#also not like it matters that much here but the first part of this was written pre-7x05
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
They say it’s for the betterment of the world. That I’m not a prisoner…that I’m free to wonder in between moments of recovery. Still…this hospital is a prison and I am the most important patient. I am the perfect match for everyone on the planet. My blood, my organs…not a single body will reject them. I’m kept here by the Hero’s league. This is my ‘post�� after registration and trying to do good to help the world, I don’t know what I was thinking.
Do I make money? Not enough. I’m told it is my duty to give and as a member of the Hero’s League that I’m doing my part so wealth shouldn’t be a deciding factor. I’m also blessed with an insane healing factor. They can pull organs out of me once a day as long as they are careful about which ones. If it is the heart, I need a few days to recover. I can’t work out because no matter what the organs are new when they regrow. So even if my arms are stronger, my lungs are new, my heart…its new. I can’t train them to work more efficiently, I can’t get stronger. I suppose that is their plan.
I don’t pick, its congress, house reps…politicians that affect laws that govern how the Hero’s League work. Hell my organs are in the founding members as well. Entire medicine lines have been developed on my blood alone. I’d be worth billions if I held any control over my parts. I’m just worth thousands not that I even get to spend that much. No vacations, no time off…no rest.
…I want to feel better about this. I hate it. If I don’t make money from this, then I’d rather be helping the poor and children. I’m not though. I’m helping fund the League and their greed. Why give me what I’m due when they can just lock me away.
…I want out…I WANT OUT! I WANT OUT!
Then there was a faint explosion…well the first one was faint. The subsequent ones got louder…and closer until the floor shook. I could see smoke billowing from the side of the hospital. I’d was worried for a second but then I realized that the only people here are rich politicians and their families. I can’t be bothered to care anymore. I was just standing by my window, looking upon a city I was ‘saving’ but couldn’t live amongst. If I’m lucky the building will do so much damage to my body I’ll be allowed the sweet release of death…but I doubt I’ll be that lucky.
I could hear fighting in the hall, yes they had guards around me all the time. Said it was for my safety but it has been ten years and no one tried to attack me once…so I was convinced they were put there to make sure I didn’t run. How dare I dream of living on my own right?
I’m curious now as I take a position opposite the door. I wonder what is going on. I know nothing. I don’t have news, or social media…I’m a phantom in this city. A mere whisper of a legend that no one is sure exists. Civil war in the Hero’s League? Random attack on a politician here and I’m to be taken hostage so they can get their freedom? I have no idea. I don’t care really.
“This is the room…he has to be here!”
It was an alto feminine presenting voice. Rather lovely if you ask me. I hate the nurses here, they keep sending in ones they think are ‘pretty’ so I bond with them and want to be more compliant, but their eyes are all the same…distant. They were acting, all of them were acting. No one wants one sided love…I took what I could get but I knew it was empty. I wonder if Sarah survived the initial assault? The door was ripped off the hinged and there was a woman standing nearly seven feet tall with arms and legs like tree trunks covered in Kevlar body armor. She looked DOPE. She stepped aside though and a pair came past her. A man and a woman with themes of purple black and blue in their ‘armor’. The woman floated surrounded by a purple energy and the man had a million different blades all over his body.
“We’d like you to come with us. We are From The Dark League.”
I sighed and just grabbed a water bottle and opened it looking to them. The large woman was looking nervous and the man with the blades looked impatient but the magical woman looked calm.
“Why? Is going with you better than staying here. This cage is gilded ya know?”
I took a sip and the man looked me up and down and then turned away to stand with the large woman by the door. I wasn’t sure if they were a couple or not, I guess just minions. Hell, I don’t know why I’m thinking about such things.
“Well, we know of you and your situation. We’d offer help. In exchange for harvesting your organs once a week, we’ll pay you obscene amounts of money and make sure you are safe. You’ll be under contract for a duration and once that duration is up you’ll be free to do as you choose. How does that sound?”
This woman, this wonderful Witchy woman just said perhaps the most wonderful words I’ve ever heard in my entire life. I was just about to agree too until the wall near where I stood was smashed to bits and the leader of the Hero’s League called Justice stood there in his suit of white and gold. He could fly, was immune to bullets and most physical damage and the only reason there was still crime was because he couldn’t be bothered to actually stop it anymore, I made him more money than he knew what to do with.
“Stop right there Morticia…you won’t take him and I’ll paint the sidewalk with your blood in order to keep him here.”
There was no more show huh? No kind of sympthay. I get it, he’ll kill to keep me here and I don’t know. I thought apathy was my existence, but there was something to be said for the show, the fake emotions. I could pretend that I was doing this for the right reasons, that I was helping. No! I was getting angry. I was a pawn for too long…and as Morticia fired off a few impotent blasts my heart started to hammer in my chest…
…what was this I was feeling. Aside from the pent up rage of a decade of torture and solitary confinement. I felt something from Justice. Something familiar…my eyes locked on him as he approached the increasingly desperate woman. Her minions came in but where brushed aside…no they were killed right away. Not yet, he was going to make an example out of her.
“NO!”
I shouted and held out my hand…Justice stopped cold. I could feel it. I held his heart. No…no it wasn’t his heart it was mine. I HELD HIS HEART IN MY HAND! It was mine, it would always be mine. Sure it adapted to be in his body…but it was mine. I don’t know when he had the surgery. I never knew who got what and when. Still he had a bit of me in him and I had control.
“You don’t get to keep me here anymore! I’m SO sick of this. I don’t care if I’m helping rich assholes stay alive longer than the gods want. LET THEM DIE! You don’t help children, you don’t help the poor which is what I SIGNED ON TO DO! YOU LINE YOUR POCKETS BECAUSE OE ME! I HATE IT! I HATE ALL OF IT! You know they offered me money, protection AND freedom. Not to lock me up and rip out organs from my body, which they very well could do. NO! These ‘villains’ are going to treat me better than the heroes ever have.”
Justice looked at me and for the first time anywhere I saw genuine fear in the so called hero’s face. I was drunk in that moment. I loved this. Do villains get to feel like this all the time? Or maybe the really powerful ones do.
“Please…don’t. I…I’ll give you more freedom okay. More money too…just…”
Why wasn’t this working for him. I had him under control for life…no not for life. Then he’d really lock me away, keeping me sedated for a long as possible. My body will adapt eventually to the drugs, but then he’ll just rip out organs while I’m awake. I can see it behind the fear. The rage he has.
“Sorry my friend. I don’t think you have a better counteroffer.”
Then I closed my hand in a fist and instantly I saw blood come from his eyes and mouth and he just fell over to the side. I walked over to help the man with the knives get up and I dusted him off.
“Morticia, consider me under your protection and employ. I am going to ask for something right off the bat, if you don’t mind. I want a beer so bad I dream about them every night. Can we go get a drink somewhere? I’m not trying to hit on you but something tells me you are wonderful company.”
I offered her the crook of my arm so she could pull herself up to stand. I could see a whole range of emotions play across her face as she looked at the fallen hero just dead on the floor. I looked at him as well…oh I was giddy. I had suppressed myself so much that I couldn’t feel. Now just letting my emotions out I could feel so much power, I had so much control over so many politicians now.
“Or maybe I would like a better contract. I’d like to join the Shadow League. Seeing as now I have dirt on politicians, war lords, despots…so many people have a vital organ of mine in them. We’ll get so much money. Eventually they’ll all die but then we can burn that bridge when we come to it. Also we’ll need to workshop a name and costume for me. Who ever does yours I would love their number.”
Morticia just started to laugh at this completely improbably situation before her and she hoisted herself up using my elbow. She pulled me close just resting her other hand on my arm. She looked truly amused and happy with the outcome. The large woman patted me on the back smiling as well. I liked them already. These were my true heroes. My saviors that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly repay.
“I think…you’ll be a wonderful addition to the Shadow League. I think we are about to enter a new age of villainy, if I dare be so optimistic.”
The funny thing about villains. They don’t really want to do evil. They are beat and broken people rebelling against a system that hurt them. I will force change…and when I make them happy they’ll stop being ‘evil’. Most of them will anyway, some are just sick and twisted…and they’ll be put down. The reasonable ones though…gods I’m using evil to get so much good done in the world. A new age indeed.
“I think you should dare.” I offered her a smile. She had me floating at this point…this was so cool. GODS I can’t wait
You're a literal universal donor for a superpower, that even your organs are compatible. And right now, the villains have decided to hit the hospital.
#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writers#writing inspiration#writing prompts#UnknownOgre#heroxvillain#Supervillain#Creative writing#short stories#Corrupt Superhero
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
quixotic [ headcanon format ] | sylus
— summary: “i’ve never…hadsexbefore.” the words spill from your mouth, jumbled together like jigsaw pieces. regardless, sylus catches on, his expression morphing from surprise to fondness. “oh, sweetheart. where have you been?” — cw: female reader, virgin reader, sexual content, sylus implied to be older than canon, romantic dribble, terms of endearment, lowercase, language, mdni — notes: posting this here so that one, i stop obsessively editing it, and two, someone can bully me into finishing it. contributing to this fandom has become exhausting. also, i stole a line from fifty shades. sue me. as always, thank you so much for taking the time to read. — now playing: jade - monsune
your big brother’s wealthy best friend, sylus, makes love to you for the first time.
◦ it’s an adrenaline rush because no one, not even your brother, knows you two are an item—caleb would murder sylus if he knew his bestie was taking advantage of his little sis.
◦ one evening whilst you’re in sylus’ penthouse kissing, things get a little…intense. more than usual. more than the innocent pecks and fleeting touches you typically share.
◦ he’s touching you more reverently this time. drawing you into a languid kiss, pouring his desire for you into your mouth in the form of hoarse, pleasured groans. he smoothes his hands over the ridges of your rib cage, kneads your hips, massages your thighs. handles you like glass. like he’ll never see you again. like he’s waited lifetimes to have you like this.
◦ it all feels so very wonderful, and sylus has been nothing short of a gentleman since he started courting you. but you can’t focus on the kiss anymore because you foresee this going somewhere you’ve never been. his arousal slowly awakening, prodding the inner cut of your thigh, doesn’t help matters.
◦ you reluctantly push him away in the form of sweaty palms on broad shoulders, and he studies you, all smoldering eyes, peach-tinged cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips parted with the effort of panting.
◦ “what’s wrong?” he breathes, painting a hazy triangle between your eyes and mouth. worry hangs between his brows as he tucks some hair behind your ear, fingertips ghosting over your cheeks, jaw, neck.
◦ you chew your lip, averting your gaze from the intense, scarlet brew of his irises. the worn pad of his thumb skates over your chin, and he tilts your head back to coax you into looking his way. with his thumb, he tugs your lip free from the clench of your teeth, easing it over the sensitive, raw skin. the sensation sends jolts of electricity sparkling throughout your body.
◦ “don’t bite your lip,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your fevered skin. you have a feeling there’s more to his request than what’s presented at surface level. you nod slowly, your breaths intermingling whilst he ghosts his lips over yours. “talk to me. what’s the matter? did i misread things? push you too far?”
◦ “no, sy, it’s…you’re—you’re perfect, you’re fine, i just…i—fuck.”
◦ his thumb cruises over your chin, wordlessly encouraging you to continue, his arm draped around your waist, drawing you further into his lap until your chests push together.
◦ you resign yourself, releasing a weighted sigh. heat spikes through you, ending its excursion in your cheeks. “i’ve never…” you pause, swallowing as you fiddle with some errant strands of hair at his nape.
◦ “you’ve never—?”
◦ “i’ve never…hadsexbefore.” the words spill from your mouth, jumbled together like jigsaw pieces. regardless, sylus catches on, his expression morphing from surprise to fondness.
◦ he huffs a quiet laugh, cradling your cheek in his palm whilst he beholds you. “oh, sweetheart. where have you been?”
◦ something molten pools in your nether regions at that. his words, however harmless, sound like a challenge. and your body hums pleasantly with the prospect of giving yourself to the man of your dreams.
◦ he doesn’t take you that night, much to your disappointment. instead, he draws out the suspense over the span of a week, slowly killing you with anticipation.
◦ every touch is purposeful. every steady glide of his fingers over your arm, every brush of his lips against your cheek. you’re rigged to explode when the weekend comes, drawn to wit’s end when he finally invites you out for dinner.
◦ he’s a paragon of gentlemanliness. punctual when he picks you up from your apartment, holding the passenger door of his luxury car open for you to slip in, that devastatingly boyish smile slung over his lips. that natural charm is there, and if you weren’t already a stuttering mess of nerves, you would’ve been an amorphous blob by now.
◦ he makes small talk throughout the car ride, occasionally brushing his knuckles over your plush thigh or ghosting his fingers over the hollow of your shoulder under the guise of sweeping your hair back. he just smiles when you cut your eyes to him, knowing full well his intentions are anything but pure.
◦ dinner is wonderful. romantic. a rooftop, highbrow restaurant devoid of people—he values his privacy, and you’re grateful because you’re not much for social settings yourself.
◦ distant city lights twinkle like spilled bokeh behind him. powdery stars speckle the violet stratosphere overhead. you feel like you’re in a dream as a string quartet plays ambient music behind you, and the candlelight of the table’s centerpiece wavers, highlighting the sharp contours of sylus’ face.
◦ he makes you feel so comfortable. so cherished as you toy with your necklace, tittering at his dry humor and silly anecdotes.
◦ the waitress ensures your champagne flute stays topped off, and your body hums from the magic of the night and the bubbly, your cheeks burning and aching from laughing so much.
◦ sylus never misses an opportunity to feed you. gentle as he eases an hors d'oeuvre between your lips.
◦ you swear you’re being innocent when your tongue darts out to lick some sauce from the pad of his thumb. he stiffens, lips parting, eyes sliding into a mysterious shade of garnet whilst he scrutinizes your naughty, naughty little mouth.
◦ he gives you a warning look, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. ‘behave,’ he mouths when the waiter returns, and he tilts his head in a way that bleeds sin, eyes quietly challenging you.
◦ you catch him staring at you several times during the main course. when your gazes interlock, he merely chuckles, returning his attention to his plate until he can next steal a glimpse of your pretty face.
◦ dessert is sweet—raspberry pistachio tartlets drizzled with chocolate ganache that catches on the side of your mouth after sylus feeds one to you. you feign innocence with a shrug, your foot sliding between his legs, rubbing up and down a shin, wordlessly asking for some assistance.
◦ he doesn’t miss a beat, reaching over the table to swipe the sauce from your cheek. his eyes shine with danger. something predatory as he licks the chocolate clean from his thumb, a bitten-off groan pinched from his throat. all to taunt you as you earlier tempted him.
◦ you try to ignore how your thighs quake. how your heart works overtime, thrumming behind your ribcage, heat branching into your face. you concede with a sultry smile, and he sits back in an easy slouch, watching you with all the amusement of the world.
◦ you leave the restaurant after he pays, arms linked, twin smiles donning your faces, and your airy laughter intertwines with his husky chuckling.
◦ the ride back is tense, rife with your shaking tendons and shifting gaze.
◦ you’re swallowed by his coat in the passenger seat, the scent of his cologne enmeshed with his natural musk, turning your brain to smog. his hand swallows up the bulk of your thigh, searing through the frail material of your dress as it makes several expeditions up and down your quad.
◦ the music drifting from the speakers does little to assuage your nerves. you watch the streetlights whizz by, your forehead propped against the crisp window.
◦ you know what comes next—what you want to come next. but now, you’re more worried about underperforming for him than you are about losing your virginity.
◦ he’s been the epitome of romance. patient, adoring, slowly unwinding the coils of your nerves. you want to repay him for his kindness.
◦ “sweetie,” he summons, voice soft and disarming, mirroring his hand kneading your kneecap. “where did you run off to?”
◦ you smile sheepishly, glancing at him over the muted, blue glow of the center console. “nowhere.” you tangle your fingers with his in your lap, thumb tracing over the veins protruding in the back of his hand. “still here.”
◦ he spares you an unconvinced look before the iron-wrought gates of his complex slide into frame.
◦ sylus doesn’t let you touch the door once he’s parked, rounding the car to open it for you. he tucks you into his side, virile arm draped about your waist whilst he ushers you towards the elevator. the parking garage is empty. soundless, contrasting the maelstrom taking place in your mind.
◦ he lends you one of his shirts once you’ve showered, swathed in the expensive mahogany scent of his body wash. the sleeves spill past your fingertips, the shirt’s hem brushing your knees.
◦ he remarks how good you look in his clothes as he feeds one of the top buttons through its loop, fingers grazing your collarbone before his hand falls listlessly at his side. he’s helping you retain a modicum of modesty despite the ravenous simmer in his eyes as he takes your hand in his, drawing it to his lips to brand your knuckles with the searing glide of his lips.
◦ you spend what remains of the night on his sectional in the living room, your feet in his lap, the t.v. mindlessly flickering over your bodies. his hands are warm and reassuring as they knead through knots of tension in your ankles, the balls of your feet. you bite back a sound, wondering what else those hands are capable of.
◦ you’re brought back to reality when he flicks your forehead, filling your vision with the scarlet wash of his irises, and a humored, sultry cant to his lips. “what are you thinking about, hmm?” he husks, hovering over you, bracketing your body with his hands on either side of your waist.
◦ you swallow, unconsciously sinking beneath the warm might of his body into the cushions. you curl your fingers around the rigid lines of his forearms, legs instinctively parting, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, fixing him with a harmless smolder.
◦ sylus smirks, gaze softening. he picks up on your cue, slowly lowering himself until his hips are notched between your thighs. you exhale from the weight of him, fitting so perfectly between your legs like he’s always belonged there, his torso hard and defined as it presses up against your breasts. he leans down on his elbows, face panning in until his breath tickles your skin, and his ghosts his lips over yours, tempting you with the prospect of a kiss.
◦ “are you sure this is what you want?” he searches through your gaze, warring with himself. “are you sure i’m what you want?” the fragility in his voice makes your heart swell. always so considerate despite how his body radiates desire. you nod wordlessly, tangling your fingers in the delicate hairs at his nape. and you pitch yourself forward to conquer the space between your mouths, sealing any further words of protest in his throat.
◦ he catches himself on his palms before he can barrel into you. but he lets you ravage his mouth, humming something low and appreciative betwixt your lips when your tongue finds his.
#sylus x you#sylus x reader#love and deepspace sylus#sylus smut#lads sylus#virgin reader#loss of virginity trope
377 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey I have a request
Some Nam-gyu x reader where he developed a crush and sneaks of to talk to you at random times even tho you vote opposite of him he can overlook that however when he’s with thanos he’s mean and insults you which shocks and upsets you will you forgive him?
Nam-gyu x reader
| I had so much fun writing this ngl, I hope I did the idea justice <33
| Sorry Se-mi it's for plot
You had met Nam-gyu and Thanos after the first vote. At the time you felt a small sense of determination that you could make it through the games, get a higher prize and pay off all your debts in one go.
They had praised you excitedly, Thanos slinging an arm around you and going on about how they'd both protect you. You had trusted them for the most part, yes they were both a bit sketchy but they had a prescence among the players so it'd be easier to follow them. You had mixed feelings about the duo, one was always hyper and loved to mess with you and the other had a serious staring problem and a stupid smirk.
At the moment it didn't matter how you felt about them, you needed to get out of here. And now. You had barely survived the last game, knees grazed from when you fell and quickly scrambled to your feet. You wince at the pain as you curl in on yourself and rub your thumb over your bloodied hands. You were desperate for a sense of comfort or solidarity which at the moment only you could provide for yourself.
You were startled to see a head of black hair come out of nowhere from the ladder to your bed, angled eyes meeting yours hazily. Nam-gyu, a rare visitor. You're still startled by his sudden appearance, clutching your chest slightly as your eyes widen in surprise.
"Nam-gyu? What are you-"
"I'm coming up."
You don't get the choice to protest against it, he's already hauling himself up to get on your bunk, sitting cross legged in front of you. For a moment you're genuinely confused to why he's here, your bunk was fairly high off the ground and from how he was earlier you didn't expect him to be capable of climbing. Guess he sobered up. He's sighing softly as he links his fingers together, gazing at you as if in deep thought.
"You're gonna vote "X" next right?" He lifts his head up to see your reaction, clenching his linked fingers when he sees your lips purse as you look away from him. That was enough of an answer.
You personally are terrified, you had never been particularly close with the man and you were tense as to why he decided to make the trek up to your bed to ask you such a question. What's he going to do? Is he angry? Noticing the small shift in your body language he stops spacing out and runs a hand over his face. This sucks, honestly. The small infatuation based of pure curiousity he had for you had developed into a genuine crush he couldn't shake off. You intrigued him to no end and he was just working up to talking to you more.
So why'd this have to happen?
He's not that upset you want to leave, as much as he preached about how everyone should "Play one more game!", He understood the main basis of wanting to leave was the simple passion to live. A passion that'd he'd lost touch with after he lost everything he had. But you were in a similar situation, yet despite that you always seemed slightly hopeful things would work in your favour, and when they didn't you kept a level head. A rationality he wished he also had. You were smart, attractive and worst of all reasonable. Which is why you wanted to leave.
He's still staring at you but you feel less creeped out, you feel more worried. The usual carefree demeanor he had seemed to be crumbling right before you, he almost looked more tense than you.
There was a reason why he had come here, he didn't want to ask in front of Thanos. With him he'd be obligated to maintain this facade of now hating your entire being, but that wasn't the case, in fact it was very far from it. He wanted you like nothing else, selfishly. He could only hope you read him openly from the small amount of vulnerability he'd give you, something you were good at.
"Choose "x", I don't really care."
"Oh."
You are honestly pleasantly surprised by his words, your anxiety lowering massively. With the tensity gone you could see he looked...worried for you? You weren't totally sure but he laughs bitterly, pulling his signature move of pushing his hair behind his ears.
"Just know that, I'll vote to stay. So I'll still be sticking with Thanos."
You looked at him confused, and honestly he was too. There was no need to share all this information with you but he couldn't help it, he wanted to be open with you, show you how he is when you could be alone together.
You jolt slightly when he lightly takes one of the hands you're holding onto and taking them in his own. Streaks of blood crumbling away when he rubbed it away with careful thumbs, you could only watch him silently, admiring his oddly considerate actions. Even if the tint of blood still stained your palms. What's with all this special treatment, did he like you or something?
Before you could question him about what had just happened between you two he's sighing deeply and rubbing his hands together, ready to climb off your bunk.
"I'll try look out for you when I can."
And with that he's gone, you're left to sit with your thoughts and overthink how sweet he was to you just now. He was never like that before. Before you realised it a small smile was on your lips as you savoured the cold, brief moment of his touch still on your hand.
Though the next moment left you quite confused, it was time to vote. Everyone was still conflicted but you had made your choice and had a silent comradery with Nam-gyu. It gave you the bit off confidence to press the "x" button, some cheered while others groaned as you quickly switched your blue patch for its opposing side.
You could hear the familiar deep voice of Thanos going "What the hell man, we agreed one more game??" the direct confrontation made you physically tense as you made your way to side of potential exit. Nam-gyu didn't say a word, didn't even look at you either. Strange, you thought but you mostly brushed it off.
What the hell [Name], we agreed to keep playing, ya just switching on us all of a sudden?"
Thanos' voice echoed in your ears as he had you cornered near your bunk, you glance to Nam-gyu for some sort of support, even if it was just telling his friend to relax but you were quickly disappointed.
"Tch, did you really expect them to stay, I saw 'em practically trembling after the last round."
You felt your heart aches at his words, your expression immediately dimming as you stared at him confused. But unluckily for you he had mastered his poker face to the last detail. If he felt any guilt for what he said you wouldn't know, it was all behind that senile smirk now.
"Kehaha, nah you're right. All those loud sounds scare ya already?"
"Poor thing."
Thanos pushes you back accusingly, forcing your back to meet the unforgiving metal bars of the bunks, just as suddenly he's in your personal space, grabbing the red velcro badge on your chest roughly as he shook you. His eyes dilated widely as he threatened you with crazed, wild eyes.
"You're lucky this is there's a revote, switch this "x" to an "o" or I'll never let you live it down, got it?"
He laughs when you stagger back when he lets you go, Nam-gyu joining in with own mocking chuckle, it hurt you in a way it wouldn't have before. What was all that about earlier then, was it just a lie? But why, he didn't get anything out of it.
And again you're left alone to deal with your own self destructive thoughts, you just wanted to leave this place, it felt like you were suffocating within its walls.
Things ended up more violent than he had expected, he's panting as he rips the fork from the man's neck for the last time. How he felt? Great. It was like some great awakening as he stumbled up to his feet. It's only then he takes the time to digest the fact Thanos is dead, what a sad way to go hm?But also equally as pathetic. He wanted to laugh but he wanted to shout in frustration too. He does neither, looking down at his unpredictable partner in crime now laying on the floor covered in grime and blood. It's when he starts to feel the growing ache in his chest that the guards finally barge in to stop the fighting, forcing them all out the crime scene.
You're on your bunk, cuddled up to yourself as usual when you spot him, bloodied and worn along with other men. Your heart sinks as you take in the situation, watching as they shouted and cursed impurities from both sides. You had switched sides of sleeping arrangements due to the votes, so now you were able to get a slightly lower bunk bed. He shouldn't know where you were and yet his eyes snapped to you, for a moment they crumble slightly, a sliver of the worry he had coming out just for a moment. And then he's walking off, not looking back once.
It's lights out and you were terrified, you had finally found out what had happened in the men's bathroom and you knew it could lead to nothing good. Everywhere you thought to hide felt dangerous and you had no one to rely on, no one to truly trust.
He's shaking, his hands trembling as he sits perched on Thanos' bed, in memory of the annoying guy. He's feeling conflicted, he couldn't tell if he had cared for him or not, all he knew the indifference he felt for others wasn't the same with colourful haired man. He pops two pills in his mouth, brushing his knuckles against his lips as if the action were sacred. Soon thoughts drifted back to you. How were you holding up? Did you have anyone there to protect you? A sick part of him hoped not, he wanted to be the only one to look out for you, the only one you'd think to turn to.
He feels amazing, never felt so resolute in the entirety of the games than when he killed. Hissing in satisfaction as he struck the deadly cutlery into Se-mi's neck for what felt the 100th time. Wiping the blood of his face with the back of his hand when he feels a prescence behind him. He doesn't bother taking back his weapon as he gets up from his crouched position to turn towards the figure.
It's you.
You look absolutely terrified, your upper body was uptight and you could've gotten away with looking less afraid if it wasn't for how your legs trembled ever so slightly. You're fighting with yourself and you finally will your body to run but he's quick, yanking you back by your arm and holding you against him possessively. His breathing is hard and his bloody hands are firm against your back.
Heavy breaths fill your ears as he looks at you with wide shaken eyes, he'd been looking for you, even on this killing spree.
"You asshole, what are you doing are you crazy??"
"Heh- huh, yeah I feel like it a little..." the small chuckle he lets out feels distant from his true feelings and he wished you'd tell him why he's like this.
"You lied, you said you'd look out for me, prick." You want your words to be firm but the fear of everything around you was still so intense, it shook your words and made your throat tight.
"I know, I know alright. I said when I 'can' Thanos would've made things worse for both of us if I said something..."
"But he's not here anymore... I'll watch out for you, for real this time, promise."
Even in his drugged state you could tell these were his thoughts the whole time, and his visit to your bed made slightly more sense, he just wanted you to know he didn't actually hate you. What a weird guy, why not just come out and say what the game plan was? You wanted to ask him all these things, shout and push at him until you got all your frustration out.
But you're drained, there's still the far away screams of new victims being made and you couldn't tell what was side was losing.
But he's shushing you quietly, when you weren't even crying, but now it triggered you to. Hot silent tears running down your face as he huddled you into a corner and made you sit against the wall behind a fallen mattress. Grabbing your face and pressing his forehead to yours as he whispered softly.
"Nothings happening to us, we're getting that stupid cash prize and leaving this shitty place."
And then he's off again, you don't know where, but you'll stay here quietly and hope for his quick return.
#squid game#squid game x reader#nam gyu#nam-gyu x reader#player 124#nam gyu x reader#player 124 x reader#se mi squid game#thanos#thanos squid game
223 notes
·
View notes
Text
Aeternitas Nunc Est
chapter: 7 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader
summary: Your wedding night with Emperor Geta.
warning(s): heavy smut warning | partially non consent | Geta being Geta | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything
Note: Yes, i kinda back after it took me nearly an eternity before i was able to present this smut-heavy chapter. I am not super-experienced with writing smut, but i tried my best and hope you'll like it! :) Also big thanks to all the sweet beans, who sent me well-wishes over the last weeks!
word count: 2.8
You watched the lights of Rome in the dark veil of the night, which had layed itself upon the hills of the eternal city. The royal palace sat upon one of those sacred hills, watching over the gigantic capital of the growing Empire, just like the Greek believed that the Olymp watched over their lands. This palace here was not only the residence of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla anymore, it was your home now too. You'll never get back to your families home, to your parents. With this marriage now, you were no longer in the hands of your father, but became the property of Geta. He was able to do with you as he pleased, which included an order to kill you or your family in an instant. A sword that was over your head from the day that your father betrayed the Emperors - and somehow you needed to find a way for yourself in this dangerous situation now. No privilege would save you now, your mind and your wits were your only weapons left.
Empress. It still felt surreal that this was the way you were called now. The title felt heavy on your shoulders just as the golden tiara crown of Empress Poppea on your head, while you listened to the footsteps of your husband behind you, echoing on the clean marble floor of his personal chambers as he approached you. Just as it was tradition, he'd taken you away from the celebration at one point, so that you to were able to seal this bond off with the mandatory wedding night.
Geta's hand reached out to you, taking one of the strains of your hair between his fingers, while his eyes lingered on your form, your curves hugged by the fabric of your beautiful wedding dress. Even though the thought of simply ripping your gown off your body and taking you right here right now, was an urge in his mind, he knew quite well that he had to treat you different like he did with his concubines. He needed you to surrender yourself to him, so that he could shake off the feeling of desperation he had, when he thought of you. Geta wanted you as a whole, not just your body, but your mind as well - an Empress that served him and loved him like no one else did.
„You can hate me as much as you want now. It doesn't matter", he whispered, standing close to you so that you were able to feel his hot breath against your skin. "I could kill you and your family, everything is in my hands, depending on how you play your part." Your eyes went silently to him, but you were not backing off in any way. "Then why don't you do it right now, my Emperor? Kill me and we're done with it. This wedding celebration becomes nothing more than dust and ashes then."
It were those words in this very moment, when Geta understood that he wasn't able to get you through fear. It surprised him, his irritation clearly written on his face. No one ever dared to speak with him like this, no one ever defied him in any way and yet you did - without hesitation. And while it would usually anger him, somehow in your case, he found it intruiging. Yet it also reminded him about the fact that he didn't just married you because he was able to bind General Acacius to his and his brother's rule.
His hand reached out and he traced the details of your jawline, before he placed his thumb and index finger at your chin, the tall young man basically towering you as he stood right in front of your form.
"That would be too easy, don't you think? I just presented Rome its new Empress. But let me remind you of the fact that you're nothing without me now. When my brother and i fall, so do you, which is why your father should follow our hand instead of chasing a dream that is long forgotten."
His thumb slowly ran over your lips, touching them softly as if he couldn't wait to simply kiss them. You stood still, eyes locked with him, as if you waited for him to make the first move. Maybe he thought you were a sheep, something to easily pray on like all the other women he usually got with one snap of his fingers, but despite your situation, there was still pride in you - hope even. "My father serves no one but Rome", you answered, but suddenly Geta tightened the grip on your chin. "Then you should hope that his definition of Rome is right this time. But let us stop talking about him, shall we? This is our wedding night and we both waited enough."
With those words his hands went to the brooches that held your dress together. Even though your body tensed, you knew you couldn't do anything about him being the first man to lay hands on you as he was now your husband. His dark eyes lingered on you like a wolf ready to consume his prey, especially once your dress fell from your shoulders to the ground, revealing the beautiful curves of your body.
"From the very first day i saw you, i was sure that you were the incarnation of Venus...", he mumbled, while his pale fingers traced your collarbones, the curves of your now exposed breasts, down to your hip. He took his time with it, as if he was looking at a marble statue in front of him. "Perfection."
His words rang in your ears and although it was an honor to hear those words from the mouth of an Emperor, it felt different. Otherwise, you instantly thought about the fact that his attention, his desire for you could be something useful. And you should at least try to keep him pleased if you didn't want him to think back to your father's betrayal. So out of a sudden, your hands went up to cup his cheeks, while your eyes met his. For a second he even froze in place, surprised by your sudden action. From the day you knew that a marriage with Geta was inevitable, you had to befriend the thought of induldging into something you couldn't change in any way. It was better to adapt in order to survive, better do play your part in order to gain peace - and through this, you might find a way to change the course of history?
Maybe this idea in your mind fired your bravery as you swallowed your pride and placed your lips on his. It was almost a provocation, rather than a romantic form of showing your devotion. "I might not change so quickly into the woman you expect from me", you whispered against them, his lips curving up into a wide smirk, amused by your tone shift. "Why should i want this? I enjoy our little game way too much..."
His hands suddenly grabbed your neck at the sides as he hold you in place, forcing you into another kiss, a more intense one this time. He quickly broke your hesitation with a straight entry of his tongue into your mouth, invading it like a conquerer and pushing you into a dance. You couldn't step back, you couldn't turn your head away, his fingers, the cold metal of his rings, drilled themselves into the skin on your throat and neck, imprison you in this position. It felt like an eternity until he released his lips from yours, before he brought them to your ear. "If i'd wish to fuck a submissive servant, i simply fuck one of my concubines, or a slave. You however,...", he whispered with a devilish grin on his face, which sent shivers down your spine. "It brings me much more joy, when you fight me... although i know you'll come to the point of loving me soon enough. And i will wait for it".
He didn't waste any time as he grabbed your arms and pushed you down on the the four poster bed, which was prepared for you two. A sea of pillows and blankets under the sky of heavy velvet drapes. Geta pinned you down onto the mattress as he placed kisses all over your neck, marking you as his own by leaving dark bruises on your skin. His words weren't a lie, because every time you tried to push him away with the way your body moved, he only took it as a motivation to continue in an even more craving and demanding way. There was no reason for you to keep this up for long, as it was not changing anything. Slowly his one hand creeped between your legs before he touched your sancturary, which was never been owned by any man before. With a grin, he coated his fingers with the wetness on your entrance, as he felt how your body shivered under his touch. "So you are not devoted to me yet? Then why are you wet like the ocean down there?", Geta whispered teasingly into your ear, while he pushed two fingers into you, causing you to gasp.
In fact, Geta was no brute. He could come off as a cruel man, but he knew that you were untouched, so he took his time to enjoy your body, while also preparing you for what's to come. In a way, he didn't want to hurt you, even though it was hard for him to hold back. His lips found their way from your neck to your breasts, while he stimulated your clitoris slowly with his fingers. There was no doubt that Geta was experienced, no surprisingly given the horde of concubines he called his own. But none of those women ever gave him the same satisfaction as you did in this moment. The feeling of your soft, skin under his lips was electrifying for him, while he went down to place kisses on your chest and lick over one of your nipples before he teasingly bit it with his teeth.
You couldn't clench your teeth together forever, while you tried so desperately to resist. There was still a form of resistance in you, as you didn't want to surrender your body so easily to the touch of a man that had threatened your family and force you into marriage. But it got harder, when the first sounds of pleasure escaped your lips, which incited Geta to keep going. The way your nipples grew hard under the touch of his tongue and the sucking of his lips was a divine example for him how you would soon tear down your wall freely. Out of a sudden, he reached for your wrist and forced your hand to the hem of his robes. "Go on, take them off", his demanding whisper catched your ear and you couldn't explain why your body simply followed his orders. Maybe a twisted 'excitement' guided your hands as you shoved his toga off his shoulders, following his belt and his tunica, the heavy brocade fabrics falling down to the white marble grounds, before you were able to see his body for the very first time.
Geta was the embodiment of the dissolute Emperor, whose main role from his early childhood was to become the most powerful man in all of Rome. The days his father had forced him onto the battlefield where long over, he hated the mere thought of dirt, hard work and the smell of a camp of legionaries. His body was pale as if he'd never seen the sunlight, a reminder how priviledged the Emperor's truly were in difference to the rest of Rome. Even though he wasn't seen as a strong man, who could fight against a gladiator, his slender body was still decorated by light and defined muscles. All those parties, the drinking and whoring aside, Geta did care for his body out of the fear to end up ill like his damned father, who died pathetically in his bed. But the most present part for you now was Geta's hardened erection, ready to have his moment, pre-cum already glistening in the dim light of the oil lamps that surrounded you. Your heart pounded against your chest, almost as if it would rip out of your skin at any given moment - like a prey in front of a predator and yet you stared into his eyes in defiance.
Oh how he was turned on by this beautiful defiance in your eyes, the thinking that you will never surrender yourself to a God. It motivated him to turn those tables, to make you scream his name as he would fuck you to elysium. And with that in his mind, he grabbed your wrists and pinned you down, bringing his body between your legs as he spreaded them. His hips blocking your possibility to push your legs together again. His face went down to your face, as he forced a hungry and predatory kiss onto your lips, your tongue fighting against his, before your suddenly bit his lip during the battle of dominance. Geta's head shot back, his dark eyes staring at you before a laugh escaped his lips again. "I have a pretty bold wife, so hesitant!"
"Call me your wife, but i will never love you!", you quickly hissed back, showing him the hate that had built up in your stomach with every second passing, but he didn't care at all. His grin spoke more than a thousand words. Without a warning, he slowly pushed himself into you. He could've simply thrust in you, not caring for your pain in any way which was hard to avoid when a woman lost her virginity. But it was softer than he inicially intended to be. You wanted to curse him, but all you were able to get out of your mouth, when you felt how the stinging pain got replaced with a different feeling, something more carnal, was a moan through your clenched teeth. Geta didn't need to hold himself back, the dark moan that came from his lips only mirrowed the pleasure he felt, when a tight cunt held his hardened cock. "I don't need your love, it'll come sooner or later. What i want now is your body, surrendered to me... and trust me, you will stop fighting me". With those words, the young Emperor began to thrust into you, starting with slow movements, while his one hand was still holding his position beside your head, the other was holding your wrists above your head to avoid any form of resistance.
Not that you could resist anyways, there was never a way out from the day your wedding got announced. Seeing his lust shimmering in his dark eyes, which were focused on your face, watching how you tried so desperately to not show him any form of pleasure, it felt like a torture. Geta knew what he did, he knew how to treat your body to get his desired reaction. And once he felt your resistance cracking down under the deep thrusts, while your bodies were starting to move in unison, he loosened the grip around your wrists. "I might've made a mistake... you're not so bold as you think you are", he groaned, before your eyes shut open and you grabbed his shoulders. Not bold enough... His voice haunted your head. You didn't surrender, maybe it was time to set new rules. With a devilish grin, he wrapped his arm around your hip and switched the positions with one movement. You found yourself on his lap, but one of your hand already found its way in his short gingerblonde hair, which you grabbed and pulled, before your hip moved against his. In this position, you were the one to look down on him, while he was able to easily hit your deepest core with his dick. "Now you got claws?", he whispered, but you didn't fall for his provocation and continued to ride him with a newly fired self-esteem, that even surprised him. But it wasn't as if he was able to think more about it in this very moment, when his fingers pressed into the skin of your ass, while he hold you down, the moment he shot his load in you. The semen that may carry an heir into your womb, a legacy Geta wished for himself - and not for his brother. A lineage that started from him and him alone. It was a good timing as your body 'surrendered' as well, your moan filling this room with your shared high, the only true implementation of a marriage.
Now you were truly his wife. Married to an Emperor. An Empress.
____________________________
Tags:
quuinyoung koshkahhh mmkkzz analves pandora-journey ange-olras tellynojelly targwh0re h3k3t onelemonoat whitenoise808 spooky-cupid dev1lbella onelemonoat hawraa-alzubaidi omg-hellgirl the-holy-pigeon justnobodynothingmore fandomblogs-stuff justnobodynothingmore superblyspeedydragon deliciousfestsalad moon-390 lv9su harmfulb1tch apollonshootafar zalera8310 sweetffcts lvspedri soltik capitanostella weepingfashionwritingplaid labellapeaky @qardasngan @fallout-girl219 @chaand-sitara @eighttens @riddlerloveb0t @nicksolemnlyswears @myotakureprieve @lovely--lover @idiotsatan @mqrrstarr @eclypsosworld @happythingtiger @a-lovers-car @misspendragonsworld @kpoppunk18-blog @possiblyafangirl @katarzynaviktoria
To get on the taglist, please write a comment under this chapter :)
#gladiator 2#gladiator ii#emperor caracalla#emperor geta#geta x reader#caracalla x reader#joseph quinn#fred hechinger#gladiator ii fic#kabuki writes
257 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hey, so I was thinking about this, and then this post crossed my dash again and — bloody hell, Solas, a spirit of pride, ex-wisdom, the guy who refuses to LIE and approves of people looking for TRUTH, called the GOD OF LIES?
* Disclaimer here — I haven't played the game myself, and I can only operate with what information I see on tumblr or youtube so take all this with a grain of salt.
It doesn't make any sense to me, why Solas, the professional rebel leader and trickster (but not exactly a liar!), who had been leading people against the evanuris for centuries, who had elves flocking to him at the end of Trespasser, is suddenly alone. I imagine that whatever the devs tell themselves happened to make Solas alone maybe also kinda broke his dedication to truthfulness, so in Veilguard he's angrily decided to, fine, he'll be the villain, he'll be the liar.
Anger and despair is a disastrous basis for any decision, but, coupled with the fragile state of the Veil and the enormous, debilitating sense of sunken costs, it could narratively explain the change in Solas. Like, he believes he's done such terrible things, he's caused so much pain and misery, he's (potentially) rejected his one chance at personal happiness, he's betrayed and killed his (toxically beloved) friend/mentor/lover? Mythal, so fuck it, why not become the liar and traitor they all expect him to be, as long as it gets the job done.
Rook talking to him, trying to help untangle that huge mess of guilt and despair would have been SO ON POINT in a game that takes its time off from saving the world to sort out the companions' personal issues. In case of Neve they make sense because making sure at least one part of the world is as safe as can be ties in with the larger objective, but picnics in the woods? Dinner with Taash's mum? Standard grave upkeep rituals that, for some reason, haven't been delegated to someone else while Emmrich is away? Not sure.
In DAI random fetch quests or even going out of your way for companion personal quests made more sense, because there's an entire army, a network of agents, a ton of correspondence with nobles doing the work of saving the world in the background, plus, Corypheus is, for long periods of time, working behind the scenes, instead of actively corrupting entire cities with Blight. But Rook has only themselves, and their companions to stop Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan. Everyone else is largely fending for themselves, or their immediate areas. Every day counts!
But they do. The entire message of the game seems to be: the past is the past; what matters is who we are here and now.
So why not LISTEN to Solas? On the one hand, there are Solas' memories and the possibility to get Morrigan's or Mythal's input on why Solas is doing what he does but there is precious little in-depth interaction and actual listening to Solas himself. Finding out what happened, why is he alone, where did all the agents go? Why is no one helping him? What exactly was the plan? What went wrong in the first place, because Mythal didn't want him to put up the Veil, it was a mistake, it was not meant to happen. (I also have a question, who the hell were the Evanuri's fighting and why have the devs forgotten the Forgotten Ones; did their prison in the Void hold better than the one Fen'Harel made for the Evanuris??)
Anyway, imagine if the good and kind person Rook is kinda forced to be due to the game dialogue and choices — someone who didn't know Solas before, someone who knows from the start who Solas is and what he has done; someone who was only meant to stop him, based on Varric's stories and extended friendship — this person STILL listens. This person STILL considers his side of the story. (and maybe then stabs him in the back but - it has been an informed decision, Solas should approve)
I think there are certain parallels with Anders, who tried everything he could to improve the situation of mages, before he ran out of options and blew up the Chantry. So did Solas fight the Evanuris for centuries, before he came to the conclusion that only a Fade prison would stop them. Anders didn't want to get Hawke involved, and Solas didn't want to involve the Inquisitor. The difference is that DA2 clearly showed how the Templars and the Chantry abuse the mages, Kirkwall was a brutal game in that regard, even if it still pretended to play with the idea that maybe Templars/Circles/Chantry are right. The result was the same regardless of how the player went about it and what he believed in — Anders blew up the Chantry and Hawke was banished from Kirkwall.
So I wonder what deliciously disastrous emotional fallout we were robbed of — if Rook could listen to Solas, if they were given an in-game opportunity to believe in his cause, take his side in bringing down the Veil. And THEN (for sake of future games' continuity) Rook finds out the 'safe plan' is not gonna work after all and has the option to either talk down or betray Solas :)))
Something something. Making Solas a liar in Veilguard actively brings back a problem they fixed working on Inquisition.
On December 20 2019 VGS posted an interview with Trick Weekes about their work on Solas. This whole sentence is a link so its large enough for mobile but also disclaimer this is before they changed their name so deadname warning.
Here's a transcription I found here which is where i took the screenshots above. Since I know not everyone has 40 minutes to listen to an online radio interview.
I however highlighted the main point since most of you are not reading the screenshots anyway but skimming through. Rant under Read-more. Also bc i try to not be too negative on people's dashs but also i wanna ramble some more.
"But he lied a lot more. And it really weakened his character."
You can tell this happened during the game. Solas lies only once within Inquisition. He says something he can't be vague about and you push him so he lies, badly. He usually tells the truth vaguely. Typically Solas lies no more than Blackwall.
I fully believe that if in Inquisition your inquisitor figured out that Solas was Fen’harel and asked him bluntly to his face he'd confess. He might even be impressed. But why would you ever start to think that. No one assumes that their coworker is actually Poseidon regardless of how much they love the beach and ocean.
He hides in your expectations.
You can't ask him about being an ancient elf or being Fen'harel of myth because those aren't very probable. They're astronomically low to be truth within that universe. And outside, no one finished DA2 and went i wonder if one of our next companions is the Dread Wolf. Sera said, impossible things can't be surprises. He doesn't have to lie so when the truth comes out it's becomes obvious on a second playthrough.
They then actively bring back a problem they fixed in Inquisitions development. That they were open about fixing. That having a character that outright lies to you makes you have no intention of even hearing out the character. It retroactively undercuts Inquisition bc i see people trying to find Solas' lies in it when they aren't going to find any beyond the court intrigue.
It undercuts any lore we do get from Solas bc people dismiss it outright as being a lie from Mr "I abhor blood magic". I feel like shaking people's shoulders like no, dont do it.
They retconned him guys i have proof from 2019.
And its like if you hate Solas is this even satisfying? Like that's not Solas. His motivations are gone (that's a whole other post) and so is his core personality trait. It's like they went here's the Dreadwolf but during the ten years they replaced the smug asshole who was insufferably right with a 20 yo senior chihuahua that doesnt have any teeth.
My favorite villains are those that tell the truth. Because nothing hurts more than the truth. Can you imagine if he told you the truth. If he told you horrible things that you dismissed as lies to only be true. Wouldn't Varric’s death have more weight if he told you Varric was dead only for you - for everyone - to see him in the Lighthouse. If it was a spirit who took his shape to help you or even because it saw something worth reflecting in your memories.
So you dismiss him until it's revealed near the end oh he was telling the truth and you have an oh shit maybe he was right about other things but its too late to try and stop any of the truths he told you which could be from allies/companions betraying to stuff about Ghilan'nain and Elgarnan.
Like the only way to redeem Solas was to listen to him and by going out of your way to address problems he sees and you can find the alternative to tearing down the Veil by a series a little puzzle pieces throughout the game.
Have it be he will only listen to you if you listen to him. That he'll reject your other solution bc why the hell would he trust you if you couldnt extend the same.
Like Solas couldve been a great villian and he should've been great for both the haters and those that liked him. Not only the romance but for those who became his friend. Like i keep coming back to if i hated Solas would i be satisfied with Veilguard.
And the answer is no because that isnt Solas.
Tricking him has no weight bc he's an idiot in Veilguard like not even in the ending bc doesn't notice you switch the dagger around like right in front of him but none of his actions make sense. Ppl have mentioned the regret prison makes no sense for Elgarnan and Ghilan'nain bc they don't have regrets.
Attacking Solas has no weight because he literally needs the shit kicked out of him by a dragon for it to even begin to work. They literally need him to be at deaths door before its realistic that Rook could take him in a fight.
Redeem has no weight bc of the massive retcons to his motivations. They had to retcon the post credits scene bc even if Flemythal went hey i don't want you to do this Dai Solas wouldve went okay but that doesnt solve my other problems with the veil including the corruption of spirits and the fact its in literal shambles so i guess is still coming down.
I'm just disappointed. By the end of Trespasser they had a great villian and they just tossed it to the side and reverted him and people are arguing about a character who's sole defining trait in Veilguard is a problem they solved before Inquisition launched.
Basically we can sum it up with a screenshot.
#bengruminations#an essay under the cut lol#veilguard meta#solas meta#maybe this IS what Bioware wanted to avoid#another Anders-like sympathetic 'villain'#maybe that's why we are not shown the cons of keeping Veil in place#why we are not shown Solas' objective reasons for bringing it down
501 notes
·
View notes
Text
=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡
=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader
=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- MDNI- Warnings- overuse/incorrect use of prescription meds, angsty asf in places, scene of a medical procedure, death of a patient )at the beginning) heavy subject matter, some sexual tension. Reader, 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes ✨️
=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 8k
=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!
♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated ♡
=͟͟͞♡ Part Five =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist
Part Six
Satoru has a morning routine.
Skincare? Well a splash of cold water on his face, he’s been lucky enough to have insane genetics, in his mid thirties he could pass for a college student, not a line on his perfect skin. But that was really all he did, that splash of cold water every morning, as he then starts to take his morning cocktail, after that he makes himself eat something, then brushes his teeth.
After that, he gets ready for the day, and as that Adderall mixes with his morning coffee? Fuck it’s perfection. Then when the Kolonopin hits right along with it, Satoru’s mind is blissfully open, and he’s able to focus on what he does best, saving lives. One doesn’t just become the best doctor there is, no that takes time, precision, and a lot of sacrifice.
Satoru is alone, usually. For a night he had you in here, in his bed and snuggled against him, and fuck he enjoyed it, which terrifies him. It’s been a week since he’s been able to do more than sneak hungry kisses with you in the locker room of the hospital, your schedule is longer than even his as you’re an intern, recently you worked twenty four hours straight.
Fuck he admires you, how even exhausted and dead on your feet, you manage to put a bright smile on your face, he’d love to just take care of you, but you have to go through this to truly become a great doctor. But he finds himself missing you, constantly thinking about you. You’ve become a fixation, a sort of obsession, he wants to know so much more about you.
He wants your body to fall apart under him again, wants to taste your arousal on his tongue, feel you clench around his fingers, watch as your cheeks flush and your hips raise for him. He wants you naked in his bed, but he also knows he’s just not good enough for you, for what you want and need.
But he’s selfish.
It’s almost Christmas, and the snow has piled up as he slides into his warmed up car, thinking of you and your ancient SUV, he hopes you at least have heat. His drive to the hospital is quiet, no music, as he takes another pill, this one is his Xanax, something about Klonopin and Xanax is blissful. Any stress he has gets replaced by a ton of ‘I don’t give any fucks’.
He knows you saw, you haven’t mentioned it though, and tonight he’s supposed to actually get you on this date. He wants time with just you, no other distractions, being inside of you is better than any cocktail of benzos he could dream of. If it was all his life consisted of, maybe he could go without it.
But the real world is just that.
The waiting room is packed, Satoru instantly goes into doctor mode, getting one lady in a wheelchair who’s vomiting blood, and he thanks god for that xanax, to help him through. He thanks god (or medicine rather) for the adderall making him have enough energy to run back and forth like a madman, helping everyone he can.
He helps the med students, the interns, the patients, the doctors on the floor who all come to him. ‘Dr. Gojo’ this ‘Please, Dr. Gojo- a minute’ that. Can you check this patient, can you check this scan, all while he’s got his eyes on his four interns, including the girl consuming him, the girl with exhausted eyes and shoulders that just look too narrow lately.
The girl he makes eat something because she’s been here all night helping a baby after a rough c section. He finds you in the nicu, with your hand inside the incubator, when he holds the coffee and muffin he’s brought you. But he pauses to watch you, as you mesmerize him with your pretty smile, singing something to the itty bitty baby.
“Does that actually help? I’ve heard it does.” Satoru murmurs, you jolt just a bit, looking up at him nervously.
“I think they enjoy the interaction, do you know if baby’s don’t get it they just… won’t make it?” You gulp as you speak, before continuing to hum.
“Shoko says you’ve been at it all night, why not eat a little something?” He suggests, you sigh, nodding then, taking off your gloves, going to wash your hands and pat them dry.
“You’re so sweet, thank you.” You give him a little kiss, and he exhales, setting your things down to pull you close.
“I miss you, can you hate babies already so you’re back on my floor?” You giggle breathlessly then.
“No, sorry. I miss you too.” You kiss him slowly, softly, your lips little brushes against his, in an easy rhythm that feels so natural, so perfect.
“Fine, one more day then I want you back.”
“Needy for me?” You tease, and he exhales, nodding. “I can’t wait for us to have a date, if shit doesn’t hit the fan.”
“When doesn’t it? Alright, you eat Missy.”
“Thank you Satoru.” You kiss him again, he pulls you so tight, like he can’t get you close enough, before letting you go.
After eating your breakfast/lunch/dinner - that muffin encompasses all of your overnight shift - you’re yawning when Shoko comes to you. “Emergency c section, you ready for this, intern?”
“Ready.” You’re scrubbing in now with Dr. Shoko, as the patient is prepped and sedated, falling into a slumber.
“She was a drug user, the entirety of the pregnancy.” Shoko informs you softly, as well as the others, and you pause then, looking up at her soft brown eyes behind her glasses.
“Is that why she’s so small?” You murmur, she looks maybe three months pregnant at best.
“Mmhm, it’s not the first. Four of them had fetal problems, two made it and were sent to child protective services.”
“Four!?” Shoko sighs, nodding as she starts prepping her, drawing a line with a marker over her lower abdomen.
The surgery begins, you’re trying to keep your eyes on the procedure, not the heart rate monitor of the baby you heard earlier, already so faint there’s likely no chance. You don’t need to hear the baby’s heart drop, not when you know what that means, not when it’s one of your worst fears in this job so far.
You know all lives are important, but something about a sweet, precious baby not making it makes you question anything and everything, kids in general, it’s so much to handle so much. You know you can’t let it get you, you have to do what you do with all patients, focus.
Satoru wants you to dislike babies, to know better, but where he’s wrong is working with Shoko has you more in love with them. But you could do without, without having children, even if it’s heartbreaking to think of, if it meant having Satoru’s love. You could put that aside and respect him, but right now all you can think of is how badly you hope this baby has a chance.
“Scalpel.” You watch as Shoko makes the incision, a perfect line, and you’re trying to keep your breath even as you watch her pull back the skin, the muscle, the fat, until she’s finally cutting toward the uterus.
You both are resting pieces of this woman’s small body on her nearly flat, open stomach, one of the oddest parts of the procedure. “Not much blood, that’s good.”
“Yes, here.” Then you see it, the uterus as Shoko hands you the scalpel. “You can do this.”
You take it with sure hands, a sense of dread filling you, one you’ve felt before, but you shove it down, as you delicately cut to reveal the baby, so tiny and blue, and not moving whatsoever. You swallow down the bile in your throat, taking a deep breath behind your mask as you start to suction its nose and mouth, it’s little limbs twitching slightly for just a moment.
“Come on, come on little one, breathe, please.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you try to get it to breathe, taking the little boy to the little table as Shoko stitches the mom back up.
You’re intubating the baby that’s not crying, you’re giving it oxygen, you’re doing the little compressions, and you can’t hold back the tears that fall as you realize there’s no chance. This baby is maybe five months gestation at best, but even for that it’s unreasonably tiny, it’s just a helpless little doll on your table, one that you keep trying, as Shoko comes, listening for breathing, looking for any sign of life.
You hate that you're crying right here, that you can barely hold yourself together. Just what sort of doctor even are you!? You hate that you’re not stronger than this, but you’re just so tired, and you hate that you can’t save everyone, especially this little boy. Did he even have a chance, as his mother did all of that?
Even so, you hate that you couldn’t save him. You hate that Satoru isn’t here to hold you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, to distract you from this depression, Shoko’s murmuring in your ear, but you can’t even hear her truly. You keep repeating to yourself- ‘you’re a doctor, you’re a doctor, you’re a doctor’.
You have to keep going, even when it’s hard, right? You keep going even when it’s all just too much. You are shaking however, when Shoko gently pulls you away from the lifeless little body, shaking her head then.
“Long gone, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, you have to be pried off the little lifeless baby.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
“Shh, it’s okay. Step outside, I’ll be there.”
You realize from the talk amongst the nurses and others that the mother didn’t even care, she had meant to have an abortion but was too preoccupied, and thought drugs would ‘deal with it’. You can’t stop your anger, your fury, despite needing to remain ‘detached’.. You’re sobbing silently, sitting in one of the waiting room seats when Shoko and Satoru come to you.
“Think you need to take a break, go with Satoru for a bit, hmm?” You nod a bit, Shoko holds you for a moment, kissing your head, and you fall into Satoru’s arms, wrapped up so tightly, inhaling his scent, that cologne of his, feeling his heart against your cheek.
“Oh, baby… I’m so sorry.” He whispers huskily. “Come on, let’s go have some privacy?”
Soon you’re in his office, and you can’t hold it back anymore, not when it’s just the two of you, you break down completely, until you’re a mess.
“Shh, shh.” Satoru’s rubbing your back as you break into sobs, unable to breathe now, getting lightheaded as your breaths come in sharp little pants. “Hey, you need to take a deep breath.”
“C-can’t… how can I… be a doc- if I…” You’re all flushed and red when he pulls back and looks at you, cupping your face between his big hands.
“Breathe. In. Out.”
“C-can’t, can’t… fucking it all up… I…” You back away then, hand on your chest, struggling as your hands are going numb, and you feel yourself getting dizzy. “The baby is just… he’s just gone and I… I can’t take it.”
Satoru sighs, holding you closely. “You have to though, this is what being a doctor is, sweetheart.”
You sniffle, feeling your blood pressure rising more and more, the crushing weight and your exhaustion hitting. “Then I can’t, I can’t-”
“Yes. You can.” Satoru shakes you then, grabbing you by your shoulders. “You can do this, you did what you could with the baby. Plenty of others you’ve saved, and their moms. You can’t fix everything.”
“I… I…” You collapse against him, sobbing again, as the door knocks, Satoru shushes you gently.
“Yeah?”
“Dr. Gojo…” You hear Miwa’s voice then, you quickly swipe at the streams of tears on your sticky cheeks.
“I’m busy right now, what is it?” You’re turning away, trying to get yourself together now.
“I am prepping OR 3 for surgery.”
“Yes, thanks.” Satoru’s hand is on your back now, comforting in its touch, but then his words make you tense. “Do you see now?”
“See what exactly?” You turn to him, eyes swimming with tears that are burning as you struggle to focus.
Satoru sighs, swiping a hand through his silky white locks, before putting his hands in the lab coat pockets, tilting his head. “How awful it’d be, to have kids. Especially this line of work, how could you keep it all together?”
You glare then, jaw setting, hands clenched into fists by your sides, fury taking over every part of you. “What!?”
“I don’t mean to be insensitive, but maybe this is a learning lesson, a reality check of what you’ll handle here.”
Your jaw clenches so tightly it hurts, breaths quicker and quicker. “You know what? I have not said shit about the cocktail of pills in your bathroom. I have not said shit about the fact that you seem to hate kids or something. I have not said one word about you, about your lifestyle, your fear of commitment, I haven’t tried to change you or pry.”
Satoru falters then, hitting him in waves how furious you are, realizing now what he’s done, his lips parting. “Shit, I’m sorry, I-”
“No, you’ll let me finish, Dr. Gojo.” At your formal tone he’s breaking, he sees it then, you’re trembling, barely able to keep it together, he feels your anger and even worse, your disappointment. “I haven’t said a damn thing, because we just got together, and we don’t even know each other yet.”
“You act like this connection is normal?” His hands go to your waist, but you shove them off.
“No, it’s not, but what is also not normal is pushing someone to want what you want. You’re trying so hard to make me change my mind, for what? So I can be a perfect little girlfriend for you? So easy, let you do what you want and have no fucking opinions?”
“That’s not what I want. I want you.” He tries again, but his hands freeze an inch above your skin when you glare up at him through tears.
“I don’t pry, I don’t judge, I just accept you. But you can’t accept anything that doesn’t fit into your world, can you?”
“I can accept it, I just know you’re not thinking rationally, you’re young and still inexperienced.”
You laugh then, a humorless laugh at him. “That’s insane talk from you, truly Dr. Gojo. Your whole MO is thinking outside the norms, is letting feelings in. But only if it benefits you. And my age? I’m no baby, you’re not even that much older.”
“It’s life experience, is all.”
“Hah, you don’t even know my life.”
“Just… I’ll drop it. I swear.” You shake your head at him, and he panics then, sensing you falling back from him. “I will drop it, come here, you’re upset.”
“Yes, I’m upset! What I just had to see, what I just had to… and you’re what, rubbing it in my face!?”
Satoru’s blood pressure rises as he realizes he’s losing you, his hands trembling, sure hands that never falter. “I’ll stop, just don’t… don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?” You whisper, he cups your face and you can’t push him away, not when he slams his lips down on yours, and you’re kissing him back for just a moment, before thinking better of it, freezing your lips, pressing them in a terse line. He’s a breath away, leaning over you, taking over you completely.
But you can’t.
“Don’t you leave me. Please. You’re important to me.” He needs you, he needs you so badly, but he feels you slipping through his fingers, knowing he’s pushed you too far. “I’ll drop this. I’ll respect what you want.”
“Oh now you will? Instead of comforting me after watching that little baby…” You can’t even say it, you can’t even think of it, the images in your head making you devastated. “You know I’m emotional, you knew that and you said it was a good thing for a doctor, but because it’s not what you want in this situation you use it as what. A lesson? It’s no lesson, it was a baby!”
Satoru sighs now, shaking his head, covering his face, temples pounding as the blood rushes to his brain. “It was fucked up of me.”
“Yeah, it was.” You take a shaky breath, shaking your numb hands, pacing now, and Satoru watches you with his heart in his throat. “I can’t.”
“Don’t do this. I see what I did.”
“This isn’t good, any of it, me and you. What do we have? We had insane sex, I have feelings…”
Satoru blinks snowy lashes, droplets just nearing the tips of them, as his lower lip trembles, damn near ending your resolve. “You have-”
“Feelings that are too much. It’s too much, I can’t even focus on this internship, you consume me.” Satoru yanks you against his chest, his breath sweeping over your swollen lips, bitten to death from the stress of the day.
“You think you don’t consume me?” He whispers hoarsely, and you shake your head, earning his humorless laugh. “You’re wrong, so wrong, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t look at me that way, those eyes of yours, eyes that make me stupid.” You shove at his chest as those blue eyes take you over, snowy lashes lowered, a beautiful face that makes you ache.
“Don’t leave me. Please.” His voice breaks, and you feel it, his vulnerability, it makes your stomach flip, makes you almost sick.
“Why can’t you accept me, when I accept you?”
“Because I don’t want to disappoint you, I thought it’d be better if you want…”
“What you want.”
Satoru gulps now. “I’m selfish, I want you and only you, I wouldn’t want something else in our lives.”
“Our lives?” You laugh then. “There’s never an ‘our’. Not when you just want to fix everything you deem wrong with me.”
“I don’t want to ‘fix’ you. I’ll stop it. Just kiss me.”
“No.” He pauses a centimeter from your lips, exhaling. “I won’t kiss you anymore, I won’t let you say insane things in my ear while you fuck me, ‘only me ever’ what are you trying to do to me!?”
“I meant it.”
“No, let me go.” His hands drop, as he blinks back tears, and you’re a mess in front of him. “Satoru… I could have gotten over it for you. Wanting marriage, wanting serious shit, wanting kids. Don’t you know I’d give it all up for you, for a chance to be with you? But you trying to change me? That’s where I draw the line.”
You hate seeing him in tears, your beepers both go off then, and you step away, heading towards the door. Satoru’s hand stops you, over your little one, his voice desperate as he leans over you. “I was wrong, will you just forgive me?”
“You made me work with Shoko to hate babies. Then when it backfires, you say something like that?”
“I know. I know.” He hugs you from behind, burying his head against your neck, and you love the embrace, you love him.
But you also love yourself, and you can’t handle it anymore, the cold, cruel way he goes about things. The careless way he dismisses you and all of your feelings, the way he thinks only his way is right, that everyone should think as he does. You shake in his hold, everything pulling you to him.
“Do you hate me?” He whispers brokenly, and you shake your head, looking up at him now, his blue eyes glittering with tears.
“I could never. Far from it.”
“Then give me a chance to fix it.” His thumb brushes over your jaw, your precious face destroyed, your beeper goes off again and you take a breath.
“Let me go. We’ll talk later.”
You walk out, leaving him sobbing against the door, his head against it, fist landing on it, struggling to pull himself together. You’ve in just a couple months become the most important thing in the world to him, but you’re just… leaving him. And he can’t blame you, he’s confused you, he’s turned your life upside down, and he instead of comforting you…
He threw shit in your face.
Why couldn’t he just let you want kids? Well, because he can’t be a parent, and he can’t give you it, and he wants you, no he needs you. He needs you with him, only him, to feel your lips on his, your body against him. To see your little smile, to hear your moans and cries, to comfort you when you’re exhausted.
He should have comforted you, why did he need to do it like that? Why did he fuck everything up? The thoughts swarm in his head as he leans back in his chair now, covering his face with a hand, before he yanks open his drawer. He takes out the xanax and crushes it right on his desk, lining them up with a credit card he yanks now from his wallet.
He rolls up a hundred dollar bill and snorts it right up his nostril, it burns like a bitch, makes his eyes water, but he knows it will hit soon, he won’t give as many fucks, right? But after twenty minutes he’s taking another, and another, until he sees his shift is done, and he’s weakly walking towards the locker rooms, seeing you there changing, looking at your gorgeous frame.
Your eyes catch his then, you quickly look away, your eyes are puffy from the crying he’s made you do, when he slips off his shirt, head fuzzy. He stumbles just a bit, catching your concerned gaze. Which infuriates him then, he steadies himself and glares at you, slipping off his own shirt, noticing your gaze just grows more worried when he slips his top on.
“Satoru, what’s… are you okay?” You care about him? Why?
“Just peachy, sweets.” He gives you a fake smile, and your heart races, as you look up at eyes almost black, so dilated.
“Satoru are you-”
“Don’t ask shit about my life. You’re done, right?” His unexpectedly cruel words pierce your heart, you turn away, body shaking. “That’s what I thought.”
“Are you okay?” You ask again, turning back around, watching his lids lower just a bit as he leans over you, pressing you against the cool metal of the lockers.
“No, m’not okay. Girl of my fuckin’ dreams hates me.” You hear it, the slut of his words, as he takes a hand and cups your face. “Why do you gotta be so beautiful?”
“You’re fucked up.” You manage to breathe out, and he smirks then.
“Me? Nah. Maybe fucked up over you, intern. Haunt my every dream, now you’re gonna just leave?”
“Satoru…”
“You should know what you’re missing.” He kisses you again, desperate and messy, brutal and hungry, hands pulling you against his hard body. You whimper, hating your body’s reaction to him, how it lights up. “You want me, huh?”
“Of course I do. It’s you who can’t accept me.”
“I can… I can…” He kisses you again, one hand cupping you between your thighs over your leggings. “Always so hot f’me.”
“We won’t do it. I deserve better.”
“You do.” He presses a finger along your clit, moaning then. “Better, better… you do… lemme just take care of you, hmm?”
“Stop it, Toru. You’re not yourself right now.”
“This is me.” He kisses you again, as you press on his chest. “It’s all me, this is really me. Gonna run the other fuckin direction when you learn.”
“Ahem.” Suguru’s clearing of his throat does nothing to Satoru, who’s in a haze of lust, depression and xanax. “Satoru, back off.”
“She’s leaving me, Sugu, who doesn’t?”
“It’s not like that!” You hiss through your teeth.
“Satoru…”
“What?” He sways just a bit, Suguru’s frowning now as he looks at him.
“Really, Satoru?”
“What? Really what? I’m tired of everyone so fucking judgy.”
“Suguru take him home.” You whisper, and he nods then, but Satoru glares over at you.
“Why should he?” He demands. “I’m fine. I take more than I did for fucking breakfast.”
“You can’t have someone see you like this.” Your first worry is someone walking in, Satoru losing his career, every other hurt or worry is thrown into a back seat.
“M’perfect, baby. Should I show you?” He kisses you again, as you shove at him, glaring.
“You’re not perfect, maybe something’s hitting harder? You’re not okay.” He shakes his head, laughing now, eyes glinting.
“No I’m not okay, how can I be? When you’re leaving me.”
“I’m not, I just… I’m mad and I’m upset. Okay? Let me be. It doesn’t mean you have to… hurt yourself-”
“You hurt me existing.” He whispers, cupping your face again.
“Satoru, enough.” Suguru’s words resonate in Satoru’s brain, thank god. “Get your goddamn jacket and shoes on.” Satoru huffs and Suguru brushes your hair back as he finally lets you breathe, ever so gently, dark violet eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay, love?”
You nod quickly. “We just… have different views and he was hurtful, but I’m worried more than anything.” You whisper, looking at Satoru now, you’ve never, ever seen him like this. Your heart hurts for him.
“He’ll be fine, I’ve got it. You get home and get some sleep.”
“Thank you, Suguru.” He nods, and you shut your locker, when Satoru looks at you with devastated eyes, shattering your heart.
“I’m so sorry for what I did. Okay?” He whispers, taking your hands then, and you sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment.
“Satoru I never put myself first, with my toxic exes. I let them run all over me. I have to take care of my heart this time.It’s not that I don’t feel it, I feel it. Just please, I have to put myself as a priority.” You touch his chest over his soft sweater, and he has two trails of tears falling from his cerulean eyes.
“Do you need time?”
“I need a minute to breathe, to think. We’ll talk more when you’re…”
“What, sober? Sweetheart I never am.” He whispers, right against your lips, Suguru puts a hand on his shoulder now.
“She’ll talk to you tomorrow. Right?”
“I will.” Satoru kisses your forehead, and you have to hold in every bit of you that wants to take him home yourself, that part screaming forgive him.
But even for Satoru Gojo, the man that’s taken over your heart, you have to protect yourself.
“Good night, then intern.” He murmurs, running the backs of his cool fingers across your overheated cheek.
“Good night Satoru, Suguru.” He gives you the smallest smile, when you leave Suguru exhales, covering his face.
“I fucked it all up, Sugu.” His voice is broken, and Suguru puts an arm around him now.
“How much did you take?”
“Four bars. Not OD level.”
“Thank god. Just… Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Soon you see Satoru and Suguru, as you climb up in your car, and you rest your head on the steering wheel, bawling your eyes out.
It feels so wrong not to be in his arms, not to kiss him, something that just started became so precious to you, so special. But what he did was nasty and hurtful, what he keeps doing, trying to make you change like this, you know you’ve done the right thing. But you also know you’re in love with him, with a beautiful, brilliant and broken man, and you won’t be able to let him go fully.
*****
The next morning Satoru is there bright and early, sipping on coffee in the cafeteria as you walk in, faltering. Remembering so vividly being pressed against those lockers, those eyes that were black almost are now a calm storm of blue, as he looks at you over his hot cup, steam fogging up around his face. You just stand there, because you’re exhausted, you’re hurt.
You want to be with him more than anything, you wanted to go on that damn date with him, wanted to fall asleep in his arms. You want to just forgive him so easily, to fall into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo, to feel those plush lips on yours, to have those eyes devour you. Feel those long fingers that are currently curling around that styrofoam cup, touching your cheek.
You both stand there, until you clear your throat, smiling just a little, a sad smile that makes Satoru feel like shit. He knows how bad he’s hurt you, he’s had all morning to think about it, about how fragile you were, so vulnerable, coming to him to feel better, and what did he do instead? Make you leave him, devastate you, and all he can think of is how to put a real smile on your face again.
“Morning, Dr. Gojo.” You say softly, eyes lowering, lashes casting shadows over your cheeks.
“Good morning, intern.” He says, his voice isn’t the bright and goofy one you’re used to, or the husky sultry one for you, or even the flirtatious one. It’s a soft voice, unsure, just like you.
You grab your coffee now, your shoulder brushing his, just that contact alone makes you ache, the pain in your heart so brutal you feel emotions starting to come in waves. There is so much left unsaid as you both walk out past the packed waiting room, heading over to the elevator, Satoru presses the button, and you stand next to him, feeling the pull, it’s just stronger today.
“I’m…” Satoru clears his throat, looking down at you now, your breath catches. “I’m really sorry that I pushed it. I understand we’re over, but I need to tell you.”
You look up at, swallowing nervously, the backs of his hand brushing against yours, and yours gently brushes back, sending shivers down his spine. “I forgive you, I do. It’s just… we’re too different.”
Satoru turns toward you, leaning down low, free hand cupping your face. “Too different?”
You nod, feeling the tears burning your eyes. “We are, Satoru, so different, and that’s okay. But I think we both know it won’t work.”
“Yeah, you think so?” His words are hoarse, his gaze tearing through your every barrier, a sad, lost gaze.
“I do. Maybe you were happier before, a Hojo and all.” You smile sadly, looking down at his perfect lips. “I hope we can be friends, when you go back to collecting those infinity stones.”
Satoru presses the stop on the elevator then, making you gasp, pulling you by your waist against him, so close you taste that sweet mocha on his breath. “You can leave me, I get it, but don’t think for one minute you’re not all I want. Don’t think I’m giving up on this.”
You can’t speak, not when he’s so close, not when the words he’s saying are ruining you, that you’re melting for him, as your own free hand slides up his chest. “You’re not?”
“How could I? It’s you.” Satoru exhales against you, almost brushing his lips on yours, before pulling back, starting the elevator. “Want that goddamn date with you. I’ll do anything I can to earn it.”
“Satoru…” He walks off when the elevator opens, leaving you to lean against the rail, head pressed against the wall, you’re not sure what floor you’re going to, you just know he’s got you too far gone to leave just now.
He’s not giving up on you, and you don’t want him to give up, either. But with so much between you left unsaid, you have no clue what any of it means. When you’re finally where you need to be, after several elevator rides of pulling yourself together, Satoru checks his rolex, peering at you.
“You’re late, intern.” His voice is calm, professional.
“I know, I’m sorry.” You manage hoarself, as Toge, Yuuta and Maki look at you, concern in their gazes, as they of all people truly knew what a mess you were last night after you got home.
“Don’t let it be a habit.” Gojo says, trying to be stern but it’s failing, it’s just a soft little order, one you nod at. “Wanna work with Shoko or do the pit with me?”
You’re surprised then, blinking a bit. “The pit, if I can please.”
He gives just the smallest little smile. “Then you’re on it. Maki, your week with Shoko.”
“Babies, yuck.” She shivers and Satoru smiles just a bit bigger, as Yuuta snorts in laughter.
Satoru surely feels the same as Maki, but you?
Satoru knows you are yourself, uniquely so. He now knows you were going to sacrifice it all for him, and he didn’t deserve you, not one bit, you deserve more, everything. But he’s so selfish, he wants you back, and he knows he’ll do anything for it, to have you back in his embrace, which feels so empty.
When you’re both alone in his office later, while going over a patient, he keeps his distance as much as he can. Satoru wants to respect this, your wishes, but his hands long to touch you, even those casual teasing brushes you all shared had meant so much to him.
“Present your case, intern.” He says then, leaning on his desk, you feel this distance he is keeping, and it breaks you, but you pull it together, this is your decision right?
“We had a patient with hours of stomach pain last night, ultrasound found gallstones, which should be what occurred, and ordered an EKG to rule out any potential signs of heart attack.”
“Perfect.”
“Patient is in his late fifties, mild drinker, smoker, but otherwise healthy, a little overweight. He likes tacos, he said.” You smile just a bit at it.
“Well who doesn’t? And EKG results?”
“Everything came back normal.”
“So what’s the best course of action?”
“The stones are small, but there are a few. I would suggest a laparoscopic cholecystectomy first, aside from gallbladder removal. That, and a lower fat diet, along with no alcohol should have him just right.” Satoru smiles at you, fuck you make him proud, holding yourself high.
“Exactly right, do you want to assist?”
You blink in surprise, you weren’t sure after everything, but Satoru is clearly not holding any of this against you. “If you would let me, of course, Sir.”
Sir.
Should be calling him that in the bedroom, he thinks, how pretty you’d be on your knees, begging for his cock in your mouth. The images are so lewd and it takes him everything to keep it together. He smiles though, sitting down and taking one of his klonopin right in front of you. You look away nervously, biting your lip.
“You should know all of me. You should know you were smart to leave.” He takes one and chews it up, feeling the sweetness hit his tongue.
“I don’t want to leave you.” You whisper, coming to him then, he pulls you between his thighs now, and you cup his face. “I didn’t judge you.”
“I know you didn’t, I know.” His eyes shut, he turns and kisses your palm so sweetly. “I won’t have anyone else, it’s just you.”
“Satoru it’s insane to say it, when you…”
“I know. I know it is.” He pulls you down, to where you’re leaned over him, one leg over his chair, your hands gripping the arms of his seat. His hands slip over your waist, right over your scrubs. “I’ll do anything to make it right.”
“You think I don’t want to kiss you, fuck you? Suck you right here?” Satoru moans, hand pulling at your hair at the nape of your neck, little networks of goosebumps pricking up, your body reacting in every way, nipples pressed against your bra, desiring his touches.
“Think I don’t want you wrapped on this cock?” His seductive whisper has your hips shifting, a movement he notices avidly.
“You can have anyone, Satoru.”
“I only want you. I’ll have to show you. But will you let me try?” He asks, emotional now as the overwhelming feelings hit.
“I don’t want to be changed for you, I don’t want to give up who I am.” He sighs now, nodding, sad look on his beautiful face.
“I won’t change you. But sweetheart, you are changing me.”
“Bad or good, Satoru?” Your whisper damn near ends him, is it bad or good, this obsession with you? You’re good, but is he?
“I want it to be good. I don’t want to make you cry again, break you down, terrify you.”
You ease in his hold, a hold you never want to leave, but you try to think rationally, despite the overwhelming pull of him, despite the ache to press yourself fully against him, to let him take your pain away. “Then let’s… take time.”
He nods, brushing a thumb on your lower lip, just a little glossy from your chapstick, he can almost taste it, vanilla sugar. He’s caressing your face ever so softly. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”
“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek, before pulling yourself off him, sighing.
“Time, huh?” Any time without you in his arms makes him sick, but when you nod he kisses your forehead, so sweetly you want to fall against him, fall into him. “I’l give it, don’t even deserve this right now.”
“I still feel it all for you.” You say, before you pull away, making his heart race. “Don’t hurt yourself over this, please. It’s not… I still…”
“Don’t worry about me, sweets. I’m fine.” His sad smile doesn’t reassure you anymore than he’s pretending it to be true. “Now, go get ready to put him on the board, yeah?”
“Yes Dr. Gojo.” You give him another worried little smile, leaving Satoru to cover his face in his hands.
No amount of a benzodiazepine lessens the need for you.
Your back is against the door, breaths coming quickly, leaning your head back and just longing to be with the man inside, the broken man that has your heart. You know it will never heal without him, no it needed him to heal, you want to stand so firm but your heart and soul know you belong to him, even if for now, you both don’t know it’s true.
You put on a brave smile, and set about your day. You could do this, right? Be without him? You were fine your whole life before you even knew Satoru. Surely… but then why then every time you formally speak to him, do you wish your lips could crash on his?
The day is hectic, even more hectic than usual, you’re running on nothing again, and when you’re finally done, and you’re heading to your car, you can hardly hold your eyes open. Satoru’s next to you suddenly, hands on your shoulders, you yawn as he looks down at you, you’re so curious how he got here.
“You’re too tired to drive, intern.”
You look at him, squinting just a bit in the dark night, the wind softly blowing back your sweater and making his snowy hair sway. “Are you fucked up?”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Normal meds. I wouldn’t hurt you. Intentionally, aside from being an ass. I’ll take you home, Maki can bring you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah, thank you Satoru.” Soon you’re driving in his car, his hand keeps wanting to rest on your thigh, but he stops himself. He’s running on nothing himself at this point, he’s exhausted, and all he can think of is what it’d be like to hold you against him tonight.
The longing for you, for any of you destroys him, the only sound is his car gently moving through the snow, the windshield wipers going as you keep stealing glances at him, so tired your eyes are heavy. All you can think of is holding him, falling into that bliss, god imagine, snuggling with him again, waking up with his kisses.
But you don’t know him, truly, and how will you, when you’re running from him? Even if it is the best thing for you, it doesn’t make it easier, not when you study his perfect profile in the night. Not when he glances your way for just a moment, that hand hovering right next to your thigh, like he’s fighting it too.
Soon you’re home, the heat of his car mixed with how tired you are makes it almost impossible to leave. Satoru leans over, unseatbelted you, and himself, a hand finally gently over your thigh. It burns through your warm, plush leggings, like a brand on your skin, his other hand brushing your hair back ever so softly, as he opens his mouth, then closes it.
It’s quiet in the car, your breaths and the low purr of the car filling the air, along with the wind outside and the gently falling flakes. “I will do everything I can to get you back, I won’t give up. I’m too fucking selfish.”
You smile, so sleepy, caressing his perfect face. “Satoru, you’re amazing, brilliant, great at so much, but you have to learn, you can’t just fix people, you have to accept them.”
“I didn’t mean to. I just…” He swallows, resting his head on yours, and you’re dying to kiss him, to feel his mouth take you over, he is your drug.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. What I did, it was not okay. I talked to Sugu a long time last night, blitzed the fuck out. What I did was horrible, you needed me to comfort you, and I made it all worse.”
“Yeah. You did.” He exhales, smirking just a bit.
“You’re brutally honest.”
“You like that, I think.” You lean your chin up, noses brushing, lips just that bit apart, killing you both.
“I love it, I love that you have your convictions, your emotions, I love so fucking much about you. I know I didn’t show that.”
“No, you didn’t. But… Thank you for that.” You pull back a bit, taking a breath. “I don’t trust myself around you, I’ll falter, I’ll give in. And Satoru I have to…”
“You have to be a priority.”
“That, I’ve never been.” Your phone starts going off again, you check it and frown, making Satoru curious, but he knows he shouldn’t pry. “Case in point, my other stupid ex.”
He glares at your phone, then looks up at you, softer, concern in his gaze, mixed with self loathing. “You have bad taste.”
“Satoru, not you. There’s so much good here.” You put a gentle brush of your lips on his now, easing back as his eyelids lower, as his grip slips higher. “I want to fall into this, into you. You’re my own Xanax.”
“I’m that good?” He smirks, and you laugh softly. “You still haven’t even asked, why I’m on it all.”
You bite your lip, shaking your head, enjoying the heat of his hard body against yours too much. “It’s not my place right now. I should go.”
“Yeah…” Please don’t go, please.
Something pauses you, and you hug him then, he hugs you back tightly, and you kiss him once more, exhaling against his lips. “Don’t give up on it.”
“I sure fucking won’t. I win at everything you know.” You snort at that, a smile brightening your beautiful face, making him melt for you.
“We’ll see about it. Take care, Satoru, please drive safely in this?”
“I will. You get some sleep.” He wishes he could come inside, in your warm, cozy home, and hold you, but he knows he can’t.
Yet.
Satoru won’t give up.
You wave at him before you get inside, the overwhelming, exhausting past week eating you alive, and you’re stumbling when Toge sees you. He walks up quickly, concern clear in his violet eyes, hands on your shoulders. “Okay?”
You break then, shaking your head and sniffling. “No, m’not, Toge.”
Toge holds you then, as you sob against him, and soon Maki and Yuuta are out there too, all rubbing your back, your hair, as you can’t stop crying. It’s too much, not being with him, the hurt he caused, the fears you have. The past days, losing that little baby, losing so many, losing your fucking mind.
“I’m so tired, you guys, of all of it.” You barely speak, barely hold it together, as they all gently speak.
“No, you got this baby, I swear. If it’s not Gojo. if he’s not the one for you, guess what? You’ll be okay, we’re here for you, either way.” Maki says softly, and you nod, sniffling now.
“You have to do what’s best for you, don’t feel guilty.” Yuuta says, and Toge’s giving you the saddest look of all.
“Hurting.” You nod quickly, hugging him again.
“Don’t you run from me, please.” You say softly, as he strokes your back. “I need you all.”
“Not running.” He assures you, with a sweet smile, and you feel so at home with them, but something’s missing.
Satoru is missing.
How has he become everything so quickly?
But soon Maki is getting you a glass of wine, and Toge has cookies for everyone, Yuuta is putting on your favorite movie. And as you’re cuddled with your best friends on your old couch, so comfy and worn in, it almost feels perfect. You’re blessed to have them, warm with the fire going, while the snow falls outside. But you can’t help but look out the window.
“I love him, fuck.” You whisper softly.
“We know.” Maki says, you snuggle back up to her, curling up and letting her rub your hair.
“I love you three so much. Don’t leave me, even if I’m a mess.”
“We’re not going anywhere. Shh, just relax.”
Sleep doesn’t hit for Satoru that night, not when he stares at your number over and over with your picture in his phone, not when he thinks of the date he had ready on that fairy boat for you, not when he thinks of you in his home. He stares at that damn piano, remembering kissing you on that bench.
But he was selfish, he was pushy, he ruined such a beautiful thing before it began.
Satoru knows now, he needs you, like he needs to breathe, and he knows by looking in your eyes, you feel it, though you’re now terrified. He was so afraid of pushing you away, that he did just that. As he sips down a whiskey and pops a seroquel, he hopes it will take him to sleep soon, blissful dreamless sleep where he won’t have to feel this pain.
Satoru looks out the window, watching the snowfall and wondering if you’re okay, before the sleeping meds take him out. But it doesn’t prevent those dreams, it only makes them more vivid, and he wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating, panicking. He calls you, knowing you won’t answer, but he hears it.
A sleepy ‘hmm?’
“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
“Shh. Satoru… s’okay… shhh…”
He lets tears fall as he sets the phone on speaker. “Will you… let me hear you breathe? So I can sleep?”
“Hmm, you’re weird Doc.” He snorts through his tears, and you sleepily wonder if this is a dream on your end. “But mkay.”
He soon hears your steady breathing, and he finally can sleep, mind whirling with ways he can earn you, while you listen to his little sigh, hand gripping the phone, picturing him in your mind’s eyes. “Night, beautiful.”
“Night S’toru.”
Two hearts are alone but still connected, as both wonder what the exhaustion of tomorrow would hold, and beyond the doubt, they hope.
I know this was an angsty/darker chapter, but it will get more lighthearted and will have a happy ending, but we gotta go through some rough stuff to get there (Satoru won't be a Hojo again dw lol)
Taglist: @lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @miizuzu @nanasukii28 @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @moncher-ire @jkslaugh97 @shadeowz @gojo1228 @nanasukii28 @jaeminaur @httpstoyosi @angel1of-death @seeing-stars-alt @bol0-de-morang0 @jjknanamin @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @trishiepo0 @inthedarkshadows000 @gina239 @san-it-is-i-guess @pelicanpizza @gojo1228 @ducky1232 @inthedarkshadows000 @eclecticmentalitypersona @burguhndy @levislug @addehehe @sluttyofgojo @msniks @xixflower @n1vi Perma tags: @alt--er--love @cuntphoric @loafteaw @indiewritesxoxo @harutahake @jinjen
#doctor satoru#jjk smut#jjk x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#jujustu kaisen#satoru x reader#doctor gojo#jjk gojo#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x you#satoru x y/n#jjk x y/n#jjk x you
155 notes
·
View notes
Text
So sweet || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), drinking, mention of an eating disorder, again, I really don't know what's going on here. It's so weird. Just a small but important reminder: English is not my first language, so please don’t be mad if there are any embarrassing mistakes- I’m really trying my best!
Word Count: 7.3k
So sweet
Patrick wanted to know what is it about you that makes Art lose it. You're not the funniest, not the best at tennis—or at anything Patrick has ever seen you do, to be honest—and you're definitely not the prettiest. You're not the best. You're just not.
"She’s just so sweet," Art had said when the two of them were sitting in one corner of the Stanford cafeteria, and you were in another. Patrick didn’t see it; he thought you were scheming. That you were the least sweet person he knew. And because Art has known you for so many years, Patrick has known you long enough not to trust you. Who picks a college just because the guy she’s sleeping with also chose Stanford? Only a conniving witch. Someone who wants to pull Art away from him and Tashi. Someone who wants to pull Art away from his dreams. From tennis. Someone who wants Art all to herself. Patrick figured it out years ago. You can fool Art. Fuck it, you can fool yourself if you want. But you can’t fool Patrick.
And it doesn’t matter at all that you and Art have known each other since you were six. It doesn’t matter that all the evidence points to your parents being responsible for your academic choices. It doesn’t matter that it’s only since you got to Stanford that you started sleeping together; he never touched you inappropriately even once before college. Patrick didn’t like you before you two started having sex, so he sure as hell doesn’t like you now. You didn’t even bother to sit with them. You didn’t even bother to say a simple 'hi' to him. You don’t respect him enough to sit at the same table when he comes to visit Tashi and Art. You don’t respect him. Period.
“Do you think she’s ever eaten a burger?” Patrick suddenly asks, completely ignoring Art’s rambling about competitions and trying to inspect your plate from afar. He can’t see what’s on it, but he’s sure there’s nothing nutritious enough there. “I know for a fact she’s eaten more than one burger in her life,” Art rolls his eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with her?” he asks for the millionth time. He asked it every summer. He asked it after Patrick went on about how insane it was that you and Art were going to the same college.
“I’m not obsessed. I just think there’s no way her pussy smells normal with that diet,” Patrick says, earning himself a well-deserved elbow jab from Art. Art never talks about you that vulgarly. Art doesn’t talk about you much at all. That’s part of what annoys Patrick: that they can talk about any other girl, but with you, it’s never an option. Even about Tashi, he managed to talk to Art. He gave him the signal. He told him. But Art doesn’t share anything about what he does with you.
Patrick knows about Melanie from statistics that Art slept with. Patrick knows about Georgia or Regina or whatever her name is who works at the library and made it to second base with Art. He knows down to the exact books they leaned on. But he doesn’t know anything about you. Art keeps you to himself as if you’re some treasure he needs to guard at all costs. Patrick hates you and the broccoli you’re shoving into your mouth while reading a book, ignoring the outside world. You’re such a fucking smug witch. You won’t be able to fool him. . . . Art will never tell Patrick that there are moments when he thinks he loves you. Sometimes. Most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he knows he loves Tashi. The same Tashi that Patrick took for himself. Snatched her right out of Art’s hands.
But with you, it’s different. With you, it’s been building for years. You’re the one he smeared snot on when you were six, and somehow, you kept coming over to his house to watch cartoons with him. You kept showing up at the tennis court, reading a book while he practiced. You kept being an inseparable part of him.
Art knows you love him. It’s so clear to him, almost as clear as the fact that his first dog was named Jameson and that he died when Art was 8-years-old. You held his hand when he forced his parents to bury him. He didn’t want you to hold it, tried to shake you off for a few seconds, but you insisted. He never told you, but it felt nice.
Your first kiss was with Art. He insisted. Of course, he insisted. You love him so much, and you’re so, so sweet. Always polite and blushing at the right moments, and at 14, he kissed you. Explained to you that you couldn’t start high school without knowing how to kiss. He was doing you a favor. You said “thank you” afterward, like the polite girl you always were.
You kept kissing after that, as if it was the natural thing to do. Every time he came to visit in the summer and you’d come over. Every time he went to your place. You’d end your time together with his lips exploring yours. So sweet.
He will never tell Patrick that he knows you better than he knows himself. That he knows all your secrets just as you know all of his own. That sometimes he melts under your gaze and would be willing to tell you his ATM code if you asked. He will never reveal this to Patrick. Or you. He will never tell him that sometimes he feels like you’re such a deep part of him that you are simply him. And he is simply you. And when he thinks too deeply about that, he’s capable of barging into your lecture, telling the professor there’s been an emergency, dragging you into the janitor’s closet, staring for a second at your terrified face, and fucking you there on one of the shelves. Not that it happened. Maybe. He won't tell anyone.
And he will never give you the chance to go all in for him because it’s too terrifying. Because with you, he feels helpless, out of control, almost embarrassed. And because Patrick hates you. He’s never seen Patrick hate anyone as much as he hates you. And Art doesn’t think he can be in a relationship with someone Patrick doesn’t like. Which, in itself, is a crazy thought.
But Patrick loves Tashi, and Tashi has nothing sweet about her. No look that radiates tenderness or sweetness. She doesn’t smell like cinnamon and vanilla. She doesn’t have a soul that wants to share secrets with him. Tashi doesn’t look at him like he holds the moon. Tashi doesn’t look at him as if he could fill an empty space in her heart. Because she has no empty space in her heart. Tennis fills her heart. Tennis and Patrick. Art looks at her heart from the outside. He’s not a part of her story. He so badly wants to be part of her story. He thinks it's a need at this point.
And every time his mind fills with Tashi, he finds some random girl willing to stroke his ego (and his dick) just enough to make him forget. He never goes for the easy option; he doesn’t go to you. He only wants to be with you when he’s thinking of you. When you fill him so completely that he can’t breathe. When he physically needs you in front of him. Not when he wants someone else to touch him. Not when he wants Tashi Duncan so badly he could cry.
He looks at her and Patrick, unable to understand what she sees in him. What she finds in his best friend. The scatterbrained guy who doesn’t shower every day, who wears the same underwear longer than is acceptable, who snores while laughing, who eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants, like he isn’t trying to make a living as a pro. Like everything is a joke. Art doesn’t understand how Tashi can waste her time on a joke. . . . "What are you studying, Little Dove?" Patrick pulled out one of your earbuds when he found you tucked away in a corner of the library. He saw how you physically recoiled at the nickname he’d given you the first time you met. Not a nickname you liked. That only made him want to call you that enough times for it to be engraved on your gravestone when you die. For you to maybe one day think it was your real name. For it to become a part of you. Little Dove. He didn’t even know why he called you that. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either. But it wasn’t necessarily bad.
"What are you doing here?" you replied, half-indifferent, reaching out for him to give you back the earbud he’d so brutally yanked. "Killing time. I had a fight with Tashi, so I can’t go to her match. Art’s obviously there because well, he’s in love with my girlfriend." He paused to study your reaction, wanting to see how you’d respond to the fact that Art didn’t love you. That he loved what belonged to Patrick, and you didn’t belong to Patrick, so he would never love you. Not really. Not entirely. "You’re the only person I know here. It’s your job to entertain me," he said, flashing a fake smile.
Everything about Patrick was fake. That was something you’d learned to be indifferent to years ago. Every time he jabbed at you or said something vulgar to disgust you, you knew it was fake. There was no point in taking him seriously. You pitied him the way you’d pity a little kid whose ice cream cone had fallen and no one was willing to buy him a new one. "I’m not a clown, Patrick. I have a test tomorrow," you said and snatched the earbud from his hand. He didn’t retaliate. He simply sat down across from you, examining you more intensely than you were comfortable with. His gaze pinned you like a scalpel. You tried to breathe evenly. He’s always like this. He’s always like this. Remember that he’s always like this, and everything will be fine. This is not the time to panic. Not in front of Patrick Fucking Zweig. He can’t win a war you’re not actively fighting.
"How’s life, Little Dove? Happy at Stanford with Art? Better now that he finally agreed to fuck you?" He was blunt to the point that it made you glare at him and wrinkle your nose for a second. That only deepened the smirk plastered across his face. "Do you need something?" you asked, trying to sound as though his vulgarity couldn’t faze you. As though everyone around you spoke that way all the time. As though your pathetic sex life wasn’t plastered on your forehead like a billboard. He was laughing at you. Patrick Zweig was laughing at you.
The thought that he might know every intimate detail of what you and Art did in bed made your entire body shiver. He could see it on you. He knew he’d won. But you weren’t even playing. You wanted to scream you weren’t even playing. No sound came out. He’d won. He knew it, and you knew it, and there would never be a draw again. Because you would both always know he’d won. That Art had told him how you moan. Maybe Art had even figured out that you fake all your orgasms because you’re probably broken so he told Patrick that too. Maybe it was all more humiliating than you could imagine. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to talk to Art ever again. Maybe-
"You’re overthinking it, Little Dove. I can see it on your face. It’s not that deep," he rolled his eyes and took a bite of an apple he’d pulled out (you had no idea from where). "You can’t eat in here. This is a library," you mumbled, grateful for the change of subject. Any change of subject. You’d be willing to talk about cactuses at this point if necessary. "I’m not a student here," he reminded you, as if you’d forgotten. As if that wasn’t the sole reason for your fleeting happiness- that you didn’t have to see his face here 24/7. Only sometimes. Only when he was visiting people who actually mattered to him.
You put the earbud he’d pulled from you a few moments ago back in your ear, signaling to him that the conversation was over and that you hoped not to see him again for the next year. Or ever, if you're being honest. You wanted to go back to studying in peace. To not think about the brazen guy in front of you. The one so emotionally entangled with the boy you loved that sometimes you felt there was no way to win. No way to beat Patrick Zweig. Because he came gift-wrapped in a package deal with Art. And once, you tried so hard to make him like you. You tried to fit into their conversations, laugh at the crude jokes, nod when Art nodded. Just so Patrick would stop looking at you with disdain, stop looking at you like you were a stray cat too wet to save. Like one that had rabies. Like one that needed to be put down.
He just kept staring at you, eating his apple as if rules didn’t apply to him. As if he were above what was allowed and what wasn’t. Making you hate him a little more, but admire him just as much because you would never have the guts to act like the world belonged to you. You thought it had something to do with the amount of money he grew up with. Art once told you Patrick had two pools (in one of his houses). Who needs more than one pool in a house anyway? But that was all you needed to know about him—he was privileged enough to believe he had the right to treat people like they were beneath him. And you’d never admit it, but you didn’t want to be beneath him. You didn’t want to lose to Patrick Zweig. You didn’t want to lose when you knew the prize was having Art. . . . He finds out that Tashi got injured completely by accident. He leaves you alone in the library because you bore him. You don’t let him sink his claws into you, something he realizes he liked doing only when he's around you. So, he goes out to smoke a cigarette, what else is there for him to do when he’s stuck here while Tashi plays and Art makes eyes at her from the crowd? What else does he have to do when you're sitting in front of a book and ignoring his existence and the nasty words? And then someone said something about seeing Tashi's knee fly through the air, and Patrick’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.
He asked three different people where the athletes' clinic was. Two ignored him, and one gave him wrong directions. He found the clinic on his own, trying to make sense of the campus signage. He felt like it was taking him forever. In hindsight, maybe it was better that it took him longer. Because Tashi looked devastated, Art looked lost, and both of them screamed at him. Art’s scream hurt more. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt Art’s scream all over his body. It made him shiver.
And that’s how he lost Art Donaldson forever. Checkmate by Tashi Duncan. He didn’t expect that. He thought only you could take his place in Art’s life. Never Tashi. He thought you were the only one Art would lose control for. Maybe he looked at everything wrong. What a terrifying thought, to realize you spent years trying to beat someone without noticing the other players. Absolute blindness. He felt lost. Stuck in your disgusting university. Stuck in the loop that his life dragged him into. No matter how much he tried to think about it in the last half hour, he couldn’t find a way out. He couldn’t see a world where he and Art could be friends again.
‘I've got your bag, you forgot it in the library,’ his phone beeped with a message from you. Another message with your room number. He nodded to himself, even though no one could see. He wiped away some of the tears that had fallen from him, hoping no one would see that either.
He knocked on your door loudly, not caring about the other students living in the hallway. You opened quickly, intending to say everything you think about him, but in the hour and a half he’d been gone from your sight, something in Patrick’s gaze had changed. You’d never seen him like this, and it made you lean against the doorframe, mouth half open. You know for sure that he cried, the trail of tears was obvious. You know for sure that he was confused, his gaze zigzagging. The famous smirk he dedicates to you at every moment wasn’t there.
"Who died?" you asked quietly, because you couldn’t find any other reason for what you were seeing in front of you. He just passed through you, as if your room was his own. As if he had an invitation. As if you had to let him in. "Can I sleep here tonight?" he asked. His leg was shaking. He looked the worst you’ve ever seen him. "What happened to Tashi's room-" "Please (Y/N)," he used your actual name, "I’ll be out of your hair by morning. You won’t even feel like I was here, there are no more buses, and my car’s at the tournament site," he explained incoherently but clearly enough for you to nod. For you to understand that something terrible had happened. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Tashi’s. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Art’s. The thought of it made you cringe because the only thing that could have happened, the only thing that could have caused Patrick to fold in front of you like this-
"Am I overthinking this?" you asked after what felt like an eternity. When you were lying on the bed in the dark, and Patrick was lying on a makeshift pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to you. You hoped he’d tell you that you didn’t need to think about it too much. That he’d tell you the same thing he said to you in the library. "Not this time," he said almost in a whisper, "I’m sorry," he added. Neither of you knew what he was apologizing for; For how he acted all these years or was he apologizing on behalf of Art? On behalf of the person who until just a few hours ago was his best friend. Patrick thinks an apology won’t be enough for either of you. He tries to sleep. When he leaves, he doesn’t write you a note. But there’s a flash of understanding when he looks at you before he walks out; Art was right, there’s something sweet about you. Patrick will never admit it. But what reason would he have to admit it now? Art is no longer part of his life, and he’s pretty sure Art won’t be part of yours just as quickly. You and Patrick both lost him, you just don’t know it yet. He almost feels sorry about how out of the loop you are. And what connection do you and Patrick have without Art? He thinks he’ll miss you. He saw you move slightly, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. He’s sure he’ll miss you. What a humbling thought. . . . You haven't seen Art for a week. And that's okay. Because he doesn't owe you anything. He made sure to remind you at every opportunity that he doesn't owe you anything. Not with words. Never with words. With actions. By acting like he doesn't see you, even though you both know he does. He never sat with you in the cafeteria. He never introduced you to his friends from the tennis team. He never introduced you to Tashi. He drew a very clear line about who you are to him, and you decided years ago that it's okay. That it's enough for you. That Art is yours in the summer. That Art is yours at night. That Art is yours when he wants to be yours.
He doesn't want to be anymore. You can see it in him because on the rare occasions you do see him in the cafeteria, he looks away the second your eyes accidentally meet his. On the rare occasions you do see him this week, his arm is half-wrapped around some girl you don't know. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. Hurt you without really hurting you. He's trying to remind you that he doesn't owe you anything.
You'll never tell him it hurts. You'll never tell him that when you were ten, your mom, half-drunk, told you that to be loved, you'd have to sacrifice a lot. You don't know why you remember that, but you do. And since then, all you've done is sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice until sometimes there's nothing left to give. And now is one of those times when there's nothing left to give. You look at him from across the room, and he's a stranger to you, and you're a stranger to him.
You expected him to say something when it happened. You expected a hug, and if he were sensitive enough, a kiss. You expected life to flip upside down and for the sun to stop rising. But life went on, and your sacrifices stayed behind. Along with secrets and hugs and caresses and tears and memories. So many memories. All of it left behind. You can handle heartbreak. Everyone can. You won't be the first to sacrifice and not be heard by God. You won't be the first to starve yourself, and you won't be the first to wait for a phone call that never came. You won't be the first to cry and cry and cry.
After two weeks, you stopped waiting for a message. You stopped expecting a 'hello' in the hallway. You stopped hoping that Art Donaldson would knock on your door in the middle of the night. After two weeks, you looked at him one last time with pleading eyes. With an almost tortured look. After two weeks, you decided you wouldn't sacrifice anything more for Art Donaldson.
After two weeks, you ordered pizza and ate the whole box. He doesn't love you. He doesn't owe you anything. It's okay. You're okay. If not now, then soon you will be. . . . Art spent all his free time helping Tashi recover. He missed Patrick the way you'd miss a vital organ that had to be removed in an emergency surgery. He missed Patrick's messages from the tour. He missed his stories. He missed hearing him talk about a show Art had never watched and never planned to watch. He missed Patrick, but he had Tashi. He missed Patrick, but it was necessary, and one day he wouldn’t miss Patrick anymore, and he’d still have Tashi.
It’s different with you. He doesn’t just miss you—he’s hollow without you. He doesn’t know who he is without your admiring gaze. Without your nose brushing his in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know who he is without you ever since he learned how your skin feels under his touch. And he thought he’d be brave enough to walk into your room and just tell you that he can’t keep doing what the two of you have been doing your whole lives. He can’t keep playing this game. Because it’s not fair. Because he wants to be somewhere else. Because you weigh him down.
He knew he’d be in trouble if things got too serious with you, so he followed all the rules. He never introduced you to his friends. He never took you on a date. He never called you his girlfriend. He did everything right, and he’s still in trouble. That frustrates him more than anything.
He’s noticed that you don’t seek his gaze anymore. That you don’t try to catch his attention. That you’ve stopped sending him messages. He’s noticed that you understood the painfully obvious hint of “no,” and he hated himself for it. He showered that day for almost an hour. Scrubbed himself until his skin was red. As if trying to wash you off his body. As if trying to cleanse the filth he carries in his soul. As if trying to convince himself he’s not a bad person.
He found comfort in the fact that summer was almost here. That it wouldn’t be up to him. That there would be family dinners. That your parents would invite him, and his parents would invite you. That someone would force you both to be in the same room. He found comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have a choice. He didn’t want a choice. He wanted to see how you were handling it. He always sees you immersed in a book. Immersed in a conversation with someone he doesn’t know. Immersed. So immersed. Once, he thought that look -that ability to see into someone’s soul- was reserved only for him. How presumptuous of him. How foolish. How fucking selfish. . . . Patrick sent you a picture of a pigeon that wouldn’t leave him alone while he was eating pita on a bench in some park. He didn’t know why he did it. You’re not friends. You were never friends. But he saw that ridiculous pigeon and wondered if there was something about it that might remind you of him. He wondered if you and Art were still you and Art. He wondered and wondered until he sent the picture. Maybe you wouldn’t reply, but ignoring something wasn’t your style. You’re too good to ignore someone. You don’t have any malice in you. He doesn’t know when he started thinking you didn’t have any malice, because up until two months ago, he thought you were a scheming witch.
'You don’t know how to take pictures.' -(Y/N)-
'Look at you bothering me while I'm eating, little dove' -P- He smiled as he typed.
'Are you bored?' -(Y/N)-
'Maybe I miss you like you clearly miss me' -P- He didn’t know why he wrote that. He didn’t know what he wanted from you, if he was being honest with himself. But he wanted something. He wanted someone. Everyone deserves someone, and Patrick deserves someone too.
'You’re full of shit' -(Y/N)- He could imagine you rolling your eyes as you typed that. He knows you don’t talk like that. He thinks it’s something reserved just for him.
He decided to call because typing with food in his hand was too much effort. You answered quickly, out of breath. “Are you in the middle of sex?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Why do you always have to say the grossest thing possible?” you shot back. He was glad you couldn’t see him because if you could, you’d hold the grin on his face against him. “What’s gross about sex, little dove? It’s natural-” “Why did you call?” you cut him off, not giving him any more points. “Just wanted to ask how you’re doing.” His voice sounded smaller. Embarrassed. You’re not friends. You never were. That’s not the nature of your relationship. There’s nothing he loves about you.
“I’m fine. Busy with school.” He could imagine you shrugging. “You’re going home soon, right? Summer break.” He knew what that used to mean for you and Art. He didn’t know what it meant now. He was fishing for answers, trying to figure out where things stood between you two. He wanted to know if Art had cut you out of his life with the brutality of a killer or if he was still keeping you wrapped in a ribbon, belonging only to him. He thought the former sounded more like Art.
“I’m probably staying at Stanford, for obvious reasons.” He could hear your voice, quiet as though you didn’t want to admit it. “It’s not fair,” Patrick said. “You’re supposed to enjoy your summer.” He added, growing frustrated with how inconsiderate Art was, with the monopoly Art held over your shared neighborhood. Bull-fucking-shit; “I’ve got two weeks off, and my parents are abroad. You could come to my lake house if you want a change of scenery,” he said, spitting the words out quickly before he could regret the invitation. Art was the only one who’d ever been invited there.
“That’s nice of you.” You said. He could hear the surprise you tried to hide in your voice. “I mean it,” he said, much more determined now. “It’ll be fun. My parents have the most impressive alcohol collection you’ll ever see.” He didn’t know what he was doing or which part of his brain was speaking for him right now. “I’ll think about it,” you said, wrapping up the call with a few more sentences. It felt like a win. And more than anything, Patrick needed a win. . . . "Is it true?" you heard Art's voice before you lifted your head from the book you were reading. "Hey, Art," you said with the most genuine smile you could muster, ignoring your racing heartbeat that only quickened. The truth was, you hadn’t seen him this close to you in two months. "You’re not going home for the break?" He sat down across from you without an invitation. "Nope," you said, as if it were obvious. As if that had been your plan all along. As if three months ago, you hadn’t whispered to each other in the dead of night all the things you’d do over the summer. As if you’d never loved him.
"You weren’t planning to tell me?" he asked, his gaze never leaving you. All you could do was raise an eyebrow because, honestly, where did he get the audacity? Where did he get the nerve to sit down across from you and make demands? Where did he get the idea that he owed you nothing, but you owed him everything? It’s your fault. You know it’s your fault. You taught him that you’d give every part of yourself for just a sliver of attention. But you don’t need that from him anymore. He’s a stranger. A stranger whose favorite scent you know. A stranger you’ve seen cry at Titanic. A stranger whose taste still lingers on the tip of your tongue. A stranger you know too well.
"No," you answered honestly. Because frankly, what else is there to say to him? "Are you serious? Why aren’t you going home?" he demanded answers. Demanded and demanded and demanded, after you gave and gave and gave. It’s your fault. Your mother’s fault and her foolish advice. You spoon-fed him love. "Because I have other plans. I’m sorry, am I missing something here, Art? We haven’t talked in two months, and I don’t understand what the issue is now." You didn’t want to be rude. Not to Art. Not to anyone. Sometimes to Patrick, but only because he was the most vulgar person you’d ever met. But Art was gentle and sensitive and beautiful, and harsh words had no place in your conversations with him.
"What plans?" he ignored your jab, but you could see him swallow hard, his eyebrows knitting together as if you’d sent him to work in a coal mine all summer. "I’m going to a friend’s," you found yourself shrugging. "Who? Someone I know?" he asked. "No," you felt guilty for the lie, "Why is this your business, Art?" you tried to make him leave or at least give you an answer. "We had plans too," he said quietly, as if revealing one last secret to you.
"I don’t remember." His expression changed in seconds. It was the look you’d only seen when he played tennis or tried to fend someone off you at one of the parties he told you to come to. Ice. He stood up and walked away within moments. Maybe this is the closure you two needed. Maybe it’s for the best. . . . Until the very last moment, Patrick didn’t believe you’d come. He waited for your bus by the side of the road, and when you got off, dressed in a floral summer dress and an oversized hat, signaling to the driver that you had a suitcase in the luggage compartment, Patrick stood frozen in place, his mouth agape. Because if someone had told him six months ago that he’d want to spend his free time in the summer with you, he would have laughed in their face. If someone had told him you’d show up in this remote place, in that ridiculous outfit, he probably would have snorted.
"Little dove, I was sure you’d chicken out," he said. Back when you talked about it, he treated it like a challenge. He spoke about your arrival at the lake house like it was a mission on a reality show. Impossible to pull off, with so much to lose. "I told you I’d come." You shrugged and smiled a smile he’d once seen you give to Art. Patrick had never received a smile from you, at least not a friendly one. Always a fake one. The kind he wanted to wipe off your face. "Are you going to help me with my suitcase, or are you going to keep standing there like a statue?" you asked with a chuckle. Patrick thought he was ready to sell the Porsche he’d come in, just to hear you chuckle again.
"This car is ridiculous," you said as you sat down beside him and raised your hands for emphasis. The convertible top was too much for you. Patrick had chosen this car on purpose. He wanted you to have the full Zweig family summer experience. He wanted you to feel what it was like to be in his inner circle. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he could buy your friendship. He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly. He went to sleep with your messages and woke up to them. Neither of you had any other friends, not real ones at least. It would’ve been sad if it didn’t make him so happy. He was such a loser. But it didn’t seem like you cared, and maybe the Porsche would grow on you by the end of these two weeks.
He showed you the rooms and the massive windows that let an unreasonable amount of light into the "cabin," which was supposed to be modest but was larger than most of the houses in your and Art’s neighborhood. Patrick knew that. He studied your reaction to everything he showed you. Watched as you stared at the lake right outside the cabin. Sat on the sofa in the living room for a moment. Placed your belongings in the guest room.
"We need to go shopping," you announced after opening the fridge to find it completely empty. "We don’t have to. You don’t eat anything anyway," he blurted out, and he saw you pale. "What are you talking about?" you mumbled, looking everywhere but at him. "Nothing, I’ve just never seen you eat." He tried to say it casually, but the truth was, it had always preoccupied him. Every time he visited Art in the summer and found himself at gatherings with you, you’d take food onto your plate but never actually put it in your mouth. He couldn’t understand how it didn’t bother Art. He couldn’t understand how Art just ignored it. As if it were completely normal behavior to sit with someone you called your best friend and not eat.
"I eat." Your entire face was scrunched up, the way he’d learned it does when you overthink. When you’re trying to get the most out of a situation you’ve found yourself in. When you’re trying to be nice to Patrick but don’t want to because he doesn’t deserve it. "Whatever, little dove. Let’s go shopping. I’ll show you the main street. There are some cool spots there," he concluded the conversation because he didn’t want to argue. And honestly, it wasn’t his place to comment on your habits. So he decided to let it go.
The main street of the small village you were in was almost empty. It could have been suspicious if Patrick hadn’t been here dozens, if not hundreds, of times since he was born. This was one of his dad’s favorite vacation homes. After an hour of wandering between stores, they found themselves sitting across from each other at a diner. Patrick watched as you ate fish and chips in front of him like your life depended on it. Like you had something to prove. He just rolled his eyes, shoved three fries into his mouth at once, leaned back, and chuckled.
Everything was peaceful. Patrick was sure it would be much weirder, at least at first. But no. You fit into his summer as if you’d always belonged there. From conversations with the elderly neighbors at the cabin next door to the meals you cooked together- it was domestic. Patrick was afraid to talk about how different this was from anything he’d ever done with a girl. He was afraid to mention that you were sleeping in the room that used to be only Art's. He was afraid to admit that he thought you were pretty in a way he hadn't thought before.
He thinks you’re most beautiful in the morning, before you’ve had your coffee. If he’s lucky and goes for a morning run, even before you’ve brushed your teeth. He’s discovered you’re funny. That you can deliver the funniest line with the perfect timing. He thinks it’s because you read a lot. Because you’re smart. Because you know things. He loves that you come to watch him train, even though you’re busy with your own things and only steal occasional glances his way. He thinks he could replace Art in your life. He thinks you think so too.
But deep down, you both know nothing could ever replace Art. And one of the times you’re sitting across from him at the diner, he takes a picture of you sipping a milkshake while smiling and uploads it to Facebook. Because Facebook is the new 'it' thing, and everyone has it. And if Patrick’s lucky, you’ll make it your profile picture. Then he can look at it and remember that he made you laugh, that he made you happy, and for two weeks, he beat Art Donaldson at something. And it felt sweet. So sweet.
The night before you plan to go back to university, you and Patrick get drunk on his dad’s fancy tequila. He’d never seen you drunk before, so like many things, this was new. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and you were wearing shorts that were far too short because August’s heat was unbearable. And the more both of you drank, the fuller your lips seemed to him, the rosier your cheeks, the larger your chest.
He just wanted to touch something. To feel something.
When one thing led to another and you were straddling him, your lips on his, he let out a deep bassy groan he never thought he could produce. Patrick had been with girls before- God knows he’d been with enough girls not to lose his cool over someone agreeing to kiss him. But something about how delicate you were and how much he had hated you a few months ago, how much he’d wanted to erase every trace of you, made him so hard he found himself grinding against you like some kind of desperate dog. He fucked you on the couch in the living room, and though the couch was comfortable, he wasn’t proud of it. He thinks he should’ve restrained himself, taken you to a bed. He thinks you deserve more than him being lazy, drunk, and not at his best. But if there’s one thing Patrick Zweig is terrible at, it’s delaying gratification. And he wanted you so badly. You didn’t seem to mind the location, at least not outwardly.
His lips were everywhere, as if he was trying to swallow you whole in one go. The sounds coming out of you were pornographic. Every so often, the thought crossed his mind that Art was the only other guy who had ever heard you like this, seen you like this- so needy, so vulnerable. It made his cock twitch even harder than it already was.
When he touched you, you were so wet that he told you how dirty you were for him. He talked to you like he still hated you. Like it was all punishment. Like he was about to get up, point at you, and laugh at how pathetic you were. But you couldn’t think about that now. You didn’t have the bandwidth. Not when his hands were teasing your nipple. Not when his lips were marking your neck. Not when he entered you in one hard thrust, making you almost cry out.
At some point, your heels found their way to his shoulders. He looked at your face with the little focus he could muster, and it was a sight he needed to preserve. To remember until the day he died. And he pushed deeper with that thought, drawing sounds out of both of you that neither of you knew you could make. In the end, he felt you clench around him, making him release everything that had built up in his balls with one long groan.
He just lay over you for a few minutes, still wearing the condom. With the sweat, the tears, the marks- you looked so utterly fucked. And it was because of him. He hadn’t felt this proud in a long time.
“So this is what it feels like,” he heard you mumble. “What feels like?” he asked, finding himself playing with your soft hair. “To have an orgasm.”
He hadn’t expected that, so he shifted slightly to look at your face. Your eyes were still glassy. You weren’t focused. If you were, you probably wouldn’t have said that. “What did you say?” he asked, wanting you to repeat it. “I’ve never come before. I thought I was broken,” you chuckled like it was a joke. But Patrick’s heart pounded harder than he expected. He knew for certain that you and Art had slept together before. That wasn’t a secret. He knew you and Art had done things that weren’t just sex even earlier. “You and Art-” He was confused. “I’m not proud of it,” you sighed quietly. “I faked it so he wouldn’t feel bad. I read in a magazine what to do to make it seem real,” you explained quickly, as if saying it faster would make it less scandalous. “You don’t have to fake orgasms to make someone feel good, Little Dove,” he sighed. “You’re the one who's supposed to feel good. That’s the whole point of sex,” he declared, explaining it to you like reciting a rule to a confused puppy.
Patrick needed a win, and this—this was the biggest victory of all times. He had beaten Art Donaldson in every damn set, and it felt so fucking sweet.
It’s been such a long time since I’ve written anything, so this came out super weird and unclear. I hope you like it tho! Please DM me and let me know what you think. That’s it, byeeeeee
#challengers fic#so sweet#art donaldson#patrick zweig#art donaldson x reader#patrick zweig x reader#challengers#tashi duncan#art donaldson smut#patrick zweig smut
83 notes
·
View notes
Text
I find it very cute that after r!Ciel returned, Sebastian was carefully observing how our Ciel would react to the situation. He gave the code to the servants to get them after they were arrested, then navigated some short-term escape plans, but throughout it all he was not doing any real decision making and was simply patiently waiting for Ciel. It’s kind of cute—like a big dog, knowing his owner was upset, just stood by waiting for his orders.
He knows how attached the twins were to each other, and how much his brother meant to Ciel. In the darkest days, the twins could struggle to remain alive by holding onto each other. So perhaps he wasn’t sure what Ciel would do now that his brother has returned and acted against him. In a way, I think that since Sebastian became unsure of how strong Ciel’s resolve is on having his revenge, thus he was also suddenly unsure of his position in Ciel’s life. If Ciel would no longer be Earl Ciel Phantomhive, there is no space for the butler Sebastian Michaelis, as r!Ciel said when he drove them out of the manor: Sebastian is not part of the household—not part of the Phantomhives.
When Lau claimed he was giving them a loan—thus implying the Earl could just repay him back later—, Sebastian did not reply.
There were also times in the past where Sebastian had been taunting and testing Ciel’s resolve by offering him alternatives to revenge. But here, he just sat by and observed as Lau was the one testing Ciel. From the Green Witch arc, we know that Sebastian has grown to love this little game he is playing with Ciel; that he would grow—perhaps not sad, since demons apparently can’t feel sad, but—disappointed should Ciel lose his resolve.
Not long afterwards, Ciel showed his resolve much to Sebastian’s surprise and delight. Not only did Ciel made up his mind to fight back against his twin brother, he also resolved to take back the name Earl Ciel Phantomhive. Thus, Sebastian regained his position as the loyal knight and the weapon by which Ciel would enact his revenge.
Then of course, although they had been driven to a corner as wanted criminals, Sebastian had 100% faith that his little master will definitely reclaim his title with that resolve. It does not matter that they were currently penniless and practically homeless; it’s just like how they first started out with nothing—with the manor having burnt down and the title of Earl not yet reclaimed. Compared to back when they first met, they actually had gone a long way and became companions who are deeply in-tune with each other. Sebastian’s quiet reaction to r!Ciel’s return also shows how overtime, he really has grown fond of his place in Ciel’s life.
It’s frankly cute as fuck how Sebastian is cheering up his master in this scene, and treating Ciel with such tenderness:
#kuroshitsuji#black butler#sebastian michaelis#ciel phantomhive#my loveliest cutest demon master pair#sebaciel#kuroshitsuji meta
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
You think you have seen long reblogs pffffft, well you have not seen mine *cracks knuckles*
*clears throat* so. Where to start… first of all, i have like a whole ahh list of all my favorite parts, so buckle up cause this is gonna be a long one. — NOT EVEN A FULL 300 WORDS IN AND I’M ALREADY HIGHLIGHTING STUFF; “I would rather rule with my heart than sell it to the highest bidder.” i’m sorry but this sentence is just so powerful, i hardly have words to describe it with. Which is one thing i really really like about this fic, she keeps on choosing her heart every single time. She didn’t waver once, which in my opinion, gets annoying when the mc kinda strays back and forth, should i..should i not.. Yada yada. NO. this woman knew what she wanted from the get go and she was not afraid to show it. “You’re going to ruin me, princess,” he said softly. “Then let me ruin you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. Another great example of my previous words.
Matter of fact, that whole scene got me choked up. “That love isn’t a curse,Yeonjun,” you said, leaning forward. “It’s a gift. Even if it’s fleeting, even if it’s painful when it’s gone, it’s still worth having.” I AM GAGGED, GRABBED BY THE THROAT. Idk, she just had such a beautiful way of seeing things throughout the entire fic, i will not ever get over it i fear. Not to mention this; He froze, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know me. “Then tell me,” you said, your voice softening. “Tell me about your life. Let me understand.” i love how she literally peels back his layers and gets him to open up in such a comforting and safe way.
“You look like you wandered out of a ball. Did you lose your way to the dance floor?” oh yes i giggled at this btw hehehe
Onto something very important, their letter exchanges. OH MY GODDDD. I’m sorry i’m very sappy and reading those letters was actually clawing at my fragile heart. The way you can feel the yearning within their words, i’m gonna spiral, it also gave me inspiration for a fic, COUGH moving on. Every day feels longer than the last without you here. I thought I was a man who had learned to live without hope, but you’ve made me realize how much I’ve missed it. The woods are quiet now, but I hear your laugh in the wind and feel your presence in every shadow. BUT I HEAR YOUR LAUGH IN THE WIND AND FEEL YOUR PRESENCE IN EVERY SHADOW OH SHAKESPEARE IS QUAKING IN HIS MFING GRAVE RIGHT NOW. it’s the way yeonjun describers her with such love and adoration i am literally so fucking weak i could cry a whole river.
Their relationship just felt so raw, i can’t explain it, but it was like they both needed each other in the most pure and desperate form ever. Yeonjun losing his family and reader never having one at all, the way they’re just so drawn to each other without being able to refrain from keeping away. I am weak. — and let’s not even talk about how fucking fine archer yeonjun is because what the actual fuck, He reaches for another arrow, the muscles in his arms flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. BOM SHAKALAKA YES GAWD YES GAWD, GIMME THAT GIMME THAT.
The brief beomgyu cameo gave me literal life, i will claw at anything that is beomgyu for as long as i live. Imagine a little nerd with fat glasses whose special interest gets even slightly mentioned, that’s me when beomgyu, excitedly jumping up and down n kicking my feet as i giggle hysterically.
"Tell me you mean it," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me this isn’t just a dream." You didn’t care if you sounded silly and childish. This was the equivalent to whispering pinch me i’m dreaming but it didn't matter, you needed to hear it. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your skin. "It’s real," he murmured. "I promise you, it’s real." And then his lips were on yours. …. Gonna leave this here for you all to ponder.
Oh rae. rae, rae, rae, rae… you knew this part was coming. kai kamal huening. What do you honestly wish of me? Because if it is to actively plot my soon-to-be self homicide attempt you have done it. — he’s so sweet, and just a baby, and he’s doing everything he can to take care of his family. Kai nodded slowly, his youthful energy appearing once more. "I won’t let my family down. I’ll keep practicing, and I’ll take care of them." BABY YOU’RE GONNA DIE DON’T MAKE PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. Sigh, but The sunshine x grumpy with him and yeonjun, kills myself… “I know they died..” Kai said, surprising Yeonjun. “I’m sorry. I can be your family now.” OH FOR HEAVENS SAKE THROW YOURSELF OFF A CLIFF.
What hurt even more was that i KNEW that he was dying. Each fucking scene was like knifes to my chest. Imagine me on the street, wounded and slowly bleeding out, rain pours over me, covering me whole and making me shiver as i take my last dying breath. AND YOU RAE, you step on my outstretched hand. That’s what i felt when you killed him off.
AND YOU JUST KEPT STABBING ME. as if brutally murdering me wasn't already enough. “Your little messenger screamed your name the whole time. Begged us to let him go. Begged for you to save him.” you know i almost stopped reading here… but then i was like, “nah lemme actually put my big girl pants on and get through this” only for you to drop THIS: “The boy cried for you, you know. Right up until the end.”
Hah. well. Fuck you then.
But as my final point i want to highlight how much i love yeonjun and mcs relationship, their fucking passion for each other. As if the letters, the yearning and the longing wasn’t enough. "Let them try. I won’t let them take you from me." YES BABY I’M THROWING UP AND CRYING BUT YES YE SYES YES. heh.
BUT LOW AND BEHOLD GUYS. now she’s trying to bandage my bleeding wounds by ending it like this; “This place was never really mine,” he said, his voice low. “It was always meant for someone else.”
She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “Then let’s find something that is ours.” (it worked, fuck you rae)
In all the fic was so flowy and easy to read, it immersed you perfectly in the plot and stuck to an interesting and eventful storyline, nothing felt out of place or rushed, everything was just magnificent, even if it stung like a bitchhh.
Giving this a 5/5 of goodreads, and um, this is two pages long on a doc.
A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj
》 In a kingdom of stone and gold, there lived a princess with hair as pink as the dawn. Her heart, though draped in royal jewels, was heavy with the weight of expectation, for the king and queen demanded she find a husband worthy of her title. The castle’s walls pressed close, and her spirit yearned for freedom, for something beyond the cold, glittering halls.
One day, when the pressure became too great, she slipped away from the castle and wandered into the woods, seeking solace in its quiet embrace. It was there, among the trees, that she met him—a boy, no older than she, with eyes like the forest and a bow slung over his shoulder. He was a hunter, living in a humble cabin, selling the fruits of his labor to those who passed by. But in the way he moved, so graceful and wild, the princess saw something more—a soul untainted by the constraints of royalty....
》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…
pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader
𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »
warnings » smut, loss of virginity, fingering, oral (f) receiving, angst, longing, forbidden romance, yeonjun hunts animals, reader has pink hair, very heavily inspired by the 'once upon a broken heart' series by Stephanie garber, major character death, kai is seventeen in this, also featuring beomgyu briefly, blood, beatings, dungeons, toxic parents, royal hierarchy, a bit of grumpy x sunshine, readers pov is 2nd person "You" yeonjun's pov is 3rd person "He" a lot is in yeonjun's pov though, yeonjun has a noticeable scar on his eyebrow (for the plot), kind of love at first sight, this is not slow burn sorry, there is a disease called "The fever"
« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »
word count « 24K »
The golden glow of a single candle bathes your chambers, its light dancing across the silk-draped walls. You sit at your vanity, brushing your hair with slow, deliberate strokes. The polished wood of the brush feels cool in your hand, a small comfort against the storm brewing inside you. Behind you, there’s the soft rustle of skirts, a sound that sets your nerves on edge even before she speaks. “Darling,” your mother begins, her voice sweet, almost sing-song as she opens your door without so much as a knock. “You’re twenty now. A woman grown. You can’t keep hiding behind those books and tapestries forever.” She glides across the room and perches on the edge of your bed, her posture as poised and deliberate as her words.
“I’m not hiding, Mother,” you reply without turning to face her. Your reflection catches hers in the mirror—a study in contrasts. You, unadorned and weary. Her, perfect and poised, a mask of maternal care that you’ve come to mistrust. She was not the sweet doting mother she pretends to be, and you felt her icy-ness as soon as she neared you.
“Of course not,” she says with a light laugh, the sound brushing away your words as though they were a child’s excuse. “But it’s time you thought seriously about your future. The kingdom needs alliances and a good match could secure that.”
You place the brush down with deliberate care and turn to face her. “And what if I don’t love any of these ‘good matches’? Am I to bind myself to someone who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end?” You had grown tired of this same conversation. One you've had a million times over with her and your father.
She sighs, and for a moment, the warmth in her voice almost feels real. Almost. “Oh, my sweet girl, love is a luxury we can’t always afford. Your father and I—” She pauses, her hand drifting to her heart as if recalling a fond memory. “We grew to love each other over time. You’ll see. Love often follows where duty leads.” You narrow your eyes, searching her face for cracks in the mask. “Did it? Did love really follow, or did you simply learn to endure it?”
Her expression wavers—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough. The softness in her eyes hardens, and when she stands, it’s with a grace that feels more commanding than comforting. “Don’t let childish notions blind you” she says, her tone sharper now. “The world isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a harsh, unyielding place, and one day, you’ll rule it. You must start preparing for that now.”
Your throat tightens, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “I would rather rule with my heart than sell it to the highest bidder.”
Her lips curl into a smile, and she steps closer, cupping your cheek in her hand. The gesture is tender, but her eyes betray her—calculating, assessing. “You’ll understand someday, my love,” she murmurs. “And when you do, you’ll thank me for guiding you.” You pull away, your skin burning where her hand had rested. She lingers for a moment longer, her presence suffocating even in its quietness. Then, with a swish of her skirts, she moves to the door. The click of it closing echoes in the silence she leaves behind. You stare at your reflection, your chest heaving with unshed tears and unsaid words. The candlelight catches the glint of defiance in your eyes, and in that moment, you vow that no one—not even your mother—will decide your future for you.
You had never snuck out of the castle before. The thought had scared you enough that you hadn’t ever dared to attempt it, but tonight you felt you had to. The suffocating four walls of your chambers had felt so overbearing that the thought of another second in them would cause the end of your life. You had to escape, even if only for a few hours at least. You needed fresh air. To feel the wind in your hair, smell the trees and feel the grass between your fingertips.
You rarely get that these days, with all the preparations of finding you a husband and shipping you off to some unknown country with a man that was to be your husband and yet a stranger at the same time. You couldn't handle it anymore. You grabbed your cloak and made quick work on sneaking out.
The castle sleeps. Its towering spires stretch into the star-speckled sky, dark against the moonlight. You slip from your chambers, the soft soles of your boots muffling each step on the cold stone floor. The velvet cloak swirls around your ankles, its deep green fabric blending into the shadows as you descend the servant's staircase. Your heart races, but not from fear. It's the exhilaration of escape, of leaving behind the suffocating weight of expectations.
The conversation you and your mother had not even an hour ago swimming in your mind. The words of your father this morning echoing in your head like a cacophony "This lord has lands to the west," they said. "That one commands an army. It’s time to secure your future.” You grit your teeth at the thought, gripping the edge of your cloak tighter. They don’t understand. Marriage isn’t what frightens you—it’s the thought of marrying someone who sees you as a pawn, not a person. You couldn't bring yourself to have a marriage like your mother and fathers. A marriage that lacked authenticity, lacked real love. You refused it. Rebuked it.
The air is cooler as you reach the garden gate, slipping through the narrow gap you discovered years ago. The guards won’t check here; they never do. Beyond the walls lies freedom, the forest calling to you like an old friend. The scent of damp earth and pine greets you as you step into the woods. The moon guides your path, its light filtering through the canopy. You keep your pace quick but quiet. You had a general idea of the outlands of the castle from all of your lessons. You needed to know how to get out of the castle in case of an attack. You were sure that your teachers didn't know you'd be using the information they taught you to sneak out, but here you were.
The forest feels alive tonight. Crickets chirp in the underbrush, and a gentle breeze stirs the leaves above. Each step takes you further from the castle, from the expectations, from the stifling weight of duty. You keep your steps light trying your best to make as little as sound as possible. You couldn't risk being caught. Then you hear it, a faint thwack ahead, the unmistakable sound of an arrow striking wood. You freeze, heart leaping into your throat. Slowly, carefully, you edge closer, stepping around a patch of dry leaves to avoid making a sound. Peeking around a thick oak, you see him. A man unfamiliar to you. He stands in the clearing, tall and strong, his silhouette framed by moonlight. A bow is in his hands, an arrow already knocked. His movements are fluid, deliberate, as if every motion is a part of a dance. The arrow flies, and your breath catches as it strikes dead center on the straw target.
He’s beautiful. The moon shines just enough through the branches of the trees above him creating a halo like light over his head and face. You should turn back. You know this. You should retrace your steps and leave before he notices you. But you don’t. Something about him holds you in place. His focus, the grace in his movements, the quiet strength in the way he adjusts his stance. He’s close to your age, maybe a year or two older, with dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck. He’s the most handsome man you have ever laid your eyes on. And by far the most graceful.
He reaches for another arrow, the muscles in his arms flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. You crouch lower behind the tree, your cloak pooling around you. The thrill of sneaking out has faded into something else—something warmer, something unfamiliar. You had never had the privilege of just watching a man so..closely like this. You weren't even allowed to be around a man without a chaperone. You tell yourself you’re just curious. It’s not often you meet someone out here in the woods. But as you watch him, you realize it’s more than that. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before.
He has no idea you’re here. And for now, you’re content to watch, hidden in the shadows of the trees, as he draws and releases, each arrow flying true. The world feels smaller at this moment. The castle and its demands are miles away, and the only thing that exists is you, the moonlit forest, and the archer practicing under the stars. You watch for only a breath longer before the stillness breaks under your foot. A dry leaf, hidden beneath the forest loam, crumples with a loud crack that seems to echo in the night. The archer freezes. His body tenses as he pivots toward you, bow raised, an arrow drawn in a heartbeat. The sudden movement sends a jolt of panic through you, and you instinctively step back, pressing against the rough bark of the tree.
“Who’s there?” His voice is sharp, low, and commanding. The moonlight glints off his eyes—hard and narrowed, scanning the shadows where you’re hidden. You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, you consider fleeing, but before you can move, he spots you. “Show yourself,” he demands, the arrow steady in his grip.
Slowly, you step out from behind the tree, your hands raised in a gesture of surrender. The cloak’s hood still shrouds your face, but the moonlight catches the strands of pink hair peeking out. His gaze sharpens, and you see his brow furrow as he lowers the bow slightly. “a girl?” His voice softens but only slightly, his tone still laced with suspicion. He lowers the bow completely but doesn’t relax, his eyes studying you intently. “What are you doing out here, creeping around like that?”
You swallow, suddenly acutely aware of how small you feel under his piercing gaze. “I wasn’t creeping,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “I was… walking. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Walking,” he repeats, his tone flat and disbelieving. He glances at your cloak, the fine embroidery glinting faintly in the moonlight. “In the middle of the night. Alone. Right.” He snorts, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd. “Who are you?” His demeanor startled you, not expecting such a graceful man to sound so..rough.
You hesitate. You’re not ready to give your name—or your title. “No one important.” If he knew you were the princess there was no guessing what he would do. Turn you in? Kidnap you? Hold you for ransom, it was unknown but you'd rather not find out.
He arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “No one important who sneaks through the woods and watches people like a ghost.”
Heat rises to your cheeks, both from embarrassment and indignation. “I wasn’t watching you—well, not on purpose. I heard something, and I… got curious.” You couldn't explain to him that you didn't get out much, he would ask too many questions. You'd rather have him think you a dumb naive girl then a sheltered princess.
His expression softens, but only slightly. He seems to accept your answer, though he doesn’t seem thrilled about it. “Curiosity gets people into trouble. Especially out here.” You should feel insulted by his gruffness, but instead, you find yourself intrigued. There’s something captivating about the way he carries himself, the guarded way he speaks. He’s not like the polished, over-rehearsed lords who populate the castle halls. He’s… real. It was as perplexing as it was scary, how little knowledge you had of the common folk, how little you saw them. He was beautiful like a prince, even more than most but something about him felt unpolished and you admired that.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. But you can’t help the way your eyes linger on him, tracing the sharp angles of his face, the way the moonlight highlights his dark hair. He’s beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair, though his scowl adds an edge to it, like he’s carved from stone. He notices your lingering gaze and narrows his eyes. “What?” How he wasn’t more concerned by a random girl creeping on him in the middle of the night had struck you.
“Nothing,” you say quickly, pulling your cloak tighter around you. “I just… I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that before.” Which was the truth. You had never seen the guards in true action, you had only seen them practicing and even then they were nowhere near as precise as this man was.
His scowl deepens, though a faint hint of surprise flickers in his expression. “You were watching me.”
Your cheeks flush again, and you look away, hoping the shadows hide your embarrassment. “Only for a moment. You’re… good.”
For the first time, he seems caught off guard. He looks at you as if trying to figure you out, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, whoever you are, it’s late, and you shouldn’t be out here. Go home.” You hated the way he spoke to you, like you were a useless pesky object in his way. Like everyone around you spoke to you.
His tone is dismissive, but you don’t move. Instead, you tilt your head, studying him. “Why are you out here, then?”
He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “That’s none of your business.”
“And me being here is none of yours,” you counter, surprising yourself with your boldness. You had never talked back to anyone before. Partly in fear of what your mother and father would do to you as a punishment. For a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes catching the moonlight.
“You’re stubborn,” he mutters, shaking his head.
“And you’re grumpy,” you reply, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
“Suit yourself. Just don’t get in my way.” He says with a snark, dismissing you completely. As he turns back to his target, knocking another arrow, you find yourself smiling beneath your hood. For the first time in days, you feel alive—caught in the strange, thrilling pull of the forest, the night, and the boy who doesn’t know who you are. It was hopelessly refreshing, having someone to banter with. He hadn't known you were the princess. All expectations of respectfully boring conversation were not needed here, you felt normal.
You don’t leave. Something about him keeps you rooted to the spot. Maybe it’s his impenetrable demeanor, so unlike anyone you’ve met before. Or maybe it’s the way he seems utterly unconcerned by you, as though you’re not worth the effort of a proper scolding. Either way, instead of retreating, you take a few cautious steps closer. “What are you still doing here?” he asks without looking back, his voice carrying a rough edge. He draws another arrow and lets it fly. Thwack. It lands squarely in the center of the target. You swear you could have drooled at the sight alone. You were just a girl after all.
“I told you—I was walking,” you say, folding your arms beneath the cloak.
“In the middle of the night. In that?” He gestures vaguely toward you without turning. Your cloak shifts as you glance down at yourself. The hem of your pink dress peeks out, delicate and impractical. The sight of it makes you wince. It’s not exactly what you’d have chosen for sneaking into the woods, but there hadn’t been time to change. You had very minimal time before the confines of your bedroom swallowed you whole.
“Yes, this,” you reply, tilting your chin. “Not all of us plan our wardrobe for forest excursions.”
That earns you a glance over his shoulder. His eyes rake over you, lingering just long enough to make you self-conscious. Then he snorts. “You look like you wandered out of a ball. Did you lose your way to the dance floor?” Your spine straightens at his words. He didn’t know..did he?
Your cheeks burn. “For your information, I didn’t plan to be out here tonight.” You try your best to avert the subject, avoiding all talk of balls and princess-like duties.
“Oh, clearly,” he mutters, turning back to his bow. “Because you definitely blend right in.”
You roll your eyes, stepping closer again. “Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?” Your lips purse suppressing your smile. That gets his attention. He pauses mid-draw and glances at you, one eyebrow raised. For a moment, you think you’ve caught him off guard, but then his lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smirk. “Lucky,” he says dryly, before loosing the arrow. Another perfect shot.
You shake your head, exasperated but oddly entertained. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re nosy,” he counters, retrieving another arrow.
“I don't get out much.” You say with a lift of your shoulders.
“Clearly.” He deadpanned. “What’s your excuse for being out here, anyway? Fancy dresses and all?”
The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, pulling your cloak tighter. “I needed to get away.”
“From what?” he asks, his tone skeptical.
You glance at the ground, then back up at him. His eyes are on you now, not the target, and you feel a strange urge to tell the truth. Not all of it, but enough. “Look who's being nosey now.” He snorts as you continue “My parents,” you admit softly. “They’re… overbearing.”
He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.”
You narrow your eyes. “I’m serious. They’ve been pressuring me nonstop, telling me who I should be, what I should want. It’s—” You trail off, shaking your head. “It’s exhausting.”
For a moment, he just looks at you, the teasing edge in his expression fading. “So, what? You ran off to the woods to escape their nagging?”
“Something like that,” you say, lifting your chin. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
He huffed a laugh and leaned against his bow. “Fair enough. But sneaking into the woods wearing that dress?” He gestures again at the hem of your gown. “Bold choice.”
“Do you ever stop criticizing people?” you shoot back, though there’s no real venom in your words.
“Not when they make it this easy.” His smirk returns, faint but noticeable.
You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling beneath your hood. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not leaving.”
“Suit yourself,” he mutters, turning back to his target. “Just don’t expect me to babysit you if you trip over your fancy shoes.”
You bite back a retort and instead settle against a tree to watch him. He doesn’t seem to mind—though he throws the occasional glance your way, as if checking to make sure you haven’t disappeared or done something foolish. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the rhythmic thwack of his arrows. It’s strangely comforting, this moment shared with a stranger in the middle of the woods. For the first time in weeks, the weight of the crown on your head feels a little lighter.
You watch as he moves with practiced ease, drawing and releasing arrow after arrow. The steady rhythm of his practice feels like the heartbeat of the forest, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. For a moment, you close your eyes, letting the quiet wash over you. The weight of the day—the endless parade of suitors, the sharp-edged words of your parents, the suffocating walls of the castle—feels distant now, almost unreal. Out here, under the stars, you’re not the princess with a duty to marry for the good of the kingdom. You’re just… you.
The thought stirs something bittersweet in your chest. You know this moment can’t last. Sooner or later, you’ll have to return to the castle, to the expectations and the responsibilities. This fleeting sense of freedom, of solace, will be nothing but a memory. You open your eyes again, focusing on him. He’s still at it, firing arrow after arrow with a precision that’s almost mesmerizing. There’s a quiet determination in the way he moves, as though this practice is more than a simple pastime. It feels like a ritual, a way of carving out his own space in the world. He moved like he was meant to be there, like the act of archery was engraved into his soul.
For a brief, foolish moment, you wonder what it would be like to stay. To slip away from the castle every night, to watch him practice and trade sharp words under the moonlight. But you shake the thought away. It’s impossible. Still, you linger. You don’t want to leave just yet—not while the night still feels alive around you, not while you can still breathe without the weight of the crown pressing down.
Silently, you push away from the tree and step back into the shadows. The forest seems quieter now, as though it knows you’re leaving. You glance back once, catching the faint glint of his bow in the moonlight, the outline of his form as he lines up another shot. You slip away before he can notice, retracing your steps through the woods and back toward the castle. The chill of the night air clings to you, and the weight of reality begins to settle back onto your shoulders with each step closer to the towering walls.
By the time you slip through the garden gate, the spell is broken. The castle looms ahead, its windows dark and silent, the very air around it heavy with expectations. But for a few precious hours, you had tasted something different—something real. And as you climb the servant’s staircase back to your chambers, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again.
The morning sun filters through the stained-glass windows of the dining hall, casting jeweled patterns onto the long oak table. You sit in your usual seat, the one that feels more like a throne than a chair, the weight of your parents’ presence pressing down on you like the crown you don’t yet wear. Breakfast is a quiet affair, at least for you. The clink of silverware and the murmurs of servants fill the space as your father, The king mutters about political alliances to your mother, The Queen. His deep voice carries a sharp edge, his words precise and biting, even when directed at your mother. You keep your head down, focused on the food sitting in front of you.
You barely hear him call your name. Your thoughts are elsewhere—lost in the forest, in the soft rustle of leaves and the quiet thwack of an arrow hitting its mark. You see the archer in your mind’s eye, his focused gaze, the smooth movement of his hands as he loosed each shot. “Are you listening?” your father snaps, his voice cutting through your reverie like a whip.
You blink, startled, and glance up at him. His dark eyes are cold and unforgiving, his thick brows drawn into a scowl. “Yes, Father,” you lie, though you have no idea what he just said. Trying to gather yourself. Your father was a very angry man, even more so when you were being disobedient.
He doesn’t believe you—he never does—but he waves it off, taking another bite of bread. “Good. Then you understand how important this ball is.”
The word ball yanks you out of your thoughts entirely. You sit up straighter, your heart sinking. “A ball?” You narrowly avoided most balls claiming to be sick, or having your nursemaid lie and say you had lessons very early in the morning. Not like your parents knew you were lying, they rarely kept track of those things, only that they were being done.
“Yes,” your mother says, her voice softer but no less resolute. She looks at you with the faintest trace of pity, but it does little to soothe the knot forming in your chest. “It’s time for you to meet suitors. Proper ones. The lords of the neighboring countries will all be in attendance.”
You shake your head, your fingers tightening around the silver spoon in your hand. “I don’t want a ball. I don’t want suitors.” You regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. Any defiance to your father was a grave mistake, one you were sure you’d regret shortly here.
Your father slams his goblet onto the table, making you flinch. “You don’t get to decide what you want,” he growls. “You have a duty to this kingdom, girl. Do you think your whims matter when alliances are at stake?” His words shake you. You knew how he felt but hearing him say it didn't make the blow any less hurtful. It brought you back to the quiet nights you spent curled into a ball on your bed at eight years old wondering why your daddy didn't love you like the other daddies did, why was yours so mean.
You lower your gaze to your plate, your stomach twisting. The archer’s face flickers in your mind again, unbidden. You wonder what he would say if he saw you like this, cowed under your father’s fury. The pink hue of your long hair covering your face shielding you from your embarrassment. “You’ll go to your dress fitting after breakfast,” your mother adds, her tone brisk as though she’s trying to smooth over the tension. “Nursemaid Kora will take you. Everything must be perfect.”
Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists.
“Do you understand?” your father demands.
“Yes,” you say quietly, though the word feels like ash on your tongue. The king grunts, satisfied, and turns back to his food. The rest of breakfast passes in strained silence, broken only by the occasional murmur of servants or the scrape of knives on plates. Your thoughts were loud as they rattled around in your head.
Oh how did you long for a normal life, with a normal family and parents who loved you. You glance toward the far end of the room, where the king’s guard stands like statues, their polished armor gleaming faintly in the morning light. Their presence is a constant reminder of the cage you live in—one gilded and grand, but a cage nonetheless.
Your mind drifts again, this time to the forest, to the sense of freedom you’d felt beneath the trees. To the archer, with his sharp gaze and quiet strength. You wonder if he’s out there now, practicing his craft in the clearing. Does he think about you at all? Did he even notice the way you lingered last night? You thought of his beautiful face and the way the moonlight caught it just right.
Foolishly you thought of a life with him. One filled with love and light, one that you had only conjured in your mind. It was unattainable and you were sure you would never see him again but still the thought loosened your bones and slowled the rapid beating of your heart. You didn't even know his name, and he yours but still you daydreamed the way he would whisper it, into the woods and into wind all the way until it reached you. It would engulf you, swirling around your being and reaching your heart.
Your mother calls your name with a softness that only you knew was faux. “Come.” She says rising from her seat. “Kora is waiting.” You nod numbly and stand, your pink dress swishing around your legs as you follow her out of the dining hall. But your heart stays behind, tangled somewhere between the memory of the archer’s steady hands and the ache of knowing you’ll likely never see him again.
The village square bustled with life, though as always, it seemed to pulse around him, not with him. Yeonjun stood near the edge of the market, his wares laid out neatly on a rough-hewn table: freshly skinned rabbit pelts, bundles of dried herbs, and slabs of venison wrapped in cloth. He adjusted the placement of the furs, not because they needed straightening, but because it gave him something to do.
The morning sun warmed his back, but he felt no comfort in it. A pair of women whispered as they passed, their glances darting his way like skittish birds. One muttered a prayer under her breath, her gaze lingering on the scar that cut across his brow—a mark left by a long-forgotten accident but whispered about like it was the devil’s curse. They always whispered about him. Yeonjun the orphan. Yeonjun the cursed. He clenched his jaw and focused on his work, brushing his fingers over the pelts. Let them talk.
“Still brooding, I see.” Yeonjun didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice. Beomgyu, his only friend, or as close to one as he allowed. The man sauntered over, carrying a sack slung across his broad shoulders, his cheeks red from the morning chill.
“I’m not brooding,” Yeonjun muttered, though he didn’t lift his head.
“Sure you’re not.” Beomgyu dropped the sack beside the table with a dull thud. “You’ve got that same ‘stay away from me’ look you always do.” Beomgyu sent Yeonjun a crooked teasing grin.
Yeonjun gave him a sidelong glance. “It works, doesn’t it?”
Beomgyu laughed, a deep, easy sound that drew a few more glances from the villagers. Unlike Yeonjun , Beomgyu seemed immune to the weight of their stares. His carelessness was off putting to Yeonjun “You know, you might be less miserable if you actually talked to people once in a while.”
“I talk to you, don’t I?” Yeonjun said flatly.
Beomgyu shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not people. I’m a saint for putting up with you.” A saint was far from what Yeonjun would call Beomgyu. The boy was anything but a saint.
Yeonjun huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, but the faint flicker of amusement quickly faded. His mind drifted unbidden to the girl in the woods. Her cloak, the way the moonlight caught the strands of pink hair peeking from beneath it. Who was she? Although he rarely frequented the village, opting to stick to his little cabin in the woods, he was sure that he would spot that bright pink hair anywhere on any given day. Everyone came to the village on selling days, surely he would have seen her walking around, right?
He’d told himself to forget her. To let her vanish into the shadows of memory like everything else. But the image of her standing beneath the trees, her voice soft but bold, wouldn’t leave him. “Anyway,” Beomgyu said, breaking Yeonjun’s thoughts, “I came to ask you something.”
Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”
Beomgyu grinned, a little too wide. “There’s work up at the castle.”
Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.”
“Don’t be like that,” Beomgyu said, unfazed. “The princess’s ball is coming up. They need extra hands for the feast. We’d be in the kitchens, nothing fancy. Just bringing up meat for the royals.”
“I said no,” Yeonjun growled, his voice low.
Beomgyu leaned against the table, crossing his arms. Gone was the playfulness, a look of desperation in its place. “Look, I know you hate the nobles—”
“I don’t hate them,” Yeonjun snapped. “I just don’t care for their games.”
“Fine. Call it what you want. But they’re paying good coin, and we could use the work.” Beomgyu’s voice softened slightly. “You could use it, Yeonjun. How long are you going to keep doing this?” He gestured to the table, to the furs and meat that earned just enough to keep him alive. Yeonjun glanced down, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He did need the money.
“Fine,” he muttered finally, his voice sharp and bitter.
Beomgyu clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.” Yeonjun flinched away from the touch, shrugging it off. He started packing up his things, his movements quick and tense. But even as he worked, his mind drifted again to the girl in the woods.
Her voice had been so sure when she’d said she was curious, her smile hidden beneath her hood. And yet, there had been something else in her eyes, something that mirrored the ache he carried in his own chest. Almost like a mirror of himself. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t see her again.
Everyone he loved—everyone he cared for—was gone. His family, his friends. Death followed him like a shadow, and he would not drag her into it. He wouldn’t. He would take the coin from the castle and leave. He wouldn’t think about her again. But as he slung his pack over his shoulder and followed Beomgyu out of the square, he knew it was a lie.
The cabin creaked as the night wind curled around its edges, pushing through the gaps in the wooden shutters. Yeonjun sat by the hearth, sharpening his hunting knife with slow, deliberate strokes. The repetitive motion grounded him, giving him a momentary reprieve from his restless thoughts. The fire crackled, casting shadows on the walls, but the warmth did little to soften the cold weight in his chest. The girl from the woods was still there in his mind, her pink hair catching the moonlight, her voice lilting like birdsong. He hated that he kept thinking about her.
A sharp knock at the door broke the stillness. Yeonjun froze, his hand tightening on the knife. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the door. No one came out here—no one dared, except for Beomgyu. And Beomgyu never knocked, opting to barge whenever he pleased. Another knock, louder this time.
With a sigh, Yeonjun stood and set the knife on the table. He crossed the room, pulling the door open just enough to see who stood on the other side.A boy no older than seventeen stared up at him, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his arms full of rolled newspapers. His oversized coat hung awkwardly on his skinny frame, and his breath came in little white puffs.
“Mr.Yeonjun!” the boy said brightly, his voice breaking through the quiet night. Yeonjun recognized him as the oldest Huening son, Kai. A paper boy for all of the village. Why he was delivering Papers this late at night was beyond Yeonjun.
“What are you doing here?” Yeonjun said sharply, glancing past the boy to the empty forest path. “You’re supposed to leave the paper on the doorstep.”
Kai shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous under Yeonjun’s glare. “I—I know. But I wanted to see you.”
“Why?” Was all Yeonjun said, not in the mood for a long winded conversation at this hour.
Kai’s face lit up, his nervousness replaced with eager determination. “I’ve seen you. In the woods. Shooting your bow. You’re amazing! No one in the village can shoot like you can.” He took a step closer, his wide eyes shining with admiration. “Will you teach me?” The light from the cabin illuminated the boy's features, catching the stark blonde of his hair and his boyish features. Although Yeonjun was only a few years older than the boy he had felt far more wise beyond his years. Kai was comparable to a..well a child in Yeonjun’s eyes.
Yeonjun stared at him, the boy’s words settling like an unwelcome weight in his chest. “No,” he said bluntly.
Kai’s face fell, but he pressed on. “Please, I’ll work for it! I can help with chores, or—”
“You don’t understand,” Yeonjun interrupted, his voice low and hard. “I don’t have time to waste teaching some kid how to shoot arrows.”
Kai flinched, but he held his ground. “I—I could learn fast,” he stammered. “I swear I’d—”
“Go home,” Yeonjun snapped, his hand tightening on the door. “It’s late. You shouldn’t even be out here.” Kai hesitated, but he finally nodded. Yeonjun shut the door without another word. He leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly as Kai’s footsteps faded down the path.
The room felt colder now, the fire’s warmth unable to reach him. He shook his head and went back to his chair, picking up the knife again. He didn’t need anyone else relying on him. He didn’t need one more thing to care about. Everyone who had ever mattered to him was gone. Kai didn’t understand what he was asking for. Yeonjun couldn’t be a mentor, a teacher, a protector. He wouldn’t risk letting someone else into his life—just to lose them too. The paper still sat on the doorstep, forgotten in the cold.
The grand hall of the castle was an entirely different world from the forest Yeonjun knew so well. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and perfumes far too sweet for his liking. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their flickering candlelight casting golden hues over the polished floors and the opulent tapestries lining the walls.Yeonjun had never set foot in the castle before. Being surrounded by so many nobles who shot him noticeable looks of disdain was something he would never get used to, even as the hours ticked by.
Yeonjun moved silently through the crowd, a tray of roasted duck balanced on one hand. His dark tunic and dress pants, provided by the castle staff, were a poor attempt at blending in. He still felt like a wolf among peacocks. The nobility barely noticed him as he passed, save for the occasional stare, their laughter and chatter a dull hum in his ears.“Keep moving,” Beomgyu muttered as he brushed past with a tray of wine-filled glasses. “And don’t glare at everyone. You’ll scare off the coin.”
Yeonjun grunted but said nothing, his focus on his task. He hated the castle, hated the hollow grandeur of it all. The villagers whispered about the luxury the royals lived in, and now, seeing it up close, Yeonjun understood why they seethed with resentment. “Ladies and gentlemen!” a booming voice called, silencing the room. The herald stepped forward, his red and gold uniform gleaming in the light. “May I present her royal highness, Our very own Princess. Daughter of The King and Queen!”
Yeonjun froze.
The crowd turned toward the sweeping staircase, where she appeared, her head held high, her movements graceful and deliberate. She wore a gown of shimmering silver, the fabric catching the light like starlight on water. But it wasn’t the dress that made his chest tighten. Stopping in his tracks in the middle of the dance floor.
It was her hair.
Pink.
His breath caught in his throat as memories of the woods flooded back—the girl in the cloak, her bold words, her curiosity. He had thought of her endlessly since that night, but he’d never expected this. She descended the staircase slowly, her expression serene, but Yeonjun caught the brief flicker of nerves in her eyes. She scanned the room, her gaze brushing over the sea of faces, until it landed on him. Her steps faltered, just barely, and only for a mere second. It had gone unnoticed by everyone but him. He knew the look in her eye matched his own.
Yeonjun saw the recognition in her widened eyes, the way her lips parted as though she might speak. But then she blinked, regaining her composure. Her gaze slid away as though nothing had happened, and she continued her descent. His grip on the tray tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He had vowed not to see her again, and yet here she was, standing among the very people he resented most. He wasn’t sure what the feeling in his chest was. Resentment? Anger? A little bit of pity? Really he shouldn't be surprised that she didn't tell him who she was the night in the woods but still..Yeonjun felt like a fool.
The evening wore on, the ball unfolding in a haze of music and laughter. Yeonjun moved through the crowd, refilling glasses and delivering trays of food. But his attention was drawn to her, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work. She danced with suitors, her gown flowing around her like liquid light. She smiled at them, laughed at their jokes, but Yeonjun saw the tension in her posture, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes. He had only known her a short while and still he knew the true feeling behind her faux smile. How had no one noticed how much she hated this? How did the King and Queen not? Or did they just not care?
Despite the distance between them, she noticed him too. Their eyes met across the room again and again—when he passed by with a tray of wine, when she lingered near the edge of the dance floor. Each time, her gaze lingered a moment too long before she looked away. Yeonjun felt fear that someone would notice, someone who would think that there was more there than what led on. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t want to see her. By the time the night began to wane, Yeonjun was certain of one thing: the princess was just as out of place here as he was.
As the night went on the small glances toward each other had become too much for Yeonjun to bear. The need for food and drink was starting to die down as the nobles became more intoxicated, sticking to their silly little dances and belly laughing conversations. He decided excusing himself to go outside for fresh air was the best thing for him. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the stifling ballroom. Yeonjun leaned against the stone balustrade of the castle balcony, the distant sound of music and laughter muffled by the heavy doors behind him. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered like flecks of silver against the inky black.
He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his dark hair. This was a mistake—coming here, taking this job. Seeing her. He knew even being near the castle would bring him trouble. He knew he hated royals for a reason. The door creaked open behind him, the soft rustle of fabric giving her away before she even spoke. Yeonjun closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. He looked around at his surroundings. “Shouldn’t you be inside, Your Highness?” he said without turning around to look at her.
“I could say the same about you,” she replied, her voice carrying that same mix of curiosity and defiance he remembered from the woods. Yeonjun turned, his arms crossed. She stood just a few feet away, the silver gown catching the faint light like moonbeams on water. Her pink hair spilled over her shoulders, and she looked more like a dream than a person. A dangerous dream. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said flatly. “Someone might see us.”
“I don’t care,” she said, stepping closer, teetering on a thin line close to danger.
“Well, I do,” he shot back. “If anyone gets the wrong idea—”
“Let them,” she interrupted. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Yeonjun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There is,” she insisted. “I—I wanted to explain.”
“Explain what?” He gestured toward her, his voice dropping. “That you’re a princess and I’m just some cursed hunter? That we shouldn’t even be in the same room together?” Her eyes knit together at the word cursed, it had given Yeonjun a small sprinkling of foolish hope that she hadn’t heard about him, and what people whispered about him and his family.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. “You’re angry.” Her cheeks flush from the cold. If it weren't for the circumstances Yeonjun would have thought it to be cute.
“I’m not angry,” Yeonjun said sharply. “I’m realistic. You shouldn’t be here, and I definitely shouldn’t be here with you.”
She stepped closer, her voice softening. “Why not? Because I’m a princess?” Her pink hair framing her face in the most delicate way.
“Yes!” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Because you’re a princess. And if anyone sees us out here, I’ll be the one paying for it, not you.”
She hesitated, but only for a moment. “You’re right. I am a princess. And all night, I’ve had to smile and pretend that everything’s fine. That I’m perfectly happy dancing with men who don’t know a thing about me. But I saw you, and for a moment, I felt…” Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat. They were definitely inching towards a very dangerous game, one he didn't want to play.
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Yeonjun interrupted, his voice low. He couldn't hear her say it.
“Why?” She asked, crossing her arms. “Because you’ll be tempted to feel something too?”
He scoffed, looking away. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Unable to look her in the eye.
“Oh, I think I’m right,” she said, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes. She smiled, and for a moment, the tension in his chest tightened.
“You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I don’t want…” He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists.
“Don’t want what?” she pressed gently, not that she had to press much. Yeonjun would soon turn to a pile of mush for her if she needed him to.
“I don’t want my head to end up on a stake,” he said bluntly, turning back to her. “All because you’re having some sort of quarter-life crisis.”
Her mouth opened in surprise, then closed again as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re infuriating,” she muttered.
And you’re reckless,” he shot back.
She tilted her head, studying him. “Is that why you keep looking at me? Because you think I’m reckless?”
“I’m not interested in falling in love,” he said firmly, ignoring her question.
The words seemed to land heavier than he intended. For the first time, her confidence faltered, her expression softening. “You’re lying,” she said quietly. The look on her face hurt Yeonjun more than he would like to admit.
“Think whatever you want,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But nothing good can come of this. Go inside, Your Highness. Your kingdom’s waiting.”
“What’s your name?” She asked with a whisper. “Please grant me that.” Her voice pleading was soft enough to melt his heart.
“Choi Yeonjun, my name is Choi Yeonjun, and I'm sorry.” Before she could respond, he slipped back into the ballroom, leaving her standing alone on the balcony beneath the stars.
The days following the ball were restless. You went through the motions of royal life—meals with your parents, lessons on etiquette, the endless parade of suitors vying for your hand. But none of it could hold your attention. You couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Yeonjun.
His name was an anchor, tethering you to something real in a world that felt increasingly false. Every glance exchanged at the ball, every word spoken in the woods, played on a loop in your mind. By the third night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You knew the risks, but the yearning to see him again was stronger than your fear. As the castle sank into sleep, you enlisted the help of your nursemaid, the one person who had ever shown you an ounce of warmth.
“She’ll kill me for this,” she muttered, bundling you into a heavy cloak. “But I’ll not have you looking like a caged bird any longer. Be back before dawn, child.” With her help, you slipped past the guards, past the watchful eyes of the palace, and into the night. The forest was alive with the sounds of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the wind. It guided you, just as it had the night before, to the clearing where you had first seen him. The path there was more grueling than you remembered, probably due to the anticipation of seeing him again.
There he was. Yeonjun stood in the moonlight, his bow drawn, the string taut as he aimed at a crude target pinned to a tree. He let the arrow fly, and it struck true, embedding itself with a satisfying thunk. You stepped forward, the forest floor damp beneath your boots. “Impressive as always.”
He spun around, his hand already reaching for another arrow. But this time, he didn’t nock it. His shoulders stiffened as he recognized you, and his brow furrowed in frustration. “Princess,” he said sharply, his voice low but tinged with anger. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” you said, as calmly as you could manage, the rapid beating of your heart against your ribcage a testament to what you actually felt.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Yeonjun hissed, stepping closer. His eyes were dark, and the tension in his frame reminded you of a coiled spring. “Do you have any idea what could happen if someone found out?”
“I don’t care,” you replied, lifting your chin. “I had to come.” You could admit that you were being incredibly stubborn but you didn’t care. This was something you had to do.
He shook his head, his jaw tight. “Go home, Your Highness. Now.”
“No.” The single word hung in the air between you, and the silence stretched until it was broken by the first raindrop splashing onto the ground. The cold finally sets into your bones and sends a shiver up your spine. You wrapped your cloak closer around your body not letting the droplets of rain sway you.
Yeonjun looked up at the sky, his expression darkening. “It’s going to pour. You need to leave.”
“And leave a lady out in the rain? How very gallant of you,” you said, unable to resist the jab. You weren’t above a bit of manipulation.
He muttered something under his breath before sighing deeply. “Fine. But only until the rain stops.” He turns without another word leading you down a small path. Your footsteps light as you follow closely behind him. The rain picked up in an instant pelting you in only the short walk to the cabin.
The cabin looked cozy enough, nothing grand but you loved it. It felt intimate and new. You fought a small smile as you overlooked the dark wood, this is where Yeonjun lived. He opened the door without a word gesturing for you to go inside.
The cabin was warm, the fire crackling in the fireplace as you stepped inside. Yeonjun shut the door behind you, his movements tense. He didn’t speak as he grabbed a blanket and thrust it toward you. “Dry off,” he said curtly.
You took it, sitting down in the lone chair by the fire. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken. “You’re angry,” you said finally.
“Of course I’m angry,” he said, his tone clipped. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? If someone finds out—”
“I’m careful,” you interrupted. “No one followed me. Kora made sure of that.”
“That’s not the point,” he said, pacing now. “You don’t belong here, and I don’t belong in your world. Whatever this is—” He gestured between you. “It needs to stop.”
“Why?” you asked, standing. “Because you’re scared?” Throwing the blanket he had given to you onto the chair.
“I’m not scared,” he shot back.
“Yes, you are,” you said, stepping closer. “You’re scared to feel something, scared to let someone in. But I see it, Yeonjun. You’re not as closed off as you pretend to be.”
He froze, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know me.
“Then tell me,” you said, your voice softening. “Tell me about your life. Let me understand.”
“You're making this difficult.” He said looking over at you, his eyes tired. His eyes caught the dark specs beautifully. Although only a few years older than you, you could tell he loved a much longer life. Had to endure things you've never even dreamed of, it aged him.
“Why? Because I’m here?” You were not going to let this go.
“Because you don’t belong here,” he snapped, finally meeting your gaze. “You have no idea what this world is like, what it costs.”
You hesitated before speaking. “Then tell me. Show me what it’s like.” You pleaded again.
His laugh was bitter, hollow. “What’s the point? You’ll go back to your castle and forget all about it.”
“I won’t,” you said firmly. “I promise.”
Yeonjun hesitated, the fight in him faltering as he sank onto the bench across from you. The firelight danced across his face. For a moment his vulnerability painted him as a young boy, one who suffered great loss. “My family,” he began, his voice quiet, “used to live in a village not far from here. My parents, my sister, and me. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. Then the fever came.” You didn’t dare interrupt, your chest tightening as you watched him. “They died within weeks of each other,” he said, staring into the flames. “One by one. And I… I couldn’t save them. Couldn’t do anything.”
“Yeonjun,” you whispered, your heart aching for him.
“I’ve been on my own ever since,” he said, his voice hardening. “It’s better that way. No one else to lose. The fever hit many families but a lot of them survived. Mine did not. They call me cursed and…I started to believe I am.”
You leaned forward, your hands gripping the edge of the chair. “But you had something beautiful once, something most people never get—a family that loved each other. I’d give anything to have had that.” He frowned, his gaze flickering to you.
“My parents… they care about power, appearances,” you said bitterly. “I’ve never been more than a pawn to them. I used to dream of having a family like yours, people who loved me for me. Even if I lost them, at least I’d have had it for a little while.”
Yeonjun’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away. “You still have a chance to love,” you said softly. “To let people in again.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Everyone I love… they die. It’s like I’m cursed.” You sat across from him, your hands folded tightly in your lap to keep them from trembling. You hadn’t anticipated how deeply his words would cut not because they hurt you, but because they made you ache for him.
“You loved them,” you said softly, breaking the silence.
He didn’t look at you, but his jaw tightened. “Of course I did.”
“And they loved you,” you continued. “That’s why it hurts so much, isn’t it?”
His gaze flicked to you then, sharp and guarded. “What’s your point?”
“That love isn’t a curse,Yeonjun,” you said, leaning forward. “It’s a gift. Even if it’s fleeting, even if it’s painful when it’s gone, it’s still worth having.”
His laugh was bitter, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Easy for you to say. You’ve never lost everything.”
You hesitated, your chest tightening. “You’re right. I haven’t. But I’ve never had what you had, either.”
Your voice trembled. “I used to dream about having a family like yours. A mother who held me when I cried, a father who wasn’t so… cold. Even if it didn’t last forever, at least I would have known what it felt like to be truly loved.” You said again. Yeonjun’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours as though he was seeing you for the first time.
“That’s why I came here,” you said. “Not just to get away from them, but because you made me feel something real. For once, I wasn’t just a princess. I was… me.”
He looked away, his fingers running along the edge of his bow. “You shouldn’t have come back. You’re playing with fire, and you don’t even realize it.”
“Maybe I do,” you said quietly.
He shook his head. “This—whatever this is—it can’t happen. You and I are from different worlds. There’s nothing but heartbreak waiting down this road.”
“I’m willing to take that chance,” you said, standing and crossing the room to him. And you were telling the truth. You had never truly felt love, so even if fleeting you’d kill to feel it just once. You didn't know what the future held for the two of you but you knew you were capable of loving Yeonjun, for however long the universe would allow it.
He looked up at you, his dark eyes conflicted. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Why not?” you challenged. “Because you’re afraid? Or because you think you’re not worth it?”
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, you reached out and rested your hand on his. His fingers tensed beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest.
“Yeonjun,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let someone in. Even if it’s just for a moment.”
He closed his eyes, his breath hitching. When he opened them again, the raw vulnerability in his gaze stole yours.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I know exactly what I’m asking,” you said, leaning closer.
Your heart pounded as you searched his face, waiting, hoping. And then, slowly, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin. “I shouldn’t…” he murmured, but the words trailed off as his gaze dropped to your lips.
“You should,” you whispered. And then he kissed you.
It was tentative at first, a soft, testing press of his lips against yours. But the hesitation didn’t last long. The tension that had crackled between you from the moment you met ignited, and the kiss deepened, pulling you into its heat. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. His other hand rested on your waist, steadying you as your knees threatened to buckle beneath the intensity of it.
You felt everything in that kiss, his pain, his longing, his fear, and you poured your own emotions into it, trying to tell him without words that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to push you away. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths ragged. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the sound of the rain outside mingling with the crackle of the fire.
“This is a mistake,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.
“Then let it be my mistake,” you said, your voice trembling. “But don’t push me away because you’re scared.”
His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his armor, the pieces of himself he had tried so hard to keep hidden. He didn’t move away. If anything, Yeonjun seemed frozen, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your hand where it rested against his chest, matching the wild rhythm of your own.
Then, as if something inside him broke free, he pulled you closer. His lips found yours again, no longer tentative but fierce, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word, every buried feeling, into the kiss. You melted against him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, anchoring yourself as the world seemed to spin away. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, heat building between you like the fire crackling in the fireplace.
Every touch, every movement, felt like a revelation. The roughness of his fingers on your skin, the way he tilted his head to take the kiss deeper, the quiet, almost desperate sound he made when your hands slipped up to cradle his face—it was all overwhelming and intoxicating and completely consuming. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Yeonjun rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if he was trying to steady himself. His hand remained on your waist, his thumb brushing idly against the fabric of your cloak.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, his voice rough and low.
“I think I do,” you whispered, your own voice shaky. A sense of unfamiliar excitement pooling in your belly.
“You don’t understand what you’re getting into.” He breathed out.
“Then explain it to me,” you said, your tone soft but insistent.
He hesitated, his eyes flicking down to your lips again as though he couldn’t help himself. Instead of answering, he kissed you again.
This time, it was slower, softer. It wasn’t born of desperation but something deeper, something quieter. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache, his hands cradling you like you were something fragile. You lost yourself in it, the world outside the cabin falling away. There was only Yeonjun. The taste of him, the warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in the way he held you.
When he pulled back again, his lips barely brushing against yours, he rested his forehead against yours once more. “This can’t last,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to,” you replied, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe we just let it be what it is, for however long we have.”
His eyes opened, and the vulnerability there was almost too much to bear. “You’re going to ruin me, princess,” he said softly.
“Then let me ruin you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, he didn’t hesitate. The kiss was more hurried, rushed and sloppy.
“I don’t know if I can hold myself back.” He spoke with a huff.
“Don’t.” Was all you said as you toyed with the collar of his shirt. “Don’t hold back, I want this.”
“Have you ever done..anything before?” The question left an embarrassing red tint to your cheeks. Of course you hadn’t. This had been your first kiss.
“No.” Your voice a whisper as you hide your blush with your hair.
“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was firm as he gripped your hips firmly in his hand, almost like he was grounding himself. As if it was taking everything in him to not pounce on you this very moment.
“Please.” You spoke with a newfound desperation. “I’m sure.”
His lips attached to your neck next. It was tender and soft. The delicacy he used only quickened the speed of your already rapidly beating heart. His hands found the sleeve of your dress before slowly bringing it down your shoulder and your arm. The light from the fireplace is a catalyst to your warmth. The light illuminated the two of you like starlight. His lips moved the expanse of your neck and met your collarbone in feather-like kisses.
“You're beautiful.” He whispered, moving your hair back.
“Can I take this off?” Your voice was hushed with a lit of intimidation hanging in the words. You gestured to his white shirt pawing at the buttons.
“Of course.” His smile was warm, comforting. You made quick work of unbuttoning the buttons yanking his shirt off in one fail swoop. You took your time inspecting the contours of his chest and torso. In awe of his sheer beauty. He was young, toned, and beautiful. Your fingers delicately danced around his body taking mental pictures.
“Like what you see?” He smirks at you, a tilt to his lips you found incredibly adorable.
“Yes.” You said simply with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Can I take this off?” His hands toy with the dress you wore. It wasn't a big puffy dress like you would wear on a normal day. It was flat and required no corset, no zipper. It simply slipped off. A surge of confidence rushed through you and you figured you'd take hold of it before it washed away.
You pushed Yeonjun back against the plush couch. His back connected with the cushion behind him. His face lit up with an adorable surprise. “What are you-”
“Shh” You smiled playfully. You rose from your seat now standing directly in front of him. You reached your hands to your sleeves pulling them down slowly.
Yeonjun smiled, resting his hands behind his head before sending you a mock bow of approval. “Suit yourself, your highness.”
“Shut up.” You giggle shyly pulling the rest of the dress down until the fabric meets the floor in a pile.
“Absolutely beautiful.” He said with an unashamed look in his eye. You stood bare in front of him now, only panties and nothing else. No bra to hold in your breasts. You had never been so exposed. You reached down, riding yourself of the last of your clothing.
You had never been naked in front of a man before. Oddly you weren't nervous with Yeonjun, you felt content, you felt reassured.
“Come here.” Yeonjun’s voice was rough and almost hoarse, it was incredibly sexy.
You sat before him, completely naked but full trusting. “I’m going to prep you first okay Princess?”
You nodded dumbly as he carefully laid you down on the sofa falling to his knees in front of you. “Tell me if you want to stop at any point and I will. Am I clear?” You nodded again, finding it hard to muster up words when he was looking at you like that.
“Use your words sweetheart.”
“Yes.” The one word like a green light to Yeonjun. His mouth falling to be level with your core. You watched with keen fascination as his breath fanned the most intimate part of you. His tongue licked up one strip causing a gasp to leave your lips. Your hips lifting from the couch in surprise. His growl of disapproval sent shivers down your spine as his hands firmly pressed your hips back down onto the couch.
His mouth reattached to your slit lapping and licking at the sensitive bud. “Oh-” You whined your mouth involuntarily curling into an ‘O’ shape.
His eyes searched for yours wildly, a desire for approval in his gaze. “How’s that feel?” He asked coming up for a breath.
“G-good.” You stuttered out. “More..”
“Greedy are we Princess?” he quirked a thick brow at you.
“Mhm..” You moaned unashamed of your clear desperation. His hand lifted ghosting over your entrance, his tongue back to lapping up your juices.
“Have you ever touched yourself?”
“W-what?” Your mind was in a daze as his thumb lazily circled your clit, his tongue still ghosting over your entrance.
“Has this little princess ever touched herself?” His voice was rougher now, more demanding.
“Y-yes.” You admitted shyly. “Sometimes”
Yeonjun tsk’d slowly adding a finger into your awaiting entrance, taking it slower so as to not hurt you.
“My god.” You whispered.
“Dirty girl..” Yeonjun trailed off, reaching his free hand up to grab onto yours that was clutching the cushion of the couch in your hand.
“More..” You whined, grinding yourself against Yeonjun’s hand, a desperate moan leaving your lips.
“I think you're ready.” He pulled his finger out with ease. A hiss of pleasure leaving your lips.
“Are you ready sweetheart?” His words were gentle as he quickly removed his pants and boxers. The sheer size of him catching you off guard and rendering you near speechless.
“Words, princess.” His tone held authority, something that had your mind abuzz and your skin ablaze.
“I’m ready” You panted. Yeonjun carefully crawled over you taking a second to look down at your body, his eyes traveling the expanse of you. “Beautiful.” He said for what seemed like the millionth time tonight.
He lined his cock at your entrance running the angry red tip up and down your slit a few times, catching the pool of heat in its wake. “I’ll go slow.”
You nodded desperately waiting for when he would finally be inside of you.
He pushed in slowly the stretch of him burning like wildfire in your body, a jolt of pain flying up your spine.
Your gasp rang free throughout the cabin. The sound of the fire crackling in the distance serves as a comfort to you. “Are you okay?” Yeonjun asks when he was finally fully seethed inside of you, unmoving.
“Yes.” You breathed out. “Just hurts a little.”
“I can wait to move.” He suggested but you shook your head at the need for him to move out weighing the pain.
“No. Please move.”
Yeonjun nodded, pulling his hips back from slowly pushing them back in. His breath hitched in his throat a sigh of content following. “Tight.” He grunted out.
He continued to slowly push in and out of you with tender precision. Soon you found yourself craving more, faster, harder you needed to feel him completely.
“Faster.” You whined out. “You can go faster.”
“Yeah?” He hissed out “Whatever your highness wants.”
A small smile graced your lips at his playful words. His hips pushed into you fasted the sound of your skin slapping ringing in the air around you.
“Feels so good.” You moaned. Running your hands down your body, your fingers finding your clit, making small slow circles over the nub.
“I’m almost there.” Yeonjun panted, his breath fanning over your face.
“Me too” You whined, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you like a freight train.
Yeonjun continued his brutal speed, your body moving in tandem with his, taking everything he gave you. Your heart pounding in your chest as you teetered on the edge.
“I’m coming.” You squeaked out as your orgasm hit you. It blinded you, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. Yeonjun followed suit, his hips rutting into you before stilling.
The both of you stood still, saying nothing only looking at each other. A bubble of a laugh creeping up in your throat and finally leaving your lips in an eruption.
Yeonjun’s eyes widened as he watched you laugh, him still deep inside of you.
“What are you laughing at?” He asked with a look of amused bewilderment.
“I don't know.” You giggled out. “I’m happy.”
Yeonjun smiled, a small semblance of smile falling from his lips. “Me too.”
The rain had stopped by the time you stood at the door of his cabin, your cloak pulled tight around your shoulders. The world outside was silent, save for the occasional drip of water from the trees. Yeonjun stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the soft glow of the firelight behind him. “You shouldn’t come back,” he said, his voice low and conflicted. Even after what you had just done he was still thinking of what could happen and not what was currently happening.
You turned to face him, your heart heavy but determined. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the weight of the night kept it from reaching his eyes. You had done irreversible things. Things that could quite frankly get him killed. “I mean it, princess. It’s too dangerous—for both of us.”
“And yet you kissed me,” you said softly, stepping closer. “You fucked me.” You continued.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“I’ve heard it before.” You smiled with mischief.
The faintest trace of a smirk crossed his face, but it faded quickly. “If you’re set on defying all reason, at least let me promise you something.”
Your brows furrowed as you searched his face. “What?”
“I’ll write to you,” he said, his voice steady. “I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to get the letters to you. Just… so you know you’re not alone.”
Your heart clenched at his words, the tenderness in his tone cutting through the sadness that had been building in your chest. “You’d do that?”
“For you?” He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.”
The weight of his promise settled between you, heavy and fragile all at once. You stepped closer, your hand reaching for his. His fingers closed around yours, calloused but warm, grounding you even as the moment felt like it might slip away. The thought of not knowing when you'll see him next wounded you. “I’ll wait for them,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze softened, and for a moment, you saw past the walls he had built around himself. “You’d better.”
You smiled, a small, bittersweet thing, before tilting your head up to him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was softer this time, slower, as though he was memorizing the feel of you. You poured everything into that kiss—the unspoken words, the hopes, the promises—and when it ended, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.
“Go,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Before I change my mind.”
You nodded, stepping back reluctantly, your hand slipping from his. As you turned and started down the path, you glanced over your shoulder to find him still standing in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by the firelight. And though your heart ached, the promise of his letters gave you a small, stubborn flicker of hope. You’d see him again, you'd make sure of it.
The morning light streamed through the small window of Yeonjun’s cabin, catching motes of dust that swirled lazily in the air. He sat at the rough-hewn table, a piece of parchment spread before him. His fingers tightened around the quill, ink blotching on the page as he wrestled with the words he needed to say. How did he write to a princess? Especially one who he kissed, one he made love to. One that looked at him like he wasn't a broken man, and made impossible promises feel real?
Yeonjun groaned, running a hand through his unruly hair. He had spent the better part of the morning trying to figure out how he was supposed to get this letter to her without drawing attention. The thought of a royal guard intercepting it. Of the consequences for both of them—kept him frozen in indecision. A sharp knock at the door startled him, and he quickly folded the letter, tucking it under the edge of a book before standing. His hand instinctively went to the knife on his belt as he opened the door.
There stood Kai, the paperboy, clutching his satchel and beaming up at him with wide, eager eyes. “Kai,” Yeonjun said, exhaling. “What do you want?”
“Good morning to you too,” Kai said, undeterred. “I’ve been practicing with the stick bow I made, but it’s not the same as the real thing. You’re the best archer in the village—probably in the kingdom! Teach me.”
“I told you before, I don’t have time for this,” Yeonjun said, stepping back and starting to close the door.
“Wait!” Kai stuck his foot in the doorway. “What if I do something for you? Like chores or hunting or—”
Yeonjun stopped, the boy’s words sparking an idea. He narrowed his eyes at Kai. “You deliver papers to the castle, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Kai said, straightening proudly. “Every morning. They don’t let me in, though. Just to the servants’ entrance.”
Yeonjun hesitated, glancing back toward the folded letter. “If I give you something—something important—could you deliver it discreetly to the princess? Without anyone else knowing?”
Kai blinked, his face scrunching in confusion. “The princess? Why would—”
“Can you do it or not?” Yeonjun interrupted, his tone firm.
Kai considered him for a moment, then grinned. “I can do it. But you have to promise to teach me archery.”
“Fine,” Yeonjun said, grabbing the folded letter and handing it to Kai. “This stays in your satchel until you hand it to her.”
Kai tucked the letter into his bag and gave Yeonjun a cheeky salute. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Yeonjun watched the boy leave, his heart pounding. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
Kai trudged up the winding path to the castle’s servant entrance, whistling a tune as the satchel bumped against his hip. The gray stone walls loomed above him, casting long shadows in the morning sun. Despite his usual bravado, his stomach twisted with nerves. Delivering a letter to the princess was risky business, even for a street-savvy paperboy. When he reached the small, iron-banded door tucked away behind the stables, he knocked twice, then twice more, just like the man had told him. A moment later, the door creaked open, and a woman in a plain gray dress peered out. Her sharp eyes softened when she saw him.
“You must be Kai,” the nursemaid said, her voice low but kind.
“That’s me,” he said, flashing her a grin. “I’ve got the letter.”
He pulled it from his satchel, holding it up like it was a royal treasure—which, in a way, it was. The nursemaid took it carefully, glancing over her shoulder before tucking it into the folds of her apron. “You’re certain no one saw you?”
“Course not,” Kai said, puffing out his chest. “I’m good at being sneaky.”
She smiled faintly. “Thank you. The princess will be grateful.”
Kai tilted his head, curiosity lighting his face. “Why’s the princess getting letters from a huntsman, anyway?”
The nursemaid’s expression grew stern. “That’s not for you to wonder. Just keep this quiet, understand?”
“Understood,” Kai said, holding up his hands. The nursemaid nodded, slipping back inside. The door shut with a soft thud, leaving Kai alone with his thoughts. As he walked back toward the village, he couldn’t help but grin. Whatever was going on between the princess and the huntsman, it was far more exciting than delivering papers.
The grand hall felt stifling, the air heavy with expectation. You sat at the long, polished table, your parents at either end like sentinels of your fate. The man they had brought to meet you sat across from you, his eyes scanning you like a merchant appraising goods. He was handsome in a sharp, cold way, his words polished but hollow. “This is Lord Kang Taehyun.” your father said, his voice booming with authority. “A man of great standing. He’s traveled far to meet you.”
You forced a tight smile, your hands twisting in your lap beneath the table. “It’s a pleasure, my lord,” you said, your voice strained.
Lord Taehyun inclined his head, his smile more a calculated gesture than genuine warmth. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness. I’ve heard much of your beauty and grace, though I see now that words fail to capture the truth.” The flattery felt like acid on your skin. You glanced at your mother, hoping for some reprieve, but her expression was as composed and unreadable as ever.
“You will have much to discuss,” your father said, his tone dismissive. “Taehyun, perhaps you and the princess might take a walk in the gardens.”
“No,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
Your father’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and unyielding. “What did you say?” His words felt like tiny little prickles in your skin.
You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the marble floor. “I said no. I don’t want to walk. I don’t want to… to discuss anything.” This new found confidence surprised not only your father but you as well. The tension in the room thickened, your mother’s eyes narrowing, your father’s face darkening with anger.
“Sit down,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. You knew he meant business but something in you wouldn't allow for what was about to take place to happen. You were going to fight like hell.
You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “You can’t make me do this.”
Your father rose to his feet, his hands slamming onto the table. “You will do as you’re told. This is not a request—it is your duty.”
“Duty?” you cried, your voice breaking. “Is that all I am to you? A pawn to be traded away?” The words hung in the air like a slap. Your father’s expression turned thunderous, but your mother spoke first, her voice cold and clipped. “That’s enough.”
You turned on your heel, tears spilling over as you fled the hall, their voices chasing after you. Your feet carried you through the winding corridors of the castle, past servants who quickly looked away, until you reached the sanctuary of your room. Slamming the door shut, you sank to the floor, sobbing into your hands. It felt as though the walls were closing in, every word your parents had said pressing down on your chest.
You had only tasted a small ounce of freedom but you would do everything in your power to not lose it. The night you spent with Yeonjun was the best night of your life. For the first time in your life you felt real. You had finally felt like someone, seen you as you and not just a pawn in a nobel game.
You picked yourself up from the floor as the tears still cascaded down your face. Throwing yourself onto your bed letting your mind think of Yeonjun and Yeonjun only.
The night was silent when the knock came at your window. You rushed to it, your heart leaping when you saw the familiar figure of your nursemaid, Kora She slipped inside, handing you a folded piece of parchment. “It’s from him,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips. He kept his promise. He wrote to you. Your heart soared a prickling of hope bubbling in your chest. With Yeonjun, the world felt just all the more bearable. This tiny piece of paper was a saving grace in the mess that was your life.
Your hands trembled as you took the letter, the sight of his handwriting calming the storm inside you. Once the nursemaid left, you lit a candle and unfolded the parchment, your eyes drinking in the words.
“Princess,
I hope this finds you well, though I know life in the castle is anything but kind to you. I don’t know what I can offer with my words, but know that I’m thinking of you. I can’t seem to stop. I spent all day at the woods’ edge, wondering if you’d appear again, though I know it’s foolish.
Stay safe. Write back if you can. Just knowing you’re out there—somewhere—makes the world feel less empty.
Yeonjun.”
You clutched the letter to your chest, his words filling the cracks in your heart left by the day’s events. Taking a deep breath, you reached for your quill and parchment sitting on your bed eager to write back.
“Yeonjun,
Your letter was exactly what I needed tonight. The world here feels so cold, so confining. But your words... They warmed me. I wish I could tell you how much they mean to me, how much you mean to me. You call yourself foolish for waiting by the woods, but I find myself thinking about you just as often.
There are moments I wish I could escape all of this, if only to spend another night in the rain with you. You make me feel free, even when I’m trapped within these walls. I don’t know how long this will last, or what the future holds, but I promise I’ll keep writing as long as you’ll read my words.
Yours Always”
You folded the letter carefully, sealing it with trembling hands. The nursemaid would come again in the morning to deliver it, but for now, you tucked it under your pillow. As you blew out the candle and lay in the darkness, your thoughts drifted to Yeonjun. His voice, his touch, his promise. It was enough to keep the despair at bay, at least for tonight.
The days that followed were a blur of tension and despair. Your father’s booming voice echoed through the halls, issuing orders to increase security, though you didn’t know why. Guards were stationed at nearly every corridor, their cold eyes watching your every move. Even the gardens, once your brief sanctuary, felt like a cage.
You suspected it was about control. The more you resisted their plans, the tighter they held the reins. Your father rarely spoke to you directly now, preferring to bark commands to your mother or the staff. Your mother, ever the strategist, would sit by your bedside at night, her hands clasped primly in her lap as she spoke of duty and legacy. Her words slid off you like rain on stone. But even in the midst of their suffocating demands, there was Yeonjun.
His letters arrived like whispers of freedom, tucked beneath your pillow by your nursemaid each morning. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth that broke through the chill of the castle. You read them over and over, tracing the ink with your fingertips until the parchment softened.
“Princess,
Every day feels longer than the last without you here. I thought I was a man who had learned to live without hope, but you’ve made me realize how much I’ve missed it. The woods are quiet now, but I hear your laugh in the wind and feel your presence in every shadow.
I don’t know how this will end, but I promise I will keep writing to you, as long as you’ll have me. You’re the first thing in a long time that has felt real.
Yeonjun”
His words were a balm to your raw emotions, and you clung to them like a lifeline. They were your secret rebellion, a quiet refusal to let your parents steal the one thing that gave you solace. You don’t know what you would do moving forward but you knew for certain that the thought of a life without Yeonjun became more and more painful, it was something you wouldn't allow to happen. Even if it killed you. So Each night, by the flickering light of a candle, you wrote back to him.
“Yeonjun,
Your words are the only thing keeping me sane. I feel trapped here—my parents are relentless, the guards omnipresent. Even my own footsteps feel like they’re being watched. But when I read your letters, it’s like I’m back in the woods with you, standing in the rain. For a moment, I’m free again.
I don’t know how I’ll get through this, but knowing you’re out there, thinking of me... it’s enough to keep going. I hope you’ll write to me as often as you can. Your letters are my escape.
Yours always.”
The exchange continued for days. Each morning brought a new letter, and each night you penned your reply. The routine became your lifeline, a fragile thread tying you to something brighter, something more alive. The grueling dinners with your parents, the endless stream of suitors paraded before you—none of it mattered when you knew a letter was waiting under your pillow. Yeonjun’s words reminded you of what it felt like to be seen, truly seen, and not as a piece on your father’s chessboard. You closed your eyes, letting his words settle into your heart. The stars above seemed brighter somehow, as if he were reaching out to you through them.
Your mother always told you that love was not real. That you could never love someone more than you loved yourself but that was a lie. It makes you sad sometimes. When you thought of your mother. Was she once a girl like yourself staying up until the wee hours of the night daydreaming about the possibility of a real love, had she ever felt it? You weren't sure.
Your fingers itched to write him back, to tell him how much he meant to you, how his letters were the only thing keeping you from breaking beneath the weight of your parents’ demands. But tonight, there were no words strong enough. Instead, you held his letter close and let the quiet night envelop you. For now, his letters were enough. And soon, you would find a way to see him again.
The morning sun filtered through the trees as Yeonjun stood by the edge of the clearing, watching Kai fumble with the bowstring. The boy’s arms trembled under the tension, his grip clumsy as he tried to draw back the arrow. "Not like that," Yeonjun said, stepping forward. He placed a steadying hand on Kai’s shoulder and adjusted his stance, forcing the boy to straighten his back. "You’re holding it like it’s going to bite you. Relax."
Kai exhaled sharply, his face scrunched in concentration. "This is harder than it looks." His blonde hair blowing in the wind that bristled through the clearing they occupied.
He watched Kai try again. The boy managed to draw the string back this time, though it wobbled precariously before he loosed the arrow. It sailed a pathetic few feet before flying into the dirt. Kai groaned, slumping in frustration. "I’m never going to get this."
"You will," Yeonjun said, his voice firmer now. "But not if you give up. Again." The boy looked at him, his brown eyes uncertain, but he nodded. He retrieved the arrow and tried again. And again. And again.
The days that followed were filled with more of the same. Each morning, Kai would show up at Yeonjun’s door with that wide, determined grin, a bow slung over his back and a bundle of arrows that were too big for his quiver. Yeonjun taught him everything—how to adjust his grip, how to judge the wind, how to stay calm and focused even when the target seemed impossible. At first, Kai was frustratingly bad. His arrows veered wildly off course, his fingers blistered from the bowstring, and his skinny frame seemed ill-suited for the demands of archery. But the boy never gave up. Each time Yeonjun corrected him, Kai listened intently, his determination outmatching his skill.
One morning, as they rested under a tree after hours of practice, Kai finally opened up. Completely unprovoked. There must have been a lot of things weighing on the boy's mind. "My family’s poor," he said, staring down at the bow in his lap. "My father makes paintings to sell, and my mother does her best, but it’s not enough. My older sister works at the tailor’s, and my little sister’s too young to help. I’m supposed to be the big brother of the house now, The one to look to when Father is at work, but..." He trailed off, his voice cracking. Yeonjun didn’t respond right away, letting the boy gather his thoughts.
"I don’t want to feel useless anymore," Kai continued, his voice quiet but steady. "If I can hunt—if I can bring home food or sell furs—maybe things will get better. Maybe my family won’t have to struggle so much." Yeonjun studied the boy for a long moment. He saw the desperation in Kai’s eyes, the same desperation that had once driven him to the woods all those years ago. He understood too well the weight of carrying a family’s survival on your shoulders, the feeling of always falling short.
"You’re not useless," Yeonjun said finally. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge of warmth in it. "You’re trying. That’s more than most people would do." Kai looked up at him, surprised.
"And you’re getting better," Yeonjun added, his lips quirking into a small, rare smile. "You actually hit the target today. Granted, it was the edge, but it counts." Kai laughed, a sound that was bright and unguarded. For a moment, Yeonjun felt something he hadn’t in years—a faint, flickering sense of hope. He had seen a lot of himself in kai. He too was seventeen trying to make ends meet while also growing and learning. He reminded himself to give the boy some reprieve, he was doing what most people in this village were doing. Trying to make it.
It was a week later when Yeonjun made the decision. They had finished another grueling day of practice, and Kai was leaning against a tree, his face flushed with exhaustion but glowing with pride. He had hit the bullseye twice that morning, a feat that had him grinning ear to ear. Yeonjun walked over to his small cabin and retrieved the bow that hung on the wall. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its gold accents catching the light like fire. He had carved it himself years ago, imbuing every stroke with a sense of purpose and pride. It was his favorite bow, his most prized possession.
He walked back to Kai, who was packing up his own battered bow. Without a word, Yeonjun held out the golden bow to him. It was a present that he had cherished from his father. He had given it to him early in his life when Yeonjun took interest in archery, and now he was giving it to Kai.
Kai stared at it, his eyes wide. "Is that...?"
"It’s yours," Yeonjun said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knew he was deserving, Kai was going to grow up to be an amazing huntsman, maybe even better then Yeonjun. Yeonjun was sure of it.
The boy gaped at him, his hands hovering uncertainly over the bow. "But... this is your favorite. I can’t—"
"You can," Yeonjun interrupted. "And you will. You’ve earned it."
Kai’s hands trembled as he took the bow, his fingers tracing the smooth curves and intricate carvings. "I don’t know what to say," he whispered.
"Say you’ll keep practicing," Yeonjun said, his voice softer now. "Say you’ll use it to help your family. That’s all I want."
Kai nodded, his eyes shimmering with emotion. "I will. I promise."
“Good.” Yeonjun smiled a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Now head home it's getting late.”
The castle had become unbearable. Every corridor felt like a gauntlet, every shadow a trap. Guards patrolled relentlessly, their footsteps echoing like a drumbeat of oppression. Your father’s anger was a constant storm, and your mother’s calculated words were no less cutting. Everyday a battle for your freedom. Your father would not budge, his demands becoming more cold and less patient. The looming specter of the marriage broke you. The man they had chosen—a stranger from across the sea—was everything you feared. Another piece in their endless political game. You didn’t want to be a pawn, but they weren’t giving you a choice. That night, as the moon rose high above the castle, you made your decision to see Yeonjun again, no matter the beefy guards.
You slipped into the gown you had worn earlier, pulling your dark cloak tightly around you. With a deep breath, you tiptoed past the guards stationed outside your chamber. The halls seemed endless, the flicker of torches casting long, wavering shadows. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening, every glance from a passing servant a threat. But somehow, you made it. Past the gates, past the patrols, and into the forest that had become your sanctuary.
The knock on his door was hesitant at first, your courage wavering as you stood in the cool night air. The woods were quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. You wondered if he would even answer, if he was still awake. But then the door creaked open, and there he was.
Yeonjun stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to concern the moment he saw you, calling your name in confusion. You were the last person he expected to see tonight. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The weight of the past days pressed down on you, and before you could stop yourself, tears spilled down your cheeks.
His brows knit together, and he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. "What’s wrong?" You stepped inside, the warmth of his cabin wrapping around you like a blanket. It smelled of wood and the faint, earthy scent of leather. He closed the door behind you, his gaze never leaving your face.
"They’re marrying me off," you finally managed, your voice trembling. "To a man I’ve never met. A man I don’t want."
Yeonjun’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "When?"
"I don’t know," you whispered, sinking onto the edge of the small cot in the corner. "Soon. My father is furious. My mother says it’s for the good of the kingdom. But I..." You shook your head, burying your face in your hands. The weight of what your parents were doing finally settled in. A moment later, you felt the bed shift as he sat beside you. His presence was solid, grounding, and when his hand hesitantly rested on your back, it was as if a dam broke inside you.
"I can’t do it," you said, your voice muffled. "I can’t live like this. I don’t want to be a pawn in their games. I just... I just want to be free."
Yeonjun was silent for a long moment, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady. "We’ll figure it out. I don’t know how yet, but we will."
You looked up at him, your tear-streaked face meeting his determined gaze. "How can you say that? You don’t even know what they’re capable of."
"I don’t have to know," he said, his tone firm. "I know you. And I know you’re stronger than you think."
His words were like a spark in the darkness, a flicker of hope that refused to be snuffed out. You searched his face, finding no hesitation, no doubt. Just him—solid, unyielding, and somehow, impossibly, yours. A beautiful man, who had cared for you. Who has seen more of you than anyone before. A man you were falling for, and hard. Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t pull away.
"Tell me you mean it," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me this isn’t just a dream." You didn’t care if you sounded silly and childish. This was the equivalent to whispering pinch me i’m dreaming but it didn't matter, you needed to hear it.
His hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your skin. "It’s real," he murmured. "I promise you, it’s real." And then his lips were on yours.
His hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. The kiss was sweet but heated like you were catching up on lost time. You had missed his touch only feeling the ghost of him in his letters.
His arms tightened around you, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, a language only the two of you could understand. "You should go back," he said eventually, though his arms didn’t loosen their hold.
"I don’t want to," you whispered.
His lips brushed your temple in the lightest of touches. "I’ll find a way to see you again. I promise."
And somehow, you believed him. There was no way you’d be marrying a man you didn't love, not a single chance.
The castle was quiet when you slipped back through the hidden servant’s entrance. Your heart pounded with every step, the weight of the evening still clinging to you like a second skin. The cool stone walls of the passage pressed in, amplifying the sound of your footsteps.When you turned the corner into your room, your nursemaid, Kora, was waiting. Her arms were crossed, and her lips were set in a thin line, but her eyes betrayed her worry more than her anger ever could.
"You’re lucky the patrols didn’t catch you," she said, her voice low but sharp. You had seen her angry before and this was not one of those times, she looked more worried than anything and strangely it made you feel warm.
You closed the door softly behind you and let out a shaky breath. "I needed to go."
Her expression softened at the sound of your voice, her stern demeanor melting into concern. "Child, what are you doing to yourself?" You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you pulled off your cloak and sank onto the edge of your bed, your fingers clutching the fabric tightly. The weight of her gaze made it impossible to avoid the question, so you finally looked up.
"I love him," you admitted, the words trembling as they left your lips.
Your nursemaid’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a soft sigh as she sat beside you. She reached for your hand, her grip warm and steady. "You’ve always had such a stubborn heart," she said, a faint smile playing at her lips.
"I can’t help it," you said, your voice breaking. "I don’t want this life anymore. I don’t want the titles, the suitors, the ballrooms. I just want... I just want to be free. With him." Tears welled in your eyes again, and before you could stop yourself, they spilled over. "I can’t do this, not without him. I want to run away, leave it all behind."
Your nursemaid pulled you into her arms, holding you close as your tears soaked into her shoulder. She smelled of lavender and the faint, comforting scent of home. "I understand," she murmured, her voice gentle. "But you must be careful, my love. The world isn’t kind to people like us who dream beyond our station." You had never really felt a mother’s love before, not in the way you had longed for. The closest you ever gotten was with Kora. Not only was she your nursemaid but your mother figure. She was nurturing, caring, compassionate like a mother should be. But she was also stern and would tell you exactly what you needed to hear, even if you didn't want to hear it. You had loved her like a mother.
You pulled back slightly, your face still damp with tears. "You’ve always been there for me," you said, your voice trembling. "When my own mother didn’t care—when she looked at me like I was just another duty to fulfill—you loved me. You raised me. You’ve been the only real mother I’ve ever known."
Her own eyes glistened now, and she cupped your face in her hands. "You’ve been my joy since the day you were born. I wanted to shield you from all of this. If I could give you the freedom you want, I would. You deserve to be happy, my dear. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you." The words had felt like another crack in the crippling foundation of your heart. Soon you would overflow then explode with the constant raging emotions inside of you and you were sure when that happened Kora would be right there, helping you every step of the way no matter what decision you decided to make. Admitting to her out loud that you had loved Yeonjun changed something inside of you.
"I don’t know what I’d do without you," you said, your voice cracking.
She kissed your forehead, her touch light and filled with affection. "You’ll always have me. But promise me you’ll be careful. If you love him as much as you say, don’t let that love make you reckless. It’s a dangerous world, and I won’t see you hurt."
You nodded, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face. "I promise."
The two of you sat there for a long while, her arms wrapped around you like a shield against the storm outside. For the first time in days, you felt a glimmer of peace. Moments like this had made you mourn a relationship you never had with your own mother.
"I love you," you whispered.
"And I love you," she replied, her voice soft and steady. "More than you’ll ever know."
You fell asleep that night with her words echoing in your mind, the warmth of her embrace still lingering into the morning when you awoke again and she was gone, a blanket thrown over your body like a last single trace of her.
The morning sunlight filtered through the trees as Yeonjun stood in the clearing behind his cabin, his bow slung across his back. Kai was already there, eagerly stringing the bow Yeonjun had given him. His tongue poked out in concentration, and the boy’s scrawny arms strained slightly as he drew it back. "Focus on your breath," Yeonjun instructed, leaning against a tree. "Pull smoothly, don’t yank it. Let the bow do the work."
Kai nodded, exhaling slowly before releasing the arrow. It sailed through the air, wobbling slightly before it struck the edge of the target. Not dead center, but better than it had been just days ago. "Yes!" Kai exclaimed, pumping his fist.
Yeonjun couldn’t help but smile. "Not bad. You might not be completely hopeless after all."
Kai grinned, his face lighting up with pride. It was very.. Boyish almost. It reminded Yeonjun so much of who he used to be. He reached for another arrow, his excitement infectious. As he prepared to shoot again, he glanced over at Yeonjun. "You know, my parents were really proud of me last night."
Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What’d you do to deserve that?"
"I caught my first rabbit," Kai said, his voice swelling with pride. "With this bow. My parents sold it at the market, and we made enough money to buy bread and meat for the week. My sisters were so happy. My mom even cried."
Yeonjun’s chest tightened at the boy’s words, a strange mix of pride and longing settling there. "Good work, Kai. You earned that." He had the most perfect prodigy of himself. Someone he knew had the potential to be a great hunter and an even better archer than Yeonjun had ever been.
Kai beamed, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It’s because you taught me. If it weren’t for you—"
"Stop," Yeonjun interrupted, though his tone was gentle. "You put in the effort. I just showed you how."
Kai hesitated, then said softly, "I just wanted to say thank you. For the bow, for the lessons... for everything." Looking down at the ground to hide his reddened cheeks, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet almost bashfully.
Yeonjun looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don’t get all sentimental on me. You’ll ruin my reputation." He said with a laugh. The joke hanging in the air between the two of them.
Kai laughed, but his expression quickly turned serious. "You’re not as mean as everyone says, you know. You’re actually... really kind."
Yeonjun snorted. "Don’t spread that around. I’ve worked hard to keep people away, and I’d rather not ruin a good thing."
"But why?" Kai asked, tilting his head. "You’re not scary. You’re..." He trailed off, searching for the right words.
"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.
Kai shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Maybe." Yeonjun smiled at his Joke, something he found himself doing a lot more lately.
His turned serious sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Scrawny, stubborn, trying too hard to prove something to the world."
Kai titled his head “That wasn't too long ago, you're not that much older than me you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Yeonjun sighed out, “You Still remind me of my younger self. I’m a lot more grown up than my age suggests. I’ve had to grow up early.”
Kai’s eyes widened. "Really?" His innocence warmed Yeonjun’s heart.
"Yeah," Yeonjun said, a distant look in his eyes. "Only difference is, you’ve got a family who loves you. Don’t take that for granted, Kai. Not everyone’s that lucky."
Kai frowned, sensing the weight behind Yeonjun’s words. "What about your family?"
Yeonjun hesitated, then shook his head. "Not something you need to worry about, kid. Let’s just say... it didn’t turn out the way I wanted."
“I know they died..” Kai said, surprising Yeonjun. “I’m sorry. I can be your family now.”
“I appreciate that.” Yeonjun’s voice was low, soft. Like he was savoring the moment but not wanting to look vulnerable. “You’re a good kid, Kai. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise."
Kai nodded slowly, his youthful energy appearing once more. "I won’t let my family down. I’ll keep practicing, and I’ll take care of them."
Kai grinned, his spirit returning as he straightened his bow. Yeonjun reached into his coat and pulled out a folded letter. "Here," he said, handing it to Kai. "Same deal as last time. Get this to the nursemaid, and make sure it reaches her. No one else."
Kai took the letter with a solemn nod, tucking it carefully into his satchel. "I won’t mess up. You can count on me."
"I know I can," Yeonjun said softly. "You’re tougher than you look."
Kai flashed a determined smile and slung his bow over his shoulder. As he turned to leave, he paused, glancing back at Yeonjun. "You know," Kai said, his voice tentative, "you’re kind of like the big brother I always wanted."
Yeonjun froze, the words catching him off guard. He swallowed hard, his voice rough as he replied, "And you’re like the little brother I never asked for." Kai laughed, waving as he disappeared into the woods. Yeonjun watched him go, a strange warmth settling in his chest.
The wind howled outside Yeonjun’s cabin, rattling the wooden shutters as he sat at his small, worn table. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. He ran his fingers over the letter he’d received from Kai earlier, the princess’s words already memorized but still giving him solace. He was about to turn in for the night when a sharp knock echoed through the cabin. Yeonjun frowned. Kai was long gone, and he wasn’t expecting anyone else.
He opened the door cautiously, but no one was there. Instead, an envelope lay on the ground, the seal glinting faintly in the moonlight. Yeonjun bent down to pick it up, his pulse quickening.
He stepped back inside, closing the door behind him as he examined the envelope. The weight of it felt different from her usual letters. The paper was finer, the edges gilded with gold. For a moment, he thought Kai had brought it late, maybe as part of some grand gesture. But when he broke the seal and unfolded the paper, his stomach dropped. it wasn’t her handwriting. The words danced mockingly across the page, each one sinking like a stone in his chest.
“You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball at the royal palace to celebrate the forthcoming marriage of The Princess to Lord Kang Taehyun.”
His grip on the paper tightened, the edges crumpling beneath his fingers. He read it again, hoping he’d misunderstood, but the meaning was clear.
Her marriage announcement.
The room felt suddenly stifling, the walls closing in as his heart pounded against his ribs. He stared at the invitation, anger and confusion warring within him. She hadn’t mentioned this in her letters. Not once. He knew they were trying to force her into a marriage but not that they were going through with one.
"Why didn’t she tell me?" he muttered to himself, his voice harsh in the quiet cabin.
Yeonjun paced the room, the invitation clutched tightly in his hand. Every instinct screamed at him to stay away, to keep his head down and let this royal mess unfold without him. But the thought of her standing in that grand ballroom, her eyes filled with sorrow, surrounded by strangers, was unbearable. He sank into his chair, his head in his hands. The memory of her tear-streaked face from the night she’d come to his door haunted him. The way she’d clung to him, her voice trembling as she confessed her fears.
"I have to see her," he said aloud, the resolve hardening in his chest. His eyes fell back to the invitation. A masquerade. If there was ever a way for him to slip into the palace unnoticed, this was it.
But what then? What could he possibly say or do to change the course of her life? With a heavy sigh, Yeonjun placed the crumpled invitation on the table and leaned back in his chair. The fire crackled softly, the warmth doing little to ease the chill that had settled in his chest. Tomorrow, he would decide what to do. But tonight, he let the weight of the truth settle over him, the words on the page a stark reminder of just how precarious their love truly was.
The night of the ball had finally arrived. Yeonjun sat in the quiet of his cabin, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. His packed bundle rested on the table . Everything felt heavier tonight—the air, his thoughts, the weight of what he was about to do. He’d spent the day going over his plan, but now, as the moment drew closer, his mind turned to the boy who’d become a surprising presence in his life: Kai. He’d spent the day going over his plan, trying to get his affairs in order. Earlier, he’d gone to look for Kai. The boy was usually eager, always hovering around his cabin or running errands in the village. But today, Yeonjun had called for him several times, even gone to the square to see if he was there, but there’d been no sign of him.
“Probably busy with his family,” Yeonjun muttered to himself, trying to shake off the unease that crept in. He thought of Kai’s bright grin the last time they’d spoken, the pride in his voice as he told Yeonjun about finally catching his first game. The memory pulled at his heart. He’d wanted to talk to the boy, to tell him everything, to hand over the cabin, the bow, and all the tools of his trade. But with no time to waste and no sign of Kai, Yeonjun had to make peace with leaving it all behind without explanation.
"I’ll leave it all to him," Yeonjun murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "The cabin, the bow, everything." It wasn’t much, but it was all he had. And Kai deserved a chance—a real chance—to make something of himself. He thought back to the day he’d handed Kai the golden bow, the way the boy’s eyes had widened with reverence. That same boy had caught his first animal just days ago and had been beaming with pride when he told Yeonjun about his family’s gratitude.
“They’ll need this more than I will,” Yeonjun muttered. “Kai will understand.” He sat at the small table, a scrap of paper and a stub of charcoal in hand. The words didn’t come easily, each one feeling like a goodbye he wasn’t ready to say. But by the time the fire had burned down to its last embers, the note was finished, folded neatly and left on the table. Yeonjun stood, shouldering his pack. His gaze swept the small cabin, taking in the worn wood, the faint scent of smoke, the memories etched into every corner.
"This is the right thing," he said softly, though the ache in his chest made him doubt. As he stepped outside, the cold night air bit at his skin, and the quiet of the woods enveloped him. He turned once to look back at the cabin, the soft glow from the window casting a faint light into the night. “Kai will be fine,” he whispered, as if convincing himself. “He’s stronger than he thinks.” And with that, Yeonjun made his way toward the palace. The plan was set, and his resolve was firm. Tonight, he would find her, and together they would leave this world behind.
The masquerade ball was in full swing, a sea of gilded masks, shimmering gowns, and laughter that echoed through the grand halls of the castle. Yeonjun, hidden in plain sight among the servants, carried a tray of fine goblets filled with wine. The facade of calm he wore barely concealed the storm brewing inside him. He’d caught sight of her several times already, dressed in a gown of deep emerald green that hugged her frame and glimmered under the chandeliers. The mask she wore couldn’t hide her identity from him, not when her pink hair peeked through in soft waves. But it wasn’t just her beauty that consumed his attention—it was the man beside her.
Kang Taehyun.
The one she was supposed to marry.
Yeonjun clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the tray. The man was broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an air of entitlement that grated on Yeonjun’s nerves. He stayed close to her, far too close, speaking in a low voice that made her frown, though she masked it quickly for the sake of appearances. It made Yeonjun’s blood boil.
This was why he was here, why he’d come despite the risks. He couldn’t stand idly by while they paraded her around as if she were a prize to be won. Moving through the crowd, Yeonjun kept his head low, blending in with the other servants. He waited for the right moment—when her parents’ eyes were elsewhere, when the suitor was distracted by a gaggle of nobles seeking his attention. Pathetic. And he thought he was worthy of her?
When it came, Yeonjun didn’t hesitate. He set his tray down and approached her from the side, careful not to draw attention. As he passed, his fingers brushed hers ever so lightly, and he slipped a small folded note into her hand. She flinched at the touch but quickly covered her reaction, slipping the note into the folds of her gown without looking. Yeonjun didn’t wait for acknowledgment. He melted back into the crowd, his heart pounding.
The note in your hand felt heavier than it should, the words scrawled in familiar handwriting still burning in your mind. "The garden. Now."
Your heart thudded against your ribs as you scanned the ballroom. The glittering chandeliers and elegant guests seemed to blur together, a hazy backdrop to the storm of emotions churning inside you. You’d recognized him instantly, despite the servant’s uniform and the simple black mask concealing part of his face. Why was he here? What was he thinking? You spotted Taehyun across the room, deep in conversation with your father, his smooth laugh carrying over the hum of the crowd. Your mother stood nearby, her sharp eyes scanning the ball for potential allies, rivals, and threats. The guards stationed at the doors kept their watchful gazes moving, their vigilance a constant reminder of your gilded cage.
Slipping the note into the folds of your gown, you waited for the right moment. When your mother turned to speak with a duchess, and your suitor became engrossed in a conversation about trade routes, you slipped quietly toward the side door leading to the garden. The cool night air hit your skin like a balm, the oppressive heat and noise of the ballroom fading with each step. You moved quickly, your gown brushing against the gravel path as you made your way through the moonlit garden. And then you saw him.
Yeonjun stood near a stone bench, his figure half-hidden by the shadows of the trees. His head turned at the sound of your approach, and even in the dim light, you saw the tension in his expression melt into something softer. "You’re here," he said, his voice low and rough.
"You told me to come," you replied, your heart racing. "What are you doing here? If anyone sees us—"
"I don’t care," he interrupted, stepping toward you, his eyes blazing. "I couldn’t stand watching you with him."
You froze, his words hitting you like a jolt. "Yeonjun, you can’t just—" You couldn't risk someone seeing you. No matter how badly you just wanted to run into his arms and never let go, this could turn dangerous and fast.
"I had to," he cut in, his voice fierce. "You’re going to marry him, aren’t you? That’s what this whole masquerade is for. To announce it to the world."
His words stung because they were true, but you didn’t have a choice. "It’s not what I want," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "But I don’t get to decide."
"There’s always a choice," he said, his tone sharp, almost desperate. "You don’t have to do this. We can leave tonight—just say the word, and we’ll be gone." You stared at him, the weight of his offer pressing down on you. His intensity, his recklessness—it should have frightened you, but instead, it made you ache. Leaving was all you could ever think about. Leaving the prison you grew up in finally with the man you loved would be everything you had dreamed of.
"Leave?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. "And go where? They’d find us. They always do."
"Let them," he said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. "Let them try. I won’t let them take you from me."
His words broke something inside you, the carefully constructed walls you’d built to endure this life. You looked up at him, tears stinging your eyes. "Yeonjun, this is madness." And it was, but word by word he was convincing you.
"Maybe it is," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "But I can’t lose you. Not to him. Not to anyone."
The night seemed to still, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you. Slowly, you reached up and removed your mask, the cool air brushing against your tear-streaked cheeks. "I don’t want to lose you either," you whispered, the truth spilling out before you could stop it. He closed the distance between you in a single step, his hands cradling your face as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, years of longing and frustration pouring into it. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you upright.
When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless. His fingers brushed your cheek, his touch achingly gentle. "What do we do now?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and hope.
“We go.” he said, his voice steady and sure. "Together."
“Now?” You asked, your voice unsteady and unsure.
“We have to,” he nodded, his tone urgent, almost frantic. His hand was firm around yours as he began to lead you deeper into the garden, away from the prying eyes of the guards and the glittering lights of the ball. “It’s now or never, Princess.” You hesitated at his words, glancing back toward the castle, its grand silhouette looming like a watchful predator. But the pull of his hand—and the fierce determination in his eyes—spurred you forward. The garden paths twisted and turned, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your hurried steps the only sound in the quiet night. The cool air bit at your cheeks, and your gown tangled around your legs, but you didn’t stop. He didn’t stop.
“We’ll make it,” Yeonjun muttered, half to himself, half to you. “Once we’re past the outer gates, they won’t be able to follow us. Not tonight.” Your heart thundered in your chest, not just from the exertion but from the enormity of what you were doing. Running. Escaping. Leaving everything behind. Ahead, the garden’s stone archway came into view, the dense forest beyond it a promise of freedom. But as you reached it, something sharp and cold slithered down your spine—a sense of foreboding you couldn’t shake.
“Yeonjun, wait,” you whispered, pulling on his hand.
“What is it?” he asked, glancing back at you, his brow furrowed.
Before you could answer, there was a faint rustling behind you. Then, a muffled cry—a sound so brief and so quiet you weren’t sure you’d heard it at all.
A hand wrapped around your mouth muffled your screams of protest, throwing you backwards and away from the view of Yeonjun. The last thing before going dark was Yeonjun’s slumped body against the wall and the face of your father looming over the balcony…grinning.
Yeonjun’s eyes fluttered open, and the world around him spun in dizzying circles. The pounding in his head was the first thing he felt—a sharp, blinding pain that seemed to come from deep within his skull. He was lying on cold stone, his body twisted in uncomfortable angles, the rough texture of the floor scraping against his skin. His wrists were shackled behind him, and he could feel the weight of the iron biting into his flesh, a constant reminder of his captivity. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of mildew, and the faint dripping of water echoed in the darkness.
"Awake at last," a gruff voice sneered from somewhere above him.
Yeonjun tried to lift his head, but the effort sent another wave of pain through his skull, making his vision blur. He blinked, trying to focus, and found himself staring up at two guards, their faces shadowed by the dim light of a single torch mounted on the stone wall. "Where am I?" he rasped, his throat dry and cracked.
"The king’s dungeon," one of the guards answered, stepping forward with an air of superiority. "You should feel honored. Not many get to see it." Yeonjun tried to push himself up, but a sharp kick to his ribs sent him crashing back to the floor. He gasped, struggling to catch his breath as the pain radiated through his body. His fingers curled around the cold stone beneath him, grounding himself as he tried to regain control.
“Why were you sneaking around with the princess?” the second guard asked, his voice low and threatening. “What were you planning?”
Yeonjun didn’t answer. His lips were sealed, his mind racing. He wasn’t going to give them anything. The first guard knelt down, bringing his face close to Yeonjun’s. “Don’t play dumb with us,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “We know about the little messages you sent. Through that boy.”
Yeonjun’s heart skipped a beat. His mind raced. Kai. They had taken him. His body ran cold, a shiver shooting up his spine. “What did you do to him?” Yeonjun demanded, his voice hoarse but filled with venom.
The first guard chuckled darkly, pulling something from behind his back and tossing it onto the floor in front of Yeonjun. It clattered against the stone with a sickening sound, and Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat when he saw it.
A bloodstained arrow.
The arrow that had once been his, now soaked in the blood of the one person who had truly believed in him. A boy, not much younger than him but so full of life. Only wishing to make his family proud. Dead..because of him.
"Recognize this?" the guard taunted, his grin widening. “Your little messenger screamed your name the whole time. Begged us to let him go. Begged for you to save him.”
Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat, his vision swimming as the truth hit him like a blow to the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. No. no. no. Kai.
“No,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. Almost like a plea to any god that would hear him. Any god with mercy.
“Oh, yes,” the second guard said, leaning in with a malicious smile. “And the old woman? The nursemaid? She put up quite the fight. But don’t worry. She didn’t last long either.” The words sliced through Yeonjun like a blade, and for a moment, everything in him went cold.
"You bastards!" he shouted, his voice breaking with fury as he surged forward, only to be stopped by the chains holding him in place. He rattled them with all his strength, the metal digging into his wrists, but he couldn’t escape. The guards laughed at his struggles, their cruel amusement echoing off the stone walls of the dungeon.
“You brought this on yourself,” one of them said, standing to leave. “All of this—on you. On them.” The sound of their boots faded as they retreated down the hallway, their laughter still ringing in his ears. Yeonjun was left in the suffocating silence of the dungeon, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. His body trembled as he slowly sank back onto the cold floor, the bloody arrow still lying in front of him—a symbol of everything he had lost.
Kai. Kai was dead. They had taken him, tortured him, dumped him god knows where. His family, oh god his family. Yeonjun couldn't take it. The curse, he knew it was real and for the first time since the death of his family he had felt it tenfold, piercing him like his very own arrows. They were the archer and himself the prey, left in agony to be eaten by the wolves of the kingdom. How dare they?
Kai was innocent. He was pure. He was good. All things Yeonjun was not. And Kora, Kora had only had nothing but love for the princess. She nurtured her and raised her. She did more than the queen could ever do, gone. Because of him. He closed his eyes, the weight of it all crashing down on him. His chest ached with the unbearable loss, and for the first time in years, tears welled up in his eyes. But there was no one left to comfort him.
A sharp kick to Yeonjun’s stomach jolted him awake, the breath ripped from his lungs as pain shot through his body. He doubled over instinctively, coughing and gasping for air, but the guards were relentless. Rough hands grabbed him by the arms, dragging him to his feet. His legs felt weak beneath him, his head pounding from the lingering ache of his earlier beating.“Get moving,” one of the guards barked, shoving him forward.
Yeonjun stumbled, the chains on his wrists clinking with every step as they led him out of the dim dungeon. The harsh light of the corridor burned his eyes, but he kept his head down, biting back the groan of pain that threatened to escape. As they marched him up a winding staircase, the familiar sounds of the grand hall grew louder—the murmurs of people, the echo of heavy boots on marble, the crackling of torches. Yeonjun’s heart sank. He didn’t have to guess where they were taking him.When they shoved him into the throne room, the sight that met him was worse than anything he could have imagined.
The king sat on his golden throne, his expression smug and triumphant. The queen was beside him, her cold gaze fixed on Yeonjun as if he were nothing more than filth beneath her feet. And there, standing just to the side, was the princess. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen as though she’d been crying for hours. The moment she saw him, her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp.
“Ah, the infamous hunter,” The king said, his booming voice dripping with mockery. “I must say, I didn’t expect such a... lowly creature to have the nerve to court my daughter.” Yeonjun said nothing, his jaw tightening as he stared at the marble floor.
The king rose from his throne, descending the steps slowly, savoring every moment of Yeonjun’s humiliation. “What? Nothing to say? No impassioned defense of your love? No heroic declaration of your intentions?” Still, Yeonjun remained silent.
The king laughed, a cold and hollow sound that echoed through the chamber. “You see, princess?” he said, turning to his daughter. “This is the man you chose. A coward who can’t even speak for himself.”
“Stop this!” the princess cried, stepping forward. Tears streamed down her face, her voice cracking as she pleaded. “Please, father, stop this! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“Silence!” the queen snapped, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “You will not disgrace this family further by defending him.”
“But-”
“I said, silence!” The king roared, and the princess flinched, her shoulders trembling as she bit back a sob.
The king turned back to Yeonjun, his smirk returning. “Your little messenger is dead, you know,” he said, his tone almost casual. “And the nursemaid. Both gone, thanks to you. All because you thought you could play hero.”
Yeonjun’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. His heart twisting in his chest.
The king gestured to one of the guards, who held up the bloodstained arrow as a grim trophy. “The boy cried for you, you know. Right up until the end.” Yeonjun’s chest heaved, rage and sorrow clawing at his insides, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a response.
The king’s smirk deepened. “No clever retort? No fiery protest? Very well.” He raised his voice, addressing the room. “Choi Yeonjun, the hunter, is hereby sentenced to death for his treasonous actions and his insolence against the crown.”
“No!” The princess’s scream pierced the air, raw and desperate. She ran forward, throwing herself in front of Yeonjun. “You can’t do this! Please, father, I beg you!”
The queen rose from her throne, her expression cold. “Move aside, child. This is what must be done.”
“No! I won’t let you!” She turned to Yeonjun, her tear-filled eyes locking onto his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This is all my fault.”
“Enough!” The king’s voice boomed, and the guards seized the princess, pulling her away from Yeonjun. She struggled against them, her sobs echoing through the hall as they dragged her back toward the throne.
Yeonjun stood tall, his eyes meeting the king’s without a trace of fear. If this was how it ended, so be it. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. But as the princess’s cries filled the room, a new thought burned in his mind. The memory of Kai, bright eyed and cheery. And everything he had taken from the both of them. She was apologizing but she was not the one at fault. He was.
Yeonjun sat slumped against the cold stone wall of his cell, his wrists raw from the iron chains and his body aching from days of neglect and torment. His head hung low, the heavy silence of the dungeon pressing against him like a weight. Every sound—the drip of water, the faint scuttle of a rat—seemed magnified in the stillness. Sleep had come and gone in fleeting, restless bouts, and this time was no different. A muffled commotion echoed from somewhere outside the cell. At first, he thought it was another cruel trick of his mind, the dungeon’s oppressive quiet playing games with his senses.
But then, there was a distinct clatter—a guard’s voice shouting, followed by a heavy thud. His eyes blinked open, groggy and unfocused. He straightened as best he could, his pulse quickening. Footsteps. He squinted into the darkness, barely registering the soft sound of keys jangling. The door creaked open, and a figure slipped inside, cloaked in the faint torchlight spilling from the corridor.
“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered.
His breath caught. It was her.
“Princess?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracked from disuse.
She was at his side in an instant, her hands trembling as they fumbled with the lock on his chains. Her face, framed by the faint flicker of the torchlight, was a mix of desperation and determination. “What are you—how—” he began, but she silenced him with a sharp look.
“No time for questions,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
The chains around his wrists fell away with a loud clink, and she moved to the shackles on his ankles. “How did you even get down here?” he asked, still stunned as he rubbed at his sore wrists.
She glanced up at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the dire circumstances. “My nursemaid taught me more than just calligraphy and how to curtsy,” she said, her tone almost teasing. “Turns out, lock-picking and sneaking around are also valuable skills for a proper princess.”
Yeonjun blinked at her, equal parts impressed and incredulous. “Remind me to thank her—oh, wait.”
The smirk faltered, her eyes darkening with pain. “She taught me everything I needed to survive. And now we’re going to survive this. Together.”
The last shackle came loose, and Yeonjun rose to his feet, his legs shaky but functional. She handed him a small dagger she’d tucked into her belt. “Where did you even get this?” he asked, gripping it as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
“Confiscated it off a guard,” she said matter-of-factly, peering into the hallway. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fight, you know.”
He couldn’t help the faint smile that crossed his lips. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”
“You’d better not,” she shot back, her gaze darting around the corridor. “Now, let’s go before anyone notices.” The two of them crept through the winding passages of the dungeon, their movements swift but careful. The princess led the way, her steps light and purposeful, and Yeonjun followed close behind, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and disbelief. Every shadow felt like a potential threat, every distant sound a prelude to discovery. But somehow, they moved unnoticed, slipping past guards and evading detection at every turn.
As they ascended a final set of stairs, the faint light of the moon filtered through a nearby window, illuminating their path. Yeonjun paused for a moment, glancing at the princess. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with curiosity. “You could’ve stayed safe, let them—”
“Let them kill you?” she interrupted, her tone sharp. She turned to face him fully, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Do you think I could’ve lived with myself, knowing I left you here to die? After everything—after Kai, after Kora?” He opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head. “You don’t get to question this. I made my choice. And I choose you.” Her words rendered him momentarily speechless, and all he could do was nod, his throat tight with unspoken emotion.
“Now come on,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him forward. “We’re almost free.” The night air hit them like a cool balm as they slipped out through a side gate. The castle loomed behind them, a monolith of power and oppression, but they didn’t look back. They ran, side by side, into the darkness.
The forest was eerily quiet as they approached the cabin, their breaths clouding in the cool night air. Yeonjun slowed as the familiar structure came into view, his steps growing heavier with every inch closer. The small home that had once been his sanctuary now felt hollow, haunted by what had been lost. The princess stayed close, her gaze shifting between him and the cabin, sensing the weight he carried.
Inside, the room was as he had left it—simple and sparse, with few possessions to speak of. Yeonjun moved with purpose, pulling the golden bow from where it hung on the wall. He ran his fingers over its polished surface, the faint grooves where his hands had gripped it countless times. It had been his most prized possession, a symbol of his skill and survival. Now, it felt like a monument to the boy he’d lost.
“We’ll bury it here,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with grief. “It belongs with him.”
The princess nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I’ll help.”
They stepped outside into the moonlit clearing, the ground soft from the recent rains. Yeonjun worked in silence, digging a small grave beneath the large oak tree at the edge of the clearing. The princess stayed by his side, her hands brushing against his to offer support when she could. When the hole was deep enough, Yeonjun carefully laid the bow inside, his movements deliberate and reverent. He placed a folded letter atop it—a message he had written to Kai’s family, explaining everything. His voice broke as he murmured, “I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.”
The princess touched his arm, her fingers light but grounding. “He knew you cared for him. You gave him hope.”
Yeonjun swallowed hard, nodding as he covered the bow and letter with soil, patting the earth down until the grave was complete. The princess knelt beside him, placing a small wildflower she had plucked from the forest nearby atop the fresh dirt. Together, they bowed their heads in silence, a quiet tribute to a boy whose life had been far too brief.
Inside the cabin, Yeonjun sat at the worn table, scribbling out one final letter. His handwriting was rough, but the words were heartfelt.
“To the family of HueningKai,
I write this with a heavy heart. Your son was brave, determined, and far too kind for this world. He reminded me of the best parts of myself, and I hope you know he made a difference, even in the short time he was with us.
I leave everything I own to you: my cabin, my tools, and whatever small coin I’ve managed to earn. May it ease your burdens and honor the boy who fought so hard for his family.
Kai deserved better, and I will carry his memory with me for the rest of my days.
Yeonjun.”
He sealed the letter, pressing his thumb to it as though it were a seal, and placed it on the table where the family could find it. The princess stood nearby, her eyes glassy as she watched him. “You’re doing the right thing.”
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable but softening. “I hope so.”
With that, they gathered the few supplies they needed—food, water, and some tools for their journey. Yeonjun paused in the doorway, casting one last look around the cabin that had been his home for so many years. “This place was never really mine,” he said, his voice low. “It was always meant for someone else.”
She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “Then let’s find something that is ours.”
They stepped out into the night, the forest stretching out before them, vast and unknowable. The princess glanced back once, her heart heavy with the weight of what they left behind, but she didn’t falter. They walked hand in hand, leaving the cabin—and their old lives—behind. Together, they vanished into the horizon, bound by love, loss, and the hope of something better.
taglist. @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar
402 notes
·
View notes
Text
₊✩‧₊˚once more to see you˚₊✩‧₊ pt 6
{nanami x f!reader}
pt 1. pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt. 5
˚₊✩‧₊summary: You’re a manager at Jujutsu Kaisen and you’ve now had two three four extremely intimate encounters with grade 1 sorcerer Nanami Kento, but who's keeping count.... You're preparing for your morning date at your place when you get some unexpected company.
˚₊✩‧₊tags: nanami x fem!reader, nanami gets a little jealous but don't worry bc I can't stand miscommunication tropes, explicit smut towards the end (mdni)
˚₊✩‧₊word count: 8.6k SORRY LOL
˚₊✩‧₊author’s note: lemme start by saying im sorry for taking so long to post the next part but i have been going through it :D i am so grateful for all the positive feedback and messages i've gotten in my absence, i've missed my fellow nanami freaks, so this one is for all yall<3 also i posted this on A03 yesterday...i just feel like its faster posting it there bc im lazy. thank you to everyone for reading!
taglist at the end and feel free to let me know if you want off or if want to be added!
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
After about thirty minutes of scrubbing you came to accept that the pink frosting stain wasn’t going to come out of your shirt. You sighed and put down the wet fabric. Another shirt lost to your shenanigans with Nanami. You laughed to yourself as the realization hit you. You’d lost three shirts in the last four days…you should probably plan to go shopping soon. You grimaced, maybe you should have saved that extra money you’d sent your mother earlier in the week.
You went around your apartment cleaning here and there, you had found it in better shape than you remembered, but compared to his apartment you felt that yours was definitely lacking in cohesive design. Your eclectic furniture was a little bit of every style, the art on your walls didn’t really follow a theme, you just framed things you liked. You tidied up more than you think you ever had and smiled as you looked around. It may not have been much, but it was home. You felt safe here.
The building as whole was another issue. You’d frowned when you had seen the elevator was still out of order. Nanami would have to take the seven flights of stairs just like you had. You looked down at your phone, maybe you could reschedule? Meet somewhere else to have breakfast? No, he had been looking forward to seeing your apartment. It was such a silly thing but you could tell he really wanted to. You wiped down your kitchen countertops one more time before cleaning the small dishes in your sink.
You were planning on going to bed a bit earlier than usual. You were going to prep breakfast to make some pastries for him in the morning. It had been a while since you’d baked. You looked around, satisfied at your cleaning streak. You decided to shower before continuing, maybe you’d be able to catch anything you had missed afterwards.
You stepped out of the shower and walked up to the sink. What a crazy few days you’d had. You hadn’t really had the chance to be alone and process everything. You stared at your reflection as you wiped the mirror. You’d never really thought of yourself as someone worthy of being desired. An odd thing to admit, but you had also never really had the luxury of having the sort of life where that would matter. The world of Jujutsu Sorcery was a fast paced one and every day could be your last, so you often found yourself discouraged from participating in things people your age did. Dating, partying, traveling…it's not like you could afford it either. The only reason you’d really ever gone out was because of Akari. She would invite you to go out to places where she could relive her delinquent youth. She was also the reason you had gone on any dates in the first place. That reminded you, you needed to text her and see when she was free to hangout. You had a lot to catch her up on.
You walked out to your living room and sat on the couch, picking up your phone. It suddenly dawned on you that you had never gotten Nanami’s number. You seemed to remember Akari saying she gave him yours. You opened your messages and scrolled to confirm.
Something made a noise in your kitchen.
Your blood ran cold. Was it an intruder? A curse? Had something broken in? You slowly reached under the couch and pulled out a baseball bat. You sat up and looked towards the noise, but didn’t see anything. A cup holding your washed silverware had been knocked over. Okay…maybe it had just come unbalanced. You got up holding the bat up and slowly approached the kitchen. You cautiously made your way around the counter looking down and jumped.
It was your neighbor's cat.
You sighed in relief and lowered your bat. “Messi, what are you doing here?” You picked up the orange cat who meowed in return. “How have you been? It’s been a while.” He meowed again. “Really?” Meow. “I’ve been good. I met someone.” Meow. “Well he was someone I already knew.” You walked out of your apartment, cat in tow, and made your way next door. Your window had a tear in the screen and Messi had made a habit of going through it and somehow prying open your window (which didn’t lock) and wandering into your place. You didn’t mind, you had actually set up a little water bowl for him in your apartment.
You knocked on the door. “Hi, it’s Y/N. I'm returning Messi, I haven’t been home for a couple of days, so I don’t know how long he’s been in there.”
You heard some shuffling and suddenly an older lady opened the door. You had never seen her before. She looked at you and then at the cat. “Keep the damn thing.”
“Excuse me?”
“Y/N?” You heard a familiar voice from behind the lady, your neighbor. She made her way to the door and you saw she was crying. She took the cat in her arms and held him close, starting to cry again. “Thank you.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Osuke had his second trial today and was convicted,” she said through tears. Osuke was her husband.
“That stupid lawyer, I should curse his entire family,” the old lady muttered. You had a feeling she was Osuke’s mother.
“I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do to help?” you asked. You had known about the trial, it had been ongoing for a couple of months now. He had been arrested after being framed for a robbery. The story you had been told was that his boss had been the one to frame him. He was a bottom tier worker, and the perfect scapegoat for the crime.
“No, thank you though,” the woman said.
“You can take the damn cat. She’s moving out of here. After the lawyer’s fees and the loss of his income she’s moving in with me, I don’t want to take care of that thing,” the older lady said.
“I’ll take care of it, please,” the woman cried.
The lady grumbled something else and went back inside. “Thank you for bringing him back.” She wiped her tears and offered you a hug. “We’ll be out by tomorrow, I can't afford the rent. I’m already behind on the last two months.”
“Don’t worry about it. I hope everything works out. You have my number, call me if you need anything. Anything at all.” You smiled at her and she nodded and closed the door.
You stood alone in the hallway. Everything was so silent. You heard the women arguing again and you sighed. You went back into your apartment, sitting on your couch again. You hoped everything would work out for them. The couple next door had been so nice. Osuke and Makiko and their cat Messi, they’d lived here longer than you had. You sighed and rubbed your temples. There really wasn’t much you could do for them.
You reached for your phone again and went to text Akari.
-sorry i meant to text you earlier, and then i got distracted again. messi was in my apartment and scared me to death. -when are they going to fix that damn window for you? -i don’t mind, i love that cat. -but if he can get in so can other things, my skin is crawling just thinking about it -someone is on the road to getting uninvited from my place. -no way, you owe me from all the times I’ve let you crash at my place -damn…speaking of, when is your next free day? we need to hang out. -i can do the day after tomorrow, i have a half day, does that work? -perfect, i’m also just coming in in the morning -you can tell me all about your adventures with the old man. have you said yes to being his girlfriend yet? -he hasn’t asked me yet -boooo
You started typing when you received a notification from an unknown number.
-Did you make it home okay?- It read. You smiled. -is this who I think it is? -Y/n it’s me, it’s Nanami Kento. -then it is who I thought. I did make it home safe, I found my neighbor's cat in my apartment so I’m glad I came to check, they’re moving out tomorrow morning. -So you’re free now? -…yes ? -That’s good, get some rest. Have a good night. I'll see you tomorrow.
Hmm you thought he was going to ask something else. You looked at the clock. It was 7:53, earlier than you thought. I should probably get started, you thought to yourself. You pulled yourself off of the couch and went into your kitchen. You would make your dough tonight and let it proof overnight.
Overnight proofing is the best way to make bread.
You were shot back into a memory.
The best things in life are worth waiting for you know. And what’s better than fresh bread? Nothing! Ask anyone that comes in tomorrow, I dare you.
You smiled fondly as you rolled the dough into a little acorn shape before rounding it out and setting it in a glass bowl.
As you finished up you checked the time. You had gotten done pretty quickly. You just needed the topping for the melon bread, which you could make as the oven heated up in the morning. You checked your pantry one last time for brown sugar and you realized you didn’t have any. You frowned. You’d run out for some in the morning. If you didn’t go to bed soon you weren't going to want to get up in the morning.
You sat for a moment and noticed the silence again. It’s not like it wasn’t ever quiet around here, but maybe after the events of the last four days something about being alone bothered you. It surely hadn’t before.
You moved into your bedroom and lay on the bed. You usually felt stuffy in here, that’s why you preferred to lay out on the couch, at least it seemed more of an open space compared to your bedroom. But now it felt nice. You felt safe.
You stared at your ceiling. “Maybe I should call him,” you said out loud to yourself. You closed your eyes and imagined his smile. The way his perfect teeth shone, the way his nose crinkled a bit when the corners of his mouth lifted, his lips on yours. You swallowed and opened your eyes. If you let your mind wander any longer you’d be in trouble. You groaned in frustration. You missed him, how pathetic. You had always been one to make fun of how quickly people in your field tended to get together, but here you were.
You heard your neighbor and her mother in law faintly arguing through the walls. You frowned trying to think if there was really nothing you could do.
You had too much “compassion”, you had been told by one of the old professors at Jujutsu Tech. There’s no way to save everyone and to try is to doom yourself. You scowled as you remembered what he had said to you. The arguing died down and you hoped to yourself they worked it out. At least they had each other going through this. Things were tense now but hopefully they’d adjust. You made a note to check in on them tomorrow. You went to set your alarm when you remembered Shoko had wanted you to stop by her office early in the morning. You groaned and set your alarm for earlier than you had intended. Nanami said he’d be by around 7, it would have to be a quick breakfast as you wanted to get to the school by 8, you hoped he didn’t mind. You finally drifted to sleep.
You groaned as your alarm woke you up, but you quickly sat up and went to wash your face. You needed to split the dough, and lay the cookie topping over it and let it proof for another 30 minutes at least. You could run out to your corner store while they sat and you preheated the oven.
As you opened the door to exit, you almost tripped on a pile of items placed in front of your place. Cat toys, a litter box, cans of cat food, a small bed, and a note.
Messi got out again last night and I’m afraid we just don’t have time to look for him. I think he’s better off with you anyway. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. If it’s too much I've contacted a shelter that would take him. Here is the number.
You frowned a bit. You loved Messi but you didn’t want a cat. You dragged the items into your apartment and quickly went out the door. You’d deal with this later, you were already running behind.
As you stepped back into the hall, winded and trying to catch your breath after returning and climbing the seven floors, you looked up to see a man in a suit knocking on your neighbors door. This wasn’t your man in a suit, quite the opposite.
You approached him cautiously. He had jet black hair, his suit was dark, and he reeked of alcohol.
“Please, just let me apologize- I did all I could. I won’t charge ya any money, just please, I’m sorry.” He stumbled as he continued to knock. You were going to have to get past him to get to your door. There was no avoiding him.
“Excuse me,” you said, announcing yourself behind him. The man turned to look at you. His eyes were tired and sleepy, he had deep bags under his eyes and his sharp nose was red. He was definitely drunk. “If you’re looking for the residents, they’ve moved out.”
“What?”
“They’ve moved out, what did you need to tell them?” you asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’re sorry?”
“I need to apologize to them. Osuke was jailed. It’s not fair. The whole system is corrupt. I should-”
“Were you their lawyer?” you asked.
“Yes,” he turned back and started pounding on the door again. “Please let me speak to you!”
“Tell him to stop that before I call the police!” an old man from down the hall had stuck his head out of his door to yell.
“Sir, no one is in there. You have to go, it’s too early to be causing such a ruckus,” you said.
“I need to apologize,” he whined. You noticed a buzzing coming from his pocket, his phone was ringing.
“Do you need to get that?” you asked.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to you before turning back to the door. The caller ID said Shimizu. You grabbed the man's shoulder and pulled him away from the door as you answered with your other hand.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello… is this Higuruma’s cellphone? Who’s speaking?” A woman spoke on the other end.
“Ah, he just handed me his phone. He’s very drunk and knocking at someone- I think maybe one of his clients' doors.”
You heard her curse, “Would you be able to tell me where he is? I apologize for the disturbance, I’ll come by to get him as soon as I know where to go.”
“Ah, yes-” he pulled himself from your grip and started going towards the door again. “Sir-”
“There is no justice!” he cried out.
You stared at him a bit shocked, what was he on about? You told the woman your address.
“I can be there in around 25 minutes. Would there be any way you could keep him put? I apologize again for the inconvenience.”
“I’ll try my best…” you looked at the man as he collapsed onto his knees, staring forward at the door. You walked over to him and handed him his phone. “Shimizu is on her way to get you,” you said. He just stared. You looked at your apartment and sighed. “Would you like to wait for her inside?” You pulled the man up to his feet and unlocked your apartment. You held the door open as he stumbled inside. You reached inside and grabbed a couple of cans of cat food to hold your door open. The last thing you wanted was for Nanami to get the wrong idea.
Once inside you rushed over to your kitchen to check on the bread. The man walked around not looking at anything in particular, but just moping. “Have a seat,” you motioned to the small table and chairs. He sat down and you turned back to your baking, unpacking the sugar you had just bought. You quickly grabbed a plate and spread the sugar, then you rolled the diamond patterned tops in the sugar. You placed the six little buns you had made back on the baking sheet. The oven still had a couple of minutes before it was ready.
You turned back to the man and were shocked to find him staring at you. “You just let a strange drunk man into your apartment, while alone?”
“I left the door open…” you muttered. “Besides, I think I could take you in a fight. I’ve dealt with worse.” He gave you a questioning look. “Would you like some water? Some tea? Coffee?”
“Water.” You poured him a glass and walked it over to him. He began rubbing his temples with his hand. He seemed to be sobering up quickly. You grabbed a couple of crackers from your shelf and handed them to him too.
“Eat something, get a grip before your friend comes to get you.”
You heard the oven ding and you walked over to put the pasties in the oven. You set a timer for twenty minutes. Looking at the clock you had about 30 until Nanami showed up, probably less since he seemed to be pretty punctual. You turned back to the man and saw he had chugged the water and was gingerly taking a bite out of the crackers. You started cleaning up the kitchen, putting the bowls in the sink and clearing off your small drying rack.
“Who is coming to get me?” he asked.
“Ah, your friend, I think her name was Shimizu,” you answered. He muttered something under his breath. “More water?” you asked.
He nodded. You went over with a pitcher and filled his cup, this time sitting down across from him. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“So…there’s no justice in the world, huh?” You asked. He frowned. “I don’t think that’s something I’d want to hear from my lawyer,” you eyed him curiously.
“I apologize for my outburst.”
“No, no I understand. From what I know Osuke was innocent. It must be frustrating to lose a case, especially when what happened was so unfair.” You thought back to the old woman grumbling about the lawyer. “That old lady was very angry, I can’t imagine that’s easy on you.”
His hand gripped the cup tightly. “People have no sense of understanding right or wrong. Everything is so black and white to them. But there are so many complications before you can see one or the other clearly.” He stared at the cup. “Most only see the bad, the ugly, that’s the easiest thing to pick out, the easiest to understand. I think most people assume that others are inherently bad, so expecting bad things to come from them is second nature.” You stayed silent as he contemplated his words. “It doesn’t help when your client looks like a bad guy, it’s an uphill battle, but I try I really do.”
He sighed, taking a drink of water before continuing. “ If I lose a case, it's easy to blame me. I'm much more tangible than blaming some higher power for not being in your favor. No one wants to believe that I do this out of a want to help others, they see me as wanting money, as taking advantage of those in dire situations. They only ever see me as greedy when I lose. Another bad guy. I want to help, but when it comes down to it, who am I to a jury, to a judge? I’m another bad person, defending a bad person who did a bad deed. They think if they were truly innocent I wouldn’t have to work as hard, I wouldn’t have to find such cunning ways to prove their innocence, but I try. Not out of trickery or malice, but because I want to believe that not everyone is bad. But again and again people only see me as a bad guy defending bad people, and I'm afraid I'm losing sight of what this all used to mean to me.”
You looked at the cup he was holding. “I see…” you thought about everything he had just said. You thought a part of him was just feeling sorry for himself, but other points he made were valid. There was a time when you thought everyone in the world might have been bad too. “When I was sixteen…I left my home because of an incident,” you started. “I was alone and scared and I thought that it had happened to me because I was bad.” You frowned slightly as you recalled the events. “And because I thought I was bad, I justified a lot of the things I did. I snuck onto buses and trains to get to Tokyo, away from where I was because I didn’t feel like I deserved to be there, I didn’t deserve to be close to my family. And I stole…a lot…not big things, not precious things, food mostly. I was hungry and had no place to stay and I saw others do it…and so I became ‘bad’. I became what I thought I was, what I believed the world wanted me to be.” You looked up at him, he was staring at you trying to figure out where you were going with this. “But then I met someone, someone who was good, someone who only ever saw the good in people no matter what and that…changed me.”
“Who did you meet?” he asked.
“I went to a bakery,” you smiled fondly and looked down at your hands on the table. “I had known about it since I arrived in Tokyo, the line was always out of the door by 7 am, but I had never had the chance to go in. I mean, I never even had the money for it and the owner, she was this sweet old lady and even though I was already stealing food from other places, I felt like if I stole from her I would be too far gone.
But as it goes, the more I stole, the more I felt entitled to, and after a month of fighting it, I finally gave in and made a plan.” You shifted in your seat, you had never told anyone this story. “I made a plan, and woke up early, to be one of the first in line. I was sixth or seventh outside the door, and when I finally got to go in I felt like crying, it smelled so good and it was so warm. She greeted everyone with such kindness and it was just her that day. I had seen a granddaughter with her before, but this morning it was just the lady.
“I pretended to look around, considering what to buy. I let people go in and out before I finally decided on a single piece of Melon bread, delicately wrapped in plastic. It was the most beautiful thing I think I’d ever seen. I grabbed the piece and tucked it under my arm and started heading towards the door. I turned to check if anyone had seen me and I saw her staring at me.” You laughed and shook your head. “She was just staring at me and her eyes went to the piece of bread I had tucked under my arm and you know what she did?” You looked up at him. “She looked back into my eyes, smiling the whole time, and said to come back soon. I ran out of there, terrified for my life. I thought she was going to call the cops, but there was something about her smile that just seemed so genuine.
I think I got about ten steps down the road before I stopped. The guilt was too much, I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t deserve to have something so nice. I was bad, and I had done a bad thing.” You scrunched your nose. “I went back immediately. I pushed past the people in line and went right up to her and I handed her the bread back. She looked at me confused and just shook her head. ‘You can have it, it’s your first time here right? Take a seat, let me know what you think of it.’” You laughed and covered your face with your hands. “I sat down and just cried while I ate it. I bawled, like people stared at me out of concern.” The lawyer stared at you. “When I finished she came up to me and asked how it was. I started apologizing profusely and she just handed me another one, and asked if I’d like to learn how to make my own,” you shook your head incredulously.
“She offered me a job and a place to stay. I still don’t understand how she was able to see right through me.” You heard the timer go off and you shot up to get the bread out of the oven. You smiled as you saw how perfectly the six little buns had crisped up. You transferred them over to a plate and grabbed one for the lawyer. You placed it in front of him. “There are bad people out there, but there are also good people. There has to be a natural balance otherwise everything would fall apart, don’t you think?” You looked at him as he stared at the pastry before him. “I can see that you really care about your clients. Even if this was a bit inappropriate to do, drunkenly asking to speak to them and all, but the right sentiment is there.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “The world needs more people that are willing to look past everything and find the good. I hope you can keep doing that.”
You heard laughter from the hallway and looked over the lawyer’s shoulder at the open door to see Nanami and a sharply dressed woman stepping out of the stairway. The woman suddenly looked at you and then at the lawyer. “Higuruma!” She quickened her step towards your place. Nanami followed behind her. “Pardon my intrusion,” she said as she entered. She stomped up to the man checking on him before turning to you. She bowed slightly. “I apologize for his behavior. This is completely out of character for him, I don’t know what he’s thinking. I’m sorry-”
“It’s okay, he explained some of what’s been going on. Do you work with him?”
“Yes, my name is Shimizu, I’m a colleague of his, I’m also a lawyer.”
“I’m Y/N, sorry we have to meet like this.” You turned your attention to Nanami who was staring at the man. “Sorry our breakfast plans got thrown around a little.”
Shimizu turned towards Nanami and then back to you. “Ah, I see...” She smiled at you. “I’ll take over now, thank you again for your help. Here’s my business card, let me know if there’s ever anything you need.” You took her card and smiled. Fancy, you thought to yourself.
“Wait,” Higuruma said. “Have my card too,” he felt around his pockets for them but couldn’t find anything.
“Don’t tell me you lost your wallet,” Shimuzu said, annoyed. She pulled out another card and handed it to you. “Here’s his card as well.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you for listening to me…” Higuruma looked like he was trying to remember your name.
“Y/N,” you repeated.
He smiled at you. “Wait!” he said again as Shimuzu started pushing him out. “My melon bread…” he muttered, turning back and grabbing it off the plate. Shimuzu sighed and continued to push him out.
You watched the two bicker as they went down the hall and into the staircase. You became aware of Nanami’s eyes on you. You reached down to move the cat food out of the door frame and let the door shut. “If I ever got called to fetch you out of some stranger’s apartment after you had a drunken night out, I don’t think I’d be as calm as she was,” you said. You turned back to him after he hadn’t said anything. “I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea. I helped him out and we just talked.” You frowned. “I feel like saying that makes me seem more guilty, but I don’t even know why I’m defending myself here.” You turned to him and stared for a bit. “Are you mad at me?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “No?”
“Oh.” You turned back towards the door. “You were just being so quiet…I mean I heard you guys laughing…the lawyer lady, Shimizu. She was really pretty. She looked so professional..” You smiled half heartedly. “You looked good together.” You muttered. You frowned as you realized how ridiculous you sounded. “Anyway…” you turned towards the kitchen and started walking to the counter. “I made some pastries this morning. It’s not much, but we’ll also have to be quick because I forgot I promised Shoko I’d meet her early. So I only have time to change and then we probably need to head out. Sorry for rushing things.” you frowned again. “I should have told you to stop by earlier, but I got a little distracted.”
“Are you jealous?”
“M-me?” You felt your face grow red. “No-no I’m not- why would you- why would you think that?” you laughed awkwardly. “I was just saying she’s super pretty and I’d just never heard someone laugh with you like that before I mean other than me- but I mean I guess I don’t really know you-I mean I know you but not like I know you now- and she’s-I mean she’s super pretty you have to admit-“
“I wasn’t a fan of the way he asked for your name at the end of your conversation,” he said looking down at his wrist and fiddling with his watch. “I know that look he gave you… I’ve given you that look.”
You smiled and felt relief. “Seems like we’re on the same boat.” You shook your head and went over to him, looking up with a playful frown. “Was she really that funny?”
“She was the only one laughing, I don’t think anything I said was particularly interesting.”
You thought back at the way her eyes had turned from you to him and back to you. Oh I see, she had said. “She was into you,” you wrapped your arms around him. “I’ve done that before, laughed like an idiot at someone who’s not funny because I thought they were hot.”
“Have you done that with me?” He asked.
“No, you’re actually funny. It’s never forced with you.” You looked up at him again. “It’s your fault, you’re so handsome. We have to do something about your face.”
“Well then, what do you suggest we do about yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was quite taken with you.”
You made a face and shook your head. “Men will rant about their problems to you and then think they’re in love just because you listened.”
“Did he rant about his problems? His alcoholism? His brutishness? What was he thinking coming into someone’s apartment in that state? He’s lucky he didn’t-“
“He was having a rough time of it actually. I do feel a bit bad.” You turned back to look at the door and then the cat items. “He was my neighbor’s lawyer. They’re a young couple, the husband was arrested on some unfair charges and he seemed devastated by the outcome.”
“That’s not very professional.”
You shrugged. “I think it’s been a long time coming. Hopefully my pep talk keeps him back on track for a while longer, but I have a feeling he’s going to snap one day,” you said darkly. “There was something unhinged in his eyes.”
Nanami pulled you back and hugged you tightly again as you buried your face back into his chest. He smelled nice.
“Speaking of my neighbors. Do you like cats?”
“I don’t dislike them.” You nodded, backing out of his arms. “Why?”
“They left me in charge of their cat, Messi. Well not left me in charge, it’s more like they gave him to me. They left me all his stuff, he got out of their place yesterday before they left and somehow he always ends up at my place.”
“How does he get in?”
“Oh I guess I should show you around my apartment. Though there isn’t much to look at.” You ran a hand through your hair as you looked around. You pointed at where he was standing, next to the table. “Dining room, living room, kitchen, bathroom door, bedroom door, ta da!” You smiled cheekily as you pointed back where you started. “Bet that’s the fastest you’ve ever had a house tour, huh.” He looked around slowly, taking in the frames on the wall, the knick knacks on your shelves and the books piled all over the place, stacked not so neatly. “It’s- it’s really not much but it’s home,” you said feeling a little insecure again. Maybe you should have cleaned more.
“It’s lovely,” he said. “It feels very much like you.”
“Thanks…” you said. Your eyes went to the clock in your kitchen and you perked up. “Oh wow, is that the time…”
“May I see your bedroom?” He asked. You felt your face go red again.
“Oh, sure,” you started walking towards it. “I need to change anyway, hope you don’t mind.”
“Never.” You felt the blush grow and your stomach get tingly.
You opened the door and gestured briefly. “This is it, again it's not much... I think the bed is too big for this space, but it’s comfortable.” you went around to your closet pulling out a pair of black slacks and a white button down. You laughed to yourself. “That pink frosting was not coming off of my shirt. That’s two shirts you owe me, Kento.”
“I’ll have to make it up to you,” he said as he looked around the room. “What about this weekend? Are you free? I could take you shopping.”
You laughed again, “You’re like the main lead in a drama series. You’re too much, you know that?”
“Sorry?” He offered.
You smiled at him.“Thank you, but I’ll take a rain check on the shopping. I can get my own stuff. I’m hanging out with Akari on my half day, but Sunday I’ll be free,” you said as you buttoned your pants. “That is if you want to meet up on Sunday… if you’ve available.”
You turned to him and saw him blush this time. “Sunday…works.” You smiled victoriously as you walked over to him in just your bra. He stared at your face and you nodded briefly as if to give him permission to look. His eyes trailed down. “It’s a shame we have to hurry to campus. Are you sure Shoko can’t wait.”
“She’s doing me a favor by offering to teach me, I can’t do that to her,” you said. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you forward. You looked up expectantly and he planted a soft kiss on your lips. You smiled.
You finished getting dressed and you felt his eyes never leave you as you moved around. He walked behind you out of the room and into the kitchen where you proudly showed him the bread you had made.
“This is a very secret recipe, I doubt you’ll ever have one as good as this.” He looked down at the bread and smiled fondly. He picked up one of the little buns and slowly bit into it. You watched his face carefully for a reaction. You saw his eyes water slightly as he savored the treat.
He smiled and nodded. “Good.”
You were a bit confused. “Yeah…you okay?” He seemed to be lost in thought. “Kento?”
He smiled again and blinked a few times. “Yes, sorry, it brought up some memories. This is very good, Y/N.”
You smiled, deciding to not push it. “I worked at a bakery for a short time.” You looked at the buns. “They're good but you should have tried the ones where I learned… I guess people are masters for a reason.” He nodded and continued to eat.
“Did you want coffee or-” Suddenly your phone rang. You pulled it out of your pocket and read the name, Shoko.
“Hello?” you answered.
“Hey, Y/N. I’ve been called out to do something so I won't be at the school this morning. Is there any way you could come in during your lunch?”
“I think that should work,” you said. Nanami looked at you curiously.
“Great, see you then.”
“Ooo~ is that Y/N?’ you heard Gojo’s voice in the background before she hung up.
You looked at your phone and then back up at Nanami. “So it looks like we have time after all, Shoko just rescheduled.” You sighed and leaned against the counter. “Sorry for rushing you before. Did you want some coffee or anything? I need a little pick me up.”
He shook his head, “Sit down, you’ve had a long morning. Do you mind if I make us some coffee?”
“I can make it for you, it's no problem-”
“I insist. It’s the least I can do,” he said with a smile. You smiled back and nodded.
“Fine, let me atleast get the ingredients out for you.”
“I’m sure I can find what I need,” he said, gesturing for you to go sit at the table.
You obliged and sat down with a happy sigh. You watched as he moved around the kitchen, looking for ingredients. The coffee, the sugar, etc. You smiled as he grumbled to himself as he searched for items and he would occasionally look over at you for some guidance. You pointed at your cup drawer and he looked over at you as he pulled out two mugs. He held one in his hand and read the text.
He frowned. “I used to work at this company,” he said.
“Ah, I got it as a freebie after signing up for their newsletter or something like that, I don't remember now.” You laughed, “I wonder if you were at that event. It must have been around the time you worked there. Before I had this apartment I used to rent one close to their headquarters, so I would walk by almost daily. We were so close and had no idea.”
Nanami smiled, bringing over two cups of coffee and the tray of bread. “I don’t think you would have liked me then.”
“What do you mean?” You took the warm cup from him.
He sighed as he sat, “I feel as if I was a soulless shell of a man focused on money”
“Was?” you teased.
He gave you a look, “Am I still?” You blew on your cup and smiled slyly. He smiled, “I guess I am still focused on money, but soulless?”
“Definitely not, I can tell by the way you made this coffee,” you said, taking a sip. He shook his head and looked down at his cup. He had taken the one with his old company logo.
“Would you have liked me?” He mumbled.
“Probably not, if I’m honest,” you said bluntly. You smiled, “I hate stiffs in suits and I don’t have much money so I doubt you’d have given me the time of day anyway.”
“Stiffs in suits? Isn’t that what I am now?”
“At least you’re helping people, now. That company always had a fishy vibe, there was always a tan blonde man in sunglasses who would try to pick me up with bad English phrases.” You scrunched your face. “Sound like someone you know?”
He laughed. “Unfortunately I know who you’re referring to.”
The two of you finished up your breakfast and Nanami offered to do the dishes while you tidied up. You wiped down your counters as he rinsed the cups. You moved on to the table.
Laying on the table were the two business cards the lawyer had handed you. You examined the sturdy ivory rectangle and the elegant gold lettering of the man’s business card. Hiromi Higuruma, it sounded like a name out of a tv show. You looked up and saw Nanami staring at the card in your hand with disdain. You smiled, laughing a bit at his expression.
“Here,” you reached out and handed him the card. “Hold on to this for me, you never know when I might need a lawyer.”
He begrudgingly took the card and scanned the writing, the scowl still on his face. “I’ll keep you out of trouble.” He tucked the card into his pocket.
“Did he really bother you that much?”
“Please, enough about him,” he said with a sigh.
“I kind of like that you’re jealous,” you teased. “Anyway, what are you so worried about?” You reached out and put a hand on his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.” You felt his cheek grow warm as a blush came over his face.
Nanami looked down at his watch, he seemed to be calculating something in his head. “We have about thirty minutes until we have to leave right?”
“Yeah, why?”
He suddenly moved closer to you, putting his hand on either side of the table around your waist. “Should we make use of our morning?”He gave you a cocky smirk as he gently moved one of his hands under your chin, tilting your face upwards.
You felt your face burning now. “What can we even do in only half an hour”
He tilted his head as he thought. “Well we really only have twenty minutes, I would allow us another ten to compose ourselves.”
“Do you think that’s enough?” you asked, laughing.
He shrugged as he brought his face closer to yours. “We can make it work.” He closed the distance between you, delicately placing his lips on yours. He was so warm, so soft. You pulled him closer, placing your hand on the back of his head and lacing your fingers within his silky blonde locks. His lips moved softly against yours, his hand gently placed on your back as he settled himself between your legs. You pulled back for a second and looked up at him. His lips were glistening with your mixed saliva and face was flush. You smiled.
“Seeing as I haven’t really had the time to do laundry, and the fact that I’m down a couple of shirts, and that we have a record of being…messy. I propose we move this to my bedroom.”
He smiled and nodded. He placed another soft kiss on your lips before backing up to let you move forward away from the table.
“I’ll try to not let it become a habit.”
“What?”
“Ruining your shirts.”
“To be fair you only ruined two, the other one was that monster.” You shrugged, “Some things are just inevitable.” You turned towards him once you were in your room and started unbuttoning your shirt. “Should we set a timer?” you joked.
Nanami set his blazer aside and loosened his tie. “We can be quick about it. We made do in that bathroom.”
You felt your cheeks go red, “Oh my god,” you buried your face in your hands and sat on the bed. You heard him chuckle and you looked up. He placed a hand down onto your cheek and you smiled at him. He slowly lowered his face down towards you and kissed your forehead. He pushed you onto your back as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. You shifted your weight as you reached down to pull your pants down. You slipped them off of your legs and suddenly felt him grab your right ankle. He smiled coyly as he placed it up onto his shoulders, you felt your face go red as you looked at him. He held your leg firmly as he lazily unbuttoned his pants and shuffled them down to expose himself. You felt your heartbeat quicken as he moved forward and ran his cock over your underwear. He moved forward, placing his knees on the bed as he brought your legs up onto his thighs. He picked up your left leg and pressed it against his side as he moved forward to kiss you. You groaned as you felt your right thigh stretch against his chest. You moved one of your hands onto his shoulder and the other laced into his hair bringing him closer. Your tongues danced as you desperately kissed him. He continued to buck his hips, running his cock over your now soaked panties. He grunted at the friction and quickly moved back suddenly. You whimpered again as your leg moved back up with him. He let go of your left leg and moved it over opening your legs wide before him. He looked up at you, his pupils wide and his mouth wet with your spit. He swallowed hard as his eyes trailed down your body. “Y/N…I don’t know how to explain what you do to me…” He licked his lips as he thrust his hips forward against your clothed cunt. “I apologize in advance if I’m being too rough.” He looked back up at you. “Please let me know if I’m too rough..” He moved a hand down and pushed aside the wet fabric easily.
He pressed his tip lightly against your opening. You moved a hand forward and pressed it against his abdomen stopping him momentarily. “Kento…”
His head snapped up to meet your eyes. “Yes?”
There was a desperation in his gaze that made you feel a warmth in your chest. “It’s okay.” You moved your hand back and lifted your arms over your head. “Be rough with me, please…” you moaned and arched your back as you felt him dip a little deeper inside you.
Nanami quickly grabbed your other leg and pressed it back against you as he moved forward and buried himself deep inside of you. You let out a yelp, which was muffled by him devouring your lips. He pushed his hips roughly against you, desperately, quickly, as he held your legs further back. You were folded over yourself and you felt the head of his cock bully the deepest parts of you. You gasped everytime he pushed into you, becoming a mumbling mess under his touch. He slipped an arm behind you and brought you closer to him and you gasped at the change in position. He had you trapped in a mating press and all you could do was mutter incoherently. “Kento!” you cried, tears forming in your eyes from the pleasure. He moved his mouth from your lips and trailed sloppy kisses down to your jaw and into your neck. You felt him bite your skin gently before latching onto the side of your neck. He was going to leave a mark, you were sure. You moved your arms forward and hugged his large torso towering over you. He wasn’t slowing down and you were reaching your limit. You dug your nails into his back and you heard him hiss as he released your neck. He smiled snarkily before moving to the other side of your neck and biting down on it. You dragged your nails along his back again and he bit down harder. You cried out as he desperately moved his hips with more force, his knees slipping and forcing him deeper as he temporarily let his weight drop on you for an instant. You moaned loudly and clenched your entire body as you came. He grunted into your ear as he thrust his hips one more time before releasing with a roar.
You were both breathing heavily as he stayed inside of you for a while longer, twitching against your contracting walls. He kissed your face gently as he tried to catch his breath and you smiled, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling. After some time he finally moved back, releasing your legs which had been trapped between the two of you. He took a moment to massage your thighs in his hands. You hummed in appreciation.
You felt him move back and pull out of you. You winced as you felt warm liquid ooze out of you. You pointed to your bedside table and he quickly fetched a handkerchief to clean you up.
“I might have gotten carried away again.”
You laughed and sat up sorely. “It's only 8 am.” You mumbled. He smiled at you and you saw his eyes trail to your neck. You put a hand over the spots he had leeched on to. He smiled satisfied as he made his way off the bed.
“I’m going to take a quick shower…would you like to join me?” You nodded and scooted off of the bed. You looked at him as he turned his back towards you and winced. He turned to look. “What? Is something wrong?”
“Your back,” you said with a frown. “I didn’t realize how hard I was scratching.”
He peeked over his shoulder at the sharp red lines. “Nothing you can’t fix,” he said. He went over to you and scooped you up in his arms.
After your quick shower together you went back into your bedroom to get dressed. You looked in the mirror at your body. He had left a mark at the base of your neck, just low enough to be covered by the collar of your shirt. You looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw he was staring with a smile on his face. “I might have been caught up in the moment, but I made sure I was careful.”
You smiled back and looked at the mark again. You looked back up at him. “This…this doesn’t have anything to do with you being jealous does it?”
He blinked and you saw his eyebrows furrow slightly. “No,” he huffed, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeve.. “Why would you- No, I’m not-”
You laughed. “Sorry, I had to tease. I love when you get flustered.”
He sighed and came up behind you, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Do you have the lady lawyer’s card? What was her name? Shimizu? I think I should hold on to her card as well.”
You frowned and leaned your head into his. “I knew it. You’re leaving me for her.”
He laughed and wrapped his arms around you bringing you closer to him. He buried his face into your neck and took a deep breath. He pressed a kiss into your shoulder before moving up to kiss your cheek. “We should get going.”
You turned to look at him. “Okay.” He took your hands and lifted them to his lips to give them a gentle kiss.
“Make sure Shoko doesn’t go too far, she has a habit of getting carried away…”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
pt 1. pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt 5.
˚₊✩‧₊thank you for reading my way too overly complicated fic, i have so much planned and its all really self indulgent but I'm glad I can share it with other nanami lovers. i'll try to be better about posting the next part without a three month ghosting period, but in my defense the end of 2024 was out to get me....anyway much love to you all and as always if you saw a typo, no you didn't -Nana
˚₊✩‧₊ taglist: @wrldtups @rjreins @phattyboo90 @tnyblacklesbo @silkija @justwantedachange @inthedarkshadows000 @nniiyyaa @starkmila09 @sikuthealien @wifenanami @bloombb @kentos-glasses @inciteterr0r @naturalismi @kimkimoruo @thatvintagefanboy @lavenderdaydream97
#jjk#jjk nanami#jjk x you#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#jjk smut#smut#nanami#nanami kento#nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#jujutsu nanami#nanami smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#nanami kento x reader smut#nanami x reader smut#nanami x you#nanami kento smut#jjk imagines#jjk headcannons#jjk x reader#nanami kento fanfic#nanami fanfic#nanami angst#nanami kento angst#jjk angst#shoko ieiri#akari nitta#ijichi kiyotaka
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
how would the crew heads confess to you? (lookism)
A/N: a follow up post to: how easy is it for the crew heads to crush on you? (lookism)
thanks for all the love on it :) takes place during the current story!
✦ you're blissfully ignorant + their feelings are not reciprocated... (until you're aware of them anyway lol) because i like the #disbelief 👅
1. ELI
eli decides to take a leap of faith. he's not sure what to expect, but he's witnessed warren and sally's situation. he doesn't want his own love life to be a repeat 🫠
now that he's more sure of himself, more sure that he's allowed to feel someone's affections, he wants to know if his aimless pining for you really is aimless.
i think he'd confess to you in hostel's living room 🫡 (where warren + sally kissed) a simple but special place for him. it's where eli spends time with his family, and he wants you to be a part of that too.
he gets a pep talk from warren and sally first ofc! since they ended up together after all that tension, they remind him of their own experiences. warren would defo say something like: take it from me, gangdong's mighty...and romantic.
the gist of their speech is that: it'll be awkward, but better than waiting three years to properly confess. just be honest - if you don't try, you'll never know.
─ and if you get rejected? i'll be here with popcorn.
─ hush warren! don't listen to him eli. you've got this! (sally flashes a thumbs up 👍🏽)
he also gets motivation from amy and natalie <3 (you can do it uncle!)
eli can only smile bashfully. in the end, they're genuinely here supporting him, no matter what happens.
when the time actually comes, they all leave to give him privacy •ᴗ• (but they'd be listening through the door the whole time 😭)
his confession...is very cute and sweet 🥲 he doesn't have jake's guilt or johan's awkwardness, so he actually looks happy to be admitting his feelings, listing off all the things he admires about you.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
eli's daughter is the most important thing in the world - she's changed him for the better. so, seeing yenna so happy with you has made his heart flutter. (didn't mean for that to rhyme lmfaooo)
his feelings for you go beyond romantic attraction. it's also how well you've fit into his life, how it feels like you're meant to be there. bringing someone into his family's world is a big deal for him - but it would make him so happy to have you in it.
not that he doesn't love being a dad - he clearly does! but eli's life has been centered around taking care of yenna, handling hostel's issues, working hard to make ends meet...he's never really thought about who he is outside of that.
with you, eli feels like he can explore life more freely. he feels appreciated - maybe even a little carefree in a way that’s new for him. with you, even though the pressures and responsibilities are still there, he feels lighter. he remembers he has dreams and aspirations like anyone else. for the first time in ages, he feels like he can be just eli.
he hasn't properly liked anyone since heather - and even that's slightly different. this time, he actually knows what he's feeling. and if there's even a slight chance you'd want to be with him, he would do everything he can to make you happy - just as much as you make him.
eli acknowledges that it's a lot to ask, having a child in the picture. still, should that always prevent him from pursuing a relationship? if he gets that privilege, he would only want you. you would give him (and yenna) so much joy.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
eli's words are filled with quiet hope, his cheeks pink as his confessions spill out.
even if you don’t feel the same way, having you in his life, even as a friend, means the world to him. he doesn't want to lose that.
if eli can't be with you, he can live with it, but he doesn't want to wonder if he missed the chance to tell you.
2. JAKE
this man is filled with such angst and anguish 😂🤦🏽♀️
BTW - i think by this point, you'll know his job + past actions. you were unnerved when he admitted it...but jake has faced the repercussions (partly). he still has interests and hobbies like everyone else, he's still good company. you can't bring yourself to fully judge him, because you've never been in that position.
jake wasn't going to say anything. it's less messy, less selfish, if he keeps his feelings to himself.
that doesn't stop you from occupying his head though. he can't help but wonder what you're doing. are you safe? are you happy? if not, could he make you happy? ...possibly?
still, he pushes these thoughts away.
it's only when members of big deal notice his spacing out and lapses in concentration that he thinks: okay...i should probably do something.
he'd rather hear your rejection than keep wondering if there's a chance...+ to not have you (unknowingly) interfere with his duties.
first things first though, he needs some advice.
he'd totallyyy go to sinu. i can picture it so clearly 😂 jake is a smooth talker, but he's never actually liked someone. he can't talk his way though this. (he can try, but he'd fail miserably)
sinu would be so chuffed that his (practically) little brother is coming to him for relationship advice. (i never thought i'd see the day...you're all grown up. and he wipes a tear 😭) given jake's lack of interest in dating, he's pleasantly surprised at his change of heart! you must have had a big impact on him.
jake asks if sinu felt guilty liking yeonhui, considering his role in big deal. he was perceived as a gang leader back then...did sinu ever feel like she deserves better than that?
sinu gets nostalgic and starts reminiscing about his relationship 😅 jake zones out halfway through, wondering why he even bothered to ask in the first place.
EVENTUALLY THOUGH, he reels it back in and gets #serious 🙂↕️ something like: how long will you let your role and past define you?
the gist of sinu's speech: sure, jake has done bad things. (...worst than most people) but he shouldn't let that hold him back. jake can still try be something better, he's not some heartless monster. there's no harm in being honest, he'll never know what could happen.
jake is gobsmacked... a man of passion indeed.
i think he'd confess to you at the sea side! (where samuel found out who jake's dad was) he'd rather watch the waves than your confused face.
he tells big deal to stay away from that area, because he has important business there. (jake knows they'd be spying from a distance if he didn't 😭)
i think he'd practice in the mirror beforehand...but it does nothing to settle his nerves (-.-)
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
jake likes you. he knows it's unexpected and out of the blue, but he has to tell you.
you don't realise how amazing you are, how smart, how caring. it's the little things...helping jerry with his homework (god knows no one else can) or paying for your meals even though it's not necessary - he'll always let you eat for free. + plus the food is lowkey shit anyway <3
...or how well you get along with the girls. (they constantly tell him to ask you out 😪)
he knows he's not worthy. there's people who can easily give you their undivided attention. you deserve only the best...and he's the furthest thing from that. but he wishes he could be.
he doesn't want you to think he's the same person as before. you deserve someone way better than an ex-convict. jake wishes he could change the past - so badly. he regrets not trying harder for a better solution back then, just for the opportunity to take you on a date...to be with you.
jake wants to be the best version of himself. you make him think that being a better person could change some of his past...and eventually make him worthy of someone like you.
and if there's even a sliver of hope you feel the same way, that you'd give him the honour of being his first...everything, he'll do everything in his power to be a boyfriend you can be proud of.
he doesn't need you to say anything, jake would never pressure you for a yes or no. he just needed to say the truth, to be honest with you - and himself.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
jake kim, who's always so sarcastic and sure of himself, is suddenly so nervous and quiet before you. it's a side you've never seen of him.
there's a lot to consider. sometimes you'd never see jake, he'll be in danger a lot, and if he really had to - he'd be ruthless again to protect big deal. he knows that too.
even so, he's pouring his heart out, trying so hard for you...and you don't even think you're that great, to be honest.
you find your cheeks flushing at his words, and the earnest way in which he utters them.
3. JOHAN
johan...i found him hard to write. i don't like this little mouse.
if you like someone, you should probably tell them. johan would rather die. but eventually, not saying anything has gotten more painful than the prospect of confessing.
he hasn't liked anyone since mira and that feels like...a lifetime ago. so, he (very reluctantly) goes to zack for help.
zack would be sooo annoying about it, he'll never let him live it down. johan seong coming to him for dating advice...another indicator that their worlds are healing ❤️ he shuts up though when johan threatens to beat his ass.
i think zack would give the same bs advice he gave to vasco in the blind date arc 😭😭
─ alright...you really wanna know? let me give you a piece of advice i told a certain knuckle head. Be gentle...but fast. Be manly...but kind.
─ wait...have you got together with mira yet?
─ all in good time johan...all in good time. (zack taps his noggin 🧏🏻)
so that was useless.
there is another person he can go to though...mother knows best, as they say 🫡 johan would invite you to have dinner at his place, just a causal meal...obviously 😁
─ so you're johan's friend! it's great to finally meet you. help yourself! (he got his cutie patootie genes from his mom)
johan's mom gives him playful nudges when your back is turned 💘 he silently pleads with her to cut it out.
now that he has his mother's seal of approval, he feels ready to...confess or whatever.
i think johan would confess to you while sitting at the river with eden + miro. (the one where lua pushed him in 💔)
unlike eli and jake, johan's confession isn't planned. he decides to tell you when it feels right. and this place feels right.
he'd be avoiding eye contact the WHOLEEE time 😭 his face would be so red too...a cutie patootie to the max.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
johan starts by talking about the little things, like how his dogs are always happy when they see you. eden and miro get so jumpy and excited when you come over, as if they can sense how much he cares about you. it's something he can speak about easily - they're a big part of his life.
and his mom - johan's mom is so important to him. her approval means a lot…and she definitely approves (of you). she really likes you, especially after that dinner at his house. his mom is his rock in so many ways, the fact that she sees what he sees, means the world to him.
johan hid behind a stoic facade for so long. he's grateful to zack and mira for showing him that having feelings for someone…it can be a beautiful thing. with you, he feels more okay stepping out of that shell. maybe it's the way you always listen when he talks…or how you're there for him without making a big deal out of it…or how you celebrate the small things with him. (aka…barely passing english)
the professions are still foreign to him. it’s not just about liking you, it’s about the vulnerability that comes with it. he’s afraid of how this might change things between you two. but, johan knows hiding it would only make things worse. he can’t keep pretending like nothing’s there. it’s been weighing on him for so long.
still, he’s ready to face that fear of vulnerability, to show you all the sides to him. he’s letting you in — not just with his feelings for you, but with his whole self, all the things he’s kept locked away. for johan, that’s a huge deal.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
the man who united all of gangbuk, who went toe to toe with gun park...is suddenly so shy and awkward right now. truly a rare sight.
he's mumbling almost every sentence and you have to scoot closer to hear him, which definitely doesn't help things.
johan is thankful for eden and miro's barking for once, it fills the silence that passes.
it's not the smoothest confession, but that’s exactly what makes it sweet - he's showing you a bit of his heart by saying nothing and everything at the same time.
4. SAMUEL
he'd confess you're his fav BOOTY CALL maybe!
an actual confession of his: when samuel sees cheap instant noodle packs in the store, he can't help but think of big deal.
If it means I can eat better food later...I don't mind eating here now.
but he's annoyed the lavish food he can buy now doesn't quite fill him up the same way.
✿ who would have you blushing the most?
A/N: first date headcanons next?? 🤷🏽♀️ if ppl like this one too
#lookism#lookism manhwa#lookism webtoon#lookism comic#lookism x reader#lookism x you#lookism imagines#lookism fluff#lookism headcanons#lookism fanfiction#jake kim#jake kim lookism#jake kim x reader#lookism jake kim#kim gimyung#lookism kim gimyung#kim gimyung x reader#eli jang#eli jang lookism#lookism eli jang#eli jang x reader#johan seong#johan seong lookism#lookism johan#johan seong x reader#samuel seo#lookism samuel#samuel lookism#seo seongun#samuel seo x reader
58 notes
·
View notes
Note
Would love to see your Rook dealing with any jealousy/insecurity about Neve and Lucanis flirting if you believe it would exist. This is my obsession. My MW Rook looks up to Neve almost as much as Bellera does and had been flirting with Lucanis and then realises they are flirting and is like. Well I've got no chance. But is also devastated.
I keep playing in my head my Rook withdrawing and giving them space to be respectful and Lucanis being entirely oblivious and confused and ways it is resolved
There was a way about Neve that made your heart flutter in your chest. For some, it was the insecurity she brought to light with her talk, as if she knew all the secrets your mind was hiding before you were even aware of them yourself. For others, it was the blush she evoked on their cheeks with a confident flirt, fully aware of all her traits and the effect they could have if used properly. But for Rook? Well, for Rook, it was the intrigue of her smart talk, her mind, and all the things she held so much knowledge about.
In the midst of the chaos that spurned around them ever since the collapse of the ritual, there were stolen moments of respite where they exchanged their favourite pieces of information — random facts, obscure history, fragments of thought that felt too precious to waste. Rook found herself captivated, caught between wanting to learn more and marvelling at Neve’s sharp wit and how it made everything feel significant. She could make a passing comment about an old text, an anecdote about an ancient discovery, or even a sharp critique of a flawed argument, and Rook would be left reeling, turning the words over in her mind long after. She could have picked Neve’s brain apart for hours. But there was always something eluding her, something hidden, untouched, unshared – a mystery that lingered just out of reach. Something Rook just couldn’t uncover. Maker knows they flirted here and there, but it all soon faded away with the arrival of newer additions to the party. The camaraderie shifted, new bonds formed, and those playful exchanges became fewer, buried beneath the weight of their shared mission. It wasn’t the first time Rook found herself pushing romance away for the greater cause, and it would probably not be the last. There was always a battle to fight, a crisis to resolve, and a part of her had come to accept that her own desires would always take a backseat to the larger picture. There would be an appropriate time for the right connection, she told herself – maybe after the Gods were dead, when the world wasn’t teetering on the edge of destruction. Such is life, and she never gave it a second thought. Until Lucanis.
It was the small things. The tiny acts of service that Rook held so close and so dear to her heart. The thoughtful notice of her favourite drink, set aside just for her. The breakfast left by her seat at the kitchen table on mornings when she barely had the energy to rise. An extended hand to help her cross a fallen bridge, steady and unwavering. He was always there, always steady and caring, with a quiet kind of affection that spoke louder than words ever could.
So, she cared in return. She cared deeply and truly, as she found herself looking for him whenever time allowed, just to see the corners of his mouth lift in a smile that softened her world. She lingered near while he cooked, not just to watch, but to lend a hand where she could and to help him clean as he worked his way through his recipes. She made sure to give back the love he so willingly poured into others, crafting small moments of her own to show him he mattered. A new edition of his favourite novel hidden under his pillow, for when he couldn’t sleep. A story told just to make him laugh, as he covered his face in amusement. And when she caught the faint glimmer in his eye – a quiet sense of ease, a glimpse of comfort that told her he felt at home with her—her heart swelled.
One afternoon, she felt herself falling for him, as she came by the pantry to collect his empty cups. He greeted her with a soft smile, the kind that warmed her more than she cared to admit, and thanked her for her help as they carried the dishes to the sink. Without a word, as if guided by instinct, Lucanis reached for a piece of bread and a jar of honey from the shelf. His hands moved deftly, spreading the honey and slicing a few pieces of fruit, placing them neatly atop the bread. It wasn’t elaborate, but it was thoughtful.
‘Here,’ he said, offering the plate to her with a gentle tilt of his head. ‘You’ve kept busy today. You should eat something.’
‘I wish I could take you home after all this,’ she joked, resting her hip against the counter with a teasing grin, as she tasted the fruit. ‘Would you consider becoming my personal chef? Although, it would pay less than your current occupation, I suppose.’
Lucanis chuckled faintly, drying his hands on a rag, but his next words came quieter, as if he was speaking more to himself than to her. ‘Letting me take care of you would be enough of a payment.’
The air shifted between them as he looked up, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than usual. His eyes scanned her face, searching – perhaps for her reaction, perhaps for reassurance, or maybe even rejection. His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say more, but uncertainty lingered in the silence, holding his next words at bay. For now. That was enough for Rook. She smiled widely, tilting her head with a lighthearted wonderment that softened the tension. There was no need to push, no need to rush. She would wait until the words became clear for him, however long it took. And in the long run, it was the words exchanged between Neve and Lucanis that Rook started to notice first. The soft tease hidden beneath the guise of casual conversation. The laughter that lilted through the air, over-the-shoulder banter exchanged as the two playfully flirted with each other during their travels. It was effortless, natural, and it tickled in a way Rook couldn’t quite name. It was something she and Lucanis had never shared. Something, perhaps, she was waiting for.
She didn’t worry much; it wasn’t like her. It was more of a quiet, bittersweet acceptance she felt deep within her chest, because how could she fault him? She had fallen under Neve’s spell too, after all. So how could he not?
But the feeling lingered deep inside her. She longed to see him, to talk, to touch. No one had made her feel the quiet yearning, the timeless depth of affection that grew stronger with each shared moment. Rook had always loved deeply, with a steady and enduring strength, and now was no different. There was little to do but make it clear.
The party stepped through the Eluvian, the echoes of their shoes radiating around them in a cacophony of dull, resounding thuds. ‘Where. Are. Lucanis and Darin. When we. Fight. Antaam,’ Rook groaned, dragging herself to the nearest stone column and collapsing against it, her staff clattering to the floor beside her. She could feel every single bone in her body protesting, her muscles aching with exhaustion as though they might simply refuse to carry her any further.
Neve, still catching her breath, let out a soft, relieved laugh. ‘They’re probably at each other’s throats somewhere. Care for me to find them?’ she offered, brushing back a loose strand of hair from her damp forehead. Bellara, looking no less worse than her companions, heaved a sigh as she trudged to the Lighthouse entrance door and pushed it open, leaning heavily against the frame for support. ‘The only relationship I’m interested in tightening right now is the one between my head and the pillow’ she muttered. Rook winced as she straightened herself with great effort, her legs groaning under the weight of her own body. ‘I got it,’ she said, brushing herself off. ‘They are probably in the kitchen. Need to find myself a bite to eat regardless. And some bandages.’ Neve followed closely behind, her tone carrying that unmistakable smirk. ‘And some Lucanis.’
Rook paused, glancing up at her with a weary chuckle. Of course, Neve knew. She always did. There was no use in hiding anything from her – not that Rook ever had much success in trying. ‘If I’m the lucky one, huh?’ she shot back, raising an eyebrow playfully. Neve shrugged, her lips quirking into a knowing smile as she looked down at Rook, her tone light and teasing. ‘Luck is what you make it, Rook!’ she said with a wink before turning and ascending the stairs.
But the mirror claimed the opposite. Rook caught a glimpse of herself as she passed the reflection in the hallway on her way to the courtyard exit. Her hair was tangled and streaked with blood, her face bruised, and her armor scuffed and torn in places, crying out for repair. She made a mental note to drop it off with Harding before heading out again. Maker, she looked disgusting, and definitely most unlucky. The kind of worn-down, battered appearance that would make anyone else wince. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care – not after the day she’d had.
Her feet carried her further through the courtyard, her boots crunching against the gravel. The kitchen loomed ahead, a safe haven she desperately needed. She placed her hand gently against the cool steel door, ready to push it open, but paused, her ears catching the sound of voices drifting from within. She couldn’t make out the words at first, only the soft, muffled rhythm of conversation. The tone was light, familiar. It wasn’t loud enough to be an argument, nor strained enough to be serious. Something about it made her pause, her hand still resting on the door, as if some part of her wasn’t quite yet ready to step inside.
‘Lamp oil. Everything stank of burnt tentacles for miles after.’ Davrin’s voice sounded relaxed. Amused, even? That alone peaked Rook’s curiosity. She stepped into the kitchen, her shoes making a soft scuff against the worn wooden floor as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside.
‘Rook!’ The Warden turned towards the entrance, a bottle of wine swaying precariously in his grasp. Lucanis sat beside him, lounging comfortably, a cup nestled in his hands as though it had always belonged there. His usual cautious demeanour seemed to soften under the warm haze of the drink. Rook approached them slowly, her hands settling on her hips with a hint of playful reproach. She couldn’t stop the side smile creeping onto her lips. ‘If the two of you were going to open a bottle, you might have told me first.’
Lucanis looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. She could feel a comfortable warmth spilling over her heart, a gentle pull in her chest as she studied his big, brown, yet currently murky eyes. They were soft, unfocused in a way that made her smile, and for a heartbeat, it felt like she was the only one in the room.
‘It’s not a good bottle,’ Davrin’s jest broke the moment, drawing Lucanis’ attention away. The Crow blinked slowly, clearly unfazed, and gestured towards the pantry. ‘Might have to pick up a supply. I have a feeling we’ll need it.’ Rook nodded, the smile lingering on her lips as she turned on her heel, her feet dragging just slightly as she made her way to the shelves. She reached for the first bottle of wine her fingers brushed against, not even bothering to check the label. ‘Is anyone else hungry? Maybe I should cook something?’ Lucanis’ remark made her chuckle under hear breath. Even under the influence, he couldn’t help himself.
Davrin cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and getting comfortable once more. His gaze darted toward her, completely ignoring the question hanging in the air. ‘What about you, Rook? What’s the worst job you’ve ever been on?’
‘You’re familiar with how this whole thing came about, right?’ Rook’s voice was steady as she moved about the kitchen, the sounds of utensils and the clink of ceramic hurting her ears. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure her companions were both listening, then turned back to continue her search. It took a minute before she began preparing a plate. ‘Well, after today’s Antaam encounter, I’m not sure that was my worst one anymore,’ she continued, a touch of weariness creeping into her tone. It was a quiet admission, though her hands worked efficiently in preparation. It took a moment longer to finish, but she eventually gathered the plate and made her way back to the corner of the room.
‘Sometimes it’s good to put things into perspective,’ Lucanis spoke up, his voice soft but thoughtful as he swirled the cup in his hands, watching the wine spin and settle within. ‘Especially if it’s funny,’ Davrin added with a chuckle, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment. He began shifting things around on the table to make space for Rook’s plate. Rook couldn’t help but humour them, her lips curling into a small smile as she set the plate down in front of them. She chuckled along, though her voice held a playful edge. ‘So. My suffering entertains you. Got it.’
‘You joining us, then?’ Davrin’s gaze followed her movement with a sudden interest, his eyes flicking over her as if weighing the possibility. His thumb rested against his lips, caressing it in a barely noticeable way. Rook winked at him teasingly in response.
‘Fine, I’ll cook something if Rook’s staying,’ Lucanis declared suddenly, getting up with surprising speed. He moved forward, standing face to face with Rook, his eyes widening as she extended a smaller plate towards him. He looked down, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to focus. ‘It’s some cheese and olives. And bread, with olive oil. I heard that’s how you eat it in Treviso,’ she said, her voice quiet and tender. She smiled gently, the warmth in her offer softening further as she added, ‘You mentioned you were hungry.’
Lucanis met her eyes, as he reached out to take the plate from her hands. His touch was gentle, and Rook couldn’t help but notice the quiet, polite gratitude in his movements. Her heart began to beat faster. She kept up the eye contact, just to relish the feeling. Maker, he was simply everything.
Lucanis nodded with a whisper, ‘Please, do.’
‘Rook’s story first. Then Lucanis owes me one about this contract on a bronto,’ Davrin said, shifting in his seat, his tone playful, but insistent, drawing their attention back to him once more. Rook raised an eyebrow, and threw him the bottle of wine with a practiced toss. ‘Mierda, that bronto,’ Lucanis muttered as he sat down, dipping a piece of bread into the olive oil with great care.
The hours passed quickly, as they so often do with drink as company, each sip loosening their tongues and sharpening their tease.The room felt warmer, more comfortable, as the trio moved about, shifting seats and sharing stories. Davrin took a chance to demonstrate the time he had to lift a log by attempting to pick up both Lucanis and Rook at the same time. He breathed out exaggerated grunting noises as he did so, struggling with effort, and the room filled with laughter, carrying their chatter out the window and drawing in curious wisps. When he finally set them back down, the world felt a bit more chaotic, and it was unclear who sat where in the jumble of limbs and shouts. In the end, Rook found herself sharing the two-seater with Lucanis, their proximity natural and expectant, as though they’d fallen into this arrangement a hundred times before.
She could feel Lucanis’ presence closer, the subtle warmth of it pressing against her as she settled into the comfort of the company. The sweetness of the wine clouded her senses, soothing the edges of her fatigue, and she needed it – the reprieve, the breathe it allowed her to take. Somewhere along the line, she’d taken off her covering, unbuckling the straps of her belt and letting the weight of it slide off her shoulders. The casual robes she wore now felt infinitely more comfortable, a sign of surrender to the simple pleasures of the evening. Lucanis observed her in silence, his eyes flickering over the discarded pieces of clothing on the floor, as if they were the most intriguing thing in the world. Resting her tired feet up on the table, she let her body sink into the chair, eyes closing for a moment as she sighed deeply, a soft longing for peace washing over her. Without thinking, she shifted slightly, her head finding its place against Lucanis’ shoulder.
Davrin stretched lazily, lifting his legs to rest them on the table as well. He carefully moved Rook’s feet aside, settling them gently on his lap so as not to disturb her. The gesture was effortless, natural, and somehow just another part of the delicate balance of their shared space, like the room itself had drawn them closer into this small, peaceful circle.
Rook’s gaze almost unconsciously traced Davrin’s chest, up to his neck, and finally to his lips. It was a brief moment, but her thoughts didn’t linger there for long. They drifted instead to Lucanis, to the buttons of his vest, the way the fabric sat perfectly tailored against waist, and how the collar teased the line of his neck. And then, perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was the effortless charisma that always seemed to radiate from Davrin. Perhaps it was the sensation of Lucanis’ hand resting just a little too close to her own, his fingers brushing against her knuckles softly, as though the touch became an extension of the comfort he offered. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the silence itself – the way it stretched between the three of them for just a moment too long, breaking the shackles of Rook’s heart and loosening her tongue. ‘Davrin, what does flirting mean to you?’ she asked. Lucanis lifted his head suddenly, and Rook could feel his gaze tracing the curve of her features. She pulled a strand of hair from her cheek, giving herself a moment of focus as she tried to steady her pulse, which was now racing beneath her skin.
‘How come?’ Davrin rested his head against his hand, clearly entertained by the turn in the conversation. Rook smiled, her heart skipping a beat, feeling Lucanis’ hand twitch slightly against her own, as though her words had sparked something in him, too. ‘Well,’ she started, ‘you flirt with me, and others, ceaselessly. And since we’ve had our… talk about where we stand, you’ve got me intrigued.’ The words hung between them, half teasing, half serious, as her gaze met Davrin’s. The Warden chuckled with a low sound. He patted her shin affectionately before leaning forward, his eyes gleaming.
’I suppose there’s an element of fun that comes with it. It eases the tension. It brings people closer, instantly.’ He paused, his voice dropping slightly as if sharing something more intimate. ‘But there’s also a certain amount of freedom to it. No promises are made, and yet it brings a promise of something more, if both parties wish it. A bond is made, even if it’s just through, or for, the thrill of the chase.’
‘Something more…’ Rook repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. She turned the cup in her hand absentmindedly, before taking a sip, feeling the warmth of the wine trickle through her as she thought about his words.
Davrin’s eyebrow lifted for a brief moment, his gaze shifting as he observed Rook’s position with a quiet, knowing smile. He took in the loose strands of hair cascading over Lucanis’ shoulder, the way her fingers were subtly tensing under the Crow’s instinctive touch, and the way her head had leaned slightly to the side. The scene was unfolding in a way that was hard to ignore.
With a slight shift, Davrin’s hand fell to Rook’s leg with a quiet slap, the motion deliberate but light, as though making a point. ‘I’m not the only one here with a talent,’ he remarked, his voice laced with amusement. His eyes sparkled with a teasing glint. ‘The Crow over there has some interested parties swooning over his tactics.’
Rook corrected herself, sitting up straighter to face Lucanis, who’s eyes widened slightly at the mention. ‘That’s a good way of putting it. Tactics,’ Lucanis said, his voice tinted with hesitation. The Crow let out a short laugh, his hand running up the back of his neck as though trying to smooth over the unease that had settled in.
Rook turned toward him, bending one leg beneath her thigh to face him more directly. There was a small, quiet hesitation before she placed her hand gently on his shoulder, offering him a soft gesture of reassurance. Lucanis closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in her touch, as if savouring the connection. ‘I’m not very… practiced,’ he confessed. ‘All I know about flirting is what the Crows taught me. And perhaps a few serials.’
Rook exchanged quick glances with Davrin, who looked just as intrigued. She leaned in closer, her voice teasing but filled with curiosity as she spoke, ‘Yeah, I’m going to need some details on that.’ The Crow looked up at her, his expression still a bit embarrassed, but also a little resigned to the conversation now.
Davrin took the opportunity to pick up the wine bottle with an exaggerated flourish, and took a few slow sips, his eyes never leaving Lucanis. ‘Flirting is an effective way to gain information. To blend in. To gain someone’s trust. Everything a Crow needs on a job. Naturally, the art of romance is one of the chapters taught to us. I’m no exception.’ Lucanis muttered, drinking from his cup, trying to deflect. Rook shook her head, tilting it in a drunken haze. ‘So it means nothing to you?’
‘I know the talk. I am rather inexperienced in the play itself,’ Lucanis looked at her, as he put his cup down on the table. ‘It’s complicated. There are moments when I catch myself in the act, as if it was an instinct. Years of training will do that to you. My mouth speaks before my mind thinks and I often find myself surprised by my own actions.’
A beat. ‘But the real thing… A real display of one’s affection…’ He held Rook’s gaze. ‘I believe I’m still figuring it out.’
Davrin slapped his thighs, before getting up with vigour, ‘Right. So the Crow flirts by accident is what I’m hearing.’
Rook blinked, her eyes searching Lucanis’ for a moment. There was a level of peace in his expression, usually overshadowed by the daily struggles they went through. A steady calm in-between the passing storms, unbothered and certain, like never before. Rook could hear Davrin’s footsteps against the stone floor, and a creak of the door. A pretend yawn, before a certain goodnight. She couldn’t be more thankful for his tact in that moment.
‘Have you done it with me?’ She lowered her tone, as if sharing a secret just between Lucanis and her. The Crow matched the slowly blooming intimacy, his hand running up to his neck again. A chuckle left his throat, echoing against the empty walls of the kitchen.
‘I think you would know if I had. The Antivan approach can be unmistakably direct,’ he kept up Rook’s gaze like never before. There was nothing except for the two of them anymore. Nothing, but the words shared, no energy wasted.
‘No, I mean the real thing,’ Rook moved closer. She studied Lucanis’ face for any trace of hesitation, anything that could suggest he wished for her to pull back. She was met with a kind smile, as his eyes traced away with his thoughts.
’Rook… I’m not sure I–‘
‘I wouldn’t mind it.’ His eyes returned to her face, dark and gleaming in the candlelight. Rook could feel herself smirk ever so slightly. ‘In case you’ve ever wondered. Or considered. Me.’ Lucanis’ brow furrowed just a little bit, as he looked down to notice her hand on his own. Rook breathed out, a tinge of nervousness creeping into her mind. How long has she been holding his hand? ‘I care for you, Lucanis. I thought you might… want to know. Forgive me,’ she added, letting go. But then, she froze for just a moment. Her breath caught, and hesitation washed over her, as if the moment had suddenly grown too large to hold. She reached up, her fingers touching Lucanis' chest. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, each thump clear and reassuring. She observed how the material of his vest bent subtly under her touch, as though it, too, was yielding to her presence, allowing her to close the distance between them.
Lucanis took a slow breath, then another, his chest rising and falling beneath her hand, his eyes half-lidded as he watched her. Rook smiled widely at the simple, intimate sensation. She felt an unexpected flutter in her stomach but before she could let the silence settle too deeply, she felt his hand rise, gentle and certain.
His fingers cupped her palm, holding it lightly just above his heart. Lucanis’ lips parted, as if he was on the verge of saying something. Yet, Rook wasn't certain she could bear the weight of whatever words he was about to offer – perhaps it was too soon, or perhaps it was too much to be said aloud.
Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she closed her eyes, taking a breath to steady herself, and slowly, she let go of his grasp. She rose to her feet, but to her surprise, his hand followed her, his fingers wrapping around her knuckles with his usual tenderness. As he stood up with her, there was no rush, no urgency. ‘I care for you, Rook,’ he said softly. ’Thank you for… this.’
She chuckled quietly, squeezing his hand once more before letting go.
‘My pleasure,’ she whispered back, her voice soft and carrying a quiet weight. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, but it shifted, pulled toward the door. With careful steps, she made her way toward the exit, her footsteps muted on the floor, as if the world around her had momentarily paused. As she reached the threshold, she stopped, her fingers brushing against the doorframe, and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes finding Lucanis once again.
He was smiling.
And that was always more than enough.
#you got me in a puzzle with this one for a moment there!#I hope you enjoy it!#dragon age#dragon age the veilguard#lucanis dellamorte#dragon age veilguard#dragon age rook#lucanis#da4 lucanis#dragon age lucanis#rook x lucanis#rookanis#lucanis x rook#lucanis romance#dragon age fic#dragon age fanfiction#dragon age fanfic#lucanis dragon age#neve#neve gallus#bellara#bellara lutare#davrin#veilguard#rook#rook dragon age#mourn watch rook#veilguard rook#date rook#datv
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
this was so thorough and sweet, thanks alexa 🥰 i love how you called out that there's a lot happening under the surface! i really want the big reveal next chapter to not seem like it came out of nowhere? it was really intentional on my part that we almost exclusively get his pov on these last two chapters because i wanted to show how much he cares and loves her no matter what nasty thoughts she's having in her head? like he doesn't even finish the thought in his head when he kind of figures out what's going on? but that being said, i just hadddd to include her pov at the end to kind of turn the knife and crank up the angst. but on a lighter note, yes! i wanted to include some regular, old domestic moments between the two of them. i always think about the post "oh they love each other. well do they like each other?" and try to make sure that comes across? like they talk too? it's not all crazy sex and empty platitudes? they love and like each other 🥰 more below 💕
Out of his plane, out of the sky, out of your arms. Falling and falling - with no end in sight. -- oh the visual of this right off the bat! But I love it especially for the duality of Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. His center of being has always been in relation to him in the Navy, but now he also has her. It’s all so entwined in a way it hasn’t ever been for him before, but with both he isn’t in control. Like doing what he loves could take him from her literally in the sense of the worst case scenario, but also she could decide it’s too hard. But also doing what he loves takes him from who he loves! And you know I love an angsty deployment bit, but there’s a lot of interesting layers here with his anxiety dreams. I also just thought it was very pretty prose! the navy was the only constant thing bradley's had in his life for the longestttt time, but now he has her as his center and maverick and penny and amelia and nat and this entire community orbiting around it? and the navy is just...there now? i can see him getting more resentful and then hating himself for getting resentful because he loves flying, but he doesn't like that he has to do it for someone else? and i've actually had a lot of thoughts lately about doing some sort of deep introspection in the next chapter about how hard it really was for her while he was gone? we get a glimpse of it in this and the last two chapters, but i think she really got to a dark place because her center was gone?
Bradley liked to think that you had stowed it away someplace and changed downstairs in order to surprise him in bed. Except now he’d never know because he had fallen asleep on you. God, he was the worst boyfriend. — she’s a planner, that one! Of course she was 3 steps ahead! But he’s also so sweet for even sulking about accidentally derailing her plans because he was sleepy and happy. Like I think she’ll forgive you, she’s did booze you up after all, lmao it's so funny to me that she got him a little too drunk like what else was he supposed to do with a full belly, a cozy bed, and some drinks haha? but like yeah you just have to give her some compliments/praise her and she'll forgive you buddy lol
But this was supposed to have been a big deal. It was the first time you both went to bed in the same room without the fear that you’d be leaving in the morning or later in the week to go back to your highrise. You were both home. Really, truly home. — H O M E!! Oh my favorite concept!! But they live together now, he wanted it to be as special for her too! He wants her home to be with him! WE LOVE THE CONCEPT OF HOME! but you know that sweet boy had fantasies of carrying her over the threshold of the house "for the first time" 🤭
You kept him on the ground. You kept him safe. — that future!! That future is his purpose!! IT'S JUST MY JOB FIVE DAYS A WEEK
Bradley wanted to treat you like you were precious first. — sweetest boy! It’s like of course they’ve both thought about it (and reread a certain email) a bunch, but I love that for as much as he wants to just have his way with her, like he wants to have sex that matters first. Like they can fuck whenever, but he hasn’t been with his best girl in MONTHS, he wants to show her how much he has missed her and how much he cares about her first! he wants to stare into her eyes and let her know how much she matters and how perfect she is to him (even if she doesn't think so). like soft and slow and close
But later? He’d slap your pussy so hard you’d be begging for his cock in no time - in fact, maybe he should time you? See how long it took you to break, to babble, to beg. — IF I SPEAK (so I won’t but good god) 🫡🫡🫡 sometimes i'm like girl get UPPE!!!
He slipped his hand down to knead your ass and you sighed. “Hmm, da-dley? Bubba?” ^^^ the daddy agenda is alive and well, next stop daddy watch me twirl! god they both want it So Badly and they both have the conscious thought of wanting it next chapter. i always picture that fic happening around their true one year anniversary? like mid april? and she's so whinyyyyyy and pathetic thinking it next chapter
You had somehow gotten even more beautiful in the three months he had been gone. It wasn’t obvious, not at first, and not to anyone who wasn’t really paying attention. But it was obvious to Bradley because Bradley always paid attention.— “because Bradley always paid attention” 🥰🥰🥰 but also i'm just so soft over how much he's imprinted her on his mind. Like he's studied her so intently over their courtship so far that he's documenting every little essence of change he sees. THEIR COURTSHIP!!!! i'm obsessed with that, but it's TRUE! someone commented that in other fics in the series it's obvious how much she loves him, but this is the first fic where they realized that he loves her just as much if not more and i think it's in little scenes like this?
“You gonna take these off, too?” He slipped a finger under the waistband of his joggers. — WHORE SLUT TEASE (the way he later arches his back?! I repeat, WHORE SLUT TEASE) he's such a slut like honestly he always knows what he's doing with her (like later when he comes back from his run with his shirt off 🤭)
“Fuck,” he sighed in relief, “How’d you let me sleep in those?” //“How’d you fall asleep on me?”//“You got me drunk!” //“Not my fault you’re suddenly a lightweight - Bradley!” -- this made me G I G G L E! Mr Zero Tolerance got hammered off one drink and in his happy tipsy content state took an little nap. Like it's so old man of him, but also so cute. Like he truly at ease for the first time since he left! Like sure we love a welcome home fuck (like it's coming! (no pun intended) and i remember saying something in the last chapter, but I love that the emotional intimacy comes first! But their banter here amused me to no end, like yes babe roast him in your cute navy nightie that you put on just for him that he missed out on because he was catching up on his REM! off one drink lol no no no she PLIED him with alcohol all night, he's on at least drink four after barely subscribing for 3 months (i learned us navy officers can get a beer at dinner or something, but aus officers can get like 3 or something crazy). but i worried that they talk too much beforehand so i'm glad you liked the levity here and the gradual emotional intimacy too!
Every new freckle, scar, bruise, age line//Bradley couldn’t wait to do the same. What had he missed? What was different?-- It's just so soft!! They're both trying to see and catch up on what they've missed in the last 90ish days! It's such a lovely moment of true connection! Like they're just both absorbing each other and reveling in being together! Not through a screen but inches a part! In their home! in their bed! and she's desperately praying that he doesn't notice anything different? that he doesn't notice she's a little rounder in the stomach? but the thing is that he notices everything 'because bradley always paid attention' and doesn't necessarily notice anything that's 'different' to him because that doesn't really matter? idk if that makes sense
“You’re so handsome,” you whispered, almost to yourself. //Bradley kissed you and returned the compliment. “And you’ve gotten even more beautiful since I’ve been gone.” -- stoooooop i'm already so soft! enoughhhhhh I cannot take it! i'm no strong enough for this! but she doesn't think so 🥺
You loved his shoulders, you always managed to notch your head there during sex and press little kisses to the scars dotting them and his neck. Bites, too - marks to prove he was yours.— artist rendering of my face 🤭 yes yes yes yes! the shoulders! his pretty scar! his pretty neck!! you know those make me weak in the knees!! but also the possessiveness of it! like HE IS HERS! HIS NECK! HIS BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL NECK (thank you phoebe waller-bridge) but i think he desire to mark him up does come from her wanting people to see he's hers? like that bit in the gala fic where she wants people to see they 'fit?' she wants people to know that they're a pair, they're each other's?
He also told Nat. However, the latter was only because he was drunk and pissed and he had just made lieutenant, once again surpassing his father in something.//Maverick had seen it about a year ago. He had never asked Bradley what it meant and probably never wanted to have it confirmed what it meant. But to anyone who really knew Bradley, it was easy to put together.//Bradley had told you about it on your fourth date. — different right from the start-- i looooooooved the dynamics of this! like the list of people who knew and the hows of how they came to learn about it and then contrasted with how easily he opened up and shared it with her!! like he WANTED to tell her, he WANTED to let her in!! it's DIFFERENT! they're kindred! yes! like he wanted to tell her, it was intentional and deliberate and he could finally tell someone who would really care and could maybe understand? like she could tell him about her mom and all that fucking shit with teddy too like they knew early this was it and they'd do anything to make sure it happened
(you, in particular, were freaked out that you’d slept with someone on the first date without a condom)— listen, who could blame her? I mean, look at him! (she let him finger her right outside of the hard deck too, but like 💁🏼♀️) please it's so fucking funny in hindsight like she calls her concierge doctor up monday morning and is like I NEED AN STD TEST!!! but also like per your crossed out comment, bradley has a line that's like 'you were both desperate, but you more than him' or something and like that's the root of their sexual relationship and neither of them ever forget that lol
listening to Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major and Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 was made all the more romantic by the way Bradley held your hand for the entire first piece and had his hand on your thigh for the entire second.-- I loveeee that we got more BB&SA lore here!! Like I just know he got all dressed up for it too, broke out the iron and everything! But also the hand and the thigh of it all is A LOT!! and I am swooooning if you must know, it was a navy suit and a white shirt with tan shoes and a tan belt. there were flowers and everything. he paid for dinner and she lied and said she got the concert tickets for free from work since pwc sponsors the symphony but she bought them lol
Bradley had told you what the tattoo meant and about his parents and Maverick and you had told him about your mom and your accident during your junior year of high school. — 🥺🥺🥺 my sweet babies. i am too delicate for this! the perks of being in the inner circle- I Know 🥰, but also the trials and tribulations of being in the inner circle- I KNOW 😭 i feel like bradley's very much of the 'i'm too old for this shit' camp in terms of playing 'games'/keeping things from his partners that he really sees things going somewhere with? like why would i keep this from her when we can really talk about it and then we know how to navigate these problems when they come up? and then for her, i feel like when she was like 12 or something mary was like 'dan we need to get this girl in therapy' lol so she's familiar with talking about these things and knowing it's important to give up a little of yourself to really be free of the darkness?
It hadn’t felt scary to tell you any of it. It felt right and natural. Like you wouldn’t judge him or get scared when things got hard. Like he wanted to protect you at all costs. ^^ I AM TOO DELICATE I just love how easy it is between them! Like they WANT to get deep and share those moments. They want to be SEEN entirely! There’s safety in that because they see themselves reflected in each other and I think that’s so lovely! THEY WANT TO BE SEEN ENTIRELY! whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same or however that goes! like i know i wrote it this way and all but i really do think they're made for each other
“And I though to myself this is what Bradley sees. This is why he loves it and for that brief blip in time I got it. I understood. Makes me love you even more in some way.” — 😭😭😭 idk if you remember but i totally stole that plane moment from myself when i was going to london fall 2023 because i was so taken aback by seeing all the stars and was like he's in the middle of the pacific and they do night flights for training, he absolutely sees this and more and it just seemed kind of poetic that they'd both be in the middle of the ocean looking at the same sky?
An idea suddenly struck Bradley. It was amazing he hadn’t thought of it before. “Maybe I can make you an audiobook?”— good lord I’d never get anything done ever again no seriously like i would have it on like a daily podcast. but he would absolutely do this for her and she'd find so much comfort in it because they can talk to each other, sure. but they can't do this and fall into their d/s roles while the navy's listening? it's different than when she goes away or when he's up at lemoore or oceana, like they can't really Talk in the way they both need when he's on a carrier in the middle of the pacific
“‘Atta girl, arch your back, just like that.” You whimpered at his praise and kept rocking your hips in tandem with his fingers. Fucking glorious, such a good girl for da -“ — here we go, round two!! I stay winning with the almost daddy agenda! he wants to say it so badly like if only you knew buddy
All you had to do was pout and he was gone. — S I M P 🥰 he'd do anything for her, all she has to do is ask
However, he’d already let your tender touches go on long enough - another minute and he’d come all over that silk nightie you hadn’t taken off yet.— listen I know that man is dying to give her another kind of pearl necklace 💁🏼♀️ it would go well with that frilly little apron he thought about earlier 🤭
Thank god he had prepped you, he wasn’t going to last much longer, himself. It was kind of pathetic. Both of you were, to be frank. Obviously, you more than him in this instance, but - -lmaoooooo. forever giggling when he calls himself pathetic, like mr man is gone for his girl! and he's only had his hand in a twin sized bunk for the last 3 months, like he's not going to make it out alive if he tries to go for gold right off the bat! but also she's just as needy and desperate as him, so this whole bit is as funny as it is H O T THE ONE HANDED FODDER!!! but seriously yeah she's way more desperate, like bradley may be hanging on by a thread, but her thread has disintegrated two weeks ago
“My best girl, huh?”— 🥰🥰 *tucks hair behind ear* i mean if you say so 💁🏼♀️
“So beautiful, so smart. Took such good care of things for me, huh?” He could feel as well as hear your breath hitching, letting him know that you were close. “‘gorgeous girl, so proud of you, sweet g -”// And that did it. —AHH!! AND THAT DID IT YEAH IT DID!!! GOOD GIRL SWEET GIRL GORGEOUS GIRL ALL THEE ABOVE THE SWEET GIRL AGENDA LIVES ON! all miss girl needs is to be praised and she's putty
God, it was beautiful. You were beautiful. Your name kept running through his mind and Bradley realized he was actually muttering it against your lips through kisses.— smutty and hot and the care!! it love that he's kind of losing his mind here, but at the root it's just all about her and how wrapped up she has him. like her [redacted]ing (it's just too much for me to type out lmao) and he's like SHE'S ART! I'M MOVED! PUT HER IN THE LOUVRE! he's so enraptured by her and I love that for her! WITH A BODY LIKE APHRODITE??!!? he's obsessed with her. she's normally the one to babble, but he does it too
And then, with all the care and love you deserved at the moment, he bundled you up in his arms. You were so warm and smelled so pretty and your nightie felt so soft against his rough fingers. Everything about that moment was perfect. You were so precious. You pressed your cheek against his chest and he hoped you could tell how fast his heart was beating. -- SHE'S SO SOFT FOR HIM!! It's like the first time in his life he gets to have that with someone, who in her own way treats him with all the care and the love and the softness he deserves after being on his own for so long! I love how mutual it is between the two of them. Like they give as good as they get in all things. But especially knowing what we know about her and where she is, like he wants her to know how valued and loved she is. like they trust each other so much? they would both sacrifice themselves for the other and that's kind of scary? but it's true? they're just too soft for all of it
Bradley groaned your name. You peered up at him with those wide, innocent eyes like you weren’t getting him off while he slept. Like your pussy wasn’t soaking. Like you hadn’t been grinding it against his bare thigh for the last however many minutes. — cheeky little go getter! girl has been waiting to get him in her mouth for monthsssss
He just shook his head in disbelief. “Cheeky little slut.” //And then you smiled, looking so proud of yourself for rattling him that he had no choice but to slap the top of your ass. Hard. You huffed.-- lmaooooooo, she's got his number! SHE JUST WANTS HIM TO BE PROUD OF HER! SHE WANTS THE PRAAAAAISE
The room was filled with giggles and the sounds of kissing as Bradley told you some of the more entertaining stories from the carrier and Australia, while you revealed that you had watched his 60 Minutes segment at least nine times. When he asked you why you’d watched it nine times, you just ducked your head and bashfully said it was because you sounded really smart.-- HE'S PRETTY AND SMART FOLKS AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT god he really is so hot and smart and i know he looked so good on tv. it's like that scene in ted lasso when keeley gets off to roy's retirement press conference
And he had run you pretty ragged this morning. — when will it be me??!! i fear it never will be me!
“Oh! I guess I hadn’t noticed.” You turned your back to him. “Here, do you want to do my hair? Or I can do yours? Why don’t I do yours?”—🥺🥺🥺 I just know that his observation is going to be living in her head rent free. The way she is trying to divert the attention in a different direction hurts my heart! he's like MORE SOAPY TITS TO ADMIRE 🤩 and she just has every mean, self critical thought running through her head on loop and it's OOF. she's like thank god i got all those one piece bathing suits and bradley's like fuck how did she get hotter??? he has a couple comments like this that if they were on the same page totally wouldn't be an issue/are kind of innocuous? but now that we know how she's feeling with the last passage in this chapter, it's like shittttttt yeah i can see how she'd read that wrong? and then she turns around so he can't really see her? and then the lights???
You hummed. “Just a little bump out, enough for someone to sit. You’re getting older, I wouldn’t want you to fall or hurt yourself during any rigorous shower activity.”-- ROAST HIM no but like imagine them in the shower and he doesn't have to worry about being too careful that she doesn't fall? feral
“I haven’t stayed here at the house too much while you were gone, just a night or two - like that night…with the email,” you confessed, “it didn’t feel right. I kept thinking you’d come home any minute.” Bradley pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “But I’d drop stuff off slowly, a couple boxes a week and whatnot.”-- SWEET GIRL!! She missed him too much to be there alone?!! why are you trying to hurt me like this?! in my delicate state?! jordannnnnnnn see this i was what i mentioned earlier about really getting some introspection into what she was going through? like i can just picture her being in the house alone and crying and not wanting to get out of bed because 'maybe if i stay in bed i can pretend that bradley's coming home late?' i wanna do more with that
And then, after multiple passes over your breasts at Bradley’s hands - it was unfair how good your breasts looked all sudsed up— his true kryptonite 😂😂 he's a simple man! lololol sometimes he really doesn't need a lot lol. and she's never telling him how she took that soapy titties pic haha like that's going to the grave
But there was something about you choosing an oxford to wear after staring at your closet for ten minutes that gave him pause. You had such pretty clothes, it would be a shame for you not to wear them.— bestie babe 🥺🥺 it’s so sad seeing her so unsure of herself and unsettled in her own skin and like he has that internal thought 'you had such pretty clothes, it would be a shame for you not to wear them' in this part and then next chapter he actually verbalizes it and does something about it??? gonna jump
The two sat across from each other - Maverick on one of the cushioned, wicker swivel chairs with Bradley on the matching loveseat - and sipped their beers in comfortable silence for a few moments.— I love how comfortable they are now, the past is the past. Now he’s picking him up from school [read: work] and getting him ice cream and they’re able to just be. that's his FATHER!!!!!! like? i get really emotional thinking about them reconnecting and just being comfortable with each other again?
“So, how’re you really doing?” Though the question has been asked at dinner already, Bradley had just given a vague answer. But now that it was just him and Maverick, he felt he could be honest.— THAT’S HIS DADDDDDDDDDD and he can tell his dad everything again!!!!
It hadn’t been quiet in three months. There was always something else going on around him. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, he could do things on his own time and make his own food and pick his own clothes. He could have choices. — oh this bit got me so good! it hurt in the best way! he gets to be bradley again! not just rooster. not having to follow a schedule, follow commands. He gets to settle back into himself! i just kept thinking that it must be so jarring to be back to just nothingness? the end scenes in the hurt locker were a huge inspiration
The fact that Bradley thought you were keeping something else from him didn’t need to be brought up yet. He wouldn’t even be able to put it into words, it was just a gut feeling at this point. You just seemed a little off. The egg whites, the boxy oxfords, the chocolate cake.— I texted you a bit about this, but I love how even in this reunion honeymoon bubble, that he knows her so innately that he can sense something is off. That he has always been so in tune with her and paid attention to even the littlest things, that even if he can't pinpoint it right then and there that he knows something is up. That he has enough crumbs to make a sandwich, each tidbit had been filed away until he had enough to realize she has a bit of a facade up with him. And the dichotomy of that compared with how easily they shared their big hurts on the 4th date, where she's worried about losing him with all the insecurities rattling in her head when all he wants is more and everything. yeah like he frequently knows things about her before she even does? because bradley always paid attention! i think a lot of her not sharing this is because she thinks it's silly in comparison?
“And you’re okay with that?” Bradley nodded. “Jesus, Bradley, you’ll be at least forty by the time -”//“- Forty-two.” -- this part took me out at the KNEES!!! like even mav (that's his dad that's his dad) knows that bradley is holding himself back with that one. that he so clearly wants a family but his own fears of leaving them behind make it so he'd rather put it off longer to ensure that doesn't happen than risk letting his worst fear come to pass. but that it so clearly weighs on bradley too! the way he so easily drops that "forty-two" because he's thought about it so intently! OOF and DOUBLE OOF i'm glad you liked this part so much and it hit so hard because i wanted it to be obvious that this waiting thing isn't easy for either of them, but they really need to do it because they're both so scared? and like if anyone would get it, it would be maverick? maverick who knows why bradley has that tattoo without ever asking about it?
Maverick looked sad and Bradley hated it. Because he knew, without Bradley even having to spell it out why you were going to wait. Because Maverick had been there. Because Maverick had held Bradley’s mom as she cried on too many occasions to count. Because Maverick had taken Bradley to all the father/son events in the place of his own father. Because Bradley realized, as he had gotten older, that Maverick thought it was his fault that Bradley grew up without a father.-- NOT THE FATHER/SON EVENTS! I AM TOO DELICATEEEEE!!! AND THE MAV GUILT! but also my sweet boy thinking that time was out of guilt and as penance vs it being for him hurts my heart! and i think bradley didn't even realize that until he got older and was properly in the navy? and bradley loves maverick but he doesn't want his kids to have their own maverick? he just wants them to have a papa mav?
“If it gives either of us the slightest peace of mind, we’re going to try and wait.”-- sweet boy nooooooo, have your dream life! you deserve it! you both do! like they don't want this with anyone else, but when it happens they just want it to actually be the two of them making the decision? the us navy is not involved because i really think it would kill both of them to do any of it alone? except well...bradley's 40 when gil's born...and they're both so scared. i think that's bradley's ptsd that he didn't realize he had until now(ish)?
“What’re you ladies gossiping about?” Amelia breezed onto the patio and messed up Bradley’s hair before she plopped down on the other end of the sofa— I love that Bradley [36] now has a teenaged pseudo little sister 😂 like yes, roast that man. But also it’s so cute because it’s like he has another chance at a family! he's got a 'bratty' little sister! and he brings her to field hockey practice and games when mav and penny can't! he goes to symphony orchestra concerts! (amelia plays the cello)
He liked Amelia, he was protective of her, fucking shoot him.--1) i love this, like that's his pseudo step-sister, but also 2) lolololol he's so funny here. So huffy and defensive! that's his family goddamnit! he's like yeah okay i like a fourteen year old, she's my family, deal with it! but i think it's kind of a thing where bradley obviously didn't have any siblings and this is kind of his chance? and then ofc when mavericks [reacteds] bradley, amelia also gets [redacted].
“Debate team?!” Alright, now he was putting it on a little bit, but as someone who had also been on the debate team in high school, Bradley knew that those guys were also smart, which generally meant they were way more trouble than the typical jocks.- G I G G L I N G. he was 10000% a menace against society and you just know he lost some color in his face. he's like fuck is this gonna be what it's like when i have kids??
“The 1990s!” Amelia feigned hysterics and got a chuckle out of you and Maverick.- pllllllssssss (making me feel old too, the audacity, lol) you know i had to sneak a 9/11 mention in there too
Can you ask her where she got her sneakers? A couple weeks later, you and Bradley had gotten Amelia the very same sneakers for her birthday. She always blushed when you wore them at the same time.— golden goose? i was between that or pink addidas sambas haha but the gg are so funny because bradley would have no idea how much those cost and would be like wow thanks for picking that up, how much do i owe you? and she's like....$50
But god, he really fucking hated Teddy Cavanaugh. He wanted to fucking deck him on the first tee at Claremont Country Club. He wanted to slam his nine-iron into the Porsche 911 he was driving. And Bradley was pretty sure your dad did too. — ME THREE I FUCKING HATE THAT GUY we all hate teddy cavanaugh (last name is absolutely not inspired by a certain supreme court justice...)
You were Amelia. You had been that young, that sweet, that trusting and Teddy Cavanaugh had thrown it all back in your face.-- this got me when you sent it to me early on and it still gets me now. like him having someone he knows and cares about who is close in age to her when that accident happened just really puts things into perspective in a too real and unsettling way! she was just a girl! like it's one thing to be told something awful like that but another to be confronted with a visual of sorts? and when he goes to her house for thanksgiving and sees pics of her growing up and in high school he's like ho-ly shit she was so young? how could he have done this?
Everything was right as it should be. Bradley was with his family, Bradley was with you, here. Not on a carrier in the middle of the Pacific or the passenger seat of Mr. Cavanaugh’s Porsche. //Here. And nothing bad was going to happen here. -- sweet bean is trying to ground himself. 🥺 that little spiral of realization really hits him in a way he wasn't expecting. that's his FAMILYYYYYYYY i think he spirals a lot actually? and always has to do that 'five things' thing with anxiety attacks? and her and his family are like one of the only things that can always ground him?
“I’ve got one in the mudroom if -” //“No, it’s fine,” Bradley cut off Maverick, “she can have mine.”//Quickly taking off his own sweatshirt and putting it over your head, Bradley didn’t even have the time to linger on how pathetic he sounded. -- 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 pls he's so fucking funny like his dramatic ass
Who did Maverick think he was, offering to let Bradley’s girlfriend borrow a sweatshirt?- lmao I mean the audacity /s. her little crush is endlessly amusing to me, and how huffy and grumpy he is about it is so fucking funny, like NO DAD STOP MAKING MY GIRLFRIEND FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU SHE'S MINE lolololol and the thing is bradley will neverrrrr confront her about it? because he just knows she'd be so embarrassed since she doesn't even really realize it?
Little shit gave Bradley the worst one, even knowing Maverick wouldn’t have any and therefore didn’t need one. As payback, he kept putting his marshmallow wherever Amelia’s was. It meant that he didn’t roast a single good marshmallow, but the glare she kept sending him was too funny to make him stop. — not the almost 40 year old beefing with the teenager 😂 pls it’s so funny he's so huffy and such a drama queen i love him
[image: Mr. 7.5 Gs]- AHAAHAHHAAHAHAHAH listen.....
Jerking off, I’m bored— P L E A S E 😂😂😂 like at the end of the day he's still a guy
charming- the way I cackled she's like so unamused and then like a switch is turned off inside her lol
this is so hot //unless i get fired— wheezing (she’s so real for this). like genuinely, this got such a chuckle out of me because I felt like i heard it in her voice. that little aside took it out of me! like she's still Her at the end of the day haha
[Sent with Siri]— the way he’s been outed. Mr Man is Hands Free Texting because he’s BUSY and then SHE switches over to it?!?! jail
At one point, Bradley had even contemplated that you might be pregnant. He had been gone for three months, an entire first trimester. But something about the theory didn’t sit right with him.— cruel of you to put this in here knowing what I know!! have you no consideration for my poor nerves?! i love how he rationalizes how it can't be that though? like he knowwwwws but he still has to do his due diligence
Because Bradley wasn’t dying in an F-18 with a family at home. --OOF this was such a moment in that earlier fic, I'm really happy to see it here again even if it does feel like a suckerpunch! i imagine he thinks this when he's flying and it's kind of scary? and he's on his perch? like i think it really fucks with his head and he hears it in either his mom or dad or maverick's voice?
Then, there was the fact that you had an IUD and the possibility of getting pregnant on an IUD was even less than on the pill (<1% a year - he’d looked it up). -- the fact he googled it is 1) HOT and 2) amusing as fuck lmao he's very thorough! he also looked up audio book ideas on reddit!
Was there a hint in one of your emails? Some little detail he had glossed over in his haste to read any scrap of news from you, in your voice? Bradley had read all of them at least three times, some even more, but maybe he had missed something?— like he is so smart but so dumb? i mean, that even in the emails he absolutely just didn't even entertain the thought of it, and how he can't fathom how she wouldn't see herself the way he does so he's totally blind to it. And it's all right there in the emails he's read at least three times! he thinks so much of her, and for everything that she is- smart, witty, pretty, amazing, etc- like the confidence is a hard won trait for her. it's there, but it has to be worked at. but also, how can he know if she doesn't tell him 👀 he's sooooo close! and he kind of gets there but doesn't let the thought fully form even in his own mind? and i think that even though we know it's there, she didn't even really realize she was putting it out there? like not in the way she really is thinking? it's there and not? idk if that makes sense
Bradley grabbed a bottle of Pellegrino from the side door and poured himself a glass. - 😂😂🤭🤭 her influence like i just know he hated it at first
No way. No fucking way. That could not be it.//No, no. You couldn’t be worried about how - i really am so enamoured by how adamant he is about this. like the thought of her feeling insecure or not enough for him is like a 404 error in his brain, because he is just so into her! like he really can't compute it? it's never crossed his mind? like i said earlier, he clearly knows her body has changed, but it's not in a way that really bares notice to him?
“Sorry, I uhh - yeah, it was fine. Saw the Thompsons finished their patio - is that a new dress?” — he's a regular shakespeare. such a stunning way with words, lmao i wanted to make him kind of cute and nervous here? like he's trying to be cool, but he's so charmed by her still?
Knowing you, his spoiled, prissy girlfriend, the dress was probably expensive. Good.-- the "good" sent me into orbit 😂 i'm really gonna lean into this going forward lol
It was technically a lie; he had texted you, but it had been a do you know where my Theragun is text, not a show me your pussy right now text. -- P L S, definitely not beating those old man allegations now are you bradshaw? he's so funny lol
Which really put a damper on a portion of your wine cellar escapades. -- 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 rip to another pair of tights only time mary harris has been embarrassed around them
God, you were beautiful. You both were beautiful. This was beautiful. Being together like this was beautiful. It was wet and loud and messy, but it was beautiful. -- just casually swooning sighhhh i'm so jealous of this
Bradley picked his head up from where it was buried in your neck and leveled you with a look that had you properly bursting into laughter. He wanted to make some smart comment, something cheeky, but the gorgeous smile on your face had him losing his feigned stoicism and he started laughing right alongside you. -- sex should be fun! there should be giggling and grins and fun! I loved this moment because it shows the friendship too! like they're in love but they still have fun with each other and can laugh and be light! (even after hot need you now sex on the table!) they like and love each other and it's my favorite thing to see! okay yay because that was exactly what i was going for! like this whole exchange is kind of crazy and different for them? like she can't believe they just did that and then when he joins in they absolutely lose it? like it's just...it's very them? and sweet and normal
nothing but the sun, sea, sustenance, sleep, and sex. -- chefs kiss alliteration right here, loved it i felt like you with this line!
“Can I come?” he asked, completely ignoring the sunscreen comment. It wasn’t special per se, it was just high SPF since he burned easily. — golden retriever boyfriend of him but also that man is coming home pink cheeked stop he's so cute isn't he? like don't leave my sight!
You were pouting now and it only made him want to get you the necklace more. “It’s too expensive for something like that; I looked it up online.”-- that's so funny that the pout makes him want to give it to her even more. like of course she'd look it up, but that he knows his girl who likes nice expensive things gets all bashful when he buys it for her vs when she gets it for herself, like he knows she doesn't expect it from him and that makes him want to spoil her more! it's cute. no you're 1000% right because she would buy it for herself without a second thought. and i think i've said this before, but one of the only things they fight about in the lead up to their marriage/signing their prenup is money because they have such different relationships with it? he wants to spoil her and she's like i'm already spoiled
“Woah, woah.” Bradley held his hands up and you grabbed one to examine it. “Since when am I getting my nails done?”//“You’re getting a pedicure at the very least. I don’t want to have to look at your weird feet on the beach all week.” -- that she grabs it and is checking out those cuticles made me laugh, it thought it was so funny. like you're getting those nails buffed sir. it's for your own good. (and the pedicure is for the good of all humankind, lets be real.) plsssss i loved this part, like it's so funny and just shows how they kind of bust each other/interact in such an easy way? idk it's a lot of pathos to put onto a scene of her grabbing his hand but idk let me live! and yeah boys should get pedicures more often (he's fruity so it's doubly allowed)
If pressed, he would say it was because he wanted to sit in the massage chair and the nail tech told him he could only sit in the chair if he was getting his nails done. That was the only reason why. It wasn’t because of how pretty you looked while you were smiling at him out of the corner of his eye, like you couldn’t believe he was really there.//absolutely not.-- mmmhmm sure sure sure 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 ENAMORED! he's enamored with her. like they can't look at each other enough like they're scared the other is going to disappear. (also the fact that she finds a completely new salon in their new neighborhood just feels really official and intentional of her in a really small/almost blase way?)
You giggled and then mimicked his pose on the bed, except you made sure to snuggle up next to him, all earlier awkwardness gone. “I’d do anything for you actually.”-- this was so sweet. she's so sincere about it too, even in the cheekiness of mirroring him. AND SHE WOULD! like if she had any inkling it would make him happy, she'd do anything for bradley
“You’re not gonna get sick of me, right?”//You shook your head. “Never, even if you are a nerd who gets pedicures -”-- why are they just the cutest?! 😭 and the little high five too?!? ugh i love them
Because you hadn’t been prepared for how it made you feel in comparison. Because he was so strong and fit and beautiful - and you didn’t think you were any of those things. Not anymore at least. Not after what happened.-- oh that surprise of her POV at the end, and getting just a little peek into her brain after this chapter being mostly from his! and to see just how low she feels, when she should be cruising on a high of having the love of her life back and about to go on a dream vacation with him! like it just makes me ache! because for all that time she hasn't been able to shake those feelings and insecurities and she's trying to put on a good front and a show. it just makes me so sad for her! HA i was kind of giddy keeping this from you lol like she knows she should be so happy and excited, but she just can't let this go yet?
You should have taken your mother’s words to heart at lunch two weeks ago when she had told you to watch your figure, boys like Bradley are used to certain standards. --i hope almond mom gets salmonella in her next tub of nutbutter. Miss Ma'am blew all of Bradley's standards out of the water, she's where the bar is set! HAHAHA mrs eat pray love is just bitter mr smart aleck really reallyyyy hit big after their divorce so she doesn't get any of it lol
Maybe you should have worn a cute little sundress and forgotten your underwear or some other ridiculous thing? Let him fuck you in the back of the car right in the middle of the parking lot?//That wasn’t you, though. That wasn’t either of you.-- i know you know i know you know i know. But also, she's so in her own head that she doesn't even realize that that reunion was everything he wanted! her! in their home! in their bed! they don't know that we know they know we know! like you know?
But Bradley loved you. He had told you in about 159 different ways (re. emails) while he was gone. He loved you, he wanted you, he was going to live with you, build a life with you. You knew he loved you no matter what you looked like. --159 DIFFERENT WAYS! IF HE WANTED TO HE WOULD AND HE DID AND HE DOES! I can't wait for her to come back into her own again! i just want to hug her and tell her everything is going to be ok! i know we want to shake him and be like confront her now! tell her now! but i really think he's smart in being like i'm giving her a deadline to tell me (because he knows she will) and she has to actually tell me since it has to be her decision to get back to herself? like he can help to do some of the work, but she needs to do the real heavy lifting? because 159 emails between the two of them just tells me they know each other really well and love each other
oh this chapter had so much going for it! but the building woven in with the domestic moments and smutty goodness was so well done! i loved every bit of this! you knocked it out of the park! i cannot wait for mexicooooo! good thing my passport is up to date, i'm readyyyy! - i'm going full white lotus and am so excited 💁🏼♀️
rocketman: part iii - Some things Cosmic
Summary: finally back home, bradley can focus on all the things he's missed while he's been gone. there's someone there to properly welcome him home, frantic reunion sex, prepping for an amazing vacation, family dinners, and the casual intimacy he's come to love between the two of you. but there's still something up with you and he can't quite figure it out. it'll be fine, right? catch up with [part 1] and [part 2]
OR sex, s'mores, and secrets
Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 18.5k
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, body insecurity, suggestive dialogue, suggestive content, and sexual content (oral (f + m receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, dom/sub influence, and praise, rank, and degradation kink). also on ao3!
i want to be naked, i don’t mean my body, i don’t need my body i’m floating away
Bradley startled awake sometime later. It happened sometimes. He had these dreams were it felt like he was falling. Out of his plane, out of the sky, out of your arms. Falling and falling - with no end in sight.
That wasn’t to say that they were necessarily nightmares or anything. (Because the distinction between the two was glaringly obvious.)
They just unnerved him a bit. Left him unsettled, untethered.
He rolled over and stretched his arm out across the bed, until his fingers brushed against something silky. Something warm and silky. He turned his head to find you sprawled out next to him.
You had changed between now and when Bradley had last seen you - he glanced at the clock on his nightstand - seven hours ago.
Fuck.
He had fallen asleep before you had even gotten upstairs.
Goddammit, he felt like an asshole. He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. This was the last thing he had wanted to happen, especially after what you two talked about earlier that evening.
You’d give us your wild? Of course. Of course, of course, of course he would.
Like you knew he was thinking about you, you shifted your hips, inching closer towards him. Your body was only half under the thick duvet cover and top sheet, so even in the early morning light he could still see the navy nightie you were wearing.
Bradley liked to think that you had stowed it away someplace and changed downstairs in order to surprise him in bed. Except now he’d never know because he had fallen asleep on you. God, he was the worst boyfriend.
Tonight, the night three months in the making, he had missed cuddling and kissing and all the best parts of getting cozy in bed with you because he had fallen asleep before you had even gotten upstairs. And sure, he had gotten a taste of what was to come on the couch while you laid underneath him and drew imaginary shapes across his chest with your finger and he held you tight and counted your heartbeats.
But this was supposed to have been a big deal. It was the first time you both went to bed in the same room without the fear that you’d be leaving in the morning or later in the week to go back to your highrise. You were both home. Really, truly home.
Home - where he could finally wake up next to you and have you be right here - not an ocean apart. Bradley already dreaded the next time he’d have to leave you.
There was a future with you. There was that little boy - or little girl - from your dream. The perfect mix of you and Bradley.
(Don’t ever be a Rocket Man. I mean it.
When you’re out there you want to be here, and when you’re here you want to be out there.
Promise me you won’t be like me.)
Suddenly, there was this overwhelming urge inside him that if he didn’t touch you and have you in his arms, that he’d slip away, back to space. Untethered.
You kept him on the ground. You kept him safe.
Bradley scooted over towards your side of the bed and wrapped his arms around you, unable to bear another moment untethered. There, that was better. You were soft and warm and felt so precious in his arms. And with your nightie rucked up around your hips and one leg extended out and the other hiked up, your body was on full display.
Easy access.
Your thighs were so fucking soft and curvy and he desperately wanted to slot himself right between them. Have them bracket his head, while his tongue lapped at your pretty pussy.
Would he start there? Eat you out until you were begging for his cock? Have you grind on his lap…until you were begging for his cock? Or…just generally begging for his cock?
They all seemed appealing, but admittedly kissing you until you were breathless and then rocking his body above yours until you were both tumbling over the edge had plenty of merit, too. Bradley wanted to treat you like you were precious first.
But later? He’d slap your pussy so hard you’d be begging for his cock in no time - in fact, maybe he should time you? See how long it took you to break, to babble, to beg.
But that brought him back to the present. Could he wake you up, now? Bradley knew you’d been stressed and busy ever since your mom had come to town and because of all you’d confessed earlier; so, would it be fair to wake you? You hadn’t woken him up, afterall.
After an indeterminate amount of time of just holding you and watching you breathe, you rolled your bare ass against Bradley’s crotch and let out a pleased hum. He gave your hip a squeeze and you burrowed even deeper in his arms. Your skin was softer than the silk nightie you were wearing and he could feel the heat pouring off your body.
He slipped his hand down to knead your ass and you sighed. “Hmm, da-dley? Bubba?”
“Hey, kid.” He kissed your neck.
Once you were a little more lucid and opened your eyes, you pulled your nightie down to cover your ass, though that didn’t stop Bradley from playing with the lace hem.
You rolled over so you were now face to face and wrapped your right leg around his left.
“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
You cupped his cheek. “Wanted you to sleep, you looked so tired. Pretty too.”
It was dark in the room at five thirty-eight, but not completely pitch black, so Bradley could still make out your soft features. You had somehow gotten even more beautiful in the three months he had been gone. It wasn’t obvious, not at first, and not to anyone who wasn’t really paying attention.
But it was obvious to Bradley because Bradley always paid attention.
“Well,” he kissed your forehead then your nose, “I’m still sorry, especially after what we talked about earlier, should’ve stayed up for you.”
“But I woke up beside you, so I can’t be too angry.” You leaned in to kiss him. “It’d be impossible to be angry now, actually.”
He hitched your right leg higher over his hip and groaned when he could feel your core through his joggers. You squirmed against him, cheeky little thing. But with his joggers and t-shirt still on, Bradley was definitely overheated and the sweat was building at the back of his neck, to say nothing about the heat your body was giving off.
As if reading his mind, you grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and slowly dragged your fingers up his stomach, stopping at both his happy trail and then the patch of hair in the middle of his chest, before taking the t-shirt off completely. A soft thud rang out when you’d thrown it across the room and it presumably landed on the floor.
“You gonna take these off, too?” He slipped a finger under the waistband of his joggers.
“Been dying to all night - hips up, Bradshaw.”
Bradley arched his back and helped you slide his joggers down his legs, taking his boxer briefs with them. Your gaze lingered on his body for a long moment, but you just gave him a coy little smile.
“Fuck,” he sighed in relief, “How’d you let me sleep in those?”
“How’d you fall asleep on me?”
“You got me drunk!”
“Not my fault you’re suddenly a lightweight - Bradley!”
He pinched your side and you wiggled away from him with a shriek. “Uh uh, not so fast.”
Bradley pulled you close again, desperate to be nearer to you. You tangled your legs together and pointed your torso towards his, but remained perched on your elbow, while he was laying down flat.
Suddenly somber, your eyes were drawn back to his body and he just let you look - drink him in and see what you had missed over the last few months. Every new freckle, scar, bruise, age line.
Bradley couldn’t wait to do the same. What had he missed? What was different?
He could feel your eyes lingering on his abs. Normally, you remarked on his thighs and shoulders, but tonight it seemed you had a different focus. You appeared hesitant, biting your lip, as you dragged your finger across his stomach.
Did you like how he looked - how he had changed in your time apart?
“You’re so handsome,” you whispered, almost to yourself.
Bradley kissed you and returned the compliment. “And you’ve gotten even more beautiful since I’ve been gone.”
You appeared bashful at the comment, which just let Bradley know he’d have to give you more of them over the next few weeks. “Come ‘ere.” Without waiting for a response, Bradley started pressing kisses all over your face, your cheeks, your neck, your lips. If it was possible at this point, he drew your body even closer.
“Bra-adley! We have an entire bed here, you know?” You giggled when he rubbed his nose into your neck.
“Mmmm, but it’s nice and warm here.”
You scooched down on the bed on your stomach so you were looking up at him. With a smile, you began to press languid kisses across his chest, starting just above his belly-button and creeping up to his pecs, heart, and shoulders. You loved his shoulders, you always managed to notch your head there during sex and press little kisses to the scars dotting them and his neck. Bites, too - marks to prove he was yours.
But tonight, it seemed you had a different path in mind and, while you still nipped at his shoulder, you didn’t stop there and instead went straight to the small tattoo on his bicep. You traced your fingers across the roman numerals:
x x x i x
Thirty-nine.
As in thirty-nine years old. An age neither of his parents ever got to see.
Bradley had gotten the tattoo when he was in flight school and a bit of a shit with self destructive tendencies. People never really asked what it meant and he never really wanted to tell anyone.
He’d told Ezra, right around the time when they first started talking about moving in together, before that spectacularly failed. He also told Nat. However, the latter was only because he was drunk and pissed and he had just made lieutenant, once again surpassing his father in something.
Maverick had seen it about a year ago. He had never asked Bradley what it meant and probably never wanted to have it confirmed what it meant. But to anyone who really knew Bradley, it was easy to put together.
Bradley had told you about it on your fourth date.
It was the second time you’d slept together. Because while your first time had been frantic and had taken you both by surprise (you, in particular, were freaked out that you’d slept with someone on the first date without a condom), the second time was much slower - softer.
You had planned the date this time. Bradley had picked you up at your apartment - he even had come upstairs to get you - with flowers - and the two of you had dinner at Callie, followed by a performance at the San Diego Symphony. It was actually thanks to one of Bradley’s fun facts about playing the piano that you had gotten the idea.
Both of you had gotten dressed up (a big departure from your third date hike in Torrey Pines), the food and drinks had been plentiful and delicious, and listening to Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major and Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 was made all the more romantic by the way Bradley held your hand for the entire first piece and had his hand on your thigh for the entire second.
So, after eating you out on your kitchen counter and going two rounds in bed, Bradley had told you what the tattoo meant and about his parents and Maverick and you had told him about your mom and your accident during your junior year of high school.
And if you had asked Bradley, it was after that date that he knew he was going to fall in love with you.
It hadn’t felt scary to tell you any of it. It felt right and natural. Like you wouldn’t judge him or get scared when things got hard. Like he wanted to protect you at all costs.
And because he had told you what the tattoo meant, it made the moments since when you’d really focus and hone in on it all the more sweeter. During this last deployment, Bradley had often felt like the ink was burning into his skin under his flight-suit. It kept reminding him that he had once thought he had a timeline or a stopwatch on his bicep, slowly ticking down. But with you, it was something to strive towards, to reach beyond and be there for LIX, LXXXIX, and even XCIX.
“What’s it like flying at night?” Your question snapped him out of his thoughts and you pressed another kiss to his tattoo to calm him. “I kept thinking about it on my flight to London. And how you must see this all the time, is it still a big deal? Can you even stop and think about it? Just endless night with thousands of stars to guide you? Being in the middle of the ocean, nothing around for hundreds of miles.”
(What’s it like, out in space?
It’s the best thing in a lifetime of best things - oh, it’s really nothing at all.
But you always go back.)
“You’d never thought about it before?” his voice came out thick, hoarse.
You shrugged a shoulder. “Not in that way, I guess? I couldn’t sleep on the way to London, so I pulled up the shade in the middle of the night. I’ve never really thought to do it before, don’t know why - but then I saw all those stars, endless stars, thousands of them. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Your finger stopped tracing patterns on his arm for a moment before it started again. “And I though to myself this is what Bradley sees. This is why he loves it and for that brief blip in time I got it. I understood. Makes me love you even more in some way.”
Bradley felt like he was going to cry, the feeling swept over him so suddenly. “I uhh - fuck.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” you sounded contrite, “I just wanted you to know.”
Could he tell you? Could he tell you that flying at night with all the stars in the sky simultaneously made him feel closer to and yet farther away from his parents? It was like they were right there, but also so far out of reach. But he didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t say any of that, not now. The words couldn’t come.
Instead, he pulled you closer, putting your face at level with his own. “I love you.”
You smiled and he could’ve sworn there were tears in your eyes, but it was hard to make out in the darkness. “I love you, too. Now please kiss me.”
Bradley let out a chuckle, but leaned in to kiss you without another word. The kiss was sweet, but still had an underlying desperation attached to it that came with being away for months. But unlike every other kiss you’d shared since Bradley had gotten home, there was no need to stop or to prevent it from going further. No, now you were his. He could have you however he wanted.
Not breaking the kiss, you shifted and bracketed your thighs on either side of his hips, allowing him to slide his hands up your body. He’d never get tired of thinking it, but god, you were so fucking soft. Your hips, your thighs, your breasts, your hands, your lips - actually…
His next words were grunted against your neck. “Your lips are really soft - softer than normal,” he finished when you went to interrupt him.
“Must be my lip mask. I put it on after I saw that you fell asleep on me…”
“Hey, hey,” he tickled your sides and you collapsed on his chest amidst your giggles, “I said you should’ve woken me up!”
“Would you have woken me up?” You had him there. “See? This way I could stare at you uninterrupted and get all moony over you. Plus, now isn’t this better? No more sleepy bubs.”
No. He was definitely awake now. And from where your core was laid on his bare stomach, he could already feel how wet your were and couldn’t wait to slip inside you.
“‘Could kiss you for hours,” you said against his lips. You kissed him - once, twice, ten times, smiling all the while. He never wanted you to stop. “Bradley,” you whined, “Need you inside me. Gotta get used to you again. ‘m so tight.” You nipped his earlobe.
He groaned. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend who said stuff like that. It was like something out of a wet dream. “You seriously only took your fingers the entire time I was gone?” You nodded. “Good girl.”
You preened under the praise. Because it surely had to have been a bit of a challenge. “Yours are so much bigger, though.” Bradley rolled his eyes at your cheeky tone. “What’re you gonna think up for me to do next time you’re gone? Like what you talked about earlier?” You didn’t linger too much on the next time part of your question, so he didn’t either.
“Hmmm. What about tasks?”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Well, I’d have to do more research, but like you have to wear xyz or send me a picture of you doing something? Whatever we want.”
You nuzzled his neck. “Mmmmm, I like that. Wish we could really talk when you’re gone, though. I’m not sure I could handle every comms officer hearing what I need from you again…”
An idea suddenly struck Bradley. It was amazing he hadn’t thought of it before. “Maybe I can make you an audiobook?”
Your jaw dropped and you contorted your body to look up at him. “You’d do that? Seriously?”
His cheeks colored. “I mean, not like an actual one, but like a voice memo or something?” The idea didn’t sound nearly as good out loud as it did in his head. “If you wanted…”
“Oh my god, yes! I very much do want.”
Without another word, Bradley rolled you both over so now he was on top, knees bracketing your hips so as to not put his full weight on you. Your nightie was still covering your stomach and breasts, but that didn’t stop him from snaking his hands underneath the navy silk to play with them. They felt fuller than normal - not that he was complaining, but he hadn’t noticed earlier and now -
His cock brushed against your stomach in a way that had you bucking up against him, so desperate, so keen, so fucking good. Good girl. Your lips were eager against his as you poured every thought, every email, every Facetime call into your kiss.
God, it had been so long. Fooling around on the couch earlier in the evening paled in comparison to how plump your lips felt and how keenly your body reacted to his. Because you felt so good. Months, weeks, days had passed and Bradley had never felt anything as good as your body beneath his.
You sighed and squirmed up the bed so your head was laid across the pillows, all the while Bradley made his way down the bed.
“More, bubs, please.”
How could he refuse, especially when you had asked so nicely? He bent forward to give you a sloppy kiss on the lips before working his way down your body, from your neck and collarbones, to your breasts through your nightie, and finally to right below your belly-button. From there, you readily allowed him to bend your knees so your feet were planted firmly on the bed and your core was completely exposed to him.
Even in the early morning light it was exquisite. You had the prettiest pussy Bradley had ever seen - and it was his, all his.
“Fucking gorgeous.”
You startled at the first touch of his lips on your thighs, but let out the prettiest little sigh when he sucked on the skin by your birthmark. There was another as he licked along one of your lightning lines. And another as he kissed the hood of your clit.
God, you smelled so fucking good and were groomed just the way he liked it - like the perfect, obedient, good girl that you were. And perfect, obedient, good girls got their pussy played with until they were babbling like dumb little sluts.
“- Would have thought this would be your first stop?”
Bradley chuckled, but didn’t stop dragging his fingers across your inner thighs and lower lips. “Yeah? What, d’you think I’d do? Just dive right in? Take you on the kitchen table?”
“I would’ve let you.”
Once the words had sunk in, he stopped teasing you. His elbows gave out beneath him and he groaned with his face pressed against the sheets. Fuck. That was a conversation for another time, but just the thought of you letting Bradley basically use you had him grinding his hips into the mattress.
You were so good.
He popped his head back up and slapped you - lightly - across your pussy. “You keep saying shit like that and next time I just might.”
In response, you arched your back and tried to close your legs around his head, but Bradley just tutted and spread them further.
“Uh-uh, need to have a look at her, I've gone three months without her.” Your hips jumped off the mattress as his fingers started playing with you, tracing circles over and dipping in and out of your cunt. “‘pretty pussy. She took such good care of you while I was gone, didn’t she? Look at you dripping for me, huh?”
His fingers scissored inside of you, dragging against your walls, while his thumb needled your clit. Your wetness spread across his fingers and he, in turn, spread it across your folds and inner thighs. He liked when you were messy. He liked to feel you all over his face.
“Bradley,” you whined. “Stop teasing.”
Neither of you really wanted that, so it didn’t even merit a response from him. Instead, he kept sliding his fingers inside you in and out, in and out and crooked them ever so slightly before he added a third. Above him, you gasped and jolted.
“‘Atta girl, arch your back, just like that.” You whimpered at his praise and kept rocking your hips in tandem with his fingers. Fucking glorious, such a good girl for da -
“- Bradley…” He peered up to see that you had one arm over your eyes, while the other was pawing at your breasts through your nightie.
“God, you’re sucking on my fingers so tight, I would believe you’ve taken anything up this pretty pussy in months.”
“‘Want your mouth, please, please…”
“Where?” his voice was muffled. Bradley sucked his lips around your thigh, right by your labia, but refrained from kissing you were you wanted him most. He wanted to mark you up everywhere, have your thighs and breasts and neck covered in little bites and bruises.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Good. Good. Good.
You whined. It sounded pathetic and he had barely even started. “My pussy. Please, Bradley? Please?”
Who was he to deny you? Because, god, you tasted so fucking good. It was hard not to absolutely devour you, especially after going for so long without you. Bradley slid his hands down from your hips to grab your ass and rut your cunt deeper against his face. As a reward, he got a slew of pretty little whimpers out of you.
He continued at a steady pace, alternating between probing your clit and slipping his tongue inside you. Above him, you arched your back and he pressed a firm hand on your stomach to keep you down.
“Bradley,” you cried as you rode his face.
God, you sounded so pretty now, he couldn’t wait to get you on his cock later.
Pretty girl.
Smart girl.
Good girl.
His girl with a body like Aphrodite.
“Ahhh - fuc - ahhh.” You made that sound and he knew, without even looking up, that your head was tipped back in pleasure and you were close. “Bubs,” your voice came out small, “want you - inside me, now.”
“Uh-uh.” Bradley pulled his head back, but continued fingering you. “You need to come first.”
Come on his face.
You shook your head frantically against the pillow. “No.” You gasped when he purposely plunged his fingers deeper. “‘wanna with you - ahh inside me.”
Somehow you grabbed the hand he had pressed on your stomach and you dragged it up your body. His knuckles brushed against the silk of your nightie until you eventually pressed sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your interlocked fingers. And all Bradley could do was say your name in censure, which ultimately came out heavy with need.
“Please? Want it to be together our first time back.” You whined pitifully. “Haven’t touched myself in days.”
All you had to do was pout and he was gone.
“Fine,” he smacked your thigh, “but I’m gonna make you come again after I finish inside you.”
“Yes, yes, anything, Bradley.”
You would be spent and whiny by then, it wouldn’t be hard.
After swirling his fingers once more around in your cum, Bradley held his fingers up to your mouth for you to clean them off. “That good?” You hummed around the digits before he retracted them and tapped your cheek twice. “Atta girl.”
Next, he shifted up on the bed so his knees were straddling your waist. He was achingly hard at this point and bit back a smile as you made grabby hands for his cock. It pulsed in your grasp and you swiped your thumb over the slit to rub his pre-cum over the head. Fuck, that felt divine. While you may have relished how much larger his fingers were than yours, Bradley loved how large his cock looked in your smaller hands. However, he’d already let your tender touches go on long enough - another minute and he’d come all over that silk nightie you hadn’t taken off yet.
“You gonna be a good girl for me?” Your eyes were wide and you nodded.
Trusting, needy, desperate. Such a perfect girl for him.
“Wanna be full.”
He brushed the head of his cock against your pussy lips, making sure it was nice and wet and, god, you were fucking soaked and practically sucked him in. You whimpered and muttered something indistinguishable, but wrapped your arms around his shoulders and canted your hips up for more. Then, once Bradley slipped just the tip of his cock inside you, you gasped, but brought him closer. Your nails dug into his shoulders, hopefully pressing little crescents into the skin. He pulled back and slid in again, inch by inch, earning a breathy gasp from you every time.
Holyfuckingshit. You were so tight. So fucking tight, even after prepping you with his tongue and fingers.
Yours are so much bigger, though your voice echoed through his head.
You were so fucking soft and warm and wet and felt perfect around him. With each thrust he’d grunt out your name and you in turn would give a whiny Bradley and eventually wrapped your legs around his hips. And then you were also clenching down on him like you’d spent the entire three months doing kegel exercises.
“Fuck, you made me so hard - thinking about how much of a good girl you were while I was away, keeping this nice and tight for me,” he barely got the words out.
“‘do anything for - for you. ‘d let you do anything to - mmhmm - me,” you finished with a whimper.
Fuck. Your unwavering trust in Bradley always took him aback. Because you meant it. You really would let him do anything to you. If you had the slightest inclination that it would please him, you would do it. He had never had someone who trusted him that much. And that wasn’t something he took lightly.
With that thought in mind, he snapped his hips against yours in a particularly hard thrust that had you crying out.
“Mmm harder.”
He bent down to suck on your neck. This - the closeness - was why he liked missionary so much. It was perfect for this exact moment. There was plenty of time to take you hard and fast later.
“Oh, god. Feel so full - Bradley, Bra - Bradley!” With every utterance of his name, he drove deeper inside you. Harder inside you. You’d ride him next time, he’d make sure of it. But for now, breathing each other’s air, gasping against each other’s mouth, and feeling the sweat on each other’s brow, being so impossibly close to each other, it was hard to say where Bradley’s soul ended and yours started.
Yours and mine are the same.
He groaned your name and you opened your eyes to gaze up at him with an almost dazed expression. Grabbing the back of your knee, Bradley went in at a different angle, trying to get deeper. “Feel how much your little hole’s dripping? Just needed me to stretch you out again.”
“Mmmmm yes, yes, da-dley - ahhhh,” you cried out, “can I come? Please, please?”
Oh, you were such a good girl for him. Asking so nicely, so prettily. So properly. Thank god he had prepped you, he wasn’t going to last much longer, himself. It was kind of pathetic. Both of you were, to be frank. Obviously, you more than him in this instance, but -
“‘Course. There you go, sweetheart, come on my cock like a good girl.”
When you finally came a few moments later, it was with a strangled cry of his name that Bradley swore was the most beautiful sound he’d heard in months. As the shudder of pleasure swept over you and you tightened your core around him, Bradley hastened to find his own release. The slew of cries and whimpers against his lips as you tried to settle down only spurred him on further. He drove into you again and again and again.
He had to get there with you - had to. You clung to him and notched your head by his neck, only to graze your lips along the tender skin there and bite.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “‘You ready for me to come inside you, sweetheart? Know how much you missed it.”
You nodded against his neck. “Yes,” you whispered, “Bradley, please…”
He groaned your name. It sounded so good like that, so perfect. He had to say it again and again and again. With each stroke, your overstimulated pussy fluttered around him, pulling him towards his own orgasm. His jaw clenched and his back muscles tightened and Bradley could barely support his own weight over you for another moment -
“‘s good, bubs, feel so full.”
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was it. That did it.
With a final moan of your name, Bradley came inside you, painting your pussy with his cum. His cocked twitched one final time as the last streams of cum filled you up. He notched his head against your shoulder and he breathed in your sweet scent.
Goddamn.
Once he settled down and caught his breath sometime later, he moved to pull out, knowing that when he did so, both your cum would drip down your thighs. Your gorgeous, thick thighs. He already needed to get lost in them again. And wasn’t that just the thing? Bradley was obsessed with you. He could never get enough of you.
“No, no, not yet,” you whimpered.
He stopped and pulled you closer, but slightly changed your position. There was some perverse part of him that wanted to make a comment about keeping you on his cock for the rest of the morning so you could get used to him again, but he refrained after thinking about the tone of your voice. You sounded so fucking good and docile and submissive. Such a good girl.
“Pretty sure you owe me another one…” You burrowed your head against his neck and moaned when he shifted. “How ‘bout I stay inside you? ‘That okay?” You nodded and your pussy tightened against him. “Good girl.”
Keeping you close, Bradley slid one hand in between your bodies to play with your throbbing clit. You arched your back up towards him, trying in vain to get closer, though that was nigh impossible - the two of you were already as close as two people could be.
Yours and mine are the same.
He needled your clit between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth, trying to get some moans and whines out of you. God, your body felt unreal. Still so warm around him, still so wet for him. All for him.
Mine, mine, mine.
As your body shifted, your pebbled nipples brushed against his bare chest and Bradley was remiss for not playing more attention to them earlier. But that could’ve been because you were still wearing that goddamn nightie. You were flustered and warm and your skin was glistening with the slightest sheen of sweat.
He bent his head down and mouthed at your breasts through the midnight blue silk. They were already hardened to peaks, desperate to be suckled on, especially after noting their new size. There would be time for that later, he had to remind himself.
For now, he nipped at the top of your cleavage and kept playing with your clit. You were so oversensitive, you were practically shaking in his arms. And in response, you raked your hands through Bradley’s hair, pulling on the strands. Fuck him. That felt divine, especially as he felt you tighten around him.
“Brad-ley,” you whimpered, “’s too much.”
“Shhh, easy, easy, there’s no rush.” He tipped your chin up. “You want me to stop?” You shook your head. “Take a deep breath. That's it. Good girl.”
Little whimpers kept escaping your mouth, but you burrowed your face against his neck and trusted him to take care of you. You nipped at the skin there and he hoped it would leave a mark; let everyone know that he was yours and only yours for the next few weeks.
Mine, mine, mine.
“I’ve got to take care of you, you were such a good girl while I was gone. My best girl, huh?”
“Mmmm.”
“So beautiful, so smart. Took such good care of things for me, huh?” He could feel as well as hear your breath hitching, letting him know that you were close. “‘gorgeous girl, so proud of you, sweet g -”
And that did it.
So proud of you.
You came with a cry and your walls fluttered around his cock once again. A sudden gush of wetness coated both yours and Bradley’s thighs. God, it was beautiful. You were beautiful. Your name kept running through his mind and Bradley realized he was actually muttering it against your lips through kisses. There were tears in your eyes and he thumbed them away before they could slide down your beautiful face.
“Hey, too much?” He kissed your cheeks, which unfortunately only made more tears spring from your eyes. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
“No, no,” you shook your head, “I just missed you so much, think I’m overwhelmed,” you finished sheepishly.
The tension in Bradley’s shoulders eased and he smiled down at you. “Now you’re gonna make me cry, kid.”
“I love you.” The words came out quietly, but it was like they’d only just come out of your mouth before Bradley was saying them back.
“Love you, too.” The smile he got out of you warmed his heart and he pecked your lips before tucking your head under his chin.
The two of you laid there for some time with Bradley still inside you. In fact, he was pretty certain you may have dozed off at one point, but he didn’t want you to be too uncomfortable when you woke up later. With that in mind, he slowly pulled out and settled you on the bed beside him. You fussed a little, but Bradley kissed your forehead, heading it off.
He started with your name, “I’ll be right back, okay? Going to the bathroom.” You nodded at him, your eyes wide and trusting.
It was chilly out of bed, away from you, and Bradley only paused for a brief moment to slip on a pair of his sleep shorts from the dresser, before heading off to the bathroom to get a damp towel for you. He hastened back to the bedroom, now almost fully lit in the early morning light. You made such a pretty picture all tucked under the thick, white duvet.
“Bradley?” You stretched out underneath the covers and let out a little whimper. “‘m sore.”
“Shit, sorry,” he said with your special nickname tacked on the end. “Come ‘ere.” Despite his words, he came to you and dutifully cleaned you up with the warm cloth.
“‘s not your fault,” you slurred, “need to get used to it again. Missed you.”
The cloth passed over your thighs once, twice, three times, before Bradley brushed it against your core once, twice, three times. You sighed and gave him a lazy smile, which he easily returned.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Be right back,” he whispered.
You’d barely managed to get back under the covers by the time he came back from the bathroom. And then, with all the care and love you deserved at the moment, he bundled you up in his arms. You were so warm and smelled so pretty and your nightie felt so soft against his rough fingers. Everything about that moment was perfect. You were so precious. You pressed your cheek against his chest and he hoped you could tell how fast his heart was beating.
“I missed being with you like this, missed holding you.”
You pressed lazy kisses to his chest for a moment before you eventually tipped your head up to meet his eyes. “Can we stay like this? Just for a while? Don’t wanna get up yet.”
“‘Course,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “go back to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
--------------
When Bradley woke hours later, he did so slowly. He was pleasantly warm, he was finally sleeping on a true mattress, and you were slotted between his legs sucking his cock.
Surely, there were few better ways to wake up than to have your sweet lips wrapped around him. It wasn’t something you did often, at least in terms of waking Bradley up this way, but he loved whenever you took the initiative. It showed how eager you were - how desperate. Really, the only thing that could top it would be your pussy sunk deep on his cock as you rode him.
You had to have been at it for a while, for he was achingly hard by this point. His hips bucked up, thrusting his cock deeper into your mouth and you let out a surprised moan, no doubt having thought he was still sleeping, before taking him further. Your tight grip on his thighs left him relatively grounded, else he would have set off a round of those gagging noises from you that he liked so much. That wet mouth that he liked so much - fuck.
Bradley groaned your name. You peered up at him with those wide, innocent eyes like you weren’t getting him off while he slept. Like your pussy wasn’t soaking. Like you hadn’t been grinding it against his bare thigh for the last however many minutes.
And you kept at it with Bradley’s hand grabbing your hair and guiding you. You kept working him, forcing him deeper down your throat. He moaned and you responded back in kind. Such a good mouth, such a good girl, taking care of him like this. It took him a moment to realize he was doing it, but he was mumbling your name, almost nonsensically.
But then he felt, rather than saw, you remove one of your hands from his thighs to presumably put it between your legs to play with your needy pussy. And that just wouldn’t do.
“Fuck. Get up here,” he said and then punctuated it with a growl of your name when you stayed down. The whimper you let out had him bucking his hips up off the mattress. “I’m serious.”
Almost begrudgingly, you eased him out of your mouth and the resulting, wet pop echoed throughout the bedroom. You looked far too pleased with yourself as you sucked on your finger - the one that had definitely been shoved up your pussy only moments ago - and hummed in response.
“Get up here - now.”
You braced yourself on either side of Bradley’s hips and teasingly brushed your pussy against his aching cock a couple times, practically begging for him to sink inside you. It would be so easy for you to ride him right now, but that wasn’t what he wanted.
“Bossy, bossy,” you teased and crept up his body, pressing kisses to his happy trail and chest along the way. But just as you were about to kiss him on the lips, he stopped you.
“Uh uh.” He stuck his finger in the air and mimed a circle. “Turn around.”
Your jaw dropped. “Are you…” Again, just Bradley twirled his finger around and smiled. “F-fine.”
“But,” at this you relaxed your thighs to press more of your weight on his stomach, “you have to take this off,” he finished by thumbing the navy fabric of your nightie.
It only took a moment for the smile to creep across your face, but you didn’t take your eyes off Bradley’s as you slid the dainty straps off your shoulders, one at a time. You didn’t take the nightie off, it still covered all of your stomach, but it let Bradley ogle your breasts unimpeded for a moment.
“Will that be all, lieutenant commander?”
He just shook his head in disbelief. “Cheeky little slut.”
And then you smiled, looking so proud of yourself for rattling him that he had no choice but to slap the top of your ass. Hard. You huffed.
“Now turn around.”
You rolled your eyes, but managed to turn around with Bradley’s assistance. The brief awkwardness of limbs strewn about was easily forgotten as soon as you got into position and he was rewarded with the sight of your glistening pussy in front of his face.
Bradley didn’t bother holding back a moan and started kneading your ass and running his fingers along your lower spine. Meanwhile, you wiggled down his body, dragging your breasts against his bare skin for the first time all morning. They were so soft, but your nipples were pebbled as they brushed against his stomach. He hissed when you lingered there for a moment to tease him.
Not one to let you get the upper hand, Bradley grabbed your hips to draw you close to his face and inhaled your sweet scent. Fuck. You were so good. You let out a mewl and startled when he first made contact with his tongue and then attempted to nose at your clit. That always got you going. Same with his mustache against the tender skin at the apex of your thighs. Maybe he would abstain from shaving on vacation, if only you’d ask.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he groaned your name against your skin and then he feasted.
Meanwhile, the way your hands were playing with his balls right now had him already teetering towards an orgasm. After only being able to fantasize about having your hands on him - your sweet, delicate hands on him - for the last three months, this felt divine. And then you put your mouth on him and he was well and truly done for.
“Fuck.”
Neither of you lasted much longer after that.
--------------
After your depravity filled wake up call, the rest of the morning took on a decidedly more chaste tone. The room was filled with giggles and the sounds of kissing as Bradley told you some of the more entertaining stories from the carrier and Australia, while you revealed that you had watched his 60 Minutes segment at least nine times. When he asked you why you’d watched it nine times, you just ducked your head and bashfully said it was because you sounded really smart.
It was finally around noon when Bradley said you two needed a shower and to have breakfast before embarking on the rest of the day’s activities, which included a tour of the house, complete with all the little goodies you’d amassed for him over the last couple months that he had glossed over last night, and getting ready for drinks with Nat, Caroline, and Max at six-thirty. Granted, the latter was six hours away, but Bradley had a feeling you both would be pretty slow to the take that afternoon. Probably would get a little distracted, too.
“‘m gonna take a shower,” his lips brushed kisses up and down your arms and over your once again silk clad breasts and he was rewarded with giggles, “you wanna come with me?”
“Oh!? Uhh - yeah, we could take a shower.” You pecked him on the lips. “Can you warm it up first, please?”
The pout worked - it always did - but Bradley still groaned, totally hamming it up. “Mmmm, I suppose...”
With one final kiss, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way into the bathroom. He flicked the lights on with a snap, going for full brightness on the dimmer, and turned around to give you a cheeky wink, only to see you worrying your lip between your teeth and staring intently down at your clasped hands on top of the duvet. He called your name and your eyes snapped up to meet his gaze.
“You good?”
You nodded and put a smile on your face. “Yeah, be right in.”
Odd. But then again, Bradley could’ve been reading too much into it. He hadn’t seen you since before Christmas, afterall. You were probably just tired. Yesterday had been a long day. And he had run you pretty ragged this morning.
The water had warmed up while he was going to the bathroom and was the perfect temperature by the time he finally got under the spray. Just as he was about to call out to you again, he heard you enter the bathroom - and promptly dim the lights.
“Woah, woah - hey!”
“Sorry!” you called out from behind the shower curtain. “I uhh - I just have a headache, don’t want the lights too bright too early in the morning.”
It was twelve-fifteen.
Bradley frowned and looked at your shadow moving on the other side of the curtain. You were standing up straight - he would almost call it stiff. It was an odd request, to say the least, but it wasn’t exactly pitch black in the bathroom now, just a little darker, especially from the waist down.
“Okay, just be careful when you get in - here,” he pulled the curtain back and held his hand out for you to step over the lip of the tub. You startled, but nevertheless took his hand. “There you go.”
The two of you stood face to face for a moment, allowing you both to get your fill of the other. It was definitely darker in the shower now, but Bradley could still make out your ample curves. Streams of water dripped down your chest as you tipped your head under the faucet and it was impossible for him to not watch as the droplets cascaded over your breasts.
They looked fucking glorious by the way - he was slightly put out that he hadn’t gotten a chance to really play with them in bed earlier - you had only given him a glimpse of them for a few moments - but there was always later. Or now? Now was also good.
“Did these get bigger?” The words were out before he could think twice and he cupped a breast in each hand. Your nipples pebbled as his thumbs passed over them, back and forth, back and forth.
Your eyes flew up to his face before glancing right back down at your breasts. “What? No, I don’t think - no.”
Bradley leaned back to catch your eye. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. They look great, feel even better, they’re just…”
“Oh! I guess I hadn’t noticed.” You turned your back to him. “Here, do you want to do my hair? Or I can do yours? Why don’t I do yours?”
Before he could even process what was happening, you spun back around and grabbed the shampoo bottle from behind Bradley and squirted some Ouai into your hands. He leaned forward so you could lather his hair up with the suds and appreciated your care in keeping them out of his eyes. For someone normally so dominant and in control, Bradley really did love when you fussed over him. He knew it wasn’t something you were comfortable with in every aspect of your relationship - taking charge like that - but it was nice in settings like this. Once the shampoo had set, he crouched down for you to rinse and then repeat the process with the conditioner.
“I think we need a bench in here.”
“Yeah?”
You hummed. “Just a little bump out, enough for someone to sit. You’re getting older, I wouldn’t want you to fall or hurt yourself during any rigorous shower activity.”
“Rigorous shower activity?” Bradley chuckled and nudged you with his shoulder before wetting your hair under the faucet. “You know, if I took all my showers with you, I wouldn’t have to worry about that, kid. Here, turn around, ‘s your turn.”
Gently, Bradley lathered up your hair and made sure to massage your scalp the same way you had done for him. You let out a pleased hum and then he repeated the process with the conditioner, though he might’ve used a bit too much.
Once you were both back under the spray, you rested your palms on his chest and peered up at him with wide eyes. You looked like you were about to cry and he pulled you closer in comfort.
“I haven’t stayed here at the house too much while you were gone, just a night or two - like that night…with the email,” you confessed, “it didn’t feel right. I kept thinking you’d come home any minute.” Bradley pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “But I’d drop stuff off slowly, a couple boxes a week and whatnot.”
You both stood in the silence of the falling water for a few moments before you spoke again.
“It just doesn’t feel real - all of this. I keep worrying that you’re gonna disappear again tomorrow. Or that I’m going to wake up or something. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
And that was just the thing: Bradley didn’t know what he’d do without you either. He had never felt this way before; that there was someone else tied to him, someone else living for him, while he in turn lived for them.
“Hey,” he tipped your chin up, “you’re not the only one worried about that. But I have you with me now and I’m always gonna do my damndest to come home to you, alright, kid?”
“Alright.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, keeping him close, and pressed a kiss to his chest. “Love you, bubs.”
Bradley instantly tightened his arms around you. “Love you, too.”
I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.
Before long, your kiss on his chest turned into a kiss on the mouth and your hands roved over each other’s bodies as you shared the loofah and soap. “So broad, so strong,” you said in wonder as you roved your hands over his chest and thighs and chased away the bubbles.
And then, after multiple passes over your breasts at Bradley’s hands - it was unfair how good your breasts looked all sudsed up - it was time for a final rinse. He hopped out of the shower first and had a towel waiting for you when you got out, before you ultimately changed into your fluffy white robe.
The two of you completed your morning routines side by side in comfortable silence until Bradley went back to the bedroom to put on some running shorts and a t-shirt.
“You want breakfast?” He snuck up behind you at the bathroom counter and kissed your cheek.
You smiled at him in the mirror. “Yes, please.”
“Anything in particular.” He kissed you again. “Pancakes? French toast? Ooooo maybe hash browns and bacon, too? The works?”
You had been giggling while he had been kissing your neck, but you suddenly turned sober as he rattled off your options. “Oh, uhh - maybe some eggs?”
Bradley frowned. “Like scrambled?”
“Or poached? I’ve been eating a lot of egg whites lately…” With the way you were bundled up in your robe and with your hair still wet from the shower, you looked small - young. Egg whites?
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure, I can do some egg whites for you.”
Egg whites? Since when did you like egg whites? You had always liked your eggs scrambled and a little runny - with ketchup. Idly, Bradley remembered Max eating egg whites and low carb toast for the entire month of May to get in shape for yacht week in Croatia. He shook the thought away.
“Anything you want, kid.”
“Thank you.” You gave him a soft smile and a kiss on the check. “I’ll be down in a bit, okay?”
And with that smile and a promise, Bradley headed off downstairs to make breakfast.
Egg whites, really?
-----------
Bradley’s homecoming weekend extravaganza - your words - could only be considered truly complete with a family dinner at Maverick and Penny’s on Sunday evening. Penny wouldn’t hear of you two bringing anything to dinner, so all that was needed to do upon returning from a morning hike in Torrey Pines was shower and change.
You didn’t have to be there until six thirty, but it was already five forty-five and at least a 20 minute drive, so you were both a little more hurried than you were after yesterday’s shower. In fact, when Bradley got out of the shower, he was surprised to see that you were still in your bathrobe and staring at your half of the closet like it contained all of life’s mysteries. Granted, your hair and makeup were done, but you just stood there with your arms crossed over your chest, absentmindedly biting your thumb nail.
How long had you been standing there?
“If it makes it any easier,” you startled at Bradley’s voice, “I’m sure Mav will just be wearing a t-shirt and jeans.” Barely looking at the shirt he grabbed to go with his chino shorts, Bradley fell into your line of sight. “You good?”
You relaxed your shoulders. “Yeah, just…not sure what to wear.”
The two of you stood side by side to take in the full array of clothes in the closet. While not all of your clothes - some bulkier items and more formal dresses were in the guest bedroom - there were still dozens of options in front of the two of you. You took a hesitant step forward and eventually took a pair of boyfriend jeans off a shelf and held them to your chest. Just as you were about to grab a boxy oxford, Bradley snatched up a brightly patterned, tiered, sleeveless dress that would hit at the middle of your thighs. The empty hanger rattled against the rod, but it stopped you in your tracks, the oxford momentarily forgotten.
“This would look nice.”
Even to Bradley’s own ears, his voice sounded lame, almost a little desperate. But there was something about you choosing an oxford to wear after staring at your closet for ten minutes that gave him pause. You had such pretty clothes, it would be a shame for you not to wear them.
“It’s not too much?” Bradley shook his head and held the dress up to your body. “I bought it to bring on our trip, but now I’m not sure…”
“It’s perfect, trust me, you’ll look gorgeous. And you better pack it for Mexico, too, okay?”
“Okay.” You appeared a little flustered, but had lost the sad look in your eyes from moments ago, so Bradley considered it a win.
With a kiss to the side of your head, he told you to finish getting ready and that he would be downstairs when you were done.
After getting his wallet and car keys together, Bradley made his way to the mudroom to put on his new sneakers. Though you wouldn’t admit it, you had definitely ordered them for Bradley during one of your many Ted Lasso rewatches while he was away. He reminds me of you sometimes, you would demure when pressed. It was cute.
With one foot propped up on the bench to tie his shoes, Bradley noticed the row of jackets in front of him. He called your name. “You want a jacket?”
“Yes, please,” your voice carried from upstairs.
So, he grabbed your jean jacket, figuring it would look good with your dress, and got himself his oversized grey Navy crewneck sweatshirt. Maverick and Penny always liked to have drinks and dessert out on the back patio, and though it had been a relatively warm day for March, Bradley knew the breeze off the ocean would make it chilly later. Maybe they’d light the firepit and have s’mores? You loved s’mores even more than Bradley did, if you could believe it.
Just as he had gotten the jackets and threw his sweatshirt on, you appeared beside him. And just like Bradley had thought, the dress looked perfect on you.
“See? You look gorgeous.” You ducked your head and muttered thanks. “Here.” Bradley held your jean jacket open and helped you slip it on while you put on your sandals. And then you set off for Coronado in the Bronco.
-----------
After a lovely dinner filled with much chatter and laughter, Amelia and Penny dragged you upstairs to show you her dress for the sophomore semi-formal next week. This left Bradley and Maverick to clean up the dinner plates and get things situated outside on the patio.
It was completely beyond Bradley’s comprehension how to get Penny’s fancy fire pit started, but Maverick had a flame roaring in no time. The two sat across from each other - Maverick on one of the cushioned, wicker swivel chairs with Bradley on the matching loveseat - and sipped their beers in comfortable silence for a few moments. The sun had set about fifteen minutes ago, but the sky was still a kaleidoscope of pinks, purples, and oranges.
“So, how’re you really doing?” Though the question has been asked at dinner already, Bradley had just given a vague answer. But now that it was just him and Maverick, he felt he could be honest.
“Fine, I guess.” Bradley made a face. “‘s always weird doing some stuff again. We went to the store earlier; always takes me back that first time.”
“It’s the cereal. Too many choices.”
“Yes, thank you!” Bradley exclaimed, glad he had someone who could relate. Every time he brought it up with Nat or the guys, they just looked at him like he had seven heads. They went from having few choices on the carrier, to endless when on land. “And the chips. Too many options and sizes.” Maverick chuckled. “We went on the way back from Torrey Pines to get more Diet Coke and I wandered off like three times just to stare at the oversized boxes of Lucky Charms.”
Maverick smiled wryly and took a sip of his beer. “You don’t look as tired as you did Friday afternoon, that’s for certain.” Though the way he’d said it had been completely innocent, Bradley still blushed.
“Yeah, it’s been amazing. You should’ve seen her Friday night, she was so excited to make dinner and the house just -” he broke off, “it felt nice coming home to someone like that, I guess.”
Nice? I guess? Bradley sounded like an idiot. It had felt more than nice coming home to you. Coming home this time made him never want to leave again. But the real test would come tomorrow when you went to work. And Bradley would be alone for the first time in three months. Alone in your big, quiet, house. It hadn’t been quiet in three months. There was always something else going on around him. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, he could do things on his own time and make his own food and pick his own clothes. He could have choices. Luckily, Maverick didn’t seem to notice his sudden unease.
“That was all she talked about last week.”
It took a concerted effort on Bradley’s part not to be jealous that you’d talked to Maverick so much last week when all Bradley had gotten were emails. Beautiful, heartfelt, smutty emails, but emails nonetheless. Before Friday, Bradley hadn’t heard your voice in weeks.
“She did a really good job. The cake was unreal, I had a piece for breakfast this morning.” That got a chuckle out of them both. “It’s nice to see her comfortable doing something outside of her wheelhouse. She kept sending me pictures from her lessons and even cooked for me on Facetime once.”
Just as Maverick appeared to be gearing up for a follow up, probably about how he’d gotten the leftovers from those cooking lessons, Bradley rushed out: “But we really talked Friday night - about a lot of things. It was good, though.”
“What about?”
“Kids,” the word slipped out before Bradley could think better of it, “family, that kind of stuff.”
Maverick pondered this and took a sip of his beer. “And you didn’t mind talking about that right when you got back? Seems like a lot.”
“No, it was good.” Not looking at Maverick while he was talking made it easier for Bradley. That way he couldn’t see his pity. He shifted in his seat. “I’d rather we talk about it now anyway, that way it isn’t hanging over our heads on vacation and whatnot.”
The fact that Bradley thought you were keeping something else from him didn’t need to be brought up yet. He wouldn’t even be able to put it into words, it was just a gut feeling at this point. You just seemed a little off. The egg whites, the boxy oxfords, the chocolate cake.
There was hesitancy in Mav’s voice when he spoke next. “So, you looking to get engaged soon? It’s been what? A year?”
“Almost, yeah. But uhh no, no.” The denial was firm in his voice. “Probably still a year off at least. It’s gonna happen - we both want it to - but there’s no need to rush it. I’m excited for it to be just the two of us for a little while, you know in the house and everything.”
“Good, good,” he sounded pleased, “you two have a good thing going, I wouldn’t want -”
“- We’re not going to have kids until I’m out of the Navy.” Bradley said the words in a rush and he really hoped Maverick would ignore how thick his voice sounded.
But of course he didn’t. Maverick snapped his eyes over to meet Bradley’s, but he was suddenly focused on a loose thread on the upholstery. Shit. Why had he said that?
“Oh.” It was a long time before either of them spoke again. Bradley finished half his beer. “Is that your idea or hers?”
“It’s both of ours.” Bradley winced realizing how defensive he sounded. “Well, I kind of brought it up first, but she was the one who said we’d wait.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Bradley nodded. “Jesus, Bradley, you’ll be at least forty by the time -”
“- Forty-two.”
Maverick looked sad and Bradley hated it. Because he knew, without Bradley even having to spell it out why you were going to wait. Because Maverick had been there. Because Maverick had held Bradley’s mom as she cried on too many occasions to count. Because Maverick had taken Bradley to all the father/son events in the place of his own father. Because Bradley realized, as he had gotten older, that Maverick thought it was his fault that Bradley grew up without a father.
“Listen, we both know that a million things can happen between now and then and maybe the timing will be all wrong, but we want to wait. If it gives either of us the slightest peace of mind, we’re going to try and wait.”
The silence was heavy this time around.
“Well, I guess it’s good you’re talking about it now - even if I don’t entirely agree with it. You should be enjoying your life together, not waiting around…” Maverick seemed to think better of what he was saying and took a sip of his beer. A beat passed until he spoke again. “Also reminds me of some stuff I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
Maverick waved him off. “It can wait until after your trip. Just some estate planning and whatnot, I know the four of us are in a really good place, so figured it was a good time.”
Estate planning? The four of us? The whole family was involved? Bradley’s curiosity was most definitely piqued.
“Oh, err yeah, sounds good -”
“It’s nothing bad - promise!” he quickly backpedaled, “More paperwork than anything -”
“What’re you ladies gossiping about?” Amelia breezed onto the patio and messed up Bradley’s hair before she plopped down on the other end of the sofa. Naturally, he in turn had to elbow her in the side. Not hard, mind you, but hard enough for her to kick him back.
“We were actually just talking about the dance coming up next Friday,” Maverick replied smoothly and Bradley stifled a snort. Since when had he become such a good liar? Regardless, Amelia preened. “I was just about to tell Bradley about your date…”
“What?!” Bradley exclaimed.
Amelia pouted, clearly put off that it had been brought up in front of him. He liked Amelia, he was protective of her, fucking shoot him. “Mav likes him!”
Maverick slightly cowed under Bradley and Amelia’s stares. “He’s nice, they’re on the debate team together.”
“Debate team?!” Alright, now he was putting it on a little bit, but as someone who had also been on the debate team in high school, Bradley knew that those guys were also smart, which generally meant they were way more trouble than the typical jocks.
Clearly misconstruing his comment, Amelia frowned. “Listen, I know you were rocking the middle part and puka shell necklace when you were on the debate team, but it’s cool now…”
“Puka shell necklace?” your voice chimed in from the doorway. “Pete never mentioned that when he was telling me of your high school heroics.”
Bradley’s cheeks colored. “Yeah, well, it was the late 90s and I thought Pacey Witter was cool.”
“The 1990s!” Amelia feigned hysterics and got a chuckle out of you and Maverick. “Next you’re going to be talking about where you were on 9/11 -”
“I was in kindergarten, we couldn’t go outside for recess,” you teased.
You sat yourself between Bradley and Amelia on the sofa and he threw his arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer. He knew you’d get cold soon, but didn’t want you to run inside to get your jacket or a sweatshirt just yet - he just wanted you beside him. Plus, there was also the fear that you’d get one of Maverick’s sweatshirts from inside if you forwent your jean jacket and that just wouldn’t do.
Amelia groaned, but still turned her attention back on you. “Okay, but you were definitely Joey Potter, breaking hearts left and right. No debate captains for you.” She stuck her tongue out at Bradley for good measure.
“Ha, I wish. No, I was actually kind of lame in high school, very angsty.” Bradley knew why, but Maverick and the Benjamins were still in the dark.
“Really?” Amelia frowned.
It was easy to understand her confusion since you were just about the coolest person she knew - her words. Amelia had told Bradley so the first night he’d brought you over for dinner. Can you ask her where she got her sneakers? A couple weeks later, you and Bradley had gotten Amelia the very same sneakers for her birthday. She always blushed when you wore them at the same time.
So, the next words out of your mouth clearly surprised her. “Oh, yeah, I was knee deep in Mazzy Star and Vampire Weekend. The dark preppy vibe, if that’s even a thing?”
“Jesus, I wasn’t even that bad.” Bradley squeezed your shoulder and got a smile out of you with his teasing.
Maverick and Penny were talking off on their own, so you turned your full attention towards Amelia. “I was in a car accident my junior year of high school. Kind of set me back with school and then - well, private school kids are kind of vicious so…”
“What happened? Sorry - that was -”
“- It’s oka -,” you started to say, then seemed to think better of it. Because nothing about that night had been okay. “I was in a car with someone and we got t-boned. I got pretty banged up, broke my right arm and leg. It seemed like I had a perpetual concussion for the next six months. He just broke his arm,” you finished wryly.
He.
He just broke his arm.
Bradley pursed his lips at the mention of Teddy Cavanaugh. Fucking prick. To say you’d gotten pretty banged up was putting it way too mildly. Thinking about it again made him just as upset as it had that night all those months ago on your fourth date when you’d told him the entire story.
And more recently, Bradley had had the unfortunate experience of meeting Teddy over Thanksgiving when Bradley had played golf with your dad one afternoon up in Berkeley. As a rule, Bradley tried not to hate people on sight - at least not anymore.
But god, he really fucking hated Teddy Cavanaugh. He wanted to fucking deck him on the first tee at Claremont Country Club. He wanted to slam his nine-iron into the Porsche 911 he was driving. And Bradley was pretty sure your dad did too.
It was such a cunty move to get the same car.
Plus, what self respecting twenty-nine year old still went by Teddy anyway?
But the truth of what happened that night wasn’t exactly appropriate for a post dinner conversation, nevermind the fact that Amelia was only a year younger than you had been that night.
The realization made Bradley freeze.
You had only been a year older than Amelia when it happened. Amelia, who still slept with the stuffed cow her grandparents had gotten her for her sixth birthday. Amelia, who still played with her American Girl Dolls when she didn’t get invited to a friend’s house on Friday nights. Amelia, who still made Bradley a new welcome home banner after every deployment. Amelia, who still huffed whenever Bradley ruffled her hair as a hello. Amelia, who Bradley promised he’d teach how to drive that spring.
You were Amelia. You had been that young, that sweet, that trusting and Teddy Cavanaugh had thrown it all back in your face.
Bradley could feel his chest tighten, even as he ignored the chatter around him. Maverick and Penny had joined in whatever conversation you were now having with Amelia, but all Bradley could do was sit there.
Without a word, he pulled you closer, so you were bundled up in his arms. It was still proper enough in front of his family, but he needed to have you close. Your legs were plastered together alongside Bradley’s right side and you burrowed yourself under the arm he draped across your shoulders.
Everything was right as it should be. Bradley was with his family, Bradley was with you, here. Not on a carrier in the middle of the Pacific or the passenger seat of Mr. Cavanaugh’s Porsche.
Here. And nothing bad was going to happen here.
Soon, the conversation changed to whichever HBO show Amelia and Maverick were excited to watch later that night, while Penny went inside to get the dessert: s’mores.
“‘You need any help?”
Penny waved you off. “I’m all set, everything’s already measured out.”
Once she was gone, Bradley pressed a light kiss to your shoulder and you shivered. “‘You getting cold, kid?” You nodded. “‘You want my sweatshirt?”
“Please?”
“I’ve got one in the mudroom if -”
“No, it’s fine,” Bradley cut off Maverick, “she can have mine.”
Quickly taking off his own sweatshirt and putting it over your head, Bradley didn’t even have the time to linger on how pathetic he sounded. Who did Maverick think he was, offering to let Bradley’s girlfriend borrow a sweatshirt? Didn’t he realize Bradley was more than capable of taking care of you?
“Thanks.” You smiled at him, now cozy and wrapped up in the still warm sweatshirt and Bradley nearly forgot why he had gotten so huffy in the first place. Nearly.
“So,” Penny popped back out onto the patio with a heaping tray of marshmallows, a bowl of chocolate squares, and stacks of graham crackers, “who wants s’mores?”
“Me, me!” Amelia called, pushing her way towards the tray and subsequently dishing out the marshmallow sticks.
Little shit gave Bradley the worst one, even knowing Maverick wouldn’t have any and therefore didn’t need one. As payback, he kept putting his marshmallow wherever Amelia’s was. It meant that he didn’t roast a single good marshmallow, but the glare she kept sending him was too funny to make him stop.
Eventually, after Bradley had to blow out yet another marshmallow - Oh, shit! Not again! - you took over s’more duties. Just as well, really; yours were the best. You turned marshmallow roasting into an art form - a perfectly golden, gooey art form. While you didn’t eat any with graham crackers, you did have one you roasted over the fire with the chocolate already stuffed in the marshmallow. You smiled at Bradley’s shocked expression and then wordlessly made him three exactly like it.
All the while, you answered Penny’s questions about how your dad and Mary were doing and when they were next coming down to San Diego and if they would want to get dinner with her and Pete, just the four of them? But when you started nodding off against Bradley’s shoulder, he knew it was time for you both to head home.
-------------
Mon, March 22, 1:43pm
How was your meeting?
it was fine, but ran over and i didn’t get to have lunch before my one o’clock ☹️
At least have a snack or something, don’t want you wasting away on me, kid.
i won’t! what’re you up to?
Stopped by the base for a bit, saw the guys and then went to the gym.
I might get a haircut later.
you can’t get a haircut without me! i don’t trust you not to get it too short! plus i like it a little longer
Oh yeah?
i like when it gets curly at the ends, it’s always really soft too. can you wait till after the trip? please bradley please?
Fine, but only because you begged me…
i’ll make it up to you later, promise and i did not beg you…
Or you could make it up to me now?
Is the office busy today?
no it’s pretty quiet
You wore that navy skirt, right?
yeah with my white silk blouse
What’d you wear underneath it?
bradley! i don’t know, boring underwear?
You wanna show me? Just to check?
you can see when i get home, i’ll even try and sneak out a little early
Wanna see now
Show me
fine, just give me a sec. i’ll go to the bathroom
No
At your desk
Now
bradley!
Sweetheart I’m aching
[image: Mr. 7.5 Gs]
fuck holy shit bubs what were you doing before you texted me?
Jerking off, I’m bored
charming
Wanna be inside you
fuck bradley wish i was home to take care of you god you’re so pretty hold on
Keep thinking about you in your office, acting all proper and then I’d barge in and fuck you on that fancy desk of yours
[image: miss ‘the one day i’m wearing plain underwear’]
God such a good girl for me
Are you wet
mmmm getting there this is so hot unless i get fired
I’d bend you over
Take you from behind
You’re always tighter that way
[Sent with Siri]
bradley
Need your mouth on me
I’d make you get on your knees and suck me off in front of the window
Fuck your throat
[Sent with Siri]
bradley you’re not playing fair
No you’re not
Need more pictures of you
[Sent with Siri]
What do you want me to do? [Sent with Siri]
Shove your fingers up your cunt
Knuckle deep
[Sent with Siri]
I’d have to use three to feel like yours [Sent with Siri]
Need a video need to hear you too
[Sent with Siri]
[for bradley’s eyes only.mov]
Fuck you’re fucking gorgeous like that
Always do just what I ask
Fuck I need you so bad
[Sent with Siri]
Need you too fuck [Sent with Siri] i can’t believe you got me to do that at work
When are you coming home?
-------------
There was something up with you. The thought kept running through Bradley’s head Tuesday evening while he was on his run.
Bradley would never have described you as skittish, but that’s how you had been acting over the last couple days. You were still affectionate and kind and you. And had told him countless times how much you loved him and how happy you were that he was home.
So, it had to be a physical thing. You were guarded whenever he touched you - whether you were being sexually intimate or he had just grabbed your waist to cuddle you closer on the couch or in bed. It was always your waist or stomach area, really. That was the hot spot.
At first, Bradley thought he’d been too rough with you that first time back, but he knew you trusted him enough to tell him if that was the case, so that was out. Plus, later that morning when you were riding him, you’d asked him to grab your hips so hard he’d leave behind marks. You liked whenever he marked you - and he liked whenever you marked him. And you weren’t shying away from sex with him, not at all. In fact, you were pretty insatiable.
Then, he’d thought you might have hurt yourself while he had been gone and had a scar or something that you hadn’t wanted him to see? But your skin was free of new blemishes, baring the zit on your cheek you’d been complaining about since Saturday night.
At one point, Bradley had even contemplated that you might be pregnant. He had been gone for three months, an entire first trimester. But something about the theory didn’t sit right with him.
First, you would’ve fucking told him on Friday night, especially after you both talked about waiting to have kids and how you were on the same page. Because Bradley wasn’t dying in an F-18 with a family at home.
Then, there was the fact that you had an IUD and the possibility of getting pregnant on an IUD was even less than on the pill (<1% a year - he’d looked it up). And finally, you’d be showing by now, even if only a little bump. But now that he thought about it, in all the days that he’d been home and all the times you’d had sex, Bradley had only seen you completely naked once. One or both of you were always partially clothed. And he would have noticed - right? Your boobs were definitely bigger, but it wasn’t - that wasn’t it, no, he was sure you weren’t pregnant.
It had to be something about your body, your stomach in particular. Because you were still affectionate, still wanted him, were still relatively yourself, your boobs looked great, and you loved him. So, why did you practically jump out of your skin whenever Bradley’s hand grazed your stomach?
He would give you until Friday to tell him on your own before he asked. That would be a week from when he’d gotten home, more than enough time. Plus, maybe being on vacation would get you to open up a bit?
Because this just wasn’t you. You didn’t really keep any secrets from Bradley. He wouldn’t be so naive to say that he knew everything about you, but in general you were honest with him. Was there a hint in one of your emails? Some little detail he had glossed over in his haste to read any scrap of news from you, in your voice? Bradley had read all of them at least three times, some even more, but maybe he had missed something?
The run he’d gone on to clear his head left the problem no more clear than when he’d set off forty-five minutes ago. He ran up the back steps to the mudroom and toed off his sneakers before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. You’d be home soon, he needed to start dinner.
Last night, you’d marinated some steak tips and made some rice pilaf, while Bradley roasted some vegetables. There was plenty of leftover steak for dinner tonight, he just had to decide what to make with it. Taking a peek in the fridge, he took a quick inventory of anything you’d need to finish before leaving Thursday morning. A couple peppers laid in the crisper along with an eggplant, which stumped him as neither of you liked eggplant. He could do steak fajitas with those? There were always fresh tortillas around. Content with his plan, Bradley grabbed a bottle of Pellegrino from the side door and poured himself a glass.
As he put the bottle back, his eyes landed on the chocolate cake, perfectly ensconced in glass snapware, on the top shelf. How the hell was there still leftover chocolate cake? In addition to what you’d had Friday night, the two of you had had some for breakfast Sunday morning - well, Bradley had had some for breakfast Sunday morning and you’d let him feed you a couple bites. He shut the fridge door with a little more force than necessary and started prepping the peppers and onions.
You loved chocolate cake. And you’d worked so hard on it. Why the fuck weren’t you eating it? Plus, now that he really thought about it, you’d barely had a s’more at Maverick and Penny’s and instead kept yourself occupied by lovingly making Bradley’s for him. And then there were the egg whites.
It would be a lie to say that none of it had seemed off at the time, but looking at all the incidents together just showed how truly off things were. And then coupled with how off you were with other things like your clothes and stomach - oh.
No way. No fucking way. That could not be it.
No, no. You couldn’t be worried about how -
Just as he was finishing up the peppers to go along with the onions he’d already prepped, Bradley heard the back door open.
“Bubs?” you called out, “I’m home!”
“Hey!”
“How was your run?”
Bradley quickly washed his hands and went over to meet you in the mudroom. And there you were, looking polished and professional in a black tweed, sleeveless dress that he hadn’t gotten a glimpse at before you’d left for work that morning, thanks to the blazer you’d thrown over it. The bodice of the dress was decorated with what he hoped were functional gold buttons that were just begging to be ripped open. And to top it off, you were wearing semi sheer black tights and those black slingbacks he liked so much.
Actually, you were leaning against the wall trying to unbuckle those slingbacks he liked so much. But all Bradley could focus on as you asked him about his afternoon was the curve of your hip and the fact that your breasts looked unreal in that dress.
His pretty girlfriend. His pretty girlfriend who looked so smart and absolutely fuckable right now. His. His. His. His -
You stopped trying to take off your shoes and shot him a questioning look as you approached. “Bradley?”
“Sorry, I uhh - yeah, it was fine. Saw the Thompsons finished their patio - is that a new dress?” His fingers idly brushed against the fabric and you froze.
“Oh, uh, no. I’ve had it for a while. Since the move, I’ve been going through my clothes trying to see what I actually wear and - I know it’s a little small now, it keeps riding up my hips a bit, but I still think it looks nice on top…” You ventured out of the mudroom. “Does it look bad?”
No, it very much did not look bad on you. It was definitely tighter than anything you normally wore to work, but it looked good. And weary from the work day with your hair a little mussed and the dress a bit askew from when you tried to take off your shoes, you looked absolutely divine and Bradley had to have you immediately.
“No! I’m just,” he goaded you further into the kitchen, “surprised you wore it to work - in a good way!”
The shy look on your face gradually slipped away and you crowded into Bradley’s space. “In a good way, huh?”
His hands found their way to your waist and he waited for a reaction from you. Getting nothing but a smile, his thumbs rubbed circles along your hips and he brought you chest to chest.
“I gotta ask, though?” You hummed. “Do these really work?” He dragged his fingers up and down the front of your dress, spending the slightest bit more time along the square neckline and your breasts.
“And what if they did?”
Bradley groaned your name and rested his forehead against yours. “Then I’d have to unbutton every last one of them right now.”
You kissed his neck, paying no mind to the stubble he had been growing since Friday night. If you’d asked, he would shave it in a second, but you loved the roughness against your neck and inner thighs. As your lips kept up their targeted attack on his neck and jawline, your right hand slid between your bodies to palm his cock through his athletic shorts.
“But if you did that, then you’d have to take me right here…”
Barely a beat passed before Bradley grabbed your hips and plopped you down on the kitchen table. It shook under your weight. Your chest was heaving at the sudden action, in turn drawing his attention to your breasts and those tempting buttons. They reminded him of the ones on his old Naval dress coat from Oceana.
“Lemme help you out there.”
His nimble fingers made quick work of the four brass buttons that revealed your black lace bra. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell you were pleased he didn’t tear off any of the buttons. Knowing you, his spoiled, prissy girlfriend, the dress was probably expensive. Good.
Next, Bradley pushed the wide straps over your shoulders, leaving your black lace bra as his final impediment. “So pretty,” he muttered into your chest. Your head tipped back and you pulled him closer, deeper.
“You didn’t send me any texts today,” you barely got the words out as Bradley made quick work popping one of your breasts, then the other, out of your bra. It was technically a lie; he had texted you, but it had been a do you know where my Theragun is text, not a show me your pussy right now text. “I even wore pretty underwear for you.”
Bradley tutted against your left breast. “Guess I have to make it up to you now.”
His mouth latched onto your nipple and he needled the little nub with his tongue. You carded your fingers through his hair and gave the ends the slightest little tug.
“Thought about you all day, bubs,” you whispered the words against Bradley’s ear before nipping at the lobe.
“Yeah?” Granted, if you kept rutting against each other like this, he’d probably cum in his shorts - there really wasn’t a lot of substance to the running shorts he was wearing - but god. He needed to sink inside you.
Today was the first time since he’d gotten home that you hadn’t fucked in the morning. You had had to hustle out of the house for an early meeting and even Bradley had an eight-thirty physical at the Naval Medical Center. There had barely been time for a heated makeout against the refrigerator - to say nothing of a good fuck - before you’d left with your lip gloss slightly mussed.
“Would’ve come home sooner if I knew you were wearing these fucking shorts.” You slipped your hand under the waistband of his compression shorts that were borderline painful at this point and grabbed his cock with an expert touch.
“Fuck…” Bradley allowed your touches to go on for a few more moments before he pulled back, knowing he’d spend in your hand if you kept this up. “Hold on.” You pulled your hand back and he yanked his t-shirt off over his head and threw it on the breakfast bench. Your hands crept across his chest before they eventually rested on his shoulders.
But now it was Bradley’s turn to touch you. Your tights felt particularly soft beneath his hands as he inched higher and higher up your thighs. He loved when you wore stuff like this, so prim and proper. Especially when you got all squirmy beneath him. Cheeky little thing. The heat was pouring off you where Bradley was touching you between your thighs, even though your underwear and tights. Your arms wound around his neck to pull him closer and press your lips to his in a bruising kiss. God, he could kiss you for hours; he never tired of it.
“Bradley…” you sighed through his ministrations. “More, bubs.”
He smiled, of course, anything for you. Anything to be inside you. But first, he had to ask: “These the thick ones?” You froze under him. “The tights? The thick tights? Like from Thanksgiving?”
They had a more formal name, but he was focused on other things at the moment, namely if he could rip a hole in them to get to you faster. Over Thanksgiving, he’d found out the hard way that your tights were often rip resistant. Which really put a damper on a portion of your wine cellar escapades.
“Oh?” The furrow between your eyebrows disappeared. “Oh! The tights! No, no, they’re cheap ones from J Crew or something.”
Good. Then he wasn’t going to apologize for what he was about to do. Because Bradley had to fuck you, he had to be inside you right now. Something about you and being off and those tights and that dress and his run and the subsequent endorphin rush.
He had to have you.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Bradley tugged at the seam of your tights and ripped a hole in them large enough for his hands - and his dick - to poke through. You sighed when he broke through the nylon and slid your panties to the side to circle your clit with his thumb.
“So good,” he muttered reverently.
God, what a pretty picture you made. Dress rucked up around your stomach, chest bare, and pretty pussy on display just for him.
“More, please, Bradley.” You whimpered while he teased you with one finger, then two. “Anything. Need it - you.”
“You get stressed out at work today?” You nodded and then burrowed your head against his neck, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. “Poor thing, da - I’ll take care of you, yeah. Make you forget.”
Bradley thrusted his fingers deeper inside you, crooking them just slightly so you’d buck up against him. You bit his neck when he tweaked his fingers just right. There you go, just a little more and you’d be ready for him. God, he was aching. He couldn’t fathom teasing you anymore. He needed you, now.
“Just need to slip inside you, sweetheart. You made it so perfect for me.” Wet. Hot. Tight. Perfect. His. “There we go, just like that, good girl.” Bradley took a moment to line his cock up and slid inside you in one motion. “Fuck,” he punctuated the word with your name, “good?”
“Yes, yes.”
You got into a steady rhythm that kept increasing. The table creaked under your combined weight and had anything been on it, it surely would’ve toppled over by now.
You tightened around his cock and met his hips thrust for thrust. A wave of heat swept over Bradley’s body and he could feel you slipping deeper into a lustful haze. Knowing he was also close and would be near useless in moments, he hiked your left leg higher up on his hip so your heel was digging into the back of his thigh, anchoring you to him.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Bradley said mindlessly.
Your faces were so close, you were breathing each other’s air, stealing the word’s off the other’s lips. Yours and mine are the same. You cried out suddenly and snapped your eyes up to meet Bradley’s brown ones. God, you were beautiful. You both were beautiful. This was beautiful. Being together like this was beautiful. It was wet and loud and messy, but it was beautiful.
Everything about it.
“‘m so close,” he finished with your name on his lips like a plea. “Wanna wait for you.”
“Don’t, ‘ll be right there.”
His thrusts eventually got sloppier and slower, but he could still feel you clenching around him as he spent himself inside you.
“Fuck,” he panted your name. “That’s it, that’s it.”
“‘s full, bubs.” Your nails dug into his shoulder, centering him so he could turn the focus back on you.
All he needed was a few more shallow thrusts and a punch of your clit to get you there alongside him. You came with a cry, utterly spent, but sated.
Your legs relaxed their hold against his thighs, but you didn’t totally release him. Meanwhile, he pressed kisses across your cheeks and lips, before finding himself notched along your neck.
“There you go, good girl. Did such a good job, huh. So beautiful.”
It was quiet between the two of you for a few moments, all Bradley could hear was your breaths panting against his cheek, while your index finger moved lazily across his shoulder blade. But then you started shaking.
And at first he thought it was from being overstimulated until he realized you were shaking from silent giggles. Bradley picked his head up from where it was buried in your neck and leveled you with a look that had you properly bursting into laughter. He wanted to make some smart comment, something cheeky, but the gorgeous smile on your face had him losing his feigned stoicism and he started laughing right alongside you.
“So,” you said after your laughter subsided, “what’s for dinner, bubs?”
--------------
The following morning, Bradley poked his head into the dining room where you’d made up your office for the day. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why you weren’t using the office upstairs, but he held back. He liked that you were downstairs, he liked that you were close to him.
Of course he’d seen you work from home before. But there was something about seeing you holding meetings and taking calls for the first time in your home that made him smile.
And though you were taking a half day to prepare for leaving tomorrow, Bradley knew you’d be checking your email and Slack for the rest of the afternoon before officially logging off for the next 10 days.
10 days in Punta Mita - just the two of you, no distractions, no emails, no training runs, nothing but the sun, sea, sustenance, sleep, and sex.
Just you and me, kid.
Bradley inched further into the room and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m gonna go for a run, but should be back for lunch.”
You took out your Airpods before responding. “Sounds good, how much are you thinking?”
“Probably a quick 10k?” It had been ages since Bradley had run his usual route through Balboa Park, so these last few days had been a treat.
“‘A quick 10k,’ he says. I should be done by the time you get back?” He nodded. “We can have lunch and then I’ll head out on my errands.”
Errands? “Oh? I didn’t know you were going out?”
You sat up straighter and fully focused on him. “Yeah, I have to get my nails done and then have to pick up a couple things - like your special sunscreen...”
“Can I come?” he asked, completely ignoring the sunscreen comment. It wasn’t special per se, it was just high SPF since he burned easily.
“Really?” You sounded surprised. “It’ll be pretty boring.”
“No, I wanna come with you.” I wanna spend time with you.
A bashful smile appeared on your face. “Okay, I’m trying a new salon.”
“Ditching your old stomping grounds?” Bradley asked, referencing your old neighborhood near Gaslamp.
You nodded your head. “Figured I’d try someplace around here, but the only one that looks promising is way up on 30th?”
“I think we can make due with that,” he pecked your cheek, “alright, I’ll see you in a bit, kid. Don’t work too hard.”
“Har, har, see you soon.”
Bradley shot you a wink and set off. Who knew, maybe he’d set a new PR in his haste to get back home to you?
And sure enough, after his quick 10k through Balboa Park and the surrounding neighborhood, Bradley bounded up the back steps and quickly disposed of his sneakers and his sweat stained grey t-shirt on the mudroom floor. It had been stupid to even wear one in the first place, he’d had to tuck it into his waistband before he hit the first half mile.
“New personal record!”
Your face lit up with a smile as Bradley came into the dining room. “See, now, how do I know you just didn’t milk a 3 mile run or something?”
He rolled his eyes and gestured down at his torso, which was gleaming with sweat, even in the soft mid-day lighting currently cloaking the dining room, and showed you his running app for good measure. “Does this look like I milked it?”
“Come ‘ere.” You held your arms out.
“I’m all sweaty, kid…”
“Nope, don’t care, please?”
Hey, if you weren’t going to complain that Bradley was too sweaty or smelled, then he wasn’t about to put you off. He wrapped his arms around you over the back of the chair and put his chin on the top of your head.
“You know, if you like the scent of someone’s sweat that means you’re soulmates…”
“Is that right?” You sounded amused.
Bradley burrowed his face in your neck, forcing a giggle out of you even before he pressed butterfly kisses everywhere. “Mmmhhmm, yup. You always smell perfect.”
“That’s just my perfume!”
“Nope, just you kid.”
Bradley could feel you relax and let out a sigh. The two of you sat there in silence for a moment, content to just be with each other, until your Mac dinged with an Outlook notification. You stretched your arms out in front of you to reply to the email, but Bradley didn’t let you go. As he watched you type out a response to your coworker about if ESG investments were just virtue signaling or not, his eyes caught a glint of gold on your wrist.
“You really wear that bracelet everyday, huh?”
You turned your head to look up at him and he was pleased to note you looked incredibly flustered. “Of course I do. You got it for me.”
The matter of fact way you responded had him blushing. “Guess I’ll have to get you the necklace for your birthday…”
“You better not!” He just kissed your cheek. “Bradley, I’m serious! That’s too much - especially for just a birthday.”
“Then I’ll get it for you for our anniversary.”
“Bubs…” You were pouting now and it only made him want to get you the necklace more. “It’s too expensive for something like that; I looked it up online.”
“You’re no fun.”
And so he would continue to be denied the pleasure of seeing you in the matching jewelry - at least until he wore you down. You did have a point, though - the necklace was almost twice as much as the bracelet. But then again, you bought Bradley little (and not so little) things all the time?
Idly, he recalled the jibe he had ignored from Hangman the other day regarding his leave: not all of us have rich girlfriends to take us on two week vacations. Bradley’s reply that it was only for ten days, not two weeks hadn’t exactly done him any favors.
But it was a points game! It was practically free. (He knew it wasn’t, but…) And you were going dutch for all the incidentals and room charges. It was going to be perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
Ten glorious days of no work, no distractions, just the two of you.
You turned around in your chair so you were properly facing him. “Do you want to get lunch out? Make an afternoon of it? We don’t really have much in the fridge, so it’s either lunch or dinner out and I know you still have to pack.”
A smile crept across his face and he kissed your nose. “I’d love to go to lunch with you. You sure you won’t get sick of me? All this one on one time?”
You just shook your head. “Nope, not that easily. Well, unless you sit next to me at the salon, I’m not very chatty while I’m getting a pedicure.”
“Woah, woah.” Bradley held his hands up and you grabbed one to examine it. “Since when am I getting my nails done?”
“You’re getting a pedicure at the very least. I don’t want to have to look at your weird feet on the beach all week.”
“Oh-ho, now you’ve done it.”
He bundled you up in his arms and started tickling your sides. That was your sweet spot. And hopefully if he was tickling you, you’d forget to be jumpy when he touched you there. He hadn’t forgotten about that.
“Bradley! Bradley,” you giggled. “Okay, okay, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. No pedicure.”
But Bradley did end up getting a pedicure, even if it only entailed getting his feet buffed. If pressed, he would say it was because he wanted to sit in the massage chair and the nail tech told him he could only sit in the chair if he was getting his nails done. That was the only reason why. It wasn’t because of how pretty you looked while you were smiling at him out of the corner of his eye, like you couldn’t believe he was really there.
Absolutely not.
--------------
“Do you need any help packing?”
Bradley nodded, he hoped he didn’t look too sheepish. At thirty-six years old, he absolutely could pack his own clothes, but he liked when you fussed over him and made sure your clothing was complementary to each other. It was sweet. Plus, you always packed stuff he hadn’t thought to bring or wear together.
The two of you were a well oiled machine. Bradley would roll his underwear, pajamas, and gym clothes into his packing cubes while you helped pick out his bathing suits and later his dinner and day clothes. To his great surprise, you managed to fit all his clothes - for ten days, mind you - into his Samsonite carryon. His toiletries and extra pair of shoes and other incidentals would go in his backpack.
Once his suitcase was zipped up and ready to go, Bradley nodded towards your Rimowa stashed by the bedroom door. “‘You need any help? You don’t normally check?”
You normally lived by the carry-on rule, so it seemed out of character for you to check a full-size bag. Which, of course, wasn’t the first thing that seemed out of character for you since Bradley had gotten home. But he promised himself he’d wait until you came to him with your problem. Or till Friday.
“Oh, uhh, yeah, I guess I just have more stuff this time.” You shook your head. “I packed earlier while you were taking a nap, but thanks.”
He clicked his tongue. “Guess it’ll be a surprise then.”
“Hmmm, I’ll let you see my shoes?”
Bradley sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back on his elbows. “You’d do that? For me?”
You giggled and then mimicked his pose on the bed, except you made sure to snuggle up next to him, all earlier awkwardness gone. “I’d do anything for you actually.”
“Sap.” He kissed you.
“Nerd.” You kissed him.
“See, now you’re killing the vibe,” he teased. You giggled and kissed his shoulder through his t-shirt. “You ready for tomorrow?” You nodded. “You’re not gonna get sick of me, right?”
You shook your head. “Never, even if you are a nerd who gets pedicures -”
“- I was coerced! The massage chair!” You giggled. “Alright, alright, walk me through tomorrow.”
At this point, Bradley was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, while you were tucked under his arm, peering up at him.
“We should leave by six if our flight’s at eight forty-five, especially if we want to go to the lounge beforehand. It’s spring break-ish and I’m not sure if it’ll be crazy in the terminal, so the lounge might be a good idea.”
“Got it, United lounge for breakfast, good.”
“Flight’s like three hours.”
“Mmmmm, perfect for a nap.”
You chuckled. “I think we get in around one o’clock with the time difference and everything. The hotel’s sending a car and then it’s like an hour drive to Punta Mita.”
“So, if we play our cards right, we could be on the beach by three-o-one?”
“Oh, for sure,” you feigned seriousness, “If anyone can, it’s the two of us.”
And ain’t that the truth? Bradley held his hand up for a high five, which you heartily returned. “Nice job, kid. It’s gonna be great.”
Ten days. You and Bradley at some tony resort in Mexico. No cares, no worries for ten whole days. Fucking perfect.
Everything was going to be perfect.
-----------
If at all possible, in the three months that he had been gone, Bradley had gotten even more handsome.
Sure, you’d seen a grainy image of him every two or so weeks over Facetime and had noticed him mentioning going to the gym a lot on the carrier. You’d known he was going to look different. His hair was going to be longer and blonder and his skin darker. He was still your Bradley and you loved him all the same.
But seeing him on the 16 inch screen of your Macbook compared to all six foot one inches of Bradley Bradshaw in person was an eye opener.
Because you hadn’t been prepared for how it made you feel in comparison. Because he was so strong and fit and beautiful - and you didn’t think you were any of those things. Not anymore at least. Not after what happened.
Not after how often you’d been skipping pilates to spend some extra time in the office or all the meals you’d eaten on the go or out with clients. You should have taken your mother’s words to heart at lunch two weeks ago when she had told you to watch your figure, boys like Bradley are used to certain standards.
That afternoon when you’d gotten back to your apartment, you’d gone straight to your walk-in closet and scrutinized every inch of your body in the full length mirror.
Certain standards.
Why did you let her get in your head? Why did you let any of it get in your head? It wasn’t true, it wasn’t true. None of it was true.
Certain standards.
And then, when you finally picked Bradley up on that cloudy, late March day, you wore an oxford of his and a pair of baggy jeans. You still looked cute, you still looked like you put in an effort, but you didn’t look as dolled up as some of the other wives and girlfriends and partners and maybe you should have? Maybe you should have worn a cute little sundress and forgotten your underwear or some other ridiculous thing? Let him fuck you in the back of the car right in the middle of the parking lot?
That wasn’t you, though. That wasn’t either of you.
But Bradley loved you. He had told you in about 159 different ways (re. emails) while he was gone. He loved you, he wanted you, he was going to live with you, build a life with you. You knew he loved you no matter what you looked like.
Certain standards.
But when he fucked you softly and slowly that first morning back - only after originally falling asleep on you, which you tried not to be too upset about - and you told him how much you loved him and missed him, you did so with the lights completely off and with your chemise on before snuggling in his arms.
It was stupid. The entire thing was stupid. You knew that. And you knew you’d feel this way until you confronted Bradley and he ultimately proved you wrong. But doing that wouldn’t fully stop those feelings from brewing inside you either.
And yeah, for the first few days you’d been too caught up in the ecstasy of him finally being home - in the home that you two finally shared - to really give it much thought. But tomorrow you were going on a ten day long beach vacation to Mexico and you couldn’t help but toss and turn all night wondering if you were up to certain standards.
-----------
a/n: oops! this was super long, sorry! but there's such an interesting story here and i'm so excited to show how it'll unfold in the next chapter when they're in mexico!
tagging a couple people: @sometimesanalice @withahappyrefrain @cherrycola27 @notroosterbradshaw @gigisimsonmars @pisupsala @dissonannce @laracrofted @heartsofminds @briseisgone
211 notes
·
View notes
Note
the 4th wall breaking trope with Jinwoo and the reader, except they're both canon characters and now have unlimited access to seeing what their fandom is like, the bad side and good side. i feel like Jinwoo would be kind of depressed because he went though all of this just for entertainment, while the reader is relieved because they feel like all of the consequences of their actions and responsibilities have been lifted off of their shoulders. also, this is such a random detail to add, but the readers gender is left ambiguous, all of the characters use different pronouns for them and their literal official wiki has their gender listed as "something that only Beru knows" (spoilers, he doesn't know shit) they found out about ot while randomly looking through their own wiki page because they were bored.
[ Req 7 ] Unexpected truth. ✧. ┊ s.jinwoo x reader.
It started innocently enough—a slow day, no gates to raid, no monsters to fight. You were lounging on Jinwoo’s couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, while Jinwoo sat nearby, flipping through a hunter’s report with his usual laser focus.
Then, out of nowhere, you asked, "Jinwoo, have you ever Googled yourself?"
His pen paused mid-scribble. He looked at you like you’d just suggested he train Beru to do stand-up comedy. "Why would I do that?"
You grinned, holding up your phone. "Oh, I don’t know. To see what people think about you? It’s fun."
"Fun?" he repeated flatly, his disbelief evident.
"Yeah. You’d be surprised how much creativity people have when it comes to us."
His brow furrowed. "Creativity?"
With a sly smile, you spun the phone around, showing him the first thing you’d found: a manhwa called 'Solo Leveling.' "And there're some fanfictions too"
The color drained from his face as he read the description. "This can’t be real."
"Oh, it’s real," you said, biting back laughter as his expression shifted from confusion to sheer mortification. "And there’s a lot more where that came from."
Jinwoo leaned back, his gray eyes darkening with something almost resembling dread. "Then what I have done was nothing? Why are people writing about me like this? Do they not have better things to do?"
"For entertainment," you said with a shrug, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Our entire lives are, apparently. Didn’t you know? We’re the stars of someone’s power fantasy."
He stared at you, his silence deafening. Then, slowly, he ran a hand through his hair. "You’re saying everything I’ve been through—every fight, every sacrifice—was for someone’s... entertainment?"
"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds depressing," you said, tossing a gummy candy into your mouth. "But think of it this way: none of it really matters. No consequences, no pressure. Isn’t that freeing?"
Jinwoo didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked a little pale. "Freeing? It feels like it’s all pointless."
"Oh, come on," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "You’re the Shadow Monarch, for crying out loud. Stop sulking. Here, let me cheer you up."
You shoved your phone into his hands, open to a page on your own fan wiki. Jinwoo hesitated before reading the top line out loud. "Your gender is listed as... something only Beru knows?"
"Yep." You smirked. "My proudest achievement. Wanna know the best part?"
He looked at you warily. "Do I?"
"I asked him once," you said, barely suppressing a laugh. "The poor guy started buzzing like a broken lawnmower and said, 'I dare not presume, my liege’s companion.' So yeah, Beru doesn’t know jack, but apparently, the internet thinks he does."
Jinwoo groaned, passing the phone back to you. "This is ridiculous."
"Oh, it gets better," you said, scrolling down. "People can’t even agree on what pronouns to use for me. Some call me 'he,' others 'she,' and a good chunk go with 'they.' It's chaos."
"Why do they care so much?" Jinwoo muttered, clearly still grappling with the concept.
"They’re invested," you replied simply. "I mean, look at you. You’re basically the internet’s ideal boyfriend. Overpowered, brooding, loyal. It’s a miracle your fanbase hasn’t declared war over who you should end up with."
He gave you a deadpan look. "You’re enjoying this too much."
"Oh, absolutely."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is there anything on here that’s not completely insane?”
"Not really," you admitted cheerfully. "But it’s not all bad. Here, look." You navigated to another page and handed him the phone.
This time, his expression softened as he read through the comments. They were filled with admiration, people praising him for his strength, his determination, his love for his family.
"They get it," you said quietly, watching his reaction. "All the pain you went through—it wasn’t meaningless to them. You inspired people."
Jinwoo didn’t reply right away, his eyes lingering on the screen. Finally, he let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I guess it’s not all bad.”
"See?" you said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "Told you. Now, do you want to see the fan art?"
He shot you a glare that could’ve frozen a gate. "Absolutely not."
You laughed, tossing a gummy candy at him. "Suit yourself. But for the record, I’m the one with the best fan wiki. You’re just lucky I let you co-star in my story."
"Your story?" he repeated, his tone dripping with mock disbelief.
"Yep." You popped another gummy into your mouth, grinning. "Face it, Jinwoo. I’m the main character here."
He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "You’re insufferable."
"And you love it," you shot back.
Maybe this whole 'fictional character' thing wasn’t so bad after all.
That's an interesting idea =)
Hope you like it ❤
#dream.✧˖*°࿐#leona.star#solo leveling#sung jin woo#sung jinwoo#sungjinwoo#solo leveling x reader#sung jinwoo x reader#sung jinwoo x y/n#sung jinwoo x you
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
I made a post a while ago in which I psychoanalyzed Jin and I just wanted take a minute here to do the same with Chevalier, since he is my favorite and I have already posted about the ways in which he presents as being autistic. My impression is that, like Jin, Chevalier has a deep, complex psyche that the writers aren't really aware of but, unintentionally, they have written it into the story nonetheless. This is going to be a really long post so you might want to get a snack or some water before you start reading lol. Also, spoilers for various parts of the series, I guess.
I believe there are two main components to Chevalier's psychology: autism and trauma. It is also my belief that he does everything he ever does because of the trauma, but those choices and actions outwardly present the way they do because of the autism. The biggest example of this is his utterly fucking stupid plan for total conquest of the whole continent — he sees it as a black and white, binary choice (either Gilbert takes over everything or Chevalier does) because he's autistic but the reason he sees it as being those particular choices (total conquest with him on top vs. total conquest with him being crushed under Gilbert's boot) is because of his trauma. I've talked about the autistic side of things in that other post I made and I will also talk about it later on in this post, but I want to start with the trauma side of things.
So, first and foremost, the most important thing when it comes to Chevalier's trauma is his denial. With his autism, he exclusively intellectualizes his emotions and doesn't allow himself to actually feel anything beyond mild irritation but then he also refuses to consciously think about them as well. This results in what is basically the emotional equivalent of that one disorder that makes people not feel any pain — damage is done, and yet he doesn't register that it's there at all and just keeps going, but there is, in fact, damage. The way I think about it is that his inner child is bleeding out in a closet somewhere in the back of his subconscious and that scared, lonely, dying child is driving all of his decisions. Even though he doesn't feel things like fear, he is driven by it because he never fucking processed it.
But I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Let's take it back and actually pinpoint what this trauma is, where it came from and how, as an adult, it affects all the choices he makes and everything he does. If we look to his childhood, there seem to be two key things: abandonment and mortal combat. From a concerningly young age, he was targeted by assassins and, also from a concerningly young age, he was fighting them off himself. Along with that, he seems to have had the horrid experience of being born a perfect baby people loved and adored but then, when he was still only a toddler or very small child, everyone started to fear, envy, and hate him, including his own mother. When we're talking about psychological trauma, it doesn't matter so much what his own actions were and whether or not certain consequences were deserved because, whether or not it was valid for his mother to fear him after he killed someone at, what, like six years old, the fact remains that her having that reaction traumatized him. The fact that she died shortly after this incident and Clavis even blames Chevalier for her death, claiming that the emotional impact of that incident killed her would have only compounded the impact of that trauma.
With the assassination attempts, I think it's perfectly obvious how that would traumatize any child, but I think it's equally significant that he had to start killing people at such a young age for his survival because taking a life is just as traumatizing as having someone else try to take yours. The incident with his mother is where we see an intersection between all these things: at like six years old, someone was trying to murder him, so he ended up killing that person in self defense and, after that, his mother viewed him not as her son or even as a child but as a murderer and was afraid of him, and then she died and it seemed to at least one other person that her death was a consequence of that situation, that it was Chevalier's fault. Even if Chevalier always seemed ridiculously mature and intelligent for his age and even if he never allows himself to feel or even think about his emotions, all of this damage was done and, since he never processes anything, it's all just festered over the next couple decades.
As an adult, I think it's safe to say that his identity is inextricably tied to his country, so his survival and self-preservation now is more a facet of his greater goal of prosperity for Rhodolite but, just as much as he became a smaller piece of Rhodolite, Rhodolite became a smaller piece of him. What I mean is that, when it comes to something like his conquest plan, one side of that is that, in his mind, he needs to stay alive in order to carry out that plan since no one else can do it, but the other side is that he needs to conquer the whole fucking continent under the banner of Rhodolite to truly secure his own personal safety. Even though he's so highly skilled and competent in so many ways that result in his safety in spite of all the attempts on his life, there are still things that can hurt and kill him. Being the dictator in control of the whole continent would go a long way to covering those few remaining bases. This sounds extreme but so is his lifelong fight against literal assassins.
As for the abandonment issues, this explains literally every interaction and dynamic he has with every other character. He leans into his reputation and the horrid impression others have of him, encouraging all those lies and even adding some of his own in order to push everyone away, and yet it's painfully obvious that, at his core, he desperately wants someone, anyone, to truly accept him for who he is and love him as he is and not leave him. Yes, I'm sure that part of the reason he has so many romance books is because he's trying to teach himself social pragmatics and romance as a genre has the most focus on interpersonal relationships and interactions, but it is also because that's something he genuinely wants, even though he can't even admit to himself that he wants it. Just like Clavis and Licht, he wants someone to love him unconditionally the way his mother was supposed to but didn't. I also think he's afraid of loss, like his mother's death, which is why he pushes everyone away so that he doesn't have any weaknesses that could potentially be exploited, but also because he doesn't want to have that experience of becoming attached to someone and then losing them.
Taking it back to my point about how he connects himself to Rhodolite, this also drives that intense, patriotic loyalty he has and how, from the beginning, he's threatening to kill Emma on the spot if she ever betrays Rhodolite, because betraying Rhodolite is the same as betraying him and on a deep, internal level, that fear of abandonment and betrayal is what's really driving that. He says himself, multiple times, that he doesn't actually like killing people, even though he ends up doing it quite often, and it seems to me that this threat of killing anyone who defies him/Rhodolite is really an expression of his hope that people won't commit such a betrayal and he won't have to kill them. I also think that the degree to which he bothers to understand the people around him is, yes, a useful tool but I think some of it comes from this internal conflict of wanting to be able to trust and get closer to others but deliberately pushing everyone away and never allowing for that risk of yet more abandoment and betrayal. One thing like this that comes up in canon is how he memorizes the names of all the soldiers who die in his service so he can uphold their legacy as he strives to finish the work they started. It's a little different but it is a very similar sentiment that, again, he doesn't allow himself to really think about.
Now, as I move to transition to the autism part of the equation, I have to talk about the inherent trauma that comes with existing as an autistic person, which Chevalier has as well. Basically, being autistic feels like you were just born wrong and every fucking thing you ever say and do is just wrong and, left and right, people hate you for existing the way you are and talk about it like you're a normal person who's just choosing to be an asshole for no reason. Well, that's actually more like half of it and then, for those of us who are more like Chev (minus the murder), half of it is people lauding you as a genius and either being jealous of you or like gaslighting you about how your brain works and trying to get you to 'maximize the good points' of your literal disability while 'minimizing unwanted behaviors'. Yeah, it sucks out here.
So, in addition to the trauma I just discussed, there's also this element of how, from a young age, he got this message loud and clear about how his whole existence is just wrong, but it's worse than that because he's literally told, time and time again, that he isn't even a human being. Now, to be clear, dehumanizing shit like that is also a pretty common autistic experience (which is also why Clavis bothers me so much even though I like his story a lot) and this exact sentiment is where we get stuff like the changeling myth from. People talk about how horrible it is that the superstitious folks of Europe came up with a bullshit story like that to justify killing their autistic kids, but we don't talk as much about how some autistic people, like Chevalier, strongly identify with this sort of thing. In real life, this is the reason why people on the spectrum are at such risk of ending up on the alt right pipeline through new age spiritual shit like starseeds but, in Chev's case, he feels this same difference and responds to it by leaning into the shit people say about him without any kind of spirituality. He doesn't need a girl on TikTok to tell him he's a superhero from another world, he can instead just lean into the core beliefs of conspiracy theories like that and view himself as someone who is intelligent beyond the scope of the human mind, who in unhindered by pesky 'human' things like emotions and personal connections, and who isn't even human at all.
All of this is to say that, even if he never feels it or consciously acknowledges it, Chevalier fundamentally believes that this world is not for him, that he does not belong here because he was made wrong somehow, and he's worked his fucking ass off every day of his life since he could walk to try to carve out a space for himself and earn his very existence. I think it's ironic that his name is 'Chevalier' because every time I see his name, I think of the title chevalier mal fet, which is what Lancelot refers to himself as in The Once and Future King, and it translates to "the ill-made knight", which I think really is how Chevalier feels about himself on a deep, fundamental level. This kind of perspective is inherently traumatic, mainly because of the unfair treatment, discrimination, and cruelty it results from, so Chevalier also has this trauma.
Remember how I said that his trauma is the driving force of why he does everything he does? This desire to do whatever is necessary to belong in this world that he was born into yet also totally alien to is exactly what's driving him to conquer the continent. If the world is not for him, then all he has to do is sieze it and make it his, which he and everyone else knows he is fully capable of doing.
This brings us to the autism itself, and I first just want to quickly list off the autistic traits and symptoms I've seen from him in the text: hyperlexia, strong pattern recognition, above average logical/academic intelligence, below average social/emotional intelligence, a tendency for literal, black-and-white thinking, a photographic memory, sensory issues, and he likes parallel play once he actually starts to get closer to Emma. I want to start by clarifying that a true, photographic memory like his has never actually been proven to exist (it's physically impossible to have total recall like he does), but when it does show up in media as a fictional trait, it's always autistic coded, like with Spencer from Criminal Minds. My opinion is that Chevalier isn't really a genius, he's just autistic and the combination of traits like his memory, the literal thinking, the hyperlexia, and the pattern recognition are what make him come across like some incredible genius.
His true genius is how he's managed to use his privilege, resources, and the people around him not just to accommodate his disability (because yes, this is a disability, even when it's someone like Chevalier) but go so far as to turn his weaknesses into perceived strengths. It's no longer a weakness that he has abominable social skills and no emotional intelligence whatsoever, now it's a strength that allows him to be a better leader because he's uninhindered by all that illogical riff-raff, because he said so. Genuinely, it's really impressive he managed to pull that off even though it's all a load of bullshit. In addition to that, he also relies on his faction to make up for these same weaknesses at the same time he's trying to claim they're not weaknesses. Even he can recognize the importance of interpersonal skills in the political arena, so that's where Clavis and Nokto come in to cover for him.
But, like I said earlier, when it comes to the choices he makes, it all really comes down to the way he thinks as an autistic person. Everything is either simple math or a binary choice after he 'considered all options and eliminated the ones that were inefficient' because of how his autistic brain works. For him, it will always come down to a violent solution because diplomacy and negotiation are just too hard for him to do, so it really is more efficient to just whip out his sword because at least he's competent with that.
This is where that internal conflict around his autistic identity comes back up with some of the trauma because he really doesn't like killing people and it is, unfortunately, true that he never would have started killing people like that if he weren't autistic. People saw him as a threat from such a young age because of the 'genius' of his autism, so the assassination attempts along with his reputation all started with his autism. His reputation and the very literal, very autistic, black-and-white choice he made on Bloodstained Rose Day are then also the reason why everyone keeps trying to kill him currently. On top of all of that, you have this true ineptitude when it comes to social pragmatics and communication skills so, between all those different things, he very literally keeps killing people because he's a prominent figure in society and he is autistic.
I think this is why he's actually willing to work with Emma and change to be less violent because he never wanted to kill people this way and, on top of that, he literally has childhood trauma around that exact thing. This massively tangled web of contradictions is what makes him the way he is and yet he can't stand to consciously recognize the vast majority of all this shit, so he's like the fucking Plato cave allegory with the denial about it and it's so fucking dangerous. Think about it — he's making all of these critical decisions about Rhodolite, who lives and who dies, and even conquering the whole fucking continent out of this psychological mess of his personal inclinations, emotions, and trauma, all while being fully convinced those things don't even exist and he is actually making the best, most objective choices since he believes that he's free of all that other crap.
The tragedy of Chevalier is that his psychology is going to destroy Rhodolite and he won't even recognize any of that as it's happening. Coming from the USA and looking at other massive countries like ours around the globe, I can say with confidence that there is absolutely no way to make a country this big and actually have it work, especially when the idea is that you're expanding a smaller country. The second that Rhodolite gets combined with another country, 'Rhodolite' is dead, and Chevalier has no concept of that. He sees countries as borders on maps with a name slapped on top and fails to recognize that what really makes his precious Rhodolite the country he's sworn to protect is the people within those borders, their culture, their language, and all that kind of stuff. Assimiliating Rhodolite with the entire rest of the continent to make one massive country will inherently destroy Rhodolite, and there is no way to avoid that.
This isn't even to mention the problems with succession and how the worst problems of any monarchy get even worse when we're talking about an empire that spans a whole continent. Chevalier is, unfortunately, exactly the type of guy that if, in the future, one of his descendants takes over the empire and fucks everything up because that's exactly how shit like this always turns out, that's only on them and Chevalier wouldn't see himself as being responsible for that even though he would have made the whole system in the first place. By keeping a totalitarian structure, especially if he gets rid of the Belle system like he wants, he will have completely sealed Rhodolite's fate. However, he won't see it that way and, if he does all of that, he will live the rest of his life thinking he succeeded in all of this and saved Rhodolite.
#ikepri#ikemen prince#ikemen series#cybird ikemen#chevalier michel#ikepri chevalier#psychology#psychoanalysis#autism#autism spectrum#actually autistic#asd#character analysis#analysis
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gotta Be You - Part 1
Masterlist
As Liam’s little sister you’ve always looked up to him—he’s your protector, your biggest supporter, and your closest friend. When Liam joins One Direction and catapults into fame, he invites you to join his world, hoping it’ll help you find your own path. But instead, you find Niall. From the moment you meet him, there’s a spark, a connection you can’t ignore. Yet Liam has one unyielding rule: none of his bandmates can date you. With hearts tangled and loyalties tested, will you and Niall find a way to your happy ending?
Tags: Niall x reader, Liam x sister!reader, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, forbidden love
Part 2 | Part 3 - coming soon
...
You’ve always been proud to be a Payne. Growing up as the youngest sibling in a family of four kids, you found yourself constantly navigating the spaces between your two older sisters and your brother, Liam. While your sisters were off doing their own thing—school, jobs, and their social lives—it was Liam you stuck to like glue.
There was always something special about him. Even when you were kids, you knew he was different—his love for music, his talent, his determination to succeed. You’d sit on the floor of your shared living room, watching him practice for hours, and when he’d finally take a break, he’d playfully mess up your hair and tell you stories about the kind of career he dreamed of having.
You’d admired him for it. Music was something you’d always loved too, but you didn’t have his drive. While Liam chased his dreams relentlessly, you kept your passion tucked away, unsure how to make something of it. So, when he auditioned for The X Factor for a second time and landed a spot in One Direction, you weren’t surprised. You were ecstatic for him, of course, but part of you also felt a quiet pang of envy, a longing for the kind of confidence and purpose he had.
And then he gave you a chance. After the band’s success skyrocketed, Liam noticed how stuck you felt, unsure of your own path. He suggested you come along whenever possible—on tour, to shows, behind the scenes—so you could get exposure to the music world, learn the ropes, and figure out where you might fit.
That’s how you ended up here, on the cusp of One Direction’s first tour, standing in the hallway of a rehearsal room with Liam at your side. Your official “job” is a bit vague—personal assistant, helper, an all-rounder for whatever the band or crew might need—but to you, it’s more than just work. It’s an opportunity to prove yourself, to finally step into a world you’ve always dreamed about.
“Ready?” Liam’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. His hand is steady on your shoulder, his presence as familiar and grounding as ever.
You nod, nerves prickling at the edges of your resolve. “Yeah.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, but there’s a warning edge in his tone. “Just—remember what I said. They’re good lads, but—”
“—but they’re lads. Got it,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.
His smile widens, but his protectiveness is clear. No matter how much older you’ve gotten, Liam still treats you like the same little sister who used to trail after him in the backyard in Wolverhampton. You want to tell him you can handle yourself, but instead, you let him push open the door.
He smirks and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Alright, let’s go.”
The door creaks open, and the sound of laughter and faint guitar chords spills into the hallway. Inside, the boys are scattered across the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare. It’s surreal seeing them like this—actually seeing them, not just hearing about them through Liam or watching them on TV.
Harry’s the first one you notice, all curls and dimples, lounging sideways on the worn sofa with one leg draped over the armrest. His signature mop of brown curls is slightly disheveled, falling over his forehead, and his green eyes sparkle with mischief as he jokes with Louis. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and skinny jeans that make him look even younger than his 17 years, but there’s something about his easy confidence that’s magnetic.
Next to him, Louis is perched on the armrest, animated and full of energy. His brown hair is swept to the side in its trademark messy-but-styled way, and his smile is wide, almost boyish, as he throws out some sarcastic remark that has Harry in stitches. He’s in a striped t-shirt and red chinos, looking every bit the cheeky troublemaker Liam warned you about.
Zayn sits further back, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand, his dark eyes focused on the screen. His black hair is perfectly coiffed, the short sides blending into the longer strands on top, and he’s dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans that give him an effortlessly cool edge. Even sitting quietly, there’s a certain intensity about him, like he’s taking in everything without saying a word.
Then there’s Niall.
He’s cross-legged on the floor with a guitar balanced against his knee, his blond hair a little shaggy, sticking out at odd angles like he’s been running his hands through it. He wears a polo shirt and jeans, and there’s a boyishness to him that instantly softens his sharp blue eyes. He’s the only one not talking, his focus on the guitar as his fingers strum a few chords absently.
“Alright, lads,” Liam announces, his voice cutting through the room as he guides you inside. Instantly, all their eyes turn to you, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks under the sudden attention.
“This is my little sister,” Liam continues, his tone making it clear he’s laying down the law before anyone can even speak.
“Little sister?” Louis echoes, his grin widening as he hops off the armrest. “How little are we talking here?”
“She’s sixteen,” Liam answers quickly, his voice firm.
Louis raises his eyebrows, glancing at you like you’re some sort of rare specimen. “Sixteen! Someone alert the crew—we’ll need to order more juice boxes!”
Harry snorts, standing up and crossing the room to you. “Don’t mind him,” he says, his hand outstretched. “He’s just bitter because you’re already taller than him.”
You laugh nervously and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to the chaos,” Harry says warmly, his grin making you feel just a little less nervous.
Louis steps up next, bowing dramatically. “Louis Tomlinson, at your service,” he says, though his teasing grin undermines any actual sincerity.
“Nice to meet you,” you reply, trying to keep up with his energy.
“You’ll regret saying that,” Zayn quips from his spot against the wall, his voice low and dry. He sets his phone down and walks over, offering you a quiet smile. “Zayn. Good to meet you.”
You nod, a little taken aback by how calm he seems compared to the others. “You too.”
Finally, it’s Niall’s turn. He stands up, brushing his hands on his jeans before offering you one. Up close, you notice the freckles dusted across his cheeks and nose, a stark contrast to the pale blue of his eyes.
“I’m Niall,” he says simply, his voice tinged with an Irish lilt that makes your chest flutter unexpectedly.
You shake his hand, his grip warm and firm but not overwhelming. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“She’s just a kid, Niall,” Liam interjects, his voice sharp.
Your cheeks burn as you pull your hand back, and Niall glances at Liam with a raised eyebrow before stepping away.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replies lightly, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that makes your stomach twist.
Louis claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “Alright, Baby Payne, welcome to the circus. Don’t let Liam boss you around too much. He’s no fun.”
You manage a laugh, grateful for the distraction, but as the boys settle back into their easy camaraderie, you can’t help but notice the way Niall’s gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer before he picks up his guitar again.
It’s subtle, fleeting, but it’s enough to leave a strange, unfamiliar weight in your chest.
You follow Liam to the corner of the room as he starts explaining your first tasks, but you find it hard to focus. Your attention keeps drifting back to Niall, to the softness in his eyes and the quiet energy that seems to surround him.
You’ve just met him, and yet, something about him pulls at you, tugging at the edges of your thoughts. And judging by the sharp edge in Liam’s voice whenever Niall so much as looks your way, you get the feeling this tour is going to be a lot more complicated than you expected.
...
The weeks on tour pass in a blur, and you’ve found yourself slipping into a comfortable rhythm. You’ve gotten to know the crew, figured out how to keep Liam from getting too stressed, and discovered that there’s never a dull moment when you’re surrounded by the boys.
Harry’s teasing keeps you on your toes, Louis’s antics always bring a laugh, Zayn’s quiet humor sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and Niall—well, you try not to think about him too much. Except you do, all the time.
There’s something about him—the way he’s always humming a tune, the way his laugh lights up a room, the quiet moments when he seems lost in his own world with a guitar in hand. You tell yourself it’s just admiration, just a harmless crush. But then he’ll smile at you, soft and warm, and it feels like the air gets heavier.
One evening, after a long day of travel and sound checks, you find yourself alone in the backstage lounge. The hum of distant voices echoes down the hallway, but the room itself is still and quiet. Someone left an acoustic guitar leaning against the couch, and you pick it up, letting your fingers trail over the strings.
You’ve always wanted to learn, but it’s one of those things you’ve never had the time—or the courage—to pursue. You strum a few random notes, cringing at the sound but smiling anyway.
“You’re holding it wrong.”
The familiar Irish lilt startles you, and you look up to see Niall standing in the doorway, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets and a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“I’m just messing around,” you say, your cheeks heating up.
“You’ve been saying you want to learn,” he points out, stepping inside. “How about I teach you?”
Your heart skips. “Really? You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours. “C’mon, scoot over.”
You shift to one side of the couch, and he sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes against yours. His presence feels larger than life, even in the quiet of the room, and you swallow hard as he reaches for the guitar.
“Here,” he says, adjusting it in your hands. His fingers are rough but careful as they guide yours into place on the fretboard. “Press here—no, a little higher—yeah, just like that. Now strum.”
The chord rings out, clearer than before, and you can’t help but grin. “Hey, that’s not terrible.”
He laughs softly, the sound low and warm. “See? Told you it’s not so hard. Just gotta practice.”
For the next few minutes, he walks you through the basics, his voice steady and patient as he shows you how to hold the strings and transition between chords. His hands brush against yours more than once, and every time, it feels like your heart might just give out.
At one point, he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Try pressing a bit harder—there, like that.”
You glance at him, your faces inches apart, and suddenly the air feels charged. His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world disappears.
“You’re a good teacher,” you manage to say, your voice quieter than you intended.
His lips twitch into a smile, but there’s something softer, almost hesitant, in his expression. “You’re a good student.”
The sound of muffled laughter breaks the moment. Niall straightens up just as the door bursts open, and Louis, Harry, and Liam spill inside, clearly mid-joke.
“What’s going on here?” Louis asks, his grin widening as he takes in the scene. “Private guitar lessons, huh?”
“Very private,” Harry adds, raising an eyebrow.
Your face burns as you fumble to set the guitar down. “We were just—”
Liam steps forward, his protective big-brother mode kicking in immediately. His eyes narrow as they dart between you and Niall. “What’s going on here?” he repeats, his tone less teasing than Louis’s.
“She’s learning guitar,” Niall says, his voice easy but a little quieter than usual. He scratches the back of his neck, clearly picking up on Liam’s mood.
Liam crosses his arms, his stance firm. “Since when do you give private lessons, Niall?”
“Liam,” you interject, your voice tinged with exasperation, “it’s not a big deal. He was just helping me.”
“Helping, huh?” Liam’s tone softens slightly as he glances at you, but the protective edge doesn’t leave his expression.
“She’s a natural,” Niall offers with a small smile, trying to ease the tension.
“Right,” Liam says, his tone flat. “Well, I think we’ve all had enough downtime. Don’t you, Niall?”
The unspoken message hangs heavy in the air. Niall nods, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief moment before he steps away. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, catch you later.”
He disappears into the hallway with Harry and Louis trailing behind, both of them snickering. Liam lingers, his arms still crossed.
“You alright?” he asks, his voice softening as he looks at you.
“Yes, Liam,” you say, unable to keep the irritation out of your tone.
He frowns, his protective instincts clearly at odds with the trust he has in you. “I just don’t want you getting caught up in anything that could distract you from why you’re here.”
You sigh. “I’m fine. Really.”
Liam hesitates, then nods. “Alright. Just… don’t forget I’m looking out for you.”
As he leaves, you sink back onto the couch, your heart still racing. The moment with Niall felt fragile, like it could have been something more if not for the interruption. And now, you can’t help but wonder if he felt it too—or if Liam’s protective streak just made it harder for anything to happen at all.
...
A few months into the tour, life has settled into a rhythm. The long bus rides, chaotic backstage moments, and energy of packed arenas have become second nature to you. You turned 17 just a few weeks ago, and the boys threw you a small, chaotic birthday celebration on the bus.
Liam, of course, went all out—insisting on decorations, a cake, and a heartfelt speech about how proud he is of you. You love your brother fiercely, but his protectiveness hasn’t wavered even as you’ve gotten older. He’s constantly watching, making sure you’re okay, and keeping a particularly close eye whenever you’re around Niall.
Because if there’s one thing that’s changed since the start of the tour, it’s your crush on him. What started as a flicker of admiration has grown into something you can’t ignore. You notice everything about him now—the way his laughter fills a room, the way he loses himself in his guitar, the way he looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching.
Those quiet moments you share have become the highlight of your days. But they’re always careful, always just under the radar. You know Liam wouldn’t approve, and Niall… well, you can’t quite tell how he feels.
Tonight, the hotel is quiet. Everyone has gone to their rooms in the shared suite after another long day, and you’ve slipped out onto the balcony, needing a moment to yourself. The cool night air brushes against your skin, and you let out a slow breath, staring at the twinkling city lights below.
The door behind you creaks open, and you turn to see Niall stepping out. He’s in a hoodie and sweatpants, his hair a little messy, and his blue eyes light up when he sees you.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, leaning casually against the railing beside you.
You shake your head, offering him a small smile. “Too much on my mind.”
“Like what?”
You hesitate, your fingers picking at the hem of your sweatshirt. “I don’t know. Just… this whole tour. Everything. Sometimes it feels like I don’t know what I’m doing or where I fit in.”
Niall’s gaze softens, and he tilts his head toward you. “You’re doing great. Everyone sees it, especially Liam. He doesn’t stop talking about how proud he is of you.”
“That’s Liam, though,” you say with a small laugh. “He’d say that no matter what.”
“Maybe,” Niall says, a grin tugging at his lips. “But I wouldn’t. And I think you’re brilliant.”
The warmth in his voice makes your breath hitch, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. The air between you feels heavier now, filled with an unspoken tension that’s been building for weeks.
“You’ve been different lately,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “More confident. It’s… nice to see.”
You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I think it’s because of you,” you admit softly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
His brows lift, surprise flickering across his face. “Me?”
You nod, your cheeks burning. “You make me feel like I can actually do this. Like I’m not just… Liam’s little sister.”
Niall’s expression shifts, something tender and almost vulnerable crossing his features. “You’re not just Liam’s little sister. You’re… you.”
The way he says it makes your chest ache, and suddenly, you can’t look away from him. His gaze dips to your lips for the briefest moment, and when his eyes meet yours again, they’re filled with something you can’t quite name.
He steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I…?”
“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with anticipation.
The world seems to stop as he leans in, his hand brushing yours as his lips meet yours. It’s soft and warm, careful in a way that feels achingly sweet. It’s your first kiss, and it’s everything you didn’t know you were waiting for.
Your heart races, your hands gripping the railing for support as he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach flutter. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.
“Was that okay?” he asks, his voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
You nod, your cheeks flushed. “It was… perfect.”
He lets out a soft laugh, his hand brushing yours again, lingering this time. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips.
The door behind you creaks open again, and both of you freeze.
“Y/N?” Liam’s voice cuts through the quiet, and you both pull away instantly, your heart lurching in your chest.
Liam steps onto the balcony, his eyes narrowing as he looks between the two of you. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, your voice a little too high.
“Just talking,” Niall adds, his tone calm but cautious.
Liam’s jaw tightens, and he crosses his arms, clearly not buying it. “It’s late. You should be in your room, Y/N.”
You hesitate, glancing at Niall, whose expression is carefully neutral. “Okay,” you say softly, stepping away from the railing.
As you head inside, Liam stays on the balcony, his protective gaze fixed on Niall. You can feel the tension behind you as you close the door, your fingers brushing against your lips as the memory of the kiss lingers.
As the door shuts behind you, you pause just inside your room, heart pounding as you press your ear to the wall. You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but you can’t help yourself. The muffled sound of Liam’s voice reaches you, low and tense.
“What the hell was that, Niall?” Liam’s tone is sharp, leaving no room for interpretation.
There’s a beat of silence before Niall responds, his voice quieter but steady. “I kissed her.”
The air seems to still, and your stomach twists at the raw honesty in his admission.
“You what?” Liam’s voice rises, and you flinch. “You kissed my sister? Are you out of your mind, mate?”
“I know how it looks, Liam,” Niall says, his tone calm but firm. “But it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t just some stupid thing.”
Liam lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, really? Then what was it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re crossing a line that shouldn’t even exist.”
“I care about her,” Niall says, the words quiet but unwavering.
The room feels too small, too hot, as you strain to hear every word.
“She’s seventeen, Niall,” Liam snaps, his voice full of barely controlled anger. “She’s my little sister. She doesn’t need some… some guy messing with her head, especially not someone in the band.”
“I’m not messing with her head,” Niall says, his voice tightening. “I’d never do that to her. Or to you.”
“Then what are you doing?” Liam demands.
There’s a pause, and you can almost picture Niall standing there, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, struggling to find the right words.
“I don’t know,” he admits finally, his voice soft but honest. “I just… I like her, Liam. I can’t help it.”
Liam exhales sharply, the sound of his frustration carrying through the door. “You can’t ‘just like her,’ Niall. She’s not some girl you can flirt with on tour and forget about when it’s over. She’s my sister. My responsibility. And she’s too young for this. For you.”
Niall’s response is quieter this time, but you catch the edge of hurt in his tone. “I’d never hurt her.”
“That’s not the point,” Liam snaps. “The point is, I don’t want this. I don’t want you dating her, I don’t want you sneaking around with her, I don’t want any of it. Do you understand me?”
Silence stretches between them, and your heart sinks as the weight of Liam’s words settles in.
Finally, Niall speaks, his voice subdued. “I understand.”
“Good,” Liam says firmly. “Because if this happens again, it’s not just you I’ll have a problem with. It’s her too. And I don’t want that. She’s too important to me.”
The sound of footsteps signals the end of their conversation, and you quickly retreat to your bed, your heart racing. Moments later, the door to Liam’s room opens and shuts with a heavy thud, leaving you alone with the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest.
You bury your face in your hands, unsure whether to feel guilty, heartbroken, or furious. Liam’s words echo in your mind, his protectiveness clear—but so is the way Niall stood his ground.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just some fleeting moment. And that’s what scares you most of all.
...
The days after that night feel different.
Niall, who had always been a constant presence—whether it was with his playful jokes, quiet encouragement, or shared moments in the corner of a busy room—seems to pull away. It starts subtly: he avoids meeting your eyes during group conversations, sits farther from you on the bus, and finds reasons to busy himself when you’re nearby.
At first, you try to ignore it. Maybe you’re imagining things, reading too much into his behavior. But as the days stretch into weeks, the distance grows undeniable. He’s still kind, still polite, but the warmth that once filled every interaction is gone.
It hurts.
The worst part is that you understand why. You know Liam must’ve said something to him that night. Your brother’s protectiveness runs deep, and you don’t doubt he made it clear that anything more than friendship between you and Niall is off-limits.
But understanding doesn’t make it easier.
You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on your job and the tour and the amazing opportunity in front of you. Yet every time you see Niall, every time his laugh carries across the room or his voice fills the stage, the ache in your chest grows.
Finally, you can’t take it anymore.
One evening, after another sold-out show, you catch him alone in the hallway outside the dressing rooms. He’s leaning against the wall, strumming absently on his guitar, his expression distant.
“Niall,” you say softly, your voice trembling.
He looks up, startled, and you see something flicker in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—before he schools his features into a careful smile. “Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”
You hesitate, your hands curling into fists at your sides as you summon the courage to speak. “Can we talk? I mean, really talk.”
He shifts uncomfortably, glancing down the hall like he’s looking for an escape. “Uh… sure.”
The casualness in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you press on, stepping closer. “Did I… do something wrong?”
His brows knit together. “What? No, of course not.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you can’t help it. “You’ve been distant, and I don’t understand why. Did I mess something up?”
Niall sighs, setting his guitar aside and running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up, Y/N. It’s just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening.
“Just what?” you press, your voice quieter now.
“It’s better this way,” he says finally, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t want to make things harder for you. Or for Liam.”
His mention of Liam stings, but it doesn’t surprise you. “This is because of him, isn’t it?”
“Y/N…”
“No,” you interrupt, your voice trembling. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I can’t handle the truth. If this is about Liam, just say it.”
He exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging. “It’s not just Liam. It’s… everything. You’re amazing, you really are. But this… us… it’s not a good idea.”
The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. “So that’s it? You’re just… giving up? Pushing me away because it’s easier?”
“It’s not about giving up,” he says, his voice firm but laced with something you can’t quite name. “It’s about doing what’s right.”
“For who?” you ask, your voice cracking.
“For you,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.
You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Niall. Please. Just tell me how you really feel.”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating.
Finally, he looks up, and the guarded expression on his face is like a knife to your heart. “I only see you as a friend, Y/N. That’s all it’s ever been.”
The words crush you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You stare at him, searching for any sign that he’s lying, that he doesn’t mean it. But his face is unreadable, and the wall between you feels insurmountable.
“Oh,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
“Y/N—”
“No, it’s fine,” you say quickly, stepping back. “I get it. Thanks for being honest.”
You turn before he can say anything else, the tears spilling over as you walk away.
It’s not until you’re alone in your room, curled up on the bed with your face buried in your hands, that the full weight of his words crashes down on you.
Your first kiss. Your first heartbreak. And all of it with the same person.
Deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to what Niall said—that he’s not telling you the whole truth. But that doesn’t make the pain any less real.
And as much as you want to believe that this isn’t the end, that maybe one day things will be different, you can’t ignore the hollow ache in your chest.
For now, it feels like goodbye.
You’re still curled up on your bed, the muffled sounds of the bustling hotel outside your window doing nothing to distract you from the ache in your chest. You’ve stopped crying, but the tears have left tracks on your cheeks, your eyes sore and your head heavy.
A soft knock at the door breaks through the silence, but you don’t move. You know who it is.
“Y/N?” Liam’s voice is hesitant, almost cautious.
“Go away,” you mutter, your voice hoarse.
He doesn’t listen. The door creaks open, and a moment later, the bed dips under his weight as he sits down beside you.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, reaching out to brush your hair back from your face.
You turn away, your throat tightening. “What do you think?”
Liam sighs, his hand falling to his lap. “I heard you and Niall. Well… I heard enough.”
“Good for you,” you snap, sitting up abruptly. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his face. “What are you talking about?”
“You,” you say, your voice rising. “You told him not to get close to me. You made it impossible for him to… to even try.”
Liam stiffens, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find a response.
“I’m not stupid, Liam,” you continue, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I know you said something to him that night. You couldn’t stand the idea of him liking me, could you? So you made sure it wouldn’t happen.”
“Y/N, it’s not like that,” Liam says, his voice tight.
“Then what is it like?” you demand, the tears threatening to spill over again. “Why do you always have to control everything? I’m not a little kid anymore, Liam. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect.”
“You’re my sister,” he snaps, his frustration breaking through. “It’s my job to protect you. Especially from something that could hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “You don’t even trust me to make my own choices. Do you even care how I feel? How much it hurts that you pushed him away?”
“Of course I care,” Liam says, his voice softening. “That’s why I did it. Niall’s my mate, and I know him. He’s a great guy, but this… it would’ve been complicated. And you don’t deserve complicated. You deserve better.”
“I deserve the chance to decide that for myself,” you say quietly, your voice trembling.
Liam looks at you, his expression torn, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension in the room is heavy, your words lingering in the air like a storm cloud.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his shoulders slumping. “I just… I don’t know how to turn it off, Y/N. I’ve always been the one looking out for you, and sometimes I forget you don’t need me to do that anymore.”
Your anger softens at the sincerity in his voice, and the fight drains out of you. “I do need you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just wish you’d trust me more. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”
Liam nods slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’ll try. I promise.”
The quiet stretches between you, the weight of the argument lingering but no longer sharp. You shift closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry too,” you murmur.
He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into a hug. “You don’t have to be.”
For a while, you sit there in silence, the steady rhythm of Liam’s breathing grounding you. The ache in your chest hasn’t gone away, but it feels a little easier to bear with him beside you.
“You’re gonna be okay, you know,” Liam says softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.
“I don’t feel okay,” you admit, your voice small.
“You will,” he says firmly. “And no matter what happens, I’m always here. You’ve got me, yeah?”
You nod against his shoulder, the lump in your throat easing slightly.
Liam stays with you that night, sitting beside you until you eventually fall asleep, his presence a quiet reminder that even when everything feels like it’s falling apart, you’re not alone.
...
You’ve been working with the boys for nearly two years now, and life on tour has become second nature to you. What started as Liam bringing you along to “help out” has blossomed into an actual job. You’re officially assistant tour manager alongside Paul, though you still help out with other tasks whenever needed. You’re no longer just Liam’s little sister tagging along—you’re part of the team, a vital piece of the well-oiled machine that keeps everything running.
The boys are on their second tour now, and at 19, you’ve come into your own. It’s exhilarating being part of the chaos, and you love the work: the organization, the problem-solving, the adrenaline of a live show. It’s the perfect way to be part of the music industry without the overwhelming spotlight.
Your relationship with the boys has only grown stronger. They’re like your family now—a group of brothers who alternately tease you mercilessly and protect you fiercely. Even Niall.
Especially Niall.
Your feelings for him never left, though you’ve done everything you can to bury them. You’re friends now, like you are with the others, and you’ve convinced yourself it’s enough. But there’s still a pang in your chest when you see him smile, still a flutter in your stomach when his arm brushes yours.
You’ve tried to move on. You’ve dated a little, had a few hookups here and there, but none of them have meant anything. They’re distractions, attempts to prove to yourself that you can let go of Niall. But deep down, you know the truth—you’re still in love with him.
And Liam? Liam notices everything.
He’s still protective, though he’s eased up a little since the early days. He trusts you to take care of yourself, but that doesn’t stop him from keeping a watchful eye on anyone who shows too much interest. You know he means well, but sometimes it feels like he’s waiting for you to slip up.
Now, with 5 Seconds of Summer joining the tour as the opening act, his watchfulness has only increased.
Tonight, the afterparty is in full swing. The boys just finished another sold-out show, and the room hums with energy. You’re mingling with the crew and the 5SOS boys, enjoying the electric atmosphere, when Ashton sidles up beside you.
“You looked like you could use a drink,” he says, holding out a glass.
You take it with a smile. “Thanks, Ashton.”
He grins, his dimples on full display, and leans casually against the bar. The conversation flows easily, his charm disarming, and before long, you’re laughing at his jokes and leaning into the distraction he provides.
Out of habit, you glance around the room and catch Liam’s eye. He’s sitting with Harry and Louis, but his gaze is sharp, fixed on you and Ashton. You feel a pang of guilt but push it aside.
It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong.
Your gaze shifts again, landing on Niall across the room. He’s chatting with a few crew members, a drink in hand, but his eyes flicker to you and Ashton. For a moment, your breath catches. There’s something in his expression—something unreadable but heavy.
But then he looks away, and the moment is gone.
Ashton steps closer, his hand brushing yours. “You know, you’re kind of amazing,” he says, his tone light but sincere. “Everyone talks about how much you do for the band. It’s impressive.”
Your cheeks warm, and you glance down at your drink. “Thanks. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is,” he insists, his voice softening. “You’re the kind of person who makes everything run smoothly, and no one even notices. That’s a big deal.”
The compliment catches you off guard. You’ve heard similar things before, but coming from Ashton, it feels different. It feels like he means it.
Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the air.
“Hey, Y/N,” Niall says, his tone too casual to be natural. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Ashton frowns, his hand lingering on your arm. “We were just—”
“She’ll be right back,” Niall interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind.
Your heart stutters as you meet Niall’s gaze. There’s something intense in his eyes, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.
Reluctantly, you follow him out into the hallway, leaving Ashton behind.
“What’s your problem?” you demand, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall.
“My problem?” Niall repeats, his voice tight. “What are you doing with him?”
“What does it matter to you?” you snap, your frustration bubbling over. “You don’t care who I’m with.”
Niall flinches, but he doesn’t back down. “I care because I know you don’t like him.”
“And how would you know that?” you challenge, your voice shaking.
“Because I know you,” he says, his voice soft but sure.
The words cut through you, leaving you raw and exposed. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavy, filled with everything you’re too afraid to say.
“Why do you even care?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve made it clear you don’t feel that way about me.”
Niall looks away, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t answer, and that’s answer enough.
“Exactly,” you say bitterly, stepping past him. “Stay out of it, Niall.”
You walk away before he can stop you, your heart shattering all over again.
When you glance back into the room, you catch Liam watching you, his expression unreadable. You know he’ll have questions later, but for now, you don’t have the energy to care.
All you want is to be anywhere but here.
...
The tour has been a whirlwind of cities, venues, and endless hours on the road. Over the months, you’ve fallen into an easy rhythm with the chaos, finding joy in the work and the moments of camaraderie.
The boys—Harry, Louis, Zayn, and Niall—have all become like family to you, with the exception of Niall, who occupies a more complicated space in your heart. The others treat you like their little sister, protective and sometimes overbearing, but always with good intentions. Niall… well, Niall is different.
And then there’s Ashton.
What started as a casual flirtation has turned into something… undefined. Harmless fun, the two of you had agreed, a way to blow off steam without complications. A few dates here and there, a few hookups in the quiet anonymity of hotel rooms—it’s nothing serious, just a distraction.
A distraction from Niall.
It works, most of the time. Ashton’s easygoing nature and charm make it hard to dwell on the ache in your chest, the lingering feelings you can’t quite shake. And yet, you’ve caught Niall’s eyes on you more than once when you’re with Ashton.
The way his jaw tightens when Ashton slings an arm around your shoulders. The way his laughter falters when Ashton leans in to whisper something in your ear. You see it, but you don’t know what it means—or maybe you don’t want to let yourself believe it means anything at all.
Now, with the tour winding down, the tension has reached its breaking point.
You’re backstage after another sold-out show, sorting through a pile of schedules when Harry appears in front of you, his arms crossed.
“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his tone unusually serious. “We need to talk.”
Your stomach sinks. “What’s going on?”
“Just come with me,” he says, gesturing for you to follow.
Confused, you trail behind him, rounding a corner to find Liam, Louis, Zayn, and Niall waiting in one of the empty dressing rooms. Their expressions range from serious to downright grim, and your heart starts to race.
“What’s this about?” you ask, your voice wary.
“It’s about you and Ashton,” Liam says, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
You freeze, your stomach twisting into knots. “What about it?”
“You really think we’re going to ignore what’s been going on?” Louis asks, leaning against the wall with a sharp look.
“There’s nothing to ignore,” you say defensively, crossing your arms. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Liam snaps, his voice rising. “You’ve been hooking up with him, Y/N.”
“So what if I have?” you fire back, your frustration bubbling over. “I’m an adult. I can do what I want.”
“Can you?” Liam shoots back. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like you’re thinking this through.”
“Why is it any of your business?” you demand. “Ashton and I have an understanding. It’s harmless.”
“It’s not harmless,” Niall cuts in, his voice tight. “He’s not good enough for you.”
You whirl on him, your eyes blazing. “Oh, and who is? Because it sure as hell isn’t you, right?”
The room goes dead silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air.
“Y/N,” Liam starts, but you cut him off, turning back to him.
“No, Liam, seriously,” you say, your voice shaking with anger and hurt. “I couldn’t date Niall because you told him not to. And now I can’t even have a casual thing with Ashton? Who am I allowed to be with, Liam? Or am I just supposed to stay single forever so you can keep playing the overprotective big brother?”
“That’s not what this is about,” Liam says, his tone softer now, but you’re too far gone to listen.
“I’m 19,” you say, your voice rising. “I can fuck whoever I want, Liam. You don’t get to control me.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Liam snaps, his own temper flaring. “I’m trying to look out for you.”
“I don’t need you to look out for me,” you shoot back. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
Niall steps forward, his expression unreadable. “We’re just trying to protect you, Y/N.”
“Protect me from what?” you demand, turning to him. “From living my life? From making my own decisions? I don’t need your protection, Niall. Not yours, not Liam’s, not anyone’s.”
The room is thick with tension, and for a moment, no one speaks. Finally, Liam sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair.
“Fine,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. “Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face.”
His words cut deep, but you refuse to let them show. Without another word, you push past them and storm out of the room, your heart pounding and your eyes stinging with unshed tears.
You don’t stop until you’re in the privacy of your own room, the door shut firmly behind you. Only then do you let yourself crumble, sinking onto the bed as the weight of their words crashes over you.
You thought you’d built up walls strong enough to protect yourself, but tonight, they’ve come crashing down. And as much as you want to blame Liam, or Niall, or anyone else, the truth is painfully clear.
You’re not just running from them. You’re running from yourself.
…
Later that night, you’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, folding the last of your clothes into your suitcase. The hotel room is quiet, the muffled hum of the hallway barely audible. There’s a soft knock at the door, and you glance up.
“Come in,” you call, setting aside a stack of T-shirts.
The door creaks open, and Liam steps inside, his expression hesitant. He hovers near the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking a little unsure of himself.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you reply, turning back to your packing.
“Can I sit?” he asks, gesturing to the edge of the bed.
You nod, and he makes his way over, lowering himself onto the mattress beside you. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just watches as you fold and organize your things. Finally, he clears his throat.
“I, uh… I wanted to check in on you,” he starts. “I know things got a little heated earlier.”
You sigh, sitting back on your heels. “Yeah, they did.”
“I’m sorry,” Liam says, his voice soft but steady. “Especially for that comment I made—‘Do whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me.’ That was out of line, and I didn’t mean it. I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. No matter what.”
His words catch you off guard, and you glance over at him, your chest tightening. “Liam…”
He shakes his head, cutting you off. “I just get scared sometimes, you know? I see the way people look at you, the way they talk to you, and I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you. You’re my little sister, and I just want to protect you.”
“I know,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands. “And I’m sorry too. For the way I acted. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I know you’re just trying to look out for me.”
Liam leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to control your life, Y/N. I know you’re an adult now, and I trust you to make your own decisions. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”
You offer him a small smile. “I get that. And for what it’s worth, I ended things with Ashton tonight. Not because of what you or anyone else said, but because it just… made sense. The tour’s ending, and he’s going back to Australia. We both agreed it was the right thing to do.”
Liam nods, relief softening his features. “Good. I liked Ashton, but I’m glad you’re doing what feels right for you.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Liam reaches out, pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap tightly around you, and you sink into the familiar comfort of his embrace.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “You’ve grown up so much, and you’re doing amazing things. I know I don’t say it enough, but I mean it.”
“Thanks, Liam,” you whisper, your throat tightening. “That means a lot.”
He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “And for the record, I’m really looking forward to going home. It’ll be nice to see Mum and Dad, and to just hang out with you. No tour, no distractions.”
You smile, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Same here. It’ll be nice to have some time to just… breathe.”
Liam grins, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger. “Exactly. Now finish packing—we’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and I’m not carrying your suitcase.”
You laugh, swatting his hand away, and for the first time in what feels like ages, things feel okay between you.
But as Liam leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him, your thoughts drift back to Niall. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, a part of you knows you’re still hoping for something more.
…
Part 2
Author’s note: I PROMISE there are more Niall moments coming - it is an angsty slow burn after all
#one direction fanfiction#niall horan x y/n#niall horan x you#niall horan fanfiction#niall horan x reader#Niall x you#Liam payn x sister reader
28 notes
·
View notes