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pucksandpower · 9 months

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Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

1K notes · View notes

mamayan · 7 months

Text

🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃

Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader

Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.

cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh

wc: 7k+

Something must be wrong with you.

Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.

The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.

This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.

Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.

You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.

The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.

Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?

They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.

Do you want to know who your new friend will be?

This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.

You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.

A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.

Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.

He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.

It’s cold.

It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.

You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.

“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.

…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.

You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.

Or maybe you were very ready.

“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.

“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.

You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.

Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.

He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.

He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.

His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.

He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.

It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.

“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.

He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.

Because you’ve never been more aroused.

Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.

“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.

“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.

He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.

“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.

“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.

His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.

“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.

You’re going to die.

It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.

It’s empty. This damn park is empty.

Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—

Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.

It hurts—!

Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.

“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.

Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.

He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.

There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.

“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.

“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.

“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.

“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.

He was still hard.

“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.

He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.

He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.

You really are a freak like he says.

You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.

The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.

His knife.

He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?

He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.

It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.

You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.

“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.

“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.

“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.

You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.

A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.

His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.

You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.

He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.

He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.

“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.

He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.

“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.

“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”

An unexpected question.

His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.

“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.

You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.

Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.

He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.

“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.

Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.

Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.

Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.

Not his problem though.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

#tw:noncon #kinktober #Shiggy fuckers come get y’all juice #kinktober 2023 #my only one lol #shigaraki tomura smut #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki mha #shigaraki x reader #mha tomura #tomura x reader #boku no hero academia tomura #yandere tomura #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere tomura smut #yandere shigaraki tomura smut #yandere tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader smut

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clumsyexpression · 2 years

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One Piece Men needing a Blue Sky Holiday

Here's some One Piece guys having a bad day and here's how you ruined it (͡• ͜໒ ͡• )

Ace:

You just wanted a cool drink from the gas station but the door read ‘No shirt, no service’ and you had a lengthy discussion on what classified as a shirt and him covering his nipples with his hands upon entry wouldn’t cut it

Aokiji:

After explaining how he had such a long day of reluctantly doing paperwork and what not, he also had to explain how he ate the Chilly-Chilly Fruit and not the Chili-Chili Fruit and you two had a very lengthy talk about his devil fruit being somewhat of a misnomer since he couldn’t spontaneously generate bowls of chili, and when he disagreed with you, you decided to file a complaint to Fleet Admiral Sengoku and now he has to read it over the next day he goes in to work and sign all 73 pages that outline your argument

Crocodile:

You reasoned that if he ate the kinetic version of the Sand-Sand fruit, his powers would be a lot more cooler since sandcastles would be easier to build and he would be a lot more ASMR friendlier, which might help with his attitude problems

Franky:

Waitress: “Hmm, Coke, no, but we do have Pepsi – is that okay?” Franky: "No-" You: "Yeah, that will be fine – pretty much the same thing, right?”

Katakuri:

He saw you coming with your bullshit but wasn’t rude enough to turn you away. He is now forcing himself to consume end-of-the-shift Dunkin donuts and watered down Dunkin Refreshers that had its ice melt more than 45 minutes ago but at least your company makes up for it but you were still on that bullshit to get him old Dunkins lmao

Kid:

You were goading him into thinking he couldn’t do this cool trick you discovered and while he was clouded over in anger and being super competitive, you managed to trick him into ‘drawing’ a dick on your new widescreen tablet with his magnetic devil fruit powers - which was actually the the 65” TV that belonged in the common area and now everyone is mad at the both of you

Law:

You discovered his Squishmallow collection that he swore up and down was Bepo’s until you threatened to punch them all. Bepo still cried that you would even think to do that, you monster

Lucci:

You asked him to smell this really cool but very dubious plant that was on clearance at Lowe’s that had no label besides a barely legible cat silhouette on it. Now he’s been rolling around all over the floor while making really weird screeching sounds and clawing the shit out of anything to that dares to move for the past 3 hours.

Luffy:

You set up a bunch of those faux food soaps with the hopes that he would use it to bathe, but instead he proceeded to break into your edible looking wax melts that smelled deliciously like food since you kept them in close proximity in the bathroom and now he has a very bad tummy ache

Mihawk:

You accidentally broke the bottle of wine he intended to share with you in 5 minutes – not having enough time to look through his extensive wine cellar, you knew exactly where his red wine vinegar was and poured him a glass. He then started to choke exactly like this.

Rosinante:

You warned him that the food was a little spicy as a joke and he still caught on fire

Sanji:

You told him that you knew a great bar to unwind at with plenty of exotic dancers that are topless the whole time but was not at all entertained when the Chippendales was on stage the entire night

Smoker:

You gifted him some really nice cigars while yall were at a party but he got really buzzed and he thought he was eating some ants on a log but didn’t realize that he was actually eating his cigars until he was already 4 sticks in

X Drake:

You keep preparing to tell him about the details of this really cool, super top secret mission that nobody can know about except him and if you so much get a whiff of him thinking about snitching you out, you will open the door and get on the floor so everybody walk the dinosaur. You never explain the details btw

Zoro:

You two were in the middle of arguing and he says something that really rubs you the wrong way; you turn to look behind you to see who the fuck he’s talking to and when you turn back to face him, he’s gone. Now he’s big mad since you put him on search to find who he was talking to and he can’t find his way back to you to give a proper answer

#one piece #one piece x reader #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #eustass kid #trafalgar law #charlotte katakuri #cyborg franky #x drake #white chase smoker #kuzan #aokiji #donquixote rosinante #dracule mihawk #rob lucci #portgas d ace #sir crocodile #pink thread of fate

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respectthepetty · 2 months

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I should've given an award to Oh No! Here Comes Trouble last year for the red thread of a fate, but Unknown's final episodes just solidified that this WILL be a Colors Award this year.

Because I just really love when the colors color so fucking well.

The red stairs were a character all on their own.

Those red stairs continuously showed they were connected.

And it worked so well since Qian and Yuan were black and white.

So every time the red showed up between them, it was just a reminder of their connection.

And that they were meant to be together.

Because with Yuan, Qian is lighter.

Without him, he is completely dark.

That red street brought them together.

It's where their story began, both as brothers, and as partners.

And it was extended even to San Pang and Lili.

Yuan and Qian's light and dark dynamic was constantly reinforced.

Again and again

And when Yuan told Qian not to be afraid of the cracks because that's where the light comes in, it reinforced the whole purpose of this light and dark dynamic.

In Qian's dark world, Yuan brought light. When Qian thought he was flawed, Yuan showed him he was loved. Where Qian thought he was broken, Yuan healed him.

So for Yuan to say that he thinks Qian's mother brought them together, and for us to always see in her red . . .

In a painful way, Yuan is right. Qian is who he is because of the hurt from his mother. Qian would have never met Yuan, would have never protected Yuan, and would have never loved Yuan the way he had if he hadn't been so adamant to never be his mother.

And because of that, Yuan can return that love to Qian (while they are balanced in similar colors)

AND THE BLACK BRACELET! (Since Qian is color coded black, him giving Yuan his color is so significant, and now Yuan is giving him back all that love!)

The red brought them together.

And now they get to sit there in this soft blinding light of love in their soft pinks being happy and in love with each other!

Take your award, Unknown!

Fucking Taiwan, hurting me twice with this damn red thread.

#unknown the series #unknown #color coded boys in love #the colors mean things #red thread of destiny #it always connects them #they are destined #taiwan and this red thread #colors award nominee #no one else is gonna do it better this year #colors award WINNER #I am crying in the club #I am crying in my office #I am crying in my car

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alienssstufff · 11 months

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CUTEGUY (Next Gen) - Etho & The Pink String of Fate

skjbvg;sddfb cuteguy design by @panidanya from this thread by @oh-snapperss

#stufffsart #etho #ethoslab #cuteguy #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #hermitblr #mcyt fanart #mcytblr #gave him a harpoon gun instead its like the perfect cross between a hotguy bow and a fishing rod (his fave weapon)#he's a truck driver when hes not fighting crime lmao

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emotionaldamages · 5 months

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coffee shop- lando norris

summary- lando decides to take time away from f1 talks and goes to a coffee shop where he meets someone

pairings- lando norris x nurse student!reader

authors note- not sure how to feel about this one but hopefully you enjoy

Lando Norris, had always lived life on the edge, pushing boundaries as he sped around racetracks as an F1 driver for McLaren.

Y/N, a nursing student with a heart full of compassion and eyes shining with determination, always had a knack for finding beauty in the simplest of moments.

Their paths had never crossed, until one cool, crisp autumn day, fate intervened and brought them together.

It was in the bustling city of London where their story continued. Y/N, her mind preoccupied with the pressures of exams and the weight of her dreams, sought solace in a small café tucked away on a quaint side street.

As she walked inside, the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her senses, instantly soothing her racing thoughts. With a sigh, she found a cozy corner table, hoping the calming atmosphere would provide some respite from the chaos of her daily life.

Meanwhile, not far away, Lando had escaped the whirlwind world of racing for a few precious moments of peace. Dressed in casual attire, he craved some semblance of normalcy away from the never-ending attention that came with being a celebrated athlete.

With curiosity guiding him, Lando stumbled into the same café, his eyes scanning the room for a sign of familiarity amidst the sea of faces. And there, in the corner, his gaze locked onto Y/N, captivated by the gentle grace that radiated from her.

An inexplicable force drew them closer, as if the universe had conspired to bring them together. Lando, his heart pounding, walked over to her table, his confidence masking the nervous flutter in his chest.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice laced with a charming undertone.

Y/N, startled yet intrigued, gestured for him to take a seat. And so, as they sat across from each other, a connection sparked between them, like an invisible thread weaving its way into their souls.

Conversations flowed effortlessly, as if they had known each other for a lifetime. Lando shared stories of his adrenaline-fueled races, igniting Y/N's passion for adventure, while she painted vivid pictures of her experiences caring for others, igniting a flame of empathy within Lando's heart.

They laughed, they pondered, and they shared secret dreams that they had never dared to voice aloud before. The hours slipped away, unnoticed, as the world around them faded into the background, leaving only the enchanting dance of their words.

Little did they know, their chance encounter in that cozy café would be the beginning of a love story that would defy all expectations, transcending the boundaries of their individual worlds.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, Lando and Y/N realized that fate had brought them together for a reason. And as they left the café, hand in hand, hope soared within their hearts, for they knew their journey had only just begun.

#formula one imagine #f1 one shot #landonorris #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

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itsswritten · 3 months

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when the sea calls for three | intro

Paring: Azriel x Reader x Eris

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: In the aftermath of war, peace reigns over the realms of Prythian, but the delicate balance hangs in the hands of two unlikely mediators—You and Lucien. As the newly appointed Emissaries of Peace, your duty is clear: maintain alliances, foster understanding between courts, and navigate the intricate webs of fae politics.

But when fate deals an unexpected twist, revealing that you possess not one, but two mates, the tranquillity you've worked so hard to uphold is suddenly threatened. Caught between two males who refuse to share, you find yourself thrust into a precarious position, torn between duty and desire.

What will you do and who will you choose?

I need you.

Those three words were all it took.

༄

In the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the room, flickering reflections of pinks and purples across the walls. Dawn Court had always been radiant, the sky, cobalt and rose. A sunrise all day long. You were proud to call it your home.

You stood before the ornate mirror, fingers delicately adjusting the intricate buttons of your tunic.

The decision to choose neutral clothing had been yours, a deliberate choice born from the realisation of what your new role weighed. You were to be a mediator, a peacekeeper, it only seemed fitting to don a uniform that symbolised your neutrality and dedication to maintaining balance among the realms.

The fabric shimmered with a subtle elegance, adorned with delicate motifs that whispered of the courts you now served. The tapestry of symbolism spoke something that words could not, of a new beginning, a new chapter– a time of peace.

The design along the back of your tunic, three majestic mountains rose proudly, their peaks reaching towards the heavens. Behind them, the sun emerged, casting its golden rays that spread warmth and light– a nod to your home.

In the left above, a fully fleshed sun beamed down upon the mountains, radiating its brilliance and vitality. To the right, three stars and a crescent moon were sewn with meticulous care, representing the rest of the solar courts and their celestial splendour.

On your left sleeve, leaves were hand stitched along your cuff, bronze thread danced in a graceful swirl, climbing upwards towards your elbow, mirroring the silver icy shards that adorned the right sleeve. Autumn and Winter in perfect harmony.

Around your collar, a delicate pattern of vines and roses intertwined, symbolising the beauty and vitality of the Spring Court's bloom. And along the trimmings of the tunic's bottom, waves swirled in a mesmerising dance, evoking the Summer Court's boundless energy and fluidity.

Your tunic jacket cascaded gracefully, halting just at your hips, while beneath it, a long, flowing cream pleated skirt billowed elegantly to the floor. With your hair initially draping freely, you gently pulled it forward, ensuring the intricate details adorning the back of your tunic were given their rightful moment to shine.

As you smoothed the fabric, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the role you had been given. Playing a bridge between courts, and worlds. A mediator between the people.

Politics had never really been something you relished in, but you were good with people, and good with your words. Qualities that your friend desperately convinced you, were integral to this role.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your reverie, and you turned to see Lucien, your friend, standing in the doorway. His mechanical eye wiring at the sight of you. He was wearing a similar tunic, one that was longer on his body but mirrored the designs of your own.

It was Lucien who had told you he needed you.

I need you.

He had written to you one evening. His correspondences were usually lighthearted and filled with friendly banter, but this weighed heavily in a way that was so unlike him.

“I could really use your help.” Lucien had breathed, when you came to visit after his letter.

I need you. I need my friend. I need someone to lean on. I need someone to laugh with. It’s been too long. I miss you.

Was what you heard. His message had been simple yet poignant, a plea for assistance and companionship.

You had always had a way with words and sounds. Understanding the gaps in between the breaths, the underlying emotions and intentions woven into each syllable. Most didn't realise what could be revealed in their words. How the octaves and melodic tones of their tongues sung of unspoken truths.

Lucien and you had shared a friendship that spanned many years, reaching back to your earliest memories of childhood. As children and teens, you had been inseparable, playmates in a time that now felt like a distant memory. However, when borders grew stricter and tensions mounted, those days were abruptly halted.

It wasn't until the dark days of Amarantha's reign that fate brought you back together, through the intervention of Nuan, a mutual friend. She was a skilled Alchemist of your court, who had aided Lucein in his healing, crafting his beautiful golden eye. And because he was no longer a part of Autumn, you were able to reconnect and your friendship flourished, even if it was predominantly through ink and parchment.

"Ready to face them?" he asked with a tight smile, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.

I’m nervous. Is what you heard under his words.

You returned his smile with a nod, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Of course, I was born ready Lucie” you replied, effortlessly flicking his nickname with a casual ease.

Despite having a smart mouth now, Lucien was a name you often got tongue-tied in your younger years. Lucie had been a much easier sound to make, and you didn’t hesitate to use the endearing name when wanting to tease.

Lucien rolled his eyes, but your casual demeanour softened the nerves that had laced his previous words. That had been your intention.

Just one example of how your intuition always left you saying the right thing. Of course there were times this didn’t happen, but those occasions were extremely rare.

“We should decide which courts reside under our care before the meeting” Lucien began, striding in front of the mirror to adjust his own tunic. “And I have to say you’ve made more progress with Tamlin these past two months than I have in the past year," Lucien breathed, a hint of admiration in his voice while he smiled at you through the mirror.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "What, like it was hard?"

Tamlin's stubbornness had been a challenge, but your natural charisma and persuasion had proven effective in bridging the gap between his court and the others. His residents had at least started returning home, and thanks to your work, there was actually something for them to return to.

You huffed, before turning your friend around, pulling at his collar to adjust. Before tidying up his long auburn hair.

"I can’t do both though Lucien. I'm not dealing with your brothers and Tamlin. That's too much, even for me” You remarked.

Lucien’s relationship with his brothers remained strained, the scars of their shared trauma running deep. Despite Beron’s demise, Eris was now Autumn’s High Lord. The brothers wounds were not so easily healed, and the weight of their history continued to cast a shadow over their interactions.

“Plus I do believe some forced proximity may do you and Tamlin some good” you pointed a look at him, referencing their damaged friendship.

Lucien bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing at you. He couldn’t help but envy how effortlessly you seemed to navigate the complexities of every situation, every conversation. Always knowing the right words to say, and the right actions to take. Qualities that had undoubtedly drawn him to seek your assistance in the first place.

Qualities he forgot he would also be susceptible to.

"I'll look after Autumn and your hotheaded brothers. You deal with the depressed blondie," you suggested, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.

"Fine," Lucien conceded, begrudgingly acknowledging the wisdom in your words.

“I want Dawn, it’s my home and Thesan would be heartbroken if I wasn’t his courtier,” you asserted confidently.

"Then I'll have Day," Lucien negotiated, a hint of determination in his tone.

As the conversation turned to the remaining courts, you paused, considering the options carefully. The Night Court held a particular significance for Lucien, given his mate's presence there, but you were keenly aware of the tension that still lingered between them.

"I can take Night if that helps. I've already been the one updating their Spymaster recently anyway," you offered, your voice steady as you finally finished straightening up Lucien. Pulling your hands swiftly behind your back.

He mirrored your pose "Then I will manage Winter," Lucien conceded, a sense of resignation colouring his words. He wasn’t very fond of the cold, but neither were you.

But he was happy to take this one for you, as you had taken Autumn and Night for him.

"Summer is mine. You can have the humans, your Band of Rejects or whatever they're called," you remarked playfully.

"Exiles," Lucien corrected with a humorous purr, a brief flicker of amusement softening his eyes.

“Apologies…band of exile…-d rejects” you humoured, before you felt him nudge you with his shoulder.

Your soft laughs filled the room before you tilted your head to look at your dearest friend “Look at you now. Exiled no more. Mr. Emissary of Peace”

Lucien smiled proudly at the title, he had come a long way. This new chapter for Phrytian was daunting, but he was grateful to have you by his side “You ready?”

With a nod you grinned wide “Let’s go peacekeep the fuck out of them Lucie!”

Next Part >>

a/n: Eeeekkkk so here's a little intro to set the tone and roles! Just a little disclaimer, there will be a few things in this series that haven't happened in the books, but it works for the plot. Only small things, so just go with it please! Excited to share this story with you all <3 - Lottie x

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar azriel #azriel fanfic #angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #eris x azriel #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x reader x azriel #eris x y/n #eris x you #azriel x eris

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minhosimthings · 5 months

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Dangerously

Symphony Smut Series Day 11: Charlie Puth's Dangerously

Lyric: I love you dangerously

Pairings: bf!Sunghoon × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, oral (f recieving), overstimulation, p in v sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex (highly not recommended), angry sex, hard!dom!Sunghoon, sub!reader, orgasm denial, reader wears a dress, degradation.

A/N: woohoo day 11 second post of 2024 everyone! Please enjoy my urge to be degraded by Hoonie through his oneshot

THE SYMPHONY SMUT SERIES MASTERLIST

Even though he didn't admit it, Sunghoon was a jealous man, whose jealousy couldn't ever be tested.

And so you had to be careful, whenever you went to one of his events, careful not to wear anything that would make other men stare and make Sunghoon give you the silent treatment for a week or so.

But unfortunately the fates are always against you and with a tiny piercing of their threads, you ended up here, in a massive ballroom, with your boyfriend talking to some people, completely ignoring you. Great reward for being the girlfriend of someone whose always present at buisness parties isn't it?

The dress you wore was simple, off shoulder, black, jewels decorating most of the seams, Sunghoon's present to you. But you hadn't expected all the dumb men there to keep staring at your collarbone. Your memories went back to eight grade, when you were discouraged from wearing anything which showed off your shoulders, lest the boys get distracted or some bullshit like that.

"Hoonie." You whined, clinging to your boyfriend's arm, as he took another sip of his pink champagne, taking not a single glance at you, "Hoon, oh fuck this, Park Sunghoon!" You more than screamed at him, which caused the other patrons at the bad to stare at you weirdly.

Sunghoon turned his head to look at you, with the coldest eyes, filled with icicles, as he smiled awkwardly to the bartender, and put his empty glass down, pulling you up with him as she stood. Adjusting his suit, Sunghoon began to walk, basically dragging you with him, you fastened to keep up with his pace.

"So fucking needy aren't you?" Sunghoon growled, pinning you against the wall, "You wanted more than one dick didn't ya you whore?"

Sunghoon's grip on your waist was tight, which made you feel the wetness in your panties.

“The party can wait.” He whispered against your lips before kissing you, this time more intensely than ever before and you hummed, burying your hand on his hair while the other stroked his chest.

He brushed his tongue against your lower lip and you opened your mouth to let him explore it, moaning lowly against his mouth.

He lowered his hands to the back of your thighs, not breaking the kiss, and lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and you yelped in his mouth.

"You needed me so bad didn't you?" Sunghoon teased, his breath hitting your skin.

He walked to the sink and placed you on the cold marble, his hands going under your shirt and experimenting with his touches on your bare skin.

You whimpered, shivers running through your whole body as his big hands roamed through your burning skin.

You pulled away, your forehead touching his, a whispered “Fuck” coming out of your lips. Your hands went to the hem of your dress and slowly pulled it over your head, leaving your torso bare besides your strapless bra.

Sunghoon drank you in, his adam apple bobbing when he swallowed and you felt embarrassed under his strong gaze, your hands slowly coming to wrap themselves around your stomach.

His hands went to your back and unclasped your bra, helping you take it off and toss it on the ground along with the rest of your clothes.

His hands came to the front and grabbed at both your breasts, squeezing them and making you moan into his mouth. His fingers teased at your hardened nipples and you arched into his touch.

His mouth started trailing down towards your neck, your collarbone, until he got to the valley of your breasts and looked up at you. Your mouth was open, eyes hazed and deep breaths were making your chest go up and down. What a sight.

He closed his mouth into one of your nipples and you whined, the warmth of his tongue circling around it making you grasp at his locks with a certain strength that made him groan around your skin. His fingers teased the other breast until he switched sides, feasting on your breasts.

He discarded your panties and ran his hands up your legs, his look never leaving your covered pussy. His hands stopped at your thighs as squeezed the flesh and you closed your legs instinctively.

“Hiding from me now?” He said, his tone deep and dominant making you swallow a whine as you spread your legs wider and he settled between them with a smirk.

He kissed your covered sex and you let out a low moan, his mouth traveled to your inner thighs, biting and kissing at the flesh, driving you insane.

“Such a desperate slut.” He said against your skin, grasping your panties and pulling them down. You gasped at the cold air hitting your dripping core and he groaned at the sight.

He smirked against you and put one hand over your hips to hold you still as he did wonders against your cunt. His tongue eating you out as if you were his last meal, ripping loud moans from your throat.

“Jesus, fuck, right there– Shit” A string of curses left your mouth and he grinned proudly, adding another finger to your torture, making you cry out, his name slipping out of your lips.

You felt the knot inside of you tighten, your pussy clenching around his fingers and Sunghoon knew you were about to cum.

"Hoon ah-ah no don't stop!" You all but screamed, as Sunghoon looked up at you, wiping his mouth clean. Edging, of course, was his brand. He loved seeing you on the brink of insanity just because of him.

"You think you get to cum after all that?" Sunghoon chuckled, placing both his hands on your hips, "As much I would love to fuck you right here, I want to see your cockdrunk face when I make you cum for me."

"There's a sofa there." You mumbled shyly, glancing towards the dark green sofa sitting idle in the corner of the bathroom.

You glance down at his still covered legs and crotch, the tent in his pants looked almost painful and you bit your lip. He noticed that and took you in his arms again, wrapping your legs around his hips, making your sensitive core grind against his trousers and you whined.

He gently placed you on the sofa kissing your lips hungrily and you led one of your hands down to his crotch, palming him through his trousers and he pulled away from your lips to groan, his forehead against yours.

Your mouth watered and your pussy clenched around nothing. He was bigger than he always seemed to be tonight.

He rubbed his cock up and down a couple times and lined it up with your entrance making you whine in anticipation. He slowly pushed into you and you pulled away to let your mouth hang open in a soundless moan.

“ah fuck, princess, didn't know you were such a cum slut for me.” He whisper-moaned against your ear and you hummed, your nails digging into his shoulders, definetly leaving marks to remind him for a couple days of this encounter.

“N-need more.” You said, your brows furrowing in desperation. You glanced down at his hand between your legs, your lower gut fluttering at the sight. He applied more pressure to the circles he was dancing over your swollen bud, the pleasure sending your head to lull backwards. You whimpered more, your legs beginning to feel like jello.

“You sound so pathetic.” Sunghoon spat, working his dick faster on your clit. You exhaled unevenly, your hand coming down on Sunghoon's bicep for stability.

You felt that familiar white heat beginning to ignite low in your belly, your cunt throbbing steadily. Your eyes squeezed shut. You were close— but Sunghoon knew that. He wasn’t going to let you come just yet. Without warning, Sunghoon halted his actions. You could’ve cried in that moment. Sunghoon grabbed your forearm, pushing you down onto the sofa.

“Hoon, please. I need to cum.” You whined, your head falling back into the soft material of the sofa. Sunghoon purses his lips at you, his hand running along the smooth skin of your leg, inching closer to where you needed his attention most.

Sunghoon did nothing but let out a cold laugh, at how pathetic you sounded for him.

Suddenly, Sunghoon began pounding into you. His hot breath fanned over your face as he rammed in and out of you, his length reached the deepest parts of you. You gasped, your hand reached up to grab his wrist that was busy squeezing your throat. Your eyes rolled back in your head and he slammed into you over and over. You were sure he was hitting you so deep that he was nicking your cervix. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more overwhelmed with pleasure, Sunghoon’s free hand snaked between your thighs, his thumb finding your clit, ghosting gentle circles over the sensitive nub. You squeaked out a moan, the pleasure overcoming your senses completely. Your legs began to shake from the stimulation, your lower belly muscles tensing from the overwhelming sensation. Your breath was shaking, the oxygen feeling as through it had completely left your lungs.

“F-fuck, where do you want me? Your mouth? Or should I fill you up?” Sunghoon grunted, his hand snaking around your front to firmly grab your breast, pinching your nipple between his fingertips.

You gasped, the stimulation for your nipple slipping you into the beginning of your orgasm. You didn’t answer him, the feeling of your impending climax completely taking over your body.

“Look at you cumming around my cock. Such a good fucking slut.” Sunghoon growled, his pace somehow quickening further. His hand reached up to your hair, grabbing a fistful of locks and pulling your head backwards. His other hand reached around to your throat as he bent down to kiss you from the intense angle, your orgasm taking over you entirely. Your toes began to curl beneath you, your pussy clamping around Sunghoon's cock that was twitching deep inside you. Your pussy clenched down around his length, hugging it perfectly.

“Fuck.” Sunghoon whimpered, his high hitting him like a train. Your spasming canal clamped down around him as he came in hot spurts, coating your walls deep inside of you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every ounce of cum from his length.

“You look so beautiful with my cum dripping out of you.” He spoke, running a hand up and down the back of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to your sore ass cheek from where he had smacked it.

“As much as I’d love to stay here and fuck you all night, I should go before everyone starts wondering where their favourite boy went.” Sunghoon said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

"Get dressed sweetheart." Sunghoon picked up your clothes, and dusted them off, handing them to you, who was still dizzy from all the fucking.

"We'll have some more fun after we get home won't we?"

Taglist: @ramenoil @mynameisniya150 @demigodmahash + whoever wants to be tagged, send an ask my way!

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carakook · 2 months

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Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“Sorry, I assumed he was your boyfriend because of the way you were tongue fucking outside. My bad.”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘7. Two Petals on the Same Flower

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader ⚘Synopsis: After your unexpected reunion with Jungkook, you must go on with the night and act completely normal... but shit just keeps going wrong. Surely Jeon Jungkook is a demon. ⚘Genre:Forbidden love ⚘Word count: 11.5k+ ⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of anxiety, mentions of sex, angst, conflict, religious metaphors (the story is not religious but makes references to a higher power, karma, fate, etc.), cigarette use, alcohol use, subtle arguing, jealousy, bullying? (fucking Sena), heavy tension, cheating, mentions of cheating, mentions of falling out of love/breaking up. Let me know if I miss anything! ⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story. ⚘A/N: WOW OK SORRY I AM A DAY LATE BUT I HAD ISSUES WITH THE 4096 ERROR, I FIGURED OUT A LOOPHOLE WHICH CONSISTED OF ME COPYING AND PASTING THIS INTO A WORD DOCUMENT, OPENING IT ON MY PHONE, AND THEN COPYING AND PASTING IT AGAIN IN THE APP. ANYWAYS. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I am sorry for the lack of uploads. Please forgive me if there are any typos. Already working on chapter 8! Things are picking up, how do you think things will go? LOVE YOU!

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪ Secrets - The Weeknd

♪ Guilty - TaeMin

♪ Agora Hills - Doja Cat

♪ Pacify Her - Melanie Martinez

♪ if u think i’m pretty - Artemas

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 It’s incredibly rare for you to smoke, as it isn’t exactly a healthy habit to form… Seojoon hates it, and you grew up watching adults do it all around you, swearing you would never pick up the same habit…

And although it isn’t a habit for you… sometimes you just need a fucking cigarette.

You never used to smoke, but Jungkook introduced you to it. Of course he did. On one of the nights you spent with him a long time ago, he went for a smoke outside. You remember scolding him for the nasty habit, telling him you don’t want to kiss him and taste burnt tobacco rather than his own pretty taste. But then he explained how relaxing it can be, how it’s ok to do things like this in moderation. Bad habits don’t make you a bad person, he said. It’s a quick fix for anxiety in some cases. So, you tried you it… and you realized that maybe he was right. You’re an adult, you’re allowed to indulge sometimes, even if it isn’t the best for you. And as much as you hate admitting it, Jungkook was fucking sexy when he smoked.

So, you started smoking too. Not often of course, only socially or when you needed to calm your nerves. An occasional indulgence, if you will…

Much like the kiss you shared with Jungkook moments ago.

You stayed behind after he went back inside, because there was no fucking way you could keep composed in front of everyone after that. Your lips were fucking swollen from the way he kissed you anyway, he left them pink and glossy with traces of him all over you. You remembered you kept an emergency pack of cigs in your bag, one that you haven’t touched in months, and you indulged.

You needed to get your shit together before facing everyone again. Needed to calm the fuck down and put your mask back on; that pretty, pretty mask, decorated in flowers and glitter, hiding the wilting flower growing underneath it. The flower you didn’t even realize was still there. The flower that you swore died when he left.

A cigarette was really the only way you could cope in the moment, and little did you know, Jungkook stepped out back to indulge just like you. Two peas in a fucking pod; or maybe two petals on the same flower.

You weren’t the only one holding on by a thread thanks to this little reunion. He was just better at pretending… fuck, has been pretending for months now. And tonight, he fears he may have a hard time keeping up the façade. Seeing you has awoken something inside of him that was long dormant, a slew of emotions he has no idea how to process. He needs to get his shit together just as much as you do, or he fears he may do something impulsive and stupid… if he knew his reaction to you would have been this strong, he probably would not have come tonight. But he just needed to see you again; his lilac aster, who isn’t much of an aster anymore…

His beautiful flower. Your biggest nightmare.

After smoking, you re-applied your lip stain for the second time, doused a bit more perfume on yourself, and practiced smiling in the car mirror like an idiot. Realized you have been gone far longer than you should have been considering you were only supposed to be grabbing your purse, so you try to act cool and nonchalant as you walk back inside. As if it was totally normal for you to spend 20 minutes outside when you were just doing a simple task.

You’ll just blame it on the anxiety, which isn’t a full on lie…

And as you glance across to the living room while removing your shoes… Seojoon isn’t there.

Neither is Sena or Jungkook.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

This reminds you precisely as to why you called things off with Jungkook. You fucking kissed him out there, and now you’re paranoid someone saw. Was it Yoongi? Did he fucking tattle tell like a rat? You know he saw something, there is no way he didn’t with the way he stared at you when coming to get Jungkook.

“In the kitchen.”

You flinch hard when you here the deep voice address you, turn to the side to see Yoongi leaning on the door frame in the hallway. Looks like the fucking Chesire Cat, the way he’s smiling with an almost mischievous look in his eyes.

“Sorry?”

You respond stupidly, because he caught you by surprise, and you were wondering where three people were, not one. You should only be wondering where one of those people are, that is, if your conscious was clean. But it isn’t. ‘Guilty’ may as well be written across your forehead.

Yoongi knows better.

He shakes his head as he huffs out a little laugh, a laugh that doesn’t sound humorous at all, but almost sarcastic. “Your friend, he’s in the kitchen. Sena too. Said they were talking about some work shit.”

The way he refers to Seojoon as your friend is intentional. He could see the discomfort on your face when he called himself your boyfriend, just as much as he can see the guilt right now.

“Ahh, ok.” You mumble, nodding your head as you shuffle to your feet. You give him the most awkward smile, and then move to make your way to the kitchen. If you weren’t so guilty, you would probably feel incredibly uncomfortable at the thought of Seojoon being alone in the kitchen with Sena. But as of right now, it’s the human fucking cat making you uncomfortable.

“Your boyfriend went for a smoke, if you were wondering. He’s grilling the pork belly outside too. Looked pretty fucked when he came back inside.”

You freeze, because… boyfriend? Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Now he decides to throw the word around?

Does he know?

“Sorry?” You say again, turning to look at him with what was supposed to be a confused expression, but your eyes say it all. Guilt. Caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Bad, bad, bad.

He snickers at this, because he can tell your mind is reeling with thoughts about who might know. No one knows… other than him. See, Yoongi and Jungkook are close. Yoongi is who Jungkook goes to when he needs advice from someone who won’t be biased, someone who will tell him like it is, call him out on his bullshit. Yoongi is the only other soul who knows about the sins committed between you and Jungkook. He is well acquainted with the secret garden built between you two, much like Sohee is.

Everyone needs someone to tell their secrets to, after all.

Yoongi knew what was happening tonight. Jungkook told him, and Yoongi tried really hard to talk him out of coming. Tried to talk some sense into the idiot’s head, but he knew damn well Jungkook wouldn’t listen. Once Jungkook sets his mind to something, he can’t be stopped. So, Yoongi vowed he would at least attempt to keep the peace tonight, keep Jungkook in check.

Yoongi is also just really fucking good at reading people. Can tell easily when someone is lying. Can look at someone and guess what their trauma is. Always has been a perceptive man… but he’s also great at keeping secrets. A blessing and a curse.

Never one to judge, but always one to tell you when you’re being a shitty person.

And… Yoongi really likes fucking with people.

“Sorry, I assumed he was your boyfriend because of the way you were tongue fucking outside. My bad.”

You flinch again because, holy fuck, he did see. Why was he even watching? Is he about to blow your cover? Blackmail you? Scream to the top of lungs ‘they’re dirty cheaters!’

“He is not my boyfriend. Never has been.”

Not a lie, for once. Never was your boyfriend. Was… fuck. You don’t even know what he was.

Lover. Soulmate. Flower boy. Florist. Garden keeper. Guilty pleasure. A fucking demon who you cant escape, apparently.

Yoongi scoffs at you, because he hates this game. Sure, he wants to fuck with you, make you squirm a bit. Doesn’t like the fact that you showed up here for the first time to meet everyone and end up outside making out with someone you acted like you didn’t know. Thinks if you’re going to fuck up, do something that fucking risky, you may as well grow balls and admit to it when confronted.

He clearly knows, so he sees no reason for you to be defending yourself and deflecting. He gets it, he does, and he isn’t judging either of you. But fuck, don’t make him say it out loud.

He will if he has to. But he doesn’t want to throw that awful ‘M’ word around. Calling him your boyfriend is far less heavy than him voicing what he really was to you, or what you were to him.

“Right… well, I’m not here to start shit. I’m not here to tell everyone either, no one else is aware of your… situation. I’m just here to make sure Kook doesn’t act fucking stupid… so please, do us both a favor, and just… don’t.”

You feel your heartrate pickup and that familiar heat all over your body that comes with being called out. Like a scolded child. You’re getting both irritated and nervous. The only reassuring thing he just said was that he isn’t going to tell anyone… but why is he putting the blame on you?

If you knew Jungkook was going to be here, you wouldn’t have come. And you tried to avoid him, fuck, you went outside specifically to get away from him and get your head straight. But he followed you, of course he did, the love sick stray dog he’s become couldn’t help it.

“Scold him. Not me. If you’ll excuse me…”

Yoongi knows he’s coming off a bit harsh, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t know the details of your fucked up affair with him, he just knows the basics. One drunken night recently is when Jungkook confessed, after he found out you were dating Seojoon. Told Yoongi the basics of what happened and how it ended, and how fucked he still is. Yoongi always knew something was eating Jungkook up that went beyond his rocky marriage, and finding out exactly what it was… it made sense.

He doesn’t ever want to see Jungkook in such a bad spot again. So anguished and full of regret and yearning… he’s only trying to protect him, because even if he is the one being stupid, he’s still one of Yoongi’s dearest friends.

Biased? No. But he will do whatever it takes to lessen the messes Jungkook makes of himself, even if that means being a bit harsh towards you.

And you, you’re reeling. You want to ask Yoongi so many questions, such as how he knows, why he knows, if he hates you automatically after knowing who you are and what you’ve done. It definitely strikes you as odd that Yoongi is aware of who you are, because even if he knew about what happened between you and Jungkook, how would he automatically catch on to the fact it was you? Was it the kiss? Did that give it away..?

Or was this all pre-meditated?

So many questions, but now is not the time for answers. Maybe eventually you can ask, but as of now, you have a role to play; Seojoons perfect girlfriend, apparently.

So you once again, begin walking towards the kitchen.

“One more thing Y/N…”

Can he please just shut the fuck up and disappear?

“Hm?”

“Be so fucking careful around Sena. And I’m not talking about with Jungkook.”

Before you can even ask, he’s gone. You turn to question him, ask him why the fuck he’s being so cryptic, demand he just say what he means… but he’s gone. Chesire fucking cat.

You really don’t like what he said or how it made you feel, because… if not with Jungkook, then what? Why would you possibly need to be careful around that snake?

You huff. Run your fingers through your hair as you feel a migraine start to come on. Fuck, you need a drink, because the nicotine is already wearing off.

You finally end up making your way into the kitchen, but pause once you reach the entryway. See Sena and Seojoon… whispering.

You don’t like that either. What the fuck are they whispering about?

Sena looks irritated as fuck, waving her hands around animatedly as she speaks. Seojoon is looking down at her with an expression that mimics worry, and you try really hard to decipher what they’re saying before you’re noticed.

Fuck you wish tonight was over already. Too much shit is going wrong.

“They’re conspiring against us.”

You jump a little when you feel hot breath in your ear, hear the deep whisper of the man who’s been haunting your dreams for the last six months. You hate how the simple act of him whispering in your ear brings back several memories… all of them incredibly inappropriate.

“What?”

You look up at him as you ask, and he has a shit eating grin on his face. His pupils are still blown to shit, you wonder if its because he’s looking at you again or if they jus haven’t calmed down since the kiss. He smells heavily of smoke, cigarette smoke and charcoal, but fuck the way it mixes with his cologne…

Nope. Stop.

“Oh—I—Y/N. Sorry, I didn’t notice you. How long have you been standing there?”

Seojoon addresses you almost robotically, looking between you and Jungkook as you both stand awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen. Immediately, alarm bells ring in your ear. You wonder why he’s even asking that, what they were talking about to warrant a question like that.

But you cant decipher whether this is a gut feeling, or guilt making you project your wrongdoings onto him. That’s what fucks you up the most; a woman’s intuition is rarely wrong, but how can you tell when you’re the guilty one?

You clear your throat, step to the side a bit to gain some distance from Jungkook. Can’t think straight when he’s all warm and smelling like a fucking lumberjack next to you.

“Uh… I just came in a bit ago, sorry I took so long, just really needed some air… what were you talking about?”

The entire time you speak, everyone’s eyes are on you. You can’t read the emotion on Seojoon’s face, it’s almost like he’s purposely masking it. Jungkook doesn’t even fucking try to hide how intensely he’s looking at you. And Sena… well, her look of disdain just grows.

Seojoon chuckles, shakes his head as he walks towards you, drapes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in as he nods towards Sena.

“We were just talking about work, me and Sena are working on a project together but I haven’t had time to visit her at the office, so I thought it was great timing. Right Sena?”

He looks at Sena with the same expressionless look, and she doesn’t look at him at all. Her eyes are on you.

“Right.” She replies flatly before making her way beside Jungkook, who barely reacts to her linking their arms together.

Odd, in the way she seems so territorial… not just of him, but everything surrounding her. Including Seojoon.

Don’t like that. Not at all.

Seojoon nods awkwardly and then begins dragging you along towards the dining table, but stops when he moves to kiss your temple… looks at you, scrunches his nose up as he leans in to sniff you.

Fuck. Does he smell Jungkook?

You tense up a bit, wait for him to ask you why you smell like another man all of a sudden. Start praying that you will simply drop dead before you can even answer.

“Did you smoke or something? You smell like smoke, I hate it.”

Fuck… the smoke. Not the cologne, but the smoke.

You hate how relieved you feel knowing you haven’t been caught, although you are a bit offended. Hate how he addresses you like some unruly child in the moment.

You’re about to answer, say something snarky, but of course—

“Sorry man, that must be me. Was smoking and grilling the pork belly outside, must’ve rubbed off on your girl.”

Could he have worded it any worse?

Seojoon nods at Jungkook, regards him casually. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go and arching a playful brow at Jungkook.

“Ah, ok. But please, don’t rub off on my girlfriend, yeah?”

He chuckles before nodding towards the dining room, signaling for you to come with. In any other situation, you would have laughed at the dirty joke. But obviously, not right now, not when you still taste him on your lips, not while you’re remembering the several instances where Jungkook actually rubbed off on you, not while he’s standing right beside you.

If only he—

“If only he knew.”

Jungkook whispers as he passes you, turns around and walks backwards with his tongue sticking out and eyebrows wiggling up and down. Fuck, like he read your fucking mind. You have no idea how he can fucking say that right now, what if someone hears him? He’s being stupid, just as Yoongi said, and you aren’t even provoking him. You’re worried he’s going to get you both caught.

It's at that moment that Sena brushes past you, bumps your shoulder, which you are sure is intentional. She enters the dining room, doesn’t even say sorry, and quite frankly, you don’t care. You don’t have the energy for her petty shit, or for trying to dissect why she’s so weird with you and Seojoon. You have bigger problems, problems decorated in piercings and tattoos.

You grunt at him and roll your eyes, move to brush past him as you mumble simply, “Fucking stop.”

He playfully pouts at you, follows you into the dining room and says low enough for your ears only, “Fiiine I swear I’ll behave the rest of the night.”

You ignore him once you get into the dining room, put your mask back on quickly. Smile at everyone as they greet you warmly. Urge you to take a seat and join them for food. The smell of freshly grilled pork belly and many sides wafts through the air, and even then your appetite isn’t present. The only thing swirling in your stomach are fucking butterflies; or worms and flies, you don’t know anymore.

But you don’t make it obvious, instead you take a seat next to Seojoon, who has already made you a hefty plate of food. You thank him, and begin picking at it as you try to decipher what everyone is chatting about.

Until you feel a familiar warmth beside you again… and you swear to god, you are about to whack him with your fucking purse.

You immediately glare at Jungkook for taking a seat directly beside you, his big ass is so close that his thigh presses against yours. He holds his hand up in surrender, makes a pouty face at you.

“Hey! I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear, it’s the only open seat.”

You scoff at him, look around the table because you are fully prepared to call him out on his bullshit… but he’s actually telling the truth. You realize the table isn’t exactly the biggest, and every seat is taken except for the one he’s at. Sena is on his other side, so it makes sense for him to be sitting there… he isn’t lying.

Ah, ok, you just have absolute shit luck. Right. Got it.

You glare at him a second longer before averting your eyes, staring directly in front of you now… where Yoongi sits. Oh, how lovely. His eyebrow is raised as if to silently say ‘You’re both being stupidly obvious.’

You look away quickly, shoveling a bite of food into your mouth to try and distract yourself from how wrong everything is going. You’re thankful that only three people in the room are aware of it, but also… fuck. You really hate having to pretend when all you want to do is fucking scream.

Thank god for alcohol.

Because as the night goes on, you shamelessly drink as if it’ll be your last. You know how to handle your liquor, so you don’t overdue it, but you drink enough to silent your overthinking brain. In your tipsy state, it’s much easier to laugh along with the jokes being told or to join in on the conversation… it’s also much easier to ignore the thorn in your side.

Easy to ignore the way his eyes are constantly on you. Easy to ignore how every time you laugh, he mimics you. Easy to ignore how every time you speak, he pays such close attention that his mouth traces the words coming from your own. Easy to ignore how he’s subtly shifted closer to you throughout the little potluck dinner.

Easy for you to ignore, but impossible for him.

See, he’s torn. He hasn’t felt so fucking happy in such a long time, simply just being in the same room as you has him on cloud nine. But, fuck, he wishes you would acknowledge him. The fact that you’re ignoring him as if he doesn’t exist has made him grow a bit antsy… maybe even irritable underneath the euphoria he feels from being so close to you again.

So, so close… but still so far away.

Everyone is done eating now, most of the food is gone. Of course, your mac and cheese was a hit, and the pork belly went great with it. Everyone else had dishes just as delicious… with the exception of Sena, who brought a fucking salad full of spinach and kale.

You fight the urge to laugh at the fact the bowl is still full.

Now, everyone is enjoying dessert, the vibe is mellow. Of course you’re still on edge, but it’s easier to manage, because Jungkook really has been behaving. Other than the occasional ‘accidental’ touch, he hasn’t provoked you.

Taehyung, being the gracious host that he is, brewed a fresh pot of English tea to go with dessert. He was hell-bent on dipping the cookies you made in tea, said it was the perfect combo, and nothing is more soothing than a hot cup of tea. Everyone is so kind, with the exception of Sena, and they’ve all been very open and loving towards you. Even Yoongi has talked to you some, didn’t make it weird at all. Maybe he isn’t as bad as you thought… You are silently thankful for how much things have calmed down since the earlier shit show.

But of course, the calm always comes before the storm.

Jungkook was full of euphoria, even if he was irritable at the fact he couldn’t openly adore you… until he saw Seojoon’s hand gripping your thigh. If you’re being honest, you haven’t even noticed, alcohol always makes you a bit oblivious to things like that especially when you’re engaging in conversation with others. But Jungkook, oh, Jungkook noticed… and he cannot fucking stand it.

He is well aware that he has no fucking right to feel possessive or irritated with Seojoon’s hands on you; you aren’t his girl, you haven’t seen each other in months, and he knew you were coming here with him as your date. He knows.

But even though he knows, he can’t control how he feels in this moment. How he just wants to rip Seojoon’s hands right off of you, maybe even rip his arms off completely so he can’t touch you again. He feels like he’s gonna turn into the fucking Hulk.

The ugly green monster, big, bad, scary, out of control: Jealousy, an emotion he has never been good at controlling.

He bounces his leg up and down, feeling like he’s gonna crawl out of his skin the more he stares at Seojoon caressing your thigh. Feels like he needs to make him stop, but he can’t just tell him to stop, that would be weird. That would give it all away, and although Jungkook is near the point of not giving a fuck who knows about your shared past… he’s also well aware of how reckless he has been all night.

He knows damn well how reckless it would be to make things so obvious. It’s your secret, too, and he has no right to make it known unless you choose to; and he knows you wouldn’t ever choose that willingly. He wouldn’t either, not here anyway, even if he thinks about it.

But then he sees Seojoon laugh, pick up his cup of luke-warm tea, take a sip, and put it back down.

Gets an idea. An extremely petty one.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he says casually, “Mmm this tea could use some sugar, ‘scuse me…”

He reaches over you towards the sugar cubes, even though there’s a cup of them right in front if him, and he makes a move to grab them. But after grabbing the little cup full of sugar cubes, he ‘accidentally’ knocks Seojoon’s cup of tea off of the table…

Right into your lap, spilling all over you and all over Seojoon’s hand.

Seojoon hisses, yanks his hand away from your thigh. You let out a little squeak, although the tea isn’t piping hot anymore, it’s warm and uncomfortable as it covers your thighs and a portion of your dress.

“What the fuck, man?” Seojoon asks irritably, and honestly is being a little dramatic. He’s cradling his hand as if it burns or hurts, but you know it doesn’t considering it didn’t burn you at all, wasn’t even hot.

You also know this was no accident, judging by that look in Jungkook’s eyes that you’ve seen in the past; the look of satisfaction blended with fake innocence… the same look he used to give you when he would edge the fuck out of you even though you begged him to just let you finish.

You immediately move to grab a napkin, which you half expected Seojoon to do for you, but he’s too busy cradling his hand. Drama king. You begin dabbing at your dress and thighs, shooting Jungkook a glare similar to the one earlier.

He flashes the most innocent, apologetic, fake-ass smile you’ve ever seen, grabs a napkin and starts assisting you in cleaning up the mess on your thighs.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy sometimes. Let me help…”

Two things go through your mind; why is Jungkook helping you, but not Seojoon, and holy fuck, he is touching your thighs.

To the rest of the table, who are stuck between scolding Jungkook and checking on you and Seojoon, his touches probably seem clinical; an attempt to help fix his mess… but to you, it feels as if the tea sticking to your skin is suddenly piping hot. His fingers fucking burn when they touch your skin, and it causes goose bumps to raise all over your body.

You shoot him a look, although you aren’t sure of your expression. He makes eye contact, doesn’t dare look away as he slowly wipes the napkin over your skin, dabbing away the liquid until your skin is dry.

That same needy look he used to get when you were on top. Those fucking eyes that beg you for anything, everything, suck you in. It’s as if he’s silently saying, ‘please let me touch, I’ll do anything.’

You hate yourself at this moment, the alcohol somehow doesn’t dim down the sensations of his fingers in your skin. You wonder why when Seojoon was caressing your thigh, you barely noticed… yet this small touch from Jugkook is setting you alight in a way you haven’t been in so fucking long.

Why are you even thinking about these things? Why are you remembering these things about him? They’re all supposed to be buried in the soil along with your dead flower. Is the flower still alive? Has it somehow survived these months of anguish and healing?

Did you ever heal at all? Did you ever truly get over him, or did you just get better at not thinking about him every second of the day?

Fuck. This is a mess. The way he’s looking at you doesn’t help, and what's worse is you cannot look away. Your thighs are dry now, and he dabs uselessly at the wet spot on your dress as his other hand boldly reaches up and skims the side of your leg… what the fuck is he doing? At a table full of people?!

You don’t even realize that Seojoon is now arguing petulantly with Taehyung. Oh, sweet Taehyung, who is being just as dramatic as Seojoon, fretting over his hand as if it’s the end of the fucking world that Jungkook spilled luke-warm tea on him.

“Jungkook-ah, say you’re sorry! You could’ve hurt him, him and his pretty hands!”

That snaps Jungkook out of it, the needy look leaving his face quickly as he snatches both hands away from you as if you are the one burning him now. He won’t even look at you.

Because he just almost lost control. Genuinley, he was not paying attention to those around you both. He got fucking sucked into another dimension, full of flashbacks, pictures of flowers and your face, and all he fucking wanted was to touch.

As much of a little shit as he is being, he doesn’t want that. He feels crazy. Just scared himself a little bit.

He glares at Taehyung and then addresses Seojoon, “My apologies hyung, was an honest accident. Is your hand ok?”

Seojoon nearly wants to scoff at the use of the honorific because something feels so fake about it… because it is fake. Meant to butter him up and make him believe Jungkook didn’t just purposely spill some tea all over him out of jealousy.

Luckily, Seojoon is none the wiser. He’s just irritated with Jungkook in general… for other reasons that don’t exactly involve you or Jungkook directly at all.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Just didn’t expect it…”

Seojoon mumbles as he realizes you also got drenched in tea. He looks down, notices you’re already as clean as you can be, and is thankful he doesn’t have to fret over you too. His mood is a bit soured now, but even then he nudges you and gives you a small smile.

“You good baby? Didn’t ruin your dress, did you?”

You nod at him, try to hide how shaky your hands are as you straighten the hem of your dress to cover your thighs. You feel a bit too exposed, your skin still burning from the intensity of Jungkook’s touch… begin to wonder if he has turned into poison ivy, rather than a flower.

You can’t recall him being quite this intense in the past. Lot’s of unanswered questions go through your head again.

You nod at Seojoon and smile, “I’m good, it’ll come out if I wash it. No worries.”

You let out a deep breathe, and Seojoon goes back to talking to Tae about some work thing. You look up through your lashes, make eye contact with the Chesire cat.

His expression is unreadable, which is unsettling for reasons you don’t understand. You wish you knew how much he knew… did he see Jungkook touching you again?

“You should be more careful, you’re really like a child sometimes, it’s exhausting.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of that grating female voice, and you feel another surge of irritation. Sena, speaking to Jungkook like that… oh, it pisses you off almost as he does.

What he did was childish, and you’ll pull him aside to scold him later probably, but why is she saying something like that in front of everyone? Isn’t that embarrassing? It is, it’s fucking humiliating. If Seojoon said some shit like that to you, you’d walk out.

Jungkook’s friends don’t know the exact issues in his marriage, but they’re used to this kind of thing. They know it is far from perfect, and have become accustomed to Sena’s behavior. They always make sure to check on him when she’s not around, but he always tells them to mind their business.

It doesn’t change the fact that it’s always a bit awkward when they overhear it.

Jungkook just rolls his eyes, because he doesn’t care anymore. Nods at her. Agrees with her, even. If he doesn’t, she’ll just argue, and he doesn’t really have the energy for that right now. Not when he still has the lingering feeling of your skin on the tips of his fingers, or the satisfaction he feels at the fact Seojoon hasn’t even attempted to touch your thigh again.

Messy, but… Mission accomplished.

You, however, it isn’t so easy for you to let go. You aren’t accustomed to her behavior like him and his friends, and you don’t plan to be.

“It’s fine, really, accidents happen.”

You shoot her a tight smile, try to be polite and reassuring… and she scoffs, rolls her eyes, and then waves a fucking hand at you.

“See? That’s something a mom would say to their kid if they spilled something. Even our new friend is talking to you like a child Jungkook, do better.”

You swear you feel your eye start to twitch.

“Sena, enough. I get it. My bad.”

Jungkook tries to get her to shut up, can tell you’re getting irritated. Part of him secretly likes it, the fact that you hate his guts right now but still try to defend his honor. But he’s also embarrassed because you’re finally seeing what his wife is like.

He wishes he was proud of his wife, but when shit like this happens? He’s anything but.

You try really hard not to start seething at her. You nearly want to jump across the table and pull her blonde fucking hair.

“No, I’m not speaking to him like a child, I’m stating the fact that accidents do happen and it’s nothing to get bitchy over. You’re the only one addressing a grown man as if he’s a child over something so small, Sena.”

“Excuse me???”

You know that scene in Mean Girls when the cafeteria turns into a jungle, and everyone starts fighting? It feels like that’s about to happen.

“Alright! Who wants more margaritas?! I do!”

Hoseoks voice carries across the table, clapping his hands with the brightest smile on his face, sounding a lot cheerier than he should in your opinion. But thankfully, it works. Clearly everyone heard you, and now you’re embarrassed. You just inadvertently called this woman a bitch over a man everyone presumes you met tonight for the very first time. You’re certain you’ve just made yourself look bad, could have handled yourself a lot better. But, fuck, you couldn’t help it. You hated hearing her speak to him that way and then try to make it as if you agreed with her! You tried to be nice, but she fucking pushed it.

“No thanks. My apologies.”

You bow your head slightly, and Hoseok just keeps that smile on his face. Rushes over to Sena’s side, badgering her to go in the kitchen and help him make more drinks. She groans at him, but gets up with an eyeroll and follows him.

You have a feeling that he did that specifically to get her away from you, and you’re unsure if that’s in your favor or hers. Fuck. Way too much shit has happened tonight.

You glance around the table, notice Jin and Namjoon are gone, must gave gone outside or maybe in the living room. Seojoon and Taehyung are in their own little world, you wonder if they even heard the little argument… and if they did, why hasn’t Seojoon said anything? God, you hope he isn’t mad now, although you wouldn’t blame him if he were.

That’s when you look straight ahead. Yoongi again. And he has the littlest smirk on his face… except this time, it almost seems genuine, not sarcastic or misplaced.

It's full of respect, because you just did the one thing everyone else around you refuses to fucking do for Jungkooks sake, which is speak up against Sena and her shitty attitude.

That’s the moment that you decide that you don’t regret it, and you don’t care if Seojoon is mad. If Yoongi, the man who apparently knows bits and pieces of your deepest darkest secret, is looking at you like that? Then you know you did the right thing. You’re a little proud, even.

You nod to Yoongi, a silent exchange between you two. Then you look beside you, and see Jungkook, with that needy expression on his face again. He’s sitting with his elbow propped on the table, his chin resting in his palm. Looks like he’s drunk, cheeks red, eyes heavy, lips a bit pouty… but he only had one beer.

He is drunk. Drunk on you, on the way you just defended him in front of everyone against his fucking wife. Nearly got hard because of it, which is why his cheeks are so flushed. He never expects the guys to defend him, in fact, makes it clear that they stay out of it when her attitude flares up. But you, oh you… You met her for the first time tonight, met everyone here for the first time tonight, and even in a room full of people you’re trying to impress… you defended him.

You still love him, he just knows it. He knows deep down inside, you must fucking love him. If you really hated him, you wouldn’t have done that.

He almost feels giddy at the knowledge.

You have a hard time looking away once again, you’re amazed that no one has noticed how intensely you both have locked eyes several times tonight. Jungkook just has that effect on you, he’s fucking beautiful, and the way he looks at you is enough to make you weak to this fucking day. Drives you mad with conflict.

And as you stare at him, you finally notice the little purple star patches on his face. Looks just like the ones you use… you wonder where the fuck yours even went, now that you think about it. Haven’t seem them in months.

You point to his cheek and mumble almost stupidly, “Those look exactly like the ones I used to use.”

He hums in response, sticks his tongue in cheek. Fights a grin, because if only you knew he fucking stole these from you the night he left.

Maybe he’ll confess one day.

“Weird,” is all he says in response.

He stares at you some more, like you he can’t look away. Looking at you, being near you, is the equivalent to a thirsty man finally getting a few sips of water. He was fucking thirsty, and his eyes drink you in as if you’re water straight from the spring.

He mouths the word ‘pretty,’ at you, uses a finger to point at your face and then your dress. Whispers, “So pretty.”

Fuck. You are going to die. You are going to have a heart attack.

“Jungkook, I’m ready to go home.”

Ok, maybe you won’t die, because you’re interrupted again… or maybe you will fucking die for that very reason.

Butterflies again. Not worms and flies. Butterflies.

Sena is staring at Jungkook with an irritated expression, her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed grumpily. Seems Hoseok’s margaritas didn’t sway her or improve her mood, seems you ruined her mood for the rest of the night, seems she’s the fucking child after all…

You just hope your little outburst doesn’t cause problems for Jungkook at home.

“Alright.” Jungkook says flatly, eyes still never leaving you.

You wonder if she notices. That thought alone makes you finally look away.

Seojoon eyes Sena almost wearily, but his gaze shifts to you once he realizes you’re staring back. He gives you a tight lipped smiled.

“We should get going too, you ready?”

You nod at him, because as much as you really would enjoy staying to chat, or making love with your eyes at Jungkook, you are fucking exhausted. Emotionally, anyway. Tonight has been so unnecessarily dramatic and you just want to go to sleep. You want to be able to take a shower, sit in there until the water runs cold, maybe cry a little, and process all of the shit that has happened tonight.

“Yeah, getting a little tired. Must be the alcohol.”

Or maybe it’s the headache staring at you like a sad dog right now.

You get up, force yourself to not look at Jungkook as he gets up as well. He nearly pouts, but he also thinks right now is a good time to wrap it up… although a sense of dread fills him at the thought of not seeing you again.

He won’t let that be an option. Nope.

You make your way to the living room where most of the guys have gathered, say your goodbyes. Each of them insist on hugging you, thanking you for coming. Taehyung especially, gives you the biggest fucking bear hug and makes you agree to hangout again, says he adores you, begs you to make him more cookies.

Seojoon is less than pleased with this, but tries not to show it. Tries not to feel threatened or jealous… tries not to feel guilty about the fact his own head was a bit all over the place tonight. Was barely paying attention to you after the whole girlfriend fiasco, if he’s being honest. Was worried Sena may start shit…

You don’t need to know that, though.

Yoongi is the only one who doesn’t hug you, which you don’t mind. Would feel far too awkward giving this mysterious man a hug. But he does offer you a head nod and a lip purse, so that’s something, right?

You don’t say goodbye to Sena, although Seojoon did say goodbye in both of your behaves.

You don’t say goodbye to Jungkook either. Don’t know if you can stomach uttering the words ‘goodbye’ again. Makes you feel all kinds of fucked up, so you just… don’t.

But of course, he won’t have that. Absolutely not.

Because right as you are following Seojoon out the door after putting on your ‘thrifted’ coat and shoes, he grabs your arm, pulls you back in. You let out a huff of air and yank your arm away. Not that the touch makes you uncomfortable, but… him touching you at all is causing some very confusing feelings, just like when he ‘accidentally’ spilled Seojoon’s tea and then cleaned you up after.

“You didn’t say bye. And you forgot your purse at the table.”

He states simply, handing you your purse and then sticking his hands in his pocket politely as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

Giving you that same fucking look. It’s so subtle, but his eyes practically beg you to at least say goodbye to him.

He's gonna make this hard, isn’t he?

You nod at him awkwardly and sling your purse over your shoulder. Fail to realize that it’s a bit lighter than it was when you originally brought it.

Because Jungkook, being the thief that he apparently is, impulsively took something from it. This time, he doesn’t intend to keep it, quite the opposite actually. See, he knew you would probably refuse to see him after this. He can’t take that. He needed an excuse to see you again, anything, something that you wouldn’t be able to say no to since he is certain you probably won’t even unblock his number after this.

He isn’t even sure what he plans to do when seeing you again. His intentions aren’t necessarily to start things up again, he isn’t that stupid, but… just to be in your life again. He would do anything to be in your life again.

Will do his fucking best to control himself if you do come around and show him mercy.

So… he took your wallet. Yeah, probably a very shitty thing to do. But you need your wallet, and he needs to see you… he can just say you dropped it and he picked it up for you. Maybe you’ll meet him for coffee, take it back, and then he can get on his knees and beg again for you to please, please, please give him another spot in your life.

Maybe it’s reckless, but he has been reckless all night. Maybe he will regret this tomorrow morning.

You don’t know this though, have no clue, completely just done with this shit tonight. Don’t even think to double check and make sure you have all of your belongings before leaving.

So you mutter, “Thanks… see ya.”

And you turn to walk off. Try to ignore how fucking terrible it feels to act so indifferent with him, but you don’t know how else to act after the past, and after the shit he pulled tonight. Reckless is an understatement in your opinion.

He's actually satisfied with this… because ‘see ya,’ implies that you will see him again. Whether it’s a subconscious choice of words, or intentional, he isn’t sure; but it still implies you are at least considering seeing him again.

It makes him smile to himself as he watches you walk off.

“See ya.” He echoes in response.

Now he just needs to figure out a way to contact you when you aren’t face to face, since you’ve blocked his number…

The drive home was fairly quiet, other than Seojoon thanking you for coming. He seemed a bit on edge, didn’t really say much after the vague praise of how well you did with his friends… but you chalked it up to him just being tired. You aren’t sure what the fuck the deal is between him and Sena, but you assume maybe she’s just someone who is very hard to be around. Seojoon works with her, so of course he would be a bit awkward with the way she acted, you wouldn’t want things to be awkward for him at work just because you don’t get along with her.

But also… you find it incredibly odd that he didn’t say anything when you stood up to her. He didn’t scold you, didn’t defend you, didn’t even tell you to watch your mouth. He didn’t bring it up at all… you swore he would. If it were you in his position, you would have stood by him and supported him in speaking up.

But he just said… nothing. Maybe he just doesn’t want to argue, or maybe he didn’t notice it; it’s been a long night, and you’re both full and tired. You’re more tired than him considering you drank a bit heavily, thank god he didn’t drink more than a beer.

Regardless, he takes you back to your place, decides he’s going to sleep over because he’s way too tired to drive back. You sometimes forget the fact that he’s older than you, and nearly make a joke about him being an old man… but decide against it. He seems a little grumpy.

You really just wanted to come home and wallow in your own self pity, but you suppose you will have to put that off.

Besides, this will be a good chance to bring up the fact that he called you his fucking girlfriend. Labeled you without giving you a heads up. And after you deal with that, he can fall asleep, and you can cry into your pillow about fucking flower boy and his antics.

You do take a shower first, although it isn’t two hours long like you wished it was. You stay in there for about 45 minutes before getting out, let the warm water wash over your body as you decompress. Tried not to think too much about those needy eyes or fiery hands.

Key word: tried. And you fucking failed. The moment you started to get aroused at a bunch of unwelcome memories, you turned the water to the coldest setting. Then you got out, dried yourself off, did all the girly thinks like skincare and lotion, and then got dressed. Pretended it didn’t happen.

As you make your way out of the bathroom, you see Seojoon has already made himself comfortable in your bed. He’s dressed down into his boxers, laying on his stomach with his cheek pressed into the pillow. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not asleep because you can see the stress lining his brows.

Normally such a sight would be comforting… you don’t like sleeping alone. But tonight, you almost wish he went home so that you could have a few moments of peace.

Or maybe so you could have a complete mental breakdown without him being near.

You sigh and make your way to lay beside him on the bed, plug your phone into the charger and then look down at him. Cross your arms as you lean against the headboard, and he can feel you staring at the back of his head, so he turns to face you.

He knows what you’re about to say. Doesn’t want to deal with it, really, but he knows he needs to. So he keeps his mouth shut and waits for you to say it.

“So I’m your girlfriend now?”

There it is.

He shrugs, keeps his eyes closed. Says simply, “Yeah.”

What more is there to say? Do you expect him to apologize for putting that label on your relationship finally, after several months of basically being boyfriend-girlfriend? It’s essentially what you are to begin with, he doesn’t see the big deal. It’s just a stupid label.

And it protects him from losing you. He didn’t like the way Taehyung doted on you, or how Hoseok called you pretty. He needed everyone there to know you were taken… especially that Jungkook guy. He swears he saw him looking at your ass.

(He did, by the way.)

If Seojoon knew the truth behind Jungkook’s little glances, he would probably have had a heart attack. Thank god he doesn’t know, even though you are unaware of the jealousy festering inside of Seojoon.

But that isn’t the only reason he claimed you as his girlfriend, Sena was a huge reason. The guys doting on you was just a bit of a push to get the words out, but he needed Sena to know he was exclusive with you considering she was far too comfortable when she greeted him.

Exclusive for now, anyway. Things between him and Sena are… complicated.

Just like things between you and Jungkook.

And neither of you have a fucking clue.

“Well, we never talked about it so it was pretty off putting to hear you just blurt it out like that. I didn’t like it Seojoon.”

You keep your voice leveled when speaking to him, calm, because you don’t want him to think you’re trying to argue with him… but you also want him to know how you feel. Boundaries and all that.

“Ugh, Y/N, it isn’t that serious. We are basically in a relationship as it is, you’re my girlfriend even without the label. You know it’s true, babe.”

You huff at him, because he doesn’t get it. He isn’t wrong exactly, but… you feel pressured now. The label isn’t the issue, it’s the fact that yesterday you were comfortable with whatever you and Seojoon are; now you’re unsure. A bit nervous, even.

“I get that Seojoon, I do, but you know how I am… I told you I wanted to move slow.”

“Yeah, you wanted to move slow, yet I have a key to your apartment and basically live here. Don’t be so stubborn, just let it be…”

You’re conflicted… because he’s right. You did say you wanted to move slow, yet you contradicted yourself in several ways. You don’t think you lead him on, because you do want to be serious with him… but also, pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, and you do not like it.

You begin to speak up, but he cuts you off.

“Baby, just stop overthinking. We just needed a little push, that’s all, and I pushed. Now you’re my girlfriend. As simple as that, yeah?”

He reaches up and pats your cheek lazily before turning on his back and grabbing his phone. You’re speechless momentarily, have no fucking idea how to respond to that. Start to question whether you’re being too uptight or not, because he’s making it sound as if you are. Again, he isn’t wrong… but you feel a bit manipulated. He literally silenced you.

Fuck, you hate this. You don’t hate the idea of being his girlfriend, but the way he’s handling it all is throwing you off completely.

You begin to wonder whether or not seeing Jungkook has anything to do with how fucked you’re feeling about it all. If you hadn’t seen him tonight, would you be more accepting of the new label? More willing to hear Seojoon out? Is this all just you being unreasonable?

Or is Seojoon being a fucking dick?

“I leave at six in the morning tomorrow, quite a few coworkers are joining on the trip. You sure you don’t wanna come? I can buy your ticket and everything.”

“Huh?”

Seojoon breaks you out of your silent thought, speaking of some trip you don’t remember discussing. You’re all over the place really, can’t seem to focus on a single thought at a time, and you kind of hate how he just brushed over the topic expecting you to accept what he said…

… even though you kinda did.

“Work trip to New York? For the fashion convention? It’s only for the weekend, I told you about it last month. You really should come.”

You blink at him, start to vaguely recall him telling you about a trip at some point. He invited you, and you declined because you thought you would be working. Also, you didn’t know how you felt about traveling with him at the time so you thought it was best he went on his own.

Funny how he so easily made you forget the problem at hand, isn’t it?

You realize you actually don’t work this weekend, which is rare. Weekends are normally busiest, all the couples and families come in on the weekends to get in their quality time. But you switched your shifts this weekend to Sohee, because she needed Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off to visit her parents unexpectedly.

Speaking of Sohee, you need to call her and fucking tell her what a mess you’re in. Later, though.

A trip to New York doesn’t sound terrible… you could use the mini vacation, especially after tonight. He wouldn’t offer if he didn’t want you there, and maybe this can warm you up to being his girlfriend, since that’s apparently a thing now. You’ve never really been one for impulsive decisions, but you decide this could be good for both of you. Maybe fate is throwing you a bone, freeing up your schedule like this.

Or maybe fate is fucking with you. You can never be too sure…

Going to New York would mean no chance of seeing flower boy, no reminders of him, just a complete distraction. That’s something you really need right now…

“And you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble? I mean, I don’t work like I thought I did, so I could come… but only if it isn’t too much trouble.”

You nibble your lower lip as you look down at him, and he side eyes you. Gives you the most sheepish look.

“Uh, well… no, no trouble at all considering I already bought a plane ticket for the seat next to mine… Don’t look at me like that! I did it just in case, and I don’t like sitting next to strangers so even if you didn’t come, I had a reason. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. Anyway, yes, please come.”

He gives you a sweet look, fights a laugh. He’s lying, of course. He always intended on you joining him, which is why he bought that second plane ticket… he would have convinced you last minute even if you said no.

You roll your eyes at him, not as irritated as you should be at the gesture because the more you think of a little weekend trip to New York, the more you get excited to get the fuck away for a while.

You reach over and tug his hair playfully, “Ugh, you’re ridiculous… but I’ll come, since you so kindly offered.”

He grins at you, locks his phone and gets more comfortable in the bed. Knowing you’re coming along, and actually seem to be excited about it, is relieving for him. He doesn’t need to do any extra work to coerce you into coming. He gets his way and you remain happy.

“That’s my girl. I’m gonna leave your place at like four, go home to grab my luggage. Taehyung is watching Simba for me. You can pack while I do that, you only need to pack enough to last until Monday.”

You nod at him, “Ok, that sounds good, but you should really take a nap… it’s late and you’ll be tired.”

“Mmm, yeah, guess I should… but I’ll just sleep on the plane. I’ll be fine, long flight.”

You’re thankful that you stay organized because it won’t take you long to pack. Your makeup is already in a bag, and you can just stuff your girly things in your toiletry travel bag… your room is still sort of messy from earlier, but that’s fine. You can pack some clothes quickly in the morning. You feel lighter at the thought that you’re getting to go away for a while, clear your head, so you can’t really find yourself too bothered or stressed at the moment.

As far as sleep, well… you’ve had many sleepless nights the last few months anyway, you’ll be fine as long as you nap on the plane. You’ll deal with the jet lag fine as long as Seojoon supplies you with caffeine.

He falls asleep quickly after that, seems to be at peace… because after you dropped the girlfriend issue, and agreed to go with him so easily, he felt he has no problems worth losing sleep over.

Must be real nice.

You lay back against your pillow and grab your phone, you’re about to search up things to do in New York… when you see a slew of Instagram notifications.

Your stomach fucking drops when you see the name of who has flooded your inbox with DM’s.

Jeon Photography… in other words, fucking Jungkook.

You reluctantly open the DM’s, fully prepared to block his work account.

But it doesn’t work out that way.

Ok, so… you didn’t block him. You messaged him back. And he has your wallet.

You can argue that you messaged him back for that reason alone, you need your wallet to go to NY. And it seems to have worked out, you’ll get it in the morning.

But now, rather than being excited about your little trip, you are full of fucking conflict again. Because one, you have to see Jungkook. Two, Sena is apparently coming and you are pissed that Seojoon didn’t mention that to you. And three… you were fucking smiling at your phone while you messaged him. You liked it far too much.

While Seojoon is right beside you.

You know you shouldn’t be getting involved with Jungkook more than necessary, it isn’t right for several reasons. But, ugh, it was cute how he was acting all sweet and desperate for your attention. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to laugh at him purposely misspelling Seojoon’s name.

But, you gave none of that away. You need to put distance. You don’t want to let Sena ruin this trip for you, and you hope you don’t have to see her much. You need to try and calm down once again, can’t let this ruin yet another occasion you are supposed to be spending with Seojoon. Besides, you won’t have to see Jungkook long, you’ll grab your wallet and go.

And you swear you won’t message him again… even though you make no effort to block his Instagram. You don’t unblock his cell number either, though… so there’s that.

Although a bit giddy at his messages, you’re upset with him. Replay tonight’s events in your head as you try to sleep. The fucking shock of him being there, the passive aggressive comments made, the kiss, the declaration that he isn’t done with you, fucking Yoongi, the tea incident, fuck… all of it. And when you finally got it all off your mind, swept it under the rug, he messages you. Puts himself back in your head.

You need to sleep, not fret over Jeon Jungkook or the guilt that is now resurfacing with Seojoon sleeping soundly beside you.

You can worry about it another time. You can ignore how good it felt to be casually messaging him. You can pretend the kiss didn’t happen. You can refuse to see him after tomorrow.

Sweep it under the rug. Bury it in the dirt. He has no say in whether you’re done or not, and you are done. You swear you are done with him. Have been for a while…

That’s what you repeat to yourself, anyway, all the way until you fall asleep.

Silly girl… you never should have told him you were going on that work trip.

You wake up the next morning to Seojoon nudging you, mumbling something about leaving and packing quickly. Kisses you on the forehead before saying he will be back in 45 minutes to pick you up. You regret staying up late, because fuck, it is hard to get out of bed.

But you do. You don’t want to be late or miss this trip, not after last night. You barely think about the fact that that you must see Jungkook briefly today, you just wake up robotically. Coffee will help.

You go through the motions of taking out your dusty suitcase, throw in a bunch of clothes without really paying attention to what you’re packing. You’re sure it’s fine, you see underwear and bras, the clothes surrounding it looks fine enough. You grab your makeup bag, stuff it in, and then grab your travel toiletry bag and put all of the girly things inside before stuffing it in with the rest of your stuff.

You impulsively grab the polaroid camera you have and pack it with your stuff, think it’ll be nice to grab some photos of New York while you’re there. A little activity to create some memories.

After packing a few other mundane things, you get dressed. Decide to go comfy, put on an oversized sweater and some leggings, some sandals to go with it. You put your hair in a messy bun, and don’t bother to put on makeup because you’ll most likely be sleeping the entire way there anyway.

Time flies, of course. You’re tired as fuck, and judging by Seojoon’s grumpy face he is too when he arrives to get you. He helps you pack your luggage into his trunk and pats you on the back for being able to pack so quickly. He may look grumpy, but it seems he isn’t actually. He’s usually pretty sweet when in the mornings.

He stops to get you both a quick cup of coffee on the way to the airport, and you feel lighter already. You have a lot of shit to unpack mentally, but you are thankful that you said yes to this impromptu trip. You’ve never been to New York before, although you have been to the states a few times, New York was always one place you wanted to experience. Who better to experience it with than your new ‘boyfriend?’

When you arrive to the airport, Seojoon drops you off at the terminal with the luggage while he makes arrangements for the car. You wait patiently while sipping your coffee, sitting on one of the empty benches. People watching, seeing the plethora of strangers who all look different, you wonder where they’re coming from or going to. Its fascinating, really, knowing you’ll never see these people again, you like to imagine what they’re like anyway…

And then you see him.

No, not Seojoon, but Jungkook. And Sena. Sena looks fucking mean as she walks through the glass doors, and Jungkook looks far too chipper considering it is 5:15 in the fucking morning.

…why are they carrying so much luggage?

Its funny, how Jungkook immediately starts looking around, surely looking for you. He spots you quickly, and you swear you can see his invisible tail wag when his eyes land on you. He starts sprinting over carrying two big bags of luggage, while Sena pouts and trudges behind him while she drags another large bag. When he finally gets closer, he lowers his face mask and smiles so big that his eyes crinkle up and dimples pop out prominently.

Fuck.

You try to stay neutral, give them both a friendly smile as they approach.

“Hey. Good morning.”

Jungkook fucking grins, “Good morning sunshine.”

For fucks sake, it is too early for this.

You get up, set your coffee down next to the bags and awkwardly ask, “Umm, my wallet? Kinda need it to board the plane.”

He nods at you, digs into his pocket and pulls it out, his deep ass pockets in those comfy sweats you recognize far too well.

He also pulls out a passport… no, two passports… why two…?

He hands you the wallet, “Here, I kept it safe for you.”

He winks playfully, and Sena just rolls her eyes. Barely even looks at you as she mumbles, “So Seojoon brought you? Guess it’s a fucking couples trip now.”

“Hm?”

You blink at her confusedly. Her rude tone doesn’t really phase you, you were a bitch to her last night (although it was well deserved,) so you don’t expect her to be happy to see you. But what the fuck does she mean by couples trip? Is someone else bringing their significant other?

God, Jungkook has that shit eating grin again, and if you weren’t so tired you would have probably put two and two together by now.

“Oh, I decided to tag along. There’s a photography expo coincidentally, and I wanted to check it out.”

No fucking way.

You don’t say anything at first as you put the pieces together. Two passports, the large amount of luggage, Sena’s grumpy face, Jungkook’s happy fucking mood.

Did he do this on purpose?

He won’t admit it to you, but yeah, he absolutely did. The moment you said you were going to New York, he decided he would too. He didn’t lie completely, there really is a Photography expo being held, but that isn’t the reason he’s coming; that’s just his excuse. The reason he’s coming is… well, you. To be near you. To coax you into letting him back in.

This actually started a lot of shit with Sena. She was in a bitchy mood last night after leaving Taehyung’s house, tried arguing with Jungkook about so many different things. And this morning, he invited himself, which she fucking hated. To her, he was a burden, almost embarrassing to bring along. This was her fucking job, she didn’t need her manchild husband tagging along.

She tried to tell him no, but he also wasn’t having that. He didn’t fucking care. He told her he was coming and she could get the fuck over it, she didn’t even have to share a room with him if it was that big of a deal.

She latched onto that quickly, said she refused to share a room with him because she was planning on having colleagues over to discuss the fashion expo over drinks. Rented a fancy pent house like room just for that. He knows damn well that’s not normal, she shouldn’t be so hesitant to share a room with her own husband.

But again, he stopped caring a while ago. They don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore, so it’s not that big of a deal to him. He has one goal in mind…

Be with his Aster. Even if it’s just as friends. He is determined to earn a place in your life again, and he hopes this trip will give him a chance to convince you to give him a chance.

You? Oh, you are in shambles, because this trip was literally supposed to get your mind off of him. Turns out, fate isn’t on your fucking side, fate really is just fucking with you.

Or maybe Jeon Jungkook is fucking with fate.

You nearly want to slap him, demand that he leaves. But you can’t. You have no proof that he did this in purpose, but your gut tells you that he did. He’s acting crazy, after a single night of seeing each other again, and he suddenly keeps popping up? Pushing you to communicate again?

He wasn’t lying when he said he isn’t done. He fucking meant that. In his perspective, this is a chance at redemption. He doesn’t know in what context, but fuck, you’re dating his wife’s coworker, who is also close friends with one of his best friends… it’s all connected.

It can’t be coincidence. He see’s it as a tragic gift, a fucked up second chance. He isn’t going to pass it up. Not until you explicitly say, ‘fuck off, I never want to see you or talk to you again.’

And you haven’t said that. You’ve told him to go away, but you’ve yet to seriously set the boundary.

Contradicting yourself, yet again…

It's at that moment that Seojoon shows up, places a hand on your back. Greets Sena politely, and then she informs him that Jungkook is joining as well. He makes some joke, too tired to feel some type of way about Jungkook coming along. But you aren’t paying attention, not really.

Because Jungkook is giving you those needy eyes again. Smile soft, eyes glittering with stars you were once so find off, skin almost glowing as if he just got laid.

He mouths at you ‘Unblock my number.’ And then fucking giggles.

Holy fuck. It is going to be a long weekend. You can’t catch a break, can you? Karma really is a bitch.

Karma or fate. Both you have grown to sincerely despise within the last 24 hours.

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