#I apologize in advance for his...everything

[kookooluvr]

Teach Me How To Love - Part 6

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

summary: jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

word count: 13.6k

warnings: namjoon and mai's wedding, mentions of anxiety and feelings of panic, oc blames herself for her past failed relationship, jk being jk, they slow dance, hana appearance (not the last), lots of feelings, explicit sexual content; soft romantic sex, looooots of kissing, brief nipple play, oral (f. receiving), he jerks it for two seconds, unprotected sex (she's on the pill, chill out) passionate missionary sex, domestic grocery shopping, angst angst angsty ending, lots of self doubt and tears 🫣

author's note: i apologize in advance 🫥😭😭 the angst has arrived LMAOOO y'all please don't hate my girl oc, she's doing her best, okay? anyway, i'd love to hear all of your thoughts on this one, your comments and asks always make my day !!!! lots of love my angels 🫂

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @livinluvl @chxiosworld @mimi1097 @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth @chimmisbae @daskewl @ramyun-h @heyitsroshni @matryoshka-poetry @almatiarau @gukkie7 @ambiee3 @blueberriesm @milkk1400 @yuriouki @lovelovethebeatles @somehowukook @deedeeps @emily-hung @jkaxl @bhonbhon @bearchermer

find tmhtl masterlist here

Jungkook has always been a fan of weddings. Some might call him a sap and make fun of him for getting excited about seeing the bride walk down the aisle, or for tearing up at the speeches, but he really doesn't care. He loves it. He especially loves that he gets to witness two of his closest friends tie the knot in just a couple of hours.

For you on the other hand, today is a bit less joyful. That's not to say you're not happy for Namjoon and Mai, because you are. You've grown to really like his friends and you hope their marriage is filled with nothing but happiness and endless love. You're just not a big lover of weddings in general. It could just be the resentment of your failed engagement that you've tucked away in your heart that seems to be clawing its way up to the surface. To you, weddings are just a reminder of everything you've lost.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" Jihyo asks, her eyes wide as she takes in your pyjama-clad appearance through the screen of her phone. She's already dressed and ready to go in a navy floor-length gown, looking her very best to impress Taehyung, who asked her to be his plus-one.

The FaceTime call was intended for her to ask your opinion on her choice of earrings, but instead, she's caught you in the middle of an anxious spiral.

"I don't know if I can do this," you blurt out, letting out a deep sigh.

"What? Of course you can-"

"No, seriously. I haven't been to a wedding since my cousin's last year and I only stayed for an hour then left," you mutter, chewing on your bottom lip.

When you agreed to be Jungkook's date to the wedding, you were still on cloud-nine after Jeju, your rose coloured glasses still perched snugly on the bridge of your nose. Now? Now you're second guessing everything, your brain yelling at you to take ten steps back.

"Okay, just...breathe. Everything's gonna be fine," Jihyo reassures you. "I know this is out of your comfort zone, but I promise, you're gonna be okay. What happened with Sunghoon doesn't define you. You can do this. You're gonna go and you're gonna dance with Sexyboots and you're gonna have champagne and you'll look hot doing it. And I'll be there if you need me."

Her words bring your anxiety down from a 10 to a 5.

"What if I cry?"

"Then you cry, so what?" She shrugs, offering you a soft smile. "That's okay. It's a wedding, you'll just blend in with everyone else who's crying."

She's got a good point.

"What if I throw up? You know I throw up when I'm really anxious."

"Then I'll just say you had some bad Chinese food. ___, I'm not letting you back out of this."

"Why nooot?" you whine, plopping down on your bed with a huff and a roll of your eyes.

"Because I'm not going to this wedding without you. And a little itty-bitty wedding does not have the power over you to make you this stressed out. Now get your ass up and go get dressed before Jungkook gets there and sees you like this."

You know you can't argue with Jihyo when she speaks in that tone. And besides, she's right, it's just a wedding. So what if your fiancé slept with one of your friends a month before your wedding? No big deal. You just have to put on your big girl panties and go.

After another twenty minutes of trying to find an excuse not to go, and ultimately failing, you force yourself to get up and take a shower, scrubbing your skin until it hurts in an attempt to distract your brain from impending doom. You work almost robotically, doing your hair and makeup on autopilot. When you open your closet to get your dress, you catch a glimpse of that pesky white tulle peeking out from behind the rest of the clothes, as if it's mocking you.

You'll have to throw that thing away one of these days.

By the time you've zipped up your dress, there's a knock at the front door. It's him. You rush to give yourself one last glance in the mirror, making sure every hair is in place before going to get the door.

"Hey, you- woah..." Jungkook's jaw goes slack, his eyes growing in size as he drinks you in. He swallows thickly, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "You look...you're...wow..."

You'd think he was overreacting if you didn't feel the same about his attire. Seeing him in his tux, with his hair styled in that way that makes his face look extra chiselled, has your face flushing and your heart racing.

"You look...wow too," you chuckle, feeling a lot lighter than you did a minute ago. "I like your suit."

"I like your dress," he murmurs, his lungs feeling like he just ran up a flight of stairs. "You're gorgeous."

You want to tell him that he's gorgeous, but instead, you roll your eyes, grab your purse and kiss an unbothered Miso goodbye before making your way out. The short trip down to his car is silent, both of you feeling some nerves, both for very different reasons.

He opens the passenger side door for you and makes his way to the driver's seat, starting the route to the venue. He puts on some music while he drives, absentmindedly tapping his fingers along the steering wheel. He can sense how busy your brain is by the way you fidget with your hands in your lap, but he isn't quite sure how to approach the matter.

"Everything okay?" he asks, quickly glancing over at you before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Mhm," you nod, staring out the window. "Weddings just make me a bit emotional."

He wouldn't call the look on your face emotional, more so anxious, but he won't call you out for it. Instead he tries to lighten the mood, stepping around the obvious tension.

"Well, you can cry on my shoulder if you want," he smiles. "Thankfully my suit is black, so no one will ever notice if you get mascara on it."

You scoff, forcing a faint smile across your lips. "Right."

He keeps glancing your way, watching you intently. He looks as if he's trying to read your thoughts, but he's not Charles Xavier and he can't do that, so he settles on making lighthearted conversation until you reach the venue.

"Y'know, I'm not the best dancer but I do hope you'll save me a dance tonight," he murmurs, subtly glancing over at you.

"Please, I have two left feet," you scoff.

"Well, I happen to have two right feet, so I guess it works out then."

The smile that tugs at the corners of your lips is too strong to fight, so you give in and let it settle across your face.

When you arrive at the wedding venue, it looks like something out of a fairytale. It's a stunning outdoor ceremony, with rows of elegant chairs for guests to be seated and decorative flower arrangements, with a few violinists seated at the entrance, waiting for their cue to begin playing. The weather is warm with a slight breeze, the seasons slowly transitioning from summer to autumn, creating just the right temperature for a wedding.

Most of the other guests are already there when the two of you arrive. You spot his friends sitting in a row behind Namjoon and Mai's family members, everyone looking their best to celebrate the happy couple. You and Jungkook make your way over, sitting next to Jihyo and Taehyung, who have apparently been flirting like horny teenagers for the past thirty minutes, according to Yoongi.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Jihyo whispers while Jungkook and his friends make their way to the front to talk to a nervous-looking Namjoon.

"I'm good," you nod, not wanting to take away from Namjoon and Mai's big day.

She can see the slight unease on your face, but this is neither the time nor the place to do a deep dive on your personal issues, so she nods and takes your word for it. She'll speak to you about it tomorrow over a pint of ice cream and some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

"You and Taehyung seem pretty cozy," you whisper, shooting her a little grin.

"He's so sweet," she sighs. "He brought me flowers when he came to pick me up at my apartment."

"You really like him, huh?"

She nods, smiling down at her lap. "I do, yeah...and that suit he's wearing makes me wanna suck his dick real bad."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter under your breath, looking around to make sure Namjoon and Mai's parents didn't hear that.

"What about you? Are things okay with...?" She gestures towards Jungkook with her eyes.

You look over at him, watching the way he laughs at something Hoseok said, the way his nose scrunches up and his eyes squeeze shut. He's beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight, his presence filling you with a warmth that overpowers the light autumn breeze.

"Yeah," you nod, feeling a smile start to tug at the corners of your lips as he makes his way over to take his seat next to you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, picking up on your stare.

You nod, leaning a bit closer to his side. Your smile reassures him that everything is more than okay. When you're with him, you're okay.

Jihyo watches the two of you with a soft smile on her face, picking up on the instant shift in your mood. You seem happier when he's near, your smile growing wider when he whispers in your ear to tell you that he likes your hair in this style, his fingers gently brushing a few stray strands behind your ear. Jihyo knows your feelings for him go way deeper than you'd like to admit, and when Taehyung makes a flirty comment about love being in the air, she can't agree more.

An announcement is made for everyone to take their seats, signaling that the ceremony is about to start. Everyone quiets down, the violinists getting their bows ready to begin playing the opening melody. Soon, the music starts and everyone watches as Mai's father leads her down the aisle, her dress trailing behind her with every step she takes. She looks like an angel draped in lace and tulle, her smile radiant as she walks towards the love of her life.

Your vision starts to blur with unshed tears as you glance over at the groom, watching as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. He holds himself together as best he can when he shakes Mai's father's hand in a silent promise to take care of his daughter.

Namjoon takes one look at his bride and it's like everyone and everything else fades away. He takes her hands in his and vows to cherish her and protect her, to love her until they are both nothing but dust and bones. Mai reaches out to dry his tears, promising to love him through all of life's challenges, making a vow to be his wife now and forever.

There isn't a dry eye in sight, so you don't look out of place when the tears stream down your cheeks, putting up a good fight against the layers of setting spray plastered over your makeup. It's a hard moment for you, but you push through for Namjoon and Mai, and when the ceremony ends with a tearful kiss between the happy couple, you clap and cheer, and you wish them nothing but the best.

Everyone makes their way to the reception area after the ceremony. The marquee is breathtaking, draped in soft ivory fabrics that flutter gently in the early evening breeze, with twinkling fairy lights hanging overhead, casting a warm glow. Long tables are elegantly set throughout, each adorned with crisp white table linens, floral displays and flickering candles. As guests begin to gather inside, laughter and soft jazz music fill the air, creating a warm atmosphere that adds to the beauty of the surroundings.

You take your seat next to Jungkook, sitting at a table with Jihyo, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jisoo, and their two sons, Dohyun and Moonbin. Unfortunately, they had to leave their youngest at home with Jisoo's mom because he's a bit too young for such a long night out. Seated at the next table are Jimin, Hana, Yoongi and his date, Areum, and Hoseok and his date, Eunji, along with two of Namjoon's co-workers. Everyone mingles throughout dinner, enjoying the delicious spread of food and drinks.

"They grow up so fast," Seokjin teases. "It feels like just yesterday when Joon asked her to be his girlfriend."

"I remember him being so nervous to ask her out, spamming the group chat to let us know he was gonna do it," Jungkook chuckles.

"They make a beautiful couple," you muse quietly, looking over at Namjoon and Mai at the head table, Namjoon looking at his wife with stars in his eyes. It's the same look the man to your left gives you when you're not paying attention.

"They're gonna have the best sex on their honeymoon," Taehyung mutters, stuffing a huge wedge of roasted potato into his mouth.

"Language, Tae," Jisoo chides, trying to cover Dohyun and Moonbin's ears, even though the ten-year-old and seven-year-old have already heard and are now snickering amongst themselves.

"Honeymoon sex is the best sex," Seokjin grins smugly before taking a sip of his champagne, earning a swat from his wife.

"That's enough out of you," Jisoo grumbles, shaking her head.

"What?! It's true!" Seokjin chuckles, resting his arm over the back of her chair. "How do you think we made this little guy," he grins, reaching around her back to ruffle Dohyun's hair, earning a "Gross, dad!" from their eldest son.

"Where do you think we'll have our honeymoon?" Taehyung asks Jihyo. Normally, a woman would tell him he's crazy for making a joke like that after barely two months of flirty texts and a drunk hookup on the night they met. Jihyo, however, falls right into step alongside him.

"Maybe Italy. They have nice beaches," she smiles.

"I guess I should start practicing my Italian. All I know is ciao and spaghetti."

"Wow, you're an educator?" Seokjin scoffs.

"Hey, I teach English Lit, not Italian," he shrugs.

Jihyo laughs, making a comment about getting him into a speedo on an Italian beach, to which Taehyung responds with a joke about being The Rock's body double in Baywatch, earning a cackle from Seokjin.

"You're cute," Jihyo leans in to whisper, a smile breaking out on Taehyung's face.

"You're cute," he grins.

You watch from across the table as the two throw flirty words back and forth, clearly enjoying whatever it is the two of them have going on. They seem to pair well together. She laughs at his jokes, like, actually laughs. He seems to like making her laugh, cracking jokes just to see her reaction. It's sweet.

Dessert is served and speeches follow shortly after, some friends and family members saying a few heartfelt words. Mai's maid of honour, her sister, gives a speech about having an amazing older sister to look up to, and her father makes everyone tear up with his speech about letting go of his daughter and trusting another man to love and care for her. As the best man, Seokjin gives a particularly moving speech about watching his best friend, Namjoon, fall in love, pulling a few awww's from the guests. You hear a soft sniffle coming from your left, so you glance over at Jungkook to find him wiping his eye with his thumb, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Are you crying?" you whisper, forcing down a smile.

"No, I just...the flowers are irritating my allergies," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

You smile, finding it hard to resist leaning over to plant a kiss to his pouty lips. If it weren't for all these people, you probably would, but you can't risk letting everyone in on the feelings you harbour for him. Still, the risk of being caught doesn't stop you from reaching out for his hand under the table and absentmindedly playing with his fingers until they end up intertwined with yours.

Once the speeches are over, the live band starts back up, soft jazz music filling the marquee. A few guests even make their way onto the dance floor with their significant others while Namjoon and Mai start making their rounds to talk to their friends and family members. Jungkook gets up from his seat, taking the opportunity to stretch his legs a bit.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he whispers. "I'll be right back, okay?"

You nod and watch as he walks off, occasionally greeting a few of Namjoon's relatives on the way to the bathroom. He seems to have a real way with people, Namjoon's grandmother greeting him like he's her own grandson. It's a strange feeling to see how people naturally gravitate towards him. He's charismatic in a soft-spoken, gentle kind of way. He's able to engage in conversation about basically anything. Dohyun and Moonbin call him Uncle Jungkook, the cool uncle who buys them Lego's and lets them take his cute dog on walks. He's kind, and polite, and he cries at weddings, and he radiates love. It's practically impossible not to love him, so you feel justified in your feelings when you see just how loved he is by everyone else around him.

Some of his friends make their way outside to get some fresh air, some going to get champagne at the bar area, while Jihyo gets spun around by Taehyung on the dance floor. Mai spots you sitting alone, so she makes her way over, trying not to mess up her dress when she sits down next to you.

"Hey, pretty lady," she smiles, looking even more radiant up close. "You having fun?"

"I am," you murmur, a soft smile gracing your face. "You make a beautiful bride, Mai."

Mai waves you off, playfully rolling her eyes. "Please, I cried all my makeup off."

"I think Namjoon might have cried more than you, so you're good," you tease.

She throws her head back in laughter, glancing over at her husband who seems to be having a heartfelt conversation with a few of his aunties. "Isn't it insane? I'm married to that guy."

You feel a pit start to grow in your stomach, but you smile and nod, and you make conversation to drown out the little voice in your head taunting you.

'It's all your own fault that you're not married.'

'Sunghoon was right, you prioritised your job and drove him away.'

'Jungkook won't want you when he realizes how much baggage you carry.'

"So," Mai lightly nudges your arm, pulling you out of your daze. "Where's your guy?"

The mention of Jungkook seems to soothe you. A smile threatens to break out across your face at her referring to him as your guy. Is he your guy? You want to deny it, but instead you indulge in the giddy feeling for a bit longer.

"He went to the bathroom. He should be back anytime now."

"What do you say, are you two next in line?" she teases, holding up her ring finger with a smirk on her face.

Please, as if you'd ever allow yourself to get as far as that again.

"Don't start that," you scoff, giving her a pointed look.

"Hey, I'm just saying. I saw the two of you earlier during dinner. He was practically drooling over you while you weren't looking."

"He was not."

"How long are we gonna keep doing this?" She chuckles, rolling her eyes. "You say you're just friends, then I say you're crazy because you're obviously-"

"We're obviously just two adults who get along," you shrug, feigning ignorance.

Mai watches the way you look down at your lap to avoid her eyes. She knows it's because you don't believe your own words, and she can see you clearly have more layers hiding beneath the surface.

"Look," she sighs, her tone turning softer. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I really like you and I think we're building a real friendship...and I can tell you might have some things holding you back from being honest with yourself."

You glance over at her, feeling naked under her gaze. She can see right through you, and you hate it. You hate that you can't run away from your baggage forever. You hate how right she is.

"___, I may not know everything and I don't mean to overstep, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong...but I see the way you look at each other. Friends don't look at or treat one another the way you do."

You can't say that she's wrong, so you don't say anything at all. You don't know how to say what you really feel. You don't know how to explain that you're so scared of getting hurt, so you don't allow yourself to indulge in the things that could end up hurting you. You want to be honest and shout out loud that you love him, that you want to be loved by him, but you find that it's easier to love him from a distance than to risk getting your heart broken again.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped," she murmurs softly, offering you an apologetic smile.

You know she means well, and she hasn't said anything that isn't true. "No, no, it's, uhm...it's okay, Mai."

She excuses herself when Namjoon calls her over to join the conversation he's having with her parents, not leaving without a hug. She leans down and wraps her arms around your shoulders, whispering a soft, "Please, give him a chance," before walking off to join her husband.

You watch with a smile as Jihyo and Taehyung dance to an upbeat jazz song. He dips her as a grand finale, the song coming to an end with a saxophone and drum harmony. The band prepares for the next song as a female singer steps up to the mic, the opening melody of 'A love that will last' by Renee Olstead floating through the marquee. You're so caught up in watching the couples fill the dance floor, you almost don't notice the soft tap on your shoulder and the whisper of a velvety voice in your ear.

"I think you owe me a dance, Professor."

You glance up at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your ears. His hand is outstretched, palm up, waiting for yours.

"Jungkook," you breathe out a soft chuckle, as if he's crazy for even suggesting it.

"C'mon," he whispers, subtly cocking his head to the side. "One dance."

Your heart lurches at the thought of potentially embarrassing yourself. You haven't slow danced since your prom night, and even then, it was more of an awkward shuffle than anything remotely graceful, but the way he's looking at you has you nodding in resignation. "Okay...one dance..."

You hesitate for only a second before slipping your fingers into his. His grip is gentle, leading you to the dance floor with practiced ease. The music drifts through the marquee, a romantic melody wrapping around the two of you like a secret. His other hand finds the small of your back, and suddenly, you're closer than you expected. Jungkook sways with you, his movements effortless, like he's done this a million times in his head. His thumb brushes the back of your hand absentmindedly, a nervous habit or maybe something more. His gaze flickers down to you, dark eyes unreadable, but there's something tender about the way he looks at you, like you're more than just a habit he can't break, more than a friend. It's not the first time he's held you, not even the most intimate touch you've shared, but something about this moment feels so different.

"You really do look beautiful tonight," he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

A warmth creeps up your spine. "You clean up pretty good yourself."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Instead, there's something wistful in the way he looks at you, something unsaid lingering between you.

You let your head rest lightly against his chest, just for a moment, just long enough to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of his suit. You breathe in his cologne, warm and familiar, a reminder of nights tangled in sheets and whispered confessions that never quite crossed the line.

Jungkook holds you like he's afraid to let go, like if he does, you'll slip through his fingers completely. There's a weight in his chest, a truth sitting heavy on his tongue, but he swallows it down.

"I remember dancing with you at that Christmas party four years ago," you muse, your voice soft, barely above a whisper.

His face breaks out into a grin. "God, we were so drunk that night."

The night everything came to be.

You breathe out a quiet chuckle before your face melts into something softer. "It didn't feel like this though."

Jungkook chuckles, a quiet, breathy sound against your ear. "No?"

You shake your head. "This is different. Feels like it actually…means something."

It slips out before you can stop it, and for a split second, neither of you move. The words hang between you. You feel Jungkook's hold tighten, just a fraction, before he exhales slowly.

"What if it always has?"

Your heart stutters.

Jungkook doesn't look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, like he's scared of what he might find in your eyes. But his hand at your waist lingers, his fingers flexing like he wants to pull you even closer, like he wants you to understand something he can't bring himself to say out loud.

You don't know how to respond, so you don't. Not yet. Instead, you let the music carry you, let yourself melt into the warmth of his embrace.

Your lack of reciprocation doesn't deter him. If anything, he holds you closer, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress like he's memorizing the way it feels to hold you like this. Then he leans down, just enough that his lips brush your temple in the lightest of touches. He lingers for a second too long. A second that tells you everything his words can't.

And then, just like that, the song ends.

Jungkook steps back, forcing a small smile. "I should, uh, get us some drinks," he mutters, reluctantly putting space between you.

You nod, even though something inside you screams for him to stay, because for the first time, you realize that maybe you aren't the only one who's been pretending this whole time. Well, maybe he hasn't been pretending. Maybe you've just been too afraid to look a little closer, dig a little deeper. If you had, you would've noticed how brightly the truth shines in his big brown eyes.

You stand in the middle of the dance floor and watch as he walks off in the direction of the bar, disappearing into the sea of guests. You shouldn't be disappointed. You keep him at arm's length for a reason, yet that reason is starting to seem a bit hazy at the moment.

While he goes to get you some champagne and a water for himself—because he is ever the responsible driver—you take a moment to yourself, silently exiting the marquee to get some fresh air in a more secluded spot outside. The sky is illuminated by stars and twinkling lights draped throughout the garden outside, the music faintly drifting through the air in the background.

The night air is crisp against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the crowded reception. You inhale deeply, letting the coolness settle in your lungs, trying to still the racing thoughts in your head. The way Jungkook held you, the way his voice sounded, gentle and sincere.

You shake your head to clear it. This isn't new. You and Jungkook have always blurred the lines, dancing on the edge of something deeper without ever taking the plunge. He's your secret, your safe indulgence. But tonight...it's different.

You exhale, absentmindedly rubbing your hands over your arms as if that will do anything to settle the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. He said he'd get you a drink, and you wonder what's taking him so long. Maybe he got caught up in conversation with one of his friends or Namjoon's relatives, or maybe he's-

Your thoughts are cut off when you turn around and take a quick glance toward the marquee entrance, your stomach twisting. Jungkook stands near the bar, a glass of water in one hand, a flute of champagne in the other. But he's not alone.

Hana.

She leans in just a little too close, flashing that perfectly calculated smile of hers, the kind that makes your skin crawl. Her manicured fingers brush against his forearm as she laughs at something he said, which probably wasn't funny enough to warrant such a boisterous laugh.

You try to convince yourself it doesn't mean anything, that it's just Jungkook being Jungkook—too polite, too non-confrontational, too oblivious to the way women like Hana take an inch and twist it into a mile. But the longer you watch, the harder it gets to ignore the way she leans into him, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she bats her lashes up at him. And the worst part is that he doesn't immediately pull away.

He doesn't flirt back. Surely not. But he doesn't shut her down either.

A bitter taste rises in your throat.

Maybe this is your fault. Maybe this is what happens when you pretend things don't matter when they do. When you are so incessant on keeping things casual, making sure nothing changes, that you take too long to acknowledge the truth staring right in your face.

Jungkook does mean something to you.

The idea of someone else wanting him makes something twist inside you, something hot and possessive and terrifyingly raw. You don’t even realize your fingers have curled into fists at your sides until Jungkook suddenly glances up, eyes sweeping the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

You.

The moment his gaze finds yours, something shifts. His expression softens, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly. Then, almost instinctively, he takes a step back from Hana, just enough to put space between them, to make his intentions clear.

Hana notices too. Her smile tightens as she follows his line of sight, her eyes narrowing when she spots you standing there. For a second, her lips part like she's about to say something, but Jungkook is already moving, leaving her behind without a second thought, heading straight for you.

Jungkook stops in front of you, holding out the flute of champagne with a faint smile. His eyes flicker over your face, searching, as if he can sense the storm brewing beneath your carefully crafted exterior.

"Thought I lost you for a second."

You force a small, hollow smile. "Well...you found me."

He studies you, eyes flickering across your face like he can see right through you. Maybe he can. So, you look away, pretending to sip your champagne even though your stomach is twisted in knots.

"Everything okay?" His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the noise in your head with ease.

You should say yes. Should flash him a smile, play it off like nothing's wrong, but the sight of Hana's hand on his arm is still burned into your mind, tangled up with memories you thought you buried long ago.

This isn't about Hana or Jungkook. It's about a different man who swore he loved you, who got down on one knee and asked you to spend forever with him, only to turn around and throw it all away.

Seven years.

You spent seven years with someone who once made you feel like the center of his world, until you weren't.

"You never made time for me."

Sunghoon's words had cut deeper than the betrayal itself, because in the end, he hadn't just broken your heart, he'd made you feel like it was your fault. Like if you had just been more for him, he wouldn't have strayed.

That is why you promised yourself that what you have with Jungkook is nothing more than convenience, that it doesn't matter if he ever falls for someone else, someone with fewer walls, someone who isn't afraid to love him the way he deserves. But standing here now, heart hammering in your chest as he watches you with quiet concern, you know with certainty that you've already broken that promise.

Jungkook stands before you, watching you with a quiet intensity. You know he's not Sunghoon, but that doesn't make it less terrifying.

You force a smile. "Yeah. Just needed some air, that's all."

Jungkook doesn't look convinced. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"

You should deflect, should change the subject, but instead, the words slip out before you can stop them. "She likes you, you know."

Jungkook blinks, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh?"

You huff a quiet, humorless laugh, tilting your glass slightly in the direction Hana had been standing. "Hana."

Jungkook follows your gaze, then shakes his head with a scoff. "Hana likes attention."

You hum, taking a sip of champagne, but the uneasy feeling lingers. Not because you think he'd entertain her, but because you know there's nothing you can do if he ever decides to go for her instead. He's not your boyfriend. You made sure of that all by yourself.

"___, I hope you know that I'm not interested in her."

You weren't looking for reassurance, not really, but hearing him say it so plainly sends a warmth through your chest that you refuse to dwell on for too long.

You shrug, feigning indifference. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jungkook."

Jungkook scoffs, as if he expected the indifference. "Maybe not," he murmurs, looking over at you. "But I want to."

You let out a slow breath, trying to shake the weight of the moment, the way his words settle deep in your chest. When you glance at Jungkook, he's watching you, not with pity or expectation, just there, a steady presence.

So, you do what you always do when things get too real. You deflect.

"I don't know," you hum, tilting your head, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. "You seemed pretty into that conversation. Maybe I should let you get back to it."

Jungkook groans, tipping his head back dramatically. "Oh my God, stop."

You grin up at him. "What? I'm just saying, I don't wanna stand in the way."

"Please," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing to stand in the way of."

You hum, swirling the champagne in your glass. "I don't know, Jungkook. Hana's got great hair. Seems like a solid choice."

"You have great hair."

"She's pretty," you mutter, looking back at the marquee in the distance.

Jungkook scoffs. "You're gorgeous. Now what?"

You stare at him for a second, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. He's too good at this, throwing you off, slipping in little compliments like they mean nothing. But they mean everything and he knows it.

"You're so annoying," you murmur, taking a sip of your champagne.

Jungkook grins, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. "And yet, you keep me around."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "Unfortunately."

He chuckles, then nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. "C'mon, ___, admit it. You'd be lost without me."

You raise a brow. "Lost?"

"Hopeless," he teases with a shrug. "Completely, utterly hopeless."

You huff, feigning exasperation. "I survived just fine before you, y'know."

His expression softens, just a little.

"I know," he murmurs, quieter this time. "But I like it better this way."

Your fingers tighten around your glass, heart stuttering in your chest, because damn it, so do you.

A cool breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Jungkook notices immediately. Of course he does. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his movements fluid, effortless, like it's second nature to him.

You glance up at him with wide eyes. "Aren't you going to get cold?"

"I'll survive," he shrugs, completely unfazed.

You pull the jacket tighter around yourself, the warmth of it sinking into your skin, carrying his signature scent. "You didn't have to do that."

Jungkook gives you a look. "You know I was never going to let you stand out here freezing."

Your lips twitch. "A gentleman, huh?"

"What, you didn't think I had it in me?"

"I mean… I have seen you trip over your own feet in the hallway at work."

Jungkook groans, biting back a smile. "Okay, first of all, that was years ago. Second of all, that floor was slippery, the janitor just mopped it."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Sure it was."

Jungkook lets out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grin, feeling lighter than you have all night. Maybe it's the warmth of his jacket, or the teasing glint in his eyes, or just the way that it's always been easy with him.

After a beat, Jungkook nudges your arm lightly. "You do look good in my jacket, though."

The comment is casual, offhanded, but there's something in his tone, something softer beneath the teasing that makes your stomach flip.

"Yeah?"

Jungkook hums, taking another sip of his water.

Your heart stumbles, but you roll your eyes, playing it cool. "Careful, Jeon. You almost sound like you're flirting with me."

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"Oh shush," you scoff, forcing down a smile.

The air feels different. The atmosphere is lighter, but charged with something else, something neither of you wants to name. Jungkook watches you, his gaze steady, thoughtful, like he's debating something in his head.

Another breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you pull his jacket tighter around yourself. The movement makes him smile, just a little, like he finds it endearing. Then, without thinking, he reaches out. It's a small gesture, his fingers gently tugging at the lapel of his jacket, adjusting it over your shoulder, as if to make sure you're really warm enough. But the way he does it, the slow, deliberate movement, the way his fingers brush against your collarbone, sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

You glance up at him, your breath hitching. He's closer than you had realized. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes frame his dark eyes, the soft curve of his lips, the intensity in his gaze. Before you can say something about it, Jungkook moves.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Giving you everything opportunity to pull away.

He lifts a hand, fingers ghosting along your jaw, barely there, like he's afraid to break the moment. His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second, and your breath catches in your throat.

And then he kisses you.

It's not urgent or demanding. It's careful. Considerate. Barely more than a brush of lips. It's a question, rather than a statement.

And God help you—you answer.

You let yourself sink into the feeling, let yourself feel the warmth of his lips, the steadiness of his hand on your cheek, the way everything else fades away when his lips touch yours.

It's over before you can even process it, before your mind can catch up with your heart. The night air feels cooler against your heated skin, and when you open your eyes, Jungkook is already watching you. His expression is unreadable, his breathing just the slightest bit uneven.

You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. "What was that for?"

"I don't know," he murmurs. "Felt like the right thing to do."

It felt quite right to you too.

The rest of the evening passes in a haze of laughter and music. You make it back inside just in time for the bouquet toss, though, to your relief, you don't catch it. Taehyung looks mildly disappointed, teasing you about how he was hoping for some 'divine intervention' before Jihyo drags him away to dance.

Eventually, the celebration winds down, guests filtering out into the night. You find yourself outside again, rubbing your arms against the chill before Jungkook appears beside you, keys in hand.

"Ready to go home?" he asks, his voice low, warm.

You nod, walking back to the car.

The drive home is quiet but comfortable. Jungkook keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping absentmindedly. The streetlights cast golden streaks across his face, and every so often, you catch him glancing at you, like he wants to say something but keeps deciding against it.

When he pulls up in front of your apartment building, he shuts the engine off and looks over at you. It's silent, neither one of you making a move.

You hesitate for a second before reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride-"

"Do you want me to walk you up?"

You meet his gaze, your heart racing. The weight of everything that happened tonight lingers between the two of you, something unspoken pressing at the edges.

"Yeah," you murmur. "I'd like that."

The elevator ride up is quiet, your pulse quickening with every passing second. When you reach your door, you fumble briefly with your keys before finally pushing it open, stepping inside. "You wanna come in for a bit?"

Jungkook leans against the doorframe, watching you. And then, after a beat, he nods and steps inside.

And just like that, you're alone together, away from the noise, away from the watchful eyes of friends and wedding guests, away from every excuse you could possibly use to avoid this moment.

You go to check on Miso, giving her some water and a treat, gently stroking her fur. She welcomes you home with a sleepy 'meow' before laying back down on her little bed in the corner of the living room. Jungkook stands in your dimly lit living room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, watching you tend to Miso with an expression you can't quite decipher. There's something softer in his gaze, something almost reverent.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your heart is pounding. "Do you want something to drink?"

He shakes his head, lips tilting into a faint smirk. "No." He steps closer, gaze flickering over your face, then down to where his suit jacket hangs off your shoulders. "You gonna keep that?"

You clutch at the lapels instinctively. "I might."

His smirk widens. "Looks good on you."

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it's him, maybe it's you. All you know is that one second, there's space between you, and the next, he's cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, his lips on yours in a slow, soft kiss. It's not driven by impulse or the heat of the moment, and when Jungkook sighs against your lips, and pulls your waist closer to him, you have to break the kiss to catch your breath and steady your heartbeat.

"Do you...wanna help me out of this dress?" Your voice is almost too quiet to hear, but the smile on his face lets you know he heard you.

"It would be my pleasure," he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

It's as if time slows down as you lead him to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. The dim glow from the city outside casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth in his dark eyes. And then, without another word, he leans in and kisses your lips. His hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just how he wants it.

You sigh against his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close.

His lips move down, trailing soft kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shiver, and he feels it, his smile evident against your skin.

"Still cold?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck.

You shake your head. "No."

Jungkook chuckles, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands slide down, fingertips brushing along the suit jacket around your shoulders. "Can I?"

You nod, letting him remove the jacket before his fingers find the zipper of your dress, dragging it down excruciatingly slowly. The fabric loosens, slipping down your frame, pooling at your feet in a whisper of silk.

He exhales sharply, eyes darkening as he drinks you in, your body wrapped in nothing but scraps of lace.

"God," he breathes out, subtly shaking his head. "You're..."

You look up at him with a soft smile. "I'm…?"

Jungkook chuckles, but it's low, almost breathless. "You know what you are."

"Say it anyway," you whisper.

His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "So...so beautiful."

And then he kisses you again.

It's slow, deliberate, like he's savoring every second, every soft sigh that escapes you. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you shiver at the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

Your fingers loosen his bow tie, then move onto the buttons of his dress shirt, opening them one by one. Jungkook watches you through hooded eyes, sighing as your lips move over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. You push his shirt off shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, your lips moving down to his chest.

He gently slides his fingers into your hair and tilts your head back, kissing you once more. He sighs against your lips, his hands sliding down your sides to rest at your waist, his thumbs drawing slow circles against your skin. The feeling is intoxicating, he is intoxicating. The warmth of his body, the weight of his hands, the way he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

You melt into him, your fingers splaying over his bare chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His lips move against yours in a way that makes your head spin, slow and deep and hypnotic.

Jungkook keeps his lips attached to yours as he leads you backwards towards your bed, gently laying you down on the mattress, his hands holding him up to hover over you. He trails kisses down the side of your neck, sucking on a few sensitive spots before reaching behind you, his hands sliding over the fabric of your bra.

"Can I?"

You nod, cupping his cheeks to pull him back in, needing him the same way you need air to breathe.

He unclasps your bra and slowly slides the lace down your shoulders, tossing it somewhere in your room for you to find tomorrow. He trails his kisses down to your collarbones and chest, his lips grazing the skin of your breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, more to himself than to you.

You sigh, your fingers sliding into his hair as he swirls his tongue around a nipple, wrapping his lips around it to suck. He does the same thing to the other nipple, his lips pressing tender kisses to your breasts.

He kisses down your stomach, smiling against your skin as you spread your legs for him, your sighs growing needier.

He lets his fingers trail up your inner thighs, making their way up to your hips, pulling the soft lace away from your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours, his fingers toying with the sides of your panties.

"Can I take these off?" he asks softly, pressing a gentle kiss right above the waistband, smiling as you whimper a breathy 'yes'.

He sits up and hooks a finger into either side of your panties, slowly dragging the fabric down your legs. His gaze is soft and appreciative as he takes in the sight of you bare and spread out for him.

His eyes move from your core to your face, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips as he looks into your eyes. He slowly trails a hand up your inner thigh, his fingers trailing through your wet folds. "God, you're so pretty," he sighs, his cock twitching in his pants.

You let out a soft gasp as he leans down to press a few feather-light kisses to your folds, the streetlights shining through the blinds, reflecting in his brown eyes.

He presses a kiss to your clit, his tongue peeking out to get a taste, and it's as if a switch goes off in his brain, his hands gripping your thighs to hold them open as his tongue traces along your pussy.

You moan, your back arching off the bed as he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, swirling his tongue to turn you into a moaning mess. You reach down to grab hold of his hair, not to tug, just to ground yourself. Your legs spread wider as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently before going back to long, determined licks.

"That feels...so good," you breathe out, glancing down at him to find his eyes on you, looking at you like he wants to make the most of this moment, the passion evident in his gaze.

He lets out a soft moan against you, his tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm to pleasure you. He can't get enough of your taste, looking like he's in a state of ecstasy. He can feel you trembling beneath his hands, your body responding to every lick and nibble.

He worships you with his mouth, taking his time, his tongue moving in circles, his hands holding you in place against his mouth. He can’t keep himself from grinding against the bed, feeling like he might explode from his pent up desire.

"Just like that," you moan, your body writhing beneath him, your back arching. "D-Don't stop..."

He can practically feel how close you are to your climax and it only spurs him on. His tongue laps through your folds before focusing solely on your clit, his fingers digging into your skin as he holds your thighs over his shoulders, preventing you from pulling away.

You hold his head in place, your muscles trembling, your moans growing louder as you get closer to the edge.

You gasp, your walls contracting repeatedly, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure starts to consume you whole. "'m gonna cum...!"

He keeps his pace, pushing your knees up to your chest to give him better access.

In a matter of seconds, your muscles completely tense up as you cum on his tongue, your moans bouncing off of your bedroom walls. He continues to slowly lick and kiss your clit until you can't take anymore.

His lips trail a slow path up your body, leaving a searing warmth in their wake. His breath is hot against your collarbone, his nose brushing against the side of your jaw before finally capturing your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"You taste like heaven," he whispers against your lips.

A bashful smile finds its way onto your face, your cheeks flushed. Your breath is still shaky, your body thrumming with heat as he kisses you. Your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer, needing more. You can still feel the remnants of your high, but it's not enough.

Your hands trail down his body to start unbuttoning his pants. "Let me return the favour," you whisper in his ear, slowly pulling down his zipper.

He groans as your hand slides into the front of his boxers, gently massaging his cock, his body shuddering. His eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of your hand on him, his brain short-circuiting.

Jungkook catches your wrist before you can go any further. His grip is gentle, his dark eyes locking onto yours with something deep and unspoken. He shakes his head, a small, almost nervous smile playing at his lips.

"Not tonight."

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Why not?"

Jungkook exhales slowly, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist. His gaze softens even more, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter, almost shy.

"Because I want to make love to you, ___."

Your breath catches in your chest. He wants to make love. The two of you have never done that before. You've never allowed it. You should correct him. You should remind him of the rules, of the boundaries you set.

But when he looks at you like that, with his heart in his eyes, the words die in your throat.

Your voice is a fragile whisper, your heart beating in your ears. "Okay."

He drags the tip of his nose along your cheek, lips brushing over your skin. "Are you sure?"

You nod, breathless.

"Need to hear you say it, baby."

The endearment sends heat through your body.

"I'm sure."

He kisses your lips for the hundredth time, pouring all of his feelings into you, like he's been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You help him out of his pants and boxers, letting out a soft giggle when his foot almost gets caught in the pant leg, his body moving before his brain can process what's happening.

He sits back to get a full view of your body laid out for him, his eyes trailing from your face, down to your breasts, and lastly, your sopping pussy. He groans as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving it some slow strokes, his fist squeezing harshly. The tip has already started leaking a pearl of precum, the shaft already fully erect.

He hovers over you, his lips curling against your skin as he reaches down, guiding the head to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delicious way.

Sinking into you feels like coming home.

Jungkook's face twists in pleasure, his breath ragged, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He holds himself up on his forearm while his free hand slides down your body to hook your leg around his hip.

He groans, his forehead falling to your shoulder. "Fuck, you feel so good," he breathes.

You slide your hands around him to hold onto his back, pulling him closer, needing him as close as possible.

The sound of your moans send shivers down his spine. He moves slowly, deeply, his hips rolling into your with deliberate, passionate strokes, sending fire up your spine. His fingers dig into the skin of your thigh, letting out a breathless whimper as he sinks in as deep as he can possibly go.

Your breath stutters, your fingers clutching at his back, feeling his muscles contract under his skin.

Jungkook kisses the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips rolling at a practiced, steady pace. "You take me so well, baby...this pussy feels so good wrapped around me..." His voice is low, breathy. "You're so fucking perfect."

Your nails dig into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut as your emotions start welling up, a harsh lump growing in your throat.

Jungkook lifts his head, cupping your face, his eyes dark and tender as they search yours. "Look at me, ___."

You do, and it almost steals the air from your lungs, his eyes boring into yours, showing you all the feelings he's harboured for you since the day he met you.

Your hands slide up to cup his jaw, pulling his face closer. "Jungkook…"

"I know, baby," he whispers, pressing soft, tender pecks to your lips, his hips rolling with a fierce intensity. "I've got you. Always."

He presses his lips to your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead. "You're everything, ___."

The lump in your throat grows heavier, but you force it down, willing yourself not to break down completely. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and allow yourself to get lost in him, giving yourself over to him in a way you never have before.

You want to tell him you love him.

Those three words sit heavily on your tongue, but you can't get yourself to say them. Not now, when your emotions are this high, when you're still trembling beneath him.

It's too real, and if it's real, it has the power to ruin you.

You show him with your body instead of your words, looking up into his eyes, pulling him impossibly close. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips seeking his in a slow, lingering kiss. You pour everything into it, every unspoken word, every confession you long to make.

Jungkook kisses you back just as deeply, his hands framing your face, his touch gentle, like he already knows. Like he's willing to wait.

His thrusts grow sloppier as the pleasure builds. Your hands grip his shoulders, your chest heaving, every thrust of his hips pushing you closer to cumming. His cock throbs inside you, but he's determined to make you cum before he does.

"Come on," Jungkook whispers against your lips, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me, baby. You can do it. I'm...I'm right here."

His words send a shiver down your spine, feeling the familiar coil start to tighten in your stomach.

"I...I can't..." you gasp, the intensity of it feeling overwhelming.

"Yes, you can, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let it happen. I've got you, baby, I promise."

The pressure inside you finally bursts, and you're lost in the feeling of it, consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of it all. With a soft, breathless cry, your body finally gives in, your climax surging through you in waves, your entire body trembling as you cling to him.

Jungkook isn't far behind. He groans low in his chest, his cum painting your walls in thick white ropes, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he rides out his high.

He presses a soft kiss to your skin, his breath shallow. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs against your neck, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace.

Your body shakes from the aftermath, your heart pounding in your chest, but for the first time in a long time, you don't feel empty. You don't feel alone. You just feel him all around you; all consuming.

He reluctantly parts from you to freshen up in the bathroom, coming back with a warm, wet washcloth to clean you off, making sure you're fully taken care of before making his way back to bed.

The room grows quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the sound of your slowed, steady breathing. The warmth of Jungkook's body lingers between your sheets, his arm draped across your waist as he holds you close, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your stomach.

Neither of you speaks for a while, simply existing in the comfort of each other's presence. Your legs are tangled beneath the sheets, your bare skin still pressed together, and there's an intimacy in it that feels deeper than anything words could convey.

Jungkook sighs, shifting slightly to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder. "Are you okay?" His voice is softer now, like he's afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing hangs between you.

You nod against the pillow, your fingers grazing along the length of his arm. "I'm okay."

He hums in contentment, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing against your temple. "Good."

You should probably say more, clarify what tonight was, what it meant, but you can't bring yourself to speak. You simply close your eyes and let yourself melt into his warmth as he spoons you.

Jungkook shifts, resting his chin atop your head, his voice thick with sleep when he murmurs, "Stay here."

You scoff faintly. "I live here."

He chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. "You know what I mean."

Your fingers find his, lacing together beneath the sheets, and as sleep starts to pull you under, you feel the softest brush of his lips against your hair.

"Goodnight, baby..."

Before you can think twice about how un-casual all of this is, before you can let yourself spiral, you whisper back, "Goodnight, Jungkook."

You wake up tangled in soft sheets and him, his arm draped over your waist, his breath steady against the nape of your neck. The early light filters through your window, casting a golden glow over the room.

For a while, you don't move. You just listen to the birds chirping outside and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then, as if sensing you're awake, Jungkook stirs. His arm tightens around you, his lips brushing lazily against your bare shoulder.

"Morning," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

You smile, stretching your limbs. "Morning."

He hums, nuzzling into your skin, his voice muffled. "What time is it?"

You glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand. "Almost nine."

Jungkook groans dramatically, tightening his hold on you. "Too early."

You laugh, trying—and failing—to wiggle away. "It's not that early."

"It is." His grip loosens just enough for you to turn and face him. His hair is a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he looks at you like you're the most interesting thing in the world.

"You're staring," you point out, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook smiles sleepily. "Can you blame me?"

Your face heats, and you roll your eyes. "Shut up."

He grins, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Never."

The warmth between you lingers as you stay in bed a little longer, exchanging lazy kisses, stealing moments that feel dangerously intimate. It's only when your stomach growls loudly that Jungkook finally pulls away, letting out a huff of laughter.

"Is that your way of asking for breakfast in bed?" he teases.

"I wish," you mumble. "Unfortunately, my fridge is basically empty. I was supposed to go grocery shopping today."

Jungkook sits up, stretching his arms over his head before leaning back on his hands, the sheets pooling around his waist. "Then let's go grocery shopping."

You blink up at him. "You want to come with me to the grocery store?"

"Of course," he shrugs, grinning. "What kind of man would I be if I let you carry all those bags by yourself?"

Is going grocery shopping something you should do together if you want to maintain anything remnants of boundaries? Probably not.

"What would you even wear? A tux?" you chuckle.

"I may or may not have a change of clothes in my trunk," he mumbles, giving you an almost guilty grin. "Y'know, just in case I end up spending the night at your place."

Oh well.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Fine. But you're driving."

The grocery store is surprisingly busy for a late Sunday morning, but Jungkook keeps your mood up. You watch, amused, as he inspects the produce with an intensity that makes it seem like he's solving a crime. He picks up a bell pepper and turns it over in his hands, then glances over at you.

"This is a good one," he declares.

You snort. "Oh, are you an expert?"

Jungkook nods solemnly. "Of course. I have a very refined eye for vegetables."

You shake your head, taking the pepper from him and tossing it into the cart. "Okay, vegetable connoisseur. What about fruit?"

His expression turns serious. "The fruit requires even greater precision." He steps toward the apples, picking one up and holding it to the light like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. "And? What's the verdict?"

He nods once. "Acceptable."

You chuckle as you grab a few more apples and place them in a bag. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously helpful you mean,” he corrects, grinning.

It's easy, this whole thing. You browse the aisles while be pushes the cart, occasionally sneaking snacks into it when you're not looking. You catch him dropping a bag of chips in and you raise an eyebrow.

"I need those?"

"Absolutely," he nods, not missing a beat.

You roll your eyes but let him put the bag in the cart. It's for him, but you'll buy it as a way to have something that belongs to him in your apartment.

"Shit, I forgot to get my cereal," you sigh, already on the other side of the store. "Can you go and get it, please? It's in aisle six."

"Sure," he nods, handing you the cart.

"Thank you," you smile, watching him walk off.

You're still smiling when you turn the corner, your heart light from the previous few hours with Jungkook. Then a voice pulls you out of your little love bubble.

"Oh my god, ___?"

You barely have time to react before you're being pulled into a hug, the nostalgic scent of her floral perfume washing over you.

"Sian?" you gasp in surprise, pulling back to get a better look at your old high school friend.

"It's been forever!" she exclaims, her eyes wide as she takes you in. "I almost didn't recognize you, it's been so long. Look at you! You look good!”

You laugh, nodding along. "I could say the same about you. How have you been?"

"I'm doing well," she smiles, resting her hand on her hip. "I recently landed this great job at a new law firm. What about you?"

"I'm a professor at Yonsei University. I teach political science."

"I guess we're really grown ups now," she laughs.

You chuckle along, feeling the truth in her words. "How are things with Minho?"

Her smile falters for a fraction of a second, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, Minho and I broke up. Turns out he's just like every other guy," she scoffs, "Couldn't keep it in his pants."

Your stomach twists. "Oh, Sian....I'm so sorry."

She sighs, crossing her arms. "Don't be. Honestly, I should've seen it coming. I guess all men are the same in the end, aren't they?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You don't know what to say, so you offer a small, noncommittal hum.

Sian doesn't seem to notice your discomfort. She keeps going, rolling her eyes. "It's whatever. At least I found out before we got engaged. We were close to it but I guess I dodged a bullet."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Speaking of which, have you heard? Apparently Sunghoon got married a few months ago."

The words hit you like a slap to the face. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

Sian doesn't notice. She keeps talking, oblivious to the way your body has suddenly gone rigid.

"Yeah, crazy, right? I heard his wife is pregnant, too. Due in a few months, I think." She shakes her head. "Guess he finally got his act together. Good for them, I suppose."

Your fingers tighten around the shopping cart.

Your ex-fiancé, the man who cheated on you and then blamed you for it, is married. He has a wife. A baby on the way. And yet, here you are, still hesitating, still doubting.

He cheated on you. But he's faithful to her. Was it you? Were you the problem all along?

You force a small laugh at something Sian says, nodding absentmindedly, but your mind has already started spiraling.

Jungkook returns just as you wrap up your conversation, a box of your favourite cereal in hand. He gives Sian a polite nod before turning to you, grinning.

"Miss me?" he teases, but the moment he sees your face, his smile falters. "Hey...what's wrong?"

You shake your head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Nothing. Just caught up with an old friend."

Jungkook doesn't buy it. His gaze searches yours, his brows furrowing. "You sure? You seem-"

"I said it's nothing, Jungkook," you snap before you can stop yourself, feeling guilty almost instantly.

His lips press together, the hurt flickering across his face so quickly you almost miss it.

He doesn’t push. He never does. He just nods slowly, letting the silence settle between you like an invisible wall.

"We should go," you mutter softly, already turning the cart toward the checkout without looking back.

The drive home is silent.

Jungkook doesn't say anything, but you feel his eyes flicking over at you every so often, like he's waiting for you to speak. To tell him what's wrong.

You don't.

Your thoughts have started racing and they just won't stop. You think about your past, about the seven years you wasted on a man who made you believe you weren't enough for him to remain faithful. And now he has a wife. A baby on the way. A family.

And here you are, falling into the same pattern.

Falling for Jungkook.

He's not Sunghoon, you know that, but what happens when he gets tired of waiting for you to let him in? What happens when you eventually realize you can't give him what he deserves?

It would be easier to end it now.

Before either of you get hurt.

Before you lose yourself in him completely.

The silence stretches on when you get back to your apartment. Jungkook carefully sets the grocery bags on the counter, his movements slow and calculated. He glances at you, his brows knitting together in quiet concern, but he still doesn't push, not yet.

Instead, he tries a softer approach.

"Hey." His voice is gentle, coaxing. "Wanna help me put these away?"

You should. You should do something, say something, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your arms stay crossed over your chest, your body stiff, your mind in a haze.

Jungkook watches you for a moment before sighing lightly. "Alright then," he murmurs, unpacking the bags himself.

The tension is unbearable.

He packs your groceries away, waiting for you to speak. When the silence becomes too much for him, he takes the plunge.

Jungkook exhales slowly. "___."

Your stomach tightens at the sound of your name on his lips.

"Talk to me." His voice is gentle, patient. "Please."

"There's nothing to talk about." Your voice is flat.

Jungkook tilts his head, studying you carefully. "Really? Because you've been completely silent since we left the store, barely looked at me, haven't said a word." He pauses. "That doesn't seem like nothing to me."

You press your lips together, shifting on your feet. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Okay." He nods slowly. "Then tell me and maybe I can help-"

You sigh. "Jungkook, just drop it."

He pauses.

"I just..." He pauses, looking for the right words to say. "I can tell you're upset and...I don't like seeing you like this."

The weight of his concern presses down on your chest, suffocating. You can't do this right now.

"I said I'm fine." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.

Jungkook lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You always say that."

"Why do you even care so much?"

The words hit him like a slap.

Jungkook blinks at you, taken aback by your sudden hostility. But then, something shifts in his expression, his heart physically breaking in his chest. His hands clench at his sides as he exhales through his nose.

And then, in a voice so quiet it almost doesn't reach you—

"Because I love you."

Your heart stops. Your breath stutters. Your pulse pounds violently in your ears.

Jungkook swallows, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours, practicing laying his entire soul at your feet. His eyes are glossy, his voice thick. "I love you, ___."

It's not loud. Not dramatic. Just honest.

And it terrifies you.

Jungkook takes a step closer, his eyes burning into yours. "I have loved you for such a long time...and I don't care if you try to push me away, or if you pretend like this is just sex, or if you act like what we have isn't real.” His voice wavers slightly, but his gaze doesn't. "Because I know it is."

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs.

You want to believe him. But the ugly, gnawing voice in your head tells you it's only a matter of time before he realizes you're not enough.

"You don’t love me," you whisper, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "You think you do, but you don't."

His brows draw together, his face crumpling. "How can you say that?"

You swallow, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Because you don't even know me, Jungkook."

His face twists, letting out a bitter scoff. "That's bullshit."

"Is it?" You laugh, but it's hollow and humourless. "You only know the parts of me I let you see! The nice parts. The parts that don't scare you away." Your voice wavers. "But the rest? The ugly, damaged parts? You don't know those. That's the real me, Jungkook. You don't love her."

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls unevenly.

"Then let me. Let me know you...all of you. Let me love the good parts and the bad and everything in between. Let me love you when you're messy and broken, and on the days when you feel like you can't get out of bed. Fuck, I wanna be with you, ___. I want all of you, not just the good parts. I want the pointless fights and the makeup sex after. I want the grocery runs when we run out of your favourite cereal. I wanna drive to work in the same car and then come home and have dinner together. I wanna slow dance with you in the middle of the night in the kitchen with the refrigerator light shining over us. I wanna cuddle and hold your hand in public and tell everyone that you're my girlfriend, because for fuck's sake, ___, I love you."

He's almost breathless by the time he gets it all out.

"Please...give me the chance to love you...please."

His words leave you utterly and completely speechless. You want to allow yourself to be loved by him, but your brain won't allow you to. The thought of experiencing all of that with him and then having it inevitably ripped away is what stops you from telling him you love him too.

"Jungkook...I can't...."

"Why not?"

Because you're terrified. Because Sunghoon made the same promises and still broke them. Because you know that once Jungkook sees the worst of you, he'll leave and it'll hurt, probably worse than it did with Sunghoon.

"I just can't, okay?!" Your voice grows softer. "I can't. You'll regret it."

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "God, why won't you let yourself be loved?"

You've asked yourself that question about a million times before.

Your hands tremble at your sides, your eyes burning, your body screaming at you to run. Then you do the only thing you know how to. You push him away and hurt him before he can hurt you.

"This was never supposed to be anything more than sex," you whisper.

Jungkook stills.

"That's all this ever was, Jungkook."

Jungkook lets out a shaky scoff, but his voice cracks. "You don't mean that."

"I do." You force the words out, your voice shaking.

"Tell me you don't love me back." He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and your breath stutters at the sheer heartbreak in his eyes. "Tell me you feel nothing for me. That this," he gestures between you, "Was never more than just sex to you."

The words are on the tip of your tongue.

Tell him.

Make it easier for him to walk away.

But the truth is lodged so deep in your throat, it physically hurts. And Jungkook sees it.

His face hardens, his jaw clenching. "That's what I thought."

You have no defence, so all you can do is resort back to shutting him out. Literally.

"Just go, Jungkook. It'll just be better for both of us in the long run."

"So that's it? You're just gonna throw this all away?"

You don't respond, looking down at the ground.

His face remains strong, even as the tears begin to fall down his cheeks, and you know you're not strong enough to look at him.

He nods in resignation and silently takes a step back, his sadness written across his face. Then another step. And then he turns to get his phone and his keys and walk to the front door.

Your chest constricts. You should say something. Stop him. Tell him the truth.

But you don't. It'll just be easier this way.

It has to be.

Jungkook turns his head to look back at you, his hand on the door handle, waiting for you to stop him and tell him that you love him. But you don't.

His lips start to part, like he wants to argue, like he wants to fight for you. But he doesn't. He doesn't have it in him anymore.

"I hope one day you'll be able to love yourself the way I love you."

He walks out without another glance back, the door shutting behind him. The second he's gone, you shatter.

It's like your body has locked up, frozen in place as the weight of everything crashes down all at once. Your breath shudders, coming in uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling in jagged movements.

And then, your knees buckle. You sink to the floor, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, as if that will somehow stop the flood of tears spilling down your cheeks.

Jungkook is gone.

You did this. You pushed him away. That's what you do. You get in your head and sabotage everything good in your life.

A sob rips through you, your shoulders shaking as you fold in on yourself. You don't know how long you stay like that, curled up on the floor, drowning in your own sorrow. Time feels meaningless when all you can hear is Jungkook's voice echoing in your head, over and over again.

He looked so wounded when he told you he loved you. So open and vulnerable. And what did you do? You shut him out. You let your own fear win. Because that's all you are now, a shell of the person you used to be. Afraid and untrusting.

Sunghoon made sure of that.

The memory of him slams into you with brutal force. His voice, his touch, the way he used to hold you at night and tell you he loved you, promising you a lifetime, only to go and stick his dick in another woman.

"I had no choice, ___. You were never around. You put everything and everyone before me."

"I needed someone who actually made me feel like a man."

"You did this to us."

His words haunt you. They never stopped haunting you, no matter how hard you try to run from them. And now, as you sit here, crying on your kitchen floor, you realize that you've been running ever since.

Every step you've taken since that night you caught him has been in fear of being that girl again. The one who gives too much of herself, the one who isn't enough, the one who ends up getting traded in.

That voice in your head tells you that Jungkook would do the same, eventually.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But one day.

One day, he'd wake up and realize you aren't worth it.

You thought that if you ended it before he got the chance to see how damaged you really are, that would make it hurt less. And yet, the look on his face will forever be engraved in your brain, taunting you, reminding you of the pain you've caused him.

The sobs come harder, your entire body shaking until you can barely breathe. You press your forehead to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut.

And then you feel it, a soft nudge against your leg.

You glance down to see Miso weaving between your ankles, her big eyes looking up at you with confusion and concern. She meows softly, rubbing her head against your shin, as if she can sense that something is wrong.

A broken sob escapes your lips as you scoop her up into your arms. She doesn’t resist, only tucks herself into your chest, her purring serving as a soothing vibration against your skin.

You bury your face into her fur, fresh tears spilling over. "I'm okay, baby," you whisper, though your voice cracks with the weight of the lie. She just stays curled against you, warm and steady, like she's determined to absorb every ounce of your sadness.

You carry her to the couch, curling up with her in your lap, absentmindedly running your fingers through her soft fur. The apartment still smells like Jungkook, his cologne, his warmth, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse.

You don't know how to fix this. You don't even know if you can. But one thing is painfully, devastatingly clear.

You broke two hearts today.

< Part 5 || Part 6.5 >

[hazydoe]

Farmer's Daughter

Warning +18 only age-gap,Explicit sexual relations, explicit language,dynamic power

Note:English is not my first language so I apologize in advance if I make any spelling or grammatical mistakes. Many thanks to everyone who read the first chapter of Redemption

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. Joel looked toward the farmhouse in the distance. The place seemed peaceful, surrounded by fields of wheat swaying gently in the wind. He took a deep breath and moved forward, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d made this kind of delivery, but he never felt comfortable in such open spaces, so far from the noise of the city.

As he approached the main house, a figure appeared on the porch. It was a young woman, no older than twenty, with messy brown hair and hands busy with a large basket of strawberries. She wore a worn-out overall and boots. Her alert eyes locked onto Joel with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice firm but slightly trembling.

“I’m Joel,” he replied, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I have a delivery for your father. He said he’d be here today.”

The young woman frowned and looked down for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“My father isn’t here. He had to go to the nearest town for supplies. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Joel nodded slowly, assessing the situation. He didn’t like leaving the delivery with someone other than the intended recipient, but he couldn’t afford to come back another day. He had other matters to attend to, and the trip to the farm had been long.

“I understand,” he said finally. “Can you handle it? It’s important.”

She hesitated for a moment but then nodded with determination.

“Yes, I can. Come in.”

Joel followed her inside the house. The place was modest but cozy, with rustic wooden furniture and open windows. On a nearby table, there was a disassembled rifle, and Joel noticed the young woman casting nervous glances at him. He didn’t blame her. In such an isolated place, distrust was understandable.

“What’s your name?” Joel asked as he set his bag down on the floor.

“Lena,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “And don’t worry, I know how to handle these things. My father has taught me everything I need to know.”

Joel gave a half-smile. There was something about Lena that reminded him of Sarah, his daughter. That mix of innocence and determination that only young people who had grown up in tough environments could have.

“Good,” he said, opening the bag and pulling out a box of tools. “Here you go. Tools and some spare parts for the tractor. Your father and I agreed on an exchange.”

Lena nodded and took the box, placing it carefully on the table. Then she walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a cloth bag.

“Here’s what you agreed on,” she said, handing it to Joel. “Some money and a few preserves we made this summer. I hope it’s enough.”

Joel quickly checked the contents and nodded.

“It’s just what we need. Thanks.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as they looked at each other with curiosity, each assessing the other. Joel noticed Lena’s beauty, her body covered by the fabric of her jeans. Lena noticed Joel’s strong arms, his dark hair, and the marks of age on his face. Finally, Lena broke the ice.

“Are you a mechanic?” she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Something like that,” Joel replied, shrugging.

She nodded, as if she understood perfectly.

“I think I’d better go,” Joel said, looking intently at the young girl.

Joel walked down the path leading back to his truck, but something stopped him. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about Lena that made him stay, something that drew him in beyond the simple transaction. Maybe it was her eyes and the way they looked at him with curiosity and maybe even desire.

Lena was still on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair with one leg resting on the railing, watching him with those eyes that seemed to see right through him. Joel slowly approached, feeling the air between them charged with a tension he couldn’t ignore.

“Do you need something else?” Lena asked, her voice soft but firm.

Joel stopped a few steps away from her, looking directly into her eyes.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Maybe I just need a moment.”

Lena studied him for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust him. Then, with a calm movement, she stepped down from the porch and walked toward him. Joel could feel the warmth of her body, the scent of earth and fresh grass that surrounded her.

“My father won’t be back until tomorrow,” Lena said, her voice now barely a whisper.

Joel felt a shiver run down his spine. He wasn’t a man who let his emotions take over easily, but there was something about Lena that made him lose control. Without a second thought, he closed the distance between them and took her by the waist, feeling her tense for a moment before relaxing in his arms.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” Joel murmured, though his actions said otherwise.

“Maybe not,” Lena replied, bringing her face closer to his. “But it is.”

Their lips met in a slow but passionate kiss, filled with a need neither of them had admitted until that moment. Joel felt the world around him fade away, leaving only Lena and the warmth radiating from her. His hands explored her back, feeling the tension in her muscles, as she pulled him closer, as if she couldn’t stand the distance between them.

“Joel,” Lena murmured between kisses, her voice trembling but full of desire.

He didn’t respond with words but with actions. He lifted her effortlessly, feeling her wrap around him, and carried her back inside the house. The door closed behind them, and Joel pressed her against the wall, never breaking the contact between their lips. Lena held him tightly, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.

“This is crazy,” Joel said, though his hands were already unbuttoning Lena’s overalls.

“Don’t worry, I’ve always hoped someone attractive would pass by here,” she replied, sliding her hands under his shirt to feel the warm skin of his back.

Joel couldn’t resist. The need he had been suppressing for years surfaced, and he let Lena guide him to her room, a small space with a bed covered in white sheets. He gently laid her down on the bed, looking at her with an intensity that made Lena hold her breath. His hands explored every inch of her body, feeling her respond to every touch, every caress.

“Joel,” Lena whispered, arching toward him. “Don’t stop.”

He had no intention of doing so. With slow but deliberate movements, Joel undressed her, revealing the soft, warm skin hidden beneath the layers of clothing. Lena looked at him with eyes full of desire, and Joel felt his own body respond to the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re too beautiful,” Joel murmured, lowering his head to trail kisses along her neck and shoulders.

Lena held him tightly, feeling the world around her fade away, leaving only Joel and the warmth radiating from him. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt natural, as if they were destined to meet in that moment.

“Joel,” Lena moaned, burying her hands in his hair. “Don’t leave.”

He didn’t respond with words but with actions. He removed the only piece of clothing she wore under her overalls—a pair of white panties. Joel took a condom from his wallet, creating a small, painful distance between them to put it on his large member. Lena looked down to see it, a small smile of amazement on her face.

“It’s too big for me, Joel,” she said as she kissed him uncontrollably. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make sure you enjoy it,” he said, positioning himself at her entrance.

He thrust in for the first time, bracing himself against the headboard of the bed. Both were a mess, moaning after the first thrust.

He pulled out completely, catching Lena off guard, and then thrust back in with a strong, painful motion. Lena began to tear up.

Joel pulled away for a moment to give her a break and stimulate her breasts. They were the perfect size, fitting perfectly in his hand. He took one roughly and lazily licked her nipple, looking up at her to see her reaction. She only moaned in response to the pleasure. He lowered his arm and grabbed his member, massaging it against her leg as he realized that, due to their height difference, he couldn’t reach her sweet spot.

Joel realized what she wanted and stopped licking and biting her breasts, leaving them red and marked by him. He helped fulfill her desire by rubbing his member against her clit.

“I knew it from the moment I saw you,” Joel said as he thrust hard into her. “Knew what?” Lena asked, arching like a cat in pleasure. “That you were too needy for cock. Did you think I didn’t notice how innocent you were pretending to be? Daddy’s little girl, what would he think if he found out you slept with an older man?”

“He’d probably be mad because from now on, I won’t be able to be without you.”

Joel continued to move firmly, feeling Lena adjust perfectly to him. His hands gripped her hips tightly, leaving marks on her skin. Lena moaned with each thrust, her nails digging into Joel’s back, drawing red lines he barely felt in his ecstasy.

“What else do you want, Lena?” Joel asked in a hoarse voice, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me.”

Lena could barely form words, but her eyes begged for more. Joel smiled, satisfied, and changed the angle of his movements, searching for that spot that would make her scream. When he found it, Lena arched her back, a muffled cry escaping her lips.

“Joel!” she screamed, her hands clutching him as if he were her only anchor in a sea of pleasure.

Joel didn’t slow down, feeling his own climax approaching. His hands moved to Lena’s breasts, massaging them firmly, feeling her nipples harden under his fingers. Lena moaned, her body trembling beneath his, each of Joel’s movements bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Baby, you’re going to come,” Joel murmured, his words a hot whisper against Lena’s skin. “Let it go.”

And she did. With a muffled cry, Lena let herself be carried away by the wave of pleasure, her body convulsing beneath Joel’s. He held her, feeling his own orgasm hit, filling her with each final thrust.

When they finally stopped, both panting, Joel collapsed beside Lena, pulling her to rest against his chest. Lena curled up against him, her breathing still uneven.

“That was...” Lena began, but Joel interrupted her with a soft kiss.

“You don’t need to say it,” Joel said, stroking her hair. “I know.”

Lena smiled, closing her eyes as she relaxed against him. Joel held her, feeling a strange sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe this wouldn’t change anything, but for a moment, it had been perfect.

[moonlitstoriess]

Heyyy so I saw you wanting to write more for Kallias, and idk I just saw this soul shattering tiktok and the winter faerie actually reminded me of Kallias (yk because.. winter.. yh) … this is not a direct ask but maybe it can inspire you for further Kallias fics https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNeoxbvYr/ much much love, I really enjoyed your latest work with Kallias, you portrayed him so beautifully 🫶🏼

When the Ice Cracks- Kallias x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a bubbly healer, is summoned to treat the cold, brooding High Lord of Winter. Determined to befriend him, she pushes past his icy walls—until he finally breaks her spirit with cruel words. When she withdraws, Kallias tells himself it’s for the best… until he realizes he misses her warmth. Now, he must mend what he shattered before it’s too late.

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries, fluff in the end, also I apologize in advance if you do not like my writing in this one cuz I am currently dealing with a painful eye infection which caused me to delay everything and idk if this will live up to the expectations you guys😔

See masterlist

A/N: Hi! The video was really something, the pain I felt as I watched it…😭 but it did give me an idea, although a different one but with enough angst loll. Also, thank you for the love, it makes me truly happy knowing my work is being appreciated<3

The apothecary chamber was warm, despite the eternal cold of the Winter Court just beyond its frost-laced windows. The scent of crushed herbs and simmering tonics swirled in the air, wrapping Y/N in a comforting embrace as she worked, carefully grinding a handful of dried roots into a fine powder. The mortar and pestle moved rhythmically in her hands, the familiar motion grounding her as she hummed softly to herself.

Healing had always been her purpose. From the moment she discovered her gift—the ability to soothe pain with a touch, to knit together flesh and bone with her power—it had felt like breathing. But talent alone was never enough. She had clawed her way through the ranks, training tirelessly under the best healers of the Winter Court, proving herself again and again until there had been no choice but to acknowledge her skill. Now, she was the youngest to ever hold the title of Master Healer, a position of high honor within the court.

The title had come with its share of challenges. The Winter Court was not an easy place for someone like her—a female who spoke too freely, smiled too easily, and refused to be swallowed by the cold, unspoken rules of the icy kingdom. She knew she was different from the others who served in Kallias’s court. Most healers were quiet, composed, reserved. Y/N? She talked too much. She got too close. She teased the soldiers she patched up, fussed over the sentries when they neglected their wounds, and made even the gruffest warriors crack a reluctant smile.

Warmth had always been her way. And warmth was not often welcomed in a place ruled by ice.

But she had earned her place. Through skill, through sheer willpower, through proving time and time again that she belonged.

She exhaled slowly, tipping the powdered root into a steaming vial, watching as the tonic darkened into a rich amber hue. This one would be useful—an enhanced healing elixir, meant to speed up the mending of deep wounds. She had been experimenting with stronger potions lately, determined to push the limits of her craft.

She reached for another vial, about to measure out the next ingredient, when—

“Y/N!”

The sharp call shattered the quiet, making her jolt so hard she nearly sent the entire potion spilling across the table. She twisted around, heart hammering, to find Healer Maerith standing in the doorway, her usually composed face drawn tight with urgency.

Y/N frowned, wiping her hands on her apron. “Maerith? What—”

“You are needed,” the older healer interrupted, breathless, her thick furs rustling as she strode into the room. “Immediately.”

Y/N straightened, brows knitting. “Needed for what?”

Maerith’s icy blue eyes met hers, and when she spoke, Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“The High Lord has been injured.”

For a moment, she could only stare. The words didn’t make sense. Kallias? Injured? The High Lord of Winter was a warrior, one of the most powerful High Lords in all of Prythian. She had never—never—been summoned to treat him before.

“I—” she started, struggling to process it. “What happened? Is he—”

“There’s no time for questions,” Maerith snapped, already moving toward the door. “Gather your supplies and get to his chambers. Now.”

Y/N barely hesitated. Years of training, of discipline, took over. She grabbed her satchel, shoving in every tonic, poultice, and salve she could think of—something for pain, something for wounds, something for internal injuries in case it was worse than they were letting on.

Her mind raced as she slung the heavy leather strap over her shoulder and sprinted out of the room, Maerith’s words echoing in her head.

The High Lord has been injured.

Her boots pounded against the marble floors as she tore through the palace corridors, weaving past startled servants and guards. The familiar halls felt different now, heavier, filled with an almost suffocating tension.

How had it happened? A training accident? An attack? Was it serious?

The thought made her pulse stutter. She had treated hundreds of warriors, seen males with grievous wounds, but this—this was different. This was the ruler of their court, their kingdom. And she had no idea what to expect when she reached his chambers.

One thing was certain, though.

She was about to come face-to-face with the High Lord of Winter himself.

Pain throbbed in his side, deep and unrelenting.

Kallias sat stiffly in the high-backed chair near the roaring fireplace of his chambers, his jaw tight as he pressed a cloth against the wound that refused to heal. Blood had long since soaked through the fabric, staining his fingers a deep crimson, but still, the gash remained. Even with his Fae healing, even with his magic, the injury lingered—mocking him.

He exhaled sharply, tilting his head back against the chair, ice creeping along the edges of the wound in a feeble attempt to numb the pain. How had it come to this?

A routine patrol beyond the palace walls, that was all it had been. He had been investigating strange reports near the northern borders when a group of rogue Fae attacked. Rogues. In his court. It infuriated him. They had been strong—trained, even—but not stronger than him. Kallias had made quick work of them, his ice shattering bones, freezing bodies where they stood.

But one had gotten close. One had touched him.

A poisoned blade, slashing across his ribs before he cut the male down where he stood. He hadn’t felt it at first, the cold consuming his rage, his focus on eliminating every last one of them. But then, as the bodies lay frozen at his feet, the pain had set in. The wound had burned, spread, and despite every attempt to use his magic to seal it, it would not close.

He clenched his teeth, fingers curling into a fist as frustration curled in his gut. He loathed being touched, and now his own mistake—the one moment he had let his guard slip—had left him with no choice but to endure it.

A healer had to see to him.

Kallias could hardly stomach the idea. He was High Lord of the Winter Court, the most powerful male in this palace, and now he sat injured like some weakling in his own chambers. It should have healed by now. But it hadn’t. Which meant he had to tolerate someone else's hands on him.

He exhaled sharply, preparing himself. At the very least, he knew the healer would be professional��quiet, efficient, distant, like all the others who served under him.

Then, the doors burst open.

"Master Healer Y/N, my lord," a voice announced before the heavy doors shut once more.

Kallias barely had a second to process the name before she stepped in.

His first thought was that she did not look like a healer. Or at least, not like any healer he had encountered before.

The female before him—Y/N—was not reserved. She did not carry the cold demeanor of his court. No, she radiated warmth.

Bright eyes, a quick, eager smile. Her hair was slightly tousled, a satchel slung over her shoulder, filled with an assortment of tonics, bandages, and salves. She was smaller than he expected but walked with a confidence that somehow filled the room.

And then she bowed—deeply, properly—before flashing him that same, blinding smile.

"My lord! An honor, truly. You’re my first High Lord patient, you know? What a milestone! And what a lovely room—I should’ve guessed it would be grand, of course, you’re the High Lord, but still! Very cozy for such a serious place."

Kallias just stared.

She moved toward him with an energy that was… unnatural for the Winter Court. His people did not behave this way. Healers did not behave this way.

Was she… babbling?

She reached his side, dropping to a crouch beside his chair. “Now, let’s see—oh! Wait. Sorry, my lord, I got ahead of myself. Where was the injury again?”

Kallias blinked at her.

What. The. Hell.

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, only studying her as his brain tried to process what had just happened. No one had ever spoken to him like that. Not a courtier, not a soldier, and certainly not a healer.

She didn’t cower, didn’t hesitate, didn’t treat him like some untouchable force of nature.

And gods help him, a part of him almost found it… endearing.

He shoved the thought away immediately.

Wordlessly, he lifted his hand from the wound, exposing the long, deep gash along his ribs.

Her eyes widened.

A gasp left her lips, so dramatic it made something in him twitch. "By the Cauldron! This is terrible. Absolutely terrible. No wonder your magic isn’t closing it—look at that! That’s not just a wound, my lord, that’s a full-on crisis!"

His nostrils flared as he tried not to react.

She was already rummaging through her bag, muttering under her breath. "My great-great-grandfather had a wound like this once, you know? Not poisoned, but deep enough that it wouldn’t close—granted, he was a fisherman, not a High Lord, but still. Oh! And this reminds me of that soldier from the southern border last spring, nasty gash, nearly lost his whole side—poor guy, cried like a baby, but don’t worry, my lord, I’m sure you’ll handle this much better than he did."

What. The. Hell. Was. Happening.

She was still talking as she placed a warm, gentle hand over the wound. He barely had a second to brace himself before power pulsed from her palm.

White-hot pain lanced through him, burning from the inside out. A sharp hiss escaped through his teeth, his body instinctively jerking at the sensation.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry! I know it hurts," she said quickly, not stopping. "It’s the first part of the healing process, the pain means it’s working—”

“Just do your damn job,” he snapped.

Her hands stilled for a second.

Then—to his utter disbelief—she laughed.

A bright, unapologetic laugh.

“Alright, alright, High Lord of Impatience, I’ll be quick,” she teased, carefully pressing her hand back to the wound. “No need to get all grumpy.”

Kallias barely managed to bite back his shock.

No one. No one spoke to him that way.

Yet this strange, bubbly, utterly unafraid healer did so without hesitation.

He didn’t know whether to be infuriated or intrigued.

She worked efficiently, despite her chatter, cleaning the wound, applying some sort of cooling salve before carefully wrapping the bandages around his torso. Her touch was gentle, careful—not the cold, clinical detachment he was used to.

When she finished, she straightened, brushing her hands off and nodding in satisfaction. "Alright, my lord! You’re all patched up. Now, since this wound is serious, I’ll be checking on you daily to ensure proper healing. You’ll need to rest, no strenuous activity, and absolutely no magic use on the injury—magic interference could worsen the effects. Take this tonic twice a day, avoid anything too cold—oh wait, your whole court is cold, hmm—well, maybe don’t sit in the snow for too long. And—”

She paused, realizing she was still talking.

She gave him a sheepish smile.

“Oh. Uh—sorry, my lord.” She bowed deeply. “I’ll… take my leave now.”

And just like that, she whirled around and left as quickly as she had come, the door clicking shut behind her.

Silence settled in his chambers.

Kallias just sat there, stunned, trying to process what the hell had just happened.

His gaze flickered to the door, as if expecting her to burst back in with another round of chatter.

She didn’t.

And yet—for some godsdamned reason, his chambers suddenly felt much colder.

The soft sound of the door clicking behind her echoed down the empty hallway. Y/N let out a long breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she straightened her robe and took a moment to steady her thoughts. The High Lord's chambers were eerily quiet, and now that she was outside, the weight of the moment hit her. She had never, in all her years as a healer, been summoned to tend to a High Lord—especially not Kallias, Lord of Winter.

She had always heard the rumors: Kallias was cold, distant, and completely unapproachable. His icy powers were a reflection of his personality—a male who trusted no one, who allowed only the bare minimum of interaction. She had always thought, maybe even hoped, that she wouldn’t be the one to face him. But here she was, having just treated his wound, with nothing but the cold, sterile scent of the palace halls to remind her of it.

It was strange, really. She had been nervous walking in, of course—who wouldn't be? But when she saw him, sitting there, with that sharp, regal posture, she couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of calm settle over her. She had seen plenty of injured soldiers and nobles in her time, but Kallias was different. His gaze had been piercing, his silence unnerving, but she had managed to push past it. Maybe it was her natural exuberance, or maybe it was the quiet desperation inside of her that made her speak to him so freely. But once she started talking, she couldn't stop. It was as if she couldn’t help herself—he was so cold, so distant, that she wanted to break through that ice, even if it meant talking his ear off.

Her stomach twisted as she walked down the hall, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the stone. The image of him—his sharp, icy eyes, the tension in his posture—kept replaying in her mind. And yet, despite his cold exterior, she found herself thinking about him. Was it the way he seemed so unaffected by her? Or was it the strange feeling that had settled in her chest when she’d touched his skin to heal him, when his sharp hiss had cut through the silence?

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. She hadn’t intended to make a spectacle of herself. She had never acted so loosearound a patient before. But something about Kallias had made her lose her usual professionalism. She had simply been… herself. And she couldn’t decide if she regretted it or not.

As she reached her chambers, Y/N quickly removed her healing satchel from her shoulder, placing it on the small table by the window. Her mind was still buzzing, and her hands itched to keep busy. She grabbed a small vial of herb tonic from the shelf, staring down at it for a long moment. The liquid inside shimmered in the low light, a soft blue-green glow. She started preparing another tonic to keep herself distracted, her movements swift and practiced as she crushed the dried herbs. But her mind was elsewhere.

It was silly, really. She had treated countless soldiers, nobles, even the occasional member of the court. But something about Kallias was… different. The way he’d stared at her when she had walked in—no one looked at her like that. It was the look of a man who had lived through decades of isolation, someone who was both imposing and dangerous, but there was also something else. Curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe it was just her imagination running wild.

She cursed herself for allowing her thoughts to wander back to him. Why was she even thinking about him? It wasn’t like he had shown her any kindness. In fact, he had barely spoken to her. That bitter coldness had wrapped around him like a blanket, and she had been the one to dive right into it. It was foolish. But then again, maybe she hadn’t been entirely wrong in doing so. He had let her heal him. He hadn’t called for another healer, and he hadn’t thrown her out. Maybe that was something, wasn’t it?

Y/N suddenly stopped mid-motion, her eyes wide. Was she sighing over Kallias? Her face flushed with embarrassment as she forced her mind back to her work. She would need to check on him tomorrow—his wound was deep, and it was going to take more than just a quick treatment to heal.

She gathered her thoughts, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling swirling in her stomach. Tomorrow would be another day. The High Lord was injured, yes, but he was just another patient. Another patient she needed to focus on. And when she went back to see him, she would keep things professional. No more talking, no more trying to break through his icy facade. She needed to be a healer, not a friend.

Her stomach twisted again as her mind flashed back to the way he had hissed when she touched him, the sharpness of it cutting through the air. It was as if she had momentarily crossed a boundary—one that he hadn’t allowed anyone to cross for a long time.

Y/N bit her lip, pushing the thoughts away. Tomorrow, she’d focus on the wound. Tomorrow, she’d make sure it healed properly, and nothing more. That was the job. That was what she was here for.

Y/N walked briskly down the palace corridors, the scent of morning dew still lingering in the air despite the heavy chill that seemed to follow the Winter Court even in the early hours. Her thoughts were consumed by the High Lord’s injury and how her treatment of it had left a curious impression on her. She had not expected the wound to be so severe, nor had she anticipated the subtle tension that had grown between her and Kallias during their brief interaction.

She had been awake since the crack of dawn, preparing her usual healing supplies, trying to find a quiet moment to gather her thoughts. But now, here she was, making her way to the High Lord's chambers to check on his recovery. She couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had missed something. She had treated him with care—surely he would be resting. It had been such a deep injury after all.

But when Y/N arrived at his chambers, confusion struck her first. The door stood wide open, the room empty. The bed was unmade, the thick blankets thrown aside as if he had not even been there. A cold shiver slid down her spine, a strange sense of panic washing over her. Why isn’t he here?

Her brows furrowed. She stepped closer to the window, looking out at the stillness of the courtyard, but there was no sign of the High Lord. Her eyes darted around, searching the rooms for any clue. The last time she had seen him, he had been wounded, fragile, and now—now he was gone.

A sinking feeling settled in her gut. The hell is going on?

With determination, she turned on her heel and began walking quickly down the hallway, calling out to a few servants along the way, trying to catch wind of any gossip or movement that might explain where the High Lord had gone. No one seemed to know anything.

Her steps became quicker, her thoughts swirling with concern. She wasn't worried about his safety—no, she knew Kallias was more than capable of taking care of himself—but the fact that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be nagged at her. He should be resting. He shouldn’t be out there, moving around so soon. What was he thinking?

After a few more moments of searching, she found a servant outside a side door, speaking with another. She stopped in her tracks and approached him.

“Excuse me,” she asked, trying to keep the sharpness from her voice, “Have you seen the High Lord this morning?”

The servant blinked, pausing for a second before bowing deeply. “Ah, Lady Healer. The High Lord is not in his chambers this morning. He’s in the training grounds.” He quickly added, “He insisted on continuing his training despite the injury.”

Y/N felt frustration claw at her throat as she nodded curtly. “Training grounds, you say?” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t have to be told twice. Without another word, she turned and stormed off, her boots slapping against the stone floor with every furious step. She was angry, worried, but mostly, she was disappointed. After everything I said last night, he’s still going out there to train like this?

The more she thought about it, the more infuriated she became. What kind of fae would ignore their own orders, their own well-being, just to look strong?

As she neared the training grounds, the cold, crisp air hit her full force, but her temper kept her warm. She was already fuming by the time she stepped out into the open field. The sight before her was more infuriating than she could have imagined.

There, in the middle of the training grounds, stood Kallias, half-naked, his broad chest exposed to the biting cold. His chest and torso were rippling with muscle—sharply defined, each movement a testament to his power. But what struck Y/N the most was the wound—still visible, still raw, bandaged and still not properly healed despite her efforts.

Her heart raced for a moment as her eyes lingered, taking in his impressive form. But she immediately shoved those thoughts away—there was no time for that. No time to think about how attractive he looked standing there.

“Damnit, Lord Kallias!” she muttered, her voice low but seething with irritation.

She stormed toward him, her anger propelling her forward, and the soldiers training around them watched her approach, their eyes widening at the sight of the healer marching directly into the middle of the field. Y/N didn’t care. She didn’t care about the stares or the whispers that followed her. She didn’t care that all of them were staring in stunned silence as she pushed through their ranks.

Kallias, however, did care.

He turned just in time to see her standing there, arms crossed in front of him, a deep frown etched on her face. For a split second, she thought she saw surprise flicker in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with that same cold, steely expression he always wore.

“Miss Y/N?” His voice was laced with confusion, his posture stiffening.

But before he could say another word, she reached out and pinched his arm, hard.

He shifted away from her with a low growl, his icy gaze snapping to hers. His lips curled in irritation as he finally spoke through clenched teeth. “What the hell are you doing here, miss Y/N?”

Y/N didn’t back down. She stood tall, chin lifted, her eyes filled with both exasperation and frustration. “Me? I should be asking you the same question, my lord!” she snapped, her voice carrying across the training grounds.

The soldiers exchanged stunned glances, some of them gasping at her words. Kallias’s expression shifted to one of cold indifference as he grasped her arm and began pulling her away from the field, his fingers biting into her skin.

“Keep the work going,” he ordered his second in command, who nodded and continued the training as Kallias led Y/N to a quieter area on the side.

Once they were far enough from the soldiers, Kallias let go of her arm, stepping back, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her. “Listen to me and listen very well, because I will be saying this only once, Miss Y/N. I don’t know what gives you the confidence to act this way, but you may do this to anyone, anyone but me. I am your High Lord, not some sleazyfriend of yours. I demand a professional, respectful approach. Understood?”

Y/N stared at him, her face unchanging, before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “No.”

Kallias’s icy demeanor faltered for a second, his eyes flashing with disbelief. “No?”

“No,” she repeated defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You got injured just yesterday! And today you’re up and training? Have you no care for your body?”

Her voice cracked through the air as she stepped closer, her anger bubbling over. “Didn’t you hear my orders last night?! On top of all this, you’re training shirtless in the cold! You’ll make the injury worse!”

Kallias raised an eyebrow, his gaze darkening. “Shirtless? In the cold?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Miss Y/N, look around you. We’re in the Winter Court. I’m the gods-damned High Lord of Winter. The cold doesn’t affect me in the least.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her frustration reaching its peak. She marched right up to him and pointed a finger at his chest. “So what?” she hissed. “It still has negative effects on the injury! The wound could get worse! You could develop an infection or—”

Kallias interrupted her, cutting her off in an exasperated tone. “Alright, very well. Cauldron boil me—just shut your mouth!” He rubbed his forehead, clearly trying to hold back his own rising temper. “Wait for me to put on a shirt, and then follow me to my bedchambers.”

Y/N, caught off guard by his sudden change in tone, found herself beaming. “Alright, High Lord,” she said, her voice lighter than it had been all morning.

But before Kallias could even blink, Y/N squealed in delight and threw her arms around him, pulling him into an unexpected hug.

Kallias’s eyes widened, his body tensing as he let out a sharp hiss of surprise. “Don’t ever touch me like that again,” he muttered coldly, pushing her away with an icy shove. “Unless it's for healing purposes.”

Y/N stepped back sheepishly, a flush creeping up her neck as she muttered an apology. “Sorry…”

He shot her a glare, the frost in his gaze never faltering. “Let’s go,” he ordered, turning to lead the way.

Y/N followed, still smiling faintly, the words of their exchange dancing in her mind. The day had barely begun, but she had a feeling it was going to be a long one.

Kallias walked beside Y/N, his movements brisk, and his mind occupied with the tumultuous thoughts that seemed to swirl in the wake of her presence. He kept his gaze forward, trying to block out the sound of her incessant chatter, but it was impossible not to hear her. She was speaking—again.

“I still don’t get why you’re so stubborn about it, my lord. Yesterday, you were practically on the verge of collapsing, and today, you’re already training like nothing happened! Like you’ve never even had a wound.”

She paused briefly for a breath, and Kallias’ lips twitched slightly in irritation. He could feel the weight of her words pressing against him, and even though she didn’t mean to, her concern did something to him. Something he could not afford to acknowledge.

“You’re lucky I’m not treating you like a child, My Lord,” she continued, oblivious to the narrowing of his icy eyes. “I mean, how do you expect to heal if you keep pushing yourself? I’ve heard of high lords being stubborn, but you—”

“I didn’t ask,” Kallias interjected in a clipped tone, his cold eyes flickering toward her for a moment, his breath steady despite the frustration rising inside him.

Y/N, undeterred, responded with a casual shrug. “Well, you should have, because it’s ridiculous, really. You’re supposed to be healing, not playing soldier, and—”

“Miss Y/N,” he growled, his patience starting to thin like ice cracking beneath the weight of her words. “I’m well aware of my body’s limits, but you don’t need to remind me every minute.”

She glanced up at him, eyes full of defiance as always, but he noticed the slight shift in her expression when he didn’t break eye contact. She was starting to pick up on the tension between them, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

The cold silence that followed didn’t last long. She had a tendency to fill it with more chatter.

"Anyway, I’m just saying, if you’re not careful, you might aggravate the injury even more! Did you know that could lead to—"

“I did not ask,” Kallias repeated, his words colder than before, his tone carrying a warning. “Do you ever stop talking, lady Y/N?”

For a brief moment, she seemed to consider his words, but the inevitable happened. “Well, I just think—”

“Enough,” he snapped, not bothering to hide the edge of his irritation any longer. “Please, for the love of the gods, can you hold your tongue for one minute?”

She looked taken aback but held her silence, the stubbornness in her gaze still present, and he couldn’t quite decide if it annoyed him or intrigued him. It wasn’t often that someone dared to speak to him this way. His gaze flickered over her, eyes narrowing as he noticed how she still walked so determinedly at his side, as though everything in the world could be solved by her prattling. It was infuriating, yet... somehow, it wasn’t.

A tinge of something unfamiliar stirred beneath the icy surface of his thoughts, but he pushed it aside, burying it in the deep recesses of his mind. He would not indulge these feelings. Not for her.

When they finally reached his chambers, Kallias stepped forward, opening the door for her without a word, his mind already working on the next set of instructions he would need to give her. He just wanted to get this over with quickly—have her do whatever healing she thought necessary, and then let him be.

Y/N walked inside with a quiet hum, her energy filling the room as she made her way to the table to prepare the healing supplies. Kallias couldn’t help but glance at her again, the way her hair swayed with every movement, the soft curve of her figure, the subtle grace with which she moved. It was like a goddamn pull on him, but he couldn’t understand it. He shouldn’t feel it. And yet—

He forced himself to look away, his thoughts twisting and his mood darkening.

“I’m glad you’re being so cooperative,” she murmured as she gathered her supplies, giving him a teasing smile. “Now, just sit back, will you? I promise I won’t bite.”

Her light tone irritated him more than it should have. His jaw tightened, and without thinking, he sat down on the chair she had indicated, his hands resting on the armrests. He felt her gaze on him again, heard her soft breathing as she moved around him, preparing everything with a hum of concentration.

“Alright, now let’s talk healing,” she began, her voice soft yet insistent. “Tell me if it still hurts, any sharp twinges, discomfort, anything. I need to know how your body’s reacting so I can better gauge what’s wrong.”

Kallias clenched his jaw, staring ahead as she moved closer. His thoughts were fighting him now, the fluttering feeling in his chest rising again as she stood over him, examining him with that endless curiosity in her gaze. His eyes flicked to her hands, noting how carefully she began to touch his shoulder, working her fingers over the injury. He winced slightly at the pressure.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

“No, you’re not,” she shot back, her tone serious now. “You’re hurt. I saw it yesterday. Don’t lie to me, lord Kallias. I’m here to fix this, not let you ruin yourself.”

The way she said his name, the way she took charge without asking for permission—it rattled him, more than he’d like to admit. He clenched his hands tightly, but the knot of frustration in his chest only tightened.

“Stop pushing yourself so hard,” she continued, her voice softening. “You’re not invincible, you know.”

But Kallias wasn’t about to let her know how much her words affected him. He wasn’t about to let himself think of her as anything other than an irritating healer who needed to leave. Now.

Yet still, there was something in the way she touched him—so unexpectedly gentle, yet firm—that made his heart flutter.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply as he focused on the icy indifference that had long been his armor. He would not break. Not now.

And when she finally stepped away, satisfied with her work, he sighed heavily, leaning back into the chair with a cold expression. “Is that all?” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

She nodded with that damnable grin of hers. “For now. I’ll check in on you later, but don’t try to sneak off anywhere, okay? You’ll be back in here again soon.”

He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t need her worrying about him. He didn’t need anyone.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered again, though his heart wasn’t entirely convinced of that.

Y/N sat in the bustling dining hall, the scent of warm bread and roasted meat filling the air as she absently stirred her tea. She was seated at a long wooden table with two other healers—Eira and Lillian—both of whom had been working in the palace for years. The conversation had been lighthearted at first, filled with chatter about the usual daily struggles: difficult patients, the upcoming winter solstice celebrations, and the latest gossip about court politics.

“I swear, if I have to deal with another whiny noble complaining about a bruise,” Eira sighed dramatically, dragging her spoon through her soup. “Like, Cauldron forbid they suffer an actual wound for once in their pampered lives.”

Lillian chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, please. The nobles are nothing compared to the warriors. Those brutes act as if they don’t need healers. I had to physically restrain one the other day just to keep him from walking off mid-stitching.”

Y/N hummed in agreement, sipping her tea, until Eira suddenly turned to her with a smirk. “Speaking of stubborn warriors… I still can’t believe you were the one chosen to heal the High Lord.”

Y/N nearly choked on her tea. She coughed, placing her cup down carefully, trying to appear unaffected. “Oh, well. I am a master healer, after all,” she said, waving a hand as if it was no big deal. “It’s just my job.”

Lillian snorted. “Just your job? Please. Do you know how many of us would kill to be in your position? The High Lord of Winter, alone, in his chambers, letting you touch him?”

Y/N stiffened. “It’s not like that.”

Eira sighed dreamily. “Gods, I would give anything to see him up close and personal. Just once.”

Lillian nudged her playfully. “Oh, don’t act like you’d be able to do anything if you were chosen. You’d probably faint the moment he looked at you.”

“Excuse me,” Eira said with mock offense. “I would not faint. I’d just… appreciate the moment. His eyes, his voice… that body.”

Lillian let out a snicker. “And his temperament?”

Eira winced. “Okay, fair point.”

Y/N stayed silent, feeling an unusual warmth creep up her neck. She had never been the shy type—she could hold her own in any conversation, throw sarcasm and wit as easily as she wielded her healing magic—but there was something about the way they were talking about Kallias that made her… uncomfortable.

“I heard he hates everyone anyway,” Lillian added after a pause, leaning in slightly. “There was even a rumor once that he probably doesn’t have a mate because of how distant he is.”

Eira hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, I mean… I can’t imagine him actually loving someone. He’s like an icicle brought to life. No warmth, no softness. Just duty and power.”

Lillian nodded. “Exactly. It’s like… he was made to rule, not to love.”

Y/N remained silent, staring at her untouched plate of food, her thoughts a tangled mess.

She had only known Kallias for a short while—had only spent a few hours in his presence, really—but something about what they were saying didn’t sit right with her.

Yes, he was cold. Yes, he was distant. But there was something else beneath that icy exterior. Something she couldn’t quite place. A weight he carried, a loneliness he hid behind sharp words and an even sharper gaze.

She thought about the way he had looked at her earlier, how he had reacted to her presence, how his irritation had flickered into something else before he had swiftly buried it away.

She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care.

And yet…

“…Y/N?”

She blinked, realizing that Lillian and Eira were both staring at her, waiting for a response.

“Oh,” she said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I suppose he is quite the mystery.”

Lillian shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll get an answer to that mystery.”

Eira scoffed. “Unlikely. The High Lord doesn’t let anyone close enough to find out.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her cup as her mind continued to swirl with thoughts she definitelyshould not be having.

By now, she really shouldn’t have been surprised.

And yet, when she stepped into Kallias’ chambers only to find them empty once more, a frustrated sigh tore from her throat before she could stop it.

Cauldron damn him.

She had explicitly told him to rest. He had agreed—or at least hadn’t argued against her orders when she’d last left him. And yet, here she was, standing in an empty bedroom, staring at the neatly made bed that had very obviously not been used.

Her thoughts churned as she whirled around and stormed out, flagging down the first passing servant she could find. “Where is he?” she demanded, not even bothering with pleasantries.

The servant, a young fae male, blinked at her in surprise. “Who, my lady?”

She narrowed her eyes. “The High Lord,” she said through gritted teeth, though she was this close to just calling him that infuriating man who refuses to listen to basic healing instructions.

The servant quickly dipped his head in respect. “He’s in his study, my lady.”

The tension in her shoulders eased—just slightly. At least he wasn’t outside aggravating his injury further. She nodded in thanks before making her way toward the study, still brimming with frustration.

By the time she reached the grand doors, she had almost convinced herself to be patient. Almost.

But the moment she stepped inside, the cool, indifferent voice that greeted her immediately shattered whatever patience she had managed to gather.

“Another checkup?”

Kallias didn’t even look at her as he spoke. His attention remained fixed on the papers in front of him, a single candle casting flickering shadows over his sharp features.

Y/N’s irritation flared all over again. “Well, it’s not like I enjoy chasing after you across this entire palace just to make sure you haven’t bled out somewhere,” she snapped, shutting the door behind her. “But seeing as someone is incapable of following simple instructions—”

She marched closer, and it was only then that she noticed what he was doing. His fingers were smudged with ink, an elegant quill in hand as he moved it across parchment in sharp, fluid strokes. He was writing something—letters, perhaps, or reports. His focus was unwavering, the crease between his brows deep with concentration.

“And what are you even doing here?” she went on, glancing at the neatly stacked piles of paper surrounding him. “Shouldn’t you be resting? I mean, really, you barely listen to anything I—”

She stopped mid-rant, her hands already moving on their own. Before he could protest, she reached forward and gently lifted the hem of his shirt just enough to check his wound.

A quick glance told her that, despite his recklessness, the injury hadn’t worsened. The healing process was slow, but steady. Still, she muttered under her breath as she pulled out the soothing balm she had brought with her, rubbing a generous amount between her fingers before applying it to his skin.

She could feel the way his muscles tensed slightly under her touch, but he didn’t say a word. Didn’t react. Just sat there, the same cold, indifferent mask on his face.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to talk, she would talk enough for the both of them.

“You know, most people actually listen to their healers,” she grumbled as she worked. “Most people don’t make their healer’s job ten times harder by actively ignoring the most basic instructions.”

Silence.

She huffed. “At this point, I should start charging extra for how much trouble you’re putting me through.”

Still, nothing.

She narrowed her eyes, pausing for a moment to glance up at his face. “Are you always this difficult, or do you just save it for me?”

That earned her a flicker of something in his eyes, but he still said nothing.

She sighed dramatically. “You know, a normal person would at least say thank you for all this.”

His only response was an unimpressed glance.

Y/N rolled her eyes and finished up, wiping her hands on a spare cloth before gathering her things.

“There,” she said, standing up and dusting off her hands. “You’re good for tonight. Try to actually stay put this time.”

She turned toward the door, ready to leave and get some well-earned rest, when—

“…Is it true you have no mate?”

The words were out before she could stop them.

Y/N froze.

Cauldron damn her mouth.

Slowly, hesitantly, she turned back around—just in time to see Kallias’ head slowly lift. His eyes locked onto hers, cold and unreadable, as one elegant brow arched ever so slightly.

She went scarlet.

“I—I mean—” She let out a nervous laugh, waving her hands in front of her. “Not that it’s any of my business! It’s just—um—I heard something, and I didn’t mean to say it out loud but then my mouth just—”

She saw the sharp way his jaw tightened, the way his expression became even icier, and she instantly knew she had made a grave mistake.

“Leave.”

Her breath caught. “I—sorry?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Instead of asking questions that don’t concern you in the tiniest bit,” he said, his voice like cutting ice, “do me a great favor by excusing yourself.”

Oh.

Oh, she really screwed up.

Her heart pounded as she quickly bowed her head. “Of course. I—my apologies, my lord. I didn’t mean—”

“Leave,” he repeated, his voice final.

She didn’t need to be told again.

Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and all but fled the study, cursing herself all the way down the dimly lit hallways.

It was two days later when the harsh blizzard finally descended upon the Winter Court. It wasn’t unusual—if anything, it was tradition. Towards the end of each year, without fail, the worst storm of the season would roll in, blanketing the land in thick, unforgiving snow. A storm that lasted precisely three days, as if the Winter Court itself abided by a law older than time.

For most, this meant retreating into the warmth of their homes, waiting out the storm beside crackling hearths, wrapped in thick furs with a cup of steaming tea in hand. For Y/N and the rest of the healers, however, it was hell.

The worst time of the year.

Unlike the palace, the healers’ ward was situated a little away from the main estate, standing separately within the court’s walls. Usually, it wasn’t a problem. The short walk from the palace to the ward was a simple, if not refreshing, journey. But during this storm? It was nothing short of a nightmare.

The winds howled like raging beasts, slicing through even the thickest of layers. The snow came down in sheets, covering everything in sight, and with each gust of wind, it felt as if the world itself were screaming. And Y/N—idiot that she was—had to trek through this chaos twice a day.

For the past two days, she had been cursing everything and everyone—including herself. Because despite the storm, despite the fact that she could barely see two feet in front of her, she still found herself trudging her way to the palace. The howling winds deafened her ears, the ice clung to her skin, and she felt like she might actually die before reaching her destination.

So when she finally, finally stumbled past the palace gates, nearly collapsing against the guards stationed there, she could’ve kissed them both in gratitude.

She was frozen. A literal icicle. She barely registered the concerned murmurs of the guards before they reached for her, offering warm cloaks, offering to guide her to one of the fires so she could thaw.

She shook her head, her voice crackling with cold. “W-Where’s the High Lord?”

The guards exchanged a glance before one of them hesitantly answered. “In the sitting room, my lady.”

Y/N barely nodded before setting off, her limbs trembling as she forced herself forward. Every step felt heavy, her soaked boots dragging against the marble floors as she made her way through the palace halls.

By the time she reached the sitting room, her entire body ached—her fingers stiff, her face numb. She had half a mind to collapse right then and there, but she pushed through, willing herself to move.

Slowly, she pushed the doors open.

And there he was.

Kallias sat in one of the cushioned chairs, a book in his hand, his expression cold and unreadable. His focus remained entirely on the page before him as he turned it, his voice carrying through the room, sharp as a blade.

“I told you, Talen, I don’t want anyone coming in—”

He cut off mid-sentence.

His gaze snapped up, locking onto her, and she watched as his expression shifted—his usual coldness melting into something sharper, angrier.

Slowly, he shut his book. Set it aside.

Then, in a voice laced with fury, he asked, “Why the hell are you here?”

Y/N tried to speak, but her lips barely moved. She was so cold, her breath uneven as she forced herself to answer. “I—I had to check up on you—”

She yapped on, explaining how she had to come, how his injury needed proper tending, how—

He cut her off, stepping closer, his sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe. “In this weather?” His voice was dangerously low. “Couldn’t you have waited for the blizzard to end?”

She surprised even herself when she answered, her words quiet but firm. “I could have waited, but the injury couldn’t. If it doesn’t get treated daily, it could fester—”

A frustrated sigh left him. She watched as he turned around, striding towards a nearby chair, grabbing something before—

A thick, fur-lined blanket was thrown at her.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She blinked at him, her frozen hands clutching at the warmth now draped over her shoulders. “N-No need,” she stammered. “I just need to check—”

“Miss Y/N,” he said coolly, his eyes flashing as he moved past her, yanking the door open. “Just sit, will you?”

She clamped her mouth shut.

The servants outside barely had time to straighten before he commanded them to bring in warm tea. And then, just as quickly, he shut the door again, turning back toward her.

His gaze locked onto hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice like ice, “let’s get one thing clear, alright? You do not, ever, risk your life for me. No one does.”

Her brow furrowed. Confusion flickered across her face before something else settled in its place. Anger.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said stiffly, “but it’s my job. My duty. Your health, and the rest of our people’s health, is always my priority—”

He stepped closer.

His presence loomed over her as he looked down, his gaze cold as he cut her off.

“I don’t need your death to then be a burden on my shoulders, alright?” His words were quiet, but they were sharp, unwavering. “So keep the hero complex to yourself and stop risking your life for every damned thing or one. Includingme.”

Y/N opened her mouth, ready to snap back, but before she could, the door opened once more.

The servants entered, setting down the tray of steaming tea before stepping back.

Kallias barely spared them a glance before dismissing them with a nod.

And then, with a firm voice, he said, “Drink.”

She stared at him, bewildered.

“The checkup can wait,” he added, moving back to his seat, picking up his book once more. “You’ll do no healing if you freeze to death first.”

Silence settled between them.

Y/N sat there, the warm blanket wrapped around her, her fingers stiff as they reached for the tea.

She didn’t speak—not yet.

Instead, her mind churned with thoughts, with feelings she couldn’t quite place.

And across from her, Kallias simply turned a page in his book, as if nothing had happened at all.

The warmth seeped into her fingers first, then her limbs, then the rest of her body as she slowly nursed her tea. Each sip melted away the ice that had settled deep in her bones, thawing her from the inside out.

By the time she placed the empty cup down on the small table before her, she felt somewhat herself again.

She sighed, stretching out her fingers before rubbing some feeling back into them. Then, with a quiet exhale, she straightened and—almost like an announcement—sighed, “Alright. Let’s see how your injury is doing.”

She stood, her movements still a little stiff as she reached for her supplies. But when she turned back toward him, she nearly froze again.

Kallias was already shirtless.

Without a word, without even acknowledging her statement, he had discarded his layers, revealing the lean, sculpted muscles of his back and shoulders. The light from the nearby hearth cast shadows along his frame, emphasizing the tautness of his muscles, the pale stretch of his skin, the deep gash along his side that she had been tending to.

But he wasn’t looking at her.

His head was turned slightly to the side, his book still in his hands, his expression unreadable as he continued to read, as if this was all just routine. As if he wasn’t half-naked in the middle of a dimly lit sitting room with a woman standing behind him, staring.

Staring.

Y/N swallowed. Goddess above.

She wasn’t unused to tending injuries—far from it. She had seen countless wounds, countless bodies, countless scars in her years as a healer. But this?

This was different.

Because it was him.

And it was just them.

She forced herself to move, her boots barely making a sound against the floor as she stepped closer, her eyes flickering to the injury on his side.

It had healed well. The once-raw wound had closed significantly, no longer angry and inflamed. But it was still tender, still prone to irritation if left unchecked.

She reached out, gently pressing her fingers to the unbroken skin around the wound. His muscles tensed under her touch, a barely noticeable shift—but she felt it.

“The healing is going well,” she murmured, focusing on her work rather than the way the heat of his skin radiated beneath her fingertips. “No signs of infection. But you still need treatment for a few more days.”

He said nothing.

Didn’t even glance at her.

Only turned another page in his book.

Y/N shook her head to herself, pulling away to grab the salve from her kit. Silently, she worked, smoothing the mixture over the injury with practiced, delicate movements. And the entire time, he remained completely still—silent and composed, as if her touch, the cold ointment, the entire situation, meant nothing.

By the time she finished, she was still half-convinced she had imagined the subtle tension in his frame, the brief flicker of his fingers gripping the book tighter.

She stepped back, wiping her hands on a cloth before beginning to pack her supplies. But before she could finish—

“You’re staying in the palace tonight.”

The unexpected words cut through the quiet, and she stilled.

Blinking, she turned toward him, confused. “What?”

Finally, finally, Kallias shifted his gaze from his book, his cool, sharp eyes landing on her. “You cannot withstand another blizzard,” he said simply. “You’re not leaving.”

Her lips parted slightly. “I—no, it’s fine. I can make it back.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Are you disobeying my orders, Miss Y/N?”

The way he said it—low, quiet, unwavering—made her pulse stutter.

A test. A challenge. A command.

Her breath hitched slightly before she exhaled in defeat, her hands clenching at her sides.

“…Fine.”

Clearly satisfied, Kallias inclined his head slightly before shifting his attention back to his book. A few moments later, a quiet knock came at the door, and he barely glanced up as he said, “The servants will escort you to your quarters.”

Y/N turned, seeing one of the waiting staff standing at the entrance, head bowed.

But instead of following them, she hesitated.

Then, before she could even think about what she was doing, she turned away from the door and walked back into the room, back toward the sofa.

She sat down.

And stayed.

For the first time since she arrived, Kallias actually looked surprised.

His cold, unreadable expression flickered ever so slightly as he turned his head toward her, his brows lowering in silent question.

She settled deeper into the sofa, ignoring the clear expectation that she would leave. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him as he resumed reading.

“I figured I could ask you some questions.”

Kallias didn’t even look up. “No.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t entertain meaningless conversations.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think it’s meaningless.”

He sighed quietly, flipping a page in his book.

Unbothered, she pressed on. “How long have you been High Lord?”

Silence.

Then—

“…A while.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.”

“I believe it is.”

She shook her head. “Alright, let’s try this. Were you trained for it your whole life?”

This time, there was a longer pause. Then—

“Yes.”

Progress.

She settled in further, warming her fingers against the fading heat of her tea. “And did you ever want to be something else?”

That got his attention.

For the first time since the conversation began, he glanced at her, his pale blue eyes assessing.

She held his gaze, waiting.

But after a moment, he simply turned back to his book.

Interesting.

She continued, undeterred. “I wasn’t trained to be a healer, you know.”

He didn’t respond, but she caught the way his fingers stilled slightly against the book’s spine.

“I wanted to be a scholar,” she admitted. “A historian.”

This time, his gaze flickered back to her, his expression unreadable.

“…Then why didn’t you?”

She exhaled quietly. “Because people needed me. My family, my friends, my court—they needed someone to tend to them, to make sure they lived.” She offered a small, wry smile. “So I chose healing.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, to her surprise, he murmured, “I see.”

Encouraged, she tilted her head. “And you? Did you ever want something else?”

Nothing.

She gave him a moment, then tried again. “Come on. You must’ve had some kind of dream when you were younger.”

Still, he remained silent.

She sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine. If you won’t answer that, then let’s go simpler. What’s your favorite season?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You do realize where you are, don’t you?”

She grinned slightly. “So… winter, then?”

He shot her a look but said nothing.

She decided to push a little further. “What about books? You read a lot, clearly. Do you have a favorite?”

His fingers tightened on the pages ever so slightly.

But he still didn’t answer.

Her grin widened. “Are you just refusing to speak now out of sheer stubbornness?”

No response.

She sighed again, feigning disappointment. “Fine, then. I’ll guess.”

She tapped her chin dramatically. “You seem like the type to prefer strategy books. Maybe war tactics? Or—no, wait—ancient philosophy.”

Nothing.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Don’t tell me you secretly enjoy romance novels.”

His sharp gaze snapped to hers.

And that was all the confirmation she needed.

A slow, delighted smile spread across her face.

“Oh,” she breathed. “You do, don’t you?”

His expression darkened. “I do not.”

She grinned. “Right. Of course. The icy, brooding High Lord of Winter doesn’t secretly read tragic love stories.”

His glare was withering. “You are insufferable.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

Still, she could see the subtle tension in his shoulders now—the faint stiffness of someone unused to being the center of such questioning.

Good.

She adjusted her position on the sofa, tilting her head again. “Alright, I’ll stop pestering you about books.”

A long exhale left his lips, as if he’d won a battle.

But then she added, “Instead, tell me about your family.”

His body went still.

That was different.

It was a shift, a crack in the cold, unaffected mask he had been wearing.

She watched as his fingers curled just slightly around the book, his shoulders stiffening—not with irritation, but with something else.

He didn’t look at her.

Didn’t even blink.

The tension was different this time.

And she knew, knew, she had finally pushed too far.

Before she could say another word, Kallias abruptly shut his book with a decisive snap.

“The servants will show you to your room,” he said coolly, rising to his feet. “Good night, Miss Y/N.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

But before she could protest, he was already heading toward the door, already moving past her as if the conversation had never happened.

And just before he left, his voice—quiet, controlled—echoed one last time.

“…Get some rest.”

Then he was gone.

Leaving Y/N staring after him, her mind racing with everything unsaid.

After that night—the night she had stayed in the palace—her days followed a routine.

Every afternoon, she would make the long trek from the healers’ quarters to the palace, the Winter winds biting at her skin. Every afternoon, she would be granted entrance, and every afternoon, she would find Kallias in the same spot—seated in his chair, a book in his hands, his icy demeanor never thawing.

And every afternoon, without fail, she would talk.

Not because he ever encouraged it. No, Kallias had made it very clear from the beginning that he had no interest in conversation. But that never stopped her.

She spoke of her past, of her childhood in the harsh winters of their court, of the first time she had ever seen magic and how it had terrified and mesmerized her in equal measure. She told him of her first patient, a boy who had nearly lost his hand in an accident but had left the healer’s hut grinning, whole and healed. She told him about her mother, who had always scolded her for not dressing warmly enough, and about the first time she had snuck out during a blizzard—how it had been so terrifying, so exhilarating.

Kallias never responded.

Or, at least, not in words.

He would sit there, book in hand, casting her the occasional sharp glance. When she asked him questions—How old were you when you first used magic? Did you always want to be High Lord? Do you have any hobbies besides glaring at me like I’m a pest?—he would shut her down with silence, or a curt, That is none of your concern.

Still, she pressed on.

She asked about his court, his people, his childhood. She made comments about how the palace had the most ridiculously large fireplaces she’d ever seen, about how the food was much better than what she usually had at the healers' quarters, about how he really should get a dog.

And every time, he would just look at her, cold and unimpressed.

She knew he hated it—her endless chattering, her insistence on filling the silence. But the strangest part?

He never told her to stop.

Not once.

Even when he glared, even when he shut her down, even when he looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world, he never told her to leave.

And that was enough for her to keep going.

But then—

Then the injury started healing.

And with every passing day, the realization settled heavier in her chest.

Soon, she would have no reason to see him again.

It was a ridiculous thought. This was her job. She had done this with countless patients before—treated them, helped them heal, and then moved on.

So why did the idea of moving on from this patient feel… wrong?

Why did it feel like a loss?

She tried not to dwell on it.

Instead, she continued her routine—her visits, her stories, her relentless attempts to break through the ice.

One afternoon, as she checked his wound, she found herself grinning before she even realized she was speaking.

“So,” she said lightly, wrapping fresh bandages around his torso. “Now that I’ve been tending to you for nearly three weeks, does this mean we’re best friends?”

She had meant it as a joke.

A small tease.

But when she looked up, she found his cold gaze locked onto her, unreadable.

And then—

A sharp, quiet No.

The word cut through the space between them like a blade.

And even though she had meant the question as nothing more than a playful jab, the answer—his answer—stung more than she expected.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, trying to shake off the odd ache in her chest.

“Well,” she said, forcing a smile. “That was unnecessarily harsh.”

He didn’t respond.

Of course he didn’t.

But for the first time since she had started tending to him, she found she didn’t want to keep talking.

For the first time, she wondered if she had imagined it all—if she had imagined the progress, the tiny cracks in his walls, the way he never told her to stop, the way he let her speak, even if he never contributed.

Maybe she had been a fool.

Maybe Kallias really was just as cold as everyone claimed him to be.

And maybe—just maybe—she cared more than she should.

But did that stop her? Hell no. If anything, it just encouraged her stubborn self more.

The palace glittered with ice and silver, chandeliers casting cold light across the grand ballroom. The music wove through the space like a delicate snowfall, each note crisp and elegant. Nobles in their finest attire swayed in effortless dances, their laughter and conversation blending into the background hum of aristocratic life.

She wasn’t here as a guest.

None of the healers were.

Dressed in her best gown—her only luxurious dress—she stood at the edges of the hall with the others, waiting in case their services were required. It was a simple thing, her gown. A soft, glittering silver that caught the candlelight whenever she moved. Nothing extravagant, nothing adorned with jewels like the noblewomen who glided across the floor, but beautiful in its own quiet way.

Not that it mattered.

She wasn’t here to be seen.

And yet, she still found her eyes drawn toward him.

Kallias stood at the head of the room, exuding that same untouchable air, dressed in regal white and deep winter blue. He was everything a High Lord should be—cold, composed, a vision of power and control.

It had been weeks since she had first begun tending to him. Weeks of sitting by his side, pressing salves into his skin, wrapping fresh bandages, filling the silence with stories about herself while he listened in his usual silence.

The wound was nearly healed now. Soon, she would no longer have a reason to visit him.

That thought had settled uneasily in her chest all evening, but she had shoved it away, refusing to dwell on it.

She had no reason to.

And then—

Her breath caught.

From her place near the back of the room, she watched as a noblewoman—tall, poised, with pale silver-blonde hair—approached Kallias.

And Kallias… looked at her.

Not in passing, not with the cold indifference he usually carried.

No, he took her hand.

And then, with a faint smirk—a smirk she had never seen directed at herself—he led the woman onto the dance floor.

Her world tilted.

She should have looked away. Should have turned her attention elsewhere. But she couldn’t.

She could only watch.

Watch as he placed a hand on the woman’s waist, as they moved together with effortless grace. As the world around them blurred into nothing.

It was the kind of dance meant for lovers.

Slow, intimate, a silent conversation spoken through the closeness of their bodies.

And Kallias—so often cold, so often distant—allowed it.

Welcomed it.

The realization slammed into her, sharper than any winter wind.

She felt the sting behind her eyes before she even understood what was happening.

A foolish, ridiculous pain bloomed in her chest, spreading through her like ice cracking beneath the weight of something unbearable.

It made no sense.

She had no claim over him.

No reason to feel this way.

And yet—

Why does it hurt?

The thought sent her reeling, her breathing suddenly uneven.

She needed to leave.

“I—excuse me,” she murmured, barely even aware of who she spoke to as she turned, walking swiftly out of the ballroom.

The moment she was out of sight, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The air outside was cold, the night wind biting at her skin, but it did nothing to dull the ache in her chest.

She pressed a hand to her ribs, as if she could hold herself together.

Idiot, she cursed herself. Fool.

What did you expect?

Had she really convinced herself that these weeks had meant something?

That she had mattered to him?

A bitter laugh slipped from her lips, and she tilted her head back to the sky, blinking rapidly, forcing the tears down.

She would not cry.

Not over this.

Not over him.

And yet, the thought of facing him again tomorrow, of pressing her fingers to his skin, of pretending that none of this mattered—

It made her feel like she was unraveling.

Taking a shuddering breath, she straightened.

And then, like slipping on armor, she schooled her features into something unreadable.

The fakest, brightest smile she could muster.

Because this was who she was.

Someone who put others before herself.

She was fine.

She was fine.

She was fine.

Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Y/N sat beside Kallias once again, her hands methodically unwrapping the bandages from his injury. She had done this countless times before—press, check, apply, rewrap. But today, it felt different.

Because you’re an idiot.

The words replayed in her mind over and over again. She had barely slept the previous night, her thoughts filled with the image of Kallias on that dance floor, his hand resting so easily on that noblewoman’s waist, the way he had smirked at her.

Had he ever smirked at her?

No.

The thought shouldn’t sting, but it did.

So she did what she always did. She talked.

She talked, and talked, and talked, desperate to fill the silence, to cover up the ache in her chest.

“Oh, and did I tell you about the time I accidentally healed a sprained ankle instead of a broken rib? You should’ve seen the poor man’s face—he looked so betrayed. Honestly, I don’t blame him, but in my defense, he was very unclear about where the pain actually was, and—”

She glanced up at Kallias, expecting the usual impassive look, the distant, unreadable gaze. But instead, she found him… tense.

More so than usual.

His jaw was clenched, his shoulders taut beneath the loose fabric of his tunic. Every word she spoke seemed to wind him tighter, like a string about to snap.

She swallowed, but forced a laugh.

“Anyway, he ended up having to go to another healer because I was so embarrassed I refused to fix my mistake. You should’ve seen my mentor’s face—gods, she was furious—”

“Gods,” Kallias suddenly snapped, his voice low and rough, “do you ever shut up?!”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Kallias had risen abruptly, turning to her with a sharp, ice-cold glare. His usual controlled demeanor was gone, replaced by sheer exasperation—by anger.

“It’s always talking and talking with you,” he continued, his tone laced with venom. “You never stop to consider whether I even want to hear you talk. I tried, for the past month, I really fucking did, Miss Y/N. But I am at my tipping point with you and your useless babbling.”

Her heart stopped.

“This is it,” he bit out. “You may leave. And don’t think of coming back tomorrow because I will have another healer replace you. One that is more quiet.”

The room felt suffocating.

Her ears rang.

She just sat there, frozen, her eyes locked on his face as the words—every single one of them—settled deep into her bones, into the very marrow of her being.

Useless babbling.

Do you ever shut up?

It was like someone had taken a knife and sliced straight through her, splitting her open for the world to see.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, gaping at him like an idiot.

Her throat was so tight it physically hurt.

Then—she forced herself to move.

Forced herself to swallow down the burning sting in her chest, to keep her face as neutral as possible even though her heart felt like it had just been crushed.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirts as she bowed her head deeply.

“I… I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She bowed lower.

“It was an honor serving you.”

And then, before she could completely break, she turned and darted out of the room.

She didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t let herself think.

Her vision blurred at the edges, but she refused to let the tears fall.

Not here.

Not now.

Gods, do you ever shut up?

She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.

And finally, when she was alone—when there was no one around to see—

She let herself break.

The new healer arrived promptly the next morning. Kallias did not bother to glance at her, merely gave a curt nod as she set down her supplies and began tending to his wound.

It was silent.

For the first time in over a month, the room held nothing but the distant crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of bandages being unwrapped. No rambling. No unnecessary commentary. No her.

Kallias exhaled slowly. This is better.

The healer finished and stepped back. “Your recovery is progressing well, my Lord. I will return at the same time tomorrow.”

He gave a dismissive nod, watching her leave.

The door clicked shut. The silence stretched on.

This is what I wanted.

He told himself that again.

Then again.

Then again.

And yet, as he sat there, the silence pressed in—thicker, heavier than it should have been.

It started with the small things.

Passing by the dining hall and hearing a burst of laughter—one that wasn’t hers. It was softer, quieter. Not the kind that filled a space effortlessly, not the kind that made his head snap up in exasperation and… something else he didn’t want to name.

Sitting in his study, book in hand, expecting an interruption that never came. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. He turned a page but read nothing. His eyes kept flicking to the door, as if expecting her to come waltzing in with some nonsense observation or another pointless story.

She never did.

The snowstorm outside raged on, swirling in thick flurries. He stared at it for a moment too long before catching himself.

She got home safely, he told himself. She must have.

And yet—

He caught himself glancing toward the healer’s wing when passing through the halls, his steps slowing despite himself. The air was always still there. Orderly. Lacking the warmth of an insufferable voice filling the space with chatter.

During court meetings, he almost—almost—looked toward the doors, expecting her to be lingering outside, waiting for his schedule to free up so she could tend to him.

But there was no one there.

And the unease settled in his chest like frost, refusing to thaw.

Five days passed. His wound was nearly healed.

The new healer was efficient, competent. There was nothing wrong with her work.

And yet—

Kallias tensed when she touched his arm, entirely too aware that it was the wrong hands. The wrong voice telling him his recovery was progressing well. The wrong presence in the room, one that did not fill the silence the way she had.

The healer worked quickly, adjusting the bandages with careful precision. He barely felt it. She was gentle—too gentle. Measured in a way that did not demand his attention, did not poke and prod at the edges of his patience with endless chatter.

He should have been grateful.

Instead, he clenched his jaw.

The healer hesitated slightly, sensing his stiffness. She withdrew her hands and stepped back, lowering her head.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” she said softly.

It was polite. Respectful. Exactly as a healer should address him.

But it wasn’t her.

The realization struck deeper than it should have. He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulder once as if testing the strength in it. Almost healed. Soon, there would be no need for a healer at all. No reason for anyone to linger in his chambers, filling the space with warmth and words he had never asked for.

For the first time since that night, the truth slithered into his mind like a sharp-edged blade.

I should not have sent her away.

Kallias moved through the days in a way that should have been normal. Should have been routine.

Except nothing felt normal.

Nothing felt right.

He told himself it was better this way. That the quiet was long overdue. That his chambers, his halls, his life had returned to the way they were meant to be—undisturbed, controlled, peaceful.

And yet—

When passing through the halls, his gaze flickered toward the healers' wing more often than he cared to admit. It was instinct, unconscious, a part of him still expecting—hoping—to see her. To catch a glimpse of her moving between rooms, head held high, determination set in her every step.

He did not linger. Would not. But the urge to was there.

During court meetings, when his mind drifted for even a second too long, his lips nearly shaped her name by mistake. He caught himself just in time, swallowing the slip before anyone noticed.

But he noticed.

The weight of it settled in his chest, unwelcome and unrelenting.

It was not just a passing thought. Not just a moment of fleeting habit.

He was thinking about her.

Too much.

Far too much.

And that was the most dangerous realization of all.

The ball was in full swing.

Laughter, conversation, and music wove through the grand hall, filling it with warmth and life. Goblets clinked, skirts swayed, gloved hands brushed in elegant passes across the dance floor. It was a celebration, a night of indulgence and revelry.

Kallias barely heard any of it.

His eyes drifted—automatically—to the corner where the healers usually stood on standby, their presence a mere formality.

She was not there.

She should not have been there. There was no reason for her to be present. And yet, something in him had expected her, had searched for her, had been waiting to catch a glimpse of silver and frost.

His jaw clenched as he forced his gaze away. It does not matter.

He did not care.

But when a noblewoman approached, hand brushing his arm in polite greeting, he nearly flinched. The light, easy conversation around him faded to a distant hum, drowned out by the weight settling in his chest.

When someone spoke to him, he did not hear them.

When a toast was raised, he did not lift his goblet.

And when he caught himself looking toward that corner again, some stubborn, unwelcome part of him refused to let go of the hollow absence he found there.

The music swelled, laughter rang out, and yet—

With quiet, shattering finality, the truth settled in.

He had made a mistake.

A grave one.

And now, he did not know if it was one he could ever undo.

Kallias did not look for her.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

Yet, somehow, his feet carried him toward the healers' wing more often than before. A habit, he reasoned. He had spent a month there—of course, it made sense that his body still followed the familiar route.

And yet, every time he passed by, he felt it. The wrongness.

The quiet was different now. Not the comforting kind, but the hollow, lacking kind. He found himself listening, waiting—for what, he did not allow himself to answer. But the realization always came in the same, bitter way: she was not there.

He should not have cared.

And yet, one day, he caught a conversation between two healers in the hall.

"She’s been taking on extra shifts in the lower wing."

"I heard she even requested to transfer out of the palace soon."

The words nearly made him stop in his tracks. Leaving the palace? The thought sent an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation curling through his chest.

But he forced himself forward, forced himself not to react.

She was free to do as she pleased. He had dismissed her. Pushed her away. He had wanted peace, had wanted her endless talking to stop, and now he had exactly that.

So why did it feel like he had carved something out of himself in the process?

The court had begun to notice.

Kallias was sharper these days. Impatient. The weight of his words heavier, his glares colder. The council meetings, the daily court affairs—none of it held his focus the way it should have.

The worst part?

It had been days since he had last spoken to her, and yet she was everywhere.

A joke someone made at a meeting—something ridiculous, something lighthearted. He had almost glanced toward where she should have been, where she would have been grinning at him with that look in her eyes, waiting for his reaction.

She was not there.

She would never be there again.

When the letter arrived, Y/N almost didn’t open it.

A small, plain envelope had been slipped beneath her door, its presence silent but insistent.

She stared at it for a moment, unease curling in her stomach. No messenger had knocked. No one had called for her directly. Just this—this single piece of parchment, waiting for her to acknowledge it.

Slowly, she picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her hands before breaking the seal.

The message inside was brief, written in a careful, deliberate hand.

Your expertise is needed in the royal gardens. Do not delay.

No name. No explanation.

Y/N frowned. Healers were rarely summoned without specifics. If someone had been injured, there would have been details—a location, a name, something.

And the gardens? At this hour?

It made no sense.

Her first instinct was to ignore it. To toss the letter aside and stay where she was, safe within the walls of the healers’ quarters.

But—

What if it was real?

What if someone did need her?

The doubt, the nagging uncertainty, was enough to push her into action.

So, she wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders, braced herself against the cold, and stepped into the night.

The gardens were empty.

Silent. Still.

A frown pulled at her lips as she stepped further in, glancing around for any sign of movement. No one was here. No patient. No suffering figure waiting for aid.

She exhaled sharply.

This was a mistake.

She turned on her heel, ready to leave—

"Wait."

The voice—deep, familiar, unmistakable—halted her steps.

Her breath caught. She did not turn around.

A part of her screamed to flee, to walk away, to pretend she had never come here in the first place. But her feet remained rooted to the ground, her hands clenching into fists.

She knew that voice.

And she hated that she still recognized it so easily.

"Please."

Not an order. A request.

She swallowed hard as she heard the quiet crunch of boots on gravel. Slow, measured steps.

He was moving—around her, toward her.

She could have walked away. Should have. But she didn’t.

And then—

His chest was right in front of her.

Her eyes stayed fixed on his tunic, on the rise and fall of his breathing. She did not dare look up.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Then—

"I regret it."

The words were rough, like they had been torn from him unwillingly. As if they hurt to say.

She said nothing.

"I was cruel," he continued, voice tight. "I—" A sharp exhale. "I should not have spoken to you that way. I should not have sent you away."

Still, she did not speak.

He shifted, uneasy. Kallias, the untouchable. The untouchable, now desperate for words.

"I am not—", he hesitated, his voice quieter now. "I am not accustomed to...to this."

She finally looked up.

His eyes—icy blue, usually so cold, so distant—held something else now. Something raw, something unguarded.

She could forgive him. Right now, she could let it go. She could tell him it was alright, that she would return, that all was well—

But it would be a lie.

A bitter, burning rage stirred in her chest.

"No."

One word. Sharp, final.

Kallias’s brows pulled together, as if he had not expected the rejection.

Good.

"No?" His voice was measured, but she could see the tension in his jaw.

She stepped back, just enough to breathe.

"Do you even understand?" she demanded, voice trembling with frustration. "Do you understand what you did to me?"

His expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing.

So she let the words spill out.

"You humiliated me. You made me feel—like I was nothing. Like I was annoying, like I was some burden that you just had to tolerate." She shook her head. "I served you. I cared for you. And you threw me aside like I was disposable."

Silence.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t excuse himself.

Instead, after a long, agonizing pause, he said—

"I know."

She faltered.

"I know," he repeated, his voice quieter now. "And I am...trying." He exhaled. "Tell me what I must do to make this right."

She studied him carefully.

He was genuine. Perhaps clumsy in his attempt, hesitant in his words, but genuine.

Still—

"I want actions, my Lord."

He stiffened slightly at the title.

"Not words."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Kallias."

She blinked.

"What?"

"Call me Kallias."

His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Hesitantly, barely above a whisper—

"Kallias."

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, as if he was reliving something.

But she did not let him sink into it for long.

Her voice cut through the night, sharp and cold.

"I want you to prove your sincerity to me, Kallias."

His eyes snapped open.

"Only then may I consider forgiving you."

And before he could say another word, she turned sharply on her heel, moving to leave—

Only to pause at the last second.

She spun back around, meeting his gaze with one last piercing look.

"Oh." She tilted her head. "You only have two weeks."

His lips parted slightly.

"I will be leaving after that."

And before he could argue, before he could try to stop her, she disappeared into the night, leaving Kallias alone in the garden, the weight of her ultimatum pressing down on him like an unforgiving storm.

Kallias did not seek her out again the next day. Or the day after.

But something had shifted.

At first, it was subtle.

When Y/N entered the healers' ward one morning, she nearly tripped over a stack of wooden crates lined neatly by the entrance. Frowning, she crouched down, fingers trailing over the stamped sigil on the side. The insignia of the Winter Court’s official supply chains.

Inside, she found expensive salves imported from distant courts, fresh linens, new sets of surgical tools wrapped in pristine cloth. Even additional firewood to warm the rooms as the cold deepened.

Her fingers curled over the edge of one of the crates.

They had needed these supplies for months. Had been told there were delays, that their requests were lower priority than the military or the palace.

Yet now, all at once, they had everything they had asked for.

Y/N’s eyes darkened.

This was not a coincidence.

She turned sharply, scanning the ward, looking for the head healer. “Who brought these?”

The older healer glanced up from her records, expression tired but pleased. “An order came from the palace. Directly from the High Lord himself.”

Y/N’s chest went tight.

She said nothing as she turned back toward the crates.

This was not an apology. This was not a request for forgiveness.

This was something else entirely.

The second time, she saw it.

She had been passing through the main halls of the ward when a flicker of white caught her eye beyond the archway leading into one of the recovery rooms.

She stopped.

Through the partially open door, Kallias stood before the head healer.

And he was listening.

Not speaking, not giving orders, not ensuring his presence dominated the space.

But listening.

His arms were crossed, posture rigid as always, but his brows were furrowed in concentration as the head healer spoke. Her words were quiet but firm, explaining in detail what the ward required—not only in supplies but in structure. How they needed more hands, how the new allocation of funds should be distributed, how the growing needs of the people could not be ignored.

Kallias did not interrupt. He did not challenge her. He simply nodded once, asked something in return, and listened again.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This was not for her.

This was not a calculated move meant to draw her back in.

She swallowed hard and turned away before she could hear more.

Then, that night—

It was late. Too late for anyone to be awake.

Y/N had been tending to a restless patient, checking their fever one last time before slipping out of the ward’s main rooms. The halls were quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights.

But then—

A voice. Low and quiet, nearly swallowed by the silence.

“… I was cruel to her.”

Y/N froze mid-step.

It was Kallias.

She pressed herself against the wall just beyond the archway.

“She did not deserve it,” he continued, his voice wrong somehow—too raw, too open. “And I do not know if I can fix it.”

A pause. A long, heavy pause.

Then, another voice—low and steady, belonging to one of his closest advisors. “You wounded her deeply, my lord. That will not be undone with gestures alone.”

A sharp inhale. “I know.”

Something in his tone made Y/N’s stomach tighten.

The advisor exhaled slowly. “Then what is it that you want?”

A longer silence.

And then, so softly she barely heard it—

“… I want her to stay.”

Y/N gripped the fabric of her sleeve.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, breath coming a little too fast.

She did not stay to hear more.

She turned and left, barely aware of her own steps.

Because for the first time, a sliver of doubt crept into her anger.

Maybe, just maybe… he truly meant it.

The knock was soft but firm, barely audible over the crackling of the fire in the corner.

Y/N frowned, setting down the bandages she had been carefully sorting. It was late—too late for anyone to be delivering messages.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, revealing a young servant girl clutching a bundle of parchment to her chest. She hesitated in the doorway, cheeks pink from the cold. “These are for you, healer.”

Y/N wiped her hands on her apron before taking the pages. “Who sent them?”

The girl only dipped her head. “I don’t know, my lady. I was just told to bring them to you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly but nodded in dismissal. The girl quickly turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Silence settled over the room once more as Y/N sat at the small wooden table, smoothing out the stack of documents.

Her gaze flicked over the first page—and then she went very still.

It was a funding request. Her funding request.

One she had sent months ago, listing all the resources the healers' ward desperately needed—better equipment, fresh linens, a steady supply of medicine for the winter months.

Her fingers tightened around the parchment.

She flipped to the next page. Another request—approved. Then another. And another.

She inhaled sharply, flipping through the entire bundle with growing urgency.

Every single one of them.

Approved.

Stamped with the official Winter Court seal.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t how these things worked. Approvals took months, often years. The process was slow, tedious. But this—this had been done overnight.

A pit formed in her stomach.

And then, at the bottom of the last document, she saw it.

A single note.

Elegant, precise handwriting.

You will have everything you need.

No signature.

None was needed.

She knew who had done this.

Knew exactly whose hand had made this happen.

Kallias.

Y/N set the parchment down carefully, staring at it for a long, long moment.

She should have felt relieved. She did feel relieved. This was everything she had fought for, everything she had begged the court to consider.

And yet—

Her fingers curled into a fist.

Because this wasn’t just a gesture. It wasn’t just aid.

It was him.

Trying.

Fixing things.

For her.

She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her temple.

This was not what she had expected.

Not what she had wanted.

Because now—

Now she had to ask herself a dangerous question.

Was she still angry at him?

Or was she just afraid to let go of the anger?

She should have ignored it.

Should have ignored him.

But when she entered the ward that evening, she saw him.

Kallias stood at the far end of the room, speaking to a young healer. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture as regal and composed as ever—but he was listening.

He was learning.

For a long moment, she just… watched.

Then, before she could stop herself, she turned and walked in his direction.

Their eyes met.

The conversation around them faded.

His lips parted slightly, as if about to speak.

She did not let him.

Instead, she brushed past him, deliberately distant, and kept walking.

But something in his gaze, in the way he looked at her, stuck with her long after she was gone.

She found a small package by her bedside that morning.

Inside—

A pair of gloves.

Finely made, lined with soft fur, enchanted to keep her hands warm even in the coldest temperatures.

She swallowed hard.

She should not accept it.

And yet, later that evening, when she stepped outside into the snow, she wore them.

She returned to her chambers late that evening, exhausted.

And nearly tripped over another package.

This time, it was books.

Her breath caught as she picked up the first one, fingers running over the leather binding. Medical texts. Some of them rare, some of them from distant courts. Books she had wanted, but could never afford.

She exhaled sharply, gripping the book tighter.

She should not have opened them.

Should have ignored them entirely.

But that night, she sat by the fire, book in hand, and read until the candles burned low.

The palace gardens were covered in frost when she passed through them, heading toward the ward.

And then—

A presence behind her.

She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

He didn’t speak at first. Just walked beside her, their steps crunching against the frozen ground.

Finally, after a long silence—

“You wore the gloves.”

Her fingers twitched.

She exhaled slowly, watching her breath curl in the cold air.

Then, quietly—“Yes.”

He didn’t say anything more.

But for the first time in weeks, they walked side by side, no longer strangers.

Y/N had been walking through the palace gardens, checking on some of the herbs they had been growing for future treatments. A gust of wind chilled her, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her, turning to head back inside.

The sky had darkened ominously as thick clouds rolled in. Within moments, the wind had escalated into something more furious, rattling the palace windows and sending the trees into a wild dance. The storm was coming.

As Y/N approached the palace entrance, ready to make her way back to the healers’ ward, a sudden calm washed over her. The wind stopped. The heavy air, so oppressive moments ago, suddenly felt lighter. The storm outside, now loud and angry, remained locked in the distance as if the walls of the palace itself were holding it back.

Her footsteps slowed as she glanced around in confusion. She felt… strange. Like something was different.

A deep, familiar voice broke the silence, and she turned.

Kallias stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes fully. His gaze held a quiet intensity.

“You... you stopped it?” Y/N asked, blinking.

“The storm? Yes,” Kallias replied, stepping closer. “It seemed fitting. You should not have to endure the chaos of the world when you are already fighting your own battles.”

Y/N glanced around. The stillness was almost eerie, the absence of wind and thunder filling the space between them.

“You—this is… too much, Kallias.” Her voice faltered, unsure of what to make of the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, but the weight of it hung in the air. “I just wanted to give you peace. To show you that you don’t always have to face the storm alone.”

Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, but she said nothing more, lost in the quiet beauty of the moment.

The storm raged outside, but here, in this small, still bubble, there was only calm.

Y/N had spent her evening sorting through medicinal herbs when a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find a small basket of flowers waiting on the doorstep, along with a note.

I thought you might like something fresh.

The handwriting was unmistakable. Kallias.

Curious, Y/N made her way to the designated location that evening, a part of the palace gardens she had never taken the time to visit before. She had always assumed it was just an old, neglected corner, left to decay.

As she approached the garden’s entrance, she felt something shift. The air felt warmer, and she noticed a soft, faint glow just beyond the archway. The entrance was framed with vines and wildflowers in full bloom, each one shining as if touched by magic.

She stepped inside, eyes wide in awe.

The space had transformed. Where there had been an overgrown, abandoned patch of earth, now there was a garden in full bloom. Trees heavy with fruit glistened under the moonlight, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. Every flower seemed to dance in the cool night air. The place was alive, vibrant.

Y/N turned slowly, meeting Kallias’ gaze in the center of the garden. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his presence commanding yet gentle in this new, serene environment.

“You did all of this?” she asked, breathless.

“Not all of it,” Kallias replied with a quiet smile. “But I thought it might be a place you could call your own. A place where you can find peace, when the rest of the world is too much.”

Her eyes lingered on him. “Why? After all the damage…”

His smile faltered for a brief moment, but he held her gaze.

“Because I owe you that much. I owe you more than that.”

The space between them seemed to narrow, the moment stretching as he waited for her response.

“I—thank you,” she whispered, almost unable to speak at the beauty of it all, but more so at the sincerity behind his words.

Y/N had been on edge all day. The tension had been building in the air, the weight of the impending departure pressing on her chest. Each moment, every encounter with Kallias, had felt more and more charged with something she couldn’t place. She had tried to ignore it, but it was becoming harder.

When the note appeared—unsigned, as usual—her heart had skipped a beat.

Meet me at the edge of the northern terrace. There is something you must see.

She couldn’t ignore it. Not this time.

With a mix of reluctance and curiosity swirling in her chest, she donned her cloak, its fabric brushing softly against the stone floors as she made her way to the northern terrace. Her footsteps were steady, yet something inside her fluttered, as if she was walking toward a moment that could change everything.

When she reached the edge of the palace grounds, the familiar sight of Kallias waiting for her did not disappoint. He stood near the stone railing, facing the horizon, but something in the air felt different. A quiet intensity lingered, something almost tangible, weaving between them without a word spoken.

Y/N hesitated, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. “Kallias,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “You’ve… been waiting for me?”

He didn’t turn to her immediately. Instead, he stood there for a long moment, as though savoring the distance between them. And then, finally, he spoke.

“Always.” His voice was quiet, deeper than usual, a note of something almost raw underneath. “Always.”

She felt the air around her shift. Not just the cool evening breeze, but something else—something electric, something that had been building for days. But she didn’t know what it was, nor did she have time to think about it as she stood there, facing the man who had changed everything she thought she knew about forgiveness, about trust, about herself.

The moment stretched, and then, without warning, the ground beneath their feet trembled ever so slightly. Y/N looked up instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

And then, the sky exploded.

The northern lights. They burst to life in the heavens above them, spreading across the canvas of the night with an intensity that took her breath away. The lights shimmered in vivid shades of green, violet, and gold, swirling and twirling like a dance, as though the stars themselves had come alive. The air around them hummed with magic.

But it wasn’t just the lights. The stars above, too, seemed to rearrange themselves, forming patterns she had never seen before—constellations that were new, foreign, like they were being painted just for her, just for this moment. The lights stretched farther, brighter, glowing in every direction, encircling them, filling the sky with a breathtaking display of color and light.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It was impossible. It felt as if the universe itself had shifted, bending and molding the world around her, all for this one instant.

And in that moment, Kallias finally turned to her. His face was bathed in the soft glow of the lights, but it was his eyes that caught her attention. His eyes, dark and stormy just days ago, now held something vulnerable—something sincere.

“I thought… if I could show you something beautiful,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper over the hum of the magic, “something just for you, you might understand that I’m trying.” His gaze softened. “I’m trying, Y/N.”

Y/N felt something inside her stir—a warmth, a flicker of hope, that she hadn’t felt in so long. Her chest tightened as she looked at him, the storm of conflicting emotions within her slowly beginning to settle.

“You don’t have to try so hard,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the air itself held its breath. “I—” She didn’t know what to say. How could she? He had given her the impossible—an entire sky lit up just for her.

“I do,” he said, stepping closer. “I do have to try. I have to make you see that I regret everything. All of it. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to prove that to you.”

His words hit her like a wave, and for a long moment, she couldn’t speak. The magic in the sky above them seemed to intensify, swirling faster, becoming more vivid as if responding to his words. The aurora painted the sky with such beauty that it was almost overwhelming, a brilliant tapestry that filled the night.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she reached out toward the sky, the shimmering colors reflected in her eyes. “How… how did you do this?”

His hand, almost without thinking, reached for hers. His touch was gentle, his fingers brushing against hers like he was afraid to break the moment.

“I have my ways,” Kallias said with a small, self-deprecating smile. “But it’s nothing compared to the things I should have done for you.”

Y/N turned to him, and for the first time, she really looked at him. The man who had tried to push her away. The man who had hurt her. But also the man who was here, standing before her, now pouring all his regret and all his hope into this one gesture.

“You’ve done enough,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, as she took another step closer to him. “This… this is enough.”

He was so close now, she could feel his warmth, his presence enveloping her, the faintest trace of his breath on her cheek.

The night sky seemed to fade into the background, the northern lights themselves dimming just enough for them to focus on each other. And in the silence, with the magic of the world swirling around them, Kallias leaned in, just barely, his voice a hushed murmur.

“Y/N… I’m not asking you to forgive me. Not yet. But I want to earn it. I want to prove to you that I am worthy of your trust.”

For the first time, Y/N didn’t feel the need to pull away, didn’t feel the walls she had spent so long building. She was still scared, still uncertain of the future, but something inside her softened—something that had been hard and bitter for so long.

“I’m still not sure if I can forgive you,” she whispered, the vulnerability in her voice almost shocking. “But… I want to try.”

Kallias smiled then, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “That’s all I can ask for.”

And as the northern lights swirled around them, filling the sky with a breathtaking, magical glow, they stood there together—two souls caught in the same moment, a moment of tentative hope, of second chances.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—there was something worth believing in again.

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Taglist: @slytherin-pen @buttpoltergeist @tooexhaustedsstuff @aliceinwondwonderland

[christeli4]

In fact, I like to think that after all the waiting for Donnie's feelings for April to respond, he wasn't used to showing his intense love for her during their early relationship. He hid his feelings from friendship many times and sometimes got nervous around her.

So he decided to write a few words in a love letter and even says in advance that he did not have everything perfect. But April doesn't care about imperfection. She shows by all her actions how much she appreciates his work and care, and he doesn't have to apologize for it.

Don't worry, Ramona will be there too.

Look at what song I Found For them. >////<

[breadandlottery]

I think I'm going to make people upset but let's go Do you think Gi Hun has grown in terms of character development? In my opinion, what bothers me most about round 6 is the lack of significant growth in gi hun because he doesn't seem to have lost several people in the first season he remains naive I expected an improvement or development from a person who has already won the games. I would like you to answer me, I love your analyses.

My dear anon, apologies in advance for what is sure to be a very lengthy response…

I would like to say first that this is a tough question for me to answer with confidence since we haven’t seen season 3 and because it feels a little like a season 2A and season 2B situation. 

I’ve been working through scenes that I’m flagging in my mind for moments that should have raised red flags for Gihun but, from what we’re shown, didn’t. As I often tag ramble about, I do hold out some hope that he had legitimate suspicions of 001 and a loose backup plan. I have also noted that, interestingly, s2 does not have any of the flashback/realization scenes we were given several times in s1 and honestly, that feels very intentional? Like we’re supposed to notice it’s missing (I also have thoughts about ADHD Gihun, but that may just be me projecting because I’m real familiar with the exact kind of lightbulb moments he has, lol). My hunch/hope is that the show has been misdirecting us to make us believe everything you just said about the apparent lack of character development.

Now, I do think there has absolutely been character evolution. I can understand fans not seeing it as “development”, because I think we tend to think of character development as positive growth, but honestly, it doesn’t have to be… like a villain arc is still character development (just an example, I do not think this is a villain arc situation). I think instead of a lack of character development, I’d be more apt to call it a lack of “learning his lesson” or a lack of apotheosis (the point of realization/epiphany).

If we view squid game as monomyth/hero’s journey, he’s kind of not to the point yet where that would have happened (because the end of S2 would be the abyss?). Now, am I certain that the story being told is a hero’s journey? No, although I am somewhat confident.

So— I'm working under the assumption that we have a hero’s journey told in trilogy format. We have a LOT of comparison media out there… the Matrix, Star Wars, LOTR, among the most popular. What does the end of the middle installment of all of these have in common? They’re bleak af. 

Matrix: Neo unconscious, Agent Smith breaking into the real world

Star wars: Luke battles  Vader and loses his hand/almost dies, Han encased in carbonite

LOTR: Gollum’s betrayal, battle of Helm’s Deep (a win but with an ominous warning accompanying it)

The psuedo trilogy structure is where I do feel slightly perturbed at netflix for passing off a split season as 2 separate seasons. With a “real” trilogy, each component should be able to stand alone (like with 3 act structure-- set up-> conflict -> resolution) which is true of the examples above because the primary narrative conflict is actually resolved but super not true of squid game s2. Which means s2 and 3 combined could be the middle of the trilogy, with the mystery future season being the final part, but I don’t know that that’s in the cards. 

As an aside, we could just be totally wrong about the direction this is going in. Narrative arcs that involve the protagonist “learning a lesson” isn’t a universal concept. I always think of James Bond movies (especially the older ones) as an example of a “flat arc” character, because like, if you sleep with her she’s probably gonna die James, didn’t you learn this last time? If you’re too reckless there will be consequences, didn’t you learn this last time James? Like. That guy never learns. Not every character learns from their mistakes. Do I think Gihun is ultimately gonna be a flat arc character? No. Is it possible? I guess, man, look at the world, anything’s possible!!

So, ugh, sorry that’s a ton of speculation and uncertainty that isn’t directly answering your ask, but I do think that any of these possibilities can explain what we’re calling a lack of character development because we’re just not at that point in the story yet.

NOW.

Personally, I do think that Gihun is very perceptive, and I hold out hope that he wasn’t as trusting and oblivious as we’re made to think. I also believe that even if that is the case, he’d still have further to go/more development needed before he could actually reach the end of his journey. The reason for this (and I think one of the reasons people sometimes think of him as not smart) is the narrowness of his worldview. Not narrowmindedness, just literally not having broad knowledge about the world. Like not knowing where Pakistan was. Or not really getting that neither he nor the Frontman have the power to end what's happening because it is a symptom of a much larger, systemic problem. And in complete fairness to this sweet man, lack of perspective and a narrow worldview is an incredibly common flaw in people. 

So a few things that can be interpreted as Stagnation or Lack of Development:

Still a gambler: as seen in Russian Roulette and in going back into the game. Definitely risky, definitely reckless. He is like kinda suicidal though, so I don’t know that the underlying cause of this behavior is the same as it was in s1.

Still just out here trusting everyone: Yeah. That’s what he does, though. He came right out and said it, he doesn’t do it because he thinks people are trustworthy, he does it because what else is he gonna do? Is this a dumb-as-shit approach that should be “character-developed” out of him? Or is it a very important key defining feature of who he is as the hero of the story? I could go either way on that, tbh.

Naïve/easy to fool: I don’t think he ever was all that easy to fool, I think he consciously chose to let a lot of things slide and/or second-guessed his intuition because people called him stupid and slow all the time. 

Things that I think are Character Development

Ability to Focus: Maybe I’m ADHD projecting again, but this guy was all over the place in the beginning of s1, now he’s running a whole ass operation (maybe the medicine Mr Kim brought over was secretly adderall lol).

Leadership: I’ve said all along he just naturally exudes leadership, but he wasn’t really aware of it or comfortable with it in s1. In s2 he’s really embracing decision-making (even if they’re bad decisions) and seems comfortable being the one planning and leading, which is impressive.

So. To sum up a very very long answer:

I do see character development, if not the “hero finally learned his lesson” kind

I do still think it’s possible that Gihun wasn’t quite as clueless as we’re shown, and I’ll cling to this delusion until at least June 27th lol

I think it’s possibly too early in the narrative for his full revelation, anyway, but-

Part of why that feels “off” is because s2 is missing the “last Act” of the story it was telling (like don’t split a sequel in 2 and try to shoehorn it into a trilogy if it’s not an actual trilogy please for the love of god it throws off the balance)

[farfromstrange]

Hey!

Happy advanced birthday! Hope you get to go to more comic cons and meet charlie again uwu

Btw love your fics! They're very immersive and well written ♡

Can I get a bouquet of peonies with some daisies ?

I was thinking something along the lines of matt and reader being frenemies in college, having a sassy back nd forth relationship?

Perhaps the reader at one point goes like "Aren't you blind?" And he's leans in with a soft purr "Well love is blind"

And she pushes him off laughing?

Idk. I need a spontaneous vibe in the fic.

You can choose the ending •♡•

Thank you strange! And again, happy advanced birthday to one of the best fic creator! 💗

Aww, thank you so much! I'm also wishing for myself that he'll come back to my country sometime soon, so thank you for helping me manifest it. And thank you so much for your request! I apologize for taking so long. I wasn't happy with my first draft, so I rewrote everything. I hope it captures the vibe you wanted me to go with. I'm actually quite happy with this. I hope you feel the same way! I got a little carried away, so this is now almost 900 words instead of the short fic I intended it to be. Oopsie.

Friends, Enemies, or More?

Event Masterlist | Matt Murdock Masterlist

Pairing: College!Matt Murdock x Reader

Request: A bouquet of… peonies and daisies.

Warnings: Fluff, college era, kind of frenemies to lovers, snarky remarks, Matt being a smug asshole

WC: 878

You poke your head into the study booth between the State and Federal law literature and just as suspected, there he sits with his fingers buried in the textbook for his third-year class. 

“You’re in my spot, nerd,” you say. 

Matt tilts his head in the direction of your voice. His shoulders shrug as he retorts, “I didn’t see your name on it.”

“Ha Ha, very funny.”

“Really, I didn’t.” As if to underline his point, he adjusts the black glasses on his nose.

With a roll of your eyes, you slide in next to him. “I hate you.”

He chuckles, “No, you don’t.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Or maybe you should keep telling yourself that. He’s annoying, and sometimes you want to shove your foot up his ass, but you don’t hate him. When you have a question, he’s available, day and night, and he helps you study when you feel like you’re going to fail. He’s a good person. 

You don’t like that he’s better than you, of course, but one look at him, and your stomach is in knots for an entirely different reason. The butterflies hammer against the doors to their cage to the point you wake up nauseous. It’s so annoying you want to kill him sometimes. But hate? No, you could never hate him, and that makes you pretend you can’t stand him even more.

“You’re quiet,” he observes. 

You scoff, shaking your head as you open your textbook. “I’m trying to study,” you say. “You know, the thing people do before an exam.”

“I know what studying is. I was making an observation.”

“You’re not worth the effort it takes to keep up a conversation.”

“There she is.”

You bite back a smile. “Shut up.”

Unlike you though, he doesn’t hide the satisfied smirk forming on his lips. He’s quite proud of it, too. 

Minutes turn into hours, both of you silently working through each question on your mock exam. You work until the sun has long set over New York, and the librarian announces through the speakers of the library that it will be closing soon. 

With a sigh, you close your textbook. The man beside you shifts, too. 

“Walk you home?” Matt asks.

You turn to him, eyebrows raised, and you sound almost irritated when you retort, “Why would you do that?”

He chuckles awkwardly. “Well, it’s late, and from what I’ve heard campus can get pretty dark. I just thought you might want someone to, you know, keep you company.”

Never, not once, in the time you’ve known each other did he offer to walk you home. You’ve been to each other’s dorms to study, sure, but he never really expressed concern for your safety before. It surprises and confuses you, to say the least—to the point your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest again. 

Matt tilts his head as if to ask, ‘So?’

God knows it feels as though he can see right through you with nothing but his senses. It’s not possible, you keep telling yourself, but whenever he sits there, unmoving, your reflection dancing in his black, squared glasses, you can’t help but feel naked. 

You decide to play it off with a snicker. “What, you mean I need someone to protect me?” you ask.

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

You laugh again at the absurdity of it all, tossing your textbook into your bag. “Aren’t you blind?”

He leans closer and purrs, “Well, love is blind.” Without missing a beat, that smug smirk still plastered on his face. 

You stare at him. Did he just… your brain takes a moment to catch up with his words. A laugh bubbles up in the back of your throat. 

“You think this is gonna work on me?” You shove him. “Yeah, Murdock, not gonna happen.”

Trying to keep some of your dignity, you get up. Perhaps that way he won’t catch the blood pooling in your head. 

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m good,” you say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Just as you’re about to turn away, his hand wraps around your wrist. You’re met with that smirk again. It’s as though you ate your own heart. The butterflies are rioting, and his hand—his godforsaken hand with those thick fingers and veins spreading over the back of it like he was painted by Picasso—makes your skin tingle. 

You’re not supposed to feel this way. But oh, you’re far beyond enemies now. You’re far beyond being friends.

Matt pulls you back down to his level. The surprise at his strength gets lost in translation for he doesn’t hesitate to grab the back of your head, roughly so, and he brings his lips to yours—a soft, plump heaven of breath mints and coffee. 

He kisses you like a man starved. Lips moving, teeth clashing, and your tongues dancing for dominance. Though just as suddenly as he’s kissed you, his lips fall from yours again. 

“Now can I walk you home?” he asks.

You exhale shakily. “Only if you promise to buy me dinner,” you say.

And it comes as naturally as breathing to him to promise you exactly that. He may not be able to give you much, but he sure as hell is going to try. 

[luna-eclipse2000]

Your first Valentine’s Day with AOT boys + Hanji

Ft. Eren, Armin, Jean, Marco, Connie, Levi, Hanji

Notes: Connie’s is suggestive so MDNI, no pronouns used for reader

Eren

- He’s never been a fan of Valentine’s Day

- He just never saw the point

- But that’s not to say he hated the idea of buying a future partner some flowers and chocolates

- In fact, he would find himself day dreaming about seeing his partner smiling as they gaze upon the gifts he bought them

- And since he and Jean both got into relationships before Valentine’s Day, he knew he had to go above in beyond

- Not just because you deserve it, but because he wanted to stick it to that horse-faced bastard

You’re out with your friends for brunch, a Valentines tradition you’ve had for years because none of you had boyfriends before. All of you are taken now but that doesn’t stop you three from meeting up. Just as your food comes, your phone rings with Eren’s tone. “Sorry, give me a second.” You apologize before pulling out your phone to read the text.

Bird boy: Come to my place when you’re done with your friends. I got something to show you ;)

You know your friends will tease and press you to get more information just to see you get flustered, so you put your phone away and pretend it was nothing. But of course you’re now eager to get over to Eren’s place to see what he has in store.

Most people who send winking emoji’s mean it only to imply something sexual, but he does it to hint at something exciting. A surprise. Not to say he doesn’t mean it in the traditional sense, too. You’re also expecting him to do something big because of his rivalry with Jean.

However you’re not prepared for what you see when you walk into his apartment. There’s petals scattering the floor, unlit candles hang from the ceiling, pink and red ribbon hang along the top of the walls, an overly large teddy bear sits against the wall where the balcony is, and Eren stands in the centre of it all wearing a red velvet suit with black lining. “Eren Jaeger, what did you do?” You question with a smile, hands placed on your hips.

“Giving you the best damn Valentine’s Day you’ve ever had.” He answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He then walks up to you with a heart shaped box in his hand. “Chocolate?”

“I’ll never say no to Lindor.” You answer and take out one of the wrapped chocolates. “Do you like it?” Eren asks. “You certainly exceeded every expectation.” You tell him. “I was going to light the candles but Armin told me the flames would burn the fishing wire and start a fire.” Eren admits. “And while that is the perfect way to describe my love for you, I don’t think the building manager would get it. Or care.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder for a brief moment before looking at him again. “You can be so cheesy, you know that?”

“As long as you’re happy, I don’t care how cheesy I get.” He says before pressing his lips to yours. “Now go pose with the bear. I need to brag to Jean.”

Armin

- This boy does his homework when it comes to holidays

- He finds out what you like and what you don’t so everything will be perfect

- He writes a step-by-step plan for before, during, and after your first Valentine’s with him

- But when you meet him at the restaurant

- He forgets the entire plan

- Not a shred of it remains in his head

- And he becomes the shy, flustered, awkward Armin we all know and adore

You fiddle with your clothes as you walk up to the restaurant Armin suggested for Valentine’s. He had to take his grandfather to an appointment so he profusely apologized for not being able to pick you up himself, but promised thar he’d make up for it. This restaurant is usually pretty booked up in advance, especially for holidays, however he said he knew the owner so he and his friends get tables pretty much whenever they want.

“Hi there.” The hostess greets as you walk up to the stand. “Name for the reservation?”

“Uh, it should be under Armin Arlert.” You tell her. “I don’t think he’s here yet.”

“No, it doesn’t look like anyone’s been seated at your table.” She says after tapping on the tablet in front of her. “I can take you back now if you’d like, or you can wait for him up here.”

“I’ll wait for him, thank you.” You say and then stand off to the side. You look around at the restaurant since this is your first time stepping foot inside. It’s certainly very fancy and the food must cost a fortune. “They probably offer rich shit like calamari and the Grey Stuff from Beauty and the Beast.” You think to yourself.

The tables all have ivory tablecloths with gold details around the edges. You can even see a wine room closer to where the kitchen is. Each table has a rose in a vase in the centre of the table. Your gaze then falls onto all the couples in the dining room. Everyone is dressed to the nines, wearing obviously designer clothing and expensive jewelry. This causes you to feel a bit insecure and wonder if you should’ve dressed up a bit more.

Your clothing isn’t designer, but it still cost a pretty penny. You’re sure that if you bought your clothes with any of these people’s cards, they wouldn’t even notice the charge.

The bell rings behind you, signalling that someone has come in. You turn around and see Armin walk in carrying a bouquet of red, pink and white roses, and a red gift bag clutched in his right hand. “Armin.” You address your new boyfriend.

He turns to face you with a confident smile on his face but then he goes slightly slack jawed, a deep red blush spreading across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “I- Um- You- Uh, wow.” He clears his throat and looks away.

“Hey, are you ok?” You ask, reaching out and touching his cheek. “Yeah, you just… You look stunning.” He says, still not looking at you.

“Aw, thank you.” You say sweetly. “I was starting to think I stood out like a sore thumb.”

His head whips forward with what seems to be a mixture of confusion and fear in his eyes. “No! Not at all! You’re easily the best-looking here.” He then remembers the gifts in his hands. “Oh! These are for you.”

You chuckle at his awkwardness and take the items from him. “You’re so cute. You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I make things weird?” He asks nervously. “No, absolutely not.” You assure him. A look of relief washes over his still-red features. “I’m just saying it’s sweet that you wanted to spend your money on me.”

“Of course. It’s my job to spoil you.” He says, tucking his hands into his pockets. You’re extremely grateful that he even got you flowers let alone something that won’t die in a few weeks, but you start feeling guilty about not getting him anything. You didn’t think you were at the gift-giving stage yet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get anything for you.” You apologize. “I don’t need anything, sweetie.” Armin tells you. “All I want is for you to have fun.”

You smile at him, feeling better but you’re still not 100% satisfied. So you take a step forward and press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Does that suffice?”

He doesn’t answer because he’s focusing all his energy on not passing out right then and there. When he finally does speak, it’s more of an incoherent babble than a proper sentence. You let out another laugh at his shyness.

“Oh, I see your date is here.” The hostess says as she walks back to her stand. “If you two want to follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”

You gently put the flowers into the bag and take his hand in yours as you follow her to the back of the restaurant. Armin is about 99% sure he just died and went to heaven.

Jean

- We all know that Jean is a hopeless romantic

- So you can bet that he’s been planning Valentine’s Day for a while

- Even before he got into a relationship, he would dream about what he’d do, where he’d take his partner, and what gifts he’d buy

- 100% gets his mother flowers and something else she likes

- Remember that trend about getting a bouquet of 100 roses?

- Yeah, he sees that as a challenge

- So you best believe this man has bought you a bouquet of 200 roses (or your favourite flower)

- You can barely grip the base it’s so big

- (Get your minds out of the gutter, ya nasty)

It’s been a long day at work and you just can’t wait to get home and see Jean. You just got promoted so it’s been pretty hectic trying to get used to the new change, and it doesn’t help that your new boss hasn’t warmed up to you yet.

You trudge up the pathway to your house and quickly open up the door. “Jean! I’m home!” You call out, tiredness dripping from your voice. You didn’t realize when you walked up to your house that all the lights were out. You were far too busy thanking the universe that the day was done. But now as you kick off your shoes, you realize that you can barely see anything. “Jean?”

You look towards the living room and see some candles sitting on the adjacent dining room table. You arch your brow in curiosity as you walk towards the candles. “Jean?” You call out again. The table has a red runner going down the middle with the fine china plates from your wedding sitting at each end.

You two only bring those plates out for special occasions because they’ve been passed down as wedding gifts in his family since his Great Grandmother’s wedding. Soft music starts to play, the kind that’s in those romantic movies when the male leads sees the female lead in a pretty dress for the first time. You see Jean walk out from the kitchen holding the largest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen. He literally needs two hands to hold it.

“Hello, my love.” He says, needing to peer around the flowers to see you properly. It also doesn’t help that the bouquet is wrapped in red paper with white lace as an accent.

You laugh at the comically large flowers. “Jean, what on earth is going on?”

“Oh, I saw a trend of people getting 100 roses for Valentine’s Day and knew that you deserved better than that.” Jean answers and then hands you the bouquet. “I can’t even seen you!” You say through your laughter. “But it’s very sweet of you. Thank you, Jean.”

“You’re very welcome.” Jean says. You take a moment to smell the flowers before lying them down in the centre of the table. “Now sit down. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“What is all this?” You ask, gesturing to the table. “Did you do something and need to apologize before I find out?”

“What? Of course not! Well, not this time at least.” He says. “You’ve been working so hard these past few weeks. You needed something to make you smile and I figured that Valentine’s was the perfect time. Besides, this is our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple, of course I had to go all out.”

Your smile drops. “Ah, shit. Is that today?” He nods his head. “Ok, give me one second!” You turn and run towards the stairs.

“Hey, where’re you going?” He calls after you. “I’ll be right back! Give me thirty seconds!” You say while running up the stairs as fast as you can without tripping. You rush into the guest bedroom and open up the second drawer of the bedside table. You then move some old cards out of the way and grab the leather box you hid in here last month.

“That was longer than thirty seconds.” Jean jokes as you walk back into the dining room. “Well, excuse me, Mr. Time-Keeper.” You respond before holding out the box. “Here. I didn’t totally forget.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything, love.” Jean says softly as he takes the box from you. “You give me gifts every time you see something you think I’d like. Of course I had to get you something.” You say.

He opens up the box and gasps softly as he sees an antique watch. You two passed by a little shop while walking to your friend’s house and he couldn’t help but gawk at it. So you went back the next day and immediately bought it for him, not even looking at the price tag. He looks up at you with adoration in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.” You respond. He places the watch down on the table before pulling you into him, placing a kiss on your lips. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer as the kiss deepens. He moves his hands to your waist and squeezes softly, showing you how much he’s enjoying this moment.

But the next second, the timer goes off on the oven, forcing you two to separate. “Guess we’ll have to finish that later.” Jean says with a smirk on his face.

Marco

- We all know this guy is a sweetheart

- He doesn’t plan anything extravagant, but it’s still amazing

- Adorable would probably be the best word to describe what he does

- He doesn’t do anything cheesy so don’t expect a stuffed animal holding a heart that says “I love you bear-y much”

- Unless you specifically say you want one

- But if you like plushies, you’re definitely getting one

- His gifts are simple: A small bouquet of flowers, maybe some chocolates or candy if you like them, and something else if he feels you’ll really like it

You sit in your dorm room, anxiously waiting for Marco to pop by after work for a movie night. You bought one of those projectors that connects to your computer so you don’t have to crowd around the small screen. Not that you’re not planning on squishing as close to this angel of a human as much as you physically can.

You already have the snacks set up: some cookies, gummy worms, those heart shaped candies and a bucket of popcorn with pink, brown and red chocolates. The second you hear his signature knock, you’re bolting to the door and throwing it open.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” He greets you as he holds a single rose in front of him. “Aw, thank you.” You say as you take the flower. “Come on in, everything’s set up. We just need to pick a movie.”

You lead him inside your room and take a seat on your bed. You made sure that your roommate wouldn’t be home for a while so you’re using their bunk as the screen for your movie. You’ve trapped one end of a white sheet underneath their bed so you have a flat surface to project the film onto.

“I also have this for you.” Marco says as he holds out a gift bag. It’s a simple Valentine’s-themed bag with a bunch of red and pink hearts on it. “You’re too sweet.” You coo as you take the bag from him. You remove the tissue paper and light up as you see a little dinosaur plush sitting on top of a brown book. You take that out first, placing it on your lap, before grabbing the book.

“What’s this?” You ask curiously, rubbing your hand over the faux-leather surface. “Open it!” He urges. You can see the excitement in his face so you open the book up and gasp as you see what’s inside.

It’s a photo album of moments you two have shared before you were together, and moments from dates. As you flip a few pages, you see candid shots of yourself that you don’t remember him taking. “When did you take these?”

“Whenever I had a chance.” He answers honestly. “I hope you don’t mind. You just looked so great that I needed to take a picture of you.”

“Of course I don’t mind. This is the sweetest gift anyone has ever got me.” You say. He smiles wide and leans down to capture your lips with his. “Now what movie do you want to watch?” He asks.

“Titanic.” You answer simply. “Ah, a classic. Excellent choice.” He says as he sits beside you.

Connie

- The only vibes during this day are comedic

- If you’re expecting this man to be super sappy and give you heart eyes, you’re dead wrong

- He gives you valentines

- Like the kind with cheesy puns that kids give their friends in elementary school

- But also expect his own homemade valentines

- And those make you just about piss yourself with laughter

You get home from work and prepare to get ready for your date with Connie tonight. But before you can take off your shoes, you see a small piece of paper with a picture of Spongebob on it and a heart-shaped lollipop taped to it. You bend down and grab the paper and read what it says.

Be my Valentine!

You laugh, wondering why it was on the ground. Then you see another a few inches away. This one has a piece of bread on it with another lollipop taped to the side. It says: Be the peanut butter to my jelly.

You laugh again and then realize that there’s a trail of little Valentines leading down the hall to the bedroom. Of course you follow without question. One says: You make my tail wag, while another says: You make my heart go doki-doki. Then you pick up one that nearly makes you fall to your knees from laughing so hard.

It’s a photo of Connie from when he ate a ghost pepper. It was a dare from Jean that he wouldn’t eat one whole. So he immediately ate the pepper and instantly regretted it. He’s chugging milk, it dribbles down his chin, and his eyes are red. Tears stream down his cheeks and under his nose is wet from it running. Printed beside the photo in Comic Sans are the words: You’re hotter than the pepper was (Trust me. It was spicy)

You find quite a few more Connie-made cards until you reach your bedroom door. It’s closed over until there’s just a crack so you push it open and just about piss your pants laughing at what you see.

On your bed is Connie, surrounded by rose petals and those stupid candy hearts with corny sayings. But that’s obviously not enough to make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

He clutches a rose in his mouth like a dancer and wears a pair of candy underwear. Yes, the kind thats a bra and pantie set. He’s lying on his side, propped up by his elbow and his other arm resting on his side. “Hola, mi amore.” He greets, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. You laugh even harder, needing to lean on the doorway to keep yourself up. He can’t even roll his Rs because of the flower in his mouth.

“When I gave you a key, I wasn’t expecting this.” You say once you catch your breath. “But goddamn. I haven’t laughed this much in years.”

“Glad to be of service.” Connie says as he removes the rose from his mouth. “Now paint me like one of your french girls.”

And you start laughing again.

Levi

- Hates Valentine’s Day

- He finds the red, pink and white decorations an eyesore

- He just doesn’t get the point of having a holiday dedicated to showing someone you love them

- If you love them, show them every day. Why do you need a holiday to do that?

- Knows that it’s just a marketing ploy made by companies to sell more products

- But when you two pass by a store with a Valentine’s display, he sees your eyes light up and knows he has to do something

You know that Levi’s waiting for you in your apartment, you told him to let himself in using the spare key. “Levi! I’m home!” You call out as you kick your shoes off. You can see his sitting neatly beside the front door, but you don’t bother to put yours beside his. “In here.” His voice answers from the kitchen.

You walk in and see some of your favourite flowers sitting in a vase with a red ribbon wrapped around the glass. You then see Levi putting some cookies on a plate. “Levi, what are you doing?” You ask, walking closer to him. “You hate Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t buy any of that cheap shit from the store.” Levi agrees before turning to face you with the plate of cookies. You’re even more surprised to see that they’re sugar cookies. They don’t look perfect, but that doesn’t matter. “You better like these damn cookies. Had to watch five videos before someone explained how to cream butter in ways I understood. Seriously, would a fucking baker need to look these things up? People need to simplify shit more often.”

You can tell he’s rambling because he’s a bit flustered, although neither of you will say it. The tips of his ears are scarlet so that’s also a dead giveaway. “You didn’t have to do this.” You say, the gratitude evident in your tone. “Of course I did.” He argues, crossing his arms across his chest. “You seem to love this day and you do so much for me. It was obvious I had to do something.”

“You’ll never admit it, but you’re sweet.” You say before placing a kiss to his cheek. He grumbles, but you know it’s not because he’s pissed. He just can’t express positive emotions well. “Just know we’re not going out to a restaurant for dinner.” He tells you. “Those places hike up their prices because they know desperate couples will try anything to save their failing relationship.”

“You’re such a romantic, you know?” You say sarcastically. “So I’ve been told.” He responds. “Now go sit down. I made your favourite.”

Hanji

- We all know that modern Hanji is a science teacher

- So when your first Valentine’s together falls on a school day, you’re fairly disappointed knowing they do a lot of hands-on work that takes forever to clean up properly

- They feel horrible and send you a bunch of flowers to your workplace to make up for it

- But of course they have a plan for the actual day

- They’re nothing if not determined and stubborn

- If it’s a good Valentine’s you want, then a great Valentine’s you’ll get

You’re sitting at your desk, scowling at your coworkers as they talk about what their husbands and wives are doing for Valentine’s Day once they get off of work. You know Hanji doesn’t have a choice but to stay late after school finishes because they insist on not having their students sit at desks for an hour, reading over pointless worksheets none of them will remember the second the bell rings.

The janitor refuses to touch their classroom because it’s always a surprise as to what lesson Hanji Zoë jazzes up that day. You hear your phone bing from your bag so you pull it out to see a message from them.

Han Solo: Meet me in my classroom once you’re done work. I have something to show you!

You don’t know if you should be excited or terrified. But nevertheless, you’re intrigued and the day seems to go by slower from there. Once the clock strikes five, you pack up faster than you ever have before and practically run to your car. You know the code to get into the school since you’ve had to come drag them away from their desk more than once.

“Hanji?” You say as you enter the classroom. “Hello, my favourite person on the planet!” Hanji responds enthusiastically. “Come in, come in!”

“Why did you want me to meet you here?” You ask as you walk up to them. “And why is it so dark in here?”

“My last class helped me make something for you.” Hanji says, taking your hand in theirs after fumbling around for it. “Look at the desks.”

You face forward and then a second later, the desks light up. On each one sits a light board in the shape of a different letter to spell out “Happy Valentine’s”.

“Hanji… How did you do this?” You ask in amazement. “Well I figured they were learning how electricity works, so they could help make me this.” Hanji says. “They were more than happy once they got all their teasing out of the way.”

“But… Why’d you have to stay late if they weren’t using any chemicals?” You ask in confusion. “I love my students, babe. But they can be dumb as a stump sometimes.” Hanji explains. “Some of the currents were too strong while others were too weak. So I had to do some tinkering.”

“Thank you.” You say as you turn to them. Their face glows in the light from the desks so you can clearly see their adoring face. “You’re more than welcome.” They respond before kissing you.

[it-was-summer]

Nevertheless (I'm In Love With You) 〰 2

A/N: I like to pretend that Spencer is a wanderer?? Like he thinks of a place and just starts walking without thinking twice. Just like me fr. Two grown adults... struggling with their emotions. Yummy... yummers to those who use that word (my bf). I actually proofread this bitch. Happy late Valentine's Day!!!! Hope you guys like it!

Link to the Ao3: Nevertheless (I'm In Love With You) Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Link to the: Nevertheless (I'm In love With You) Masterlist

Previous chapter: Enemies (If You Can Call It That) You are on: Friends (Associates at Best) -> (Better off as) Lovers Tags: Use of She/Her pronouns (I apologize), talk of forensic science, norovirus mention!!, the flu... my enemy, spencer has a 'oh shit,' moment, Spencer being a little oblivious to jokes and his feelings, gossiping students, something else?, this is a very soft and light fic.

Genre: Slight Enemies to friends to lovers. ForensicsProfessor!Reid x ForensicsProfessor!Reader

Plot: Two professors run into each other at a museum. One invites the other to coffee. They enjoy each other's company, and a friendship blossoms—a friendship teeming with affection.

Word Count: 6,414

Friends (Associates at Best)

Serial killers seldom rest during the holidays. Spencer has spent countless Halloweens, Christmases, and Birthdays working BAU cases. This is the first time in a long time that he can sit at home and not hover around waiting for his phone to ring… and he’s bored. 

Considering how fast his mind runs, the boredom comes and goes, but it’s still there. He feels lazy, like he should be doing some work. He’s planned out a rough outline of his lesson plans for the Spring Semester, updated his syllabus, and sent emails to his cohorts two weeks in advance. 

Now, he was just killing time for another week. Years ago, he would have begged for this kind of solitude. He could always catch up on some reading. However, the need to engage in some sort of social activity won’t leave him. 

He almost finds it laughable when he pieces it together. He isn’t bored. He’s lonely, and he blames all those hours spent surrounded by students and faculty. 

He pulls on his trench coat, tucks a technical book in the pocket, and pulls gloves on as he haphazardly drapes his purple scarf around his neck before heading out the door. He tries to think of things he’s never done in the city– everything he’s held off. 

He’s done the sightseeing, the occasional movie in the park, and trains to New York City; maybe he just needs to be out of the apartment. After all, he’s technically already seen seven people— mission complete. 

Spencer sighs as he pushes on. His feet take him to the metro, where he takes the Red line that will eventually take him to the Smithsonian Museum of American History. There are patches of ice on the sidewalk as he walks toward the entrance, happy to take his gloves off and stuff them in his pocket as he checks for new exhibits. 

He enjoys the electricity hall; it was a nice way to kill time. If he was being honest, there wasn’t a plan. He’s still debating the activity as he heads down to the second floor, his eyes scanning for something new, hoping it will catch his eye when he sees a familiar head of hair— or at least he hopes it is. 

He watches as you pace outside one of the exhibits on your phone and finds himself smiling as he sees the exhibit’s topic— Forensic Science on Trial. He wonders if you’re here just for this one exhibit, and that makes you better than him because he doesn’t have anything resembling a plan for his day. 

He watches you briefly, silently debating approaching you and saying hello. He’s sure you won’t want to see him, but when you hang your phone up and look up, you spot him almost instantly. Your eyes widen, and your brows furrow momentarily before glancing back at the exhibit, smiling, and walking over to him. So much for thinking you wouldn’t want to see him. 

Spencer can feel his lips start to twitch upwards as you walk over to him. You’re wearing a trench coat frighteningly similar to his, and your gloves peek out of your left pocket— purple. He finds these accidental similarities amusing, and it’s clear on his face as you stop in front of him. 

You notice his gaze falling on your coat and follow it, looking slightly confused before you realize it's the same dark brown as Spencer’s. Your head snaps up, and you point at his coat with a goofy smile. “Woah, we should get Dr. Matthew in on this matching action. It’ll be like a faculty spirit day.” Then you pause. “Or a cult.” 

Spencer scoffs a little at the idea, a look of confusion in his eyes, “Cult for what exactly?” 

“Trench coats?” 

“Are you feeling alright?” 

“I apologize for being enthusiastic about something. It’ll never happen again.” With that, Spencer gives you a playful raise of his eyebrow before shaking his head. You chuckle, your cheeks warm. “Are you here for the exhibit?” 

Spencer’s eyes leave yours to look at the exhibit steps behind you, silently debating lying and telling you yes– a vain attempt to hang around you a little longer– but the idea sours the longer he thinks about it. With a shake of his head, he lets out a little, “Not exactly, I was…” He trails off briefly, not wanting to say he feels bored. He’s sure any sane professor would hate him if he says he misses work. 

“Bored?” You finish for him, watching his cheeks turn pink. You give him a tentative smile, silently wondering how fast that mind of his works. Of course, he’d be bored. You got stir-crazy after having a few days of nothing to do. Spencer probably got cabin fever in a few hours. You gave him a shrug of your shoulders, “I get it.” 

Spencer drew his lips into a small line, nodding. “But I would love to accompany you. If you’d… let me?” 

He watches as your nose scrunches up, acting as though the idea perturbs you before you let out a soft chuckle, “If you insist.” Then, you turn on your heel and walk back towards the exhibit. 

Spencer happily follows, hands in his pockets as his long legs soon surpass you with long, easy strides. He watches as you walk a little faster to catch up with him, and he’s trying not to find the action funny– honest! But he can’t help the grin that stretches across his face. 

You groan, and then you do something surprising. He watches as you look up at him, your eyes pleading silently, brows furrowed just a bit, and his heart clenches in friendly adoration. He gives you a mocking look of exasperation before slowing down and settling into a stride beside you. He doesn’t miss the smile you give him as the two of you start to explore the exhibit. 

“So, it’s split into three sections.” You hold up three fingers, “ ‘Of people,’” He watches as you put down one finger, “‘By people,’” Then another, “‘For people.’” Then you put down your hand. Your eyes focus as you walk toward an ancient-looking polygraph machine. 

Spencer's eyes linger on you as you admire the machine silently. Organic conversations and reading rooms were always difficult for him. Whenever he tried to be conversational, his words came out awkward—too forced. That didn’t stop him from trying anyway. “Do you come here often?” 

Your back straightens with that, casting him a judgmental look over your shoulder, “Are you trying to hit on me?” 

His cheeks quickly set ablaze, a deep red against his pale skin as he stutters, “W–What? No! No, I meant, do you come to this museum a lot? The American History Museum.” He stammers out, heart pounding.

You’re surprised at how easy it is to make him flustered, and you hate that you enjoy the sight much more than you should. He frowns softly, almost pouting, as he watches the wicked smile that consumes your previously judgmental glare. “Stop that.” He hisses out, his voice cracking with embarrassment. 

“But it’s so easy.” You whine. Spencer gives you an annoyed look, his head tilting to the side to look down at you with displeasure. You sigh and throw your hands up dramatically. “Fine, take away all my fun.” 

“Thank you,” he chirps back, the warmth in his cheeks fading remarkably slow. “So, do you?” 

You move your head side-to-side, trying to count up all the moments you’ve been in this museum as he follows you to another artifact on display. Your voice is low, trying to be courteous to the small group of older women on your right. “Not often, no. What about you?” 

“I like the electricity hall.” 

You groan a little, a hint of amusement in your misery. “You would.” 

“What’s wrong with the electricity hall?” His brows furrow, his eyes flitting over to an arsenic kit. 

“Nothing! It’s simply not the best thing in this museum.” 

“Says the sporadic visitor.” 

“Yes, well, the sporadic visitor is right.” You scoff out, eyes studying a microdynameter carefully. 

Spencer's eyes stay on you, studying your side profile before he bites, “Well, what is the best thing here?” 

“Entertainment nation.” 

He rolls his eyes; that’s everyone’s favorite. He feels surprisingly stubborn as he starts to list other exhibits. “There’s Inventing in America,” 

You shake your head. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p,’ “Entertainment Nation.” 

“American Democracy?” 

“Enter–” You pause, pretending to think. “-tainment nation.” 

He frowns at your stubbornness. “The Star-Spangled Banner?” 

You sigh, turning to face him and narrowing your eyes. He raises his hands and nods, “Entertainment nation, fine.” He laughs. He then pauses and snaps his fingers, “Oh! The First Ladies.” 

You look off towards the ceiling, a low ‘mmm’ coming from your closed lips before you shake your head. “No, it’s Entertainment Nation.” 

Spencer sighs, walking around you to examine a framed court document. “Uninspiring,” he jokes a little. 

He smiles when he hears you let out an annoyed grunt, turning on your heel to walk closer to him. “I’m sorry, Dorothy’s red slippers are uninspiring?” You scoff out in a whisper of disbelief. 

He waves his hand with a mischievous look, “Apologies. Mainstream.” 

“It was the first technicolor movie!” 

“Actually, the first technicolor movie was in 1917 called, ‘The Gulf Between.’” He corrects you, his eyebrows shooting up with surprise at the playful glare you’re giving him. 

“Well, it is still an American Classic." You cross your arms over your chest. “I thought we were friends.” 

Spencer smiles, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. “If I remember correctly, the last time I called us friends, you called us associates. " He then licks his lips quickly. “At best!” Then, Spencer’s breathy laughter fills the exhibit, and you’re more than happy to shush him. 

-

The weekend before classes start, Spencer is deep cleaning his apartment. The thought of deep cleaning his apartment hadn’t left his head all morning, so he started the process at noon. He’s scrubbing down his bedroom door when he hears the familiar ‘ding’ of his –often neglected– cell phone. 

He scrunches his nose, trying to ignore it, his hands stuttering slightly. Then it dings again, and he’s sure it’s the team. He sniffles softly, the smell of pine sol fresh in the air as he pulls off the rubber gloves Garcia had gifted him four Christmases ago. 

The screen doesn’t display Penelope’s contact, nor Emily’s; instead, it shows yours. His fingers scramble to open the message, his eyes reading the text you’ve sent him at the speed of light, ‘Are you a fan of coffee?’ 

He feels his lips quirk into a light smile as he reads the following text directly beneath. ‘This is me asking you to coffee. Say yes so we can keep pretending to be friends.’ 

Despite feeling a little taken aback by the fact that you thought the two of you were simply pretending to be friends, he lets out an amused scoff. With a shake of his head, he sets his phone face down and picks up his gloves. However, just as he’s about to slide them back on, he finds himself tossing them on the table and reaching for his phone. 

He doesn’t feel like himself as he texts back a hasty, ‘Where?’ 

The ‘where’ in question is a small coffee shop two blocks away. Spencer knows he could have ignored the text and finished his cleaning, but for some reason, he’s happy –concerningly so— to abandon his half-cleaned apartment. 

The cold bites at the tips of his ears, and the wind wildly whips against the sensitive skin until he’s in the shop. He doesn’t spot you immediately, his eyes watering a little due to the cold gusts of wind on the street. After a few blinks, his eyes land on you. You’re wearing that same trench coat and thick knitted multi-colored scarf, your eyes transfixed on the window. 

He wonders if you were watching for him. Maybe you were nervous about him not showing? Though that possibility seemed slim. He clears his throat softly as he approaches the counter-height chair next to yours. When you hear it, your chin immediately tilts up toward him, your eyes shining, “Smells like snow,”

No hello. No greetings. Just “‘smells like snow.’” Nonetheless, the seemingly random comment makes him grin, slightly lopsided, as he sets down his messenger bag on the seat next to you. “Petrichor.” He says simply. 

You snap your fingers. “Yes! I always forget the word.” Then you take him in, your eyes trailing up towards his incredibly tousled hair. Your lips form an understanding smile. “The wind did a number on you, too, huh?” 

Spencer scans your appearance for imperfections but finds none, “Too?” 

Your smile broadens with that, finding that you like how he always looks into your eyes when he’s talking to you. “Well, I carry around a brush.” You explain, patting your bag gently. 

His lips form a silent ‘oh’ before he hears your name being called by the barista. Your face brightens as you slide off the seat and happily walk over to get your cup of coffee— a sweet, warm latte. 

You turn to tell Spencer to order something, but he beats you to the punch, already walking up to the front counter to order a drink. You hum softly as you head back to your previous seat in front of the window. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you invited Dr. Reid to coffee. You had plenty of other friends you could have reached out to, but after spending a whole day with him at the Smithsonian American History Museum, you found his presence calming. Being around him made something inside of you become still— quiet. It was… nice. 

You wondered if you had the same effect on him, though you knew that you’d rather die than ask him the question directly. For now, it would have to be a mystery to you, and you simply hoped that you weren’t annoying your coworker. 

He didn’t seem annoyed. His hazel eyes held yours in conversation, his body leaned into yours, and sometimes —when he couldn’t hear you well enough— he would lean his head down a little with a gentle ‘I’m sorry?’. A nagging voice inside you noted how attractive that action was, yet you attempted to shove the thought into the deepest recesses of your mind.

Nevertheless, seemingly against your will, your eyes slowly left the window’s view. You peer over your right shoulder, watching Spencer as he pulls out his card to pay the barista behind the counter. You notice the polite smile dancing on his lips, strands of brunette hair slowly falling into his eyes. 

Your lips form a smile as you watch how he pushes the hair out of his face, and— that’s enough! 

You blink rapidly, turning your face back toward the window and forcing yourself to stare at the windy winter streets of DC. You prop your elbows up on the wood counter, leaning your face into your hands to rub out the growing tension between your brows. 

“Everything alright?” Spencer’s worried voice spooks you, eliciting a tiny gasp from your lips. A gasp he seems to find amusing as he carefully sets his cup of coffee down on the wooden countertop with a smile. 

“I’m fine, just a headache.” You groan, picking up your latte and taking a delicate sip. 

“Have you been getting enough sleep lately?” 

You lick some foam off your lip, eyes trailing up towards the ceiling as Spencer sits beside you. “I believe so. I’m sure it is just the thought of the Spring Semester beginning in two days.” 

Spencer’s eyes linger on you, how you look down at your cup and then at him. He’s sure something is on your mind. He doesn’t know you well enough to determine what it is, and he wants to accept your answer with a simple nod, but he can’t help the urge to pry.

The following silence seems slightly tense, “You don’t strike me as the type to be nervous about teaching new students.”

Your lips spread into a slow grin as you shake your head. “No, I’m not.” Your fingers slowly trace the handle of your cup. “I don’t know, it's just a feeling I can’t shake— foreboding.” You chuckle at that, rolling your eyes a little at your words. “It isn’t important, just first-day jitters.”

Spencer let out an appreciative hum, the sound low and soft, as he compared your feelings toward the semester starting to his own. He’s always loved school, and learning new information brought him immense comfort. Teaching was a newer passion, but a passion all the same. He loved it. But he could still understand some of what you were feeling. 

Before he can express his understanding, a long sigh escapes you. “You ever miss it?” Your voice sounds far away as you stare out the coffee shop’s window. 

“What?” 

“Profiling. The BAU.” 

Spencer’s eyes follow your gaze, watching a young woman clutch her partner's hand. A slight ache in his chest makes him think of everything he’s gained… everything he’s lost. “I miss certain aspects of the job, yes.” 

“Such as?” You turn your head to look at him. 

“My team. I still see them, but not as much as I used to.” Spencer blinks, finding the words strange to say out loud. Adjusting to teaching was easy, but he missed his friendships. He missed his family. He missed their laughs, easy touches, and dependability. He missed being silently understood. “It’s hard for me to connect with strangers. I’m not exactly a social butterfly.” 

He can hear the smile in your voice before he sees it. “I think you’re turning it around.” 

You watch his head turn to face you, his warm honey eyes looking particularly amused. “Yeah?” he rasps out in a shy tone. 

You nod happily, “Yeah.” His smile grows at that, and you can feel your heart squeezing inside your chest. “Dr. Reid, I’m proud to bump your title to work, friend.” 

“Spencer,” He interjects, and you can’t help the butterflies that stir inside your stomach at how soft his voice sounds. 

You lick your lips slowly, ignoring your growing nerves. “Spencer.” 

And Spencer tries to ignore how much he likes the sound of your voice calling his name. 

-

Madeline Anderson was a dutiful graduate student. She was always happy to plan study dates with her cohort, ask questions openly, or visit a professor during office hours. However, despite a twenty-four-year-old's diligent efforts, she was still a person.  And, like most people, she never turned down a good story. How could she when there was a story as good as this one unfolding in front of her very eyes? 

Dr. Reid was a favorite of hers. He explained topics thoroughly, and sure, sometimes, he rambled about a different, unrelated subject, but he wasn’t dull. Halfway through his lecture, the hall could hear the eerie creaking of doors that slammed closed with a significant thud. Madeline’s hand kept writing her notes, ignoring the doors until her seatmate, Sadie, kicked her shoe softly. 

Once she had Madeline’s attention, Sadie glanced to the back of the room, silently pleading with Madeline to look that way and fast. Madeline scoffs, slightly amused, shaking her head, but she looks anyway. She was a little caught off guard when she saw you shuffling into an empty seat in the back row with a sheepish smile. 

Sadie nudges her, a mischievous look in her brown eyes. Madeline raises an eyebrow and mouths a tiny, ‘No way.’ 

Madeline steals another look over her shoulder to look at you, and your eyes are trained on Dr. Reid as he talks with his hands. Gossip!

Once the lecture was over, the two girls could be seen packing up their items terribly slow. Madeline watches as you stand, waving at a student or two before beelining it for Dr. Reid’s podium. The same podium that Dr. Reid was leaning against and looking down at you like you were a creature of captivating beauty. 

Wait! No! His gaze resembled that of a love-struck man in a painting! No, still not good enough. It resembled a love-lorn man pinning over a muse, a creature so close and far away. She finds she can’t look away as you drum your fingers on the edge of his podium, your body leaning toward his.

Sadie is the first of the duo to stand; her steps are small, and Madeline is close behind. Just before they leave the lecture hall, they stop by the door and openly stare. They watch as you pick up Dr. Reid’s messenger bag, holding it out for him to take. The way Dr. Reid smiles at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling sweetly as he thanks you. Then they watch how his hand hovers at the small of your back, leading you away from the podium, and how you tilt your head back to flash a winning smile. Then they’re out of there. 

-

Spencer couldn’t place his newfound friendship with you. It lacked —naturally– the familiarity that the BAU gave him, but it still managed to make him feel at home. He never dreaded coming to work, but lately, he’s found that if he doesn’t see you, the work day feels rather lackluster. 

He wonders how you would react if he told you that. He pictures you laughing a little at his confession, or maybe you’d get flustered like you did when he told you he liked spending time with you two weeks ago. 

That was another thing; he had never imagined his old coworker’s reactions to something he’d said before. Sure, there were moments in the past when he sat wondering what Derek or Emily had meant in their responses to his comments here and there. But this level of contemplation never occurred with his friends. 

He’d never sit at his desk like he is now, wondering how Penelope would react to an invitation to lunch or if she’d laugh at one of his jokes. Spencer couldn’t help but chalk it up to knowing precisely what Penelope —or anyone from the BAU team— would say to the invite. Hell, he even knows the jokes he would share with Penelope. He could easily say it was because he was still getting to know you, but something about that explanation didn’t sit right with him. 

That uncanny, familiar rush of excitement that courses through his veins whenever he hears your voice across the hall doesn’t sit right with him. The euphoric feeling he gets from making you laugh. And now, this excessive daydreaming. It’s an emotion he’s previously felt, yet he’s struggling to conceptualize it— frustratingly on the tip of his tongue. 

His foot anxiously taps against the carpet under his desk, and he fears that if he keeps it up, there will be a hole where his right foot naturally rests. He pushes his chair away from his desk, stands, and walks across the hall to your office door, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood. 

He can hear the faint sound of music coming from your office, and you don’t bother turning it off as you open the door, and Spencer gets an earful of something from the 80s. Spencer tries to suppress the giddy feeling that completely consumes his body when he sees that giddy look in your eyes. 

You always had the prettiest eyes, but when you were having fun? They just lit up the room— the universe. He’s seen people brighten or perk up when they are excited, but nothing matches the look in your eyes when you are excited. The last time he saw those eyes shine the way they are now was at the beginning of the semester when Spencer brought in some cookies that Penelope had given him that first week. 

You gasp softly, leaning against your door slightly, your head resting on the wood slowly. Those shining eyes stare at him almost dreamily. “Spencer Reid, my esteemed neighbor.” 

Spencer tries to ignore the saccharine tone of your voice and the way it makes him feel like he is melting into a puddle of goo. “May I borrow a cup of sugar?” He sounds slightly awkward as he jokes with you, and his head dips down in a vain attempt to hide his growing embarrassment. 

Despite his awkward attempt at being funny, he can hear the melodic sound of your laugh in seconds, and a surprising rush of reassurance settles in his chest. “You tried.” You state with an empathetic look on your face. “You looking for a lunch buddy?” 

Spencer’s eyes always have this puppy-like look when he wants something. Whenever he’s after something, his eyes —unbeknownst to him— become irresistible. Those honey and green hues in his eyes mix into a pleading look that has your stomach twisting into knots and refusal dying on your tongue. It’s terribly distracting and, if you’re being honest, disturbingly attractive. You’re huffing out a mocking sigh of frustration as you grab your bag, shut your computer off, and lock your office door. “I believe it’s my pick this time.” 

“It was your pick last time,” Spencer replies, walking beside you, his head tipping to the side to look down at you. 

“I thought you were a gentleman.” 

“What prompted this conclusion?" Spencer taunts as his hands reach for the door handle, holding it open with a warm smile. 

You walk past him with an incredulous look, “A hunch.” You can see the confused look on his face even when his face isn’t in view. The mental image makes your insides turn to jelly, and a small voice in your head begins to wonder what’s wrong with you. 

Before you can dwell in that house forever, Spencer reappears at your side. “At least hear me out,” He pleads softly, and for a brief moment, his slender fingers brush against yours. 

Your throat feels slightly dry. “Fine." 

Spencer brightens at that, leaving you dazed, “That café you like does specials on soups and sandwiches on Wednesdays.” 

It does? Why is it that Spencer knows that about your favorite café and you don’t? The notion that he took time to look up the weekly specials makes you feel —momentarily— warm all over. Then, a nagging voice reminds you of his eidetic memory. Of course! He didn’t take the time out of his week to look up something as silly as the specials at that café you like. He probably just remembered it from last time. 

The fact should calm you down and give your pounding heart a reprieve, but it doesn’t. Instead, you can feel your chest tighten with disappointment as you give Spencer a lackluster nod of approval. “Sounds great.” 

He notices the subtle shift in your body language, his fingers nervously tugging the frayed edges of his cardigan into his palm. “Unless you’d like to eat somewhere else?” He remembered the weekly specials the last time you took him there and was waiting for an opportunity to present itself. 

He doesn’t know if he’s said or done something wrong, but the brightness in your eyes has seemingly deflated. “No, I’m fine! That sounds good.” A tight smile forces its way onto your face as you walk toward the café in question. 

–

It’s not uncommon for campuses filled to the brim with students, such as this one, to experience outbreaks of various diseases—the flu, stomach bugs, the occasional case of mono. According to you, they posted pamphlets about norovirus last year— a germaphobe's worst nightmare. 

Spencer swears that he’s gotten better at handling germs; prison wasn’t the cleanest place. He got through the Fall semester without catching a single cold, and so far, he is accomplishing the same goal with the Spring Semester. 

Unfortunately, you have a different fate. You’ve canceled classes two days in a row now, and the last time he talked with you over the phone, you sounded terrible. Spencer offered to help you grade some papers or take over a class or two, but you vehemently declined. 

You trusted that Spencer would do a good job, but the guilt of him doing twice the work would eat away at you as you sniffled, shivered, and coughed roughly on your couch. You’ve slept through half of the day. Your fever is still going strong. Your hands blindly search for your phone, scrambling on your couch until you feel it in your hands. 

You wince at the time, six o’clock in the afternoon. Your appetite went out the window yesterday, alongside the ability to breathe through your nose. You groan, back hitting the back of the couch, slumping over a little. You need to eat, but your fog-filled mind and weak limbs struggle to get up and cook something. 

A knock at the door spooks a yelp out of you, but it quickly turns into a thick cough. Wrapping your quilt around your body, you hobble to the door and peek out the peephole. Your head reels back at Spencer Reid standing outside your apartment door. “Spencer, I’m sick!” 

Watching him through the peephole, you see him grin, “I know, I come bearing gifts.” 

You lean your forehead against the door, sighing out at the feeling, “Leave them on the–”

Spencer cuts you off with a rather loud, somewhat embarrassing, “No!” He clears his throat, shifting his weight on his feet. This isn’t his comfort zone, and while he hates germs, he cares about you. It was a feeling he was starting to piece together– tender and true. Not hearing your voice these past two days has felt oddly similar to torture. “No,” He continues, “I’ll heat it up for you, and don’t say no because you sounded terrible on the phone-–” 

His sentence is cut off as you swing the door open, and his heart clenches at the sight. Your hair is messy, you have a red nose and pale cheeks, and the look is complete with some baggy pajamas. You groan softly, motioning for him to come in with a wave of your hand as you trudge back over to the couch, laying down with a rough oof. 

Spencer's feet hesitate for a second, hazel eyes studying your messy living room– tissues on the coffee table, empty mugs on practically every surface. He swallows roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat as he takes the plunge, taking a comically large step into your apartment and gently shutting the door behind him. 

‘This is a terrible idea. I’m going to get sick, and then we’ll both be out of the office, and then–’ A sneeze from you pulls him away from his panicking thoughts, and he looks down at the items in his hands with a sudden purpose. 

He can feel his cheeks warm as he looks down at the bouquet of daisies in one hand and the container of noodle soup in the other.  He can hear your labored breathing from the couch as he awkwardly finds your kitchen. As he searches for a vase, it dawns on him— this is his first time in your apartment.

His anxiety gets the best of him as he manages to find a pretty-looking vase. He silently wonders if he should stick the soup in the fridge, leave the flowers in the vase, and take his leave. He finds a pair of scissors, carefully cutting the stems as he anxiously chews on his bottom lip. He’ll heat the soup, take care of the flowers, and get out— yes!

He fills the vase with water absentmindedly, arranging the daisies with gentle hands before moving on to the soup. He shakes his head at his anxious thoughts, thousands of reasons to get out, escape routes overlapping in his mind. He finds that he’s already done everything he said he would do. So, why was he still here? 

Spencer rolls out the tension in his shoulders as he grabs a spoon from the kitchen drawer. He can hear a soft cough from the living room as he carries the warm soup with extreme care. Setting the soup bowl and spoon on your side table, he looks down at you as you stare up at him tenderly. “Thank you.” Your voice is hoarse as you carefully sit criss-cross on the couch and hold the bowl of soup in your left hand, your right hand using the spoon to search for the best-looking egg noodle in the bowl. 

Your eyes stray toward Spencer, who flashes you a warm smile. His nervous eyes look around at the tissues on the coffee table just before he disappears into the kitchen. 

You barely have time to ask him what he’s doing when he comes out wearing your hot pink cleaning gloves, holding a plastic bag in one hot pink gloved hand, “How did you–” 

“They were by the kitchen sink,” He hurriedly explains as he gets work picking up the dirty tissues around you and tossing them into the plastic bag. 

You sniffle as you sip on some broth. “You don’t have to clean. I know how much you hate germs. I won’t be mad if you leave. You’ve already been so helpful–” 

“I want to help.” His head turns to look at you, his hazel eyes filled with determination. You let out a soft laugh, covering your mouth as your laugh turns into a shaky cough. Spencer smiles at that, feeling a warm burst of pride in knowing he can make you laugh, even now. 

You continue to watch Spencer as he tidies up your living room, his eyes and hands concentrated on the task at hand. You feel your body growing warm, and you’re unsure if it’s because your fever is breaking or because of how sweet he’s being. You shift on the couch, taking small bites of the soup and smiling softly. 

If you didn’t feel so terrible, you would be talking more, but you’re finding that this is a comfortable silence. Spencer leaves your view again, the living room now clean of dirty tissues and empty tea cups, as he carries the mess into the kitchen. 

When he returns, he’s carrying a vase full of daisies— did he have those when he came in? Your eyes widen at the sight, and you quickly set the bowl of soup back on the side table. “You got me,” A sneeze followed by a short sniffle. “Daisies?” You ask him, cheeks burning with emotion.

Spencer’s pale cheeks are tinged pink as he sets the vase of daisies on your now-clean coffee table. He watches with a warm, giddy smile as your fingertips reach out to brush the petals. “I– well, yes. Did you not see them in my hand when you let me in?” 

You shake your head, glancing up at him with a beaming smile. There those eyes are again, big and bright with joy. He’ll buy out flower shops if that’s what it takes. He watches as your gaze drifts back to the flowers, and he can feel a slight shiver of realization slither into his heart. He loves you. 

His calm demeanor dissipates rapidly, praying that you don’t look over at him as he stares at you with a shell-shocked expression.  

How? 

When? 

His shell-shocked expression morphs into one of slight panic, and his breathing begins to sound slightly erratic. He’s got to get out here. He needs to… what does he need to do? He can’t think straight. He can’t tell you, no. No, no, no, you’d be appalled. 

Well, would you?

As he steadies his breathing, he decides he needs time to think. He can’t reach a healthy conclusion with you three feet away from him on the couch. He’s searching for a good enough reason to leave when you announce, “I love them.” Your eyes flit over to him, and he feels like he could melt. 

“I–” He sighs, swallowing against the lump in his throat, “I’m so glad.” 

You notice the tension in his shoulders and, resting your back against the couch, “Thank you for everything. You’re the best friend a girl can have, honest.” You lick your lips, a mischievous look in your eyes. “However, I fear I must force you out.” 

Spencer starts to protest, but you shush him quickly. “Nu-uh, I won’t hear it. You’ll get sick if you stay here a moment longer.” You stand, sniffling softly as you gently motion to the door. 

When Spencer doesn’t immediately move, you groan and gently press your right palm on his shoulder, pushing him weakly toward the door. His feet work against him as he looks over at you, “At least let me–” 

You shush him again, earning an annoyed look from the tall brunette man you’re bossing around. You open the door for him, leaning against it as you watch him step out into the hall. He looks utterly confused, stuttering softly, “Well, I can bring you lunch tomorrow?” he suggests weakly. He doesn’t understand why he feels so disappointed at his leaving. He had just decided to leave, so why did leaving feel so… melancholy? Despite his confusing new revelation, he wants to stay and care for you— even if it means catching a cold. 

But you persist. “I’ll call you if I need your assistance.” 

He wants to tell you you’re being unreasonably stubborn, but he bites his tongue. His lips form a slight frown. He’s on the verge of a pout as he throws his hands up.  “Fine.” 

Your pale, sick cheeks have a little color in them now as you wave. “Goodnight, Spencer.” 

He swallows, feeling the desperate urge to beg you to let him stay. “Goodnight.” Spencer remains standing in the hallway as you slowly close the door. He groans out in frustration, shaking his head as he mournfully makes his way down the hall. He needs to call someone. 

Unbeknownst to him, you’re sitting on your couch again, admiring the daisies with a soft smile. You let out a weak sigh, shaking your head a little as the thought crosses your mind. As you slowly lie back on the couch, you mutter to an empty room. “How am I supposed to get over my feelings for you when you do things like this?” Maybe you need to phone a friend, too.

[chocodile]

Hi ! I’ve been a massive fan through the years, seeing you develop Hyden and his world and how full of life and wonder and details is so awe inspiring and cool! I really love your work and your style is so vibrant and electric! It always makes me happy when I see your posts pass by

I wanted to ask if you had any advice about wanting to share your stories with the world. I get so anxious that no one will care and I’ll just be posting to no one. I don’t want fame , just mutual interaction or have people genuinely curious , hear about others stories and be able to tell my own

How did you start? I don’t want to assume , but you do have so much confidence and are very well spoken in the way you explain your lore, what helped you get over any fears or worries?

Gosh, thank you so much for the compliments! That's so sweet of you to say… it means a lot to me that people enjoy my stuff.

My thoughts on your other questions about sharing stories are long, rambling, and disjointed… apologies in advance for the length, I swear I tried to edit this down:

Regarding sharing stories, I'd say the most useful thing you can possibly have is to have at least one friend you share story stuff with who is totally on board with it and having fun too. I've been coming up with stories and characters my entire life, and only twice have I really had an audience for it. Every other time it was just me and my sister, or me and a couple friends, or me and my wife doing creative stuff semi-privately just for the joy of the craft.

(Of course, I know that's easier said than done… but if you do have creative friends, organizing some plans to share stories with each other, ask questions, create AUs where your OCs from different stories interact with each other, etc can be very psychologically nutritious.)

Regarding feeling anxious, I suppose I never felt much anxiety about it myself, so I'm not sure how to advise there… I was a teenager on Neopets where putting massive amounts of work into character stories that nobody might ever read was the norm… unless you were astronomically popular, it was expected that you would probably never hear from your audience and would never know how many people read your stories. Everything was primarily for your own entertainment, and I carried that approach forward into other creative works. Of course, it's hard not to feel a little self-conscious these days, when you can easily see what people are saying and see who is getting "engagement" and who is not... but I do think that aiming to entertain yourself (and perhaps one or two friends) first and foremost is the healthiest approach. Plus, if you are really invested in something and constantly producing lots of art and info about it, people tend to pick up on that positive energy.

Apologies if this isn't super useful... I know "just don't care and also happen to have a bunch of friends with very specific interests!" is not very helpful advice in itself.

I have many other thoughts on "launching" a story, how to meet other OC creators, and trying to build an audience who interacts with your characters... it's something I've thought about a lot. I can share my insights for others in this boat, if anyone's interested? I'm unsure if I should include them here since it might feel lecture-y to Anon (and also this post is long enough, PHEW). Let me know if you're interested in hearing them though!

[deepspacepunk]

Asking about the guy I'm currently super unwell about is such a dangerous game, I hope you understand you're getting an essay here.

Okay so like, no matter what, there is no way Oliver has any chance of knowing Caleb prior to him being Colonel. He's not MC but make her trans (though believe me, I have thought about this as an AU for Oliver and I have so many brainworms on that too), so he didn't grow up with Caleb. This actually makes it very difficult for him to have a good in with Caleb.

Difficult, but not impossible.

The way I see it, Oliver at this point is likely to go rogue if we follow the in game story. He's going to quickly come to terms with the fact that the Association is not going to be able to make any direct moves against Ever and now he's starting to hit walls and that makes him nervous, so he's going to start making more desperate moves and associate himself with shadier and shadier people to get things does - again, while Oliver is very strict with his morals, he's an "ends justify the means" kind of guy.

Viper has already shown his hand in game as someone who is willing to double deal, so he makes a very lovely in for Oliver to start getting information on Ever. Some legit, some... not so much. His snooping will eventually catch the eyes of one Colonel who is definitely not going to take kindly to someone playing spy directly under his nose. (You can see this idea kind of playing out with the rp I had planned with apple-caleb).

Now, based off my read of the situation, I see Caleb as someone who is still resisting Ever, albeit in a more subdued way. They have him on a leash, there is only so much he can do and most of his actions revolve around keeping MC away from Ever's hands. This means Caleb and Oliver are more or less on the same side.

I think Caleb would see Oliver as someone who is trying too hard and is going to get himself killed. He may push him away, try to convince him to go a different route, but Oliver isn't going to stop because he doesn't want to wind up dead because, well, he's in too deep. If he shares what he knows, he's a dead man and he can't stay quiet. That's just not who he is.

Now here is where I'm going to be jumping off of the deep end and I apologize in advanced because there are two ways I can see this playing out and it really depends on how I read Caleb and how he views gender specifically.

If we view him as someone who buys more heavily into gender roles, then he doesn't need to protect Oliver. He's a man, he can stand on his own two feet, so it's more working together and finding convenient ins to let Oliver sabotage work here and there and find ways to get to higher members of Ever. Very high risk, Caleb is much colder here, but he still looks out for Oliver. This is a much more comradery based relationship and I'd argue this one is probably more platonic than romantic because well, I mean Caleb's not gonna let MC go and Oliver has 0 chance with him and he can accept that.

Now, if we go with more of Caleb viewing himself as a sole protector for those he grows to care about, then Oliver is going to find himself in similar situations to MC where Caleb's going to do whatever he can to get Oliver out of trouble. He doesn't need to be in this fight, he doesn't need to risk his neck, everyone he knew from his time with Ever is gone and he'll only lose so much more if he keeps going. He needs to keep Oliver safe, he needs to lock him away, too so he doesn't get himself killed, if he would just let Caleb look after him, everything would be fine, right? This is more romantic but watch out!

In short, I've become deeply unwell about Caleb and have thought about this in great length. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[[ Does anyone want to hear the way I see ships with the LIs going down Oliver?? ]]

[psychopomp-namine]

you don't understand how much I felt the slow saline drip of gaining interest in a character, and instead of going, "oooh. interesting. new blorbo?" I instead went, "...really. that guy? oh. oh no."

<- guy with a li tianchen icon ends up blorbofying liu xiao. alas, I have played myself 😔

[bitternace]

for the spotify thing 40 and. would you be mad at me if I said zexion again

you can do whatever u want forever!!

—and i can see myself reflected in your eyes

[ID: a digital drawing of a stylized green eye, reflecting zexion, from kingdom hearts. the image has a blue tint and is lightly rendered. the eye stands in the middle of the image, showing skin and a grey eyebrow where the background isn't transparent, cut off in angular sections around the eye. In the middle of the pupilless eye, is zexion, looking back over his shoulder, with one hand against a wall. a diagonal highlight falls over some of his disheveled hair, face and shoulder, where the lineart is a light purple. his mouth is slightly open, expression lightly upset. his hair is mostly away from his face and the eye that doesn't have light falling over it has a white pupil. /End ID.]

[autocat5876]

boo hi friend guess who

AAH!! I HATE GAYS GET OUT!!

[c0smiccom3t]

im feeling wild about cortex again.

you know what that means!

ART /ref

[kamitv]

▷ Premature

Sypnosis . How they react to getting caught jerking off/How they jerk off when you’re not around. / Pairings . (Separate) Toji Fushiguro x f!reader, Geto Suguru x f!reader, Gojo Satoru x f!reader, & Nanami Kento x f!reader / Content . afab!reader, masturbation, pervertedness, praise, needy men, filth, dirty talk, non-curse au, degrading, established relationships etc. / wc . 5.5k

A/N: not proofread in the slightest— I apologize in advance for the errors. This is a mix of two requests; one from my lovely 👍anon; If it's not too much trouble, would you take a request for how JJK men jack it to reader? To a picture, their thoughts, or maybe reader asks them perhaps? & jjk men getting caught jerking off [MDNI]

★ Toji Fushiguro

He’s the kinda guy that you could never be on the phone with past midnight. Why? Cause’ suddenly his voice is getting deeper, his comments are growing more suggestive, and he’s got a hand wrapped around his cock as he gets off to the sound of your voice.

What the hell are you even talking about? He’s got no idea, all he knows is that your soft tone, laced with such a faint sleepiness to it, has his cock aching within his hand.

You wouldn’t even notice he’s jerking off for a while either, not until he groans out your name.

The sound makes your entire body freeze and all you can do is stare at your phone, tipping your head to the side curiously before you tap on your phone to bring the ongoing phone call to the forefront of your screen.

You’d get quiet and he’d get louder, grunting out an all too deep, “Fuck,” That has you smiling to yourself a little. Especially when you hear him grunting as if he were trying to keep his sounds in.

But, your moment of confidence only lasts until the deep baritone of his voice snaps you out of it, “Keep fuckin’ talkin’, doll,” Toji orders and god does he sound sexy like this.

There’s the faintest hint of need in his voice that has you biting your lower lip to hold back the toothy smile trying to present itself on your face. Gulping, “Toji…” You murmur, and your ears don’t miss how he sighs heavily.

On his end, he’s got his legs sprawled out and his head tosses back at the sound of you calling his name, “What?” He’d huff, almost as if what he’s doing hasn’t become rather obvious to you.

Your voice is suddenly closer to the phone and it makes Toji grunt, “You okay over there? Y’sound… busy,” You utter teasingly.

“Mmmh… mhm, m’fine, jus’-, hahh, keep… keep talkin’,” His long pauses and heavy exhales were making you squirm on your end. You could only imagine how he looked right now— big hand wrapped around his cock as he gave himself quick tugs to the sound of your voice.

You start to shift around in your bed and almost forget to respond as you listen closely. Turning your volume up, you could hear almost everything. His sounds became vivid, a messy noise of spit heard as Toji wets his cock up in ways he’s known you to, his hand jerking his dick in quicker pulls due to the slickness of his saliva and precum mixing together.

“Hahhh, fuck,” Toji pants and starts slowing his hand down just so he can speak properly, “Why’d y’stop talkin’? Hm?”

“I uh… I thought I heard something, sorry,” You hum as you fake cluelessness. “Anywho, what was I saying again? Do you remember?”

Ah, you’d decided to test him thinking he wasn’t paying attention at all to what you were discussing earlier. Jokes on you, Toji knows how to multitask (sometimes), “Uh, you were tellin’ me about your day or somethin’,” He hums casually.

“Riight,” You chuckle. An idea pops into your mind and you decide to use his lack of full attention to what you were previously discussing to your advantage, “Well, me and my friends went to this new sweet spot today.”

“Yeah? ‘Nd what else, doll?” Toji sounded so clearly occupied but he was trying his best to just get you to keep talking. Every word that left your lips went straight to his cock.

You grin, “Well, it was pretty hot today so I got lucky they had popsicles! The one I got was suuper big, could’ hardly fit it in my mouth,” You explain.

Was this story true? Not exactly, but when else do you get the opportunity to tease your boyfriend like this?

Toji’s eyes flicker as he processes what the hell you just said to him, his cock twitching at the thought of your lips parting to take something large into your mouth— you knew what the hell you were doing to him and he was starting to pick up on it.

Swallowing thickly, Toji hums, “Oh yeah? Reminds me of a couple of other things that can’t really fit in your mouth…”

“Hm? Like what, Toji?” You murmur innocently.

Your voice had softened by a lot and it drove him crazy. Such a clear false innocence laced into your question had the man picturing your expression. The way you’re probably sitting there with your eyes all wide and curious, batting those pretty lashes of yours like you don’t know what the hell you’re asking him.

Scoffing, “Don’t play dumb, y’know what the hell m’talkin’ about.” Toji drawls out, voice a bit rougher with you.

You ignore his little attitude and let out a giggle, “Do I?”

“Yeah, y’do,” Your boyfriend huffs. His breathing is noticeably heavier and little did you know, he had his head resting back and his eyes on the ceiling as he fisted his cock rapidly, slick sounds masked by his voice every time he spoke.

As if to make his state worse, your voice dips into something more sultry, “I’m really not sure Toji… What else is too big to fit in my mouth? Hm?” You hum.

“Fuck-,” Toji lets out a slight gasp, his breath stuttering for a moment before he grunts, “My cock, baby. Y’know this.”

The way he gave up on getting you to say it first has you smiling, “Mmmh, I dunno Toji,” God you were saying his name too much and it was making his balls ache, “I had your cock down my throat perfectly fine the other day if I recall correctly.”

“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” Toji abruptly rasps out, making you gulp as you felt a throb in your core, “Where’d y’learn to talk like that, huh?”

You snicker, “From my boyfriend who enjoys jerking off to the sound of my voice.”

And just like that, Toji can feel his orgasm approaching— damn you and your slick remarks, you only ever acted like this over the phone. You knew better in person but, he didn’t mind right now.

“Hahh, fuck you,” Toji fires back.

“You want to right now, don’t you?” You were getting confident all of a sudden and he groans before shutting his mouth just to listen to you speak. “Wanna feel my tongue on your cock, huh?”

His hand squeezes onto his cock and a strangled grunt leaves the back of his throat, “Shit-,” Toji’s haw drops a little, “Don’t stop talkin’, m’close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum thinkin’ about fuckin’ my throat, right?” You murmur.

And he definitely was, it’s all he could think about right now. Especially with how bold you were being, how could he not picture you on your knees and taking his cock down your throat as he face fucks you just to teach you a lesson about talking to him like this?

Then you just kept going, “…Or jus’ from me talking? Y’like my voice that much, Toji?” You ask.

He’s on his end just nodding as his brows furrow— when the hell was he this damn needy for you? “Yes, fuck… fuckin’ hell, yes, I fuckin’ love your voice baby,” Toji tells you.

God you wish you could see him right now. You just know he’s sweating, cockhead angry and leaking at your every word, big thighs parted yet jittery as he gets closer and closer.

“C’mon then big guy, cum f’me so you can come over,” Suddenly your tone is aroused and Toji’s squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

“S’late, doll,” He argues.

You tut, “Yeah well listenin’ to you jerk off turned me on so now you’ve gotta come over ‘nd deal with it.”

Some nerve you had. As if you wouldn’t be the one all teary eyed and pouty after a few kisses from him…

Yet, Toji’s not thinking about that right now, mindlessly agreeing just because he needs you right now and his hand is starting not to cut it anymore, “Hahhh, alright-, shit. Whatever the fuck you want, doll. I’ll be over in ten.”

You snicker, “Make it five.”

He swears you’ll be the death of him.

Scoffing, “Needy ass girl… agh… can’t wait ten minutes?”

“You couldn’t wait til’ I got off the phone to jerk off?” You argue.

He’s smirking despite the slight irritation that creeps up on him due to how bratty you were being, “…Shut up.”

You smile, “Come shut me up.”

“Oh I’m about to.”

★ Geto Suguru

Moaning your name as if that’ll cause your hand to be wrapped around his cock instead of your panties— Suguru uses your clothes to get off when you’re not around.

He doesn’t bother to call you or text you. It’s usually late when he gets like this so he just uses the lace panties you “accidentally” left over at his place.

Sometimes he’s got the fabric wrapped around his cock as he jerks off and other times he’s got it pressed up to his nose, inhaling what little of your scent he could get as his hips fuck into the O-shape he’s created with his hand. If he inhales strong enough, he swears he can still smell your pussy and that alone makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuuuck,” Geto moans unashamed into the air. What’s he gotta hold his voice back for? Even if you were to ever catch him like this, he knows you’re just as much of a perv as he is.

His hand has a strong grip on his base as he gets himself off with your panties. Just thinking about how the fabric clung to your cunt for hours on end has his cock dripping pre onto the floor.

“Fuckin’ miss you, agh,” Suguru would groan thoughtlessly into the air, recalling the last time he had your pussy on his tongue, how sweet how tasted, how addicting you are.

Within said imagination, he doesn’t even realize he’s moving your panties to his mouth, his tongue seeping out and pressing into the fabric as if that’ll give him a taste of you again. Is it the same as sucking on your cunt til’ your legs are shaking? No, of course not. Does it make Geto’s hand milk the fuck out of his cock? Well, yes.

Light and faint whines slip past his lips, “Ha-ahh… taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” Geto groans like you’re right there with him.

Shit, he wants you on his tongue again. He can never get enough of it— the way your pussy sloshes all over his mouth every time he eats you out, how you whine his name and beg him for a break, or even the way you get greedy as your orgasm nears and you start bucking your hips against him.

Either way, it’s all he can think about right now. And it doesn’t get any better when his eyes open and looks down at himself, your panties clung tightly in between his teeth as he envisions you below him with a mouth wide and ready for him.

Oh the way you always take his cock down your throat never fails to make his eyes cross. You’d suck on him like your life depended on it, moaning against his shaft whenever he started thrusting into your mouth or whining when he forces your head down some more.

And he’s so close as he thinks about it more— picturing your wet lips parted around his flushed tip, drool slipping out the corner of your mouth, and your tongue slipping against him languidly-

“Suguru?” The sound of your voice makes him moan in surprise before he’s turning his head to look at you.

Even caught in the act, he only gets turned on even more. His brows tense and he pants heavily as his eyes meet yours, quickly noticing the way your gaze dropped down to his achingly hard cock.

You were supposed to be asleep out on his living room couch where he’d left you moments ago but yet, here you were— standing with your eyes all wide and curious, taking careful steps toward the man as you cross your arms, and giving him this look that drives him crazy.

You gulp loudly as you look up to your boyfriend’s face, “Are those my panties in your mouth?”

“M-Mmhm,” Geto hums with an impatient nod of his head.

Your lashes bat at the man before you find yourself standing right in front of him, placing but a single hand on his chest before taking the other and removing the lace from the man’s mouth.

“That’s filthy Sugu,” You whisper carefully.

The way his lips part and how his eyes lower on you, a groan slipping from him due to how close your body was and the way you’d touched him so softly. “Uhuh, I know, baby,” His voice has the faintest shake to it as he mumbles out an answer.

Smiling slightly, you keep your eyes directly up on his despite his hand not stopping on his cock for even a second, “You could’ve woken me up if you needed me, Suguru.” You utter.

He cracks a lazy grin for a moment, “I jus’ needed your panties.”

You frown and your brows tense a bit, “…Pervert.” You whisper, watching how his body twitches in reaction before he’s leaning his face down and closer to yours.

“Mhm,” Geto hums, “Yeahhh, tha’s me, princess. Keep tellin’ me how fuckin’ nasty I am.” Your boyfriend purrs, earning a wide eyed look from you as you gaze up at him in surprise.

You comply, trailing a single finger down along his chest as you tip your head to the side and speak, “You’re filthy Sugu, gettin’ off with my panties… Bet you wanted to get caught like this too.”

“Maybe,” Geto tells you with that awfully cocky grin on his face, “But you’re not any better. I caught you fingerin’ yourself to my voice last week.”

You gulp, “T-That was…”

He’s leaning down past your face and you flinch as his lips make sudden contact with your neck, “Different, huh?” He rasps out, hot breath tickling the side of your neck.

Tense, your hand stops moving along his body and you angle yourself to look down at how aggressively he’s fisting his cock right now, “Yeah…” You murmur, completely distracted by the sight below you.

His hand got faster on his cock, quicker tugs made the longer you stared down at him and cum leaking from his tip as he grunted against your neck.

“Sure it was,” Geto whispers, but his voice is a lot lighter than you expected it to be. “Now are you gonna just stand here and watch me jerk off or are y’gonna get on your knees ‘nd take care of me?” He asks, lifting his face a little to kiss the space below your ear.

You unconsciously lick your lips the longer you stare down at his cock, watching him drip onto the floor and make the slightest mess before you chuckle, “That’s no way to ask, Sugu.”

He scoffs against you but you don’t miss the quietest whine leaving his throat before he speaks, “Funny cause I wasn’t fuckin’ askin’.”

“Oh?” You snicker at your boyfriend before turning your head to meet his gaze, “You’re mean when you get caught in the act…”

He stares you down and resists every neuron in his body that’s telling him to press his lips into yours, “Am I?”

“Mhm, as if you’re not embarrassed,” You tease. God you were driving him crazy— looking at him so longingly, your lips nearly on his, your body warm with how close you were to him and your hand low and near his cock.

Fuck, one more touch from you and he’d be cumming in seconds. “I’m not.” Geto replies to you.

You pull your lower lip into your mouth for a second and his gaze drops, “You sure? Y’know how long I was watchin’ you before I said something?”

“Fuck, how long baby?” He practically mumbles. He needed your touch so badly, you were too close to not be all over him right now and his restraint was waning by the second.

“A few minutes, saw you puttin’ my panties to your nose ‘nd everything,” As you speak, your hands are lifting and his eyes are widening.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he’s forced to stop his hand on his cock before he blows his load too soon, “Yeah?” He breathes.

You nod and inch closer, “Mhm.”

“Bet that got you all hot ‘nd bothered, huh?” Geto whispers, cocking his head to the side before placing a hand to your waist and holding you tenderly, “That’s why you said somethin’ right? Cause y’like watchin’ me like this?”

Your eyes were on his lips now and you’d half-heard everything he just said, shrugging out a little, “Maybe…” In response before your lips are finally on his.

Geto can’t even control the groan that pours out of him while his lips move over yours, tongue slotting into your mouth and hand squeezing onto your waist as if to tell you not to move.

The kiss doesn’t even last that long before he’s letting out a whine as his cockhead brushes against your body, “Fuck-, enough of this teasin’, I need you princess.”

★ Gojo Satoru

You were going to take it upon yourself to ask your husband how he jerks off when you’re not around but instead of answering your text with an explanation like a normal person— he sends you a video.

Unfiltered, less than a second after clicking on the video, you’re met with his glistening cock on your screen. Slicked with spit and precum trailing along his veins, a pretty pink tip twitching for some attention, and a bright flash from his cellphone giving you the perfect view of his lower half.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t squeeze your legs together as soon as you started the video. Then there’s his voice that you hear about five seconds in.

“Wanted to see how I jerk off, huh? Dirty girl,” Oh his tone was low with you, the sound filling your ears as you bat your lashes and gulped. Thank god for your headphones, despite being home alone, because you could hear every little sound. “You’re lucky I was already in the middle of it when you texted, y’know.”

Although he can’t hear you, you scoff, “Slut.”

“Got’ this hard thinkin’ about you,” Gojo whispers suddenly, his slender fingers wrapping around his cock carefully, “I miss you, pretty girl,” His words and the way he’s slowly touching himself for you has your body hot and it’s only been a few seconds.

Pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth, your eyes narrow on his hand— how tenderly it slides up and up until he reaches his tip, the way his thumb runs in between the slit of his cockhead and he lets out a hiss.

Then his hand lowers and the sound that follows is so wet, “Fuuck, I wish it was you touchin’ me right now. You always make me feel s’good,” Gojo pants unintentionally, “Miss your lips on me too. How long’s it been? A week? Fuckin’ hate leavin’ you for work…”

You chuckle lightly at his moment of rambling but the way his hand picks up in speed ever so slightly has your smile fading and your focus returning. Sometimes you wonder how he even fits inside you— his cock is so long and from his base to his tip, he looks like he’d split you open (he does).

Your thighs are squeezing together again and you’re starting to miss him the more you watch, the vivid and deep sound of Gojo humming your name causing a chill to slip down your spine.

And you swear you were about to get to the best part of the video he’s sent because his hand was moving at a quickened pace but you’re interrupted by an incoming video call from the man in question.

You practically jump out of your skin due to your ringtone before you scramble to answer it.

Batting your eyelashes as the call connects, you swallow hard, “H-Hello-“

“Knowin’ you’re watchin’ that video isn’t enough f’me,” Gojo huffs out— now he’s got the camera propped up for you and you can see most of his body.

His shirt is long gone, same with his sweats, his legs are spread far and wide, hard and throbbing cock standing straight up as his hand tugs at it in needy little pulls. Gojo’s got his head tossed back and you have the clearest view of his sweaty Adam’s apple, a slip of sweat sliding down along his chest.

He’s panting like crazy and his hand is fucking his cock much more aggressively than he was in that video you’d been watching, “Show me somethin’ baby, I fuckin’ need you,” Gojo huffs impatiently as he shifts his head back into place to meet your gaze on his screen.

You gulp, “S-Satoru, I-“

“Please?” He whines so suddenly and it has your pussy throbbing, especially with how he lifts his hips into his hand because of simply looking at your face, “Wanna see somethin’ pretty, show me your pussy, please?”

It's almost embarrassing how fast you move for your needy husband, going to prop your own phone up similar to how he’s done his and then discarding your clothes in a heartbeat.

“Spread yourself apart f’me, baby,” Gojo groans out his instructions and you’re following his every word— parting your legs wider and moving two finds to your cunt to spread your pussy apart for him.

“Mmh, like this, ‘Toru?” You utter with a slightly shaky hand and an embarrassed expression.

You see the way Gojo’s jaw sinks a little and how his brows furrow as he fists his cock faster, almost eagerly, “Juus’ like that, sweetheart-, fuck. I miss bein’ inside you,” Gojo says before tilting his head to really study your cunt, “Look how wet y’re f’me ‘nd I’m not even there, shit.”

You’ve got your pointer and ring finger holding your cunt open and you shift your middle finger to give yourself the slightest bit of relief, “It’s cause of your video..”

“Yeah?” Gojo smiles, “Y’liked watchin’ me jerk off?”

His hand slows, palm steadily traveling down along his shaft as a whine leaves him. Your pretty pussy on full display for him and making his balls twitch. He wanted to be fucking you full of him so badly.

“Uhuh,” Your softer tone hits his ears and Gojo grunts.

“Shiiit,” He breathes out before biting his bottom lip. He’d started to drool without even realizing it and his cock was dripping in cum already, “Look at that pussy leak f’me-, holy fuck.” Your husband moans, “My voice get you like this too?”

You’ve started to tease yourself with merely one finger and you can’t move your eyes away from his needy cock, “M-Mhm…” You hum.

“Aww, baby…” Gojo coos. Then you were slipping two fingers into yourself and trying your best to get off along with him, “Look at your fingers tryin’ t’please you like how I do,” He cracks a smile, “Doesn’t feel the same, does it?”

Shaking your head, “N-No, ‘Toru. I need you.”

“Hahh, need you too baby,” Gojo moans, hand picking back up. The faintest plp plp plp followed his movements as bits of cum dripped from his cockhead and onto the floor, “Look at how fuckin’ hard I am cause of you.” He huffs just before glancing down to himself.

Ah, he was making a mess but he was a bit too dazed with arousal to pay any mind to it right now.

You bite your lip and hum before tipping your head back and shutting your eyes, “Mmmh…”

“M’gonna get home and fuck you til’ we both pass out, I swear.” Gojo huffs. His voice is airy and his hand is getting a bit messy now.

Your lips part and you exhale heavily, “Can’t wait.”

“Yeah? Y’can’t wait huh?” Your husband grunts, practically fucking his cock up into his hand at this point, “Maybe I’ll get ya' pregnant so I have an excuse not t’leave you like this.”

Your legs start to close a little and you moan, “Satoru, m-mgh…”

“Fuck, m’gonna cum,” He groans pornographically into the air, “Wish I was cummin’ inside you, fuckin’ you nice ‘nd full, watchin’ you make a mess on me-, hahh… agh…” His lips quiver a bit as he gets close and he’s panting so hard that the camera is starting to fog up a little.

“T-Toru,” You whine for him— missing him oh so desperately now that you’re nearing your own orgasm.

“Yeah, mhm, m’here baby,” Gojo chants, breath heavy and hand jolting up and down his cock fervently, “C’mon, cum with me. You can do it f’me pretty girl.”

You’re nodding, he’s nodding— both of you are getting there together and whining each other’s names. Gojo’s veins are popping up on his hand with how tightly his gripping onto his cock and his mouth hangs open, eyelids heavy and vision blurring while he moans your name.

“Miss you so fuckin’ much,” Gojo groans finally before he glances to his phone to see you releasing all over your fingers— the sight leads him to cum right then and there with his kegs trembling slightly.

Fuck, he needed to get home soon.

★ Nanami Kento

You were surprised to walk in on your boss jerking off.

“Oh fuck,” Echoed into the air, his voice thick with lust as he hadn’t even noticed you’d entered his office yet.

With the way his desk was, you could see everything. His muscular thighs parted like a damn slut, cock barely tugged out of his slacks, big veiny hand working to bring himself to an orgasm.

Truth be told, it’s your fault he’s like this— his cute lil’ assistant, walking around in those tight ass skirts he’s asked you not to wear thousands of times over again. And yet you do it anyway. Maybe because you know where it gets you with your boss or maybe because you wanted a situation exactly like this.

Sure, he’s your boss but he’s also the same man that fucks you til’ you can’t walk straight whenever you request him to do so.

But this? Well, you’ve never been so aroused by walking in on a man pleasing himself before. It had to be his deep groans of your name or even the size of his cock and how it exceeded the size of his hand, how you could picture your own hands around it and how you know your hands would be so pale in comparison.

Nanami’s got his eyes shut and he’s huffing and puffing through his nose, chest rising and falling rapidly the more he stokes his cock. All he can think about is you and the way you bent over in front of him less than thirty minutes ago.

He had half a mind to call you into his office and tell you to bend over his desk the same way— thinking of fucking your tight cunt til’ you’re making too much noise and he has to shove two thick fingers in your mouth to shut you up.

“Fuuck,” It’s rare you even hear him curse so to hear his mouth so vulgar now has you swallowing hard before you lock his office door with a slight click following.

His eyes bat open and he doesn’t bother stopping because he already knew it was you who’d walked in, you’re the only one who does so without knocking.

“Sir?” You utter gently, making his face twist up in arousal.

“Here, now.” Is all he can grunt out to you.

You’re moving toward him obediently with your panties soaking the closer you get. “Mr.-“

“Kento,“ He utters, “Please, fuck-, just… hahh, say my name, sweetheart.”

“Kento,” You correct in a sultry tone, “I didn’t know you were… occupied in here. What if someone else walked in-“

Nanami rolls his eyes at you and then lets off a scoff, “No one but you would,” He huffs, “Now get on my desk.”

You freeze as you find yourself standing right beside his desk, “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself-, just…” He trails off a little once his eyes meet yours and you watch his lashes flutter while his brows pinch together, “Oh fuck, I need… hah, fuuck.”

You chew on your bottom lip before smirking and stepping past his desk, closer to him, “Need what, Ken? Get it out…” You whisper.

“Damn vixen,” Nanami groans as he tosses his head back.

Glancing down at his cock, you watch as his tip grows a bit white— cum peeping out from his fat cockhead and making you swallow thickly.

You then look back up to his face and start leaning down, placing your hands on the armrests of his chair to keep yourself up before uttering, “Do you want me to touch you?”

His response is instant, “God, yes.”

“How?” You murmur with a smirk, shifting your legs so that they straddle one of his, “How do you want me to touch you?”

Nanami opens his eyes and yet again and he grunts at how ridiculously close you are to him, “Anywhere.”

You tease, “Anywhere?”

“Yes, hurry up,” Nanami pleads. His voice nearly went desperate for you and you swore you heard something needy underlining in his tone.

Playing off of that, “Needy are we?” You comment before seating yourself on his thigh.

“Yes,” He gulps and begins to stammer while your arms wrap around his neck, “J-Just-“

Oh he can’t even finish his request before your lips are pressing into his neck and he’s groaning loudly. Cock aching for you whilst your lips move along his tensed skin. Each kiss from you earned groan after groan from him, the sound vibrating against his throat and his hand squeezing his cock tighter.

“Fuck,” Nanami curses yet again as you kiss below his sharp jawline.

“You’re one naughty man, y’know. Did you want me to catch you like this?” You murmur against his warm skin, feeling the way he tenses up to your voice.

Nodding and humming a carefully little, “Mhm,” In response, Nanami’s completely at your mercy now, silently begging for you to continue down the path you’re on.

You smile and glance down to his hand still working his cock, cunt clenching around nothing the longer you stare, “Ken…”

“Y-Yes?” He stutters a bit and mentally curses himself for it— he knows you’ll tease him more about it later.

Planting another kiss beneath his jaw, you chuckle, “You’re drippin’ onto the floor,” You utter so seductively that he just groans and throws his head back again. “Makin’ suuch a big mess all because of… what? Hm?”

“You,” He huffs, “You and that… that fucking skirt,” Nanami says through gritted teeth.

“Well,” You whisper with a slight smile still on your face, “If you have a problem with it you can always take it off of me.”

His free hand is gripping onto your waist faster than you have time to react and you let out a slight noise in surprise. Nanami’s lifting his head and angling himself to your neck, lips latching onto you as he lets out a groan like a man starved.

“Yeah?” He hushes out.

Then he’s pushing you back slightly and releasing his cock, both of you soon shoved to your feet with how quick and swift his movements are. He has you stumbling backwards until you bump into his desk and then there’s a hand grabbing at the side of your neck, tugging you into a deep kiss.

It’s hot and heavy, even as he pulls away from you and pants, lifting a thumb to drag your lower lip down, “Lay back and spread your legs for me then,” Nanami murmurs in that deep tone of his.

You gulp, “Sir, I-“

He cuts you off by slipping his thumb into your mouth, “You said I could get that skirt off of you. Don’t go back on your word and do as I said.”

Gazing at him for a singular moment longer, you lift yourself onto his desk and start parting your legs for the man. His thumb leaves your mouth and his finger is slightly wet as he places his palms to your thighs, slipping his grasp up to your hips and beneath that skirt of yours.

The fabric starts bundling up at you hips and you let out a sigh as you lean your upper half back.

Then, Nanami moves to tug at his tie and sends you a look of warning, “And don’t be too loud like last time… You don’t want others to hear how much of a slut you are behind closed doors, right?”

You release a scoff, “Says the man who was jerking off in his office.”

He freezes before smiling slightly, “Touché.”

[specialgrades]

Nanamin...... uuehheehegegrushehhssmd.... m'sorry i need to suffocate him with my thighs n hole <3

i need him so bad. i need him in every way possible. i might actually write something i'm down so horrendously.