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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers.

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment.

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse.

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter.

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle.

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.”

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.”

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.”

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him.

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection.

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense.

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had.

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering.

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long.

Knows what can hunt you.

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.”

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!”

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here.

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves.

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt.

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money.

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable.

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat.

Turn back.

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin.

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs.

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other.

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat.

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time.

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place.

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard.

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath.

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it.

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head.

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper.

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed.

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had.

The Ghost.

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal.

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it.

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air.

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips.

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat.

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up.

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts.

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale.

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh.

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you.

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes.

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley.

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop.

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor.

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes.

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances.

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog.

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help.

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold.

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here.

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward.

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey.

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches.

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time.

Eyes like a burial mound.

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads.

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense.

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage.

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages.

But the Ghost isn’t even there.

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.”

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward.

Where did it go?

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear.

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it.

Those eyes.

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state.

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears.

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do.

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close.

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh.

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage.

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough.

“H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!”

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him.

You shutter.

“Eh��Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering.

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back.

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction.

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise.

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity.

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival.

So run you did.

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson.

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage.

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape.

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar!

But the house was different.

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade.

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches.

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly.

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.”

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this.

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves.

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened.

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering.

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live?

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently.

This would be your sanctuary for the night.

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not.

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers.

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink.

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly.

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings.

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?”

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt.

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.”

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!”

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop.

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive.

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view.

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?”

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen.

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?”

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door.

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force.

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.”

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back.

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring.

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees.

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul.

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches.

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do.

The beast patrolled the glade.

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away.

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront.

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork.

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here.

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really.

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action.

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart.

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor.

Your neighbor the Werewolf.

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him.

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented.

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined.

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside.

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.”

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate.

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling.

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors.

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider.

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.”

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug.

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting.

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.”

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums.

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others.

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.”

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion.

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.”

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.”

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath.

An embarrassing giggle meets air.

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder.

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room.

You wake up to the sound of the door opening.

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality.

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches.

All sound ceases.

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting.

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers.

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently.

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up.

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form.

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.”

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes.

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways.

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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kimstills · 2 months

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some reassurance - aaron hotchner x gn!reader

in which you try to provide aaron with some reassurance after he asks for his worst qualities.

content warnings: a little hotch aftermath of s2e15 (nothing goes into detail), no haley in this story but no real mentions about her, the team is kind of mean, aaron and reader literally flirting even tho reid just got kidnapped not too long ago. word count: 1.5k a/n: inspired by this post by @greg-montgomery ! my man is not a bully <3 also not proofread oops

he’s a classic narcissist.

he thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team.

what’s my worst quality?

i have no sense of humor.

you don’t trust women as much as men.

you can be a drill sergeant sometimes.

you’re a bully.

you’re sure that if the words of the events from the past 12 hours have been ringing in your head since they first happened, they’re probably ringing in hotch’s head, too.

but you’re also sure that he’s trying to play it as if nothing happened. as if he didn’t get completely verbally obliterated by his team members.

you lost count of how many times you had turned to look at hotch from the moment reid had chosen him to be ‘killed’ after tobias hankel had asked him to pick someone from his team. from the moment you had all figured out where the devolving man was keeping reid.

from the moment you had saved your friend, to the moment the case had been wrapped up, to the moment your boss had just now ordered everyone to take the weekend off right after arriving back to the quantico headquarters, despite immediately locking himself in his office afterwards.

you had contemplated saying anything from when reid had first chosen hotch as hankel’s sacrifice, and you contemplate saying anything now as you stare up at his office, the curtains having been drawn and the door closed ever since coming back, even when everyone else was gathering their things and was about ready to leave.

you didn’t know what it was about hotch or your relationship with him, but you had always found yourself protective of him ever since breaking through the ‘cold’ and ‘stoic’ persona the team had made up for him and crafting a genuine friendship with him.

you had been the first to follow after him when he had left the room with all the computer screens where you and your team had watched reid ‘choose’ him, hot on his heels trying to reassure him that the young genius wasn’t in his right mind.

it had been impossible, though, watching in silent horror and palpable confusion as he asked the rest of his team to list his worst qualities while trying to realize that everything spencer said was on purpose.

what emily had said, you had let slide. she was new to the team, and although you reassured her that all would turn fine in her journey with you and the rest of the bau, you couldn’t deny the lack of trust the others had in her.

derek butted heads with hotch the most and was the most brazen when it came to standing up to him, never afraid to call bullshit even with knowing that hotch was hard on him because he knew of morgan’s potential.

what jj had said, though, you didn’t understand. there had never been a time where you could actively recall hotch being purposefully rude or mean to anyone without it being called for.

he could put people in his place and humble an officer or two when needed, but he had never been mean to you nor to anyone else just because. so, when the words ‘bully’ left jj’s mouth, you couldn’t help but furrow your brows and send a glare her way despite the traumatic events she was still reeling through.

spencer had said himself that he knew hotch would understand, so you could only assume that everyone else had assumed the older man wouldn’t take anything personal, especially after being the one to ask the question.

you had only given his shoulder a squeeze seconds after he ordered everyone to get some rest, offering a comforting smile.

but you knew that wasn’t enough.

so, before you even registered what you were doing, you brush past the startled and confused stares derek and emily give you as you stand abruptly from where you had been perched on your desk and march up the stairs to hotch’s office.

the determination in which you made your way up there contrasted from the gentle knock you raptured on his door, waiting patiently for the deep voice to allow you to enter.

at the sound of his permission, you stepped inside, smiling softly when aaron looks up to glance at you.

he’s standing on the left side of his desk, shuffling papers together and sliding them into a manilla folder. he seems tense, like he finally let himself feel what he was trying to avoid back at hankel’s house, but, solely from the warmth of your smile, his shoulders drop and his body languages is immediately relaxed by your presence.

“i thought i sent you home?” he asks, giving you a knowing look as he stacks the folders neatly on one of the baskets he kept in one of the corners of his desk.

you shake your head no, “not yet,” you close the door behind you gently, catching a peek of morgan and prentiss’ confused stares before turning to look at him.

aaron’s brows furrow at you closing his door, “are you alright?” he asks, stopping in his movements.

you shrug, “as alright as i can be, i guess,” you say, fiddling with your fingers. you feel yourself growing shy under his perplexed stare, but you push it down in order to ask, “are you alright?”

aaron blinks at you, the crease in between his forehead deepening even more, if possible. after a second, you can see the gears winding in his head before it all clicks together, the hardening stare he wore slowly dropping as he realizes what you mean.

“i’m fine.” he says shortly. you know from the many times you’ve accompanied other members of your team to check up on him that they would normally drop the questioning after that, but you weren’t like the rest of them. apparently.

“aaron,” you speak up, his gaze immediately flickering back up to you at your use of his first name, “i don’t think you’re a bully,”

your tone is genuine and comforting and he wants nothing but to completely delve into it. to bury himself in that same comfort and simply stay there as you whisper reassurances.

but the only thing he does in response is shake his head, continuing his maneuvering around his desk as a way to avoid what you were trying to do, “y/n, it’s okay.” he shakes his head, “i didn’t take any of it personally. gideon was right; reid wasn’t in his right mind during then,”

you shrug again, trying your best to get him to look at you without rounding his desk and standing right in front of him, “still. what jj said was pretty uncalled for,”

“well, i was the one who practically called for it,” aaron reminds you, looking up at you through his lashes as he continues to fix files.

you hum. you don’t know if what you’re trying to do is working or not, but you see the harsh lines around his brows soften and a faint pink bloom at his cheeks, one that makes your own face heat up.

“well,” you huff, “i also think that you’re pretty funny.” you shrug again, “really funny, actually.”

everything you’re telling him just now is true, but this is the most honest thing yet. derek, emily, and spencer all had their funny moments, yes, but aaron’s sense of humor was very similar to yours. and, to be fair, it didn’t come out as much due to him sticking to that false persona.

but when it did, you were the first one to understand the joke or the first to laugh and even the one laughing the hardest.

once again, aaron is frozen by your words, this time completely dropping what he was doing to stare you with bewilderment. he raises a brow, “you do?” his question is hesitant, like he doesn’t believe you.

and you know that he doesn’t. so you nod, “yeah,” you smile brightly at him, “you make me laugh a lot. even more than morgan.” this time you’re the one hesitating, taking a moment to wonder if what you’re doing is crossing a line between you and him. “or anyone else, really.” you tilt your head, “you’ve never noticed?”

aaron’s face is now a hot pink, and if it wasn’t for the sake of keeping up with his ‘stern’ facade, you’re sure he’d turn away and envelop his face in his hands.

he’s the one to shrug this time, “well, truth be told, i always get distracted by you.” a beat of silence passes before he clears his throat, averting his eyes to what you think is your shoes, “and your laugh.”

you beam despite the feeling of your face getting even hotter at his confession. you can’t help yourself from asking, “you like my laugh?”

“there’s a lot of things i like about you,” aaron admits, much more confident this time, a fond expression adorning his features.

you blush under his gaze, trying your hardest to conceal the wide smile that was threatening to appear on your face. you rock on your heels, hands folded behind your back shyly, “there’s a lot of things i like about you too, hotch.”

“aaron,” he says, not liking the way ‘hotch’ sounded after hearing you say his first name, “aaron, please,”

this time you can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips.

no, aaron hotchner wasn’t a bully at all.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #jason gideon #derek morgan #maddie’s stills

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randomshyperson · 10 months

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Shameless - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The book club forces Wanda to go to a bookstore in downtown Westview, where she meets you. Or the one where Wanda tries a new hobby and finds a reason to end her marriage.

Warnings: (+16), some dirty implications but nothing explicit, mentions of make-out, no cheating (but intent), strangers to lovers, milf-horny wanda, compulsory heterosexuality and mentions of homophobia, an attempt at the 80s scene, some angst but a happy ending. | Words: 7.525k

A/N-> I don’t know where this came from.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The book club had been Agatha's idea.

A harmless little pastime is how she would describe it during the weekly community meeting. Some short and simple speech about how modern housewives needed distractions while their husbands were at work and the kids were at school, anything that would please the ears of the preacher and the town council enough for the men to ignore the remnants of card games or bottles of alcohol that appeared whenever Agatha organized any “ladies' meetings” - as she liked to describe it.

Wanda and almost all the other women were happy to participate - and that is, almost all of them since Dorothy had not joined anything Agatha was involved in for two years now, ever since the blonde refused to visit the nightclub that was inaugurated downtown, commenting that it was not a suitable place for family ladies, and in Wanda's opinion, missing out on one of the most fun evenings she had ever had.

This time, Agatha's new invention was weekly meetings of a book club, which for the older woman, was the perfect excuse to get away from her husband Ralph and his strong odor of cheap beer and their grumpy son who apparently didn't know how to take glasses to the sink. Two hours a week to stay off chores and focus on her friends, and as a bonus, to read and discuss the literature she would have had access to if higher education was something women were encouraged to earn.

Wanda was one of the few in the quiet Westview who had a degree - It had been a shared dream of her and her mother Natalya, who wished to see both her children off to college and it was a fortunate thing that it happened before her sad passing. The most unfair thing about that was that despite her mother's wishes for Wanda’s independence, once Natalya was gone, all that Erik did was encourage her to leave college and look for a husband, the last of which Wanda eventually gave in to in her senior year. Jarvis Vision Stark was a couple of years older than her and was completing his degree in Engineering, and to almost everyone in her class, that had to be true love. He was a good-looking young man, with a good family and education, and he seemed so in love with her. With that in mind, Wanda tried to love Vision with the same intensity that he said he did, but with the passing of the years, and the arrival of the children, the fantasy dissolved into a boring routine and conformism.

Despite those issues, her twins, Billy and Tommy, were her most precious treasure. And they were also the only thing keeping her marriage on track, Wanda dared to think.

Getting a divorce, in the traditional Christian-Jewish community of Westview, would be a scandal under any circumstances. Sometimes, when she ventured to imagine being someone with this kind of courage, Wanda could only imagine the look of disappointment on her father's face when he heard the news, and the thought was soon shoved away like dirty clothes in the washing machine.

At least Wanda had Agatha. Her long-time, trusting friend, with whom she could share torments like this, and complain about slack-jawed, obstinate husbands.

And there was also now the book club.

Westview only had one library close to home, and well, Agatha had been clear in her instructions. No cheap or religious literature, she warned with a cigarette between her lips, gesturing with one hand when one of the girls asked about what the first meeting would be like.

"Bring something interesting." Agatha suddenly gave a little smile, the same kind when she managed to bring a bottle of liquor hidden away for the Saturday church service. "Scandalous, if you dare."

They all sighed in surprise, complicit for the whole thing. Some began to whisper among themselves, but Wanda knew what she would have to do. There was nothing of the sort in Westview, so she would have to leave the residential neighborhood.

She woke up on Tuesday, dropped the kids off at school, and made breakfast. for Vision, who didn't even bother to say thank you, not happy to hear that Wanda was going out, but courteous enough to offer her a ride, which she declined almost immediately. She had the distinct impression that it was a way of being monitored, and she couldn't bear to deal with it when she was already so nervous.

Taking the bus downtown, she went straight to the new commercial village of Westview. She caught a glimpse of some neighbors, who worked in the local shops but didn't say hello to any of them.

She walked until she found a bookstore, a small, old building with carts full of books at the door and advertisements that, although scattered and colorful, were easy to understand. It was a very cozy place, which made Wanda smile for a quick fantasy about having tried to work with books after her graduation if she hadn't been pregnant at the time.

A bell rang when she entered, but no one greeted her for the first few minutes she was inside. It gave her just enough time to go to one of the nearest bookshelves and run her fingers through the rows of books, a smile playing on her lips.

"Didn't you hear the door, Pchelka (little bee)?" A voice caught her attention, and Wanda turned, trying to see between the shelves. At a glance, short, red hair attracted her eye, and she blinked to find the face of a very pretty woman offering her a gentle smile. "One minute, sweetheart. We'll be right with you."

Wanda opened her mouth to say she wasn't in a hurry, sympathetic to the number of books the redhead was carrying, but in the next second, the woman disappeared between the columns and she didn’t have a chance to say anything at all.

The bookstore remained empty and silent for another half minute, but once Wanda made mention of turning her attention back to the books behind her, a ladder opened from the ceiling, and out of it jumped a figure in an apron, and out of instinct, Wanda hopped away.

"So sorry for the scare, Miss." You apologized with a soft chuckle at the scene, closing the attic in a single motion and running your hands through your hair and shoulders in an effort to blow off some of the dust. "We are reviewing the inventory. How can I be of assistance?"

Her breath caught in her throat at the image of your gentle and playful smile. She felt so foolish. In all her 32 years, when was the last time she had been tongue-tied, if ever?

You raised one of your eyebrows, and repeated the question, bringing a new color to her cheeks. Wanda broke into a clumsy giggle at the same second.

"Sorry, you caught me by surprise." She managed to cover it up, adjusting a lock of her hair and then moving her hands to smooth her clothes, suddenly unsure what to do with herself. "I’m…looking for a book."

You cracked another smile, finding the scene quite amusing. This older, breathtaking woman, all shy and adorable around you. "Well, we have lots of those." You teased, and Wanda felt her stomach do a complete turn at the sound of your raspy giggle. Maybe she was getting sick. Yeah, that would explain her body’s out-of-control reactions. "What are you looking for, or perhaps a name...?"

"Wanda." She interrupts, and you frown in confusion. Taking a deep breath, she holds out her hand. "I am Wanda Maximoff."

Despite the strangeness of the moment and the fact that she didn't understand that you wanted the name of the book and not hers, you smiled warmly and repeated the gesture. Wanda has never hated work gloves as she does now, a curiosity burning to know what your skin would feel like on hers, the thought bringing such a strong color to her ears that she needs to look away immediately, barely catching the name that you mention next.

She clears her throat, and adds: "I'm actually joining a book club and the only guidance we had was to bring something interesting." And she risks looking you in the eye to add. "Scandalous."

You find it funny, even adorable if you could put it that way. Maybe it's because of the color of her face when she says it. Or maybe it's because these college students - Wanda judges you to be one for your apparent age - are more modern than she would have been and don't bother with this sort of subject.

"Hm, I think I can help with that." You retort with a thoughtful expression, beckoning for Wanda to follow you deeper into the store and she does so only after taking a deep breath.

The columns of poetry make her bite her lip in curiosity, some of the names Wanda recognizes from her own years as a student, but it is only when you are in the last aisle with the little gold plaque labeled "Sapphic Literature" that Wanda thinks she has stopped breathing.

You do everything very calmly. Climbing up one of the stairs, and taking some time to read the titles, you take a small book from one of the higher shelves and walk back to Wanda, whose face is almost Natasha's hair color now.

With a smile, you hold out the book, but don't let go, holding the item as she does.

"There's nothing more scandalous than this for a small town like Westview." You say. "But if it's too much, Miss Maximoff, I can always suggest something different. You know, like stuff about the first war or Russian philosophy..."

"N-no, this is fine." She interrupts you, grabbing the book strongly and pulling it close to her chest. You don't know if she's trying to hide it or keep it from fleeing, but it makes you chuckle. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem." You reply, studying that face for a moment. Wanda swallows dry but holds your gaze. You clear your throat as soon as you realize you're staring. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She almost sighs, her knees going weak at just the line her thoughts take. Shaking her head, she offers you a small smile. "No, that will be all." She says and practically runs off to the edge of the store, back to the cashier.

The redheaded woman is taking care of the payment now, and Wanda doesn't notice the look you exchange with her because she's too busy sensing your presence coming behind her.

"Excuse me, Miss Maximoff, let me wrap this up for you." Your whisper near her ear makes her shudder from head to toe, and it is fortunate that you grab the book from her as Wanda is sure she would have dropped it on the floor.

You walking away is the only reason Wanda's legs stop shaking.

"Good choice, ma'am." Commented the attendant as soon as you put the book on the counter to be scanned. Wanda noticed the small badge spelled out in silver letters "Natasha" stuck to her apron. "We are also fond of sapphic literature around here." She added with a complicit smile. Wanda didn't understand why it seemed like a code for something, she was too distracted by the movements of your hands storing the book in a pretty bag. She remembers forcing a smile, paying with trembling fingers and practically running out of the bookstore, feeling your gaze burning into her back.

The bell made another noise on the way out, and with the bookstore empty, Natasha's laughter filled the air.

"How do you always find our people?" Questioned the other impressed, but you laughed short, shrugging.

"I won't deny that I have this ability, but in this case, how can you say? You saw her for like, three seconds."

Natasha shook her head, checking the cashier. "Oh, please, she was eye-fucking you this whole three seconds.” Declared the redhead, ignoring your protest at her choice of words. "Besides, it's kind of obvious by her not freaking out over sapphic poetry, isn't it?"

You sigh, somewhat disbelieving. "I don't know, people are more friendly nowadays." You try, but Natasha gestures away as if she doesn't agree.

"Your problem is that you're too naive, Parker." Retorted the redhead with an amused expression. "Women like me, experienced not old, are not so friendly. We come from different times, different generations. You couldn't go around reading gay literature anywhere, hardly found any to be fair. If she wasn't like us, she would have caused a scene at the mere suggestion."

"Alright, Romanoff, I believe you." You grumbled begrudgingly while grabbing one of the last boxes to be checked off the desk. "But that doesn't mean she was interested in me." You stated, but Nat snorted incredulously.

"I bet you five bucks she'll be back next week!" Retorted the redhead, but you only chuckled, letting her increase the bet as the distance grew.

-&-

A tense silence grew with every second in the crowded room.

Wanda sat there, almost not breathing until she finally realized what she had just done. Read. The room began to spin next. She gripped the pages hard enough to wreck the book in her lap, but just as panic was about to overwhelm her, someone sighed loudly.

"Well, that was definitely scandalous." It was Monica, and the good humor of the comment made the room explode into little giggles.

The girls began commenting among themselves excitedly in the same second, some still somewhat hesitant and embarrassed, but definitely thrilled about the whole thing. Wanda felt a gentle hand on the back of her back, through the exposed part of the plastic chair.

"Just breathe, Wanda, everything's fine." It was Agatha, who was still sitting next to her. Who didn't hate her for reading a passage from Emily Dickinson in the middle of the book club, who was still her best friend. Wanda only managed to mumble a weak, whiny yes, and Agatha looked at her with concern before announcing to the entire room that they would take a break before the next reading. Wanda doesn't remember getting up, but she didn't breathe normally again until on the outside balcony of the Harkness Residence. "Here, honey."

The glass of water helped, and Wanda had just returned it to Agatha when the window door opened again. It was Monica, with an almost proud smile, who spoke only after sliding the glass door closed again.

"I have to say, Wanda, you have guts." Her friend joked, and Wanda grimaced.

"What...?"

"I didn't know there were more of us in Westview, Aggie. You could have told me." Monica complained to the older woman, giving Agatha's arm a gentle pat. But the woman just smiled awkwardly, looking at Wanda as if she were seeing her for the first time.

"She never mentioned it, I'm afraid." Agatha commented, and Wanda felt like she might throw up at any moment. "Hey, breathe honey. It's okay, all right? You're safe with us."

But Wanda put a hand over her chest, feeling it tighten. "My god, what I just did... They will tell my husband... my father will hear about it-"

"Hey, Wanda, here. Focus on me, darling, breathe." Agatha grabbed her hands, trying to help her control the panic and tears that began to roll down her face. "Honey, it was just a poem. Nothing is going to happen, okay, you just brought what I asked for, and none of them minded. Nothing has changed, now breathe. You're safe, Wanda."

“Of course, I would ruin the book club.” was the first thought she had hours later when she woke up before the time to pick the boys up from soccer. She didn't have to do it though - Agatha left a little note saying that she had taken care of everything and wished her rest.

Monica drove her home so that Agatha could close the meeting without raising any more suspicions about Maximoff's state, who had had a panic attack because of a poem read aloud. If the other neighbors knew, it would create chatter, and Wanda simply couldn't handle that.

Monica left her safe and sound in her house, wrapped in blankets, and didn't mind staying until Wanda cried herself to sleep. And Wanda woke up alone, feeling worse than before as if a very embarrassing secret had been revealed to the world and was mocking her outside the bedroom walls.

But her children were back in no time, and as they rushed to the shower, she went to thank a very concerned Agatha Harkness.

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?" Asked her friend gently holding her arm. Wanda didn't meet her eyes, nodding.

"Thank you for dropping the boys off." Murmured her quietly, swallowing before adding. "And for earlier. I didn't mean to bring any trouble."

Agatha gripped her with more determination. "Listen here, Wanda, it was no trouble at all, okay?" Assured the woman, who although in a serious tone, still had very gentle eyes. "You are my best friend, Wanda Maximoff. Nothing will ever change the care and love I feel for you. When you're ready to talk about today, about this part of you, I'll be here. And Monica too. You are not alone, honey. You never have been." There was a different complicity in the last sentence, but Wanda only sighed in relief, nodding and finally relaxing when Agatha hugged her.

She thanked her again between silent tears and Agatha only left when she was sure Wanda believed her words.

-&-

It took Wanda three weeks to return to the store. Not that you were counting, or thinking every day about the middle-aged woman who had a gay panic attack with your poor attempt at service. Not that Natasha didn't shut up about it.

And as luck would have it, you were alone in the store because your boss, who you also called a friend, was out picking up some orders and her sister at the University of New York, and well, it had been a slow day until the doorbell rang in the early afternoon and it was Wanda.

"You again." That was the first you managed to say, almost sighing and hating how affected it sounded. Luckily, Wanda seemed equally happy and relieved to see you again.

"Hello." She greeted, repeating last week's gesture of adjusting a lock of her hair. She looked different from before, more elegant, with a dark jeans jacket expensive enough to have come out of a magazine, and a dress underneath that made you swallow dry.

You had no idea how long she spent in front of the mirror trying to choose the right outfit with two neighbors weighing her choices.

Trying to play it cool and sound as casual as possible, you add: "Wanda Maximoff from the book club, right? Did they like the poems?"

She hesitated in a nervous smile, looking around as if to check if there were no other customers and satisfied with the distant presence of a boy in the Vinyl's Discs area and a lady further down the hall, as she practically whispered, "You were right. It was scandalous enough for Westview." She teased, managing to get a short laugh out of you that made her stomach do flips and her cheeks turn a rosy hue. It was decided, she wanted to hear the sound again and would do anything to be the one to make you laugh.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." You retort with a little smile. "I hope you enjoyed the book too, though." Your addiction makes Wanda's heart skip a beat. So you cared if she was the person who enjoyed the reading, it wasn't all about a professional suggestion on how to make an impact on the book club as she presumed. Well, Agatha was right.

Risking, probably everything, Wanda commented: "Oh, I definitely loved the reading. I had a good time imagining the scenarios she described." Despite the confidence in saying it, she was blushing, and the way she spoke as if a secret between the two of you and with your knowledge of how erotic Emily Dickinson's stories were, was the reason you knock over half the stack of books you were trying to organize onto the floor.

The noise attracted the attention of the other customers, but you forced a smile and gestured that everything was fine before you ducked down, quickly beginning to pick everything up while Wanda looked at you with a certain amusement, as if she had just confirmed a theory.

"Sorry. You caught me off guard." You mutter in embarrassment, and Wanda chuckles, ducking down as well. She helps you with the last of the fallen books, and in the gesture of returning them, your hands rub together and the whole world stops for a second. Just long enough for you to look at her, and then to step away at once, clearing your throat. Wanda does the same, and before you have a chance to say anything, the record customer interrupts you.

It has to be the most annoying sale you've ever made. He stalls you for long minutes, and all you can do is watch out of the corner of your eye as Wanda slips further into the back of the bookstore, and you lose sight of her. To make matters worse, when the man finally leaves, familiar vehicle parks in the back of the store, and less than five minutes later, two figures with heavy boxes appear.

Yelena has gotten a haircut, and you have a moment of shock to deal with that. The next, she is making a terrible impression on the other customer in the store, the cookbook lady, who immediately grimaces as soon as your friend practically jumps on you. Whether it's the display of affection or Yelena's tattoos and rebellious posture, the woman leaves the store muttering lowly.

You pay no attention to this, grinning as you match Yelena's hug before she lets go of you.

"сука, next time you lock up the semester, at least stop at the dorm to smoke with us!" Complained your friend as she leaned on the counter where she had left her magazine supply box. Natasha dropped hers with a tired grunt, and once the books were secured, she gave a warning slap on the feet that Yelena threatened to put on a shelf.

"There won't be a next time." Natasha answers for you. "She's giving up for good."

Yelena lets out an exclamation, but you grimace. "That hasn't been decided, Romanoff." You defend yourself. "I just needed more time. I think I'll just switch vocations. Again."

Natasha giggled, but Yelena patted you on the shoulder. "Hey, don't look so down. I also think about quitting Fashion every week, and every week I remind myself that no one is as talented as Yelena Belova and the world must not be deprived of my masterpieces." The comment makes you and Natasha laugh and roll your eyes.

The redhead pushes her sister by the shoulders away from the counter. "You said you came here to work, not get in Parker's way. Find something to do-"

"Oh, sure, I'll get us some coffee." Yelena interrupts, letting go of her sister's hands. She points a finger at you. "Cappucino or-"

"Sorry." Wanda's interruption makes the three of you look at her at once. She is intimidated, but only for a split second. Forcing a smile, she raises the book she holds at face height. "I was hoping to take this one."

You take an awkward step forward, and it is enough for Yelena to acquire an expression as if she just has won the lottery. Busy taking care of Wanda's purchase, you don't even notice the sisters' exchange of glances.

As you wrap up the book, you try to disguise the trembling in your hands.

"I couldn't really thank you for the recommendation." Wanda speaks suddenly. You smile awkwardly, holding out the bag with the book on the counter.

"It was no trouble at all, Wanda." But she extends her hand over yours, and your heart stops.

"I really appreciated it, sweetheart." That's what Wanda says, stroking your skin with her thumb. "We have meetings every week, and maybe, you could join us in the next…"

You opened your mouth like a fish, babbling like a fool and completely in shock at the invitation of the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your life. “I-I…”

"Would love to, of course." Yelena elbowed you so hard that you pulled your hand away from Wanda’s to massage the spot. She offered her worst-intention smile to Wanda, the kind she only used at college parties when she wanted guys who would never have a chance with her to buy her drinks. "She's a first-rate nerd, she'll love it, ma'am. I’m Yelena, by the way. My sister, Natasha, is the owner here. And since we’re talking about hanging out, did you know that we do friends' reunions around here? You're more than welcome to join us."

Wanda adjusts awkwardly, a little surprised. "Oh, what kind of reunion?"

Yelena sighs thoughtfully, shrugging. "Well, I don't want to call it a college party, because even though we're all college students, it's not done on NYU grounds and is reserved for fewer people and the drinking is much better..."

Chuckling short, and adjusting the bag on her wrist, Wanda denies it with her head. "It's a kind invitation, but I think I'm too old for such things."

"What nonsense!" Yelena retorts gesturing indignantly. “ "With all due respect, such a beautiful woman will completely enhance the party. And well, my sister always attends with her friends, and you must be the same age..." You bite the inside of your cheek hard, you love your friend but she is charming and beautiful and is clearly flirting with Wanda to annoy you. Wanda blushes, and Yelena knows she's won this one. Emerald eyes search yours, and you find that the one who might have won is actually you.

"Will you be there?" She asks, and having trouble hiding a smile, you nod. With a sigh, Wanda looks at the expectant blonde beside you. "I think I could show up for a little bit-"

"That's fantastic!" Yelena gets excited, not even waiting for Wanda to confirm before she ducks down on the counter and finds one of the invitations to these parties that Natasha hides near the cashier.

You barely had a chance to say goodbye to Wanda, with Yelena and her party directions, but at least you had confirmation that the woman would be there for the last weekend of the month, the typical date when those meetings were organized. And the realization had you sliding to the floor behind the counter with one hand on your chest.

"My god I think I'm having an anxiety attack-"

"No, that's a gay outburst triggered by a hot milf." Yelena cut in with a roll of her eyes, crossing her arms as she approached you again. "You gonna have to put it together, 'cause we need to pick out what you're going to wear next week, on your hot date with her.”

You're as red as a tomato. "It's not a date! It's a book club!"

Natasha - who hadn't said anything about the interaction until now - burst out laughing, and teased "Hm, that's what young people are calling it these days."

"You two are terrible." You complained embarrassed, shaking your head in disbelief at the giggling sisters. "We don't even know if she's interested."

Natasha chuckled. "Of course she is. Sapphic poetry the first week, and now she comes back just to stroke your hand. Yes, Parker, everyone saw that. If that's not interest, I don't know what else to call it."

Sighing in defeat at the sisters' complicit gaze, you stood up again. "Let me get back to work." You grumbled, but still, Yelena followed you with thousands of ideas about what you could wear.

-&-

Book club sessions allow you to get to know Wanda better. And inevitably fall in love with her as you never had with anyone else, at least not at that intensity.

Unfortunately, a meeting full of middle-aged women with a certain willingness to gossip about any subject, especially the unusual friendship of the young college student from downtown with one of the most respectable ladies in the neighborhood put practically a watch on your back. All your moments with Wanda, stolen touches and long glances between snacks and reading verses for the next few weeks came burdened with the worry, especially for her, that the rest of the world could see all too well what was going on between you two.

And there was also the great frustration that in fact, nothing was actually happening. Aside from the undeniable attraction and warm affection you developed for each other, you were just book club buddies. You couldn't even call Wanda a friend, in fact, you wouldn't want to. All you knew about her family was Agatha or Monica telling you, the other was limited to any other subject but this one.

Pretending not to know or just accepting that Wanda had a life beyond the safety of your afternoons together hurt all the same.

Your only hope of progress for what was happening came at the end of the month, with the arrival of the reunion date between your friends. It was the most intimate event Wanda could attend and you had a feeling there would be no going back for whatever might happen that night.

The Thunderbolts was what the group of friends you and Yelena were part of called themselves since the beginning of college. And unlike Peter and Kate, or even the freshmen, America and Kamala, who were all set on what profession they would follow after graduation, you had already dropped three courses in total. Starting out in medical school as your parents would have liked, switching to applied biology with Peter until you tried computer science with America, you finally dropped out to work with books with Natasha. It was the closest thing to happiness, even if it meant lousy pay.

But ignoring this, what was certain about you and the Thunderbolts was that you guys knew how to throw a decent party.

The loud music didn't escape much from the top floor of the store because two years ago Natasha had gotten glassware with sound isolation for the rehearsals of the Red Skulls - her ex-girlfriend Carol Danvers' rock band - that kept neighbors from calling the police.

The drinking was taken care of by Natasha's friends, and well, it was always good stuff. There was also plenty of food and lots of weed, grown naturally in T'Challa's private greenhouses.

It was a college party, there was no denying it, but still, you went up to the roof, waiting for a woman twice your age who had a wedding ring mark on her finger.

Wanda almost didn't show up, and when she did, she was accompanied by a very beautiful woman.

Natasha also had a thing for older women and was half drunk, a dangerous combination. Since Wanda was your flirt, the Romanoff wasted no time in approaching the other one, who introduced herself as Agatha Harkness and was more than happy to accompany the redhead on her tour of the studio apartment that made up the second and third floors of the bookstore.

You were trying to remain calm and mannerly around Wanda, but it was almost impossible not to become a mess when she was absurdly gorgeous in her half-open social shirt, smelling fucking good from yards away.

As the night wore on and you both struggled to stay included in conversations with other people you knew - from Steve and his military school stories to Kate and her hilarious jokes - you began to wonder whether you were getting drunk on beer or on Wanda's perfume in your senses.

Fleeing back to the roof in the hopes of getting some air, you were about to consider leaving the party when Wanda found you again.

"I lost you for a second down there." She commented as she approached, hugging her body to the cold night around you. Your natural instinct would be to take off your jacket, but it suddenly seemed too intimate.

"Now you've found me." You returned with a small smile, glancing at her when she got close enough, only to find that she was already looking at you.

Swallowing dryly, you grew shy about her intense gaze and shifted to the hands she was smoothing on the ledge beside you. Wanda just stood there, close enough to touch until she leaned in a little to whisper.

"Did I do something to upset you? You're hiding from me."

Closing your eyes for a moment, you sighed before risking a look at her. "Agatha told me about your marriage." You state sincerely, and Wanda swallows dryly. "I'm not stupid, and I'm no good with games either. There's a husband, so I just won’t get involved. I'll only get hurt-"

"I'm very attracted to you." Wanda cut in, also decreasing the distance between your faces. Your heart simply stops and your breath catches. If she kissed you now, you'd probably say thank you. With a sigh, Wanda brings a hand to the collar of your shirt, pushing you away gently as a warning to herself. "She didn't lie. Agatha. I have a family, children, and a husband."

It was like a bucket of cold water on your head. But Wanda didn't let you move, keeping her grip on your shirt, and this was probably the only thing holding your tears too.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met." She continues to confess as affected as you are, her green eyes desperate and hopeful. "I haven't felt this way in such a long time..."

But you choked, pulling away. "I don't want to be some game, Wanda. Some secret. And I hate to share-"

"Oh, darling we're so alike." She interrupted a short, possessive chuckle, grabbing your wrist and putting your arm around her before you could move further. The attraction was almost liquid over your limbs, pulling you towards her and you gasped, pressing your face into her collarbone before you lost control for good and take her for yourself in this roof, damn the consequences. "I thought your friend Yelena was more. My skin itched at the thought of her touching you, I almost came back here and burned the entire bookstore." She confessed in your ear as she slipped her arm around your shoulders to hug you. The intense embrace increased your heart rate, and it didn't help that Wanda was playing with the lobe of your ear between her teeth.

"Stop saying things like that or I just might..."

"What? Tell me what you’ll do with me." Wanda challenges equally affected and you lose it, digging your teeth into her collarbone and sucking hard. She whimpers, knees buckling as her hips thrust up towards yours, but all you do is force her back against the edge, your firm hands on her waist keeping her from gridding herself on you as she wants to.

"I could fuck you right here, Wanda. Send you home smelling of dirty sex." You assure her darkly, your hands playing dangerously on the limits of her blouse. All Wanda does is groan rusky in your ear, wishing you would do as you say. “I bet you’ve waiting for me to.”

The smug phrase almost takes her sanity completely: Wanda grunts needily, trying to grab your wrist and force your hand between her legs, but you pull away hard, leaving her a slack mess trying to balance on wobbly legs with the help of the wall.

"I won’t be your mistress, Wanda Maximoff." You warn hoarsely, yet determined. You adjust your messy hair. "Sorry, but this little game of ours ends tonight."

Wanda hesitates, biting her lip. You hold up your hands, to point at the ring finger, reminding her of her condition and in a way, mocking her as well. Wanda hates the way she feels herself throb between her legs because of your smirk.

She thinks she would have gone after you if Agatha hadn't appeared on the roof, reminding her with a certain irony that it was time for “respectable ladies” to go home.

In the car, her friend noticed her quiet, sulky posture.

"Did that girl say anything to spoil your evening, dear?" Harkness asked in a mixture of curiosity and concern, and all Wanda could do was let out a wry laugh, one hand adjusting her hair.

"No, Aggie." Wanda retorted sincerely. "I'm more sure than before about what I told you last week."

Agatha hummed in understanding, remaining silent for a long moment of thought. As she passed a sign toward the residential neighborhood of Westview, she spoke:

"I know a lawyer. Miss Walters. Divorce specialist." She began, ignoring the tense posture the other had acquired. “Former family friend, who always said that if I called, she would give me a special discount. Ralph owns the house, so splitting from him would have meant goodbye to Westview, and well, he never bothered me enough to lose you."

Wanda's eyes widen as she understands what her friend is saying, and she stares at her with tears in her eyes. But Agatha smiles through the mirror reflection, shrugging.

"Nicholas may be a difficult boy, but he also deserved to have a mother around." She continues. "And we have fun, you and me and the girls, don't we darling?"

Wanda agrees tearfully, nodding. Agatha chuckles, making the last turn and the landscape becomes several little houses alike.

"Just make a decision while you have time, dear." She continues a bit more hurriedly, stealing glances at the houses that still have lights on. "That beautiful woman today, Natasha, reminded me of a youth I sacrificed. I am old, Wanda. Affairs are fun, but I no longer have time to start a life with someone I really care about. You do, and you don't even have to. You have a chance to be with someone you really feel passionate about, if only for a week."

Agatha parked the car, and the porch light came on. Vision was waiting for her at the door, a half-stern expression due to the exit he didn't agree with - An unusual pastime for a family lady, they had discussed before she left.

With a sigh, she said goodbye to Agatha and got out of the car. Jennifer Walters' phone card was in her pants pocket.

It could take four to five weeks of staring at the bookstore doorbell to finally see the face you wanted to see enter that bookstore. You would be surprised enough that Wanda looked even more beautiful since the last time you saw her, and that this almost made you lose your balance on the ladder you had climbed to organize books on the top shelf.

This time Wanda would ask for a book in the law section, just for the entertainment of studying your reaction when, after demanding that you wait for her to find what she was looking for, she would press a book on divorce against your chest. Wanda would have just over five seconds for you to understand what she was getting at, before she was pressed into the shelf and grabbed by the thighs to be lifted into the air, your mouth glued to hers and her legs locked around you.

The messiest, hottest make-out session she never had as a teenager, but it would make her feel like one again. Hands determined and curious as your tongue ripped out sounds inappropriate for a bookstore, until the bell rang again, and you had to part in gasping breaths.

Wanda would grab your shirt collar before you could go to meet the customer in the lobby to ask you out on a date. On the first date, you could talk about her children, about how the joint custody was going to work out, and how much time you would have to get to know each other. On the second you could go out to eat, and on the third Wanda would feel your fingers on the back seat of the car on the drive home.

Wanda imagined all this on the way, twisting the lawyer's paper between her fingers.

"Welcome home, Wanda." Vision greeted her, giving her room to enter. Wanda forces a smile, as she removes her hand from her pocket to pass her arm around her spouse for what would probably be the last hug she would give him as his wife. “Did you have fun?”

“I did.”

-&-

It's your night shift.

Natasha has a habit of closing early on weekdays, with the exception of Fridays where she allows reading shifts for all the sleepless geeks, as she calls all the late readers who come to the bookstore after six in the evening.

The day has been quiet so far, and well, you've been too depressed for the past weeks since you decided to move on and get over Wanda Maximoff.

So of course when the bell rings and you lift your eyes from a superhero comic, it's her at the door.

A weary sigh escapes you at the almost apologetic expression of the woman fidgeting with her scarf, and without giving her some other reaction, you lower your eyes again.

"Good evening, Y/N." She greets politely, her voice hoarse.

Turning the page, as if actually reading the words crammed in front of you, you retort, " We're closing soon, so make it quick."

A smile plays on her lips at your response. "Well, I guess that'll be up to you." She retorts, and you frown in confusion, looking up only to watch Wanda turn the sign from open to closed, and lock the door.

You feel your face warm from the lust glint her eyes acquire, but you manage to raise an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you came all this way to murder me."

She chuckles playfully, approaching at a slow pace while her hands work to remove her coat and leave it on top of one of the endless stacks of books in the reception area. "Is the place empty?"

You bite your lip as she puts on a show to remove her gloves, almost losing the train of thought. "Not really." You mumble, catching the other woman's brief disappointment and hesitation. Closing the comics in your lap to store them under the counter, you clear your throat. "There's an employee area behind this door." You let her know in a husky tone, and Wanda glances behind your shoulder for a moment before stepping around the counter.

You hold your breath at having her so close now, but she doesn't break the short distance between your faces, leaning in to touch the doorknob. You take a deep breath, and her free hand seeks yours in your lap.

She entwines your fingers together and it takes you a full moment to notice the ring missing in hers. Wanda smiles when she realizes you understand.

"I signed the papers this morning." She whispers it as a secret between you, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb and enjoying the way your skin feels warm. "I was going to write, to let you know, but I decided I wanted you to have me entirely."

You swallow dry, shuddering at the confession. "Oh, that's... nice to know." It's all you manage for the moment, surprised you can still hear her speak when your heart is so loud in your own ear drums. Wanda bites back a mischievous smile and opens the door.

"Come, you can show me how much you appreciate my fairness."

You feel your face burn and grunt in embarrassment. "You're so full of yourself." You mumble, not resisting the tug she gives to get you inside.

Barely inside when the door closes behind you, your back hits the wood and desperate hands tug your uniform jacket open. Wanda's gasping breaths mingle with yours as she kisses you roughly.

Her hands work at your belt, but you slow the frantic pace to something so intense and intimate that Wanda melts against you, a moment later green eyes staring up at you tearfully.

"I didn't lie." You begin to explain hoarsely. "There are three customers in the café. They'll notice if we... There's no rush, Wanda." You smile at her tenderly, your hands on her cheeks. "Have dinner with me tonight. You can walk me home."

Her eyes sparkle with happiness, and Wanda nods in agreement, kissing you as a promise. One she will never be ashamed to fulfill, doesn't matter if not even the law allows it.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff oneshots #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader

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zeldasnotes · 4 months

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𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓 𝕬𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕻𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖔 🦇

This post is mostly about the hard aspects(square, conjunct, opposition) but people with the soft aspects might relate too. Also keep in mind these are my personal observations so not everyone will agree.

🌑 The need to be in control can sometimes be devastating to live with. It can even be felt physically when they are losing control or when they feel powerless. Feeling powerless can make them act in a very disturbing way.

🌒 People with this placement might be the black sheep of the family. There seem to often be something with them that differs from the rest of the family, especially physically. A lot of times they are darker than other family members since this placement can create darker features. But there seem to also be a huge difference in personality.

🌓 They have experienced women not liking them for no reason and later in life they often become like this themselves if they dont work on it. Often there is a theme of older women being mean to them and then they grow up to be the mean old woman who targets a young girl.

🌑 Ive also seen a theme of them having an evil stepmom and then they themselves meet a man when kids and treats their stepchildren just like their stepmother treated them.

🌒 There is a habit of writing people off or disliking someone based on a feeling they got from them that was actually just themselves projecting their own inner fear onto this person. Others get this feeling about them too and they are often themselves a victim of others disliking them for no reason.

🌓 It can be very hard for them to take a look in the mirror and see that they are causing a lot of the issues in their relationships themselves because they are so hyperfocused on what their partner is doing or might do.

🌑 A lot of times there was a grandmother who disliked them or were mean to them. So its not always the mother who was the worst, the issues can be with grandmothers and stepmothers too. For some reason they seem to have good aunts tho? Like their aunties seem to be the most normal in the family.

🌒 This can make someone extremely vengeful & they can resent someone for a lifetime.

🌓 People with this placement seem to often want to become popular or know a lot of people to feel like they have power. Or even want to be feared.

🌑 They seem to often be paranoid in the wrong situations but as soon as they let their guard down they get burned. Especially when it comes to women. This leads to a strong fear of letting the guard down and can make them push a lot of people away.

🌒 Eating disorders seem to be very common with these placements since eating disorders are often about control.

🌓 They fear anything that has to do with powerlessness. Being looked down on is also a huge fear here. This can make them social climbers and cloutchasers in some cases. Being a part of the ”bottom of society” is a huge fear here so they can be very drawn to important people, titles, status symbols and high power careers.

🌑 They might be very ashamed of their sensitive nature and therefore try to act as carefree as possible. Or even force themselves to become carefree and cold.

🌒 This coldness usuallt occurs in their teens until their early twenties where they shut down completely emotionally. This often makes them VERY problematic during their teens.

🌓 In the end of their teens or in their twenties they usually transform completely because of situations in their lives and experience a rebirth of their emotional selves. After this they often become beautiful souls. Not always tho. For a lot of them the bitterness stays forever because life just hasnt been fair to them.

🌑 Both women and men with this placement seems to be bothered by what women do and can be slutshamers. The kind of people to give the stankface to a woman walking by with a short skirt or ”too much” makeup, plastic surgery etc (these are things ive seen moon/pluto people react strongly too lol)

🌒 Men with this placement can have a very strong feminine energy and Ive noticed that a lot of them beef with women instead of beefing with other men and even hate on women they never met.

🌓 They do NOT like other sneaky people, unless its a man. A woman with this placement might for example refuse to talk to a woman who she gets bad vibes from but will love a man with shady vibes. Might hate a woman because ”shes fake and talks a lot of shit” but will be the first to be with a man who talks shit about people.

🌑 They pick up the psychological state of everyone extrememy fast and therefore can have strong reactions to others, especially people who remind them of themselves.

🌒 Sometimes there can be a fear of becoming like their mother. They might have a mother whos done a lot of mistakes and they are afraid of becoming like her. In some cases they can even have a feeling of disgust for their mother.

🌓 Punishment in their childhood might have been very harsh and involved stuff related to safety and nurture. Such as not getting food, being thrown out of the house.

🌑 Their mother might have liked to show her power by weird rules and ideas. If the child was freezing outside for example and wanted to come in the mother might be like ”You can come in when the clock is 5”. Or if the child was hungry ”You get food when you finished your homework.” Safety and nurture was not to be taken for granted like in normal households.

🌒 This can lead to very deep issues concerning these things and a feeling of never being safe. This can make them very fixated with food and control later in life.

🌓 The mother often had no respect for their private life or might have a hard time with boundaries. In extreme cases even being fixated on the Moon/Pluto childs sex life and relationships. The kind of mother to read their daughters diary or spy on their daughter/son when they are in their room with a romantic partner.

🌑 There is often a case of their mother figure being disgusted by them one minute and kind the next. They recieved very strong reactions from their mother figure and at times even extreme anger for nothing.

🌒 A strong fear of being controlled or used so much that they might need to rebel against what someone wants them to do to feel in control. Lets say its their friends birthday and their friends tells them that a pair of new headphones is on their wishlist. The Moon/Pluto will then buy anything but the headphones because that makes them feel used or ”what if shes telling me to buy headphones bc she knew i will run and do it, hmm i aint that easily used so i will buy something else instead to show I do what I want.” These kind of mindf*ckery is constantly going on in their head.

🌓 Betrayal by women can be a strong theme in their life. And a lot of times completely out of nowhere. Like women in their life might start disliking them for no reason without warning.

🌑 A lot of them might have experienced bullying in their childhood by a woman who was jealous of them. And might even had to change school. A lot of their issues seems to be from women envying them. And if they have asteroid Lilith or Medusa prominent this can be very extreme.

🌒 They are not only victims of others envy they can be very envious themselves too. They might not be easily jealous but WHEN they get jealous it will be extreme.

🌓 The relationship to the mother is very complicated because a lot of times the mother is the only one who understands them but at the same time the person who hurt them. Also the mother can sometimes be very similar to them. They might go long periods without talking to their mother and then a period where they hang out with her every day.

🌓 I know a lot of these observations might be negative but thats because some aspects come with more negative then positive. But these aspects can make someone extremely sensitive, loyal and kind since they understand human nature. And a lot of them make wonderful mothers/fathers.

🌑 I also want to say that these people experience issues with people with feminine energy not only women. So they will most likely have some issues with men who are feminine too, maybe even more because feminine men can be extra sensitive to this strong energy if the man is not comfortable with this energy himself.

🌒 They can feel more comfortable around ”bad” people and might not be able to hang with people who are too innocent. They can be real drama addicts.

🌓 People with this placement can be very breastfixated.

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #birth chart readings #moon square pluto #moon conjunct pluto

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getodrools · 4 months

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𐙚 BETTER THAN HIM: MEGUMI FUSHIGURO!

IN WHICH, step son! megumi looks too much like his father the longer he trains, and it seems like he does have a type after all…

I 𝓲. I MDNI ୨୧ milf! reader. step cest. aged-up characters. age gap: reader; 30s + meg; mid 20s. mommy kink-ish. creampie. infediality. quickie. | WC –> 1.1k+ est ! !

NOTE. this is a repost from my old blog !! :p

fuck.

YOUR WEDDED HUSBAND SURE did have some nice genes… watching closely how your stepson walked around the house so mellow; head sulking but chest exposed and puffed out, stacked muscles relaxed but yet, so toned of quiet determination — of a growing man willing and able to put in daily effort to achieve such a hefty and big…

big goal.

and you couldn't help yourself either, the obvious liking to the fushiguro blood was clear. megumi just gave off that same gruff and manly feel your husband does, especially the longer he stayed at jujutsu tech.

it's been almost a decade. and you can most certainly tell it took its toll on him – all that hard work and scars of stories running along barred skin was catching. it reminded how you'd kiss at toji’s... megumi, just got more… raunchy the last time you've seen him is all.

yet, megumi just had something more to him.

he's a younger version of your husband — almost identically now, but of course, more fit and kept up with, more endurance, more stamina…

but not any less experienced.

and it seemed like megumi had a good taste in women just like his father too. always catching sneaky eyes wondering down your blouse whenever you were cleaning – catching how he would hug you a lot tighter when you wore little dresses — mainly to impress your husband but that tight squeeze at your sides and bright smile before muttering out how lucky his father is makes you feel…

special.

that special feeling sparked up once again soon as your husband went to go get more booze and lottery tickets; megumi was beginning to help around more often – lifting heavier things that needed to be moved for spring cleaning. you'd catch yourself imagining how much of a hard time your husband would have given you about that… but megumi made sure you didn't need to overstep yourself with simple things. wanting to be more of a help for you, his mother idle, an older fine woman — how sweet he was.

“my father doesn't deserve you.” words that finally pinned your feelings together, and it quickly lead to bumping and a few vases to fall.

…

“mom–my..!” tepid lips almost quivering in sync with the shake of his timbre voice dropping an octave.

his cock curves just like his father's – slightly to the right with a pretty flushed tip, heavy balls too, feeling them hit right against your puffy clit at each rough thrust. and at each barreling plunge of his cock stuffing you full, he forces a low rumble of swears on your tongue to echo in your bedroom; even clammy hands to twist harder into the sheets your husband was just sulking on.

your needy cunt squeezed down hard around the base of his jamming cock, feeling how eager he was to fill you up the second his tip kissed your sopping entrance, never leaving your needy hole.

“oh! gumii! like that-- yes!”

there was one big difference between the two men. megumi had the stamina and understanding to make you feel beyond pleasure; he knows when to go faster or harder with deeper strokes, or how he understands when your hands would reach for mercy only to keep pounding that one soft spot, knowing you're only chasing that needed high.

not toji though, toji fucked you silly. he fucked you on his cock ‘till he came. no actual tender care, only a pounding until his problems felt an inch better. of course, toji made your tummy rise, no doubt, but you've always desired more than just to be filled up and left for some booze.

megumi knows what you've been wanting, what you've been craving for.

the feeling of being young again. that feeling of being fucked like some groupie at a frat house, and it makes him smile even harder watching how desperate you were about it; watching those pretty hips roll back with every grind – wordless heavy breaths in his ear of how good he was making you feel.

of how much you love his cock.

the long strides made you speak tongue. babbling on how much he makes you feel, and your wet tongue that hangs out twists. panting out how much he wasn't like his father ‘till he popped a messy knot of spunk in you.

the front door swings open, and heavy feet trail off somewhere in another room.

“y/n! there's glass on the floor! clean it up.”

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MORE MEGUMI –>

#🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮!#ᝰ megumi fushiguro!#jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen megumi #tw step cest #tw age gap #jujutsu kaisen #megumi smut

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apomaro-mellow · 11 months

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Steve’s parents are in a cult and sacrifice him for their own gains. Yall can thank @whoevenknowsdude for giving me the motivation not to give up on this version.

The party was going on as usual. Steve had been to many of them before. The earliest he remembered was being five and led around by his mother’s hand, then eventually being handed off to a nanny for the rest of the evening. It was always some sort of parade. As a young child, he was the cute baby version of his father. Something for the women to coo at.

Around 11 he was a growing lad who was expected to cause a little trouble. Then at 14 he was a young man with a promising future.

Growing up, there was one part he was always dreading. The point where people tried to set him up with their daughters, or granddaughters, or nieces. He heard pieces of such transactions all the time.

‘Oh you must meet my daughter.’

‘You know Celia is about your age...’

‘So have you got a girlfriend?’

Steve caught glimpses of the older boys either politely rebuffing or ending up engaged with someone. This was a very insular crowd, he knew that. Still, he hoped he’d have something resembling a choice when the time came.

And yet, as he got older, no one rushed to introduce him to anyone. It confused him to no end. He had no trouble attracting girls at school and all of his parents’ friends thought he was charming. He came from good stock. Why did no one want him to marry their daughter?

He tried not to feel so offended by it. But it was just so bizarre.

But back to tonight. It was going like it always did. Steve spent most of it by his parents’ sides, only occasionally going off on his own. He made nice conversation, had a drink or two, despite being nineteen, and kept the Harrington name good and golden.

As the hour got late though, it got to the point where most of the men split off to have cigars. Steve was usually excused at this point but this time his father put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the next room. He took part in more conversation about his prospects (not going to school but who needed to when he was planning on succeeding his father) and drank some brandy.

“Steve, it’s time we discussed your future”, his father said, letting out a puff of cigar smoke.

“What about it...exactly?”, Steve asked.

“That sometimes we must defer to a higher power.”

“....Right...”

“Steven”, one of the other men started. “You ever take one for the team?”

“Yeah, plenty of times. But what are you guys talking about what’s going on?”, Steve asked.

“Come with me, son.”

Steve got up and followed his father. The other men came along down the stairs into the basement of the clubhouse. But then it went deeper.

“History is filled with ambitious figures, Steve. People who did whatever it took to reach their goals. Tonight it’s up to you to take us even higher.”

“Up to me? What do you want me to do?”

They came to the bottom of the stairs. His mother was already waiting, along with the other women. There was a large stone slab with restraints on it and Steve felt his stomach drop at the implication. But he didn’t want to believe it. It was too crazy.

“Mom, Dad...what are we doing here?”

“The higher power we worship will give us fortune beyond what we could dream of”, his father said. “But everything has its price.”

Before Steve could utter another question, he felt hands on him, gripping and pushing him towards the slab. He struggled and screamed for both of his parents. For some kind of explanation. For something that made sense. But he could feel his sanity slipping as they got him on the altar and tied his limbs down.

Lawrence, 50, with an unconvincing hairpiece stood over him. Steve never liked Lawrence. He always looked at him weird and his touches lingered like he was inspecting a piece of meat.

He was doing it now, trailing a hand up his tied up arm.

“I can’t thank you enough for your sacrifice, Steven. And your parents for bringing up such good stock. I have no doubt he will be pleased with you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on but there’s no way you’re going to kill me for-for what? More money?”

His mother came into view, her expression mournful and Steve wanted to vomit.

“Steve, my love, we won’t be killing you. We could never do that. We just need a bit of your blood. After that....well after that....”

“Our lord will do what he wants with you. And with their lot I can only imagine he will want to devour your soul”, his father finished.

“So you are killing me.”

“We won’t be dealing the killing blow”, his father said. “And who is to say you won’t survive?”

Steve took a deep breath through his nose. This was insane. But it seemed like they at least didn’t plan to put a stake through his heart. He’d lose a bit of blood, they’d probably chant, and then when their demon lord didn’t show up, he could get a shower and then maybe disown his parents.

That didn’t make this situation any less shitty though.

Then someone ripped open his jacket and shirt, exposing his chest. Both of his parents were given knives. The knowledge that they didn’t intend to kill him quell that instinctual fear. Steve had always been a good kid. But sometimes good wasn’t enough. Sometimes he wondered if his parents regretted having him. So his current view wasn’t helping at all in that regard.

They both cut a slit right in the center of his palms and he hissed. They then took his blood and drew a symbol on his stomach.

There was indeed chanting but between the alcohol, his bleeding hands, and the general delirium, Steve couldn’t make it out. God, he just wanted this to be over. He just wanted normal parents who didn’t sacrifice their own son to the devil. He wanted a lot of things but it seemed like life would disappoint him one last time.

“Whoa! You’ve got a real party going on here”, a voice said, coming down the stairs.

“Who the hell are you?”, one of the chanters demanded.

Steve craned his neck to see....some guy. It was just some guy, in a black tank top and ripped jeans.

“Who? Me?”, he came to the bottom of the steps and looked around. “Was I not summoned? I thought I heard my name.”

“Someone get this fool out of here!”

“Oh, I see what the issue is. I’m not in the proper attire. My bad.” He took a few more steps forward, right into the range of the men who had advanced on him. Then flames erupted from his body, burning them in an instant. When the fire dissipated, Steve let out a gasp and started to actually pull against his restraints.

This was real! Fuck this was real! A real demon with horns and claws and fangs and shit-were those wings?! He had to get out of here, even if that meant ripping his hands and feet off to escape.

Turned out that was the wrong move. In seconds, the demon crossed the room on all fours and climbed atop the slab to hover over Steve.

“My lord”, Steve’s father said in an impressively even tone. “We offer you our greatest sacrifice-” He was cut off with a deep growl, one that Steve felt in his bones, being this close.

“You...haven’t...sacrificed....anything.” The demon turned its gaze to Steve, lying under him. “But you still have so much to give.” He touched a clawed hand to Steve’s stomach where the bloody symbol was. “Will you give it to me?”

Steve let out a breath. He was going to die. He was going to die and what did he have to show for it? Actually....what did he have to show for it if he lived tonight? Maybe it would be painless, this soul sucking. He just wanted to be done.

“Just take it”, Steve said. “Take whatever you want.”

The demon laughed darkly. “I always do.” He smeared a clawed hand against Steve’s torso, messing up what was drawn there. He sniffed his hand and let out a sigh.

“Steve!”, his mother shrieked and he wondered if she had just realized what she was giving him up for.

“They spilt your blood for their own gains. Now to me, that doesn’t seem fair”, the demon said. “Don’t you think they should have to give something up? Don’t you want them dead?”

Steve dared to look the demon in his face. The eyes betrayed nothing. Just a blank, red void. But there was something about his expression anyway. Something in the quirk of his lip, the tilt of his head. Steve wondered if he actually would kill everyone in this room if he asked. As for himself, well, despite everything Steve couldn’t ask that of him. He really only wanted one thing and this might be his single chance to voice it out loud.

“I just want to be free.”

“Now see here”, Lawrence said, wagging a finger. “We have been your loyal servants. Our wishes-cckhk!”

He was cut off when the demon’s tail wrapped around his neck, dragging him closer. The demon brought him over until they were eye to eye.

“I would go ahead and count the blessings I already have. You all get to live another day.” He dropped Lawrence, ignoring his gasps for breath as he looked back down at Steve. “And you’re coming with me.”

Flames swirled around them but Steve didn’t feel any heat. Just a rush of warm wind as his restraints disappeared. The light got too bright though and he closed his eyes. When he no longer felt the light behind them, he opened them up, expecting the fires of hell, or a dark abyss of a pit. Maybe even some combination of the two.

Instead he found that he was in a….cramped apartment. The demon was back to the tank top and jeans and Steve wondered if someone had slipped something into a drink.

“You live here?”

The demon stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Whenever I come topside, yeah. And for the time being, so do you.”

“Me?”

“Don’t tell me you wanna go back to those assholes. Not after they-” He stopped speaking and his nostrils flared. Then he looked down.

Steve followed his gaze and saw that his hands were dripping blood onto the floor. “Ah, shit, sorry I-” He was about to wipe it on his ruined shirt when the demon grabbed a wrist, freezing him in place. His words were caught in his throat when the demon took a long sniff at the blood still slowly dripping out of his palm. He looked Steve in the eye as he slowly licked it clean. When the blood was gone, Steve saw his hand was completely healed.

The demon took his other hand and did the same, but somehow went even slower. The licks were punctuated with what could have been open mouth kisses but Steve wasn’t sure. Either the demon was making out with his hand or trying to eat him with little success.

When that one was finished, the demon looked at him and Steve was taken with how blown his eyes were. Like Steve’s blood was top shelf.

“B-buy a guy dinner first, huh?”

The demon came back into himself and took a step back, releasing Steve’s hand. “Yeah, sorry it’s just-yeah…” He cleared his throat and then turned, going deeper into the apartment. “So my home is your home, until you figure out exactly what you wanna do. Um, bathroom’s over there I’m sure you wanna get the rest of that blood off.”

He looked almost nervous to have Steve here. And the absurdity of that made Steve let out a chuckle. And then everything came crashing down on him and he started to laugh in earnest. The demon’s anxious stance just made more laughter bubble forth. What the fuck had his life become?

“Are you okay?”

“I just realized why none of them wanted me to date their daughters.” Steve pushed his hair out of his face. “They knew they’d be giving me to you.” As he laughed the tears started to fall. The demon looked even more shocked but then he came over and wrapped his arms around Steve.

“I don’t know why I’m laughing. Or why I’m crying.”

“Because it’s fucked up man. Like hilariously fucked up. And sometimes you gotta laugh about that crap.” The demon pulled away just enough to look Steve in the eye. “But you’re better than what you just left behind. You proved that by letting them live.”

Steve wiped at his eyes. “Well you already burned a couple of them. Wait, you killed them!”

“Collateral damage when I let my flames loose. I don’t like being touched.” He seemed to realize he was doing just that and raised his hands in the air before taking two steps away from Steve.

“I don’t even know your name. And you would’ve actually killed them for me?”

“Oh I go by Eddie nowadays.” He turned and looked like he was trying to make himself busy by picking things up and putting them down.

“Eddie? Just Eddie?”

“Short for Edifice. Um, did you want that shower?”

“I….” Steve still had questions. But he felt barely functioning right now. Like if he got one more bit of information his brain would explode.

“Steve….You’re free now. That was what you asked for.” The demon, no, Eddie, his name was Eddie, was smiling at him.

“I want….to go to sleep.”

Eddie started to walk away and Steve followed. He led him to a room where the bed took up most of the space.

“It’s yours for tonight. And tomorrow, well it’s all up to you now.”

Steve collapsed against the bed. He vaguely registered his shoes being taken off but soon fell into oblivion.

Part 2

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #i have a whole lore in the back of my head #about how eddie is essentially 911 for summoning #but we'll get into that in part 2

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mrsparrasblog · 8 days

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Randome TF141 headcanons

Some of them are weird. But I just know.

Price:

Never go to the toilet after him

has a hut in the forest for fishing but mostly ends up fucking a local in there

because this man is a whore

he is still the most loyal when he is in a relationship

his favorite food is Shepard's pie or red jelly but not the green one and no one understands why

has so hard Daddy issues that he fathers everyone

uses AXE dark temptation to get rid of the cigar smell in his house

smells like Tom Ford tobacco vanilla

his love language is gift - giving and acts of service

NSFW:

he is a munch everyone knows it but still he is the biggest munch

Breeding kink

He is a whore but just because he thinks he doesn't deserve more than a one nighstands , please give this man a soft wife to dot on - preferably me

he hates Anal sex but riming is okay in his cards

says he is straight but bottomed Simon and Johnny on many occasions and likes to get blowies from or favorite pretty boy :)

prefers hair down there

Ghost:

He only Shops at Lidl you will never see him at Tesco or Sainsbury, even with all the coupons and tricks Lidl is cheaper. You will never see him somewhere else.

He hates London with all his heart, if there were a hate page for London he would be the admin. Dirty tube, bad football, and too many tourists.

He has a deep hate against a parrot, if parrots have zero haters he is dead.

Read Jane Austin and enjoyed it.

Has a book of stupid jokes in his apartment and laughs about them

When he is in love he is the cutest man alive, but somehow still creepy, he knows your favorite things in everything even your favorite underwear company even tho you never told anyone.

uses 5 - 1 shampoo .... from Lidl (still very keen on hygiene)

NSFW

He watches stepsiblings' porn unapologetically

Has a mommy kink. I could go into heavy detail about it

He isn't a rough lover more of a service Dom

Doesn't care about hair down there

Soap:

He sometimes feels left out in his family, his siblings have children and "normal" jobs. His family doesn't see his lifestyle as something to be proud of

Except for his mom, he is such a momma boy but in a good way.

Was a sperm doner once (more than once) but only because he is a good guy with fertile genes

His mohawk was an accident, he decided it looked "fresh" so it stayed.

Watches DC instead of Marvel...... why?

Uses Hugo Boss, bottled Night, got it from his grandma, and never used anything else

NSFW:

Gaz was his BI awakening: after las Almas and the broken shoulder he couldn't wank himself properly, and he got so frustrated because he couldn't even sleep properly with a woman because of it, and he didn't just want to go to the Pub and say "Hey my shoulder is broken can you wank me". So in his half-drunk state, he asked Gaz. And after promising each other they would never talk about it, Kyle did help him. Johnny never cummed that fast. He isn't sure if it was because of Kyle's skilled hands, Kyle's fucking hot body, or that he didn't have a wank in two weeks. And when Kyle licked his cum that was his awakening that he likes men and Women. Of course, he returned the favor after he was healed:)

His favorite porn category is Woman Masturbating or Male Masturbating, everything that is solo is 100000 times better than "real porn".

He lost his Virginity very Young to an older Woman. Johnny always flexed about this, but this isn't a reason to flex.

When you sleep with him - you need to be on the pill because he is mister fucks so hard that every condom breaks.

He wears lingerie sometimes - he pulls it better off than some of us :(

cums way too fast but can last like 4-6 rounds

loves tit fucking

Gaz:

smells like Bleu de Chanel

had a more expensive skincare routine than you

he loves skincare

He grew up with two moms.

He loves listening to Taylor Swift. No one can convince me otherwise.

Is deeply in love with me

He played Rugby in school. If he hadn't joined the Military, he would be a professional Rugby player.

Kyle was still somehow that awkward kid in class. Even needed to change the school because he got bullied.

NSFW:

He was disappointed in Johnny's cock sucking skills, but Price is a different breed.

can pull anyone and is mister give everyone an orgasm, not once in his life did he let his lover unsatisfied

had a foursome once when he was like 23, with three girls who were obsessed with him, and who can judge them

he is a guy who doesn't kiss and tell

his fav porn category is Anal Sex

has a CNC kink but is afraid to ask

is shaven down there but doesn't care if you are or not.

I have so much more ahhhh

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bvidzsoo · 6 months

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Your desire

⬦Sugar daddy!Seonghwa⬦

TW: suggestive

Word count: 3,9k

A/N: I hate the grip Ateez has on me, I have never ever written so many drabbles or whatever, I'm a long story kinda gal but here they are...torturing me. Anyways, Seonghwa went ahead and posted on IG today and when I saw him my mind instantly went omg that's some sugar daddy vibes, idk why, don't ask, thank you. Feedback is very much so appreciated! Enjoy!

I really would have never imagined a year ago that I would be attending such an event like this one. It was even shocking to myself. But it looked like I was the only one who felt out of place as the people surrounding me seemed to know each other as they indulged in small talk and friendly chatter as if they were old friends catching up. The silky dress felt too tight against my skin and I couldn’t help but pull on it, hoping by some miracle that it would loosen up and wouldn’t wrap around my ribs as it was trying to suffocate me. The little golden purse I clutched in my hands tightly was expensive, too expensive, an item I could’ve never afforded by myself. I wasn’t into fancy things, so even if I could’ve afforded it at some point in life, I still wouldn’t have purchased it. The faces of people seemed to merge into one as I took a sip of my champagne, smiling politely when the older man next to me pointed his glass in my direction before taking a sip himself. I wished I were invisible, but the red dress and the red matching lips only placed me in the spotlight. And if it weren’t for my outfit, being by the side of Park Seonghwa, a successful and young CEO, definitely put me in the spotlight. I could feel the curious gazes of men and women alike, even the envy as some whispered as Seonghwa and I glided through the crowd, wanting to reach the bar. He said he needed something strong, perhaps some whiskey, as the people around us were giving him a headache. Currently, we were conversing with an elderly pair who were big names in the makeup industry, Choi San having joined us not too long ago. He was a rising CEO, almost always in the spotlight, as his magazine was becoming bigger and bigger, visited by more and more celebrities lately. He was Seonghwa’s biggest competitor, constantly challenging him publicly and often mentioning him when it had nothing to do with Seonghwa. Choi San liked to provoke people and taunt, living off of the hate and attention directed his way. I didn’t need to have a PhD in psychology to spot all these things, it was clear as day as he flashed his white teeth in the direction of the elderly pair, bragging about last month’s issue and how much money it made. The elderly pair didn’t seem too impressed, but they congratulated him before diverting their attention back onto Seonghwa, who was patiently waiting for San to stop his theatrics. If I wouldn’t have known Seonghwa so well, I would’ve never known he was irritated, his jaw barely clenched, grip just a little too tight on his glass of champagne. I quietly cleared my throat, getting his attention. His round eyes watched me, face devoid of any emotion, but the glimmer in his eyes assured me that he was feeling fine. I offered him a small smile and his cheeks twitched before he looked away, focusing back on the elderly pair. They were laughing about something I didn’t bother paying attention to, eyes falling on an already staring Choi San as I took another sip of my champagne. It almost made me choke; I couldn’t deny that he was a good-looking man, but I only had eyes for Seonghwa. At least for now.

“I’ve heard about the deal you made with an American firm,” San spoke up with a smirk, one eyebrow raised in Seonghwa’s direction, “Congratulations, breaking through on the American market isn’t something easy.”

Seonghwa chuckled, but it lacked humor, “San, when I made my breakthrough on the American market you were still running around, trying to find a headquarter for your company.”

The elderly pair laughed at the very harmless jab, but San’s smirk slightly faded, annoyed by Seonghwa’s comeback. He was probably right, but I wouldn’t know, I have never been interested in their world of business.

“You look gorgeous, Y/N.” The sudden shift of conversation made me tense as the eyes of four people fell on me, San’s a little hungrier than the rest. I forced a smile on my face, grip tightening on the glass of champagne. I wished the dress didn’t show as much cleavage as it did, and that my hair wasn’t in a low bun, unable to cover my shoulders, “Isn’t that necklace—”

“The latest Saint Laurent Teardrop Chain Links Necklace?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow before taking a sip of his whiskey, “It is, San. And it’s custom made.”

San’s eyes fell back one me and I cleared my throat, feeling awkward, as the elderly lady eyed me a little bit suspiciously, I felt obliged to speak up, “It’s not something I usually wear, but Seonghwa insisted.”

“I think I have seen that dress on a magazine cover, not too long ago.” The elderly lady noted, eyes narrowed at me. I felt like they could tell how poor I actually was compared to them. It felt like a paper with the words ‘intruder’ was glued to my back and everyone was staring, pointing their fingers at me, or whispering vile things. I gulped, but before I could speak up, I felt an arm sneak around my shoulders, squeezing my arm lightly.

“You have seen it right, then, Mrs. Eom, it was on my magazine.” Seonghwa said with a smirk, sending me a wink which made me slightly blush. The day he saw it on the mannequin he sent me a picture and texted me that he’d get it for me. I refused, because it was truly too much and it also cost a lot, and also, I didn’t really have a fitting event where I would wear it to. So, I guess Seonghwa had to do something about that and that’s how I was dragged along to this fundraiser for disabled people. This wasn’t something which had been in the contract I have signed two months ago, but I didn’t dare bring it up when Seonghwa showed up to my apartment in the morning, holding two designer boxes and a designer paper bag. He said he didn’t have time to have breakfast with me, but he expected to see me in the evening, wearing everything he handed me. Before I could accept or refuse him, he was running off, phone at his ear as he spoke to someone important. I could only sigh and hope for a dinner in a very fancy restaurant, instead I found myself at a place infested with very important and insanely rich people. I was sure I even saw the prime minister like half an hour ago.

“Oh, delightful!” Mrs. Eom exclaimed, but no emotion came through her voice, eyes watching me almost accusingly. Why did an old hag have beef with me when she didn’t even know me? Before I could say something inappropriate, Seonghwa gave my shoulder another squeeze, swiftly taking his arm off my body. He seemed to know me well too, a glance at my face and he was able to tell what I was feeling and thinking. We hadn’t spent too much time together in these past two months, but it felt like we understood each other on a deeper level, beyond words even. I looked around as the orchestra started playing, the front of the room slightly clearing as people made place for those dancing. My eyes fell back onto Seonghwa, and as his eyes were trained somewhere else, I dared staring at him openly. He was an absolutely gorgeous man, breathtaking even. His black hair was slicked back with three strands framing the right side of his face, longer strands than the others poking around on his nape. His shoulders were relaxed yet his posture was straight and proper. His silky black shirt, with three buttons undone at the top, was tucked inside his black dress pants, an Yves Saint Laurent belt keeping his outfit together. The black velvet coat reached just bellow his thighs and his Yves Saint Laurent shoulder bag had been disregarded a while ago at the table we sat at. Despite my obvious staring, Seonghwa remained oblivious to it, however, San didn’t. His eyes were narrowed and lips pulled into a grin as we made eye contact. My cheeks burned and I quickly averted my eyes. Catching feelings wasn’t written into the contract, or what would happen if Seonghwa and I did fall for each other, a thing which was far from happening. I wasn’t in love with him, but I had eyes, and I found him extremely attractive. Whether he was dressed up or wore something casual, Seonghwa always looked spectacular. As a waiter passed with a tray in their hands, San quickly placed his empty glass on it and cleared his throat, interlacing his hands in front of himself.

“Miss Y/N, may I have the honor to dance with you first tonight?” San’s eyebrows were raised as he looked at me with a smirk and I stared at him without a reaction. Was I allowed to dance with him? Seonghwa was right next to me, he certainly wouldn’t like that. And I didn’t want to dance with him either, he sometimes made me feel very uncomfortable with his unnecessary comments and over the top compliments. But before anyone could interject, San took two steps towards me and then grabbed my left hand carefully, a smile erupting on his face, “Come.”

And before I could refuse him, he was pulling me after himself, making me hand my purse over to Seonghwa in a hurry as San lead the way to the dance floor. I felt awkward as curious eyes watched us, some people greeting San as we passed by. His grip turned firm and I could feel my palm get sweaty as I braced myself for what was to come. It couldn’t be that bad, besides, I would only dance with him for a short amount of time before I would excuse myself to the bathroom in hopes of getting away from him. San stopped in the center, facing me with a charming smile, sharp eyes watching me closely. I cleared my throat and placed my hand on his shoulder, allowing his hand on my lower back to pull me closer towards himself. I slightly tensed, but willed myself to relax in his arms. I didn’t quite enjoy dancing with Seonghwa’s competitor and biggest rival, especially not when I knew how much distaste Seonghwa had towards San.

“Fancy seeing you here tonight, Y/N,” San spoke up as he swayed us to the slow beat of the orchestra, “I didn’t think you’d attend such an event.”

San didn’t know what type of relationship was between Seonghwa and I, but he has seen us together quite often, always bugging Seonghwa whether I was his girlfriend or not. I most certainly wasn’t.

“It came as a surprise to me as well.” I admitted quietly, focusing on not stepping on San’s feet or on my own dress. The high heels were also slightly uncomfortable, I couldn’t help but be hyperaware of every move I made.

“So, Seonghwa didn’t plan on bringing you along, huh?” A satisfied smirk made it onto San’s face and I sighed, looking over his shoulder.

“He most certainly did since I’m here, don’t you think?” I couldn’t help but slightly snap, sending him the smallest glare as we made eye contact.

“Of course,” San chuckled, pulling his eyebrows up, “he wouldn’t want to leave behind his eye candy.”

His comment didn’t sit well with me, but I just bit the inside of my cheek and let it go, not wanting to give San the satisfaction of seeing me annoyed. He waited a few more seconds, probably thinking I was formulating my answer, but when the silence continued to stretch on, San chuckled to himself, looking amused as I dared take a glance at him.

“Everything you’re wearing tonight is quite expensive, isn’t it?” He continued, eyes running over my frame. It certainly felt uncomfortable as I could easily spot the lust in them as his eyes stayed a little too long on my exposed collarbones.

“Yes, they were expensive.” I hummed, looking over his shoulder when San glanced at my face.

“Bought them yourself?” His tone feigned innocence, but the smirk on his lips made it obvious that he was prodding and jabbing, “Didn’t think a university student could afford all of these things, to be honest.”

I gulped as my throat felt suddenly dry, heartrate picking up. Of course I couldn’t afford what I was wearing tonight, two months ago I could barely pay rent and the tuition fees for my course at the university. Seonghwa seemed like an angel in disguise at the time, however, lately I’ve been feeling guilty for accepting all of his money instead of trying to make some myself. In my defense, my itinerary was so packed I could barely find a place which would hire me even half norm, it was frustrating.

“Some of these were gifts.” I opted to answer, clearing my throat when San’s fingers slightly dug into my lower back, pulling me even closer to himself. Our bodies were almost touching, his musky scent invaded my nostrils. I certainly didn’t like it.

“You know,” He spoke up again, eyebrows furrowed, “Seonghwa is quite known for changing partners after like…half a year, I guess his standards are too high or something. Unless…”

My heartbeat paused for a second as I looked San in the eyes, “Unless, you’re not his girlfriend but his whore—”

“I think you’ve spent enough time with Y/N for a lifetime, Choi San.” The sudden harsh voice made me flinch as I carefully peeled myself away from San, heart beating like crazy as I turned my head. I was met with a furious looking Seonghwa, kind eyes pulled into slits as he glared San down, jaw clenched. I noticed the people around us glancing our way, and when my eyes fell on San his chest was puffed out and eyes challenging as he stared down the taller man.

“Seonghwa,” I whispered and curled my fingers around his bicep, getting his attention, “He’s not worth causing a scene, let it go.”

His eyes bore into mine as I heard San scoff at my words, but before he could open his annoying mouth and say something else, Seonghwa gripped the hand I had around his bicep and peeled it off, hand slipping to my wrist as he turned around and took off, steps hurried. I struggled to keep up with him in my high heels and even ran into someone, having to hastily apologize as Seonghwa wasn’t stopping anytime soon. I noticed the direction we were storming in, the restrooms. I gulped and realized Seonghwa was angry and needed time away from everyone, probably to give me a lecture and break off the contract we had. I could only hope he wouldn’t ask for the money back; I couldn’t remember if that was a clause or not in the contract. We rounded the corner and Seonghwa kicked the door of the restroom open with his foot, shoulders raising and falling rapidly as we entered the men’s restroom. A guy, who looked like security, was washing his hands, pausing when he noticed us.

“Sir—”

“Get out.” Seonghwa’s voice was low as he glared at the poor security guard, who seemed to be speechless for a few seconds.

“This is the men’s restroom—”

“And I said, get out.” Seonghwa emphasized his words again, staring daggers at the unbudging security guard, seemingly a glaring match breaking out between them. My nerves were rising, and I tapped my heel against the floor, biting my lower lip when nobody moved.

“Seonghwa.” I called out for him, but he didn’t look away from the security guard. However, the man broke his staring contest and looked at me, taken aback.

“Park Seonghwa?” He asked amazed and as I nodded, he quickly bowed his head and scurried out, making me let out a long sigh. My shoulders slouched forward as I pulled my hand out of Seonghwa’s, which made him whirl around and look at me with a sharp stare. I gulped and suddenly felt small underneath his eyes as his fury was directed at me only.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to dance with San, but I don’t think I had much of a chance,” I found myself explaining quickly, “And I didn’t want to cause a scene which would damage your reputation.”

Seonghwa took in a deep breath before releasing it, jaw clenching, “You’re not my whore, Y/N, you’re my sugar baby.”

I bit my lower lip, the term still making me feel slightly uncomfortable. I don’t think I could ever get used to it. I looked at the floor as Seonghwa sighed loudly again, realizing that he was angry at San and not me, having overheard his words.

“Yeah, I know.” I muttered as I saw Seonghwa’s polished shoes come into view as I was still looking down.

“You didn’t want to come tonight and I forced you into coming, I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and he looked guilty as I looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing.

“You didn’t force me, what are you talking about?” I asked confused.

“I saw how uncomfortable you were feeling all night.” He explained, playing with the rings on his fingers, “I also should’ve chosen a dress less revealing knowing your preferences, I’m sorry for that too—”

“Seonghwa, this dress is gorgeous!” I said with a chuckle as I pointed at it, hands shimmying down my hips, “Albeit a bit too revealing, and too expensive, but it’s beautiful and I appreciate your gesture, I hope you know that. Regardless of how I’ve been feeling tonight.”

Seonghwa gulped and took a step closer, eyes running over my frame before he looked back up into my eyes, “You are gorgeous, not the dress, Y/N. That’s just a piece of fabric.”

My cheeks flushed at his words and I averted my eyes shyly, feeling Seonghwa’s soft fingers grip my chin as he made me look at him again. He stepped even closer and his warmth wrapped around me, fruity scent enveloping me and making me shiver. Seonghwa certainly noticed as he studied my face for a reaction, but I was trying hard to contain the fluster I was feeling and my frantic heartbeat.

“Our contract is coming to an end next month,” Seonghwa whispered, as if he was afraid anyone would hear us, there was nobody but us inside the spacious and marble covered restroom, “Let’s extend it for another six months.”

“Six months?” I asked surprised, remembering well that Seonghwa’s contracts only lasted for three months. He hummed and nodded as he closed the gap between our bodies, tilting my head slightly up. It was rare that he stood so close and held me so boldly. We were rarely physical with each other, the occasional hand holding and kisses on the cheeks happened when I was feeling down or Seonghwa was feeling tired, and we made out a couple of times here and there when we were drunk. The contract made it clear that everything had to be consensual and if one person refused, it shouldn’t be brought up until they were ready to talk about it or made it obvious that they wanted it to happen. Seonghwa was a respectful and well-mannered man, there were few others like him, if none at all. My lips slightly parted as Seonghwa’s eyes fell on my lips and I closed my eyes when he started leaning in slowly, lips pressing against mine carefully, experimentally. It was so light that if I were to pull away, it felt like it never happened, but instead, I pressed myself firmly against him, Seonghwa’s hand coming to hold the side of my face. Our lips moved slowly against each other, testing, searching, savoring the other’s lips. My hands rested against his chest as his free hand went to hold my waist, slowly slipping to the place where San held onto earlier, my lower back. This time, goosebumps erupted on my skin and I slightly shuddered against Seonghwa as his long fingers dug into my skin, his lips picking up pace. I matched his feverish kisses, desperately wanting to tangle my fingers into the hair against his nape, but not wanting to mess up his hairstyle, so instead, I gripped the collar of his velvet coat, my other hand going around his shoulder. Seonghwa pulled me into himself totally, chests pressing together painfully as he sucked on my lower lip, carefully pressing his tongue against my mouth. I understood what he wanted and parted my lips for him, granting him access as he tilted my head up even more, hands clutching onto me firmly, his tongue carefully exploring my warm mouth. He tasted like the whiskey he had been drinking, and cherry. He loved cherry candies; he had probably eaten one not long before. My nose pushed against his cheek as our tongues tangled together, lapping at each other, a fire ignited inside me as my hand slipped up to his nape. Before I could second guess myself, I allowed my fingers to tangle into the short strands and I tugged on them, Seonghwa’s hand abruptly slipping down to my ass as he gave it a firm squeeze, making me gasp into his mouth. He took that momentum to suck on my tongue and suddenly my knees felt weak from the lack of air, but not just. I could devour him right here, but that wasn’t very lady like, nor too smart. Anyone could enter the restroom anytime. And despite the urgency in Seonghwa’s kiss, he sucked on my lower lip as he pulled back, pressing his forehead against mine. He was panting and I had to wipe the corner of my mouth as saliva threatened to drip down.

“Let’s do six months.” I rasped out, in the process of catching my breath. As I opened my eyes, I watched as Seonghwa’s teeth was attached to his plump lower lip, a deep hum leaving his throat as he agreed with my final answer.

“Good, I’ve still got a lot to offer to you.” He said as he opened his eyes and a smile instantly appeared on his lips. And then, his finger was rubbing underneath my lower lip and the corner of my mouth, chuckling as my own eyes fell onto Seonghwa’s unnaturally red lips. It made me blush as I allowed him to fix me up, hand giving my ass another squeeze, making me gasp as I jumped. The amused smile disappeared from his lips as a pleased smirk took its place.

“Let’s dance?” He asked and I nodded wordlessly, mesmerized by his voice and eyes as Seonghwa took a step back, hands falling from my body as I detached myself from him too, gulping nervously. He extended a hand and I placed my palm in his, fingers intertwining as he lead us towards the door.

I wouldn’t mind having Seonghwa as my sugar daddy for another six months, not if he would kiss me again and again like he kissed me tonight.

Masterlist (divider)

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belit0 · 8 months

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ahh, i just found out tobirama was about 40 when he became hokage! which makes him even hotter🤭. can you do a hokage tobirama and his young pregnant shy wife meeting his family and like people around the village

I need to EXPLICTLYYYY know where you got that information from bc confirming that he was a daddy brings a different flavor to his character🫠❤️‍🩹

For clarification purposes: Madara is blind in this piece. Hashirama healed Izuna before he died, under Madara's acceptance of peace, and Aniki never took his younger brother's eyes, preferring to go blind rather than steal his sight.

No one dares to look him in the eye, let alone question the possessive hand that won't let go of (Y/N)'s hips. Her belly is too prominent to deny the situation, but no one is used to seeing the current Hokage with his wife.

Senju Tobirama devoted himself to hiding the woman he promised as a bride, unable to tolerate stares at her and unfortunate comments. Both men and women would send lust and desire toward her, and he would have no way to stop them all. What better remedy than to shelter (Y/N) until his ownership is undeniable?

Tobirama can be quite capricious.

The man even went as far as not allowing his own older brother to meet her, Hashirama himself excluded from the equation. To think that the former Hokage could betray his younger brother like that was ridiculous to everyone, but it wasn't about lust with him. No.

Tobirama hid (Y/N) because he refused to lose the one ray of light in his life (after Anija's solar shower, of course). His past is made up of death and disappointment, built as an unfeeling weapon of war by his father, robbed of the ability to empathize with anyone until the creation of Konoha.

His wife brought a peace he didn't know he needed into his life, a breath of fresh air even as nations struggled to not cooperate with peace, freedom among so much horror and suffering. (Y/N) showed him that life could be spent out of survival mode, that he could relax for sleep and accept another person into his bed without danger.

Having found what he always sought without knowing it, Tobirama could not afford to lose it.

Keeping her away from everything and everyone (beyond his possible jealousy) was also composed by the need to protect her, to remove her from the spotlight that inevitably comes with being the Hokage's future wife, to prevent her from being used against him. The albino's attitudes were based on affection, but now that (Y/N) is round with his creation, full of him, he can't help but proudly display her.

He strolls through the market streets with his head held high and his wife tightly in his grip, shooting hostile glances at anyone who looks at them for more than five minutes at a time. Of course he expects people to be surprised, but he doesn't want her to end up with the evil eye either.

"Hokage-Sama! Here, here!" shouts a little old lady from his favorite food stall. He can't ignore people from his village, those who trust him, and comes up to her stall to give her a smile unbecoming of Tobirama. "You look very happy, Hokage-Sama!"

"Ah... how could a man not be, having such a beautiful woman by his side?" And (Y/N) blushes, waving slightly at the little old lady and trying to hide the redness of her cheeks behind the sleeve of her yukata.

The elderly woman smiles, and hands them both a small package of food without accepting anything in return, "here, here, take this, enjoy life!" She practically pushes them out of her stall, and they resume walking to the point they agreed on with Hashirama.

People stare and stare at them, some even dare to congratulate the Hokage, give him blessings, ask if he could feel how many children are there. Some inquiries make him uncomfortable, and with just a blunt look he gets rid of those prying eyes.

They receive more gifts along the way, offerings of love and respect, food and decorations, townspeople declaring their eagerness to meet the Hokage's offspring. Tobirama would not expect to have interacted with so many people in such a short distance, and his social battery is noticeably drained, squeezing (Y/N) more and more protectively against his body.

By the time they reach Hashirama's house, the Hokage no longer wants anything to do with anyone.

"Ayoooooo! Tobi! You made it!" his older brother waits for them sitting at the door, like a little kid waiting for his dad to come home from work. The problem is, Hashirama is not a child, and not little one either. He pounces on the two, wrapping his arms around them and pressing their faces to his chest, invasive and effusive as always but enhanced by (Y/N)'s presence.

"Aaaa! (Y/N)! Finally released from your confinement! It's so beautiful to finally meet you!" Anija lets go of him, only to squeeze her separately, give her kisses on the crown of her head and clench her cheeks like a grandmother. Yes, Hashirama could be compared to a grandmother. "Have you looked... I mean, in there? See what's in there? We could ask Izuna to-"

"No."

"But-"

"No. It's a surprise." Tobirama pulls (Y/N) out of his arms, and hugging her enters the house he knows by heart. He heads straight for the courtyard, where he knows Hashirama (who comes behind him with his head down and feigning sadness) enjoys afternoons of tea.

Of course, he does not expect the surprise his brother has prepared for him there.

The whole clan, the whole damn family is gathered around a huge table, different from the one Anija prefers for his solitary lunches. Sitting in the two main seats, the Uchiha brothers, who have no business in a Senju house, full of Senju men and women.

Is this what peace looks like? Graphically represented? Tobirama wants to vomit.

"TOBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" He is greeted by his entire family as a whole, and the elders soon hover over both of them. Females kidnap (Y/N) to shower her with questions and love, all a carbon copy of how Hashirama behaves but boosted to the tenth.

The albino is also abducted, but by the young men and his older brother, who seems to have regained his cheerfulness. They sit him down in front of the Uchiha brothers, and it's like sending a cow to the slaughter.

"Tobi Tobes... I didn't know your family called you like that, neither that your wife was SO pregnant... He hides too many things from us, right Aniki?" Izuna starts, as usual, not missing a chance to poke him with whatever comes in front of him.

"Hm."

"How many children do you have there? 3? She's... prominent!"

"Get my wife out of your mouth before I make you remember why the war existed in the first place." It's a blunt threat, and the young men around him tense up. Peace is old at this point, but the habits of a life that no longer exists are hard to forget.

"He's joking! Yes, yes, he's kidding! No tobi?" Hashirama tries to disperse the waters, and it works, at least with those who don't know them inside out. Madara knows what's coming, and so does he somehow.

"You want me to see how many are there? With the Sharingan, I mean... it's not like I actually want to get inside-"

"Izuna. Enough." Aniki tries, and succeeds until the albino glares at his little brother.

"Madara... you're blind, but if only could you see the size of that woman's belly..."

"IZUNA!" This time it's Hashirama, who gets indignant every time the Uchiha speaks so lightly about his brother's eye condition. Maybe it's the way they both have of cooperating with the situation, but it's still terrible in his ears.

The Uchiha leader chuckles under his breath, and it's all the validation Izuna needs to go on.

"So, what do you say, Tobi Tobes, want to check it out?" and before he can activate his Dōjutsu, two huge branches stop them both. Tobirama, who was in the process of pulling out a kunai and jumping to his throat, is imprisoned in his seat. Izuna, about to reveal the mystery the couple wanted to keep, has a huge trunk wrapped around his head in the eye area.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too."

"Fuck all of you guys." And everyone turns around in surprise, because this time it's (Y/N) doing the talking. She puts a hand on her husband's shoulder, dodging the wood on him, and gives a pleasant smile to the Uchiha brothers. "We'll find out how many children are here at the time of delivery, for the time being, I appreciate your efforts, Lord Izuna."

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onlyjaeyun · 7 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟐𝟏

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒𝐤

↬ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐄𝐎.

"Are you sure we're at the right address, Sir?"

His chauffeur's question barely makes its way to his consciousness, as Jongseong allows his gaze to nervously and curiously roam the parts of Seoul he's never been to before.

As a business man he's definitely seen most of his favorite and most important capital, yet it genuinely feels like stepping foot into a whole new city.

All of a sudden and for the first time in his life, Jongseong simply can't recognize the place he was born and raised in, the capital he's always loved and appreciated. All of a sudden and for the first time in his life he genuinely feels out of place.

"Yes, it's the apartment complex right here", is the only thing he manages to say before the car comes to a halt and he finds himself in the midsts of Seoul's other kind of night life.

Despite the time being quite late, there are children and teenagers out on the street, laughing and playing together, a group of old man comfortably seated in front of a random little restaurant as the old women are slowly starting to close their shops.

Jongseong doesn't know what he expected when he had spontaneously decided to join his driver to pick you up, especially since you had already told him about where your apartment is located, yet it absolutely didn't prepare him for the reality of it.

It's not like he's never been to the less wealthy parts of Seoul, but for some reason he can't help but doubt the safety of it.

The thought of his pretty girl having to take the bus at late times with all these possible dangers lingering around has his head spinning with worry.

There's absolutely no way he'll let you go home by yourself ever again after this.

With a harsh gulp, Jongseong gets out of the car, the boys' and young men's attention quickly shifting to him as he shoots his body guard a firm gaze to stop him from following the way he'd usually do it. Because for some reason, Jay feels like he doesn't need him in his back in this particular situation.

"Oh, damn", one of the boys yells as soon as his eyes meet Jongseong's, his face quickly giving away just how young he is, however his height as well as the proportions of his body making him seem like they're the same age, "seems like Y/N's finally getting over that stupid asshole!"

His words leave the young CEO speechless.

Why does he know you? And why the fuck is he all up in your business to the point where he actually knows things about your personal life in such great detail?

Jongseong can't help but wonder if you've managed to create bonds to these young men, and as he thinks about the possibility of it, he knows it's nothing too unrealistic, as you usually tend to treat every single human being the exact same way, no matter who they are or where they come from.

"I like him the most so far", another boy yells, a little older than the other ones yet still young enough to be in school, "he actually looks like he'll treat her well."

For a short moment, Jay tries his best to understand whether or not this is actually happening because despite how overwhelmed he is, he feels way more comfortable than he would have ever expected to.

"Y/N and I are just – friends", Jay suddenly says, a soft smile on his lips and the way all boys are quick to reciprocate the sweet gesture melts his heart on the spot, "I'm here to pick her up."

"Nah, you guys aren't friends", the first boy chuckles, "you like her more than that, am I right?"

This time he simply can't hold back a little chuckle in response to the boy's playful words and yet all he does is shrug his comment off.

"What's your name? Might as well let us know since you'll obviously come around a lot more from now on."

For a moment, Jongseong hesitates. Not because he doesn't trust the boys but rather because for the first time in his life, he doesn't want people to know what reputation his name comes with.

"Jay", is what he decides on, "I'll make sure to get to know you all as well next time, but for now I gotta pick her up. The host of tonight's dinner we're invited to is incredibly stingy when it comes to being on time."

The boys nod, some of them shoot Jongseong another row of smiles whereas the older ones seem suspicious and mischievous. And as Jay comes to stand in front of the apartment building's front door, he carefully looks for your name on one of the tags before ringing your bell and silently praying that you won't speak to him through the speaker bur rather just buzz him in instead.

To his luck you're way too stressed and in a rush to actually care about who you're letting into the apartment complex. After almost two three of living here, you've grown used to the random ringings on your doorbell because one of the kids has forgotten their keys again or a random neighbor asking you for leftovers, especially towards the end of the month when the money situation gets a little critical for everyone.

Ever since you've started working for The Park Company, you've been earning way more than most people in your complex and since you have nobody but yourself to take care of, you love giving the rest to the people in your community.

To some people it might be too much but these exact people were the ones who took great care of you throughout the few times you spent jobless and on the actual edge of poverty, barely making ends meet.

It's a great privilege and honor to finally give back to them and there's nobody in this neighborhood you're not genuinely grateful for.

It takes Jay a little longer than five minutes to find his way to your door, the middle aged lady at the end of the hallway quickly letting out an amused laugh upon seeing the tall CEO desperately looking for the right way to go before finally helping him.

And as soon as he lifts his hand to knock on your door, he feels his heartbeat picking up its pace in no time, thrumming in his throat as the blood rushes in his ears and easily blends out every single other noise.

You can't help but be a little surprised as soon as you realise that there's actually someone on the other side of your door since you weren't really expecting anyone and are pretty sure Mr. Park's driver didn't feel the need to come all the way up to your apartment.

With only one boot on your feet and your lips half way lined, you swing the door open and find yourself standing in front of none other than your boss.

The sight of Park Jongseong in your complex hallway feels surreal, like it's nothing but a mentally created image and the longer you stare at him, the more intimated you feel. This block, this part of the city, your life – none of these things are made for people who were fed with silver spoons the second they came to this world and even if you don't feel ashamed or embarrassed, you definitely feel a little shy and yet defensive about it.

If it wasn't for the initial shock, you would have easily missed the way his eyes widen just the tiniest bit and for a moment you're not sure if he actually just gasped for air, but with him you usually tend to read too much into his behavior, so without giving it another thought you take a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry for making you wait, Sir", you say and start fumbling with the little belt of your rather small black dress, too nervous to make eye contact as you feel his dark eyes roaming your body almsot shamelessly.

"I didn't know you would be the one to pick me up."

"Don't worry about it", Jongseong says and clears his throat, every single drop of blood finding its way into his cock, "I wanted to make it a surprise."

His words leave you flabbergasted.

And from the sudden nervousness grazing his features you're pretty sure you haven't done a good job at hiding your reaction.

Jongseong doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, yet he simply has no idea what to say.

You look like you came straight out of his biggest fantasies, your whole demeanor is what he's been dreaming about for the past few weeks and besides that one night at Heeseung's new club he's never been in your presence outside of work.

For some reason he kind of expected this to be a little easier, but at the end of the day all of his worries and doubts have become reality.

"Call me Jay, please", he suddenly blurts and looks at you with his pretty eyes roaming your face, "I think we're past the point of you constantly addressing me as 'Sir' and by my last name."

"But...you're my boss", you whisper and start playing with your favorite necklace, but still too shy to look him kn the eyes, "I don't want to be unprofessional or inappropriate."

"Y/N, I–", but Jongseong doesn't get the opportunity to finish his sentence as his phone starts ringing and the custom ringtone lets him know exactly who it is.

"It's Hoonie", he sighs and pulls the device out of his pocket, not yet picking up the call, "I'll be here waiting for you to get ready. No need to rush yourself."

All you do is nod before turning around and quickly looking for your second shoe as well as finishing the last touch ups on your make up.

For a single second you actually consider inviting him inside but you're not ready for your boss to see your tiny little apartment. This time it is a little bit of shema which kind of hoods you back because compared to his big penthouse, your place is as big as his home office.

Once you've finally finished getting yourself ready and actually presentable, you try your best not to stare at your boss who's currently talking to his best friend, leaning against the wall and looking absolutely out of place and yet like he actually fits into the whole picture perfectly.

With a soft sigh you throw away all of those little thoughts and glimpses of hope before locking your door and waiting for Jongseong to join you.

You're too nervous, too anxious and excited to actually hear what he's saying to Hoonie on the phone and as soon as he pulls it away from his ear, you find yourself gasping for air at the mesmerizing sight of Park Jongseong.

He's not wearing his usual three piece but the casual version of his daily outfit. Few of the buttons on the top of his white dress shirt unbuttoned, revealing just the right amount of chest as the blazer hugs his strong biceps in just the right places. You don't let your eyes find their way to his legs because you know the sight of his thick thighs in those black slacks are going to drive you insane. Riding and using them for your own pleasure being one of your personal favorite fantasies.

Neither one of you says a single word as you make your way to the car, the cold November air hitting you a lot harder than expected and now you're absolutely regretting your choice of jacket.

You quickly check up on your boys, who have obviously been waiting for you two to come downstairs, before they all shoot Jay a knowing look and an appreciative nod of acknowledgment, which you would have missed if you hadn't been attentively watching your boss's reaction to the kids of your block.

With a soft smile, Jay opens the door to his car, making sure you're comfortably seated before making his way to the other side.

You're quick to start a conversation with his bodyguard, since the two of you have been spending just as much time with each as you have with Jay himself and for some reason he can't help but feel a sense of relief hit him.

You're here with him. You're in his car and he finally gets to take the tiniest bit of care of you, something he's been daydreaming about for so long.

You can feel his eyes burning through your skin and you can't even deny how much you're enjoying it. Knowing he actually seems to like what he sees has the butterflies in your tummy go absolutely crazy, despite your many attempts to kill them off completely. There's just something about Park Jongseong which seems to turn the easiest things into the biggest challenges.

"Y/N, I've thought a little about the rules I've set up for you in my office and have decided to abandon most of them", Jongseong suddenly says and when you turn your head to meet his strong gaze, you're surprised to see that he genuinely seems nervous.

"Oh?" You look at him with raised eyebrows, your hands neatly folded in your lap and all of a sudden you feel a lot less anxious than just a few seconds ago.

There's just something about him, which never fails to esse your mind, yet you still struggle to put a name on it.

"I've talked to Yeonie and the boys about this quite a lot and have realised that most of these rules were rather ridiculous. You can wear whatever you want and personalise your desk however you see fit. Please also don't hesitate to call or text me whenever you need something, anything, really. I want you to see how much I appreciate your hard work and you've never done anything to make me doubt your abilities, which is why those rules are kind of nonsense."

You can't help but be a little iverwhelmed because not only has he never been this casual and smiley around you before but the fact he actually gave these things another thought to the point where he felt the need to talk to his friends about makes you feel incredibly seen and appreciated.

"That is really, really thoughtful of you, Sir, thank you so much", you say calmly and are surprised just how well you're hiding the excitement currently rushing through your body.

"I'm also going to organise a company car for you because I don't feel comfortable having you take the bus every single day after working so hard", this one Jongseong was the most nervous about. His urge to lay the world to your feet has been absolutely overwhelming and after quite a little bit of arguing back and forth with Sunghoon, the lawyer had managed to put the company car idea into the CEO's head instead of his initial idea of letting you live rent free in one of Seoul's most expensive apartments.

"That is not–", but Jongseong is determined and as soon as he cuts your words, you know there's no room for discussion left.

"It is necessary. Please, Y/N, let me do this for you. You work so hard snd you try your very best, at all times. Allow me to take care of you, it's the least I can do to show you my appreciation."

Fucking Park Jongseong.

Why the fuck did he have to pull the 'taking-care-of-you' card when literally every other explanation would have been the better choice? Because now that little voice you've been suppressing for the past few days, telling you that your boss isn't as neutral about you as he claims to be, has basically gotten a freeway ticket to freedom and you know it's going to be the only one up there for the next who knows how long.

"Thank you, Sir, I really appreciate this", you whisper and look away, whereas Jay refuses to look anywhere but you. He's been forcing himself to avoid you in any way possible for the past three months, he would never let an opportunity like this go to waste.

"Please, Y/N, let's try and be a little less formal with each other, yeah? I know I've been super keen on keeping everything strictly business but realising how much time we actually spend with each other has changed my mind", he says calmly, this time obviously a little hesitant. Jongseong doesn't want to let his intentions be known right away but rather ease you into it.

He rejected just a few weeks ago, no matter how badly he wants to dive head first into this and just tell you how crazy you've been driving him, he knows he has to slow it down for the sake of your mental and emotional well-being.

"I'll try my best to use your first name but I am afraid I won't get rid of the 'Sir' as easily", you chuckle nervously and carefully watch his reaction, only to regret your decision because the way he oh so obviously lets his eyes fall to your lips and back up has your blood boiling with arousal.

"That's okay", Jay replies calmly, "I like to hear that one from you anyway."

As if destiny heard the sirens in your head going off in response to his flirty little comment, the car comes to a stop and before you can actually think of a verbal answer, Jay's bodyguard has already opened your door.

The following hour is filled withw ay too many hugs and handshakes as Hoonie makes sure to introduce you to everyone you're not familiar with and by the time you finally get the opportunity to sit down, your friends are already all over you.

You don't tell them about your conversation with your boss, too shy and embarassed but also a little scared someone might hear and for some reason their lack of knowledge eases your nerves and soothes your anxiety in the best way possible.

It's a rather small gathering with about twenty people, most of whom you know, which makes the evening so much more bearable than you had initially expected.

The fact that your boss can barely keep his eyes off of you doesn't help much with your nervousness but you can't even deny how much you're liking it.

Every time one of his or your own boys comes a little too close to you, Jay physically tenses up to the point where you can actually watch the way his knuckles start turning white from his tight grip on the table when Jungwon pulls you into a silly little bear hug.

For a while, you completely forget about your actual relation to Park Jongseong. In this moment, you're just two adults with way too much chemistry and sexual tension and it feels like neither one of you is trying to suppress or run away from it.

You can't help but feel a little bit silly for gaining hope yet again but for some reason tonight feels different. Jay's never been this relaxed and casual around you, seeing him interact with his friends in such an environment is something you've honestly daydreamed about and to see it become reality seems surreal.

To your surprise, you find yourself seated next to none other than the man who's been messing with your head for the past three months and as the official dining part of Sunghoon's birthday dinner is about to start, Jongseong casually pulls your chair out for you to sit.

Nothing but a whispered thank you falls past your lips as you try your very best to stay calm but as soon as your gaze meets your group of friends, you know exactly how well that attempt went.

You don't let the girls' wide eyes and smiles as well as the boys shocked facial expressions get to you, the only person you allow yourself to indulge in is your boss, who's been more than just adamant about having a proper conversation with you.

It doesn't take long for his boys to chime in this time and even if he can hide his annoyance very well, he knows their actual intentions. With a soft sigh, Jay decides to pull himself out of your argument about which kind of stew is the best and why, his eyes never once averting from you as they take in your breathtaking beauty.

Maybe it's because he hasn't allowed himself to actually look at you in person or maybe it's because he wanted to maintain the mental and emotional distance to you, but regardless of the reasoning, Jongseong realises that up until tonight he's never fully comprehend just how beautiful you are.

Everything about your facial expressions, from the way you raise your eyebrows or scrunch your nose, as well as your brsathtaking smile and your incredibly adorable laughter simply blows him away.

He dowsn't even realise that Jake as well as Heeseung have gone back to their seats until you tilt your head to the side and meet his curious gaze.

"Hoonie's gonna hold a speech, Jay", you say softly and never once in his life has he loved the sound of someone saying his first name as much as this.

"Oh, right, sorry", he replies quickly and clears his throat, his cheeks filling with blood as embarassmenr overwhelms him, so to avoid an even worse moment, he simply turns around to face his best friend, who's just a single shot away from being absolutely drunk, yet makes sure to hold his yearly birthday dinner speech.

And as the waiters serve the appetizers and side dishes, you finally have a moment of absolute peace, only for the constant vibration of your phone to disturb you.

For some "unknown" reason you're so not in the mood to talk to Jiwoong. It's not line you're going to cancel the date over a simple conversation you probably misinterpreted yet again but talking to him on a night where your boss gives you his actual attention just doesn't feel right.

And on top of that you really don't feel like being on your phone all the time.

With a soft sigh you put your phone right between your own plate and Jay's, knowing he might notice the unnecessary high amount of messages you're receiving and all you can do is hope that he won't actually comment on it.

"Someone seems to really need your attention right now", Jongseong suddenly says and he has no idea why he actually decided to say anything because as soon as he got a single glimpse of the contact name a few minutes ago, his blood has been boiling with rage and jealousy.

It's not like he has the right to feel the way he does but the mere thought of you with that loser of a man makes him want to take you back to his place and claim you in the most intimate way possible.

You're his and he'll make sure to let every single fucker on this planet know about it as soon as possible.

However, until he's made sure he's won you over again, Jay has no choice but to accept your decisions.

And for now, Jong doesn't mind. He's known to be a patient man. He knows exactly when and how he has to handle these things, if he didn't he would have never made it this far.

He'll just make sure to have you forget about every single one of your little boy toys once you let him back into your heart.

"Well, I've got great company here and it'd be a shame if I wasted a night like this by staring at my phone the whole time, right?"

Your response it witty and slightly sassy, your smile actually cheeky and even if Jay knows it's the few glasses of champagne talking, he can't hold back the little chuckle regardlessly.

"Exactly", he says calmly and holds his whiskey glass up, waiting for you to react to his offer and as soon as you xlink your own against his, that heaviness on his chest seems to get just light enough for him to take a deep breath.

And as he watches you burst into loud laughter because of Sunghoon's random childhood story, he knows he has to have you. There's no way he's going to back away ever again until you're his and his only.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: I know this one's a little boring BUT it's super important because from now on Jay's finally about to act on those feelings and not just write them down and be all grumpy about the whole situation. I just wanted to thank you all for the love and support, you guys never fail to make me feel so loved and appreciated and it's everything to me. Sending everyone the fattest kiss! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!!🤍🧸)

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