#even if it’s vague. or even if it’s for a little while. it would’ve been better than abandoning him and shrugging off his willingness to do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halfvalid · 7 months

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nobody but you

ABOUT

alternate title: the jealous character trope is actually kinda fun to write

rating: teen+

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!vinsmoke sanji | live action!straw hats ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

description: sanji flirts endlessly with you while dining at the baratie. zoro is displeased.

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, no use of 'y/n', establishment of relationship, flirting, alcohol consumption, pda

author’s note: i got like ~5 requests to write this so here you guys go! this was a popular one lmao. the story is a vague spinoff to my other fic pretty in that, but it doesn't have to be read to understand this one.

You’d volunteered to deal with the docking fees for the Going Merry, locking up the pirate ship as the rest of the crew entered Baratie. You were just five or so minutes late entering after the restaurant the rest of the Straw Hats had gone into. You’d never seen anything like it before—an eatery right in the middle of the ocean, in the shape of a giant fish.

You stepped into the building cautiously, glancing around the wide expanse of the main room to try and catch a glimpse of your friends. The restaurant was big, with a mezzanine that you’d entered in and stairs leading down to the first floor. The host, a fishman who was standing at the reservation desk, glanced up to take a look at you.

“Ah, you must be with the pirates,” he said pleasantly. “Right this way, miss.”

You nodded, wondering how Luffy was intending on paying for the bill of such a place as you scoped out the area. It was far nicer than anything you would’ve expected—but then again, he’d somehow managed to score the Going Merry from Kaya back in Syrup Village, so you figured he’d work something out.

Finally, you caught a glimpse of the rest of your crew, tucked away in a circular side booth that the fishman led you to. Luffy brightened upon seeing you, waving you over with a hand so excitedly you feared it was about to flop around like rubber. Considering his powers, that was a more than likely situation, actually.

“Thank you,” you told the host, then turned towards your friends. “No food yet?”

“You didn’t miss much,” Usopp said, a little snicker in his voice. “Just the waiter getting our drink orders. He was flirting the heck outta Nami.”

“Oh?” you asked, a smile flickering up your lips. The only open space in the table was between Zoro and Nami—you gave Zoro a confused look, and he gestured down to his swords, which were caught in the ledge between the chair and the wall. You snickered. “Ro. You’re such a loser.”

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, hand on your waist as you climbed over him to get to the empty seat. It stayed there for a moment longer, even after you’d arranged yourself in the seat, before he finally dropped his hand. Usopp made a face that you pointedly ignored.

“What’d you guys order?” you asked instead. If there’d been a menu available, the waiter had probably taken it away; still, there wasn’t much variety in the East Blue, so you could expect there’d be a lot of seafood and not much else.

“One of everything,” Luffy responded brightly. “So we’ll be able to try the whole menu!”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Cap?” you asked, brows raised. Luffy shrugged.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Quit it with the nickname,” Zoro muttered. Neither him or Nami had gotten any more receptive to it since you’d first started calling Luffy it. Usopp didn’t seem so keen on it either—if only because he fancied himself Captain Usopp. Luffy liked it, though, and that pleased you enough to keep using it.

“I’ll get you to start saying it eventually,” you teased, nudging Zoro in the arm. He shook his head, but there was a suggestion of a smile on his lips as he glanced away. “Just you wait.” You turned to Nami, eyes sparkling. “What about the waiter, though? Was he cute?”

Usopp laughed at that, and Nami gave you a disparaging look. “Come on,” she started. “Not you too. Zoro was all—”

The sound of footsteps cut off her speech, and you glanced up to find a lean, blond man pausing by the lip of your table. He held a silver plate, upon which perched a variety of different drinks—beers, milk, water. “Here are your drinks,” he said, voice lifting with an accent you couldn’t quite place. “And appetizers.”

He had just finished placing the last of the drinks balancing on his forearm on the table when the waiter glanced up and registered you sitting there. His expression instantly changed, the crease of his mouth softening into a pleasant smile, his previously-dull blue eyes bright and sparkling. “Well, hello there. An addition?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late,” you said. The waiter flashed a grin, white ivories shining under the fluorescents.

“Oh, absolutely no problem. They say those who are late are fashionable, and you, madam, certainly fit the bill,” the waiter said. Your eyes widened, glancing over to Nami to find her shaking her head, but the waiter didn’t stop there. “I’m Sanji. What can I get for you to drink? We’ve got a wide selection of fine wines that might suit your taste.”

“Oh, um—” you started, glancing at the rest of your crew again. Usopp was hiding his snicker, and Nami was giving you a tired look. Assumedly this had been the man who’d tried it on her, too—to unfortunate ends, probably, considering how Nami was. Not that this would be any more effective on you. Your eye was already captured by a particular green-haired swordsman, after all. “I don’t really have anything in mind.”

Sanji looked pleased about that, clasping his hands together around his platter. “Ah, let me guess, then. A bayberry or red currant wine, perhaps? Fruity, tart, full of flavor.” he winked. “A feisty drink for a feisty girl.”

“Can’t say I’ve tried it, but sure,” you said, the faintest smile on your lips. “I’ll let you know how I like it.”

Sanji grinned, looking rather satisfied with that, a delighted little smile on his lips. “One red currant wine, then. I’ll have it right out. And would you also like to order a meal, or…” He glanced over at Luffy, presumably referencing your captain’s more-than-outrageous order. “Are you all set?”

“I think we’re set, thanks,” you assured, and Sanji nodded. He flashed you another bright smile before turning on his heel back off to the kitchen.

Usopp finally let out the laughter he’d been keeping in, choked sounds emitting from his throat as he thudded his chest with a fist. You rolled your eyes, but it was good-natured, letting Usopp laugh.

“Well, at least I’m not being singled out,” Nami said with a sigh, and you exchanged a sympathetic glance with her. She patted your hand comfortingly, then scrutinized the water Sanji had gotten her. “At least he didn’t put it in a flute.”

“Zoro, you’ve got competition!” Usopp called, still laughing from the entire ordeal. You glanced to your side, to where the swordsman sat. Zoro had stiffened sometime during the conversation, jaw clenched and arms wound tightly across his chest. He hadn’t even touched the beer that Sanji had set in front of him, eyes fixed carefully to a spot beside Luffy’s head and refusing to look over at you.

“He’s a waiter,” Zoro said crisply. “He buses tables for a living.” With that, he grabbed his bottle, popping the tab and taking a swig.

“I don’t know, man, did you see the way he took down those pirates?” Usopp turned to you, all excited again. “Oh, you missed this whole thing! Two pirates were fighting over a seat or something, and Sanji just demolished both of them! You would’ve loved it.”

“He is a really good fighter,” Luffy agreed. Their words did nothing but seem to annoy Zoro further.

“Can we not talk about the restaurant personnel? Surely you can think of more interesting topics of conversation.” His tone was sharp, and all icy, and you inched your hand closer to his leg to tap his thigh in question. He glanced down at your touch, but didn’t deign to say anything else. He just picked up his beer again, nursing it while the rest of the crew continued on with their conversation.

Despite Luffy changing the subject, Zoro didn’t speak, and you kept peeking glances over at him in concern. Your feelings for him had just continued developing ever since Syrup Village, although neither of you had reasonably talked about the closet incident since it’d happened. What with the reveal of Kuro and the escape from the marines and all, there hadn’t exactly been time to. But you’d been on good terms, and the actions he made around you—pressing a hand to your waist as you moved past him, turning towards you first mid-conversation, shoving you down when the marines had fired their first cannon at the Going Merry.

Before you could whisper to him and question what his silence was about, though, Sanji reappeared, carrying two platters filled to the brim with plates. They were laden with different types of meat and vegetables, sauces glinting under the light and hot steam still billowing.

He set the dishes on the table, somehow managing to arrange them so they all fit on the countertop. Sanji set down the last plate then turned to you, placing a glass and a bottle of dark crimson wine on the table in front of you. He had to lean over Zoro to reach, and Zoro flinched, but still didn’t say anything as Sanji uncorked the bottle and poured you a glass.

“Tell me what you think,” he said, all smiles again. “I’ll be embarrassed if it isn’t to your liking.”

You picked the glass up, swirling it carefully inside the glass before leaning down into the cup to take in a full sniff. You tilted your head back to take a small sip, moving the liquid around your mouth to fully savor the flavor before finally swallowing. The wine was sweet, light rather than rich with a delicate tartness that burst on your tongue. You glanced up just to see a giant grin had stretched up Sanji’s mouth, brightening his face up considerably.

“What?” you asked.

“Not often do I see a patron who knows how to taste wine properly,” Sanji answered with a little duck of his head. “A lady of class, I see. How do you like it?”

“Not too strong. I like the tartness,” you answered. “A good recommendation. Thank you.”

Sanji gave you a little bow, hand flourishing to the side as he dipped his head. “I live to serve.”

“Yeah, well, why don’t you serve me another beer?” Zoro said abruptly. Usopp coughed, and you could see Nami elbow him out of your peripheral vision. Luffy just looked confused.

Sanji’s face fell almost immediately after Zoro had spoken, his eyes flickering away from yours. “Of course. I’ll be right back,” he said, a tight smile at his lips. He ducked out of the booth, and Zoro let out an irritated noise, tongue flicking against from the roof of his mouth.

Usopp snorted, fully this time, and you turned to glance over at him—he and Nami were both hiding their gazes, though you could see smiles cracked along their lips.

Zoro glared at them. “Shut it.”

“Not saying anything!” Usopp said, though he half-hid behind Luffy like Zoro was going to lunge over the table to get to him. That didn’t seem… entirely unlikely, actually; Zoro’s right hand rested firmly on the handle of one of his swords, fingers ready to pull the blade at any second. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to say something. But not in front of everyone else. It wouldn’t be appropriate, you decided.

Eventually your meal wound down to an end. Zoro got less and less tense throughout it, though you were fairly certain that was due to the drinks he was having rather than any actual reassurance. Sanji, thankfully, came back with the bill in the middle of a conversation you really didn’t want to think about—Luffy and his marine grandfather was not something your mind wanted to dwell on—only for him to disappear again.

Just moments later, a man with a braided mustache came storming out of the kitchen. Luffy did some more of his Luffy nonsense, and, honestly—you were getting too tired about all of this to pay any close attention. You spared a glance over at Zoro again. His face was as blank as ever.

“Okay,” Usopp said slowly, a few delayed seconds after who’d undoubtedly been the head chef yanked Luffy out of his seat. “I’m ready to check out whatever’s outside. Let’s go.”

“What about Luffy?” you asked, perplexed.

“He’ll find his way out of that,” Nami said with a sigh. She stood up, knocking back the rest of her drink. Since she wasn’t exactly wrong, you got up, glancing over your shoulder at the last of the group that remained seated. “Zoro?”

Zoro was staring into his now-empty bottle of beer. He still seemed off, the line of his mouth creased downwards, jaw set tight. “Yeah,” he said finally, standing to his full height and slipping out of the booth. He offered you a hand, helping you down from your seat, but said nothing more.

The four of you headed out to the mouth of the Baratie fish, which boasted a bar decorated with neon lights. You found a place to sit by the fish’s bottom lip, and you turned in your seat, staring out at the sea. The water was dark with the night, peaceful ripples moving across the water that sent shimmering waves across the blue.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Usopp said. “Come, Nami?”

“Huh?” Nami glanced up, and you turned to watch the exchange. “Oh, I’m okay, Usopp. Thanks, though.”

“No,” Usopp insisted, a smile still pasted on his face as he jerked his head, not very discreetly, in your and Zoro’s direction. Nami seemed to realize, then, eyes going wide before she got up from her seat.

“Actually, on second thought, I’ll join you,” she said, far smoother than Usopp had been. “God knows you don’t have any money to pay for a drink.”

She breezed past him, ignoring the offended gape Usopp left in her wake before he was scrambling to follow her. You turned your attention towards Zoro—he was lounging in the seat across from you, one hand on his swords with his legs crossed. “Hi,” you said carefully.

He stiffened. “Hey.”

You pursed your lips, mulling over the ways to go about the conversation before ultimately deciding to spit it out. “What’s wrong?” At his raised brow, you were prompted to continue— “During dinner. You were acting weird.”

Zoro shook his head, dropping his gaze from yours. You could see the faintest trace of freckles spattered along his cheeks, the yellow glow from the lanterns reflecting off his skin. “Nothing’s wrong. Just… the waiter.”

“The waiter,” you repeated. Zoro shifted, legs uncrossing and hand tightening around his swords again. His voice was low the next time he spoke, and you could barely hear him, having to lean forward to catch all of his words.

“He was flirting with you.”

Your breath hitched, but you tried to keep your tone casual. “He was flirting with Nami too,” you said, glancing up to meet his eyes. Zoro still wouldn’t meet your gaze, staring out into the East Blue behind you.

“That’s different.” Zoro’s eyes finally lifted, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as you met eyes. You shivered, gooseflesh suddenly prickling up everywhere on your skin—the back of your neck, up your spine, down your arms and legs. “I don’t like Nami.”

You tilted your head to the side, meeting his gaze. The words sent a little rush through you; a rush you got practically every time Zoro looked in your direction, actually, which was only a little bit annoying. The amount of influence a man you’d known for, comparatively, not that long had over you had you rolling your eyes all the time, but… you trusted Zoro at this point, as uncooperative as he and Nami had been throughout your entire journey.

“You’re jealous of a waiter.”

“Don’t—” Zoro sighed. “Don’t put it like that.”

“But it’s true. You’re jealous of a waiter,” you said, unblinking. Zoro rolled his eyes, teeth resting along his lower lip in an almost-bite. You snickered, tone sloping upwards to become more teasing, almost sarcastic. “How the mighty have fallen. From me practically begging you to say I looked nice in a dress to this.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Zoro said, uncrossing his legs to lean over and press his hand over your mouth. You laughed, surprised, as he leaned over you, eyes sparkling at the reaction. “Not another word.”

He removed his hand, giving you a look. You betrayed his trust almost immediately. “Of a waiter.”

“Do you want me to put the hand back?” Zoro threatened, but you were full-on laughing by now, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. The sounds escaped from your mouth, ringing out in soft, lively hiccups. He shook his head, hand falling to his side as he watched you, a ghost of a smile tugging up the side of his mouth.

“Sorry, Ro,” you said, unable to suppress your grin even as your laughter died off. “It’s a little funny, you have to admit.”

“I’d like to hear you talk if someone was flirting with me,” Zoro muttered, so quiet you could barely hear. You had to stifle another laugh.

“Okay, well, unlike you, I don’t get territorial over people I haven’t even talked about my relationship with, but I appreciate it.” You nudged him. “It’s kinda cute.”

Zoro seemed lost in the first half of your sentence, and you could practically see the cogs whirring in his head. For a moment, you were worried that the closet had been a one-time thing—but no, he’d mentioned just earlier that he liked you, so clearly something else was the matter.

Your worries were answered in just another moment. “...We’re supposed to talk about our relationship?”

“Zoro.” You gave him a look of disbelief, forced to suppress another laugh, though this time it was out of incredulity. “Yes. Have you ever dated anyone before?”

Zoro made a face at that. “Keeping that to myself, thanks.” He dropped his chin, glancing down at where you were, still leaning over you so you were forced to crane your neck to stare up at him. He tilted his head to the side. “So what kind of talking are we supposed to be doing?”

“You know, the establishment of being exclusive; a cementation of our feelings; what the relationship entails; where we want it to go…” You paused, watching as his eyes flickered down your face. Your words were going in one ear and out the other. “You’re not listening at all, huh.”

“Not really,” Zoro said, not sounding very apologetic about it. His free hand came to cup the underside of your jaw, tilting your head up just so. “Is the talking really that necessary?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your cool. “Eventually.”

“Eventually,” he repeated, stretching out the syllables of the word as he quoted you. “So we can do it another day.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. “What were you thinking?”

Zoro was slotting his lips over yours before you could say another word, his fingers digging into the hinge of your jaw to allow him better access. You smiled into the kiss, lips curling upwards and open to let him lick into your mouth.

It wasn’t too risqué, but Zoro took your breath away all the same, an appreciative murmur low in his throat as he kissed you. One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, tugging him insistently downwards so you could get a better angle at his mouth, sucking gently at his lower lip. He nearly stumbled, losing his center of gravity before steadying himself, one hand coming to rest on your ribcage as the kiss deepened.

“Guys!” Usopp’s voice came somewhere from the right, high-pitched and excessively scandalized. You felt Zoro scoff into your mouth.

“You realize you’re in public, right?” Nami deadpanned, plopping down in the seat next to you. You nudged Zoro’s head away, his hand still on your jaw, half-craned over your figure. Nami looked unimpressed, eyes flickering from Zoro to you and back again. “Get a room. Go back to the Going Merry for all I care.” She extended a hand, placing a mug of beer on the table before you before handing you a matching one. “I got you drinks. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” you said, leaning up to press one final kiss on Zoro’s lips before turning to take the glass Nami had outstretched. Usopp groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and lifting a giant cup of something with the other. It was so big you wondered how he’d even been able to carry it. You eyed him. “You’re going to pass out drinking that.”

Usopp made a face at you. You just laughed.

“Sorted out your issues with the waiter, then?” Nami asked, turning to fix a knowing look on Zoro. He rolled his eyes, effortless as ever as he settled back down into his seat.

“Still don’t like the waiter.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, and Zoro scoffed, picking up the mug Nami had gotten him. You could see the smile behind the glass rim, though, even as he clearly tried to hide it, and matched it with one of your own.

Zoro ducked his head to smile into his beer. Usopp made a gagging sound. “God,” Nami muttered, but their criticisms might as well have been deaf to your ears by then.

All you could see was Zoro.

#one piece live action #one piece netflix #opla #reader insert #x reader #opla roronoa zoro #opla zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #opla fanfic #opla fanfiction #opla zoro x reader #kiki writes!

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 1 month

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An idea I have that’s itching my brain. Ex-husband!price, second chance trope? Strangely into this recently

Ex-husband!price who can’t help but call you every time he gets back from a mission and you who can’t help but pick up.

You’ve been divorced for a little over a year now. It wasn’t necessarily on bad terms but the relationship just couldn’t work anymore; with him constantly gone it felt as though he was more of a roommate, a stranger, than the man you loved.

You couldn’t take the loneliness and Price only ever wanted to make you happy, so he agreed to the divorce with the same amount of courage he had going into a mission.

“John?” You asked, answering the call after the third to make it seem like you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey,” Price smiled immediately when he heard your voice. “I made it home.”

“Good. You’re not hurt are you?”

Price could feel the ache and throb on his body from the mission, especially on his side where he had hit the ground hard because of an explosion. A large bruise had already formed but he ignored it like every problem he had concerning himself.

Just like he had ignored you.

“I’m alright.” He sucked in his lips and cleared his throat. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

You really shouldn’t. It’s not like you ended on bad terms necessarily, but you had never known someone to stay friends with their ex-husband before. You knew that these kind of talks might send the wrong message.

It might make one of you believe that there was hope for reconciliation.

“Oh…nothing much.” You kept it vague to deter further conversation and you hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way.

Price didn’t, at least that’s what he told himself even though he felt a pang in his chest while his throat tightened.

He shouldn’t call you anymore even if he missed your voice. Every call was like he was torturing himself, making himself remember what he lost because he couldn’t get his own head out of his ass.

He would’ve stopped after the first call if you hadn’t picked up.

“I just wanted to let you I was home.” He mumbled and you felt incredibly grateful that he wanted to do that.

You may be divorced but you still feared the day one of his men would come to tell you he was no longer alive.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, love.”

It slipped out but neither of you said anything. You both sat in silence, drinking up the presence of each other from the other side of the phone, across cities.

There were so many mixed feelings, all of which neither of you had the words to describe them.

“Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye.”

When you were gone Price sat in the edge of his bed in the dark. The bed he once shared with you often went untouched, even by him as he couldn’t stand to lay in it alone, even if the mattress was better for his body.

His fingers played with the golden band chained around his neck subconsciously since he was unable to get rid of it.

A/n: take whatever this is lol won’t be a series but might have like a couple other little pieces

#ex-husband!price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #price x you #price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #call of duty

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hier--soir · 1 year

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don't cry over spilt milk

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: joel is not happy to find out that you slept with someone else. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] fwb!joel, major jealousy, possessiveness, reader is kinda mean and clueless, mean!joel, some unrequited feelings, smut, unprotected p in v sex, oral [f!recieving], spitting.... word count: 4.8k series masterlist | masterlist this is part three of my fwb!joel series. you can find the other parts here: one, two, four.

The community dining hall was full of people. Groups of families and friends huddled on long tables, eating dinner together. The summer heat was killing you; thick, humid air suffocating your skin, making it feel like your thin singlet was melting onto your back. And being inside the dining hall did nothing to stem the early evening warmth, so you sat and basked in the stale sticky air while you ate, trying to ignore the way sweat made the skin of your thighs stick to the chair beneath you.

“And I can head shot those fuckers from a mile out,” Tommy was saying, his fork hovering in mid-air between his plate and his mouth. “I stand up on the hill and I spot ‘em, wandering around Alpine Crest Community, and I just take ‘em out. Ain’t nothin’ to it.”

You rolled your eyes, fork pushing the remaining food around your plate. “Give it a rest Tommy, save some humility for the rest of us.”

“It ain’t about bein’ humble,” he grinned at you. “It’s about knowin’ your way around a sniper – and I know it best.”

“Oh shut up, Miller,” someone further down the table threw a dirty napkin at him, and he caught it, gripping it to his chest and chuckling in mock indignancy. “Some of us are trying to eat our dinner in peace, without having to hear any of your stories.”

“Ask Ellie,” he continued around a full mouth this time. “She saw it. I let her have a shot at it too; kid’s not half bad.”

You gave him a bemused look, “And how did Joel react to you letting Ellie use the sniper?”

“Our little secret,” he winked at you.

Fairly often the group of you would commune in the hall and share a meal together, catching up on work and family and settlement gossip. It was a nice way to connect with the community, and you would damn sure rather eat dinner with friends in the hall than alone in your house.

“Hey,” Tommy called out suddenly, the rise in volume startling you. Turning in your chair, you followed his gaze to see that Joel had walked into the hall and was making a beeline toward your table. “How was patrol?”

Joel settled beside the table, standing directly behind your chair. “Good,” he said blankly. “Uneventful.” He looked down to you, and you smiled up at him, holding out your fist as a greeting.

He didn’t return the sentiment, staring blankly at your hand in the air until you shook it at him. “You’re supposed to give me a fist bump, Joel. It’s how friends greet each other.”

Your friends tittered around the table, none of you picking up on Joel’s bad mood quite yet. “You joining us for dinner?” one of them asked him.

“Not tonight,” he shook his head, still staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “I need to talk to you,” he said.

“Sure,” you blinked, scraping the last of your food onto your fork and shovelling it into your mouth ungracefully. “You good?”

“Sure,” he replied vaguely, glancing at Tommy for a split-second. “Come outside.” Before you could respond, he had turned and was making his way out of the hall.

You let out a low whistle and rose from your chair, glancing at Tommy. He was watching you closely, a slight ridge formed in between his eyebrows. You cringed and looked away quickly, muttering a goodbye to the table before heading outside. After what happened a few weeks prior, things with Tommy were always awkward when it came to you and Joel being alone. Although he’d never brought it up or asked any questions, for which you were eternally grateful, you knew he had to be curious, and his mind would’ve been whirring at a hundred miles a minute trying to figure out the situation going on between you and his brother. You just thanked your lucky stars he didn’t have the guts to ask you about it outright.

When you stepped outside the doors the summer air smacked you in the face all over again and you grimaced, spotting Joel marching away from the hall and jogging to catch up to him.

“What’s going on?” you followed him, speaking to his back as he walked ahead of you, leading the pair of you down the street. “Joel?”

He spun suddenly; feet planted in the dirt as he stared you down. His expression was unreadable, but you could see in his posture that something was brewing deep inside of him. He was tense; hands fisted tightly by his sides, jaw locked.

“Lloyd Peterson, huh?”

“What?” your face twisted in confusion. “What about Lloyd Peterson?”

“Overheard him on patrol today,” he said gruffly. “Was telling Davis he fucked you last week.”

An uneasy feeling rolled through your stomach. “Christ,” you huffed. “What an ass.”

“He’s lyin’ then?” Joel raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” you paused, rocking back on your heels. “I mean, no; he’s not lying. Just didn’t think he was the type to shout it from the rooftops.”

As you spoke, you didn’t immediately notice how poorly Joel was reacting, but soon enough you were locked into a staring match with him, realising just how badly he was reacting to the information.

He was silent. For a moment, you weren’t even sure if his chest was rising and falling. The summer breeze whistled between you two, playing with his dark curls. But his face was stony. Lips sealed shut and dark eyebrows drawn tight in the middle of his forehead as he glowered at you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but he cut you off in an instant, his cold words slicing through the tense air. “You fuckin’ many other guys?”

Eyebrows raised high, you shook your head no slowly.

“Just Peterson then.”

“It was one time Joel, it’s hardly a regular thing.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

Your stomach dropped. With those words you saw past the stormy expression on his face, the way his fingernails dug crescent moons into the palms of his hands, and understood the insecurity hidden underneath it all. The jealousy. Your heartrate kicked up a notch as you wondered where the fuck this was coming from. Sure, you and Joel fucked around and spat possessive nonsense at each other while you fucked, but this seemed bizarre. You’d been close friends for years, and had been fucking casually for months. So why was he suddenly acting like you had betrayed him?

“What do you mean?” you questioned him slowly.

“Thought we had fun together,” his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “Didn’t realise I wasn’t doin’ it for you anymore.”

“Joel, this has nothing to do with you,” you huffed.

“The hell it doesn’t,” he barked, and you flinched, looking around quickly to see how many people were within earshot of the conversation. You were standing in the middle of the street for fuck’s sake.

“Shut up,” you hissed. “You’re making a fucking scene.”

Joel took two quick steps forward until your chests were close to touching, staring down at you with an intensity that almost made you shudder. “Tell me why you fucked him.”

For a split second, you despised him for the guilt you felt. Heat soared across your cheeks, and your palms were damp with perspiration. He was glaring, dark eyes holding your gaze and making it almost impossible to look away. So you allowed your guilt to shift to anger.

“What the fuck is it to you?” you whispered viciously, painfully aware of a woman walking past. “Jesus Christ, Joel. Last I checked, you and I are friends. Just because we get our rocks off together doesn’t mean I owe you anything, least of all an explanation for fucking someone else.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he spat, words laced with venom. “I’ve never once asked you for anything. Not for anything other than what we’ve been doin’, never pushed you for more. And I thought we had a good thing goin’; thought we had an understanding. We rely on each other, we trust each other. Didn’t think you’d go off and fuck someone else while I was out on patrol one day.”

The implication behind his words made your chest tighten. The insinuation that if he had his way, you two would be more. You pushed the thought out of your mind to deal with later.

“It just happened!” you said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You placed them on his chest and pushed him back a step, eager to have some space between you. “It was in the heat of the moment, he made a move, and it happened, okay? It’s not like I waited for you to leave the fucking gates and then I beat down his door.”

He was breathing heavily, and you could see the cogs turning rapidly in his head as he soaked in your words. You spoke again before he could. “You’re telling me you don’t fuck anyone else?”

Joel’s face twisted into an ugly snarl, and his silence was all the response you needed. And really, you shouldn’t have been surprised. If he was so scorned by the idea of you and Peterson, he obviously wasn’t fucking other people.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked, voice softer. “I’m sorry, okay? You’re my friend, and I care about you Joel, I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I don’t want an apology,” he scowled.

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to tell me,” his voice lowered, and he stepped closer, leaning down to breath his next words into your ear. “Tell me how he fucked you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, mouth drying instantly. “What?” you mumbled in shock.

“You heard me,” he whispered, so close that his minty breath tickled across your face. “How did he fuck you?”

“Joel,” you shook your head, trying to ignore the sudden pulsing at the apex of your thighs. “This is ridicu-“

“Did you let him taste you?” he growled. “He put his tongue inside you?”

“N-no,” you stuttered out, wetting your lips desperately. “No, he didn’t.”

“Shame,” Joel chuckled mirthlessly. “He’s missin’ out.”

You prayed he didn’t notice the way your nipples had hardened through the thin material of your shirt.

“So what then?” he prompted. “Tell me.”

“Are you being serious?” your cheeks blazed. “I blew him, we fucked. What do you want me to say?” His eyes darkened considerably at the mention of another man’s cock in your mouth, and you willed yourself to hold strong and not back down. God he was intimidating when he wanted to be.

“How did he fuck you?”

“He was on top,” you grunted, feeling like a student getting scolded by their teacher.

Joel hummed in response, his eyes raking over your features, before flitting down and taking in the sight of your body. Your hands were shaking with frustration, but your legs were pressed tightly together were you stood, thighs tensed in anticipation.

“Let’s go,” is all he said, before turning and marching in the direction of his house. You followed him wordlessly on shaky legs.

The house was empty and quiet when you got there.

He held the front door open for you, and once you were inside he slammed it, sliding the lock into place. You jumped slightly at the loud noise, a nervous wreck as you anticipated what was about to happen.

“Upstairs,” he muttered, leading you up and into his bedroom.

As soon as you reached the room, Joel was on you, pressing you against the closed door. Large hands kneaded your flesh, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. His kiss was rough, all wet tongue and lips and teeth bumping against teeth, as he pushed himself desperately close to you. You gasped into his mouth, whimpering as his teeth bit down on your lower lip, enjoying the sharp sting as he pulled back and stretched it out before letting go. He gripped the hem of your singlet and ripped it over your head, bearing your chest to him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he sponged kisses down your neck, across your collarbones, before wrapping his lips around one of your aching nipples. You sighed in relief, gripping his hair tightly as he sucked and licked at the tight bud, his teeth lightly grazing it occasionally. His left hand drifted up your sternum to pinch the other one, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, and groaning into your chest at the pathetic sounds that drifted from your mouth.

Over the sounds of your own panting, you heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and looked down to find him pulling himself out of his jeans. He was already hard, the tip red and weeping precum as he began to stroke himself slowly, never stopping the movements of his mouth on you.

“Joel,” you panted, pushing his face away from your chest. “I want to taste you.”

He grunted, eyes never leaving your face as the muscles in his right arm tensed with every tug on his cock. “Take your clothes off and get on the bed.”

Considering the heat, you were happy to do as he asked, sighing in relief as you peeled your sticky clothes from your body and settled yourself in the middle of his large bed, sitting balanced on your heels, waiting for him to join you. He pushed his jeans down his legs slowly, tearing his shirt over his head until he was just as naked as you were. Your mouth salivated as you stared at him, eyes constantly drifting between his face and where he fisted his cock, desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue.

“You want my cock in your pretty mouth, baby?” he asked lowly, and you nodded quickly, mentally begging him to get on the bed. Joel stared at you for a moment, contemplating, before a mean grin split across his face. “Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we, sunshine?” You faltered, frowning at him as he reached out and pressed on your shoulder, pushing you down so you laid on the bed.

Joel got onto the bed and rested on his knees, gazing down at you. “Spread your legs. Go on, show me that pretty pussy.”

Splaying yourself open on the bed, you basked in the feeling of his eyes raking over you, taking in every inch of skin on display, every detail of your body. His eyes worshipped you, and your heart panged in your chest as you recognised the look in his expression. It was awe.

“Look at that,” he leered. “You’re fuckin’ soaked. Dripping wet and I’ve hardly even touched you yet. Who’s that for?”

“For you,” you breathed.

“That’s right. Because it’s mine, ain’t that right?” It wasn’t abnormal for him to talk like this when you were fucking, but in that moment the words felt heavier. They held more gravity, a more honest yearning in them than usual.

And yet you nodded. “Yours, Joel.”

Upon hearing your words he leant down to press his chest on the bed, and his lips were dragging along your inner thigh, coming dangerously close to where you wanted his mouth the most, but not quite going there yet.

“Unlike that fuckin’ boy,” he snapped. “I’m gonna enjoy takin’ my time with you. Not gonna waste an opportunity to get my mouth on this beautiful cunt.”

Your chest heaved at his words, and you were about to make a snarky comment but then his mouth was on you and all thoughts left your brain. He pressed deep, longing kisses into your folds, his tongue swiping between them in broad strokes, moaning as he tasted you for the first time in over a week. Strong hands gripped your thighs and held them apart as he devoured you, his tongue dipping into your entrance before moving up to lathe slow circles around your aching clit.

Your head was buried in the pillows, hips shifting restlessly and pushing against his grip, trying to grind yourself up against face, desperate for more friction. But he held you down, refusing to speed up his movements.

“Fuck,” you moaned lowly, reaching down to grip his shoulder, digging your fingernails into his skin to show him how good it felt. Joel groaned into you in response, dragging his tongue along the entirety of you, ending it with a sharp flick across your bundle of nerves. You gasped, twitching underneath him.

He hooked a finger inside you, the tip pressing deliciously into the spongy spot on the roof of your walls. You whined desperately, longing for release as he painstakingly lapped and sucked and kissed your sopping core. One hand gripped his shoulder, and the other clawed frantically at the bedsheets, searching for leverage, for something to bear yourself against as he built up your orgasm.

“Feels so good,” you gasped, torso writhing against the bed. “I need more, please, Joel.”

Without warning, he pressed a second finger inside you, and then a third, stretching you out while his tongue flicked against your clit. A broken cry spilled out of your mouth, your stomach tensing painfully tight as he pressed into you. Liquid heat began to spread through your abdomen and thighs, and you longed to wrap your legs around his head, press him in closer, have him gasping for breath against you. But his grip tightened, forcing you to stay splayed on the bed.

“Not yet,” he murmured against you.

“I’m so close,” you mewled.

“Not yet,” he repeated, pulling back to stare down at where his fingers worked you so perfectly, pushing against your walls, stretching you out for him. He leaned down and spat onto your pussy, and you clenched painfully tight around his fingers, mouth ajar at the feeling. And then his mouth was back on you, strong tongue flicking back and forth over your clit savagely, and you moaned his name desperately, begging him to let you come. Finally, you couldn’t take it any longer, and heat flooded your body, your own heartbeat rushing in your ears, body twitching and writhing beneath him as he removed his fingers from you and pressed his tongue into your entrance, sucking and licking up every drop of your release. Your eyes were shut tight, and your mouth hung open in elation, breathy moans of praise slipping from between your lips.

As you came down from your high, he pressed soft kisses against you, giving gentle kitten licks against your clit as you twitched into the bed, away from the pressure on your overstimulated nerves. Finally, his mouth dragged away, and he pressed kisses all the way up your sternum before his lips were against yours. His face was wet from your slick, and it smeared across your cheeks, but you didn’t mind, kissing him eagerly, tongue delving into his mouth to taste yourself.

For a few moments, the pair of you simply laid there, legs tangled together and kissing messily, sighing into each other’s mouths. But it was like a switch flipped suddenly, and Joel pushed himself off you, his walls flying back up. The frown descended back over his face, and you sighed in frustration, wishing he would just forgive you.

Reaching out, you trailed your fingers over his abdomen, touch featherlight, and enjoyed seeing the way goosebumps rippled across his olive toned skin. He shuddered, the muscles underneath his skin tightening as your fingers lowered, trailing through the curls at his base before gripping his thick length. He grunted at the feeling, hips pushing forward slightly. You stroked him lazily, swiping your thumb across his tip and collecting some of his precum before lifting it to your mouth and tasting him. You hummed, tongue swirling around your finger.

“Enough,” he said quietly, manoeuvring himself to rest between your open thighs. His cock bobbed against his stomach, smearing a light sheen across his skin in its wake. Your core ached, clenching around nothing. You were so wet you could feel it dripping out of you, soaking the sheets underneath where you laid.

Joel gripped his cock and leaned forward, dragging the tip through your folds, covering himself in your slick. You moaned in unison at the sensation.

He tapped himself roughly against your clit once, twice, three times until you were trembling, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip, eyes screaming please just fuck me.

He nudged the head of his cock against your entrance and pushed forward ever so slightly, looking down to watch his tip push inside of you. The slight obtrusion made you hold your breath, impatiently waiting for him to take you. He gripped the backs of your knees and wrapped your legs around his waist, where you locked your ankles to hold him against you. The only sound in the room was of your erratic breaths, mingling together in the air. You made eye contact with him and offered a small, encouraging smile. Without wasting another second, he pressed forward, your walls welcoming him until he was so deep inside, bottoming out as his hipbones collided with your thighs.

A choked gasp escaped you. The weight of him inside of you was so heavy, his thick length filling you up to the point where you felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“Always so fuckin’,” Joel groaned, hips pulling back a fraction before he pressed back into you. “Tight for me. Squeeze me so good, s’like you were made for me.”

“You’re so big,” you panted. “Feels so fucking good, Joel.”

He began to move with slow thrusts, pressing into you deeper, harder, with every shift of his hips. You threw your head back into the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as your body sang from his touch. His hand disappeared from your leg and gripped your face, thumb pressing into one side of your cheek while his fingers dug into the other.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and your eyes flew open as he squeezed your face, lips parting wider. “I want to see those eyes while I fuck you.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, tone laced with apology for daring to look away for even a second. His thumb hooked into your open mouth, and he leaned forward so his lips were almost touching yours. But Joel didn’t kiss you. Instead, he spat right into your mouth, and you moaned deeply, swallowing it down. He pressed his thumb against your lips and you opened up for him again, so he could work it into your mouth, pushing down onto your tongue as he fucked you painfully slow. You closed your mouth around the digit, lathing your tongue over it and coating it in a mix of your saliva and his. He groaned in response, his hips jutting forward in a sudden harsh thrust. Dragging his hand from your face, he gripped your thighs again, grinding down into you and making you whimper at the friction as his coarse hair rubbed against your clit. You looked down at where you were connected, watching him rub himself against you.

“Was it like this?” he asked quietly. Your eyes snapped back to his.

“What?” you mumbled, mind hazy with desire.

When Joel spoke again, your entire body stilled. “You said he was on top?”

You hesitated before nodding, your heart palpitating in your chest.

“Was it like this?” he repeated the question, his movements pausing.

“Sort of,” you muttered shyly. It felt silly, to be shy in front of him when he had his cock inside you and you were both fully naked, but nonetheless, you were.

“Tell me,” he said those damn words again.

“He,” you gulped in a breath of air, forcing yourself to speak. “He pushed my legs up, so I had my-“

Joel’s movement interrupted you, as he pushed your thighs down to press against your chest, your ankles resting on the top of his shoulders. “Like this?”

“Yes,” you gasped, trembling at the new angle. “He said it would be deeper; said it would feel better.”

“And did it?” he spoke through gritted teeth, jaw clenched tightly as he watched your face. “Did it feel good when he fucked you like this?”

Your face blazed, and in an effort to take back some control, you grinned up at him slyly. “It felt fucking great.”

He pulled out almost completely before slamming his length back into you, and you moaned brokenly, face twisting at the sharp pain that shot through you. There was no denying that Joel was the biggest you’d ever experienced; your walls stretched sharply around him every time, always needing a moment to adjust. But he was relentless, fucking into you roughly, hands gripping your ankles to keep your legs up. The heat in the room had tripled from your joint exertion, and your skin felt tight, beads of sweat rolling off your forehead and into your hair.

“Fuck,” you cried loudly.

“You like this?” he growled. “You like me fuckin’ you the way he did?”

“Joel,” you sobbed, tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes.

“You wish it were him instead of me?” he asked, pressing a sloppy kiss to your shin, and you frowned, mouth twisting into a grimace.

“No,” you babbled. “No, Joel, he could never fuck me like this, so deep, you’re so big, fill me up so perfectly. No one could fuck me like you.”

“That’s right,” he grunted, pounding into you mercilessly. “This pussy is mine. No one else could get you like this; so desperate, begging me to make you come. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cried out, that all too familiar heat igniting in your stomach like a match had been lit. “I’m gonna come Joel, don’t stop, please don’t.”

“Come for me, baby.” Sweat was rolling down his neck, and you gazed up at him through bleary eyes, chest heaving with deep breaths as you felt yourself rest precariously on the edge of your orgasm. “Wanna feel you grip me, I’ve been missin’ it. Show me how good I make you feel, c’mon now.”

His voice was ultimately what pushed you over the edge. That rasping, Southern drawl that you loved hearing mutter filth into your ear. You pulsed around him, an animalistic cry tearing from your throat as he fucked you through your high. You could vaguely hear him rattling off a mix of curses and your name as he bucked into you, and then you felt him paint your insides with his spend. Joel rocked you both through your highs, fingers kneading the flesh of your thighs as he worked himself inside of you, a mix of both of your cum squeezing around his cock and dripping down onto the bedsheets.

When all was said and done he pulled out slowly, watching you closely as you winced at the loss of his weight inside you. Wordlessly, he disappeared into the bathroom before returning with a wet cloth, and used it to clean you up. He settled heavily on the bed beside you, lying flat on his back and cracking his knuckles loudly.

“I’m fuckin’ spent,” he drawled, scratching his beard. You rolled onto your side so you could stare at him, and murmured a quiet agreement. He stared up at the roof, and you frowned, frustrated to feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“Joel,” you whispered. He must’ve heard your voice break, because he turned on his side so you were facing each other straight on. His face was calm, wrinkles smoothed out, jaw relaxed. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” His eyes darted across your face, noting the unshed tears on your waterline, dangerously close to spilling. With a quiet sigh, he reached up and rested his palm on your face, thumb stroking the soft skin underneath your eye.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“If you don’t want me to fuck anyone else, I won’t,” you said, voice wobbling. “I’m plenty satisfied with you, I shouldn’t have made you feel otherwise.”

“Okay,” is all he said. “It’s okay, sunshine.” The familiar nickname made your chest ache.

“Joel,” you whispered his name, gazing forlornly at him. “You’re my best friend, you know that right?”

Joel stared, silently absorbing your words. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you shut your eyes, leaning into him.

“Stay for a while,” he whispered against your skin. “Don’t want you to go yet.”

The words he spoke earlier rang through your mind. I’ve never once asked you for anything. Not for anything other than what we’ve been doin’, never pushed you for more.

“Okay,” you nodded, laying an arm over his side. “Just for a little while.”

final part

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #tlou #my writing #cat's outta the bag #don't cry over spilt milk

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unoislazy · 5 months

Text

Jealous Mizu Headcanons

Disclaimer: A tad bit of NSFW is included in this so be warned

A/N: again, i apologize for not getting anything super extensive out. I thank you all for being so patient and so sweet!!

————————————————————

Mizu’s not the type to be outwardly jealous.

She’ll get jealous but she won't say much about it, she’ll just let it fester inside her quietly until it gets to be too much and she needs an outlet.

More often than not that outlet is fighting (more on that later)

She would never think to label you as “hers”, you’re not an object that she can possess.

However, when it comes to other people being around you, she finds it very tempting to start.

Before either of you confessed, you had already made up a plan to act like you were a couple to avoid unwanted stares from men and women alike.

Turns out Mizu enjoyed that much more than she thought she would.

God help the person that decides to flirt with you while she's around

If that person happened to be Taigen? Forget the duel that man's dying TONIGHT

Mizu of course would recognize that you’re your own person and you can choose to be with whoever you want… but the thought of you choosing TAIGEN of all people is not a thought that would allow her to sleep well at night.

She would claim its for no other reason than she thinks you deserve better than a man who abandoned his engagement for honor

She wouldn’t be wrong but you wouldn’t have even been interested in Taigen in the first place so her coming up with all these reasons why you shouldn’t choose him would just be outing herself.

She refuses to come to terms with the fact that she feels jealous about anything

She would be deep in denial for as long as she could manage until someone finally calls her out on it.

Her jealousy causes her to become a tad bit possessive

She’s not the most secure person in the world when it comes to relationships no matter how hard she pretends to be

She would go above and beyond to try and make sure no one was going to try and lure you away from her.

NSFW Headcanons

(Pretty vague in favor of remaining gender neutral)

Remember how I said “More often than not that outlet is fighting”

Well the alternative to that involves you

It would be less about being possessive over you and instead it would be her way of proving to you she can give you more pleasure than anyone else

And she would without a doubt prove that successfully

She might not be incredibly experienced but you wouldn't have been able to tell that by the way she treated you

Despite her feelings she would actually be extremely gentle with you

It’s not your fault she's mad that other people also find you attractive, so she’d have no reason to be angry with you.

Which means praise. Lots and lots of praise

Constantly reminding you how pretty/handsome you look while beneath her

What, you thought she wasn’t going to pin you down? That’s like her signature move at this point, she’s GOING to be on top.

She would take an opportunity handed to her to tease you and usually that meant one of two things

She teased you with compliments

Or she teased you by stopping what she’s doing all together and having you beg for her to continue

Just cause she’s not mad at you doesn’t mean she can’t mess with you a little

Considering before this point she wouldn’t have been so open about her feelings you would’ve been taken by surprise

She would find it incredibly entertaining if you got embarrassed by all the sudden attention she started giving you

As rough as she deals with things in her everyday life I think she’d be a service dom honestly, in this specific instance at least.

She wants you and she wants you to know that.

She wants to sear it into your brain so any time you even so much as look at someone else all you’d get is a flashback to how good you felt with her.

She would not let you do anything for her, she wants to focus on you and only you

She would just enjoy knowing she was making you feel good and that’s all she’d need

If you tried keeping quiet, she would persuade you into letting go, she wants other people to know that she was the one making you feel good

Needless to say if Taigen had attempted to flirt with you before, he definitely knew not to now.

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periprose · 10 months

Text

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.

Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)

Word count: 11k

There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.

Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.

“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”

“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet.

“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.

“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”

There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.

“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.

Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.

You wish you could be there for him too.

It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.

You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.

Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.

Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.

“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.

He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.

“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”

“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”

You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”

“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”

The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself.

You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad.

“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.

“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”

“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.

“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember.

He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.

Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.

“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that.

“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”

Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.

Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.

Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing.

Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age.

“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”

“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”

“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”

“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”

Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”

“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”

Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.

You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it.

He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.

“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”

“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.

“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”

“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.

“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”

“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”

“Business administration specialist.”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”

“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”

Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”

“Acquaintances.”

“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”

“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”

You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”

“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”

Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.

Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry.

You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.

“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”

Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.

“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.

Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.

“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”

“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”

She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.

“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.

Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.

There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.

“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.

“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”

“Hubris.”

“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”

“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”

“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”

You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.

“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.

“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”

“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”

“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”

“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.

You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.

You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”

Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too.

Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.

You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.

But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?

Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.

You might never stand out.

You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick.

They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice.

You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.

It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.

You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.

Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.

“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”

“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.

“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.

He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.”

“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.

Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.

“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included.

“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”

“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”

“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.

“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”

She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.

You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?

You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.

Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”

Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.

Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.

“What?”

Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient.

Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”

“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.

“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”

“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.

Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.

“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.

“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”

“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.

“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”

Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone.

“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”

“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”

“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late.

He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt.

Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.

When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear.

“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.

“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.

You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.

You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all.

You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.

Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.

He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.

“Birdie?”

You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees.

“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”

“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.

“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”

“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.

Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort.

He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small.

He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust.

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."

“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”

“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”

Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.

Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.

He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you.

"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again.

"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are.

“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said.

You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.

But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.

“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”

“Wait, Birdie–”

“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”

“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”

He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.

“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.

“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”

Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”

“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”

In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”

You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.

“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”

“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.

“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod.

“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something.

Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb.

Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.

He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.

Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?

Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.

He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.

Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours.

You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security.

Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.

Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far.

“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”

You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.

“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”

His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.

“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”

“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”

Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”

“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”

You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.

“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you.

Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that.

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.

Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this.

For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough.

You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.

That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too.

When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.

“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance.

You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?

You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.

The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often.

Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.

Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.

“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.

Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.

Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.

You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.

You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too.

Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.

Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.

“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.

Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.

"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”

Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.

“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.

“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.

“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.

“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.

But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael– you want to like him.

"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”

"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"

He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better.

“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about.

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.

"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?”

You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.

“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.

Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”

You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.

Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.

Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.

You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.

Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.

Michael throws the third fork.

It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other.

Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.

Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.

Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.

Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.

Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do.

You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.

Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.

Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.

You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.

You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.

You hope next Christmas will be better.

Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.

Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.

He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.

Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.

He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further.

Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.

1K notes · View notes

uch3na · 3 months

Note

i’ve just sent out this same exact request to another writer but im going mad about the amount of fics (zero) with kai from voyagers (ARCHEIIE)

𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚

| pairing - kai x reader

| warnings - sub!kai, kai jerking off while thinking of reader, praise (m recieving), riding, finger sucking, mindbreak (if u squint hard enough), kai really wanting to pleasure the reader

| a/n - im ngl i was so happy i got this request bc ive been wanting to write for him so here u go🤫🤫

you always had your eye on kai. not in an attracted way, but you were always closest to him than anyone else on the ship.

but its just like one day everything — changed. when you stopped drinking your “medication” you just saw him differently. every time you looked at him you just wanted to do these things to him. break him. you didn’t know what came over you. kai always seemed like the type (sexually or not) that could break easily; even with the way he acts around the ship. all tough on the outside but when he’s alone he’s just a puddle of mush.

and to the least of your knowledge, kai felt the same way about you. he would think about the things you could do to him. he would try to sleep but all he could think of was you controlling him. taking what was yours. he would fist his cock at the thought. imagining it was your own hand wrapped around his thick length. he would shut his eyes and just try his absolute hardest to go to bed but he would just end up with his hand down his pants like a helpless little boy. and what made it worse was that you were in the room right next to him. and you heard everything. all his tiny moans and whimpers. this was the only thing that made you happy about the terribly thin walls on the ship.

you would’ve never thought kai thought of you the same way you thought of him until one day you had woken up to get a drink when you heard the faintest cry of your name while the hallways were dead silent. the voice sounds familiar so you instantly forget about the water and tiptoe to kai’s door and put your ear against it. it was almost like a mouse and a trap. and you fell for it. you just stood there — listening to him. the way his moans were broken each time he was about to orgasm. the way he would call out your name when he was close. the vague wet noises that were because of all of the pre-cum leaking from his tip mixed with his own spit. he had no shame since he was so loud and the ship was the complete opposite; so silent you could hear a mouse walking across the floors.

you just waited. waited until you could hear whatever little noises he made when he finally came. but what really caught you off guard was when he stood up to walk out of the room once he was done. you had to be quick to make it look like you had just walked out of your room too. once his door open you had turned your head to make it look as if he scared you. “what’re you doing up…?” he yell whispered. “i’m thirsty. why are you up?”

the question caused him to freeze in place. he squinted his eyes at you out of annoyance and whispered back “me too…” you could see his breathing quickening. he thought he had gotten caught. but you just continued to act clueless. so you got your water and went back to bed.

the next day during lunch you saw kai sitting down playing with his food. you walked up to him and tapped his shoulder. when he looked up at you he almost instantly looked back down. “hey kai.” you say softly. he flickered his eyes back up at you, flashing a little smile at you. it was so cute that it almost made you crack a smile yourself. “hey…” he whispered back. you decide to tease him a bit when you see how nervous he’s acting. he doesn’t usually act this way. he seems… guilty right now. “how’d you sleep?”

kai keeps his eyes off of yours, still picking at his food. “i slept… i slept pretty good. you?” you decide to mess with him some more but this time by actually doing something.

this time you reach up to his face, tilting his chin up to look at you. he swallows. hard. he can feel his face heating up at your touch. his eyes are soft and glossy. the way he looks up at you is enough to make you go weak in the knees. he licks his lips and moves his eyes to look at something else. “no no no… look at me.” you whisper firmly. “don’t get all shy on me now kai.” he looks confused. almost like he actually doesn’t know what you’re talking about. his eyes widen slightly and his hands start fidgeting with his shirt. you lean down, putting your mouth close to his ear before whispering again, “i know how dirty you really are…” his breathing gets deeper at your words, and his heartbeat accelerates. “w-what?”

you pull away from his ear and let go of his face. you flash a quick innocent smile before turning around to walk out of the lunchroom. by the time you make it to the door kai finally snaps out of the daze he was in and stands up to follow you. when he gets close enough he reaches out to grab your arm and flip you towards him. “what the hell are you taking about, ‘i know how dirty you are’?” he says continuing to walk towards you as you bump into your bedroom door.

he’s towering over you at this point — trying his best to intimidate you but it’s just not working.

“you know exactly what i mean… i know that you touch yourself while thinking of me.” he freezes, his eyebrows go up in realization and he starts to slowly back away from you. he stops moving when you grab the hem of his shirt, pulling him in closer to you. he looks down at you with pleading eyes. almost like he was begging you to make another move. but then he does something that catches you off guard. he tangles his hand in your hair before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. you both moan into like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life.

his grip on your hair gets tighter as his moans turn into whines. little desperate ones that got you so fucking wet that you soaked through your panties. kai used his free hand to open your room door and as soon as he shut the door behind him he began to take off his shirt and pants. once you were both naked, you reached down to stroke him slowly. he choked out a whimper when he felt your warm hand wrap around his pretty dick. the tip was already so wet from the stimulation of his pants rubbing on it before you two took your clothes off. “cmon baby… lemme hear those pretty noises you make all the time.” you whisper as you guide him to the bed. he lays down on his back as you climb on top of him.

his hands instinctively go to your hips as you reach around to line his cock up with your leaking entrance. when you finally sat down on him he cried out in pleasure. he gripped onto your hips so tight you were sure he was gonna leave a mark on you. you just sat there, letting him nestle inside you. you let him take a few seconds to adjust before you started to move your hips. you slid alllll the way up on him just leaving the tip in. you wanted to see how he would react — just wanting to tease him for a bit. “nononono- please just lemme feel you baby please-“ he choked out as he felt your tight cunt leave off his dick.

once you slammed your hips back down onto him little mumbles of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’’s left him. he was very vocal. even more than he was the night before. his whimpers were so sweet and soothing unlike his demeanor when he’s not just with you. you could feel his hands gripping onto the flesh of your ass as his moans got higher in pitch with each slam of your hips.

the room was filled with the sounds of lewd squelching and skin on skin. kai just kept getting louder with every move of your hips onto his pelvis and he wouldn’t get any quieter each time you told him to — so… you did what had to be done. you stuck your middle and ring finger into his mouth, muffling his sounds quite well. and by the way his cock twitched inside you, you could tell he liked it a lot.

you could feel his tongue swirl around the digits and his whining still getting higher even with your fingers that were just wrapped around his cock in his mouth.

“cmon lemme make you cum… can i? pleaseee just lemme make you cum baby.” kai mumbled out onto your fingers. you could still understand him quite well in this predicament. as soon as those words escaped his mouth he started to slam his own hips into yours. he wasn’t in this only for himself — he wanted to make you feel good too. your pleasure was his. the only sound that left him were muffled mewls and moans escaping his already distracted mouth. “awh kai… you’re doing so good f’me… wanna make me cum?”

his head nodding with a quickness when you asked that question, his hips stuttering slightly. his moans got a bit louder but only for a second when you removed your fingers from his mouth and replaced them with your own lips. one of his hands once again went up to your hair, tugging at it slightly. he was so close he didn’t know what to do with himself. “ohmygod, keep going m’malmosthere-“ he cried out into your mouth as his eyes slightly rolled back from all the pleasure he was feeling at once.

you could feel this coil in your stomach about to snap with each thrust kai did. you could see his eyebrows knitting up each time he hit your cervix. “there u go kai, make me cum baby…” he could feel himself losing his mind each time your tight little pussy would clench around his length. kai couldn’t even speak if he really wanted to. he was so vulnerable right now that he didn’t know what to do. “fuck fuck fuckkk- m’gnnacum ple-“ is all you hear before you can feel kai spill his load inside you. soon enough you clenched down onto him, your orgasm coming right after his. he was panting beneath you, trying to calm down from what just happened.

his hand was still in your hair when he pulled you down to kiss him sloppily once more before wrapping you in his arms to fall asleep.

“i think you broke me…” he huffs out with a quiet laugh.

୨୧ 𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮: @ludicdoll

#kai voyagers #kai #kai x reader #farleigh x you #farleigh smut #farleigh catton #farleigh start smut #jann mardenborough #save me archie madekwe…#archie madekwe

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yandere-daydreams · 9 months

Text

Title: Tactile.

A Grab-Bag Commission For The Very Lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: ~750.

TW: Non-Con, Somnophilia, Stalking, Non-Consensual Touching, and Obsessive Behavior.

This was an old pastime, for him.

The broad strokes remained the same, but the details differed. As Scaramouche, the Balladeer, a glorified weapon for a foreign military waiting to become something he was always promised he would be, he watched you from a distance, passing your stall in the local bazaar when he had time to spare and letting himself into the recesses of your mind while he was still testing the boundaries of his newfound godhood, letting the nights you spent with him fade away like passing thoughts. As a wanderer, a being with no name or history to tie him down, he was more… physical in his approach, more eager to be close to you in the way that even the most insignificant flower strives to grow towards the sun. During the day, he’d trail after you like a lost puppy, desperate for your attention, and at night, he’d slip through your bedroom window, kneel at your bedside, watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest until his eyes stung and he couldn’t stand just to watch, anymore. In that life, he’d been naïve, so unaware of what he was that he couldn’t do anything more than cup your face and feel your warmth sink into his cold, porcelain skin. He hadn’t even thought to kiss you, much less leave a mark. It was all just feather-light touches – little objects of his sentiment you’d barely remember by the time the sun rose. It was all meaningless, and Scaramouche’s daydreams weren’t much better.

As the man he was now, still nameless but not quite so untethered, he’d learned his lesson from Scaramouche’s distance, from the wanderer’s artlessness. Close enough to make contact but not quite so caught up with his own pining that he couldn’t bring himself to touch you – he let his hands drift to your neck as he thrust into you, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat as he drank in the plushness of your delicate, tender skin. In the cold of night, your warmth was more addictive than ever, your body as inviting as it’d always been. Your expression was one of disrupted peace; the tranquility of rest agitated by the feeling of his cock fucking into you at an idle pace. He pressed the heels of his palms into your throat with just enough force to feel your breath hitch, to watch your features scrunch in aimless panic before pulling away, one hand drifting to take hold of your waist and the other finding your chest, nimble fingertips circling around your hardened nipple. You jerked in response, your reaction muted but visible enough. That was something he’d always liked about you: even at a distance, he could always draw something out of you.

Not that he wasn’t satisfied with your closeness. It was a sensation he, even now, wasn’t used to – the softness of your skin as opposed to the stoniness of his, the sharp cuts and awkward bends of his body lying in comparison to your smooth, vague curves. A being crafted by the hands of a god and polished by centuries of unyielding cruelty measured against a creature designed by no one and made to do nothing, where the former always seemed to somehow come up short. If he’d been able to, he would’ve hated you for it. If he’d been just a little stronger, he would’ve hated himself for not.

He let himself slip, rut into your deeper, fuck into you faster, savor the feeling of your wet heat dulling his rougher edges. He wouldn’t let there be a distance between you and him this time, he decided – he wouldn’t dwell in the back of your mind or sneak into your bedroom, wouldn’t find excuses to steal glances at you from the other side of a crowded bazaar or be happy to spend his days basking in your shadow. He’d always be this close to you, always be able to press himself into the elysium that was your meaningless, mortal body. He’d waited long enough for it, sought it out with enough desperation, and in that moment, buried inside you, your scent in his lungs and his affection for you finally delivered without reservation, he couldn’t imagine ever going without you again. He shouldn’t have to. He wouldn’t have to.

He dug his nails into your hip, a wide smile spreading over his lips. He watched with hawk-like attentiveness as your eyes fluttered open, as your expression went from confused to distressed. You started to say something, to scream, but his mouth crashed into yours and he swallowed anything you might’ve said, your voice slipping like milk and honey down his throat. When your protests faded into an incoherent collection of whimpers and sobs, he pulled back, grinning as he finally started to thrust into you properly.

This was an old pastime, but he wasn’t the person he used to be.

Maybe it was time for something to change, after all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere wanderer #yanderecore #yancore

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kooktrash · 10 months

Text

his special secret II | kim taehyung

summary: getting into a relationship with your professor was never in your agenda. you knew it was wrong on some level but it was hard to think of that when he made you feel so good. now it’s been some time since you got together and the secrets are slowly unraveling but who says it’s all bad?

➢ genre/au: college art professor!tae x art student!y/n [she/her… afab] [age gap 9 years]

➢ 13.5k words

warnings: smüt. secret relationship. tae is 30, y/n is 21. oral [f]. make out. groping. tae is divorced. both got cheated on in past. jealous tae. dirty talk. makeout in art closet. y/n is confident but going thru it. professor x student. missionary. tae’s ex finds out and she’s a bitch. y/n is kinda closed off but works on opening up to him. tae thinks everything y/n does is cute. changed it so Namjoon is the ex. fluff ending

THIS IS THE FINAL PART. read part one

You felt utterly ridiculous. You know you agreed to dress as a bunny tonight but clearly you didn’t think things through.

One, it’s kind of cold. You’re at a house party but with everyone going in and out, windows open, ie, you’re cold. The costume was an extremely vague definition of a bunny costume. You were dressed in mostly black, a simple black mini skirt with faux black fur on the hem, a black top, back bunny ears and tail. You even had gloves that turned to mittens if you flipped them up and it made them look like paws. You just weren’t dressed warmly.

Two, you’ve been hit on a lot more than usual. It’s probably the fact that everyone’s drunk at this point and you’re wearing very little clothes. Usually you would play along, never giving in, but you know… playing nice. If the conversation went well then you would get more involved but tonight you couldn’t do that. No, you won’t do that. You and Taehyung… you’re dating but also not? It’s a very tricky situation yet it also made perfect sense. It’s lowkey, the lowest of lows but that didn’t mean you could flirt with people right? That’s why you’re slightly uncomfortable being hit on tonight—probably because of this stupid bunny costume.

“We look so fucking stupid,” you groaned as you chuffed back your drink fully in hopes of getting drunk enough that you won’t think about it.

“It’s all Jungkook’s fault.”

“Woah! I thought this was a classy party so let’s not point fingers now,” Jungkook said in pink bunny ears because he thought it would be so funny dressing like a bunny. In reality he had no costume and Bora was between choosing pink or white and when she decided on white Jungkook was stuck with the pink. He begged you to trade but you had an entire outfit already so you weren’t going to now.

His hands were up in surrender,

“Jungkook, it’s your fault. We were only supposed to be bunnies, you could’ve done literally anything else,” Bora said, making Jungkook roll his eyes.

“That would’ve looked so stupid Bora, are you dumb? Three bunnies at least makes it look like we planned this all ahead for pictures — which we need to take soon,” Jungkook said pointing at you two.

“Whatever you want to do, let's do it now because I’m not staying long,” you said as you typed away on your phone. You have been talking to Taehyung for a while through text and he will be coming for you soon.

“Why?” Bora asked as she twirled a piece of your hair between her fingers casually throwing in a compliment about how nice it looked.

“I’ve got work tomorrow and I have assignments to do,” you said as you locked your phone and put it down.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “It’s late as hell, you’re not gonna do assignments.”

You looked back at him with a poker face, “I have to try.”

“Y/n, you bullshitting me?” He asked with an amused expression.

“Probably.”

“Are you seeing someone?” He asked skeptically. All the signs are there, he's just trying not to jump to conclusions.

“I already told you no,” you rolled your eyes.

“Wait, why do you think Y/n is seeing someone? Are you seeing someone?” Bora asked, looking between you two confused.

“No, I’m not,” you said to her plainly.

“You’re a liar with pants on fire,” Jungkook said with a scoff. He really just wants to know, he has an idea on who with but he can’t just say it.

“I’m not wearing pants,” you said and he was so close to choking you out because why are you being so condescending?

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it before but I don’t get it, I know it’s probably some history joke but it just doesn’t make sense, right?” You said with a little laugh making him nod his head in agreement.

“Wait. Stop changing the subject. Who are you seeing?” He said.

You laughed, “No one.”

“Y/n.”

“Jungkook.” You repeated in the same tone he used with you.

“Bora.”

“Bora shut up,” you and Jungkook said at the same time.

“Sorry that I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Bora said with a scoff. As much as you loved Borea, she was the slowest of you three and never caught onto things as quickly. You’re not surprised that Jungkook suspected this since he brought it up the other day but you wanna see how long you can deny it.

“Go somewhere else then for a couple minutes,” Jungkook said pointing at a random corner of the party trying to direct her over there.

“You guys suck,” she said, flipping you off.

“Love you Bora,” you said with a wave as she walked away.

“Liar.”

“Why don’t you just admit you’re dating someone?” Jungkook asked and this time you couldn’t take the annoyance that was brewing.

“Jungkook, why are you pushing it? What does it matter?” You asked running your fingers through your hair to move it out of your face.

“Because I have my suspicions and if I’m right I want to at least make sure you’re okay,” he said and he was being honest. The last guy you dated cheated on you and the one before that was a manipulator so he feels like as a close friend of yours he has a right to make sure you’re not seeing another asshole.

“What are your suspicions?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’re dating someone from campus.”

“Dating but in the loosest of term,” you said.

He rolled his eyes, “Alright seeing, you’re seeing someone on campus.”

“Okay sure.”

“But not a student,” he said, waiting to see if you’d react but you didn’t so much as blink.

You huffed in annoyance, “Stop speaking in incomplete sentences and just spit it out if you know.”

“Your professor.”

Your jaw dropped, “You did not just say that.”

Okay, you knew he thought you were seeing someone but there’s no way you two were obvious enough for Jungkook to notice. What a hypocrite you were as if you didn’t just tell him to spit it out.

“I did,” he said with a triumphant smirk now that he got an actual reaction out of you. You fought like little kids but it might be because you’re both just a teensy bit drunk.

“Jungkook, I'm not seeing my—him, and don’t say that again, someone might hear,” you whispered the last part.

“Alright, first of all you told me to spit it out, second don’t deny it, Y/n,” he said, making you roll your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Deny. Deny. Deny.

“Girl, I just know. Bora’s been joking nonstop about it and I think you really did sleep with him at least. You’ve been ditching us more — which is normal… but I’m just saying, you won’t even tell us who it is. You’re being so secretive about it and it makes me think it’s him. Plus, any time I’m walking past the art room or walking you there I always see the way he looks at you. And what do you do? Well you get all blushy but nervous and guess what I found the other day? A big fat hickey on his neck the same day he got mad I was in the room,” Jungkook with w gasp at the end from how fast he rushed everything out.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve been holding all of that in?” You asked with a little laugh.

“Yes! I have, so I’m literally begging you Y/n just tell me I’m right,” Jungkook said.

“Fine! You’re right, I’m sleeping with him,” you groaned but he just cheered.

“Oh thank god,” he said, holding a hand to his chest, “You got a few screws loose or something?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so fucked.”

You didn’t argue on that as you released a sigh, “Yeah, I know.”

“So is he gonna come pick you up?” Jungkook asked now and you nodded your head as you checked your messages where Tae texted that he would be here in five minutes. He raised a hand to your black bunny ears and flicked the headband back, “Be safe.”

You smiled as he left your side, that was your best friend’s way of saying he would support you and your decisions. When Taehyung arrived shortly after you left the apartment door hugging your sides feeling a lot more naked now than you did inside the party.

Outside the building a guy dressed in an oversized gray hoodie, black ball cap, and black sweats stood at the door waiting and he turned to look at you, you smiled. You looked behind you as if you would see someone you knew coming down the stairs and when it was clear you practically ran to him.

Taehyung released a soft laugh as you nearly jumped on him looking exactly like you were supposed to, a cute bunny overly excited to see him. Why did you make him smile so much when it’s just the two of you?

“I’m cold,” you said with a pout as you hugged his waist, “I forgot my jacket at Jungkook’s place.”

“Mm,” he hummed, his thumb caressing your cheek softly as he couldn’t stop himself placing at least one kiss on your lips. It was short and sweet and he was quickly pulling away to take off his hat first. His hair was beginning to get longer and the fluff and waved made it look shaggier than usual. Usually you always see him looking all sexy and professional in class but whenever you get to see him looking like the epitome of boyfriend material, your heart flutters. His long hair shielded his face as he dipped his head down to pull off his big hoodie and handed it to you before slipping his hat back on.

Once it was on he took you by your hand and walked the short distance to where he had the car parked and asked, “Did you have fun?”

“It was alright but too many people,” you said, thanking him for holding the car door open for you. Before you fully got in the car you gave him a quick kiss that had him smiling.

The two of you sat in the car for a moment, the car was on and the overhead lights were on and he just grabbed your hand to press a kiss to your knuckle, “You’re coming over, right?”

“Obviously,” you smiled as you leaned over the console for another kiss. It’s like you just couldn’t keep your hands off each other, he was kissing you back just as eagerly.

The further you leaned back the more Taehyung followed after you and by accident, your bunny ears hit the rear view mirror and knocked them down your head. You whined about the sudden pain while he was hit by one of the black ears making him move back laughing. You smacked your lips in annoyance as you sat back properly and yanked them off. He bit back a smile as he reached up to turn off the light and drive off.

He would be lying if he said he was patient but in truth, he couldn’t wait to have you. You ran for his bedroom chasing each other's mouths and when you were inside, you practically pushed him onto the bed giggling like you’ve just had the best idea ever. Taehyung felt so giddy in the moment and all he could do was smile as you took off his hoodie and slipped back on your bunny ears, “Well? You don’t like my costume? I thought I looked at least a little hot.”

“So cute,” Taehyung smiled boyishly and it took everything in him not to dig his face in one of his pillows. You crossed your arms over your chest rolling your eyes playfully and pretended like you didn’t see his outstretched hand beckoning you forward. You crawled onto the bed knocking the headband off your head as he began to kiss along your arm, guiding you to lay down so he could get on top and kiss you. You gladly let him take the lead, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him while his tongue licked along your lip.

Your legs were spread around him hoisted up at the knee and he took the chance to sit up between them and just take in the sight of you. You looked so pretty and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling on your clothes to get them off. He kissed along your exposed thighs trailing up toward your stomach and purposely skipping your pelvis even if his hands grazed your hip bones.

You wore nothing under your costume and Taehyung would be lying if he said that didn’t make him just a little jealous. It wasn’t anything serious but all he could think about tonight was how many people would hit on you. It’s no secret you were very pretty and he always worried that you’ll realize he’s too old for you and he can’t have that. If it means he has to give you all the pleasure your body can take, he will.

Taehyung looked at your exposed breasts licking his lips. Once your eyes meet he couldn’t help but finally hover over you and press open mouthed kisses to your mounds, swirling his tongue around your nipples in a way that caught you by surprise making your hand circle into his hair. Taehyung tugged a stiff bud between his teeth, rolling the other between his fingertips and you had to bite down on your lip to keep an embarrassing moan from slipping out.

“Tae, please,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to get an ounce of friction between your legs. You would be a liar if you said you hadn’t been thinking about this all night. He hasn’t paid much attention to your gear yet but if he did he would see the clear line of arousal that coated your entrance.

Taehyung lets his lips ghost over your inner thigh, nipping gently at your soft flesh and his fingers seemed to dig into where he bit and spread your legs even further apart.

“I’m trying to appreciate what a pretty bunny I have,” he murmurs, pressing a warm kiss to the spot just below your belly button, “You look so hot, all those pictures you sent me almost made me want to keep you all to myself tonight.”

It was true too. Earlier he had to see his ex at the restaurant and he had wanted to spend the night with you but you had already made plans and he didn’t want to keep you from it. When you showed him your costume he was just alone at his house trying to talk himself out of calling you and asking you to wear it for him and him alone but he knew you should go and have fun with your friends.

In the end he couldn’t stop himself from going to pick you earlier than expected, tired of waiting.

His soft hair brushes against your inner thighs as he finally dips his head between them, finally seeing how wet you were and his fingers dug into your thighs unintentionally, “Baby, how long have you been like this?”

“All night,” you confessed, “Couldn’t stop thinking about you—ngh, fuck.”

Taehyung didn’t even let you finish when his tongue licked your wanting folds, releasing a quiet breath of relief at your taste. He does it a couple times as if testing the water and each time a line of slick connects your cunt to the tip of his tongue when he would pull away.

“Poor baby, I’ll make you feel good, okay?” he breathes.His lips close around your clit so suddenly that your body reacted drastically. Your spine curved off the bed, a hand tightening around his hair pulling on accident and he releases a low groan at the hard tug but it only made him be rougher. He pulled your legs over his shoulders so they weren’t in the way when his tongue lapped at your pool of arousal before coating your clit with it. His arms had hooked around your thighs to keep you from squirming away from him and he could tell you loved his soft manhandling. He purposely nudged his nose against your clit feeling you begin to grind your pussy against his lips seeking your own pleasure and he happily let you use him to get off. Everytime he went lower he dipped his tongue teasingly into your entrance before pulling on your left labia knowing it was more sensitive between his lips to listen to your moans grow louder.

“Taste so sweet,” he hummed in appreciation and finally decided to really put his tongue to work. Taehyung alternated between flicking his tongue over the swollen bundle of nerves and flattening his tongue into your folds and moving it side to side before swallowing it whole in his mouth. He was quite literally making out with your cunt and he held you firmly to keep you from moving away.

You were so close already and he wasn’t easing up when you pulled on his hair in warning, “Tae, I’m so close.”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling your pussy subconsciously following his head movement to keep his mouth on you, “Go ahead, let go, pretty girl.”

Without much warning a hand left your thigh so that his middle finger can toy on your entrance and before you knew it he was pushing it into your wanton beat. You released a loud whine trying to squeeze your legs around his head to push him back but he only pressed a second finger into your slick. You were so close already and he wasn’t easing up until he tasted your release on his tongue. Taehyung knew exactly where that soft spot behind your pubic bone was and curved his long fingers into it, repeatedly pressing into it every time he thrusted his fingers back in. You have to admit, he eats your pushy bettwr than any guy you’ve ever been with and it’s all because of how experienced he was. You almost felt jealous at the thought of how many times he went down on his wife like this—even if he told you it had been a long time since they were last intimate.

Taehyung was unaware of your growing thoughts, too focused on making you cum and unintentionally he snapped you out of your thoughts when he suddenly pulled his fingers out right before your orgasm hit you and replaced it with his tongue. Immediately your body seemed to react to the change and you pulled hard on his hair as you saw stars.

He kept his grip firm on your leg making sure his tongue licked up all of your release like a dog in search of water.

Even as your body tried to calm down he licked at your clit gently, soothing you down as he messily tried to sneak a hand down to his sweats to tug them down.

You both looked at each other with hungry eyes as he sat back on his haunches to yank his shirt off before moving to take his sweats and boxer briefs off. As if knowing the routine, you reached into his nightstand to find the box of condoms he bought with you and ripped into the package watching him stroke himself for some relief and let it point straight.

You sit up pulling him down by the gold necklace he usually wore and kissed him hard, tasting your own release on his tongue and it was all so messy. His chin was coated in your arousal that rubbed off on you and his stiff cock was in your hands as you worked the condom onto him. Taehyung fell forward making you fall back onto the bed as he pressed his hands into the mattress to keep from crushing you.

“Look at what you do to me, baby,” he groaned as he fucked his hard dick into your fist. You just moaned leading him toward your push and he slid in right between your folds teasingly as he ran his tip along them.

“I need you,” you whisper into his ears as he drops his head down against your chest to watch his cock catch against your opening and finally rock his hips forward.

You couldn’t stop your hips from meeting his and guide him in further with a moan, “Fuck.”

You arch up, pressing your breasts closer to his face and he wordlessly wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple in time with the way he pushed in until he was at the hilt.

“So tight,” he rasps around a nipple; slowly beginning to fuck his long dick inside you. You moan at the tug he made between his teeth when he draws his hips back before fucking into you harder this time. Taehyung was shamefully close to orgasm because of how hard you pulled on his hair and his back was curved up making him practically curl into your body to stuff his cock deeper. Your nails scratched along his back moaning his name, “Taehyung, I can’t—“

God; he turned you on so much and you were already so sensitive. Your legs hooked around his hips, the heels of your feet forcing him even deeper as your walls tightened around his length making him moan, slobbering all over your tits.

“You’re so fucking good to me, Angel,” he fucked you hard and slowly making you feel his entire length. His hair ticked your chin as he pulled his mouth away to trail kisses up your neck until he could kiss your lips. “Why are you so pretty?”

He was looking at you lovingly, driving his dick deeper and deeper and curving his hips at an angle that made him hit your sweet spot everytime.

You can only moan in response when Taehyung tried to pull out halfway but your feet wouldn’t let him and he had to resort to rocking and grinding his hips against yours, practically rutting into you.

“I don’t know,” you finally responded to his rhetorical question. You can feel the familiar tremors of another orgasm starting, making your thighs shake and he doesn’t ease up, determined to making you cum a second time before letting himself go. You dug your nails into his shoulder making him his at the pleasuring pain and your voice rose to a high pitch, “Oh my god, I—I—“

He kissed you hard as your orgasm hit you, making you tighten around his cock so hard that you triggered his own orgasm. “Oh fuck,” he groaned as he rocked his hips, cumming hard into the condom and hugging your body to his listening to your breathless pants.

After a moment to catch your breath, he pulled out carefully, dryly swallowing as he ran a soothing hand up your trembling thighs, “You did so good, you always do.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, already turning on your side, completely tired out. Taehyung just smiled at the sight of you trying to curl yourself into the blanket and as he watched your eyes close tiredly, he cleaned off the mess from the two of you before crashing down onto the bed next to you.

“Honey, wake up.”

You released a soft moan as you rolled onto your stomach making the comforter wrap around you as you dug your face into the pillow. A low laugh filled the room as Taehyung reached a hand out to your hair. You were quite literally the definition of comfortable sleep. Your hair was a mess because of your eye mask, the sheets were tangled between your legs and you’re spread out on the bed with no care in the world.

He brushed some of the locks out of your face, “Y/n, wake up.”

You huffed as you pulled yourself up enough to reach for your phone and checked the time, a whine left your lips, “Tae, it’s like 11 in the morning, are you crazy?”

He looked at you strangely, “It’s noon, Y/n.”

“And a Sunday,” you told him as you slipped your sleeping mask back on, “You know how late it was when you picked me up from the party, how are you not tired? Plus, I have to work tonight.”

“Fine, sleep all you want then, I’m gonna do some work,” Taehyung said with a slight roll of his eyes. You’re right, it’s a Sunday and typically those are lazy days, especially for Taehyung. He likes to just hang around the house reading, playing classical or jazz, maybe enjoy a coffee outside and you know… having the person you’re seeing join you.

He gets it, he really does. You’re tired and you did have a late night. He did too but he hadn’t gotten tipsy so he’s not hungover. He woke up early and did his usual Sunday habit but once it passed noon he wanted to see if you’d wake up anytime soon. You do work tonight and he probably won’t see you tomorrow so he would like to be with you today but you’re clearly tired.

You have a very chaotic schedule like most college students trying to bounce between strange class times and stranger work schedules so honestly your weeks all look different. He’s got more consistency clearly so he has time to relax and be at home or go out for drinks without having to do things so late. It’s clearly been a little difficult making your schedules align sonce yours is unpredictable. Some days you have early morning lectures and late night shifts. Other times you have three lectures in one day but they’re hours apart and they go well past the sun sets. Some weekends you work, some you don’t. Sometimes you get off early, sometimes you get asked to cover a shift.

Don’t even get him started on your crazy schedule for your art piece for the exhibition. You’re stressed and tired and last night you had your fun.

You went out with your friends, got drunk, danced, did whatever… maybe talked to guys or played a drinking game—just had fun. Then of course the two of you had done some things in the car when you sobered up enough and the night just grew later and later.

So he let you sleep.

Things have been tense for you lately. With school, work, the spring exhibition, balancing your friends and still trying to make time to at least talk to Taehyung, it’s all been too much for you. To make matters worse, you and Jungkook aren’t speaking to each other and if you do it tends to end in an argument over the same thing each time.

“You wanted me to be honest and I was,” you told him as he walked with you to the art room, “So why can't you just trust that I know what I’m doing?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Y/n. You’re my best friend, of course I fucking trust you and that’s not why I keep trying to talk to you about this,” Jungkook said as the two of you stopped in front of the building, “I’m worried for you, alright? How long has it been since you and Hoseok broke up?”

You didn’t say anything because you knew he wasn’t actually asking. He didn’t even give you time to speak anyway, “And when did you hook up with V?”

When Jungkook said V he was referring to Taehyung, it was an easy nickname you could use in public. Once again, Jungkook didn’t give you much time to speak, “I get it, everyone wants to have a rebound and I was all for it, I was joking right there alongside Bora about it.”

“So then what are you trying to say right now?” You asked him with your arms crossed over your chest as you leaned against the building wall with windows, you knew that if Taehyung was inside he would be watching.

Jungkook took a deep breath as he moved to stand close to you, “What I’m saying is I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I won’t,” you told him but it was very clear he didn’t fully believe it.

The thing is, Jungkook really did care for you. He loved you and it wasn’t in a romantic way, he just loved you as a friend and that wasn’t something up for debate. If Bora was going through this exact situation he would be equally concerned.

It’s not that he has a disliking toward Professor Kim because if anything, it’s the complete opposite. He has a lot of respect for the guy because of his professionalism and what he’s done to help his students. Jungkook doesn’t think Taehyung has bad intentions with you but he also can’t fully support a relationship that has been built because the two of you went through very similar experiences and you’re both still coping.

And you can lie to yourself all you want about how what Namjoon didn’t bother you anymore but Jungkook knows you. He knew that when you were telling him and Bora about it you were fighting back tears. He knows that you didn’t want to confront Hoseok and that you ended it with him so that you wouldn’t have to talk about it again. That’s not coping, that’s ignoring the problem and once again, Jungkook knows you. He knows that if you don’t deal with it any time soon then you’re just going to let it bubble up until one day you just break down and he highly doubts Professor Kim would handle that well.

Taehyung is older, he’s a bit more mature and level headed which is what you need but Jungkook just doesn’t want you to think it’s more than it is so that you end up hurt again. You need to talk with Taehyung and really discuss what kind of relationship you’re both looking for and until then Jungkook can’t fully support it.

He’s not going to sit around and watch his friend get hurt again.

With a reluctant sigh he finally said, “Am I taking you to work later?”

“If you can,” you mumbled as he ruffled your hair with a final goodbye. You waited outside for a moment trying to clear your thoughts.

You’ve known Jungkook for a long time and he’s a very good friend. Honestly sometimes it feels like you don’t deserve the kid, sure he can be immature and annoying at times but at the end of the day he cares deeply for those around him and you feel lucky to be one of them. He’s put up with you for years now so you understand where he’s coming from but you also feel like you’re capable of making your own decisions.

He’s right, you don’t know how your relationship will go with Taehyung but you don’t want to think about that right now.

Right now you want to finish up your work and enjoy the short amount of time you have with Taehyung because despite being so different, it works for you two. It’s almost like you balance each other out and you haven’t felt that way with someone in a while. You know that you have an age gap and it’s not that you think you’re this mature woman who knows everything but you’re also not a kid.

You’re at an age where you’re navigating through adulthood but you also can still say that you are a bit naive on some things and it can make things confusing for you. You know Taehyung doesn’t have bad intentions with you but you also know that he was once a married man to his college sweetheart who broke his heart. A man doesn’t just bounce back from that in a year’s time no matter how much he despises the woman now.

“What are you doing?” Yuna asked so suddenly that you jumped and she smiled, “Aren’t you going in?”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh as you followed her into the studio for your printmaking class.

You walked past Taehyung like he was nothing more than your professor and he greeted you like you were nothing but a student. It goes like this almost every day you see him on campus but then the night or weekends roll around and it’s an entirely different story. It’s a bit exhausting but you prefer it this way.

“So, uh, you know who came up to me this morning?” Yuna asked, making you shrug curiously as you went to the usual table the two of you worked at, Seungjin already there waiting.

“Namjoon, he asked if I knew where you were but I said no,” Yuna told you, “I don’t know if I was supposed to say yes or not because—well, did you guys break up?”

Seungjin looked at you now, “Wait, you two broke up? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I don’t like telling people my business,” you said in a snappy tone that Seungjin knew you weren’t serious about, “But we broke up before he left.”

Namjoon was just on a two week retreat for his major and that’s the only reason why he stopped blowing up your phone other than that day in the beginning when Taehyung scolded you for walking out. You knew he wasn’t done trying to get you back because even if the relationship was short lived and he cheated, the two of you worked well together. That’s why it bothered the shit out of you that he threw it away when the two of you could’ve been something great.

There’s no point in thinking about it now though because you’ll never take a man who cheated on you back.

“So it’s only been a few weeks?” Yuna asked, “That makes so much sense. I was wondering why you haven’t talked about him or why he seemed so mad when I told him I hadn’t seen you.”

“Are you working tonight?” Seungjin asked, trying to change the subject when he could tell you weren’t feeling it anymore.

In the beginning you barely talked to him and even Yuna, but lately he’s been hanging out with Jungkook a lot and you’ve been talking to Yuna more regularly so you’ve all just become closer friends. Seungjin knows your work schedule because most of the time if Taehyung can’t pick you up, Jungkook does and since the guy is always with Jungkook, he’s basically memorized your work schedule.

“Sadly,” you mumbled as you stared down at your work struggling to find out where to start, “I’ve got so much shit to do it’s stressing me out.”

Taehyung’s gotten a little bit better at hiding what the two of you have but it doesn’t make things easier. He still can’t fully explain your relationship because there’s a lot of factors that play a part in it.

First, your age. You’re both very clearly in different points of your lives even if your age difference isn’t too bad, it’s still not fully acceptable.

It’s not like he’s using the fact that you’re young and a bit naive in his favor because he honestly thinks you’re mature. He’s not going to say you’re mature for your age because he doesn’t like what that saying means. You’re mature because that’s just how you are and it has nothing to do with your age, just your person. He’s not sleeping with you because you’re young but behave like you’re grown.

He’s sleeping with you and talking to you every chance he has because he genuinely enjoys your time. He enjoys sleeping in bed with you and listening to your rants over the littlest things. He likes how enthusiastic you get when you talk about your favorite show or explain the meaning behind your art. He likes that you listen to his own rants about jazz music and which artist is favorite. He likes that you don’t know how to do some things but you’re always looking to learn something new.

Taehyung has gotten used to not being able to interact with you during the day. It’s not that the two of you can’t talk, it's that you shouldn’t. There’s too much tension there any time you do. You can tell by the way he looks at you with warm eyes that turn your insides giddy even if you want to say they don’t. He speaks to you gently and his tone very obviously changes when he’s talking to the others so the both of you are just paranoid to be found out.

The only time he really gets to see you is late at night and that makes him feel like an absolute garbage of a man because he’s not using you for sex. That’s not all he wants but if the only time he gets to see you is after you get off work, then it looks that way, especially considering you’re usually very eager to sleep with him that sometimes he can’t catch up.

“You don’t have class tomorrow, do you?” Taehyung asked as he twisted a lock of your hair around his index finger. You were laying on his chest as some A24 film played on the television in your bedroom. You’ve just finished having sex and now you’re just trying to enjoy some time together before morning comes and you have to go back to acting like there’s nothing between you.

“No, but I’ll be busy with the project,” you mumbled against his chest as you made yourself more comfortable against him.

“I’ve got a meeting in the morning but I’m free the majority of the day, there’s going to be the other teachers so I won’t have to stay,” Taehyung offered up, “Maybe we can do something.”

“I’d like that,” you told him as you tried paying attention to the movie but Taehyung wasn’t as interested. He wanted to talk to you because that’s what people in a relationship should do.

“I saw you and your friend talking outside today, everything okay?” Taehyung asked as you looked up at him.

“Yeah.”

He stayed quiet for a moment as he tried to decipher your expression and what you really meant. He does wish you would communicate a little more. You’re very obviously stressed about numerous things and maybe he could help with it a little but not if you won’t talk to him. He was used to his ex ignoring him in favor of keeping it bottled in and resenting him for her own lack of communication but he doesn’t want that with you. He wants to ask more but he won’t force you to tell him.

“Jungkook figured out about us,” you said before gnawing on your bottom lip in fear that he would be mad. Taehyung took a deep breath as he nodded his head, making you rush to say, “He won’t say anything, trust me.”

“I mean… if you trust him then I do too,” Taehyung said. He knows you’re close with Jungkook and that does make him nervous sometimes but he can’t come out of nowhere and tell you that so he just accepts it.

“And…” you bit your lip once more and Taehyung found himself bringing his thumb up to pull your lip out as it reddened.

“Talk to me,” he said gently. You’re opening up to him little by little but something is clearly on your mind that you’re struggling to say. Every time you get shy and nervous he doesn’t see you as the one who made the first move in his car that night, he just sees someone he cares a lot about looking worried and anxious. He just wants to be here for you.

“My ex has been asking around for me,” you told him honestly and he took a deep breath in thought.

“Really?” Taehyung looked away from you for a moment. Your ex was a cheater, he cheated on someone as beautiful and smart as you and in reality he’s also the reason why you and Taehyung got close. He knows that he’ll never go back to his cheating ex but you might feel differently. You might be more easily swayed into going back to him and it’s not like Taehyung could do anything about it. Your ex is closer to your age, he’s known you a little longer and all of your friends know of him. He’s not a secret to you and you’re not a secret to him so he would have no choice but to understand if you took him back.

“I mean, it’s just a bit tiring, I thought we were over this but it looks like he’s back to trying,” you said with a defeated sigh before cuddling back into Taehyung.

He pressed his lips to your hair, not really kissing you but just appreciating the intimacy, “Would you?”

“What?” Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him. Taehyung had never regretted his words so quickly looking at the way you pulled away from him clearly taken back. He cleared his throat, “I mean would you want to try with him again?”

“Would you?” You asked a little annoyed, “Would you want to try with your ex wife again if she asked?”

“No,” Taehyung sat up with you, “Of course not, but I would understand if you did.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, “So you would understand if I went back to my cheating ex? Good to know that you understand if someone takes back a cheater.”

“Baby that’s not what I mea—“ Taehyung tried to say but you were already moving off the bed, “Hey I just mean… you’re both still young and make mistakes—you weren’t dating long before and if there’s still lingering feelings…”

“If I still felt something for him, why would I be with you?” You asked, making him bite his lip nervously, “And you think just because I’m young it’s alright to just forgive someone who hurt me? Nice to know.”

“No, honey pl—“

“I’m gonna get in the shower,” you cut him off just as he was getting up.

He watched you leave and he sat on the edge of your bed running his hand over his face in frustration. That’s not what he meant at all. He was trying to say he would understand your feelings but that was clearly the problem. Why would he even think you would leave him the second you got the chance? You’re not his ex but he just doesn’t want to lose you when he just started feeling love again.

Wait, not love. It’s too early for that and you think so too but he means it affectionately. Why did he have to pretend like he would understand? He wouldn’t. He just doesn’t want you or your friend to think he’s the one controlling your relationship.

He has to trust you and not assume you’ll leave him.

Taehyung knows he upset you last night. That wasn’t his intention by any means and he feels like shit for making you feel any sort of way. You know your worth just how he knows his and it’s unfair that he questioned you about it. He feels so stupid and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all morning.

He wasn’t able to pay attention in his meetings because all he could think about was how to be better for you. He knew you would be busy for a bit today so he didn’t want to bother you early on but you agreed to spend the day together. He decided that he would get groceries before you came over later, maybe a nice home cooked meal and some wine would ease the tension.

Going grocery shopping was one of those things Taehyung despised and there was on specific reason as to why. He’s a 30 year old man going shopping alone—it was a recipe to be hit on by single women his age. He could always say he’s in a relationship but he can’t go into detail and unfortunately if there’s no wedding ring on his finger then it doesn’t matter much. If anything it’s easy to note the pale ring mark on his left finger from when he used to have a wedding ring.

He walked around the market pushing a shopping cart filled with his usual groceries along with some things he knew you would like and tried to hurry this along.

“Tae?”

His breath hitched as he came to a slow stop, but he didn’t turn around or even look at Jihyun until she stood in front of him. Why did she feel the need to talk to him after what she did and why was he seeing her now of all times?

“I thought it was you,” she said shyly, “Doing some shopping?”

“Yup,” Taehyung said as he looked over a bag of coffee. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for or what the difference between dark roast or light roast but he was trying. Jihyun didn’t say anything as she looked at the bag, “Trouble deciding?”

What was she getting at? Taehyung thought. It was pretty clear he didn't want to talk to her and when he left with you the day of the lunch where they ran into her he thought it was obvious then too.

He knows he can just choose a bag of coffee and it’ll be fine but he wants to choose one you would like. You’re a coffee drinker but he’s heard you order drinks before and you like your coffee a certain way so he doesn’t want to mess this up. Jihyun bit her lip, “Light roast has more caffeine, when did you start drinking coffee?”

He set the bag back down and changed it ou yt for a dark roast one, “It’s for Y/n.”

He wasn’t going to thank her for her help because she thought it was for him but he is a little thankful that she helped him decide which you would like better. You like caffeine but you hate the taste of it. He dropped the bag down into his cart and went to look for creamer.

“So are you two really seeing each other? She seems a bit youn—“

“We are and she is but she’s mature, more mature than some other people I’ve met before,” Taehyung said trying to leave with his shopping cart, “And she understands my interests.”

He’s not going to say exactly how because it would easily give away that you’re his student but he will say that. He doesn’t feel the need to explain anything to Jihyun but he does want her to know that he’s doing just fine without her so she can stop trying to ask him about you.

“Jihyun,” Taehyung looked at her one last time and could see the look of hope in her eyes, “My name is Taehyung, not Tae.”

He turned his back to her and as if the thought of you alone brought this up, you were calling and he was smiling as he walked away and answered, “Hello?”

“I am at your place, am I too early? You’re not home, sorry I should’ve called before coming over,” you said through the phone.

“I’m just at the store but I’m heading over to pay right now,” Taehyung said, “There’s a key under the potted plant by the door, let yourself in and do you mind taking Tannie out for a walk? I haven’t had a chance.”

“Yes sir, I’d love to take him out,” you said jokingly, making him laugh softly.

He left without another word to Jihyun and she watched him walk away like she wasn't even there. She’s being selfishly unreasonable to expect anything else after what she did but she regrets it so much. She was at a point in their marriage where she thought he was losing his love for her. He was always so busy with work or something else that he wouldn’t pay attention to her. She thought he was avoiding her and in the end she fell for the attention she received from someone else and ruined her marriage with the love of her life.

Call her a cheater but don’t call her a liar, he really is or was the love of her life. They got together at such an impressionable age and it was so sweet and romantic and now she has to watch him be that way again with someone young and beautiful. It hurts.

Taehyung got back to a surprisingly quiet apartment feeling dejected, maybe you were still out with Yeontan or may—

“Boo!” You jumped up from behind his kitchen counter holding his pup up like you both surprised him and he nearly dropped the bags in surprise. A huge smile spread on his face and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Cute.”

“What did you get?” You asked as you let Yeontan run off in order to help him get the bags. He shrugged, “Just stuff to make later. How was your painting?”

You sighed, “Tiring. I’m almost done but I feel like something is missing.”

“Just remember not to overdo it. Sometimes less is better and if you’re happy with it now it’s better to stop, I want to see it,” Taehyung said.

He realized that he was stressed this morning for nothing. You’re not mad at him because of last night when he thought you would be. He needs to stop assuming that you’ll react the way Jihyun used to. She would snap on him for every little thing but you’re not like that and it’s refreshing and reassuring so he needs to remember you’re different.

You’re like spring. Yes, you’ve got a bit of an attitude sometimes but you’re so unlike anyone he’s ever been with. You’re fun and bright and make him smile without trying. You work hard and it shows through your work.

Taehyung cupped your face in his hands, “You’re so cute.”

“I thought I was hot,” you teased with a smile as he pressed a soft kiss against your lips.

Things are good, great even, at least that’s what you think. You feel secure with Taehyung and you haven’t felt that way in a long time. Sure, you both are still very much keeping it a secret but you’re heed to it now. There’s not much you can do about it but you’re so close to graduating and then it’s all over.

You’ve finished your painting for the spring exhibit which is just around the corner and you couldn’t be happier. With that out of the way you’ve got more free time to do other things and even though you work and have classes, it opens up a lot of time for you.

Tonight you did have to work but you spent most of your shift with Jungkook up until he was off. Like usually he was off before you and he asked if you wanted him to come back and take you home but you assured him Taehyung would.

Thankfully you didn’t have to close tonight since it was a weeknight. The bar was still open but there was another closer and you got off early so Taehyung was planning on picking you up and driving you home.

As your shift came to an end you followed your usual routine of putting your things away, collecting your tips, and clocking out. Taehyung had already texted you that he was running a couple minutes behind but you were just excited to see him.

“Y/n?”

You seemed to freeze up, you had just left through the back alley to go home and there in front of you was a familiar stranger. Namjoon stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets nervously. You looked around the lot to see if you could spot Taehyung yet but you couldn’t, “What?”

“Can we talk?” He asked as he took a step closer to you, “I just don’t get what happened between us.”

“You’re still on that? Jeez, Joon I didn’t think you would be the type to not let shit go,” you scoffed in annoyance and began walking down one end of the alley to get to the main street.

Namjoon followed after you, “What do you think would have happened? You stop talking to me out of the blue right before my trip and tell me it’s over but you can’t tell me why?”

“You know why,” you turned to him angrily, “Or what? Were you hoping I was just stupid enough to not realize you slept with someone who was supposed to be my best friend?”

Namjoon came to a stop. This was the first time you ever said this to him. You had told Taehyung how much you didn’t want to confront him about it but you had no choice. You needed him to stop asking for you and just leave you alone. You scoffed, “Surprised? Hate to break it to you but you were more obvious than you think. So are you happy? Now you know why I left you… you thought you could cheat on me and I’ll never find out, what a fucking joke.”

You turned away from him, a familiar black car parked on the street and you just wanted to get away from this conversation. With a smile on your face you headed toward the car, Namjoon following after you.

He grabbed on your arm tightly, yanking you back to him and nearly making you stumble, “Come on Y/n, I fucked up, I was planning on telling you but you’ve just been igno—“

You jumped in surprise at the loud honk of a car horn and you quickly turned to Taehyung who you knew was watching and you really didn’t want him to come out and expose himself but you know that if Namjoon kept bothering you he would. You pulled your arm free, “I’m done with you, alright? Frankly I don’t ever want to speak to you again so from now on why don’t we act like we don’t know each other?”

With that you left him standing there shocked and got in Taehyung’s car.

Despite it being dark out and Taehyung’s windows being heavily tinted, he still looked out at Namjoon who stood there frozen. You had gotten in his car but he was focused on the guy who just grabbed his girlfriend roughly. Before he could ask if everything was okay, you practically lunged toward him and he caught you over the middle console with a smile on his face.

You pressed your lips against his and he couldn’t help but kiss back confidently, a hand in your hair keeping you close. He nearly forgot about the guy standing outside until he opened his eyes and saw that he was gone now. He gently pushed you away only to watch you pout and ask for more.

He ran his thumb over your pouty lip, “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, trying to kiss him again but he only leaned back trying to get you to talk. You gave him a quick kiss on his lips before sitting back, “I’m fine, I swear. That was my ex but we’re all good now.”

“That was him?” He asked, seeming bothered now and he reached out for your arm, the one Namjoon grabbed roughly, “Did he hurt you or anything?”

You just smiled as you sat back up to kiss him again. He turned away from you, “Baby, let’s talk first.”

You whined, “He didn’t and I don’t want to talk. I want to kiss you because you’re so hot and I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I know but…” he bit his lip. He should trust you. You said you’re okay and you left the guy standing there to come to him so he should trust you. He does trust you. A smile came to his face as he tried to stop stressing, “I missed you too, love.”

With that he placed a kiss on the tip of your nose before kissing you again. You happily deepened the kiss between you and it was quickly getting heated. Taehyung seems to always forget where he is when it’s just you two and he nearly forgot you were in his car again until you tried going over the middle console to get on his lap.

His hands immediately went to your waist, “Wait, let’s wait till we get to your place.”

“Why? Doesn’t this remind you of our first time?” You asked, beginning to leave soft kisses along his jaw, “We can do it again.”

He bit his lip, already feeling a little turned on at the idea but he doesn’t want it to seem like a secret when you’re together. He prefers to be in bed with you when you have sex but he’ll admit, you’ve made his sex life more exciting. You’re willing to get your hands on him anywhere you are and God did that make him feel wanted. He played with the hem of your skirt with one hand as the other reached for the lever under his seat.

“One more time,” he said with a boyish smile when you squealed happily and went back to making out with him.

The end of the semester was quickly approaching. School has gone easier now since you have your major assignments done and you’ve been able to relax a little more. It’s a bit funny to be in Taehyung’s class acting like a regular student knowing he was on top of you practically every night. What is even funnier is to tease him when you shouldn’t.

Taehyung has had to stand through this entire lecture acting like you weren’t sending him the most daring texts he’s ever received. The first one he got this morning was already enough to make him bruise his lip by how hard he bit into it.

y/n: gonna be waiting for u later in this

It was a picture of you in a cute lingerie set and every time he looked at you he couldn’t help but picture it right under your clothes. You knew that’s what he thought about, that’s why you would occasionally gnaw on the end of your pen as you looked him up and down like you just needed him right then and there. It made him stumble over his words.

The other time you texted him was halfway through the lecture. He had just gotten back to his text and looked over your text, unable to help himself from looking up at you but you were too distracted by your friends to notice him. He slid over the notification and quickly responded to your other text.

y/n: if u look at me again I won’t be able to stop myself from giving u and the whole class a show

tae: be a good girl and wait till after class

You looked up at him when you received his text and he didn’t need a response to know you would show up. He had to stay late tonight and finish up some paperwork so he wouldn’t be able to see you before you went to work. He had been bummed out about it but later on, when it was well into the evening, you did as told.

The sun was beginning to set and he was alone in his art room until you came along. He smiled at the sight of you entering the room and closed his files. You smiled mischievously, “You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

God, you knew what you did to him.

He had to bite back a groan as he looked outside the windows to make sure there was no one around, “I can’t speak to you if you’re so far.”

You walked up to him until you stood directly in front of him and he looked at you with lust in his eyes, “Bad girl, just because you’re done with your painting doesn’t mean you can distract me.”

You bit your lip, “What do you mean, sir?”

He chuckled as he ran his fingers through his hair, “Sending me all those dirty messages in class?”

Your brows furrowed cutely, “Hm… but you liked them?”

Taehyung dropped his voice down to a whisper, “I did.”

“So why are we still out here?” You used the same whispering tone and just like that, you were following him into the familiar art storage closet. Before you could even surprise him with a peak at the lingerie he was pushing you against the shelves and kissing you hard. You released a surprised whimper trying to kiss him back. Your fingers quickly toyed with the buttons of his white long sleeve and Taehyung let his hands slide under your shirt trying to inch it off your body already.

His fingers worked diligently to pull it off as he felt you begin to unbutton the front of his shirt with the need to just touch already. Once it was undone your hands moved to his hair, ruffling it up when he yanked your shirt off displaying the lingerie to his hungry eyes. Your leg went up to wrap around him as the other stayed locked to keep you from falling and Taehyung fit perfectly against you as he kissed down your neck while his other hand began to play with your skirt.

“You’re so cute,” he mumbled between kisses and you sighed with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Everytime I try to look hot for you, you just call me cute.”

He laughed, close to giggling as he pulled away to look at you again, “You look hot and cute and sexy and beautiful and I just want to eat you up every time I see you, okay?”

You smiled shyly now at his words and tried to look away in embarrassment but he just kissed you harder, forgetting where you were.

The campus was mostly empty except for those who had night classes. The art department was empty minus the two of you so you weren’t worried about being caught but maybe you should have been.

When Jihyun got to campus she wasn’t sure what she even planned on doing. The last time she saw Taehyung he barely acknowledged her and he told her to stop calling him by a nickname. She knows how badly she messed up but it’s been a year. Maybe she could talk to him and they could at least be cordial? Maybe someday they’ll look back on this strange time apart and realize that they really were meant to always be together… he’ll hopefully forgive her mistakes and they can move past this.

“Taehyung?” She called out to him as she stepped into an empty art room. She’s not sure why she thought he would still be here but she just assumed. He was always working late and she didn’t know where he lived so this was her best bet. Clearly she looks stupid now as she stands alone in a huge room where Taehyung isn’t at. This was so clearly his room too, he had some of his art hanging along with other students work and for the first time ever, she actually decided to pay attention to them.

She passed by art work belonging to students she’s never met, they were all winning pieces from seminars and contests. Just before her was a beautiful oil painting with a name and year displayed proudly in the corner. It was one of Taehyung’s mentees.

‘Full Bloom’

By Y/n L/n, December 10, 2022

___ University

She seemed to freeze up at the name. It couldn’t be…

“Ow!”

A light voice whined as a loud thump followed and suddenly everything seemed to be connecting. There was laughter that followed and her attention immediately drifted to the direction of the noise. It went quiet again but it was too late, Jihyun was already walking to the closet.

At this point she didn’t care what she saw, she just needed to know if she was right or not.

Taehyung rubbed soothing circles against the back of your head as he whispered apologies for accidentally making you bump your head against a shelf. You had a cute pout on your lips at the pain and the fact that the two of you had to stop. All you’ve done is make out but your clothes was half off and you just wanted to keep going.

You barely had your lips brushing against his with the sudden yank on the door seemed to frighten you both away from each other. Taehyung’s initial instinct was to distance himself from you as soon as possible worried that it was a school head or worse another student but he thought about you instead. Your shirt was completely off while his was merely unbuttoned and knowing you were more undressed than him made him immediately hold you to his chest and turn his body toward the door to hide you better.

“Oh my god.”

You pressed your face into his front in embarrassment and a little bit of fear but Taehyung turned toward the door, brows scrunching together and voice raising, “Jihyun?”

You jumped, slightly startled and tried to pull away. Taehyung softened his hold on you just enough for you to snag your shirt off the shelf and hurry to put it on. Jihyun looked between you two, “She’s your student. You’re sleeping with your fucking student?”

Taehyung hushed her, “What are you doing here? Get out!”

You dressed yourself back up properly as Taehyung did the same and he seemed to look back at you once more before stepping out of the closet to follow his ex wife. You would be lying if you said your hands weren’t shaking and your face wasn’t heating up. This was all your fault.

You’re the one who came onto him in the beginning.

You’re the one who practically pushed him into a relationship and put his job on the line. You’re the one who did all this knowing his ex wife was still stupid enough to look for him.

God, you were the worst.

Feeling close to tears you hurriedly left the closet listening to Taehyung’s deep voice arguing with Jihyun.

“You come to my job and you—“

“I came to talk about us! I didn’t know you would be in the closet trying to fuck your student! What happened to you?” Jihyun shouted, “Is it because of me? Did I push you to this, Tae? I never meant to hurt you, I just…”

You looked around the art room for your things trying to hide your face because for some reason this suddenly felt wrong. It shouldn’t feel that way yet it does and all you wanted to do was escape. Why was she yelling at him like you’re a homewrecker?

Was it because you were his student or young? Or was it because she wanted him to forgive her cheating and realized he wouldn’t?

Taehyung turned to you as you headed straight for the door and he went right after you, “Y/n, wait,” but you were gone and practically running away. He could chase you but what would he do if someone saw him and asked what was wrong? You had to work soon and he would just have to wait even if he didn’t want to.

“You need to leave,” Taehyung said sternly as he glared at Jihyun, “I don’t know what you thought was going to happen by coming here but you need to go.”

“Taehyung, she’s your student, I just… do you realize the trouble you can get into?”

“Y/n graduates in four months and either way it’s none of your fucking business,” Taehyung said genuinely sounding angry and Jihyun can’t remember the last time he sounded this upset. Not even when he found out she was cheating, he had just hid his face in his hands like he wanted to cry and asked for a divorce. He scoffed, “Or what? Are you going to say something about it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Jihyun said truthfully, “But this isn’t you. You would never sink so low to sleep with a student and I know it’s my fault. I hurt you and I pushed you away and now you’re acting like a completely different person. You’ve never yelled at me before. Taehyung come on… we were her age when we started dating, you can’t possibly expect anything to come out of this relationship. She’s young and naive and she’s not looking fo—“

“Stop talking about Y/n like you know her,” Taehyung said through gritted teeth, “And stop acting like you have any moral fucking high ground. Did you forget what you did to me? You threw away ten years for a man you’re not even with anymore! Why would I care about what you have to say?”

Jihyun looked shocked like she was really surprised to be called out this way by him. He was packing up his things quickly as he said, “And we know it’s wrong because I’m her professor and she’s my student but… but it’s not wrong. We’re adults and we’ve connected and if you want to completely destroy another relationship of mine and put my job on the line because you’re an insecure woman who thought I would want you after what you did to me… then you’re cruel too.”

“Taehyung…”

“Do what you want Jihyun, tell other people, I don’t care anymore but don’t mention Y/n. If you want anyone to suffer then make it me, I’m the one who divorced you,” Taehyung said with a tired sigh, “But I’m done being nice. I tried to be cordial every time we saw each other after the divorce but if you want to get back at me then whatever, there’s nothing I can do.”

She knew it wasn’t technically wrong. You were an adult and so was he and the only thing that made it wrong was the fact that he was your college professor. She hated you from the second she saw the way Taehyung looked at you and all she wanted to do was ruin this. She was a selfish woman who made a mistake only to realize it was too late to regret it.

It’s the same as Namjoon, he made a mistake and when he found out there was possibly someone else, he came to regret it.

Now Namjoon’s out of the picture and Jihyun should be too but all she wants to do is get him back. She’s willing to look past this and get back with him but he doesn’t want that and she can’t force him to. Without a word, Jihyun turned on her heel and left him in his art room with no clue as to what she would do about this.

If she went right to the Dean then he would lose his job and probably never be able to work at another college again. The University wouldn’t want the news out so he wouldn’t have to worry about it getting out unless Jihyun told other people. If she admitted that it was you he’s not sure what would happen. These things were always easier for the man and he doesn’t want anyone to do anything to hurt you.

God, it was a mistake to get involved with a student… but not because of you. If you two had just developed a relationship when you weren’t a student any longer things would have been different.

He was sitting at his desk now with his head in his hands just thinking of everything that could happen. He could easily work with his parents at a museum. He could continue his art somewhere else and not teach but what about you? What if people assumed he had always favorited you? What if they thought he helped with your art? Your submission for the seminar would immediately be disqualified if they had even an ounce of suspicion that he helped—especially with his status and credentials in the art world.

Fuck, he screwed it up badly for you.

You went ghost for two days. You didn’t answer his calls or texts and you skipped out on class. It worried him and you knew it but you couldn’t face him. It’s not that you feel like you did anything wrong but you’re embarrassed. She’s his ex wife so she doesn’t mean shit to you but you’re sure you confirmed her original suspicions and that pissed you off. You’re just some young and naive slut who he’s keeping a secret out of shame. It’s not true but you just know that’s what she’s thinking and you couldn’t stick around to hear it that night. You still want to be with Taehyung but You’re sportier that she knocked some sense into him or something. Maybe he’s blowing up your phone because he’s trying to end things. You also know you should go back to class but if he just completely pretends like you don’t exist or worse you find out that everyone knows, you’re scared at what would happen.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Bora said, touching your leg to comfort you. After weeks, maybe even months of keeping her in the dark, you finally had to speak up. She was your best friend too and you needed them both to make you feel better. Jungkook sat on your couch with an arm around your shoulders, “Seriously Y/n, you haven’t and I honestly don’t think Taehyung feels any different. You need to talk to him.”

Your friends were right and yet you couldn’t say yes.

They spent the day with you even if Jungkook had to go to work. Technically you were supposed to work but he was going to cover your shift because you clearly weren’t feeling well.

Hours passed with them at your side watching movies and when you were suddenly feeling better there was a loud knock on your door. Jungkook went to answer it before you could move and you couldn’t make out anything past muffled noises. Shortly after, a familiar face appeared at your door and Jungkook was letting Taenyung in without asking you first.

He didn’t say anything as he looked at you and you tried to hide behind Bora but she was standing up nervously, “Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung smiled stiffly and he turned to Jungkook who seemed to understand. “Come on Bora, I gotta go get ready for work anyway.”

“Y/n,” Taehyung finally said when it was just you two, “Baby, I’m sorry, I had no idea she would just show up like that and I really don’t want you to think I’m still involved with her. I’m not lying when I say you’re the only one I care about a—“

“It was so embarrassing,” you finally broke down now that your comfort person was here. Taehyung immediately went to your side, a pout on his face as he wrapped you in his arms. You were embarrassed to be caught in such a manner, like a dirty secret.

Hell, you weren’t even fully dressed and what if it had been anyone but Jihyun? A teacher? Another one of your classmates?

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispered into your ear and he really was. When you finally confronted Namjoon, he let it go. He hasn’t bothered you since and yet Jihyun just kept pushing and pushing. How could your relationship with Namjoon end more maturely than his with Jihyun? He never meant for you to get hurt.

“Does anyone know?” You asked with teary eyes and he wiped them away feeling his heart drop to his stomach painfully. He shook his head no, “No, I mean I don’t think so but please baby I won’t let her do anything to hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you cried harder, “I just… well we both knew what we were getting ourselves into but I’ve never felt like such a…slut.”

“Don’t say that,” Taehyung said seriously, “Y/n, I love you.”

You looked at him with wide surprised eyes, “What?”

He didn’t back down from your gaze and with a softened voice he said, “I love you, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. This isn’t just some secret that I’m ashamed to admit. I want to be open about our relationship, so please don’t think you mean less to me because of what happened. I wasn’t embarrassed to have the truth come out to Jihyun, I was mad that she was there when she shouldn’t have been.”

“Yeah but, what if she says something?” You asked, still unable to comprehend that he’s said he loves you twice already.

“Then I’ll quit, I’ll work somewhere else and trust me if the school finds out they’re not going to tell anyone. They’ll want it to remain quiet so the school doesn’t get hate from it. I'm not going to let it hurt you and I don’t want it to drive you away from me. You’ve been ignoring me and that hurt so much,” Taehyung said with a pout as he wiped another tear from you. You felt ridiculous for being so emotional when usually you’re the complete opposite.

Usually Taehyung had to ask you over and over again how you feel to get you to talk about whatever is on my mind yet right now you can’t seem to stop crying. You sniffled back some tears, “But we can’t be open about it. I still have a couple months before I graduate.”

“I know,” Taehyung said, “But I’ve sent in my resignation le—“

“What!?” You sat up and pushed away from him, “You said everything would be fine.”

“It will be, Y/n. I promise. I’ve gotten a lot of job offers from other people in the industry and they would easily take me and pay more. I was originally going to quit after the divorce but I didn’t. The only reason why I stayed the extra year is because I had some really good artist’s in their final year who I wanted to support,” Taehyung said and you knew one of them was you. The others probably included Seungjin and other classmates that Taehyung mentored but it was very clear right now he was talking about you.

“Anyway, I planned on leaving all along and even if Jihyun never says anything about us, I would still leave after you graduate,” Taehyung pet your hair soothingly, “And like I said I’m not going to let her ruin you if she’s tries to so please don’t cry anymore and please baby, please don’t ignore me or push me away.”

Nothing he said was a lie. The only reason why he never brought it up to you was because he didn’t need to. He knew you would be graduating and if your relationship lasted then he would tell you about his resignation once you were done with school. He just didn’t think he would have to tell you like this and make you think you’re the reason his career is about to change.

He waited an entire year to decide he wanted to quit teaching but it’s what he wanted to do all along. He enjoys it but he wants to start fresh… with you. He doesn’t want to have to listen to the opinion of others when the two of you become public.

“You love me?” You asked with the cutest set of puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen that it made his heart feel like it would burst. He nodded his head to answer your question and you sniffled, “I love you too.”

A small laugh in relief left his lips as he hugged you close making you whine about wetting his shirt with your stupid crying. You were so perfect to him. You were confident and forward yet deep down you were a crybaby and needy and loveable and he really did love you. He hugged you tighter in his arms.

“I know you hate it when I call you cute but you’re so fucking cute,” Taehyung said as he kissed your hair, “And I love you so much and I would never want to change the way we got together or make you feel like you’re not important to me because you are.”

He looked down at you with loving eyes, “And I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore.”

In the end Jihyun never told anyone. She figured she owed it to Taehyung after being so shitty the last few years. It had hurt her to watch him be happy with someone else but from the moment she saw you two at the restaurant she knew you made him happy. She couldn’t take that away from him after what she had done.

::.

ok yayyyy finallt part 2 is done. this is in fact the final part so pls understand. feel free to send in asks about them or drabbles

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hongism · 5 months

Text

SWEET JUICE - s.mingi (18+)

➼ genre; fantasy, smut ➼ pairing; mingi x fem!reader ➼ au; strangers to lovers, magic au, witches/warlocks au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 10.7k

the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; sex toys, unprotected sex, comeshots, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, size kink, hand kink, mention of belly bulging, dacryphilia

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Normally, you aren’t one to be so deeply entrenched in the petty gossip going around town, especially when newcomers are not exactly scarce in these parts. This one in particular — the young man who moved here by himself and immediately set up an apothecary shop in the heart of the village — has been on the lips of almost everyone you’ve bumped into for the past week. Ever since the Summer’s End Festival, it seems all your neighbors can think to talk about is this mysterious lone wolf. Unfortunately for you, that means your interest has been piqued both out of nosiness and out of a potential opportunity.

“You said he’s nice?”

“Yeah! I mean, I didn’t meet him personally. I was busy running the stall while Yunho was doing all the socializing, but Gerda came over and she said he’s a rather nice and charming young man.”

You appraise the man across the counter with a far less enthused grin. It doesn’t deter Seonghwa from his egregious nods of encouragement, however. So, you continue to pack away the little bundles of herbs that you’ve been preparing all morning into the man’s satchel.

“She says that about everyone under the age of fifty. I think it’s her duty as an old woman to say that. What did Yunho say about him?”

“Hm, what did Yunho say about him…” Seonghwa brings a neatly manicured nail to his chin as he mulls over your question. You snap the buckle of his bag into its proper place now that you’ve given him all you need to and set your hands down on the counter. “He was fairly charmed too, I believe. I mean, in terms of the guy’s personality. You know his gaze goes in one single direction for all other aspects of things.” He flattens his palm against his cheek and doesn’t even bother to hide the smugness that creeps over his expression.

“Don’t get cocky now,” you cut in before Seonghwa can redirect the conversation towards himself.

“Is it being cocky if I’m just repeating what he says all the time though? Oh my Seonghwa, you’re so pretty, the only man I could ever look at, I never grow weary of seeing your darling face. It’s truly romance at its finest.”

“Back to the new guy, Hwa.”

“Hmph. You’re more interested in him than you were in me when I first moved here!”

“You didn’t run a shop when you first got here. Otherwise, I would’ve been just as eager, promise.” Seonghwa narrows his eyes at you, lips drawing into what must be an attempt at a frown but it’s so half-hearted and soft around the edges that you can’t be sure. “I’m trying to establish a financially beneficial supply line with this guy. Thus, I need to know what he’s like so that I know how much bargaining I ought to prepare for before going to speak with him.”

“He’s nice, not much of a talker from what I could tell watching him from a distance, and he mostly stuck near the bonfire. Though it was still damp from the rain earlier that day, and autumn was already sending in her cooler breezes. Anyone who hasn’t acclimated to our lovely finicky weather acts like that when they first arrive here. Spoke to everyone who approached him. Talks with his hands a lot. Very—” Seonghwa makes a few vague gestures consisting of him just waving his hands in the air a bit “—big. Not quite taller than Yunho, but broader and like… meatier, I suppose. I wonder if I should give Yunho bigger meal portions actually, he might need it. Really, how does he stay so skinny even doing all the heavy lifting around the house? Do you have any herbs good for muscle growth?”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of you, that’s it.” Seonghwa’s protest comes immediately. “No, because last time you did this, you started asking me about concoctions to make his semen taste better, and that is not a conversation we’re going to be repeating!” He grabs his satchel off the counter as you hop up from your stool, though he still tries to appear very upset over the matter while pulling it over his head.

“Well, tell me when you’re planning on going over there at least. I can give you a meal before you go home since it’s a bit of a trek to get back here.”

“I’ll go tomorrow. There’s still some inventory left over from the summer that I need to sort out. And I need to prepare some decor for the Autumn Festival sooner rather than later. Ugh, I got so behind on my work it’s infuriating.” You’ve been slacking a little more than you usually do this past week on account of being bedridden for five days straight. You thought you were going to avoid getting sick at the end of summer for once, but your body had other plans for you and decided to push it into the start of the fall season instead. That’s the only reason you need this information about the newcomer from Seonghwa so desperately: otherwise, you would have been at that very festival and been able to witness the man for yourself.

“Oh, speaking of, everyone missed you last week! And told me to send you well wishes, which are obviously not needed anymore, but the sentiment is the same nonetheless, no?”

You send Seonghwa off with a few extra herbs pressed into his hands and wishes for safe travels. It ought to only take him fifteen minutes to walk back to town, but he came by rather late and the sun is already setting so you don’t want him to get caught alone in the dark on his way. He is kind enough to allow your nagging, only pinching your cheek when you tell him once more to quit asking about recipes and herbs to use on Yunho’s dick.

Once you’re content seeing him reach the end of your garden path, you flick your wrist in the direction of your crops. The drizzle that suddenly starts falling from the sky is light enough to not be much of a hindrance to Seonghwa, though you’ll be certain to bring down some heavier rainfall after he disappears over the edge of the hill. Though your closest friend in the village, you still haven’t had the heart to tell him what exactly brought you to this remote place or what you were running from when you came. He only knows that you came here nearly eight years ago on your own and with nothing to your name, and by the time he and Yunho came along, you were already three years into building your business of selling herbs year-round.

In truth, your witchcraft is not illegal by the nature of it being magick. Rather, you yourself are the problem being a witch in name instead of the formally accepted term warlock. Should anyone with any sort of agenda against you discover that you are a defector using your magick when you are no longer a practicing warlock, then you would likely lose everything you have here in this place. It took you two years just to find a town secure and remote enough for you to feel comfortable living in, and eight more to reach this point of stability. You don’t consider Seonghwa to be someone driven by monetary promise or swayed by others’ opinions, but there is just enough doubt that’s crept into your heart over the years to keep you silent.

“How depressing,” you mutter, turning back to your cottage and heading inside. You make the rain fall just a little harder to go along with your sudden decline in mood.

…

Perhaps, you think, there is some goddess out there who is keen on causing you inordinate levels of distress. Because although today was supposed to be nothing more than a calm and friendly meeting in the hopes of establishing a business partnership, you cannot push yourself to even approach the door to the new apothecary. The name of the shop is insignificant on its own — Mortar and Cauldron — and you wouldn’t think twice about getting up from this cursed bench you now find yourself on if that was all there was to it. Yet for some godforsaken reason, this man has deigned to put a symbol behind the name, one that mimics one of the crests belonging to the House of Ballads (the very one you defected from a decade ago). Some deity must surely be playing a sick prank on you.

There are a few routes you could take in this situation. You could pretend you never came and forget the idea of creating a supply line, missing out on some revenue sure but it’s not like you wouldn’t be able to make up for it in other areas. You could go in and confront the newcomer, demanding to know who he is and what he’s doing here on the off chance that he’s truly some bumbling idiot who has no clue what symbols he’s drawn into his signs. He could very well be a defector himself, you suppose, although it would be suicide to use one of the House’s official crests as one. Or you could simply play the part of the fool yourself, act none the wiser, and pretend to be the normal citizen you are. Even if this man were truly from the House, he would not recognize your face because you were never formally entered into the place. You had been merely part of a small church sect on the outskirts of the capital, far from the House of Ballads and all its operations. The name you held while there has already been burned to ash and nothingness, likely stricken from all their records as well the moment you disappeared. If they wanted you dead — well, they would have had you killed long ago. So, you seem to have your best course of action.

“I know my decor isn’t the most appealing, but I don’t think it warrants such a foul expression.” The voice resonates so close to your ear that you truly feel the vibration in your teeth, but moreso, it startles you out of your skin, and you all but launch yourself off the bench with an embarrassing yelp. Just behind the bench where you were, there stands a man you don’t recognize. Tall, with sharp features and equally piercing dark eyes, and dressed in black from head to toe complete with a scarf draped over his head to mimic the hood of a cloak. It doesn’t fully shroud his borderline psychedelic hair — an unnatural yellow shade that blends into a fiery orange-red and makes his head look more like a torch than anything else. “Hello. Sorry for surprising you like that, it wasn’t my intention to make a first impression in such a way.”

Ah. If not for your racing heart, you would have put two and two together far sooner, because obviously, this would be the mystery owner of the apothecary, considering how you recognize everyone in town.

“Would you like to come in and look around? I was simply across the street to get some bread.” He tilts his head back in the direction of none other than Seonghwa’s shop. One glance at the storefront gives you enough of a clue as to whose fault it is that you’re having this unsavory first encounter because said man is pressed up against the window and staring through it directly at you. You have to fight the urge to scowl at him until after your newcomer steps out of your line of sight. Seonghwa tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and sends you a far-too-cheery thumbs-up. You turn away with a less subtle middle finger.

Despite the muggy weather and cooler temperatures, the inside of the apothecary is warm. It almost feels a bit humid thanks to the rain outside, but not unbearably so. And considering how long you were sitting out there getting rained on, you welcome the heat quite a bit.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the friend Seonghwa mentioned, would you?” He catches you with the question as you’re undoing the knot holding your cloak around your shoulders. “I don’t recall seeing you at last week’s festival, though I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself to everyone then.”

“Oh, yes, that would be me. I wasn’t there because I was recovering from a nasty cold. Y/n.” You jut a hand out in his direction, pushing a smile to your lips as you look him in the eye, though thanks to his height, you feel as though you have to crane your neck just to do so.

“Song Mingi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, y/n.” He doesn’t take your hand the way you expect; instead, he pinches the tips of your fingers and bends at the waist, lips grazing your knuckles so softly that you almost don’t feel the contact at all. What’s more startling is how hot his touch is, especially considering how he was just out in the cold. You catch a glimpse of his hand as he’s pulling away, but he’s simply wearing gloves. Knowing Seonghwa, he probably kept the man hostage with conversation for a long time before sending him out to speak with you, and your friend always keeps the house warm because of the ovens, so that’s likely where all the excess heat is coming from. Your staring lingers too long, and Mingi clears his throat quietly, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Likewise,” you spit out, placing your cloak on the coat rack by the door.

“Were you looking for something in particular, or did you just want to see what sorts of things I have?” Mingi wraps around the back of the shop’s counter, and you take it as an invitation to approach. The glass cabinet serving as the surface is filled with a variety of things both familiar and not. Potions, vials, bundles of powders, and even some gemstones that carry a glow at their centers. The presence of magick here is undeniably strong, and it is not yours alone. There must be dozens of magickal objects here, though the ordinary person wouldn’t sense a thing. You don’t let your gaze linger on any of them for long before pulling focus back up to the man’s face.

“Well, I intended to come introduce myself first since we didn’t have a chance to meet at the festival. But beyond that, I wanted to let you know I grow all sorts of herbs and ingredients in my garden. I supply many of the local shops and stalls, especially during the winter seasons. The ground is particularly fruitful thanks to all the rain we get here.”

“Oh? Yes, I noticed rather quickly that there’s near-constant rainy weather here.” As though on cue, a bout of thunder rumbles in the distance.

“You truly chose a summer lover’s nightmare moving here,” you laugh. “Charybid is always in rainy season.”

Mingi hums and grins a little, looking to the window before saying, “I’m quite alright with it really. The heat of my homeland is far more unbearable in my opinion. You can tell how little I went outside there just based on how pale I am.” He flashes the back of his hand that’s still enveloped by a glove like he wants to prove his point, only to realize his little blunder and fall into a bout of awkward laughter instead. “But you said you’re a supplier? Do you have a local shop as well or…?”

“Local, though not here in the heart of town. If you follow the west road up over the hill, you’ll see a string of cottages. Mine is the one with the big front garden! Oh, and there’s a sign as well, of course.”

“That would be immensely helpful especially since I don’t have much space here to grow my own things. It’s a bit difficult to outsource supplies in this area too, isn’t it?” Mingi glances down at the open notebook sitting on his counter and skims the contents. “Would it be alright if I came by at the end of next week? That way I can finish unpacking and taking stock of everything I have.”

“Yes, that’d work just fine. You can come by any time you need, though I always advise against coming too close to nightfall because walking in the rain at night is an easy way to get sick.” You offer a smile, perhaps a little too pleased with how smoothly your business proposal went, but your enthusiasm seems to be received well given how brightly Mingi smiles in return. The air has begun to get more stifling, and you can feel sweat clinging to the back of your neck. It’s unpleasant now, a kind of warmth you’re not used to experiencing all the time because you don’t keep your home so toasty, but it reminds you of evenings shared with Seonghwa that always end with you wanting to escape out into the rain just for some respite. “I won’t take up more of your time, though. I promised to go see Seonghwa myself once I was finished here. I bid you well.”

“Thank you, and have safe travels home yourself. I look forward to doing business with you, Miss y/n.”

…

You leave your cottage in the wee hours of the morning, intending to water your crops before the sun rises, but those plans are dashed the moment you spot the man waiting outside your fence. You’ve seen him several times since your first meeting, though not here and solely in town. He hasn’t come this far yet despite his insistence that he would come over two weeks ago. Autumn is in full swing now, four weeks since the start of the season and five since the new apothecary came to town. You had not quite lost hope that he would be true to his word, but you must admit that you are caught off-guard seeing him at this hour and at your gate.

“When I said not to come at nightfall, I didn’t mean that you needed to come at the break of dawn!”

“I wanted to come before opening hours,” Mingi replies in a far clearer voice than your own. You’re still wiping the sleep from your eyes after all, and it seems he has been up for some time considering how he doesn’t appear tired in the slightest. The lantern at the end of your walkway is lit — strange because you thought you had remembered to blow it out the night before — and the glow combined with the first few rays of sunshine over the horizon is enough to illuminate the space between you and the man. “I was also out on a morning walk, so I figured it would be smart to find out how to get here before making a fool of myself. Beyond making plans to do so several times over and not once making good on those plans.”

You did gather much from your first impression of the man. Seonghwa’s word proved correct: Mingi is quite friendly, although a tad clueless but his kindness makes up for that, and you heard as much from your fellow townsfolk after you left his apothecary a month ago. After all, newcomers will be the talk of the town for weeks after their arrival, so you got to be privy to much talk about his character just from spending five minutes milling about the streets. He’s cordial each time you happen across each other in the village on top of that, full of never-ending apologies about his delay in coming to see you (to the point where you have to demand he stop apologizing three times before he takes the hint).

“Considering how I didn’t even make it to the front door, I’m assuming I did not wake you?” he continues when you reach the edge of the fence. You shake your head, undoing the latching and pulling the gate over for him to step through.

“No, you simply caught me coming out to check on the crops before the rain starts.” You didn’t sense any rain coming today, but a little trip down to the pond can easily be arranged once Mingi departs. “This is only the front garden. I can show you the back as well, if you’d like, I have far more plants there.”

“You take care of this all by yourself?” he inquires, voice edging on awestruck, and your chest swells with pride.

“Yep! It is my livelihood, after all. But I am very enamored with the work too, so that helps me as well. These plants need more sun, and thanks to the location of this cottage, they receive it at least eight hours a day. Same goes for the plots on the left side of the house, but the ones on the right are not as sensitive to the sunshine. I keep the least temperamental crops in the back, along with some gourds that shops have a hard time finding at this time of year. My more cold-sensitive plants are in planters indoors, I have that small little greenhouse attachment on the side of the house as well as fungi and the like in the basement.”

“It seems you truly have a bit of everything then?”

“I try to at least. Whenever traveling merchants come for market days, I make a point to collect whatever seeds I can. I also like picking up gardener’s pamphlets! There are always good tips for how to make certain plants thrive, and occasionally they’ll mention ones I’ve not heard of so I know to be on the lookout for those things. If there’s ever something you’re in need of that I don’t have, I’d be happy to collect some samples for you from some merchants and we can discuss planting them too.” When you glance up at Mingi again, his jaw is hanging slightly open, eyes still bearing into you with that same wonder and disbelief. “Oh, sorry, I’m being a terrible host. Did you want to come inside for some tea or coffee? It’s still quite early.”

“That’d be great. Do you happen to have a catalog of all your crops as well?”

“Of course, of course.” You motion for him to follow you up to the house just as a few drops of rain start hitting your skin. Maybe you won’t need to go down to the pond after all. “It seems you came at the perfect time. Do you have some sort of potion that lets you predict the weather?”

“If only,” he laughs, ducking his head a bit to avoid the doorframe. He shrugs his cloak off upon getting inside, and once again you’re regaled by the sight of him dressed in all black. Though, today he’s forgone gloves and simply stuck to a long-sleeved shirt that extends past his hands.

“You’re welcome to look around as I get the water on and all!”

“I’d be happy to do that for you.”

“Please, you’re a guest, that’d hardly be fair of me.”

“But I did accost you before dawn, so I’d like to think of it as a fair bargain.”

You purse your lips. “Okay, I’ll relent and allow you to do the water, but I’ll take care of everything else.” He drapes his cloak over the back of one of your chairs, very careful and meticulous about the way in which he lays it down, but you only watch him long enough to see him reach the sink. Turning your back to him, you busy yourself with finding mugs and prepping the coffee Seonghwa gave to you a few weeks back. You should’ve thought ahead and asked him for more since you were just over there, but it slipped your mind completely. Perhaps he needs some more lavender and rosemary, you could pack some and use that as an excuse to go back to see him.

When you turn around next, Mingi is already sitting at the table in the seat where he set his cloak down, and you make a small noise of surprise.

“Did you get the stove figured out already? I swear it takes me four or five tries to get it to come on right every time.”

“Hm? It came right on when I turned the knob. Is it not supposed to do that?”

You let out a huff of air while shrugging and set the mugs down on the table. “It never does that for me but that very well may be user error.” The sharp whistle of steam interrupts your thoughts. “Ah, and it’s heating up quickly too? Those remedies of yours are becoming more and more appealing by the second. You might be the town’s new miracle worker at this rate.”

In truth, it’s making your skin itch a little. There was some odd presence of magick back in Mingi’s shop, and even now you feel something sharp prodding at your own magickal energy in your own home. It’s not a threat, not one that you can concretely act on yet at least, but it’s enough to make you wary. To let a witch into your safe haven is a dangerous and risky game to play, especially if it’s where the source of your power is. Thankfully, you were not so foolish upon moving here to do something as juvenile as that — yours is safely kept away in that pond down the opposite side of the hill and tucked into a small grove in the surrounding forest.

“Oh, let me grab that catalog for you real quick!” You bolt up from your chair at the sudden realization, and Mingi seems to accept it as simply that. You grab the book from your shelf, also snatching up the charm you keep near it and slipping it around your wrist while you’re out of sight still. It won’t be enough to fully shroud your energy, but if Mingi is indeed poking and prodding at your aura in search of something, it ought to at least throw him off enough to sate his curiosities. You usually only use such an item when strangers come to town for those market days you mentioned to Mingi before, and it certainly is a first for you to have to use it in your home.

He’s not budged an inch by the time you return, which is nice to see because he could either have started snooping around in places he shouldn’t or bolted without a trace. You set the book down before him, still wearing a faint smile on your lips.

“I just updated it at the start of the week too, so you have the freshest copy.”

“Wonderful, I’m starting to understand the name on your gate post more and more.”

“Ah, that.” Wonderland was simply a silly little name you came up with on a whim because that’s what this place is to you, but it stuck and everyone in town loved it so much that you could not escape the urgings to keep it as a name even if you are not a shop owner in the way that people like Seonghwa and Mingi both are. “It’s nothing terribly special,” you opt to say instead. The kettle starts whistling more egregiously, saving you from having to explain the name any further. You stand and go to grab the handle of the pot, only to scald your palm so badly that you nearly fall over backward. Mingi scrambles to get up, chair clattering against the ground as he rushes in your direction.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry?” you blurt through gritted teeth, clinging to your hand and trying to will the pain away to no avail. “What are you sorry for?”

“I-I should’ve — I should’ve gotten that, I mean, my hands are…” he trails off, and you glance down at the now exposed hands that he’s put between you. From the tips of his fingers down to the first knuckle on every single digit, Mingi’s skin and nails both are the color of charcoal, like they’ve been permanently stained that way. Were you anybody else, you would not know what it means.

“I’m fine,” you say. He’s a warlock after all, it seems. Of course he is. You have been teetering on the confirmation for weeks at this point, and it was silly of you to ignore the obvious so many times over. His uncomfortably warm touch and the stifling heat inside his shop were both dead giveaways. You did not forget to extinguish your lantern last night, nor did the stove simply come on by way of Mingi being deft at using the knobs. He lit the lantern himself, lit the stove himself as well though because he was unaware of how your finicky stove works, he made the flame too big and too hot, thus leading to the quick boil and unfortunate accident of you burning your hand. The symbol on his door sign should have been enough of a clue.

“Please, at least let me make you something to treat the burn. It’s what I’m good at after all, and it’s the barest of minimums I could do.”

If you kick him out now, then it will surely be obvious that you know something about his identity. Only daft idiots or people with something to hide would turn down the help of a healer such as himself. In the past decade, you have lost all semblance of good judgment because no amount of mental gymnastics can get you to refuse his help right now. You’re dooming yourself if he already knows what you are, but if he’s got even the slightest hint and you turn him away, then you would confirm it for him. You have to take the risk.

“Okay, I would really appreciate it,” you whisper, easing yourself down into your chair once more. Mingi’s shoulders visibly relax. “All these plants and I’m afraid I’ve barely got enough knowledge to make tea on a good day with them. Everything you need ought to be on the shelves behind the counter. Those are all freshly picked too.” When he turns his back to you, you let your meek expression drop and glare at the welt that’s already formed across your palm. Mingi’s magick does not appear to be volatile, meaning that he must have had some sort of formal training in his life. It’s common for fire warlocks to bear the same charcoal-looking scars that he has, mostly from overexertion of their kind of magick. You produce more sweat than is natural for a normal human being thanks to your affinities too.

Would the House truly send someone here for you after so long? And to go through the effort of having them set up a shop in the heart of town? If they wanted someone to watch you, then it would have been easier and smarter to have someone take one of the cottages closer to you. Besides, Mingi has not been taking every opportunity to come find you or learn about you. Nor does he wear any ring to indicate his affiliation with the House. A sanctioned mage would surely make use of such benefits. Could he be a defector like you? Or one that never made it into the House’s grasp?

He returns to the table with a mortar and pestle filled with some sort of salve that he’s already beaten down into a mush.

“Does it hurt badly?”

“Quite a bit,” you answer truthfully, only wincing a little when he turns your palm to the ceiling. It feels as though his fingers alone could sear your skin.

“I made extra for you to use over the next several days as well. All you need to do is store it somewhere cool and apply a little to the burn twice a day until the pain stops.” The mixture is so blissfully cold on your skin that you could cry, and even with Mingi’s warm touch massaging it into the burn, it feels like a heavenly relief. “If the pain doesn’t stop by the time you run out of salve, then please come visit me. I can make more and give you something to keep it from scarring.”

“Understood.”

“And y/n…” He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, and your breath catches in your throat. “You do not have to hide what you are around me.” His gaze finds yours. “You are a witch after all, are you not?” A witch. The word feels like a slap in the face.

“Are you associated with the House? Did they send you? What is it you want from me?”

“The House? Absolutely not. I left their good graces many years ago. I wouldn’t give them even an ounce of my time anyway.”

“So what? You’re a witch as well?”

“Yes, I suppose I am though I don’t make a habit of calling myself that. Simply an apothecary, much like how you are simply a farmer. Of sorts.” Mingi fidgets in his seat and looks closer at you. “I am genuinely not here to cause you harm or disrupt your life. I imagine we came here for the very same reasons in fact. I simply want to live by my own terms, not anyone else’s.”

“Get out,” you whisper. Perhaps there are hundreds of better ways to handle this, but you have never had to do such a thing in all your time here, and you cannot be faulted for acting out of panic and fear now. Your voice comes out louder now, “Get out of my home then! Get out and don’t come back d-don’t dare tell anyone.”

“The energy is permeating the entire house.” Mingi keeps his tone quiet as he continues to speak through your distress. “Your garden too, I felt it immediately. The rain — it’s in there as well. Sure, it’s always rainy season here but how much of it is because of you?”

“You know what the other name for my kind is, right?”

“You’re a water witch.”

You retract your hand from his with a scoff.

“The House tends to call us Scyllans. Sweet temptresses of the deep, killers of foolish men.”

Mingi somehow has it in him to smile.

“Then I ought to be safe, for I am neither foolish nor a mere man.” He stands without saying another word, collecting his cloak off the back of his chair and slinging it around his shoulders. You can’t help but to stare at him, wary and on edge with every movement he makes even when he reaches the door. “My words hold true, y/n. I hope you think them over at least. And your secret is truly safe with me.”

…

You avoid going into town for so long that Seonghwa seeks you out five days after you go into self-imposed seclusion. It’s easy to keep him off your back at least, and from what you can tell, Mingi has not sought him out to expose your dirty secrets as of yet. The logical part of you understands that you ought to avoid angering the man because he does hold quite a bit of power over you right now. Fear keeps you captive instead, however.

Two weeks and a day after that fateful encounter you had with Mingi, you dare to leave the comfort of your home. Not to go into the village — that is a step you are not prepared to face — but rather to visit your precious grove in the forest. You should have gone last week as it’s always been your habit to go once a month to rejuvenate your magick; however, you were so on edge that you couldn’t get beyond your back fence and promptly turned right back around. Tonight, you’re determined.

The skies are clear, not a single cloud marring her starry expanses, and the moon hangs high near the center of the sky. Even better yet, it’s a full moon. Ideal conditions for you to bathe in the pond and restore some much-needed energy. You set out forty minutes from midnight even though your trek will not take that long. You need only be there for the highest peak of the moon, so giving yourself this little bit of leeway should allow you all the time required to reach your destination. Despite yourself, you do glance over your shoulder several times on your way out of the house and garden. When you’re content with your loneliness, you set off down the hill.

It’s not as though you decided to dismiss Mingi’s words altogether once he left. You have put much thought and consideration into them, in fact, especially after Seonghwa came to see you and nothing had changed between the two of you. It’s no guarantee that Mingi didn’t tell anyone, but it’s something. The matter of him being a witch like you, well, that has been a contentious debate in your head. A true warlock calling themselves a witch is considered heresy to many, so you have to believe that Mingi is being truthful with you. You know enough about his magick to know for certain he is either one or the other. But at the end of the day, there is no way for him to prove as much. All he has is his word to back him up, and all you can do is either accept it as truth or deny it.

Long ago, you had settled on the knowledge that you would likely be a rather lonely creature for the rest of your days. Finding Charybid and its people was a welcome blessing, but not a permanent one, and the friends you’ve made (especially Seonghwa and Yunho) cannot understand what it is you are or relate to you on any matter concerning witchcraft. You’ve long since accepted that loneliness as a part of you even if there are pieces of your heart craving warmth and understanding from another like you.

If it were possible, could Mingi be that sort of person in your life? Does he crave the same thing? Is that why he confronted you to begin with?

You reach the grove with a heavier heart than anticipated. Moonlight creeps in through the canopy of branches overhead, glistening off the half-circle of rocks around milky green waters. The moon has already been charging the pond for hours, and you feel the pulse of magick resonating deep in you from the bottom of it.

Stripping down to nothing, you drop your clothes into a pile near the rocks with your satchel and toe at the water. It’s frigid as expected, thanks to the encroaching winter that is coming closer and closer still. You sink into it fully and submerge yourself in the charged waters. Several meters down at the bottom lies your precious black pearl, glowing a deep purple shade to show exactly how much magick she’s stored since you last came. You let the waters hold you for some time until the dull thrum you feel around you turns into a hum that makes your skin feel like it’s full of electricity.

It’s only then that you decide to emerge once more, breaking the surface of the water and letting air replace the magick in your lungs.

Yet, you find that you are not alone.

Bent so far over the pond that he looks one slip away from tumbling down into it, none other than Mingi sits crouched at the edge. It’s far too late to pretend as though you haven’t made note of each other. Depending on which direction Mingi came from, he may not have even seen your belongings behind the rocks. You sink lower in the water until it comes up to cover your lips.

“My apologies. I did not know you were here.” Just his gaze is enough to make your body warm. You tilt your chin up.

“Is that so?”

“I came because of the magickal energy, yes. Not because I knew you would be here.” He’s not far from you. The moon shines her pretty rays down around him, and you blame her for the insatiable tug in your gut that’s making you want to pull him into the waters with you. “I have been thinking about you though,” he admits under his breath. You imagine the words are not meant for your ears, but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s spoken them out loud. It takes little movement on your part to swim closer to him, and you only stop when he is perched directly above you.

“Do I look the part of a temptress now?” you inquire, hand breaking through the surface of the water to caress his cheek.

“Incredibly so,” he murmurs. “I see why foolish men fall. Perhaps I am no better.”

“You know nothing about me.” You trace your fingers down to his chin.

“I know enough.”

You shush him with a laugh and a finger placed directly over his lips. “The sun gives you her power during the day, but on nights like these, the moon offers me a fair exchange. Her power for my sexual energy. That is where a water witch’s magick comes from, and it’s what has earned us all those myths and urban legends about eating men. Now that you know that of me, should I trust you in return?”

“I am what I say I am. I am a fire witch. I defected from the House of Ballads five years ago. To answer your question, though, if…” His gaze has become lidded, focus drawing down to your lips with each word he tries to speak. You feel just as overwhelmed and foggy yourself, the excess magick seeping into you from all angles as the moon inches ever closer to her peak. “…you deem it wise.”

“I think some part of me might.”

“Did you consider what I said to you last time?”

“But of course. It wasn’t so long ago that I’ve forgotten already.” A sigh escapes you as you look up to where the moon can just barely be seen through the trees. “I’d like to give you a chance, if only because of morbid curiosity and the fact that I have made it a decade without finding another like myself.”

You inch up and graze Mingi’s lips with your own. His fingertips tickle the surface of the water, and the effect is nearly instant. Warmth surrounds you and draws a gasp out of you that has you curling away from Mingi’s face. He leans back.

“I cannot restrain myself well enough tonight. Not in the presence of such potent magick.” You are equal parts pleasantly surprised and grossly disappointed by his willpower. With a smile, you push away from the edge of the pond and head further into the water. Mingi almost makes the mistake of following you, teetering at the grassy bank.

“You are welcome to visit again. So long as I am not nude or compromised.”

“I-I—” His cheeks are stained a deep red by now.

“I do not intend to put on a show for you tonight, Mingi, but I am in desperate need of the moon’s energy. If that is all, then…?” Were the circumstances any different, you would consider your wording to be crude in that you are essentially asking him to leave so that you can fuck yourself with the crystal you brought along with you in your bag.

He clears his throat and sits completely back on his heels, gaze wandering across your face. Licking over his lips, his eyes linger on the water droplets running from your hairline to your jaw.

“I will come to you when the first snow falls,” he says. “So that you may have time to contemplate things further. My decision is already made, and I'm sure you're aware of it. Please… please let me know then what your choice is.” You want to retort that he doesn’t have the best track record thus far, but instead leave well enough and wave him away with a grin. A bout of laughter leaves your lips as soon as he passes through the clearing and out of sight.

“Are you testing me?” you whisper to the moon, receiving nothing but her monotonous glow in response. You wade over to the rocks where you left your belongings and quickly rifle through your pack in search of the rose quartz you brought along. It’s cold to the touch, unpleasant in comparison to the warm body that you just had with you and within your grasp. While the shape isn't perfect, it gets the job done in the absence of the real deal, and it serves its purpose just fine. Not like you have any other options as it is.

Part of you entertains the idea of having Mingi still here — from a practical standpoint, consummating the ritual with another magick user would be far more effective than using a crystal charged by the moon. But from a pleasure standpoint…

You dip your fingers between your legs, letting your body fall back to rest your head on the edge of the pond as you seek your core between your folds. The magick at your fingertips pulses through you and sends a jolt into your system just from the slightest brush. A soft mewl falls from your lips. You feel Mingi’s magick still permeating all throughout the water, clinging to your skin, and on your lips, you taste fire from that minute little kiss exchanged in a fit of passion.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot get your fingers deep enough inside your cunt. Instead, your thoughts are plagued by the visual of Mingi’s hands, his long fingers, the searing heat that emanates from them, and the all-consuming desire to know what it would feel like to have them inside you.

You cannot even bring yourself to waste time right now; slipping your fingers free, you plunge the toy in your other hand into yourself and sink it all the way in until the pressure in your gut is eased the slightest bit. It's blissfully cold against your walls; the coolness eases the burn that seems to be wedged beneath your skin and brings some clarity back to your mind. It does not, however, chase every thought of Mingi from your brain. In the haze of your vision, you can hallucinate him before you still, imagine him in the spot where he was not long ago watching you with those fiery intense eyes and urging you on. A louder cry of pleasure tumbles out of you as you're forced to twist and brace yourself on a rock to keep increasing the pace of the toy's thrusts inside you.

It ought to fill you with some degree of shame, you think, because who lusts so strongly after a stranger who poses something of a threat to your well-being and livelihood? But when your mind goes back to the idea of his large hands gripping your waist and hips as he splits you open on his cock, you can't be bothered in the slightest about the speed at which you're becoming invested in this man — all that matters is the speed at which you're thrusting the crystal dildo in and out of your pussy as an orgasm creeps up on you. You have to bury your face in the crook of your arm to have some semblance of sanity to cling to. And when you unravel soon after, it’s his name on your lips.

…

The first snow of the season is late.

You have been trying to avoid thinking about it solely on account of the superstition that mulling it over will only delay it further, but those attempts are futile. Because when you tell yourself to not think about it, you only end up thinking about it more, then you devolve into a sick cycle of reasoning with yourself and the moon and any deity out there who will give you the time of day.

While you could set your pride aside for the sake of what it is you’re waiting on exactly, that is simply not in your nature. Additionally, you want to see whether Mingi will uphold his end of the bargain. He promised to come at the first snow. So you will wait for that day.

Your gardens are thriving thanks to the lack of snow and the amplified support of your fully-charged magick, which is the only positive you can find in this situation while you essentially sit on your hands and wait. The downside is, however, that the temperatures are still steadily declining, and you always struggle in the winter to keep your home warm enough. Your specialty may be in water magick, but that does not mean you have any control or power over the temperature of said water, and everything around you tends to skew a bit cooler as it is. The thought of how cold you are and your house is and everything in between only pushes your thoughts more towards the lack of warmth and a potential source of it that will not come unless the fucking snow does first.

If you have to put up with seeing Mingi’s smiling face across the street while you’re pestering Seonghwa one more time then you may truly snap and lose all semblance of self-respect.

…

You’re knelt in a bed of rosemary when the first flakes of snow start to hit your skin. At first, you think it to be just rain but then a flurry touches one of the purple blossoms on the herb. The shout you let out is a terrifying mixture of joy and exasperation because at long last, your agonizing wait can finally come to a close. The way you scramble to pull yourself out of the dirt and rush indoors ought to be more embarrassing. It takes you all of five minutes to change out of your grimy gardening clothes and into something cozier and cleaner, though all you do is park yourself at the kitchen table with a mug of hot tea and stare out the window waiting for any sign of movement on the hill. The snow is coming down harder already, a billowing cloud of white that cloaks the dirt and grass on the ground. It doesn’t even occur to you to think that Mingi might not come at all, that he might have forgotten or worse — simply not chosen to come at all — because your patience has worn so thin over the past weeks that you feel relief just seeing the snow.

And luckily for you, Mingi is far more timely and true to his word than he was before. You neglected to keep track of the time, though you haven’t finished your tea yet by the time his lanky figure comes over the crest of the hill. You know it to be him instantly because his fiery hair is visible through the white all around him.

You’re at the door before you can think twice, flinging it open and making your way down the path to the gate as though you aren’t in the biggest rush of your life. Behind him, there’s a trail of footsteps where the snow has melted under his feet, and the closer he gets, the better you can see how not even a single snowflake sticks to him in any way. Every flake that touches even the outside of his cloak simply melts upon contact, leaving him pristine in the sea of white falling around you.

“Did you wait long?” he asks upon reaching your gate. Somehow he manages to maintain a lilting tone that makes your brain itch. You want to kiss him so silly that all that smugness dissipates like the snow on his skin. “Y/n.” The breathy exhale of your name is all it takes for you to grab him by the collar and yank him down to your level. The warmth is so blessedly welcome. “Have you made your decision?”

You slot your lips against his, licking at the seam of his lips without waiting for further invitation. He scrambles with the latch on the gate, though you’re of no help at all with how you’re trying to pull him over it, but once that pesky barrier is pushed open just a little bit, he slides through the gap and seals his body against yours. Even though the cold doesn’t seem to be affecting him much, his breathing still comes out in pants, like he sprinted the whole way here from town without rest. He clasps his hands around the back of your neck, thumbs caressing the underside of your jaw, and each kiss he plants on your lips is more searing than the last. It takes all you have to not trip over backward on your feet with him guiding you back towards the door of your home. The two of you don’t even make it through the door before he’s pushing you up against the doorframe and slotting a knee between your thighs.

“Please, y/n, let me hear it from these pretty lips,” he begs. Your whole body is alight with something — either magick or lust or something in between those things that you can’t distinguish at present. The heat radiating off his body makes your head spin, and it’s such an intoxicating sensation that you reach your hands beneath the fabric of his cloak to be closer to skin.

“I trust you, I need you, I want you to have me,” you murmur back. Mingi pushes his lower lip out with the tip of his tongue. His gaze carries the same heat you’ve grown used to seeing all the time when you look at his eyes. Now, the weight of it feels heavier. Your breath hitches in your throat as he wraps an arm around your back, and his fingers dig into your side briefly. You’re pulled away from the doorframe and into the house only for him to slam the door shut and lock the snow out. What you aren’t expecting is to be flattened to the surface face first mere seconds later.

“I want to have you right here and now,” Mingi growls behind you. Every brush of his hands over your body leaves goosebumps in their wake along with the heat of his magick seeping into your skin. He takes apart your bodice carefully, pulling each string with a startling amount of care compared to his desperate rush to have you. A sort of fever takes hold of you, and with each piece of clothing he removes from your being, the more the fire in your belly roars. Glancing down, you see your clothes fallen into a heap on the floor, along with his cloak, then his coat, his shirt — each piece of fabric goes to join the pile until you feel bare skin against yours. The bliss of the contact is so immense that you let out a pitiful moan.

“Mingi.”

“Raise your arms over your head for me, y/n.”

“Mingi,” you utter again, following the instruction without a breath of hesitation. He takes both of your wrists between just one of his hands and pins them to the flat surface of the door. Your chest trembles under your breaths.

“I will not be rough with you unless you allow it. How I take you is up to you… whether it be me taking you apart gently or fucking you hot and raw right here and now.” You can’t take the sensation of his breathing down your neck without squirming. No matter how hard you squeeze your thighs together, there’s no relief for the pulsing need for pressure there. The moment Mingi catches onto your attempts, he wedges his knee between your legs and leaves you to rock back on his muscled thigh for some sort of escape.

“Please.” It’s as though there’s cotton in your mouth keeping you from fully forming any kind of sentence because although your thoughts are running at a mile per minute, you cannot seem to get more than one word out at a time. Mingi nudges you forward into the door once again. He replaces the pressure of his thigh with his unoccupied hand, cupping your cunt and dragging his middle finger along the slit of your folds.

“You’re coming undone already, my little witch.” Mingi suddenly flicks his finger forward over your clit, and your knees buckle. Your reaction delights him so much that he repeats the action two more times, and your body truly becomes putty in his hands. He keeps you up between the hand holding your wrists to the door and the one cupped around your sex, but you aren’t sure your muscles could keep you up on their own without the help. Especially not when Mingi gets more daring and pulls a second finger into the mix to tease the ring of your entrance with small, methodical circles.

“Put them in me, put your fingers in!” you cry out only for Mingi to roll over your clit once again. His cock is twitching against your ass, firm and big, and part of you wants to forget everything else solely to have him in your mouth and down your throat.

“Is that how good girls ask for things?” He pinches your clit between his fingers until you’re whimpering out an apology and smearing drool across the door. “Ask again. Nicely this time, sweetheart.”

“Please f-fuck me with your fingers, please open me up for you, I w-want to feel you so badly.” Nonsensical babbling is enough for him, blessedly, because you’re not confident that anything more coherent than that could make its way out of you right now. He rolls the pads of his fingers up against your clit again before going any lower. His laugh is borderline sadistic when you curl your fingers into the wood, nails clawing for some sort of grip that will help you ground yourself. “Wanna come so—!”

“That’s it, come for me, lovely. Then I’ll fuck you nice and loose on my fingers while you’re coming.” Mingi retracts his fingers right when your gut clenches, and as your walls squeeze tight around nothing, he slips two digits into your cunt. Your lips part in a silent scream, moans caught in the back of your throat. Your vision goes white behind your eyelids though it lasts so much longer than what you’re used to getting from your own hand and toys. Perhaps it’s because Mingi doesn’t let up on you even in the throes of your orgasm, or thanks to your magickal energies intertwining in the most raw and intimate way imaginable. “Let me open you up some more first, then I’ll give you what you want.”

You blink your eyes open and look at Mingi out your peripherals, mouth wide open and cheek still pressed harshly into the door even though you’re the one keeping it there.

“Do you want it too?” you ask out of the blue. Your voice is tight and strained. His fingers curl inside you.

“So badly,” comes his quick reply, “that it’s taking everything in me not to put my dick in you right now. But I don’t want to hurt you.” As though to emphasize his feelings, Mingi rolls his hips forward, and his cock rubs hard against your ass. “Doesn’t even look like it’s gonna fit in you, fuck.”

“Mingi, I need you in me now, like right this instant now, not in five minutes now.” The first orgasm has your vision hazy and legs wobbly, but that’s far from a concern to you at the moment. Your urgency pushes the man behind you to have the same sort of franticness, hurriedly slipping his fingers free of your cunt and readjusting his hold so that he can grip the base of his dick. You hold perfectly still for him as he lines himself up with your waiting hole that’s already sopping with arousal. Your pussy takes him in like it’s greedy for it, each inch sliding in and spreading you wider to accommodate to his size. One thing’s for certain: Mingi has a stupidly big dick, so big that it makes you wonder if you’d be able to feel it through your stomach if you put a hand there.

Whatever shreds of patience he had left in him turn to ash the second he’s fully buried balls-deep in you. He doesn’t wait even a second before he pulls out about halfway, and the only stutter in his rhythm comes from him trying to find it. You’re suddenly rather glad that he’s keeping your hands up for you because the drive of his cock inside your pussy would bring you to your knees otherwise. The sounds of pleasure fill your ears — his low baritone moans tangled alongside your more throaty ones that crack here and there, the slap of his hips hitting your ass, and the thumping of the door as he fucks you so hard against it that it trembles.

“Y-You’re so deep, I feel you in my stomach,” you choke out between moans. It devolves into a sob as Mingi shifts his angle upwards a bit and hits a new spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars.

“Yeah? Your pussy is clinging to me nice and tight, lovely, I think you like it a little too much.” He has enough composure to still speak without crying, meanwhile, tears are starting to pool at the corners of your eyes as the overstimulation of your senses and nerves reaches unimaginable heights. “Bet your pretty little toy isn’t even half as big as me.”

Mingi thrusts so hard into you that his grip on your wrists falters, and one of your hands falls free. He doesn’t bother correcting it, nor do you try to keep it up any longer, instead rushing to get your fingers around your clit again. You’re so hyperfocused on chasing the high of another orgasm that you don’t warn him it’s about to hit you this time. He knows well enough when your body seizes for a moment before releasing every bit of tension in your muscles. Your walls flex around his cock, working him in time with the waves of your euphoria, until he can’t take it anymore and pulls free of your hole. He rests his length atop the cleft of your ass and thrusts a few more times there, then comes his release. Hot ropes of come shoot out from his cock, painting your naked back into a messy canvas of come and sweat.

Despite the sudden quiet filling the house, your hearing is hypervigilant and clings to every slight noise that comes from your partner, from his fight to get air into his lungs to the hand he now rubs over his spent cock.

“You…” Your throat is too dry and you end up coughing instead of getting a sentence out. Mingi’s fingers trace small, unknown patterns into your hip. “You’re welcome to stay through winter. That’s my answer.”

“Through winter?” Mingi hums. He slips his hand around your waist and flattens his large palm over your abdomen. “What about spring?”

“Then too.”

“And summer?” He’s teasing you again. Somehow he still has the energy to do that.

“And summer and autumn then winter again. But maybe by the spring after that, I’ll be sick of you!”

“You won’t be,” he says through a laugh, lips brushing against the side of your head. You’re going to need better retorts if he plans on sticking around that long.

────────────

please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #mingi x reader #mingi smut #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #ateez fic #mingi fanfic #mingi fic #mingi ff #ateez imagine #mingi imagine #caly.writes #winter fic fest 2023 #fic; and it's snowing #fic; sweet juice

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loveinhawkins · 4 days

Note

Hi! hope you feel better soon! And hope you get some much needed rest in the meantime! For the one word prompt: post S4 Steddie, “hazy”.

thank you so much & thank you for inspiring a little moment about rest & healing 💕 •one word ficlet prompts

Steve finds that the couch next to Eddie’s hospital bed is ridiculously comfortable.

Eddie’s talking to the nurse—he can’t really catch what’s being said, the world growing warm and hazy—but he can hear that Eddie’s making her laugh. Knows that’s important, something that would’ve been unthinkable not so long ago: that Eddie feels brave enough to let something of himself shine through. That he can still trust in the kindness of certain people, even strangers.

Steve vaguely hears the nurse leave, glances over to see Eddie within touching distance, perched on the side of his bed. He’s folding some T-shirts in preparation for getting discharged—he’d joked when Steve had first arrived that it’s the most organised he’s ever been.

He must’ve washed his hair this morning, left it to air dry: some of the ends are still damp, and it’s gone kinda wispy around his face. It’s a calming sight, leaves Steve grateful that he no longer associates it with the dive into Lover’s Lake; now it’s something softer.

Something safe.

Eddie looks up. Smiles.

“Uh, Steve, with all due respect,” he begins, which makes Steve snort; he’s come to know it as one of Eddie’s sayings, preceding all manner of teasing objections, “what the hell?”

Steve would usually ask, “What now?” in feigned exasperation, unable to hide his amusement—but his head feels suddenly heavy, and all he manages is, “Hmm?”

Eddie’s smile grows, showing his dimples. He reaches over, and he places a hand on Steve’s knee, presses down gently, “Are you, like, training to be a contortionist?”

Steve feels the warmth of the touch through his jeans; he realises then that he’s sitting awkwardly: one knee bent towards his chest; his neck crooked, arms folded; his whole body instinctively angled toward the edge of the couch.

It’s a position he’s perfected over the years, honed in all kinds of makeshift beds—most recently the chairs of hospital waiting rooms, leaving space for one of the kids to rest on his shoulder. Snatching rest wherever he could throughout the nightmare of that Spring Break, never quite relaxing fully: ready to move, to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

He remembers Robin tactfully making sure that the RV was empty while everyone else stayed outside; his side still aching, Steve stretched out on the seat in the back. Even while he was alone, he only managed a fitful doze—nearly fell off his seat as he wrenched himself awake at the slightest disturbance.

He can’t find that urgency now. Hasn’t needed to for…

He must have zoned out for a couple seconds, because Eddie’s standing now. Watching fondly.

“If you’re tired,” Eddie says quietly, “you should sleep.”

And Steve hears the shape of it, that deliberation in how Eddie says certain things, where he slows down just a little—and Steve knows it must be because it’s something Eddie’s once been told by his uncle.

There’s a blanket getting draped across him now. Eddie touches his knee again, and this time Steve relaxes fully, feels himself slowly tilt back. There’s a pillow beneath his head that wasn’t there before.

Eddie smoothes out the blanket with care. Steve’s view is getting dimmer, a drowsy blur of eyelashes.

But he can see that Eddie’s smiling again. Hears him make a soft, jokingly disapproving tsk.

“Close your eyes,” Eddie whispers, with such affection.

Oh, you love me, Steve thinks.

It’s a thought that drifts in, honeyed and slow, like it’s really been there all along—that perhaps before, in the white-knuckled days of survival, he was too afraid for it. Did not have room to feel it.

Steve’s eyes close.

He falls asleep so completely, knowing that Eddie will still be there, that time isn’t running out anymore; he can stay right where he is. He has room to breathe, to just be—room for the next thought, the next moment, for every moment to come.

#this was fuelled by ginger tea & sleepiness ❤️#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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suzukiblu · 3 months

Text

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.

“I think I’m gonna try making him a ruby and do that in a trilliant cut,” Superboy says decisively, which isn’t necessarily much progress towards “normal” friend-making but again, Clark doesn’t want to discourage either a hobby or a creative outlet for the kid. Or just literally anything that isn’t about being a superhero, even if the trilliant cut resembling the S-shield and making friends with a vigilante are only sort of “not about being a superhero”.

Look, the kid’s six months old and was educated by ethically bankrupt scientists and absolutely exhausted grad student interns, absolutely none of whom had either normal childhoods or an interest in instilling any semblance of “normal” in their cloned Superman’s head. Clark’s not going to be picky here, he’s just gonna meet him where he’s at and go from there.

Superboy has some unfortunate difficulties understanding the difference between celebrity attention versus genuine admiration and things like that, and also an unfortunate tendency towards causing a lot of unnecessary property damage and jumping to conclusions and temper issues, but he tries, and he clearly does think about things. There’s just a lot to figure out in the world, and he’s had to do it in speed-run mode and while being an active superhero.

Really, Clark thinks the kid’s doing a lot better as a superhero than he would’ve done at his “age”, and he’d actually been that “age”. Superboy is frankly just about the best-case scenario that could’ve come out of a situation like Cadmus and also mercifully only seems to be minimally traumatized by the sorry excuse for a “childhood” he was provided, so . . .

“That sounds nice,” Clark says, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job with it.”

“I’m gonna do a good job with it if it fucking kills me,” Superboy says, looking determined, which seems like a lot of intensity to put into making a gift for a friend, but again: six months old and educated by ethically bankrupt scientists. Clark is going to stick with the “meeting him where he’s at” approach.

“Just do your best to start, maybe,” he says wryly, reaching over to pat the kid’s shoulder. Superboy grins at him, his expression turning pleased.

“I will!” he says. “Wanna see some of the test ones?”

“Sure,” Clark says, figuring Superboy will just–

Nope, no, Superboy just immediately stuck both hands into his jacket pockets and came up with two big fistfuls of a good dozen high-quality diamonds done in trilliant cuts. Very large diamonds.

Heavens to Betsy, Clark thinks a little faintly. That is . . . that is so many diamonds for Superboy to just have in his pockets. They weren’t even zipped shut! They weren’t even buttoned!

Superboy lays his series of diamonds all out in neat little rows on the ledge, because there are enough of them to require multiple rows, and then reaches back into his pockets for a few more, because of course there are more. Clark continues to feel vaguely faint and has absolutely no idea how to point out how much money this is. Even at lab diamond rates, this is so much money. Just–so much.

At this point in his life Clark has seen entire planets made of diamond, mind, but he still grew up in smalltown Kansas as a farm kid, so there’s something about seeing quite this many virtually flawless ones just laid out on a Metropolis rooftop the same way he would’ve shown off his POG collection to his friends as a kid. Even the damn cuts are just shy of perfect.

Well, at least Superboy’s enjoying his first hobby, he supposes. But also, Jesus H. Christ.

“They look good, kid,” Clark says, smiling at him encouragingly. No need to take the wind out of his sails, obviously. Though seeing them now, it does occur to him to wonder–“Where did you get the tools?”

They must be good ones, because honestly he really wasn’t expecting results this good–or even half this good–from a six month-old teenager. Superboy could definitely ruin De Beers’s day with those.

Or their industry, again.

. . . well, it is De Beers, so . . .

“Oh, I don’t have any,” Superboy says, shaking his head. “I just use my TTK.”

Clark . . . pauses, for a moment.

Clark pauses for a long moment.

“Tactile telekinesis can cut diamond?” he asks carefully. “This precisely?”

“Yeah!” Superboy beams proudly at him. “Cool, right?”

Clark looks very, very closely at the diamonds. The cuts on them are practically atom-sharp.

Alright then, he thinks to himself even more carefully.

#anonymous #wip: a fake cryptid and a real romantic #long post

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strangersatellites · 1 year

Text

It had all started in Photography 101.

All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.

Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself.

He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind.

He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures.

Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.

The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same.

So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at.

The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition.

(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)

By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge.

Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk.

About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.

What are we waiting for?

She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.

“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”

The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.

“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”

Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying.

He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.

He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.

He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.

“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”

Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.

The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility.

“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”

She smacks at his arm and carries on.

“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”

Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.

He’s going to take his mugshot.

*****

“I want to take your mugshot.”

They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.

Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”

Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.

“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head.

“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”

But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.

He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”

Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera.

*****

Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.

So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins.

One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism.

Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end.

Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish.

It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.

He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall.

Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.

“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”

“Hey! It was one time!”

“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”

Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.

He looks good.

Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.

He lines up his shot. Click.

Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.

Click.

He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings.

Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.

Click.

Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.

He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”

He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.

Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”

He rolls his eyes.

He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.

“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”

Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring.

“Do you trust me?”

Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.

A pretty one. His brain supplies.

But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.

“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.

Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie.

“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”

Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.

“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”

He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.

Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”

He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.

Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.

Click.

The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.

His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.

He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.

It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.

*****

Steve got an A.

He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend.

The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.

Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.

It quickly became a game between the two.

He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)

When he was twenty for public indecency.

At twenty-two for arson.

Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.

But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.

#photographer x mugshot au #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #one thing about me: my Eddie is going to be a jackass in every universe #also not to toot my own horn #BUT #Joyce being the professor? when her son??? is a photographer?? who probably learned it from her????#toot toot bitch #its canon I don't make the rules #can you guys tell I am a photographer be honest #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #gin writes #fin gin #shot of gin #steddie nation #come get y'all juice

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

Text

Inspired by this post where the older kids get walkie-talkies

“Hey Birdie, is the Master with you?”

Steve’s call got no response, even though he knew Robin never went far without her walkie-talkie.

“Birdie? Is the Master with you?”

Steve was about to get irate until he realize why she wasn’t responding and let out the biggest sigh and eye roll.

“Is the Master with you? Over.”

Finally a crackle came on. “He is indeed. Over.”

“Can you tell him to bring some chocolate chips when you guys come over? ....Over.”

“Can do! Over.”

“Excuse me”, Eddie’s voice came on the line. “Why doesn’t Birdie get the shopping list? Over.”

“Because she’ll either forget to go to the store, or go and get distracted and buy everything except what I asked for. Over.”

“You know me so well~ Over.”

“This is blatant favoritism. Over.”

“I’ll give you the first pick of cookies for your troubles. Over.”

“Complain rescinded.”

Steve smiled. “What was that?”

“Complaint rescinded. Over.”

---------

It had started with Nancy giving them the walkie-talkies, which seemed out of character for her until she gave the reason. They were only able to save Max because they had instant communication. And when they couldn’t reach the gang in California, it felt hopeless. So it had been a precaution. If anything happened, they’d have these. Spring Break came and went. As did the rest of spring. And their purpose quickly went from emergency communication to anything that came to their minds. The first time the kids found out about it, they decried copying.

Nancy was quick to say theirs was more serious. And it was true to an extent. They had codenames, they had protocols they followed. No one ever said Code Red without meaning it. The one time it had been used, Steve called on it after Robin got hit by a car trying to save a kid. If you asked anyone else, they would’ve said he was hysterical. If you asked Steve, he was appropriately concerned for his friend who was hanging by a thread. She walked away with a bruised rib and a couple of stitches.

“This is Wave Rider, asking for permission to land. Over”, Argyle said.

“This is the Master, you are granted. Over.”

Both boys gave each other goofy grins as they stood across from each other in front of Eddie’s trailer.

“Nancy would kill you two if she saw you using them in close proximity”, Jonathan said.

“What she won’t know won’t kill her, right?”, Eddie said.

“You don’t need to tell him twice”, Argyle grinned.

Jonathan gave him a good-natured nudge while the three of them went inside.

------

Steve and Robin had left Family Video and now worked at a nearby convenience store. The You Suck/Rule board had returned. Dustin vaguely remembered it. When he saw all the You Suck tallies, he figured Steve was repeatedly striking out with girls again.

“Maybe you should give up on chicks for a while”, he said one day, when he came for a slushie. “Doesn’t seem like it’s your forte nowadays.”

Steve slumping onto the counter made sense. But Robin’s raucous laughter, not so much.

“This is Birdie to Jonner-Than-You, come in. Over.”

“Jonner-Than-You here, Birdie. What’s your status? Over.”

“Apparently Loverboy here needs to give up on women. Dusty Buns says they’re not his forte.”

Dustin was about to argue that call sign when he heard Jonathan laugh the loudest he had ever heard.

Unbeknownst to him, the board wasn’t for whenever Steve struck out with girls. It was specifically when he struck out with Eddie whenever he came into their little corner of 7-11 heaven.

------------

“Big Wheel to the Master. Come in. Over.”

“The Master reporting. What’s up? Over.”

“Is Mini Wheels with you? Over?”

There was what could only be described as indignant squawking on the other end of the line. That confirmed her brother was indeed on the other end of the call.

“That’s a roger on that. Over.”

“Tell him that even if he’s in high school, he still has a curfew. And I’m not covering for him again. Over.”

“I’ll make sure he gets the message. Over.” Eddie looked over to Mike. “Hey Mini Wheels!”

“Stop calling me that!”

---------------

The six of them had gotten together for an afternoon hangout that slowly trickled down. Nancy had to get home, Jonathan left to meet up with a study group, and as day turned to night, Argyle drove Robin to her shift at the store. Which left Eddie and Steve alone at the Harrington Residence to finish off the movie they’d started.

Steve could do this. He could be smooth. He’d been striking out because the fact it was Eddie and not just some random girl made the stakes higher. Made him doubt himself. But the King Steve shit hadn’t been totally a lie. He could bring back just a bit. Enough to get Eddie to melt in his hands.

It started with playing with his hair and giving him meaningful looks. He’d made out with girls while a movie was on a bunch of times. Depending on how ready they were, it could be easy to pull them out of it.

When Eddie looked for too long at his lips, Steve knew he had him.

“Can I try something?”, Steve asked while curling a long lock around his finger.

Eddie nodded hesitantly before swallowing. “Y-yeah, go for it, dude.”

Steve leaned in slow, giving Eddie a chance to back out. He didn’t. The kiss was slow and warm and Steve’s hand went deeper into his hair. When he pulled away, Eddie came with him for a second kiss. This one went deeper and had Eddie pushing Steve back against the couch. When they parted this time, Steve felt like he was in a daze, when a realization came to him.

He jolted up, nearly knocking Eddie off the couch as he reached for the walkie-talkie. “This is Loverboy to Birdie. Put a point down for I rule cause Harrington’s still got it baby!”, he said, snapping excitedly.

“Bullshit”, Robin replied.

Eddie took the device from Steve. “This is the Master, confirming the Harrington does in fact, still have it. Over.” He then dropped the walkie-talkie onto the floor and went back to kissing Steve.

Argyle had made the astute observation that Robin had put down a tally right after he’d done a transaction with Steve, but Eddie hadn’t wanted to believe he had anything to do with that scoreboard.

-----------

“This is Jonner-Than-You, confirming the retrieval and delivery of five nuggets and a tall drink. Over.”

“Loverboy responding, it’s supposed to be six nuggets, a tall drink, and three sides. Over.”

“Mad Max went off to have dinner with Lucky Number and the sides are not cooperating. Over.”

“You tell the rest of that club that they better get their asses in that van. Nancy, Argyle, and I didn’t slave over a hot stove just for them to-”

Jonathan held up the walkie to the rest of the Hellfire club to hear all of Steve’s tirade. No one turned down an invitation to Sunday dinner. No one.

----------

The six of them laid out in the middle of a field, blissed out. For once, none of them had anywhere to be or anything to do. A perfect opportunity to waste time by passing a joint and watching the sky.

Jonathan picked up his walkie-talkie. “This is Jonner-Than-You reporting in. I love you guys.”

“Birdie to Jonner-Than-You, I love you too.”

“Um, Loverboy to Birdie. You’re supposed to love me best. Over.”

“Wave Rider responding. There’s enough love to go around. You should know that Loverboy.”

“You guys are high as fuck. Over”, Eddie said.

“Big Wheel to the group. Quit wasting your batteries. Over.”

“Birdie to Big Wheel. Not until you admit you love us. Over.”

That started a chant of “Love us. Love us.” through the walkie-talkies which made it reverberate even more until Nancy was covering her ears and everyone ditched the walkie-talkies to dog pile on top of her. Only then did she admit she loved these idiots.

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theragethatisdesire · 11 months

Text

"ti penso ogni giorno" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

first fic! kind of threw this together while traveling and had no beta readers, so please be nice to me. i've been spending some time in the italian countryside and got a little inspired.

pairing: reader x eren jaeger

wc: 7.5k (jesus christ)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, unprotected sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, princess), slight breeding kink (if you squint) crying, multiple orgasm, creampie, aftercare

**title means "i think about you every day" in italian :')

Standing on top of this mountain looking over unfamiliar fields, you don’t remember a time in the recent past you’ve felt so at peace, the quiet fluttering of the sparrows easing the ever-present ache in your heart.

It was a tasteful ceremony. A small church in the middle of the Chianti region, in a little town with a name you couldn’t pronounce, decorated with so many candles that the room was sweltering, even with the breeze wafting in from the hills. Mikasa and Jean’s little girl, Clara, had played the role of flower girl perfectly; you hadn’t seen her since she was a newborn, and there she was, toddling down the aisle on fat little three-year-old legs. Historia and Ymir were beautiful brides, practically unchanged over the years, still as consumed with each other as they had been in college.

Even now, you distinctly remember a drunken night when Ymir promised Historia that she would take her to Europe one day, and here she was, marrying her beloved blonde in the heart of Italy. Another memory surfaces, parallel to that one, of someone looping an arm around your waist as you watched college-Ymir make her declaration, a whisper in your ear of the same promise. You pack that up and tuck it away as soon as it surfaces, scratching at your elbow.

“What are you doing out here?” Mikasa’s voice is behind you, drawing closer. You smile down at Clara, holding her mother’s hand and wobbling out into the grass.

“Just thinking,” you sigh, swishing your wine around in its glass, “I should come back in and join the party.”

“They just finished the champagne toast, but you haven’t missed the first dance,” Mikasa agrees.

You take Clara’s other hand and reluctantly allow yourself to be led back into the thick of things, the two of you swinging the little girl between you. Her shrieks of joy make you smile in spite of yourself, calming the nerves fluttering around in your stomach. Years had passed and things had changed, you and everyone else around you included.

It was a gorgeous reception, even more beautiful than the ceremony. They’d chosen a huge stone patio outside of the massive villa they’d rented, covered by columns of stone arching up to form a roof and dripping with flowered vines. It was exactly what you would’ve chosen, so beautiful it didn’t need decoration. Simple, natural, Tuscan.

“He didn’t bring a date,” Mikasa murmurs to you as you enter the terrace, scanning the room for Jean. She didn’t need to specify who “he” was; you had seen him at the ceremony, longer hair than you remembered, two rows ahead of you. Even if you hadn’t, the sad truth was there was really only one “he” for you, and Mikasa knew that.

“What do you want me to do with that?” You respond, trying and failing to mask your discomfiture with irritation.

“Whatever you want,” Mikasa shrugs, vague as always, scooping Clara up onto her hip and striding across the tented reception to Jean. You watch her go, watch Jean take Clara and kiss Mikasa, envy and self-pity clawing at your heart.

Ymir and Historia chose a slower song than you expected; it must be Historia’s doing that they were doing a first dance at all. Ymir had made it exceptionally clear during the bachelorette trip that all of the frills were to make Historia happy, and she was mostly looking forward to the honeymoon. The memory makes you snort into your empty wine glass, until you catch a glimpse of green eyes across the room.

Eren’s suit is more expensive than anything you knew he owned, sharp at the corners and resembling something your boss’ boss would wear. Mikasa had mentioned months ago that Eren and Zeke’s business was really taking off, but you find yourself wondering if these were the clothes he wore now, or if it was a splurge. He’s staring at you, no surprise there. Breakup aside, Eren’s the most possessive person you’ve ever known, and anything that was his is always his, at least from his point of view. That was part of the problem, you reflect, tracing your red fingernail around the rim of your wine glass.

The first dance concludes and amidst the applause, waiters begin circling the room with hors d'oeuvres, little bits of smoked salmon and crudite platters. After the travel and ceremony, you’re ravenous, and you begin weaving your way through the crowd to track down a tray with carbohydrates on it.

You’re halfway through stuffing a croquette into your mouth when Armin interrupts you, chuckling. “Hungry?”

“I only flew over this morning,” you excuse yourself, dabbing at your mouth with a cocktail napkin. Armin doesn’t care, you know that, but after the last few years of cocktail hours with the most influential magazine and website owners in the world, manners are second-nature.

“At least it was a short flight. You came from…Belgium?”

“Moscow,” you shrug, “four hour flight into Milan, two hour train, hour long car service.”

“Car service?” Armin cocks an eyebrow. “Haven’t you gotten fancy over the years?”

You blush, embarrassed. “Did you fly from the states?”

“Shanghai, actually.” Armin’s face shows it, still puffy from the flight. “I don’t even know how many hours, just that it was long.”

“I’ve made that flight,” you say, empathizing, “not a fun one.”

“I was able to throw some miles from my company card into it and get first class, though, it was the nicest-”

“Can I join you two?” Your heart drops. You knew he was watching you, he’s always watching you, but to be so bold as to interrupt a conversation, speak to you here? Now?

“Sure, Eren,” Armin steps to the side to make room for Eren at the high-top table you’ve found yourselves gathering around, “we were just catching up on our flights over.”

Eren nods, masterfully collected as he smiles politely at you. “I actually had business over here, so I left New York maybe…a week ago, now? It wasn’t bad at all, our company card covers first-class flights.”

Some strange mix of annoyance and being impressed swells in your throat. You take a swig of wine to swallow it, not trusting yourself to resist throwing out a snarky comment or alternatively inquiring about where this first-class-covering business card came from. You don’t owe him the satisfaction. Armin nods politely, but you can see the tension in his smile. The history between Eren and you could stretch for miles of scorched earth, and it’s no secret. You imagine that earth, black and smoking, half-finished houses with white picket fences smoldering down to their foundations.

“So,” Eren breaks the silence, turning to you, “where did you come in from?”

“Moscow.” One-word answers, minimal detail, you assure yourself in your head. He won’t get his claws in you this time if you don’t let him.

“Moscow is beautiful,” Eren sips the bourbon that you had considered throwing in his face when he approached, “but a little cold this time of year, isn’t it?”

“It was very nice, actually,” you can’t help disagreeing for the sake of it, “I was only in town for a few days covering a story, anyway.” Shit. You’ve betrayed yourself already and revealed a detail. Eren’s smile curls up over his cheeks like a cat that’s found a trapped mouse. You kick yourself inwardly.

“Hear that, Armin? Our little bookworm is still writing.”

You roll your eyes at the old nickname from college, earned by your constant pleas to stay in for a comfy night instead of a frat party. You had read over 350 books in college, breaking your four-year goal by at least fifty. Eren used to beg you to tell him the stories you read before bed like a child, because he couldn’t be bothered to read the actual book and it sounds so much more interesting when you read it, baby. And up until the last three years, you had obliged him. Now, the only person you read to sleep is yourself.

“I made a career out of it,” you snip, “so yes, still writing.”

“Clara’s getting into the wedding cake- I don’t see Mikasa, shit, one sec-” Armin’s sentence is cut short by the speed with which he darts away from the pair of you, running off towards a table on the other side of the room. You don’t necessarily blame him, but you seethe anyway, vowing to repay him for abandoning you.

“Career, hm?” Eren hums pleasantly. “Work’s going well, then?”

You snatch a second glass of wine off of a passing tray, wanting more than anything to walk away from him, but you both know your feet won’t move. Getting a nice buzz going is your only option, at this point. You take a healthy swig, shrugging. “I enjoy it, and it pays.”

“That’s a beautiful dress,” Eren murmurs, quiet and thoughtful. You blush and frown all at once.

“Says the one wearing a $6,000 suit.”

“Is it?” Eren fingers his lapel. He looks amused, and you want to smack the faux-bashfulness right off of his face. “I honestly didn’t know.”

“Your work must be going exceedingly well, then,” you glare, seeing right through him. The facade falters for just a moment, a critical moment: Eren almost looks sad.

“The business took off about a year ago,” he’s not looking at you, focusing on something in the distance, “so I’m traveling almost constantly now. I hardly see Zeke, my only company is usually just my assistant or a flight attendant. I love visiting a new city every week, but it’s…”

“Lonely?” You finish for him before you can stop yourself. He nods, looking surprised.

“Your work keeps you on the go now, too?”

“I switched over to a rolling travel schedule two years ago, when Rolling Stone started their global music column. It ended up being super popular and I’m the lead journalist, so I’m basically running all over the world listening to the weirdest music you can imagine. They had me head over to Berlin one time to cover the ‘rising alien punk scene’; it was…really something.” You pull a funny face at the memory, Eren laughs, a deep, real laugh from the belly. You can hear yourself rambling, revealing, but you can’t stop. It’s so natural that the realization of falling back into yourself, the self that loved Eren, is making your skin crawl. You should walk away, look for an out-

“Have you explored the grounds at all?”

Eren’s question snaps you out of your moment of clarity, back into his magnetic field. “The grounds?”

“This house,” Eren gestures to the villa that Ymir and Historia have rented for their closest friends, “sits on over a thousand acres of vineyard. The best wine in the world.”

“I can tell,” you examine the legs on your glass of red, provided by the vineyard itself, “it’s not my usual French, but it’s incredible.”

“Snob,” Eren grins at you. You have always been a picky wine drinker, Eren used to joke that you could pass a sommelier test without even taking the course. “So, the grounds?”

He offers you an elbow. You look at it, weighing but not really weighing your options, and slip your arm through his, feeling the rapid thudding of your pulse. You’re fairly sure if anyone looked closely at your neck, they’d see the frantic heartbeat insistently pushing right under your skin. You tell yourself it will only be a short walk, just a few minutes, because you do want to see the grounds, even if it’s with the last person you should be spending any time with. You hope that you’ll be able to sneak out without catching Mikasa’s eye.

Eren tugs you along, prattling on about the history of the vineyard, entirely unaware that you’re not listening. This Eren is so different from the Eren you left in New York, but still similar, still feels like home. His nose and jaw have only grown stronger with age, but his eyes still have a youthful glimmer, even if they seem sharper and more intense than you’ve ever seen them. It’s unlikely that he’s physically grown even taller between 23 and 26, but his presence makes him seem like the tallest man in the room. He’s self assured, confident, and in charge, in a manlier, more mature way that you’ve never seen before. A heat simmers in your stomach as you admire the curve of his strong neck, and you want to swat your own hand, tell yourself to settle down. It’s just a walk.

“I think I could die happy here,” Eren says, looking over the view you’ve approached, about a half mile from the rest of the party now. You chuckle.

“A beautiful view and some good wine is all it takes?”

“That’s most of it, these days,” Eren shrugs, “but I do need cable. And-”

“A television, a gym, at least one case of shitty domestic beer in the house at all times,” you count off on your fingers.

“For starters,” Eren concedes with a shy grin. “And a wife.”

Those last two words cause your heart to stop altogether. You look around, realizing just how far you are from the villa, how alone you are with him. The sun is setting reluctantly around you both, sinking slowly, holding onto the landscape with an iron grip.

“That would be nice,” you stammer, “f-for you, definitely.”

“Want to explore this building over here?” As if nothing out of the ordinary happened, Eren points out a smaller home down the hill from you both. “It’s really cool inside.”

You trudge along beside him, having kicked off your heels and left them at the reception long ago, and a fresh wave of anger kicks up in your chest. It was just so quintessentially Eren; drop a bomb, and then act like nothing happened. It reminds you that there are aspects of Eren you can’t stand, and that reminder instills you with the confidence to seclude yourself with him in the charming little stone house.

It is really cool. No window panes in the entire bottom floor, just the fresh vineyard air rolling in. There’s a little kitchenette, some various odds and ends of sofas and chairs sprawling across the clay-bricked floors. A huge table, clearly made for workers’ lunch breaks over the centuries, squats in the middle of the bottom floor, and racks of wine cover the walls. You break away from him to pick up a bottle or two, examine the label, brush off some dust.

Eren grants you a few moments to yourself before you sense him behind you, closer than you want to consider.

“Anything good?” He says, peering right over your shoulder from the sound of it.

You turn around before you can regret it, chest to chest with him. He’s hunching his head to make the best eye contact with you he can, the way he’s always done. You focus on breathing normally, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how his proximity still affects you after all these years. “A ‘92 vintage Chianti. They actually talked about this wine in my sommelier course; I didn’t even realize this was the same vineyard.”

“You took the course?” Eren smiles crookedly, an endearing grin that you’ve always loved. You smile despite yourself.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly, “I took the course.”

Eren grins wider, and thankfully leaves you there, striding across the room to shuffle through the kitchen drawers. When he returns, he’s holding a wine key and two glasses. You cock your head, confused.

“It’s supposed to be the best, huh? Crack it open.”

“Eren…” you trail off, holding the bottle gingerly, “this bottle has to be over a thousand dollars. We can’t do it.”

“Did I forget to mention this is my bunk for the trip?” He smiles again, his prominent canines glinting in the sunset light streaming in, gesturing around the room grandly; your knees nearly buckle at the sight. “Bedroom’s upstairs. Ymir and Historia said any of the wine’s up for grabs. It’s the owners’ fault if they left the good stuff out for us to get into, and it’s on my tab anyway.”

You’re nearly speechless, not only that Eren got an entire house to himself (he’s always been the spoiled brat of the friend group), but that he tricked you into coming here, with him. When you fail to respond, he takes it simply as more reluctance to open the bottle, and he grabs the bottle from you and starts to dig the corkscrew in through the top.

You let a few beats pass, considering your options as he pours the wine. When he finally hands you the glass, you give voice to your thoughts, testing the waters. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you love wine and the house is cool,” Eren shrugs innocently, taking a sip, “damn, that’s good. Try it.”

You hold your glass stock-still in your hands. “We’re done with…what we used to do, you know. That’s not what’s going on here.”

The air sparkles with dust; Eren’s demeanor stutters, a small frown working its way onto his face. “Just try the wine, babe.”

Your heart flutters, your stomach sinks, your memories with Eren shriek from the back of your mind. The pet name is too familiar, too easy, and it brings a cold chill over you. As you’re prone to do, your panic comes shooting out coated in snark.“Babe? Yeah, no, I’m done-”

“Sorry, sorry– it was a mistake, force of habit,” Eren’s already apologizing as you’re talking; you hate how he can still anticipate your reaction before you can give it. He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, rolling his eyes, “a mistake. Try your wine, you don’t know when you’re going to stumble across that again.”

You let him hold your wrist, enjoying the pressure of his strong hands into the delicate flesh of your arm despite yourself. You look between him, the wine, the room several times, as if you’re weighing your decision. You know what you’re going to choose, but maybe you can pretend that he doesn’t know, too. Eren’s willing to play along, eyes wide and pleading.

Without breaking your gaze, you carefully taste the wine. Damn him, it is good. It has a complexity of flavor and a depth to it that’s incredibly rare, even in the French countryside wines you tend to favor. Even though you fight it, you smile at him and offer your glass for him to pour more.

The bottle passes quickly, both of you settling yourselves in chairs at the kitchen table, discussing old friends, new friends, reminiscing on the college years when you were both a little happier and a little less sane. You hardly notice the sun setting further, the smallest bits of twilight leaking into the corners of the sky.

“Your teeth are so red,” you giggle, head spinning. The wine was delicious, delicious enough for Eren to pop open a second bottle, but God, was it strong. You aren’t sure how you’ll manage the walk back up to the reception- is the reception even still going on?

“So are yours,” Eren pinches your cheek, giggling drunkenly along with you.

“God, you’re right.” You place a finger onto your teeth, rubbing frantically at the wine stains to no avail. Eren reaches a wobbling hand out to pull your fingers out of your mouth, shaking his head. He frowns and shakes his head, childlike.

“Don’t take them off.”

“The wine stains?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? They make teeth look dirty,” you laugh again, trying to shove your finger back into your mouth where Eren’s holding it.

“I…okay, maybe it’s weird, but I always thought it was kind of sexy when your teeth were all red from wine,” Eren blushes, and it’s so childishly endearing that you can feel your heart swell.

“Really?”

“I never told you that?” Eren looks astonished, chuckling under his breath. “It drove me crazy back when we were together. You’d go to Historia’s, or Sasha’s, or whoever’s and down a bottle or two of red and come stumbling back into that crappy apartment in Harlem-”

“-the one with the mean bodega lady outside!”

“Yes!” Eren snaps his fingers, pointing at you excitedly. “Anyway, you’d come waddling back in, hair a mess and wine all over your teeth, your lips would be bright purple, and you’d always be so horny-”

“Eren!”

“It’s true! You’d ride me for an hour before you knocked out.” Eren sipped his wine, smiling in a private way that you felt was just for you.

“An hour seems like a bit of a stretch,” you murmur, looking down into your glass. You’ve almost finished your wine and you shouldn’t have any more, the reception is waiting for you and you’ve been gone with Eren long enough that you’ve been missed at this point. When you pull your head up, Eren looks different. It’s a familiar face on a new man: his eyes have a mischievous glimmer in them, the sunset winking at you through his green irises.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips; your mind wanders to that tongue, those lips. Mentally, you dance over what you know those lips and tongue can do, how they feel on your mouth, your neck, between your legs. Your wine-addled mind tries to shake the persistent thought. Eren reaches a hand over to your mouth, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the corner of your lips.

“Still think it looks sexy,” he mumbles, half-drunk and half expecting a stern reprimand from you. His eyes search your face, curious of your reaction. It’s the moment you’ve been running around the world from for the last three years, finally coming to fruition here in this little house.

You embarrass and surprise yourself simultaneously: tears well in your eyes. You want him; you’re drunk and beautiful and desperate for him in the beautiful countryside of Italy, but he’s so bad for you. They’re tears that have been waiting behind your eyes, tears of frustration and desire.

“Why are you crying?” Eren asks, furrowing his brow. You know he knows, he understands you and your emotions better than anyone. You’re angry with him, angry that he knows the source of your tears before you open your mouth.

“We’re done, Eren,” you fail miserably to steel your voice, “we can’t do this anymore, remember? It’s not good for us.”

“It’s been three years, baby,” Eren responds, still rubbing his thumb over your lips, “three years of growing. We’re different now– I’m different.”

“No,” you sniffle, feeling like a child. Whether he’s changed or not is still up for debate, but your sore heart can only take so much. He’s so beautiful, soaked in sun and wine and temptation, simpering at you. Your resolve is weakening by the second.

“Yes,” Eren insists, “it’s me. You belong to me, you know you do.”

“Eren–”

“You always do this, always try to run from me, but I’ll always find you,” he murmurs, “I’ll go to every corner of the earth if I need to. I’ll always find you because you’re mine.”

You’d love to say that he leaned in, he grabbed your face and pulled you to him, but you’d be lying. It’s you who leans forward ever so slightly, catching your chapped lips in his and kissing him tentatively. You wouldn’t be lying if you told anyone that he sighed into your mouth, ready to feel your body under his hands again. You wouldn’t be lying in the slightest.

Eren allows you a few tentative kisses, a few pecks against his lips, familiar and new all the same. Once you’ve had your fill of shyness, your obligatory ruse of unassuredness, he reaches for you, scooping you into his lap. You straddle him, whimpering at the friction of his already-growing bulge against your clothed cunt. He has to push your dress up to allow you room to spread your legs over him; you’re wearing a slinky little silk number, a gorgeous deep brown against your tanned skin, but not cooperative for lap-sitting.

Eren’s tongue is practically down your throat, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you have to pull away for air, hands roaming your now-bare thighs.

“This dress,” he pants between kisses, “is so fucking perfect on you. Look so good for me.”

You sigh into his mouth, running your hands through his hair. Off to the side of your mind, you realize you may have knocked his hair out of its bun, but the dark locks feel so soft in your fingers, you can’t bring yourself to apologize for it. He’s wrapping his hands around your ass; Eren always loved your full hips, and it seems that that fact hasn’t changed.

Your hands find their way to his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He’s grown stronger over the years, definitive muscles rippling under your fingers, but the broadness he’s always possessed is still there. He’s large compared to you, twice as wide and at least a head taller, and you loathe to admit it, but it turns you on. You love the way he manhandles you, the way he pushes and pulls you exactly how he wants you, the way he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise, rocking them against his own.

A particularly well-placed thrust of his hips against yours elicits a wanton groan from you, spilling into his mouth. Eren moans back, moving away from your lips to mouth his way down your throat.

“Gonna sit you up now, okay?”

He stands, knocking the chairs aside on his way up, to set you on the table, the perfect height for him to grope at you, pull your dress this way and that.

“Wanna get this thing off, will you let me?”

You hesitate, or try to, at least. His hands are dizzying, flying all over your body and squeezing at just the right spots as he nibbles on your earlobe. “But, the reception–”

“Sh, sh, sh. We’re so far away, baby, they’ll never even know, yeah?” Eren goads you and you’re putty in his hands, the rapidly-shrinking rational part of your brain growing quieter with each kiss, each pet. He manages to wrench your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but a stringy pair of panties. Eren steps back to look over you; you resist the urge to cover yourself. You know his routine.

“Fuck,” Eren breathes, palming your tits, “you’re perfect, do you know that? So beautiful just for me, aren’t you?”

You flush pink from your chest to your forehead. Even after years of love and war and running, his bedroom talk still gets to you. Eren loves to tell you what he thinks of you, and you’ve never managed to grow accustomed to hearing it.

“Say it.”

“Hm?” You hum, preoccupied with his mouth pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts, even pausing to suck a bruise into the side of your left.

“Say you’re beautiful, tell me how pretty you are for me.”

This part is new; Eren has always loved to talk to you in bed, but your participation in the dirty talk has been minimal until now. Your blush grows even deeper. “I’m beautiful, beautiful just for you.”

“Good girl,” Eren purrs, allowing you to pull his head closer to your chest. His tongue swirls around one nipple. He closes his lips around it, sucking hard, and you moan openly, pulling him closer. Eren grins, letting his teeth pinch down on it. “You still like when I play with your tits, hm?”

“Yes,” you hiss, too caught up in pleasure to address his smugness.

“Know you baby, know you inside and out. These tits are mine,” a hand wanders down to your cunt, swiping across your panties and feeling the wetness that soaks them, “and this pussy’s mine too. You might not love me anymore, but your body– oh, she loves me.”

You have no way to respond to that, no way to address what those words do to your brain. Chagrin as you might be to admit it, he’s right. Eren was your first and only adult relationship, fucking your body into submission for years and training it, training your cunt to respond to him and the way he liked to touch you. He’s pushed and prodded you into his perfect little fuckdoll, and you let him and you loved it. You loved every second of it, and god does it feel good rushing back to you now, finally under his hands again after years without.

Eren nudges your panties to the side, rubbing quick circles over your clit, just the way you like it. A long, heady whine leaks from your lips, your hips urgently roll towards him.

“Missed me? Is that it?” Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smug grin on his lips. Eren loves when you’re needy for him.

“Mhm,” you indulge him in the hopes you’ll get what you want, and you’re right. A long finger sinks into you, instantly curling to press into the spongy spot within your walls that has you swooning, clutching desperately onto his shoulders.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

You pull at his suit jacket, fumbling with the buttons on his collared shirt. “Want it off, want to see you.”

Eren relents, pulling his hand from you to step back and strip his shirt and jacket. He is as muscular as he feels; you drag your eyes over his strong chest, his defined abs, and the deep V leading down below his belt. You briefly remember all of your post-college friends, girls that had never known Eren, teasing you that he was your hottest ex. You had blushed, but you understand. He’s like a Greek statue, glistening with sweat from the evening heat, every crevice of him on display just for you. It sends a fresh wave of heat pulsing through your body, and you pull him back to you, relishing in the feel of his hands on you.

“Want me to make you cum, is that it?” Eren’s amused, sinking two fingers into your heat. You croon, nodding desperately. He chuckles, moving his fingers against the spot inside of you. “I’ve got you, don’t worry baby. Gonna make you feel good.”

You nod again into his shoulder, attached to him wherever you can find the space, grasping his body and pulling it to yours. You wish you had the capacity to be ashamed of your need, laid bare for him to see, but you don’t. All you can think about is his fingers moving in you, gaining speed and bringing you closer to an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He slides a third in, just to be safe, and you’re so wet that your pussy accepts it willingly. The stretch makes you pout, push at his chest. “Too much, Eren–”

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he huffs, his arousal getting the better of him, “get you ready to get fucked. Cunt’s tight after all these years, isn’t it? Gotta work it open.”

That does a lot to your hazy brain; you bite deep into his shoulder, moans coming faster and louder as he works his fingers in you. The bubble is building in the pit of your stomach, your hips are canting towards him.

“Eren, Eren I–”

“I know, I know,” he coos, fingers curling inside you even faster, “my girl needs to cum, doesn’t she? You want to cum all over my fingers, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry into his skin, biting and moaning alternatively. Your head’s spinning; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. You’re no nun, not by any means, but Eren knows your body, crafted it to respond to him, to his hands and mouth and cock, and your body is rejoicing at the feel of him on and in you again. You can’t hold it, you know you can’t, you’re moments away now. “Eren, I’m going to cum, I’m gonna–”

“Do it, baby,” he growls into your ear, his fingers working even faster, thumb moving up to swipe at your clit, “give it to me, want to hear you cum.”

Your body convulses and you’re cumming hard, with Eren the first one of the night always goes that way. Eren knows it, pulls you close against him and works his fingers in you, helping you ride it out. He’s practically purring into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, cumming all over his fingers like that, and you eat it up. You cry into his flesh where it’s secured between your teeth, rocking your hips into his hand desperately.

Your orgasm begins to fade, and you find the presence of mind to shove at his fingers, begging for a reprieve. “Give me your cock, want it in my mouth.”

“Is that what you need?” Eren’s already helping you onto your knees, gentle, but needy. “Need my cock in your mouth?”

“Please,” you say eagerly, adjusting your knees to a comfortable position on the dirt floor, easily unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his legs. He steps out of his shoes, kicking his pants off, strong thighs twitching under your nails as you softly scratch down them. A groan rumbles in Eren’s chest at your enthusiasm, he places a hand on your head, running through your curls.

“Can’t be for too long, ‘kay?” Eren pants, hissing when you press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. “Still gotta fuck you, feel you cum on me.”

You hum your approval, popping him fully into your mouth with a satisfied moan. You’ve always loved taking him in your mouth, the comforting weight of him on your tongue. You’re getting impossibly wetter, feeling the heat gather between your legs as you bob your head up and down on him, listening to his satisfied little grunts and groans above you.

Eren rubs a hand over your cheek, mutters his approval, thrusts his hips forwards unwittingly a few times. You gag when he does, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve taken him like this so many times, even with his impressive size, you love the feel of him pressing back into your throat until you choke.

“Fuck, fuck, baby it’s– it’s too much,” Eren indulges in a few more thrusts into your throat before grabbing your hair and urging you off of him, “need your pussy, okay?”

You’re not going to argue with that, letting him pull you to your feet, an anticipatory smile cracking across your face. You’re drunk on the wine and sex and him, babbling nonsensically. “Wanna feel you, Eren, need you.”

“I’ve got you, gonna make you feel so good, princess.” Impressively, Eren scoops you off of the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both over to the wall, pressing you up against it. “Gonna make you mine all over again, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a loaded question, but you’re so captivated by him, all you can do is murmur your agreement, tell him you want to be his because at least for now, you do. Eren’s magnetic, the man you run from so you don’t get lost in him, but tonight, you’re willing to drown. You’re begging for it.

The stone wall is rough against your bare back, but the head of Eren’s cock rubbing through your folds distracts you, a promise of what’s to come.

“Please, please put it in, Eren, I need–”

“My girl needs to be full, doesn’t she?” Eren’s smirking at you, slipping the tip of his cock in. Even the stretch of that alone is enough to make you moan, digging your nails into his back. “There you go, gonna fill you up, make you all better.”

You nod into his shoulder, the weight of your actions catching up to you as he presses himself into you, fills you entirely. Eren’s your kryptonite, he’s a drug, he’s an overwhelming presence, you can’t think straight around him. Before coming to this wedding, you told yourself you’d stay away, but you can’t help it. Everything about him is like he’s sculpted just for you, your body yields to him so easily you think you might be made just for him too. His skin, salty and sweaty from the summer air, is delicious under your tongue.

He’s moving now, fucking up into you desperately, like he loves you and like he wants to break you. You jolt in his arms, helpless to do anything but take and take and take everything he has to give you.

He smiles against your open mouth, placing a sloppy kiss over it. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so fucking good,” you whimper, letting him manhandle you. Eren’s always rough with you, always riding the line of too much, and you love taking it. You love letting him push you to your limits.

“Missed my cock in you, didn’t you? This cunt was made for me,” Eren huffs, “made just for me. Mine, isn’t it?”

You don’t indulge him with an answer, loathe to admit that your cunt is made for him, but you feel yourself clench down around him, more of your wetness soaking his lower stomach. Eren chokes out some mix of a moan and a breathless laugh, fucking up into you harder. “What a perfect answer, baby. You love it, I know you do.”

“I love it,” you agree, simpering against him as your willpower fizzles out to nothing. You’re reluctant to believe it, but there’s another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. Your body responds to him in a way it responds to no one else, clinging to him and growing wet for him and tightening around him.

Eren’s digging his hands into your hips, moving you up and down on his cock more so than actually thrusting. He’s panting against your ear, hot and heavy and in tune with your own gasps. He nudges his mouth down to plant sloppy kisses around your shoulder, just at the crook of your neck in the sensitive spot that he knows you love, remembers even after all these years.

“Been too fucking long, baby,” Eren says, “gonna cum soon.”

You nod into his neck, cunt tightening around him at the prospect of his cum inside you. Just the thought of it sends your mind into orbit; a little fantasy forms in your hazy head of him fucking you like this every night, like he used to, a child with your curls and deep, green eyes-

“Gonna let me cum in this perfect cunt, aren’t you?”

As usual, Eren’s right in line with you– the synchronicity makes you moan again. “Please, please–”

“Gotta cum with me, alright? You can do that for me, can’t you?” You can, you will, but you’re so close to the edge when you try to respond your words are jumbled together. Even so close to his own release, Eren snickers at you. “My sweet girl’s all fucked out, can’t even talk.”

“Need your cum,” you manage, “please, Eren, m’close.”

Years ago, through strenuous games of overstimulation and denial, Eren trained your body to wait for him, you can’t cum unless he does and you know it. Your only option is to beg, hot shame warming your face. Eren remembers, just like you do, it makes him grin, feral and dangerous in the early evening light.

“Need my cum, baby? Needy, so needy, so beautiful,” he’s starting to slur, you know he’ll finish soon, “gonna cum in this perfect cunt of yours, never let you keep it from me again. Maybe I’ll knock you up, hm? Can’t run from me with my baby in you.”

Your watery eyes fly open at that, the logical part of your brain long-quieted, and you moan loud for him again, just the way he likes. Eren’s thrusts have grown sloppy, he’s grabbing you so hard now you know you’ll be left with Eren-shaped bruises on your hips.

Eren finally cums in you with your name on his lips, long and deep, keeping his cock fully seated inside you. It triggers your orgasm, a toe-curling wave of pleasure coursing through your body, straining your sore muscles. Eren’s mouth is pressed against yours and all you can manage is a whimper, feeling his cum warm your pussy, leak out around from where you’re both still joined together.

All the energy’s been pulled from your body now; you slump against his shoulder and whine when he slides out of you. Eren places you gently on the floor, presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before leading you upstairs on shaking legs. It smells like Eren up here, the pricey cologne he favors and the scent of well-loved sweatshirts intoxicating you. There are no words between the two of you as he leads you to the bathroom, helping you sit on the toilet seat as Eren rummages around for a washcloth to clean you.

“We need to go back to the reception,” you say weakly, wincing as Eren rubs the cloth over your cunt.

“What do you think?”

You frown, confused. “About?”

“Us, again,” he’s avoiding your eyes, focusing on his work between your legs. You’re not surprised he waited until you were disarmed to ask, brain still muddled and dizzy.

“Eren–”

“I am different now,” he finally meets your eyes, gaze alight with the burning, too-hot-to-touch love you know so well, the only love Eren knows how to offer, “got a therapist like you were always asking me to. I meditate every day. I’ll be so good to you, you know how good I am.”

He is good to you, you remember it well, your own tendency to flee was what broke you up in the first place. You’d left his heart shattered on the sidewalk of your apartment back in New York City, overwhelmed with commitment and unwilling to give his flaws the same grace he gave yours. You’re opposites: he’s hot where you’re cool, angry where you’re distant, argumentative where you’re cold. You sigh, head feeling heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you know what you’re asking of me? What about the lives we have now?”

“We’d make it work, line our schedules up together” the corner of his mouth curls, you want to kiss him again, “we’re always able to figure something out.”

You hate yourself for it, you want to run from him, get a car to the airport right now. You also want to pull him into your arms, feel his heartbeat against yours, kiss that hesitant smile on his face and never stop. “I…can I sleep on it?”

Eren’s face lights up, a kid on Christmas morning. He’s always been so expressive in these quiet moments; unreadable in a crowded room, but when it’s just you and him, his heart’s always been on his sleeve. He can’t help it. “Yeah, just sleep on it.”

You get yourself as put-together as you can, wipe the mascara from under your eyes, slip the dress back over your shoulders and concede one more kiss to Eren. It’s slow, long and languid, tongues slipping over one another, the desperation now cooled into a sense of homecoming.

You hold hands as you climb the hill back to the reception. Your knees wobble, and it makes Eren laugh, makes you blush. He’s still going on about the villa’s history, and you’re half-listening, admiring the stars above you both. The reception is still going on, albeit a bit more subdued than earlier. Some guests have trickled out, finding their beds, but your friends are still seated around a table, drunk and laughing.

Connie’s the worst, of course, leaning on Jean and regaling everyone with a tale about their Midwestern childhood together; Mikasa’s buried under Clara, who’s sleeping soundly in her lap; Ymir and Historia are alternating between listening and kissing one another; Sasha’s struggling with a corkscrew and a tricky wine bottle, Armin attempting to help her.

Your face warms as all eyes turn to you, rumpled and suspicious and late. Mikasa raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her face.

“Where have you two been? You missed the garter toss,” Ymir nudges Historia conspiratorially.

“Just touring the grounds,” Eren answers coolly, pulling the empty chair beside Mikasa and offering it to you. You sit, grateful to be off of your shaking legs.

“It’s so beautiful here, thanks for putting us all up…” you accept the glass of wine Armin is offering over your shoulder, tipping it in the happy couples’ direction. Historia murmurs a quiet ‘you’re welcome’, the entire table exchanging knowing glances. You scowl, being left out of a joke is one of your pet peeves. “What?”

Jean grins lewdly. “Nothing, just…I don’t think Eren’s room is as far from the main house as you two think it is.”

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