#^ echoing my words from last year.... (so far it seems not to have worked at all but please don't blame me i'm naught but one rodent)

[robron-til-the-end-of-time]

@unfinishedroadtolove asked for a prompt of something to do with Robert's PTSD. So I hope this suits!! ___

Robert had, with reluctance, agreed to seeing a therapist. The prison service actually recommended a handful of them, to adjust to life on the outside, and you got six free sessions if you'd served more than five years. A new initiative to try and cut reoffending rates. Either way, Robert wasn't complaining about the free sessions, and that barrier meant Vic really did keep nagging him about it. So, he went.

The first bloke Robert was assigned, he hated. The second was a woman who seemed far calmer and more his speed, and he did go back to her. It made Vic happy, even if he wasn't convinced it was helping. All of which sort of brought him to where he was now, sitting in the pub in the background, disassociating.

Robert hadn't been aware of doing it while inside, or maybe it was a reaction to freedom, to being back in the place he'd left behind. Either way, he couldn't seem to help it. When people spoke about pointless things, it was like he zoned out, retreated back into himself. He'd never had this problem before, he'd had an almost laser like focus even when he had zero interest in the subject at hand. At least half his time with the Whites had been like that, and he'd never drifted away like this, zoning out.

"Robert are you listening to me?" He blinked, pulling himself back to awareness with difficulty. Vic had been talking to him and he had no idea what she'd said. "Have you spoken to your therapist about this?"

"About what?"

"You just... you sort of leave conversation midway through," Vic said. "It's like you're there but not there."

"I've mentioned it," Robert said with a sniff. "It's a symptom of my ptsd apparently."

"Can they fix it?"

"It's not like popping a pill," Robert said. "I've got to put in the work, and it's tiring. I've been advised to talk to someone who really knows me."

"Not me?"

"No," Robert said, smiling at her softly. "I don't want you to suffer with what I went through in prison. You'll only blame yourself, and that's not fair. It was me, I couldn't control my temper when I whacked that son of a bitch over the head. It's not your fault."

"So, Aaron then," Vic said.

"He'd be ideal," Robert said. "He knows me better than anyone, he also knows what prison can be like. But I'm not expecting to get past the rottweiler of John to even have a chance at speaking to him."

"Leave it with me," Vic said with a wink. Robert didn't argue. She was a stubborn Sugden as much as he was. ___

It was hot and sweaty July weather and Robert dropped the last bale of hay, pulling the arms of his overalls off. His grey T shirt was sticking to him with sweat, but the exercise almost felt good. He frowned at the wide open door as Aaron came in. "You weren't expecting me?"

"No," Robert said, voice soft, sitting on the just moved bale of hay and stretching his legs out. "What can I do for you?"

"Vic said... you needed to talk to me," Aaron said, almost a question in his voice.

"Where's your keeper?"

"John's at work," Aaron said, not even arguing that description, Robert noticed. Aaron walked into the barn, a little closer. "She said... you had PTSD. From prison."

"It's not a ploy," Robert said. "But yeah, I do. My therapist says it's common, but... I'm struggling with it."

"I can't be that person for you," Aaron said. "I really want to help you, and I don't want you to suffer, but we... we're not we anymore. You know?" Aaron flinched at saying those words that were so often echoed between them. He hadn't meant it that way and Robert knew it. So even though it hurt, he didn't reply to that open statement.

"What if I promise to keep a good six feet of distance between us at all times?" Robert teased. "Could we talk then?"

Aaron huffed a laugh. "You've got that level of self control, then?"

"I'm not the same as before," Robert said. "We've both changed, and I would like to talk to you. To get to know you now. But I promise, hands to myself."

Aaron smiled at him, he couldn't help it.

[artist-rat]

🌟🌠 ratty (positive!) new years greetings from local rat. aggressively wishing for everything to get better immediately and forever

[gyuuberryy]

pushing on my buttons!

pairing: bodyguard!jay x rich ceo's daughter!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, tension

synopsis: after a kidnapping attempt, your father hires jay, a cold and infuriating bodyguard you can’t seem to get rid of. you push his buttons at every turn, but as danger closes in, the tension between you turns into something far more dangerous—an undeniable connection neither of you can ignore.

warnings: mentions of blood, a bit of fighting, kissing

note: i'm dropping smth two months later finallyy(i'm still in the middle of exams AGAIN). i feel like this is not my best work, i had a major writer's block with it and ended up making it basic? idk i haven't been feeling well recently with the insane amount of workload i have since the start of this year and the burn out shows in this ughh. i hope the fic isn't too bad TT enjoy!

word count 5.8k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the heavy oak doors of your father’s office loomed before you, their polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the hallway chandelier. you paused, your fingers hovering over your phone screen, scrolling through a feed of designer handbags you didn’t need but absolutely wanted. 

the text from your father had been curt, almost ominous: “my office. now.” 

you rolled your eyes. it was probably about the credit card statement again. you had a perfectly good excuse ready—charity auction, obviously. he’d buy it. he always did.

with a sigh, you pushed the doors open, not bothering to knock. “you rang?” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you leaned against the doorframe, still engrossed in your phone.

your father didn’t look up from his desk. “sit,” he commanded, his voice sharp enough to make you glance up.

you blinked. okay. not a good sign.

it was then that you noticed him. the man standing beside your father, a silent shadow in the room. he was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black—black tactical pants, black fitted shirt, black boots that looked like they could crush a skull without breaking a sweat. his arms were crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but somehow radiating intensity. his face was all sharp angles and hard lines, his jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the room with a precision that made you feel like he’d already dissected every inch of it—and you along with it.

you straightened, your phone slipping into your pocket as you took a step forward. “who’s this?” you asked, your tone light but laced with suspicion.

your father gestured toward the man, his expression unyielding. “this is jay. your new bodyguard.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and absurd. then you laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound that echoed off the mahogany walls. “you’re joking.”

your father didn’t laugh. neither did jay. in fact, jay didn’t so much as twitch. his expression remained impassive, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

you turned back to your father, your laughter fading into a scoff. “this isn’t necessary. i’m not in danger. that whole kidnapping thing? a fluke. it’s been weeks and nothing’s happened.”

your father’s jaw tightened. “which is exactly why you need protection. we’re not taking any chances.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but jay beat you to it. his voice was low, calm, and infuriatingly even. “i’m not here to be liked, just to do my job.”

your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. excuse me?

he met your glare without flinching, his expression as unreadable as a stone wall. he didn’t care. not about your annoyance, not about your defiance, not about you. the realisation made your blood boil.

“congratulations on the worst job in existence,” you said coolly, tilting your head as you studied him. “because i’m not some damsel in distress.”

jay didn’t blink. “right. you handled the last situation so well.”

your jaw dropped. the audacity. “excuse you—”

“enough,” your father interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting this entire conversation. “jay will be with you at all times. this isn’t up for discussion.”

you stared at him, then at jay, who was still standing there like some brooding statue, completely unfazed. your mind raced, already plotting ways to make his life a living hell. fine. if this was happening, you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

you flashed jay a sweet, taunting smile, the kind that usually made people nervous. “try and keep up.”

his lips twitched—just barely—but it wasn’t a smile. more like a challenge accepted. “i don’t plan on falling behind.”

oh, you already hated him. hated the way he looked at you like you were a problem to be solved, hated the way he stood there like he owned the room, hated the way his voice sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. but most of all, you hated that he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by you.

your father exhaled, clearly done with the conversation. “jay will start immediately. i expect you to cooperate.”

you didn’t respond. instead, you turned on your heel and strode toward the door, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. you could feel jay’s eyes on your back, tracking your every move, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder. let him try to keep up. you were already planning your first escape.

as the doors swung shut behind you, you couldn’t help but smirk. this was going to be fun.

the first twenty-four hours with jay as your shadow were unbearable. it wasn’t just his constant presence—it’s the way he moves like he knows what you’re about to do before you do it, like some kind of infuriating psychic in tactical gear.

you woke up to find him standing right outside your bedroom door. arms crossed, eyes alert, posture straight. like a soldier. like a statue. like someone who had absolutely no life outside of making yours miserable.

you glare at him, silk robe slipping off your shoulder, hair a mess. “do you ever sleep? or do you just stand there like a creep all night?”

jay doesn’t react. not even a twitch. his gaze flicks over you, assessing, before looking away.

he didn’t react. not even a twitch. his dark eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing, before he looked away, his expression as blank as ever.

“good morning,” he said, his tone flat.

you rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face.

when you went to get coffee, he was already there, waiting. the barista gave him a once-over, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the faint scar that ran along his jawline. then they glanced at you, their eyebrows raised in a silent question: are you okay? do you need help?

you forced a smile. “he’s harmless,” you said, though the words tasted like a lie. jay didn’t so much as blink.

you grabbed your latte and stormed out, jay falling into step behind you like some kind of silent, brooding ghost. you could feel his eyes on your back, watching, always watching. it was suffocating.

in meetings, it was worse. you sat at the head of the conference table, your laptop open, your team discussing quarterly projections, and there he was—standing against the far wall, arms still crossed, his gaze sweeping the room like he was expecting an ambush at any moment. every time you glanced his way, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable.

you tried to ignore him. you really did. but his presence was like a thundercloud hovering over the room, dark and oppressive. by the time the meeting ended, you were ready to scream.

you had to get rid of him immediately.

attempt #1: the emergency exit 

it was simple, really. you waited until you were in the middle of a crowded lobby with jay, your phone pressed to your ear, your face the picture of distress. “no—no, stay right there, i’ll be there in five minutes,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. then you slipped out the back door, quick, smooth, victorious.

you couldn’t help but grin as you rounded the corner, your heart racing with the thrill of escape. finally, some freedom. finally, some—

jay was already there.

leaning against your car, arms still crossed, not even looking at you. like he’d been waiting for hours. like he’d known exactly where you’d go.

you froze, your smile slipping. “how the hell—”

he finally acknowledged you, tilting his head just slightly. his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. “you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

your fingers clenched into fists. oh. it was war.

attempt #2: the disappearing act

you waited until you were at a charity gala, the kind of event where everyone was too busy sipping champagne and gossipping to notice anything amiss. you slipped into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, your movements quick and deliberate. you ducked behind a potted plant, then made your way to the service entrance, your heart pounding with excitement.

you were almost there. almost free. and then—

“leaving so soon?”

you whirled around, your breath catching in your throat. jay stood in the doorway, his arms still crossed, his expression as calm as ever. he didn’t even look winded.

“how do you keep doing that?” you demanded, your voice rising.

he shrugged, the motion infuriatingly casual. “it’s my job.”

“your job is to annoy me to death?”

“if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then yes.”

you glared at him, your chest heaving with frustration. he stared back, unflinching, his dark eyes boring into yours. for a moment, the air between you crackled with something electric, and you wanted to so badly give into it and just cause a tantrum. instead, you turned on your heel and stormed back into the gala, jay following close behind.

attempt #3: sensory overload

the mall was a chaotic symphony of chatter, clattering shopping bags, and the faint hum of pop music playing over the speakers. you strode through the bustling crowd, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, your eyes darting toward the exit signs. jay was a step behind you, his presence as unshakable as ever. his dark eyes scanned the crowd, his posture tense, like he was expecting a sniper to take a shot at any moment.

you rolled your eyes. “relax, rambo. it’s a mall, not a war zone.”

he didn’t respond. of course he didn’t. he just kept walking, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you hadn’t somehow vanished into thin air.

you gritted your teeth. this was supposed to be your day. you had a date with someone your mutual friend had set you up with. your father had forbidden you from going, but since when had you ever listened to him? and yet, here was jay, ruining everything like some overgrown shadow you couldn’t shake.

you bit back a sigh. if you wanted to shake him, you’d have to get creative.

spotting a perfume shop up ahead, you darted inside, the overwhelming scent of floral and citrus hitting you instantly. jay followed without hesitation, his towering frame making the narrow aisles feel even smaller.

“why are we here?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

“to test some new scents,” you replied innocently, grabbing a random bottle and spraying it on your wrist. “you wouldn’t understand.”

jay raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

you tried a few more perfumes, using up the space on your wrists and arms. finally, you turned to him, holding up a bottle.

“hold out your arm.”

jay blinked. “what?”

“you’re supposed to test it on skin,” you said, your tone overly patient. “and i’m out of space. come on.”

reluctantly, he extended his arm. you sprayed the perfume lightly on his wrist and leaned in, inhaling deeply.

jay tensed under your touch, his muscles stiffening as your fingers brushed his skin. you glanced up, noticing the tightness in his jaw, but you didn’t comment.

“it’s not bad,” you said, tilting your head. “but maybe something lighter.”

you reached for another bottle, quickly spraying it on his other wrist. this time, you didn’t stop at one spray. you pressed the nozzle again and again, filling the air with an overpowering mix of scents.

jay sneezed once, then twice, stumbling back a step as he tried to clear his nose.

“what the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice muffled between sneezes.

“just testing!” you said, holding up your hands in mock innocence. “you’re being dramatic.”

jay glared at you, but before he could recover, you dropped the perfume bottle and bolted, weaving through the crowded store and out into the mall. you didn’t look back. you didn’t need to. you could hear his footsteps behind you, heavy and determined.

your heart raced as you sprinted through the mall, dodging shoppers and strollers. you spotted a clothing store up ahead, its entrance tucked away in a quieter corner. perfect. you ducked inside, your breath coming in short gasps as you scanned the store. the dressing rooms. that was your best bet.

you darted toward them, slipping into the first stall you saw. you yanked the curtain closed, your chest heaving as you pressed your back against the wall. for a moment, there was silence. then you heard it—the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching the stall.

the curtain flew open, and there he was. jay. his chest was rising and falling slightly, his dark eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped into the stall, his body crowding yours as he pinned you against the wall. the curtain fell shut behind him, enclosing you in the small, dimly lit space.

you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. he was so close you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his pulse jumped in his neck. his hands were braced on either side of your head, his body caging you in. the air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your stomach twist and your heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with running.

“you’re not as clever as you think you are,” he said, his voice low and rough.

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “and you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

his lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk. “try me.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your tongue. his eyes dropped to your lips, just for a second, and something shifted between you. the air crackled with electricity, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath hitch. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body seemed to press closer without actually moving.

for a moment, neither of you moved. then jay stepped back, his expression shuttering as he regained control. “let’s go,” he said, his tone clipped.

you didn’t argue. for once, you didn’t have the words.

the party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume, champagne, and the faint hum of a live jazz band. you stood near the centre of the room, dressed in a sleek black gown that hugged your figure perfectly, a glass of champagne in hand. you laughed at something your friend said, the sound light and carefree, but your attention was elsewhere.

jay.

he was standing across the room, leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you. he wasn’t even trying to hide it. he was watching you like a hawk, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense enough to make your skin prickle.

your friend leaned in, her voice low and teasing. “he’s been looking at you all night.”

you shrugged, pretending not to care. “who? jay? he’s just doing his job.”

but the truth was, you did care. you were hyper-aware of him now, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake. and it annoyed you. it annoyed you that he could stand there, so calm and collected, while you felt like you were unravelling.

so you decided to push him.

you flirted with everyone but him. you laughed a little too loudly at a joke a handsome stranger made. you let your hand linger on the arm of a guy who clearly had no idea what personal space was. you disappeared into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, pretending jay didn’t exist.

but he did. he always did.

suddenly, a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with a cocky grin—stepped into your space, his hand hovering near your waist as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. his breath smelled like whisky, the proximity way too close for your comfort. 

you froze, your smile faltering. before you could react, jay was there.

he moved like a shadow, swift and silent, stepping between you and the man with a presence that was impossible to ignore. his voice was cool but sharp, cutting through the noise of the party like a knife. “hands off.”

the man blinked, his grin faltering as he took in jay’s imposing figure. “whoa, man, i was just—”

“i don’t care what you were just doing,” jay said, his tone low and dangerous. “back off.”

the man hesitated, his eyes flicking between you and jay, before he finally raised his hands in surrender and slunk away. you stared after him, stunned, your heart pounding in your chest.

when you turned back to jay, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. “you have no idea what you’re doing.”

your breath caught. “what are you talking about?”

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice rough and tinged with something that sounded almost like frustration. “flirting with strangers. disappearing into crowds. acting like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “i can take care of myself.”

“can you?” he asked, his tone challenging. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your tongue. he was close—too close—his body crowding yours, his heat radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, a mix of vanilla and something woodsy, and it made your head spin.

as the night wore on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, rough and low and so, so close. you caught yourself glancing at him more than once, your heart skipping a beat every time your eyes met his.

oh.

so he did care.

it happens slowly. or maybe it doesn’t. maybe it’s been happening this whole time, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for you to notice. but now, you do.

you start noticing the way he moves. always a step ahead, always positioning himself between you and anything that could be a threat. his sleeves are always rolled up, revealing the veins that line his forearms, his hands steady and sure. you notice the way he watches you, his dark eyes scanning every room like he’s mapping out every possible danger, but it’s never just that. there’s something else in his gaze, something you can’t quite name.

and worse? you start feeling it.

the heat in your chest when his hand brushes yours as he passes you a coffee. the frustration that coils in your stomach when someone else looks at him for too long. the way your breath catches when he says your name instead of brat or princess or whatever sarcastic nickname he’s come up with that day.

this is a problem.

but you handle it the way you always do—by pushing him.

it’s late, with the city feeling quiet, almost peaceful, and the only light comes from the flickering neon sign of a 24-hour diner. you’re sitting in a booth by the window, picking at a plate of fries you didn’t really want but ordered anyway because you were too stubborn to admit you were hungry. jay sits across from you, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the nearly empty diner like it’s a potential battlefield.

you roll your eyes. “relax, jay. the only danger here is the cholesterol in these fries.”

he just takes a sip of his black coffee, his expression as unreadable as ever.

you lean back in the booth, crossing your arms over your chest. “you know, you don’t have to babysit me 24/7. i’m not a child.”

his eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. “could’ve fooled me.”

you glare at him. “excuse me?”

he sets his coffee cup down, his voice low and even. “you act like rules don’t apply to you. like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

your jaw tightens. “and you act like you’re my dad. newsflash—you’re not.”

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the tension between you is thick, almost suffocating, and you can feel it building, building, building until it finally snaps.

“why do you even care so much?” you demand, your voice rising just enough to draw the attention of the tired-looking waitress behind the counter.

jay exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t get it, do you?”

your heartbeat stutters. “then explain it to me.”

for a second, he says nothing. he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure you out. then he stands, slow and deliberate, and slides into the booth beside you. he’s close now, closer than he’s ever let himself be, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of your shirt.

you don’t back away.

his eyes flicker to your lips, and your breath catches. the air between you is so thin, so sharp you can almost taste it.

he leans in, his voice low and rough. “you have no idea what i’d do to keep you safe.”

your pulse is in your throat, waiting, waiting, waiting.

but before anything can happen—

the bell above the diner door jingles, and a group of loud, laughing teenagers spills inside, shattering the moment.

jay pulls back instantly, his jaw tightening as he slides out of the booth. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word. he just walks to the counter, his posture rigid, like nothing happened.

like nothing almost happened.

but you know better.

you press a hand to your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, but it’s no use. your mind is racing, replaying the moment over and over again—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, the way your body had reacted to his nearness.

this is getting dangerous.

later, as you sit in the back of the car on the way home, you can’t stop thinking about it. jay is in the driver’s seat, his eyes fixed on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. you stare at the back of his head, your thoughts a tangled mess.

you think about the way he’d stepped between you and that guy at the party, his voice sharp and commanding. you think about the way he’d leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

and you think about the way he’d pulled away, like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything.

but it did. you know it did.

you mentally groan, leaning your head against the window. this is a problem. a big problem. because no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can’t deny it anymore.

you like him.

and that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

you don’t talk about it.

the almost-kiss, the tension that stains every interaction now—it hangs between you like a live wire, sharp and charged. you find yourself watching him more, catching the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. his gaze lingers a little too long, his movements a little too deliberate, and it drives you insane.

but you don’t talk about it.

instead, you push. you push him, you push yourself, you push the boundaries of whatever this is between you. and he pushes back, always steady, always in control, until—

one day it happens fast. too fast.

you’re walking back to the car after an event, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement. jay is a step behind you, his presence a constant, grounding force. you’re arguing about something stupid—something meaningless—because that’s what you do now. you bicker, you snipe, you push each other’s buttons, all while pretending the tension between you doesn’t exist.

and then, out of nowhere, it happens.

you don’t even see it coming. one moment, you’re stepping off the curb, and the next, jay is moving—swift, silent, and utterly precise. he shoves you out of the way, his body shielding yours as a figure lunges at you from the shadows.

there’s a flash of metal, a grunt of pain, and then the sound of footsteps retreating into the night.

you stumble, catching yourself against the car, your heart pounding in your chest. “jay—”

he’s already turning, his hand pressed to his side, his breathing steady despite the blood seeping through his fingers. “get in the car.”

you stare at him, your mind racing. “you’re bleeding. we need to go to the hospital—l”

“it’s nothing, just a scratch” he says, his voice calm, like this is just another day on the job. like he didn’t just take a knife for you.

but it’s not nothing. it’s not nothing because your hands are shaking as you reach for him, your fingers brushing against the warm, sticky blood staining his shirt. “jay—”

“get in the car,” he repeats, his tone sharper this time. “now.”

you don’t argue. you can’t. your mind is a blur as you climb into the passenger seat, your eyes never leaving him as he slides behind the wheel. his movements are steady, controlled, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel.

the drive home is silent, the air between you thick with unspoken words. you keep glancing at him, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. fear. guilt. something else.

when you finally arrive, you follow him inside, your hands still trembling. he heads straight for the bathroom, and you trail after him, your heart hammering in your chest.

“let me see,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t argue this time. he just sits on the edge of the bathtub, his shirt already half-off, revealing the deep gash along his side. it’s not fatal, not even close, but it’s enough to make your stomach twist.

you grab the first aid kit from under the sink and kneel in front of him, your hands shaking as you clean the wound. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel his eyes on you, heavy and unreadable.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” you say, your voice breaking. “you shouldn’t have—”

“it’s my job,” he interrupts, his tone calm, like that explains everything.

but it doesn’t. not to you. not when your hands are stained with his blood, not when your chest feels like it’s about to collapse under the weight of everything you’re feeling.

“don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “don’t do that again.”

he looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you see it—the crack in his armour. the flicker of something raw, something real.

“you don’t get it,” he says, his voice low and rough. “i’d do it again. every time.”

your breath catches, your hands still pressed against his side. “why?”

he doesn’t answer. not with words, at least. instead, he reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it makes your chest ache.

and that’s it. that’s the breaking point.

you don’t think. you don’t hesitate. you just pull him in, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that’s equal parts desperation and relief. for a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, and you’re terrified you’ve made a mistake.

but then his hands are in your hair, his mouth moving against yours, and it’s like the world stops. the tension, the anger, the fear, it all melts away, leaving nothing but the two of you.

the room is silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the overhead light. jay’s hands are still tangled in your hair, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. you can feel the rapid beat of his heart where your hand rests against his chest, and it’s almost comforting, knowing he’s as affected by this as you are.

but then he pulls back, his expression shuttering as he regains control. “we shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice low and rough.

you blink, your chest tightening at his words. “why not?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he stands, his movements stiff as he turns away from you. “because it complicates things.”

you stare at him, your heart sinking. “complicates things? jay, you just took a knife for me. i think things are already complicated.”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t understand.”

“then explain it to me,” you snap, your frustration bubbling over. “because i’m tired of pretending like this—whatever this is—doesn’t exist.”

he turns to look at you, his dark eyes blazing with something you can’t quite name. “you think i don’t feel it too? you think i don’t want—” he cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as he looks away. “it doesn’t matter what i want. my job is to keep you safe. that’s it.”

you step closer, your hands trembling at your sides. “and what if i don’t want you to just be my bodyguard? what if i want more?”

he doesn’t respond. not with words, at least. but you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. for a moment, you think he might give in, might finally let himself feel something.

but then he steps back, his expression hardening. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “don’t i? because from where i’m standing, it seems like you’re the one who’s scared.”

his eyes narrow, and for a second, you think you’ve pushed him too far. but then he exhales, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “you’re right. i am scared. because if something happens to you—if i let myself care too much and i can’t protect you—” he cuts himself off, his voice breaking. “i can’t lose you.”

your breath catches, your chest tightening at the raw emotion in his voice. “jay—”

he doesn’t let you finish. instead, he steps forward, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you again. this time, it’s softer, slower, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you. and you let him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pull him closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. “i can’t promise this will be easy,” he says, his voice low and rough. “but i can promise i’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

you swallow, your throat tight with emotion. “that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

you don’t talk about it for a full twenty-four hours.

not because you regret it. god, no. if anything, the memory of his hands on you, his lips against yours, plays on a loop in your mind, leaving you breathless every time. but now, there’s no going back. no pretending this isn’t real. no pretending you don’t feel the way his presence sets your skin on fire, or the way your heart races when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

jay is still jay. still overprotective, still infuriating, still the same stoic bodyguard who drives you up the wall. but now?

now, every argument ends with him pulling you in by the waist, his voice low and rough as he murmurs, “you’re impossible,” before silencing you with a kiss.

now, every lingering stare actually leads to something—a brush of his hand against yours, a heated glance that makes your stomach flip, a moment where the tension between you becomes too much to ignore.

and now, your father figures it out almost immediately.

it happens during a family dinner, of all things. you’re sitting at the table, picking at your food while jay sits in his usual spot by you. your father is at the head of the table, his sharp gaze flicking between you and jay with a calculating look that makes your stomach sink.

you try to act normal. you really do. but when jay’s hand brushes against yours as he passes you a glass of water, and you catch yourself smiling at him without thinking, your father clears his throat.

“so,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “when were you planning on telling me?”

you freeze, your fork halfway to your mouth. “telling you what?”

your father raises an eyebrow, gesturing between you and jay. “about this.”

you feel your face heat, your heart pounding in your chest. “i—what are you talking about?”

your father sighs, rubbing his temples like he’s already done with this conversation. “at least it’s him.”

jay freezes, his posture stiffening as he looks at your father. you gape, your mind racing. “excuse me?”

your father shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “you were always a handful, but he can handle it.”

you stare at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. this is not the reaction you were expecting. not even close. you were prepared for yelling, for threats, for jay to be fired on the spot. but this? this casual acceptance? it’s almost worse.

you turn to jay, still reeling. “is this really happening?”

jay looks equally disturbed, his jaw tight as he meets your father’s gaze. “sir, i—”

your father holds up a hand, cutting him off. “don’t. just… keep her out of trouble. that’s all i ask.”

and just like that, the conversation is over. your father goes back to his meal like nothing happened, leaving you and jay to exchange a stunned look.

later, when you’re alone in your room, jay leans against the door, his arms crossed as he watches you pace back and forth. “well,” he says, his voice dry, “that could’ve gone worse.”

you stop pacing, turning to glare at him. “worse? he basically gave us his blessing. that’s not worse. that’s… i don’t even know what that is.”

jay shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “guess you’re stuck with me.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away when he steps closer, his hands settling on your waist. “lucky me,” you mutter, though the way your heart skips a beat betrays your words.

jay’s smirk softens into something warmer, his eyes searching yours. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you don’t respond. not with words, at least. instead, you lean into him, your hands resting against his chest as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”

he chuckles, the sound low and warm, before leaning down to kiss you. and as his lips brush against yours, you realise something.

maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to pull away.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (7)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: this chapter is also unedited. sorry y'all

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: mutual masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Sunghoon has grown far more bold ever since having dinner with him for the second time. You don't shy away or make a fuss about it when the two of you are alone together, and it scares you just how much you enjoy being in his company without the pretext of making sure he’s on track to succeed at his job. 

He calls you after work to talk about anything but for the first time. Sunghoon keeps you company on the phone while you make dinner, and the two of you remain on the line while you brush your teeth before putting yourself to bed. He does the same, too, informing you of his meal and that he’s the kind of guy who needs a sweet treat before he goes to bed. 

He’s just as bold on the phone as he is in person. 

“Is it bad that I want to touch you?” 

“What?” 

“I just…I miss touching you. I’ll go crazy if I’m not near you.”

“You’re insane. Are you drunk?”

“Stone cold sober,” he tells you when you’ve settled into your sheets. It sounds like Sunghoon’s rustling in his bed sheets to sit up and rest against his headboard. “Can’t believe you’re so far from me.”

Is it normal for you to get worked up over Sunghoon’s voice? 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about the night you slept over. God, you were so wet. You look really good when you come and you sound even better.”

His words echo in your mind and you grow more aroused with every word spoken. Sunghoon speaks like he’s got the raw honest truth that needs to be shared, or else it’ll make him go mad. His voice is breathy and light. It almost makes you think he’s troubled by it. You sit upright, too. Your pillows act as a brace for your back as you cross your legs and keep your phone by your ear.  

“I can’t stop thinking about eating you out in your office either. Do you know how long I’ve been fantasizing about that? I can’t believe you let me eat it during work hours.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yeah. More times than I’d like to admit.”

“H-How long?”

Sunghoon lets out a breathy laugh. “Years, maybe. Definitely when you came into the office wearing the long purple dress. You looked so good waiting for me.”

You can’t help when you clench around nothing and roll your hips in the air. There’s no doubt your cunt is sopping wet by Sunghoon’s words alone, and his confession leaves you aching for his touch. 

“I don’t know what it was about that dress. It was backless. You wore high heels, too. The kind I’d never seen you wear before. You looked different than you usually did.” 

You put your phone on speaker and close your eyes as you let your middle finger ghost over your covered slit, imagining it was Sunghoon touching you instead. It takes you right back to the morning he fingered you for the first time when you feel how wet you are. You almost feel shameful for getting horny over the sound of Sunghoon’s voice. But it’s deep and seductive, and you can’t help it. 

“I’ve always thought you were attractive. I love assertive women. I love when you put me in my place and argue up the wall until one of us gives up. It drives me fucking crazy when you get mad at me because all I can think about it how good the sex would be.”

You whimper quietly. It catches over the phone and Sunghoon hears it.

“Are you horny, baby?” Sunghoon asks like he can’t believe you feel the same way too. 

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He breathes heavily and emits a quiet moan. You’re afraid to admit how incredibly attractive Sunghoon’s moans are and settle for biting your lip while prodding your covered cunt against your opening. 

“Remember when we fooled around the night you stayed over? My dick was so hard for you. I was ready to take off your clothes and fuck you right then. 

But it was late and we had work. You looked at me like you wanted it. I could see how badly you wanted me. Did you see how badly I wanted you too?” 

After moving your panties to the side, you take the underside of your fingertips and glide when back and forth over your soaked pussy. You pass your clit with every swipe and jolt at the euphoric feeling while pretending it’s Sunghoon’s hand. You could come from just this if you tried hard enough. 

“You’re a little quiet. Are you okay?”

“I…” you trial off, finding the courage to speak. “I like hearing you talk.”

Sunghoon hums. “You like hearing how horny you make me?”

“God yes.” It comes out like you’re desperate for it. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you. For real, this time. We’ll have all the time in the world for foreplay, but this time, I’ll be able to fuck you without anything or anyone interrupting.” 

When you hear wet sounds on the other end of the line, you can’t help but moan. You picture Sunghoon spreading his precum all over his cock with his hand shaped like a fist, twisting his wrist so that his thumb reaches his tip. You picture him with his phone put on speaker in order to use both hands to jerk himself off. 

The echoes of his wetness splashing makes you put a single finger inside of you. When you listen carefully, you hear Sunghoon’s heavy breathing and the way he’s touching himself. You picture what his face would look like with his eyes closed and mouth wide open.

“I think you want that as badly as I do. I’ve got a place by the countryside. How about a weekend getaway? I’ll fuck you for the entire weekend if that’s what you want.”

Sunghoon hisses and you picture him with his hips in the air as he squeezes himself at the base. Your reference of his print from the first time helps you imagine how big he is without his clothes on. Big and thick. You push your finger deeper inside you and pull your wrist out, just to push it in again. 

“I could fuck your perfect pussy in my bed. I’ll take you on my couch while we’re watching a movie. We’ll do it in the shower and in my car.”

He wants to fuck you this badly? Sunghoon’s words falter with every passing sentence. It sounds like he’s losing his grip on sanity the more he jerks himself off. You come to the conclusion that if you can hear Sunghoon touching himself, he could likely hear you getting off too.

Why does that make you feel excited? 

You feel crazy when you think about what he’s saying. Why does it sound like Sunghoon has been thinking about this for a while? And, God, how is he able to bring out this side of you? 

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

Sunghoon’s hand picks up the pace and he moans, unashamed. His deep grunts push you to add another finger inside and recall the girth of his own. You think about what he’d look like touching you in the quiet of your room on your own bed sheets instead of his. You imagine Sunghoon’s naked chest hovering over you while his face contorts into an expression of pleasure when he fucks his fingers inside of you. 

Thinking about him like this makes you feel exhilarated. Your chest heaves up and down and you can’t help but roll your hips and push them towards your fingers. You reach the deepest parts of yourself and moan out loud, covering your mouth when you realize how loud you sound.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Sunghoon whimpers on the other end. “Keep going. You sound so fucking good.”

It’s not hard to listen to him. Moaning against your palm is like second nature when your fingers push themselves in and out. Sunghoon grunts and you imagine himself fucking his hips up in the air while his other hand tries to chase after his balls to squeeze them. He must be jerking himself off fast and quickly by the sound of slapping. 

Imagining what it would feel like to go all the way with him pushes you over the edge. Sunghoon’s words get to you, and you think about his dick ramming inside of you like he’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you properly. He sounds mangled and desperate to touch you without interruption. Something tells you he wouldn’t care if somebody walked in on him pleasuring you, but you know Sunghoon wants you all to himself just as badly.  

You come with panting breaths and Sunghoon moans, too. The way you moan together sounds euphoric. So much, in fact, that you picture him on top of you as he finishes alongside you. You scrum able to grab your phone and take him off speaker so you can hear Sunghoo’s moans directly in your ear, and pretend he’s moaning while on top of you.

“I’m gonna, shit, holy shit—”

Sunghoon moans loudly when he comes. You imagine his hand working overtime to push out every last drop with his eyes wired shut. He could either be squirting ropes out his tip until it splashes on his abdomen. Or, his come could come out like a slow fountain and drip all over his dick until it seeps past his base. The urge to see him orgasm overtakes your every desire. It’s not fair that he’s seen you naked twice and you haven’t seen him named at all. 

“You’re perfect.” 

You snort. “Give me a second to calm down before you coddle me, would you? And what am I, a booty call when you can’t get off?” 

“You’re more than that to me, and you know it. You just like giving me a hard time.”

“Someone has to.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“When am I not?” 

He chuckles. “We should probably sleep. Work, you know?”

“You can be so awkward sometimes.” You laugh and pick up the phone to put it by your ear. “And, um…you sound really good. You know, when you, like…yeah.”

“When I what?” He’s teasing you and he knows you know it. 

“You know!” 

“I do, but I want to hear you say it.” 

Your cheeks warm up and you find your courage. “You sound really good when you moan. I just…jesus.” 

“And you sound like a fucking angel every time I make you come.” 

“I’m going to hang up now,” you say hastily with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He laughs. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

“Night, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

***

Maybe you’re losing your goddamn mind. 

It’s hard to keep work separate from whatever’s going on between you and Sunghoon because every moment in his office feels like a lion stalking its prey. He’s professional in all sense of the word, except when he winks at you when nobody’s looking. You can’t count the times he’s snuck a kiss when the two of you are alone in the break room. 

Is this a situationship? Is it casual dating? Would he describe this as either? 

These questions have circled inside your mind from the minute you let him bury his fingers deep into you. You’re the kind of girl who likes a distinct answer with a clear label. You like stability and clarity, not the back and forth that you see in Netflix dramas. 

Even so, you can’t help but relish the time you spend with Sunghoon. He’s giving you the kind of attention you’ve been secretly yearning for during your years away from home. It felt scary to jump into the deep end without knowing how far you’d fall, but Sunghoon makes you think the risk is worth it. 

“Did I lose you?” 

Sunoo’s voice cuts through your phone and you blink twice while staring at yourself in the mirror with a tube of mascara in hand. His voice brings you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Thinking about lover boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s my boss, Sun.”

“A boss you’re fucking.”

“We are not fucking!” 

“Yet.” 

You close the mascara tube. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why I bother to update you on my life when you have plenty of action back home.”

Sunoo laughs. “It’s ’cause you love me and have no friends.”

“Yah. No need to rub it in. I’m pretty sure I’m becoming friends with my neighbor who watches Pochi for me when Sunghoon needs me to stay late.” 

“That’s good. See, you aren’t totally helpless when it comes to your social life.” 

You sigh. “Yeah, I guess. It’s been hard juggling work and my personal life. It feels like every person I hang out with is a product of my job. Everybody wants a meeting to connect with me, but nobody gives a shit about me.” 

“Don’t say that. I know I tease you a lot, but that’s because I love you. People don’t see how great you are.”

“Ha. Maybe. Quitting Park Inc. will give me more time to think about my life. I don’t care if I have to work in a library for a year. Anything is better than a job where I won’t grow.” 

“It sounds like you’re doing the right thing.”

“Am I?” You sigh into the phone. “I have no backup plan. I’m quitting on a whim and the money I’ve gotten from Sunghoon will last me for a while, sure, but then what? It’s not like I can crawl back to this company if I don’t find anything better.”

“You’ve been thinking about quitting for months,” Sunoo reminds you. “This isn’t a rash decision. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about this. You’re not happy working at this company and it’s about damn time you have a life outside of work.”

“I know. It’s just…different, I guess. I’ve gotten used to this lifestyle and catering to other people, you know? I’m not alone, but I feel really lonely.” 

Sunoo hums with sympathy. “I wish I could see you everyday.”

“You’d get sick of me.”

He laughs. “No I wouldn’t. But don’t tell anyone that.” 

“He took me to dinner last night, you know?”

“Sunghoon?”

“Mhm. There’s a Spanish place not far from my place. We looked at it for a company event in the summertime.”

“Like a food tasting?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Sunghoon ordered all of the menu, practically. We talked to the manager about it because they knew we were coming in, but he told me to order anything that looked good.”

“How much did you eat?”

“Too much, Sun. Sunghoon kept telling me not to worry about the price because it’s expensive anyway. I’m pretty sure Sunghoon might be the manager’s new favorite person.” 

“That sounds like a date.” 

You click your tongue. “I don’t know. Probably not. He held my chair out for me.”

“That was a date.”

“Sure. We had a few of their signature cocktails, too. Really good. Top shelf kind of stuff. We need to finalize their menu before I leave for good.”

Sunoo chuckles from the other end of the line. “You are so in denial.”

“Shut up. Did you eat breakfast yet?”

“I’m actually walking downstairs now. Riki’s up early because he has class and then dance practice later this evening.”

“Is that your sister?” A deeper voice flows through your ears.

“Hey, Riki. How are your classes and practice?”

“I resist the urge to fall asleep on my desk,” he says, which makes you laugh. “Dance is great. We’ve got a showcase in Seoul in a few weeks. You should come!”

“I’d love to. Text me the details, yeah?”

“Bring whoever. There’s gonna be a few scouts, but it’s not a huge thing.”

“I’ll be there.” 

“You two are disgustingly supportive of each other,” Sunoo says.

“Don’t act like you don’t worry about her,” Riki says, no doubt teasing Sunoo while the latter rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m kind of stuck with her as a sister, so I have to.”

You laugh. “Don’t lie. You love me.”

“Debatable.”

You smile when you hang up the phone.

***

Yang Jungwon is fifteen minutes early.

You see him sitting in the lobby of your floor by the time you step out of your office to refill your water bottle before the interview. He’s got a piece of paper in his hands and he looks like he’s reading over the material thoroughly. Jungwon sits with a briefcase by his feet and dresses like he might as well be a business partner of Sunghoon’s. The secretary lets you know he’s waiting for the interview and you’re more than pleased to know he hasn’t arrived last minute. 

Sunghoon is nowhere to be found, either. Even though each candidate has no inclination as to who they’ll be working with, you know Sunghoon’s curiosity will get the better of him. You’ve scheduled a meeting with a client out of the office and he won’t come back until well into the day.

An unfamiliar feeling settles in your chest when you look at him. He looks the way you did before you were hired. Nervous, ambitious, and hopeful. Looking at him makes you think about when you arrived at the interview much earlier than the set time and how you tried to push down your anxiety to appear more sure of yourself. 

The years seem to have flown by the more you focus on work. A strange sense of nostalgia and longing lurks within you as you watch Jungwon from your office. Facing the fact that you will be replaced in a month feels oddly daunting. By the time you approach him, he stands up and bows respectfully. 

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” he says, putting the stray paper away. “I appreciate your time and consideration.”

“Thank you for coming. Let’s talk inside my office.” 

He follows you inside and takes a seat in front of your desk when you beckon him to feel comfortable. It feels strange to be on this side of the interview; you kept a low profile during your first few years as an assistant until working with Sunghoon was as easy as counting to three. Becoming an invaluable asset and accumulating the fine details of how this company operates and the business it does feels like you’re far too integrated to leave. But you’ve always been Sunghoon’s right hand and nothing more. 

Still, facing the reality that you’re parting ways with this job feels unnatural. 

“How are you, Jungwon?”

“I’m great, actually.” He puts the briefcase on the ground and smoothes over his pants. “I’m really looking forward to our conversation.” 

“Thanks for coming in on a Tuesday morning.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m sure you have more pressing matters.” You hum. Hearing corporate speak from such a young man reminds you of the person you were six years ago.

“Tell me about yourself.”

He gulps. “I’ve just graduated college and have always held an interest in being in management. I wasn’t sure what field I wanted to go into, but Seoul has so many great opportunities I was afforded to discover during my time at university.” Jungwon takes a deep breath and twiddles his thumbs. 

“Throughout my years at internships, venture capitalism caught my interest the most. It was fun, if I may speak candidly. I extended my internship throughout the summer before I graduated and liked being part of a team that sets up success for clients I believe in.” He watches you look down at his resume sitting atop your desk. 

“You have great experience and your university courses align with what we do here.”

“I tailored my education during my last year of university because I know this is what I want to do for the foreseeable future. I want to learn from the best and become great at what I do without losing my head.”

You hum. “This job can get hectic, don’t you think?” 

“I think any job can get that way, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. My days were long and difficult, but I loved getting the experience to solve problems and make things happen for businesses. I enjoyed being part of it, even if I only contributed a small portion.”

Jungwon talks like he’s got the entire world ahead of him. It makes you wish you could see yourself like that too.

“Frankly speaking, this assistant position is much more than filing papers and running errands. There will be elements of that from time to time, but the person you’ll be working under likes to see how well his assistant can juggle the fine details before anything else.” 

“I’m not held to a position,” Jungwon says with a smile. “I really like learning from other people and the best way to do it is to surround myself in an environment that teaches me. Even if I’m getting dry cleaning one day and sitting in on meetings the next, I’d like to think all of those tasks will lead me to become great at my job.”

“It’s a stepping stone, for sure. As you know, Park Inc. is the biggest venture capitalist firm in Asia and there is little room for error. How do you approach obstacles?”

“There’s no getting around bad days or lapse of judgment. We all make mistakes and it’s up to us to learn from them. I would consider myself somebody who sees the big picture for what it is. I’m also somebody who needs to focus twice as hard when it comes to the fine details and executing steps before we reach the end goal. It’s hard, especially when I’m in the beginning stages of my career, but I have the determination and ambition to succeed.” 

Jungwon gives you near perfect answers when you ask him questions. Sunghoon thrives off of organization and somebody who can keep up with his routine. It’s hard to separate who you are with this job because you’re the longest assistant Sunghoon has ever had, and you think that counts for something. 

A part of you looks at Jungwon like he’s a younger version of you. It’s as if you’re peering into your past; the concept of being incredibly motivated to jumpstart his career makes you wonder where your wide-eyed ambition went. His big, round eyes look at you with curiosity and his body language shows eagerness. You ponder on all the reasons why you’re giving your job up. You don’t find this position fulfilling anymore. This everyday routine doesn’t make you happy like it used to. 

There’s hesitance in leaving the company you’ve worked for during your six years living by yourself. It was lonely, at first, with the knowledge that you’d be leaving your family and grade friends behind. Your parents and Sunoo helped you pack your belongings, but it seemed like he was the only one genuinely emotional about the move. While he swayed anywhere between excited for your next chapter and sad that you’d be far away, your parents seemed eager to get you out of the house. 

Calls came few and in between. They’d driven you in a U-Haul truck with everything you owned and helped put the boxes in your apartment, but that was that. They had called a couple of times to make sure you were settled in because your relatives and neighbors had asked about it. But other than that, it seemed like most of their focus shifted onto Sunoo. 

It wasn’t surprising, either. The three of you weren’t that close as you grew up. Getting used to secondhand treatment and the absence of parenthood was easier when you eventually left your hometown. Long gone were the days where you’d drive past your high school and relive memories of being forgotten at pickup or after extracurriculars. The impending doom of loneliness that came with moving to a brand new city without knowing a single soul was better than living with two people who were supposed to love you, but didn’t. 

Having a set routine and focusing your attention on Sunghoon was a big reason as to why your adjustment wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Your time was spent worrying about getting the hang of your job, and eventually catering to his needs. There wasn’t any time in your day to think about how lonely you were sitting in your apartment every weekend while everyone on your social feed was out of their house. 

Befriending your neighbors and people you’ve met through work was your saving grace once the loneliness started to make its presence known. By this time, you knew Sunghoon like the back of your hand and work wasn’t keeping you from sleeping. You didn’t have to worry about impressing him because you’d been working under him long enough to know what he needed and how he operated. All that was left was you and your thoughts alone. Thinking about your life apart from your career was scary. 

But even with new challenges and shortcomings, you’ve grown over the last few years. You’re not the timid person you were when you lived with your parents. This job has forced you to come out of your shell and broaden your worldview, inevitably teaching you how to become a more confident person. This job is filled with entitled men who know nothing of struggle, and being able to move past harsh criticisms and sexist behavior taught you what it meant to be a stronger person. 

It feels bittersweet to hear Jungwon talk about why he wants your job so much. You don’t feel as excited to come into the office and contribute to your company like you all those years ago. It’s become monotonous and predictable. You know Sunghoon’s life better than you know your own. You know his medical history (in case of an emergency), you’ve gotten to know his immediate and distant family (because his entire family is in the venture capitalist business), and you’ve spent enough time with Sunghoon to get to know his quirks and habits. It’s time to let this phase of your life pass.

Who are you when you’re not his assistant? You’re having trouble figuring that out.  

“Thank you for your honesty and for your time,” you tell Jungwon earnestly. He stands when you do and bows politely. 

“If I may be honest once more,” Jungwon begins, “this is the best interview I’ve ever had.” 

That makes you stop in your tracks. “Really?” 

He nods. “I don’t mean to come off like I’m trying to sway you, or anything. I know how competitive this business is. But I appreciated how easy it was to talk to you and I enjoyed having a conversation instead of listing all of my strengths and weaknesses over and over again. 

“It’s easy to get lost in the stress of this job. It sounds like you really care about what you do. I know we don’t know each other, but I get the feeling you’ve seen a thing or two and learned from it. Maybe this is crossing a line. I don't know. But honestly, it felt like I was talking to an older version of me, in a sense? So, yeah, I loved our interview.” 

“Thank you, Jungwon.” You try to remain neutral and keep your mouth shut to prevent yourself from being too honest with a candidate. “I had a wonderful time with you, too. Let me walk you to the elevator.” He follows behind you to the silver doors and smiles politely at you before stepping inside. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m happy to have met you.” 

The elevator doors close. Sunghoon, who apparently made his way back into his office without letting Jungwon see, is sitting at his desk and looking at his computer. It takes a few strides before you round the corner and knock on his door. Sunghoon beckons for you to come in. 

“How’d it go with the candidate? Did you lay it on thick or keep it casual? Jaeyun was betting on the former, but I think otherwise.”

You’re grateful that his office faces yours and cannot be seen from the floor lobby. Sunghoon looks at you in concern when your bottom lip starts to wobble as you walk closer to him, and you can barely see a thing when tears start to gather in your waterline. 

“Baby?” Sunghoon says gently. “Are you okay?” 

That goddamn term of endearment makes the dam burst. 

It doesn’t help that you don’t cry in front of people. Not ever. There is a mix of embarrassment and shame stirring in your chest when Sunghoon looks at you as your tears fall one after the other. It keeps you standing where you are and unable to move your feet to walk any closer to him. Sunghoon springs up from his chair and stands in front of you within three steps. He encircles his arms around your body and pulls you into his chest like he’s done it a million times before, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. 

You keep your voice and sniffles low, but you let the tears freefall. It feels like you’re being sheltered and comforted at the same time. You can’t help but think how odd and uncomfortable it feels to be held like this after years of healing on your own. You couldn’t name the last time you’ve leaned on somebody else for support when you’ve felt like crying. And as unfamiliar as this feeling is, you don’t want to run away from it. 

Sunghoon doesn’t speak, either. He doesn’t do or say anything except rubbing your upper back with his palm in an attempt to soothe you. You don’t see his furrowed eyebrows or feel how his throat clenches at the sound of you sniffling against him. He doesn’t care if his clothes dampen with your tears, nor does he care if he has to stand like this for hours just to get you to stop crying. 

It feels so good to let yourself depend on him. You allow your head to fall onto his chest and remain there until your cries subside. Sunghoon keeps you between his arms and moves his free hand to the back of your head like he’s trying to tuck you further into him. It feels nice to be comforted like this, especially when you’ve been pretending you’ve been perfectly fine all along. 

“What happened?” Sunghoon asks delicately. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I don’t like seeing you cry.” 

“I met with Jungwon.” You sniffle and then hiccup. 

“Yeah? Was the interview that bad?” You shake your head. 

“N-No. The opposite.” 

“But you’re in tears, love.” 

You hiccup again. “I used to be ambitious and passionate. I used to look forward to the future. Jungwon told me this was the best interview he’s ever had and I can’t remember the last time somebody believed in me.” 

“Oh, love.” Sunghoon cups your jawline and gently tilts your head upwards to look at him. “You’re still ambitious and passionate. That side of you is still there, but it’s time for a change and you know it.” He kisses your forehead. “There’s so much to admire about you. I knew I wanted you to be my assistant when I knew how eager you were to learn and experience life. Do you remember the first time we met?” 

You nod. “You were obsessed with that stupid orange tie.” 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I was, wasn’t I? Ditching it was the second best decision I made.”

“What was the first?” Sunghoon smoothes over your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Hiring you. I like being around you, and I like who I’ve become with you by my side. Jungwon isn’t the only person who believes in you, dove. I do, too.” 

You let out another choked sob, not caring how your mascara is probably running down your cheeks or how buffy your face has gotten. Something about the way he looks at you while he says the most kind and caring things stirs a part of you that yearns for validation and acceptance. For years now, you’ve learned to keep yourself in check and to become as independent as possible to avoid being disappointed by other people. But Sunghoon looks at you like he’d be there for you in a heartbeat. 

His pet names don’t soften the blow to your heart, either. You’ve never been keen on nicknames in the first place. Terms of endearment sounded appealing, but only in television and books. Hearing Sunghoon talk to you like you’re somebody he cares about makes you realize just how much you care for him, too.

You’ve fallen for Sunghoon, but have been keeping this realization locked away in fear of being rejected. You can handle rejection and unrequited love, but the weight of knowing you’d need to do the work in order to move on is what scares you. You’ve never felt so intensely about someone before. This is the first time you could ever say you’ve fallen in love with somebody, and you can’t help but think Sunoo was right all along. 

Is this what it feels like to be in love? To yearn for somebody so much that you’d do anything to keep them within your grasp? Is love meant to feel like you’re flying high above the clouds and afraid that you’ll have to fly closer to the ground if Sunghoon doesn't love you back? Is this what others feel when they speak of being on cloud nine? 

“I…” 

Sunghoon locks his eyes with yours. He doesn’t pressure you to speak. The words I love you are sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t seem to get yourself to say it just yet. It doesn’t feel right with all of these insecurities floating around in your head. You don’t want to be rejected and still have to see him after today. 

“I’m grateful for you,” is what you settle on. “Thank you for believing in me that day.” 

Sunghoon kisses your nose. You hate that you love the way his lips tickle and you loathe the way your heart rate picks up. 

“I think we should go to lunch and forget about work for an hour or two. What do you say? You’ll be proud to know I’ve taken care of all my meetings and outstanding priorities.” 

“I’d like that.” 

You’re honest with him, too. You want to be selfish and continue spending time with him while your heart remains fragile. 

He lets you. 

***

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[yasministration]

fred weasley x malfoy!reader who’s the ‘sirius black’ of her family.

and everyone’s heard of the malfoys, of course they have; so it comes as a complete and utter shock when their eldest child, their only daughter, gets sorted into gryffindor. the entire great hall goes quiet, and even dumbledore himself is shocked upon hearing the hat’s decision. it was hard enough starting at a new school during your sixth year, but it was even harder watching her younger brother practically have a heart attack upon hearing the news. the only person who didn’t seem shocked, however, was fred. he knew from the moment that he bumped into her on the train that she was different. and to make matters even worse, she can’t help but fall in love with him. especially after they become fast friends, and he’s there for her through all the mistreatment she receives at the hands of her parents and brother over such a minuscule matter such as getting sorted into a different house.

there are worse things - fred weasley x malfoy!reader

summary: when your parents finally send you off to hogwarts, things don't go according to plan, because in less that twelve hours, you've been sorted into gryffindor and made friends with your housemates. And even worse: Weasleys wc: 1.6k+ a/n: okay i didn't know how to fit all my ideas into one fic bc i didnt want to have to write boring details, so i didn't. so i may or may not write a pt2 depending on how i'm feeling. yolo. also, haven't proof read it

“Would you look at that? Looks like Lucius Malfoy has finally released his daughter from his clutch of private tutors.”

Mr. Weasley’s words attracted the attention of every one of his children standing on the platform. His gaze however, was fixed on the Malfoy family, stood just far enough not to hear his comment.

The Weasley siblings spun around in unison, eyes widening at the sight of the Malfoy siblings standing with their parents. You ran both hands over your shoulders, nudging your hair to fall over the elegant slope of your back.

Gripping the side of your sunglasses, you raised them up to rest atop your head, scanning the entire platform around you as the lighting became high-key at the absence of the shaded frames. Humming attentively, you straightened the jewelled necklace around your neck before turning to face your younger brother.

“Shall we?” Draco nodded at your words, smiling at the concerned look on your father’s face. He had finally lost all hope for his daughter and just hoped that Hogwarts would do the work your tutors had never succeeded in doing.

You crouched slightly, picking up your trunk and strutted onto the train without one last look towards your parents.

“Hogwarts can barely take one Malfoy, but two?” You heard the comment behind you, accompanied by instant loud shushing. Spinning on your heels, you came face to face with three younger students, around Draco’s age. They all looked terrified at your stare, as though you were going to hex them. Behind them stood two handsome gingers. Twins.

Grinning widely, you scoffed in amusement. “Oh please, I could be the only student at Hogwarts and they wouldn’t be able to handle me. God knows my parents couldn’t.” An annoyed call of your name had you laughing. “You couldn’t wait until mum and dad were out of sight?”

“Am I known as someone how likes to wait?” Draco was rendered speechless, rolling his eyes. You stopped in front of the compartment Draco had stored your bags in. “I’m going to go look for Flint,” You told him, walking past your little group of fans. You stopped by the two tall twins, putting a hand on the closest one’s bicep, aiming your next words at him “Unless you’d like to keep me busy.”

Your laughs echoed down the hallway, and Harry almost decided he didn’t hate Draco as much. After all, he was your brother, and clearly he had a good relationship with you, who he instantly decided was one of the coolest people he had met.

Fred looked back to watch you go, noticing the undeniable Malfoy elegance you held in your footsteps. However, he could not forget the mischief in your eyes as you spoke to the three teenagers in front of him. More than the mischief though? The flirtatious gleam in your eyes when you had walked past him.

The twin didn’t get the chance to lay his eyes on you again until he got to the great hall for dinner. Stood next to McGonagall and all the first years, you definitely stood out, but it didn’t matter, because by that point everyone had heard that the original Malfoy sibling was coming to Hogwarts. Fred and everyone else in the great hall leaned closer as you strolled up to the old stool at the front of the stage, tucking your skirt underneath you as you sat down. It wasn’t even ten seconds until the hat surprised everyone, yelling out “GRYFFINDOR!”

It wouldn’t have been too bad if gasps filled the great hall, because at least you’d know that people were predominantly shock. But what you were met with was so much worse. The utter silence that filled the hall was suffocating.

Clearly, it wasn’t the outcome you were expecting either, because as Professor McGonagall lifted the hat off your head, your hand immediately shot up to grasp the hat’s brim. The older Professor was so surprised that she didn’t stop you from snatching the sorting hat and placing it on your head once more. “See, I think this is more proof that you’re a gryffindor.” It grumbled, eyes animatedly looking towards Professor McGonagall, begging to be taken away from you.

Fred looked over his shoulder to glance at your brother. Draco’s face was drained of all its colour and he held a hand over his chest, eyes wide with shock. That’s not was Draco was expecting. But for some reason, Fred was not shocked, and his hand immediately stuck out in a wave to call you over. After all, after that interaction on the train, how could you possibly be a slytherin?

“Fine.” You huffed, standing up and flicking your hair over your shoulder, beelining directly to the Gryffindor table. You were thankful that the two ginger twins you had seen before waved you over, otherwise you feared you’d have stood around awkwardly.

“Thank you.” You smiled, trying to shoo the shock and disappointment off your face. Finally, you glanced up to find Draco’s eyes in the crowd, and he offered you a weak smile, eyes apologetic. Your parents would not be happy about it. “So I’ve just let down my entire blood line, how have your days been?” It seemed those words were enough to get the twins and their friends Lee and Angelina to warm up to you.

You quickly learned that Angelina was George’s girlfriend, and when your eyes went wide in panic, George was quick to reassure you that he wasn’t the one you flirted with on the train.

But the nightmare didn’t end there.

In fact, by then it hadn’t really started. It really began when you were having breakfast the next morning, grateful that Angelina was your dorm mate and you got along so well — a discovery you’d made whilst staying up all night and chatting in bed. But then, the second you’d spotted a red envelope amidst the letters being flown into the great hall, you knew it addressed to you.

You stood up immediately, attracting the eyes of Angelina and Lee as the letter dropped into your plate. “Who wants to come see how far I can run until this thing bursts?” Lee shot you an apologetic cringe and you gave him a bored look.

“Okay, you bores. I guess I’ll do it alone.” You grasped the edge of the red envelope, holding it from the tip of your fingers as though it would burn you. Spinning around, you came face to face with Fred and George.

“Where are we going?” Fred asked, immediately following you out of the great hall, abandoning the idea of having breakfast. He sped his pace up to match yours until you were breaking into a run, giggling as Fred called after you, asking “Wait, where are we going?”

“I don’t know!” Fred scoffed in amusement, but he blindly followed you further into the castle until you suddenly gasped, stumbling backwards towards him.

Oh.

Now he understood.

The red envelope sprung up into the air, forming an angry face as it spat out the following words. “In all the centuries the Malfoys have walked the earth, every single one of them has been a slytherin. Until you.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice boomed in the hallway, and you were grateful that it was empty, other than you and Fred.

“Your mother fought hard for us to send you to hogwarts, and you’ve already disgraced us within your first hour there! Fix your behaviour, act like we’ve raised you, otherwise we’re bringing you back home to an unpleasant surprise!”

Fred was befuddled. Never had he thought parents could speak to their children that way. Sure, he knew the Malfoys were cruel, but that was another level.

A laugh took him by surprise. Fred glanced over to you, meeting your amused gaze. “Not the worst thing he’s said to me. Would be scarier if I could see his face.” “Is that not-? Are you okay?” You shrugged your shoulders with a small grin as you approached him, hooking your arm through his and beginning your trek back to the great hall. “Yeah, I’ll probably cry about it in a couple of hours when it hits me.”

“Come find me when that happens.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shot him a look from the corner of your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“You know, for comfort? A hug if you need one? No one deserves to feel like shit on their own.”

“Oh, okay then.” Fred shot you a look, feeling bad because of the shocked look on your face. You cleared your throat, feeling his eyes on you. “You haven’t had breakfast yet, come on.”

As you settled back down at your spot on the long table, your three other friends shot you questioning looks. Fred decided he would be the one to speak as you stirred yourself a cup of tea. “Yeah, if I were the one to get that howler I would have thrown up on the spot, but she perseveres.”

You scoffed into the rim of your mug, nudging Fred’s side. You took a long sip of tea, missing the dark flush that overtook his features. From in front of him, George shot him brother a pointed look, quickly looking away when your gaze flitted up again.

You urged yourself not to look back at the older twin, but you couldn’t help yourself from staring as he shot a question at you, something quidditch related. “Huh?” “Do you play? You know, ‘cause Draco plays and stuff?” You rolled your eyes “No. Where they encouraged Draco to take up quidditch, they put me in ballet. Typical, right?”

Immediately turning away, you found Draco across the hall again. If you weren’t in trouble already for being a gryffindor, you would certainly get in trouble for the group of friends you’d made. Even worse, the boy you were beginning to catch feelings for.

Well, you huffed, there are worse things than a Malfoy and a Weasley. Right?

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @potterheadlovespotter

[sereia4skz]

Hi Yaya!! I hope you're not too busy with many requests and I hope you're okay! I wanted to ask for something with poly!skz where they all go to a festival of some sort and perhaps they end up walking too much and reader (who has some back problems), ends up being barely able to walk, and the guys are, worried but also help them out? I don't know how much sense this makes, if this is too detailed im sorry! Feel free to delete this, no worries!

drabble | we got you

pairing: poly!straykids x reader

genre: comfort

warnings: back problems magggi

word count: ~600

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

The festival had seemed like the perfect idea. Colorful lights, late spring air, music and laughter echoing between vendor booths. You were surrounded by the boys, arms bumping, hands held, too many snacks being passed around, Jeongin nearly choking on cotton candy after Hyunjin made him laugh too hard.

It was perfect. At first.

But you’d been walking for nearly four hours now. The cobblestone paths and uneven terrain of the fairground were doing no favors for your back. You’d tried to keep pace, tried to ignore the slowly tightening ache that always crept up your spine when you pushed too far.

Now, each step feels heavier. Your lower back burns. You're trying to stay in the conversation, to laugh at Changbin’s joke about Minho’s tragic attempts at the ring toss, but your smile falters as your body protests louder.

It’s Felix who notices first. You didn’t even realize you’d slowed until his hand gently brushes your arm. His brow furrows when he catches the way you’re favoring one leg, your weight shifting oddly.

“Hey, love,” he says softly, leaning closer so the others don’t hear just yet. “You hurting?”

You hesitate. But he sees right through it, because he knows. Because he’s been there too, wincing after too long in a chair, groaning about muscle tension that won’t quit. His voice lowers even more.

“Your back?”

You nod. It’s barely noticeable, but his expression softens immediately.

“Okay. I got you.” He turns around and gestures discreetly for the others. One by one, they slow down and fall into step near you and Felix.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks, and you can tell he already knows something’s wrong.

Felix answers for you. “Her back’s flaring up. It’s getting bad.”

You’re quick to shake your head. “I didn’t wanna ruin anything. We’re having fun, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” Minho says, and the word alone makes you pause, “you don’t have to push through pain to be with us. That’s not how this works.”

“I’m fine, really-”

“No, you're hurting,” Chan says, his voice gentle but firm. “That matters. You matter. Come here.”

Before you can argue again, Seungmin’s already pulling off his flannel to lay over Changbin’s arms, who’s crouched down in front of you.

“Hop on,” Changbin grins. “Piggyback time. We’ll switch off when I get tired.”

“Guys, no, it’s too much,”

“It’s really not,” Hyunjin chimes in, brushing hair from your face. “You’d do it for any of us.”

“Felix literally made us carry him halfway through Lotte World last year,” Jeongin says with a smirk. “We owe you.”

Felix gasps, clearly offended. “That was different, I had a flare-up and you dropped me!”

“You kissed my neck!” Jeongin defends himself, while Han just cackles behind him.

Laughter bubbles up from your chest despite the ache. You blink rapidly, eyes stinging for a reason that has nothing to do with pain.

“You guys are ridiculous,” you murmur.

“We’re yours,” Chan replies, and that silences the chaos for a heartbeat.

“You can let us take care of you,” Felix adds. “You’re not weak for needing help. You’re strong for letting us love all of you.”

And just like that, you melt.

Changbin carries you first. His arms are solid, his teasing gentle as he makes exaggerated sound effects with every step to get you to laugh. Hyunjin takes over next, spinning in slow circles when the line for food stalls gets too long. When it’s Chan's turn, he presses his cheek against your shoulder and whispers how proud he is of you for speaking up, even if you didn’t say a word.

Eventually, you end up nestled on a bench between Seungmin and Chan while the others grab snacks and warm drinks. Felix stays next to you, knees touching, his hand squeezing yours every so often.

Your back still aches. But it’s different now. Softer. More manageable.

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[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, captivity, fantasy lore, abuse, murder mention, suggestive (?)

"You seem to be upset."

He's leaning against the window not too far away from you. Not too close as well - just far enough for you to feel at ease.

"Aren't you a mind - reader." You respond under your breath, trying to focus on the book you're currently reading - but the letters are escaping you, and you find yourself re-reading the same paragraph for the third time. He sighs, much like a disappointed father, before stepping towards you. And if you flinch just slightly, he doesn't pretend to notice or care.

"What is wrong, my flower?" The man gestures theatrically, soft velvet voice unbecoming of the monster he is flowing easily into the open air. You don't know what to say, really. It's been two years - or so you think, there is no way to keep track of time in this kingdom, not that time goes the same way in the elfen world as it does in the human, yet the part of you still capable of logical thought seems to think so. Two years, and there is very little you haven't already said. Very little left to be said, so your conversations are mostly rehearsed repetitions of what you already know. What you already fear - that you're going to die here. Or even worse. That you've become incapable of aging, so very consumed by this foreign land you detest that you've given up death for a life of boring, purposeless immortality.

"Don't I shower you with lavish gifts?" The noble moves closer, stalking towards you - observing you as if you're a butterfly pinned to a wooden frame under a microscope. "Don't I buy you the shiniest jewels? Not even the queen herself owns such sparkling emeralds." He scoffs, painfully used to your lack of response. You clear your throat, turning a new page - having little to recall about the last. It's completely meaningless just like all the other pages in all the other books you read. How funny, you think. In that distant, dreamy past of yours you were too busy to read - busy with work, busy with family, busy with friends. Busy with life. Now nothing gets in the way of your reading, you have all the time in the world - but there's no one to share the knowledge with. No one to spoil the ending. No time limits. No goal to it all, no final destination. So you read, and you soak the pages with salty tears not remembering a word.

"I am grateful for all the treasures you give me, my Lord." You answer nonchalantly, keeping your pointer at the end of the paper in a desperate attempt to find the sentence exactly where you left it off. You can feel him move closer to you - and the only indication of your growing fear are the shivers that travel down your spine with the beat of your violently full, thumping heart.

"Don't I provide you with all the entertainment your little human heart could possibly bear?" The duke clicks his long sharp nails together once against the other - an ugly metallic sound echoes deep into the ceiling reminiscent of a dying forest clow. "There has never been a lack of wine or music or dance in my court. I've gifted you more golden dresses than you can wear in this life. I've written you more poems than you can read." He keeps going, describing every little thing he's done for you, despite the fact that you've never asked for any of it.

"I admire your taste for indulgence, my Lord." You repeat almost automatically, the praises sitting on your tongue just waiting to be spilt from parted honey lips. Your eyes are glued to the book, but you've given up on reading long ago. Now you're simply trying not to cry - focusing your eyes at one word at a time and blinking repeatedly, manically, feeling as if the world with end the moment you let him see your weakness. You can't believe you still have so much pain in you - enough to feel loss and anger and, what's even worse, hope. Hope that one day you'll be free again.

"And tell me, flower—" His fist wraps around your low ponytail, forcing you to look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time tonight. What's staring back at you might as well be the bottom of the ocean itself, misty and dark, cold and unknown. Human eyes convey so much affection - so much care that you can never mistake it for anything else. With elves it's different - you can spend centuries looking for a hint of kindness, and you'll only get lost in those beatiful bottomless pits. Shiny and sparkling and completely empty. "Don't I give you love? Don't I embrace you tightly every night?" His voice lowers dangerously, barely above a whisper.

"I don't understand what more you could possibly want. Should I prove myself to you? Should I slay a dragon for you? Perhaps I could tie the heads of your enemies with a pretty bow and give them to you as a wedding gift, hmm?" He's babbling incoherently, nails digging into your scalp with unyealding grip. "Would that finally, finally make you happy, beloved?"

"No, no, please let go." You cry out in agony, wriggling out of his hold - but he's too strong, too massive to move. "I'm happy, I'm—" You sob pitifully, weakly pushing at his chest. "I'm happy with you. Please, you make me so happy, just please let go. And please don't hurt anyone."

He slowly pulls away, chest heaving in and out wildly. The scariest part is always his face. It remains unbothered - cold and defined like a statue of a god, his true feelings hidden by a mask of barely contained rage.

"You're happy with me?" He raises an eyebrow, foot stomping on the ground impatiently. You nod hesitantly, too shaken up to comprehend what you're even agreeing to. "Then prove it. Show me just how happy I make you." He grabs your wrist, pulling you face-first into his hard chest. "Do it, and I might reconsider my other more... inhumane methods of courtship." His lips twist into a cruel smirk. "And may the Gods help you."

As you sink to your knees you try to think of what book to read next - but no title comes to mind.

[writingbluerose]

That Butler, MAGIC TWISTED

✦ MASTERLIST | ✦ taglist ( if you want to be tagged, leave a comment or leave your request in the ask box ) : @lulu--lala19 @kiki-kuku @nyuu7 @bleh09 @moonwatcher2005 @toxicm0cha @boredwithlifeatthispoint @mewchiili @1nserturlhere @analiee6 @hheerrmmiitt @acersandterminal @citrine-everhart @paleocarcharias @s7-evermore

1 . AT NIGHT : unknown arrival

✦ summary : the meeting was horrible and your butler's attempts at calming you down seemed to fall on deaf years. Unfortunately for you, another problem will soon rise, and this time it seems like not even your loyal butler could get you out of it

The loud sound of heels clicking against the stone path echoed through the empty streets in a forgotten city in London. It was the dead of night, and you were far from happy. You'd say you were displeased and the last drop of patience you had was long gone. “Damn men and damn company” Trailing behind you, and yet not too far, was your ever so loyal butler Sebastian Michaelis. His eyes scanned your figure, a mix of pity and amusement in his gaze. He quickly made his way next to you and gave you a reassuring smile

“Now, now. My lady, you know stress and anger don't do good for you, how about you start to calm yourself hm?” How honeyed his voice sounded, every woman who'd hear such reassuring and considerate words would fumble immediately, unfortunately for Sebastian, you were stubborn, you've been so since the day you've made the futile mistake of summoning him, so therefore, his words fell on deaf ears as usual. Fingers clenched into fist and one angry pout on your mouth you continued to look ahead of you, ignoring Sebastian and still cursing the company under your breath

Ah yes, the company you worked under. Lunara Vogue. A fashion company which you love more than anything. Your talent and ideas have given you a good spot in one of the highest positions, with great colleagues and great opportunities. But, one thing you hated about it was the executive team which unfortunately for you, was made all of men. Men who you wouldn't have a problem with IF they would actually listen to you and your opinions. There weren't many women working in the company and you had told Sebastian this with a very disappointed look on your face while the butler found it most amusing, this modern world and its standards did nothing but confuse him. Coming back, the executive team wasn't really one you would put in charge of such a popular company, they were too full of themselves and thought that they could do no wrong, Sebastian saw it himself on one of the days you released a new line of clothing. And my, they were a troublesome bunch

The sound of your steps suddenly stopped making their way to his ears, and he stopped, looking at you and waiting for your next move. You stopped before a crosswalk to take a deep breath, your eyes making contact with Sebastian's,

“I'm sorry Sebastian, I'm so tired it's hard not to get angry at the littlest things” He gave a light chuckle and moved his hand to put your hair behind your ear “Nothing to worry about, little lady. I'll prepare you a bath and a warm meal so you'll rest well tonight”

He gave you a charming smile before gesturing at the crosswalk, motioning for you to walk. Your lips pressed into a thin line, you slowly started walking, the villa you had managed to buy with your money was only one out of the four you had outside of the city, and fortunately, it wasn't far, you could almost feel the softness of your bed and the comfortable pillows

But while dreaming, you were oblivious to Sebastian's body language : his shoulders tensed and his eyes scanned the surroundings. Something was going to happen, and he knew it, he knew something was wrong, or perhaps something was...out of place ; He heard it before he saw it : a carriage approaching you two, and fast, too fast and way too close. The man did not waste any time, he grabbed your waist and tried pulling you out of harm's way

“My lady watch out!” You barely registered Sebastian's words and touch before you heard a loud *CRASH!* and your consciousness was suddenly cut short

. . .

“...l...dy...m....” huh? is someone calling me? I can't see or feel anything... where am I? “my l...y” ...that voice? Is it...?? “ughhh...Sebastian?” “My lady! Are you feeling alright? Do you have any injuries?” “No, no I'm okay...where...are we though?”

“That I'm afraid I can't answer. Strangely enough, I myself lost consciousness and woke up moments before you. Though you probably feel, we're in a quite cramped place” “hm...”

Your hands came to feel around you, knocking on the walls that engulfed both you and Sebastian

“It's wood...where the hell are we? Moreover, can you get us out?” You felt him nod his head against your cheek “It shouldn't be a problem, but first, do I get your permission to try and listen to any sounds coming from outside?”

“You can” You felt him shift slightly so he could be in your place, his hands were tight on your waist and the only thing you could make out of his form were his glowing red eyes that, for the very first time in your life, you saw having a tint of uncertainty in them. You couldn't blame him, when you heard he also lost consciousness it was clear something weird was going on. If this was enough to give Sebastian a hard time, then you fucked up real bad. You felt him shift again :

“I can barely hear anything. I have no choice but to break it” “H-hold on now! What if there are people outside?!”

Your hand grabbed his arm in a tight grip and you heard him chuckle, low and amused

“Come now little lady — his hand came to rest on yours — when have you heard of me being outnumbered? Did you forget? I'm your butler. And if I'll let something bad happen to you then I'm not worth my salt at all” Your eyes narrowed, though you couldn't see, you practically felt his smug smile directed at you “ughh...fine! But don't be a brute! ...for now at least...” Sebastian laughed “As you wish, my lady”

You tried backing up against the wall behind you to shield yourself from the impact. You felt Sebastian's elbow right next to your cheek before a very loud smash, and the front of the cramped room fell on the floor

“What is this?!” Sebastian's voice rang through your ears before stepping next to him. The place before you was grand. A dark room with big windows, in the middle of it was a small fountain and on top of it rested a huge mirror, dark and empty. But the weirdest thing in this room was the floating coffins that were surrounding the walls and the many people wearing robes watching from the end of it.

“Coffins...Were we in a coffin just now?! What- hey! Where are we?!” Coming closer to Sebastian, his whole body shielded you to prevent any unexpected attacks. His eyes scanned the room, but outside the shiny windows, not one glimpse was familiar to him

“Already out of your coffins? My, you two must be some impatient gals” Standing before you, a black haired man with a bird-like mask was looking at you both with a curious yet neutral face, “Who the hell are you?!” Trying to get closer to the mysterious person, he took a step back while Sebastian grabbed your arm in an attempt to hold you back

“Calm yourself — his lips came close to your ears, whispering in a commanding tone — we can't take action until we know for sure where are we and who are these people” Looking at you trough narrowed eyes, Sebastian managed to make you stay put, and angrily sighing trough your nose, you took a step back.

“Forgive my lady's poor manners. If you don't mind answering, would you tell us where exactly we are? And why?” The man blinked twice, surprised by the butler's gentle and calm tone opposed to the one he used earlier but answered anyway : “Why? Well that's an easy answer! — his lips formed a giddy smile — You both are here because you were chosen!”

Tilting his head in confusion, Sebastian looked at the man signaling him to continue and satisfy the rest of his questions “You are at the very prestigious Arcane Academy Night Raven Collage! A collage where talented mages from all around come to learn and control their magic!”

The surprise on your face wasn't missed “... magic?? L-like the-the characters from books? Magic??” The masked man nodded eagerly “You're here because the dark mirror has recognized both of your talents for magic! Has a carriage not come to pick you up and transport you here?”

Sebastian's eyes widded for a slight moment before meeting yours, all of what happened suddenly making sense. You stepped from the spot behind him and tried to reason “But this doesn't make any sense! We can't be here! Not one of us...not one of us can use magic! We're just normal people!” “...But that's simply not possible!...”

Along with the masked voice, murmurs erupted from all around, clearly what you call 'normal' as in 'you have no magic' was considered anything but in this place. Sebastian's voice made its way over all the chatter “Could you please send us back? We need to go back home”

“Oh of course of course! — the masked man hurriedly came to guide you in front of the giant mirror — I don't know how the dark mirror could make such a mistake!”

He stopped in front of it and raised his hands against it “O Dark Mirror! Please guide these souls back to where they belong!” Silence. You and Sebastian looked into the dark mirror and then at each other. Moments passed and a face appeared into it, making you stumble back in surprise. The face looked at both of your expressions, then —

“Nowhere. There is nowhere where these souls belong. There's no place for the soul who is guided by hunger, the soul that has no purpose, the one who has not allegiance to life nor death, born by curse and bind by contract. There is no place for the soul that was once clean and now binds the mark of a darkness unknown, a soul that is slowly consumed by the emptiness surrounding it. There is no place where these souls shall return!”

Silence. Nowhere...? You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out of it. The murmurs stopped, no one moved, yet before anyone said anything you still were the one to break the ice :

“W-wait a second now...this doesn't make any sense! If that place doesn't exist then how in the world could that carriage find us in the first place?!” “Then may I ask what place you come from exactly?”

“MYAHAHA HERE I COME!” Before you gave another try at reasoning, one of the grand windows broke, revealing a little creature who got inside. A gray fluffy creature, its eyes were blue, and accompanying the color of them was also the strong and bright blue flames coming out of its ears. The tail also having an odd form, a pitchfork, darker than the color of the gray fur and white tummy.

Before you could say anything else, you felt a hand on your shoulders, “London, we come from a place called London” The masked man put a finger on his chin, thinking “London...I've never heard of such a place”

“!?...”

“You two, are you perhaps lying to me?”

“No of course not! Why would we lie- ”

“I heard everything you said out there! And if they can't come to this school then I'll take their place instead!”

At the monster's words, laughter from all around was heard. Oh? Could he not do that? You felt a bit sorry for him“Q-quit laughing you! If that's how you'll act then so be it! I'll show you what I'm capable of!”

“How cute, he has a little bow attached to him” A light chuckle was heard from next to you, Sebastian's cheeks had a slight blush to them...ah, he's already lost...

“I am the great Grim! And I'm here to take a place at this school and become the greatest mage in the world!”

“H-hold on there! First you crash our ceremony then-” But the masked man didn't get to finish his sentence, for before he could say anything else, the little beast inhaled hard and let out a big wall of blue fire engulfing the whole room“Careful my lady!” Sebastian jumped back to a safer place holding you tight, but then suddenly your vision got blurry, the screams of the people rushing outside to escape the flames and Sebastian's figure were incomprehensive. Feeling your form getting heavier on his side, Sebastian took a glance at you, his reaction instantaneous

“My lady! What's wrong?!” But you barely heard those words. Black and white little spots filled your vision, and for a moment you couldn't hear anything. Then all of a sudden—

. . .

“GRAAAAAHHHHHH!!!” There was a roar, one so strong it shook the earth. Ruins were all around. The windows, all broken, the floor was all cracked, black and sticky ooze coming out of it, as if waiting for an opportunity to strike and corrupt you. The majesty that was once this room was gone, replaced by a dreadful sight, a wasteland with no way to save it. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw were the flames. No corner of this room remained untouched by them, the one who did it had truly no pity. Looking closer, you saw them, a pair of eyes, that at first look seemed so full of anger, but you saw it, there deep in them, a sense of hesitance and fear. These eyes belonged to a beast, such a large beast that even if you'd tilt your head up you'd have no success in seeing all of it. He roared again and for a split second you saw something with the corner of your eye before you were blown back. People. People in black robes, the faces they bore could not be seen, as they were cloaked by a dark hood. And the robes... surrounded by all these ruins they remained untouched, brand new. You wonder if these people would be able to save it. They shout, something, but you couldn't make anything of it. You couldn't see them anymore, you couldn't see anything nor could you hear, no more shouting and no more roaring, only whispers, tiny ones : ... don't let go... don't let go...take it...take the hand...take it... don't let go...

Time was short, make it longer, save them, don't let go, take it... DO NOT LET GO OF THAT HAND!

. . .

“My lady! Can you hear me?” The first thing you heard was his voice, you blinked, once, twice, the third time was the first time you tried to escape, but a strong hold held you from moving

“My lady. Relax, it's me! I'm not trying to hurt you” Your rapid breathing didn't go unnoticed by your butler, and he was quick to help you calm down. Your senses slowly came back, and before you knew it, the fire disappeared, and in its place, the beast who once caused it stood on the floor, a beautiful and elegant heart shaped collar adorning his neck. In front of him stood a boy, his robe was untouched, as if he didn't walk through those flames at all. He pointed something that seemed like a pen at the beast :

“Interrupting our ceremony and then making a mess of the Mirror Chamber? Such a rule breaker has no place here!”

“My, my would you look at that? You could always count on Riddle-san to make a good show” “*yawn* Yeah, yeah I just want this to be over so I can take a nap”

“Really now, is that all you think about? How unbecoming of a housewarden” The voices you heard were muffled, still recovering from earlier, you barely could register the red haired boy coming closer to you. Sebastian's hand was steady on your side, straightening up, he looked the boy in the eye, waiting for him to see what he would do. He came and pointed his pen at the butler

“And you two! Getting out of your coffins earlier then disturbing the ceremony is unacceptable! I'll have your heads as punishment! OFF WITH—”

“Now now Mr. Rosehearts, let's calm ourselves” The masked man quickly came to put a reassuring hand on the boy “I will see to these two, so could you please go and handle our furry friend over there?”

The boy's lips turned into a pout and he frowned, clearly displeased, but obeyed anyway “Yes, headmage” And turning on his heels, he disappeared.

“Now that that's been taken care of. What shall we do with you?”

“Excuse my boldness, but may I perhaps ask if you are so kind to see us to a place where we can rest? My lady doesn't feel really well and she needs to sleep to get her energy back” Taken aback by Sebastian's request, the headmage blinked and smiled graciously

“Why yes of course! And I have the perfect place where you can stay! After all I am but so kind! Come along!” Before following the headmage's steps, Sebastian looked at you, “Can you walk?” You nodded tiredly and let the butler guide you after the man's steps

After a while of walking, all three of you were in front of an old and rusty gate, and behind the gate, rested a building that could be called a ruin with the state it was in “It has quite the... character” The masked man took Sebastian's words as a compliment and nodded eagerly “Isn't it? Come now let's get inside, I can feel the raindrops starting to fall”

By the time you got inside, you could hear the droplets of rain gently hitting the windows inside the lounge “Now I know it's not the prettiest building but it can shelter you from the rain and wind just fine”

Sebastian bowed in gratitude “It is more than enough, thank you”

Your eyes darted to the space around you, not failing to notice the moldy wall corners and the dusty old furniture that looked like it hasn't been used in centuries. And that damned laugh— wait...laugh? ...hehe...hehe...hehe... The sinister laugh sounded from all around before you noticed a light circling you, and before you knew it, it took a physical form

“Welcome to our castle!” and it disappeared

“Wha- huh??? What was that??”

“Ah yes I forgot to tell you : in this dorm some ghosts have taken residence”

“Some what now????” Looking above you at the ceiling, two more lights in addition to the first one circled around before taking the form of three ghosts in all shapes and forms

“Welcome welcome you two! We haven't had visitors in such a long time”

“We hope you'll make yourself at home”

The ghost started laughing and playing all about in hopes of spooking you, Sebastian, quickly realizing their plan, chuckled himself “Why thank you gentlemen. We do hope we won't bother you much with our presence”

The ghost's shenanigans came to a stop when they realized they couldn't shake Sebastian, so they tipped their hat and disappeared into the walls “Well now that those are gone, Sebastian! Get to clean—”

“Now hold on I'm not done talking”

“Aren't you?”

“While I do intend to let you stay here free of charge I won't allow one of you to slack off while I'll research a way to get you both home. You'll have to earn money for your food and clothes after all, no?”

“But how are we supposed to do that? Our belongings disappeared into thin air!”

“I'm sure there's something you can have us do — Sebastian's hands crossed on his chest — can't you think about something?” The man put a hand on his chin thinking, then, as if a lightbulb appeared on his head, his eyes lit up. He must've found a solution

“I have just the thing! How about you do odd jobs around the campus? For every thing you do I will pay you money! How does that sound?” Before you could give the rotten bird a piece of his mind Sebastian opened his mouth before you “That sounds perfect Mr...hm..., I don't think we got your name, did we?”

“Ah! Where are my manners! With all that was going on I completely forgot! I am the headmage of this school, my name is Dire Crowley. And you gentlemen are?” Before you could get a sound out, Sebastian pulled you closer and whispered into your ear : “I do not recommend you telling your real name my lady. We do not know anything about these people, saying your real name could cause problems”

You gave him a hesitant look before sighing “My name is...Yuu, the name's Yuu. And this is my personal butler, Sebastian. It's nice to meet you, headmage”

“The pleasure is all mine, Yuu, Sebastian! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to go back to the mirror chamber, I'll see you tomorrow, I bid you two goodnight!” He waved you merrily and before you knew it you were left alone in the run-down building

Later that night, you and Sebastian ditched your jackets, leaving them on a chair, leaving him in his waist coat and shirt and you in your shirt only, while the pants were uncomfortable to sleep in, it was better than nothing.

“This was literally the last thing I needed! One second I walk on a crosswalk to my own home and the next I'm being transported into another world! How ridiculous!” Sebastian chuckled at your complaint while pouring tea in a new tea set found by the ghosts in the dorm's kitchen. He turned to you and handed you the cup

“Such negative thinking. Well, look at the bright side, at least this dorm is more organized than the apartment I found you in when you summoned me” You rolled your eyes at his smirk and drank the tea

After drinking it, you sat on the bed looking at the ceiling before your eyes darted at the butler, watching him cleaning the tea set

“I can feel you staring. Can't you sleep?” A slight blush coated your cheeks “...no” He chuckled at you before turning and coming to sit at the edge of the bed, his hand finding its way into your hair, petting it gently

“A grown woman and yet you still need me to do this in order for you to fall asleep. How troublesome” You scoffed and rolled over, his hand still petting you “Stay here until I fall asleep... it's an order”

“Well, if my lady wishes me to do so I shall comply” You concentrated on the feeling of him petting you, and the last thing you heard before falling asleep was him blowing out the candles

Sebastian looked down at you. What a soft expression you bare, you feel safe with him here don't you? Such a troublesome and dangerous decision you made now, it almost made him laugh out loud. You're so relaxed with him here, in an unknown world full of strangers and yet if it wasn't for that covenant you wore he won't think twice about taking your soul, your soul that shined so bright all for him. Yet he smiled, what was he to do with you? He will admit he was curious about the mysteries of this unknown world and perhaps he'll get something at the end of this too. He turned his head to the window, the moonlight illuminating his face through the drape gaps, eyes glowing red with satisfaction, he smiled,

He can't wait for tomorrow

© writingbluerose 2025

[dovesdreaming]

Beyond the scrubs

Summary: Alex karev is dating an attending (reader) in secret until he can’t take the hiding anymore.

A/n: I’ve forgot to say on my other posts but thank you for 300 followers (now more) <3

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: talk of injuries

-

It started as a fling-no promises, no complications, just a way to blow off steam during the long, grueling hours at Seattle Grace. Alex Karev wasn’t the type to settle down, and you weren’t the type to let yourself get caught up in messy entanglements. You were both driven, ambitious, and in control. At least, that’s what you told yourselves. The on-call room was your safe haven, the place where you could steal moments together, away from prying eyes and the judgmental whispers that filled the hospital corridors. Late at night, when the rest of the world was sleeping, you’d find each other in the dimly lit room, the only sounds being the hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of scrubs.

“Hey, you” you whispered as you slipped into the room, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. Alex was already there, leaning against the wall with that familiar smirk that always made your stomach flutter. “Hey yourself” he replied, his voice low and teasing. “Long night?”. “Isn’t it always?” You sighed, walking over to him. The stress of the day seemed to melt away the moment you were in his arms, your bodies fitting together perfectly. You kissed, slowly at first, savoring the few minutes you had together. It wasn’t just about the physical connection, though that was part of it. There was something more between you both, something unspoken that neither of you were ready to admit.

As you pulled away, you looked into Alex’s eyes, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. “We need to be careful” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “If anyone finds out…” “I know” Alex cut you off, his tone more serious now. “But I don’t want to stop”. “Neither do I” you admitted, your resolve wavering. “But we both know how it’ll look. I’m an attending, and you’re… well, you”. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doctor”. Alex quipped, his smirk returning, but there was a tension in his jaw that you didn’t miss. Your expression softened, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re a damn good doctor, Alex. One of the best. But people talk, and the last thing I want is for anyone to think you’re getting special treatment because of… this”.

Alex’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed too far. But then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I know I’ve earned my place here. And so do you”. His words sent a warmth through you and you found herself smiling despite the situation. “You’re right” you said softly. “We’ll just have to be smart about it”. “Yeah, smart” Alex echoed, though there was something in his tone that made you wonder if he was already planning on breaking that rule.

As the weeks went by, you managed to keep your relationship under wraps. You were careful. No stolen glances during rounds, no lingering touches in the halls. But there were moments when the facade almost slipped, when Alex’s hand would brush against yours, or when you would catch yourself watching him a little too intently as he worked.

It was during a particularly stressful day in the ER that you had your first real scare. A trauma case had come in, a young boy, barely ten, with a gunshot wound to the chest. It was all hands on deck, and the pressure was palpable as the team worked to stabilize him. Alex was in the thick of it, his hands steady as he assisted Dr. Bailey with the surgery. You watched from the sidelines, your heart in her throat as you fought to save the boy’s life. When it was finally over, and the boy was stable, the tension broke like a dam, relief flooding the room. “Good work, Karev” Bailey said gruffly, her way of acknowledging a job well done. Alex nodded, pulling off his gloves and letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. As he turned to leave, he caught your eye. For a split second, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, the intensity of the moment pulling them together like a magnet. Without thinking, Alex reached out, his hand brushing against yours in a gesture that was too familiar, too intimate for the public setting. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly pulled away, your eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed. Dr. Bailey’s sharp gaze was on you both, and you felt a pang of panic. But before she could say anything, Bailey turned away, muttering something about paperwork and leaving the room.

“Close call” Alex murmured as you walked out of the OR, his voice laced with a mix of relief and amusement. “Too close” you replied, your pulse still racing. “We have to be more careful, Alex. If Bailey had said something..” “But she didn’t,” Alex interrupted, his expression serious. “Look, I get it. We have to keep this quiet. But I’m not going to act like I don’t care about you. Not in here” he gestured to the hallway around them, “and not out there”. You wanted to argue, to tell him that you had to keep your distance, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was a determination there, a certainty that you couldn’t deny. So instead, you nodded, letting yourself believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.

It was a few weeks later when everything came to a head. You’d been playing the game for so long, sneaking around, keeping your relationship hidden, that it was starting to wear on both of you. Alex was growing more frustrated, his usual bravado masking the tension that simmered beneath the surface. You too were feeling the strain, the constant fear of being discovered gnawing at your nerves. The final straw came during a particularly hectic day in the clinic. Alex had been working nonstop, dealing with a never ending stream of patients, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. You wanted to reach out, to offer him a moment of comfort, but there were too many eyes, too many people who could see.

And then it happened.

One of the other attendings, Dr. Stevens, made a comment, a casual remark about how Alex was getting all the best cases, how he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. It was said in jest, but the implication was clear: favoritism. You felt your stomach drop, the color draining from your face as the words hung in the air. You waited for Alex to brush it off, to let it slide like he usually did. But instead, he snapped.

“Maybe I get the best cases because I’m a damn good doctor” Alex retorted, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “Or is that too hard for you to believe?”. The room went silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. You could see the shock on everyone’s faces, the way they exchanged glances, as if suddenly realizing there was more going on than they’d thought. Dr. Stevens opened his mouth to respond, but Alex didn’t give him the chance. “You know what? Screw this. Yeah, I’m seeing Dr. Y/L/N We’ve been together for a while now. And it’s got nothing to do with my work. So if anyone’s got a problem with that, say it now”.

Your heart stopped, your mind racing as you processed what he’d just done. Alex had just blown your cover, exposed your relationship to the entire room. But as you looked at him, standing there with that defiant look in his eyes, you realised something. You didn’t care. You weren’t ashamed of what you had, and you weren’t going to let anyone make you feel like you should be. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, your voice steady as you spoke. “Alex is right. Our relationship is personal, and it has no bearing on the work we do here. If anyone has a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

There was a murmur of surprise, but no one challenged you. Dr. Stevens, for his part, looked chastened, muttering an apology under his breath. As the room slowly returned to its usual hum of activity, Alex turned to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Yeah” you replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m sure”.

And just like that, the secret was out. It wasn’t easy, and there were still challenges to face. Whispers in the halls, disapproving looks from some of your colleagues but you faced it together, no longer hiding, no longer pretending. Because in the end, it wasn’t about what anyone else thought. It was about the connection you shared, the trust you had in each other. And that was something worth owning, something worth fighting for.

-

Thank you for reading <3

[fictionismyreality3]

Take a Break

Warnings: hints at smut no actual smut, romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: every so often the need for this man will just suddenly pop up like gOD LET ME LIVE

The fingers you were clenching around your pen were beginning to hurt. Trying to write this essay was making you feel more like a wide eyed freshman than someone aiming to finish senior year at the top of their class. You stared aimlessly at your laptop, your eyes burning from how long you’d been looking over the work you had so far.

Which was only the title.

Just 2 more months. 2 months and then you could graduate, and you’d have your degree, and you could have your dream job and not be cramming book after book in your head, hoping you’d pick up the knowledge when really all it did was make you feel like punching your-

“Darlin’? You doing okay with your homework?” The honeyed voice of your boyfriend echoed around your dorm you, a light breeze the only warning you were given as he appeared randomly behind you.

“Yeah, Jasper. M’fine.” But just looking at his unfairly gorgeous face made you want to punch him instead of your TA.

It wasn’t fair. He got to be stupidly handsome and smart and he could easily ace your classes, probably finishing your degree in a few days with his stupid fucking vampire memory, and everything was so easy for him that you- “Honey, you’re frownin’ at me.” Jasper’s words drew you out of your little thought spiral.

“Yeah, I know, I know.. I’m sorry, I just..” You took a deep breath. “This is making want to rip my hair out.”

Jasper’s face now wore a frown mirroring your own, his gaze ever attentive, searching your face like he was looking for some hidden solution you couldn’t see. He ran his hand through your hair soothingly, his thumb brushing away the crease between your brows. The frustration and self-loathing that was radiating off you had hit him like a thick summer heat, pulling him up to your dorm in an instant.

He didn’t like to see his pretty little mate upset.

You were supposed to be happy. It was the last few months of school and he should have been feeling waves of glee and satisfaction dripping from your pores. Not this. And so, Jasper made up his mind. It wasn’t often that he used his abilities on you, it was something you’d discussed early into your relationship, something you insisted could only be a last resort kind of thing.

But the tears welling in your big eyes made his heart clench, and he found himself layering calm and relaxation over you like a blanket. “Why don’t you take a break, darlin’?”

Your head went all fuzzy, the cotton candy filling your skull making the words on your computer screen seem irrelevant. Blinking slowly, it took you a second to realize what was happening.

“No, no Jas, I have to finish this.” The words of protest sounded funny in your ears, the idea of doing anything but slumping back in your chair seemed exhausting. “No, you need to rest. You work so hard, honey.” Coaxing hands pushed you back in your seat, a sense of lethargy filling your bones as you hazily made out Jasper kneeling in front of you.

“Can’t.. I hav’to.. have..”

A Cheshire grin curled over Jaspers lips as he watched your body grow lax and pliant. Sure, adding little bouts of arousal between the relaxation would be breaking the rules you’d set, but he couldn’t have his mate overworking herself. Ghosting his hands up your legs, he pushed a little bit more bliss into you, enjoying the little whimper that slipped out.

“Don’t worry, darlin, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

[holybibly]

ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 |𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔫 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯| 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ

♡ Pairing: Best friends Woosan x reader ♡ Genre: smut, f2l!au, college!au ♡ Word Count: 6.6k ♡ Summary: Sometimes drunken decisions lead to the most unexpected results and the most shocking confessions. Or, after your boyfriend cheats on you, you propose a threesome to your best friends and it might just be what they have always wanted. 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ ♡ WARNING: only!18+ pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, pussy eating, size kink, oral giving and receiving, double penetration, threesomes, dirty talk and more. ♡A/N: Here they are, our winners. I'm a little overjoyed because I'm about to try out a new style for myself. I'm still trying my best to write smut. So please be gentle with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

One year ago.

It was a feeling of sweet euphoria coursing through your veins. Pure, scalding ecstasy that frothed your blood and clouded your mind. Multicolored neon lights licked greedily at your wet, naked skin, leaving acid green and poisonous pink burns on it. All your senses were overloaded, and every touch felt like a liquid flame. The throbbing bass of the deafening music echoed through your body like the beating of your own heart and completely consumed all of your other senses, except for absolute pleasure.

You lost track of the amount of alcohol you had consumed that day, shot after shot, until a pleasant fog began to form in your head, blocking out all other thoughts. The tequila flowed down your throat like water, and you were sure you'd remember how it tasted in the morning, but you didn't care what you'd done tonight or how you knew you'd feel tomorrow. You didn't care about that. Your aim was to forget yourself, to disappear into the crowd, to merge with the music until any connection to the outside world was nothing more than the beginning of the next day.

Dance, baby, dance!

The atmosphere in the club grew fuzzier and fainter, sweaty, hot bodies pressed closer together merging, the hot touches of forbidden pleasures caressing the skin with the fingertips of strangers, wet lips touching the bare, sticky skin on you shoulders, pressing rough impatient kisses into it. Too many people and too many strangers are here for nothing but fuck.

You weren't a stupid little girl who believed in virginal marriage and pink ponies; to be honest, you were far from that gentle picture. God, Wooyoung, and San had been your best friends since high school, and now you were at university, and if after all that time you couldn't repeat every position in the Kama Sutra by heart, it really surprised you. Innocence and modesty were the last words in your vocabulary, and with Wooyoung's big mouth, you were well aware of the whole of theirs sex life. And when you say everything, you mean every fucking detail, and to Wooyoung's credit, he has a great memory and meticulous storytelling.

How long has it been since you started dancing? 20 minutes—or was it two hours? You could swear that Sang and Ueyoung were at your side a minute ago. Or did they leave you alone on the dance floor hours ago?

You can't remember at all.

Your mind is buzzing, your fingertips are tingling, and your heart is pounding against your ribs from the adrenaline rush of matching the beat of some new-fangled track and creating a world of your own inside your body. This sound will vibrate more and more strongly under your skin until your brain ceases to function, allowing you to let go of all the worries in the world and give yourself over completely to the music. Alcohol really does work wonders.

Man, you felt so good.

In the back of your drunken mind, you can't help but wonder if tonight could have gone differently. Probably, but here you are, drunk as hell, huddled with a stranger on a neon dance floor instead of a soft bed in your favorite man's arms. Where the hell did you take the wrong turn? It would seem that something in the universe hasn't gone quite according to plan. Did you have any idea this morning that your sweet, perfect boyfriend would be cheating on you? Correction: he's been cheating on you for a long time. You probably never would have found out if you hadn't come home from couples earlier than usual and continued to be his "convenient girlfriend." Hell, it wasn't nice, and maybe not as hurtful, if he'd been fucking someone else instead of your best friend. Were you that bad? Weren't you good enough? Either way, you've still got time to destroy yourself—maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

Maybe you'll even think about it when you visit the bastard in the hospital. He should have known better than to even think about cheating, and the clotted blood on San's knuckles proved that. Everyone at the university knew that you were Ateez's golden girl, and to mess with you was to mess with them. And since you, Wooyoung, and San were literally glued to each other, it was tantamount to suicide. 

At the moment, the only thing that was more upsetting than the image of your ex-boyfriend driving his dick all the way up to his balls into your ex-friend's skinny body was the fact that your beautiful vintage sofa would have to be thrown away. Semen doesn't wash off. You checked.

Hongjoong is going to be absolutely devastated. That sofa was the absolute love of his life.

It's all nothing more than a vague memory of the day gone by, mixed into an indecipherable cacophony of shrill screams and blurred images. To be honest, you don't remember much of the chaos, as Wooyoung pressed your face against his chest with such force that you wouldn't be surprised to see your make-up imprinted on the light fabric of his shirt. All you could hear was loud cursing and the sound of a punch in the face. You hoped that San's punch was strong enough to break the asshole's jaw. And after that, there were a few hours of tears and emotional crisis until they'd had enough and pulled you into this club with a gentle and accepting hand: "Come on, baby, you could use a break and a change of scenery" from San, and "Fuck that scumbag, go show him what he's lost, baby" from Wooyoung. It was an absolute mystery how the two of them synchronized perfectly.

You have no idea what you would do without these two.

A few more minutes go by in this way, until you feel hot hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the hard body on your back. You don't have to turn around to see that it's San; the scent of his perfume, mixed with the sweat and the smoke of a freshly smoked cigarette, makes you dizzy, and you rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture. Suddenly you want to get as close to him as possible, turn around and press your face against his hard, structured chest, breathing in deeply and sinking into him completely. Your arms reach out behind you and wrap around San's neck, tangling your fingers in the scarlet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You feel it on your back as the action makes him purr like a cat. You wonder what other sounds you might be able to catch him making.

You shake yourself. The thought of it sends shivers down your arms and makes all the muscles in your lower abdomen tingle.

You should stop. These are bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.

"Damn, baby girl, how much did you drink while we were away?" Wooyoung's voice is rough and husky, but his touch is gentle and careful as his fingers intertwine with yours. He has always touched you in a way that no other man in the world, with the exception of him and San, has ever been able to touch you. There was no comparison with your ex's touch. Wooyoung's touch is a promise. A promise to protect, to care, and perhaps to love? You could swear you saved the planet in your past life because you have such great friends in this one, or maybe a little more than friends, but you're not sure what to call this feeling. 

You had been friends for so long that it wasn't weird not have a crush on Wooyoung or to dream of being married to San. The guy was literally a walking husband; he was second only to Songhwa in that respect, but please, Hwa was the epitome of husband material. You might even have wanted to be in the middle of it, sandwiched between hot bodies while they literally fucked the life out of you. But it was all just thoughts. Fleeting dreams that clung to the edges of your consciousness. You were the type to date, and they were the type to fuck. You were different when it came to loving. In any case, it was all a long time ago. You had a boyfriend, and Wooyoung and San collected girls like Pokémon. Somehow, you were sure that if you slept together, your friendship would end.

You weren't ready for that. With a strength that only Jongho could match, you ignored any romantic feelings for them

"Mmm… Woo, I have no recollection, but I had fun." You licked your lips as if you were trying to taste the lingering taste of the tequila and opened your eyes to stare straight into Wooyoung's face, full of worry. He could have been the biggest bitch if he wanted to be. But for you, that 'maternal' instinct of overprotection has kicked in. You stare at him unblinkingly in that moody light, he looks beautiful, to the point of being stupidly handsome, so damn handsome that you want to pull him to you and kiss him without explanation or reason. And you can do that because you know he's never, ever going to say no to you but kiss you? Wooyoung's tongue will be the first to enter your mouth. He will suck on it like a drunk, and he will hold on to you until there is almost no air left in your lungs.

"We leave you alone, gongjunim, for five minutes, and you're already in trouble. Shall I give you a lesson in obedience?" San is speaking into your ear, loud enough for you to hear him clearly, each word coming through the loud electric bass. His voice is too sultry to be sober enough. Woo probably talked him into a few shots, although he always got drunk pretty easily. The two were threatening each other. And to you as well.

The evil voice inside your head grinned: You know you want it. He's going to punish you for being such a bad, naughty girl. He will teach you to be the best little girl for him and for them and to follow all his rules. He'll make you beg and make you cry…

Fuck, girl, come to your senses. Since when did you start to think with your pussy instead of using your brain? Or do you automatically turn into a horny, over-excited idiot after a break-up? Turn on your brains; they are your best friends.

Completely ignoring San's words, you whimpered:

"I'm thirsty." Your tongue is dry in your mouth, and your lips feel unpleasantly rough as you say the words. It looks like the fun's over for today.

San can't help but laugh at your capricious behavior, and you wriggle restlessly in his arms, trying to free yourself from his firm grip, but he only manages to hold you even tighter. You sigh in annoyance and decide to try your luck with Wooyoung.

"Woo, help me." You whine again, reaching out and pulling Wooyoung closer so that your forehead rests against his collarbone.

He smells good, like sandalwood and vanilla, like home.

Wooyoung lifts your face with his fingertips. The touch is soft and comforting, despite the roar of the music and the crowd of strangers around you. He stares intently into your eyes, almost too serious for your drunken haze. He hopes to find something more than alcohol-induced excitement.

"Come on, baby. It's time to go home." He releases your hand and carefully wipes the sweat from your forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers lingering on your lips for a moment, and you playfully stick out your tongue and lick the pads of his fingers. God, may you not remember this tomorrow.

"But I don't want to…" You purse your lips again. You turn your head towards San, looking for his support. "Sanni, let's stay a bit more." Your big, shining eyes are not making it easy for him, but you were already quite drunk, and judging by the way your body was leaning against him, you could hardly stand properly.

"Wooyoung's right, gongjunim, it's over for you today."

Something wild in you just wants to be a brat and start arguing, but the rational part of your brain wins out. You sigh tiredly and try to wriggle out of his grip, and of course you stumble, grabbing Wooyoung's biceps with your hands in an attempt to stay on your feet and not break your high-heeled leg, which would be a great way to end the night.

A strong arm immediately wraps around your waist. It digs lightly into the exposed skin between your top and your jeans. You can feel the coldness of the thin band of his ring. It actually burns from how sensitive you were now.

"I got you, chagi." San whispers softly and hoarsely into your ear, and you cling even more tightly to Wooyoung's arm as your legs begins to shake, but no longer from the alcohol you've drunk and the tiredness, but from his sultry tone. Damn, was that a saturi, or was it just your imagination?

"We'll be on our way now, for sure." Wooyoung takes your hand once more, pulling it away from his bicep, and quickly leads you through the crowd of sweaty bodies, completely ignoring your feeble protests until you see the flashing exit sign. The red neon sign brings you ominously close to the point where you are left alone with them. And you feel San's heavy presence at your back like never before. 

The sounds of the city swallow you up and make you dizzy as Wooyoung opens the heavy metal door. Couples are kissing all over the place. Noisy groups of people are huddled together waiting for a taxi or sharing a single joint, leaving a faint smell of weed in the air. You can still hear the vibrating bass of the music that is pouring out of the club; it echoes in your head in an unpleasant way, with a slight throbbing pain. All of a sudden, all you want to do is find yourself in a warm bed, snuggled up against San or Wooyoung, or even better, against both of them.

San's hand on your waist tenses as you bend over to hail a taxi. Wooyoung's hands come down on your hips, hot and strong, and just like that, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their bodies shielding you safely from the searing cold and dirty stares. You could swear that you can hear Wooyoung swears to himself while a drunk guy is moving his tongue between two spread fingers and looking in your direction. San's body tenses instinctively. What's with all this protection? We're not in some kind of alpha-character romance; you can take care of yourself.

But in spite of that, your body still relaxes, your head leans back against Wooyoung's shoulder, and you rub your face against his like a cat.

"You're so drunk, baby." Woo chuckles and gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "That's my girl."

My girl, just the sound of that one sentence makes a little fire start in your belly. What the hell is wrong with you today? A week ago, you were rinsing his mouth after Woo drank too much, and now you're ready to lick his mouth from the inside. 

Fuck.

All these thoughts make you lose track of what's happening until you feel the smooth leather of the car seat beneath you and the soft touch of San's lips on your bare shoulder. You moan, either from annoyance or excitement. San just smiles and presses his lips harder against you. Finally, you are going home.

You faintly hear Wooyoung giving the Uber driver the coordinates of your apartment complex, your hands intertwining again, relaxing further as Wooyoung's head rests on your shoulder. His long hair tickles the back of your neck.

Sobriety slowly begins to clear your head as the ride continues. You're still drunk, but you're much more aware than before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, but in the confined space of the car's backseat, they can hear it well. It sets them in motion again, hands clasped around you with renewed confidence. You play mindlessly with the silver rings that adorn Wooyoung's long fingers, and you don't go unnoticed by San's light strokes on the outside of your thigh.

"All for you, chagiya." San whispers back and gives Wooyoung a meaningful look. There's something special between the two of them—a dialogue that is spoken without words but in which they both know exactly what is meant. If only you knew what was going on inside their heads…

You let your hand drop to Wooyoung's muscular thigh and ran the palm of your hand over it a couple of times, feeling the tight muscles under the skin of his trousers. He covers the palm of your hand with his own and squeezes it in a silent, gentle gesture of affection.

"I love you guys…" You whisper, sticking out your tongue to lick your suddenly dry lips. You hear them giggling together before you feel San press his nose against the soft skin of your collarbone, rubbing against it like a cat. He's the ultimate cinnamon bun; how he can be someone who's had sex with half the university is still a mystery to you.

"I love you too, gongjunim." And he means it, like he really loves you—much more than a friend should.

"Mmm, I love you more. You know that, baby." Wooyoung bites the skin on the back of your neck in a playful way, and you feel his wet tongue pressing against the site of the bite for a few seconds. 

"You're not sleeping in my bed. Woo, stop it; that tactic won't work on me anymore."

He whimpers back with a puff of his swollen lips, turning his face away from you with an irritated roll of his eyes as you and San laugh, his arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body so that you're practically sitting on his lap. A faint melody, from some kind of soft track, pours out of the speakers and lulls you into a state of serenity. You find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your body relaxes even more in San's arms.

The next twenty minutes fly by, and you only begin to wake up when the cab door slams behind you and Wooyoung drags you into her flat. The fobs on your keys jingle loudly in the silence of the corridor as San fiddles with them to unlock the door. You sway in Woo's arms as you wait for the door to your apartment to open. The soothing scent of neroli and orchids greets you as you enter, your body automatically relaxing into the safety of your personal space, and you fall wearily into the armchair opposite sofa.

As the door closes, you hear the sound of the boys hurrying down the corridor, taking off their shoes and jackets. You can imagine San carefully placing his shoes next to yours and Wooyoung's one shoe being kicked further down the corridor. So damn different.

Woo sprints into the kitchen, slams the door of the fridge shut, and there is a bottle of cold water in front of your face.

"Here you go, starlight." He sinks to the floor at your feet and leans back against them, resting his head in your lap as he does so. You run your fingers through his long black hair, brushing it away from his face, and meet his gaze with your own. It's familiar; away from the deafening music and the sweaty crowd, you feel much better now, despite the fact that a few hours ago your ex was fucking your friend on the couch across the hall. This is still your home, and you're sure that in a few days your entire apartment will be taken apart and put back together by the caring hands of Seonghwa and Yeosang, when there won't be a trace of your failed past relationships left.   "Are you okay?" San asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'm… fine, yeah. Probably not as good as I'd like to be, but I'll be fine; it'll just take some time. At the moment, I'm just tired of it all."

"Go take a shower, sweetie; San and I will take care of the rest." Wooyoung says as he gets up from the floor and pulls the leather jacket off of his shoulders. The wide collar of his black t-shirt shows the tattoo on his back. You always found that part of him extremely sexy.

You rise from your chair, grimacing at the pain in your legs after so many hours in high heels. Your top falls to the floor as you take it off, the lace of your black lingerie clinging to your body like a second skin. They've seen you naked more than once or twice, and in any case, you're not one of those cute girls who blushes at every opportunity. You have to struggle to pull your jeans down your legs because they are so tight around your arse. The next thing to come off is your underwear, which you leaves halfway to the toilet somewhere. You let them take care of that too.

The level of intimacy that you have with San and Wooyoung is so high that it virtually erases any barrier to acceptable standards of friendship. Years of shared memories, from when you started high school to when you practically star graduates of Seoul National University. God, the things you've done and the situations you've been in—it's been a hectic time. The three of you literally know each other to your bones—sharing habits, feelings, clothes, and even some sexual practices under the influence of alcohol and chance. You've seen them fuck; they've held your hair when you've puked, helped with periods, you've seen them jerking off in the morning or heard them moaning loudly in the bathroom, you all watched porn together—it's all been part of your friendship. In a way, the three of you have been completely and utterly shameless.

You close the bathroom door and stare wearily at your reflection in the large mirror. Your hair is disheveled from those beautiful waves there's not a trace, your skin is glistening with sweat, your make-up looks messy—a bit of smudged eyeliner, smeared lipstick—and in general, you look like you've been beaten up. The pupils of your eyes are dilated, even though you're still feeling sleepy, and there's a bit of puffiness under your eyes from previous tantrum.

Wow, you look like a real mess. You turn away from the mirror, turn on the tap of water, and sink back into your usual daily routine. The water cleanses not only your body but also your mind, spectacularly washing away all the memories and regrets of the day.

It seems to be at least a minute before you hear the sound of a heavy knock on the door. San's voice is muffled over the sound of water and steam, rough, husky, and incredibly sexy, sending electric shocks through your body and unexpected heat building between your thighs. Your fingers turn the handle, stopping the water from flowing, and you take a few long breaths, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. What's wrong with you today?

"Chagi, are you okay?"

You mooed in response, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around your body before opening the door to face him. He's standing across the bathtub, slumped against the wall, so soft and fluffy, when you open the door. San has changed into a pair of loose pajamas, which are very cute, according to your taste. He has washed off his make-up and generally looks more like an adorable bun than the voluptuous demon he is supposed to be at the university.

"What the hell took you so long? Wooyoung's already starting to climb the wall from here." He whimpers with a pucker on his lips.

"I needed some time to myself, Sanni."

He bites his bottom lip before nodding. His burning gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual on your thighs and breasts, and your body heats up at the sensation. When your eyes meet, there is an emotion that you are unfamiliar with that hovers just above the surface of his gleaming dark irises. Something predatory flashes across his face, just for a second, but it's enough to make your skin tingle with an unknown sense of anticipation.

"Just a few more minutes, and then I'll be on my way, all right? Tell Wooyoung to be a little more patient."

"Alright."

You step back into the tub, close the door behind you, and press your back against the wall. You bite your lips, trying to hold back a groan of disappointment. It's not that after all these years of friendship you've never felt sexually aroused in their presence; after all, Wooyoung and San were so damn attractive and even flirtatious to the point of insanity, they fit the cliché of lusty, popular boys at university so well.

Perhaps you had once or twice wondered what it would be like to be close to one of them, or even better, both of them—what their bodies would feel like and what their tastes would be like. Yet, consciously ignoring any romantic urges in their direction, you buried those thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You didn't want to think about how beautiful San's smile was, with those sweet dimples, or how your skin burned under Woo's playful, incessant kisses. But those were only fragmentary thoughts, a dangerous feeling creeping into your heart.

For a while your hunger for them was satisfied by a succession of boy toys until you found yourself a steady boyfriend, well until you caught him with one of your girlfriends tonight. Either way, the sex was hardly satisfying enough to get too upset about, but still, the ache in your heart and your bottom-punched self-esteem stung like a bitch.

But today there was something different between the three of you; on a day like any other, there was a different feeling. It wasn't anything special; San's tearful face had been tucked between your breasts more than once or twice after another romantic fiasco, and Wooyoung had been a complete fool in love, getting burned so many times because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You have been friends long enough to know how to comfort each other after breaking up. You have never experienced such a tension between the three of you before.

There was a barely perceptible change in the air; there was an electric tension in the chemistry between you; a crackle in the air like a thunderstorm was about to break. The storm was coming at a furious pace, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to handle it. To end up between them was like voluntarily stepping into a hurricane rated at twelve. Was that what you wanted? You probably did. Did they want it? There was no way of knowing. Would things have changed if you'd fucked, yes, of course, but would you have had a 'happily ever after', you weren't so sure.

You brush your hair with your fingertips, hissing in pain when you can't untangle the tangled locks, and continue this compulsive action as you step out of the suddenly claustrophobic space of the bathroom. The corridor is cold, and the change in temperature causes goose bumps to run down the length of your skin. Cold air climbs under the towel's edges, clinging uncomfortably to your tender inner thighs.

"I left some fresh clothes for you on the dresser next to the bathtub. Didn't you notice?" San asks. His pronunciation is as simple as if he hadn't been the one who just a few minutes ago ate you alive with his eyes. He is sitting on the arm of the chair Wooyoung is comfortably ensconced in, mindlessly scrolling through social media.

The couch, which was once your favorite place to be, is clearly in disuse. You're already anticipating Hongjoong's endless complaints about it. That couch was the love of his life.

Wooyoung has changed his clothes too; there's no trace of the seductive college hottie left; the stretchy top of the oversized shirt slipping off his shoulders to expose his collarbones made him look so tiny and cuddly; and the soft disheveled hair falling over his face gave his features something adorably puppyish. They both looked homely and terribly comfortable, as if this was legitimately their home and not yours, as if their place had always been here, the space they belonged to.

"It's stuffy. I don't want to get dressed." You reply, pulling the towel tighter around your chest. You actually contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around yourself, but you don't want to explain anything to them either.

"Personally, I like it all; you can keep going, baby."

"Of course you like it, Woo; we all know about your love for exhibitionism." You say this nonchalantly and let your body fall into Wooyoung's lap, not caring that you're actually naked under the towel or that his shirt is getting wet as the water from your wet hair drips onto it. You're trapped between their bodies again, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the feeling. You savor his scent and the feel of his smooth skin as your face sinks into the curve of Woo's neck.

You all sink into a nice, relaxing silence as the boys scroll through endless social media feeds, your eyes grow heavier, and the need for sleep becomes more palpable. But you love it so much—just being around them, not thinking about anything else, feeling the way San's fingers play with your hair while you twirl the rings on Woo's fingers—that you probably have a fetish for his hands. Anyway, you don't mind.

Minutes go by like this, slowly approaching an hour. You feel content and warm as you sit on Wooyoung's gorgeous muscular thighs. He is humming something to himself, drawing scattered patterns with his fingertips on your bare thigh. Your lips press against Woo's neck, leaving a sweet kiss on his skin. He squirms beneath you, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter on your thigh. God, he's so hot.

"You're so needy, kitten," San says with laughter before you feel his lips on your shoulder. It's not a chaste, friendly kiss; no, his lips are wet with saliva, open so you can feel the scorching breath and his tongue tip gliding across your skin in slow motion. San is licking you like a cat, damn it.

"Is this a side effect of the break-up or something like that? Look at you, Peach. You're a horny mess." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity and pulls you closer to his chest. You slide down his thighs, and the towel scratches a little higher, a little more, and they can easily see your pussy. At that thought, the familiar throbbing between your legs reminds you just how wet you are, the viscous, clear liquid threatening to run down the inside of your thighs and stain Woo's clothes.

Praying that neither of them will notice how flushed and horny you feel at this moment, you squeeze your legs together and slide your hand down to pull the towel further down your legs, as far down as possible in this position.

You're so thirsty; the lust is bubbling just beneath the surface of your skin, and the heady mix of their scent and the residual alcohol in your blood is making you feel like such a needy slut.

The rational part of your brain tells you that you should be in a completely different state right now—a mess of tears and snot, probably on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Somewhere between the self-destruction of your own self-esteem and a crisis of identity, But here you are, practically naked in Woo's arms, with an obscenely wet pussy and no shame whatsoever.

In contrast to the'real' half of you, something small and evil urged you to go further, to spread your legs, to expose yourself shamelessly, to ride Wu's thigh and have a hot rodeo until you couldn't cum any more, and then let San use you however he wanted; you don't mind at all being a chew toy for him. Hell, boy, all you want to do is let him fuck your brains out.

You sink your teeth into your lower lip with force; the taste of blood is almost in your mouth.

"Fuck me. I want to sleep, baby. You can use me. Let's go to bed."You whine, puffing up your cheeks.

"Okay, okay, baby, let's put the princess to bed." San lifts you from your place on Woo's lap and pulls you tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel every ripple of muscle on that perfect body. When did he have time to get that big?

He carries you into the bedroom like a princess. Wooyoung's shuffling footsteps can be heard behind you, and you throw your head back to meet his gaze.

"We had a change of sheets. Personally, I'm in favor of burning all his stuff."

"Have I told you I love you?"

"Mmm, let me think. Maybe just a few thousand times." He gives you a cheeky smile, and you laugh.

"Love, love, love, love, I love you so much. You're the best boys in the world. You sing with a big smile on your face, and the sound of their laughter fills the bedroom. 

"We love you too; we love you so much."

If you weren't so drunk and tired, your brain might have been able to process Wooyoung's changed intonation, but you completely ignored any possible hint of how they felt about you.

San gently laid you down on the bed, and Woo's lithe body crawled beside you, snuggling against your side, hugging you like his personal teddy bear.

"Woo, let her go; she has to put on some clothes." He pulls off his T-shirt and holds the soft fabric out in front of you. Your hands lazily crumple it up in an attempt to decide whether or not to put it on, but the boys decide for you. 

Wooyoung sits you down and holds you tightly by the waist while San pulls the T-shirt over your head and pulls off the towel at the same time. You are still naked, but you are a bit more decent now.

"You're such good friends. I wish I could date someone like you." You lie back down, and Woo's hands paddle you again, as if it's his natural reflex. You're not aware of the exchange of glances between the two of them. The silent conversation that goes on between them is completely ignored.

"Hmm, someone like us?" San sits down on the bed in front of you, and in an instant, your fingers cling to his naked chest. You want so badly to sink your teeth into the smooth, bulging muscles of his chest. "Baby, aren't you afraid we're going to be jealous?"

"You and jealousy, come on. I went out with Suho, and none of you minded."

"It's because the idiot has a tiny dick." With an evil giggle, Woo whispers in your ear.

"Wooyoung!"

"He's right, chagia. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"San, not you too." You whine and give him a light tap on the shoulder.

"Well, if you were with someone like us, you'd know what it means to have a good fuck. We'd fuck your brains out, baby."

"Jung Wooyoung, wash your filthy mouth. San, tell him." You call out to your more rational friend in a resentful tone to calm Woo down.

"Well, I can't say that he's wrong. You won't be on foot for days after we are." The grin on San's face is so predatory that you can't tell that it's your sweet himbo friend. It's making the muscles at the bottom of your stomach clench in anticipation of this promise.

"You do know that I used to sleep with Yunho before I started dating Suho, right? You can hardly come as a surprise to me; he's very good."

"We know." Woo hissed in annoyance, and his arms tightened around you, planting his foot on your thigh and completely cutting off any attempt you might have made to pull away from him, even if you wanted to.

"But we're so much better." A hot palm slides just over your waist near to Wooyoung's hand, practically covering your breasts. You feel the full weight of it on your body.

"In your dreams."

For a few moments, you close your eyes and fall silent. The comforting silence lulls you to sleep, but there is one thought that keeps you from falling completely into a deep slumber. With a groan, you come back to reality, blinking slowly as your brain forms the words that seem to be too heavy on the tip of your tongue—heavy, but so damned sweet.

"I wanna… I mean, let's have threesome." 

"Sorry, what!" Wooyoung almost yells, sitting up in bed in an instant and staring at you with his eyes wide open. If the situation wasn't so serious, you could laugh at his shocked expression. "Is it an offer for sex? Right now?"

"Jesus, Wooyoung, just let me finish." You sit down as well and take each one of them by the hand. "We graduate next year, and if… if we are all free and you don't mind, maybe we can have threesomes."

"I'm ready. Why wait?" Woo clings to you like a leech. He presses every inch of his body against you so tightly that you practically melt into each other. His skin is hot, and you can feel his breath brushing against your ear and his lips touching it as he speaks. "Come, Y/N, we can do this now. I'm going to take you to heaven."

"Wooyoung, I'm serious."

You have to look at San, who's been silent the whole time. The look in his eyes is so dark, full of lust and hunger. It doesn't leave you for a second.

"San…"

"I'll do anything for you, Y/N."

"I'll be ready for you in a year if you're still willing. Now get out of the room, the both of you. Tonight I'll be alone in bed."

You push them off the bed, San rolls over on the floor with a clatter, and Wooyoung jumps up like a man who has been scalded.

"But chagi…" He whines, loud and nasty, as San drags him out of the room.

"Sweet dreams, gongjunim." That's the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind them and you're left alone in the bedroom.

You can hear their muffled voices coming from the hallway, trying so hard to keep quiet. Wooyoung's incessant complaining, mixed with San's low muttering, effectively lulls you to sleep. You probably won't even remember tonight, let alone this stupid proposal, but little do you know that neither San nor Wooyoung have any intention of letting you forget.

You are going to have a very funny year in front of you. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ❧ ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 | 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ

[rivalsispunk]

Driving Miss Crazy (Chapter 3 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mentions of male orgasm, pussy pronouns, Tony being a grot, more warnings added per chapter.

Word count: 5.5k !!!

Chapter summary: Working alongside you proves far more difficult for Declan than he anticipated and you're noticing that your handsome, moustached boss is getting a bit antsy.

A/N: This is a chonky chapter!! But hopefully it is well worth the wait. I am livingggggg for tortured Declan and him not being able to keep himself together. As usual, proofread but can't promise clean edits. Enjoy!

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter Three: Driving Miss Crazy

Your Vauxhall Cavalier’s steering wheel is slick with sweat. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t end up with blisters on your palms from how tight you’re gripping the leather as you make the short drive from your flat to Corinium for your first day as Declan’s assistant. You hadn’t laid eyes on him since you fled the hot tub several days ago, save for watching his show on Thursday evening, brittle embarrassment nestled in your bones after your late-night encounter. Though Taggie’s snoring subsided when you both returned to bed, you were kept awake for hours at the thought of another O’Hara. The finger of whiskey you’d downed buzzed through your veins. Still, Declan’s bourbon-brown eyes boring into yours over the glass seemed to have intoxicated you further to the point where you were unable to close your eyes without seeing his moustache quivering over a miniscule smile. 

Though you were up before the birds the following morning, Declan had already made for Corinium, his Mini Clubman Estate already gone from the drive. It was purposeful, his early leave. After you’d escaped back upstairs with his daughter the night before, he’d made his way to his office, polished off his bottle of whiskey and shamelessly fucked his hand to the image of your lithe legs stretched over the hot tub, and the echo of you promising him you could handle it. The moment he spilled himself over his fist was the moment the mortification consumed him. Mortified at himself for disrespecting his albeit fragmented marriage like that. For disrespecting you like that, and he couldn’t bear to run into you in The Priory’s kitchen the next day and pretend like he hadn’t done so. Luckily for him, you didn’t cross paths all weekend either, thanks to being off shopping for workwear with Taggie, just as he’d requested. Being privy to your usual everyday attire and how uncomfortable you seemed in Maud’s clothing was the only thing keeping Declan from pulling the plug on your hiring. He knew you’d opt for something no-fuss. Conservative, even. Something that would keep his regretful, wandering eye at bay. He just didn’t expect you to make conservative look so fucking sexy.

“Knock, knock,” you greet him, materialising in his office’s doorway. You’re dressed head-to-toe in black: black wide-leg trousers, matching blazer and black Rolling Stones concert T-shirt stamped with the band’s trademark logo. Your hair falls in loose waves, and you’ve accessorised with black pumps, and a megawatt smile lined with crimson red lipstick.

Declan’s breathing hitches. He never stood a bloody chance.

Despite the awkward note you ended your last encounter on, you bury the uneasy feeling as you step into your new boss’ quarters. “Is that mine?” You gesture to where Declan had Seb set up a desk for you in the far corner. He naively thought it would be more efficient to have you work from his office than out on the floor with the rest of the staff, but his cock throbbing against the inside of his zipper now said otherwise.

“Er, no,” Declan says, scrubbing at his freshly shaven jaw. “That’s just—it’s not… I was just trying something out. Redecorating, or something.”

He keeps bumbling excuses while he ushers you out the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a desk that clearly belongs to someone else, littered with spreadsheet papers stained with coffee cup rings.

“You can set up here. I’ll have a couple tasks for you soon. I just need to take care of a few things first,” Declan snipes, stalking back to his office before you can get a word in. You tail him, his pert arse in his slacks barely a blip on your radar.

“Are you alright?” you question, your mind straying to the hot tub.

“Yeah, fine. Just grand,” Declan feigns, refusing to meet your eye while he pretends to busy himself with tidying his desk.

“Can I get you anything?” 

A new assistant. “Just a coffee. Black, one sugar. Thanks.”

You can hear Tony Baddingham’s scaly laugh all the way down the hall as you return to Declan’s office. The Corinium director is sprawled out in his chair while his star talent leans against the window frame, cigarette hanging idly from his lips.

“Ah, hello again,” Tony croons your name and you recoil at the sound of it on his tongue. You can feel his eyes trained on your body as you cross the room and place Declan’s coffee beside him on the window sill. He doesn’t thank you, just grunts around his durry. It pisses you off. If he’s uncomfortable around you after what happened at The Priory, so be it. But you’re being professional. Would it kill him to do the same?

You turn your attention back to Tony. “Lord Baddingham. How are you?”

“Better now,” he confesses, rising from Declan’s seat. His stature is imposing as he moves around the desk towards you until you have to tip your head back to look up at him. “It’s good to see Declan made the right decision with his assistant. Though I have to admit, I was hoping you’d wear something a little more like what you had on the last time we met.” He edges closer to Declan, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow like they’re sharing an inside joke. “A little less Boy George, if you know what I’m saying?” Tony chuckles like he’s just cracked the world’s most hilarious one liner. Your tongue burns to scold him. If it were a grimy git at the local pub who had tried that, you wouldn’t hesitate to tell him where to shove it. While Tony Baddingham was a grimy git and then some, he was also the one to sign off on your future paychecks. So, an obligatory smile will have to do.

Declan isn’t as forgiving. “It’s not a fucking fashion show, Tony,” he snaps.  “She’s here to do research, not walk a bloody runway.” 

“And I don’t disagree with you, Declan, but this is my station, she’s my staff and I’m telling her to wear something more appealing. Just like what you wore to your interview. Now, that,” he leers down at you, and you wonder if he can see the fury buzzing through you. “That was something.” 

“Alright, Tony, that’s enough.” Declan flicks his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk and steps between you and Baddingham. He keeps his eyes on you over Declan’s shoulder, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Declan squares his shoulders, jutting his head toward the door — a silent instruction to his superior. “I’ll see to her, okay?”

As Tony moves out of your immediate vicinity, his gaze rolls down your entire frame before huffing a one syllable laugh. “I’m sure you will,” he tells Declan, then: “My office. Five minutes. Cameron has some evil genius plan for ratings.”

You spend the better part of the morning waiting, making yourself a coffee, then waiting again for Declan to reappear from Tony’s office. He’s yet to return by half-eleven, at which point you stalk back into his office to make yourself at least somewhat busy. You begin emptying his ashtray and clearing his desk of empty coffee cups (and the occasional whiskey glass) before making a start on organising the tree of papers scattered across the rich timber. Half word-processed, the majority strewn with Declan’s skittish handwriting. At the bottom of the mess is some semblance of a to-do list with bullet points in no rational order.

Research agriculture.

Follow up Rupert Campbell-Black wife.

Lunch. Sinister.

Details. Westland. Michael Heseltine.

You doubt Declan has time to even touch any of those tasks with him being MIA all morning, so you park yourself in his desk chair and get to work.

“If I didn’t love this bloody job so much, I’d have half the mind to quit.” The string of Irish twang startles you from your notepad, and Declan appears equally as surprised to see you perched in his place. With a furrow in his brow, he scans the room. “You cleaned up?” He can’t recall a time his office had been as tidy.

“Thought I’d better make myself busy,” you tell him, popping up from the leather seat with your notes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made a few calls based on your to-do list. No answer from the former Mrs Campbell-Black but I might’ve got somewhere with the Westland research.” You tilt the yellow paper pad in Declan’s direction, thrusting it into his hands despite the scepticism that paints his face. You chew the inside of your cheek while he reviews your notes, only stopping when he looks at you blankly. You can’t tell whether he’s going to thank you for your patience or fire you for sifting through his things.

“You did this? Today?”

You nod.

“Christ almighty. What on earth have I done without you all this time?” 

You grin, warmth flooding through you with the inadvertent praise. “Suffered?” you jest.

“I’m afraid suffering is part and parcel of the job,” Declan counters, not mentioning how much suffering is ahead for him with you now a part of his team. “You should head home. It’s getting late.” He looks at the window, where the late winter sun has set.

“I was always told to never leave before your boss.” “Darlin’, if that was the case, you’d be here ‘til morning. So, go on,” he swats at your arm with the notepad. “Get home.”

Without another word, you gather up your things — not much, a water bottle and small assortment of pens scattered across Declan’s desk — and throw a small bye in your boss’ direction.

“Don’t worry about Tony,” Declan calls after you. “He was bang out of order.”

You swivel, lean up against the doorframe.“And if he barges in again demanding I wear something more likely to land me on the cover of Playboy?”

A glimmer of you in black garters and barely there lingerie snaps through Declan’s brain. “That’s not what he meant.”

“Isn’t it?” Your arms fold across you. You had a point, and Declan knew it. Tony would have every woman in this office under the age of forty strutting around in nothing but heels and a thong if he could. 

“I’ll deal with him,” the Irishman settles on. He’s rather you covered up for him than dressed down for someone else. “You have my word.”

You bid Declan goodnight with one final, tight-lipped smile, offering the same to Deirdre and Daisy on your way to the elevator.

Outside, the sky is littered with stars, though their brightness is dulled by the stadium-worthy fluorescent lights beaming down on the carpark. There are far fewer cars left in the lot than there were this morning, so you make a beeline across the concrete to where your plum-coloured Vauxhall is sat on the outskirts. You savour the tiny bit of warmth the cab has preserved over the day as you shove the key into the ignition and—

Nothing.

You turn the key over again and get nothing but a singular clank from somewhere under the hood in return.

You try three more times only to get the same result.

Shit. 

You scan the carpark for someone who might be able to help but at this time of night, the chances are slim. Sliding out from your seat, you round the front of your car and unclip the hood, though you have zero clue what exactly it is you’re looking at. You didn’t grow up with a father who’d taught you how to refill your oil or check for leaks. You don’t think you ever saw him with a tool in his hand once. Your parents always sent away for things to get fixed and now, you were cursing them for not imparting an integral practical life skill on you.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

“Jesus Christ!” Your hand flies to your heart as Declan falls into position next to you. “You really need to stop doing that.”

A chuckle wracks through him, his shoulder jostling up against yours. “Car troubles?”

“I think it’s carked it. The ignition won’t turn over.”

“Shove over.” He motions for you to step aside, handing you his briefcase as you comply. A few minutes pass as Declan jostles metal pipes and knocks his knuckles against others, black grease working its way onto his skin. Eventually he steps back and pushes the hood closed with a clatter.

“Yeah, she’s knackered,” he declares, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Grab your things. I’ll drive you home tonight.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking favours on my first day,” you mutter, thanking Declan for what feels like the tenth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting in his Clubman.

“You’re not askin’. I’m offerin’,” he tells you without taking his eyes off the road. You study him as he drives, all stoic and permanently etched with determination. His knuckles are white as large hands grip the steering wheel, silver wedding band glinting under the streetlights. In the small confines of the car, Declan’s overwhelmed by the soft jasmine scent of your perfume. It reminds him of a breeze through a sunlit garden in summer — fresh, but warm. Inviting, even, making him want to pull over and nuzzle into the crook of your neck so he drowns in it. He clears his throat as the need sets in, filing through his thoughts for something to distract him.

“Your family visit you much?” is what he decides on when he realises he knows little to nothing about you.

“Not at all,” you tell him, a sad laugh tumbling out after your admission. “My father’s a lawyer and my mother’s a psychologist, so they don’t really get much time away. When they do, they’d rather jet off to Spain or Greece or somewhere equally as picturesque.”

“You’re joking.” Declan’s disbelief tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You, coming from the likes of Baddingham and Co?” He had a hard time placing you within the wealth of the city. You were just so humble. So grounded.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yeah, kind of.” “Don’t hold it against me.”

Hold your parents against you? No. Though there were other things that could tempt Declan if he just let himself go.

“But you’re so…” He steals a peek at you, then back to the road, considering his words.

“Go on, I can take it,” you say, anticipating a verbal blow.

I bet you can, he shamelessly admits to himself. Then, out loud: “You’re just not an arsehole, that’s all. Rich folk are usually right pricks.”

You can attest to that. Your parents easily fall into that category. “That might just be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“And you don’t have a boyfriend? No uppity intellectual waiting for ya back in the city?” Declan doesn’t know why he asks. You’ve not sent away for anybody, not that he would’ve noticed, but he was sure he’d have heard about a boyfriend in all the hours you spent at The Priory.

“Not anymore.” You say quietly, trilling over the dry skin peeling away at your thumb. Not anymore. Your admission shouldn’t send Declan’s pulse galloping like a racehorse. 

You continue to divulge about Samuel, who you’d met in your second year media law lecture at university.. “His ego didn’t allow for two smart people in the relationship. You know, he told me that my intelligence is what drew him to me in the first place, but turns out he couldn’t handle it in the long run. Everything became a competition and it rotted our relationship from the inside out.”

“Hope you sent him packing.”

You shake your head. “He cut me loose, can you believe it? Got the shits when I got the internship at The Times over him.” As you roll over the hill leading to the village, the Clubman splutters when Declan changes gear, masking the fucking idiot that falls from his lips. How could any man not want you? The notion was beyond him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Boys never know what they want,” Declan imparts.

A scoff scratches your throat. “What, and men do?”

You have Declan on that one. He glances at you in the passenger seat, then thinks of the years’ old snapshot of Maud that lives in his wallet.

No, no they don’t.

“I’m just up here on the left.” You gesture to the strip of shops on the left a few moments later. Declan pulls the Clubman to the curb and flicks the engine off. He arches over the steering wheel to get a look at your building through the windscreen, scepticism colouring his features. 

“You live in the butcher’s?”

“I live above the butcher’s.”

“Must smell like a slaughterhouse in there.” 

“Sometimes. It’s not all bad. The man who runs it, Mr Green, gives me a discount on meat. Chucks in a few extra sausages free of charge.”

“Free sausages, eh? Living the life.”

“Well, they’re Lincolnshire, so I’ll say.” That earns a chuckle from your boss, followed by a too right in agreement. You click off your seatbelt and gather your bag in your lap. “Well, thanks again. I appreciate it, Declan.”

“No bother. I’ll swing past in the morning and pick you up.”

You rear back at his offer. “You don’t have to do that. I can get a taxi. Catch the bus.”

“The buses around here are as late as a pregnant woman’s period. Taxi will cost you a small fortune. I’ll pick you up.” There’s no room for discussion or pushback as the Clubman roars back to life. “Seven forty-five, alright?”

Declan wasn’t expecting to have a heart attack before eight AM the following morning, nor was he expecting you to heed Tony’s suggestion, when you step out from your flat in a skirt that cuts mid-thigh, sheer tights and a skin-tight red turtleneck sweater, paired with knee-high black boots. You won’t lie: complying with Tony’s request made your skin itch, but you had a job to do, and you couldn’t do it with Tony constantly breathing down your neck. Declan’s eyes trail over the sheen of your thighs when you slide into the Mini, mouth going dry at the view. He’s about to chide you, make a comment about you already bowing down to the big boss. Then you bring up Michael Heseltine and the Westland notes again, offering your thoughts, and he’s taken again by how fucking clever you are. He can practically hear the cogs in your brain working as he drives you both to Corinium. You sing along to Paul Simon and Heart between ideas, your manicured nails thrumming on your knee in time to the music. 

Declan tells you he’s organised for your car to be towed and fixed up by a local mechanic — a friend who owes me a favour, he says when you protest — and that the work will take a couple of weeks. And so, Tuesday marks the first time in a long time that Declan consistently leaves the office at a reasonable hour, and driving you quickly becomes his favourite part of his days. The pair of you chat about everything under the sun, from your upbringings — you in upper class London and he in backwoods Ireland — to your favourite musicians — George Michael for you, Nat King Cole for him. You don’t ask about Maud and Declan makes no mention of her either, diverting the conversation when anything rears too close to their relationship. He’d much rather talk about his kids; complimenting Taggie’s cooking and homeliness, repeating some crazy story he’d heard from Caitlin when she’d called from boarding school, or bragging about Patrick’s accolades at university. While he was certainly stubborn and sometimes cold, Declan’s love for his children pared all of that back, revealing a proud and honest father. It was one of, if not, your favourite thing about him.

The two weeks your car was in the shop went by too fast for either of your liking, the drives to and from Corinium just not quite feeling right without the other. Your perfume lingers in the Mini, the result of your constant presence, every bit of you woven into the fabric of the seats. If Declan just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, it’s like you’re still right there next to him, humming along to the radio or trying to pitch him wild guests for his show. You miss his dorky dad jokes, and Declan misses you giggling at them, your laugh a melody that warmed him from the inside out. You were still at The Priory often enough, helping Taggie prepare catering or the two of you lounging about watching Four Men Went To Mow, but it wasn’t the same for Declan. He much preferred having you to himself. 

While you became more comfortable with each other outside of hours, you and Declan also settled into a rhythm in the office. You fed off one another’s creativity, bolstering ideas and show notes until they were airtight. It only took a week for Declan to relent and set you up at the spare desk. It was easier having you nearby rather than constantly moving between his office whenever you had something to add to your findings. You’d also kept up your more put-together wardrobe; tight skirts, and blouses, and high heels. Not that Declan was complaining, but it made his life just that little bit harder, made him more than a little hot under the collar, whenever you bent over to retrieve a box of files or leaned over his desk to show him some of your findings.

There was a lot you loved about your job — the ability to ogle Declan across his office being up there — but you lived for Thursday nights when Declan’s show aired. Watching it from home on your TV set was one thing, but seeing it unfold live in the studio was beyond your imagination. It was incredible seeing your work behind the scenes put into action, and it was made all the better by Declan; always charismatic, stern and unwavering when the time called for it. He was magic, and no matter how hard you tried, you never could seem to wipe the grin off your face while you stood watching on the sidelines, and Declan loved to see it whenever he glanced in your direction. 

It was rare, unheard of, even, for someone to receive praise from Declan, the journalist’s standards so high that he rarely found anyone who could meet them. But somehow, you did. Your research was thorough, always annotated with further notes and references. You weren’t afraid to get on the phones and track down sources. His show, already a success, was made infinitely better by your addition. Not to mention, your coffee was fantastic. Not even in twenty years of marriage had Maud managed to perfect his preference. Still, he rarely raised his satisfaction with you, a simple good or thanks sufficing. No, he saved his satisfaction for moments he was alone. He’d officially given up willing his throbbing cock to flaccidity when thoughts of you creeped in during the quiet hours, allowing himself the quick gratification before the shame set in.

About a month into your tenure at Corinium, Declan was in a foul pit of a mood. He’d barged into his office already on the warpath. He barked orders at you and spent the better part of the morning criticising an upcoming guest, when he’d spent the previous day praising him. He even had you remake his coffee four times after complaints that it was too sweet or too cold or some other ridiculous excuse, despite making it the same way you did everyday. By the time four PM rolled around, you could count on one hand the times Declan had actually looked at you, each time egged on by a scowl. In your short time at the company, and with Taggie’s advice, you’d learned to let your boss be when the stress of the job got to him. Even if you’d built enough rapport to tell him to pull his head in.

It wasn’t until you were leaving for the day that Declan spoke to you without a growl in his voice. “You did grand today,” he says, the comment shocking you as you stood up from your seat. “I know I’ve been an arse all day. I’m sorry. You did a fantastic job, really.” His dark features were soft as he peered up at you from his desk.

“Mr O’Hara, are you paying me a compliment?” You feign shock, hand flush against your chest as you pretend to be scandalised.

“Don’t get used to it,” he tells you, a smile ghosting over his lips. He turns back to his notes,  but unbeknownst to you, he’s unable to read the muddled words on the page, his brain fixated on the way you cooed Mr O’Hara. All breathy and innocent and unintentionally sultry. You made his name yours.

He hates how much he loves it.

When Declan pulls up to The Priory that night, your Vauxhall is in the drive, and his one thought is that he can’t do this tonight. Can’t do you tonight. It’s late, already half-ten by the time he’s slugging through the door, temples throbbing with a Baddingham-induced headache only made worse by the Duran Duran blasting through the house. 

“Taggie!” he booms, dumping his briefcase and corduroy jacket on a chair by the staircase. All he wants is a shower and a whiskey, maybe a cigar, in bed, and he’ll be damned if he does it with the walls of his home rattling to the soundtrack of his daughter’s mixtape. Declan trudges upstairs, lethargy weighing his legs down as he stalks down the hall towards Taggie’s bedroom. Light pours out of the half-open door, followed by your laughter. “Taggie, Jesus fucking Christ, can you turn that bloody racket—”

The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue when you step into view, your back to the door. The black dress you’d worn to the office is discarded on the floor, the full expanse of your body of full display, safe for a plain black bra and matching high-waisted underwear.

“I don’t know, Tag,” Declan hears you say over the music. “Red or black?” You stretch your arm out of sight to retrieve two short dresses that you then hold up against your body. Freddie Jones had invited all of the neighbouring families and friends to Bar Sinister on Friday night for drinks and karaoke, and you were struggling to decide what to wear. Your usual jeans and tee getups were too casual, and your work attire was too, well, work. The stereo clicks, swapping out Rio for Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name, pulling a squeal from the back of your throat. 

“I love this song!” you announce, pipping up and down to the beat. Your back arches slightly with each little leap, the ripple of your muscles accentuated every time you hit the creaking floorboards. He feels like a creep, lurking in the shadows, continuing to watch you through the ajar door as you dance around the room in nothing but your underwear, but he can’t tear his eyes from you. Declan worries his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of your legs, looking impossibly longer now without clothing, and where they stretch into the sweep of your arse. He wants to take you into his mouth, bite down on your supple flesh, hard, before soothing the inevitable red mark with a sloppy kiss. His cock rouses at the temptation, the feeling of his pulsating tip pushing against his trousers making it difficult for him not to march straight into Taggie’s room and swoop you away to his own so he can show you what he thinks about all day while you’re across his office. 

Reality wracks the back of Declan’s mind. What the fuck is he doing? He if had a pound for every time he caught himself leering at you, feeling that heat coil in him until there was nothing left to do but steal himself away to privacy and relieve himself like a sex-obsessed teenager, he’d have enough to pay of his family’s London leaving debt and then some.

Sometime later, once Declan had gathered enough sense, enough strength, to tear himself away from his post outside Taggie’s door, the music in her room recedes low enough that you and your friend can hear each other without yelling.

“I’m going to head home,” you tell Taggie, sluffing out of the robe she let you borrow and back into the ribbed black dress you’d picked out that morning. “Early morning tomorrow and I do not want to catch your dad in another one of his moods again.”

“Fair enough,” your friend relents, passing you the outfits you’d narrowed your options down to. You shove them into your bag, which is already busy with notepads and teabags you bring from home, and tug Taggie into a hug, whispering a farewell into her mess of tawny hair. You slip into the hall and pull her door shut, the walkway enveloped in darkness aside from the small flood of yellow light beaming around the corner. As you head towards the stairs, you notice the light is coming from Declan’s bedroom, where he was probably reading one of those many memoirs or pouring over notes for his show tomorrow night, during which he’d interview the Bishop of London, Right Reverend Graham Leonard. He definitely had a whiskey in hand or by his bedside, and you’re put in mind again of that night the pair of you were in the yard. The memory elicits goosebumps as you pass through the sliver of light and by Declan’s quarters. It’s not until you’re nearing the top of the staircase that you hear a grunt that halts.

What was that?

The noise rouses again, though this time it’s more like a groan, echoing from the room you just passed. You backtrack a few steps — you know you should just be on your way, but you can’t help yourself — and peer into Declan’s room through the slight crack in the door. He’s turned away from you, bracing himself against the dresser by the window. He’s shirtless, and far more tanned than you’d expect for somebody living in England, his back all corded muscle and shoulder blades that pinch together with rigorous movement. His trousers hang low on his hips, low enough that the top of his arse is visible over the waistband, a sparse trail of coarse black hair blooming on his lower back. Under the light, sweat prickles on the back of his neck, and another moan slips from him as he pumps his right arm up and down. It’s only then that you realise what you’ve stumbled upon.

Declan’s none the wiser that you’re watching him the same way he’d done to you not much earlier. His eyes are clamped shut, shielding you from the anguish and pure filth they’re laden with while he lets desire run its course. His breathing is turning almost whimper-like with his frantic movements, while yours shakes deep in your stomach. Saliva pools around your dumb tongue, mouth lax as you observe Declan fist himself with so much savagery his whole body is shaking. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t look away from. A delicious, sordid trainwreck hurtling towards an explosive end.

Then you hear it. Only just. Your name slips from his lips so quietly you wonder if you made it up. 

It’s not the first time Declan has allowed you ownership over him as he tugs himself raw. He’d tried to deny it, tried to morph your image in his mind into Maud’s but it was no use. He was stupid for you. If it’s just him, his hand and his mind, who is it hurting? Nobody has to know. 

But now you do. You know what Declan looks like coming undone, and it’s abundantly clear that it’s you spurring on his animalistic display. An odd sort of pride shoots through you, heat blooming at your core, pussy clenching around nothing as Declan seethes oh, fuck, your name flying out his mouth amid a string of obscenities as he comes. Hot, white ropes spurt over his fist and down his aching length, and his heart bucks against his ribcage as his climax rolls through him, vision flanked white from the intensity of his orgasm. It takes Declan a few moments to gather himself, to come down from his high. He has to squint once he opens his eyes, the well-lit room a stark contrast to the dark corners of his mind. His back burns, as if someone’s stare is boring into him, and his attention snaps to where he foolishly left his door ajar. But the hallway is empty, and he hears your car chug to life in the driveway, followed by the unmistakable crunch of gravel under its tyres.

Eeeeeeeeek, now we're getting somewhere! Thank you for reading! Don't forget to like, comment, reblog if you loved this chapter as much as I did writing it hehe

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface

[cumonstevie]

Home Sweet Home Part 3

Summary: "It's good to be home," you think as you arrive back in Hawkins, Indiana; not only three years older, but also as a mother.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Just a shit ton of fluff

A/N: This took 8 consecutive hours to write so I hope you guys like it!! It's 3.8k words 😬 my back hurts from slouching over my laptop for so long so I'll edit this later.

A year and a half later

You and Steve have been doing so well at co-parenting for Penelope thus far. You had slowly eased Steve into her life, and she happily accepted him. It took her a while to comfortably call him ‘dad’ but once she started, that’s practically all she could say.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the day when she confidently called him ‘dad’ without him or you having to tell her.

It was late at night- well, it was late for Penelope to still be awake, and you were trying everything to put her to sleep but she wouldn’t stop crying.

“Shhh, Penny, it’s okay.” You try to comfort her in your arms.

Her cries echo off your newly purchased apartment and you groan, rocking the toddler to try and calm her down.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t work.

“Baby, please calm down-”

“I want daddy!” She cries louder and you halt your movements.

“What?”

“I want daddy!” Penelope sobs in your arms.

“I-” You’re stunned for a moment because this was the first-time hearing Penelope call Steve ‘daddy’ on her own without you or him coaxing her to say it. “Daddy will come over tomorrow, okay? But you need to go-”

“No!” She yelled, “I want daddy now!”

It didn’t seem like she was going to let up any time soon, so you walk over to the phone and hastily dial Steve’s number. It was only 8 o’clock so you knew he’d still be up- hopefully.

It rang twice before he picked up. “Hello?”

“Steve,” you breathed. “Thank god you’re still awake. Listen, I know it’s kinda last minute but Penelope won’t go to sleep and she keeps crying and asking for you so do you think you could maybe-”

“I’ll be there in a bit. Leave the door unlocked for me, yeah?” You could hear him moving around at his place, probably putting his shoes on.

“Okay, thank you so much.” You let out a sigh of relief.

Penelope’s cries get louder and you think Steve can hear her because he murmurs, “My poor baby…” You hear his car keys jingling soon after. “I’m on my way.”

A few minutes go by and Steve knocks two times before coming in. You know he probably sped all the way over and you make a mental note to scold him after Penelope goes to sleep.

“I’m here,” he huffed out, seemingly out of breath.

Upon hearing Steve’s voice, Penelope lifts her head from your shoulder and turns to her father all teary-eyed. “Daddy!” She cried, leaning out of your arms and toward him.

He visibly freezes at her words and his eyes pan over to you, wide. “Did she just-” he’s cut off by your daughter's cries of ‘daddy’ as she tries to grab him. “Come here, baby. Daddy’s here, don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He rubs her back soothingly and she slowly lays her head on his shoulder, doing the little hiccup-sob combination as she starts to calm down.

“Daddy…” She cried, “Stay.”

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” He hushes. “Daddy’s not going anywhere, alright?”

This seems to ease her mind because a few minutes later, she’s fully asleep in his arms. You silently guide him to her room where you watch as he puts her down and tucks her in. She stirs a bit but Steve gently pats her chest and she stills.

Once the both of you were sure she wasn’t going to wake up, you exit her room and walk back to the living room. The moment you enter the room, Steve pulls you into a hug.

“She called me daddy.” He beamed happily. “She fucking called me daddy, oh my god I feel like my heart is gonna burst open, I’m so happy right now.”

You hug him back, giggling a bit. “Yeah, it surprised me too.”

The both of you stay like that for a bit before he tears himself away from you and checks the time.

“It’s getting late, I should head home.” He says with a bit of a frown. “I can come by tomorrow if it’s alright with you?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. “You promised your daughter that you’d stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

You tell him he can take your room and you’ll sleep on the couch, but he refuses and says he’ll sleep on the couch instead. You protest but he shuts it down and you let out a huff but say ‘okay’ before going to get him a spare pillow and blanket for the night. You had started easing Steve into Penelope’s life little by little, starting with him visiting her at your place whenever he could (which he made sure to visit every single day no matter what). After she was comfortable with him being around, you segued into him taking her out, whether it be to the park, or to get ice cream (you also tagged along so that she was more comfortable). From that, he started taking her out, just him and her and not too long after, she started staying the night at his house.

He had done up a spare bedroom at his place just for her and she loved it so much. He pulled out all the stops for his little girl. Telling his parents about Penelope was a bit rough. He told you that they were a bit skeptical about him being the father but when Steve whipped a picture of little Penelope out of his wallet and showed them, they went silent.

From there, they were disappointed that he was so careless that it resulted in a child. He told them that they could be mad at him all they want but that he has a daughter now and he’s stepping up and although he doesn’t have a great relationship with them, he would love it if Penelope did.

They were obviously a bit hesitant but after meeting Penelope, they let their guards down. It made Steve happy that they showered her with love and affection but it also made him a bit upset because he never really experienced that from them.

He felt like this was a turning point for them, though. A good turning point.

Today was Penelope’s 4th birthday party and Steve insisted that it should be at his house. You didn’t fight him on it. You figured his house would be better suited for a birthday party than your little apartment.

A knock on the door alerts your ears and you quickly glance into the backyard, seeing Steve run around with Penelope, before opening the front door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eddie huffs out, “the band stayed and performed late and I didn’t get home till way later and then when I woke up I couldn’t remember where I put Pen’s gift so this whole morning I was tearing up my place looking for it.” He then shows you a poorly wrapped gift box with a smile. “But I found it.”

You giggle. “You didn’t miss much, Penny’s just been playing with the kids and Steve so far.”

“Thank god.” Eddie sighs. “Where do I put this?”

“We have a table outside for gifts. Come on.” You beckon him to follow you.

Eddie sets the gift on the table then makes his rounds saying hi to everyone. Steve is chasing Penelope around the yard and he lets out a playful roar as he picks her up and catches her. She screams and he laughs, giving her a kiss before setting her down carefully.

It was then that she spotted one of her favorite Uncle’s. “Uncle Eds!!”

The little girl runs over to Eddie as fast as she could, her pink tutu that she insisted on wearing even though it was cold outside, flowing about.

“Pen!” The curly-haired musician exclaimed as he knelt down and captured her in a hug. “How’s my favorite birthday girl?”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle Eds, I’m the only birthday girl!”

“You’re right.” He smiles before giving her a big kiss. “You’re getting so big, Pen. Don’t go growing up on me too fast.”

“Ima grow bigger and faster!”

“No! Don’t say that, I’ll cry!” Eddie pulls a dramatic frowny face which makes Penelope laugh.

Steve walks up beside you with his hands on his hips; a typical Steve Harrington pose. “Please tell her to stop saying that, she tells me all the time that she’s a big girl and it breaks my heart.”

Steve pouts at his daughter and she giggles in Eddie’s arms. “Daddy don’t be sad, when I get bigger ima take care of you!”

Steve’s eyebrow quirks up and he points a finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that, little lady.”

“She’s not getting bigger, not on my watch.” Eddie says as he squishes her in a hug. “I’m gonna squeeze you in a little box so you stay little forever!”

Penelope gasps. “No!”

“Yes!”

Penelope wiggles out of Eddie's grip and starts running away from him. “No! Never ever ever!”

Eddie runs after her, telling her that he’ll never let her grow up. You giggle, watching the two and Steve turns to you.

“Everyone here?” He asks.

“Yeah, Eds was the last one to show up.”

“Alright,” he nods. “I say we let her play for a little while longer then sing happy birthday?”

“I was thinking the same thing, Harrington.”

He points to his head, then to yours and says, “Great minds think alike, Y/L/N.”

It was fairly easy to slip back into your friendship with Steve. After the awkwardness of him finding out that Penelope was his, the two of you acted as if no time had passed. It was refreshing and you didn’t realize how much you missed being around him.

To say your feelings for Steve were gone, would be a lie. Your feelings for Steve never really went away. Even if you tried so very hard to leave them behind, they only grew more when Steve would play with Penelope or spend time with her in general. He adapted to his role as a father rather quickly and you weren’t going to lie, it was attractive.

You would never tell him, though. You didn’t want to ruin the dynamic that the two of you had. Everything, so far, was good.

You had tried going on a date a while back but it fell through once you told the guy that you had a child. Steve was very upset about it. The date had lasted less than an hour. You were having a good time, asking questions about each other when you mentioned you had a daughter. The guy’s demeanor changed quickly and he closed himself off. It was awkward after that. He confirmed that you had a daughter once more and when you said yes, he cleared his throat.

“Um, I’m sorry but I don’t think this is going to work out.” He says. “You’re a great girl but-”

“But me having a kid is a problem.” You finish his sentence in a mono-tone pitch.

“No!” The guys exclaimed. “It’s just- It’s kind of-”

He stumbles over his words, trying to save face but you shake your head and pull out money for your meal, placing it on the table.

“It’s fine. I know me having a child isn’t ideal but maybe you should try to at least be an adult about it.”

The guy scoffs. “I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid.”

You roll your eyes and stand up. “Grow up.” You say before walking out.

You understand that dating someone who has a child could be a bit scary but he didn’t even give it a chance! He closed off the minute you mentioned Penelope.

You pull up to Steve’s house and slam your door shut in annoyance.

‘I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid’

Get real.

You knock on the door and patiently wait for Steve to open it.

“Hey,” he says when he sees you on the other side. “Why are you here so early? I thought you had a date?”

“I did.” He can sense the annoyance in your voice and he moves aside to let you in. You put your purse down on his table and turn to face him. “He wasn’t too keen on the fact that I have a kid.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he’s about to ask what the dude said but it’s like you read his mind because you tell him.

“Said he’s not about to play step-daddy to a kid that’s somebody else’s.”

“What the hell?” He has a look of disgust flushed across his face.

“Yeah,” you nod. “He didn’t even wait a few minutes before he was telling me that it ‘wasn’t going to work out’ between us! The minute I mentioned Penny, he shut down.” You huff out, running your fingers through your now messy hair.

“What a dick!” Steve is visibly baffled. “Welcome to the real world! There’s a chance that you might date someone who has a kid!”

“Right?” You agree. “Like I get it, I’m young and I have a toddler and yeah that’s kind of scary but he didn’t even give it a chance!”

Steve’s hands are on his hips as he shakes his head. “God, what an asshole. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “Probably dodged a bullet anyway.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m never gonna date again. I’m gonna be lonely forever!” You groan.

“No you won’t,” Steve reassures as he pats your shoulder. “There’s someone out there who will want to be with you and doesn’t mind that you have a kid.”

“Suuuuuure,” you mumble. “When you find him, let me know, alright?”

Steve chuckled. “You got it, sweetheart.”

Penelope comes running into the room shortly after, practically leaping into your arms and you cradle her to you. She tells you that her and Steve are gonna watch movies all night long but both you and Steve know she’s most likely going to fall asleep in the middle of the first movie.

She asks if you’re going to stay and watch movies with them and Steve encourages you to do so.

“What, you’re gonna go home and sulk about what a crappy date this was? Nuh uh. Stay and watch movies with your family.” He tells you.

“Yeah!” Penelope adds. “Watch movies with family! Daddy got the movie with the kitties!”

Aristocats has been Penelope’s favorite movie recently.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay.”

Penelope is happy and the three of you move to the couch. Steve puts the movie in and Penny sits in between the two of you, knocking out exactly midway into the film.

Steve puts her in her room then comes back out, coaxing you to stay for another movie. It works and he pops in ‘Just One Of The Guys’. You two enjoy each other's company and toward the end of the movie, you and Steve are fast asleep on the couch.

You gathered everyone around the table that held the cake as Penelope climbed on top of the chair. Steve puts a pink birthday hat on her little head and she insists that both you and him put one on as well.

You oblige with her wishes and put a pink hat on. Jonathan wastes no time with taking pictures of the three of you. He’d develop them as soon as he could and give them to you.

Penelope’s eyes scanned the yard as she beamed happily at everyone. Both yours and Steve’s parents were there, the Party, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan- all in attendance for your daughter's fourth birthday party. Your heart swelled knowing all the people that were present loved your daughter just as much as you and Steve did.

You all sang happy birthday to Penelope and she blew out the candles, causing everyone to cheer.

“Wait!” She shouts with her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m still wishing!”

“Oh! Sorry, sweet girl. Everyone shhh!” Steve says.

Everyone quiets down and Penelope is heard murmuring underneath her breath but no one can make out what she’s saying. After a bit, she opens her eyes and smiles.

“I’m done!”

Everyone cheers again and you cut the cake and plate it while Steve hands them out. When Penelope’s done eating her slice of cake, you start opening the gifts.

“Okay, this one is from Uncle Dusty.” You hand her the gift and she tears it open excitedly.

“A tea party!!” She yells out happily, turning to her father. “Daddy, we can play tea party! Thank you, Uncle Dusty! You’re my favorite!”

Dustin tells the four-year-old that she’s welcome as he beamed at her words. Eddie, however, wasn’t taking it too well.

“What?!” He exclaimed. “What about me? I was your favorite earlier!”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle dusty gave me a tea party so he’s my favorite now!”

Eddie sulks as she continues to open her gifts and Dustin sticks his tongue out at the musician in a mocking manner. Not too long after, however, Penelope opens Eddie’s gift.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She enunciated every word. “It’s a guitar!! Uncle Eds, it looks like the one you have!! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!!”

Although it was a toy guitar, you and Steve knew you would never know what silence felt like after this moment.

Steve rubs his face with his hands when he sees the gift. “Oh no…”

Penelope had been obsessed with Eddie’s guitar from the moment she saw it. She always wanted Eddie to play it and she always wanted to touch it. Eddie would tell you she was a musical prodigy in the making.

You and Steve give each other the same look before you say, “Say goodbye to the peacefulness.”

Steve groans while Penelope jumps up and down happily. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re my favorite now, Uncle Eds! We can play guitar together!!”

“Any time you want, Pen.” Eddie smiles at his niece before locking eyes with Dustin who stared at him with a blank face. Eddie mouths, “In your face!”

You finish up the gifts and the kids play with Penny for a little bit before you can tell that she’s beginning to get tired. You and Steve end the birthday party, thanking everyone for coming as they left. Once they were gone, Steve put Penelope down for a very much needed nap while you started picking up.

Steve joins you not too long after and when you’ve finished cleaning up, the pair of you slump down on the couch, exhausted.

“Penelope’s fourth birthday party was a success. Nice work, Y/L/N.” He raises his hand for a high-five, and you meet him halfway.

“Can’t take all the credit. You did most of the work.” You tell him.

“Yeah, but you gave birth to her. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here celebrating her turning four.” He smiles at you affectionately before his smile drops. “Oh my god, she’s four. My baby’s four.”

“Yep,” you nod. “And she’ll only get older from here.”

“Don’t remind me.” He pouts. “I want her to stay little forever.”

You laugh as he sulks for a bit. The two of you sit in silence and you close your eyes for a little before you feel Steve shift in his seat.

“Y/N?” He says and you open your eyes to find him facing you.

“Yeah?”

Steve bites his lip and his fingers tap against his jean-covered thigh. His habit every time he’s nervous.

“Um,” he starts. “We’ve been doing good, right? I mean, co-parenting and all.”

“Yeah…” You have no clue where this conversation is headed.

“And our relationship with each other is good. We don’t fight or argue or anything-”

“Steve,” you cut him off. “Spit it out already.”

You start to think he’s trying to ease into telling you that he was seeing someone, and you were preparing yourself to hear it, but his next words threw you off.

“I have feelings for you.” He says quickly and your eyebrows furrow as you sit up to look at him more clearly. “Well, I’ve always had feelings for you. They never went away. I just never said anything because you said you weren’t ready to revisit us romantically but, I don’t know, today just-” He sighs deeply, his fingers combing through his hair. “You look so beautiful today- well, you look beautiful every day and we work so well together that it got me thinking about what life would be like if we were, you know, together. As a couple.”

“Steve…”

“I know, okay? I know I fucked up back then and I know you’re hesitant but god, Y/N, you take up so much space in my head. You and Penny. That’s all I care about. That’s all I want and that’s all I’ll ever need. Ever since you walked out of my house almost five years ago, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I haven’t been on a date since- well, since I was with Nancy because I didn’t want to be with anyone else but you. I want to be with you, Y/N. I want us to be a family, officially. Me, you, and Penny in a big house. I wanna come home from work and know that I hit the jackpot because I get to see my two favorite girls every single day of my life. I want-” He takes a minute to breathe before he takes your hand softly. “I want you.”

He’s looking into your eyes and you just know that he means every word that he’s said just now.

You don’t know if it’s butterflies in your stomach or if you’re gonna throw up.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

“Please say you feel the same way.” He says softly. “If you don’t, that’s okay and we can just go back to how we were before I confessed all of this but if there’s even a slight chance that you feel the same way, please give me the chance to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

A smile makes its way to your lips and your eyebrow quirks up. “For the rest of my life, huh?”

“Mmm Hmm,” he hums. “For the rest of your life, for the rest of my life, for the rest of our lives… I’m in it for the long run.”

“Steve,” you say softly. You watch as the boy in front of you hangs on to your every word, anticipating what you’ll say next. He looks nervous and scared, but also hopeful. You lean in and kiss his cheek softly. His eyes close as he relishes in the feeling. “You’re in luck because I feel the same way.”

His eyes snap open and they sparkle in the light. “Really?”

“Really.” You giggle. “My feelings never went away either.”

“Oh my god.” He breathed out, pulling you into a hug.

You stay like that for a bit before pulling away. “I want to take this slow, though. I wanna do this right, I don’t want to rush things, Steve.”

He looks at you affectionately, rubbing the skin of your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N, as long as I get to be with you in the end.”

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[lynnie-ee]

Day 6; Intimidation.

╰┈➤"Being stared at by one of the Leech Twins could scare anyone at Night Raven College, even you, especially if there's no apparent reason behind it. Jade, on the other hand, believes his plan to hint his feelings for you is working greatly."

╰►Gender neutral reader, oneshot, 1.4k words.

╰► Character: Jade Leech.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

⤿

⤿

Jade Leech has got his eyes on you for two weeks now.

At first, it only happened when you were in the hallways, but you didn't think much of it because, there were a lot of students, why would he be looking at you?

Then it was at the cafeteria when you were surrounded by your first-year friends, but that meant nothing because they were pretty loud, there were a lot of reasons why he could be staring.

But then it happened at the library when it was just Grim and you, which was weird, but perhaps he was looking at your little friend, maybe finding ways to blackmail him into working at Mostro Lounge again.

You've made a lot of excuses about it, thinking that it'd be narcissistic to believe he was solely staring at you, but now, as you are seated at one of the few benches that were around the Botanical Garden, with Jade only a few meters away, you could feel his gaze piercing you.

And it was fucking scary.

He worked casually on some annotations as he looked at a few mushrooms in the area, which made you wonder how seemed to be deeply focused on it while still managing to feel like he was staring at your soul.

'I was just looking for a peaceful place to study, Great Seven.'

You sighed, already tired of such attention upon you, which only fuelled the frustration you already felt due to that damn alchemy assignment you couldn't do properly.

Once again doing the assignment incorrectly, you turned towards where your pencil case was lying, looking for an eraser.

"You did the third step wrongly."

The voice of vicehousewarden echoed through the garden, as you lifted your face to observe him, realising he was staring at the mushrooms instead of you, making you wonder how he was even able to see your notebook from so far.

“Thank you, I’ll correct it when I get back to my dorm.” You answered trying to be polite, an awkward smile on your expression, as you grabbed your pencil case to start packing up your things, instead of just grabbing the eraser. You had enough of that psychological torture already.

“A pity that you’re leaving so soon, Prefect.” He commented as you got up from your seat.

“Yeah, I’ve to run some errands today. Goodbye, Jade.”

“Goodbye, good luck with your errands.” The vicehousewarden spoke with his usual mischievous smile, as if he knew you’d go home straight away after leaving the Botanical Garden, away from his prying eyes.

What the hell was wrong with him…?

⤿

⤿

You wished that was the last time you were under the petrifying gaze of Jade Leech, but as usual for your luck, it wasn’t. In fact, you already had started to get used to it. This was Night Raven College, having a second-year student stare at you like a predator to his prey probably wasn’t even on your top five of the strangest things you’ve gone through ever since you arrived.

"Do you think Trein's going to put the class of this week into the next test?" Deuce questioned, as you walked along him, Ace walking behind with Grim. All of the classes of the day were already finished, and Deuce offered his room to finish one of the group homework that Crewel assigned last week.

"I think he said he would." Ace answered, balancing Grim on one of his shoulders.

"You both talk like you'll study for the test, how cute." You commented, chuckling softly, your laugh stopping immediately as out of nowhere, Jade appeared in front of you.

"Prefect, it's nice to see you." The vicehousewarden greeted, ignoring the panicked expression of the Heartslabyul first-years beside you. "I was wondering if you'd come to Mostro Lounge tomorrow, after class." He questioned politely.

"Tomorrow...? At Mostro Lounge?" The question escaped your lips, as your mind wondered what he could want from you.

"Yes, that's what I said." He reassured, his smile more insistent than usual.

"Yeah, sure..." You answered, mostly out of uneasiness, considering how widely known was around the school about the terrors of those who made the Leech Twins get annoyed.

"Wonderful, I'll wait for you, please be punctual." The second-year remarked, before turning around to continue his walk.

...

"Prefect, did you get into a deal with Azul?!"

"What the hell did you do wrong?! Messing with Octavinelle is awful, man...You're probably working at Mostro Lounge for at least 2 months."

"But I didn't do anything!" You excused yourself immediately.

"You didn't...? Then why did Jade ask you to go to Mostro Lounge?"

"I've got no idea..." You mumbled, sighing in exasperation. First the stares, and now this...

"Maybe you did something without noticing." Deuce suggested with a nervous tone.

"If that's the case, you're screwed, Prefect. Good luck with that, we'll visit you at your shifts at Mostro Lounge."

"Thanks for the support, boys." You commented sarcastically.

⤿

⤿

This was it, the moment of truth.

You walked through the doors of Mostro Lounge, your expression as confident as you could, even if you were behind scared. You wondered all day what exactly you did to be stalked by Jade Leech and then asked to come to his dorm, because there surely was an explanation for it. Still, when it came to Octavinelle's vicehousewarden, you knew it was safer to wonder rather than be involved with him.

"You arrived perfectly on time." Was the first comment from the second-year student as soon as they arrived. "Please follow me." He indicated the way towards a more secluded room of the Mostro Lounge, which you followed without complaint. You were already there, might as well you could try your best not to bother him.

As he stood in front of you, you wondered once again why could he ask you to come talk to him, perhaps it was Grim who got into a problem, maybe he wanted to blackmail you, or he even could want to persuade you into making a deal with-

"I asked you to come because I had a question for you, so I apologize if it was inconvenient for you at all." He started, your body getting stiff, as if getting ready for a fight. "I was wondering if you perhaps wanted to go on a hike with me this weekend?"

...

"A hike, you say?" You asked, startled, as he nodded. "You mean, just the two of us?" That was bad, wasn't it? What if he wanted to take you to a lonely place to make you disappear or something of the sort?

"Yes, just the two of us." He replied. "Or at least, that was what the book suggested-"

"What book?" You questioned, confused.

"Ah, just a book I read about human custom. It said humans usually liked dates on open spaces, or where they could do activities outdoors. Perhaps you aren't the kind of person that likes them? I could come up with other kinds of ideas indoors, if you'd like." The vicehousewarden explained, his voice steady as usual.

'Did he say date...?'

"No, I do like being outside and all of that, it's just that...You asked me to come here to ask me out?"

"Yes. My previous plans didn't seem to be working, so I figured it'd be best to approach you directly."

"What previous plans?"

"Well, the book explained that humans usually express interest through eye contact, is that correct?" The second-year questioned with a genuine expression that almost seemed adorable.

"Eye-contact...? Well, uhm..." You mumbled, wondering when you ever made eye contact with Jade at all. Wait. "You mean, like the times when you stared at me in class?"

"Indeed, was it effective?"

"It certainly caught my attention, for sure..." You mumbled, relieved to learn that his intentions seemed to be way less dangerous than you thought at first.

"I'm glad to hear that. Then, would you like to join me for a hike?"

You considered his words for a second, wondering whether it'd be a good idea or not. But after so much time being chased by his gaze, and so many hours thinking about the reason behind it, you considered a date wouldn't hurt, wouldn't it? He had perseverance, at least.

"I'd love to join you, Jade."

"I'm glad to hear that." He chuckled softly, surprising you with how cute he actually looked when he didn't stalk you through school hours.

"Jade."

"Yes?"

"From now on, if you want to learn about human customs, just ask me, okay?"

"In that case, I'll be more than pleased to be your student, Prefect." He replied, the small smile still on his face as he looked at you with his mismatched eyes.

Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind being the one staring at him now.

⤿

⤿

[dragonridersandhighlords]

Chasing Shadows | S I X

PLEASE READ NOTE AND WARNINGS BEFORE READING

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: Amid the high stakes of War Games and mounting political tensions, Wrenley struggles to reconcile fractured loyalties, a dangerously complicated love, and the dark truths hidden behind trusted faces.

Notes: PLEASE READ This chapter includes difficult topics that may be difficult for some readers. All of these things are things I have experienced in my own life and but should not be taken as fact as I am not an expert. Please if something in this chapter is something you find triggering DO NOT READ, this chapter can be skipped using this non descriptive summary in order to continue the story. Your mental health matters.

Warnings: implied threats and political coercion, power imbalance, sexual coercion, noncon physical contact, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, mentions of trauma, ptsd responses, and romantic conflict

Word Count: 7.6k

previous part

The air crackled with tension as the Fourth Wing’s leadership huddled around a map, the weight of the upcoming War Games heavy in the air. Xaden's voice cut through the murmurs, confident yet laced with an undercurrent of uncertainty. 

“Give Dain the flag.” My thoughts spiraled as I momentarily opened a door in my mind that I had worked hard to keep shut. 

“Are you sure about that?” Xaden’s voice echoed in my head, a blend of skepticism and concern. I could hear him speaking to the others, but my focus was solely on the lingering connection between us—fragile and complicated. 

“He learned something in Montserrat. Let him prove it,” I shot back, my heart racing not just from the stakes but from the way he seemed to challenge me, as if questioning my judgment hurt more than I cared to admit. 

“Wrenley is going to be running point for our wing here on the flight field.” I turn to glare at him, my annoyance evident but he speaks before I can. “Want me to trust your boyfriend? You aren’t going into War Games with a hidden signet like last year.” 

His words ignited a fire in my chest. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I snapped through the channel, fighting to keep my composure as I remembered last night's events again. I shake off the memory and return to my squad with Dain, flag in hand, heart still racing. 

“You need to tell someone what happened.” Desa chastises, she’s been telling me the same thing since I ran out of Dain’s room.

“Telling someone makes it real. I don’t want to admit that he’d go that far.”

“Youngling—“

“Drop it, Desa.”

“Which is it? Offense or defense?” Heaton's question broke through my thoughts. 

“Both,” Dain replied, his smile infectious, easing the tension as he detailed our strategy. The second and third years erupted in cheers, while I watched the first years, their expressions a mix of excitement and confusion. 

“What are we missing?” Ridoc asked, glancing between Dain and I. “Because you guys seemed thrilled about an egg,” he added, clearly trying to piece together the buzz in the air. 

“From past years, we know that eggs are worth more points,” Cianna chimed in, her enthusiasm palpable. “Flags have statistically been the lowest, and captured professors rank somewhere in the middle.” 

“But they like to switch it up,” Dain added, his gaze shifting back to the map. “The same way we could be going for a real objective on the line only to discover it’s not as valuable as we thought.” 

Rhiannon tilted her head, skeptical. “So how is this both offense and defense? If they have the egg, then clearly we should go get the egg.” 

“Because we’ve also been given a flag to defend and no outpost to do it in.” Dain’s smile is infectious, his enthusiasm illuminating the otherwise tense atmosphere. “And our squad has been assigned to carry it.” 

“And who is going to carry this flag?” The question hangs in the air, charged with anticipation.

Dain, ever the optimist, somehow manages to widen his grin even more, revealing the carefree spirit that makes him so beloved among us. “That’s going to be the fun part.” As we walk towards the flight field, he details the plan, his voice animated, every gesture lively. I can’t help but smile at how effortlessly he commands attention and support, but my head spins from the memories and my smile drops.

Violet, her arms crossed and brow furrowed, interrupts with a sneer, “Where’s Tavis going to be?”

“I’ll be running point from here,” I assert as we arrive at the field, the scent of leather and dragonfire permeating the air. The sight of our squad's dragons, majestic creatures waiting in the far corner on the right, fills me with a mix of pride and apprehension. “Any flag, egg, or captured professor you get will be brought to me. I’ll be tracking points.”

“So you get to stay here all safe while we all risk dying?” Violet’s tone drips with sarcasm, her resentment palpable. It takes all my restraint not to punch her. “I don’t even have a signet yet.”

“And you’re a first-year with the strongest dragon alive,” I counter, adopting a playful pout. “If you have a problem, you can bring it to leadership.” My glare hardens, determined to stand my ground. “Watch your attitude, Sorrengail. I’d hate for you to get stuck with the worst of the second-year jobs next year.” With that, I stride past her toward Desa, the tension in my chest tightening.

“Did you see Xaden had a saddle made for her?” Imogen remarks, joining me with a curious glint in her eye.

I turn instinctively, spotting the sleek leather saddle on Tairn, where Violet and Xaden are engaged in conversation. “Quit playing favorites,” I retorted, rolling my eyes as I connected with the channel. 

“Just trying to make sure I don’t accidentally drop dead because she can’t keep her seat,” Xaden responds, his voice smooth and teasing.

“Maybe save us all the trouble and let it happen.” I think to myself.

“Alright then.” 

Fuck, I didn’t mean to send that. “That’s not what I meant, Xay.” The weight of my words lingers.

“I heard you loud and clear, Wren. I know what it sounds like where your thoughts are pushed through.” 

The words tangle in my mind, a chaotic storm that threatens to drown me in its intensity.

Fuck me. Fuck. Me.

“I’m sure the squad leader would enjoy that.” Desa’s voice cuts through the haze, her amusement ringing like a bell, brightening the tension that has cloaked me. 

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and be anywhere else?” I groan, dragging my hand across my face, feeling the heat of frustration radiate through my skin. 

“Just saying. Cath complained to me all night because of it.” 

“You know why I—” 

My words dissolve into the air as the dragons launch into the sky. Their powerful wings beat against the wind, sending gusts swirling around me as I lift my gaze. The air fills with the sound of roaring flames and cries of exhilaration, a chaotic symphony that drowns out everything else. I focus on Xaden, who soars high above, laughter spilling from his lips, a carefree spirit against the vast blue canvas of the sky. 

The memory of last year rushes back like a tidal wave, filling me with warmth and nostalgia. Bodhi, Garrick, Xaden, and I had been an inseparable team, chasing after Second Wing’s egg with hearts full of laughter and camaraderie. We were fearless, or so we thought, until I was unceremoniously knocked from my dragon by an air wielder, plummeting toward the ground. The rush of air around me had transformed into a chilling silence as my screams echoed in Desa and Xaden’s minds. I can still recall the frantic dive, their desperate attempts to catch me. Just a heartbeat away from disaster, Sgaeyl’s claw had caught me, the rough grip saving me from a brutal impact. 

I shake my head, pushing the haunting recollection aside, and focus on the present. The dragons weave through the sky, their forms blurring in the distance as points are scored in the ongoing chaos of War Games. But as my gaze darts around, searching for familiar silhouettes, my vision sharpens and falters, blurring at the edges, causing me to stumble slightly. 

In the midst of my swirling thoughts, I catch sight of Liam and Deigh locked in a fierce battle against Jack and his dragon. My heart skips a beat as I watch Jack strike—his blade piercing Liam’s side before he forcefully kicks him off. Liam falls, spiraling away from Deigh’s back, the world suddenly narrowing to that one horrifying moment. 

I gasp, breaking free from the vision, my breath hitching in my throat. 

“Jack’s going to kill Liam. They’re to the south of Basgiath on the cliffs.” 

“I’m on my way.”

“Xaden!” I shout, my voice slicing through the cacophony of chaos as I sprint toward him, the ground vibrating beneath my boots. The smell of scorched earth and dragonfire hangs thick in the air, a lingering reminder of the fierce battles fought. When he dismounts Sgaeyl, my heart races, each beat echoing my desperation. “Is he alive?”

“Violet caught him,” he responds, his voice strained, urgency woven through every syllable. I catch a glimpse of his sweat-soaked hair, the damp strands clinging to his forehead, his eyes flickering with a mix of relief and concern. “Rhiannon is taking him to the healers now.” 

A breath escapes me—a sigh that rushes from my lips like a storm breaking, the weight on my chest lifting just enough to let in a glimmer of hope. 

“Barlow is dead,” he adds, his tone flat as if the words alone could bury the pain. “Violet hit him with a lightning strike.” 

“She’s a…” I begin, my mind racing to catch up with the implications of his revelation.

“Lightning Wielder,” Desa interjects, her voice crisp and clear, like the crack of thunder that accompanies such a powerful force. I turn to seek confirmation from her, but my gaze drifts to Dain instead. He stands there, holding Violet as she retches, the color draining from her face. His arms cradle her protectively, but I can’t help the pang of jealousy that tightens around my heart. I know Xaden sees my reaction; I can feel the hurt settling in my chest like a weight I can’t shake, and when he mutters something about handling it, he strides over to them, leaving me in a tempest of conflicting emotions.

Violet Sorrengail is no longer just the girl with the most powerful dragon; she is now the first Lightning Wielder in over a century. 

Everyone will choose her in the end.

Xaden has no choice but to prioritize her life, while Dain has known her—loved her—longer than he’s known me. It’s a bitter truth that gnaws at me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the new Violet, it’s that friendships mean nothing to her now.

And I won’t let her ruin the few I have left.

The last month has been strange, an unsettling tapestry woven with uncertainty and fleeting connections. I left the channel between Xaden and me open, an invisible thread hanging in the air, and to my surprise, he reached out through it. His voice, a mixture of warmth and urgency, always aims to remind me that he’s not tangled in Violet’s allure—that his focus remains solely on her training, nothing more. 

With every interaction, I feel the strain of my friendship with Dain stretching thin. After the chaos of War Games, the emotional toll began to weigh heavily on me; it felt as if we were teetering on a precipice, and I found myself instinctively pulling away, seeking the safety of distance.

Today, is Reunification Day, a day celebrated fervently by the Navarreans, yet for me, it carries the weight of memories I would rather forget. 

Last year, Melgran demanded my presence at the festivities—his call an unwelcome reminder that even amidst celebration, shadows linger. The very dragon that charred my father was a constant specter of pain, and now, Professor Devera’s words haunt me: the King himself requested my attendance. I feel trapped in a web of duty and expectation, ensnared by a title that once felt like a privilege but now burns like a brand on my soul.

As I stand beneath the opulent canopy of the main college courtyard, the murmurs of the gathered cadets swirl around me. My gaze sweeps over the crowd, landing on Dain, who, with a smile that could melt glaciers, now seems lost in conversation with Violet and Liam. Their ease is a stark contrast to my simmering irritation, especially with Liam’s presence here—whether by choice or coercion, it feels like an intrusion into my fragile equilibrium.

“Miss Tavis,” the king begins, his tone deceptively casual.

“Cadet Tavis, your majesty.” I correct him politely, the words flowing with practiced grace as I bow to him. “I am a rider after all.” 

He nods before speaking, “Oh, of course,” he replies, his voice steady but warm. “I hear you bonded your mother’s dragon your first year. Eden was always one of my most trusted leaders.” The name reverberates in my mind, a bittersweet echo of a time when I was sheltered by her fierce presence.

“She was greatly appreciated anywhere we went,” I add, my tone imbued with solidarity. As I speak, I envision the countless lives she touched, the battles she fought, and the sacrifices she made. 

King Tauri's expression softens, the corners of his mouth curving into a nostalgic smile before his gaze turns somber. “I was sorry to hear about her passing. I tried to reach your father, offer refuge to the two of you at that time. I wish I had gotten to you sooner.” His eyes, filled with an earnest longing, dart pointedly toward my relic, a tangible reminder of the lineage I carry.

“My father made mistakes,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside me, “but I’d never say taking me home when we needed family the most was a mistake. Just in the wrong place, at the wrong time scenario.” I smile through the comment, though the ache of that moment lingers still.

“Appear sympathetic with Navarre. Stay alive,” Xaden's words flash through my mind, a mantra etched into the fabric of my being. I have rehearsed this dance before, the delicate balance of allegiance and survival.

“Of course,” the king nods along, his approval palpable, before continuing, “You know, Halden speaks highly of you in his letters.” 

“Oh?” My eyebrows arch in surprise. What is Halden Tauri doing talking about me? “I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of the Prince since our run in during an RSC class with his quadrant.”

“Yes, well my son has taken very seriously to his studies in his last year.” 

I stifle a laugh; even I know Halden’s not passing because he studied. 

“In fact, I wanted to speak with you regarding a conversation your parents and I once had,” he continues, his voice shifting to a more formal tone, “and with how influential you’ve become with your bonded dragon, I think our previously discussed proposal would be beneficial.” 

Proposal? My heart quickens, confusion swirling as I grasp for clarity in the midst of this unexpected conversation. 

“My son will need a queen of your standing. A bonded rider born of a loyalist and a traitor. You’d be very beneficial to keeping the separatists' kids loyal."

What.

The.

Fuck.

“Uhm,” I stutter, the words tumbling out as I grapple with the weight of the king’s proposition, my mind swirling in a tempest of disbelief. “I’m sorry, could you excuse me, Your Majesty? I just remembered that–I forgot about my parole around the dorms. Responsibilities of being leadership.” I attempt to infuse my voice with a lighthearted tone, forcing a laugh that feels brittle against the rising bile in my throat.

“Of course. Think about my offer, though.” King Tauri's voice is steady, tinged with an urgency that curls around my senses. He inclines his head slightly, an unyielding reminder of the authority he wields. “It won’t go into effect until you graduate, of course, but I’ll need a response before then.”

“Of course, enjoy your night,” I manage to reply, my tone polished and formal as I execute a curtsy, the gesture hollow as I turn away. As I step back into the hall, I nearly sprint away, each footfall quickening until I’m out of sight, the weight of the encounter pressing down upon me like a heavy shroud.

I find refuge by the parapet, the cool breeze wrapping around me as I draw in staggered breaths, each inhalation an attempt to reclaim my composure. My fingers clutch the stone wall, grounding me as I stare into the depths of the sprawling landscape below, illuminated by the glow of the moonlight. The castle stands tall behind me, a fortress that suddenly feels like a gilded cage. Although the king’s words linger without a clear threat, I can't shake the feeling that they carry the weight of an ultimatum. A responsibility I never sought now clings to me, its presence suffocating.

I step onto the narrow bridge, the ancient stones cool beneath my soles as I make my way down, seeking solitude away from the chaos of the evening. But just as I step from the safety of the walls, I freeze, a voice cutting through the stillness like a knife.

“Wren?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was out here,” I reply quickly, my heart racing as I reach for the skirts of my dress uniform. 

“It’s alright. Just wanted to get away from everyone,” Xaden sighs, his eyes locked onto me from where he sits, an unwavering anchor amid the swirling tempest of my thoughts.

“I’ll let you be then,” I start to turn, but his voice halts me.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, warmth threading through his tone, laced with promise. He pats the space beside him, an invitation wrapped in kindness. “Have a seat. I won’t talk if it’ll make you feel better.”

Reluctantly, I agree, settling beside him, noting the comfort of this shared silence. I remember all too well finding him in this very position last year, a quiet refuge that speaks volumes without words. 

“You look good in the dress uniforms,” he offers after a beat of silence, his gaze softening as I get myself situated, my legs and skirt hanging off the side, a small balm against the storm raging within me.

“I thought you weren’t going to talk?” I say teasing him. Xaden chuckles softly, a warm sound that mingles with the gentle rustle of the night breeze, before he turns his gaze back to the expansive sky. 

The stars above shimmer, illuminating the darkness with a flickering brilliance, and for a moment, it feels as though time stands still. It’s not an awkward silence that envelops us; rather, it’s a comfortable stillness.

As I gaze into the depths of the cosmos, thoughts swirl in my mind, heavy and tumultuous. I don’t know why I choose this moment to share my burdens, but the words spill out, unfiltered. “King Tauri wants me to marry Halden after I graduate.” 

“What?” His voice is a mix of surprise and concern, drawing my attention back to him, where the moonlight casts gentle highlights across his features.

“Apparently having a marked one who had one loyal parent and one traitor parent makes me more influential in keeping the others loyal,” I explain, my voice tinged with incredulity. A sigh escapes my lips, a release of pent-up anxiety. “Apparently, he and my parents had discussed this arrangement before my mother died. The apostasy just made him want it more.”

“Fuck, Wren.” Xaden’s sigh is heavy with sympathy. Then, a laugh escapes him, lightening the moment. “We break up, and you manage to snag a prince instead of the duke who lost his title.”

“I like the duke more anyways,” I admit, the words slipping out easily, buoyed by the comfort of our shared space. 

“Do you still think about them?” Xaden asks, his tone shifting, probing gently into my guarded heart.

“Not my father as much, but Desa makes it hard to not think of my mother,” I answer, my gaze fixed on the vast tapestry of stars above, lost in memories.

“They’d be proud of who you’ve become,” he says, his gaze intent, pinning me down with a sincerity that stirs something deep within. It’s as if I can hear their voices echoing in his words, a haunting and beautiful affirmation.

“I know,” I nod, feeling the weight of his watchful eyes. “I missed you,” I confess, inching closer, the distance between us shrinking beneath the moonlight’s tender glow. 

I shouldn’t be this close to him, I remind myself, but the way he looks at me, the warmth emanating from his presence, makes it all too tempting. At this moment, I wish I could forget everything that has happened. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Wren,” he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper, an echo of regret that pierced through the armor I’d built around my heart. 

“Do you regret it?” I asked, daring to tread into dangerous waters. The stillness of the night wrapped around us, holding its breath as I waited for his answer.

“I can’t change what happened,” he replied, a shadow passing over his features, but something flickered in his gaze, a spark of hope woven into the fabric of our conversation. “But I wish I could take back the hurt. You deserve so much more.”

“More?” The word slipped from my lips like a silken thread, igniting the space between us. “What do you think I deserve?”

Xaden's breath hitched, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can give you everything you deserve, Wren, but I would do anything for that chance.”

His sincerity washed over me like the gentle caress of a warm breeze, soothing and invigorating all at once. In that moment, everything felt possible, as though the shadows of our past were mere specters, dissipating beneath the brilliance of a newfound resolve. I had come here seeking solace, and instead, I found the undeniable urge to bridge the chasm that had formed between us.

And before I knew what was happening, I was gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the heat radiating from his body. The world around us blurred into a soft haze, and I pressed my lips to his, igniting a fire that had long been smoldering beneath the surface. His initial hesitance melted away, and I could taste the sweetness of his surprise, the warmth of his acceptance as he began to kiss me back. But as quickly as it had started, it ended. I pulled away, standing tall as the weight of reality settled upon my shoulders once more. 

“I want to talk,” I declared, determination lacing my words. I gather the skirts, standing on the narrow path. “I can’t promise we can fix it,” I continued, the truth heavy on my tongue, “but I do miss my best friend.” The words hung in the air like a fragile truce, offering us a pathway back to each other, a bridge across the troubled waters between us.

His expression shifted, a mix of surprise and relief flooding his features as he stood, still in shock yet undeniably present in this moment. “I miss you too,” he said, the fervor in his voice igniting a flicker of hope deep within me.

“Meet me in my room in an hour,” I instructed, firm and clear. “Don’t be late.” 

And with that, I turned, my heart racing as I walked off the parapet, each step echoing with the promise of what lay ahead. The anticipation of our conversation thrummed in the air, a symphony of possibility weaving through the threads of the night, as I headed toward the unknown that awaited me.

“He’s not coming.” My voice trembles slightly as I pace the length of my room, the familiar rhythm of my footsteps echoing against the walls, a nervous symphony to accompany the chaos swirling in my mind. 

“He still has ten minutes,” Desa chimes in, her tone steady and reassuring, cutting through the anxiety that claws at my chest.

“Why did I invite him here? Am I insane?” The thought feels like a thunderclap, a jarring realization that sends my heart racing, each beat a reminder of the stakes involved.

“Maybe—” 

“Desa!” I snap, irritation flaring as I struggle against the rising tide of uncertainty.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” she shoots back, but the urgency in her voice does little to quell the tempest brewing inside me.

“Well, I—” Just then, a knock resonates through the quiet of my room, a sharp sound that makes my pulse quicken. “It’s not real,” I murmur, barely able to comprehend the notion that he might actually be here.

“Open the door,” she presses, her voice laced with an expectation that feels both foreign and exhilarating.

“Wren?” His voice, low and familiar, cuts through the air like a warm breeze, sending a shiver down my spine. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

“I know I’m early. I figured we—” I pull the door open, revealing him in the soft glow of the hallway light. His presence is magnetic, drawing me in with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “Hey,” he says softly, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

“Hi.” The word escapes my lips in a breathy whisper, and I open the door wider, urging him to step inside. But he hesitates, lingering in the doorway. “Are you going to stand in the hall all night?”

Xaden chuckles, a sound that warms the air around us. “You have to pull me through, remember?”

“Right! Sorry.” I reach for his hand, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin, a spark that ignites a fire within me. I wasn’t supposed to touch him until we talked; I knew that, yet the intoxicating scent of his body wash wraps around me like a familiar embrace, making it hard to focus on anything but the heat coursing between us. 

“Kiss me,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, as I push the door closed, sealing us in this moment of vulnerability. 

“We should talk, Wren,” he replies, his tone steady, but I can feel the tension crackling in the air.

“Xaden, I want to, I really do,” I confess, urgency clawing at my chest as I push him back against the door. “But I feel like I’m losing control and I fucking need you.” 

“Dain can’t take care of you?” The words hit me like a cold splash of water, and I instinctively back away from him, retreating into the emotional wall I’ve built around myself.

“Don’t do that,” I say, dropping onto my bed, the weight of his question crashing down like an anchor.

“Wren, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No,” I whisper fiercely, tears brimming in my eyes. “No, you did. And that’s the problem.” As I blink back the moisture threatening to spill, I feel the truth of my words clawing its way out. “I ran out on Dain because every time he touched me, I wished it was you.” His mouth opens in surprise, but no sound comes forth. “He… I just… I need to feel like I have control over my life again.” I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of our unspoken words hanging heavily in the silence.

Xaden’s presence loomed large, an anchor in my tumultuous sea of feelings. He took a careful step towards me, his brow furrowed with concern, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause.

“I don’t want to use you, Xaden,” I said quietly, my voice trembling as it broke the tension. My heart ached, the rawness of my admission spilling out like a confession in the dark. “But I need you to be the one who puts me back together.”

His gaze softened, an understanding shining in the depths of his eyes. “I want that too,” he replied, his tone almost a whisper, as though he feared shattering the fragile moment we shared. “But not when you're this broken.” 

And just like that, the dam I had so carefully constructed crumbled, giving way to a torrent of silent, shaking sobs. My body shook with the weight of all I had been holding inside. Xaden moved closer, enveloping me in his arms, and the warmth of his embrace wrapped around me like a cocoon, comforting yet suffocating. 

“You have to put yourself back together, Little Bird,” he murmured, his voice a gentle balm against the chaos within. “I can’t do it for you.” His lips pressed to my temple, a soft gesture that felt like a prayer. I felt a flicker of hope ignite within me, battling against the shadows that had been looming for far too long. “And I’ll gladly sit by your side while you do it,” he promised, the sincerity of his words resonating deep within my soul.

I nodded, a small movement that felt monumental against the tide of despair. Leaning into his hold, I allowed myself to surrender to the moment, if only for a fleeting heartbeat. For just a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Xaden held me close, his presence steadying, as he hummed a lullaby—a haunting melody that wrapped around us like a shield against the world outside.

As my eyelids grew heavy, the soothing rhythm of his voice lulled me into a gentle slumber. My thoughts began to blur, merging with the soft cadence of the lullaby, and I drifted off…

Then I’m back in Dain’s room, the familiar chaos of maps and notebooks strewn about, each one a testament to the meticulous planning and strategizing that characterized the night before War Games. The air is thick with tension, the kind that wraps around me like a heavy cloak. 

I start to rise from the edge of the bed, intent on finding some semblance of rest before the day ahead. But before I can move too far, Dain steps in front of me, his presence blocking my path with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. 

His hands reach up, cradling my face with a possessive gentleness, his thumbs grazing over my cheekbones as if trying to anchor me to this moment. “Wren,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, eyes searching mine with an intensity that feels both intimate and suffocating. “Stay.” The tenderness of his touch should have brought comfort, but instead, it feels wrong—like a well-rehearsed performance, carefully crafted but lacking authenticity. 

“I think I should go.” I turn my head, trying to break free from his grasp, but his hold remains unyielding, fingers pressing into my skin with a stubbornness that betrays his desperation. 

“No,” he insists, his voice softening, a coaxing lilt that feels almost manipulative. “You don’t have to run from this. From me.” 

“Dain, I said—” 

He leans in, closing the distance between us, and his lips find mine with a ferocity that leaves no room for hesitation. This kiss is not gentle—it's hungry, possessive, as though he’s trying to imprint his presence onto me, to convince me of something that hangs heavy and unspoken between us. I freeze, shock jolting through my body before instinct kicks in, and I push him away, harder than I intended.

“What the hell?” I snap, my breath coming in sharp gasps, the pulse of my heart echoing in my ears.

His expression darkens, shifting in a way that reveals an unfamiliar side of him, one flickering with jealousy and frustration. “You’re still caught up on him, aren’t you?” 

“This has nothing to do with Xaden,” I retort, stepping back, my heart racing with indignation. “This is about me not wanting this.”

“I’ve been patient,” he states, his tone morphing into something colder, more calculated. “I’ve backed off every time you needed space. But don’t forget who vouched for you when no one else would. Who still does.”

My blood runs cold at his implication. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m reminding you,” Dain replies carefully, as if choosing his words with the precision of a blade, “that leadership has eyes. That reputations… especially yours, are fragile things.”

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, my voice trembling—not from fear, but from fury that courses through me like wildfire.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward me, the air crackling with tension, his arms loose at his sides, yet his posture screamed control. It was as if he was a predator sizing up his prey, and I was caught in his crosshairs. “You already walk a fine line, Wren,” he began, his voice smooth, but the underlying threat was unmistakable. “Bonded to a Loyalist dragon, with a traitor’s last name—a relic. The wrong whisper, the wrong report, and suddenly you’re no longer just ‘difficult.’ You’re dangerous.”

I felt bile rise in my throat as his words settled over me like a heavy shroud. “You’re disgusting,” I breathed, my heart pounding in my chest as I instinctively backed toward the door, every instinct screaming for escape. “You think I owe you something because you smiled at me when no one else did?” 

He didn’t respond, his silence a chilling affirmation of his intentions. When my fingers reached for the door handle, I felt his hands push me firmly against the wood, the force of his presence looming over me. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?” His voice dripped with a mixture of anger and betrayal.

Fury ignited within me, and I pushed back against him, my hand deftly pulling out my dagger and pointing it at his throat before he could close the distance again. “Touch me again and I’ll find myself Squad Leader by the games tomorrow,” I threatened, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside me, fingers tightening around the hilt of my weapon.

He didn’t need to respond; his eyes held a mix of surprise and anger as I yanked the door open, stepping into the hallway. The air outside was like ice against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heated confrontation I had just escaped. My boots echoed against the stone floor, each step a desperate beat as I walked faster—then broke into a run.

“Wrenley!” Xaden’s voice broke through the nightmare, slicing through the remnants of my fear. I met his concerned gaze, the intensity in his eyes grounding me in the moment. “Is that what happened?” 

“What?” I stammered, still shaken.

“You didn’t think thoughts and communication were the only things you could send, did you?” 

“You saw…” I trailed off, the memory flooding back with visceral clarity.

“What he fucking did?” Xaden growled, springing from the bed. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Xay—” I started, desperation clawing at my throat, but a pounding at my door cut me off. Please don’t be Dain. 

“Wren?” Garrick’s voice came through, worry lacing his tone. 

“Gare?” I swung the door open, relief washing over me momentarily as my cousin stood before me. His eyes flicked from my tear-streaked face to Xaden, the tension in the air shifting. I could almost see his blood boil, rage simmering just beneath the surface as he tried to enter my warded room and failed. 

“What the fuck did you do, Riorson?” he growled, the anger in his voice deepening the weight of the moment.

“Believe me, Garrick. This,” Xaden gestures toward me with a fierce intensity, “is not on me this time.”

I spin to face Xaden, my heart racing as I murmur through the channel, “Do not tell him.” The urgency of the situation is a weight pressing down on my chest, the cold metal of my dagger a reminder of the confrontation that still lingers in my mind.

Garrick runs a frustrated hand through his hair, the worry etched on his features evident as he groans, “We don’t have time for this.” His voice is taut, each word laced with the urgency of the moment. “We’re being called in for a full quadrant formation.”

“At this hour?” Xaden questions, his brow furrowing, concern flickering in his eyes like a flame caught in a gust of wind.

“We’re under attack.” The gravity of those words sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a spark of adrenaline that buzzes beneath my skin.

Without hesitation, Xaden turns to my armoire, the wooden doors creaking softly as he flings them open. He rummages through my belongings with a sense of urgency, pulling out my flight leathers, the smell of leather and oil mingling in the air as I quickly change. Garrick darts off, presumably to gather the others, leaving me alone with the storm brewing in Xaden's gaze.

“Where the fuck is your flight jacket?” he growls, his voice low and demanding as he digs through the chaos of my armoire.

“Fuck, I must’ve left it in Dain’s room,” I groan, the realization crashing over me like a wave of dread. Slipping my boots back on, I steel myself, ready to take action. “I’ll just go—”

“Absolutely not.” His voice cuts through the air, sharp and uncompromising as he rips his own flight jacket off, wrapping it around me with a swift motion. “I’ll go grab my extra one. You are not to be alone with Dain again, understand me?” 

“I can handle myself,” I protest, though my heart races, a mix of determination and fear coursing through me.

“My fuck-up is what got you in that situation, Wren.” Xaden’s grip tightens on my shoulders, his gaze earnest and unyielding, conveying the weight of his concern. “I’ll be damned if it happens again. Please.” With a nod of agreement, I feel the tension start to ease, if only slightly. “Alright, you head on down. I’ll be there in a minute.” The words hang in the air, a promise wrapped in urgency, as we brace ourselves for the unknown that lies ahead.

I make my way to the formation, the cool night air wrapping around me like a shroud. The courtyard is alive with activity, the energy palpable as squad leaders return to their ranks, their expressions a mix of determination and tension. Just as I reach our designated spot, Dain’s eyes lock onto mine, a predator’s gaze that sends a shiver down my spine. I instinctively shift to stand closer to our quad, creating a buffer of distance between us, hoping to diminish the weight of his presence.

“Why are you wearing Riorson’s flight jacket?” Imogen's voice cuts through the air behind me, teasing yet curious. I can feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.

“I lost mine,” I mumble, avoiding her scrutinizing gaze, desperate for her to let the topic drop. But as I glance at Violet, her head snaps in my direction, a sly glint in her eye as she zeroes in on the unmistakable markers on the jacket.

“Bullshit,” Imogen laughs, the sound bright and infectious despite the tension. “You can admit that you two were fucking.” She gives me a playful nudge with her elbow, and I groan at her jest.

“Nothing happened. We talked, Garrick came to get us for this, and I realized my jacket was missing. That's it,” I protest, but the words feel weak against the teasing atmosphere.

Commandant Panchek strides onto the dais, exuding authority, followed closely by Colonel Aetos and the wingleaders, who flank him like sentinels. Xaden, clad in his spare jacket, stands with a fierce intensity, his eyes searing into Dain, an unspoken challenge hanging between them.

“Leave him alone until this is over,” I tell Xaden, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. He turns his gaze from Dain to me, his expression softening, revealing a glimpse of the concern beneath his hardened exterior.

“Third years might get sent out if it’s bad enough,” he replies, a hint of gravity underscoring his words. My heart sinks at the implication.

“You’re leaving?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe. Though I’m sure Sgaeyl will drag me back soon enough,” he reassures me, though the tension in the air suggests otherwise. Nyra leans in to whisper something to Xaden, and his voice cuts through the tension again, filled with annoyance. “Fucking War Games.”

“This is for War Games?” I ask, incredulity flaring inside me. 

“Think I can get away with stabbing Aetos? I’m sure this was his idea,” Xaden jokes, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface as I stifle my own.

“I’d pay good money to see that,” I reply, caught up in the moment, 

"Don't tempt me, Little Bird," and he winks at me from the dais, igniting a spark deep inside me as Panchek begins to speak.

“Riders Quadrant!” Panchek’s commanding voice booms across the courtyard, reverberating against the stone walls and cutting through the murmur of anxious chatter. As the gathered cadets straighten, the air crackles with anticipation and trepidation. “Welcome to the last event of this year’s War Games.” The atmosphere shifts, excitement mingling with the weight of what’s to come. “The alert that was sounded is similar to what it would have been if this were a real-life attack—to see how fast you would muster—and we will continue this exercise as if it is.” A chill runs down my spine at his words, a visceral reminder of the stakes involved. “Were the borders to be simultaneously attacked, and the wards faltering, you would all be called into service to reinforce the wings. Colonel Aetos, would you do us the honor of reading the scenario?”

With a fluid motion, Dain’s father steps forward, scroll unfurling in his hands, and begins to read aloud. His voice carries the weight of grim reality. “The moment we’ve dreaded has arrived. The wards we’ve dedicated our lives to upholding are falling, and there has been an unprecedented, multilevel attack along our borders, putting villages under siege from drifts of gryphon riders.” The imagery he conjures is stark, igniting fears of chaos and destruction. “Mass casualties among civilians and infantry are already being reported, as are the deaths of multiple riders.”

The crowd’s collective breath hitches, faces paling under the gravity of the scenario. “As we would if you were a battle-ready force, we are sending your wings in every direction,” he continues, his gaze honing in on each wing. When he reaches ours, my heart thunders in my chest. “Fourth Wing to the southeast. Each squad will pick which outpost they will reinforce within that region. Choices are first come, first served. Wingleaders, however, will be assigned to theirs for the purposes of determining a headquarters for this exercise.” 

Colonel Aetos pauses, the silence stretching taut before he turns to the wingleaders, issuing rapid-fire orders. But his gaze flickers toward Dain, and I can feel the tension build. Then, he looks at Xaden, his smile slipping for just a heartbeat, a fleeting moment that sends a shiver coursing through me. “Riorson, you’ll establish your headquarters for Fourth Wing at Athebyne.” 

A wave of unease washes over me. That’s outside the wards. They never send cadets that far. 

The tension in the air hangs thick, a palpable force swirling around us like an impending storm. As Colonel Aetos steps back, the echoes of his orders fade into the background, replaced by the frantic heartbeat of anticipation thrumming in my chest. Xaden’s command cuts through the fog of uncertainty, a lifeline amidst the chaos. 

“You’re coming with me.” His voice is authoritative, carrying the weight of unyielding resolve, as he locks eyes with me. There’s an urgency in his expression that I can’t ignore, a fierce intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “And wear every dagger you own.” 

My heart races, confusion twisting in my gut. I want to ask why, to demand clarity, but before I can voice my questions, Dain’s presence draws my attention. He’s facing us now, his demeanor resolute as he turns to address the squad. “We’re going to claim the outpost at Eltuval, the northernmost one in our assigned region,” he declares, and I can feel the gravity of his decision settle over us like a cloak. “I’m not getting stuck at some coastal outpost when we know that’s not how Poromiel would choose to attack. Anyone have a problem with that?”

We all shake our heads. 

“Good, then you heard the commandant. You have thirty minutes to change, pack what you can carry for five days, and get your asses to the flight field.” Dain’s voice is firm, cutting through the chaos with clarity. I turn to leave, adrenaline igniting my senses, when Dain’s grip on my arm halts me.

“Wren—” 

“Get your hands off her, squad leader,” Xaden growls, striding toward us like a storm rolling in. His presence is electric, igniting a spark of defiance within me, and I feel a rush of gratitude for his protective instincts.

“What’s going on?” Dain questions, his grip reluctantly releasing my arm. The tension crackles between them, a silent battle of wills, but Xaden’s glare is a shield, fierce and unwavering.

“Leave her alone, Aetos. I’m warning you.” Xaden’s voice is low, a rumble of thunder that demands obedience. He guides me away from the confrontation, a firm hand at my back that ignites an unexpected warmth in my chest. “Before you freak out, I’m also bringing Violet on our team.”

“What?” The surprise spills out before I can think better of it. But as I look into Xaden’s eyes, I see the truth etched in his expression. He’s made his decision, and I can’t argue with the conviction behind it. 

“I can’t trust Aetos to prioritize her life. And Sgaeyl demands Tairn come with. That’s it.” 

His gaze holds mine, a steady flame against the encroaching darkness, and I feel the weight of his words settle over me. There’s a fierceness in him that assures me he’ll do everything in his power to protect us, a promise woven into the very fabric of his being.

“Okay.”

“Good.” He sighs. “Now go pack, meet me on the flight field,” he says, his voice a low murmur that sends a thrill through me. The world around us fades into a blur as I nod, swallowing the whirlwind of emotions within me as I turn to return to the dorms. 

next part

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[beomiracles]

𝓚𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝓞𝐅 𝓓𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features.  You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 3k ་༘࿐

𝓹airings reaper/entity!taehyun x gn!reader (written with fem in mind) 𝔀arnings angst, major character death, lots of crying, kissing.

#serene adds ✎.. HAPPY TAEHYUN DAY !! except this is not a happy fic because I seem to struggle with anything positive.. anyhow :3

“Please help me.” 

Silence. Nothing but an eerie stillness of silence followed your pleading words. You want to scoff, your eyes twitching as they fight to remain closed. There was no way this was actually going to work. You had been a fool to even consider the idea, much more actually try it. But in spite of your foolishness you were also utterly desperate. 

Just as you were about to give up, to slump back against the hard floor boards and accept defeat; just then, there was a shift in the air. A cold, ghost-like exhale. It hits your face hard, like that of a slap. Your brows furrow, your still shut eyes scrunching together. A shiver runs down your spine, and you do not dare move. — He had come. He’d heard your call and he’d actually answered. You could hardly believe it. 

The creak of a floorboard makes your eyes jerk open, your head snapping in its direction. From the salt spread in a messy circle, to the lit candle in the center, your gaze travels along the open book, over to the far corner of your room. — There, in the shadows, submerged in darkness but still definitely there. 

You swallow, the gulp echoing through the desolate air. “Please…” Your voice is hoarse, on the verge of cracking as you shift on the floor, your body twisting as you turn his way. Once again, your hands rub together as you beg him. — “Help me…” 

He takes a step forward, revealing his tall frame as it emerges from the shadows. God, he was beautiful. So it was true then. All of it had been true. — His face, sickeningly pale yet so alive, ethereal almost. His eyes are dark, shimmering with something you couldn’t quite place, something out of this world. The brows on his forehead twist, if only for a moment. 

Dressed in all black, a long cloak draped over his body as it sways by his feet. He looms over you, his presence demanding and stoic. You do not dare get up from your position on the floor, even as your knees burn and ache for relief. You would be sure to stay put. 

It seems as though he expects you to speak, his expression unreadable as he remains quiet. With a deep inhale you gather courage. “It’s…It’s my mother, she..” Your voice trembles, on the verge of tears you shake your head, blinking the pain away. “She is very ill — I can’t… Please, I need more time with her.” 

At first he doesn't say anything as he merely watches you with the same brooding expression. Your face falls, worry consuming you as you fear that he might disappear once more. He was your last chance, your last sliver of hope. — “Please, I’ll do anything!” Your hands reach for the cloak he wore, fingers curling around the fabric as you cling to him. 

A low, breathy sound, almost a laughter, is pulled from his chest. You freeze when his warm hand places on the back of your head, his touch firm but not forceful. “Time”, he drawls, and he sounds as though he hadn’t spoken in years, yet you find yourself entranced by the mere word. 

“Time can never be brought back. You cannot ask such a thing of the universe.” 

His words make your eyes widen tenfold. What was that supposed to mean, would he not grant you your wish? Would he refuse you, would he leave again, leave you with nothing but the despair of the day to come, and the agony of those that were. 

“Please! You have to help me, I already told you I’m willing to do whatever it takes!” Tears were streaming freely down your face now, ugly sobs rolling off your tongue, meddling with your speech. — He’s silent, quietly observing your weeping form from above. His hand leaves the back of your head, the almost soothing touch gone with it. 

He hums, a low and still sound. “You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

His words make your eyes light up, and you crane your neck in order to peer toward him. “Yes! Please yes, I’ll do it.” You were beyond hesitation now, far too desperate to even think about the consequences of your own actions. To give, that’s what you wanted. You wanted to give your mother time, time to spend with you, to do what she loved. That was what’s important, right? 

The man nods, and you find yourself immediately missing the warmth he provided when he takes a step back. “Very well. You shall have time.” As the words leave his lips an icy feeling shot through your chest, it makes you fall forward, barely catching yourself on two hands as you pant. 

It did not hurt, but it was cold, so very cold. 

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone in your dark house, with nothing but a ring of salt, a candle and a book to show. 

But after that things changed. Your mother, once bedridden and ill, was now up and about. It was a miracle, that’s what everyone had said. The way she tended to her garden, made home cooked meals and even picked up crocheting again. — But most importantly, she smiled more. There was a different light to her face, a different joy to her laugh and a whole other woman within her body. 

Doctors said she wouldn’t make it another three months. But those months turned into a year, and then another one, and another one. Five years pass within the blink of an eye. Just as quickly as they had begun they had ended again. You would like to think that those were the best years of your life, you had everything you could have ever wished for right by your side. 

So why was it that you felt so cold? No matter how many hot showers you took, how many hours you spent under the sun or how long you wrapped yourself in your mother’s warm embrace you couldn’t seem to shake the icy feeling looming over you. — It has been that way since… You shudder at the thought of him, of his sickeningly beautiful face. You try to ignore it, you try to shake the uncanny feeling that something is wrong, very wrong. 

The dread that fills you, the sense of impending doom. Everyday you worry for your mother’s health, for her life, in spite of the way she radiated. You feared that it would all one day diminish into nothing. That just as quickly as it had come, it would be gone again. And as your worries grew larger, the cold seemed to strike harsher. 

Ice had frozen your chest by this point. It made no room for love in your now lonesome heart. You could not enjoy your time with your mother, for you feared that your own was running out. 

It was then, on the day that would mark the sixth year, that he returned. And just like he had back then, did he emerge from the shadows. 

The night was warm, but you could not feel it, for you had not felt warmth in a very long time. With trembling hands you tug at the blanket, wrapping yourself up in it as you try to create some sense of comfort. You would delude yourself into thinking that everything was fine, you would try to ignore the pestering cold. But it never seemed to quite work. 

And there it is, that subtle creak of a floorboard, ripping through the still air. You don’t have to sit up, nor do you have to turn your head to know who has come. His presence is just as demanding as it had been all those years ago. Back then, when you hadn’t understood the full extent of his words, their true meaning. 

“You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

And you had. You had given your mother time, you had shared whatever you had left for yourself, in turn trading places with her. Realization struck as his beautiful face came into view once more. He had not changed, for he was timeless, he seemed to be the only thing unreachable by the ever ticking clock that decides your fate. 

He takes a step forward, then another one and another one. Soon he stops by the edge of your bed, dark eyes peering down at your shivering form. — You swallow, “I don’t want to die.” It was the truth, you did not fear death, but you did fear the end of your existence. Your throat feels thick, tears building in your eyes as you shake your head. Perhaps you thought that begging him once more would prove successful. 

But he only hums, a soft almost melancholy sound. It makes your chest churn, the ice around you feels heavy. You could not die, not right now and not like this. How would your mother suffice without you by her side? She would be heartbroken. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It wasn’t right… 

“Please I can’t-” He interrupts you by raising a pale hand, and you immediately fall silent. His face, once unreadable and stoic, now looks solemn. His gaze roams your trembling figure, the tips of his fingers brushing along your cold arm. 

“Can’t you see?” He says, his hand traveling to your chest, his palm flat against your heart. “You are already dead.” 

The words hit you like that of a wave crashing against shore. Dead? No. You weren’t dead, you were… You were… 

Your eyes drop to your hands, grey and lifeless as they clutch the blanket tightly. The biting cold made the tips of your fingers an almost pale blue hue. Suddenly it all made sense. Your vision blurs as you bring your hands to your face, studying them closer. The cold, it wouldn’t leave because it was all there was. Your lifeless self, a shell of who you were, walking amongst the living, an imposter. 

Your heart was not frozen, it was unbeating. Dead. You were dead. You had been since that night, all those years ago. With a shaky exhale you glance up to meet his dark unyielding gaze. It was impossible to read his expression. — “Why?” You croak, the question barely making it past your choked up throat. “Why now?” 

Why had he waited, why had he let you roam this earth for so long. — The man doesn’t answer, instead he extends his hand for you to take. You regard his pale and long fingers, waiting for you to lace yours within his. It was an invitation, one that would carry you to a world outside this one. You wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. 

“I can’t…” The whisper slips past your lips without second thought, the realization weighing heavy on your shoulders. You shake your head, the first droplet of tears rolling down your cold cheek. 

His eyes narrow, brows pulling together on his perfect face. “Your time is up.” It’s all he says, his voice suddenly sounding monotone yet commanding. You continue to shake your head, scooting away from him as your back hits the headboard, the blanket sliding off your body. “No.” 

“Y-You tricked…” You hiccup, feeling the sudden onslaught of tears throughout your entire body. “You never told me I would… That I…” — The man doesn’t say anything, his hand has dropped back to rest by his side, and for a moment you think he might turn back around to leave. But he doesn’t. 

“You willingly gave her your time.” He states as a matter-of-factly, his features remaining stoic as he regards your sobbing frame. You knew that he was right, that you had willingly brought this fate upon yourself, as naive and unknowing as you may have been. This was all your doing. And though you had gotten another couple of years with your mother, you could not bear the thought of parting from her again. 

The cold was worse now, worse than it had ever been before. It consumed you wholeheartedly. Even if he was to let you continue on like this, what life would you get? You were dead already. There was nothing left for you. Nothing but the inevitable grief you were to bring forth on your mother. 

With trembling hands you wipe your tear stained face. Your breath is jagged, like a broken record, playing the same part on repeat over and over. Through bleary eyes, you manage to find him in the darkness. The pale moonlight casts his face in an eerie glow, one that made him appear ethereal. It was then and there you realized that your time was indeed running out. This would be your last conscious moment. 

“Please..” Your voice is low, nothing but a mere whisper. Yet it garners his attention as his dark eyes flicker over to yours. “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features. 

You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?” Your words hang in the still air, flashing before your eyes in menacing quality. You had not thought the request through, not once. All you knew was that you wanted to feel something, anything, one last time. 

His expression remains unmoving, he looked almost statue-like as he stood by the edge of your bed. — Your hands had returned to the blanket, now by your knees, and your fingers twist uncomfortably in the fabric. The silence is so loud it rings in your ears, causing an almost screeching noise. 

But then, without as much as a word, he takes a step forward. The mattress dips under the weight of him as one of his knees sink into the soft cushion. His spotless face, now mere inches from yours make your eyes widen in surprise. — He doesn’t say anything, nor does he hesitate when he presses his lips against yours. 

He’s warm. 

For six years, two thousand one hundred and ninety days, you had been cold, terribly so. Nothing could bring you comfort, nothing could make the icy feeling go away. Nothing but him. The small touch of his skin against yours set your body aflame, and for the first time in so long, you felt alive again, even if only for a moment. 

His lips are unmoving against your own, warm and soft. You don’t dare open your eyes, instead you remain equally still, almost frozen in place. And when five seconds have passed you think he might pull away, demanding you come with him to wherever awaited, but he doesn’t. 

You kiss him, you kiss him in the way you would those you longed for, those you lusted after. But not those you loved, for you don’t think you had ever loved anyone like that. Without stopping to think, your cold hand reaches for his face, trembling as your palm comes to rest against his cheek. 

You want to hold on forever, never letting this moment go. He must feel your nails digging into his shoulder now, your hand on his face pulling him closer. But even then, he remains unfazed. For a second you think he might actually kiss you back, that he might reciprocate that feeling of life that you so longed for. He doesn’t. 

He pulls back only when your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, a guarded expression on his otherwise melancholy face. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a soft redness to his warm skin, one that you were certain hadn’t been there before. Though his soft breaths are hardly matching your near panting ones. 

Your hand falls from his face and you swallow. “I don’t want to die.” It didn’t matter if you were already dead, that was not the same as what you were about to face. An end to your time on earth, a cease in your existence. You want to think about your mother, you want to remember her face even in death, and you want to hear her voice even as the ground swallows you whole. 

But you can’t look away from him, from his beautiful and nearly expressionless face. You had never imagined the face of death to be beautiful, for it had always been described as a painful and sorrowful experience. It is permanent, with no way to ever go back. 

Tears spill down your wet cheeks, an ugly sob ripping from your thick throat. Your body trembles, but not from the cold. — “I’m scared…” The admission is a mere breath, one so silent only he could hear. 

He shakes his head, the movement slow and soft. “Don’t be.” Is all he says, and for some reason you find solace in his words. 

Then he presses his lips against yours, briefly startling you as your eyes widen. That same feeling of warmth embraces you once again, and you feel the ice around you slowly melting. He kisses you just like you had him a mere moment ago. Except his kiss holds love. A love that felt almost sacred, like you were undeserving of it. 

Your body feels numb, and you could feel yourself becoming almost drowsy. It doesn’t hurt, none of it does. In fact you can barely feel anything but his lips on yours. 

Death wasn’t painful, nor was it agonizing. It was beautiful. The man before you was the epitome of it, and you did not fear him. You did not fear what would come after, and you did not fear that nothing would come at all. 

Your soul died that night, but it died warm.

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