget with your fingers, ignoring the way your propped elbows skidded against the table. the behaviour doesn't go unnoticed by the former, who takes it upon himself to hook his index fingers with yours. “ there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask of you. a… request of sorts.”

“ what is it? i’ll have it shipped to you by the end of the week,” he offers generously though it quickly fades into a confused hum when you shake your head at the proposition.

" it isn’t something you can buy…” you drop your gaze from him to the scantly poked portions of cuisine on your plate. fearing he may misinterpret your words and assume it to be unattainable - perhaps gifting you something ludicrous as a piece of land - you amended quickly. " it’s not what you assume to be either.”

at that, he bums questioningly. “ then what displeases you, my darling?” he provides a faint squeeze to your hand, igniting something warm and paradoxical to his thin layer of frigid skin. “ what can i offer to rid you that frown?”

" just your company.”

" my company?"

" yes." perplexed, he cocks his head; an invitation. willing an inhale to your lungs, you took a moment to gather possession of your words. “ these days you've been rather occupied. i was hoping for perhaps… if we may spend some time together?"

fyodor appears vaguely surprised by that, something unfamiliar fortifying around him. requesting his time felt like a hefty expenditure just in itself and it wasn’t too far fetched to assume he’ll disregard it in favor of some plot embellishing deep within his brain. but a swift refusal never comes.

“ i see,” he finally says after a brief pause. his voice was so soft you wondered if it was meant for you to hear.

it's grows quiet before he speaks again, the fingers curled around your hand withdrawing but not before providing the tips a delicate squeeze. " i can arrange some time tomorrow for you,” he proffers. “ will that satisfy your request, myshka?"

hardly anything can catch fyodor off guard, but something had to be said in the way you brightened at the suggestion, a deep curve coasting over your lips. how pleasant you are.

" yes," you hastily replied, dipping your head slightly. " more than perfect. thank you."

the way your lineaments crossed into a smile was always enduring to observe — exasperated, but one he wouldn’t mind seeing tomorrow knowing he was the cause for such elation.

( idly, he wonders what he can do to see it again ).

A/N !

i’ve been meaning to post this for months but it’s so old & i never quite (and still kinda don’t) liked it :(( fyodor’s is bit ooc jfjdkskla

彡 [BSD m.list]

taglist; @eynnwwyjth @anqelically @seisitive @iheartpieck @seiiblue @averagebsdwatcher @solandiss @4nthonyyliving @guacamoleroll @sunnyx07 @shiopi

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#¡! ❞ sincerely rora #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #atsushi x reader #fyodor x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #dazai fluff #chuuya fluff #atsushi fluff #fyodor fluff #bsd fluff #bsd x y/n #i don’t remember how to tag things 🥹 #i’m so nervous posting this. i’m lil ready to cry a bit . this isn’t particularly great but it’s been in my drafts long enough #idk if it’s obvious but i kinda gave up on fyodor’s & dazais parts. it gave me major headaches #i feel like these would have been so much better if i had dedicated a fic individual jfjdksk #kunikida was originally part of this line up. but the draft was beyond redeemable. #i was tempted to remove chuuyas part as well but i think i manage to make it decent?? #dazai is so long. my favoritism is showing ha ha h a

[orcelito]

I've been following that AITA blog for a bit now and it has me thinking about my own life situations with conflict and drama. A passive "do I have anything I could submit to that blog?" But upon thinking about it, it's like... I really find no value in asking strangers whether I'm "the asshole" in situations. There are situations where I'm clearly not at fault, situations where I was a little shit but it was justified, and at least one situation where I have a definite "Oh yeah, I was definitely the asshole there". All in the past, so it's not like I'd even need advice or anything. I already know, so what's the point?

Maybe it stems from me being a generally self-aware and self-confident kind of person. I know what's going on with myself, know when I've wronged people, & I have a mentality of "well, I'll try to not do that in the future." Even if I feel a little guilty thinking back, what's the point of asking after something when I know I'm at fault? Or situations where things were complicated and both people had fault in things, but I know I wasn't being shitty on purpose & that's what matters to me. Ultimately, it results in a bunch of strangers drawing conclusions about things I really don't care about outside input on.

Still love reading the blog tho. There's something about reading up on random people's life drama that satisfies that gossipmonger soul in me So well.

#speculation nation #i think the most blatantly YTA thing id get is when i ghosted that guy i was seeing back when i was 20 or so #wasnt ever actually dating but i made it sound like i would. very much led him on. #then realized i just wasnt into cishet guys At All and dropped him out of nowhere bc i was 20 and didnt know how to deal with feelings #objectively it was a pretty awful thing for me to do. and i feel bad that i did it. #have i ever tried to reach out and apologize tho? no lmao #it happened so long ago now i feel like itd bring more animosity than relief anyways. #id like to think ive learned from it tho. Dont Date People Just For The Hell Of It. #god it rly is my romantic history where im the biggest asshole. my prior girlfriend too #i do feel bad about that. i never meant to hurt her but that sure is what i did. #it was better to break it off when i did. wouldve been better had i did it earlier but oh well. #then as a teenager and my whole fucked up romance life then... #but NO LONGER!!!!!!!! hopefully lol. im rly into my current girlfriend and after my last one ive been dedicated to. not do that again. #cant date people just because im bored. that's never ended well for me. #i learned my lesson this time for SURE!!!!! #anyways yea id say more constently id be The Asshole in these situations. but im only human man it happens. #other situations it's usually just fucked up situations with me being a toxic little shit in response bc it's all i knew. #idk. community voting doesnt matter to me. learning from my prior mistakes and shortcomings is what matters to me. #it's interesting to see the blog tho. people are insecure about some of the most trivial things sometimes...

[elegyofthemoon]

tbh i think i just need to get into a media thatll shake me to my core the way me revisiting p//andora hearts at a crucial time shook me

#nothing will top how ph means a lot to me seriously adklfakdah #i can talk forever about why oz means a lot to me but why would i do that actually thatd be terrible adslkjfahl #if you need a character thats very very essential to me its oz honestly alsjkdfalkjs #i feel like thats REALLY ALL YOU NEED everyone else is just little snippets #but anyways! #some evil part of my brain is like 'hon//kai can be that for you and im fighting for my life' #'its not allowed to.' #i mean i was already feeling it with ch 9 ex bro i had to go lay down watching kiana in that chapter holy fuck man asdlkfjahl #but yeah idk i feel like....if i was able to dedicate more time to finishing up pt 1 i think honkai COULD have that potential. i sense it #it gives me the same levels of interest as like p//andora hearts and n//ier so 👀 #but yeah anyways. i just need something to shake my life from its pedestal #thats another thing i kinda miss #i think its just that bc of how much all this has drained me #its been harder to really enjoy things that i ACTUALLY enjoy doing #the only thing i got going for me are my dumb comics bc thats low energy + i dont care if it looks super bad theyre funny to me #i guess i just miss being super passionate about interests #augh #snow speaks #i am feeling a lot better now but ig thats only if i just focus on doing things i like

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school. #like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it. #was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes. #but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create'' #when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent. #speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice. #''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession. #''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt? #u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky'' #we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

[allsadnshit]

Sometimes I think about my best friend in my 20's response to when I told her I was envious of how talented and skilled she was cause she was always the friend that was doing a million new hobbies and just really had it together in my eyes and she seemed so disappointed in me and said how she's always been perceived as "talented" for things she was not a natural at and had actually worked tirelessly hard to learn to do and how it's never a compliment to assume someone has something you don't simply because they got lucky because more often than not they were just as capable as you and just chose to take risks, dedicate time, push through discomforts or doubts that maybe you succumb to, and really earned things that are often nonchalantly disregarded by peers as having walking in with already in hand

And I feel like that conversation really changed me cause I've always been bad at school and been a slow learner so I just sort of decided I wasn't smart and it wasn't my fault I wasn't born with the same advantages of people around me and I think that's something we all do as self protection from the truth that the only thing truly keeping us from what we want is usually ourselves and our decisions about our own narratives that aren't actually in stone even if we see them that way

I realized my friend was actually just not a quitter, and that she also felt not good enough often but decided to keep going in times where I know I would have stopped in her place

And I feel like taking ownership of my life a lot in the last few years has made me understand her better, even with stuff like chronic illness that practically begs us to victimize ourselves and then that way of thinking makes us sicker and more dependent on others when we could be accepting help without considering ourselves so helpless

It's really weird interacting with anyone once I've realized so much of that because I see my old self in people when they talk to me like I have something they don't because I am finally making different choices than I used to and honestly it is very irritating regardless of intention

If you want something someone else has that doesn't give you permission to assume how they got it or what it is even like having it - and I think more and more people have decided it's not their fault how they are choosing to live and that's why they are so stuck

[agustdtown1]

FOREVER GRATEFUL | JJK

PAIRING: jeon jungkook x fem!reader.

SUMMARY: jeon jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you and your sinful needs more than he should, and for that you will forever be grateful.

WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS: age gap, jungkook’s older than reader (although there’s no mention of a specific age), their relationship is not the healthiest but they manage, jk’s line of work is not specified but it is hinted that it’s illegal, small (very small) mention of blood, pet names (doll, princess, pretty girl…), it is hinted —and mentioned, that reader doesn’t have much experience about sex, smut, pwp (porn with plot because I got carried away, but only here and there), restraining, blindfolding, unprotected sex (be better), fingering, light choking, biting, marking, name calling (slut, dumb), jk cumming inside reader, i kinda rushed the end so it’s not that good tbh. 18+ only!

A/N: so… this is my first time writing for the boys since I created my account, I hope this is not as bad as I think it is and that you can enjoy your reading. Lmk what you think and also, english is not my first language so if there’s any grammar/spelling mistakes pls just ignore them <3!

masterlist

“Stay still.”

A husky voice rang into your ears, making a feeling as warm as the sun start to spread through your whole body; an electrifying sensation running through your veins, while goosebumps found solace on your skin. His voice has always been your favorite sound. The raspiness and low register adorning the man’s voice often got you weak in the knees, whenever he would whisper to you or call your name. And this time was no different, however, it seemed to have a stronger power over you. As magnetic as the voice of a siren, pulling the unlucky sailors out of the safety of their boats and into the depths of the cold water of the ocean; ready to devour them in such a frenzy that the last thing you could hear from the poor men was the start of a plea that would forever be unfinished.

Regardless of the difference between scenarios, the comparison seemed to be fitting. Jeon Jungkook was often described as magnetic, with the words alluring and charming following not so far behind. It would explain why you were found in such an interesting predicament at the moment.

A chill breeze brushing over your warm, bare skin, snapped you out of your wandering thoughts. The indication was short and simple. Discard your clothes from the very first moment you walk into the room and wait for him in bed. And so, your body, as many times before, was left completely exposed to Junkook’s hungry eyes; moreover, his eagerness to devour you was crystal clear, not daring to hide his fervent desire of having another taste of your sweet body. Watching you like a predator would to its prey.

His hands were tingling with excitement, for the future adventure both of you would go through, in a matter of minutes. Tonight, like many others, was dedicated solely to you, to your enjoyment; for you to, once again, discover a part of yourself that has yet to see the morning sun and yet to taste the deliciousness of the unknown. A new experience, a new journey, a brand new feeling for you to replay over and over again in your head, during those painfully lonely nights, when you could only find calmness in the feather-like touch of your fingers, running through your needy and greedy body.

Jungkook, however, knew exactly what he was doing by making you wait until your breaking point, waiting for a whine to fall from your precious lips, or for your desperate hand to reach out to him, whatever happens first, but in a silent plea for even a sliver of his attention. He had memorized every gesture, every reaction, every movement you would do, and it entertained the man more than it should.

“You’re tense.” Jungkook pointed out, easing the knots in your shoulders with his skillful hands. “What’s gotten you this aggravated, princess?”

It was the mocking tone, the graceful touch, or even his inviting eyes; whatever it was, it served as a decisive factor to push yourself forward and wrap your arms around his empty neck, like a snake would with its prey; hard and firm.

Desperate hands were first, then.

“You.” An answer was uttered, yet there was a lack of reaction from the man in front of you.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jungkook taunted, acknowledging the power he had over you. “But don’t think I have forgotten the order I gave you.”

It left you confused for a good second, before his strong hands reached out for yours, stripping himself off from your needy touch.

“Stay still.” Jeon ordered once again, smirking once you obeyed.

You knew better than to challenge him, knowing that your safest option was to follow his instructions with no objection, if you wanted to get your awaited reward, that is.

Who would have thought that you’d be so accustomed to this routine. If asked, then give. If given, then be grateful for it.

The older man has improved your sex life in a matter of a few months, introducing your inexperienced self to the wonders of healthy and eccentric intercourse. Jungkook has proven to you many times in the span of a few months that your negative expectations of sex were granted by your poorly skilled sexual partners. Never once experiencing a dull moment since you were left in the dangerous hands of Jeon Jungkook.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful.

Just like a believer would with whatever God sets in their path. Just like a kid would when a gift was left under the Christmas tree. You were grateful. It was easy to be. For it was gratefulness that had been installed within you from the moment yours and Jungkook’s paths have crossed.

Nonetheless, as grateful as you were, the hesitation in the back of your head didn’t seem to want to leave. The more Jungkook gave you, the more you wondered if you deserved it. But it reasoned with you that the true cause for your indecisiveness was the premise under which your relationship with the tattooed man had developed.

They don’t make men like him anymore, it’s what your friend had told you when she first introduced you to him, and it scared you. It frightened you that your only option to survive in such a cruel world was to cling to a man that was yet to explain what his line of work was. But then again, you didn’t want to know.

If Jungkook came back from work, looking unkempt and exhausted it was none of your business. That blood stain has always been on his shirt for all you knew. His sketchy friends have never once disrespected you, and that was enough for the time being. If he has broken the law, you don't need to know.

You would never know.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

That’s a matter in which you could actually participate. In fact, it’s the way you were taught to be for the past few months.

You earn what you’re given, so show manners and be thankful.

Don’t question, just take. A mindset that has gotten you to where you were right now. In the bedroom of, by far, the most dangerous man in all Korea. Yet, not once has your well-being been threatened, and for that you're grateful.

And you're about to show it.

“You deserve it.” Jungkook reminded you before straying away to roam through his drawers.

The anticipation was killing you. Your eager eyes couldn’t see past his bare and muscular back facing you. Jeon thrived on the way your lustful gaze would always settle on his body, hence the lack of a shirt. Only a low waisted pair of jeans, that allowed you to see the hem of his Calvin Klein underwear, were preventing you from seeing his firm thighs.

You enjoyed the view, more than you probably should. How his muscles flexed when he moved, and the way his toned back shone under the dim light of the room.

It was such a delectable sight for your painfully sore eyes.

“You ready?” The question snapped you out of your thoughts, making you notice how close he was now.

“Yes.” You answered with light hesitation.

Your major enemy showing up once again: indecisiveness. But that wouldn’t stop you from giving yourself to the man in front of you. Not this time.

“Yes, what?” Jeon insisted. “Don’t forget your manners.”

“Yes, sir, I’m ready.” It fell naturally from your lips.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

“Good girl.”

The dark haired man reached out for your wrists, placing a delicate kiss on both of them before tying them with a silky tie of his, and forcing your wandering hands to stay still once and for all.

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook gently asked.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

It was the only correct answer, and both you and Jungkook knew it.

The moment he earned your trust would be the moment he’d have to leave you behind, to fend for yourself and for you to learn how to navigate through the dark corners of your unlucky life.

Trusting him means leaving your guard down, leaving your guard down means being vulnerable, and Jungkook knew better than to be vulnerable, especially in the type of life he lived in. He didn’t want you to make that mistake, and if it meant giving you reasons to doubt him, then so be it.

“Are you gonna do as I say?” Jeon inquired.

“I will.”

“Good.” He leaned down to steal a harsh kiss from you. “You have no idea how bad I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

A slight shiver ran down your spine, knowing too well that his words were far from being an empty promise.

His tattooed hands descended on your bare body, ever so delicate, ever so tender. A stark contrast to what his real intentions were, and it left you craving more of it. Your insatiable desire for being thoroughly worshiped by his lips, his hands, all of him. It was never enough, and it will never be.

Like a stray dog in need of being fed, you needed his touch to be satisfied. Luckily for you, Jungkook was always a man to deliver everything you asked for, even if not verbally.

His eyes, never swerving from your body, took in all the reactions you gave him; from the way your lips formed a perfect o-shape, freeing the most delicious sounds, to how your back arched oh so naturally when his already trained fingers made their way towards the south part of your body. The place where he would get baptized every night, like a strong believer. Ending his thirst with the holy liquid you would suffice him with, not once asking for anything in return, but thankful of his merciful goddess showing appreciation for his dedication.

The only thing is, you weren’t a goddess and he wasn’t a believer. And the whole scenario was way more dirty in reality than what you’d often fantasize.

“Such a pretty doll.” Jungkook brought you back into reality with his husky voice, “Always so responsive.”

His middle finger traveled down to reach your entrance, teasing you with his light touch. Waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to beg. But just like he knew you so well, it was easy for you to tell when he wanted something from you. So rather than give Jungkook what he wanted, you settled for playing a game that would get you in a situation where not even God would help you.

You moved your hips ever so lightly, testing how far you could go without the tattooed man reminding you who’s in charge. Chasing his touch was easy, attaining it was a whole different story. And it was proven to you that tonight the ball was not in your court, when all you got was a chuckle from the man, while he retrieved his hand and leaned down to be face to face with you.

“Have you not learned anything yet, princess?” His dark voice made you tremble in your spot. “Or have you forgotten how things work around here, hm?”

Unwilling to answer, the only response he got from you was a strained whine, yet Jeon could see the desperation in your eyes, the fervent desire to be ruined by him, to be left defenseless and at his complete mercy. Your body wasn’t yours anymore; it stopped being yours the moment he set his eyes on you.

Jeon Jungkook owned you, that much was obvious. And as terrifying as it was, the fact was equally thrilling.

“How badly do you want me?” He tried again, with a question that drove you crazy. “Be good for me and say the words, princess.”

Wasn’t it evident? People often thought that you were too harsh to deal with, too rude, too much to handle. It didn’t offend you, nor did it crack your heart whenever someone would complain about your hot temper and crude attitude. However, at this precise moment, you were giving the man in front of you exactly what he was asking for, albeit not verbally, but your body was working on its own accord. For every light touch, Jeon would get a shiver, squirming, even a plea from your eyes. Any reaction that was in the books, you were already serving it for him.

Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t compliant enough for the older man.

“So bad.” You opted to respond instead, finally giving in. “I need you, I want you. Please, sir.”

It was like music to his ears. Your delightful voice, flying through the room as if it were the sweetest melody. Not even the singing of an angel would achieve the reaction that you were pulling from Jungkook right now. Just listening to you beg for him, that’s all Jeon ever wanted.

“You are being so good and polite, baby.” He praised you. “I’ll give you what you need, but…” The dark haired man drifted off, pulling out a blindfold from the back of his jeans. “I’m afraid we’ll do it my way.”

Terrifying, as looking into the depths of a deserted forest, but it was sinful enough for you to crave it. It was exciting regardless of what the whole ordeal entailed. Therefore, when the tall man approached you, with a silky blindfold resting on his hands, you were ready to follow his orders with no objections.

In a matter of seconds you were deprived of Junkook’s hard features, leaving you with a view of pure darkness, and causing your body to start squirming and moving around due to the anticipation. It was difficult to find calmness in such a stressful moment, but you managed. However, Jeon decided to start toying with you, taking advantage of the fact that you were unaware of your surroundings. And so his fingers commenced a trip down the tender flesh of your neck, rapidly traveling down your collarbones and lightly gracing your nipples, only for later on to pinch both of your buds in a harsh manner, one that ripped a strained gasp out of your mouth.

A sardonic smile took place on his face, however, you couldn’t see it. His free hand traveled up to push your cheeks together, enjoying how plump your lips looked and not being able to resist the urge to bite them.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his teeth sinking in the flesh of your lips, along with the way his fingers were kneading every inch of your body.

“Relax and stay still.” Jeon ordered. “I know you’ll love this.”

His soothing voice was helping you to calm down, but it wasn’t enough. The sensations that were running through your body and the lack of proper touch left you in an unbearable agony. You craved to feel him closer, for his skin touching yours, for his breath mixing with yours while your bodies were intertwined in a passionate race to free both of your souls. What he was giving you wasn’t enough, but then again, when has it been?

A greedy little thing, that’s what Jungkook has always called you. And rightfully so, because you longed for him in ways no one else had done, and it scared him. Jeon was afraid you might be too attached to him, moreover, to your own idea of him. The way you would reach for his hand, almost as second nature, when you were out and about, or how your eyes always gravitated towards his figure whenever he stepped into a room. That terrified him. Because it meant you were addicted to him in the same way he was to you, and that could only mean trouble in the long run.

Tonight, however, was not about his fears and insecurities. Tonight was meant to be for you; to supply you with the utmost pleasure you were able to handle, and even if you couldn’t, Jungkook was willing to give you more than what you asked for. So rather than letting his mind wander to places he wasn’t fond of, the man decided to grant you what you were desperately looking for.

His slender fingers slid into your warm hole, filling you up as best as possible. Moving in ways that would haunt you forever, as a reminder that no one —not even yourself, will be able to touch you and treat you like he could.

“There you go…” He muttered, so close to your ear that made you shiver. “Is that enough for my little slut?”

His husky voice echoed through every corner of the room, pulling a light gasp out of you. It wasn’t strange for you to hear him say such lewd things or call you such unspeakable names, but every single time he did, it awakened a wild sensation within you.

Answering to his question you shook your head no, adamant to get more of him, and desperately wanting to be filled to the brim with something more than his fingers.

“More…” You begged. “Please, more.”

His fingers were avidly moving, pumping in and out of your velvety walls at a steady pace. His touch seemed to be enhanced and it felt much more than any other time. Whether it was because you couldn’t see nor could you touch anything, or because of his skillful movements, you couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, there was no complaint. It felt terribly good.

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

Your whiny voice was making Jungkook experience unspeakable things. He was eager to have you, eager to touch you, eager to have a taste of you. But more importantly, so desperate to fuck you. In the same way he awakened a wild side of you with his dark stare, you drove him absolutely crazy with the little noises you made. Furthermore, having you underneath him, moaning his name while squirming in pleasure, and feeling pure bliss due to how good he made you feel, was boosting his ego.

Jeon Jungkook was a man that always strived to be praised, even for the little and insignificant things. So to say he was thrilled and satisfied by the way you were chanting his name like a sinful prayer, along with how your body was responding insanely good to his touch, would be an enormous understatement.

He was on the verge of losing control and claiming you in such an animalistic way, that would leave anyone who happened to be near his room, concerned for your well-being.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look like this?” It was a question that didn’t need an answer.

Jungkook was entranced by the way you were reacting to his touch, watching your skin coated in goosebumps and how your legs would try to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, in need of him. It has always amazed him how innocent and clueless you looked and acted on the daily, yet somehow you knew what to do to make him act up, to drive him crazy. It was as if you were just pretending to know nothing just to tease him, just to make him never leave you, but deep down Jungkook knew you were sincere.

Your life has been tough, to say the least, and he knew you were in need of guidance, in need of someone to hold your hand and walk you through the crude stages of life. Jeon has never told you, but part of the reason why he took interest in you was due to his protective instinct. The older man knew you needed protection, from who or what? It wasn’t clear, but he instantly knew he was the right one to do it.

Oddly enough, there was no one better than the most dangerous man in South Korea to keep you safe.

But the way you would act so innocently drove him crazy.

Even when you tried to act confident, there was this sprinkle of hesitation every time you did something —indecisiveness striking again. And it was difficult to ignore it, moreover, it was difficult to hide it. The man could see right through your weak act, and spot your nervousness from miles away.

Even when you sucked him off in his office after a tiring meeting, he knew you were slightly scared to do such a thing.

Someone pretending to be clueless wouldn’t act as eager and clumsy as you did back then, although there has been some improvement since that time. Your teeth wouldn’t make an appearance anymore, you would use the right amount of saliva to make it messy but still look appealing for Jeon. The man loved how now you use more of your tongue to tease his tip and how far he could go into your throat. But none of that would’ve been attained without his help.

If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

It all goes back to the same predicament: you often showing your thankfulness for every little thing Jungkook has done for you.

He saved you, in the same way that a human would take an injured bird into their home to help it heal. Only for the person to cage it after the bird it’s back on its feet. Whereas Jeon Jungkook saved you from your previous way of living, he also owned you, preventing you from leaving his side.

Your broken moan snapped the dark haired man back into reality. His eyes were glazed with lust, looking right down on you and your tempting body.

“Are you close yet, doll?”

He knew you were. Jungkook could feel you clenching on his fingers, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“Yes, I’m so close.” You whined.

Your hands were moving so much, trying to break free from the tie that was preventing you from touching him. Jeon silently enjoyed it, he enjoyed how addicted to him you were, that it was a torture for you to not touch him in any way. You were so accustomed to feeling him, every single inch, that being restrained felt like pure hell.

“Please… More, faster…” You once again begged, and this time Jungkook couldn’t handle it.

Ignoring your protests, he pulled his fingers out, rapidly stripping off the rest of his clothes to position himself in between your legs. Because yes, he was on the verge of losing control before, but now his racional side flew out the window, and so he couldn’t wait a second longer to be wrapped in the warmth of your walls, ready to take him in.

“My sweet girl, don’t be impatient.” Jungkook cooed at you. “I’ll give you something better.”

Without further ado, he thrusted into you with a hard pump. It ripped a moan out of you, making you tug at the tie even more. You were beyond annoyed that you couldn’t touch him nor could you see his beautiful figure while he fucked you, although it enhanced the rest of your senses.

You could hear his little noises more clearly, feel his touch even better than you usually would, and taste him so much more in every kiss he gave you. It was truly a blessing and a curse.

“You’re so tight, Y/n.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, preventing himself from moving manically just yet.

Jeon could see the struggle in your face, the way you were clenching on his dick so hard that it was almost impossible for him to move. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, you would never get accustomed to his size. But in reality, the actual problem was that the man hasn’t done exactly that in a while.

Truth be told, there was a reason for your eagerness, for your desperation. For your ambition to have more of him. Jungkook has been neglecting you the past couple of days, perhaps not on purpose, but his line of work has required him to travel to the other side of the world for a whole week. And now that he was back you were ready to trap him in your limbs for as long as you could have him.

“I haven’t fucked you in a while that your pussy is already forgetting how my cock feels, huh?” He acknowledged the situation. “Maybe I’ll have to remind this tight cunt who owns it.”

Without a warning, he gave a hard thrust once again, bottoming out. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t forget how big his dick was or how good it felt. Many nights you fantasized about his fat cock pounding into you while the only thing you could use to pleasure yourself was your fingers. It was such a sad comparison, especially because it proved that what he once told you was completely true.

No one will be ever able to satisfy your carnal needs in the same way that he does. No one will be able to make you come undone with their touch. You could only daydream about Jungkook rocking into you hard and rough, during those lonely nights when the only thing you could use was your small fingers.

Luckily for you, now you have it, the real thing. Now you could feel the tip of his cock hitting every right spot the more the thrusted into you. His veiny member slamming over and over into your throbbing cunt, crying for more of him.

“So fucking greedy. My dirty slut can never get enough of me, huh?” Jungkook groaned, “Look at you, already a mess and I’ve barely done anything, sweetheart.”

It was such a true statement. Even if there was no way for you to look at yourself, you were sure of your disheveled appearance. Sweat was coating your skin, making your messy hair stick to your forehead and nape, your lips were now swollen and shiny due to the wet kisses Jeon has shared with you.

But it has always been like this. Jeon always knew what to do, what to say, how to touch you to turn you into a babbling and whiny mess, one who could only chant his name and ask for more, like the little ambitious and greedy girl you were. Regardless of the way you would sometimes demand more of his attention, more of his touch, he loved it. The tattooed man loved how ruined you looked at the end of your rendezvous, staring at your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. Jungkook was always fascinated by how fucked out you were once he was done with everything, it was his favorite look on you.

“You like this, don’t you? Being used like a fuck toy, not being able to do anything to fight me.” The older man let out a dark chuckle, while one of his hands crept up to wrap itself around your throat. “So defenseless and needy, letting me do anything to you.”

The more he talked the closer you got. You knew it was a matter of time for you to cum. And you couldn’t be more thankful for that.

Jungkook kept rocking into you at a rapid and harsh pace, fucking your brains out while calling you names that he knew would pull a reaction out of you.

“My dumb baby, taking me so well.” He praised you. “You always know how to take my cock, willing to let me fuck this pretty pussy however I want.”

You could only nod, gasping for air and moving your hips to meet his thrusts as best as possible. It was like a race to see which one would finish first, although it was clear that the man ramming into you would not relent until you were crying and shaking underneath him.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” He confessed, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His free hand traveled down in between your legs to place his skilled thumb over your clit. His movements were like a bucket of cold water poured over your burning skin. It calmed the building fire in between your legs, just as much as it fueled your already approaching orgasm.

“You feel so amazing around my dick.” Jeon hissed over your lips, hypnotized by the way his aching cock would get lost into your soaked cunt.

“Oh god…” You moaned. “Please don’t stop, I’m so fucking close.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” A promise, far from being empty.

It was clear that Jeon was getting close as well by the way he so desperately was pounding into you, moaning lowly and leaning down to bite your neck.

His lips and teeth were doing wonders on your skin, marking you up with his bites and sucking on your flesh as well. Jungkook was devouring you, tasting you, ruining you as he promised.

“Holy shit…” He said in a raspy voice. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chanted back, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“Come on, tell me, pretty girl.” He requested. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m all yours.” You slurred your words out.

It only encouraged the man to fuck you harder, meaner, faster… Exactly how you liked it. Jungkook was aware of it, he knew you like the palm of his hand, and although it was concerning how much he knew about you, it also came in handy in moments like this.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Jungkook alerted you, snapping both of you from your wandering thoughts.

“Cum, inside me.” You croaked out, biting on your bottom lip.

It was a risky request, something that you might regret in the future, not only because you weren’t on any contraception, but it entailed being connected to him in such an intimate way, one that neither of you were ready for.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a soft tone, yet you could hear the agitation in his voice. “Are you okay with… oh fuck, with me cumming in you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Just do it, fill me up, please.” You struggled to say. “I need to feel your cum deep inside me.”

Jungkook felt like dying with the lewd words you were spewing.

You were drunk on the ecstasy of the whole experience. Not being able to look at your surroundings, being restrained, the way Jeon was pistoning into you, hitting spots that no one has ever been able to reach before; the sinful words spilling from his lips, his hand still wrapped around your neck, albeit more loosely now. Everything was clouding your mind and leaving you in such a lax state, that prevented you from forming any coherent thought.

Regardless, your consensual words were all he needed to let go, shooting his hot cum inside of your greedy pussy.

“Oh god…” Jungkook moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His orgasm triggered yours, throwing you over the edge in a matter of seconds, right after he came. Your whimpers were loud and high pitched, your body was burning and trembling, and you were sure the light makeup you were previously wearing was smudged by now.

You were panting, trying your best to calm your agitated breathing. Jungkook was still inside of you, with his face hidden in your neck, breathing as heavily as you were. Both still intertwined in a mess of sweaty limbs.

After a few minutes where both of you recovered from the intense orgasms you just had, Jeon finally pulled out, separating himself from you. His hands flew up to free yours, making you whine softly; he placed a soft kiss on both of your wrists, making sure the tie didn’t hurt you. The blindfold came off next, and it took a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the dim light after seeing pure darkness.

“How was it?”

A simple question, one that, in the ears of an oblivious listener, would mean nothing. An inquiry that held more significance and concern than a simple are you okay?; it was subtle but it spoke volumes the way Jeon Jungkook would still feel the need to protect you, even from himself.

He never voiced his worries properly, trying to play it cool but secretly concerned that he might have hurt you in any way. The man never learnt how to correctly communicate with others, but he would be damned if he didn’t express how much he cared for you in other ways.

“Amazing…” Was your response, albeit in a hoarse voice.

Your throat was slightly aggravated, feeling terribly dry after attempting to voice the pleasure and enjoyment from the experience, through the small space there was left from Jungkook’s hard grip on it. However, it didn’t stop you from answering his concerns.

Amazing, fascinating.

It was the only way to describe it, your mind was too foggy to think of a proper answer, but by the way he was smirking you could tell he was satisfied with your response.

“Good.” He nodded. “Don’t move, I’ll bring a towel to clean you up and a bottle of water.”

Before he could step out of the room your weak voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait…” You called for him.

If asked, then give; if given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

“Thank you.” A small whisper was all it took for the man to walk back at you, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Get some rest, I’ll be right back.”

You were left alone in the big room, spread out on the mattress while your mind was trying to comprehend all the events that just happened. Your heart was filled with questions, but you knew better than to ponder over those inquiries.

Jeon Jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you more than he should, and for that you will be forever grateful.

#jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jk x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook fic #🥢town originals! #🥢.townsmut!

[billfarrah]

One of my favourite things about Young Royals and its characters is how much it romanticizes being utterly ordinary.

Stories often focus on characters who are exceptionally good at something or who are more ambitious than the average person. Even in the teen shows I’ve watched, these young characters always seemed to have their dream career and dream university figured out at a young age and I could never relate to that because I had none of those things figured out as a teen. It always felt like pushing this narrative that teenagers need to have their entire lives figured out before their brains are even fully developed.

None of the characters in YR seem particularly ambitious and in fact, the main character’s journey is a story of anti-ambition. When he is introduced to Simon, it is precisely Simon’s ordinariness that draws Wille to him. Sure, Simon is a very talented singer, but it’s never indicated within the series that he has dreams of being a pop star. It’s just something he likes to do. Simon is motivated by very ordinary things - he wants to do well in school so he can have better opportunities for himself, he wants to take care of his family, he wants to hang out with his friends and play video games. He’s a dedicated student but not necessarily valedictorian. It’s not his ambition that Wille is drawn to but his integrity and kindness and warmth.

Wille had a chance to be extraordinary - to be Sweden’s first gay king - but being extraordinary has never been Wille’s ambition. Wille’s ultimate goal and dream within the series’ narrative is to be free to make his own decisions and live his life as he pleases. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend and get drunk at parties and live his life one day at a time instead of spending every moment of his life preparing for an inevitable future he doesn’t want. In the end Wille is extraordinary not for his ambition, but for his bravery to reject the expectations thrust upon him and throw himself into the unknown and see where it takes him. Wille had a whole future in front of him as crown prince and future king - he’d never have to work a day in his life and would have people advising his every move - and he rejects that. This lack of ambition is not portrayed as a moral failure, but a necessary step in Wille’s journey to personal self-discovery and fulfillment of his own desires. His desire right now is simple - be free with Simon, but that doesn’t mean his dreams end here forever. He deserves peace and tranquility after all the trauma he’s been through without having to worry about where or who he’s gonna be in a few years. He deserves time to just exist.

None of the characters know where they’re going when they drive away at the end. We as the audience don’t know what careers if any these characters will find themselves in, but that’s also not important to this story. The series is saying you don’t have to have everything figured out when you’re 17 and you don’t have to do something just because your parents think they know what’s best for you and even if you don’t know exactly what you want to do, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the agency to know what you don’t want.

It’s not a moral failing to want the simple things in life or to be ordinary, and I love that Young Royals celebrates that. It shows the beauty in simple moments that feel revolutionary to a person - touching the person you love, forgiving someone and making amends after a hardship, whooping with your friends in a car as you drive into the summer and celebrates them. Ultimately these are the moments that make life worth living.

#young royals #idk if this even makes sense but I had to get it off my chest

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Some Dad!Cod Character Scenario and Appreciation Post

Characters In Mind: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, König, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

The original creator of the picture, they also have so many works that are used in so many fanfics as well so please credit her. I found her account here on Tumblr (@ave661) and here is the post.

AFAB!Reader and used pronouns are "you"

Apologies if this is a bit too short but;

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

A/n: I've had a good but also bad week (good thanks to @puff0o0 and other extremely sweet mutuals), it's neutral, I'm not here to rant of any sort but my personal life has not been good. I understand that not everyone will like me but it feels as though everyone hates me, most of those people happen to be at school. Sure I'm not really going to do anything about it because I prefer avoiding conflict but those same people are trying to flip the story around as if I'm the one who hates them when in reality I don't and by being mean to me they're giving me a reason to dislike them. Sure I'm average academically, sometimes I have difficulty pulling my weight in group works and I'm not outstanding in reportings but we all have our difficulties. I just don't understand people who love to hate on others because they have nothing better to do.

This is a word of advice to everyone, don't let others let you feel insignificant, you aren't and you have many talents that make you different from them. (I don't really practice what I preach because I love self-deprication, however I don't want people to feel the way I do because I know what it can cause)

Disclaimers/warnings: OOC??, Pregnancy, Implied birth, Children (Pretty sure that was obvious from the title), People who don't want/hate children be warned.

Short note: This is also a dedication to all the Mistki and Hozier fans out there <3

He was so used to the smell of hospitals, the smell of medication, it always indicated death for him but this was a whole new feeling. It was the opposite of what he has seen most of his life

So much so that he refused to hold them, afraid of potentially hurting the fragile little one. He looked at you as if you were crazy when you tried to hand him the baby, "Come on now love, you can't just avoid holding them forever" you said to him as of it was a life or death situation.

Hesitantly letting you guide him through the proper way to hold them, he felt his breath hitch at the sound of cooing. The first time the baby opened it's eyes, the first thing they saw being their dad.

The moment he looked at the baby sealed it, he was going to protect them their whole life, he would go as far as feeling all the guilt of having blood on their hands again if it meant your baby would be protected and cared for.

The baby was so small that it's little head was practically the size of his palm, he didn't know initially what to do when the baby cried and shocked himself when he managed to make them stop.

Once the baby was old enough to crawl, he'd let the baby crawl all over him. The little one babbling non-sense while he just chuckled and replied as if he understood what the baby was saying. Gods be damned if he misses an important milestone such as their first word or their first time walking.

You'd often wake up to seeing him shirtless snoozing on the couch, the tv playing only ads for home appliances late at night while the baby only in a diaper having skin to skin contact with their dad, his huge hand big enough to support the little one from falling.

He almost cried the first time your baby reached for his face an touched it, resting it's tiny little fingers on his cheek, giving him a gummy smile. His little one unaware that they just healed something they never broke.

He NEVER wants to ever see your little one grow up, though sure it makes more memories with them, sometimes they just wish time stops for a second so they can enjoy the moment longer.

Initially was terrified that he'd pass his trauma down but he realized that wouldn't be possible and he will NOT ever let them go through what he did.

Eventually chose to resign from his work because the risk was far too much, what if he died? He'd leave you and your child to grieve over him? He won't be there for them growing up and he'd miss everything.

Sure he's worked most his life to get where he is now but nothing is ever worth more than spending a lifetime with you and your child together. He's been lonely almost all his life until he met you.

You are his family, his everything. He promised that whatever happens, he'll crawl home to you...

#cod x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #call of duty fanfiction #cod headcanons #cod scenarios #alex keller x reader #konig x reader #keegan russ x reader #gary sanderson x reader #roach x reader #pregnant reader #afab reader #Aethelwyne Lia writes

[01zfan]

in the middle | j. sc & s.es

fwb!sungchan x ex-situationship!eunseok x fem. reader | 5k words

debated on calling this “between a rock and a hard place”. based on a request. this fic took everything out of me seriously.

contains: oral (fem. receiving), multiple orgasms, threesomes, unprotected sex, they’re fucking like crazy

my roommate just left

you read the text on your phone. you thought about all your possible options. you considered completely abandoning the errands you had on your to-do list. but if you didn’t get them done now, you never would. you knew that each time you saw sungchan it was an all day affair. so you didn’t send a text back until you threw your laundry in the dryer and cleaned the rest of the dishes.

be there in twenty minutes.

okay baby i’ll leave the door unlocked.

you would have to chide him later for calling you baby. sungchan liked to play with you in that way. he’d purposely ignore the rules you both set from the beginning of your arrangement. sometimes you think he liked it when you got frustrated with him, when you’d be a little mean and tell him what to do and what not to do. that’s how most guys his height were. the size and muscle was just for show, he liked being bossed around. 

sungchan also had the habit of calling you pet names in efforts to get you attached. he wanted you to be caught in the middle of being his girlfriend and friend, all the benefits but none of the work. you didn’t know much about sungchan’s life outside your arrangement with him, but you could tell he hasn’t been told no very much. you enjoyed the fact that he couldn’t get you hung up on him. once you realized it wasn’t so much about being your boyfriend but more-so you being his, denying him the right to call you pet names outside of the bedroom became satisfying. you showed up ten minutes later than when you said you would. setting up false expectations made you feel powerful, especially when he answers the door with his signature pouty face. 

seeing him lean against the doorframe trying to be casual about you showing up late made you smile.

“what’s so funny?” sungchan said, crossing him arms.

“nothing,” you say. you cross your arms too. “you gonna let me in?”

you don’t have to say anything else for sungchan to move out of the way. you walk into his apartment like you own the place, you seem to be there more than his elusive roommate. you think you’ve heard his name once but you haven’t seen his face at all. that didn’t bother you too much. the less people that knew about you and sungchan the better. 

“want some water? i made food too if you want some.” sungchan says. 

you can see the dishes piled in the sink. you shake your head, taking off your coat. sungchan is behind you in an instant, taking the jacket from you.

you and sungchan eventually end up on his couch. every time you come over you guys do this. it’s a routine; one you both are very dedicated to. you sit on the couch and he sits next to you on the other end. sungchan always extends his arm out along the back of the couch and you move over to this side. he puts his arm around you, and pulls you in closer. he picks a show, one that you both have had to restart a million times. eventually sungchan’s other arm finds its way on your body. he uses his hand to tilt your face towards his. he looks at with his big brown puppy eyes, mainly looking at your lips. you shamelessly look at his. when you move his hand to your hips he knows you’re ready.

sungchan moves you to straddle his lap with ease. you don’t mind the routine you have with sungchan. he’s tall, strong, handsome, and the perfect amount of ruinous. the amount where he’s a perfect person to have no strings attached hookups with while not having to worry about him violating the rules you set with him. except for the pet names. but you let it slide when you feel his hot tongue on your neck and when he whispers in your ear.

“i want you so bad, baby.” he says. 

you pull away and he gives you a big grin. the sarcastic toothy one, the one that tells you he knows he’s being defiant. 

you puts your hands on his knees and lean your body to one side. he still has your hands on your hips. another thing you liked about sungchan was that he didn’t know his own strength. he was so desperate with his grip on you that you could feel his fingers close to prodding your hip bones. you looked at sungchan, smiling that same toothy grin back at him.

“i’m your baby?” you ask innocently. 

sungchan nods immediately, his vice grip moving to your ass.

“can we go to your room?” you ask.

sungchan moves and you get ready to hop off the couch to follow him. instead, sungchan lifts your body over his shoulder and stands up from the couch. it happens so fast you let out a yelp when you’re hoisted into the air like you weigh nothing. you slap his back for picking you up so suddenly and in response he smacks your ass.

sungchan opens the door to his room and doesn’t waste a beat to throw you on his bed. it was moments like these that made you wonder why sungchan wanted you to be so bossy to him. he demonstrated his strength often but each time it surprised you. it took almost nothing for him to to toss and throw you, yet he was always hanging on your every word, every command.

“wasn’t that fun?” sungchan giggles at your shocked state.

you straighten your hair and clothes, trying to not look so jostled. when you move to the edge of the bed to take off your pants, sungchan joins you. he sits on the edge of the bed with you and starts kissing your neck. with a hand on his shoulder you brings him closer into your neck. his hand is over your center, cupping over the fabric that covers it. sungchan nips at your neck and then laughs when you let out a sigh.

“so jumpy babe.” sungchan sucks on your collarbone, moving your shirt down. 

“take it off for me.” you say, lifting your arms up. 

sungchan breaks away from your neck to help you out of your top. when the shirt is covering your head you can hear something outside, sounding like a lock clicking. as fast as the sound happens it’s out of your mind. sungchan doesn’t seem to notice either, too focused on getting you undressed. the shirt is halfway over your head when you see sungchan’s door swing open. through the fabric of the shirt you can see a tall figure stand in the doorway.

“sungchan you just can’t leave the dish—“ 

you knew who the voice belonged to without seeing him, you just couldn’t believe it. but when your shirt came all the way off, you couldn’t stop the confusion and shock from taking over your voice.

“eunseok?” you said.

you could hear a pen drop in the room. the silence was deafening. no one spoke until eunseok pointed a finger to you.

“this is the girl you were talking about?” eunseok looks over your body once before looking at sungchan.

you couldn’t stop looking at eunseok. you assumed sungchan was looking between the two of you trying to figure out the connection.

“you know eachother?” sungchan said. he looked at your shocked face, surprised that this is what renders you speechless. 

eunseok looks at you, checking to see if you will say anything. he looks at sungchan and lets out a tense breath.

“remember the girl from last summer?” eunseok says with his eyes closed. 

it was like a lightbulb went off over sungchan’s head. his eyes widen and you can feel his eyes burning in the side of your face.

“this is your ex?” sungchan puts his hand over his mouth. at the mentioning of ex you snap out of your shock.

“we were never together.” you say quickly. 

it’s true and not true at the same time. a situationship would be a better word to call it. you met eunseok through a mutual friend. quickly it became something you’d describe as physical but somewhere along the way it became romantic. eventually you were calling him your boyfriend despite him never asking or deserving that title. you gave yourself grace, you were young and horny and somewhat in love. you were able to break it off with eunseok before you got too hurt or too attached. ironically, your situation with eunseok was used as an example when you came up with the rules for your arrangement with sungchan.

“you called me your man all the time.” eunseok says back to you. “does she call you her man?” eunseok asks, pointing to sungchan now. you can feel your face getting hot. you are suddenly very aware of how you are barely clothed in front of your ex situationship and current hookup.

“she barely calls me sungchan.” he says, looking at you. eunseok laughs and leans against the doorframe.

“oh so you’re not good in bed?” eunseok asks sungchan. eunseok has a slight pout, like he’s pondering something. eunseok asked the question innocently, but you can feel the tension in the air go up ten notches. before you can tell eunseok it’s none of his business, sungchan speaks.

“she hasn’t ghosted me, so i know i’m better than you.” sungchan says nonchalantly. 

he leans back on the bed, tracing a hand on the opposite side of your body before he slightly pulls you into him. eunseok laughs, and walks towards you on the bed. you look up to him with wide eyes and he looks down at you. his hand goes to your cheek and you think about how you’ve been in this position with eunseok before, waiting for his next move.

“she ghosted me because it was too good right baby?” eunseok taps his index finger on your cheek. you can feel sungchan pull you into him more. “after the first time your were clinging to me like a little lost puppy.”

you wish you could deny the man that stands before you. but you recall the first time you had sex with him, the nonchalant guy who you had to make the first move on. you had no control over your actions anymore as you thought about the night he drew orgasm after orgasm out of you. just with eunseok’s hand on your cheek you remember all the fun you had with him, how he made you the most submissive you’ve ever been for a man. he was right that you ended things because it was too good, afraid that he would end up doing you worse than if you were alone. leaving him was the hardest decision you ever made, having to block him for your own sanity. when you nod your head yes to eunseok you can feel sungchan next to you stiffen.

“so mean baby. in front of your new fuck buddy too?” eunseok says. you turn to sungchan and see that he’s staring at eunseok now.

“she’s here for me eunseok. not you.” sungchan has his hand over your shoulder.

“you’re gonna be thinking about me the whole time aren’t you sweetheart?” eunseok still has his hand on your face. he looks like a dream in front of you. you try to gain your bearings, trying to sound confident.

“n-no. i’m with sungchan.” your accept that in your current situation a stutter can’t be controlled. 

eunseok uses his finger to tap on your chin, and you feel yourself instinctually wanting to open your mouth. usually in this position eunseok would press his the pad of his thumb on your tongue, or to stick his index finger into your mouth. you figured he liked seeing you gag on him.

“who’s bigger?” eunseok says. 

he talks to you in the voice he had when he wanted you to obey him, the one that made you always squirm when you had flashbacks to it. you can feel sungchan’s solid body next to you and you shake your head.

“i don’t know.” you say with wide eyes.

“who made you feel the best?” sungchan says.

sungchan speaking made you snap his head towards him. his angry expression towards eunseok is replaced with that smile, the one that made you know it was going to be a long day. you look to eunseok and then sungchan again. sungchan moves his hand to your head to tilt it, giving him access to your exposed neck.

“i-i don’t remember.” you stutter.

eunseok gets on his knees in front of you. you draw in a breath as he comes closer and closer to you. he uses his hands on the inside of your knees to push them apart. sungchan starts kissing your neck.

“what about i remind you?” eunseok says, slowly lowering his head. 

he looks you in your eyes one last time, waiting for your permission to continue. you nod your head as sungchan starts sucking harshly on your neck to leave a mark. eunseok ducks his head down to your heat and you don’t know what to do feeling two pairs of hands on you. sungchan moves behind you and brings your back to his chest. his hands feel you up, tweaking your nipples and caressing your hair while eunseok pushes your thighs apart.

“oh my god.” you moan feeling eunseoks familiar tongue on you. eunseok laughs and looks up past you, to make eye contact with sungchan.

“you remember now?” eunseok says “because she hasn’t forgotten.” eunseok says into your heat. 

your head lulls back against sungchan shoulder. he uses the opportunity to kiss your cheek. sungchan makes a show of playing with your boobs, like he is mocking eunseok for not having this type of access to you. eunseok responds by sucking on your clit. he brings a finger into your heat, pumping in and out quickly. you whimper pitifully, trying to hold onto anything to ground yourself.

“eunseok.” you say.

“i know,” he mockingly coos into your heat. “hold her tight.” he says to sungchan. 

eunseok picks up the pace and sungchan uses one arm to wrap around your body, caging your arms at your side. the inability to move heightens the sensation. you are aware that you’re now at the mercy of two large men and it makes you feel lightheaded. eunseok pulls you forward causing you to slip from a little from sungchan’s grip. sungchan gathers you up again and eunseok shoots him a look because he’s pulling you away from him. eunseok leans forward onto the bed to keep in contact with your clitoris.

“you gonna cum on his face?” sungchan asks into your hair. 

you nod and turn your head to face sungchan. he looks at you with hooded eyes and you can feel him twitch against your back. you must’ve been too focused on sungchan because eunseok loses his patience and pulls away to quickly slap your vagina. you yell in sungchan’s face but his expression doesn’t change. if anything his eyes become even more hooded at your unregulated action. sungchan starts to creep his hand down but before he can your releasing yourself over eunseok’s face. eunseok keeps you clean, licking up every drop of evidence that you came. he stands up from the floor and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“you remember now?” eunseok says smirking.

before you can nod, you feel sungchan flip you over so you’re on all fours. you look at eunseok from the new angle, upside down as you look at him from under your body. eunseok is replaced with sungchan as he bumps the other to the side. sungchan pushes you forward on the bed and you crawl trying to make room for him. sungchan is behind you, covering his digits in spit.

“watch this.” sungchan says to eunseok. 

sungchan gathers saliva in his mouth before spitting on your pussy. the impact has your stretching your arms out on the bed and going more into an arch. when sungchan lightly smacks your pussy you bring covers to your face to muffle your whine. when you peer down between your legs you see sungchan look to eunseok as they bask in your reaction. you can’t help but moan at the sight, seeing your two men try so hard to outperform the other. they hide their desperation under the guise of competition, but you know them. whoever you choose to be the ‘loser’ of tonight will think about it for the rest of their life, sulking around their shared apartment. it doesn’t matter to you who you pick, it will probably be determined purely on chance. it doesn’t matter because you are absolutely winning when sungchan puts his index finger inside of you.

“she likes it messy.” sungchan says matter-of-factly. 

eunseok scoffs at sungchan attempting to know you but works with sungchan to feel you up. both of their big hands roam the expanse of your body, eunseok spreadsingyour folds while sungchan fingers you. you put your hand behind you, grasping at nothing. eunseok gives you his hand and you hold it tight.

sungchan increases his speed as he places a sloppy kiss to your ass cheek. you squeeze eunseok’s hand when sungchan slaps the same place he kissed. you lurch forward but sungchan uses his arm to hold you place while he ravages you. it’s a mess to say the least, you can feel slick and spit roll down the back of your thighs. even though sungchan was messy, it usually wasn’t to this extent. he was determined to be the complete opposite of eunseok. you feel his hand pinch your clit and you let out a cry into the blanket.

“you’re gonna let him do that to you?” eunseok says. 

“mhm.” you whine into the blanket.

“he always talks about how you boss him around, but look at you now.” eunseok coos. 

at some point eunseok moved from beside sungchan to sit next to you on the bed. eunseok’s clothes were gone now too, but he didn’t touch himself. he used his hands to push hair out of your face and to rub your cheek. 

“so fucking docile.” sungchan murmurs before going back to your pussy. 

sungchan competes with you to drown out your moans with slurping sounds as he sloppily eats you out. the sound drives you crazy, and when sungchan slaps your ass again you come undone. eunseok holds your hands as you come in sungchan’s mouth, thighs twitching and you bucking backwards to grind on his tongue.

you let your body slide forward on the bed, two orgasms sucked out of you. the most you’ve ever done in one sitting was three, but you already feel spent from the never ending energy of the two competing men. you have a fleeting moment where you want to tell them to stop and decide the winner then and there but you want to see this through. you can already feel the anticipation building up again when eunseok guides you to to lay your back on the bed.

eunseok slots himself in between your legs and sungchan gets off the bed. you can hear clothes being removed and being thrown somewhere in the room. eungchan sits by your side, rubbing your arm. eunseok puts both your ankles behind his head. he uses an arm to straighten your legs, and brings his dick to your heat. you can feel the tip prodding at your entrance. you look at eunseok, waiting for him to fuck you and make up for lost time.

“what’s the safe word?” eunseok asks.

you look at sungchan and then eunseok. he givese you a withholding look, one that tells you that you won’t be getting anything until you answer him. you close your eyes.

“hibiscus” you say quietly.

“same word, huh?” eunseok laughs looking at sungchan’s expression. you hide your face in embarrassment but they are pulled away by sungchan.

“don’t hide, need to see you.” sungchan says and for the first time the two can agree on something. eunseok stares at you as he slides in, previous orgasms letting him bottom out with ease. you struggle to take it. your mouth opens with a silent whine.

“oh i know.” eunseok says. 

eunseok slowly drags out and the way your thighs are pushed together makes you feel every ridge. you dig your nails into sungchan’s hand, feeling like your getting split open. eunseok puts his spare hand on your tummy, pressing hard as he pushes back in.

“you feel me?” eunseok asks, laughing at your fucked out expression.

“so big.” you whimper.

“told you.” eunseok says to sungchan.

eunseok grabs your hand from sungchan’s grasp and puts it on your stomach where it was previously. he keeps his hand over yours and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed and you move without resistance. the palm of his hand overlaps the back of yours while he intertwines your fingers.

“missed your pussy.” eunseok says. you moan in response.

the gentle deep strokes turns to something faster. the pace causes your thighs to press together and slap against eunseok’s skin. your boobs move in tandem with his thrusts, you slowly begin losing your mind all over again. eunseok’s hand squeezes yours and you feel sungchan’s pair of hands return to your body. his touches are light as a feather, grazing over every part of your body. you can feel his fingertips run over your chest, your stomach, nose, everything. you feel sungchan all over you and you feel eunseok inside of you. 

“i missed your dick.” you say.

“oh i know sweetheart. i know.” eunseok says. he’s having trouble understanding what you say to him at this point. he’s getting lost in you, thinking about how sungchan has been fucking you this whole time. eunseok debates on giving you a baby, one that looks like him so you’ll never forget him. 

he opts to finish on your stomach, pulling out after he rubs your clit until your thighs close around his hand. high pitched squeaks fall from your mouth and eunseok can see slick glisten as it comes from you. you shake and then it subsides. eunseok swipes his finger down your slit and sucks on the digit, trying to remember until he can taste you again

you see sungchan looking over you when you come down from your high. a smile plays on his lips when he pinches your cheek. you are too exhausted to stop him, shaky hands still holding onto eunseok’s.

“you got one more in you? for me?” sungchan asks. 

his hand drifts down to your clit. instead of pinching it like he did before, he does a soft revolution. you’re guessing he does it to gauge your reaction, how sensitive you truly are. you squirm underneath his touch, and you hear eunseok gasp when you clench around his sensitive dick. eunseok pulls out and you look up to sungchan with pleading eyes. you don’t know what you’re begging for, but you still feel insatiable despite being three orgasms in. 

“i think you got one more in ya.” sungchan says.

he flips you over, putting you back in a doggy position. you hear eunseok scoff behind you, but you’re so focused on what sungchan is going to do to you that you don’t spare eunseok a glance. you think it’s about the position, eunseok asking sungchan if he’s a one trick pony. you almost object when you hear sungchan tell eunseok he can ask you later about all his other tricks.

sungchan’s hand splays across your lower back, helping your sweaty body go into a deeper arch. sungchan wastes no time putting a finger inside of you. a moan rips through you and you lean backwards, trying to grind on his digits.

just as quick as his fingers are inside of you, he pulls them out. sungchan uses his two hands on your ass to spread you and push you forward. you let yourself glide down on the bed, your lower half getting closer and closer to the sheets.

“lay across eunseok, baby.” sungchan says behind you. 

you have nothing left in you to tell him you aren’t his baby. maybe you are at this point. regardless, you listen to his request and immediately let your lower half drape across eunseok’s thighs. this angle helps you keep your ass elevated than the rest of your body and eunseok has a hand on your body to help maintain that arch. you look up at eunseok, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. he looks at you, then looks at your pussy. his eyes are dark as he looks at your womanhood, puffy and sensitive.

“such a good girl.” eunseok purrs. you nod your head, happy at to get the approval.

“don’t forget to say my name, okay?” sungchan says. you can hear the smirk behind his snide comment.

sungchan gets close to your body, so close that you can feel his shirt slightly touching your back. you think he has taken it off when you no longer feel it grazing your skin but you just see he has taken the bottom of his shirt and put it in his mouth. something about it is so hot, he want to fuck you so bad and has been so caught up in his stupid little competition he hasn’t even thought to get himself undressed. you think it’s a shame, you love seeing his chiseled body he hides with baggy clothes. but something is equally as intoxicating as only being able to get a peak of his body through the tiny portion of his shirt he has lifted up. you can see only a little bit of his abs, sleek from sweat. you think about how badly you want to touch his body when he uses his hand to guide himself into you. you’re no longer making sounds you recognize, letting out something between a moan and a cry when you feel how deep sungchan is reaching inside of you. 

he’s relentless, clapping his front against your ass. each time he bottoms out he grinds inside of you. you’re seeing white when he picks up the speed, moving his hips languidly into you. sungchan comes close pressing his body to you. you can feel how solid he is against you beneath the shirt. he comes all the way to your ear, taking your earlobe into his mouth and laving his hot tongue around the area.

“you like it don’t you, sweetheart?” he whispers into your ear. 

nothing comes out of your mouth except for drool. it gets on eunseok’s legs as he watches sungchan fuck you.

“you usually have so much to say, honey.” sungchan says. 

he kisses your cheek and you strain your neck so he can kiss more of you.

“such a cutie.” sungchan giggles as he pulls back his hips. “can you say my name?”

“s-sungchan.” you pull together the last of your bearing to say his name. 

sungcahn picks up the speed, fucking you into the mattress. you hold onto the sheets and you manage to perk your ass up even more. you’re so close and sungchan knows it, bringing a hand to your neck. he doesn’t squeeze, only placing it there as a reminder. it drives you crazy, knowing he has the power to close his hand around your neck. sungchan looks over to eunseok, watching you two like a hawk.

“say my name again.”

“sungchan.” you moan. you say his name a thousand more times as you cum around him, fourth orgasm making you see stars and leaves you shaking like a leaf. you are in space as your orgasm washes over you. sungchan’s thrust get sloppy quickly as he finishes too. he says your name mixed in with the petnames you chastise him for and his sweat seeps through his shirt, making your back even more sweaty.

sungchan is still inside of you when you relax on eunseok’s legs. you try to fight sleep, but the decreasing rate of his heart and steady breaths slowly tells you to close your eyes. you are spent in every sense of the word, going to sleep with sungchan still inside of you.

“eunseok,” sungchan whispers, trying not to wake you up. eunseok looks from his spot on the bed to your sleeping face “is she asleep?”

eunseok nods his head. 

sungchan sighs contently, slightly lifting you so he can pull out. sungchan watches eunseok slip out from under you and leave the room. sungchan carefully moves your body to lay on the bed next to him. he looks at your serene face and moves hair out of the frame of your face, kissing your forehead. sungchan tries to catch his breath, mind still reeling from the last couple hours. he’s enjoying his alone time with you when eunseok comes back into the room with a warm rag. the two work together to wipe you down, you wake up in a daze when they reach your core.

“it’s sensitive.” you sleepily whine.

“shhh go back to sleep.” the two men say in unison. they look at each other and the air becomes competitive again. sungchan gets the urge to draw you a bath and eunseok suddenly wants to cook you a three course meal for when you inevitably wake up hungry.

they continue wiping you down and they sungchan tucks you in. they close sungchan’s door behind them and they sit on the couch in the living room while you rest. eunseok and sungchan falls into their usual roommate routine. sungchan presses play on another show and eunseok grabs a drink from the fridge. the two sit in silence for a moment, then eunseok turns towards sungchan.

“i was better.”

#requestz #01zfan: eunseok #01zfan: sungchan #eunseok smut #sungchan smut #riize smut

[colonelarr0w]

Just thinking about tracing Suguru's scar.

Word Count - 0.9k

A/N - I dedicate this piece to the Anon that flooded my inbox with 30+ messages telling me how it was canon that Gojo didn't have any scars.

Read the Gojo version here!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

GETO never let you see his scars after he received them — suddenly he was covering himself up with thick sweaters and baggy clothes. You noticed … you always noticed.  

But you said nothing, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to something that he was very clearly adamant on keeping hidden.  

One night, however, your curiosity got the better of you. You didn’t mean to pry as much as you did, but you desperately wanted Geto to know that you weren’t going to suddenly start looking at him differently because of some raised skin — you wanted him to be comfortable around you. 

You wanted things to be like they were before. 

He was different. You could see it as clear as day.  

His hugs didn’t last as long as they once did, instead of bear hugs that he wouldn’t pull away from unless you did first, you received a half-assed sideways squeeze.  

It felt like he didn’t want to be touching you in fear of contaminating you, like you would catch some otherworldly disease that didn’t yet have a cure. It hurt you – it stung in a way that nothing else could compare to.  

When you sat on the couch beside him, he would scoot a few inches away from you. 

When you laid down to take a nap beside him, he’d offer you only his pinky and nothing else.  

When you went to embrace him, his body would angle itself so that his shoulder rested against your chest.  

“Suguru?” you whisper to him under the cloak that night provided, turning to face him properly. He mimics you, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with the use of his elbow, palm resting against the side of his face.  

“Hmm?” he hums in response, eyes studying your expression. His face pinches in slight concern at your narrowed eyes and furrowed brows — something was very clearly upsetting you.  

“Are we okay?”  

He pauses, staring quizzically at you as if you had somehow sprouted another head. His free hand extends, finger rubbing affectionately against your cheek.  

“Course we are. Why do you ask?” he murmurs, breath catching in his throat as you push yourself to sit up. Your legs cross, one ankle over the other while you maintain eye contact with Geto.  

Your mind reminds you of what he had been doing; the behaviors that he had been displaying. What wasn’t he telling you? 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not wanting to accidentally make a big deal out of something that could otherwise be nothing. 

“What are you hiding from me?” you whisper, already feeling tears build on your waterline at Geto’s shocked (and worried) expression. He looked so conflicted, so unsure that it made your heart crack.  

And even though he wants to believe that he has no idea what you’re referencing … he does.  

He looks away from you, and even though it’s only for a moment, it only makes your heart sink deeper into your stomach. “It’s—“ 

“Please don’t sit there and tell me it’s nothing,” you practically beg, voice cracking. Geto lets out a small sigh through his nose, adjusting himself so that he sits in front of you.  

“(Y/N)—“ he begins, but the way that you shake your head at him only makes him feel guilty, “—are you sure?” 

Your silence tells him everything that he needs to know.  

Slowly, and albeit very hesitantly, Geto lifts his shirt, revealing an ‘X’ shaped scar on his chest. Your breath hitches at the sight of it, the sound making Geto flinch.  

He tosses the shirt aside with a barely audible plop, not daring to make eye contact with you in fear of what expression you wore. So instead of glancing at you, Geto forces his eyes shut.  

They shoot right back open at the feeling of your fingers lightly tracing his chest.  

Shocked, his eyes flicker up to watch you. Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together, a worried indent to your forehead as your nails slowly move over the raised skin.  

You don’t say anything to him, not that you really need to. You knew that this — this gentle touch — was what Geto needed. He didn’t need half-assed reassurances that carried no weight. 

No, what he needed to know was that you were here, right with him, at his side — you weren’t going anywhere.  

Your finger reaches the end of where his scar slightly raises his skin. You shift forward, laying your palm against the center of the ‘X’, feeling Geto’s heart thumping against your fingers.  

He says nothing. You say nothing.  

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own. He returns your softened glance.  

“You’re so handsome Sugu … you know that, right?” you whisper tenderly, finally breaking the silence. The sigh he lets out in response is shaky, tear-filled.  

Before Geto has the chance to shake his head, your lips are on his scar, the softness of you contrasting greatly with the roughness of his skin.  

You glance back up at him, letting out a shocked squeak as he tugs you into his arms. Your head tucks into the crook of his neck, arms winding around his midsection.  

His breath shudders as his nose tucks into your hair. “Thank you.” 

You smile against him, turning your head and laying a chaste kiss against the skin of his throat. Your arms momentarily tighten around him, eyes closing in content. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too angel … thank you.” 

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[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [20]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 19 | Fic Masterlist | Spinoff Masterlist

San bowed his head as he absorbed the Queen's narration of the fourth prince's attempt to steal the general's wife during his absence at war, fearing the wrath of His Majesty and reeling from his own shock. Had he been aware of Prince Yeosang's plans beforehand, the royal secretary might have prevented you from attending the supposed birthday banquet in the first place.

The entire palace staff in the grand hall was startled as the King slammed his hand against the armrest of his throne, "The fourth prince did what?! This is outrageous! I've warned you countless times about spoiling him too much, my Queen."

Rubbing his temples, His Majesty shook his head and let out a heavy sigh, "We'll deal with him later. For now, confine him to his private chambers. He's only allowed in the royal library for his studies. The last thing we need is for him to unexpectedly show up at General Park's wedding and cause chaos."

Lowering her head, Her Majesty conceded, "Yes, Your Majesty. It's my responsibility. I know I should have been firmer with him."

"We're fortunate Lady Park handled the situation gracefully. I can see why Seonghwa is so enamoured with her," The King remarked with a slight smile before addressing San, "Secretary Choi, ensure that all funding for Prince Yeosang is withheld until further notice. Given his rebellious nature, he would likely find a way to disobey orders. Without financial resources, let's see what he can attempt."

As the Queen's lips parted to plead for leniency, His Majesty silenced her with a stern glare, leaving no room for argument. The weight of guilt settled heavily in her chest, a stark reminder of her own role in enabling the prince's behaviour. She couldn't deny that she simply wanted her fourth son to find happiness, but she knew deep down that her indulgence had contributed to his disobedient nature.

With a heavy heart, she reminded herself that this was not even the prince's harshest punishment yet. She could only imagine what further consequences awaited him at the hands of his father.

The royal secretary bowed in acknowledgement, "Yes, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

The King straightened up, his demeanour shifting as he moved on from the matter concerning his son, "It would be great if you could visit the general's estate and inquire about his well-being on my behalf. Once he's feeling all better, arrange a meeting promptly so we can proceed with his wedding ceremony without delay."

With a final bow, San prepared to take his leave, but before he could depart, the ageing monarch extended a hand to stop him, "Wait, Secretary Choi! There is one last matter," His Majesty interjected, "Please extend my sincere apologies to General Park for my son's behaviour and express gratitude for his dedicated service to the nation. See to it that we cover all his medical expenses."

"Of course, my King."

The royal secretary stood before the entrance of his friend's estate the next day, feeling a slight hesitation before announcing himself. While His and Her Majesty bore some responsibility for the fourth prince's actions, San couldn't shake the feeling of personal responsibility. After all, he had been the one to prepare you for the supposed royal event, unknowingly sending you into the lion's den. He couldn't help but feel like a bad friend to Seonghwa, questioning whether he had done enough to protect the general's wife in his absence.

"I'm sorry to intrude on your moment of reflection, but how much longer do you plan to linger by the entrance, sir?" The private investigator's voice snapped San out of his trance, prompting him to blink rapidly as he recognised the familiar figure leaning against the main gate, eyeing him with curiosity.

Clearing his throat, San composed himself, "O-oh, hello! I, uh... I was just about to enter. It's nice to properly meet you, Investigator Jung. My name is—"

"Royal Secretary Choi San, I know. We're all aware, don't worry! It's an honour to be recognised by you, sir. Come on, you must be here to see General Park. Let me show you to him; Jongho's occupied at the moment," Wooyoung led the way, the secretary noting his talkative nature, "You won't believe what he's up to right now; he's such a peculiar kid. Takes dedication to a whole new level, I'll tell you that..."

At a certain point, San tuned out the rambling, focusing instead on mentally preparing himself to face you and your husband again. Would Seonghwa be displeased with him for not coming to his wife's rescue when she needed it the most? He wouldn't be surprised at all if the general were to be truly upset with him.

Before he could further overthink it, they arrived at the living hall where the couple was seated and engaged in conversation with the famous dressmaker Kim and skilled Physician Jung. Your husband looked up as if sensing his presence, beaming, "Ah, you're here, San! Come join us. We knew you'd be showing up sometime this week. I assume His Majesty has received my letter, yes?"

The secretary was taken aback, to say the least. First of all, he didn't think he deserved the warm welcome, and secondly, he had believed Seonghwa's injury to be severe, so seeing him looking almost back to his usual self shocked him. Though the older man appeared a bit paler than usual, San was primarily relieved to see his friend alive and well. Memories of the panic he had felt upon first receiving news of the general's poisoning flooded back to him.

Oh, thank god he's okay.

Greeting everyone in the hall with a polite bow, he cleared his throat, "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you alright, General Park. But before I deliver His Majesty's message, I feel compelled to offer my apologies to you and Lady Park."

Confusion creased your brow as you asked, "Whatever for, San?"

With a sigh, he admitted, "You're both too kind for your own good. I should have been more vigilant and prevented Lady Park from attending Prince Yeosang's birthday banquet in the first place. If only I had intervened, she wouldn't have gone through—"

You interjected with a gentle chuckle, "Please, don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. If you had, I'm certain you would have acted to prevent it."

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, adding, "San, you're far too hard on yourself. You have nothing to be sorry for; you've been nothing but a great help to my wife. Now, please, take a seat and join us."

Amidst the comforting smiles around him, the secretary finally eased into his seat. Eunsook promptly served him tea and refreshments, signalling the start of their discussions. San's revelation caught everyone off guard since they had yet to receive word from Mingi: the war had ended, and Ruhon had surrendered. As they exchanged incredulous glances, a wave of relief washed over them, followed by cheers of joy. The general and his wife shared a meaningful gaze, hands clasped together as you exchanged soft smiles. San understood the significance of that moment—the two could finally proceed with the long-awaited wedding ceremony.

The worst is finally over.

Unable to contain his curiosity, San finally inquired about how the general had sustained his injury. Your husband recounted the harrowing experience, his friends visibly wincing as they imagined the scenario. Your heart ached as you listened. Sensing the tension, Yunho jumped in, reassuring everyone that the injury wasn't severe and that with proper rest, Seonghwa would be back to full health in a matter of weeks.

"That's a relief. Once you're feeling better, we'll arrange a meeting with Their Majesties to plan your wedding. That's the main reason His Majesty sent me here today, aside from checking on you," The hall buzzed with excitement, but the general sensed that the secretary had more to say, "Is there something else, San?"

Taking a deep breath, San continued, "The King also wants to extend his sincerest apologies for the fourth prince's actions. As part of his punishment, Prince Yeosang has been confined to his private chambers, and his funds have been frozen. His Majesty is concerned about him causing any disruptions at your wedding."

"Oh, good riddance!" While Hongjoong and Wooyoung clapped with Yunho silently judging them from his corner, you appeared unsettled by the news. Feeling your unease, your husband tightened his grip on your hand and asked, "What's wrong, my love?"

The news of the prince's fate left you with mixed emotions. You felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of him being barred from your wedding. Despite his actions, you couldn't deny that he was still a friend to you and a part of you felt sorry for the struggles he faced all his life due to his birthmark. Understanding the complexities of his situation, you empathised with his confusion and desperation that stemmed from his severe lack of experience with love.

With a small gulp, you turned to your husband, voicing, "Hwa, I... I think I'd still want His Highness at our wedding, if he wished to attend," Surprised looks crossed the faces of everyone in the hall. As you explained your reasoning, they began to understand your perspective. After a moment of contemplation, Seonghwa lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss onto the back of your palm with a reassuring smile, "Fair enough. If that's truly what you want, we'll discuss it with the King."

In keeping with his promise, you found yourself seated beside your husband as you faced His and Her Majesty for the first time a few weeks later, now that he was fully recovered. Sensing your nervousness about the meeting, the royal couple greeted you warmly, swiftly putting you at ease. After exchanging pleasantries, the general wasted no time in making his request.

"My King, we've heard about the punishment for the fourth prince," He began, "But my wife and I would like to request that you at least allow His Highness to attend our wedding if he wishes."

Confusion flickered across His Majesty's face, "You do? But why?" He inquired. The Seonghwa he once knew would have been furious and unforgiving. It seemed Lady Park had a positive influence on him.

Feeling it was only right for you to respond since it was your personal request, you gathered your thoughts before speaking.

"Your Majesty, I understand that Prince Yeosang's actions may seem outrageous from an outsider's perspective. However, I believe His Highness has endured a painful life, facing discrimination due to his birthmark. It's clear he mistook kindness for love, given his limited experiences. Despite his mistakes, he remains a dear friend to me. It would be meaningful to have him at our celebration, if he chooses to attend. I hope you can understand, Your Majesties. I apologise if I've spoken too much and am overstepping boundaries."

As your words sank in, a wave of introspection washed over the King. For the first time, he found himself reflecting on his relationship with Yeosang. Had he been too harsh on his son? Had he failed to understand the pain his son bore due to his birthmark? The King couldn't shake the feeling of guilt as he realised that he may have viewed his son more as a burden than a beloved child. Perhaps there were times when he had even considered the prince's refusal to marry as a personal affront.

The sudden realisation left the King feeling conflicted and remorseful. He wondered if he had been a horrible father, too absorbed in his duties as a monarch to truly understand his son's struggles. It was a sobering moment for him, realising that he may have overlooked his son's pain and loneliness. Was this why the Queen had been so persistent in advocating leniency towards Yeosang? Was she trying to make up for his shortcomings as a father? These questions weighed heavily on his mind as he grappled with his newfound awareness of his own failings.

His and Her Majesty exchanged a meaningful glance. Suddenly, they understood why the fourth prince would mistake his gratitude towards you for love. After all, you had shown him a kindness and compassion he had rarely experienced, even from his own family.

Beginning to feel anxious at the royal couple's silence, you awaited their response with bated breath, with Seonghwa ready to support you if needed. To your relief, they smiled warmly at you.

"Please don't apologise for that, Lady Park," They reassured you, "You're right; perhaps we've been too harsh on him all this while. If having him at your wedding is what you wish, we shall allow it."

"Thank you, Your Majesties."

The Queen sighed softly before adding, "But whether or not he wishes to attend is ultimately his decision. Let's hope he chooses to join us for your sake."

You nodded in understanding, "Of course, I completely understand."

As the preparations for your wedding ceremony unfolded, time seemed to pass in a blur. Traditionally, weddings entail two parts: the first at the bride's home, where the couple honours her ancestors and family, and the second at the groom's home for the same purpose. However, due to your circumstances, with no family home for you and Seonghwa having little connection to his parents or ancestors, your wedding would be simplified, taking place solely within the palace grounds, where the royal family would also be able to attend, given that most of them are not allowed to leave the place.

In no time, you found yourself comfortably seated in one of the palace chambers, which had been graciously lent to you for the day. Hongjoong immediately began working on perfecting your look, with Eunsook and a team of palace maids assisting him.

You couldn't help but marvel at the exquisite hanbok now adorning your figure. Unlike the traditional red hanbok worn by most brides, this one was a stunning combination of white and gold. It was a testament to the dressmaker's dedication to his friend's request to make you the most beautiful woman in all of Joseon.

Instead of the usual red flower, Hongjoong meticulously painted a gold flower on your forehead to complement your exquisite hanbok. You admired how perfectly it matched your outfit and the gold accessories adorning your hair. While part of you wondered if it was appropriate to outshine the royals, as the dressmaker had emphasised countless times, another part of you chose to revel in the admiration you would receive. You couldn't believe how far you'd come from being the scared girl who once endured disdainful glances and disrespect before marrying Seonghwa.

Reflecting on your journey, you felt grateful for the twists and turns that had brought you to this moment. Perhaps Jinjoo was right; you were quite thankful to your family for orchestrating your union with the general. Without them, you wouldn't be here, basking in the happiness you had finally found.

I guess we're even now, father.

Noticing your silence and distant gaze in the mirror's reflection, the dressmaker lightly nudged you on the shoulder, "Well? How do you like this look, my lady? Please don't tell me you're having second thoughts about standing out now. I've spent the past month working tirelessly on this hanbok—"

You giggled and offered a soft smile to your friend, "Don't worry, Hongjoong. It's perfection. For once, I think it's okay for me to outshine even the princesses. After all, it's my wedding ceremony, and I'll only be getting married once."

His grin widened proudly as he saw you slowly shedding your old self, no longer the timid girl he first met, "Damn right, it's perfection. I create only that and nothing less," He joked before turning serious, "Listen, I just want you to know how proud I am of you. Seonghwa's a dear friend to me, and I honestly would've thrown a bigger tantrum than he did if he had been arranged to marry some spoiled brat. You don't know how happy I am that you've found each other. But if that idiot does anything to upset you again, you better tell me."

You chuckled through your tears, your throat tightening at his heartfelt words, "You bet I will. Thank you, Hongjoong."

He panicked when he noticed your wet eyes, "Hey, hey, hey. Don't you dare start crying, woman. If you cry, I'll cry too. And trust me, that's not a good look for either of us. Plus, you can't ruin your makeup!"

His jest seemed to do the trick, eliciting another round of laughter from you. Fussing over you one last time, he noticed the palace staff at the entrance signalling it was time for you to be on standby. Gently grasping your shoulders, he beamed at you like a proud father, "Are you ready, Lady Park?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

With the nervous beat of your heart echoing in your ears, you were guided to the main hall, where the rituals would soon unfold, with Eunsook at your side. Hongjoong had departed after ensuring you looked flawless, joining the other wedding guests. As you reached the waiting area, where final checks would be made before your grand entrance and your first meeting with your husband today, your steps faltered.

While the head maid busied herself tidying your hair and smoothing the creases in your hanbok, you gulped, "Eunsook, t-tell me... this isn't a dream, is it?"

The elderly woman giggled, gently taking hold of your hands, "Are you still asking me that, mistress? Do you remember the first time you asked me that question?"

You nodded, reminiscing about the first time you had allowed the maids to bathe you after Seonghwa had discovered your scars. So much has changed since then. Though you weren't the same person you once were, a small part of you still harboured a fear that this all might be too good to be true. It felt like a long dream, and you couldn't shake the worry that you would one day wake up back in the hellhole you once called home.

Giving your hand a comforting squeeze, she smiled, "Well, I'm here to reassure you once more that this is all very real. Perhaps you fear losing the happiness you've found and you're not alone in that. Master feels the same way, so do all of us at the estate. We all fear losing the happiness that you've brought into our lives. I hope you haven't forgotten what I've said to you: you are our light and our hope. You're incredibly important to all of us. You still are, and always will be."

"She's right, you know?"

A familiar deep voice interrupted, startling both you and Eunsook as an unexpected figure appeared behind you. Surprised, you turned to find Prince Yeosang standing there, arms casually intertwined behind his back, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed your reaction.

"Y-Your Highness?" You stammered, half-expecting his absence.

He continued, "You should've seen General Park earlier as they got him dressed. All he cared about was how you were doing. I guess that's what you meant by true love, huh? I wish it were just a dream for me, but it's not. So, don't you worry, Lady Park, this is all very real. I didn't give up on you for you to doubt this reality. Please make my choice worth it and be happy, okay?"

Relief flooded through you, reassured by his acceptance of your new chapter, "I promise I will make it worth it. Thank you, my prince, for choosing to be here today and for your kind words." You replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

He grinned in response, "Of course, wouldn't miss my first and only friend's wedding for the world," With a playful wink, he gestured towards the palace staff entering to usher you out, "Now hurry and get out there, don't make him wait any longer."

At last, all is right in the world.

Returning his smile with gratitude, you took a deep breath before stepping forward. As you walked out, you felt a newfound readiness wash over you. You were prepared now; ready to formally be wedded to Park Seonghwa, not out of obligation, but out of pure love for him. You were ready to be the wife he needed, the shoulder he could lean on when the weight of his responsibilities grew heavy. You were ready to be his home, his refuge, ready to be everything to him, just as he was everything to you.

As Seonghwa stepped out from his side of the waiting area, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you approaching from the opposite end. Each time he laid eyes on you, he thought you couldn't possibly become more beautiful, yet you continued to prove him wrong. Hongjoong had outdone himself once again; you looked more majestic than any royalty he had ever seen.

You stood out among the crowd, exuding grace and elegance in your one-of-a-kind hanbok. As you glided toward him, he felt overwhelmed by your beauty. But it wasn't just the general who was stunned; every guest at the ceremony had their jaws drop in awe at your ethereal appearance. Those seeing you for the first time now realised the whispers and rumours about your beauty were true. Truly, you looked like an angel descended from the heavens.

As the rituals unfolded, requiring you and Seonghwa to stand across from each other and perform a series of bows as instructed by the wedding officiator, each gesture symbolising a different aspect of your commitment to each other, you both remained focused on each other. Despite the lengthy and tedious proceedings, all you could see was one another as you patiently waited for it all to be over.

The guests cooed in anticipation as it was time for you and your husband to exchange a cup of wine, the act symbolising longevity and fertility. You blushed lightly as you heard Wooyoung among the crowd squealing, only to be smacked silent by Jongho and Yunho who stood by his side.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the seemingly endless rituals were concluded. You and the general bowed together a few more times: once to His and Her Majesty, once to the gods, and once to the guests. With that, the ceremony was complete, and you could finally bask in the joy of being officially united as husband and wife.

After the two of you expressed gratitude to the King and Queen for their assistance in making the wedding possible, the feast began. As neither you nor Seonghwa had any family present, you were naturally surrounded by your closest companions, the guys. Your husband took the opportunity to introduce you to the only friend of his whom you had yet to meet.

Grateful for his presence, you smiled warmly at the strategist, "Thank you for always looking out for my husband, Officer Song."

Mingi grinned bashfully, his cheeks tinged with a slight blush. He still seemed taken aback by your beauty, "Not at all, my lady. It's General Park who has been looking out for me all this while."

Seonghwa smirked knowingly, giving the taller man a playful nudge, "Thanks again for coming, man. A little birdie told me you've reunited with a special someone. Can we expect a wedding invite soon?"

The guys around the table teased with mischievous oohs as Mingi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I don't know, hyung-nim. I'm working on it. But let's not talk about me, it's your big day!"

Hongjoong, however, wasn't having it, "Oh, come on, don't you dare change the subject! We need details about this mysterious lady!" He insisted, eager for gossip. The other guys excitedly chimed in, urging the officer to spill the beans about the royal physician who had captured his attention for years.

Amidst their playful interrogation of Mingi, you glanced around the room, curious to see if the fourth prince was still present. Catching sight of him, you noticed he was discreetly making his way toward the exit. Sensing your gaze, he turned, meeting your eyes. He offered you a genuine smile and a final nod before vanishing from view.

May happiness find you, Your Highness.

The remainder of the ceremony proceeded seamlessly, thanks to the meticulous arrangements made by the palace staff. As night fell, you returned to Seonghwa's private chambers, where the two of you would share a meal and some drinks before... going to bed. Your heart pounded with nervousness, fully aware of the significance of the evening; you would both be expected to consummate your marriage tonight.

"My love, are you feeling alright?" You blinked rapidly, coming back to reality as your husband waved his hand in front of your face to grab your attention. You nodded quickly and resumed eating, trying to appear casual, "Y-yes, I'm fine, Hwa. Don't worry about me."

But the general was more perceptive than you realised. He could sense your unease, especially as the meal was drawing to a close. With a soft smile, he set down his wine glass and reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "Why do you bother lying to me, you silly girl? Did you think I would be disappointed in you?"

He knew he had guessed correctly when your chewing momentarily paused. Shifting his hand to cup your cheek, he gently guided you to meet his warm gaze, "What do you take me for, hm? We don't have to do anything tonight if you're not ready. I can wait, I'll wait for as long as you need," With a tender kiss on your forehead, he rose from his seat, "I'll get the maids to prepare the House of Lotus for you."

Feeling deeply touched by his understanding, you realised how foolish you had been to once fear the possibility of him hurting you. Truthfully, it wasn't that you didn't want to deepen your intimacy with him; rather, you were scared. He would be the first man to see all of you, every scar on your body, and you feared what he might think, feared letting him down. But his love for you reminded you of his kindness and brought you a newfound confidence.

Before he could leave, you panicked and reached for his wrist, stopping him in his tracks, "No, Hwa, please don't. I want to... I-I want to stay with you tonight."

Kneeling before you, he gently took your hands in his, "Are you sure, my love? You don't have to force yourself—"

You cut him off by pressing your lips firmly against his. He responded almost immediately, and you smiled at the small whine he let out as he chased after your lips when you pulled away. Whispering, you said, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to stay with you, Park Seonghwa. You're not getting rid of me tonight, or ever."

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he immediately captured your lips in a deep kiss, one passionate enough to leave you dizzy. With his guidance, you rose from your seat, your lips still connected, and he lifted you into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards his bed. Both your hearts raced as you broke the kiss to catch your breath, panting as he gently set you down.

Your breath caught as you leaned against the pillows behind you, trapped between his arms as before, reminiscent of the interrupted moment with Hongjoong. However, this time, it wasn't you who halted the moment. The general's gaze turned serious as he locked eyes with you, his voice low, "Last chance. We can still stop if you want to change your mind. Because if we go any further from here, I'm afraid I won't be able to hold myself back."

Cupping his face, you leaned in to kiss him softly, murmuring, "I love you, Hwa." If that wasn't enough to convey your feelings, you guided his hands to the ribbon securing the outer layer of your hanbok, silently granting him permission to undress you.

The first time he had aggressively torn your clothing was a mistake he regretted deeply. Now, he approached it with care, delicately untying the ribbon and holding his breath as he removed the garment, exposing your shoulders once more. The faint traces of your old scars were visible, but they didn't faze him. Tilting your chin up, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, "You're so beautiful, my wife. I love you too."

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your eyes fluttered close as he kissed you again, banishing all previous worries from your mind. When he pulled away, his lips trailed down your neck until they reached your scars. Gently pushing some hair away from his face, you stroked his head affectionately, watching as he showered each mark with kisses. As his hand hovered over the ribbon securing the inner layer of your hanbok, he looked up at you one last time, knowing there would be no turning back from this moment onward.

"I'll be gentle, my love, I promise."

"I know, Hwa, I trust you."

That night, you and Seonghwa became lost in each other, the boundaries between you fading away as you become one for the first time. In each other's arms, you discovered a love deeper than you ever thought possible. You found yourself no longer able to picture your life without him at this point.

Reflecting on your journey together, you marvelled at how much he had changed since you first met. Back then, you could never have imagined that he would come to love you so deeply, nor could you have anticipated the depth of your own feelings for him. Now, as you lay intertwined with him in the quiet of the night, you knew that you had arrived at your destination. It had been a long journey, filled with obstacles and challenges, but in the end, you found it.

You had finally found the way to his heart.

Y'all, I hope this one didn't disappoint! The pressure of knowing this was the final part was so SO REAL. Maybe it's my insecurities kicking in, but I genuinely hope this meets expectations!😭

Also, I know the story is completed but I have good news! I've decided to do some fluff-filled bonus chapters because I'm well aware this is barely enough to make up for all the angst I've put y'all through HAHA if you're not on the tag list and would like to be tagged for any future bonus content, just leave a comment to let me know!

Whoo, it's been quite the roller coaster ride now, hasn't it? If you've made it this far, I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story! From the bottom of my heart, thank you all so much for reading and as always, please let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/3): @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified @scuzmunkie @http-gyu @mentoslol @atinyreads @angel-hyuckie @anxiousskylar @onedumbho3 @narashii @ddaeing @sansaurora9904 @sohnfile @scarfac3 @dreamingofyeo @puppyminnnie @tinyteezer @vantediary @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @aliona124754 @bts-army380 @lilactangerine @atinyniki @pay13 @1117promises @xoxkii @st4rhwa @hikarii02 @nescaffei @xdolls-crownx @ashrocker123 @skzline @minkiflwr @starssongs98 @baeksofty @skz1-4-3 @kawaiikels @madnpan @en-happiness @cheolliehugs @persnyako @startinystay @chngbnwf @fatspecimen @christinerose380 @stfu-rina @kyukyustar @taytayy178 @appleschre @brielle-in-the-galaxy @laurenwidjaja @yangwonielvrs @n1k1mura @idkwgoh @loveateez @linosllvr

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

[apuckishwit]

When Your Boyfriend's a Reformed Mean Girl

100 percent inspired by this tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTR75sjkf/

Time seems to do wierd things for Eddie Munson.

It's something Steve has gotten used to, in the year they've been dating. Eddie is attentive and affectionate, always makes sure Steve needs are being met, always goes the extra mile to let Steve know how much he loves him, how much he cherishes their time together. In many ways, he's the best partner Steve's ever had.

Just...sometimes things like approaching deadlines and important dates seem to literally not register in his brain until it's almost too late. And not even then, sometimes.

Eddie acknowledges that it's a problem. He puts every effort into finding workarounds. There is a calendar hanging at both his (brand new, government-funded) trailer and Steve's house, hanging right by the door with color-coded schedules and a pack of Post-It notes and a cup of pens sitting on a little table below it in case something changes or comes up. Steve has a dedicated half hour every night where he's allowed to remind Eddie of things they have coming up, or ask if they've been added to the calendar and Eddie is one hundred percent not allowed to gripe about being nagged in that thirty minutes. Not that he would, because most of the time there's at least one, "Oh, shit, forgot about that." When something slips through the cracks, he apologizes promptly and sincerely if it's something that affects someone other than him and he is always trying to do better.

Steve understands. Hell, after as many concussions as he's had, details get away from him too sometimes. There's several color-coded blocks on the calendar for Steve, as well. Sometimes, Eddie just forgets things despite his best efforts.

But their anniversary? The date that Steve has been carefully planning for almost a month to celebrate their first (of hopefully, many) year together as a couple? Really?

Eddie is going to be horrified.

He is going to feel so bad, and so guilty, and he is absolutely going to go all out to make it up to Steve. Steve knows this. He knows Eddie loves him, and that Eddie was looking forward to tonight as much as he was, and that this is just an instance of Eddie's brain betraying him, and not him actively trying to hurt Steve, or be dismissive of him. Eddie is going to feel awful when he realizes that he stood Steve up on their one-year anniversary to fight imaginary dragons with the boys. Hell, the boys are probably going to feel awful when they realize they gave Eddie something else to focus on in the lead-up to his one-year anniversary.

Well. Dustin, Lucas, and Will are going to feel awful. Mike will probably think it's hilarious.

The point is, Steve knows Eddie didn't do this on purpose, and it's not that Eddie doesn't value his time with Steve enough to remember the date, and so he's merely irritated. Maybe a little exasperated. Not truly angry.

All he has to do is radio over to Wheeler's place and remind Eddie what the date is. His boyfriend will literally drop everything, will probably not even bother to pack up his precious miniatures and dice before he's tearing out of the driveway and breaking every traffic law imaginable to get to Steve's house. Steve doesn't actually want Eddie to get a ticket or anything, though. Besides.

He's feeling a little petty.

There's steaks waiting to be tossed on the grill, twice-baked potatoes in the oven, and a fucking homemade chiffon cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream chilling in the fridge. Eddie's gift is sitting on the counter, in an elegant little gift bag tied with black ribbon.

"Hey Rob, you wanna come over for dinner?" he says into his walkie, deciding to let Fate decide if his boyfriend is listening and catches a clue.

"Do I get a piece of that cake you made?" Robin replies immediately, amusement already dancing in her voice because she's his (platonic) soulmate and she can read his mind.

"You can take the leftovers home," he says.

And then his (romantic) soulmate, who can usually read his mind, comes over the channel as well. "Have fun, babe!" Eddie says brightly. "This is probably going to run later than I thought. I'll probably just pick you up for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. "Okay."

"Love you!" Eddie says, and signs off.

Robin brings a bottle of wine she stole from her parents' pantry and they demolish the dinner and half the cake. Steve does get another package of steaks out to thaw in the fridge for tomorrow, though, and blows out the fancy candles he'd lit before they burn too low to be used again. Fuck if he's making another chiffon cake, though, persnickety little thing. He calls Enzo's and orders a chocolate marble cheesecake to be picked up tomorrow.

"So you gonna milk this for a nice present or what?" Robin asks as Steve is packing the remains of the cake for her to take home, as promised.

"Nah. He's fucking perfect like 90% of the time...I'm not gonna get mad at him for the other ten." Robin smiles at him, a little gooey-eyed. Steve returns it with a smirk. "But I'm not letting him off the hook entirely."

He has just finished putting the dishes away when he hears the rumble of Eddie's van in the driveway. He glances down at his watch, laughing to himself a little when he notes that while late, it is far, far too early for a gaming session to be done. He scoops his little gift bag off the counter and saunters to the front door just in time for a frantic knocking to sound. He schools his features and opens the door.

"Steve! Stevie, baby, I am so, so sorry. I swear to God, I had tonight written down in like five different places, but Dustin wanted to try a new character class and we haven't done this campaign yet, and I got so excited...I'm so sorry I forgot, but I'm here and I SWEAR I will make it up to you!" Eddie pauses for breath, wild-eyed and panting.

Steve holds the silence for a moment, and then shakes his head, leaning forward to drop a kiss on Eddie's cheek. "You're such a nerd," he says, affection dripping from his words. He sighs. "I hope you know, now I'm expecting flowers tomorrow. And I get to pick the movies for, like, two weeks with no complaints."

Eddie almost wilts in relief. "Absolutely none," he promises, reaching out to grip Steve's hand. "I will make tomorrow night AMAZING. I promise."

Steve smiles at him, his chest aching with the love he feels for this man. But he's still feeling just a little bit petty. He holds the bag out to Eddie, tilting his head coyly. "You can still open this tonight, though."

"Babe! I thought we said no gifts." He takes the bag in his hands, plucking at the ribbon.

Steve's smile turns just a little sharper. He worked fucking hard on that cake. "It's kind of for both of us, really. It's what I was gonna wear up to bed tonight."

Eddie peeks in the box, his brow furrowing. "Stevie...there's nothing but strawberry lip gloss and a bottle of lube in here." He looks up, and freezes as his brain catches up with what his mouth just said.

Steve leans forward and kisses him, hard, long, and absolutely filthy. "Suffer," he whispers against his boyfriend's lips.

Then he shuts the door in his face.

#Steddie #Steddie fic #stranger things #Stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #adhd eddie munson #My writing #I couldn't resist!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {6}

Summary: After a confusing first night together it is time for the first public appearance with Charles. Warnings: angst, little bit of fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

An awkward silence filled the large space when you cut the engine inside the old factory and let the roller door close behind you. Charles rather elegantly dismounted and let you lock the motorbike up without a word. You had tried not to look at him too much after leaving the club but it was impossible to avoid now that there was nowhere to escape. 

“I’m going to shower,” you muttered. Charles sat at the edge of the bed and watched you walk to the only internal door. The old plumbing creaked as you turned the hot water onto full blast because it never reached any decent temperature above warm. You couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain when the water hit your body, each droplet like shrapnel on your skin.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked through the door.

“Never been better, Charles.”

You stared at a spiderweb that had appeared since your last visit until the water all too soon ran cold. A fluffy towel swamped your body and you relished the softness on your bruises, grateful you had stolen it from your bathroom. When you stepped out of the bathroom you found Charles still sat on the bed but now there were two beers condensating on the wobbly side table.

“Help yourself then,” you murmured as you grabbed a fresh pair of clothes from your backpack. “Look and I will throttle you.”

Charles turned his back as you dropped the towel and pulled your panties up your legs. Bending over sent white hot pain flashing through your ribs and tears burned your eyes when you tried to reach behind your back for the bra strap. Without the adrenaline of the fight everything felt ten times worse.

You jumped when cold fingertips brushed your spine and swiped your hands aside. “Let me.”

“Rumour has it you only know how to take these off,” you said as he clipped your bra into place. 

Charles turned you to face him and his eyes drifted down your body, lingering on the bruise blossoming on your ribs. “Since when have you cared about rumours?”

“I don’t, but your reputation precedes you. And, just so you know, I don’t have any friends for you to move on with after this ruse is up.”

“I don’t believe that,” he chuckled. “I think Alicia is your friend.”

“Alicia is too nice for her own good but she’s still on the payroll. I don’t think it’s friendship when it’s paid for.” You frowned as your stomach dropped as you realised what he had said and took a step back. “Plus, she is happily married so you’re out of luck there.”

Charles took a step to follow and caught your hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoffed. “No?”

“No. You’re not as alone as you think you are. You have people who look out for you, and that’s friendship whether you believe it or not.” You tried not to let the words penetrate the internal walls you had built but they crumbled a little when he carefully embraced you. “You also don’t need to keep fighting, you have control of your future now.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you admitted as you looked up under your lashes to meet his eyes.

“Then let me show you.” His palm cradled your cheek and his thumb caressed your jaw as you waited to see what he would do. “You can say no whenever you want. The choice is yours.” His eyes traced the shape of your lips before returning higher and his lips parted as he started to dip his head. “You are in control.”

It could have been the sleep deprivation, the crash of hormones after the fight, or the fact that he was as good looking as any of the models you had seen. But, whatever the reason for your weak resolve, you didn’t say no.

You didn’t say no when his lips brushed softly over yours, tentatively. You didn’t say no when he grew bolder and deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the curve of your lips. 

“Stop,” you gasped when his hands began to glide down your body. They immediately froze and he pulled back with a deep breath. “I can’t tell if you are fucking with my head, Charles. You make me question everything I know about you.”

“I can only say ‘I’m sorry’ so many ways.”

“So you thought you would try fuck your apology onto me?”

“No,” he laughed. “That was purely self indulgent. Even when I couldn’t stand it I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“I told you, you’re in control,” he said with a nod. 

You returned the nod and jutted your chin to the bed. “I’m a cuddler, don’t read too much into it when you wake up with me invading your personal space. Or, you can take the couch.”

He looked at the ratty couch and shook his head before a grin grew. “I like spooning.”

You pointedly looked at sweatpants and lifted a brow. “Little spoon, I bet.”

Charles smirked and dropped down on the bed, making himself comfortable on your pillow. “Nothing little about it, babe.”

You scrunched up your nose and reached under the pillow for the Prema shirt you slept in but before you could pull it on it was ripped out of your hands. “Hey!”

“You are not going to sleep next to me in my brother’s shirt.”

“There’s not exactly a wardrobe full of options here,” you said as you tried to grab it back.

Charles caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth movement before tossing it on your shoulder. “There you go.”

“I like that one.”

Charles gripped the fabric and tore the shirt in half as your eyes narrowed. “If we are going to fake this, we are doing it right. My girlfriend won’t be sleeping in another man’s shirt.”

“Fuck you, Leclerc,” you swore. It was better to be swathed in his clothing than half naked in your own, that was the only reason you pulled it on and breathed through your mouth so you didn’t have to inhale the rich cologne that clung to the soft fabric. You couldn’t be blamed for your actions if your hormones liked the smell too much because one thing was certain: when he lay there shirtless you had no control over your filthy thoughts.

You turned out the light and threw yourself down onto the bed with a pained groan that had nothing to do with your ribs. It was difficult but you managed to turn away from the man whose eyes drank in the sight of his shirt on you. 

“Arthur said I wouldn’t recognise you in the ring,” he confessed in the darkness, “but I think that’s the first time I’ve really seen you.”

You didn’t know how to respond when your heart started to beat like a jack rabbit so you settled for a sedate, “Goodnight, Charles.”

The pallets groaned with his shifting as he rolled over and his arm curved low on your waist, missing your ribs. A soft kiss found a place on your heated cheek and he whispered his own, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“You’re distracting me,” you muttered as you saw the shadow moving again. “Stop fiddling.”

Charles walked into the reflective field of the mirror after showering and he struggled to get the cufflinks into his Valentino suit. He walked around the table you were fixing your makeup at and held his arm out. “Can you please help?”

You fixed the shiny white gold pins into place before completing the finishing touches that completely concealed the bruises on your cheeks. The arnica had done its best to bring down the swelling but if anyone questions your puffy eyes you would just claim a rough night's sleep. 

“Can you zip me up?” you asked as you stepped out of the robe and into the gown chosen for the event. Charles knuckles traced your spine as he dragged the zip carefully up while you held your hair out of the way and the delicate touch sent goosebumps chasing in its wake. 

The Cannes Film Festival would be the first official outing with Charles and would publicise the relationship just in time for his home race. After the photos were snapped on the red carpet there would be no more privacy and every interaction would be watched by his eager fans. You knew what to expect - hate and hypercritical analysis were nothing new - but now they would come from run of the mill 20 year old females instead of millionaire middle-aged men.

A knock at the door interrupted the staring contest you found yourself in with Charles in the mirror and you stepped away to slip your heels on.

“The car is waiting downstairs,” Veronica said as she waltzed into your room. 

“Then it can keep waiting,” you replied while you chose an understanded clutch that wouldn’t distract from the dress. “I need two front row tickets to the opera next Saturday.” 

“But you have a-”

You held a hand up to interrupt her. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, just get me the tickets.”

Charles watched silently from the door, his phone and wallet in hand, and stepped aside to dodge the surly assistant that breezed from the room as quickly as she entered.

“We are attending the Palace dinner with Prince Albert next Saturday,” he said after Veronica had disappeared down the stairs. 

It wouldn’t be a Monaco Grand Prix without a Palace dinner and you had agreed to be Charles’ plus one. “I know.”

“Then why-”

“I don’t have to explain my every move to you, okay?”

His lips pressed closed in a tight line and he nodded sullenly.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, feeling like crap for snapping at him. “I’m not used to having someone to explain my actions to.”

“I get it,” he said, but you got the feeling he really didn’t. He could talk to his family about what was happening in his life and they would listen, you didn’t have that luxury.

“We should go.”

The plush carpet absorbed your heel with each step and you held Charles’ arm a little tighter. Your father had been kind enough to remind you not to make an embarrassment of yourself and you really wished you had been able to take a separate vehicle. After escaping the last event with Charles they had made sure to keep you closer and stop that from happening again.

“Family photo,” your father said with a tight smile. “You too, Charles.”

“Yes, sir.” Charles stepped back into the frame and curled his arm around your waist, his palm warming your hip through your dress.

“Who are you wearing this evening?” the journalist beside the photographer asked, recording device at the ready.

“These divine pieces are from Bouchra Jarrar’s private collection,” your mother answered with a soft pat to your father’s suit jacket.

“And what is this knockout piece?”

You had far less enthusiasm when the attention turned to you. “Alexandre Vauthier, haute couture.”

“If only he knew what a knockout you really were,” Charles whispered in your ear, earning a real smile from you that the camera quickly snapped at.

“And you, Charles?”

“I’m not sure, she dressed me,” Charles said with a wink to you, charming everyone in the crowd including the reporter.

“He’s wearing new season Valentino but he was distracted by the Hypercar race when we picked it out.”

Charles’ laugh teased your skin and he shrugged innocently. “Forza Ferrari, baby.”

You eventually made it to the end of the red carpet and into the cinema for the special screening of some new drama film up for an award. The lights dimmed and the crowd fell silent with the opening credits but your entire focus was on the hand that slipped into yours.

“It’s dark in here,” you whispered. “You don’t need to pretend.”

“Who said I am pretending?”

The armrest was suddenly much closer as you found yourself gravitating to him and your cheek came to rest on his shoulder before the title even appeared.

“Pretending would probably be easier.”

“Probably, but it’s too late for me.”

You didn’t tell him but you had the exact same thought.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 angst

[levenlike11]

a little lovesick satoru drabble after that horrible suna one, i really hope this is better.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"oh god, here he comes." shoko sighs as gojo is nearing you, geto following close behind. you look over your shoulder and quickly turn back when you see the white haired, extremely annoying male.

"y/n-channn!!" gojo sings and throws himself on you, giving you not an inch of space to breathe with how he pushes his head and hair on your nose.

"hello satoru," you push him but fail to make him move so you pull his hair.

"OUCH! why would you do that to meee!?" gojo whines and stands up, turning around to look at geto who's grinning, amused by the situation.

"don't laugh at me! i'm suffering here." he pouts and shoko lets out the laugh she had been holding in.

"it couldn't have possibly hurt that much. stop overreacting." you say which only seems to make him sadder.

"now you announce me a drama queen, how will my heart ever recover?" he raises his hand to cover his face dramatically, contradicting himself. he never misses to give you an oscar worthy acting, so talented they would hire him to play in a shakespeare theater if he applied.

"you'll be fine." you mutter and open your book again, mumbling a curse under your breath when you realise you lost the page you were on.

"see, now i have to go through all the book to find my page." you sigh but gojo doesn't seem to care, still busy whining about how rude you are towards him.

"you never act this way with shoko, or geto. he's much less handsome than me- no offense bro." he turns at geto, who doesn't seem to mind the comment enough to argue back. it's just gojo and his usual dramatic-ness after all.

"because shoko is my best friend and geto is a really nice guy, who is definitely more handsome than you by the way." satoru quite literally throws himself on the ground after hearing those words come out of your mouth.

"i'd rather die than hear those words again coming from the love of my life." he closes his eyes. he looks like the people playing dead to fool a bear.

"i told you to stop calling me that, and it's the truth, he's much much more handsome, and cool, and strong.." you start counting but gojo cuts you off.

"i'm gojo satoru, mind you! the one with six eyes and stuff you know. i'm literally the coolest and the strongest."

"this is why they don't like you back." shoko chuckles and you sigh, putting your book down again. he doesn't look like he'll let you read at all.

"gojo-" "satoru, please. i want my love to call me by my name." "i am not your love, satoru, please leave me alone. i already told you i don't like you." he has called you a sadist multiple times. even 'the cruelest person on earth'.

"you do, actually." he smirks, "you looooove me. how could you not?"

"i currently do not feel anything positive towards you. i might start hating you if you don't get up soon." you'd be surprised how quickly he gets up after that.

"no, please don't! we still have to marry and buy a house with pets and raise kids together-" he gets on his knees and hugs your legs in front of him.

"slow down satoru, we don't even date yet." you laugh at this antics. he's the most stubborn person you've ever met, dedicated to get you to like him romantically. it's not like you really hate him, you sometimes even think you might like him back. just a little bit. but it's fun seeing him like this, so desperate for you. (it makes you feel nice.)

"yet?!" he springs up, grinning from ear to ear. "so we might date in the future?"

"not if you keep doing this."

"what if i take you out to dinner?" you act like you're thinking about it.

"maybe if you also take me to the bookstore later and buy me ice cream."

"GETO, DID YOU HEAR Y/N? we might go on a date!" he jumps on geto, hugging him tight. shoko and you are practically dying of laughter at this point.

"get off of me." geto pushes him away but also smiling, seeing how excited satoru is and happy since two of his close friends are finally about to get together. he's also glad he doesn't have to suffer while watching these moments on first row with shoko. (they don't know it'll be much worse and annoying after you start dating though.)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☆ hope you enjoyed reading! please feel more than free to leave feedback and have a great day/night!🫶🏻

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo satoru x male reader #gojo satoru x gender neutral reader #gojo satoru jjk #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x female reader #gojo x male reader #gojo x gender neutral reader #gojo x gn!reader #gojo satoru x gn!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #anime x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo drabbles #gojo satoru drabble #jjk drabbles #jjk season 2 #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

[softlyspector]

Decaf

Summary: After your first tattoo session with Joel, you can't stop thinking about him or, his touch. And it terrifies you.

Read Honeyed first where: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~10.1k

Warnings: a smidgen of angst for fun 😌 then comfort, slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, the 'believes they're hard to love, loving them is like breathing' trope, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse (joel's workin' on that though), tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn't really described), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, undefined unresolved previous trauma, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: This is dedicated to all of you who are also touch adverse. I hope you like this part as much as the first, and feel seen and heard. I love you and thank you for being so kind and open with your love and your own experiences. May you find the patience and love you deserve in your own Joel.

Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Editing this was a labor, so if there are any mistakes blame my tired eyes. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Joel doesn’t want to walk you home, though he figures he should.

It’s the polite thing to do. The kind of thing his mother and grandmother raised him to do. 

And it's got nothing at all to do with prolonging this very long day with you. No, nothing so self serving and selfish as that.

His little doe he’d lured so close, still so out of reach with hidden tattoos not on her hip. It’s scary, the want that wells up in him, the desire to see you step that much closer to him, until you feel safe enough to nestle in his shadow. 

If you were the deer, he should be the tree, the shade, the haven. 

Rage, incandescent and warm and comforting in its familiarity, wells up in his chest again when your earlier admission plays through his mind. 

Nothing brings his anger, quick and deadly, like those he cares for being harmed. Rarely did he see cause for it to break the surface—not since Sarah was born and he had a better example to set, not since Tommy calmed down and stopped getting in so many fights. 

This, though, with you—the thought of you being harmed, brings it all rushing back. He hopes to never lay eyes on your ex, for everyone’s sake. 

I had bruises for a couple weeks after, you’d said. It hurt. He wanted it to hurt.

Those words had stung on their own, but then you’d continued. 

I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.

It grates on him, that anyone could hurt you that way, that anyone would even think of it, and get away with it. 

You’re happily finishing the last bite of the quartet of tacos he’d gotten you, unaware of the turmoil that drags taunting claws into the fleshy parts of his chest. 

You nod along to the Cash song still playing over the outdoor speakers, though now at a much lower volume as the night wanes later, a content expression on your face. 

He likes watching you eat, likes it even better knowing you’re eating something he got you. It satisfies something weirdly primal in him. 

The side of your leg is still pressed to his, warm and pliant even through two layers of denim. The buzzing flaxen glow of the sting lights halo over your head; it casts your face in shadow, the long feathers of your lashes spiking down your cheeks.

You seem more relaxed now. The tension in your shoulders has loosened, the crease between your furrowed brows gone as you ball up the used napkins and toss them into the little paper boat the tacos had been on.

He refuses the last few sips of lemonade, and so you drink the rest instead. 

“Well,” you say, your voice a little sheepish and shy, that soft round look coming back into your eyes. He imagines you with the twitching, sensitive ears of a doe, poking through your hair, alert and suddenly wary of the extended hand you’d been so trusting of minutes before. “I should probably let you go. It’s late.” 

You say it like you think you’ve been keeping him there, taking up his time that he’s eager to get back. 

But you haven’t, and he isn’t ready to let you go. 

“I’ll walk ya home.” 

“It’s alright,” you say dismissively, gathering the trash and standing before he can do it for you. “I’m only a couple of blocks over,” you say over your shoulder as you walk away. 

“I’d feel better if you let me,” he admits, following close behind you. 

You toss the trash and then turn back to him, nervously running your palms along your thighs, eyes flicking over him. “This is a safe little town, you know,” you reassure him. “Like, I’m pretty sure my neighbors don’t even lock their door.” 

Joel blinks. “But you lock your door, don’t ya?” 

An inexplicable smile pulls your mouth up at the corners. “Yeah, Joel, I lock my door.” 

“Good,” he says gruffly, shoving down the protective feeling that had been rising in his chest. It’s an insane feeling, one that sets something he thought long dead on fire within him. 

You just watch him for a moment, knowing eyes sliding over him. “Well,” you relent and jerk your head toward one of the side streets. “I’m this way, if you’re sure you have time.” 

Like time had anything to do with it. 

He gestures you ahead of him, his eyes falling down the curve of your spine, the shape of your hips and thighs. He’s still trying hard not to think about the bumblebee and the antlers tattooed somewhere on your body, all the parts of you he hasn’t seen. 

He’s trying hard not to think about a lot of things. 

Like how your skin felt under his hand, dewy and warm. How he’d spent most of the day with his hand covering yours, the hummingbird beat of your pulse against his fingertips. 

He’s trying not to think about how good you smelled that close, raw and unfiltered, how irritated he had been when the sharp smell of disinfectant had chased it away. 

You carried the smell of summer with you wherever you went, like sunshine and coffee, iced sugar and coconut. 

He walks with you through the navy darkness in silence, the flash of amber street light the only thing illuminating your way. It feels nice. He feels like the rest of the world has turned its face away, that it's only you and him and the ghostly eyes of the white glow of the moon peeking through the quickly dissipating clouds.

The Texas dry heat would be back with a vengeance in the morning, but for now the street is pleasantly humid. The air still smells like petrichor, like damp concrete. He should savor it. Tomorrow, the blindingly hot smell of asphalt and dust will return and chase this moment in the dark with you away. 

You seem almost better suited to the dark, to the quiet smooth pleasantness of it, like your fear can’t reach you there if it can’t see you, if you can’t see it. Like a prey animal that only ventured into the safety of night. 

So he lets the silence last, because it's comfortable, and he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary chatter anyhow. 

He can’t remember the last time he did something like this, felt the brush of someone else’s fingers through the dark and the accompanying zing it sent up his arm. He forgot how amplified everything could feel, especially in the low light.

The walk to your apartment is short. 

You only live a few blocks from the center of town, and only a few streets over from the studio. He imagines you walking this path each day with the intention of coming to see him, with the intention to walk by the studio, even before you knew him—in the sun, all summer.  

You live above the town’s sole bookshop. It’s cute, like the rest of the town is. It’s unbelievable how idyllic the town is, like it’s cut straight from the pages of a romance novel, or one of those shitty Hallmark movies. 

He stands just outside the circle of the security light that blinks on over the door. You fiddle with the lock for a solid minute, jiggling the knob just so and then twisting the key in a pattern that you seem to know well, until it finally yields and opens. 

Joel clears his throat. “Y’need someone to look at that?” 

You don’t seem to hear the question mark tagged onto the end of the question, or to realize that he’s offering to fix it. “Yeah, I know,” you roll your eyes. “I’ve asked my landlord to look at it a couple of times already but they haven’t gotten around to it—”

“I can take a look for you sometime,” he clarifies. “It won’t take but a minute—” 

“That’s alright, Joel,” you interrupt quickly and dip your head, embarrassed suddenly. “I’ve let you do way too much for me today. Everyday.” Before he can contradict you—because he isn’t sure what the hell you feel he’s done for you, you step back through the door and hover there in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. 

The security light casts your face in harsh shadows, the dark stairwell behind you reaching black claws out to hook around your frame. 

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. You just linger there, fidgeting with your keys, looking for all the world like you have something you want to say to him, like you don’t want him to go either. 

Joel watches you, waiting for you to say something, to be the one to sever the connection between you and say goodnight. His chest feels tight as he waits for you to decide, waits for you to decide his shade was a place you could be safe. 

Besides, he’s still trying to figure how to say goodbye to you, still trying to figure how he’s supposed to pry apart the sticky want that thrums against his skin. Still trying to figure out what exactly had gotten into him, what had gotten into him in the weeks and months you’d started coming by.

He supposes it's just been a long time. He supposes he’s just out of practice at having feelings for someone. 

It’s been just him and his girls and his brother for so long. 

He must take too long trying to figure things out because you smile at him and glance away, your expression apprehensive and unsure. “You will let me get you back for the tacos someday,” you warn softly. “‘Night.” 

Then you shut the door. He hears you bang up the steps, your footfalls fading until he can’t hear them anymore. The security light flickers out and he’s plunged into semi-darkness, but he doesn’t move until a light finally comes on in one of the upstairs windows a few minutes later, the silhouette of your body outlined behind a sheer curtain. 

It’s only then that he turns away and walks back the way he’d come. He smiles to himself and then feels stupid about it. 

He’s too old, he thinks again, for his chest to be twinging the way it is, to be smiling in the dark, and missing someone he just left. 

He’d see you tomorrow, anyway. 

Just as he always did.

Just like you always do.

Joel is distracted the day after your appointment. 

Your scent lingers in the air of the studio. He mistakes every shadow that passes the front window for you. The image of you under the soft light in the center of town is imprinted behind his eyes. The way you’d smiled, the feel of your skin under his fingers—soft and damp in the humid air that had ballooned after the day’s rain, consumes his every thought, has his eyes shifting to the front window every few seconds. His back gives an unpleasant spasm from how quickly he turns at even the slightest noise, always thinking it's you finally pushing the door open. 

But he sees more than your shadow and the ghost of your silhouette in the window. 

Joel sees all the imagined, soft skin under your clothes where an antler tattoo is hidden. Untouched, unexplored skin that he would very much like the chance to explore and touch, if ever you gave him the chance, if you ever wandered that close. 

It’s a fine idea. 

That you’d come into the studio and lean against the counter and watch him work on a design for someone that isn’t nearly as important as you are. 

But, the day wears on, and you never show up. 

The day after Joel tattooed you and bought you sugary lemonade and tacos under golden light that you etched divine, you don’t stop in. 

You don’t even walk by. 

It isn’t unusual for you to go a few days between visits to the studio. He tells himself that it’s normal, fine, that you have a job and a life and that sometimes you don’t get the chance to come by. He tries not to worry about it. 

On the second day, with your image still fluttering behind his eyes, the weight of your gaze still heavy on his skin, he starts sketching another design for you. It distracts him, at least, because you don’t come in on the second day, either. 

You don’t come in the day after that either, or the day after that. His girls stop by for dinner on Friday evening, and Ellie crashes on his couch for the night to help out in the shop the next day. All that Saturday, all he can think about is you, pushing the door open slowly, pausing in the entryway like you always do with watchful eyes, skin shimmering with sweat from the sun and heat, cups of coffee in hand, one for you and one for him, just like always. 

He imagines you smiling at him, your shoulders loosening when your doe eyes land on him, the uncertainty and trepidation melting away because it’s him. Because it’s just him. It’s just the two of you. 

But the image, the fantasy, never comes to fruition. 

Ellie snaps at him around noon to stop being so fucking weird, dude.

Sundays—the shop is closed, so he doesn’t see you then.  

By Monday, five days after he tattooed you and walked you home in the dark, as the sun sets on a ragingly warm evening, Joel is convinced that you aren’t going to come by the studio anymore. 

He keeps working on your new design.  

Then, a whole week goes by, and then another, and you still don’t drop by, you don’t even walk by, though he catches a few glimpses of you down the road—in front of the boutique, the coffee shop, the record store a few doors down. He sees you at the farmer’s market that pops up every Saturday in the town’s center.

He dreams of you, dreams of the willowy, softly plush curves of your body. Joel dreams of you at home with him, in his bed. He dreams of pushing your shirt up, palming every delicate part of you, tracing his fingers over your hidden tattoos. 

He always jolts awake when the dream version of you pushes him back and kisses him hard, his hands cupped around you, your thighs, your breasts, the dip of your waist and belly. 

It’s distracting, the ghost of you everywhere he looks. He can’t even bring himself to take your painting down from the front window. The doe you don’t see yourself in. 

Adjusting to your absence is hard. He hadn’t realized you’d wormed your way into his daily life so firmly, like an invasive species the environment grows around, and turns when it's taken away. 

In one particularly low moment two weeks on, he takes a stroll a few blocks over, worried that something might have happened to you, that something might be keeping you away. He sees you inside the bookstore you live above, newly purchased novel in hand, feet curled beneath you on a sofa in the window. 

You seem fine, though an inexplicable twinge of jealousy plucks at his heart. He never thought that you might hang around the other shops like you did with his. 

And you never come by.

You don’t owe him anything, certainly not your company. 

He resigns himself to not seeing you until your second session, when he’ll finish your tattoo and probably never see you again. 

Joel scares you. 

His hand lying over yours all day; his offer to fix your door; the way he looked at you intense and heavy and waiting, wanting—it all terrifies you. 

The words to invite him up for something to drink had sat heavy in your mouth before you changed your mind and left him where he stood. You’d bothered him enough, taken up enough of his time. 

You aren’t sure what southern manners had led him to take you to get tacos and lemonade but surely he’s had enough of you. 

I’ve let you do way too much for me, you’d said. And he hadn’t disagreed.

Instead, you lurch up the stairs, let yourself into your apartment and stand breathing hard in the dark entryway, back against the door. Your forearm aches just a little, but in the pleasant way it always does after getting tattooed, instead of in the painful, raw way the one from your ex had. 

The familiar itch below your skin that had started with Joel’s art is now overwhelming, because you know what the shape of his hand feels like. You know the precise weight of his palm over the back of your hand, and against the column of your spine. You can’t forget how his jean clad thigh felt against yours, how nice the brush of his fingers had been through the dark. 

His voice was so low and graveled when it brushed against your skin, it tingled through your whole body, down to your toes, to the pit of your belly. It was low and intimate and felt like everything he said was just for you, like it had brushed against every tiny hair on your body. 

I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.

They were words for you, special for you, reassuring to you, spoken so kindly and in defense of you against someone he would never meet, over something that was not his fault and that he hadn’t been around yet to prevent. 

There’s a kinetic energy under your skin that burns, like pages of your story with him are already set aflame. Don’t burn this bridge, you think and lean hard back into the door. You close your eyes and tangle your fingers together, squeezing so tight it hurts, until you pinch your skin. Please don’t let me burn this bridge. 

You like Joel, more than you have any right to. He feels safe and sure and solid; he’s kind. He scares you, but in a way that makes you want to claw your way through the dark back to him, to see if he’ll touch you again, speak low and kind just for you, work on art made just for you. 

When you finally catch your breath, you flip on the lights and toss your keys down as you cross your small apartment. You scrub a hand over your face and take a deep breath from between your fingers.

A moment later, you pluck up the courage to glance out the window, just in time to catch Joel’s broad shoulders turn the corner in the distance back onto Main Street. 

Something in your chest pangs, the strings of your heart pull tight and hard up against your lungs until your throat closes. 

The feelings he planted in your chest, nestled among your ribs and wove between your veins, seem unfair. It seems horribly unfair, harsh even, that you should be left with the tips of your fingers smoldering, hesitantly reaching out for more. 

He’s left a sea inside you, a lonely dark hole. You knew it was there, that black, open emptiness. You’d felt it all your life, but now you know what it feels like when someone sees it, shrugs, and asks to be a part of it. You know what it's like, now, to have someone stand, patient and still on the shore. 

He’s left you wanting, craving something that you’ve feared for so long, that always felt wrong. And when your skin started to go tight and your muscles contracted and pulled, he’d somehow known, heard the pain buried away, and released you.  

You can still feel the ghost of his knuckles brushing against your wrist on the dark walk to your apartment. You can feel his thigh against yours while you ate tacos together and listened to the folks of your small town laugh and dance to old country music. You can feel his palm cupped around your wrist, dwarfing your hand beneath his.

You can still feel his calloused fingertips, catching at your palm and the inside of your wrist. 

He makes you feel safe and seen, like it’s okay that you lingered in his studio for weeks, bothered him endlessly, without any guarantee that you might one day schedule an appointment and actually get tattooed.

You thought the wantneedpull would subside after finally starting the tattoo but its only gown. The pain you waited for, the urge to flee from your own body never came with him. You want him closer, want the warm rough press of his palm against yours. You just want—you’ve never really wanted anyone closer but you want him closer. 

You want Joel so close that nothing else bleeds through. You want to melt into the palms that cupped you so gently, so carefully. 

You want to become carefully molded wax in his capable hands. 

Inexplicably, for the first time in so long, you want someone to touch you. You want to feel Joel’s hands everywhere, anywhere he could reach and even all the places he couldn’t. 

And it terrifies you. 

You mean to go back to your normal routine, but the first morning you try to stop by the studio, you can’t make your feet carry you there. You pause halfway between the coffeeshop and the studio, Joel’s usual order clutched in your hand. 

The gnawing, empty, raw hole inside you has only grown. You look at your pretty tattoo and think of the gently rough hands that had created it, the furrow between his brows while he worked, the scar over his nose, the strong, broad slope of his shoulders, and you feel anxious. 

You want it so badly, and yet—

He’s just your tattoo artist. He probably only put up with you hanging around his shop everyday, bringing him coffee, talking his ear off, because there was the promise of money, the promise of work. 

You’d just done the stupid thing and gotten attached to him, to the studio, to your fucking tattoo artist. You are just a client and you long to melt into him. You long to press yourself against him, feel the crush of his body against yours.

That want makes you wary, phantom pain, phantom aversion crawling beneath your skin right after.

It makes your head spin, it makes you feel crazy, that you can’t even decide what you feel, what you want. 

It’s better if you stay away, give yourself time to forget the itch, forget the feel of his hands, so you turn away and circle the block, back to your apartment where you set the cups on your kitchen counter and take a deep breath. 

Your chest is tight, your mind a snarl of half formed thoughts. 

Tomorrow, you think, will be better. 

But it’s not. 

Each day you think about going over, and you don’t. You feel wound tight, like clockwork left to rust. You dream of Joel, his hands everywhere and nowhere, the warmth of him like a ghost you can’t shake off. 

The feelings you try to avoid, the desert dryness of need and emptiness that the loss of his touch inspired, doesn’t go away. It gets worse; it outweighs the fear, the aversion. 

You only dare to go as close as the record store, checking he was still there, like the whole place would suddenly disappear if you stopped going by, like a witch’s cottage after a botched, half-worked spell. 

You feel cursed, like soot, like a monster waiting to steal the soul of the light. 

You’re burning your bridge and you don’t know how to stop. 

Joel is still there, where he’s always been. His art is still there, though you’re so far away now, you can’t see it clearly anymore. 

But you notice among the still ever rotating collection of art and pictures in the window, one always remains.

You know without seeing it that it's the painting of the doe looking over her shoulder, bees flocking like long forgotten gods around her ears. 

Ellie and Sarah ask about you on the third Friday that goes by without you stopping in. 

The temperature has cooled off a little, the warmth of summer receding just the tiniest bit. The kitchen table is laden with chinese takeout boxes, rice already spilled across one of the placemats. 

“You haven’t been talkin’ about her so much,” Sarah notes curiously. 

“Yeah, and you’ve been way more cranky than usual,” Ellie adds.  

“Ain’t had cause to see her,” he deflects, reaching for the yet un-spilled carton of rice. “Hasn’t been in the studio since her first session.” 

The kitchen suddenly falls silent, the clatter of cutlery deadened as it’s set on the table. “What do you mean?” Sarah, he thinks, sounds mildly offended on his behalf. 

“Just what I said,” he grumbles. 

He doesn’t need to look up from his plate to know Sarah and Ellie are exchanging a look. “Why not?” Sarah ventures to ask, her tone calmer. 

Joel shrugs and finally looks up at his kids. Sarah’s head is tilted to the side ever so slightly and Ellie’s brow is furrowed. “Busy, maybe,” he explains. “Got better things to do.”  

“Bullshit!” Ellie explodes suddenly. “What happened? Did you do something stupid?”

He sighs hard through his nose and shovels orange chicken onto his plate with more force than necessary. “No.” Then he reconsiders, goes over every moment of that day again in his mind. How much he touched you, selfishly, when he knew you were adverse to it. “I don’t know. Could be she was only around this summer to see if we’d make a good fit.” 

There’s another beat of silence before both girls are arguing with him. He lets them go on protesting it for a few minutes before he waves them down. “She’s got a lot goin’ on that you two don’t know. Somethin’ might’ve spooked her that I didn’t realize.” 

“Like what?” 

Your ex-boyfriend and your badly healed tattoo flashes through his mind. The bruises you said you’d had for weeks afterward, how badly it had hurt. The way he’d held onto you all that day.

Guilt pools in his chest, floods his lungs. 

He doesn’t know what might have spooked you. 

Just hopes it wasn’t him. 

“Well, have you tried to talk to her?” 

Sarah peers at him with wide eyes, fingers delicately folded around a pair of chopsticks. “No,” he admits.  

Ellie makes a discontent noise. “Just fucking talk to her, man,” she says. 

“You always do this, dad,” Sarah says suddenly, shaking her head.

“I do not—I don’t—” he stammers. When was the last time he’d had the opportunity to fuck something up? “What are you talkin’ about?” 

They both shrug. “It’s like you don’t ever wanna be happy sometimes. She makes you happy and you always think of everybody else, it's okay to think of yourself sometimes. Maybe whatever’s going on with her doesn’t have anything to do with you. Not everything is your fault.”

He can’t figure a way it's not about him, though, that it might not be his fault. 

Joel clears his throat and looks down at his plate. “All right, tell me what you two’ve been up to this week.” 

“Hey Joel.” 

Joel glances up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. You’re distorted in his vision for a moment before he reaches up to take them off.

Your shape comes into sharp relief, a balm after not seeing you for so many days. You look cheerful, happy to see him. 

Excited, even. 

He hasn’t seen you in a month.

You’d messaged back and forth with his kid about your appointment, about today.

He hasn’t heard your voice in a month.

Seeing you now, despite thinking about you, dreaming about you everyday, makes some part of him close off, go cold and hard. “Howdy,” he says, his voice toeing the edge of polite and flat. The smile on your face fades a little. 

Though the sunshine is bright as always, the air outside is chilly for Texas. You’re wrapped in a sweatshirt. For the first time since he’s known you, all of your tattoos are hidden, most of your skin is covered. 

You blink owlishly, your fingers flexing nervously around the cups in your hands. “I brought you coffee,” you offer.  

He makes a noncommittal noise and jerks his chin towards the door behind the counter. “C’mon, I’m already set up.” Joel turns. 

“Oh,” you say, your voice following him to the back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was late.” 

“You aren’t,” he grumbles softly. “Had another client this mornin’,” he says, needlessly adjusting and straightening the supplies he had set out, keeping his back to you. 

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to get through this with you—ain’t sure how he’s supposed to make sense of how much it hurt that you’d stopped hanging around. There’s a feeble little thread of hope in his heart that you’ll explain it away, that you even noticed you’d changed your routine. A tiny, weak little thing that makes him hope you thought about him too. 

Stupid. 

That painful tug of hope makes him feel like a teenager, like an idiot kid who read into every little thing like it was a sign until reality started to distort.

He’s always been that way, hopeful and goddamn stupid. It’s why he hasn’t really been with anyone since Sarah’s mother left. It’s how he got tangled up with Sarah’s mom in the first place. He gets stupid when he thinks he feels something, and he’s never been good at figuring how to hold onto something like that, something so delicate. 

He always ends up loving too hard, too much. He always crushes the thing before it has a chance to bloom. His girls, they were his only exception, the one thing he was mostly good at taking care of. 

“Guess the coffee was a stupid move, huh?” 

Joel turns at the sound of your voice, pulled away from the half self-deprecating thoughts floating through his mind, and finds you hovering awkwardly in the doorway, fingers fidgeting anxiously around the cups. You look like you did the first time you came into the shop, stiff and unsure, wide eyes peering at him like you’re waiting for him to give you a reason to run. 

 The doe waiting for the snap of the twig beneath a hunter’s boot once again. 

Something twinges in his chest, the sharp pain slicing through bone and tendon. 

He doesn’t want to be the hunter to your doe. 

“No,” he straightens, making an effort to soften his voice. “‘Course not.” 

You step cautiously closer, extending one of the cups toward him. “Well, it kinda is.” You smile a little. “You won’t be able to drink it while you work, contamination and all. I just—I was on autopilot again, I guess.”

He takes it from you, the paper cup warm in his hand, and tries not to think about how autopilot for you meant unthinkingly buying a cup of coffee for him. 

Again, you’d said. Have you done it before? Accidentally bought coffee he never received? 

“Well, thank you, sweetheart.” 

You swallow and glance away, nodding at the ground instead. 

A long silence stretches between you, and unlike all the times you came into the studio before—it's awkward and heavy. He takes a sip of the coffee and finds it sours instantly in his stomach, mixing unpleasantly with the nerves. 

Yeah, he’s exactly like a damn kid. 

And he’s not good at this. He’s never been good about bridging silent gaps. 

Not with words, anyway.

It doesn’t help that you seem to take up the whole room, the smell of sun and coffee and leaves curling on the air. 

He sets the cup aside and goes about washing his hands instead. “Go on and get comfortable,” he directs over his shoulder. “Just like before.” 

When he’s done scrubbing his hands in the sink and putting on gloves and fighting the urge to inhale the scent of you penetrating every cubic inch of air in the room, he turns to find you sitting and stripping out of your sweatshirt. 

He inhales sharply when the shirt beneath lifts with the material, exposing him to a strip of your skin. You tug it back down, hiding skin that he’s dreamed of in the last three weeks, that he’d like to tease his fingertips along, if you let him, if he could lure you that close, convince you to trust him that much. 

It seems like a fucking pipe dream now. 

You look soft and rumpled as you fold the sweatshirt, fisting your hands anxiously around the edges of it in your lap. 

The tendons in the back of your hands flex, bone straining against the flesh. You’re tense, nervous. 

“You’re alright,” he drawls, despite himself. The words come out soft, and your shoulders loosen and slump as you release a breath. Whether you stopped coming around or not, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. “C’mere and lemme see it.” 

You offer your arm to him and Joel takes your wrist in his hand, just like he had the last time he’d seen you. He’d touched you a lot that day, and you had let him. You’d let him touch you even after you left the studio and he hadn’t had a good excuse to keep doing it anymore. 

Now, he relishes the feel of your delicate skin against his again. 

“Looks good,” he says, stepping unconsciously closer to you. “Healin’ good anyway.” 

You glance up, the side of your knee brushing against his thigh. Warmth radiates from your body, and settles into him in the invariably cold studio. A smile tugs at your lips and the tension disappears from your forehead. “You’re allowed to compliment your own work, you know. It’s beautiful. Probably my favorite.” 

He doesn’t answer, fighting the clawing ache in his chest. “I do okay, I guess,” he concedes, turning your arm. “Just glad I didn’t hurt ya.” 

You frown but don’t say anything as he goes through the motions of cleaning your skin and settling in on the stool next to you. You settle back in the chair, a cloud of your scent caccooning both of you, undercut by the annoyingly sharp smell of the disinfectant. 

He covers your hand and squeezes the tight fist your hand curled into until you release the tension and relax. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good job.”

You chest hitches and you glance over at him, the movement sharp, but he doesn’t look back at you and you don’t say anything. 

It’s quiet for a long time, just the buzz of the tattoo gun to keep him company. 

He wonders what it is you’re thinking about. Though your body remains loose, the furrow between your brows is pinched tight in thought. 

Joel doesn’t bother you, focused instead on his work, on monitoring the flex of your hand beneath his. He doesn’t strictly need to touch you like this, but he wants to, and it seems like you don’t mind.

At least, you hadn’t minded a couple weeks ago. 

Maybe that’s what has your forehead so scrunched up. Maybe—

“I didn’t think you would.” 

He glances up, those big eyes he sees in his dreams staring down at him. “What’s that?” 

“I didn’t think you would hurt me. I mean—really, I’ve only had one bad tattoo experience,” you say with a roll of your eyes, dismissive of your own pain, like that’s not one too many times. “The rest of my—the rest of my issues are mine. Even from before that happened.” You don’t look away from him. “Besides, Ellie assured me beforehand that you have a light touch.” 

Yeah, he thought he’d heard her saying that. He’d been both embarrassed about it and warmed.

“Well, I guess she’s right. Never had any complaints.” He leans back and takes his hand off of yours, flexing his fingers and stretching out the pinch in his spine. 

One thing he did not relish about tattooing was the way he had to be hunched over. It makes him feel achy and old even if he knows it’d be much worse if he was still working with Tommy. 

You nod and fidget with the hem of your shirt with your free hand. He watches you for a long moment, still not saying anything. 

Even though things are a little awkward, he feels better, having you there again; knowing for sure that you’re okay because he’s seeing you with his own eyes. His kids might be right, that it’s all right to think of himself for once. Or, as Ellie put it, to just fucking talk to you instead of making assumptions. 

“You ain’t been around much lately,” he offers, extending that metaphorically slow hand to you as he always has, asking for the nugget of whatever truth you held onto so tightly. 

Maybe it was never about him, just as Sarah had said. 

He looks away from your eyes, goes back to tattooing your arm, filling in your piece, the design he’d worked on for a whole summer. Just for you. 

The tattoo suits you. He feels an odd kind of pride that you liked his art enough to trust him with designing something, with putting it onto your skin, and your trust is something he never could have hoped for. 

“No,” you start, your voice a bit hoarse. “I guess not. I—I just figured that I didn’t have an excuse to stop by anymore.” You pause and swallow. Your voice is clearer when you speak again. “And you’d already been so nice about me taking up your time.” 

Joel has to pause again and glance up, just to judge your expression. To see if you’re serious. 

You aren’t looking at him, but staring at the far wall as though the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen is etched there. Your features are tense, like you’re trying not to show what you’re feeling. “Taking up my time?” 

You shrug, the easily startled anxiety threading back into your eyes. “And,” your voice is shaky as you continue. “I was a little—I don’t know. Afraid. I guess.” Something must show on his face, the swoop of his gut visible on his features because you hurry to explain. “I just…I’ve never trusted someone the way I think I trust you. So. That’s scary.” 

There’s a lot of things he could say, a lot of things he should say, but Joel isn’t exactly good at that kind of thing. He just knows he hates when you look at him with trepidation and weariness. 

So instead, he covers your hand again and squeezes tight. He refocuses on your tattoo, on the transformation of your skin. He isn’t sure what to make of what you’d said about trust, or your honesty about it, so he pushes down the feeling that wells up into his gut at that admission. “Well, it ain’t no trouble. Havin’ you here. It was mighty quiet without you around.” 

It’s hard to say, somehow, the words sticky and catching in his mouth. A quiet descends in the wake of his words, the low buzz of the tattoo gun driving him crazy. He wishes you’d say something, anything, but he doesn’t have the heart to look up and see if you’re looking at him with big, startled eyes. 

“Oh,” you say eventually, softly.

And then—“It was quiet for me too. I missed coming by. Why didn’t you ask after me? Ellie could have gotten to me.” 

Joel had considered it. He’d figured you’d had good reason to stay away. And he guesses you had, just not the ones he thought. 

It hadn’t been about him, really. 

“You’re real skittish,” he settles on telling you the truth. “Didn’t want to push you further than you’d already gone.”

He nods, wipes your skin gently with a damp paper towel. “I looked out for ya. Kept thinkin’ y’da come by.”

“Oh,” you say again and this time the word is laced with surprise. “I…didn’t know that. I looked for you too.” 

Joel shrugs in what he hopes is an offhand manner. He cares more than he wants to admit, more than he can admit. 

“It’s just because you missed having someone bring you coffee,” you tease gently when he doesn’t respond. 

He snorts and the lingering tension dissolves. “Don’t do that again,” he says, still not looking up at you. “Coffee or not.” 

Joel shrugs on a dark red flannel before he shuffles you out the shop’s front door. 

The air is chilly but dry, and it burns the inside of your nose. In truth, the temperature is mild, not worthy of shivers or flannels, but compared to the unending heat of summer it's practically cold outside.  

The skin of your forearm feels warm beneath your opposite hand clutched over the fresh ink, safely and carefully wrapped. You can’t stop looking at your now completed tattoo, still smiling to yourself about the way Joel seemed irritated that you not only paid him for his work but tipped him too. You told him to think of it as repayment for the tacos and lemonade but that had only made him frown harder. 

“You don’t have to walk me home,” you say, even though the last thing in the world you want is for him to let you go on alone. 

“Sure I do,” he says, turning away from the door. 

Arguing wouldn’t change his mind, and you don’t really want to anyway. 

Joel urges you down the sidewalk, his gait jilted and slow. 

There’s an inch of space between you as you walk down the lamplit street. The horizon is a haze of orange, casting the wide open sky in shades of lavender and periwinkle as it darkens and evening sets in. You can feel the heat of Joel’s body, so close by. 

It’s nothing compared to his hand over yours, the warmth and all consuming size of it. You don’t know if you���ll ever have cause to feel his hand again, now that he was done tattooing you. 

Joel shifts so his hand hovers at your lower back, guiding you lightly. The gesture makes your skin prickle pleasantly, itchy with heat and that strange want that never went away. You wish he’d put his hand against your spine like he had when he’d gotten you tacos, so you could lean back into it, so you could feel the pressure of his hand. 

He doesn't. Joel walks you along the street quietly, his hand painfully close to you and yet not close enough.

That alone makes you ache. 

You don’t expect him to say anything as you walk along, mainly because you’re the one that’s always nervously chattering at him, half waiting to be snapped at. He tells you about Sarah’s course load for the upcoming fall semester and how Ellie’s nearly done at her apprenticeship. He talks quickly, like he’s trying to catch you up on a month worth of things you’d missed, like it mattered to him that you had. 

He tells you about the clients he’d tattooed, and the designs he’s still working on. He wavers when he mentions the designs and you hope maybe he’ll ask you to look at some of them but he quickly moves on.

When you get close to your apartment he abruptly goes quiet and pulls his hand away from your back. Just like the last time he hovers just outside the halo of the security light over the door.  

You struggle with the door like you always do until it finally pops open with a groan. This time when you hover in the doorway, you pluck up the courage to ask what you hadn’t been able to the last time. 

“Would you like to come up for some coffee?” 

“Late for that, ain’t it?” 

Your heart sinks, breaks somewhere along your ribs. “Guess so,” you admit, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for walking with me, I’ll, uh—”

“But I would like that,” he cuts you off. It's so unlike him that you just stare for a moment. “If you’re offerin’, that is.”

You smile. “I am.” 

He gestures you forward, reaching out to catch the door in his hand.  

You slide into the dark entryway and Joel bolts the door shut behind you before following you up the stairs to the landing where you unlock your apartment door without so much struggle. “I can look at that other door,” he offers again, sounding sheepish this time, like he’s sorry for bothering you about it again.

“I’d like that,” you say, and let him in ahead of you. 

You flip on the lights as you move past him to the kitchen, tiny and cluttered and too warm. You sweep your mail off the breakfast table and point Joel into one of the chairs when he starts to shrug out of the flannel. 

Both chairs have jackets hanging from the back but he just drapes his over what’s already there. His shoulders strain at the material of his shirt, bunching around his biceps and under his arms, across the incredibly broad plains of his chest. 

You yank your eyes away from him when you start to follow the vein in his arm, thinking you’d like to know what his skin tasted like there. 

Heat floods your chest at the thought. It’s unlike you, makes you feel shaky in a good way. It’s been years since you’ve thought that about someone, and try as you might you can’t remember if you’d ever looked at your ex and thought something like that. 

You wonder what that bit of skin feels like, how soft and firm the inside of his bicep must be. 

He looks comfortable and domestic in the warm glow of your overhead kitchen light when he sits down. 

You can’t look at him for too long without something in your pulse jumping, a raw little needy nerve that demanded attention. You want him to touch you again, to reach out and hold your hand so delicately in his. 

Instead of dwelling on that thought, you turn to your coffee pot, deftly fixing it to brew before you turn to rummage through your fridge. “I have something stronger, if you want it. I don’t like drinking after getting a tattoo.” 

“You shouldn’t,” he advises. “Ain’t good for healin’. You should eat somethin’, though.”

“I figured you’d have something to say about that,” you roll your eyes and turn to put the blackberry pie in your hands onto the table. “I won’t complain this time as long as you have some with me.” 

He stares up at you, an odd look in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was affectionate. “All right, dear.” 

Dear. That’s new. It makes you feel light, like bubbles are popping in your veins. 

You nod at him, warmth spreading beneath your skin, before pointing to the pie. “From Flu’s. You been to Flu’s? She has the best pie. It’s blackberry.” 

“Sure, me and the girls have been a few times. Coffee’s good there. Blackberry’s one of my favorites,” he rumbles, and you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. You have a feeling that even if Joel hated pie and was allergic to blackberries, you’d never hear a word about it. 

Joel doesn’t look away from you. His gaze slowly shifts from your eyes, to your hand planted on your hip. He slowly reaches out and curls his hand around your wrist. The slow way he does it stills your heart and all the worries shelved inside it. All the room he gives you, to be skittish, as he called it, and afraid, makes your throat go tight and hot. He handles it like it’s not something to fix, just something to accommodate, figure out with you. “Thank you, sweetheart. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get the coffee?” 

“It’s my house,” you gripe softly, no bite behind your words. His skin is fever hot against yours, like an ember pressed against your jumping pulse.  

But just like the last time he tattooed you and insisted on something to eat, he scoffs at you. His thumb slides across the inside of your wrist. “And you were the one that lost blood today. Sit, and tell me where your mugs are.” 

You slowly sit across from him, your wrist still in his hand. “Good,” he releases you and stands. The little bit of praise goes straight to your belly, just like it had at the shop. It settles warm inside you, a good kind of tense. “Cups?” 

You point him to the correct cabinet, exhaustion overcoming you all at once now that you’ve sat down. You watch him pour the coffee, offer to get you cream or sugar even though he doesn’t know where those are either. You have to point him to where the plates, and then the cutlery, are kept. 

It's an odd little hope that flits through your mind, one that wishes for a day when he would be familiar enough with your things that he wouldn’t need to ask. 

He returns to the table and cuts two even slices of pie and plates them before returning to his chair. 

You’re just about to dig your fork into the pie when his hand curls around yours again. He isn’t looking at you when you glance up, glad that he still wants anything to do with you, that he so carefully touches you, gives you the thing you crave and fear and are too afraid to ask for.

“Don’t do that again.” He squeezes your wrist gently, voice that quiet, low drawl, an echo of what he’d said earlier.  

It’s the same thing he’d said at the shop and you don’t have to ask what he means. You wouldn’t anyway, not when the vulnerability in his voice seems to cost him. 

He’s not sure how it happens, how he spends all night at your kitchen table with your trembling pulse beneath his hand. 

He’s too old to be doing this type of shit.

He’s got an ache in his neck now that’s going to get him teased by just about everyone. His girls and Tommy already get on him about being a crotchety old man—between the glasses he refuses to wear besides anytime he needs to read something small and the landline phone and his attitude generally.

Yeah, his neck and back issues are going to be next on the docket. 

But he can’t really bring himself to care, not when he’s gotten to sit with you through the night and listen to your voice, not when your hand is still securely within his and you haven’t given a single indication you’d like him to let go, not when your calves are crossed with his beneath the table. 

He lets himself imagine it better, imagine it more. 

You curled in his lap, head on his shoulder, fingers tangled up in the fabric of his shirt or knotted into his hair. In this stupid little dream of his, you’ve just woken up instead of staying awake through the night. You say good morning and he pours you coffee. 

He thinks, too, of pressing you back into the table, finding what lay hidden on your skin. He’d go to his knees for you, he’d worship at your feet, if you asked him to. 

He wants it so bad he can taste it, but he settles for what he has here with you, the limit you’ve guided him to, hands tangled and legs crossed.

The sun dawns a white gold through the sheer curtains over your kitchen windows. You’d never pulled the heavier drapes closed and the street light had cast your face in shadow when you flipped out the harsh overhead light. 

You watch the sunrise, and Joel watches honeyed light shift over your face. 

He likes your little apartment. It’s cluttered and homey and reminds him of his parent’s kitchen when he’d been growing up. You have art and photos stuck to every inch of bare wall. The blanket over the back of your couch and the shaw over one of the chairs is crocheted. There’s evidence of all kinds of little projects scattered around your apartment. 

Even the little breakfast table he sits at is hand painted.

“You never said you were an artist,” he’d said early on in the night. 

“I’m not,” you’d ducked your head and deflected. “Not like you at least. It’s not like I’m any good.” 

You’re plenty good. “Right,” he agreed. “Not like me. It's better than mine. You could do your own sketchin’ for a tattoo.” 

Even though you’d been embarrassed he could tell you were delighted he thought so. 

Now you turn your face toward him in the comfortable silence that’s descended, half your features in shadow. You smile and your teeth shine. “Good thing today’s a Sunday, right? You don’t have to worry after rushing to open the studio.”

You tug your hand back from his and stand, gathering both mugs before you cross your tiny kitchen to set about starting a new pot of coffee. 

He watches you, absently stacking the plates crusted with blackberry filling. 

Your shirt rides up a little when you reach for the coffee canister, a thin strip of skin showing between your rumpled shirt and your jeans. He’s reminded again of all the places he wants to touch you, to touch the soft curves of your body, trace that line of skin and seek out each of your hidden tattoos. 

Not on your hip, you’d said. 

So where? Where hasn’t he seen?

The velvet of your thighs, the silken skin of your ribs and back, between your breasts, your sternum.  

The kitchen fills slowly with light, orange and red on the far wall, undulating lines of light slicing apart the worn wooden floor. He picks apart the place with his eyes while your back is turned—the paintings and photos you don’t think anything of, the postcards stuck to the fridge, the hand painted, hand knitted-ness of everything, the mismatched mugs and glasses, chipped at the corners, the tiny dish of kibble on the floor—

“You got a cat?” He figures he would have seen a dog by now. 

You turn and follow his eyes before you smile. “Sometimes. He comes and goes whenever he likes. He’s not really mine.”

“How’s that?” 

“How’s what?”

“That he comes and goes?” Joel stands, meanders a couple steps toward you, trying to discreetly stretch out the throbbing nerve in his back. 

“I leave the window cracked in my bedroom.” 

And he hates that, just like he hates the thought of you leaving your door unlocked and he just like he hates the thought of you struggling with the door in the middle of the night when he hasn’t walked you home. “Shouldn’t be doin’ things like that.” 

“Knew you wouldn’t like it,” you smile, repeating your earlier sentiment and he has a feeling it’s going to become a common refrain. “He’s probably sleeping just now.”  

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ll drive me crazy.”

“This town is the safest place I’ve ever been.” 

“Hate to see where you’ve been before.” 

You laugh and ask him if he wants to get breakfast when—

“Shit,” he slides a hand over his face. “I told my girls we’d have breakfast. Start of the school year tradition, Sarah's first day back is Monday. I gotta drive down to Austin.” 

“It’s still early,” you reassure him without turning, but he can see the way your cheek curves with a smile he can’t see. “I’ll put your coffee in a thermos to go.” 

Joel takes the last few steps toward you and leans against the counter. Your breath hitches and your eyes flick up to his, big and shining bright as they always are. A slash of sun falls over them, lighting up your irises. The coffee pot bubbles and hisses, percolating slowly and you don’t look away. 

Your lips part softly and your breath fans across his chin. “Don’t gotta leave this minute. I got some time,” he says, watching those doe eyes of yours flick across his face, to the corner of his mouth. 

You move a bit closer, your foot slotting between his, and he feels like you’ve finally drifted close enough. Finally come close enough to feel safe, to rest. 

You lean into him first, eyes fluttering closed, shoulders relaxing  against the line of his body. Joel presses one arm around you, slides his fingers along the column of your spine, and for a moment you stiffen in the cage of his arms. 

“You’re all right,” he murmurs and loosens his hold a fraction, but your body suddenly goes lax against him. Your nose slots against his throat, fingers curling gently into his t-shirt. You release a long, slow breath against his throat. “You’re okay.” 

He isn’t sure what he’s trying to reassure you of, but it doesn’t much matter because you seem to know, to get his meaning. 

“I know I am,” you sigh. 

He can feel you breathing, the rise and fall of your lungs, the press of your breasts against his chest. You’re soft in his arms. “Good,” he says, nose against your temple as he slides his hand to the back of your neck, keeping you pressed there. “Good girl.” He feels you shiver and holds you closer, tighter than should be possible. 

Your hand is hot when it slips beneath his shirt, pressed against his lower back for the briefest moment before it disappears and roots down into his shirt again, your breath shaky. 

When he rubs the tense muscle of your neck you make a noise that forces him to stifle a groan and pull back just slightly. 

“You okay?” He asks, ignoring the fire burning low in his belly, trying to temper himself. 

Your eyes are damp, the corners wet. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I’m—”

He cups your cheek, tilts your face up, sweeps his thumb over your cheek. 

“I’m just a fucking mess, Joel. I always have been. For a long time, I have been. And I don’t know why.” 

“Why what?” His eyes are on your mouth, then your eyes, the image of the divot in the bottom of your lip lingering in his mind. “Sweetheart?” 

The big, scared, doe-eyed look you send him breaks his heart. “Why it’s so hard. To touch people and be touched.” 

“You’re doin’ okay,” he strokes your cheek again, slides his other hand to your hip. “Seems to me anyway.” 

“For now. I’m work. I always have been. And I’m more trouble than I’m worth.” 

He thinks of your pretty little apartment decorated with your own arts and crafts that you dismiss with a wave of your hand, the way you think you bother him, your insistence of paying him back for his time. You make yourself small, and he thinks you have more scars and worries from the past than you realize. 

“Trouble? You’re the least troublesome person I know,” he says. “My idiot brother, Tommy, now he’s trouble. Still gotta bail him outta trouble sometimes. You? Nothin’ about you is trouble.” You lean into his hand, watching him closely. 

He can’t believe his silent extended hand, his patient hand, has been rewarded with this. “And I don’t mind hard work.” 

You search his eyes for a long time, not blinking, not looking away, as you reach up and hook one hand around his wrist. He can see you trying to convince yourself to believe him. You swallow and place your trust in him again, if not necessarily your belief. “Okay.”

“All right. You wanna get breakfast with me and my girls? I’ve been wantin’ you to meet Sarah.” 

“She won’t mind?” you ask, gently pulling yourself out of his hands, tugging his hand away from your face. 

He lets you go, recognizes the trapped, pained, fearful wanting on your face. You need space. “They think I don’t know it’s more for me than them. They stopping carin’ about it sometime in middle school. Hell, Ellie ain’t even in school anymore. I’m holdin’ on to them bein’ kids, I guess.” 

You nod. “Okay.” 

He stands aside and lets you fix the coffees. He pulls his flannel off the back of your chair when he passes it on the way out and drapes it around your shoulders. 

When you’re in his truck, fiddling with his radio, he catches you clutching it closer, your nose dipped into the collar. 

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #honeyed fic

[myjisung]

stray kids : calling them pretty !

content. stray kids ot8, gn!reader, complimenting, idol and non idol!skz, lots of dialog, insecure bangchan, confident hyunjin & seungmin, sillies — fluff.

warning. none

wordcount. 1,6k ( got carried away a little bit )

a/n. sorry, i had brainrot !!

bang chan ( 방찬 )

"you're pretty"

"now you're just being silly."

"i mean it!"

chan looked back at you, unimpressed. his brow looked unamused and so did his mouth. he did not buy it.

"chan i promise you. you're a very pretty guy."

he shook his head and you could feel your heart break to pieces. no matter how many times you complimented him, whatever the words you chose, chan would not believe you.

"that's not a word i'd use to describe myself" he laughed dryly "i mean, have you seen me?"

enough. you got up and walked towards him. that got his attention. chan turned his face away from his computer to look to your side and you grabbed his face with both hands. shocked, his eye grew a little bigger.

"chan" your voice quivered "you have to believe me. you ARE pretty. always have been. it pains me to hear you deny it over and over again." his lower lip trembled "whatever it is that makes you believe you don't deserve to hear that word being uttered about yourself, forget it!"

he swallowed and his eyes watered.

"okay" he said after a while "alright. i-" he sighed, looked somewhere else then closed his eyes "i can't really- i don't-" another sigh "for you, i'll try."

lee know ( 리노 )

this time, after ten minutes spent trying, your facetime call went through.

"well fucking finally minho! why are you-" on your screen, your boyfriend's face appeared. he was getting makeup, a small brush softly highlighting his nose bridge "oh... you're pretty."

minho laughed gently.

"what is it that you want y/n? why'd you even call me seventeen times? can't you tell i'm busy?"

he tried to use that annoyed tone he usually threw your way when you were being clingy. but you could tell he was blushing, something that didn't happen often enough if you had to be honest.

"well damn, calm down with the questions. can't someone want to talk to their pretty boyfriend?"

another laugh, a shy one this time.

"okay, stop that"

"stop what? calling you pretty? well that's what you are. pretty pretty pretty!"

"alright i'm hanging up"

"MINHO NO WAIT."

you had to call him eight more times for him to pick up a second time.

changbin ( 창빈 )

"can you compliment me some more?"

you had just spent the last fifteen minutes telling changbin about how perfect of a man he was. and there he was asking for more? there were only so many compliments in the world. so much so that you had to think about what to say in order to not repeat yourself.

handsome you had used. super witty you went on and on about without forgetting about complimenting his dedication to living a healthy lifestyle and promoting kindness.

but then, it dawned on you. you knew just what to say.

"you're pretty."

changbin furrowed his brows.

"huh?"

"you're pretty" you repeated. "like, you're actually so pretty."

a tentative smile stretched changbin's lips.

"are you sure?" he was shy. changbin brought his hand to the back of his neck and tickled it gently—as if it was the first time anyone ever used the word 'pretty' to describe him.

"i am" you said without hesitation "you are super pretty, changbin. you've got pretty eyes and a pretty nose and pretty lips and pretty cheeks and and and..."

changbin laughed that silly high pitched laugh of his.

"you've got a pretty face overall."

"that's the first time i heard of it." he finally said, too shy to ask for any more compliments.

you mentally took note: in order to shut my changbin up, call him pretty.

hyunjin ( 현진 )

"what did you think the first time you saw me?"

you looked up from your book to lock eyes with his. that came out of nowhere. tilting your head to the side, you furrowed your brows.

"what do you mean?"

"like" hyunjin looked to the left, pondering how to word his question better "what was your first impression? when we first met, what did you think of me?"

"oh." you went back to your book "he's pretty."

hyunjin coughed.

"that's it?"

"did you expect me to think you were hot or cool or whatever? the first time we met you were drenched in soda and asked me for napkins, not very cool nor hot. but you were very pretty, the prettiest man i had ever seen."

a gentle smile stretched his full lips.

"do you mean that or are you being funny?"

you looked at him again, shocked. after marking the page you were at, you closed your book.

"no what do YOU mean? don't play with me hyunjin. you DO know that you're pretty, right?"

he brought his hand to his mouth but, before he could hide it, you saw his slight smirk.

"i mean..." he started.

"oh come on!"

"no like" hyunjin giggled "i'm aware it's just, i didn't think you'd think that of me. pretty? is that really the impression i gave you?"

"well cut me some slack here! you're a crazily pretty man. sometimes i just look at you for fun. for FUN, hyunjin! i am ENTERTAINED, i am having a GREAT TIME looking at your pretty face."

"okay now you don't have to be dramatic about it"

hyunjin was blushing crazily for someone so confident.

han ( 한 )

he was painting his nails and a look of concentration had him furrow his brow and push the tip of his tongue out of his mouth. han wanted to draw stars on each and every single one of his nails and you admired his dedication to the task.

the room smelled of both nail polish and nail polish remover. the coffee table was littered with cotton pads and q-tips drenched in acetone. the smell had your eyes water but you couldn't leave.

han was just so pretty. and you had to tell him.

"hey" you started.

"busy" jisung replied "can't mess up again."

you heard him but, it had to be said.

"you're so pretty right now."

it took him a while, maybe three or five seconds before the words registered. once he pieced it together, he looked up at you.

"huh?"

"i said, you're pretty"

"no i heard you" he started "it's just... really?"

han kept his brush above his fingers so long a droplet of pink polish splashed on his nail, ruining the design, but you didn't have the heart to point it out yet.

"yeah? you're a very pretty guy, jisung. like, your eyes for starters, insanely pretty"

he gave you a shy smile as his cheeks turned pink. you could tell he was trying to tone down his reaction from the way his leg started bouncing.

"no... you're the pretty one." he finally said.

jisung looked down at his nail and shrieked. he was going to have start over, AGAIN.

felix ( 필릭스 )

"you're so pretty"

you weren't expecting to say that out loud but could anyone even blame you? the sun was hitting felix's face in a way that enhanced his freckles along with the gold of his skin. his long eyelashes tickled the skin under his eyes and the bitten red of his mouth made him look ethereal.

felix was, objectively, a very pretty boy.

his eyes fluttered open and your cheeks blushed pink. felix noticed and a playful smile stretched his mouth.

"d'you mean that?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

you weren't exactly boyfriend and partner yet. you weren't anything really. something in between, something blurry but neither of you dared saying or doing anything about it. you were content with this in-between, for now.

"i do" you started and he brought a hand to your cheek, letting his thumb gently stroke your skin "you're very pretty, felix"

his smile got bigger.

"thanks" he said "you're super pretty yourself."

you swore your heart leapt out of your chest.

seungmin ( 승민 )

"has anyone told you that you were pretty before?"

"plenty of times actually, y/n."

seungmin smiled playfully and you watched him, deadpan.

"i mean," he started "i get it. don't you?"

he giggled and you could only scoff. can't someone compliment their boyfriend and have him react normally in this economy?

"alright mister pretty boy. i guess you've heard it so much it got to your head."

another laugh, a bright one this time and you could not contain your own smile anymore. seungmin had this way of brightening every room he walked in. he always managed to have you in the best mood and make you forget all of your worries.

"oh no y/n... i beg, compliment me again. i only care when it's you that calls me pretty."

it was your turn to act. pretending to be unimpressed, you looked away.

"well. i better be!"

seungmin giggled again. and so did you.

i.n ( 아이엔 )

shopping with jeongin always took hours. you were used to it at this point, but still. your feet were killing you and you had spent far more money than you had planned to.

your boyfriend had a way with compliments afterall. whatever you tried on, he loved and managed to make you love too so, purchased they were!

"how about this one?"

the fitting room's curtain quickly opened and you were met with yet another huge-pair-of-pants-and-oversized-shirt outfit. it was crazy the way jeongin managed to make them work every time.

"pretty" you said "you're pretty."

he smiled and his eyes crinkled.

"pretty?"

"mh mh" you nodded "you look super pretty. you always do but especially right now. crazily pretty, insanely pretty, gorgeously pretty. extremely pretty even. have you considered-"

jeongin cut you off, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. he giggled against your mouth as you kissed back, sending happy shivers down your back.

"okay i think i get it." he said "you're perfectly pretty too"

with that, the curtain closed again.

taglist. after being absent for a long while, i'll make a new taglist instead of using the old one so let me know if you would like to be added / removed.

#🐈‍⬛ sol writes #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcanons #stray kids drabbles #stray kids reactions #skz #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz headcanons #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids fics #skz fics #skz bang chan #skz leeknow #skz felix #skz changbin #skz hyunjin #skz han #skz seungmin #skz i.n #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids ot8 #kpop #kpop reactions #kpop drabbles #kpop fics #kpop imagines