#all memories of rose are slightly off slightly missing

[r0setyler]

thinking about how the memory tardis had one piece of rose in it, her missing poster, and how that is representative of rose's narrative, she's missing... there are pieces of all the other doctors, of yaz, of river, but rose's thing isn't the jacket donna found, isn't some sort of actual rose, but is literally just her missing poster, because even to the memory tardis, to the doctor, she is missing. where is she? have you seen rose tyler?

[p0orbaby]

In Vino Veritas

summary: you’re drunk, aitana is missing and whose house is this?

warnings: alcohol

a/n: this is cute, and it’s made me want to write for tana more

word count: 2.5k

-

The music pulses around the house, loud and relentless, like it has a personal vendetta against silence, and you feel it vibrating through your bones. It’s some mainstream electronic track, too cheerful for the kind of reflective mood tequila usually grants you. Everything around you is a little hazy, a bit too bright, and you’re squinting at it all, like you’re looking at the world through frosted glass.

The wallpaper here is too clean, too deliberately “vintage,” with little pink roses blooming in neat, identical rows. You imagine, briefly, peeling the wallpaper back, layer by layer, finding more roses, more decades of them, stacked on top of each other like memories no one wants to talk about. But that’s a thought for another time, another you, one not stumbling over someone’s overly expensive thrifter rug and nearly tripping on a pair of boots discarded in the hallway.

Where the hell is Aitana?

It’s around the fifth time you’ve drunkenly circled the house when you spot Sunglasses Guy, a figure that almost feels like a test placed here by some malevolent spirit—an obstacle on your journey. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like he’s in a photoshoot, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Indoors, sunglasses on, even though it’s dark outside. He’s got that air of self-importance, like he’s convinced that sunglasses are mysterious, that people look at him and think, Wow, who’s that? In reality, they’re thinking, Why is this guy wearing sunglasses in the dark?

He nods at you, a slow, deliberate motion, clearly trying to make you feel “seen” in some profound way, as if this is a moment the two of you will remember forever. But all you remember is your drink, the way it sloshes precariously as you shift your weight, and the way he leans in, smelling faintly of something vaguely woody and way too expensive.

“Do you know what NFTs are?” he asks, his voice low, a little sultry, like he thinks NFTs are the new “what’s your sign?”

You stare at him, and the words that spring to mind are “sunglasses,” “pretentious,” and, inexplicably, “parsley.” You’ve no idea where “parsley” came from, but your mind clings to it like smoke on cotton. “NFTs,” you repeat, as though it’s the punchline to a joke he hasn’t told. He takes this as an invitation to launch into what sounds like a memorised TED Talk, and you wonder, briefly, if you could just interrupt him by throwing your drink on his shoes.

“Aitana!” you yell instead, desperate, cutting him off mid-monologue, which he handles with a slightly indignant flick of his eyebrow.

“Where’s my girlfriend? Have you seen her?”

The phrase my girlfriend makes you beam internally. There’s a glow that forms when you think of her, a warmth that starts in your chest and blooms outward. She is, after all, the reason you’re here. The reason you even pretend to tolerate these kinds of social gatherings, with their sunglasses indoors and their endless monologues about digital assets.

He blinks, trying to recover from the abrupt derailment. “Uh, blockchain—”

“Ugh,” you mutter, interrupting again, giving him a very distinct dismissive wave, the kind of wave that says Please stop talking or I will find a way to escape this dimension entirely.

A girl nearby spills beer on your shoes. She mumbles an apology, not that you’re in a state to care; you brush it off. Aitana is the focus, the centre. Shoes don’t matter when you’re looking for someone who does.

Then, finally—finally—you see her. She’s leaning against the far wall, her posture so casual, like she’s posed there on purpose, like she’s an ad for the kind of life you’re pretty sure only exists in those short films that play before foreign films at independent cinemas. She’s listening intently to some guy in an aggressively patterned shirt, nodding along like he’s actually saying something worthwhile, and you can’t help but marvel at the patience it takes to look interested when you’re not.

“Oh my god, she’s so beautiful.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, but it comes out loud enough that a girl nearby laughs. You’re only mildly mortified; who cares? Aitana has just noticed you across the room, and now she’s looking at you with that expression, the one that melts your insides, that says, There you are.

You start walking toward her, though “walking” might be generous. It’s more of a determined stumble, like a baby deer on its first attempt at standing. Your brain registers that you’re approaching her, but your legs aren’t quite sure if they’re fully on board. At some point, you even have to pause and grab a nearby chair for balance, flashing a sheepish grin at a couple nearby who look half-amused, half-concerned.

“Aitanaaaa,” you call, drawing her name out like you’re serenading her. She’s already moving toward you, though, weaving gracefully through the crowd like it’s easy, natural. You think, Of course she’d come to me. Of course she’d know that I need rescuing.

“Hi, cariño,” she says softly, her voice lilting with that soft Spanish accent that, even now, sends a thrill up your spine. And it’s so gentle, so warm, like she’s wrapping you up in some invisible blanket. You lean into it, the warmth, her presence, like a moth to a flame.

“You’re so pretty,” you blurt out, your words tumbling over each other in their eagerness. “Like, stupid pretty. Like, why are you even with me?” Your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, as if the two of you are sharing a secret in a room filled with strangers. “I’m a disaster. I can’t even find the toilet in this place”

She laughs, this soft, lilting sound that feels like honey, thick and golden, spreading warmth from your chest to your fingertips. Her hand settles on your shoulder, steadying you, pulling you closer, and you realise how desperately you want to bury your face in the crook of her neck and just exist there, where things are quiet, soft. She smells faintly floral, and you realise it’s that same perfume she always wears, the one you borrowed once and promptly drenched yourself in until she told you, with a smile, that subtlety might work better.

“Why am I with you?” she echoes, the question hanging there between you, laced with a smile, with that familiar mischief. “Because I love you. And because you’re funny. And because you make my life interesting”

“Interesting?” You narrow your eyes, leaning back slightly, pretending to be offended. “I thought I made your life amazing. Like, top-tier, VIP-section amazing.” You’re about to launch into a whole speech, but your brain hiccups, lost somewhere in a thought that doesn’t quite finish. You grin at her instead, and she just shakes her head, amused.

She grins, and it’s that cheeky, self-assured grin that makes you both melt and want to argue. “That too”

It’s at this moment, this little pause, that you get an idea. It’s not necessarily a good idea, but it’s there, persistent, because your tequila-fuelled brain won’t let it go. “If you were a sandwich,” you say seriously, “you’d be the kind with all the best fillings. Like, avocado and caramelised onions and, like, artisanal cheese. And I’d eat you every day and never get bored”

She laughs, that infectious, melodic sound, and you feel a swell of pride that you can make her laugh like that, even in your current state. Her eyes soften, that look of adoration flickering there, just for you, and she reaches up to brush a strand of hair off your face. Her fingers are warm, soft, and your eyes flutter closed for a moment as they linger on your cheek.

“Come on, let’s get you some water,” she murmurs, her voice gentle as she takes your hand in hers, and there’s a comfort in that touch, in the way her fingers intertwine with yours.

As she guides you through the crowd, you find yourself staring at her hand in yours, marvelling at how naturally it fits, how perfect it feels, as though it’s always meant to be there. The thought makes you feel almost childlike in its simplicity, but you hold onto it.

“You’re the best, you know that?” you say as Aitana threads you through a crowd that’s moving with the sludgy, undulating rhythm of a creature with too many limbs. Faces pass by in flashes of laughing mouths and narrowed eyes, pupils blown wide by God knows what, maybe tequila, maybe… more. None of them matter, though. They’re simply the backdrop to this little tableau: you, lit up and fizzing, tethered to the only person in the world who’d think to take your hand and lead you to salvation (water) instead of just letting you unravel on the sticky floor of someone’s overpriced house.

She looks at you like you’re amusing, like she’s doing you this great favour by holding your hand in public. “I know,” she says, her mouth quirking in that way that makes your chest feel both hollow and unbearably full.

And then you stop—there’s an odd elegance to it, almost like a dance, because she half-turns, looking back at you as if she knew this was coming. Like she’s been expecting you to stop her and do something wild, something foolish. The patience in her eyes, well, it almost feels like she’s giving you permission to make an idiot of yourself. Again.

“I want to kiss you,” you announce, dead serious, as if declaring something truly revolutionary.

“We’re in the middle of a strangers house.” She says this lightly, but she’s already leaning in, her chin tilting, the light catching in her hair just so, like it’s the climax of some impossibly chic music video.

You want to tell her that kissing her here, now, with people everywhere and the taste of cheap tequila in your mouth, is the single most important thing in the world. That nothing in this moment matters, except her—your Aitana, who has somehow, against all reason and logic, decided to love you back.

So, when she presses her mouth to yours, soft, barely-there, like you’re made of fine china, you think you might just melt into the floor. The crowd around you recedes; they fade away, just shadows in the periphery, and it’s as if you and Aitana are standing in a bubble, suspended in time. You’re floating, really, an ethereal, drunk ghost of yourself. She’s kissed you like this a thousand times, but right now, it feels so outrageously perfect that you think, absurdly, that maybe you don’t deserve it. Like you’ve somehow won this cosmic lottery.

When she pulls back, you’re vaguely aware that your mouth is still open, probably looking ridiculous, but she’s smiling at you, all fondness and amusement, as if to say, “Yes, you’re a total disaster, but you’re my disaster.” It’s a little terrifying, if you think about it too long.

“See? This is why you’re the best,” you mumble, clutching her a little tighter, almost swaying in place.

She tilts her head, giving you this look that’s so completely Aitana, so fully her, it borders on cliché. “You’re a mess,” she says, but her eyes are bright, shimmering with something almost mischievous.

You shrug, proud, defiant. “I’m your mess”

“Yes,” she agrees, not even trying to hide her smile, “you are”

And with that, she’s tugging you along, moving with a fluidity that makes you wonder, briefly, if she’s choreographed this entire evening just for you. You’re half-convinced she’s orchestrated the entire universe to align with this moment—the sounds of people talking too loud, the stickiness of the floor, the faint scent of stale beer and expensive perfume all melding into a cocktail that feels uniquely yours. Aitana, your perfect Aitana, leading you through this mire like she’s guiding you through a rainforest or a canyon, somewhere treacherous and fraught with danger.

You stumble into what you desperately hope is the kitchen, but honestly, it could just as easily be a poorly-lit hallway or an oddly-configured living room. Someone has drawn a Sharpie mustache on a framed photo of a golden retriever; the countertop is littered with crumpled napkins and red Solo cups, each one bearing the lipstick marks of strangers.

“I’m gonna drink, like, four litres of water,” you declare, full of bravado, as she hands you a slightly dented plastic cup that smells faintly of gin.

“Good idea,” she replies, crossing her arms and watching you with that expression she gets sometimes, like she’s trying to contain her fondness, keep it manageable, as if loving you too much would somehow be irresponsible. Like her heart could actually explode if she indulged herself too much.

You take a sip, but you’re not really tasting the water. No, you’re watching her, the way she brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face with her pinky, the way her eyes are this exact shade of dark that you’ve spent hours trying to name in your head. Like burnt caramel, maybe, or wet soil. It’s frustratingly poetic, the way she looks at you, like she knows every ridiculous thing you’ve ever thought and loves you for it anyway.

“Aitana,” you say, fully serious, as if you’re about to impart some life-altering wisdom. “You’re my favourite person ever”

“I know,” she replies, but there’s something so gentle in her voice that you’re pretty sure she means it as much as you do. She reaches out, smoothing a stray hair behind your ear, a little gesture, the kind that’s both tender and practical, reminding you of the time she told you to cut your nails because you scratched her during a tickling fit. Practical, pragmatic Aitana, the girl who brings you plasters when you’ve tripped up the stairs and curses in Catalan when she stubs her toe but tries to blame the wall for it.

“No, but like…you don’t understand,” you say, stumbling over your words, the alcohol making you louder and sloppier than you’d like. You lean in closer, conspiratorially, like you’re about to reveal some great cosmic secret. “I’m so in love with you. It’s, like, a problem”

She laughs softly, the sound low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. She pulls you into her arms, your head pressing against her shoulder, and you breathe her in, that familiar scent that’s all her—floral and a little musky, layered with the faintest hint of some expensive perfume you’ve never bothered to learn the name of.

“It’s not a problem,” she murmurs, smoothing a hand down your back. “It’s perfect”

And it is. Perfect, that is. You’re here, tangled up in her, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic, messy cloud of tequila and love, and it’s perfect in this fragile, unsteady way. You’re her mess, her drunken mess, and there’s something so intensely beautiful about it, you think you might actually cry.

“I’m never letting you go,” you mumble, your words muffled against her shirt, which is soft and smells like laundry detergent.

“Good,” she replies, holding you a little tighter, as if she means it more than anything. “Because I’m not going anywhere”

[pcr-alice]

DPxDC - Missing Persons

also on AO3

It started so quietly no one really noticed.

People were disappearing. A veteran from the mountains, a firefighter from the city, a surfer from the coast, and on and on. All gone without a trace. The local authorities investigated, of course, but they never found any leads. After some time, the people were simply written off as missing, and their communities moved on. They remained forgotten until the Justice League got involved. Their systems flagged the uptick in disappearances, and once a Bat took a look, they were immediately suspicious. It took another Bat before the link was finally found. And it took Red Hood disappearing to confirm it. The missing people all had previous close calls with death. And so the League followed protocol – they announced an investigation.

The disappearances stopped.

It was a relief at first. There were far too many people who fit the profile, and none of their analysis could discern a usable pattern from the previous disappearances. But as time stretched on, they got nervous. Surely whatever this was wouldn’t just stop once noticed? What was going to happen next, and when? Justice League Dark got involved. Only once John Constantine started poking around did they find a lead, and even then only thanks to dumb luck.

When Constantine was finally dragged to the town where one of the early disappearances occurred, he zeroed in on an old woman living in a care home. As it turned out, she was mildly magically sensitive. Apparently her grandmother was a witch or something of that sort. But crucially, she had suffered a nearly fatal heart attack almost a decade ago. And she was all too happy to talk about the ‘nice young man’ from her dream who offered to take her away.

She granted Constantine permission to dive into her memory to learn more. Whatever he learned did not make him happy. He said he’d be back after a quick trip to Hell and disappeared, much to Batman’s irritation. But true to his word, surprising some, he returned with slightly singed clothes and a book.

So here he was, chalking sigils onto the floor. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern watched him work in silence, likely trying to wrap their minds around the fact that there was a so-called Ghost King who they were about to request an audience with. Constantine finished up his work and stood at what they all assumed was the front of the circle he had just drawn.

“I do all the talking, yeah? These ones can be tricky.”

Without waiting for a response, he waved his hand, magic glowing at his palm. The circle responded in kind, pulsing white then fading into a harsh, vibrant green. A large black, green, and red elaborately-decorated sarcophagus rose inside the circle, appearing to phase straight through the floor.

“Dramatic fuckers, eh?” Constantine muttered.

A thick fog billowed out alongside it, quickly surging out past the boundary of the circle. It spread upward, threatening to fill the entire room. Constantine cursed to himself and waved an arm, clearing out the fog around them even as it thickened throughout the rest of the room, obscuring the view of the ceiling and walls save for the door directly behind them.

A deep voice echoed through the room with no discernible source. Everyone tensed.

“Who would dare wake the sleeping tyrant?”

A pair of bright green slits appeared from the depths of the fog and widened into eyes.

“Eugh, it’s you.”

The voice lost its echo. It sounded annoyed but entirely human and...young? That didn’t stop Constantine from clenching a hand into a fist, charging magic and preparing for an attack. The eyes moved closer, revealing a pale face and snow-white hair that floated in an unfelt breeze.

“Peace, Hellblazer.”

A lanky figure stepped forward onto the sarcophagus from where they were floating. They wore all black save for their white gloves, white boots, and previously visible head. With an audible thunk they plopped down on the foot of the sarcophagus, one leg bent upward to rest their chin on and wrap their arms around.

“I mean you no harm.”

There was a pause as the others waited to see how Constantine would respond.

“We met?”

“No, but I know of you. And I must admit, I’m disappointed to see you working with the likes of them.”

They gestured to the others in the room.

“Yeah, well,” Constantine relaxed his fist but lost none of his tension, “Don’t meet your heroes.”

The stranger scoffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just enjoy seeing demons annoyed.”

There was another tense pause as the stranger lazily looked over all those present. Constantine broke the silence again.

“Who might you be, then?”

The stranger slowly dragged their gaze away from Wonder Woman and back to the magician. After a pause they spoke.

“You may call me Ambassador.”

“Ambassador to ghosts?”

“If you’d like to think of it that way.”

Constantine straightened his posture.

“We would like to formally request an audience with His Majesty The King to discuss what we suspect is ghost activity in our world.”

The ambassador stared back in silence with squinted eyes before sighing and thumping their forehead to their knee.

“Where to even begin…” they whispered to themselves.

“Okay, let’s start with this.” They slapped the side of the sarcophagus and looked up. “What part of ‘sleeping tyrant’ wasn’t clear?”

“I was under the impression His Majesty was recently crowned and well-respected?”

The ambassador pinched the bridge of their nose and groaned.

“Ancients...”

They hopped to the ground without warning, causing everyone to flinch into defensive stances. If the ambassador noticed, they gave no indication.

“The king is a tyrant, he is trapped in forever sleep again, and I’d like to keep it that way this time.”

Constantine opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted before he got a chance.

“Speaking of which, how’d you even summon him?”

“Summon?” Constantine choked out, clearly surprised.

The ambassador walked toward Constantine, making everyone save for him slide backwards a step. They looked down at the chalk marks on the floor.

“Ancients, this is archaic. Where’d you find it?”

After a few seconds of silence, the ambassador looked up at Constantine.

“Well?”

“Ah...Merlin.”

The ambassador raised an eyebrow.

“What? It’s bloody true!”

The ambassador huffed out a laugh and walked back to lean against the sarcophagus and cross their arms.

“Can’t fault his demonology, but this circle is Bad. I suggest you lose it.”

Constantine opened his mouth to speak, but was once again interrupted, this time from an unfamiliar voice echoing through the room.

“Lord Phantom.”

Everyone flinched as a set of black armor coated in purple flames stepped into view from the fog.

“’Sup Frighty?”

“The dark one is marked.”

The ambassador flicked their eyes to Batman and stared for several tense seconds.

“So he is. Just like the other one, but actually concealed. Must be barely contaminated.”

The ambassador squinted and tilted their head.

“Sure enough. It’s weak, but there’s a family bond there.”

Batman clenched his fist.

“Where is Red Hood?”

The ambassador straightened their head, unflinching and unblinking.

“Safe. And being cared for.”

Before Batman could respond, yet another voice echoed from the fog.

“These are the ones?”

The ambassador turned their back to Batman and groaned.

“Is anyone not coming?”

A giant, four-armed, blue-skinned, armor-clad woman stepped out of the fog with two sets of crossed arms. She had the smallest smirk on her face.

“Apologies. I wished to see those who would obstruct our evacuation.”

Superman and Green Lantern perked up and shared a short look of confusion. The woman turned her head to Wonder Woman, her smirk replaced with a grimace.

“I am disappointed to see one of my kin among them.”

“I thought she might be, but I wasn’t sure.”

Wonder Woman stepped forward.

“My Lady, I –”

“You were not asked to speak, Child.” The woman snapped.

Her voice shook the floor underneath them. Wonder Woman flinched and stared up at her with wide eyes. The heroes tensed for a fight. But to their shock, Wonder Woman slowly raised her arm to press a fist over her heart and bowed her head in deference.

“I will make my displeasure known,” the woman growled, voice still angry but no longer violently.

“Take Dora with you.”

“Do you think me unable to fend for myself, Little One?” Her mouth curved up into a fond smirk again.

“I know better than to doubt you,” they briefly smirked back, “but given my limited experience, I don’t hold them in high regard.”

After a pause they tacked on a “no offense”.

“None taken.”

The woman stepped backwards and faded into the fog. Superman took a step forward, eyeing the armor cautiously.

“Ambassador, my apologies for our unpleasant first meeting.”

He waited until the ambassador gave him a slight nod.

“May I inquire what your companion meant by ‘evacuation’?”

“Exactly what she said. Our kind are being hunted, and we are trying to save them.”

“In that case I must apologize again. We were not aware of this unfortunate situation. Had we been provided an explanation, we would –”

“Typical,” the ambassador scoffed, “your primary patron government is committing a genocide, and yet we’re at fault for not properly informing you.”

Superman was smart enough to bite back his standard “we’re independent” retort. Green Lantern stepped forward instead.

“If I may, Ambassador, my name is Hal Jordan. I am a member of the Green Lantern Corps. We are a wholly independent organization dedicated to peacekeeping across the galaxy.”

The ambassador looked him up and down slowly before turning their head away dismissively.

“I don’t talk to cops.”

The heroes were stunned to silence. The ambassador turned to the floating armor.

“Prepare the Keep. I’ll ward against this circle once the sarcophagus is back in its place.”

“My Lord.”

The armor bowed its head then faded into the fog. Batman stepped forward.

“We have no involvement in the violence against you or your kind.”

The ambassador turned to stare at Batman for several seconds, squinted eyes glowing brightly.

“You’re an excellent liar, Batman.” The fog crept forward and wrapped around their legs. “Unfortunately, I know you’re full of shit.”

“What points you to that conclusion?” Batman kept his voice neutral and steady.

The fog had risen to the ambassador’s chest. They scoffed.

“There are photos of you with Amanda Waller.”

Batman’s fist clenched harder.

The ambassador turned to look at Constantine as the fog enveloped them, leaving two glowing green spots.

“I suggest you not push this any further, Laughing Magician. There are some things in this universe that trump even your luck.”

The glowing green eyes closed, and the fog faded away, leaving an empty summoning circle and untouched room. After several seconds of silence, Wonder Woman finally raised her head and spoke.

“I must return to Themyscira, perhaps for some time. If that was who I believe it to be...something has gone very wrong.”

Superman glanced over the others, who were all still silently processing the encounter. He turned back to Wonder Woman to give her a nod, and she quickly walked out of the room.

Constantine reached into his coat and pulled out his flask. He unscrewed the cap with a heavy sigh and downed whatever was left. He looked tired and annoyed, same as he always did. But Batman could tell he was shaken.

He looked away from Constantine and back to the empty circle again. There was a lot of concerning information to process, but one key thing did slip through. The knight had called the stranger ‘Phantom’. He had come across that name once before. One of three legible words on a burnt piece of paper in an abandoned and destroyed facility. A facility that stank of a classified government cover-up. A facility Waller had sworn up and down she knew nothing about. But he had a lead. The other two words. Amity Park. A small town that only existed if you looked at paper maps printed several years ago.

He had to act quickly.

[fear-is-truth]

how would patrick react if you decided to get back with him because you missed him?

https://www.tumblr.com/fear-is-truth/769447057976115200/how-do-you-think-patrick-will-react-when-you-try?source=share

breaking up then getting back together with patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; violent fantasies, allusions to sex & murder

part one here | • a/n: sorry if it’s ooc; i rlly tried

when patrick bateman opens the door, he is already bracing for his downstairs neighbor—the insufferable bitch who always complains about his morning jump rope routine. he has the same rehearsed excuse lined up, something about “the physics of soundproofing in luxury buildings” followed by a swift door slam in her face. even as his mouth is ready to deliver it, part of him is fantasising about cutting off those ears with a serrated blade and sending them as a gift, maybe with a tasteful balenciaga ribbon.

but it’s not her.

it’s you.

patrick blinks, his entire body stiffening, like his brain short-circuits for a seconds. you’re standing there, in the hall, and he doesn’t know what to say. for weeks, he’s been trying to erase your absence—or at least dull it—by throwing himself into other pursuits (fucking prostitutes who vaguely resemble you, at least in the right light) and nightly excursions into back alleys with a knife. but now, you’re here, standing in front of him, and he feels… blindsided.

his eyes sweep over you instinctively, taking in every detail of your outfit. the shoes you’re wearing are gucci—acceptable. still well-kept but with a slight scuff on the side. he notices the faint wear on the soles and thinks about how he’d replace them for you if he could. the dress—valentino, tailored well, though the stitching at the hem could have been tighter, sexier. your body deserves better, patrick thinks with a slight pang in his chest, prettier than you give yourself credit for, prettier than the way you dress.

then his gaze catches on the necklace. cartier. an elegant piece with a single pendant that rests at your collarbone.

before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “that necklace… it’s a good look on you.”

your hand immediately drifts up to the pendant. you touch it lightly, almost shyly,

“patrick… you bought me this. remember?”

he does.

the memory hits him like blunt force trauma, dragging him back to valentine’s day. he’d spent months securing a reservation at dorsia—screaming matches with disinterested reservation mangers over the phone, begging, bribery. it had all paid off when you walked in wearing that pink chanel dress—soft, romantic, a shade that reminded him of fresh roses. it fit you like a glove, like you’d stepped straight out of a vogue magazine. you’d squealed when he handed you the tiny cartier box across the table, your eyes wide, so bright. even patrick believed that day was perfect.

and, of course, the night. he remembers that, too. vividly. the way you were both tangled in his egyptian sheets, the way your perfume and sweat lingered on his skin after.

his mouth opens slightly, then closes. the silence stretches between you, thick and awkward, until patrick finally steps aside and motions for you to come in.

for the first time in weeks, patrick bateman feels… something. he’s not sure what “something” is, though. relief? hope? pathetic gratitude? he doesn’t know, and he hates not knowing. what he does know is this: whatever void you left behind, nothing—not the women, not even the killings—ever came close to filling it.

𝜗ϱ ┆ shock & silence

patrick wouldn’t know how to react at first. when you show up at his door, he’d open it, expecting another downstairs neighbor—bitching about the noises he makes when working out—but seeing you there would render him momentarily speechless. there’d be no theatrical display of relief or joy. instead, he’d stare at you in silence, until..

“you’re here,”

𝜗ϱ ┆ letting you in back into his world

patrick would step aside, letting you into his pristine apartment. the act of letting you back into his space would be his version of an emotional response—a silent acknowledgment of your importance to him.

he wouldn’t ask why you came back, at least not immediately. part of him would be terrified that questioning your return might push you away again. instead, he’d default to his usual routines, offering you a drink (with a coaster, of course) as though nothing had happened.

“do you want a perrier? or… something stronger?”

𝜗ϱ ┆ processing your return

while he wouldn’t outwardly express much, patrick would be reeling internally. your absence would have deeply shaken him, even if he didn’t fully understand why. in your time apart, he’d tried to fill the void with meaningless hookups and violence—screwing sex workers who vaguely resembled you, killing homeless people—but nothing could satisfy him. your return would force him to confront feelings he doesn’t have the tools to process... patrick doesn’t feel love in the traditional sense, but he’s capable of obsession and fixation, and you are irreplaceable in his world.

𝜗ϱ ┆ a shift in his behaviour

despite his relief at your return, patrick would remain on edge. deep down, he knows he’s incapable of forming a normal, healthy relationship, and the fear of losing you again would eat at him. you’d notice him becoming even more meticulous and controlling than before, as he’s trying to construct a perfect version of reality where you never leave again.

[pricesprincess]

Oooh may I ask for a John and Wife!Reader roleplay?? I feel like it's something he would try out to spice up their sex life with the Missus! Like he'd be kind of reluctant about it until he sees how into it Reader is heheh 👀

-✨️(if this emoji isn't taken)

smut mdni | explicit smut | alcohol but no one is drunk or even tipsy | roleplay

yes, yes, yes you may! I kinda went off on this with 2.5k wc eta I kinda went off script, was typing and blacked out to this lmaooo

"We went to a hotel and pretended not to know each other. It was a lot of fun." The actress on the flickering screen in front of John spoke as she ran her manicured fingers through her husband's hair. 

John huffed slightly, the cigar being squished between his fingers as he listened to the rest of the interview of a few dark romance authors you read from. 

They were doing Q&A's for their fans, and this one was all about roleplay, something new for you both to try out. Lately, it's been nothing but missionary, and the sex has gone stale as much as he hated to admit it, his job and duties kept him exhausted. 

It wasn't something John was proud to admit, knowing you weren't happy; it left a bitter taste in his throat as he clicked through a few more videos, gathering ideas to help the flickering dying flame. 

Most of your orgasms were self-given at this point, late at night when John was gone during a mission, which seems to be happening more and more, leaving you alone to take care of the house and yourself. 

A few days later, with his plan set in stone, the dinner table had been set with candles and takeout from your favorite place because the burnt food was now outside in the garbage with a single rose surrounded by rose petals in the middle. He wondered if this was too much, trying too hard, but he wanted you to feel loved. 

Your key slid into the lock before you pushed open the door, thankful that John was home and, this time, hopefully for a long time, his presence made the house a home, and the warmth from the furnace made you shiver as you slipped your coat and shoes off. "I'm home!" 

John stepped into the entryway, his face flushed, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He opened his arms, letting you fall into them with a giggle while you peppered his face with soft, sweet honey kisses. 

"I missed you so much!" You squealed and wrapped your arms around him, seeing the candles flickering in the small kitchen casting shadows across the wall that piqued your interest. "John?" 

He smiled, staying silent as he gently guided you to the dining room table you two grabbed at an estate sale a year ago before buying your shared home. Now, it's held so many memories, grooved into the wood you'd forever cherish. "Did you do something wrong?" 

Even though your voice was teasing, John's stomach churned with guilt as he pulled your chair back. He held your hand and gently kissed you, helping you sink down as you looked up at him. 

"Not' taking care of my wife," John replied, the sentence enough to make you pause, your hand hovering about the wine glass. 

You frowned, tilting your head up to look at your husband, taking his hand in yours, brushing your thumb across his coarse knuckles. "Why do you say that baby? You take real good care of me." You hummed. 

His lips twitched as he took the chair from across you, plating the food. "Haven't made you giggle or laugh in a while, haven't been home to be here like a man should, and I haven't made you cum." 

Oh. 

Your hand covered his as you looked at him, the candle flickering over your face as you cocked your head. "You've been super busy. I knew what I signed up for when I married you, honey. I don't hold it against you. Do I wish you were home more often? Yes, you're my man." 

"You're my man." Those words echoed through his head, and at that moment, it was decided that he was going to be where he belonged, but tonight wasn't about that. It was about making you feel good. 

Dinner happened with a soft hum of conversation as you ended up nestled on John's lap, your thighs draped over his as you fed each other in between slow kisses that made your toes curl. 

John's hands roamed your body, his rough palms bunching the sundress you wore to your hips. "Tomorrow night, we got plans. Come home after work." He hummed in your ear, kissing it. Once dinner was over, you and John fell into bed, naked and warm, curled together. 

Your husband's words played through your head all morning as you woke up to do your morning routine, your legs still wobbly from the way John had you bouncing on his dick like his personal toy. 

It only made you flustered, and the workday felt like forever, especially with John's teasing texts about what he had planned for the evening ahead. when the clock hit five, you zoomed from the building to your car as fast as possible. 

Excitement bubbled in your veins as you drove home. The streets were dim, and the moon brightened over the small town you and John had settled in. The porch light was dim as you pulled the car into the driveway. 

John was in the bedroom when you entered after slipping your shoes off; the grin on your face was infectious as John matched it, his hand sweeping to the bed where a dress lay, paired with your shoes. 

Your eyes drifted to the mattress to see it was the same dress you wore on your first date, a beautiful color that made your skin glow, but John did it. "What's this all for?" You asked curiously with a grin. 

"Our date, told you luv. Tonight, it's goin' to be different. We're not husband and wife, but a man in need of a pretty woman's cunt." 

His vulgar words made your jaw drop as your cunt ached, throbbing to be filled like last night, the memories making you shift in your spot as you looked at him, dressed in jeans and a button-up, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, making him look like a snack. 

Without realizing it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in a heated his; his hand rested on the globes of your ass, giving it a squeeze. "So, we're strangers?" You asked, leaning back with a sly smile as you giggled softly. 

John held you as you swayed back and forth, your fingers locked behind his neck. "Yes, ma'am. You'll be sittin' at the bar alone, where I come and save you from bein' stood up. Your safeword is the same." 

The way he looked at you made your stomach flutter. Even years after being married, John had this way of making you feel the same as he did on the first date, giddy like a schoolgirl with her first crush. 

"I'll need the sadness slurped from my pussy." You teased, making him shake his head and chuckle, the sound like music to your ears. 

Once ready, John guided you to his car, opened the door, and kissed your head. Inside, you held his hand, buzzing with excitement. 

“We’re pretendin’ we don’t know each other, somethin’ new and fun,” John murmured, his voice warm like whiskey simmering in your veins, making you flush as you giggled, squeezing his hand agreeing. 

Then it hit you: John skimmed your books, which made a lot of sense when you noticed that a few were out of place months before he was deployed. “You read my smut books, didn’t you?” You teased. 

Your husband looked at you with a wink that melted you like butter in a hot pan, screaming and burning as your eagerness filled the vehicle's cabin, putting John on edge. This was something new and way out of his realm, but seeing you happy about it eased the growing tension in his chest. 

The tire crunched over gravel as he pulled into the parking lot, breaking the silence. 

John was out of the car, opening your door before you could grab the handle, his hand warm and calloused in yours as he helped you out. His other palm rested on your hip. "I'll be inside in five, luv, be a good girl and wait for me." He hummed, leaning in to kiss you, soft, tender. 

You pulled away, resting your hand on his chest and looking at him with all the affection in the world swirling in your eyes. You pecked his lips and glided your hand over his pecs before walking inside. 

Thankfully, the bar wasn't too busy, seeing that it was a Thursday night, giving you most of the bar to yourself and John, who came in through the back door, his eyes scanning the small, cozy space. 

People left you be while you ordered a glass of wine, something sweet that exploded on your taste buds, trying not to watch John from the corner of your eyes even though you could feel him staring. 

It burned a hole in you, melting straight to between your legs, your clit throbbing already. You kept your posture sad and hunched, remembering that the reason you were here was being stood up. 

Two minutes later, John was perched on the barstool next to you. His drink was already ordered when his eyes shifted to you, filled with mock concern. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here all alone?”

You turned and looked at him. The instant your eyes locked, it was over. You gigglingly covered your mouth and shook your head. “Sorry. I don’t know if I can do this; you’re so…you.” You hummed.

John shook his head, his lips twitching with a smile. “Darlin’, what the hell am I supposed to do with you? And what’s that supposed to mean?” He teased, wrapping his arm around your waist when you nuzzled your forehead against his pecking his lips.

“You’re my soulmate, my man; I can’t pretend not to know you when I was riding you like a cowgirl just last night, and we’ve shared so much. It was a hot idea, but I want you as my husband.” You sighed, running your fingers through his brown roots, tugging gently. 

A deep groan rumbled through his chest, feeling your tongue glide into his mouth, tasting and licking the bourbon he ordered and sipped on.

The deep longing carved out a place in his soul, healing the cracks in him. John’s hand bunched the fabric of your dress around your waist, pulling you off the barstool and against him, leaving no room to mistake the feel the desire he felt, the hard poke against your thigh. 

Hand in hand again, John led you from the bar and outside into the cool summer breeze, your giggles breaking up the sounds of a few cars passing by while you opened the back door and guided him to the backseat slapping his ass and hearing him grunt.

John settled on the cool leather, spreading his legs as he helped you join him. He sat on his lap and leaned back while you shut the door, sealing both of you off from everyone. “You’re so handsome, so sexy.”

Your words were laced with affection and desire as your hands roamed his body, running over the soft pudge of his stomach softened by homecooked meals made with love and your spoiling. 

While you touched him, he returned the same favor, his fingers grazing under your dress, teasing, making your skin breakout in goosebumps while you humped him, grinding your cunt against him. 

The car was filled with heavy breathing and teeth-clacking kissing as your hips worked harder until John slid his hand into your panties, feeling how wet and slick you were, his fingers gliding against the lips of your cunt, making him groan again. “Fuck, sweetheart. Drippin’ for me.”

While leaning back, John sunk two thick fingers inside you with a squelch that was music to his ears; pumping them in and out at a slow pace had you feral, the teasing of his thumb against your clit ghosting.

He knew what he was doing, barely giving in until he was pressing against your g-spot, pressing his thumb down with circles, making you clench and hump his fingers this time, your hands resting on his shoulders, moaning, getting lost in the haze of it all but the flash of car lights pulling into the parking lot had you gripping his wrist.

“John!” You giggled and whined when he pulled his fingers out, his dark eyes watching as you sucked yourself off him before moving out of the backseat fixing your dress, and getting into the passenger. 

It didn’t take long for your husband to join you, his cock still hard and straining painfully against his zipper. He pressed on the gas, pulled out of the lot to drive home as quickly as possible, and John helped you out of the car, holding your hand while leading you inside. 

You both barely made it past the door before John had you pressed against the wall, his lips desperate and hungry while his hands tore at your dress until it pooled around your heeled feet. Your touch was hot, scorching against his skin as you undressed him not breaking the kiss. 

All tongue and hands, you and John ended up on the floor naked and warm, tangled together. His cock rutted against your hip as he helped you to a position of sixty-nine with you on top, still wearing your shoes. 

John didn’t give you any time to do anything before his hands were on your hips, bringing you down on his face, fully knowing he’d die a happy man if this were his last meal. Slowly, he licked a hot swipe up your cunt from your quivering hole to your swollen clit, flicking and sucking.

Your jaw went slack at the feeling as your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock before your mouth was wrapped around his leaky head, going further until you gagged, feeling the curly and hoarse hair tickling before you found a slow and teasing pace. 

It was a mess of spit and slick as you bobbed your head feeling his tongue swirl over your clit before kissing your pussy that drenched his face and beard leaving it glistening like his sack from your salvia. 

Moaning around him, the sound vibrating around his cock, making him grip your ass, forcing you to ride his face harder until your orgasm burst open, making you squeal and gag on his cock, jerking your hips. 

But that didn’t stop John; his tongue was relentless in making out with your cunt making it sticky and prolonging the cloud of pleasure. It spurred you to make him a mess, too; your tongue lavished each inch of him, spitting and jerking him off, moaning and grinding down. 

There was nothing but panting and sucking that filled the small entryway of your shared home when John felt himself tighten before spilling down your throat, making sure you swallowed all of it. 

After a long moment of sitting there with his cock still in your mouth, feeling it soften, you finally rolled off him stretching your legs with a whine. “I think we need to start stretching before sex.” You giggled. 

John chuckled, his face a mess of your cum glazing his lips. He rolled to his side, caressing your curves, lingering over your breasts, his face ruddy with the afterglow. “We’re not done yet, but you’re right, darlin’. We must stretch and move to the bed; my back is achin’.”

[redvexillum]

A/N: Please be gentle with me during Smutmas, my writing sort of feels like it deteriorated. But to @redfoxwritesstuff you have my permission to pop party poppers around her when she posts her story tomorrow. She dislikes colours /nsrs

SUMMARY: You have reunited with Alastor in Hell, and after celebrating a holiday party at the hotel, he decided to take you back to his room. He has a gift for you, after all, and it’s meant to make up for all the missed opportunities you two had back when you were both alive.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, soft!alastor, somnophilia, tentacle s♡x, p in v, overstimulation, oral s♡x (m!receiving), established relationship, past human relationship with alastor mentioned

The room was a sanctuary of quiet intimacy, a haven far removed from the cacophony of the holiday party outside. The heady aroma of the bayou mingled with something ineffably him—earthy, dark, and comforting. You inhaled deeply, the scent curling through your senses like a caress, as you swayed slightly. The spirits you’d indulged in earlier still buzzed warmly in your veins, giving the moment a hazy, golden hue. 

Alastor stood with his back to you, his silhouette framed by the low flicker of ambient light. He’d whisked you away from the festivities, murmuring something about a gift. The word had lingered, foreign on his tongue—he wasn’t one for giving, not like this. In all the time since your reunion in Hell, you couldn’t recall him ever presenting you with anything tangible. 

"Al?" Your voice was a gentle tease, the nickname rolling off your lips with the kind of easy familiarity that made your chest ache. A giggle bubbled up, warm and effervescent, the alcohol making your joy feel boundless. 

You caught the faintest intake of breath before he turned to face you, and the sight sent your laughter spilling over. There he stood, cheeks tinged with a rare pink flush, a comical yet oddly endearing bow pinned to his chest—a stark forest green against his usual ensemble—he was a walking Christmas decoration. The contrast of the absurdity with his usual self-assured demeanour made the sight even sweeter. 

“Am I supposed to unwrap you, Al?” you teased, your laughter falling into the space between you. You saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes—he must have remembered Angel Dust’s teasing question to you the week before about what you wanted for Christmas. 

Without thought, your body moved toward him, an instinct as natural as breathing. Your arms slid around his waist, your head tilting up to meet his gaze. 

“You could’ve asked for anything, cher,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like a melody meant only for you. His arms wound around you, pulling you closer. “Anything.” 

The words struck a chord that resonated deep within you, their weight pulling you back to memories you’d tried so hard to bury. Before death, fate had been a cruel mistress, ensuring your lives had brushed against each other without ever fully entwining. You had died first, your last breath spent shaping his name in a barely audible whisper. 

“Alastor,” you said now, his name a prayer, a plea, a promise. 

His grin softened, and for once, the edges seemed less sharp, less dangerous. His hands rose to cradle your face, his touch achingly tender. His lips brushed yours in a fleeting kiss, a whisper of what was to come, before he dipped lower, capturing you more fully, tasting you as though he’d been starved for centuries. 

In this place, there were no barriers—no rigid societal expectations, no cruel husband to keep you chained to despair. Hell, for all its torment, had given you the one thing life had denied: him. Wrapped in his arms, you felt an unshakeable truth—you could endure anything, so long as he was by your side. 

“Do I get to unwrap my gift now?” you asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to toy with the satin ribbon at his chest. Your fingers traced its silken loops before catching the end of the bow. Slowly, teasingly, you pulled, the ribbon unravelling with a soft whisper. 

Before you could revel in your playful victory, a sharp snap of his fingers sent a shiver skittering across your skin. The temperature shifted, a sudden, electric charge filling the air. Looking down, your eyes widened in astonishment. You were completely bare, while he remained impeccably dressed, the undone ribbon dangling mockingly against his chest. 

His grin grew, all teeth and mischief, his voice honeyed with amusement. “My, my, cher, you do get to unwrap your gift... but I thought it only fair to claim mine in return.” 

Before you could retort, he guided you to the bed—its crimson sheets flawlessly pristine. You rolled your eyes, only for the motion to be cut short as he turned you to face him. His hands found your waist, and in a sudden collision of bodies, he tumbled you both onto the bed. 

The mattress cradled you as he loomed above, his frame bracketing you in. His grin never faltered, the faint glow in his eyes smouldering with something darker, hungrier. The world outside ceased to exist, replaced by the magnetic pull between you, and the unmistakable sense that you had never been more wanted. 

The atmosphere between you simmered with tension, the kind that sent electricity crackling over your skin and left your breath coming in shallow gasps. Alastor's grin was sharp, mischievous, as he leaned in closer, the weight of his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. 

“Let’s see,” he purred, his voice rich and low, wrapping around you like velvet. His hips pressed forward, and the firm heat of his arousal met your core, a jolt of sensation tearing through you. “My gift to you is making up for all the missed...” He paused, his grin widening as he rolled his hips ever so slightly, the friction drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. “...opportunities.” 

“Missed opportunities?” you murmured, your tone a sultry challenge as your fingers drifted to the buttons of his trousers. Your touch was teasing, light, deliberately slow as you felt the way his body tensed beneath your fingertips. 

His forehead dropped to yours, his crimson gaze locking with yours, and for a brief moment, the playful glint in his eyes gave way to something deeper, more ravenous. “And your gift to me…” His lips brushed against your nose, his grin softening into something almost tender. “Is your soul.” He kissed you again, a quick, fleeting press of his lips. “Ah, figuratively speaking, of course.” 

A laugh bubbled from you, soft and genuine, though your voice trembled with the undercurrent of arousal. “Naturally.” 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. His gaze softened as he studied you, as if etching every curve, every detail, into his memory. Then, as though compelled by something far beyond words, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, lingering, his lips moulding to yours with an almost reverent hunger. 

His free hand drifted downward, deftly undoing the buttons of his pants. The air between you grew thick with anticipation, the faint sound of fabric shifting almost drowned out by the quiet, shared breaths and the soft, broken moans slipping past your lips. 

“Cher,” he whispered, the word dripping with longing as his forehead stayed pressed to yours. His hips moved, dragging the head of his cock down through your slick folds, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His lips barely parted from yours, the taste of rye and something darker lingering in the kiss. “Cher,” he sighed again, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, pulsing with restrained need. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, urging him forward, and the sensation of him stretching you, filling you inch by inch, stole your breath. The molten heat of him seared into you, leaving you trembling beneath his touch. 

“A-Al,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you clung to him, needing him deeper, closer. His groan vibrated against your throat as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. 

The moment his hips met yours fully, he stilled, shuddering against you. His claws threaded through your hair, their tips grazing your scalp, sending a tingle of sensation. His cock throbbed within you, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. 

The soft fabric of his suit teased your skin, your hardened nipples brushing against the lapels. Heat built between you, your clit pulsing with aching need. A small, desperate moan escaped you, and Alastor chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you. 

“My, my, how awfully impatient, darling,” he teased, though his tone was thick with lust. Without warning, he drew back and thrust forward sharply, the force drawing a sharp cry from your lips. 

He pulled back, his grin morphing into something more wicked, more predatory. Sitting upright, he kept himself buried deep inside you, his sharp red eyes alight with sadistic glee. Shrugging off his jacket, he let it fall carelessly to the floor before setting to work on his shirt buttons. His hips rolled against you with a steady rhythm, pulling soft whimpers from your throat as he worked. 

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice heavy with a mix of affection and delight. His claws fumbled with one stubborn button before he tore the shirt open, the buttons flying, a few bouncing harmlessly against your skin. The fabric joined his jacket on the floor, revealing a chest marred with scars. 

Your gaze lingered on them, but before you could look too closely, his fingers gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his. “Eyes on me, cher,” he commanded, his tone sharp, yet dripping with desire. 

He thrust hard, the slap of skin meeting skin filling the air as you cried out, your walls tightening around him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his cock pressing against the sensitive spot deep within you, drawing another desperate moan from your lips. 

He hadn’t changed—not truly. Alastor was still a contradiction, a walking paradox of hard and soft, cruel and kind, cold and impossibly gentle. 

His pace quickened, the friction between you building until every nerve in your body felt alight with pleasure. The wet sounds of your arousal mingled with his laboured breaths, and you felt the tension coil tighter and tighter, drawing you to the edge. 

Just as you were about to fall, he buried himself deep with a final, forceful thrust. His teeth gritted, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his release flooded into you, hot and thick. He moved lazily, shallow thrusts prolonging the sensation as he spilled every last drop, your walls clenching greedily around him. 

He slowed his thrusts to a near standstill, the aching stretch of him buried deep inside you. His chest heaved above you, rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if savouring the moment. His hands pressed firmly into the mattress on either side of your head, caging you beneath him. His eyes glinted with something dark, something possessive, as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed a damp strand of hair away from your sweat-slick cheek, the gesture almost tender. 

“Don’t worry, cher,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry promise that sent shivers racing down your spine. “The night isn’t over yet.” 

Before you could respond, his form dissolved into shadow, leaving only a fleeting warmth where his body had pressed against yours. A gasp escaped you as he reappeared beneath you, his sudden shift causing a rush of his seed to slip free from your core. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth seeped into your skin as his breath brushed against your ear. 

“Alastor?” His name tumbled from your lips, barely a whisper, the question laced with curiosity and anticipation. But his answer was not words—it was action. His fingers found your swollen clit with ease, circling it with maddening precision. “Ah!” you cried out, your head falling back against his shoulder. 

Your thighs quivered as your legs fell apart instinctively, granting him full access to your trembling body. His chuckle rumbled against your back, a dark, pleased sound that only heightened the heat pooling in your belly. 

As his seed lazily trickled from your entrance, a cool, gelatinous pressure filled you, making you gasp. The sensation was unlike anything else—a shadowy tendril easing its way inside, gliding with ease. “O-oh,” you stammered, your gaze dropping to the writhing darkness between your legs. 

The tendril curled, brushing against your most sensitive spot with unerring precision. “Th-that’s…” Your voice faltered, stolen by the mounting waves of pleasure. 

Each deliberate motion of the tendril sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your inner walls clenching around the inky form. Alastor’s fingers, however, were merciless. They danced over your clit with a teasing rhythm, bringing you to the edge only to stop, denying you release. 

Your breath hitched, and frustration bubbled in your chest as you squirmed against him. The corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement, his grin as infuriating as it was captivating. “Patience, cher,” he purred, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. 

That kiss spoke of unspoken promises, of history shared between you—a silent claim that you were his. 

“Cher, you can hold on longer, can’t you?” 

“Cher, let me have this just a little more…” 

“Cher, my darling… stay with me forever…” 

Each whispered plea dripped with longing, wrapping around your heart even as your body begged for release. Soft mewls escaped your lips, your abdomen tightening as you teetered on the brink. But just as you thought you’d fall over the edge, his movements stopped entirely. 

“Al, please,” you whimpered, the words trembling with desperation. 

But no answer came. Instead, you felt his breath grow softer against your skin, his touch slackening. 

The soft cadence of Alastor’s breath ghosted over your damp skin, and the weight of his wrist rested limply against your thigh. For a moment, you thought he was catching his breath—teasing you with the stillness of his body before surging to life again. But as the seconds stretched into an eternity, the truth hit you like a cold slap.

He had fallen asleep.

Your chest heaved with indignation and disbelief. The shadow tendril nestled deep within you remained still, its presence a cruel tease against your quivering walls. Every nerve in your body was strung tight, the edge of an impending climax so tantalizingly close yet utterly unreachable. The audacity of him—Alastor!—to leave you hanging like this was almost enough to spark genuine outrage.

Desperation clawed at your senses, and your gaze fell to the inky black tendril still rooted inside you. A spark of determination flared as your trembling fingers trailed down to your abdomen, tracing the faint bulge the tendril made as it rested within you. You bit your lip, resolving to take matters into your own hands.

But just as your fingers brushed your swollen clit, a cold, serpentine tendril coiled around your wrist, halting your movements.

“What th—mmph!” Your protest was cut short as another shadow slipped between your parted lips, pressing insistently against your tongue. Shock and indignation flooded your senses, but they were quickly overshadowed by surprise as multiple tendrils sprouted from Alastor’s form beneath you.

Before you could react, they lifted you effortlessly into the air, suspending you above the bed like some obscene starfish. Your limbs were splayed wide, leaving you utterly exposed, while Alastor remained oblivious below you.

A flush of heat rose to your cheeks—not from arousal this time, but sheer disbelief. “Are you kidding me?!” you wanted to scream, but the tendril in your mouth reduced your complaints to muffled, garbled sounds.

The shadows pulsed and writhed, their cool, slick texture a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your overstimulated skin. One tendril inside you shifted, dragging ever so slightly against your inner walls, and your breath hitched despite yourself. The sensation sent a jolt of delicious pleasure coursing through you, making your toes curl in response.

“Alastor…” you moaned around the obstruction in your mouth, your voice a mix of frustration and pleading. But he didn’t stir—not even when his shadows began to move with more intent, exploring and teasing your body with eerie autonomy.

You tried to wriggle free, tried to regain some semblance of control, but the tendrils held you firm, their grip unyielding. The one within you began to pump lazily, its pace maddeningly slow, as if savouring your predicament. Another coiled around your waist, pressing you down, while a thinner tendril circled your sensitive clit, brushing it in featherlight strokes that sent shivers up your spine.

Your body betrayed you, arching into the relentless sensations.

The tendril in your mouth withdrew briefly, allowing you to gasp for air. “Al-Alastor,” you managed to rasp, glaring up at the ceiling. “You’re—mmph!” Your words were cut off as the shadow returned, plunging deeper and muffling any further complaints.

Your body burned with overstimulation, your walls pulsing around the tendril that began to move again, gliding in and out with excruciating slowness. Its tip curled, grazing your g-spot with surgical precision, the sensation making your toes curl. The obscene sound of slickness filled the room, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. 

Tears pricked your eyes as the denial of release became unbearable, but the tendril between your legs showed no mercy. It swirled against your inner walls, driving you higher and higher, until the coil in your belly snapped violently. 

Your body convulsed, a scream muffled by the tendril in your mouth as your orgasm tore through you like a raging inferno. But the tendrils did not stop. They pressed on, their relentless movements prolonging your pleasure until it blurred into overstimulation. 

Another orgasm built, faster and sharper than the first, and your head lolled back as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. Your muscles twitched violently, your hips bucking as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you trembling and spent. 

Before you could catch your breath, the tendrils shifted, flipping you onto your stomach and angling your hips upward. Your lips were now mere inches from Alastor’s softened cock, lying exposed against his trousers. His tendrils, however, showed no signs of stopping. 

The one inside you continued its rhythmic pumping, keeping you teetering on the edge of pleasure and overstimulation. Your body quaked as yet another orgasm loomed, relentless and inescapable. And still, Alastor slept.

You were trapped between torment and ecstasy, held captive by his powers even in his unconscious state. Each movement of the tendrils, every teasing caress, reminded you that you were his in every sense of the word—and he, whether awake or asleep, owned you completely. 

The shadow tendril withdrew from your mouth in a slow, languid motion, leaving you gasping for air. Saliva trickled from your lips, pooling in shimmering droplets on Alastor’s cock. The sensation stirred him slightly, a twitch signalling his body’s eager response to your presence. Your limbs, trembling and weak, were now bound snugly behind your back by the same inky restraints. Gradually, they guided your body downward, your lips brushing against his softening member. 

A faint exhale escaped you, warm against his sensitive skin, and his cock twitched in reply, stirring to life as blood began to fill him once more. 

“Alastor…” you murmured, your voice rough and tinged with the weight of exhaustion and desire. The air was thick with the scent of sex—a heady, intoxicating blend of sweat, musk, and release. Just as a fresh wave of sensation overtook you, the tendril inside you shifted, pressing deeply against your cervix. Your mouth fell open in a soundless cry. 

A slender tendril of shadow slithered around the base of Alastor’s cock, guiding his thickening length toward your lips. Inch by inch, it slid past your tongue, filling your mouth with salty, musky warmth—the combined flavour of both of you. 

“D-darling…” Alastor’s voice cracked faintly, a low, drowsy murmur. His hips jolted the moment your tongue swirled around his sensitive tip, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he was awake. But the lazy thrusts of his tendrils inside you told another story. He was still lost in his dreams, his powers acting entirely of their own volition. 

The thought sent a shiver through you. You wondered if Alastor dreamt of you, dreamt of this. 

Your lips tightened into a seal around his now fully hardened cock, your head bobbing slowly as you savoured the weight of him on your tongue. Each movement was purposeful, drawing out his pleasure as you worked him with your mouth. The wet sounds of your efforts filled the room, each slurp and suck echoing alongside the squelching rhythm of the tendril thrusting inside you. 

Your breath hitched when the tendril quickened its pace, its thick, writhing form pushing you toward another peak. “Mmf—!” Your cries were muffled by Alastor’s length, his cock throbbing insistently against your tongue as you gagged lightly. Immense pleasure overwhelmed your senses; every nerve ending felt raw, every touch electric. 

The tendril inside you coiled and thrust, dragging against every sensitive spot with ruthless precision. When it pressed hard against your cervix once more, your body seized, and a scream tried to escape around his cock. Spasms wracked your frame as a gush of wet warmth spilled from your core. 

Alastor’s body responded in kind. His hips bucked, his cock surging deeper into your throat as a guttural growl escaped his lips. Thick ropes of his release filled your mouth, the bitter saltiness coating your tongue and sliding down your throat. You swallowed instinctively, your breath shuddering as the tendrils binding you moved once more. 

They flipped you effortlessly, turning you to face Alastor’s peaceful visage. His expression was serene, utterly unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. Shadows curled and slithered along your body, their cool touch contrasting with the heat of your overstimulated skin. 

“Al-Alastor…” you rasped, voice breaking on a moan as the tendrils grew thicker, stretching you to your limits. The slick noises of their movements mingled with your cries, filling the room with the notes of your surrender. “H-how many…?” you whimpered, your words dissolving into incoherence as one tendril flicked over your swollen clit. 

Tears welled in your eyes as another orgasm built, your body trembling with the relentless onslaught of pleasure. Alastor’s earlier promise echoed faintly in your mind—he’d make up for all the missed opportunities.

You hadn’t expected this.

The tendrils’ rhythm grew merciless, coaxing another scream from your lips as they found another perfect spot deep within you. Your body convulsed, overwhelmed by yet another climax, the waves of pleasure crashing over you with brutal force. 

For a fleeting moment, you hated him—hated his unrelenting power, hated his absence at this moment. But beneath that frustration burned something deeper, something primal: a longing for him to see what he did to you, to witness how completely he owned you. 

As you trembled through the aftershocks, you swore you’d make him pay for this. When morning came, you’d demand retribution—a night where you held the reins, where you edged him to the brink of madness. 

But for now, as the tendrils shifted again, coaxing yet another orgasm from your spent body, you could only give in to his power. You clung to the pleasure, to the rare, dizzying sensation of being utterly ravished. 

A weak, breathless laugh escaped you as his arms instinctively curled around your trembling form. His shadows retreated, their touch replaced by the steady warmth of his hands. 

Your muscles quaked as the final wave of bliss overtook you, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion pulled at your limbs. Somewhere in the haze, Alastor stirred, his his crimson eyes opening to find you sprawled and trembling in the aftermath of his power. His grin widened as realization dawned. “My, my, cher… it seems I missed quite the show.” 

“You’ve always had such a soothing presence on my twisted soul,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum that wrapped around you like a warm, toasty blanket. His eyes softened as he pressed a tender kiss to your sweat-damp brow. “I haven’t rested this well in ages,” he added, his words brushing against your skin like a gentle caress.

His arms pulled you closer, his embrace firm yet comforting, as if shielding you from the world. “I’ll take care of you properly in the morning… so rest now, cher” he whispered, his voice trailing off into a soft hum.

You couldn’t help but relax into him, the weight of his arms around you melting away the tension that had held you so tightly. Your eyelids grew heavy, each blink slower than the last, as his warmth seeped into your bones. His presence was a lullaby, coaxing you into a peace you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

As you drifted into the edges of sleep, a faint smile curved your lips, your body thoroughly spent but your soul somehow alight. Indulging in the quiet hum of his breathing, you felt a rare sense of satisfaction settle over you, a fullness that made you feel whole in a way you hadn’t dared to dream of.

But just as the lullaby of slumber began to pull you under, you thought you heard it—soft, so soft you almost dismissed it as a figment of your imagination.

“My love.”

The words lingered, wrapping around your drowsy mind like a bittersweet ribbon. Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest, only to be tempered by the ache of reality. A faint, forlorn smile tugged at your lips, even as exhaustion claimed you.

That couldn’t be right. Alastor… he didn’t do love. Not in his lifetime, nor the next.

For someone like him, love was an abstraction, a concept too fragile for the sharp edges of his world. And for someone like you, love was a distant star, shining brightly but always unreachable.

Still, it was nice to imagine.

Just for tonight, you allowed yourself the indulgence. To believe, even fleetingly, that you were his love. That in the quiet moments when the world felt so far away, and it was just the two of you, he might feel something more.

For tonight, it was enough.

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[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (11)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 5.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: explicit content, mature language, mentions of strained marriage, divorce, expectations etc

A/N: so many things happening in this chapter and ahhh this jungkook is such a dream. when is it my turn to experience something like this?? like when are these fantasies going to come to life. anyways, i love where this is going and can't wait to upload the next chapter, stay tuned !!

part 11: cruising in the wildflower meadows

It’s Friday now, and the town is slowly slipping back into its usual rhythm after the frenzy of the town fair. The streets are quieter, the market stalls no longer filled with bright lights and bustling voices. The buzz of the fair has faded, leaving only the soft, steady hum of the regular daily life.

It's been two days since the fair and the unforgettable moment you and Jungkook shared at the beach, and though the days have been filled with work and routine, you can't seem to shake the memory of it. The kiss, the apology, the way he held you so close... it still feels so vivid even now, just like the moment it happened, and a soft smile curls on your lips whenever you catch yourself thinking about it.

You can’t help but look forward to Sunday, because that's when you both have planned to go out on a date as both of you have your day off then. Jungkook had kept the details of the date a mystery, only telling you to be ready by 4 p.m. and that he would come to pick you up.

The anticipation is thrilling but also nerve-wracking. What’s he planning? What’s this date going to be like? You don’t know, but you’re excited, and you can’t wait to see him again.

Today, however, after a long day of tending to customers, something shifts inside you. You suddenly have this overwhelming urge to see him. For some reason, you couldn’t catch even the briefest glimpse of Jungkook all day, and you feel a little disappointed.

You want to see him, to talk to him, to just be in his presence again. So once you close up for the day, you decide a short visit next door wouldn't hurt.

Carrying your bag on your shoulder, you head towards his place next door. You don’t exactly know why you want to see him, maybe you just miss him, maybe you just want to see him up close. But as you walk towards his shop, you realize how you've been feeling lighter and brighter these days, ever since everything between you and Jungkook started to click.

The evening air is crisp, as you walk towards his shop, your heart beating a little faster with each step. When you reach the window, you stop to peer inside, holding your breath. Through the glass, you spot him in the center of the shop, bent over a bike, his hands working diligently.

He’s so focused, so absorbed in his work, you can’t help but stare. You hesitate for a moment, taking in the scene. He looks… absolutely irresistible. He's sporting a pair of navy blue mechanic overalls, the kind that hug his broad frame just right, outlining the muscles of his chest and arms as he moves.

The fabric stretches and pulls with every motion, highlighting his strength and grace in a way that leaves you momentarily breathless. His hair is slightly damp, a few strands falling over his forehead, and the hint of sweat on his skin only adds to his rugged allure.

His face is filled with concentration, a few beads of sweat dripping down the side of his temple. The sight of him like this, so raw and focused, has you feeling some type of way.

It’s almost too much to handle... the roughness of the mechanic look mixed with the soft, intimate aura surrounding him, a contrast that stirs something deep inside you.

As you stand there, your heart races, and a rush of warmth spreads throughout your body. The longer you watch him, the thicker the air seems to grow, the space between you charged with something unspoken.

Even though he still doesn’t seem to notice you, so engrossed in his work, you just can’t stop staring. His hands are steady and skilled as they move over the bike, his body leaning into the task, his face so focused that it almost makes your throat go dry.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, somehow he glances up, his gaze locking with yours through the window. Time seems to slow as his eyes meet yours, and for a brief, fleeting moment, there’s this unspoken connection.

His expression lights up the minute he sees you, and he's quick to drop all the work he's doing. He hastily wipes his hands with the rag near him, his movements sharp and urgent, as if he's been waiting for this moment.

Without a word, he makes his way towards the door, his footsteps quick as a smile adorns his lips, almost as if he wants to close the distance between you as fast as possible. When he pulls the door open and steps outside, the first thing that hits you is just how insanely good he looks.

The overalls hug his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric stretched taut over his chest and shoulders, a reminder of just how strong he is. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate tattoos on his forearms. The sight of them, along with the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, makes your knees feel weak.

He takes a step closer, his hands holding the door open as he innocently looks at you. His gaze is calm, clueless about the wild thoughts racing through your mind.

Your heart races, each thump growing louder in your ears. You try to steady yourself, but the proximity of him as he walks towards you, is making everything spin. All you can think about is how gorgeous he looks, how he simply approaches you so casually, completely unaware of the storm he’s stirring inside of you.

He stands right in front of you, his lips curling into a soft smile. There’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he notices your flustered state, though he doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he breaks the silence gently. “Why are you standing outside? Come on in.” he says, walking towards you, his hand reaching out in a simple, inviting gesture.

You hesitate for a moment before slipping your hand into his, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. He guides you inside, and as the door swings shut behind you, the world outside feels like it’s miles away.

Once you’re in the middle of the shop, he turns to face you fully. “Hi.” he says softly, the word laced with a kind of boyish charm that feels entirely at odds compared to his rugged appearance.

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of nerves in your chest. “H-hey.” you manage, though your voice betrays you, trembling slightly. The second the word leaves your lips, you inwardly cringe. Why did you sound so flustered? You’re an adult, for heaven’s sake. You should be able to greet someone without stumbling over a simple syllable.

Jungkook’s sharp eyes don’t miss a thing. He notices the way your shoulders are slightly tense, the way your gaze flickers everywhere, evidently avoiding him. His head tilts just a little as he studies you, his expression shifting into something softer, more amused. And then it hits him, the reason for your unease.

Was it him? Was it the way he looked right now? His rolled-up sleeves, the grease smudges on his skin, the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead? He realizes it all at once, the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip, the faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

The thought sends a spark of satisfaction through him. Were you really this affected by him? The idea sure is intoxicating.

You realize Jungkook has caught on to your odd behavior when a faint smirk curls at the corners of his lips. His eyes darken slightly, lingering on your flushed cheeks, and there’s a spark of amusement dancing in them. He knows. He’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on you, and the realization only seems to fuel his confidence.

"Sooo, are you planning to stand there all day or..." he drawls, his smirk widening as he leans casually against the bike beside him "Are you going to tell me what brings you here?" His tone is teasing, his eyes looking into yours, refusing to let you escape.

You freeze for a moment, the words escaping you as your mind scrambles for an answer. Why are you here, again? What was the reason you decided to come by? You feel your face heat up further, and before you can form a coherent thought, a nervous hiccup bubbles up from your chest.

You try to stifle it, but it comes out again, followed by another one, and then another, like a series of embarrassing hiccups you can’t control.

Jungkook’s smirk deepens into a soft, amused smile as he watches you struggle to regain your composure. He can’t help but notice just how undeniably cute your flustered state is.

The way your eyes dart around, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, it all just makes you look even more endearing to him. He watches as you attempt to swallow the hiccups, each time your face reddening more, and he just can’t suppress the chuckle that escapes him.

"You're so cute." he says under his breath, more to himself than to you, the fondness in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

You manage to clear your throat, but the hiccups don’t stop, only intensifying the awkwardness of the moment. Jungkook shakes his head, still grinning as he steps closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently guide you towards the counter.

"Come here." he murmurs softly, his voice low and inviting as he guides you to one of the chairs by the counter. "Let me get you some water." You settle into the chair, trying to suppress the wave of embarrassment washing over you while he moves to the other side of the counter. His hands glide with practiced ease as he opens a cabinet, the soft clink of glass breaking the silence.

Your eyes follow him for a moment, but then your thoughts drift... back to that night. The memory of tending to Jungkook’s wounds at this very counter surfaces, vivid and consuming.

You can still feel the tension that hung in the air then, how his closeness made your heart race, how the moment seemed poised on the edge of something more. A soft sigh escapes you, and you shake your head lightly, trying to push the memory away and ground yourself in the present.

But grounding yourself feels impossible. Every time you glance at him, every movement he makes seems to spark something primal in you. It’s maddening... the effect he has on you. You’ve seen him countless times, but somehow, this is different.

It’s like every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of his presence, reacting in ways you can’t control. Heat creeps up your neck, your thoughts veering into uncharted, unrestrained territory, and you find yourself silently berating your own mind.

It’s ridiculous, really. All it took was the sight of him in those overalls, hair messy and skin glistening, to turn you into this mess of emotions and unhinged, unholy thoughts. You can’t decide whether to be mortified or just accept that Jungkook, in his current state, is your kryptonite.

You try to push all your thoughts away, focusing on him as he returns with the glass of water. He hands it to you with a soft smile, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that makes your pulse race. "Here." he says, his voice gentle. "Drink up. Hopefully, that’ll help." he smiles.

You take the glass from him, your hand brushing his for just a second, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like you're going to crumble. Jungkook watches you closely, a playful glint in his eyes as he notices how you’re avoiding his gaze. You take a sip of water and place the glass back on the counter, trying to compose yourself.

Your eyes dart from side to side, as if you’re looking for anything else to focus on but him, and it only makes him smirk wider. He leans in slightly... his voice, low and steady, but with a teasing edge. “What’s gotten you so nervous?” he asks, his words almost a challenge. He already knows what’s making you flustered, but the way you react is too irresistible to pass up.

You shift awkwardly, glancing anywhere but directly at him, and Jungkook can’t help but revel in the sight of it. The way you nibble at your bottom lip, the way your eyes flicker around the room as if you’re searching for an escape, drives him absolutely wild.

He can feel his patience thinning by the second, the sexual tension hanging thick in the air between you both. It’s all he can do to stay in place, watching you squirm. His heart races, his fingers itching to reach out and pull you into him, to close the space between you and finally do something about the way your nervous energy makes his chest tighten.

He’s trying to hold back, trying to be patient, but every second you look away from him only makes him want you more. The way you look so vulnerable, so flustered... it’s intoxicating.

Unable to fight it anymore, Jungkook walks around the counter and inches closer to you, his movements deliberate and slow, like he’s savoring every moment.

You don’t even see it coming as he suddenly pulls you up, his hands gently but firmly gripping your waist. Before you can react, he hoists you up effortlessly, making you sit on the counter with him standing right in front of you, his torso between your thighs.

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the sudden movement, the sound almost lost in the electric air between you. The moment his warmth presses against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs through the jeans you're wearing, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, leaving nothing but a haze of sensation.

His hands find their way to the sides of your thighs, firm yet gentle, and with a swift, confident motion, he pulls you closer, jerking you forward until there’s barely any space left between you.

You find yourself staring into his eyes, your breath caught in your throat as the situation spirals into something you can barely comprehend, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on. His gaze sharpens, his brow arching in amusement as he tilts his head. “So, you’re only going to look at me if I hold you like this?” he teases, his voice smooth, the words sinking into you like a challenge.

Your response is silence, your lips parting slightly as your eyes flit across his features, his sharp jawline, his piercings, the mole under his lip, the intensity in his gaze. Despite your attempt to maintain composure, you find yourself savoring the intoxicating closeness between you.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he murmurs harshly, the frustration in his voice laced with something more primal. His hands slide to the small of your back, the pressure firm yet electrifying as he pulls you flush against him. His breath is hot against your face, each exhale a teasing whisper against your skin.

The closeness overwhelms you, the tension snapping something inside. Before you even realize it, your hips buck forward, meeting his. At that, a groan leaves Jungkook's lips as the feeling sends a jolt of pleasure through his system.

His eyes flash towards yours, dark with something wilder than before, a spark of desire. The gaze pins you to your spot, a challenge, a question, as he moves closer still. You swallow thickly, your pulse thundering in your veins as you hold his gaze.

Jungkook's fingers dig into the small of your back as he brings you closer still, until you can feel every hard line of his body against yours, his erection pressing against your core through the fabric of his overalls.

His hot breath, his hard body, his overwhelming presence, the way his fingers burn against your skin. It's like being consumed by fire, like drowning in his touch.

A choked gasp escapes you as he trails his lips down the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes close and your hands curl against the counter at the sheer sensation, your knuckles turning white. You can’t take much more of this, of being so close, yet so far.

And it’s like the entire universe is conspiring against you, because just as the moment between you and Jungkook begins to sizzle, the sound of the front door opening shatters it like glass. Startled, you and Jungkook separate, the heat of the moment still lingering in the air.

Still perched on the counter, you glance towards the door and see Yoongi standing there, frozen mid-step. His eyes are wide, as though he instantly regrets walking in, the realization of the awkward timing dawning on him.

Jungkook, standing beside your knee, looks equally caught off guard, his chest rising and falling heavily, his confusion evident. And despite his best efforts to maintain composure, it’s clear that some things are harder to hide... his flushed face, the way his jaw tightens, and the very visible evidence of how affected he is by the moment you just shared... his erection.

“I…” Yoongi begins, his voice breaking the silence, but he seems to falter, his gaze flicking anywhere but directly at the two of you. “I... umm... my phone.” he stammers, awkwardly gesturing towards a table at the far end of the room.

His unease mirrors yours as he steps inside, clearly trying to make this as quick and painless as possible. He keeps his eyes locked on his destination, his movements careful as he retrieves his phone, doing his best to avoid glancing in your direction.

However, before he leaves, Yoongi pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder at Jungkook specifically, with a sly look that he doesn’t even try to hide. "Didn't mean to cockblock… but it would be better if you guys did this some place private… just a suggestion." he says, the teasing smirk on his lips making the heat in your cheeks intensify tenfold.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens as he meets Yoongi’s gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly in exasperation. But before Jungkook can say anything, Yoongi gives a quick wave and is out the door, leaving the two of you alone again.

"Fuck..." Jungkook mutters under his breath, his hands quickly covering his face in embarrassment. You, still trying to process what just happened, find yourself staring at his flustered expression, and an involuntary laugh slips out.

"It's like our thing." you suddenly say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Jungkook lowers his hands, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you in confusion. "What?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. "Getting interrupted... it's our thing." you giggle, the tension breaking as the absurdity of the situation finally sinks in.

Jungkook can't help but laugh at your comment. Despite how embarrassing this moment is, with you here, it doesn't feel quite as mortifying. In fact, he's oddly grateful it was Yoongi who walked in on you both, and not Jimin or Hoseok because he knows all too well how that would've turned out.

"Well...that was something." you shyly say, slowly getting off the counter. Jungkook grins at you, a soft, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he steps closer, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist.

It’s like he can’t help it anymore. Ever since the first time he held you there, he’s been addicted to the feeling, constantly looking for an excuse to pull you closer.

"I'm sorry." he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. "I didn’t know Yoongi was going to come back. I genuinely thought he was already home." he slightly pouts.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "It’s not your fault." The laugh that escapes your lips feels light, almost like the tension from earlier has completely melted away.

Jungkook's smile widens as he watches you, his eyes practically sparkling with admiration. "Now that I think about it, I never got to hear why exactly you came here." he says, the playful grin never leaving his face.

You hesitate for a moment, then, with a soft sigh, you admit, "I just wanted to see you." The words feel natural, like they’ve been building up inside of you for days and you know there’s no point hiding it now.

His heart does a little flip at your honesty, and before he can stop himself, he presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. The tenderness of the gesture makes you feel warm inside, and the simple affection causes a flutter in your chest.

Looking around, he realizes it’s getting late, and though every part of him wants to stay and savor this moment with you, he knows he has to let you go. "Want a ride home?" he asks, his voice low and sincere.

And honestly, who are you to say no to that?

//

Sunday arrives, and the day of the long-anticipated date is finally here. You’re in your room, standing in front of your mirror, eyes darting between a pile of clothes scattered across your bed.

The excitement is palpable, but so is the indecision. You want to look cute, but not too over-the-top. You want to be comfortable, but still impress him. The usual "what to wear" dilemma feels a bit more significant today.

You settle on a white, frilly lace skirt that hits right at the middle of your thighs, the delicate fabric floating around your legs, giving you a sense of whimsy. It’s just the right mix of sweet and playful. You pair it with a soft blue top that complements the skirt perfectly. The top is simple but elegant, with a delicate lace trim along the neckline that adds just a touch of charm.

It hugs your torso gently, emphasizing your figure. The color reminds you of a clear summer sky, and the way the soft fabric feels against your skin adds a layer of comfort that makes you feel at ease despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

As you finish getting ready, you glance at the clock on your wall. "3:47 PM." You're supposed to be ready by 4, and you still don’t have the faintest idea of where Jungkook is taking you, or what the date will be like.

The uncertainty only heightens the excitement, but you decide not to overthink it. It’s more about the fact that you’ll get to spend time with him... just the two of you and you honestly can’t wait for that.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest, and check yourself one last time in the mirror. Your hair’s styled just right, not too perfect, but enough to give you that effortless, yet polished look.

Right on cue, you hear a familiar rumble outside the window and your heart skips a beat. You walk over to the window and peek outside. There he is, revving his motorcycle. The sleek, black bike gleams under the afternoon sun, and he’s standing beside it, a grin on his face as he looks up at your window. Your breath catches in your throat as your nerves tangle with excitement.

You grab your purse, quickly walk out the door, and make your way down to meet him. Jungkook’s eyes light up when he sees you, his smile widening. “You look beautiful,” he says softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. His voice sends a warm rush through you.

“Thanks,” you reply, trying to hide your flustered smile as you approach. "All ready for today?” you ask, wiggling your brows. He chuckles. “Of course. Hop on. I’ve got something planned.”

You follow him to his bike, and he offers you a helmet. After slipping it on, you climb onto the back of the motorcycle, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. As soon as you’re settled, the engine roars to life, and you both take off, the wind rushing past you as you zoom through the streets. The feeling of the open air, the rush of speed, and the closeness between you fills you with a sense of freedom.

As the ride continues, the anticipation is building in your chest, but you’re too caught up in the warmth of his presence to care about the unknowns of the date.

Soon enough, Jungkook pulls up to a stunning garden, a hidden gem filled with colorful blooms and greenery that seems to go on forever. The air smells fresh, and the soft chirping of birds adds to the peaceful atmosphere.

He parks the bike and helps you off, guiding you towards a secluded spot by the flowers. He’s already laid out a blanket under a large tree, and as you sit down, you can’t help but marvel at how thoughtfully he’s planned everything. There’s a basket too, filled with snacks, fresh fruits and drinks.

"Wow... this is... this is beautiful." you breath out, stunned by the gorgeous set up in front of you. He grabs your hand, pulling you closer to the blanket and the both of you sit down side by side, your eyes taking in the beauty you're surrounded by.

"When did you set up all of this?" you ask, honestly amused by how thoughtfully this whole set up was curated. Jungkook shrugs, not wanting to bother you with the details. "Magic!" he says, acting like he's letting you in on a secret.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the giggle that leaves your lips. This feels perfect. Everything about it. You already know this is the kind of date you’ll never be able to forget... not that you want to, anyway.

Gradually, the sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything. Jungkook sits beside you, his arm brushing yours, and the two of you fall into easy conversation.

“Growing up, I had a pretty chaotic childhood.” you say, your voice soft as you glance over at him. He looks over at you, his eyes curious, waiting for you to continue.

“My parents had a strained marriage, lots of arguments and drama. I spent most of my time with my grandma. She was this... she was this amazing woman, full of life and... and love, and she had this thing for flowers." you pause, the image of your grandma appearing in your head.

"I remember helping her tend to her garden every summer. It was like her little escape from everything and i guess... that’s where I got the motivation to open my shop. Flowers always felt like home to me.” You smile, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you remember your grandma’s gentle hands working with the delicate petals.

Jungkook listens intently, nodding, his expression soft. “That’s really beautiful...” he says quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So that's your special connection with flowers, huh?” he concludes.

You nod, the memories flooding back as you continue. "It’s not just about selling flowers..." you explain. "It’s about sharing that peace and calm my grandma gave me, helping people create their own moments of beauty and joy. I've always wanted it to be more than just a business... it’s about... it's about a connection. I want to bring a little bit of that serenity into people’s lives."

Jungkook listens, his gaze thoughtful. He then leans back, looking at the sky before his eyes meet yours again. "That’s really inspiring." he says with admiration. "I'm glad you were able to bring it to life... your shop.... it's truly beautiful."

You laugh softly, feeling a sense of connection that’s deeper than you expected. "Thank you."

He smiles and takes a deep breath, his voice turning slightly more serious. "For me, it’s motorcycles."

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I know it sounds cliché, but my parents... they always wanted me to be a prosecutor. They had this idea of me following a traditional path.. you know.. law school, a stable career, all that. But I’ve always been more interested in bikes. I guess you could say... that was my calling."

You tilt your head slightly, intrigued by his words. "So you just... dropped everything?"

Jungkook nods, his expression softening. "Yeah. I gave up everything... the expectations, the dreams my parents had for me. I wanted to be true to myself and that's why I opened my own shop, where I could focus on something I truly enjoy... I've always wanted a place where I could connect with people who shared the same passion. It's not just about bikes for me... it’s about the craftsmanship, the freedom, and the bond with people who appreciate it just as much as I do."

You smile, feeling your heart swell at how passionate he sounds when he talks about his shop. “That’s amazing.” you say sincerely. “You really went after what you love.”

Jungkook shrugs, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah, it wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I think it’s worth it, though, you know? To be doing something that makes you feel alive." You nod, agreeing with him. His words stay with you as the evening deepens and you both shift conversations effortlessly.

You both relax further into the moment, and Jungkook notices a bunch of wildflowers near him on the ground. He carefully plucks a bunch of them and then proceeds to gently tuck them into your hair, his fingers brushing your skin as he arranges them. You smile at him, feeling a mix of joy and affection. His touch is gentle, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I think these flowers suit you.” he says softly, leaning back to admire his work. “You look even more beautiful with them in your hair.” he comments. You laugh softly, feeling the warmth spread through you. “Please...” you say, your voice filled with shyness.

Jungkook then pulls out his phone and asks if he can take a picture of you, a moment to capture your happiness. You agree, and he takes several shots of you, making you laugh with his goofy comments. You feel completely at ease with him, the world around you feeling perfectly still as you enjoy the beauty of the moment.

As the sun begins to set, the sky transforms into a breathtaking array of pinks, oranges, and purples. It’s as if the entire world is in perfect harmony. And when your gaze shifts from the sky to look at the beautiful man beside you, your eyes meet.

Smiling softly at you, he leans in, his gaze soft and affectionate, and you feel your heart race. He moves closer to you, his hand gently resting on your cheek, and in one fluid motion, he kisses you. It’s slow and tender, and for a moment, you feel like this is a dream.

When you pull apart, he whispers, “You know... I really really like you, right?"

You smile softly, your heart full. “Me too... I really really like you too.” you reply, feeling an overwhelming sense of connection. You feel his hands leave your cheek and reach for your hand that rests on the blanket. And like it's second nature, he carefully intertwines your fingers together.

As the sun sets completely and the sky darkens, Jungkook helps you up, clearing the blanket and folding it up. He grabs your hand, leading you towards his bike. “There’s one more part to the surprise.” he says, grinning. You're shocked, but you don't question him, simply allowing him to lead you through the night.

You both ride through the chilly night breeze, heading to a quaint diner that sits at the edge of the city. The soft glow of neon lights illuminates the cozy little restaurant. Jungkook parks the bike, and you both walk in, settling into a booth.

Not wanting to sit face to face, you slide in right next to him, the small space between you filling with warmth. It feels so much more better like this. Lesser distance, more closeness. The food is comforting and simple, but it’s the conversation that makes the meal so special. You talk about everything... your dreams, your hopes, your favorite memories. You both laugh, share stories, and it feels like you’re in your own little world.

When the meal ends, you both step out into the cool night air, but something feels different. The day has been so perfect, and you so badly don’t want it to end.

As you make your way to the bike, a sudden chill runs through you, and just as you’re about to climb on, the first raindrop falls. Then, suddenly, it’s pouring. The heavy rain drenches you both, and you quickly seek shelter under a nearby tree in the parking lot, trying to protect yourselves from the downpour.

Jungkook’s quick to react, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your head to shield you from the rain. His closeness in the downpour feels intimate, like the two of you are sharing this private moment away from the world.

“Maybe we... maybe we should head to my place until the rain stops.” Jungkook suggests, looking up at the sky, which shows no signs of letting up anytime soon.

You hesitate for a moment, the rain soaking through your clothes, but then you nod. You can’t really say no, especially since the rain isn’t showing any signs of stopping. The thought of waiting with him until the storm dies out, however, feels comforting, and you find yourself agreeing.

Jungkook offers you a soft smile and takes your hand. “It’s not far from here, so hopefully the ride won't be too hard. We can hang out there until the rain clears up.” he says.

A wave of nervousness washes over you, but you nod, knowing there’s no real reason to refuse. You can feel the excitement, anticipation, and the electric connection between you as you both climb onto his bike, the rain pelting down around you.

The ride back to his house is different this time... faster, wetter, but also full of excitement. By the time you arrive, you’re soaked to the bone, but the warmth of his home provides a comforting refuge from the storm. You both rush inside, giggling, laughing and drenched, and as Jungkook shuts the door behind you, he looks at you with a playful grin.

“Guess we’re stuck together for a little longer.” he says, his eyes full of affection. You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest. Whatever the weather holds, you know one thing for sure... this date has been more than perfect, and even though you're nervous, you’re curious and eager to see where the night will take you.

<- part 10 // part 12 ->

series masterlist

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

[urge4divinty]

Your ex’s hidden feelings about you ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

pac tarot reading paired with intuition, take what resonates and remember energy can always change readings aren’t set in stone. + their signs or dominant placements

3 cards pulled for each pile ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral

Pile 1

the first thing i feel before even pulling cards is warmth, a warm feeling? maybe they felt that with you and it was something they miss deeply they can’t find that in someone else so they might be completely tweaking out about the kind of warmth you brought them. song i’m also channeling is just dance by lady gaga? “wish i shut my playboy mouth—control your poison, babe, roses have thrones they say”

after pulling cards the exs hidden feelings give a very “i need to be soul searching after you”they are alone and possibly becoming independent in a introspective state. dealing with insecurity and trying to understand their inner feelings it confuses them how hurt they are and they never expected to be—they are trying to distract themselves so they might be in a hustling state where they obsess with work/or obsess over material possessions. i’m getting heavy insecurity they’re not able to express how they feel nor do they want to their usually assertiveness is muted, they feel imbalanced like maybe you weren’t giving a even amount? could be hesitant due to past hurts. they’d invest in the connection again if they felt it was safe to right now they struggle with vulnerability. guarded, uncertain, wanting clarity? signs: leo virgo taurus/libra

donut pile what’s teaaaa omg

Pile 2

the first thing i feel is slight annoyance? like very annoyed—it’s this energy of being slightly bothered. the song that came on while thinking of pile 2 was off to the races by lana del rey “god , i’m so crazy baby i’m sorry that misbehaving” oh?? “i need you i breathe you ill never leave you” “i love you forever? not maybe you are my one true love”

After pulling cards their hidden feelings is definitely defeat? like they lost something big? could’ve been married or just a really committed and serious relationship it gives a loving bond, or was loving such a “i wanted to propose to them i wanted marriage” oh they are in deeeeeep dude. but they are trying to seem stoic like they aren’t totally sick but they don’t seem like they’ll openly express any of this. they still think of you as their ideal partner!! but the ending was so painful for them they feel emotionally done and still hold on to the memories of you two. forcing themselves to accept that it’s actually over. signs: aries cancer/pisces gemini/scorpio

Pile 3

this piles energy is so different from the rest? its almost unexplainable it’s like they don’t know what they feel but they definitely know what they lost “i feel stupid” popped into my head.

after pulling cards i’m getting that they are having a lot of thoughts about you they have a strong urge to reach out to say something replaying conversations thinking of what they SHOULD of said or done to make a difference. they might’ve been emotionally detached while with you but after you left they got out of this state with a quickness they stopped ignoring their feelings and now they feel regret—they are becoming aware of what this relationship meant to them lots of self reflection going on for them and they are understanding their role of what happened, they feel pulled towards closure they want to try again tbh. their feelings are active and shifting going from indifference to “oh shit i lost them” they see the relationship in a way they didn’t see before this urge to reach out could be impulsive they are rushing into it to say their piece it’s chaotic and not at all well thought out so it could lead to aggressive communication.

signs: gemini/libra/aquarius cancer scorpio

[rroseselavyyy]

daylight - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: suggestive content, hints of smut

a/n: this fic is based on a reeeeeaaally sweet request I received a long time ago :( I literally have zero motivation to write, but I thought I could at least edit and then post something that has been rotting in my drafts 😩

"I'm coming!" You had just stepped out of the shower and get into your fluffy pyjamas when you heard the sound of your doorbell, running to the door with quick steps as you dried your hair with a slightly damp towel.

You opened the door slightly to see who it was, and when you realized it was none other than the love of your life you'd been deliberately avoiding for two weeks, you couldn't help but stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

It was weeks after you had a huge fight over something silly, leading to the events of your leaving him behind in your shared apartment, so you couldn't believe your eyes when he stood in your doorway with a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

He looked at you with those feline eyes and you could swear that a thousand stars burst open in your swelling chest, it was almost impossible not to be filled with joy at the fact that he was here to see you.

He placed a hand on your waist and pressed his lips to yours before you could say anything, for once the yellow roses became symbols of passion rather than farewell, like the burning heat that radiated from your bodies. His lips moved over yours in a way that said how much he missed you, manoeuvring you into your apartment by holding your waist and making you step back.

"What's gotten into you?" Eyes half-closed, you whispered against his lips as he pressed your body against the wooden door after closing it. "I missed you."

You tucked a sweaty hair behind his ear, your chest rising and falling against his as he studied your face with eyes as dark as the night sky. "Sex won't solve our problems, you know that, right?"

He giggled sweetly in your ear before pressing his lips to your cheek. "Is that all you can think about when it comes to me, doll? No wonder we can't even communicate our problems."

"You're practically pinning me to the door, you dumb fuck. What am I supposed to think?"

He said nothing and you, and you, never able to resist your burning desire for him, surrendered to his chaste kiss with an insatiable hunger. He swept you off your feet and wrapped his arms around your waist as you stood on your tiptoes. The long forgotten petals of the roses he had bought for you traced your footsteps as you held them loosely behind his neck with trembling hands and let him take you to your bedroom.

That's how he ended up in your bed that night. Soft and sweaty, like the perfect teddy bear to wrap your arms around.

He watched your eyebrows knit together as you muttered something against the pillow where your hair was shamelessly sprawled. As usual, you were arguing with the characters from the novel you had recently read, a tradition you had picked up even before you were still with him.

You never knew this trait of yours, that you were talking in your sleep, it was never even mentioned. Still, he knew it like the back of his hand. He knew it like the rhythm of your heartbeat which he had learnt after long nights of holding you in his arms, chasing away the nightmares.

Once upon a time, you were the reason he wanted to stop time until the sun came up. He loved to hear the secrets you kept, how you hated your professor, how you wanted to tear his hair out.

As his eyes traced the rose-tinted patterns from your neck to the soft flesh of your belly, the memory of last night's events brought a smile to his lips, a smile that brought a sky full of stars into his irises with genuine happiness.

He could never have fallen more in love with you as you lay there like an angel, the faint daylight coming through the curtains painting you in glitter like a second layer on your skin.

It was the moment he knew he needed you to the end of time, wrapped in his bedsheets, with his ring shining on your delicate finger.

[asharasasylum]

♡ drabble rafe cameron booklet - entry 2

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ warnings: dark fic!! allusions to non con and dub con. allusions to smut. step-cest. perv! Rafe. manipulation. drugs. slightly naive reader. 18+

“Are you still angry with me?” 

Rafe twisted his head around, finding you standing in the hallway, gazing over at him as you chewed on your bottom lip. 

You were supposed to be in the Bahamas with Dad, Rose and Wheezie, and yet a few hours before that he had found you standing in Barry’s yard with an overnight bag and a suitcase like you were about to take residence. He had been pissed at the sight, and you knew Barry’s lingering stares over your frame hadn’t helped. The memory made your stomach churn, recalling Barry’s leering eyes heavy on your bare legs as you made your way towards Rafe's truck. While Rafe hadn’t ever really played the protective older brother type, you were sure it wasn’t nice to see his so-called friend staring at you in that way. 

But Rafe wasn’t as tense now and you were sure the joint between his lips had something to do with it. 

“Come here,” he said, nodding his head for you to get closer. 

You could feel the corners of your lips tug upwards, but you fought off the smile as you stepped closer to him, not knowing yet if you were in his good books. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped an arm around your waist, yanking you down into his lap. You tried to slip away, making yourself comfortable but with Rafe's arm pressed tightly against your stomach and his darkened gaze narrowing at you, all you could do was relax into the position. 

Rafe exhaled, blowing the smoke to the side as he continued to just stare. You hated the silence between you. Rafe was only ever silent when he was stewing on angry thoughts, seconds away from speaking up about them. And that was never usually in the calmest of manners.

“Please I-” 

“Dad would kill me if he knew you were here,” he stated. 

His gaze hardened, jaw clenching and you shuddered at the sight of it. 

“You know that right?” 

You nodded, parting your lips to speak, to explain yourself but he simply wasn’t having it. 

“I already have so much on my plate.” His hand dropped to between your thighs, gripping one of them with a tightness that had you wincing. “And now you want-” He squinted his eyes, leaning in closer to you. “What is it you want?” 

“I was worried about you,” you told him truthfully. 

His eyes flickered at that and he leaned back into his seat, taking a long drag of his joint before his eyes settled on you again. 

“Dad has Rose and Wheezie,” you started, fingers tracing patterns against his hand, hoping to ease his tense body. “And Sarah—” 

Your eyes drifted at that, breath catching in your throat as you recalled your younger sister. You missed her. 

“Wherever she is— has the pogues.” You turned your eyes back to him and rested your hand on top of his. “And you need someone.” You shrugged. “I just thought I could be that someone.” 

Rafe rolled his eyes, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest as he breathed out the smoke, shaking his head. 

“Forget it,” you said, moving to stand up. 

But Rafe stopped you, holding you against him. “Don’t be like that.” 

“Do you always have to mock me?” You could feel your eyes watering and not wanting him to see how much he was upsetting you, your gaze moved elsewhere. 

You heard Rafe sigh from beside you before you felt his fingers curl around your chin, twisting your face to look back at him. His lips were curved into a knowing smirk, voice teasing as he whispered, “You’re sweet.” 

You weren’t entirely sure why but you shivered at his tone, goosebumps erupting over your flesh that you wished to hide. 

Sensing the tension in your body, Rafe’s hands rubbed up and down your thigh as he told you to relax. The word rolled off his tongue in a soft hum and it only served to make you more rigid on top of him. It didn’t stop him though and you felt heat swirl in the pit of your stomach as he shifted his hand up higher. 

“Rafe,” you squeaked, clamping your thighs tightly together. 

The humour seemed to drop from his face and before you knew it he was placing the joint to your lips. “Relax.” 

His darkened gaze had you wanting to appease him and after a little bit of hesitation, you took a hit. All while you sucked in the smoke, Rafe smiled but it wasn’t his usual mischievous smile, there was a wickedness there that you hadn’t seen before. One that had clenching your thighs around his hand a bit harder. 

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead Rafe pressed his thumb against your lips, making you hold the smoke until he dropped his hand back to his side with a satisfied sigh. 

Your lungs burned and you coughed as you exhaled, which of course made Rafe laugh once again. 

“You good?” He asked. 

You nodded in response but minutes later you weren’t feeling so good. 

You had only been high two times in your life before this, once when Sarah had convinced you to smoke some of Rafe’s stash that she had found hidden in the yacht and another time when Rafe had found out, and told you that he wouldn’t rat either of you out if you smoked with him as well. Both times you had fallen asleep quickly after, the high short lived as you drifted into a deep slumber. 

It was no different this time, your mind already slipping from the few hits Rafe had persuaded you to take. 

You were relaxed, a bit too relaxed. Your head rested against his shoulder and your thighs were parted a tad, just enough for Rafe to slip his fingers under the bottom of your shorts. 

You should have protested and you went to but Rafe’s other hand was firmly gripping your chin, keeping your head close enough to his to bring his lips to yours. Before you could react, he blew smoke between your parted lips, closing your mouth once he was done and opening it a few seconds later. 

Rafe continued to do this for a while, only taking moments from your lips to take a drag from the joint. He had you firmly distracted, mind becoming so hazy that you weren’t really paying attention to the way his lips were pressing further into yours with each blow, or the way his fingers were lodged all the way into your shorts. 

Eventually he pulled back, and the weed in your system started to take full effect as you fell back. 

Your head fell back into the cushions, and while you tried to fight sleep, blinking your eyes at Rafe, you couldn’t. Your body felt numb as your mind became fogged and the last thing you felt was your hips lifting, as your shorts were being dragged down your thighs. 

reblogs and comments are always appreciated

[nomie-11]

Vi x Reader knew each other when they were younger before everything went downhill with the incident with the explosion, and later they meet again as pit fighters in the arena. After the match, as they tend to the other's wounds, they catch up and over the time they spend together in and out of the arena, they eventually become a couple and move in together.

Fight Me

masterlist!

synopsis: my take on the above request, where instead of becoming a couple and moving in, they get heated (18+ but I’m a coward and can’t write smut)

pairings: vi x reader

The whispers in the underground fight scene were quiet, but the whispers were all saying the same thing: there’s two people to beat, and they’re fighting tonight. 

The Hound versus The Bandit. 

The air in the pit was thick with sweat, blood, and the anticipation of the fight to come. Bodies pressed against the rusted railings, eager to witness another brutal clash between two of the underground’s deadliest brawlers. The energy was electric, charged with the weight of bets, debts, and grudges waiting to be settled. 

You stood in your corner, rolling out the tension in your shoulders, feeling the familiar heat of the arena lights overhead. The rough wrappings around your knuckles were tight, already stained from past battles. You had fought in this pit before—won in it before, you could do it again. 

The Hound stood across the pit, flexing her fingers, rolling her neck. Even from this distance, you could see the glint of something dangerous in her eyes. 

She was watching you, sizing you up—not just as an opponent, but as something more. Something familiar. 

Your stomach twisted, but you shook it off. You had fought countless people in this pit. This was no different. 

The announcer’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, you know the names! You’ve heard the stories! But tonight, only one walks out victorious! Will it be the relentless force of nature—The Hound—or the cunning, untouchable legend—The Bandit?”

A roar of cheers and jeers rose from the crowd, coins clinking, fists pounding against the rusted railings. 

The Hound smirked, and she cracked her knuckles. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she called over the noise. 

Your chest tightened. Her voice—it had been years, but you could still hear the echoes of it from a life before this one. Before the explosion. Before everything fell apart. 

You steadied your breathing, meeting her gaze. “Didn’t think you’d recognize me, I’ve made myself pretty faceless down here.” 

She tilted her head, her slightly tipsy, cocky smirk never wavering. “Please. I’d recognize that stance anywhere.” 

The referee raised his hand. “Fighters ready?” 

You shifted your weight, planting your feet. 

Vi rolled her shoulders, dropping into a stance you remembered all too well. The referee’s hand dropped, the bell rang, and the fight began.

Vi came at you fast—faster than you remembered, faster than anyone else in these pits. You barely dodged the first blow, feeling the air shift as her fist grazed past your jaw. She was strong. Stronger than before. 

You countered with a quick jab, catching her just below the ribs, but she barely reacted. She just grinned. 

“Oh yeah,” she muttered, eyes flashing with something exciting, something exhilarating. “I missed this.” 

You missed this too—the fight was a blur of fists and instinct, muscle memory taking over where words had failed. Every blow exchanged was a conversation of its own—questions asked in the form of jabs, answers given in the crack of fists meeting flesh. 

Vi fought like she had something to prove. You fought like you had nothing left to lose. 

The crowd around you roared, but their voices faded into the background, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the weight of Vi’s gaze locking onto yours with every strike. 

She was testing you. And fuck if it didn’t wet your entire body on fire. 

Your fist connected with her jaw, snapping her head to the side. She staggered but barely hesitated before retaliating, her knuckles slamming into your ribs, knocking the wind out of you. You gritted your teeth, biting back a groan as you stumbled. 

Vi, grinned through the sweat and the blood smeared at the corner of her lip, didn’t let up. “You’ve gotten better,” she said, breathless. 

You wiped a trickle of blood from your chin with the back of your hand. “So have you.” 

The fight didn’t last much longer after that. 

It wasn’t that one of you was leagues above the other—no, this was a match of equals. A battle between two people who knew each other’s tells, who had grown up mirroring each other’s movements before life had thrown them into opposite corners of the ring. 

But in the end, Vi took the win. 

She had you pinned, her weight pressing you into the cold ground, your wrists trapped in her grip. Your chest heaved beneath her hips, every breath labored, every inch of you aching. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. 

The crowd’s cheers rang hollow in your ears. 

Vi’s smirk softened just slightly as she hovered above you, her breathing ragged. “Still think you’re faceless?” she asked, voice low, teasing. 

You swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of her breath against your flushed skin. “Guess not.” 

The referee declared her victory, but Vi didn’t move—not right away. Not until her fingers briefly, almost hesitantly, squeezed yours before letting go. 

And just like that, the fight was over. 

————————————

You found her later in the back room, unwrapping the bloodied bandages from her hands. 

Vi barely glanced up as you entered, but the smirk was already on her lips. “Came to gloat?” 

You scoffed, stepping closer, the adrenaline from the fight still buzzing in your veins. “You won. Why would I gloat?” 

She hummed, flexing her fingers before wincing slightly. Without thinking, you grabbed the roll of fresh bandages from the table, stepping into her space. 

Vi raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest as you took her hand, carefully wrapping her knuckles. “Still good at this,” she murmured, watching you. 

You didn’t look up. “Did a lot of patching up over the years.”

Silence settled between you, thick with unspoken words. With memories of a time when fights weren’t for survival, when your fists weren’t used to hurt but to train, to prepare for a future that should have never come. 

Her fingers twitched under yours. “I looked for you,” she admitted suddenly. “After… everything.” 

Your hands stilled. 

You exhaled slowly. “I know.” 

Vi tilted her head, her eyes searching yours. “Then why didn’t you—?”

You cut her off before she could finish the thought. “I didn’t want to be found. I wasn’t the same.” 

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought she might argue. But then, something shifted in her gaze—understanding, maybe. Or acceptance. 

You finished wrapping her hands, but before you could pull away, Vi caught your wrist. 

“Neither was I,” she murmured. 

The weight of her words settled deep in your chest, and then, before you could second-guess it, before the past could creep in and drag you both back down, you leaned in. 

Vi met you halfway. 

The moment her lips crashed into yours, it felt less like a reunion and more like a collision—messy, desperate, something inevitable finally set into motion. 

She pushed you back against the table, hands gripping at your waist, your fingers tangled in her damp hair. The tension from the fight, from the years lost between you, snapped like a frayed wire. 

Vi’s hands were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but they moved against your skin like she’d never forgotten the contours of your body. Her body was pressed tight against yours, heat rolling off her in waves, her breath mixing with yours in the small space between hurried, hungry kisses. 

You barely had time to breathe before she lifted you onto the table with ease, standing between your legs, her finger digging into your hips just enough to send a shiver through you. She kissed you like you were still fighting—teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue tracing against yours in a way that made your head spin. 

Your hands explored familiar territory, fingers pressing into her back, tracing the muscle that had only grown stronger since you last knew her this way. your nails raked against her skin, and she groaned against your mouth, the sound sending heat pooling low in your stomach. 

Her lips trailed long your jaw, then lower, her teeth scraping the sensitive skin of your neck. You let your head fall back, a breathless laugh slipping out between gasps. “Still cocky,” you murmured. 

Vi laughed against your skin, her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips brushing against your ribs, then your chest. “You like it,” she muttered, her voice rough, her lips pressing against your collarbone before he bit down, just hard enough to make your breath hitch. 

You did. You really, really did. 

Your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging her back up to meet your lips again, swallowing the growl she let out in response. The years apart, the pain, the battles fought with fists instead of words—it all burned away in the fire lit between your bodies. 

She pressed you further onto the table, the cool surface grounding you against the sheer blaze of her body. her hips rolled against yours, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, The friction, the desperation, the way her body fit against yours like she was still made for you—it was too much, and not enough all at once.

“Vi—” her name left your lips in a breathless plea, “come on, fight me.” 

She grinned against your skin, her voice husky. “Yeah, I got you.” 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night. 

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust. 

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

 “Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening  the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch. 

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats. 

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length. 

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her. 

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet. 

Ever stubborn. 

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his. 

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted. 

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns. 

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[jvkeslvr]

under the stars and by your side ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

synopsis: during a camping trip with soobin and the others, you realized that you forgot your sleeping bag at home. as the night gets colder, soobin offers you his jacket and you both find comfort in each other right under the stars. pairing: soobin x gn!reader ft. rest of txt genre: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship wc: 732 warnings: maybe soobin calling y/n "babe" like once, cuddling, stargazing, mentions of food (marshmallows), camping, please lmk what else i missed! playlist: somebody to love - justin bieber, twenties - giveon, moonlit floor (kiss me) - lisa, too sweet - hozier, roses - jaehyun, are you even real - teddy swims, giveon a/n: ahh!! i made a cute little fic about (my shyla!!) soobin, since they are all one together again. so i really hope you enjoy! please show support by reblog and liking, thank you <3 (please don't spam like, i get overwhelmed 🥺)

it was supposed to be the perfect camping trip. you, soobin, and the rest of the guys had been looking forward to a weekend away from the chaos of their busy schedules, especially now that they finally had a break. the air was crisp, the sky a deep shade of blue, and the forest around you was peaceful, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and chirping birds. it was supposed to be a simple getaway—time to relax, make memories, and just enjoy being out in nature.

after a long hike, you and soobin arrived at the campsite, setting up the tents while the others started gathering wood for a campfire. it was a chill, easygoing day, filled with laughter as everyone joked about their various hiking mishaps. everything seemed perfect, until you started unpacking your bag and realized something.

“soobin,” you called out, your voice a little panicked. “i think i forgot my sleeping bag!”

soobin turned around from where he was organizing the campfire setup. “wait, what? you forgot your sleeping bag?”

you glanced at your bag once more, hoping it had somehow magically appeared. “it’s not here,” you admitted, a little embarrassed. “i swear i packed everything else, but… no sleeping bag.”

soobin raised an eyebrow and then chuckled. “you’re a mess, babe,” he teased, though there was a hint of concern in his voice. “alright, let’s figure this out.”

you sighed, pulling your jacket tighter around you as the temperature started to drop. “i’ll just try to sleep in my jacket or something. it’s fine.”

but soobin wasn’t having it. he was already walking back to the tent and pulling something out from his bag. “you’re not freezing tonight. come here.”

he returned with his thick fleece jacket and handed it over. “this should help for now. i’ll be fine, really. it’s not that cold yet.”

“but… won’t you be cold without it?” you questioned, hesitant to take it.

soobin simply smiled and shrugged. “i’ll manage. no worries. here, take it.”

you took the jacket, feeling the warmth radiating off of it. "thanks, soobin. seriously, you're a lifesaver."

he grinned. "i know."

as the campfire crackled in the background, the others started preparing for a night of roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories. taehyun, beomgyu, yeonjun, and huening kai were huddled around the flames, laughing and teasing each other. but you were still cold, despite wearing soobin’s jacket. you hugged your knees to your chest, trying to keep warm.

“soobin,” you said, shivering slightly. “i’m still cold. i feel bad. this whole trip is a mess because of me.”

soobin, who had been chatting with the others for a while, immediately noticed and stood up. “enough of this,” he said. “come on, let’s go inside the tent. it’ll be warmer in there.”

he took your hand and led you to the tent, where the sleeping bags had already been set up. once inside, soobin crawled into his sleeping bag, leaving enough room for you. “it’ll be fine, just come here.”

“are you sure? i don’t want to make things awkward,” you said, still a little unsure about intruding on his space.

he smiled and patted the sleeping bag. “it’s not awkward. we’ve been together for how long now? it’s nothing.”

you slipped in beside him, feeling the warmth from his body immediately. the chill of the night faded away as you both lay there in the quiet dark, listening to the soft rustling of the wind outside the tent. the rest of the group was still outside, laughing around the fire, but it was just the two of you now, sharing the peaceful moment together.

“this is nice,” you said, your voice quiet.

soobin’s hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “i’m glad we’re here. even if it’s not perfect, it’s ours.”

you smiled, resting your head against his chest. “yeah. it’s perfect for me.”

he kissed the top of your head. “me too.”

outside the tent, the others were still enjoying themselves, but you and soobin were in your own little world. it wasn’t about fancy plans or perfect moments—it was about the quiet connection you shared, finding warmth in each other when everything else seemed a little off.

as you both drifted off to sleep under the stars, you knew this camping trip, with its little mishaps and all, would be one of your favorite memories.

[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the amazingly talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 👹

Gods and Demons (Preview)

Damian's preparations for departure were almost complete when Superman hailed him down. For a moment, Damian considered pretending he had not seen him, but ultimately rose to meet the two men who had now landed gracefully beside him and Goliath. He was familiar with the man known as Superman, but the second man was a stranger to him. He was tall with wavy dark locks framing a sharp jawline and piercing steely grey-blue eyes, he bore a resemblance to the other man. He had a pretty good idea now of who he might be. The man's attire was peculiar though, causing Damian to wrinkle his nose slightly in disapproval. He wore a black suit adorned with shimmering silver stars, his deep crimson colored cloak billowing behind him. The most unnerving part of his uniform however, was the obvious missing "S" shield in the center of his chest, leaving the skin underneath exposed for all to see. Damian quickly averted his gaze, focusing back on Superman. “What’s this?” Damian's features contorted in suspicion as Superman extended a piece of paper towards him.

“An olive branch” he replied calmly, then motioned to the tall figure standing next to him, Kal-El cleared his throat, “this is my son, Zod-El. He will be stationed in Tibet with you for the foreseeable future.” There was a moment of tense silence as if to allow for Damian to process the information. Then, Superman spoke again, breaking the stillness. "Consider him an ambassador of good faith," he said firmly.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms, “Tt. More like a spy to make sure I behave," he retorted with a sharp edge to his voice. The Justice League's true intentions were clear, they had their own agenda, but he intended to manipulate it to his advantage. Despite their lack of trust in Damian's ability to change the League of Assassins, it gave them an excuse to keep him under observation and under their protection. They needed to keep Damian alive regardless of his intentions because the absolute worst case scenario for them would be for him to lose control. It was an obvious choice, he was the only option with ties to the Justice League and a genuine desire to make the world better, even if his methods had not been received well by them. He could only stand to benefit from such a relationship, nonetheless, he’d make them work for it.

Superman let out a weary sigh, his broad shoulders slumping in exhaustion, “you agreed to observation after the attempts on your life," he reminded Damian sternly. The mention of those close calls made Damian flinch slightly, the memories still fresh and painful. Ever since his grandfather’s passing things had not gone as smoothly as anticipated, with everyone with even the slightest of claims coming out of the woodworks, but he survived and he’d continue to do so. Of course, some extra protection would be prudent, even though he had managed to reunite his family giving him the most claim, the attacks still occurred. His mother had even begun to express concern, certain that there was a rat among his inner circle. Damian didn’t want to consider that, the notion that the people he cared for most wanted him dead. Although it was a reality that he hated to admit, he could probably benefit from an impartial set of eyes and ears. Yet, Damian was proud if nothing else and he refused to allow anyone to think him weak.

"That may be," Damian huffed, "but I never agreed to an indefinite placement and certainly not from one of your B-list cast offs." His lip curled teasingly as he surveyed the man clad in black in front of him. He was curious to see how he would react.

The man grit his teeth and extended a hand with a forced smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dam-”

Damian interrupted firmly, his piercing gaze fixed on the man's face. “You may call me The Demon’s Head.”

The man chuckled nervously as he pushed back some unruly curls from his forehead. “No offense but...” he hesitated before continuing, “I’d rather call you anything else.”

Damian's lips curled into a menacing smile, his pearly whites barred behind a mask of feigned politeness. "Then, may I have the pleasure of calling you Jonathan?" The man remained silent, his expression guarded. Damian pressed on. "surprised that I know your other name?"

He cleared his throat, his voice betraying forced calmness as he responded, "Not really...and it's just Jon."

The smile fell from Damian's face, replaced by a look of disdain, "I'd rather call you anything else." The lack of push back from his opponent was slightly off-putting, it was simply no fun if they just stood there and took it. But then again, what did he really expect from the son of the Big Blue Boy Scout, always so righteous and obedient.

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, like a thick fog that refused to dissipate. Goliath finally broke the awkward silence with a restless shift, his large frame causing the ground to tremble beneath him. "I see there's no point in arguing with you," he grumbled, casting a patronizing look at Jon. "If Super Slut is ready to depart, then we shall." With the grace of a seasoned rider, Damian pulled himself up and swung himself onto his fiery red companion, feeling the heat emanating from its powerful body. Beside him, Jon effortlessly lifted himself off the ground and into the air. The bat dragon spread its massive wings and with a few strong flaps they ascended into the sky.

[cheollollipop]

Fragments of Us - Chapter 4. | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): mentions of drinking, swearing, yn has a few moments of anxiety, SMUUUUT!!!! (MDNI) seungcheol is big mad summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 12k start date: nov. 20, 2024 end date: -

A/N: this is a LOOOOONG one! happy reading<3

I woke up groggy and disoriented as soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. For a moment, I didn't know where I was or how I'd gotten here. The last thing I remembered was sitting on the couch with Subin, the two of us huddled under a shared blanket, the overly dramatic soundtrack of New Moon playing in the background.

My fingers brushed over the fabric of the hoodie I was wearing—his hoodie. It was oversized, soft, and warm, still carrying that distinct scent of Subin: clean, woodsy, with just a hint of spice. The memories came back in flashes. We'd been laughing about how serious Edward looked when he left Bella in the forest, comparing it to the kind of over-the-top breakup scenes you'd see in old soap operas. At some point, I'd started talking about my mom—how she used to watch those movies with me, how much I missed her.

Subin hadn't said much, but his presence had been steady. Grounding. He had a way of making me feel like it was okay to say things I usually kept locked away.

The last thing I remembered was the slow monotony of Bella's heartbreak montage and the unbearable heaviness of my eyelids. I must have fallen asleep right there on the couch.

So why was I in my bed?

I swung my legs over the side and padded out of my room, tugging the hoodie tighter around me. The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge. As I stepped into the living room, I spotted Subin sprawled out on the couch.

He was a mess. One arm slung over his head, hair sticking up in every direction. His long legs, too big for the couch, were bent awkwardly, and the throw blanket barely covered his torso. His face was peaceful in sleep, lips slightly parted, his usual teasing expression nowhere in sight. Without his smirk, he looked almost... vulnerable.

I hesitated in the doorway, watching him for a moment. It wasn't often I saw Subin like this—unguarded. The urge to grab my phone and snap a picture was strong, but I resisted.

"You know," his voice was rough with sleep, "staring at people while they sleep is kinda creepy."

I jumped, heart, lurching in my chest as his eyes cracked open, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I wasn't staring!" I blurted, crossing my arms. "I was just... making sure you were alive."

"Uh-huh." He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking sleepily. His hair was even worse now, sticking out in all directions. "And? What's the diagnosis, Doc?"

"You look terrible," I said flatly, though my lips twitched upward. "Like you got run over by a truck."

"And yet, still devastatingly handsome," he shot back, running a hand through his hair.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't hold back a smile. "What are you even still doing here? Did you sleep on the couch all night?"

"You fell asleep first," he said simply. "I wasn't gonna leave you there. So I carried you to bed, and the couch looked... inviting."

"You carried me?" My voice rose slightly, my face heating at the thought.

"Relax, it's not like I tucked you in or anything," he teased, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. "But you're welcome."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you keep me around," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. His T-shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing a strip of skin above his waistband. I quickly averted my eyes, pretending to focus on the empty takeout containers on the table.

"I guess I should thank you," I muttered, grabbing the containers and heading toward the kitchen.

Subin followed, leaning against the counter as I dumped the trash. "Thank me? Oh no, no, no. You should apologize."

"For what?"

"For making me sleep on that lumpy excuse for a couch." He gestured dramatically behind him. "I'm probably permanently disfigured. My spine will never be the same."

"You're so dramatic."

"This is serious, YN. I sacrificed my well-being for you, and this is the thanks I get?"

"You can have your hoodie back," I offered, tugging at the hem. "That's all you're getting from me."

His gaze flickered down to the hoodie, and something unreadable crossed his expression before he smirked. "Nah, keep it," he said, his voice softer. "It looks better on you anyway."

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came. There was something about the way he said it—so casual, yet so... intentional. My cheeks warmed, and I busied myself rinsing a coffee mug to avoid his gaze.

"So," he said after a moment, watching me with mild curiosity, "when's Sonya's engagement party again? I should probably start mentally preparing to meet the best friend."

My stomach dropped. I'd gotten ahead of myself last night and asked him to come.

"Um..." I hesitated, staring hard at the mug. "It's... tomorrow."

Subin froze. "Tomorrow? As in the day after today?"

"...Yes?"

He threw his hands up, pacing dramatically across the kitchen. "You've gotta be kidding me! Tomorrow? And you're just telling me now? I don't even have a suit ready! Or a tie! Do I need to match you? Is there a theme? Oh my god, what if there's a photo booth and I look terrible?"

I laughed, especially when he grabbed a dish towel and flung it over his shoulder like a damsel in distress.

"Subin, calm down. It's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal?" He pointed an accusatory finger at me. "You don't just spring an engagement party on someone! These things require preparation! Strategy! Emotional readiness!"

"It's not even your party!" I gasped, laughing so hard I had to set the mug down.

"That's not the point!" His lips twitched despite his dramatic rant. "What if I embarrass you? What if I trip and knock over the cake?"

"Then I'll laugh at you." I shrugged. "Like I always do."

He narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. "You're way too calm about this."

"Maybe you're just too high-strung."

He took another step, the banter softening into something quieter. "Or maybe," he said, voice lower now, "I just don't want to mess up when it comes to you."

My breath hitched. His gaze was steady, uncharacteristically serious, and my heart skipped in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Subin..." I started, but the words tangled in my throat.

His grin returned, smaller this time. "Relax, YN. I'll make it work," he said, reaching out to flick the hood of his hoodie. "Besides, how bad can it be?"

Before I could respond, he turned toward the fridge.

"Eggs?" he called. "I also make a mean omelet."

I shook my head, smiling.

Subin might be impossible, but he was my impossible.

And I wasn't sure I'd have it any other way.

I rolled my eyes and reached for the eggs in his hand. "Sit down. I'll make something edible."

His eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "You cook?"

"I can manage breakfast," I shot back, cracking an egg into the pan.

Subin settled onto one of the barstools, resting his chin in his hand as he watched me work. "So... the party. What's the game plan? Do I play the role of a doting fake boyfriend, or are we going for mysterious and aloof?"

I snorted. "You're incapable of being aloof."

"Fair point," he said with a smirk. "Guess I'll just be my usual, irresistible self then."

I shook my head, flipping the eggs. "Just don't embarrass me, and we'll be fine."

There was a pause before his voice turned quieter, more thoughtful. "You really think I'd embarrass you?"

I glanced over my shoulder, surprised by the hint of sincerity in his tone. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something unreadable.

"No," I admitted, my voice softer now. "I think you'll be fine."

Something passed between us then—unspoken but lingering—a quiet understanding.

I turned back to the stove, but I could still feel his gaze on me. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid of what that meant. But something else gnawed at me. Seungcheol. As if on cue, Subin must have sensed my shift in mood.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"Wh—Psh. No," I stammered.

"YN, come on. I told you I need to be mentally prepared. What, is there an ex coming or something?" His tone was joking, but he couldn't have been more right.

"Well..."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" He started, but I quickly shook my hands.

"It's fine. Um... I guess since you brought it up, we should maybe... talk."

The look on his face made my heart sink. I sighed and dropped onto the stool across from him. He followed, watching me intently.

"Okay. So, I know there's a lot we still don't know about each other. It's only fair that I tell you this—especially since you'll potentially be meeting my entire friend group, including him."

Subin's gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable but steady, like he was bracing himself.

I let out a long breath before continuing.

"I grew up with these people. Some of them I've known since I was in diapers. I met Seungcheol in high school, and we ended up dating. Two years ago, I lost my mom, and after that, I just felt... lost. She was my best friend. My entire world. When she died, I felt so disconnected from everything. Like I was moving through life in a haze, and no one around me could understand what I was going through. So, I shut down."

I paused, swallowing hard.

"Hey, you don't have to—" Subin started, but I shook my head.

"It got to the point where I felt invisible. No one got it. And I hated them for not understanding, even though I knew it wasn't fair. Saying it out loud now, I realize how selfish it was, but... I couldn't help it."

Silence settled between us as I gathered my thoughts.

"Anyway, two years ago, on my birthday to be exact, Seungcheol threw me a surprise party. At the time, I thought it was the worst thing he could have possibly done. His intentions weren't bad—I know that now. But I was already so angry. And then, during the party, he proposed."

Subin's brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

"I said yes." My voice was barely above a whisper. "Not because I wanted to, but because we were in front of everyone—our friends, our families. It was humiliating. He was so happy. Everyone was so happy. And I was just..." My voice wavered, and I felt tears prick at my eyes.

Subin reached out, placing his hand over mine. He didn't say anything. Just let me sit with it for a moment.

"When we got home that night, we had the biggest argument of our lives. I said things I regret every single day. And one day, while he was at work, I packed up my things, called Sonya, and... well, now we're here."

The weight of the silence that followed felt suffocating.

Subin exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. I could tell he was searching for the right words, but none came.

"There's more," I said quietly.

He blinked. "Oh."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Last week, Seungcheol found out about my dad. I guess he was on his way to see me when he got into a car accident." The words felt heavy on my tongue. "It was the first time I'd seen him since everything happened, and... it wasn't good. Old feelings—bad feelings—came up, and I just... lost it. I said things I shouldn't have. It got ugly."

Subin didn't interrupt. He just watched me, his gaze steady, like he was waiting for the rest.

I fiddled with the hem of the hoodie I was still wearing. "Remember when I told you I reconnected with some old friends in Gangnam? That's what I was talking about. Some of them have been reaching out—Jihoon, Dokyeom. But now Jihoon's mad at me, and... it's just a lot."

I let out a slow breath, finally looking up at him. "So yeah. That's where I'm at."

Subin sat quietly for a moment, then let out a low whistle. "Damn, YN."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Yeah. Pretty much."

Subin stays quiet for a long moment, his thumb absently tracing small circles against the back of my hand. His expression is unreadable—no teasing smirk, no easy joke to break the tension—just quiet contemplation.

Finally, he exhales, running a hand through his already messy hair. "YN." His voice is softer than I expected, laced with something that almost sounds like regret. "I had no idea."

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers tightening around his without thinking. "Yeah. I don't really talk about it."

"I get that," he says, his gaze still locked onto mine. "But... you've been carrying all that by yourself? This whole time?"

I shrug, suddenly feeling exposed. "I guess I just figured... it was easier that way."

Subin shakes his head, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. "Easier doesn't mean better."

I huff out a small, humorless laugh. "Trust me, I'm aware."

There's another pause, and then Subin sighs, leaning back against the counter. "So... this guy. Seungcheol." He says the name carefully like he's testing how it feels on his tongue. "How do you feel about seeing him again?"

I swallow hard. "I don't know." It's the truth. "Part of me wants to pretend like none of it happened, like I can just show up, smile, and move on. But another part of me..." I trail off, shaking my head. "I just don't know."

Subin studies me for a second before nodding. "Okay."

I blink. "Okay?"

"Yeah." He straightens up, rolling his shoulders like he's shaking off the weight of the conversation. "If you don't know how you feel, then I'll just be there to make sure whatever happens, you don't have to deal with it alone."

My throat tightens. "Subin, you don't have to—"

"YN," he interrupts gently, tilting his head. "I know I don't have to. I want to."

His words settle deep in my chest, warm and steady, and I suddenly feel dangerously close to crying again. I look away, blinking rapidly. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

He grins, the tension in the air easing just a bit. "Yeah, but you like me for it."

I scoff, but there's no real heat behind it. "Debatable."

"Sure, sure," he says, pushing himself up and stretching. "Alright, let's talk new game plan. Am I going full 'supportive fake boyfriend' mode, or should I be ready to throw hands if Seungcheol so much as looks at you the wrong way?"

I snort despite myself. "You're ridiculous."

He winks.

I shake my head, but I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. For the first time since the engagement party came up, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I won't completely fall apart. Because no matter what happens, Subin will be there. And somehow, that makes all the difference.

Subin stretches his arms over his head, letting out an exaggerated groan before hopping off the stool. "Alright, enough emotional damage for one morning. I vote we do nothing for the rest of the day."

I blink at him. "Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing." He gestures vaguely around the apartment. "No serious conversations, no stress, no thinking about... you-know-who. Just good, old-fashioned laziness."

I hesitate. Part of me wants to protest—there are always things to do, things to think about—but another part, the tired part, is tempted by the idea of shutting my brain off for a while.

Subin must see the indecision on my face because he nudges my shoulder. "Come on, YN. When's the last time you had a proper lazy day?"

I press my lips together, thinking.

"Exactly," he says before I can answer. "You deserve it."

I sigh, rolling my eyes for effect. "Fine. But if you think I'm letting you pick another Twilight movie—"

"Oh, no. No more sparkly vampires," he agrees, already moving toward the couch. "We're going for peak comfort today. Hoodies, blankets, and a movie that requires zero brain power."

This is how, fifteen minutes later, we find ourselves sprawled on the couch, wrapped in blankets, a bowl of popcorn between us. The hoodie I borrowed is still comfortably oversized on me, and Subin—now in a different hoodie of his own—looks way too pleased with himself.

"You're awfully smug for someone who just lost rock-paper-scissors," I point out as I scroll through the movie options.

"Because I'm still winning," he says, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. "I got you to actually relax for once."

I huff, but don't argue. He's not wrong.

We settle on some ridiculous action-comedy, the kind with over-the-top fight scenes and one-liners that make no sense. Every so often, Subin tosses popcorn in the air, trying to catch it in his mouth—and missing more than he lands.

"This is embarrassing," I tease, watching another piece bounce off his chin.

He points at me. "You say that, but I bet you can't do it either."

Challenge accepted. I grab a handful of popcorn and attempt my own toss—only for it to land squarely on my forehead before rolling onto my lap.

Subin bursts out laughing. "Oh, that was tragic."

"Shut up," I grumble, snatching another piece and trying again. This time, I get it—barely. I pump a fist in victory while Subin shakes his head.

We go back and forth like that for a while, the movie becoming background noise to our ridiculous competitions—who can catch the most popcorn in a row, throw one the farthest, and balance a piece on their nose the longest.

It's stupid. It's childish.

And it's exactly what I need.

At some point, we migrate to the floor, blankets dragged down with us, and an old deck of cards between us. Subin insists on teaching me some convoluted game I don't think even he fully understands. I lose spectacularly—twice.

The afternoon melts away in lazy conversation, playful bickering, and laughter that comes easier than it has in a long time.

By the time the sun started to dip, casting warm orange light through the windows, I realized that, for the first time in days, I hadn't thought about anything outside this moment. No nagging worries, no engagement party looming over me, no weight of the past creeping in.

Just this. Just us.

Subin flicks a playing card at me with a triumphant grin, and I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the flutter in my stomach. But it's there—the warmth, the lightness, the quiet thrill that's been creeping up on me all day.

He tilts his head slightly as if catching onto something, and before I can overthink it, I lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Oh?" He blinks, grinning.

"What was that for?" he asks, voice teasing but laced with curiosity.

"I just felt like it," I say with a slight shrug, feigning nonchalance, though my heart pounds harder than it should.

"Hm." He hums, eyes studying mine. "That won't do."

Before I can ask what he means, he closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine again—this time slower, deeper. The shift is subtle but unmistakable. What started as something light turned into something else entirely.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin as our lips move together. There's something about the way he kisses me—like he's memorizing the shape of my mouth like he's been waiting for this longer than he'll admit.

I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and the groan that escapes him sends a shiver down my spine. The sound sparks something in me, something hungry, something desperate. I kiss him harder, chasing that feeling, letting it consume me.

We move without thinking, without breaking apart, until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he sinks down onto it, pulling me with him. I straddle his lap, my hands still buried in his hair, his fingers pressing into my waist. The movie flickers on in the background, long forgotten.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and the way he hums against my mouth makes my breath hitch.

By the time we finally pull back for air, his pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling beneath me.

I've never seen him like this before—eyes dark, lips slightly parted, expression unreadable.

And God, I want more.

"I want you," I whisper as our foreheads connect, our breaths mixing together.

"You sur-"

"Subin."

He crashes his lips against mine, the kiss messy and desperate. His tongue brushes against my lips, asking for permission, and I part them without hesitation. When he nips at my lower lip, a moan slips out before I can stop it, and he groans in response, his hips bucking involuntarily.

It's only then that I feel just how hard he is, and the realization sends a rush of heat through me, leaving me breathless.

"Bed. Now," I murmur against his lips, and he doesn't hesitate. In one swift motion, he lifts me into his arms, kissing me fiercely as he stumbles toward my room. We both chuckle into the kiss, the urgency laced with amusement before he finally reaches the bed and sets me down.

He tugs off his hoodie without breaking eye contact, revealing his bare chest. My gaze trails over him, taking in the definition I hadn't quite expected, the way his muscles shift as he moves.

I bite my lip, fighting back a grin, but from the way his eyes darken, I know he notices.

"You mind if I?" Subin murmurs, nodding toward my lower body, his voice thick with anticipation.

I swallow, my pulse hammering as I give a slight nod and scoot back on the bed.

He follows, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips find mine again, softer this time, almost reverent. There's something mesmerizing about the way he kisses me—like he's savoring every second. He trails a path down my jaw, then lowers it, his breath warm against my skin. My body arches instinctively as he reaches for the hem of my hoodie, his fingers grazing my sides as he lifts it over my head, my shirt coming off with it.

His gaze darkens as he takes me in, but he says nothing—just presses a lingering kiss to my sternum before continuing downward. Every touch, every brush of his lips against my skin, sends a shiver through me. He pauses at the waistband of my shorts, glancing up through his lashes, silently asking.

Another nod.

The fabric is gone in an instant, leaving me bare beneath him. He lets out a quiet, satisfied hum, his hands firm on my thighs as he pulls me closer. The heat between us is nearly unbearable, my skin burning everywhere he touches.

"Subin," I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

His lips curve into a smirk against my skin, teasing, testing my patience. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open, and I feel his breath against me—warm, tantalizing, making my head spin.

The first brush of his lips is gentle, almost unbearably so, sending a shockwave through my body. My breath catches as he finds a slow, deliberate rhythm, his hands keeping me exactly where he wants me. A strangled moan escapes me before I can stop it, my fingers tangling in the sheets as I fight for control.

But control is slipping—fast.

My body reacts before my mind can process it, arching into him, desperate for more. The pressure builds, unbearable and intoxicating all at once. The world narrows to the sensation of his touch, the way he reads my body so effortlessly, coaxing sounds from me I didn't know I was capable of making.

A sharp gasp leaves my lips as he changes pace, teasing, pulling me to the edge only to draw me back. I don't realize I'm begging until the words tumble out between breathless moans.

"More," I plead. "Please, more—"

Subin hums in satisfaction, the vibration sending another shudder through me. His fingers join the slow, intoxicating rhythm, pushing me closer and closer until the pressure finally snaps.

I come undone with a strangled cry, the pleasure crashing over me in waves, my vision hazy as I struggle to catch my breath.

When I finally open my eyes, he's already moving, crawling back up to meet me, his lips capturing mine in a slow, lingering kiss.

"Holy shit," I pant against his mouth, still breathless.

He chuckles, brushing his nose against mine. "Gonna be honest—I didn't think you had it in you."

A breathy laugh escapes him. "Ouch."

"Well, I'll have you know—that was just the beginning." His voice is low and teasing, lips grazing my jaw as he speaks. "Up for more?"

A thrill rushes through me, my pulse quickening all over again. But I'm not about to let him take the lead this time.

"Aht," I murmur, flipping us over in one swift motion. His eyes widen, startled, before he lets out a low, surprised chuckle.

"My turn."

He barely has time to react before I'm kissing him, slow and purposeful, trailing down his neck. His breath hitches as I find a sensitive spot, his hands twitching at his sides.

"You're so beautiful, YN," he murmurs, his voice rough with admiration.

I pause, lips still brushing his skin. "You can't say stuff like that."

"What?" He exhales sharply when I nip at his collarbone. "I'm telling the tru—ahh—" His words cut off as I continue my descent, leaving him breathless beneath me.

I smirk against his skin. "Stop talking."

And then I go lower.

Slowly and deliberately, I trail my lips down his neck, savoring the way his breath hitches beneath me. My hands roam over his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense under my touch as I move lower. When I reach his waistband, I glance up through my lashes, then tug at the fabric with my teeth.

"Mind if I?" I murmur, a teasing lilt in my voice, throwing his own words back at him.

He exhales a breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he replies. "Ha ha, very funny."

But the humor barely lingers as I pull his pants and boxers down, freeing him. He's painfully hard, the tip flushed deep red, glistening in the dim light. I take a moment to admire him, wrapping my fingers around his thick length, barely able to close my hand around him.

"Jesus, YN," he breathes, his head falling back against the pillow as I give him a slow stroke. His hand twitches at his side like he's fighting the urge to grab and guide me.

I let my lips ghost over him, just barely touching, teasing. "Impatient?"

He lets out a low groan, lifting his head to glare down at me. "You have no idea."

I smirk, but before he can say anything else, I take him into my mouth, inch by inch.

A sharp inhale leaves him, his fingers threading into my hair as I begin to move. I start slow, testing, teasing, feeling the way he shudders each time my tongue swirls around him. With every downward motion, I take him deeper, feeling his grip tighten slightly, his restraint slipping.

"Fuck," he hisses, his voice strained. "Feels so—shit, just like that."

On the next descent, I pause halfway, letting my tongue press against that sensitive spot just beneath his tip. His reaction is instant—a deep, guttural moan as his grip in my hair tightens, his thighs trembling beneath my palms. He's holding himself back, barely. I can feel it in the way his muscles tense, in the way his hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust deeper.

"God, YN, you're gonna drive me insane," he groans, voice shaky.

I smirk around him, giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze before I start moving again. This time, I hollow my cheeks, increasing the suction. The effect is immediate. His breaths turn ragged, his moans raw, his fingers flexing in my hair with every stroke.

"Shit—" His voice cuts off into a choked gasp as I take him deeper, my tongue teasing along the underside.

"You're—fuck—you're so good at this," he breathes out, his head dropping back against the pillows. "I—God, I wanna—"

He stops himself, breathing heavily, hands tightening in my hair like he's barely holding on.

I pull back slightly, stroking him slowly, looking up at him. "What do you want, Subin?"

His half-lidded eyes meet mine, dark and desperate. "I wanna come, but—fuck—I don't wanna stop."

His words send a thrill through me, and I hum around him in response. The vibrations make him shudder, his whole body tensing.

"Shit, YN—" He swears under his breath, his thighs trembling. "I'm close. You need to—"

His hand moves as if to gently pull me away, but I press my palm against his abdomen, pushing him back down. Not yet.

"Fuck," he groans, his head falling back against the pillow. "You're really not gonna let me stop, huh?"

I shake my head, keeping my mouth on him, making sure he feels every inch of warmth, every flick of my tongue.

His restraint finally snaps. His hips jerk up, his hands tightening in my hair, and a deep, broken moan rips from his throat as he unravels completely.

I swallow every last drop, milking him through the aftershocks, until he finally lets out a shaky breath and pulls me off, the sensations too much.

I rest my head against his knee, licking my lips as the taste of him lingers on my tongue. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hand dragging through his damp hair as he blinks down at me, still dazed.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice wrecked. "You're actually trying to kill me."

I smirk, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. "That was the plan."

His lips twitch, still catching his breath. "Evil."

I laugh softly, kissing his knee. "You love it."

He reaches for me then, tugging me up until I'm straddling his lap. His fingers thread through my hair, his eyes dark but playful as he pulls me in for a kiss.

"You're dangerous," he murmurs against my lips. "And I fucking love it."

I grin, letting my hands roam over his chest. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh, is that so?" he laughs and flips us over as begins to hover over me. His eyes scan over my face as if he's trying to memorize every inch of it before leaning down to kiss me deeply.

I moan softly, lifting my hips to press against him, feeling the heat of his body and the new hardness pressing between my thighs. A sharp inhale leaves his lips as he positions himself, sliding his length between my folds before pushing into me with one deep, unrelenting thrust.

I gasp, pleasure and the slight sting of fullness mixing into something intoxicating. My fingers grasp at his arms, needing something to hold onto.

"Move, please," I beg, voice breathless.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, he obeys, setting a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against mine with an intensity that has me unraveling in seconds.

"Harder. Please. Harder," I plead, needing more.

A groan rumbles from his throat as he shifts, angling himself just right, his thrusts now deeper, sharper, faster. His fingers dig into my hips with a bruising grip, as if he's afraid to let go. My moans echo through the room, feeding his desire, and his own noises—low, desperate, absolutely sinful—only push me further toward the edge.

I claw at his back, nails raking against taut muscle, trying to ground myself in the overwhelming pleasure. My orgasm builds rapidly, my body coiling tight as I pant his name. He already knows. He can feel it.

"I want you to cum for me, baby," he rasps, voice rough with restraint.

I whimper at the pet name, clinging to him, needing to feel him everywhere.

"Subin..."

"I've got you, gorgeous. Let go for me."

With one more deep thrust, pleasure crashes over me in violent waves. I cry out, body shaking beneath him, mind going blank except for the feeling of him.

Subin works me through it, slowing his movements just enough to let me breathe. When my body stops trembling, he gently rolls me onto my stomach. I try to lift my hips to accommodate him, but he presses me back down with a firm hand on my lower back.

"I've got this, pretty," he murmurs, lips grazing my ear. "Just get comfortable."

He slides into me again, his body covering mine like a heated blanket, his weight grounding me. The new angle has me gasping, pleasure striking through me like lightning.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his breath hot against my skin. "You're so fucking beautiful."

I feel myself tightening around him. Each thrust sending me spiraling, my body a mess of sensitivity and pleasure. I can barely breathe, barely think.

"You're close again, aren't you?" His lips brush against my shoulder. "I can feel it."

I can only moan in response. My words lost in the pleasure he's giving me. His pace remains relentless, his hips driving me further into the mattress.

"Tell me what you need, pretty."

"Don't stop—" I gasp.

He doesn't. He knows exactly what I need, keeping his rhythm steady, dragging me toward another high. His lips hover over my shoulder, teasing, waiting—until he bites down gently, just enough to send me over the edge.

I scream his name, my body shattering around him, pleasure blinding and all-consuming.

He slows his motions but doesn't stop, still chasing his own release. He kisses the bite mark soothingly, whispering praises against my damp skin.

When my breathing steadies, Subin eases me onto my back, still buried deep inside me. He starts slow and gentle, letting me feel every inch of him as he waits for my eyes to meet his.

When I finally focus, he smiles down at me. "There you are."

"Subin..." I whisper voice barely there.

"I'm right here, baby." He strokes my cheek, his touch impossibly tender.

"I want you to finish," I say softly, running my fingers through his damp hair.

He groans, dropping his forehead against mine. "You keep squeezing me and looking at me like that, and I'm a goner."

A weak smirk tugs at my lips, and I clench around him just to prove a point. He gasps, his hips stuttering.

"Fuck," he breathes.

"Cum for me, please," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

His body tenses, his rhythm faltering as he chases his release. "S-so close," he pants.

I wrap my legs around him, holding him tight, my palm pressing gently against his cheek, forcing him to keep his eyes on me. His thrusts grow erratic, his breath hitching, and then—

"YN—" he groans, his body shuddering as he finally lets go, spilling into me with a deep, guttural moan.

His hips slow to a stop, his body trembling slightly as he presses kisses against my flushed skin. He stays inside me for a moment, letting the aftershocks settle before finally collapsing onto me, breathless and spent.

For a while, neither of us speak, both lost in the lingering warmth of each other. Then, finally, he exhales a breathy laugh.

"Fucking hell," he murmurs, voice still wrecked. "That was... wow."

I smile, tracing my fingers lazily along his back. "Yeah," I whisper. "Wow."

He lifts his head, looking down at me with tired but adoring eyes. "You okay?"

I nod, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "More than okay."

His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. "Good," he murmurs, letting his eyes slip closed.

As we both come down from our highs, the heat between us settling into a quiet hum, Subin lets out a deep breath and presses one last kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back. For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are our breathing and the faint rustling of the sheets.

Then, he props himself up on one elbow, glancing down at me. "You okay, pretty?" His voice is rough, still laced with exhaustion and satisfaction.

I nod, stretching slightly. "Yeah. Just... tired."

He smirks. "I would hope so."

I roll my eyes, too spent to fire back. Instead, I groan as I attempt to sit up, but Subin is already moving. "Stay put," he says, pushing himself off the bed. "I'll be back."

I watch him walk toward the bathroom, his bare back disappearing behind the door. A few seconds later, I hear the water running. When he returns, he has a warm, damp towel in his hand.

"You really don't have to—" I start, but he raises a brow, giving me a look that immediately shuts me up.

"Relax," he says, kneeling onto the bed. "Let me take care of you."

I sigh, letting my head fall back against the pillow as he gently wipes between my legs, cleaning me up with slow, careful movements. I squirm slightly at the sensitivity, but he keeps his touch light. When he's done, he tosses the towel toward the laundry hamper and leans down, pressing a quick kiss to my thigh before pulling the blankets up over me.

"Better?" he asks, slipping back under the covers beside me.

"Much," I murmur, already feeling the pull of sleep.

Subin lets out a satisfied hum and tugs me against him, his body warm against mine. "Good. Because I'm not carrying your ass to the shower."

I laugh sleepily, my fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. "Noted."

After we both showered and dressed, the sun has fully set, casting a soft glow through the window. The night air hums with distant city sounds, a soothing backdrop as we lie tangled together in bed, warmth radiating between us.

"So," Subin starts, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my arm. "How was it?"

I glance up at him. "Are you seriously asking if the sex was good?" I laugh, rolling my eyes.

"Jeez, YN." He scoffs, feigning offense. "I was asking how it felt to do absolutely nothing all day. But, hey, if that's where your mind went..." He smirks.

I nudge his side, suppressing a grin. "Well, for starters, I wouldn't exactly call what we did 'nothing.' But yeah, it was nice. No responsibilities, no stress... just us." As I speak, I absentmindedly intertwine our fingers, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

"See? Lazy day was a success!" He fist-pumps triumphantly.

I snort. "You're such a nerd."

"Oh, really?" His voice takes on a mischievous lilt. Before I can react, his fingers find my sides, tickling me mercilessly.

"Stop, Subin—oh my god—" I gasp between uncontrollable laughter, squirming beneath him.

"Never!" he declares dramatically, peppering my face with playful kisses.

When he finally relents, I'm breathless, my stomach aching from laughter. He stretches with an exaggerated yawn. "On a serious note, I'm wiped. Wanna call it a night?" He starts to sit up, making me frown.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"To the doghouse," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"...What?"

"The couch," he clarifies. "You know, so I don't overstay my welcome."

I sit up, gaping at him. "Subin. You just had your tongue down my throat and—inside me. And now you think I'm making you sleep on the couch?"

He raises his hands in surrender. "Whoa. That was wildly vivid."

"Oh, now you want to act innocent?" I deadpan, patting the empty space beside me. "Get back here."

He shakes his head but climbs back in any way, grinning like an idiot. "You're funny," he murmurs, bopping my nose before flopping onto his side.

"Nerd."

He pulls me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck with a deep, exaggerated sigh.

"Goodnight, beautiful," he mumbles sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of my head.

I smile against his skin, my body sinking into his warmth. "Goodnight, Subin."

I wake up to the sound of my bedroom door opening and closing, the soft creak of the hinges pulling me from sleep. The sunlight filtering through the blinds is just bright enough to sting my barely opened eyes, making me instantly regret waking up. I groan and burrow deeper into the sheets.

"Oh, you're up? I was just about to wake you," a familiar voice teases.

Blinking against the light, I force my eyes open to find Subin standing near the door, already dressed. He looks effortlessly put together, his tousled hair the only sign that he was in bed with me just moments ago. I frown at the realization.

"Running out on me already?" I mumble, voice still thick with sleep.

He chuckles, stepping closer. "I got a call from Nayeon. She needs me to cover her shift—something about her mom's car breaking down."

I stretch, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Ah, got it. No worries. Are we still on for tonight?"

"Of course. I should be off in time," he assures me, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. It's warm, lingering just enough to make me wish he didn't have to leave.

He pulls back with a smirk. "If you miss me too much, you know where to find me."

"Smooth," I deadpan, though I can't help but smile. "Now go before you get yelled at. Again."

He groans dramatically. "You bring it up one time, and suddenly, it's a pattern."

I laugh, shooing him toward the door. He hesitates for a second, then calls over his shoulder, "Oh, by the way—I made you breakfast."

My head snaps up. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me!" he yells back, already halfway down the hall. "Enjoy it, princess!"

I roll my eyes, but warmth spreads through my chest. After a few more minutes of lounging, I finally drag myself out of bed, curiosity getting the better of me.

Padding into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks at the sight before me.

On the counter sits a beautifully plated breakfast—perfectly golden pancakes stacked neatly with fresh fruit and syrup drizzled over the top, alongside scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. A fresh cup of coffee stands beside it, and a small sticky note sits beside the plate.

I pick it up, smiling as I read Subin's messy scrawl:

"Breakfast for my queen. Hope it's edible. If not, pretend it is. See you tonight. :) - S"

I shake my head, a laugh escaping me as I take a seat at the counter. Picking up my fork, I take my first bite, and to my surprise—it's actually good.

"Okay, chef," I mutter under my breath, grinning as I eat.

Even though he's already gone, I feel his presence lingering in the apartment, and somehow, that makes the morning a little brighter. But, after finishing the last bite of breakfast, I sit at the counter for a few extra minutes, sipping my now-lukewarm coffee, staring at nothing in particular. The weight of tonight's engagement party slowly creep back into my mind, and with it, a wave of nerves.

I push the thought aside and force myself to move, heading toward the bathroom. Maybe a shower will help clear my head.

The warm water cascades over my shoulders, loosening my tense muscles, but my mind refuses to relax. Tonight should be a celebration—good food, good company, and, most importantly, Subin by my side. That alone should make me feel better. But I can't shake the nagging feeling that not everyone will be thrilled about my presence.

I think about the forced smiles and the passive-aggressive comments disguised as well-meaning advice. The silent stares from certain people who still see me as an outsider, no matter how much time has passed.

I let out a frustrated sigh, resting my forehead against the cool tile.

"It's just one night," I murmur to myself. "You can handle this."

Just as I shut off the water and step onto the bath mat, my phone buzzes from the sink. Wrapping a towel around myself, I glance at the screen.

Sonya.

I exhale, already knowing she's about to go full interrogation mode.

I swipe to answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I reach for my lotion. "Hey."

"Okay, tell me the truth," she says immediately. "On a scale of one to completely losing your mind, how stressed are you?"

I let out a breathy laugh. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? It is your engagement party, after all."

"Oh, please," she scoffs. "I'm thriving. The centerpieces are perfect, the playlist is fire, and my fiancé is obsessed with me. Nothing can ruin my night."

"Must be nice," I mutter, rubbing moisturizer onto my arms.

"Knew it," she sighs. "You always do this. It's just a party, babe."

"An engagement party," I correct, reaching for my hairbrush. "Big difference."

"Right, because people getting engaged totally means everyone else suddenly stops having basic human decency," she deadpans.

I snort, shaking my head. "You say that like you don't remember how these things go."

"I do remember," she says. "I also remember that you're not the same person you were the last time you dealt with this kind of thing. And, hello, you have Subin now. That man is obsessed with you. Let him take some of the stress off your shoulders."

I pause, staring at my reflection in the mirror. "I know. I just—"

"Just what?" she presses.

I hesitate. "I guess I just don't want him to see... all of it. The weird looks, the whispered comments. The fact that some of them hate me."

Sonya is quiet for a second before sighing. "Did you tell him about everything? About Seungcheol?"

I chew on my lip. "Last night."

Her silence is loaded. "And?"

"And..." I take a deep breath. "He took it well, actually. He listened, asked questions, and didn't judge me. When I told him about the accident, how things spiraled after that, and how messy it all got the second, I saw everyone again after two years... he didn't flinch. He didn't run."

Sonya lets out a soft hum as if processing the situation. "Okay, that is a good sign."

I let out a short laugh. "Right? I mean, considering everything? I wouldn't have blamed him if he did."

"Well, I would," she says flatly. "Because he's not some random guy. He knows you. He wants to know you. And if he stuck around after hearing all of that? It means he's serious, YN. He's in this."

I swallow, letting her words sink in. "Yeah. I guess he is."

"And that means tonight? You don't have to face it alone."

I exhale, rubbing a hand down my face. "Yeah."

"Speaking of tonight," she continues, "Jihoon and Jeonghan can stay mad about the whole Seungcheol situation if they want. And Seungcheol? He can pout all he wants. They finally know the truth about why you left, and yeah, they have the right to be upset about how things played out, but if they can't at least accept it? If they can't let it go? Then you need to move on."

I close my eyes, gripping the bathroom counter.

"You did what you felt you had to do," Sonya reminds me. "You don't owe them anything. And you especially don't owe Seungcheol your guilt. He, of all people, should know that was the hardest decision you've ever made. So, if he wants to sulk, let him. If Jihoon and Jeonghan want to be bitter, let them. But you?" She pauses for emphasis. "You deserve to have fun tonight. You deserve to enjoy yourself, with your man next to you, at a party that has nothing to do with all that old drama."

I exhale slowly.

"You're right," I finally admit. "You're annoyingly right."

"I usually am." I can practically hear her smirk. "Now, are you gonna stop spiraling and start getting hyped for tonight?"

"I'll try," I laugh.

"That's all I ask."

I hear a muffled voice in the background, followed by Sonya groaning. "Ugh, I have to go—apparently, I'm 'needed' at work. Disgusting. But I better get a full recap after the party."

"Of course," I say, a small smile forming. "Thanks, Sonya."

"Anytime, babe."

As the call disconnects, I take a deep breath, standing a little taller. Maybe tonight won't be as bad as I'm making it out to be. Maybe, with Subin next to me, I can handle whatever comes my way.

And if not? At least I'll have Sonya to vent to afterward.

I spend the next few hours mentally preparing for the evening ahead. To ease my nerves, I indulge in a comprehensive self-care routine.

I start with a full skincare regimen, applying a soothing face mask and allowing it to work its magic as I lounge on the couch, ambient music playing softly in the background. After thirty minutes, I rinse off the mask, feeling a renewed sense of calm.

Returning to the bathroom, I meticulously pluck my eyebrows, ensuring they frame my face just right. I then section my hair, carefully rolling each piece into curlers, anticipating the soft waves they'll create.

As the hours pass, I focus on the positive, envisioning laughter, reconnections, and the joy of celebrating Sonya's special moment. With each step of my routine, I feel more grounded, ready to face whatever the evening holds.

As the final hour before the engagement party ticks away, I find myself standing before my closet, deliberating over what to wear. The anticipation of the evening's events mingles with a lingering apprehension, but I remind myself of Sonya's unwavering support and Subin's steadfast presence.

I select an outfit that exudes confidence—a deep emerald dress that complements my complexion and brings out the warmth in my eyes. As I slip it on, the fabric feels like a protective armor, bolstering my resolve. I remove the rollers from my hair, letting soft waves cascade over my shoulders, and apply makeup that enhances my features without masking them.

With each step of my preparation, I focus on the positive aspects of the evening: celebrating Sonya's happiness, reconnecting with old friends, and introducing Subin to the people who have shaped my past. I take a moment to breathe deeply, centering myself and embracing the excitement that now outweighs my anxiety.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The reflection staring back is one of strength, resilience, and readiness. Tonight is not just about facing the past; it's about embracing the present and looking forward to the future.

My phone vibrating brings me out of my thoughts, and I walk over to see a text from Dokyeom.

New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔: Please tell me you haven't backed out and are still coming tonight

I sigh. I love Dokyeom. And I hate that he's in the middle of all this drama. He's probably the most kind-hearted person out of all of us and definitely an empath. I know he's just looking out for me, so I unlocked my phone to respond.

Me: Kyeomie. I wouldn't miss tonight for the world. Don't worry about me so much, okay?

New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔: Whew. That's a relief!!! (✿ŎヮŎ) cheer up, YN!!

Just as I hit the heart reaction on Dokyeom's text, a knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I assume it's Subin, so I smooth down the fabric of my dress, do a quick once-over in the mirror, and head toward the door.

But when I open it, my breath catches in my throat.

Subin stands there, looking—well, amazing is an understatement. He's dressed in a sleek black suit, the jacket perfectly tailored to his frame, the dark fabric contrasting against his warm skin. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, revealing just a hint of his collarbone, and his hair is styled effortlessly like he just ran his fingers through it, and somehow it turned out perfect.

His eyes flicker over me in return, widening slightly before a slow, appreciative smile spreads across his lips.

"Wow," he exhales, stepping closer. "You look... stunning."

I feel heat rush to my cheeks as I tuck a loose curl behind my ear. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He tilts his head, smirking. "Pretty well? That's all I get?"

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Okay, fine. You look ridiculously good."

"That's more like it," he chuckles, then reaches out, his fingers gently brushing my waist before settling there. "Are you ready?"

I take a deep breath, nodding. "As I'll ever be."

Subin searches my face as if checking for any signs of doubt. "Hey," he murmurs, squeezing my waist. "No matter what happens tonight, you've got me, okay?"

His words settle something deep inside me, the lingering nerves still present but slightly less suffocating. I nod again, more sure this time. "Okay."

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before stepping back and offering his arm. "Then let's go show them how good we look together."

I laugh, linking my arm with his. "You just want to make everyone jealous, don't you?"

"Absolutely," he grins. "And because you deserve to enjoy tonight. No weird looks, no whispered comments—just us celebrating Sonya."

I squeeze his arm as we step out the door. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all.

The drive to the venue is quiet at first, the soft hum of the car filling the silence between us. The city lights blur past the window, a gentle reminder of how much time has passed since I was last here, last surrounded by all the people I once called my closest friends.

Subin glances over at me, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console. "You're doing that thing again," he says lightly.

I blink, turning toward him. "What thing?"

"That thing where you get stuck in your head," he replies, stealing another glance at me before focusing back on the road. "Whatever you're overthinking, stop."

I huff out a small laugh. "Easier said than done."

He chuckles, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Alright, then, let's get your mind off it. How about this—if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

I tilt my head, considering it. "Anywhere?"

"Anywhere," he confirms.

I pretend to think for a second before smirking. "Somewhere far away from this party."

Subin laughs, shaking his head. "Okay, that was too easy. But really, if you could be anywhere, no obligations, no expectations—just you, picking a place."

I sigh, leaning back against the seat. "Maybe... a quiet beach somewhere. Somewhere warm, with soft sand and water so clear you can see straight to the bottom."

He hums in approval. "That sounds nice."

"What about you?" I ask.

Subin grins. "Same place, but only if you're there too."

I roll my eyes, but I can't fight the small smile tugging at my lips. "Smooth."

"Always," he teases, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

I glance down at our intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing soothing circles against my skin. The tension in my shoulders eases just a little.

"Thank you," I say softly, turning to him.

"For what?"

"For coming with me. For... making this easier."

Subin squeezes my hand again. "You don't have to thank me, YN. I'd follow you anywhere."

His words settle something deep in my chest, pushing away some of the lingering nerves.

As we pull up to the venue, I take one last deep breath.

Whatever happens tonight, at least I won't be facing it alone.

As we pull up to the venue, I take one last deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. Subin turns off the engine, and for a moment, the quiet of the car wraps around us like a cocoon. I glance at him—his steady gaze and gentle smile remind me that, no matter what tonight brings, I'm not alone.

"Ready?" he asks softly, his hand still resting on mine.

I nod, swallowing away the last remnants of anxiety as we gather our things. The cool night air hits me as we step out of the car. The venue is bathed in a warm glow—string lights crisscross overhead, and soft laughter mingles with the hum of conversation. I can see familiar faces through the large windows, some smiling in recognition, others offering cautious glances.

Subin squeezes my hand. "Let's go show them how good we look together," he teases, a playful lilt in his voice.

I manage a small smile as we walk toward the entrance. Inside, the room buzzes with energy. The soft glow of chandeliers, the clink of glasses, and the murmur of reunions all blend together into a comforting symphony. I catch a few nods of acknowledgment from Sonya's family and even a few tentative smiles from those who might have once doubted my place here.

Sonya had mentioned that Joshua had reserved a private area just for us—and she wasn't kidding. We make our way to the roped-off section, and as we pass, several heads turn in our direction.

"Speak of the devil," Joshua calls out with a grin.

"Joshie, my goodness, it's so good to see you!" I hug him tightly.

"Looking beautiful as always. I've missed you," he says, letting go slowly, his eyes warm with genuine affection.

"Oh, stop it. I've missed you too—missed all of you!" I reply, moving through the small crowd to hug everyone. I awkwardly navigate around Seungcheol and the woman beside him.

"Jeon! Congratulations. I'm happy for you two," I say as I give him one last hug, and he places a friendly kiss on my cheek.

"About damn time!" DK chimes in, and we all burst into laughter.

"Hey, who's this, YN?" Chan asks, nodding toward the quiet figure lingering behind me.

"Oh, this is Subin—YN's friend," Sonya announces with a playful smirk. I sigh inwardly, feeling the weight of recent awkwardness.

"Sorry about that awkward encounter last week. We were just worried," she adds quickly.

Subin steps forward with an easy smile. "No need to apologize. You were just looking out for her. It's a pleasure to finally meet you—and congratulations to you both," he says, bowing slightly in a manner that makes everyone chuckle.

"Everyone, this is Subin," Sonya declares. I roll my eyes affectionately as I turn to him. "Subin, meet Jeonghan, Joshua, Soonyoung, the man of the hour Wonwoo, Jun, Mingyu, Minghao, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan—also known as Dino. You've kind of met DK and Jihoon already. And that's Seungcheol, and—sorry, I didn't catch your name," I say, nodding toward the stunning woman next to him.

She's striking: long, sleek black hair, a dazzling smile, a red dress that slips off her shoulders just enough, and matching deep red lipstick. I see Seungcheol tense beside her as she speaks.

"Hello! I'm Haneul. It's so nice to finally meet you; I've heard so much about you," she chirps brightly.

God, I hate how effortlessly kind she seems.

"Hm. Haneul, what a pretty name. Nice to meet you, too," I reply, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. I steal a glance at Jihoon, who's watching me, and offer a small wave—only to see him turn away, and it stings a little more than I'd like.

"Big friend group you've got there. You sure there's room for me?" Subin jokes and laughter ripple through the crowd—everyone except Jihoon and Seungcheol, whose expressions remain guarded.

"Ah, plenty of room. The more, the merrier, right?" Joshua adds with a light laugh.

"Well, now that introductions are over, let's get this party started!" I declare, and Sonya shoots me a look that's both amused and a little puzzled.

The room erupts in cheers as drinks are poured and conversations overlap. Subin and I find seats across from Seungcheol and Haneul. I can feel his eyes on me—steady, calculating—and it reminds me that tonight is bound to be complex.

I spend a moment absorbing the scene—the clink of glasses, the buzz of reuniting voices, and the undercurrent of tension in every sideways glance. Despite the festive chaos, my mind flickers back to all that I shared with Subin last night about Seungcheol, the accident, and how things got so messy the moment I reappeared after two long years.

Later, during a lull in the mingling, Sonya corners me near the bar. "So," she says in a hushed tone.

"Sonya, you know I love you. But, this is your party. You do not need to check on me every five minutes," I groan.

Before she can respond, Dokyeom makes his way over.

"You and Subin look cozy," DK teases, and I shoot him a playful glare.

"Not a dig, I swear! You two look good," he insists, grinning.

Sonya chimes in, "Yeah, so, what's the status on that?" Her tone is light but curious.

I roll my eyes. "It's not official, I think... I don't know. He's been staying over," I admit before their eyes practically pop out in shock.

"He what!?" they all exclaim in unison.

"Oh, my bestie finally got a man!" Sonya teases and I lightly smack her arm in mock reprimand.

"Speaking of," DK says from behind me, and I turn to see Subin approaching with two cups in hand.

"Those better both be for him," Sonya remarks as Subin hands me one of the cups. I offer her an awkward smile and clink my cup with his before downing the mysterious liquid. I scrunch my nose as the alcohol burns down my throat.

"I told them to surprise me. Remind me never to do that again," Subin grumbles, setting the cups aside.

Sonya shoots me an unamused look. "We'll talk about this later," she warns, and I roll my eyes in return.

"Jihoon's been shooting daggers at you all night," DK continues. "I get Seungcheol's grumpiness, but how come you two still haven't made up? We were always three peas in a pod."

I laugh, "It's two peas, Kyeomie. And besides, he'll get over it." I cringe when Seungcheol's name is mentioned.

DK's expression darkens. "You get what I mean. He's been up Jeonghan's ass all night, too. Won't even drink with me. Why's he mad at me!?" he pouts dramatically.

I put my hands up in surrender. "Love, can we table this? Tonight's about Wonwoo and Sonya. Save the intervention for later—just give him time."

He sighs, clearly frustrated. "Whatever. I'm going to find Mingyu," he mutters, storming off.

"Seokmin, come on!" I call after him, trying to stop him, but Sonya places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Let it go. Enjoy the night," she says softly before walking away.

I lean back, smiling to myself. Even amidst all the teasing and drama, it's moments like these—full of laughter, banter, and genuine care—that remind me why tonight is worth embracing.

Subin sits on the stool next to me and places his hand on my knee.

"How are we feeling?"

I sigh. "Honestly, it could be worse. Enough drama, though. How are you? They seem to like you. Well, most of them, anyways," I let out a breathy laugh.

"I'm alright. If it becomes too much, just say the words, and we can leave," he squeezes my hand, and I give him a small nod.

"You should mingle. I want to check on DK, and I need to stop avoiding Jihoon—for his sake," I say firmly, pulling away with determined resolve.

"Good luck," Subin replies, kissing me one last time before we part.

I stride over to the table where Jihoon, DK, and Seungcheol are gathered, their faces drawn into a silent tableau. The room's buzz seems to pause around us for a moment.

"This is a sight for sore eyes," I remark, attempting to pierce the tension. Jihoon scoffs.

"I thought you two were just friends?" he mutters under his breath.

"Is that all you have to say? Really? Come on, Jihoon," I plead, frustration lacing my tone.

"Not mad. Just... I have nothing to say," he replies coolly, his eyes avoiding mine.

I lean over toward Seungcheol. "Is he giving you the silent treatment, too?" I ask, trying to catch even a flicker of concern in his gaze.

Seungcheol merely shrugs, his expression unreadable, his tone flat. "Pretty much."

That is the final straw. I straighten up, my voice rising over the pulsing music. "Alright, listen up!" I snap louder than I intended. "I know this isn't ideal, but can you guys at least pretend to care about your best friends getting engaged? Put your pride aside for two fucking seconds!"

For a split second, their eyes—some amused, some indifferent—are on me.

"What she said!" DK chimes in.

"And you, Seokmin, stop instigating," I added sharply.

"Hey!" Seokmin protests.

I turn back to Seungcheol, my gaze piercing. "Seungcheol, you're here with a beautiful woman, why are you sitting there pouting like you couldn't care less? Go dance with her! Jihoon, find a cute girl to dance with—or even dance with Seokmin if that's your style. Stop being mopey and act like you care about something other than yourselves tonight!"

The words hang in the air. Jihoon grumbles, "Alright, alright! Damn," and he stands, clapping DK on the back. "Seungcheol, if I have to, so do you. Get up," Jihoon adds with a nudge.

Seungcheol finally stands and grabs his crutch, his movement is sluggish, his eyes cold and indifferent as if my outburst barely registers. "Still scaring people, I see," he mutters, his voice void of any real emotion. His detached gaze sends a jolt through me—a reminder that beneath all this chaos, some wounds run deeper than playful banter.

"Told you. She hasn't changed," DK jokes and the rest of them start to disperse under my parting death glare.

For a moment, the tension lingers like a heavy fog, and I can't help but feel that sting of indifference from Seungcheol as it slices through the festive atmosphere. The noise of the party swells back around us, but a piece of my mind remains fixed on his icy detachment.

Two hours later, after rallying Jihoon, DK, and the others into a semblance of celebration, I find myself immersed in the dance floor's energy. The music pulses through my body, and laughter mingles with the clink of glasses. I let the moment wash over me, trying to forget that earlier confrontation.

Yet, even amid the swirling joy, I can't shake the memory of Seungcheol's unmoved expression. His indifference lingers like an aftertaste, a stark contrast to the warmth of our shared memories. Still, I push it aside. Tonight, I'm here to celebrate new beginnings—even if some old ghosts refuse to be exorcised completely.

As I dance with friends, I catch glimpses of their encouraging smiles, and even Jihoon eventually joins in, his earlier aloofness replaced with reluctant amusement. DK claps me on the back during a particularly energetic song, and for a fleeting moment, the night feels bright, unburdened by past dramas.

In the midst of it all, I steal a glance toward the quieter corner of the room, where Seungcheol stands apart, still wrapped in his-whatever you want to call it. A mixture of longing and frustration wells up in me—but then Subin squeezes my hand, grounding me with his reassuring warmth.

With each beat of the music, I choose to let the laughter and camaraderie carry me forward. Tonight, I decide, I will dance, I will celebrate, and I will embrace every moment—knowing that despite the lingering shadows, I am not defined by them. And if Seungcheol's indifference remains, so be it. I have Subin, I have friends, and most importantly, I have the strength to keep moving toward a happier tomorrow.

As the night slowly winds down, the energy in the room begins to shift. The once pulsating beat of the music softens, and the vibrant chatter mellows into gentle murmurs. Groups that had been dancing wildly now huddle in small clusters, sharing stories and laughter laced with fatigue and contentment. Some guests, still buoyant on a heady mix of excitement and alcohol, stagger out with bright, unsteady smiles, while others lean back into worn couches or chairs, their eyes heavy with tired joy.

I watch as the party gradually empties. Glasses clink softly on nearly empty tables, and the once-busy dance floor now hosts only the occasional slow sway of a few lingering souls. In the midst of it all, Subin catches my eye and offers a warm, understanding smile—a silent promise that our night isn't over just yet.

Just then, as the final strains of music begin to fade, Subin moves closer. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he leans in and whispers, "One last dance?"

I can feel my heart skip a beat at his request. Without hesitation, I take his hand, and together, we step onto the near-empty dance floor. The soft lights bathe us in a gentle glow as we sway slowly, our bodies moving in quiet harmony. The world around us has nearly vanished, leaving only the rhythmic pulse of our hearts and the lingering warmth of the night.

As our final song drifts softly over the dance floor, I catch a glimpse of Seungcheol standing abruptly, his face a mix of anger and sadness. Without a word, he slips away from the group, leaving an uneasy silence in his wake. For a split second, I worry—wondering if his departure might cast a shadow over the night.

But just as the tension begins to rise, Sonya and Wonwoo make their way over, grinning and determined to turn the moment around.

"Alright, let's show them how it's done," Wonwoo declares, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Before I can protest, Subin slides back, giving my Wonwoo permission, and a lighthearted ritual quickly unfolds. Subin and Wonwoo take turns dancing with me—a slow, teasing waltz that blends silly twirls with genuine laughter. Every awkward step becomes a joke, every shared glance a burst of fun that chases away the earlier gloom.

As if catching the contagious joy, Sonya can't resist any longer. With a bright laugh, she steps onto the dance floor, joining in the merriment. Soon, Subin, Sonya, and Wonwoo rotate partners, swapping off with me in a series of impromptu slow dances. Our playful banter fills the air, and even as I steal a fleeting glance at the spot where Seungcheol had been, the energy around me feels overwhelmingly joyful.

In the midst of our dancing, Jihoon steps onto the floor and catches Subin's eye with a questioning look. Before I know it, Subin gently takes my hand and places it in Jihoon's, then makes his way back to the table. I meet Jihoon's gaze, and unexpectedly, tears begin to well up in my eyes. He sighs, lowering his voice as if afraid the noise might shatter the fragile moment.

"YN, I'm sorry," he says softly.

I remain silent for a beat, the memories of that long-ago day at the park—the promise we made to stay together no matter what—flashing unbidden through my mind. Finally, Jihoon continues, his tone laced with regret. "I just... I don't know what got over me. I couldn't help but think about that day at the park when we promised we'd never let anything tear us apart. And then you left... I never understood why. It's not fair to you, and I am so sorry."

Tears stain my cheeks as his words sink in. "You hurt me, Ji," I manage to whisper, the pain of abandonment mingling with the bittersweet nostalgia of lost promises.

"I know. I'm sorry," he replies, his voice barely audible, before pulling me into a tight, apologetic hug that speaks of longing and regret.

After a moment, he releases me gently. "Subin seems good for you. I'm happy you have him," Jihoon adds, glancing sideways at Subin, who now watches from a distance with quiet composure.

I pull back, meeting Jihoon's eyes, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Are you saying you enjoy him?" I tease softly, the tension easing into a fragile humor.

"Don't make it weird," Jihoon retorts with a playful roll of his eyes. "I now understand that you did what you needed to do."

A charged silence passes between us—a mixture of apology, acceptance, and the unspoken acknowledgment that things have changed. Then, with a slight shrug and a tentative smile, Jihoon turns back toward the edge of the dance floor, leaving me with a heart that feels both heavy and strangely hopeful.

In that moment, surrounded by the fading energy of the night and the lingering warmth of our impromptu slow dance, I realize that tonight is a tapestry of emotions—joy, regret, acceptance, and the promise of new beginnings. And though the past still echoes in the quiet corners of my heart, I'm learning to embrace the present, one step—and one dance—at a time.

Sonya catches my arm and pulls me aside near the bar. Her eyes, usually brimming with playful mischief, now hold genuine concern.

"Hey, YN," she says quietly, "what was that conversation with Jihoon all about?"

I pause, glancing over at the remnants of our earlier dance with Jihoon and the others. Taking a slow breath, I meet her gaze. "It wasn't anything explosive," I reply softly. "Just a quiet understanding between us. I guess I realized that, despite everything, it's all going to be okay."

Sonya's expression relaxes, and a small, reassuring smile tugs at her lips. "That's good to hear," she murmurs. "I just needed to know you're alright."

"I am," I say, giving her a gentle squeeze of my hand. "Sometimes a quiet moment says more than all the drama in the world."

With that, Sonya nods and gives me one final hug before Subin and I head out. I step away, still feeling the warmth of her embrace as if it were a promise that everything will be alright. Outside, the cool night air greets us like a gentle reminder that a new day is on the horizon. Subin catches my hand as we make our way toward the exit, his grip firm and reassuring.

I glance back at the fading lights of the venue, letting the lingering hum of laughter and music sink in for a moment—a farewell to the chaos of the night and a silent vow to carry its lessons forward. "Everything's going to be okay," I whisper to myself, echoing the quiet understanding I just shared with Sonya.

Subin smiles at me, and in that smile, I see both comfort and resolve. "Let's go," he says softly, and together we step into the night, leaving behind the remnants of a bittersweet evening. Each step away feels like a small act of defiance against the past—a step toward new beginnings.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the dancer and the angel PART 5 (finale)

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: a forbidden kiss, a fallout, a drunken secret and a broken girl… it all comes down to this

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

a/n: what a journey!! who knew this whole series could come from one request!! thank you @emelia07, I owe this all to you my love!! and thank you for everyone who has read along and been anticipating this part, your support and love has been AMAZINGGGG

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses @book-nerd-emi @peppapigsposts

YOUR POV

Light streams through the window and my head thumps, a constant monotonous banging. I groan, wincing slightly as I try to roll over into a more comfortable position to re-enter sleep. I feel like I’ve just been hit by a bus, my limbs ached and weighed heavy against the rest of my body. Even my mattress feels uncomfortable, it’s much stiffer than it usually is.

I don’t open my eyes, I prefer the solace I’m finding darkness at the moment. With a pounding head and sore body all I want to do is go back to sleep but it seems my overactive brain has other ideas. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with a flash of memories. Last night rushes through my brain in jerky disconnected moments. Grayson kissed Lyra. I had gone clubbing with Avery. Gigi was missing. The bottle of alcohol I’d snagged to drown everything out, the crying, the running, the ocean and Grayson in my room.

Oh. Shit.

I suddenly realise I can smell him all over me. My mouth grows sour. I struggle to open my eyes, they feel velcro-ed shut but I manage to pry them open. Everything’s a little hazy, though once my vision clears I realise why my mattress feels so funny. Beneath me isn’t a mattress at all. It’s a man I never wish to see again.

I sit up suddenly, jerking away from him as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I know it’s not the alcohol, I don’t get sick from it. It’s the realisation, the dread pooling the deepest pit of my stomach. This couldn’t be happening.

Scenes replay in my head, like a twisted sort of horror movie where I am the main character who walks into the room the audience knows the killer is in, the same audience who is screaming at their television screens that I shouldn’t walk into that room alone with no weapons. But that’s the thing, you can’t change a film but screaming at the tv. What’s done is done.

Everything I said, I remember it so clearly. I’d told him everything. The truth. The truth that I’d planned to bury alive until it died naturally. It was never meant to have a voice again but of course under alcohol my brain was persuaded much more easily.

“I love you,” I’d mumbled, the words tumbling out in my drunken phase.

I’d admitted to still loving him at least three times and that was how many times in remembered. I feel a little more queasy at the thought.

I dare to glance to my left. Half of his face is buried in the pillow, golden hair spilling over the other. His eyes are closed and his face looks calm, peaceful, beautiful. How dare he look like that.

Panic seizes in my throat. I don’t know what to do. Wake him, yell at him, kick him out, kiss him, leave the room and tell him it was all a dream if he questioned it. My head spins and my heart thumps. I can barely see straight, overwhelmed with a sea of emotion. I’m angry and I’m upset and I’m desperate and I’m confused.

His eyes flicker of open before I have the chance to decide my best move. He immediately meets my eye and sits up in the bed. He’s frozen, half way between going to say something and saying nothing at all. Any lingering tiredness dissipates into panic.

“What are you doing here?” I yelp, before he even has the chance to plead innocent, “why are you in my bed?”

“You were drunk,” he blurts out suddenly, arms defensive over his naked torso.

“And that’s why you’re in my bed,” I cry out incredulously, widening my eyes.

He rolls his, “you wanted me to stay, I couldn’t leave you alone on that state.”

“I was only in that state because I was trying to forget about you,” I snap back, climbing off of the mattress to pull my shoes on.

“Forget about me?” he murmurs, almost in some sort of daze as he shifts his weight on the bed.

I glance up, not accustomed to the vulnerability of his tone when we were arguing. Of course I don’t want to forget about him, I’d wanted to forget that I’d been stupid enough to give someone my heart.

But he didn’t have to know that.

He looks delicate, just sat there, his features soft and mellow. I want nothing more than to reach out and cup his face in my palms and kiss all his pain away, all his built up fear and uncertainty. To run tender fingertips across his shirtless chest, to his collarbone and neck, only for them to get lost in the golden halo of hair that sat atop his head.

My own cravings and desperation annoy me. Why am I still drawn to someone who caused me so much hurt? My head spins. I always make the same mistakes, you’d think I would’ve learnt by now. I just decide in the flash of a moment that I need to see this through, whatever this is now, it needs to be over.

“Oh,” I tusk, rolling my eyes, “don’t sound like such a hurt bird.”

“I don’t I-“

He stands up and attempts to make his way over to me. I move away.

“Just shut up and get out,” I groan, cutting him off, pressing my cold fingertips to my temples, “I’ve got a banging headache and I just want to be alone.”

I sound like a bitch but he’s not exactly making this easy for me not to. I’m hungover and heartbroken, not the best mix.

He looks at me, eyes scanning over me too tenderly. I want to melt back into his arms and fall asleep with the comfort of his soft breathing. When his eyes roam me like that I feel vulnerable, like he can see all of the things that are hurting me most. I don’t like it, he shouldn’t have that right, not anymore.

“Let me help you,” he says quietly and twinge of desperation in his throat.

My insides are screaming at me to just collide with his mouth and accept anything that he says. I look him up and down and discard this moment, these feelings and whatever happened last night. I remember who he really is and what he really did. The part of him I can’t sugarcoat.

I scoff, tightening my arms across my chest., “I think you’ve helped enough.”

He look even more hurt as he steps closer, “please let me-“

A tingle runs down my spine at the familiar position we’re in. I can’t do this.

“Grayson,” I say sharply, “leave.”

And so he does.

He turns his back and walks out of the door, shutting it gently behind him. Part of me wishes he fought harder and part of me is glad. I sink down to the floor my head in my hands. I wait for the tears that are bound to fall but the tease me and make me wait that little bit longer to cry.

Head pounding, heavy with exhaustion and all I want is his touch back, I want his voice back, I want him back but I can’t afford to want anything like that. Not anymore I suppose.

***

GRAYSONS POV

“Grayson,” the way she says my name sends a sort of electrical shock through me, her tone is so attacking and bitter I almost wince, “leave.”

Leave. Last night I was supposed to leave but she asked me to stay, this time she’s asking me to leave but all I want to do is stay.

But I turn my back and walk out of the door. I owe her this and so much more, I can’t deny her of anything else, I can’t be selfish enough to stay. My token of selfishness ran out last night or maybe even long before that.

I feel numb. Through my veins courses an icy silver liquid, my brain is a void of empty blackness lacking thoughts or emotion and my heart can’t seem to beat. Everything is gone. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to meet my death, I’ll never know when it’s coming or who caused it but I’m contented, maybe even intrigued with the possibility.

I wanted nothing more than to fight for her, stay there and demand she didn’t let me go. I want her to know how much again, how sorry I am, but what good is an apology when you’ve destroyed someone’s heart?

The numbness floods away and it hits me out of nowhere that this time I’m leaving for good. The realisation attacks me hard in the chest, bullets raining on my skin, making it a little difficult for me to breathe. A tightness constricts my upper body and I feel hazy.

I’m not going anywhere in particular, I just let my feet carry me away. Where is there to go without her? I’m an idiot. Why did I think this morning it would be any different? I’d brainwashed myself into thinking she still actually wanted me because she’d said it when she was drunk. Deep down I knew this would happen and I still stayed.

I’m a selfish bastard. Just like my grandfather.

Where to go from here? I’m alone, sat on a slab of ebony rock, staring out to sea. Usually a practice like this would calm me enough to get me to think straight but today it’s a different story.

Slowly I strip my blazer coat from my back and disgusts the shirt I’d rushed on only moments ago and trousers. I leave them folded on the black rock and make my way to the ocean. I come to the edge, the waves coming to shore lapping my bare feet and ankles.

Then I dive.

As far out as possible into the waters, until I’m out of my depth. Whilst treading waters I analyse how far out I am and the seven best possible ways to get help if I come into danger before I begin to swim.

I’ve spent so much of my life swimming, I know when I’ve hit twenty five meters and then fifty. My body is used to how it feels. So I just do it over and over and over and over. I can feel my brain becoming a blank canvas. Swimming helps me think.

Though, I’ve never enjoyed swimming the ocean, not properly swimming anyway. But I suppose that’s not what the ocean was made for. A pool is reliable. There’s no current, no salt burning your eyes, no creatures lurking beneath the surface. As I swim, I’m constantly thrown off course by the waves, that only seem to grow in size. But maybe that’s a good thing, I have to work that much harder to reach my goal.

Suddenly I stop and make my way to shore, breathing heavily as I sit on the edge where the sand meets the sea. I know what I need to do and my chest feels hollow before I even do it.

LYRAS POV

My chest heaves in and out, rising up and down as I gulp in the oxygen that dance had just stolen. I stay on the floor, toe pointed, arms poised. I don’t know how long I’m there for but eventually I will myself to stand up. I’ve danced, my feelings should be processed, but oddly enough they don’t seem to be. Not like they usually are.

I feel someone’s eyes on me, a prickling sensation creeping down the back of my neck. I turn and face the my unwanted visitor. Perfected blonde hair though seemingly a little damp, mellow gray eyes and a suit. He’s here, of course he’s here. He can’t leave anyone or anything alone, he has to have it all. My peace, my freedom, my expression and his shadow bears weight over it all.

Fury courses through my veins, like lightning ready to strike. It crackles and hisses impatient to put a deadly shock through someone. I feel my expression morph into a scowl, my eyes narrow into sharp slits and despite my previously open body language through my routine I now tuck myself in and away from his prying eyes. I force myself up, legs still a little shaky from the adrenaline of the routine. I stand still, if he wants to talk, he can walk to me.

“Lyra-“ he begins, stepping inwards.

“You,” I spit, a bitter venom coating my tongue, acidic and sharp.

Something flickers across his face. Is that fear I sense? Good. I’m ready for a fight, for a battle, maybe even a war.

“Look-“ he tries to begin again.

I don’t give him the chance to continue. He doesn’t deserve to plead his apologies, I won’t be swayed with empty words.

“You are a horrible man,” I seethe, fire in my belly, “if you can even call yourself a man, I’ve got several other less polite words for it.”

“Please you do not need to list them,” he replies dryly.

I bark out a surprised laugh, “still arrogant, still full of yourself, after everything you’ve done and the people you’ve hurt you have the audacity to-“

“I’m sorry-“ he interrupts me with an earnest look in his eyes I can’t ignore. Maybe just maybe he really is sorry… or maybe he’s the fantastic actor he’s always been.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I tell him coldly.

His desperate eyes dare to find mine, “hear me out-“

“No,” I shake my head, “I’m done with listening to you and your lies.”

He winces as if I’ve struck him across the face, “Lyra I didn’t mean to-“

“You did. And you won’t make that mistake again,” I say, an uninvited rawness in my voice, “not with me.”

“Lyra please-“

“Beg all you want,” I cut him off again. I know the lines he’s rehearsed, I’ve heard them said by other men. I don’t give in to excuses, not from a man like him, “get on your knees I don’t care there’s nothing you can say to save yourself now and who’s fault is that?”

“Mine,” he barely murmurs, looking like a scorned child.

“Funny,” I say, dropping my voice low, “it’s so convenient now is the time you take responsibly for your actions, maybe you should’ve thought about them before-“

“I made a mistake,” Grayson bursts, the action so sudden and out of character I wonder if it’s really him talking or some deranged drunken version.

I check his eyes. He’s sober. And yet here he is standing in front of me, admiting he’s wrong and actually looking apologetic for it.

“That much is evident,” I scoff, still I can’t trust any word that comes out of his mouth, any look in his eyes, “but you did worse than that. You hurt me, you hurt the girl who loved you, who gave you everything but still wasn’t enough to satisfy your egotistical, spoilt desires,” I seethe, “you didn’t only do that but you made me into someone I’m not and you of all people don’t get to do that. I write my own story, paint my own picture, dance to my own tune. You don’t get to decide who I am and you have, you’ve made me the slut who goes around kissing other people’s boyfriends.”

“She knows you didnt know,” he replies, almost softly.

“And what’s it to me now?” I ask with a crisp laugh, “What’s done is done and everything is ruined.”

“You’re right,” he mumble miserably.

“You know if I’d even thought for a fraction of a second there was someone else I wouldn’t have even looked in your direction,” I tell him.

It’s more than true, I could never do that to someone, not on purpose. It isn’t me.

“I know,” Grayson says, “you’re a good person.”

“I don’t need you of all people to tell me that,” I snap, keeping up every wall I could. He will never get past them again.

“You intrigued me,” he admits, as if it makes the situation better.

“Men are led by greedy eyes and tiny dicks,” I spit, such fury in my voice I almost don’t recognise myself.

He can’t stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards in surprise.

“The first half of that sentence was true,” he murmurs.

“Protecting your pride still,” I sneer, as if any man wouldn’t have, “how can you come here and look me in the eye to plead for forgiveness after what you’ve done.”

He looks pained, “I don’t know.”

“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. One final time.

“I know,” he sighs.

I’ve never seen a man that held himself with such composure look so defeated. I don’t enjoy this, making anyone feel like this, even if it’s him. He may have hurt people but it doesn’t make him immune to feeling hurt himself.

Still, that didn’t kill the pure anger within me, the burning ferocity for someone who had done me wrong. And maybe I’m a fool for being blinded by such an explosive emotion but I don’t care. I can’t afford to care.

So I almost smile, “I hope she doesn’t still love you, in fact I hope she hates you for the rest of your life and you spend your days torturing yourself over this.”

“I’m sorry I kissed you Lyra, I’m sorry I played with your heart,” he says solemnly.

“You didn’t play with anything,” I laugh, “if you think you got remotely close to my heart you’d be gravely mistaken.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you then,” he replied calmly, “and I’m sorry I painted you in a bad light.”

“But you’ll win this game in the end won’t you,” I say with a shrug, my voice softens, “of course you will.”

“There’s no game here Lyra,” he responds, a vulnerability in his tone, “just a stupid man and two angry women.”

“She doesn’t deserve you,” I reply, looking him up and down.

“I know that,” Grayson admits, “she never has.”

“And you proved that to her,” I remind him, salt in his wounds, I want them to burn as much as her heart does.

“I know that too,” he says, his voice soft and quiet.

He looks too agonised and suddenly I can’t bear to look at him.

“I want you to leave,” I tell him quickly, “and don’t look back.”

He nods silently, “I’m sorry, truly.”

I stare, waiting for him to leave. I would not run from a man, he should do the walk of shame out.

“Don’t even think about coming anywhere near me after this,” I call out, “this is a forever goodbye, Hawthorne. Stay out of my life.”

He doesn’t respond, only gives a second nod before he turns his back and walks off slowly. I exhale softly and hit play on the music to start a second routine with a now cleared head.

***

YOUR POV

The bathroom tiles are cold under my thighs but they’ve almost gone as numb as the rest of me. I’ve been sat here for who knows how long recounting last nights events over and over, all the parts I didn’t want to remember and maybe some parts that I won’t admit I do. This is one of the reasons I don’t drink, but of course I’d break that rule for him, betraying my own morals again for the same stupid man. I’m exhausted, physically exhausted by it all. I tip my head back and rest it on the edge of the bathtub, a chill runs down my neck reminding me of what his touch to me.

‘But I can’t say it out loud, because then I’m an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me.’

Of all the things to say I really did have to spill everything didn’t I? There’s no way of taking back, even twisting it into something it’s not. What I said was too raw to be lied about. Denial seems like my new best friend. If I pretend for long enough I never said it, maybe I’ll fool myself into believing it too.

‘And I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasn’t working.’

Even my drunken tongue had lied, I’d realised before the alcohol even had the pleasure of burning its way down my throat that it wouldn’t work. I’d just convinced myself it might attack the pain receptors in my body.

‘It’s because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it can’t stop beating your name.’

Did his heart beat mine? His replies are hazier than my memory of what I’d said. My stupidity is woven deep into my brain, his hit the hardest when he’s kissed her so any other stupid things past that were more forgettable. My stomach rolls at the thought of all I’d admitted to last night. I groan wishing for the floor to swallow me whole and softly drown me into an eternal darkness.

But I can’t keep walking through this endlessness, whatever feelings I had left for him I had to leave behind. I’m good at tricking my mind and that is my plan now, trick my mind into thinking I don’t love, I can’t love. Maybe next time I won’t be so hurt. I stand up and gaze at the girl in the mirror, finally silencing the voice that was picking out all the features Lyra had that I didn’t. I inhale and exhale deeply. All my feelings would be discarded, here and now I decide. The moment I step from this bathroom and close the door, I’m closing off connection to him.

I walk slowly towards the door, my legs a little more shaky and a little less numb. I can’t tell which I prefer. I breathe deeply as I step out, taking in our happy memories for one last time, before this mess of a relationship it has become. And finally, finally I shut the bathroom door.

He’s out of my mind and I’m focussed on something else. I want to find Gigi, then I want to have a good nights sleep and then I want to go and find a career I love and cut this Hawthorne part of my life out completely. To truly lose him, I needed to lose everything close to him too. I can’t afford to be drawn back again.

I leave the room I’d slept in the night before and walk, fast paced and strong steps that leave me slightly breathless after a while. The island is bigger than it looks with many different pathways to walk.

I pick the one that seems the longest. I need to clear my head and focus on where Gigi could possibly be. I feel consumed with guilt that I hadn’t been trying harder to find her, instead I’ve been wrapped up in my own problems. She could be dead, dying or something worse that I didn’t even want to start imagining. All I know is, we have to work harder to find her and it starts here and now.

I need to gather all the information. When. When did she go missing? Exact time stamps of everything to calculate how swiftly any of this happened. Where. Where was she taken? We needed to revisit all the places she could be or could’ve been taken from. How. How was she taken? Did it leave any evidence? Would that give us a clue to who it might have been? Why. Why would someone want her? What’s the motive behind it all? What. What did they want? Surely they wanted something right? Who. The big question mark and blank face. Who in the world would want to kidnap Juliet Grayson?

A hand touches my shoulder and I flinch, immediately going into fight or flight. Unfortunately for the other person I choose to fight, twisting their arm quickly. They clearly aren’t expecting it as they cry out and don’t react fast enough. When I hear the sound of her voice I immediately drop the tight grasp I’d had on her and repeat apologies.

“I am so sorry,” I exhale, “I was thinking deeply about Gigi and I thought you might be a kidnapper.”

“It’s okay,” Avery says, hiding her wince quite well as she adjusted her arm, “you totally would’ve kicked ass if I had been a kidnapper.”

I try to smile but can only manage a half grimace, “thanks.”

She tilts her head as our eyes meet.

“You okay?” Avery asks, looking pitiful.

I hate it. I hate to think she feels sorry for me. What’s done is done, we all just need to forget and move on and her pity is only making me remember. I run a hand over my face to break eye contact. Clearly I look worse than I thought I did despite trying to hide my tired eyes and hollow cheeks with makeup.

“Fine,” I respond with a small shrug, as we begin a slow walk down.

She hesitates, I can tell she’d unsure to carry on the conversation, but she does anyway, “you don’t seem fine.”

I chew my bottom lip trying to come up with some sort of plausible excuse, “rough sleep,” I manage, my throat a little dry.

The silence between us feels thick and heavy, not the way it usually might. The paranoia in me thinks she knows something.

She stares at me for a moment and then sighs, saying what’s really on her mind, “why did Grayson walk out of your room this morning?”

And for once the paranoia is right.

I don’t say anything at first because I don’t know what to say. I’m trying to forget about him but slowly I’m learning every second I’m here I’ll be reminded. As soon as I can I’ll leave for good this time.

“Long story,” I murmur.

“Care to share?” she asks. Avery isn’t one to push, if I told her to drop it now she would immediately. But part of her knows what I don’t want to admit to. I need to talk about this, get it off of my chest. Burying it alive doesn’t mean it’ll die immediately. Maybe I need to kill it first.

“I got drunk,” I explain, more ashamed now because saying something out loud always makes it more real, “and said some things I shouldn’t have and he stayed… because I asked him to.”

She winced, unable to hold it back this time.

“Oh wait,” I laugh, through some pain, “it gets worse.”

Avery bites her lip, “please no,” she begs in a small voice.

I sigh and meet her eyes directly, “And then, like the idiot that I am, I told him I still loved him.”

She gasps, air caught in her throat. She stills in her sheer surprise of it all.

“Yeah,” I grimace, with an awkward cough, “so if you’re wondering why I look like crap that may or may not have something to do with it.”

“Rewind,” she says, “do you?”

“What?”

“Still love him,” she clarifies.

“Of course,” I murmur. If I’m going to keep lying to myself from now on I want the last person I tell the truth to to be someone who I can truly trust, “but he’s not supposed to know that.”

“This is tricky,” Avery says, tapping her fingers at her sides.

“You’re telling me,” I blow out a breath, “I have no idea what to do.”

“Did he tell you?” she asks curiously, “that you told him you loved him I mean?”

“No, that’s the weird thing,” I reply slowly, “he hasn’t said a thing about it.”

I hadn’t really thought of it until now. Why wouldn’t he use that against me? It’s perfect. Too perfect. He could’ve easily just explained the whole conversation and my only defence, I was drunk, which when thinking about it isn’t even a defence.

Avery’s eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head confused, “so how do you know you said that?”

“I remember everything,” I blurt out, “every single second.”

“But he hasn’t referenced it?” she clarifies.

“He doesn’t know I remember,” I say slowly, “and I’m keeping it that way.”

She nods in understanding but I can see part of her is wondering why.

“I can’t afford to love him Avery because I love too hard,” I admit, each word killing me softly, “I trust too much.”

“I understand,” she purses her lips, “but doesn’t it mean something, that he hasn’t said anything.”

I tilt my head to the side, “how do you mean?”

“He knows what he’s done is beyond wrong,” she begins, “and he also knows you still love him, but he also knows you don’t want to be with him, so maybe he’s trying to make it easier for you to leave, to just forget.”

I chew my lips, “I suppose.”

We fall into a silence of pondering. Maybe he is really trying to let me do what I want to. Maybe he is helping me leave because I asked him to. Maybe he knows if he asks me to stay, I will, so he’s not asking at all.

“I’m sorry,” Avery says quietly, wrapping as arm around my shoulder and pulling me into her.

“What are you sorry for?” I sniff, suddenly aware of a dampness on my cheeks, “none of this is your fault.”

“It’s not you either,” she whispers tentatively.

I don’t know how she knows but she knows I need to hear this. I keep trying to find the flaws in myself, all the things that I’d done to cause this to happen. And as much as I hate to think I would do that for a guy, it’s what I am doing.

I look up at her, glossy eyed.

“No,” she says firmly, “don’t you dare start blaming yourself.”

“Too late,” I smile sadly, a tidal wave of emotion hitting me hard. If I hadn’t been a problem, if there wasn’t something wrong with me, then why kiss another?

“Oh sweetheart,” she says tenderly, hugging me tighter, closer.

“Maybe I wasn’t good enough Avery, maybe if I was smarter, maybe if I was prettier, if I could dance like her…” I trail off, “I know I’m a lot, I know I’m hard to deal with but I just thought… I really thought I’d found someone who understood that and embraced it. I thought he loved every part of me, that he’s never feel like that for anyone but me. I was stupid enough to think for once I was the special one but I was wrong. I’m the girl I’ve always been, I’m not enough Avery.”

“Look at me, look at me right now,” she says with a fierce love, “you are enough. In fact you’re more than enough. You’re so kind and lovely and sweet, you light up a whole room when you walk into it, you’re constantly putting others before yourself. You’re brave and you’re beautiful and he’s letting all of that go. You are everything and don’t let him make you forget it because I’m not going to sit here and let a stupid boy make you think you’re not enough.”

I force a laugh, my throat so hoarse so the sound of scrapes and scratches.

“And I’m not even just saying this,” she says, once again proving that she can read minds, “you know me, I’m an honest girl and I wouldn’t lie to one of my best friends. He’s not worth you, he let you down, he hurt you and that’s on him, that’s a reflection of him. It has nothing to do with you, okay?”

I nod snivelling, “god I love you Ave.”

“I love you too,” she smiles through her own tears now.

We hug again and even thought I’d thought it was impossible to get ourselves any closer, we still managed.

“I can’t believe I’m crying over a boy right now,” I laugh through my tears.

She laughs too, wiping them from my cheeks, “it’s okay, I’ve been there one too many times.” I beam at her and slowly loosen my arms around nee to let her go.

“Avery,” I say carefully.

She hums in reply, brushing my hair behind my ears.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say.

She looks at me, almost knowing what’s coming yet still replies, “sure,” in such a way that made me more than comfortable to even ask.

I inhale deeply, “what would you do if Jameson did this to you?”

A sudden sadness coats her hazel eyes.

“Honestly,” she sighs, “I don’t even know, I wouldn’t know what to do. I know that’s the last thing you probably wanted to hear.”

I shrug, “it’s okay. I don’t really know what I expected you to say.”

***

GRAYSONS POV

My pride is wounded two times over. Good. Maybe that’ll teach it.

Ever since I was a child I had been raised to be a proud man, someone who held their head high no matter what they’d done or in some cases what they hadn’t. I could blame my grandfather for the way I turned out, the man who bred me to be such a foul and malicious creature or maybe my neglectful mother, absent father or a smiling red headed girl who pitched herself off of a cliff edge. But what good I blaming someone when I’m still stuck as myself?

I find myself back at the beach. A place that is both achingly familiar and distant all at the same time. I wonder if the salt in the water will cleanse me of what I have done. As I close my eyes and inhale, I remember pulling her between my legs, telling her she was the only one our first night on this island. I would do anything to go back to that moment.

Why is nothing ever enough for me? I don’t know when to stop, when to feel satisfied, when to recognise I have more than I want. Why am I the way I am? My head is a swirling mess of antagonising thoughts and strangling voices all on top of one another.

Though one is the loudest, one shows me the most.

I hurt her more than I could ever imagine and it’s killing me. Pieces of me are eroding away in the acid coursing through my veins. I can feel myself slipping away, everything growing heavier by the smallest fractions that build up over time until everything just crumbles one day and you look back and wonder what the hell happened.

I have hatred for a lot of people but my most loathed enemy is the man who looks me in the eye every day in my bathroom mirror, the man who shares my name and my blood and my mind. I hate him for hurting her. I want to destroy him for making a single tear slip. I wish nothing but an agonising life for him.

I feel someone sit beside me and I already know who it is. It isn’t the way she moves that gives her away, nor the smell of her perfume or sound of her breathing. I just know. Like I’ve always just known. She sits by my side and stares out to sea, not meeting my eye when I turn to look at her.

“I’m done with this,” she says, her voice stone, cold, “the tension, the arguing, all of it. I’m done with you Grayson. I want to make it clear. When I say stay away from me, you will stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

She’s still looking out, every weighted word is said towards the ocean and still I feel every jab just a heavy on my chest.

She’s so beautiful, too beautiful. I’m selfish in this moment for almost being glad she came, just so I could look at her, really look at her one last time. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, as well as her nose slightly pinkish. Long thick lashes curl up to almost touch her eyebrows. Her lips only taunt me in their perfection, rounded and red, making my desire to take them into my own that little bit more violent.

I understand what she wants, but I don’t want her to want it. But I have to give her this, if I truly love her, I have to let her go. But if this is the last conversation we ever have, I don’t want it to end here.

“What do you remember from last night?” the question escapes my lips before I can filter it.

Still she does not meet my eye, “are you not listening to me?” she’s agitated, annoyed and desperately trying not to glare at me in fear of making eye contact.

“I will do whatever you ask,” I tell her, praying she could hear my earnestness, thick in my throat, “I promise you-“

She scoffs cutting me off, “yeah because promises went far last time.”

A pang of shame attacks my heart, it aches and pulsates in agony. It’s my own fault and part of me is guilty it isn’t writhing more, I suppose it’s still holding out for some false hope.

“I swear it on my life and yours,” I say, slowly, “I’ll do whatever you ask. But please, please tell me. What do you remember from last night?”

“Nothing,” her voice almost softens, it’s not as harsh as before but not as sweet as I remembered.

It stings. Reality usually does, but I don’t think I’ve felt it this strongly since Emily died. I’d thought maybe somewhere there would’ve been part of her that remembered her confession, part of her that believed it. All I know for sure is I’m not going to say a word about it, I owe her far more than that and despite how much I want her, crave her, need her, I can’t do this to her.

“Absolutely nothing?” I murmur, wondering if words were even being processed by my brain anymore because I don’t remember thinking them.

“I drank a load of alcohol and then went to my room,” she replies briskly, her frostiness returning like an icy sheet on a winters day, “next thing I know I wake up with you next to me.”

“So you don’t remember anything you said?” I push, testing the waters.

If this truly is our last conversation, I need to know for sure that she doesn’t remember anything, that I should forget like she’s already forgotten.

“No and quite frankly I don’t care Grayson,” she groans, eyes blazing with a fury I wasn’t used to, “I’m tired of this vicious circle. You messed up and no amount of apologising is going to save you now.”

“I love you,” I blurt out.

I can’t help it. She’s everything to me and she needs to know it, even if she doesn’t believe it.

She shakes her head, almost sadly, “and clearly that’s not enough.”

“It is enough,” I say desperately.

I understand why she can’t see this like I do. I understand why she won’t consider it. I understand I’ve hurt her beyond her limit.

“This is what I mean by a vicious circle,” she chokes out, “we’re back to the same place again. You tell me you love me, then I ask why you did what you did, you say you don’t know and I can’t forgive and forget it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I tell her, “but you know it as well as I do, we’ll go crazy without each other. I’m already losing it and so are you-“

“Oh thanks,” she scoffs, sarcasm clinging to her tone, “good way to win me back there, telling me I’m a mental case, real attractive.”

I wince then regain composure.

“You don’t drink,” I say, “you’ve never been a heavy drinker and now what? You suddenly are.”

“I’m allowed to do what I want,” she spits back, “habitual or not.”

Something about the way she is so defensive about being so reckless makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to be the reason she destroys her health.

“So you expect me to sit back and watch you hurt yourself!” I yell, suddenly angry, more with myself than ever at her.

“Well you’ve had no problem hurting me before,” she snaps, her voice almost acidic.

I fall silent. What is there left to say? She’s right. She has me backed into a corner of speechlessness. I’ve run out of defences to plead.

“You know what Grayson, it’s fine,” she says bitterly, harshly wiping away tears, “people move on I get it but couldn’t you have just said it to my face before you went behind my back? You knew, you knew I was insecure about her and you still went ahead and kissed her. What kind of sick person does that?”

She looks like she’s physically in pain, it agonises me to even watch her, let alone realise that I’m the one who caused this. Guilt consumed me so long ago and yet it feels like my first taste all over again.

“I don’t know how to tell you this again,” I fumble over my words, my hands shaking, “it meant nothing, I felt nothing.”

“Then what made you do it?” she sobs, “what made you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I ramble, “she was there and she was upset and I felt bad and I’d just spent the last 24 hours with her and she reminded me of you and so I got confused-“

“Confused.” she says darkly, she looks livid, “Confused? We’re completely different fucking people, Grayson. Please don’t try and feed me that excuse because it won’t wash with me!”

“I don’t know, I really don’t then,” I reply, holding my hands up to surrender, “I don’t know why this happened or how, all I know is that I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” she snaps, “as you should, now are you done here?”

I look at her longingly, my eyes latching to her body. I don’t want this to be goodbye but if it has to be then I want to remember every inch of her.

“If you promise me you’ll be careful,” I murmur, barely audible.

Her face scrunches up, “don’t tell me what to do.”

“You scared me last night,” I admit, softening my voice.

“I’m a grown woman Grayson,” she sneers, saying my name so coldly I feel it burn in my chest, “I can do what I like, I don’t care if it scared you, get your big boy pants on and get over it.”

“That wasn’t you,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” she laughs gently with a bitterness caught in her throat, “and I thought this wasn’t you but I was wrong too.”

“I don’t want you to waste away because of me,” I tell her.

“Oh, you do like to flatter yourself,” she shakes her head with a sad smile, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

I look at her as earnestly as I can, “I’m serious.”

“Grayson if I scared you so much,” she states simply, folding her arms across her chest and taking a dangerous step closer, “then why not just leave?”

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” I reply with the truth because I’ve lied far too much.

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” my voice cracks, “and no matter how much you scare me that fact doesn’t change.”

“You should’ve left,” she replies coldly, staring dead at me, like she’s trying to keep her emotions in check to defy the glistening tear stains on her cheeks.

“I know,” I respond quietly, “and I tried but you asked me to stay.”

“I was drunk,” she exclaims, raising her voice, “and being an idiot, I didn’t know what I was saying!”

“And if I’d left would you be any happier?” I shoot back, anger taking hold for that split second.

She falters, “no because the bottom line is you’ve hurt me more than I know I could hurt, so nothing you do can be worse.”

My heart throbs.

“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing the word will never be enough.

“That’s meaningless to me,” she shakes her head.

“I know but I’ll still say it until I’m blue in the face,” I shrug.

“Be my guest,” she replies, stepping backwards, “it’ll still be meaningless.”

She’s stepping away, she wants this to come to an end, she’s scared it won’t. I don’t want to let her go but I will. I ask myself if this is our last conversation. If so, I have to take the gamble.

“Being away from you is torturing me,” I say.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you had your lips on hers,” she only shrugs in reply, opting for her stony tone, unsympathetic eyes meeting my own pleading ones.

“I know it’s torturing you too,” I whisper.

The world comes to a standstill for a moment and I feel like I’m in a place between life and death. A surreal sort of slowed experience where it doesn’t feel quite real but not quite synthetic either. Waiting for her to reply sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

“Of course it is, you idiot,” she groans, “I’ve got double the torture because not only am I now alone, I was betrayed by someone who I thought loved me.”

“I do love you,” I tell her.

I hope she can hear the emotion in my throat. She knows me well enough to know I could hide it, but I don’t want to. I want her to know that I feel more for her than I’ve ever felt for anyone else on this planet. I need her to know that she is everything to me.

“Empty words Grayson, all of them,” she replies. It’s what happens when you hurt someone so pure too many times, you ruin them. “The ones you said before and the ones you’re saying now, they’re meaningless to me,” she shrug.

It feels like it’s the end and it is consolidated as so when she walks away from me. She’s finished, she’s done. War is over.

But selfish me can’t let her do that, selfish me is still fighting, selfish me is taking over my brain and selfish me needs to try one last thing, as awful as it is, he has to.

“No they’re not,” I say loudly.

She stops, frozen in place. Her head whips around, fast, “are you seriously doing this?”

Her eyes blaze with the purest of fury. I begin to think I’ve done the wrong thing, but there’s no turning back now.

“You told me you loved me last night,” I blurt out.

I can’t believe it’s come to this. I hadn’t wanted it to but I don’t feel regret. I can’t hide this from her too.

She stares me dead in the eye, “I know.”

The wave of shock almost knocks me flat.

“You know?” I gape, jaw dropping. This whole time she knew and she just didn’t say anything.

“Of course,” she tusks, rolling her eyes, “I said the stupid words.”

“But you said-“

“I lied,” she snaps sharply cutting me off.

My eyebrows furrow, “why?”

“This reason,” she points to the both of us as my eyebrows draw together even tighter, “to avoid this.”

“What is this?” I ask. I need to clarity, I need to know what’s going on inside her head.

“This conversation,” she says, “I don’t want it.”

“Why?” I ask again, the painstaking monotony of the word making me feel like a petulant child.

“Because,” she meets my eye and her voice wavers for a moment, “I don’t want to look you in the eye and tell you it’s over again, because this time I don’t think I’ll cope.”

“Then don’t tell me it’s over,” I blurt out.

I never think straight when she’s involved, it’s always this mess of chaos in my brain and I say and do things without thought, without fear, without overthinking,

“But it is Grayson,” she replies, pain ripping through her voice, “it was over the moment you put your lips on hers.”

“I don’t love her,” I tell her again, she’ll never hear it enough but if I stop saying it I fear she’ll believe I do.

She shakes her head and her bottom like trembles, “that doesn’t change what happened.”

“How can I prove it to you?” I ask, trying to reach out for her in my desperation, “what can I do?”

She moves away so my hands can’t clasp hers. I’ll beg her in my hands and knees if I must.

“Grayson you have to understand that I can’t trust you anymore,” she explains, “and how can I be in a relationship with you if I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t know,” I murmur, “but we could try, you could rebuild the trust.”

She pauses for a long while, not moving, barely breathing. She limbs rest still as she analyses me, her eyes trailing up and down me slowly until they finally meet my eye and stop themselves from wondering. I can only hope she sees how much I mean it, the eyes are the window to the soul, she once told me. How clear is that window now?

She takes one step in, a single tear glistening as it rolls down her cheeks, “how do I know you don’t love her,” she whispers.

I take her face into my palms and I kiss her, deeply, smoothly. I say a thousand words without uttering a sound and I already know she feels every single one of them before we’ve stopped.

We break away naturally, “because I didn’t kiss her like that,” I say breathlessly.

“I won’t forgive you with just a kiss,” she shakes her head, pushing me away gently, “you can’t win me over with sweet talk.”

“I know,” I murmur, fingertips lingering like a ghost touch on her hips.

“And if we’re going to be us again it’s going to take time,” she responds, taking a step away so my hands fall from her body and we’re just two people looking at each other, “a long time.”

“I’m fine with waiting,” I tell her, “I’ll wait forever just to be with you.”

Every word is the truth, every word I mean.

She looks at me and I can’t quite read her, though she looks in deep thought, “you have the next stage of the game now,” she reminds me quietly.

“I don’t care,” I shrug.

And I don’t. This stupid game has caused me nothing but misery and I don’t want any part of it anymore.

“Go,” she whispers with a smile that still looked sadder than usual, “I need time.”

My heart clenches.

“Forever, I’ll wait forever.”

a/n: ahhh it’s so bittersweet to end this series!! I can’t believe how much it grew, starting from that one little fic to this whole story I somehow created?! special shout-out to @inmyheaddd and @midiosaamor for being my biggest cheerleaders 💘💘 I love you with all of my heart and thank you so much, but also thank you so so so INSANELY much to anyone else who had liked, commented or read this fic, it means more than anything to me

okay so this is PROBABLY a controversial ending because she doesn’t get back with him but she doesn’t not get back with him, I’ll leave the decision to you guys… (I know it leans towards she probably will BUTTTT hear me out: this is fiction and I wanted the main character to end with with grayson and I think it’s not like she just got back with him, she has conditions, she’s being cautious, but her love is so overwhelming that she still wants to be with him even though he brain is telling her no)

ANYWAYS i hope you enjoyed this final part, a little bit of me is scared it’s too underwhelming but I liked it :)) thank you all again <33

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