#and not make it seem like nothing happened you know

[no-blastbeat-no-applause]

A little while ago I wrote a little something about that. I just finished translating it into english. Here are my thoughts:

Wimp

Thoughts on the patriarchy and why this crap sucks for men too

Queen Energy

I mindlessly let Instagram videos wash over my mind. A sketch wakes me from my pleasant torpor:

A woman dressed in a negligee talks to her husband. She orders him to have sex with her immediately. He says he is tired, he has just come home from work. He doesn't feel like it either. She is not interested. She becomes more direct and aggressive in her statements and demands. All of this culminates in her forcibly shoving a cookie into his mouth, repeating her order and expectantly marching off towards the bedroom.

The comment column is rolling with laughter, congratulates the woman and agrees with her demands. The comments reads something like:

"Her story, her rules, her empire." "Queen energy! This is the vibe we all need!" "Taking what's hers like it was always meant to be"

She should take what she needs; her husband should be a real guy and get it for his wife if and when she wants it.

So the point is: he's a wimp if he doesn't put himself and his needs first. He's not a real man because he doesn't jump when his wife is in the mood.

Let's imagine the gender roles reversed. A man comes home and tells his wife to wait for him naked in the bedroom because he wants to have sex. Regardless of her wishes and desires. Most people would find this behavior unacceptable. And rightly so.

Here though, sexual harassment is portrayed as a joke. Neither the producers nor the recipients seem to be fazed by this.

Such scenes suggest that men always have to be ready and willing. This stereotypical expectation completely ignores the fact that men are also people with boundaries who want to say "yes" or "no". However, in our society - as the comments column impressively shows - they are often denied this choice. Men are not even given the opportunity to prioritize their own wishes because their "yes" is taken for granted. If they do try to set boundaries, they are met with a lack of understanding, rejection, ridicule or even violence. This creates a burden that is subtle but always present.

The video and its comments make fun of a man whose freedom of choice over his own body has been taken away, making him yet another victim of patriarchy and toxic masculinity.

First naked and then alone in the corridor

I was 12 when my mother drove me and my ten-year-old sister to our pediatrician. Everything started as business as usual. The doctor asked us general questions, she took our blood pressure and did what doctors do.

Then something happened that I still remember vividly today. As a burgeoning teenager, I had to get naked from the wais down and lie down on a couch to be examined. My mother and sister both stayed in the room. I was embarrassed. I found it downright agonizing.

The doctor plucked at my penis for several minutes. I didn't know where to look. My face turned bright red and my hands got wet. I was suddenly terribly aware of how my kneecaps felt under my skin.

Then it was finally over.

But now it became particularly irritating: it was my sister's turn. She was facing something similar - with one important difference. I was asked to leave.

Don't get me wrong, I had no interest in participating in my sister's gynecological exam. I just wished that the same consideration had been given to me, a little boy.

My feelings were not ignored, no. No one here had even bothered to take an interest in whether I had any. I was treated with the same respect as the couch in the treatment room. The question of my dignity was about as important as that of the desk.

But that was nothing new for a 12-year-old. After all, I learned to swallow my feelings before I even started elementary school.

"Are you a man or a mouse"?

Of course I'm a man, I'm already four! I suppress every feeling that my environment deems too much or inappropriate.

I've learned that „Indians don't cry.“* Neither do boys. I'm not supposed to make such a fuss and pull myself together.

It eats into your brain. It stays. For almost 40 years and it's still there.

How my tongue got bitten

My aunt was celebrating her sixtieth birthday. The whole thing ended in her favorite pub. We danced, sang, drank and enjoyed ourselves. I chatted with old acquaintances on the edge of the dance floor.

Suddenly, a woman snuck up on me. She started to dance at me aggressively. I found it quite flattering at first. The stranger danced very closely with me, focusing only on me. She made me feel wanted.

But after a while I became uncomfortable. She took it for granted that I would return her advances. She waited for me in front of the toilet. She gave me no opportunity to move without her. She put her arms around me and kissed me on the dance floor.

I didn't want to be seen like this by my family. It was impossible to talk to my friends, my aunt was at the other end of the pub. I told the stranger that I wanted to talk to my family, but she wouldn't let go of me. I spoke to friends, but she pushed her way in.

I could have said "No!" at any time, walked away and enjoyed my evening, sure. But I have internalized the lessons of my youth: my feelings are not important and I have to make my body available, regardless of my own wishes.

I only plucked up the courage to tear myself away when the stranger bit my tongue painfully, because: I didn't kiss her the way she wanted me to.

But even then, at the end of the night, my "No, I don't want that anymore" was met with a complete lack of understanding. She was offended that I was not responding to her wishes. She had never cared about my consensus or my needs.

I was now in a similar role to the man in the sketch: my feelings were put on the back burner in order to offer a woman what she wanted at that moment.

Neither the lady in the sketch nor the stranger at the pub inquired about the wishes of the men in question. None of them asked for consensus. None of them took what they were explicitly told seriously, because they, like all of us, have internalized these toxic patterns of thought and behaviour.

As a farewell, I got a contemptuous "wimp" shouted after me.

And why all this?

I am well aware that the people who suffer most from patriarchy are, of course, those who do not appear traditionally male to society. Women, intersex and trans people, all non-cis-hetero men, should by no means be ignored here. My perspective, however, is that of a cis-het man.

We men are taught that our feelings are not important. We have to be tough and endure instead of being vulnerable and talking openly about our needs. Our bodies are common property. We learn to accept assault and laugh it off.

• The woman in the negligee wants sex? Then go ahead! No matter what the man wants.

• The boy is ashamed to be looked at naked by three women? He shouldn't behave like that!

• A stranger decides you're her plaything this night? Fuck your wishes and your family!

If we don't conform to the norms, we are wimps. We are considered unmanly. We're not real guys.

We need to recognize the harmful influence of sexism on men.

While patriarchy generally privileges men, it also subjects us to restrictive gender roles that harm us.

Even those who are considered the most powerful in the patriarchal hierarchy suffer from it.

The supposed masters turn themselves into the oppressed.

Toxic masculinity harms us and everyone around us.

Sometimes I do wonder if men actually get sexually assaulted and abused at a similar rate that women do but a lot of them just don’t know that’s what’s happening to them

[wholemeallbread]

prince!rin is often overshadowed by his older brother. it's near impossible for him to have his moment when his brother always does it better. to everyone, he's "itoshi sae's younger brother". he's even had people trying to marry him just to get closer to sae.

his heart is ice at this point. steadily melting, but impossible to just crack through. it's a slow, slow process, his initial thought anyway, and he was convinced it would take ages for him to find the one.

prince!rin who's nothing but rude when you try and talk to him. it wasn't your own choice in the first place, purely for building relationships between different nations, but how were you going to explain that he was the one making things impossible?

prince!rin who genuinely couldn't believe he fell for the "love at first sight" trope. it's stupid – he was stupid, and he flunked his first impression. how has talking to you for a brief fifty seven seconds (he was counting) equate to his heart shattering into a million pieces with nothing but a gaze?

prince!rin who seems nicer than he lets on. this may sound corny, but he's protected you more times than you'd think.

weird people of importance that are way out of your age range eying you funny? he's only sharpened the sword in his scabbard last night, and he's not afraid to use it. he watches your drink from across the entire hall when you're gone just to make sure nobody tampers with it. believe him, it's more common than you think. when he knows you're visiting the kingdom soon, he makes sure every inch of the town is far from dirt and mud, in fear of ruining your outfit for the special night.

prince!rin panics and keeps the entire relationship undercover. this entire thing was spontaneous. god, it wasn't even him who asked, it was you. he didn't even know you liked him!

nobody knows, not even his brother. actually, he told the diary that he stress-writes into, but now it's locked up, in a locked up box, in another locked up box, and then in a locked up drawer. just the word "marriage" makes him flinch. how suspicious, but somehow, nobody was able to make the link between the two of you.

prince!rin tries to seem cool in front of you, but fails miserably. he has a short temper despite his outward appearance, and even tiny misfortunes cause the dormant anger inside of him to start bubbling up. luckily, you're always there to calm him down, so no more training dummies or random civilians have to suffer from his wrath.

prince!rin who would risk his life for you, but still struggles to bend or completely break the rules. he follows his curfew diligently, straight up refuses to sneak around, and is always on his best behaviour when around his family. the chances of you meeting during the night are near zero, and the only time you see each other is when you coincidentally cross paths or during royal events.

prince!rin always blames himself when the two of you get into an argument. you'd think he's ignoring you with how busy he magically becomes, but his brain is so full of thoughts and conflict. instead of talking things out, he releases stress by overtraining, spending all day working on his swordsmanship. yep, his communication skills suck.

prince!rin tweaks the fuck out when sae magically manages to find out. he could be halfway across the nation and he would still feel the disapproving glare he fears so much. he's pretty much begging on his knees for sae not to tell anyone, not for his own reputation, but he doesn't want to get you in trouble. and then everything comes out, confessing everything on the spot; how it happened, how he feels, how he wants to say sorry to you. sae gives him a weird look, claiming that he'll "help him out", but he doesn't get any advice in the following days.

and he feels utterly betrayed days later when his own brother set the two of you up. as evil as it was, he told you that rin was injured, and he told rin that you were going to break up with him. evil, so evil, but it worked. rin was not ready to receive a big hug, mumbles of missing him and telling him to never get hurt again beinf whispered in his ear. just what is going on?

whatever. at the end of the day, you were in his arms again, ans that's all that matters.

@lizbix CMERE I WROTE!!! oops its a bit late actually r u awake

[softtdaisy]

oooh or 14 and hotch :3

ultraviolence / aaron hotchner

summary. aaron had a hard time dealing with your relationship, his feelings for you and seeing you put yourself in danger constantly as your boss. until it explodes.

words count. 2 477

prompt. “I’ve had worse.”“And that’s why I’m angry.” from here

what to expect. is it angst? yes again. reader gets hurt so mention of blood and bruises, very brief mention of abuse and torture. aaron is sad and deserves a hug

a/n. thank you again for your request sweetie, I love writing stories from your idea 🥹 I really love this story I could write more about these two so I really hope you will love it too!! 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

This case was absolutely awful. 

The team left for Los Angeles on Sunday night after a new victim was discovered. It was the fifth in less than two weeks, and the police finally decided to call the FBI for help. Little did you know how horrifying the situation was.

You got the call at Aaron’s place. 

Nobody knew that you were seeing each other. It might not be appreciated for your boss to find comfort in one of his team member's arms. At least, not by the people above him. 

Because unbeknownst to you and Aaron, the team was making bets about when you two would conclude, to which Emily assured it was already done. And about when you would make it official, to which Derek said it would probably never happen considering Hotch needs to keep his private life…well, private.

His phone ring woke you up from a very nice dream that had just begun. After spending the evening together, you and Aaron started spending the night together too. You’ve been in bed for less than an hour when you heard the ring and felt his arm around your waist moving to grab the phone. There was something reassuring in the way he was keeping you against him, with his other arms around you and one of his legs on top of yours to prevent you from moving. He put one last kiss on your hair before answering. 

“Hotchner,” he said with a raspy voice that was caused by you. And it only made you want to start again to hear your name with this voice. Your hand even got lost on the hair in his chest, unconsciously. 

But the reality struck you back. And sooner than you thought, you were back in the office.

Nobody asked why you arrived with Aaron or why you were wearing the exact same clothes as the day before. While your boss had time to change his shirt and tie.

Nobody asked at that moment, and soon, the questions seemed pointless once you discovered the case.

The atrocity of the torture these poor women went through made you all so angry that nothing in your life seemed more important than giving them justice.

Maybe you shouldn’t have worked with your heart more than with your brain these past days.

Maybe you shouldn’t have offered to be the bait to catch this monster.

Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted when Aaron kept saying he refused to let you go there and put your life in danger.

Maybe you should have paid attention to the worried look on your colleagues' faces and not assimilated it as being reluctant to get between the two of you.

But you still ended up at the monster place to catch him. 

You saw Aaron’s look on you when you left the car. It was a mix of worry for letting you get in the lion’s cage and a little bit of arousal, having an idea of what you might look like on a date with him. A date he hoped he could get after the case.

A hope that slowly died during the night. 

When your mic stopped working, Aaron had to fight every single feeling in his body to not run and get you back with the team. He knew you were on a mission and that if you didn’t get any proof, this would have been worthless. Yet, not knowing if you were still safe was killing him. And Rossi noticed how he threw his headset after you lost contact.

One hour.

Two hours.

Three hours went by.

And then a gunshot resonated in the air.

Everyone on site ran from the van to go inside the unsub’s house. Before they could finish climbing the stairs outside, you opened the door. Some still ran inside to make sure the unsub was under control. 

Emily and Derek stayed outside, close to you.

Aaron stayed at the bottom of the stairs, unable to move.

Your dress was ripped at the bottom, and one of the straps was torn and hanging loosely on your chest. Your hair, perfectly done when you came in, was now tangled. And the bruises.

It was killing Aaron to see them on your beautiful face, with your bleeding lip, and others growing on your arms.

It was killing Aaron that he couldn’t see them all.

“I’m fine,” you sighed to stop Emily and Derek from talking on top of each other. You had a big enough headache already. But you still gave them a small smile to prove that you weren’t mad. Just tired.

You wished you could easily accept their worries, but you couldn’t. You just wanted this to be done. There are some reactions you can’t control like that.

When you finally walked down the stairs and came closer to Aaron, you imagined he would be just as worried and asked you multiple questions. But he didn’t.

He ignored you. Worse, before doing so, he gave you the disappointed boss look. One that made the features on his face harder, meaner. One that reminded everyone who was above everybody in this team. A look that you hated. 

The following hours were just as blurry as the rest. Emily came with you to the hospital to make sure you weren’t alone and weren’t in danger. The medics took good care of you, from what you could memorize. The only thing you remember was the single tear that ran down your face with the sudden realization of what happened.

You almost got abused. You almost died there. And the only arms you needed after that moment were firmly closed against the chest you loved to sleep against. 

After Emily brought you back to your hotel room, you expected to have a lonely and sleepless night.

You just had the time to put on a loose shirt before you heard the knocks on your door. 

Just with that, you knew who it was.

Emily never knocks more than twice.

Spencer’s are gentle, like he feared bothering.

“Aaron,” you sighed, opening the door.

His ones were louder, probably coming from his boss' status. But not brutal. Almost like he was trying to contain his strength and not appear arrogant.

You turned around once he heard his steps behind you. You didn’t need to see him. You didn’t even want him around tonight. And you didn’t want to look at him because you knew a part of your heart wouldn’t resist him.

Because you knew, you knew how he would look.

So you ignored Aaron for at least a minute. Until you couldn’t stand the silence in the room suffocating you. 

Like you imagined, Aaron had taken off his tie and shirt and replaced them with a grey sweater that you absolutely loved on him. An old one that faded a little here and here that made him look younger. His hair was still wet from his shower.

But you didn’t expect him to stay by the door frozen. His eyes were locked on the bruises on your skin, and there were still marks of anger on his face.

“What do you wa…” you started, rolling your eyes from the situation. But Aaron cut you off sharply.

“That was stupid.” 

You hated that tone. This wasn’t Aaron. This was Hotch, your boss. And even in other situations, you didn’t remember hearing him like that.

His arms were crossed on his chest, and his eyes finally went up on your face. If a look could kill… “This was irresponsible and dangerous. Look at you.” 

Aaron was not a man to scream. You’ve never, ever heard him scream. But the way he would make his voice harder and sharper was maybe worse.

“Oh, come on,” you sighed, taking a step closer to him. Maybe it was provocative behavior, but you opened your arms so he could have a better look at your body. The way he closed his eyes for a second proved to you that it worked; Aaron had a disgusting taste in his mouth. “I’ve had worse.”

And that was true. You got shot during your first month at the BAU and spent two days at the hospital while the team was still working the case. You couldn’t count the number of cuts you’ve gotten through the years because you were never scared to go or use inappropriate paths to get what you want. Some of these cuts even got infected. Your doctor kind of hated you, to be honest.

But apparently, this wasn’t a good argument for Aaron because he took another angry step towards you. “And that’s why I’m angry.”

“Oh, you’re angry, SSA Aaron Hotchner?” You noticed his pupil get bigger, making his eyes look darker. 

Sometimes, Aaron hated his full name because it was a reminder of who he was and who he couldn’t be. An ambitious man, for sure, he was doing a great job but also a man who seemed austere and who could never be the husband he wished he was. You knew that, he told you during a sleepless night away for a case. And you were hitting directly in the right place.

“We both know why you’re here, Aaron.” You pursued and pointed a finger at him. “You didn’t blame Derek for hurting the officer by accident because he was too focused to care about people around last month. You didn’t blame Emily for almost breaking her arm running after the unsub when somebody was already after him last week. You didn’t blame Sp…”

“Stop it.” The first one sounded like a threat. “Please, stop it.” This one sounded like a pleading.

And in any other moments, you would have stopped. But you were tired of walking on eggshells with Aaron about your relationship and your job. And the link between both. So you selfishly kept pushing him. “Say it. Admit it.”

“What? That I love you? Fine, I love you!” 

The whole room went silent. All that you both could hear was him being out of breath and your heartbeats. It was like your world exploded, and tension could only fall down now. 

You stayed like that for a whole minute, standing and looking each other straight in the eyes. Waiting for one of you to give up and speak. Until Aaron had enough and sat on your bed. You watched as his hands went from his neck to his face, which he hid for a second or two, and ended on his hair.

“It’s not you I’m the most mad about. It’s me,” he continued, looking down at his feet. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at you for not listening and rushing straight into danger.” 

You let out a small laugh because, of course, he was angry about that. But this laugh gave him a small smile too. One that maybe you needed without knowing it.

“But I know my feelings make my perception of your actions and my reactions more biased. The idea of losing you tonight made me so anxious, and when I saw you coming out, bleeding and bruised… I was so angry at you for putting yourself in danger, at me for putting yourself in danger. The boss and the…whatever I am for you met to create a bigger and angrier version of myself.”

Aaron was so focused on himself that he didn’t hear your footsteps coming closer to him. It wasn’t until your knees touched him that he realized he was there. And when he moved his face up, you realized how vulnerable he looked. 

You never thought Aaron loved you and certainly not that much. It never came to your mind that maybe you were stressing him from something more than the boss and teammate relation by not being scared to go into a dangerous situation. But the way he seemed hurt to look at your bruised face made you realize that with every hit you took that night, Aaron got hit harder.

“Can I?” you asked, pointing at his thighs. He simply nodded, and you softly sat on him. Sure to not lean too hard on your bruises, but also because you wondered if you might break him too. A thought that you noticed in his eyes too from the way he barely looked at you and the way his hands were grabbing the sheet, not you. “Touch me,” you whispered. 

You slowly put a hand on his neck to caress his skin and his short hair. “I’m fine, Aaron. Touch me.” 

“This is my fault,” he sighed, putting his forehead against yours. And if it wasn’t the touch you were asking for or expecting, you took it. Because it was already a step forward. “I can’t have this type of reaction anytime we are on a case. That’s not a boss's posture. That’s not…”

“That’s a boyfriend posture I can understand,” you replied. Your nose softly brushed his, and you loved the shivers you felt in him. “Sure, it’s not easy, but we can work on it. If you want to.”

When you noticed Aaron was closing his eyes, you did it too.

And when you felt his hands slowly going on your hips, not grabbing it like he always does but barely touching it, you smiled.

“Tonight wasn’t easy, not for me obviously. But I get that it wasn’t easy for you either. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work on that.” You spoke quietly.

Again, Aaron didn’t answer, and you could tell the night had exhausted him. From catching the unsub, fearing he would never see you again, to confessing his feelings to the woman he hoped he would never lose.

You stayed like that, cuddling in silence for as long as you needed. Until Aaron offered that you both sleep in your own room, to take the night to think about you. And mostly to rest after everything that happened. And no matter how much you wished you could be in his arms to find peace, you accepted. Because he was probably the one who needed more to be by himself. 

You wanted this to work, and you would go at his own pace.

“And Aaron?” You called, grabbing his hand before he left your room.

He turned around, frowning. He looked so tired you wondered if he wouldn’t fall asleep on you if you didn't let him go. His chest was almost glued to yours, and you enjoyed that touch while it lasted.

“I love you too.” 

You wished you could memorize that smile forever. The way it softened his traits.

Aaron learned to give you two kisses: one on your forehead and one on your lips. 

Something that you knew would become a habit, a secret language. A wordless goodnight and I love you.

A promise to make things better.

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ GDRAGON AND T.O.P AS JEALOUS MEN

୨ৎ pairing: friend!gdragon / friend!top x fem reader ft eunseok of riize & juyeon of the boyz!

୨ৎ genre: angst! some arguing, slight manhandling and with mild profanity and insecurities

୨ৎ summary: a small crush was nothing serious until it blossomed into a much bigger and stronger crush which was something you refused to let happen. knowing the man you liked so much would never like you back.. moving on was the best decision. or was it?

୨ৎ from myeong: hello!! here I am finally with the jealous gd and top!! woohoo!! I hope you can enjoy it! x

GDRAGON

this man.. it was so hard for him to hide jealousy. he had done it for so long but as the days, weeks, and now even months passed he couldn’t do it anymore. the thought of you consumed him and he needed you. of course he wasn’t sure if you felt the same way and to be honest he was more than scared to even asked, that’s why he stayed silent. what if he ruined the most perfect friendship you both had? it would kill him for the rest of his life because if you didn’t feel the same way about him then.. he at least needed you in his life as his good friend. there was no way he wanted to risk such an important and beautiful person like yourself.

jiyong stared at the clock for what seemed like hours but in reality it had only been a few minutes he was just overly dramatic as always. you were supposed to be there at in studio 10 minutes ago and it had only been 10 minutes he knew you would show up eventually. you had a busy and normal life while he was a super famous idol that was wanted and needed here and there. jiyong often thought that’s what drove you away from him and it killed every part of his soul to think that way because he would stop everything to make time for you and only you, his precious angel. 10 minutes turned into 20 and that 20 turned into 30.. it had been hours by now and he had never felt so frustrated before—not even a text or call from you what the hell was going on?

a few giggle left your lips as you tried to act as if you understood the stupid joke that just came from eunseok’s mouth. he had the worst jokes you could ever imagine but you still enjoyed them because it was him the sweet eunseok you adored so much. your lips parted to speak but that was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, furrowing your eyebrows and telling eunseok to wait—who could be here at such an hour? once you were face to face with the jiyong himself you felt your blood run cold not thinking he would show up on your door step like this after completely ignoring him. “ji—” he stopped before you could continue. “do you know how many hours I waited for you, hm? that was incredibly rude of you and to.. ditch me for that guy you haven’t even known that long.” he scoffed and it only pissed you off more. “you know I’ve known him for a very long time ji.. why are you acting this way?” you knew that was stupid to ask after purposely ignoring him and not showing up to his studio.

“is everything alright sweetheart?” the sound of eunseok’s voice was enough to make jiyong go insane and it only made it worse when the pet name was used. that was his job to call you all the sweet things and make you feel special, loved, and cared for. “her and I need to speak alone so I suggest you leave.” that was a warning jiyong gave and a very intimidating one at that. “why? can’t you talk with her here with me? I don’t want you making her uncomfortable which it seems you’ve already done so.” jiyong’s head tilted to the side and a deep chuckle left his lips stepping closer to you both and your hands flew up to press against his warm chest, “eunseok just give us a few minutes please.” you spoke to him but your eyes stayed on jiyong’s enjoying the way he looked down at you it felt so special. eunseok has had a crush on you for a while now it was nothing new or shocking but how you felt about him was nothing like what you felt for jiyong.

“I’m sorry ji.. okay? I’m sorry. what I did was wrong but I just thought that maybe we could, I don’t know, have a break from each other.” it was his turn to furrow his eyebrows not believing a word you were saying to him right now. “what the hell does that mean? what kind of bullshit is that? a break? from each other? why would we possibly do that. we’ve been friends for years now. I don’t want that to change but I do at the same time.” and you were hit with confusion before anything else feeling it like a ton of bricks not being able to move in the spot you stood in. “stop hanging out with him so much and come to me like you have always done.. please? you know how much I adore you. don’t do this to me.” he wouldn’t admit his feelings and it was the most aggravating feeling ever because he desperately wanted you to know how he felt but just couldn’t bring it to himself to tell you face to face. “just..” jiyong started but stopped when his hands found your face holding it like it was the most delicate piece of glass that could not be manhandled. his body was close enough you could hear the pounding of his heart making yours skip a beat—never being this close to him before in such an intimate manner. jiyong carefully leaned in to press his lips against your own his eyes finding eunseok who had slowly walked up behind you to see what was taking so long and his eyes widened seeing the kiss you both shared.

T.O.P

“what a fucking sight this is.” seunghyun spoke to himself while watching you sit in the cafè with none other than the man you kept ditching him for, juyeon. he lit a cigarette and took a long drag of it before slowly making his way over to the small building. he stood outside for a few extra minutes to finish his cigarette before walking in and ordering whatever it was he laid his eyes on—still not a single glance his way. he watched how interested you seemed to be in the conversation with the younger male only making things worse for the both of you. he felt so ignored so hurt and disappointed how could you do such a thing to him just for a guy you’ve known for a few months maybe a year now. he was nothing like seunghyun and want seunghyun could give you. taking the coffee he had bought without even looking to see exactly what it was, he left the cafè and decided to sit on the bench nearby.

the feeling of irritation leaving his body when seeing your gorgeous smile loving the way it lit up the entire room and he constantly reminded you of that. you’d roll your eyes playfully and turn to look the other way not wanting to hold eye contact with him any longer. as you and juyeon finished up with the small ‘date’ he liked to say it was—he grabbed ahold of your hand which you kindly wanted to pull away but didn’t as he started to speak up about the topic you two were on earlier. what you hadn’t noticed is the bench nearby until juyeon stopped and you turned your head, eyes finding the familiar deep brown ones that you adored with all of your heart. seunghyun. your heart dropped and you quickly pulled away from the tight grip juyeon had on you. “seunghyun..” voice trembling knowing what you had done to him and only feeling this overwhelming feeling of regret and sadness.

“hm? I see you’re having a good time. maybe I’m just too old for you to hang around.” his jokes.. oh his jokes were something you enjoyed the most. he was such a funny man and you never wanted to push that away. “we were actually on a date—” juyeon tried to start but you quickly shut him down because no matter what he thought it was not a date and you never felt that way about him. seunghyun could only chuckle staring up at juyeon. did he feel threatened? of course not but he felt very uncomfortable. this feeling was something he wasn’t too familiar with but what he did know is he wanted to pull juyeon away from you because the anger he felt when seeing him touch you was enough to be worried about. “I think you should go home.. I need to have a talk with seunghyun okay? thank you for the nice time today I enjoyed myself.” kindly shutting him down the best you could without causing any more hard he took the hint and walked off without saying another word to either of you.

“now that you’re done ignoring me I think it would be nice if you could explain to me why you did such a thing.” you knew this was coming but you wanted to avoid it as much as you could which wasn’t going to happen. seunghyun stood from the bench and turned to walk away from you but your smaller hand grabbed ahold of his wrist forcing him to stop in his tracks. this burning rage was jealousy and he knew it but didn’t want to admit it which only made him look like such a coward. “please seunghyun I’m so sorry.. I don’t have an explanation for what I did.. it’s hard to explain and even understand.” but you understood quite well and you were avoiding him to get rid of those feelings and it wasn’t working very well at all. “it’s always hard to explain! you use that excuse every single time and I’m sick of it. If I hear that one more then—then I won’t hold back.” it only confused you. hold back? why would he have to hold back to begin with? a sigh left your lips and your grip on his wrist only tightened pulling yourself closer to him, “seunghyun..” your voice was sweet like honey and he hated how you had this effect on him it was so controlling. “this.” is all he said before smashing his lips against your own the faint taste of his cigarette he smoked moments before making you feel dizzy but in the best way possible.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

MY BIG SISTER GLOWS!!!

How Damians obsession with Weird neglected black!Reader started

To the average untrained eye, you look regular—nothing too special about your looks or facial features. But to the eye of an artist like Damian, you seem unearthly, and to Damian, you glow like the North Star. Your light could dim any constellation and put them to shame. But you’re not the only one in the house that glows; to Damian, Dick's glow is aqua green—it's cool and calm, and it fills the whole room, drowning out anybody else's glow. Jason's glow is bright red; people may think it's because of his anger, but it’s more about his passion and how it fills anything he touches. Tim's glow is a cool cerulean blue—calm and calculated���but it can shine brightly but also remain subtle. However, Damian hadn’t seen your glow for quite some time. He had seen Bruce's and Alfred's, heck, even Steph's, but he had just never managed to see you glow. Your light was never seen in the manor, but outside the manor was a whole other can of worms. As the little weasel walked to his next class, he heard giggling from a group of girls. He ignored it at first; still, he heard a small snort.

"[Name], was that a snort?" a girl said, her mouth wide open like an alligator. Damian's ears perked up at your name; he swiftly turned around to a bright light, so bright it rivaled the sun. It was your light; it was a soft yellow and sparkled as if tiny little stars surrounded you. Damian never knew you could glow, especially in that color, and he never knew you could laugh like that. Your laughs were always small giggles or snickers that lasted a second or more, but this laugh was coming from your very soul, and it lasted much longer.

"Shut up, Zuri, it's not a snort." You denied it quickly, but your snort still came out, and you covered your mouth while laughing. Your glow outshined all the girls, and it seemed to fill the room. He had never seen you like this—never. You were always so brash or closed off, and your glow was usually dim. But at school, it was a whole other thing. Now that Damian saw you like this, he began to sketch every moment you glowed, and sketch he did. There would be pages upon pages dedicated to you and your star-like glow. He committed to memory the way your nose scrunched up, how your eyes squinted, and how your full lips parted into the biggest smile. You would throw your head back making your dreads fall over your shoulders. He knew it by heart; he could close his eyes and paint a picture just with the memory of your smile. But these brief moments of laughter at school weren't enough; he needed to see up close and personal. Deep down, he wanted to be the one who made you glow, but you wouldn't let him. It was like forcing a bird to sing; it only happened naturally. Your glow around him was dim and dark, reminding him of his old glow before even going to the manor. But the young prince felt entitled to your glow, to your shine. He was the grandson of the demon head and the blood son of the bat. How dare you deny him something he so deserved! Sure, he could be cruel at times and rude; sure, his words could break you into a thousand pieces, but he's sorry—he really is. So let him see you shine. Let him paint you and make that glow immortal. Let him see it, after all, you both come from the same blood. It's only fair you let those peasants see your glow, but not him, there beneath you! You know that, right!? So why let these fools see your glow when he is so much more worthy?!

[ofbatsandballads]

so it’s a day early but have a little Valentine’s Day with Jason drabble except reader is a bit unhinged and very in love with Jason. inspired by me getting split knuckles and thinking “wow this would be so much cooler if I got them from punching someone.” also idc if damian is ooc here bc you can pry good brothers Jay and Dami from my cold, dead hands.

Jason Todd is used to fighting. He knows thrown fists, black eyes, and bloodied hands better than he knows himself. He’s been fighting so long that it’s second nature; sometimes he tires of the fight and sometimes he aches for it. It all depends on the day and his mood. Sometimes busted knuckles are a pain in the ass to clean and sometimes he enjoys the sting of a job well done.

Jason is used to seeing other people fight. It was the one constant in his formative years. He saw Gotham’s worst fight daily when he was a little kid doing his best to survive the city’s unforgiving streets. He saw Gotham’s best fight nightly and fought alongside him as a bright-eyed teenager. He sees his siblings fight routinely, knows how they do it like he knows the back of his hand. Dick is graceful; he floats through the air before he kicks you in the face. Tim is practical; he hits you where it hurts, seeks to destroy. Damian is ruthless; he toes the line between life and death like he was raised on it. He was; they both were.

Jason has not, however, seen you fight. Until tonight that is. Oh, he’s seen you argue before. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth—he loves it, even when it gets you both in trouble. But physically you’ve always been nothing but gentle and calm. He’s the one that intimidates, that scares off anyone who tries to flirt with either of you with his crossed arms and his face that screams “I’ll kill you”. Yet there you are in the middle of the ballroom where he left you, clutching your fist that has just connected with the nose of some CEO’s son. He freezes for a split second in pure shock. Then his brain comes back online and he’s trying to push through the crowd of people to get to you. His brother beats him to it. Dick picks you up around the waist and swiftly hauls you out of the ballroom.

Jason’s torn between running after you and cornering the guy you just punched to finish what you started. He doesn’t get to make that choice because a small but strong arm grabs him and yanks him hard toward the door that you just got dragged out of. He looks down and sees Damian, and something instinctual about this situation makes him follow wherever the kid goes. It wouldn’t be the first time Damian led him away from a fight and it probably won’t be the last.

“What the fuck just happened?” Jason asks his youngest brother as they wind through the mazelike halls of the penthouse.

“Well, akhi, your beloved just assaulted a man in the middle of father’s Valentine’s Day gala,” Damian responds coolly.

“Yeah, I kinda picked that up, saghir. Why did she assault a man in the middle of the gala?” Jason presses.

Damian bristles at the term of endearment. Jason can tell he’s about two seconds away from arguing that he’s not little anymore, Todd. He seems to consider your hitting a man a more pressing matter, though, because he starts to explain what happened. The guy you punched—some dude named Prescott—had decided it would be a good idea to flirt with you. You turned him down quickly and bluntly with a simple “No, I’m here with my boyfriend.” It all went downhill from there.

“He then asked who her boyfriend was, and when she said you, this imbecile asked why a girl such as herself would be with, quote, ‘a charity case like him’,” Damian relays with thinly veiled disgust.

Jason was used to comments like this. It was all he heard during the three years after Bruce adopted him. It used to make him mad or insecure, like maybe Bruce never truly wanted him. Maybe he just wanted to feel like he was doing something good. But then he died and came back. And he hated B for so long. Until he didn’t. Until he realized that maybe he never did, maybe he just wanted proof that his dad loved him and maybe he felt like he didn’t have it. But with time and patience and a lot of pain, he’s now reasonably assured that he’s not just some billionaire’s charity project. If that were the case, then Bruce would’ve stopped trying a long time ago with him. So the spoiled brat’s comment doesn’t really bother him. He knows that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t bother you, but he can’t figure why it would make you angry enough to deck the guy in the middle of a full ballroom.

“That’s it? She punched him for that?” Jason asks doubtfully.

“No. She first told him that he clearly lacked the empathy to even know what the word charity meant. She also made a snide comment about how his gala attire could, however, be seen as a charity case,” Damian chuckles, clearly amused by your silver tongue.

“Well what’d he say that made her hit him?” Jason demands, his anxiety starting to spike.

He had seen it happen, but he’d been mixing you your favorite cocktail and had missed the actual inciting comment. Damian pauses like he doesn’t want to tell him. All it takes is one hard look with those sea green eyes and Damian finds himself caving like he did as child in the League when Jason would catch him hiding from his newest (and soon to be deceased) sparring partner.

“He said that her tastes shouldn’t be counted considering she was with—” and Damian grits his teeth, forest green eyes absolutely seething, “damaged goods.”

Now that’s a different story. Jason doesn’t care what some privileged rich guy thinks of him, but the idea that other people could see what he already knows hurts. Jason knows he’s damaged goods, knows that you deserve far better than him. And apparently so do total strangers. So how long until you finally see it and leave him like you should have a long time ago? How long until the one truly good thing he’s ever had the pleasure of holding in his hands slips through his fingers and leaves him broken again?

“And then she broke his nose.”

Damian’s jubilant laugh shakes him from the angst he finds himself descending into.

“She what?” Jason asks dumbfounded.

“She broke his nose. I was standing right next to her, Todd. I heard it crack. You’ve trained her well,” Damian says proudly.

Jason’s in awe. You broke someone’s nose. For him. And you did it in front of a room full of people on Valentine’s Day. Jason’s sure this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. And either your love for him has finally settled into his bones or his new therapist is actually doing some good, because he’s suddenly not so worried about you up and leaving him because he’s damaged. You fucking clocked a guy for pointing it out.

Finally after what feels like far too long, Damian leads him to a bedroom tucked away in the penthouse. And there you sit, giggling away as Dick wraps your hand in an elastic bandage. You must’ve sprained your wrist breaking poor Prescott’s nose. Jason is by your side in an instant.

“Jason, there you are! Did you see what I did? Did you, Jay?” you ask enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I saw. Think you might’ve broken his nose, baby,” he teases.

He takes the bandages from Dick and starts to wrap your wrist himself. He gestures for his brothers to get the hell out and hopefully go clean up the mess that’s waiting down the winding hallways.

“That piece of shit deserved it. I would’ve hit him again too had Dick not dragged me away. Think I would’ve gone for his throat next,” you muse.

Jason wants to think he’s above finding this new violent streak of yours sexy. He’s also self aware enough to realize that he’d be deluding himself if he said it didn’t make him want to kiss you senseless.

“I’m sure he did, doll. That was very sweet of you, defendin’ my honor ‘n all,” Jason praises you.

“That was nothing. Child’s play, really. I would do anything for you, Jason. You’re my whole world.”

You say it with such sincerity, with so much love that Jason swears your eyes gleam with it. It makes his heart jump into his throat, makes his chest ache with the need to love you until the day that he dies. And if that day comes too soon? Well, he’ll drag himself out of the grave and come back home to you no matter what it takes. He’d like to tell you all that, but he thinks it might be a bit much. He settles for kissing you instead and nudging his nose against yours when you finally break apart to breathe.

“And you’re mine. C’mon, honey, let’s go home. Valentine’s Day isn’t over just yet.”

[the-kr8tor]

Valentine's day Mishaps

Pairing: tasm! Peter Parker x fem! Reader/ Spider-Man x fem! Reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Your first ever valentine's date as a couple goes haywire when spidey duties interrupt.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, CW food mentions, CW injury mention, established relationship, lovestruck! Peter, best friends to lovers/ childhood friends to lovers, fluff.

Requested by @yumeaoka-chan - Let's see. A Valentine's Day request for Peter Parker, please. Andrew Garfield's version, of course🤭💕It's your first Valentine's as a couple and Peter has planned this day/night out to a tee. Whatever he has planned can be up to you. However, nothing is going how he wants it to go, interruptions and accidents happening all throughout it. He's all upset and chastising himself, apologizing to you when you really don't mind it. You thought everything was going perfectly, just enjoying being with him. Something along the lines of that🤭💕

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“Pete?” You call out groggily from the bed, eyes scrunched up to look at the darkened silhouette by the door as you lean on the nightstand and click on the lamp.

Peter walks into the light, revealing his signature Parker smile while he carries a full tray of clinking dishes. The room is dark thanks to the blackout curtains that he gifted you a few months ago after briefly complaining about the sun shining right on your eyes at the crack of dawn. Of course he can't let the love of his life suffer.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” He winces, socked feet padding on the carpet as he makes his way towards you. “This was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I thought you were my sleep paralysis demon.” Peter chuckles as you sit up. You give him your best smile even though sleep still clings to your lashes. “Surprise?”

Peter lays the tray carefully over your lap, revealing breakfast dishes that consist of fresh fruits that's drizzled in condensed milk. A hearty stack of waffles with whipped cream and honey, a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice and a croissant. A long stemmed rose sits right next to the glass, you feel like soaring. Especially when he gives you a wobbly smile.

He expects you to grab the rose or a spoon, but you reach over the tray to grasp at his face, quickly placing a kiss on his lips. It takes him aback for a few seconds, but he quickly reciprocates, brown eyes closed, humming as you feel him smile against the lips.

The two of you part with a resounding smack, but your eyes never leave the lovestruck look on his face. “Happy Valentine's day, Peter. You already got me beat.”

“It's not a competition,” he shrugs, doing his best not to topple over the tray. “I'm winning though.”

Chuckling, you give him one last smooch on each of his cheeks, tip of his nose, temple and forehead. Which was not the last of it as you come back and chase his lips again to press a sweet kiss.

“You are, I'll get you soon.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, honey.” Before you pull away, he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “Eat, I wanna see the absolute bliss on your face when you take a bite.”

“Where’s yours?” You ask as you pick up a fork.

“I already ate.” He says, nose scrunched up.

“You ate all the duds, huh?”

He nods, guilty.

You hum, grinning at him as you take a bite. Sure enough you showed him absolute bliss.

—

Peter helps you put on your coat as if you need help. But you let him, how could you not when he stares at you with those big puppy eyes of his?

“So, first Valentine's together, what do you want to do?” His warm palms close the buttons on your coat, and tucking in your pretty red scarf inside the collar. “I've got something planned for tonight, so we kinda have to wait for it.” Looking at you through his lashes, Peter seems apologetic even though you're staring at him with so much love.

“I know it's cold, Pete, but how about a nice walk around central park to start off?” You nervously say as your fingers play with his coat sleeve.

“Where we had our first date?” You nod, biting your lip. “And here I thought I'm the romantic one.”

“Just trying to one up you, Parker.” Giggling, you tie his scarf nicely, noticing that it's in the same shade as yours. He watches you with shining eyes, hands already on your waist. “We can stop by the same coffee stand, and get pretzels after. Only if you want to.”

“You could tell me we're going on a trip to the raft and I'll still say yes.”

You pat his chest with both palms, and he resists the urge to kiss you breathlessly in the small apartment hallway. “The raft? I don't think they let civilians have tours there. Why, you got friends there?” You joke.

“They should,” he chuckles out, not even completing his own joke. “There's probably good money in there— they actually shouldn't. That— that would be horrible.” He cracks, cringing at his attempt at a joke. His head falls on your shoulder as you laugh and hold the back of his neck. “Sorry, just…nervous.”

“Why? It's just me.” You mumble against his temple, lips brushing along his warm skin.

“I know! That's why.” Lifting his head up, Peter lets out a groan. “I just want it to be perfect. It's for you and you deserve perfection.”

“Oh,” cradling his face, you pout at his pout, while your index tucks a hair strand away from his face. “This…” You tap your foot on the wooden floorboards. “This is already perfect, Peter. Anywhere with you is perfect for me. Whether we're shitting on a terrible movie or out and about around the city, it's perfect.”

Peter sighs, wondering what he did in his past life to have this kind of life. “So you don't want your gift?”

You blow raspberries, rolling your eyes as your arms loop over his neck. “Of course I want my gift.”

Chuckling, Peter pulls you in by your scarf, careful of his own strength and kisses you right on his doorstep.

—

You made Peter wait on a bench while you buy a couple of hot steaming cups of mediocre coffee. He watches your back as snow slowly drifts down in tiny specks of snowflakes. You chuckle at something the old vendor said, and he smiles at how your smile lights up the whole park.

As he waits, he shifts in his seat. The spandex inside his clothes are uncomfortable as it clings to his skin. He knows he can't really leave his alter ego behind, but not even crime has holidays off. Sometimes he wishes it does though.

“Hey,” you beam at him, handing him a styrofoam cup. “Drink it quickly before it freezes.” Shivering, smoke billows out from your lips as you breathe.

Peter mirrors your smile, taking the cup from you as he pats the space next to him for you. He even wiped away the snow just for you.

“Thanks, gorgeous.”

“You're welcome, handsome.” Nudging his shoulder, you watch him drink over the rim of your cup as you take a hearty sip.

“What?” He notices your eyes on him, making him scooch closer to you. “Something on my handsome face?”

“And here I thought you're perceptive.”

Peter knits his brows together while you move your eyes down to his cup. He follows your line of sight, finding your unmistakable handwriting on the cup. His guffaw echoes out in the park, bouncing around the white powdery snow.

“It's a riddle.” He excitedly says, tone higher than usual. “With a warm cup you take a sip, but here I am cold as a statue on a winter’s day.” Making a face, he turns to you. “Is this your way of saying that you're freezing, babe?”

You take his cheek, leaving a kiss mark on the other after pressing a chaste kiss that has his legs wobbly. Good thing he's sitting down.

“Genius, it's for the next destination.”

“You—” he blinks, shock and awe evident on his face. “It's a treasure hunt?” Placing the cup on the bench, he twists in his seat and grasps at your cheeks, squishing it together. “Have I told you that I love you?”

“Numerous times before but I'd love to hear it again.” You say, muffled as he puckers your lips together, lips that he leaves an affectionate kiss on that lingers for a moment. Smiling and giggling, he places his arm around your shoulder. “So what's your answer?”

“Easy, the museum. It's where we bumped into each other after not seeing each other since graduation.”

You pat his chest for a job well done. “Correct, and here I thought I made it vague enough.”

“Please, I—” his senses go off as a resounding crash can be heard a few miles away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” he sighs, defeated. “Would it be an asshole move if I leave right now?”

“Call of nature or…” you change your tone into a whisper. “... Spider-Man duties? Either way, not an asshole move.”

“The latter, babe.” Peter's shoulders slumps visibly. “I'll be back I promise.”

You nod, understanding completely. “I'll wait for you at the museum, okay?” Before he reluctantly stands up, you grasp his wrist. “Be careful please.”

With one last kiss on your temple, he rushes out of the park.

—

“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter bolts out of an alleyway and into a busy street, dodging cars and trucks while his shoe laces are still undone. “Fuck.” Almost slipping on a sheet of ice, he finally sees you beneath a lion statue in front of the museum. He expertly balances himself as snow crunches underfoot.

Your scrunched up face lights up when you see him. Waving him over, he runs to you, arms wrapping around you as he crashes against your form. His hands brace your back from smacking on the statue.

He heaves atop the crook of your neck, lashes fluttering close as he breathes you in. “I made it.”

Wrapping him in your arms, you hold him close. “You did. Are you okay? Nothing damaged?”

Peter lifts his head up as he fixes the scarf on your neck. “I'm fine,” he exhales deeply, now smiling through the ache on his ankle. “Barely broke a sweat.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank goodness.” Fixing his coat collar that his red suit peeks underneath from, you grin up at him. “If you're too tired we can go home.”

“And miss the treasure hunt? No way.” Reaching over you, he plucks a hefty gift box from the stone lion's mouth. “Besides, the presents might get stolen.”

Biting your lip, you watch as he shakes the present. “Open it before I burst a nervous vein.”

Peter chuckles, giving you a quick peck on your cheek before carefully unwrapping the gift. “You little shit.” His eyes are wide and a grin plays on his lips.

“I know, I'm good.”

He takes out the book from the box, revealing a first edition of the hobbit book. “Where in the hell did you get this?”

“I know a guy.” You shrug.

“It's Ned, right?”

“Yeah, it's Ned. I had to pry it off his hands after he found it for me.”

Opening his arms for a hug, you immediately place yourself in between, embracing him back as you lay your head on his clavicle. He kisses the top of your head with a resounding smack.

“Thank you, this is amazing.” He squeezes you. “You're amazing.”

“No, you are, Pete.” You peek over his arms, gazing at him with softness in your eyes. “I heard you saved a bunch of people on the subway.”

“I'm the latest gossip now?” Smiling, he pecks the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, the talk of the town.” Poking his side, earning a chuckle from him, you kiss his chin before reluctantly letting go lest you get a ticket for PDA. “Check page 164.”

Peter laughs, akin to a giggle as he opens the book to the page. He finds a pink sticky note with doodles of him and you in full tolkien regalia. Right next to it Is the next clue.

“Where boundless knowledge lies but where love most thrives.” He reads aloud, heart feeling like it's beating out of his chest. “It's our highschool.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, hand wrapped around his scarf as you play with the frayed edges. “I thought it would be fun to go where it all started.”

“Where the pining started?” He teases, taking your hand to hold it instead, letting his warmth soothe you.

“Yes, where the pining started.” You giggle as he embraces you again, swaying you to the imaginary music and the sounds of the city. “I love you, Pete, ever since the day I accidentally knocked off your glasses after you protected me from Flash. And way before I knew my eighth grade crush wasn't just a crush.”

Peter feels like he's about to burst into tears right in the middle of a busy New York street.

“I—” before he could say all the sweet words that have been in his chest since you punched Flash on his smug face, numerous sirens go off as police cars and fire trucks dash further into downtown. Once again, his senses go off. “Shit.” He turns to you and you're already nodding at him.

“Go, I'll meet you there.”

“I'm so sorry.” Peppers your face with kisses until you're smiling again. “I really am, I— I love you too, so much and I'll tell you some Shakespearean shit later but I have to do this first, okay?”

Chuckling, you kiss his calloused knuckles before he sprints off. You could only hope that he's going to be okay as you hold the book against your chest.

—

The cold nips at the tip of your nose as you wait outside by the old school. Snow gathers near your feet as the temperature drops down further into the negatives, teeth chattering cold. Shivering, you tuck yourself into the awning by the window, coat bundled up and tightening the scarf around your neck. You'd come inside the school but it's closed and even if it is open, it would probably be trespassing since you graduated years ago.

Trembling, you check your watch. As the hand ticks by, you feel icicles forming in your lashes. You're debating whether you should go home or not since you've been waiting for more than an hour now. But you can't do that to Peter. It'll break his heart if he doesn't see you in the meeting place. Why did it have to snow in New York after three years of not having any?

As you kick snow and watch it roll away, you hear your name getting called from above.

Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit, swings quickly towards you. His red and blue form landing down on the soft snow expertly.

“Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!” He jogs towards you, hugging you as he feels how cold and stiff you are. Rubbing your arms and back, he desperately tries to warm you up. “I'm sorry, god, you're frozen.”

“S–Still P–Pretty though, right?” You give him a small smile as you tremble through your words.

“Yes, still gorgeous.” He says with urgency. “I need to warm you up, okay?”

“R–Right here? That's i–illegal, Pete.” Despite the impending frostbite, you still manage to crack a joke.

Peter holds your face, palms warming you up. Smiling apologetically, he holds you close. “I'm going to get you home, we'll have hot cocoa and watch shitty television.”

“How— what about your gift?”

“Babe, you're a popsicle right now. I'll get it later, I promise.” He says as he lifts you up and readies to swing away.

“I–I have it.” You whisper, smoke billowing out from your dry lips. “Good t–thing this is the last one.” Patting your front coat pocket, you beam at him as he bundles you in his arm.

“I'll open it later,” your brows knit together. “I promise, after you get warm I'll open it immediately.”

You nod and he swings away quickly like he's after the Vulture himself.

—

“I was supposed to leave it on top of the flagpole for you.” You murmur against his stomach as you lay on his lap, all bundled up in blankets and warm clothes as the portable heater whirrs in the background.

“And how would you do that, hm?” He lowers the volume to the TV as his hands rub along your arm.

“I know a guy.”

“Yeah, me, I'm the guy.” He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. “Do you want more hot chocolate?”

“No, thank you. I want you to stay.” You shake your head, nuzzling his stomach lovingly.

“Okay.” Chuckling, you can feel that he's holding onto something in his genius head of his. “I’m sorry that our date didn't go as planned.” Laying his head on the top of the couch, he gazes down at you with love. “I promise you I rescheduled the reservation for next week. Then we can continue Valentine's day.” He sighs, clearly guilty. “Even if it's done already, we can— we can continue it, right?”

“Valentine's day part two.” You wiggle your hands behind his back, embracing him in an awkward angle but with affection nonetheless. “You really don't have to worry, Pete, I had fun doing all the riddles. And I knew that something like this could happen so I only made three.”

“How many were you originally planning?”

“Fifteen.” His eyes widened. “Maybe for next year, babe.” Biting your lip, you reach up to hold his cheek, reassuring him more. “Did you like them?”

Peter wiggles the simple silver bracelet on his wrist as he eyes the book on the coffee table. “I loved it all, thank you. The initials engraved on it was a cute touch.”

“Really? I thought it would be too much.”

“You're never too much.” He softly says, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “Please tell me when I make you unhappy.”

“I will, but I don't think you can ever make me feel unhappy. Not on purpose anyway.”

“That's impossible.”

You shake your head as you gently push his head down towards you. Peter lets you, noses bumping against one another. “I've known you since we were eating glue, trust me, I know, Peter.”

“So you're happy?” You nod, brushing your lips on top of his, a clear invitation for him to kiss you. “I didn't even get you flowers. I was supposed to, and chocolates and open the door for you and order dessert that's too expensive. Shit, we were supposed to go ice skating— and, I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You can buy me flowers and chocolates and do all that on Valentine's day part two.”

Peter finally kisses you, silently promising to give you that and more.

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[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four

“What?” Steve’s on edge, he doesn’t mean to snap, it just comes out that way. Eddie’s gone from never looking at him to...always looking at him. And the scrutiny is...it’s so fucking judgemental. Eddie has a horrible little smirk on his face as he fucking stares, eyeballing the drink Steve is pouring for himself, Steve is on the edge of just...screaming at him, or something.

Eddie huffs, rolls his eyes, but still doesn’t say anything.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep calming breath, and reminds himself that absolutely none of this is Eddie’s fault. They’re alone for the first time in a while, so Steve takes his chance, “I’m really sorry, about what I said, okay? I’m sorry I...tricked you. It was wrong, it was absolutely a dick move, I had no right to know, and I’m sorry.”

Eddie does look away then, deflating a little, Steve’s apology seems to have knocked the wind out of his sails, or something. Diluted the anger a little, at least.

“It’s…” Eddie shrugs, staring the shit out of the kitchen floor, “my Steve didn’t drink.”

Steve scrunches his nose up, surprised, “what, at all?”

Eddie shrugs, “glass of wine with dinner maybe, if we went somewhere just the two of us but...no. Not really,” he keeps picking the label off his own beer.

“But why?” Steve asks, so incredulous at the revelation that he forgets to be pissed off.

Eddie won’t look at him now, though, tinking a ring against the glass bottle. The moments long enough that Steve knows Eddie’s debating if he should tell him at all, but eventually Eddie sighs, “when Ronnie was tiny, she got a cough. She was like...fine, we didn’t think anything of it, just thought she was being grizzly or whatever. And Steve had a drink, and I hadn’t, so it was fine but, I checked on her, and she was fast asleep but like had a raging temperature. And it didn’t matter, we had baby meds in the house, we were prepared but...Steve got so worried. He was like but what if we’d run out of meds or...or they didn’t bring her temperature down and she needed urgent care or whatever. I mean, she was absolutely fine, we changed her out of her footie jammies and the medicine worked just fine so...literally nothing happened but...Steve still got so worried about it. So he decided he needed to always be able to drive just in case and he just...stopped. Drinking.”

Steve wants to open his mouth and dispute it. Wants to tell Eddie he’d never fucking do that, that he isn’t the paragon of perfection Eddie dreamed up while his body was busy beating the crap out of every one. That he can’t possibly compare...but he can see it. He wouldn’t miss it, he knows he wouldn’t, and it’s the logical way to make sure his kid is fine then...yeah. Steve would, the thinks. He thinks he would do that.

“He sounds like a good guy,” Steve answers softly.

And Eddie, Eddie smiles before biting his lips together. He closes his eyes and swallows, thick and slow, his voice breaking when he speaks, and Steve knows that Eddie’s fighting a loosing battle against the tears, “he was.”

“Do you want…” Steve holds his arms out, and Eddie all but falls into them, “I know I’m not him, okay, I know that, but I’m here, if you want me to be here.”

Steve thinks he feels Eddie nod, as he sobs against Steve’s chest, curled up so Steve can hold all of him. And Steve cries too. He can't keep the tears inside. Eddie’s pain is palpable, and this isn’t about Steve, not really, Eddie’s Steve was real to Eddie but...the details. The details of Eddie’s story are gutting to listen to. He had a child, and she grew up, and Eddie...he remembers all these little details of their lives.

“Why are you crying?” Eddie chokes out through a sob.

“The footie pajamas,” Steve manages through his own tears, “you had a little girl Eds, you had a little girl and you-” Steve can’t finish it, it’s just so horrible. So unbelievably cruel. Steve can’t even imagine, not really, “I’m so so sorry you went through this. It’s my fault, if I’d taken you with us, if I’d gotten you out, I didn’t know Eddie I swear I didn’t know-”

“I know. I know. Stop it. I probably...I’d be dead now, if you- although I don’t know if that would be better.”

“Jesus,” Steve drags him close drags him into a rib crushing hug, tries to press Eddie inside him, “don’t say that. Jesus Christ, please don’t say that.”

“I...okay.”

Eddie becomes his shadow, which is...kind of weird but also not. Steve doesn’t mind Eddie being there, not at all. He keeps feeling...strangely guilty, about the whole thing. Like it’s, at least, in some way, Steve’s fault, no matter what Eddie might say. Logically Steve knows Eddie’s right, and isn’t that ridiculous, that Eddie has been reassuring Steve? But Eddie is right, Steve couldn’t have known what would happen, no one could, and...Eddie was dead. There was absolutely no way to predict what could have happened but...Steve wears it anyway.

Not to mention the fact that Vecna must have chosen Steve to be Eddie’s imaginary husband for a reason...he must have...liked Steve, for that to work right? Before everything, it must have been realistic to Eddie’s mind that Steve was the one. At least, the thought must have been present enough for that to...take root. Steve doesn’t know, not really, but it haunts him anyway, a loose tooth that, although is painful, he can’t help fiddling with. Even though it’s nothing to do with him, not really.

Eddie stops drinking. He has his last beer, he in fact makes a point of telling Steve that it’s his last one, and not to buy more. So Steve gets one too, they chink them together, and drink them. Then, without speaking, Steve gathers the remaining seven beers out of the fridge and they stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pouring them away. It feels kind of poignant, and a little ceremonial. It feels like an important moment, one Steve will look back on, “you still could have had them,” Eddie points out quietly.

“Nah.” And then that’s...kind of it.

Steve can tell when Eddie really wants a drink. He gets antsy, the kind of restlessness that comes out as destruction, and Eddie gets snappy and bitchy and...hard work, to be around. Sometimes. He swears a lot, gets angry over nothing. There’s a lot of slammed doors and angry clanking and music played loud enough that Steve winces and leaves the house for a while, not really caring what the neighbors think.

Steve lets it wash over him, or at least, does his best to, at first. But finding Eddie shredding the pages of a note book, one at a time, and then getting shouted at for simply asking, “you okay?” Steve starts to figure this isn’t sustainable.

He honestly feels like he’d be taking his life into his hands if he dared suggest Eddie go to some sort of therapy – and who could he talk to, anyway? How could Eddie tell someone on the outside that he’s lived a full life, that he’s lost an adult child and been married for like, thirty years by the age of twenty one?

Steve ducks the notebook as it wings passed his head, watching as Eddie stomps out the back door, slamming it behind him.

“Am I...uhm, gonna’ get anything thrown at me?” Steve doesn’t come too close, just in case. A torn up notebook cover might not have hurt, but the beer bottle still stands out in Steve’s memory. He wonders vaguely if he should have called one of the girls to do this, but it feels cowardly.

Eddie shakes his head, gesturing vaguely with his burnt out cigarette. There’s a neat little row of butts and a scrunched up packet next to Eddie’s boot. Steve pulls up a lawn chair next to him, “sorry,” Eddie says quietly, pointedly not looking at him.

“Yeah, it’s okay-”

“No it isn’t.”

“No...probably not but...I get that you’re hurting, is what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, vaguely, “sometimes something just…” Eddie sighs, and after a few minutes Steve realizes he’s given up and isn’t going to say anymore.

“Reminds you?” Steve tries.

“Yeah,” Eddie gestures again vaguely, running his hand through his hair. It’s looking a little greasy, but Steve knows that at least Eddie stood under the water this morning so he will take what he can get. His clothes are clean today, at least, and that’s a little win considering can go days with no interest whatsoever in his own personal hygiene.

“Do you...want to tell me?”

Eddie sighs a big sigh, “I wrote a song for Steve, for like, our seventh anniversary. Something like that. I wrote it out, to check I still remember. I do.”

“Oh. That sounds...really nice.” That is...very romantic. It makes something flutter a little, inside Steve, because no ones ever done anything like that for him, put in work. It doesn’t take much for Steve to see that Eddie is absolutely that kind of guy. The all in kind of guy, “I bet he really appreciated that. I bet he loved it.” Steve knows he would.

“Yeah,” Eddie rasps, “yeah he did.”

[haihoneys]

Pool Party Fun Times

Summary: San is getting really tired of this cat-and-mouse game he’s been playing with Y/N. Little does he know, she’s fed up too. What’s going to happen when they each decide they’re going to make a move at their mutual friend’s pool party?

Word Count: 3,763

Pairing: Choi San x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut - reader is a ✨screamer✨, mention of blood (bitten lip), barely proofread (im defs high editing this oops), unprotected sex (pls be smart)

A/N: this is set in the same universe as If The Heavens Ever Did Speak and Afternoon Delight. you don’t have to read those to read this, though!! just thought i would mention it hehe. if you wanna get really specific… it actually happens the same day as Afternoon Delight… its the same party 👀

——

The first time they met, San found himself drawn to her. She just had this magnetism about her that seemed to always keep him in her orbit. From the second Yeosang, a long-time friend of her’s apparently, introduced them to one another at a listening party San was just…enamored. She was all twinkling eyes and bright smiles, fluttering lashes and breathy laughs. 

Since then, she’d been popping up randomly in his world.

Two days after the listening party, they ran into each other at a cafe. A week after that, he was picking up some takeout from his favorite chicken place and all but ran into her as she was leaving the same restaurant. The very next day, as he was leaving the dance practice, he saw her from across the street as she was exiting a cab. 

San smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed and called her name. Y/N whipped around, shock coloring her features as she searched for the stranger calling for her. He jogged across the street, huffing another chuckle as he stopped before her. 

“We really need to stop running into each other like this.”

She laughed and nodded her agreement, reaching out a hand to rest on his bicep.  

The gentle touch had him biting down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from sighing and leaning closer to her.

“Yeah, we definitely do,” she smiled up at him, and to his horror, she pulled her hand away to hoist her bag up higher on her shoulder. “I actually have a meeting I need to get to. But, here, let me see your phone?”

San immediately started fumbling for his phone, patting at his pockets until he found the device. He unlocked it before placing it in her waiting palm. Y/n pulled out her own phone, swiping until she open… Snapchat… of all things and opened up her profile to show the qr code. She found the same app on his phone and opened it up, scanning the code to add her as a ‘friend.’ 

She made a satisfied little hmph sound as she locked his phone and handed it back to him. “Ooh, the request came through! Let me accept it before I head to my meeting.”

And they had been dancing around each other ever since, skirting just on the edge of flirting.

A shirtless, post-workout gym selfie from San. A shot of her legs in a bubble bath in response. 

A reply to his story complimenting his new haircut. A little video showing off said haircut as he thanked her.

Nothing too overt, but at the same time… it wasn’t just nothing.

They were both aware of the mutual attraction, of the suggestiveness of some of their photos and messages. But neither of them were making any real moves towards the other.

That is, until they were thrown into a group chat together with all their friends and invited to a pool party to celebrate the start of the summer.

Their phones pinged at the same time from opposite sides of the city: Y/N tucked into her cozy apartment and San in the back of an SUV on his way back to the dorms from the studio.

That was it. That was the opportunity they needed. This party would be the perfect time to make a move.

Of course, both of them choked when the day came. Offering up only shy hellos and timid waves when they saw each other.

In San’s defense though, she just looked too fucking good. When he saw her in the low-cut summer dress, nipples poking through the thin fabric, he had to excuse himself to the bathroom to adjust his semi-hard cock in his jeans.

He spent the rest of the afternoon making eyes at her from across the pool deck, not bothering to hide the fact or even deny it when Wooyoung giggled about it.

And she was sending those looks right back to him! He swore she was fluttering her long eyelashes at him, too. And maybe he started to think about how she would look up at him when she was on her knees for him… about how she’d take him down her throat and - 

A beach ball came soaring across the deck and smacked him on the forehead. He stood there, a bit dazed, as he snapped out of his thoughts.

Wooyoung was doubled over, laughing so hard he was near tears, trying to choke out an apology. San huffed and rolled his eyes, picking the pool toy up and hurling it back at Wooyoung.

San smiled at the dull thwack! as it made contact with the side of his head.

“Ow!” Wooyoung gasped, hand flying to rub at his head. “No way it hit you that hard!” 

“Serves you right, brat,” San shrugged. Honestly, it was probably for the best with the way his thoughts were spiraling just seconds ago. 

San eventually found himself behind the outdoor bar, playing bartender much to the delight of his friends. Yunho and Mingi’s cheering for him caught Y/N’s attention from across the deck, her focus pulling away from the boys’ makeup artist to land on the rowdy trio. 

She excused herself at the first lull in the conversation, claiming she needed another drink despite the nearly full seltzer she was nursing, and seated herself at the far end of the bar. 

San turned toward her, leaning back against the counter behind him as he tossed the towel he was using to dry his hands over his shoulder. He crosses his thick arms and Y/N’s eyes locked in on the corded muscles and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t thinking about him pinning her down and - 

“What can I getcha miss?”

His question brought her back to reality, her cheeks and ears heating as he stared her down.

‘He knows’ she thought ‘he absolutely, 100% knows that I was just thinking about him pinning me to the bed upstairs.’ 

“Um,” she stuttered, suddenly nervous under the weight of his intense gaze. “Surprise me.” 

The left corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk as he uncrossed his arms and turned away from her. He began pouring various mixers and liquors into a shaker before slapping the top on and shaking the concoction. Y/N watched him and nearly moaned at the way the toned muscles in his shoulders and back flexed and moved under his white t-shirt as he went about the task. 

Yeosang just so happened to pass behind her and reached up to tug on a lock of her hair to get her attention. Y/N hummed, barely acknowledging her friend, and Yeosang chuckled under his breath.

“Close your mouth. You’re starting to drool,” he teased before walking off again. 

Y/N swatted at him as he went, mumbling for him to hush because she was busy watching a ‘show.’ 

San scooped some ice into a glass and poured the mixture over it, making a show of licking the fingers of his right hand as he slid her the drink with his left. He leaned forward onto the bar, and the muscles of his arms shifted again. He noted Y/N’s eyes following his movements, and he smirked.

“Let me know what you think.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.” She reached for the glass, making sure to just barely brush the tips of her fingers against his forearm as she did. She kept her eyes locked on his as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip.

“I bet it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.” 

Y/N choked and spluttered on her drink, the heat returning to her cheeks. She looked up at him when she finally caught her breath, ready to spew something about how the drink had just gone down the wrong way. But when her eyes locked on his face again he was giving her the biggest shit eating grin and something clicked into place.

She realized he had been torturing her on purpose. Well, two could play at that game, she supposed. 

She leaned forward onto the bar, purposefully crossing her arms under her tits so they were pushed up practically in his face. She gave herself an extra point in their little game when she noticed his eyes dip down to her cleavage. He flicked his eyes back up to meet hers, his mouth opening to say something clever, to try to fluster her again. So she beat him to the punch.

“Hmm.. I bet I could top it.”

San cocked an eyebrow and grinned at her. “Is that so?” 

Y/N hummed in affirmation and took another sip of her drink. This time, she had to bite back her cringe as the alcohol actually made contact with her taste buds. It was atrocious; nail polish remover probably would have gone down smoother than the literal poison he had given her.

But she smiled, her best attempt at coy, and slid off the bar stool without another word, making sure to put a little emphasis in the sway of her hips as she made her way to the sliding door that led directly into the sunroom of the house. 

It was one of those cliche-as-fuck moments where San thought “damn I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave”. 

He was still leaned over the bar, trying to give her at least a few minutes of a head start so everyone still gathered around the pool and bar wouldn't immediately know what they were about to get up to.

The last shred of his willpower flew out the window, though, when she made it to the door and looked over her shoulder at him. She grinned like she knew she had him in the palm of her hand.

And to be fair, she did. 

San pushed off the bar and, as casually as he could, walked towards the door she’d just disappeared through. He found her in the sunroom leaning against the sideboard that was pressed directly under the window, back to the door as she played on her phone.

He stepped behind her and wrapped an arm around her from behind, one hand splaying across her lower tummy as she discarded her phone. San leaned in and moved the hair from her neck and shoulder before leaning in and pressing a kiss just beneath her ear. 

“You thought you were cute out there, huh?”

She could feel the smirk he pressed into the skin of her neck, and then all of the bravado she had worked up was suddenly gone as she practically melted into his touch.

“Bet you thought you had the upper hand all day…Just flouncing around in this flimsy little dress.”

His hands started to wander, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they slid from her hips, up her abdomen to cup and squeeze at her tits. “Not wearing a fucking bra… bet you aren’t wearing panties either, are you?” San laughs, and it’s a sardonic, almost cruel sound.

He pinched at one of her nipples and involuntarily bucked into her when she whimpered and arched into his touch. He slid a hand up further so he could grasp her neck, turning her head towards him just a bit so he could see her pretty face. 

“What if I’m not?” She was breathless as she said it, the anticipation, the want, evident in her tone.

She was clenching her thighs together, trying for any sort of friction, for any sort of relief. San laughed again and dropped the hand that was still on her chest back to her hip. He started to grab and bunch the fabric there, hiking her dress up just enough to slip his hand under the hem.

Y/N whimpered as his fingers brushed over her thighs, tracing shapes and patterns so close yet so far from where she truly wanted him. She was ready to beg for it, the plea on the tip of her tongue when he finally, blessedly moved his hand between her thighs and slid his fingers through her folds. 

He pulled his hand away and held it up in front of their faces, the setting sun shining through the window and reflecting off the sticky wetness on his fingers. 

“You’re being a tease,” she breathed out, chest heaving. 

San laughed and Y/N was beginning to hate the sound and how it made her pussy clench and ache for him. She turned in his grip and watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean.

He groaned at the taste of her. He was going to spend a long, long time between her thighs. He wanted to fucking drink her and all she had to give him. 

Then he was kissing her, hands in the hair at the base of her skull and pulling just hard enough to guide her where he wanted her. She could still taste herself on his tongue and it was driving her fucking insane, her head swimming.

The primal urge to tear into each other was palpable. The kiss was all clashing teeth and bitten lips, wet and sticky with spit and a bit of blood from a bite that was just a bit too hard. San pulled away a fraction, his pupils blown wide as he stared her down. 

Y/N zoned in on the drop of blood on his lip and gasped. “Fuck! I’m so sorry…oh my god… I didn’t realize I was going that crazy.”

She was speaking a mile a minute, rambling and apologizing profusely, and San cut her off with another searing kiss. 

“What’s pleasure without a bit of pain?” He walked them backwards as he said it, his hands still tangled in her hair.

He eased them down onto the daybed at the back of the room, pulling her into his lap and rucking her dress back up around her hips so she could straddle him.

“You okay?” He asked, wanting to keep her comfort at the top of his priorities. 

“God, yes,” she breathed out and went back in for another kiss, licking into his mouth like she wanted to imprint the taste of him in her own mouth. Y/N started grinding down onto him, the fly of his jeans and the hardness of his cock providing the most delicious friction against her clit.

He moaned into her mouth, strong hands on her hips, dragging her back and forth over his lap until she was whimpering and whining for him. San kissed at the corner of her mouth and murmured to her, “You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum just from humping me like this, baby?” 

She whined and nodded her head frantically, her voice fully gone, the pressure building and building in her lower belly until her toes were curling and stars were bursting behind her eyelids. San hummed below her, hands still pushing and pulling at her as she started to writhe above him, riding out her high.

San watched her, in rapture, as she lost herself to the pleasure. He wanted to burn the sight into the backs of his eyelids so he could conjure it up the next time he found himself alone and wanting.

“I need you inside me right now or I might fucking die.”

That might be the hottest thing he’d ever heard. 

She lifted herself onto her knees - there was just enough space between them to allow her to fumble with his pants and help him shimmy them down his thick thighs. She almost started salivating at the sight of his cock slapping up against his abdomen, heavy and swollen and already leaking precum. 

“Can’t have that now, can we?” He tried to joke, but his laugh was cut off by a guttural groan as she sank down onto him. The wet, molten heat of her might just be heaven, his own personal nirvana. He honestly thought he could live there, buried to the hilt in her pretty little cunt.

Then she started rocking against him and moaning his name, and San nearly came undone at the sound. He gripped at her hips, fingers pressing marks that would surely turn to bruises, and picked her up just enough to give him room to fuck up into her.

The angle was damn near perfect, she could feel every ridge and vein of him, could feel the tip of his cock kissing against her cervix. Her head fell back as she moaned at a particularly well-placed thrust, leaving her throat exposed to him. And San took full advantage of it.

He leaned forward and attached his lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Biting down until she whined - he was starting to think that high-pitched, needy little noise was going to become one of his favorite sounds - before he laved over the quickly reddening mark with his tongue to soothe the sting of pain. 

She was clawing at his arms and shoulders, nails raking down his skin, and he hissed at the sharp bite of it. But he loved it. Loved that she was marking him up, putting her claim on him in such a visible way. Just as he had done to her. 

Suddenly, he was flipping them, and she squealed, arms flying up to wrap around his neck. San never lost his momentum though, fucking into her with even more force thanks to the new angle and leverage. He buried his face in her neck, kissing and sucking new marks onto the column of her throat.

“Fuckkkk,” he groaned into her, pressing the curse into her skin between the kisses, “you feel so fucking good.” 

Words were lost to her at that point; her eyes rolled back in her head as he slammed into her over and over again. She was whimpering and keening beneath him, her hands tangled in and tugging at his hair as he kept pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

San slipped his own hand between them, effortlessly finding her swollen clit. It was a bit clumsy at first, but he steadied himself quickly, drawing tight little circles over her. He sped up his thrusts, and the force of it had them sliding over the edge of the bed.

He was somehow clear-headed enough to thank god that the daybed was low. Practically just cushions on the floor already, so neither of them ended up hurt when they fully slid to the floor.

Y/N didn’t even seem to notice the shift, pupils blown wide, and cheeks flushed. She looked so fucked out that he thought he might could cum just from the look on her face. From knowing that it was him that put that look there. He set back to rubbing at her clit, determined to make her cum again.

“Can you cum for me again, baby? I need you to cum for me… c’mon and give it to me, yeah?

She didn’t need words to answer him, her body taking over and doing it for her as her pussy clamped down so tight around him that he couldn’t fucking move.

The blinding ecstasy ripped through her, and she screamed his name as her vision fully whited out. She was clinging to him like she might slip away from the earth if he wasn’t there tethering her to it, arms thrown around his shoulders and legs hooked over his hips.

San slapped a hand over her mouth, torn between relishing in the fact that he was the one making her scream like that and being worried about everyone just on the other side of the window being able to hear them. 

He swore to himself that next time, he would make sure they were fully alone. That they had all the privacy they needed so she could be as loud as she wanted. So he would be able to hear all those pretty sounds at full volume.

San knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, the fluttering of her cunt around him and the muffled whines she was making from behind his hand were sending him barreling towards his own climax.

He quickly pulled out, sitting back on his calves, his hand flew over his cock as he gave himself a few pumps. San moaned as he came, hot ropes of cum spilling onto her lower belly. 

She was still trembling through her aftershocks as she hummed and brought her fingers to the mess, swirled them around before bringing them to her lips and licking them clean. The menace made sure to keep her gaze locked on his as she did it, moaning at the taste of him as he watched her slack-jawed.

“Didn’t think it was fair that you got to taste me and I didn’t get to taste you.”

San snorted as he rolled to the side of her, flinging his arm over his face. “Keep looking at me like that and saying shit like that and you’ll definitely be tasting me soon.”

Y/N laughed, and it had him giggling in turn. San wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, pressing soft kisses to her temple. They gave themselves a few moments to fully catch their breaths before they decided they should clean up and head back out to the party before their friends came looking for them.

He needed to find her something clean to wear and offer to have her dress dry cleaned. He told her as much, but she waved him off, telling him not to worry about it. 

San leaned against the doorframe and watched as she tried her best to tame her hair into something remotely presentable. 

“By the way,” he started, “You’re really loud. I was sure someone was going to come in here thinking I was killing you or something.”

Y/N flushed and looked away from him, embarrassed that he had brought it up after the fact. “Sorry… I get so caught up I can’t really help it…”

San paused, head tilting to the side and grinning softly at her.

“I never said it was a bad thing. Or that I didn’t like it. In fact,” He took a step forward, just close enough to be able to settle a hand on her hip, the other cupping her cheek. “I plan on hearing those sounds again. And seeing just how loud you can get."

——

Tag List:

 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

[luvashli]

ESCAPISM

SYNOPSIS -> After a painful breakup with Heeseung, you lose yourself in a wild night of partying. Niki becomes your distraction, leading to heated dances and passionate kisses. But as morning comes, you’re left wondering if it was just an escape or something more.

PAIRING -> nonidol!ni-ki x fem!reader (ex!heeseung)

GENRE -> oneshot, romance, drama, angst, suggestive, emotional, mature

STARTED -> 2/12/2025

STATUS -> complete

WC -> 2.7k

Note -> This oneshot is inspired by the song “Escapism” by Raye. While the story contains suggestive themes and intense emotional tension, it does not include explicit smut.

click here for the song “Escapism” by Raye

Masterlist

It happened last night.

You sat across from Heeseung in your favorite café, the one you always went to after his late-night practices. The air between you was thick—he was fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie, avoiding your gaze, while you stirred your coffee without drinking it.

You could feel it before he even said the words.

“Y/N… we need to talk.”

Your fingers tensed around your spoon. Those words never meant anything good.

“About what?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Heeseung finally looked at you then, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t see the warmth that used to be there. Instead, you saw hesitation. Guilt.

“This… us,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Heeseung, what are you saying?”

He sighed heavily, finally meeting your eyes. “I think we should end this.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

“Why?” you whispered.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across his face. “You know why, Y/N. This… this isn’t working anymore. I don’t have time. You don’t have time. We barely see each other, and when we do, we’re just fighting or pretending like everything’s fine. It’s not fine.”

Your stomach twisted. Yes, things had been tense lately. Late-night arguments over missed dates, his phone always buzzing with notifications he wouldn’t let you see, the way he seemed distant even when he was right in front of you.

But you loved him. And you thought he still loved you, too.

“You’re giving up on us?” you asked, your voice cracking.

His jaw tightened. “I just… I don’t think we’re good for each other anymore.”

You felt like you were drowning.

“So that’s it?”

Heeseung swallowed hard, looking down at the table. He wouldn’t even fight for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

And that was the part that hurt the most. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t cruel. He was just… done.

You walked out before he could see the tears spill down your face.

---

The city hums beneath you, neon lights flashing in sync with the pounding bass inside the club. The music is loud—loud enough to drown out your thoughts, loud enough to replace the echoes of his voice from last night.

"I think we should end this."

Cold. Empty. Like the months you spent loving him meant nothing.

So now you’re here. Dressed in sin, drowning in liquor, looking for something—someone—to make you forget.

The champagne fizzes in your glass as you swirl it absentmindedly, perched at the bar with your legs crossed, your heels dangling from your feet. You don’t trust the people you came with. They’re friends of friends, girls who smile too wide and whisper too much. But that doesn’t matter. Tonight, nothing matters.

Then, he walks in.

Ni-ki.

He moves like he owns the room—tall, lean, and effortlessly confident. His dark eyes scan the crowd, taking in everything, calculating. But then they land on you.

And they stay.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he approaches, his presence commanding in a way that makes your skin tingle. He leans against the bar beside you, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, expensive.

"Buy me a drink?" you ask, tilting your head.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," he replies smoothly.

He orders two wines without breaking eye contact, and the bartender slides them over. You take a sip, letting the bitter warmth spread through you, letting it replace the ache in your chest.

"Rough night?" he muses, watching you.

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. "More like a rough life."

He doesn’t push for details. He just clinks his glass against yours. "To forgetting, then."

And just like that, you fall into the night with him.

---

The alcohol makes everything blur—makes it easier to laugh, easier to let go. One drink turns into three, into five. You’re on the dance floor now, the bass vibrates through your chest, the rhythm pulsing like a second heartbeat. The club is packed—bodies moving, drinks spilling, neon lights flashing across the dance floor in a kaleidoscope of color. But none of it matters.

Because the moment Ni-ki pulls you into him, hands firm on your waist, the entire world narrows down to just the two of you.

Your body moves instinctively to the music, swaying with the beat, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Ni-ki’s grip tightens, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you, only heat and the electric tension that’s been building between you all night.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something wicked in them—something teasing, something daring. He’s testing you, seeing how far you’ll let this go.

So you decide to push back.

You turn in his arms, pressing your back against his chest, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles. His sharp inhale is almost lost beneath the pounding music, but you feel it. You feel everything—his hands spreading across your stomach, his breath against the shell of your ear, the way his fingers flex like he’s barely holding himself together.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice low, laced with amusement.

You glance over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “Maybe.”

His response is immediate. One hand slides down, fingers splaying over your hip, guiding your movements with a firm, calculated grip. He’s in control now, and he wants you to know it.

You let your head fall back against his shoulder as you move together, the tension between you tightening with every sway, every roll of your hips against his. The heat of his body is overwhelming, the scent of his cologne intoxicating, and you know you’re playing a dangerous game.

But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

Ni-ki leans down, his lips brushing against your jaw, the touch featherlight, teasing. His fingers trail up your arm, over your bare shoulder, until they find the strap of your dress, tugging it just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You should be careful,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of warning and promise.

You turn in his arms again, chest pressed against his, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket. The air between you is thick, heavy, charged. Your heart pounds, and you know—you know—that if you lean in just a little more, his lips will be on yours.

“And if I don’t want to be careful?” you challenge, tilting your chin up, eyes locked onto his.

Ni-ki’s smirk deepens.

“Then we have a problem.”

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as the music thrums around you, drowning out everything except the way he feels against you. The way he looks at you—like he already knows exactly how this night is going to end.

And for once, you don’t care about the consequences.

So you let yourself get lost in him, in the music, in the escape.

Because tonight, that’s all that matters.

___

By the time you stumble out of the club, giggling as the cold night air bites at your skin, you’re too far gone to care about anything but him. His hand finds yours, steadying you as you both slip into the back of a waiting taxi.

The city lights blur past the window, but you’re not looking at them. You’re looking at him. The sharp cut of his jaw, the way his lips part slightly as he watches you.

The air inside the taxi is thick with tension, crackling like electricity between you and Ni-ki. The city blurs past outside the window, neon lights flashing across his sharp features, casting shadows across his cheekbones. His hand rests on your thigh, just barely, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

Your breath hitches, your body already reacting to the unspoken pull between you. You don’t know what it is about him—maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s daring you to do something reckless, or maybe it’s the way he hasn’t asked you any questions, hasn’t pried into the wounds you’re trying to drown in champagne and cheap thrills.

“Are you always like this?” he asks suddenly, voice smooth, teasing.

You turn to him, tilting your head slightly. “Only when I don’t want to feel.”

His eyes flicker with something—understanding, maybe. A silent acknowledgment that he knows what it’s like to run from something, too.

You don’t ask what he’s running from. And he doesn’t ask about you.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, and something dark flickers in his eyes. You don’t miss the way his fingers tighten slightly against your thigh, the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips.

You should wait. You should think. But you don’t want to.

Instead, you shift closer, closing the space between you until your breaths mix, until you can feel the warmth of him against your skin.

“And right now?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

“Right now, I don’t want to feel anything at all,” you breathe.

That’s all it takes.

Ni-ki moves first. His hand slides up, fingers grazing the bare skin of your thigh, igniting something in you that’s been burning all night. He catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up just enough to bring his lips to yours.

The kiss is slow at first, deliberate—like he’s testing you, like he’s seeing how far you’ll let this go. But you don’t hold back. You press into him, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer, deeper.

And just like that, the tension snaps.

He groans softly against your lips as his hands slide to your waist, tugging you toward him, his grip firm, possessive. The taxi is moving too fast, or maybe not fast enough, because you can’t get close enough to him, can’t feel enough of him.

You bite his lower lip, just enough to make him inhale sharply, his fingers tightening around you in response. His hands are warm, rough in a way that makes you shiver, in a way that makes you forget everything except the way he’s touching you.

Your back presses against the cool leather of the taxi seat as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, sending heat spiraling through you. His fingers slip beneath the hem of your dress, tracing slow, agonizing patterns along the inside of your thigh, teasing.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath uneven.

You smirk, tilting your head back slightly, your own hands slipping beneath his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. “And you like it.”

His responding chuckle is dark, low. “Yeah. I do.”

The driver clears his throat loudly. You barely register it, too caught up in the feeling of Ni-ki’s mouth on your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

“We’re almost there,” the driver mutters.

You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to pull away, your pulse racing. Ni-ki watches you, his lips swollen, his breathing uneven, his fingers still pressing into your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

“Hotel,” he says to the driver, voice rough. “Now.”

And as the taxi speeds up, you realize something.

You may not want to feel.

But with Ni-ki, you’re going to.

___

The elevator ride is suffocating.

Not because there’s no air, but because every inch of space between you and Ni-ki is filled with tension so thick, it’s almost unbearable. His fingers press into your waist, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. You can feel his breath against your temple, the scent of liquor and something undeniably him mixing in the confined space.

Neither of you speak. You don’t need to.

The ding of the elevator doors opening barely registers before you’re moving, stepping out onto the hotel floor with Ni-ki’s hand gripping yours, leading you down the dimly lit hallway. His pace is hurried, purposeful, like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he’s been waiting for this all night.

The second the hotel door swings shut behind you, the restraint shatters.

Ni-ki is on you in an instant, pressing you against the door with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. His lips crash against yours, hungry, demanding, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You moan into the kiss, fingers threading into his dark hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound sends a rush of heat straight through you, making your knees weak. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel anything but him.

Ni-ki’s hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, tracing over your curves like he’s memorizing every inch of you. His fingers hook into the straps of your dress, dragging them down your shoulders, his lips trailing after them, kissing a slow, burning path down your collarbone.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, voice rough with desire.

Your head tips back against the door as his mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. Your hands move instinctively, slipping under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He shrugs it off easily, then tugs his shirt over his head, revealing toned skin and sharp lines that make your mouth go dry.

You don’t get the chance to admire him for long before he’s lifting you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs as he carries you toward the bed. You gasp, arms wrapping around his shoulders, but he just smirks, pressing another hot kiss to your lips as he lays you down against the cool sheets.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, hovering above you, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

You don’t hesitate.

“I want this,” you whisper. “I want you.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

Ni-ki kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way you melt beneath him. His hands explore your body with an intoxicating mix of tenderness and urgency, fingers skimming down your waist, gripping your thighs, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touches.

He takes his time, pulling your dress down inch by inch, watching the fabric slip away from your body with a hunger that makes your pulse race. His lips follow the path of his hands, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your hips, teasing you, torturing you.

“You’re driving me insane,” he mutters against your skin, his voice raw.

You smirk, arching into him, dragging your nails down his back. “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

The night dissolves into a blur of heat and tangled sheets, of whispered names and desperate touches, of lips and hands and bodies moving together in perfect rhythm. Every kiss, every touch, every breath is an escape—an escape from reality, from heartbreak, from the pain you refuse to acknowledge.

And for a few fleeting hours, nothing else matters.

Not Heeseung.

Not the past.

Not the consequences.

Only this. Only him.

---

Morning comes too soon.

The sun cuts through the curtains, painting the room in harsh light. Your head is pounding, your throat dry, your body aching in a way that isn’t just physical.

You blink, trying to remember. Flashes of last night come back in pieces—his hands, his lips, the way he whispered your name like it meant something.

Beside you, Ni-ki stirs. His arm drapes lazily over your waist, his face buried in the pillow. Peaceful. Unbothered. Like this is just another night for him.

And maybe that’s all it was.

You slip out of bed, pulling the sheet around you as you search for your dress. The air is heavy, suffocating, and the second you find your phone, you see the unread messages from him.

Heeseung.

I shouldn’t have ended things like that.

Can we talk?

You inhale sharply, your fingers hovering over the screen.

Last night, you thought you had buried the pain under alcohol, under Ni-ki’s touch. But now, in the quiet of the morning, the weight of everything settles back onto your chest.

Your chest tightens.

You should feel something. Anger. Sadness. Relief. But instead, there’s just... nothing.

Because this was never about getting over him.

It was about escaping.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re still running.

Would you like a part two?? Let me know :))

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@crimson-reaper576 @luvleyylina

[kookooluvr]

Teach Me How To Love - Part 6

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

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

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

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

word count: 13.6k

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

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

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

find tmhtl masterlist here

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

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

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

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

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

"What? Of course you can-"

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

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

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

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

"What if I cry?"

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

She's got a good point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You really like him, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're cute," he grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He was not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The night everything came to be.

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

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

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

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

"What if it always has?"

Your heart stutters.

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

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

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

And then, just like that, the song ends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hana.

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

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

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

A bitter taste rises in your throat.

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

Jungkook does mean something to you.

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

You.

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

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

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

"Thought I lost you for a second."

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

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

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

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

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

Seven years.

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

"You never made time for me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have great hair."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. "Lost?"

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

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

His expression softens, just a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips twitch. "A gentleman, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

Jungkook hums, taking another sip of his water.

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

"Would that be a bad thing?"

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

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

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

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

Slowly.

Carefully.

Giving you everything opportunity to pull away.

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

And then he kisses you.

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

And God help you—you answer.

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

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

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

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

It felt quite right to you too.

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

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

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

You nod, walking back to the car.

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

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

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

"Do you want me to walk you up?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smirk widens. "Looks good on you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. "No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Say it anyway," you whisper.

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

And then he kisses you again.

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not tonight."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, breathless.

"Need to hear you say it, baby."

The endearment sends heat through your body.

"I'm sure."

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

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

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

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

Sinking into you feels like coming home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to tell him you love him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff faintly. "I live here."

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

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

"Goodnight, baby..."

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

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

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

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

You smile, stretching your limbs. "Morning."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook smiles sleepily. "Can you blame me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh well.

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

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

"This is a good one," he declares.

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

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

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

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

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

He nods once. "Acceptable."

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

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

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

"I need those?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh my god, ___?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your fingers tighten around the shopping cart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The drive home is silent.

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

You don't.

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

And here you are, falling into the same pattern.

Falling for Jungkook.

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

It would be easier to end it now.

Before either of you get hurt.

Before you lose yourself in him completely.

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

Instead, he tries a softer approach.

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

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

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

The tension is unbearable.

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

Jungkook exhales slowly. "___."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. "Jungkook, just drop it."

He pauses.

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

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

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

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

"Why do you even care so much?"

The words hit him like a slap.

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

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

"Because I love you."

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

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

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

And it terrifies you.

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

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls unevenly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook stills.

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

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

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

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

The words are on the tip of your tongue.

Tell him.

Make it easier for him to walk away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook is gone.

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

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

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

Sunghoon made sure of that.

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

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

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

"You did this to us."

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

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

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

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But one day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You broke two hearts today.

< Part 5 || Part 6.5 >

[marshemillow]

Just learned about fucking baeddelism.

Was anyone going to tell me that tumblr was the creation site for a literal actual rape cult on the premise of making anyone who is not a trans woman look like The Enemy, or was I just supposed to find that out myself???

Guys. GUYS. Please, holy shit, can we just drop fucking radical feminism already??? There's nothing in it worth keeping!!! Like we're far past the cult score of mormonism at this point, we're WELL into heaven's gate levels of cult, and you still don't realize how wrong this ideology is?????

STOP TRYING TO MAKE "FUCK ALL MEN" WOKE!!! IT'S NOT WOKE!!! IT WILL NEVER BE WOKE!!! IT'S RADFEM BULLSHIT AND IT BELONGS IN THE TRASH!!!

Now, if you actually don't know much about this topic, you might be wondering WHY radfem ideology is so bad, even unrelated to the mistreatment of trans people? Well, remember that men and women are actually not so different. I love the story of the men who wrote the movie Alien who wanted to have a female protagonist, but none of them knew how to write a good, strong female character. So you know what they did? They wrote Ripley as a MALE character, and then just cast a woman to play her. You know why that worked?? BECAUSE MEN AND WOMEN ARE THE SAME!!! We are all just human beings who are born fumbling and making mistakes!!!

It was actually genius, because Alien was created by a man who believes that rape and forced birth are underutilized concepts in horror movies, and having it happen to male characters forced the audience to see the horror of it unrelated to the rampant misogyny of the time that technically persists to this day. It's no surprise to me that the male writers of the movie recognized their weakness in being unable to write a female character and basically life-hacked themselves into it by writing a good male character instead. Nintendo was even inspired by this angle, which is why Samus in Metroid is also a woman!

THAT'S why radical feminism is bad at its core. It's totally valid to have actual androphobia as a result of normalized violence by men against women, I'm sure it happens all the time, but the solution to that problem is NOT to lean into it until you start thinking of men as subhuman monsters incapable of kindness or love. Not only does that hurt men directly, it also hurts women by denying their abuse from other women!!! AND it denies abuse where men are the victims, even by other men and ESPECIALLY by women!!! Not to mention that it completely erases the identities of nonbinary and genderqueer people who exist outside the rigid gender binary.

And don't even get me STARTED on how radfems treat intersex people!!! Holy shit, that could be a whole post all on its own. Intersex people get so little recognition and are violently erased by all aspects of society, even the groups that should be including them in their activism!!! Radfeminism wouldn't be complete without intersexism, eh? They go together like peanut butter and jelly!!!

And one more sidenote is that radfems' first target was butch lesbians. That's right!!! Not even cis lesbians are safe from terf bullshit!!! So much of their ideology is just related to masculinity being evil compared to femininity, which is why even cis lesbians who hate men can still be targets for harassment. (Sound familiar?)

I honestly find it really ironic that so many trans women today still seem to hold baeddel or TIRF beliefs, because the people who suffered the most under the original baeddel movement were trans women. They were the ones who were subjected to heavy cult indoctrination, where they were expected to agree with the cult leaders with unquestioning obedience, even after the leaders raped them. This isn't to downplay the suffering trans men went through because of them of course, but I find it sickening that modern baeddels still act like no abuse even happened because trans women are "incapable of abuse," or even trying to erase the transfem identities of the victims. It's absolutely vile.

Anyway, fuck radfem ideology. If you're a man reading this post, I love you, I respect you, I see you, and I know you ALL are capable of doing good. I appreciate every man who feels inadequet, like they don't count as real men, like they need to bend over backwards to prove themselves to everyone, who feel like they can't cry or show emotion, who are subjected to bullying and harassment for being "sissies," whether under the patriarchy or under the shadow of radfeminism. You don't deserve to suffer, and I hope it gets better.

Remember that we should be hating IDEAS, not people. Feminism should be about equal opportunity for EVERYONE. If you think feminism should be about flipping the script so women are above men, you're doing it wrong.

And just in case the piss on the poor crowd finds this post again...I also hate incel ideology and think it's just as dangerous (maybe more so because of actual male privilege) as radfem ideology. They really are just two sides of a bullshit gender essentialist coin.

It doesn't mean anything btw if you say "terfs dni" but still say all of the same things they do. Just so you know.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

💕Pick a Picture: ༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴Channeled letter from your Soulmate ༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

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ʚ🩷ɞ Pile 1:

"Hello, my love:

We haven't met yet in the time we know, but I feel your energy close by. Sometimes, in the quietest moments, I close my eyes and I can imagine what it will be like the first moment I see you, how everything will seem to align, as if everything has led to this very moment.

I want you to know something: I am already here, thinking of you, even though I can't show you yet. You may not see it, but I feel a little closer every day. And in this space, I want you to trust that everything you have lived, everything you have experienced, is leading me right to you. Your strength, your vulnerability, your moments of light and shadow... are building me a clear image of how wonderful you are.

So don't worry about when or how, because love comes when it has to. I promise it won't be rushed, or forced. You don't need to be perfect for me; none of that really matters. All I want is for you to be yourself, as authentic as you are, because that's the person I want to share my life with.

With all my love that I haven't given you yet ;),

Your future lover"

💘 Channeled song from your person:

ʚ🩷ɞ Pile 2:

"Hello, my love:

Maybe this message comes at a time when you feel like everything is on pause, or that things are not going their course. And I want to tell you, from the bottom of my heart, that everything is happening exactly as it has to be. There is nothing that is out of place. We are at different points, but somewhere in this space that we share, we are already connected.

I want you to know that I am waiting for you, although not in the sense of waiting as something passive. No. I am waiting for you with everything that I am, with everything that I am learning, with everything that I already am and everything that I continue to discover. Because I need you just as you are, not for what you can do, or for what you can "give" me, but for what we are together when we meet.

Although sometimes you may feel alone or lost, you are preparing yourself for what is to come. Don't doubt yourself or what the future holds, I want you to trust that this whole path has been a part of my journey to you. You dont need to worry about what's still unclear. I promise that when the time comes, it will all make sense, believe me.

I send you all my love,

Your love"

💘 Channeled song from your person:

ʚ🩷ɞ Pile 3:

"Hello, my dear,

Today I woke up feeling so warm and close to you, like we already knew each other, like our souls already recognized each other, even though we haven't physically crossed paths yet. I'm here, even though you can't see me, and I'm sending you all my love and thoughts.

I want you to know that, even though this journey towards you is taking longer than you imagine, every day that passes brings me closer to you. You don't have to do anything else, just be you, and that's what attracts me the most. I promise you that everything is happening in its perfect time. When we get to meet, everything will make sense, and everything you've lived so far will be the solid foundation for what we're going to build together.

Don't feel pressured, Don't worry if it seems like things aren't going as fast as you'd like. I'm going through my own process too, and on this journey, we're learning to be better versions of ourselves so we can give each other the most genuine love.

I want you to always remember that you are enough just the way you are. You dont need to change who you are, how you think, what you like; the ones that get it, are the ones that matter, and in the end, you have me ;). Please keep moving and keep being you, you deserve the world and your ideas need to be heard. Your voice MATTER! so keep going my love.

With all my love,

Your partner in a crime"

💘 Channeled song from your person:

🩷⋆˚✿˖°ᡣ𐭩🩷Thanks for reading, tell me if it resonated and Happy Valentines day🩷⋆˚✿˖°ᡣ𐭩🩷

[salemrph]

"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 1: A not so well planned night

Summary: A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money. What should’ve been a simple rescue mission unearths secrets far more sinister than anyone ever imagined.

Character: Sylus x MC; Luke and Kieran, Caleb, Zayne

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 8,135 | Reading Time: 32 min | AO3

taglist: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme

Chapter 1: A not so well planned night

The burning building groans under the weight of its own collapse, crumbling piece by piece. The flames rage uncontrollably, swallowing the entire complex, leaving nothing but charred ruins. In the heart of the main part of the wearhouse, the scene is a nightmare. The floor is slick with blood, bodies scattered in unnatural poses, bullet casings gleaming like twisted confetti in the dim light. The air reeks of gunpowder and death. This was no battlefield—this was a massacre.

Under the eerie glow of the red moon, such a sight might seem familiar. But tonight, something is wrong. This wasn't supposed to be the end. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not after everything. 

Gunfire echoes, sharp and relentless. The screams of the fallen mingle with the guttural roars of the Wanderers, their twisted forms wreaking havoc as they tear through what remains. It’s a cacophony of violence, a hellish symphony that cuts through the night. And through the madness, there he is—the man in the suit. The one who has conquered with nothing more than his calm demeanor and his cold, calculating presence. The one they all feared. But now, as he stands in the wreckage, there is no cool detachment. There is no indifferent strategist. His expression is tight, his jaw set with a fury that has never before surfaced. His usual composure has shattered like glass, replaced with darker, dangerous rage. His left eye, glowing like a dying star, reflects the turmoil inside him. It burns with the kind of intensity that could scorch the very earth beneath him.

In his arms, the body of a woman, limp and lifeless, hangs like dead weight. Her blood stains his clothes, seeping into the fabric, marking him with a reminder of the choices he’s made, the consequences of those choices. The plan was never supposed to unfold this way. This was not the outcome he had imagined. The walls of the building continue to groan, buckling under the weight of the flames, the weight of everything collapsing. It had been a trap. Of course, it had been. But he had no choice. The risk was necessary.

And now he has paid the price.

Few days before

Gradually, routine returns to your life. The festivities are over, the beginning of the year has been wonderful. Going to the New Year's market with Sylus has been a good way to see how your relationship has changed. The feelings you have for him have been consolidated. You accept them and welcome them, letting the beautiful and sparks fill your chest with warmth, tenderness and love. 

As you made the lanterns together you remembered every adventure you've shared with him. The search for the lost gem, being sucked into a protocore to a far away place. The trip to the mountains or to the lost oasis. You smile in a daze. You've spent so much time with Sylus, that returning home alone is strange. Lying on the bed, you remember how he struggled to shower at your place. Making a mess in the bathroom. That was just the first step to letting him into your territory, not only speaking about your apartament. Your holy sanctuary. That night of secrecies. You couldn't let him go, that night your whole body and mind wanted to make him stay. You sigh as you remember his lips, the heat between you two, the melting feeling to become one. You hug the big crow plush laying next to you on the bed, it smells like him. So comforting. Now, without him around, you’re deeply sure that being with him makes your life funnier, kind of dangerous but strangely full of new emotion. 

However, not everything is honey-coated and perfect. Your face changes, your stomach hurts, and you lay on your side as you remember your mission in Skyhaven. Caleb. You want to throw up. He lied to you, in the cruelest way possible.

Although you wish with all your heart that Caleb had his good reasons, something doesn't add up. The explosion definitely happened. The Fleet and everything around it is a black box. A void, like Caleb. He came back so different… You haven't talked about it at all. He must have a reason to hide things from you, locking you up in his apartment. That wasn’t nearly how you had him in memory. Worst of all, you can't just go to Zayne and tell him: “Oh by the way Caleb isn't dead”. You can already picture his face, not sure if he should prescribe you pills or send you to psychiatry. Making maybe at the beginning a dry joke or something. Zayne would pinch his nose before removing his glasses. Trying to figure out if you’re really serious about it or you haven't fully accepted Caleb's death. Either way, if Zayne believed you, his reaction would be just as stoic as ever. What you can't know is that beneath that icy, overly professional manner of dealing with you, he feels a deep affection for you. Ever since you met. That affection would make him get into a big fight with Caleb. 

Oh, and how about explaining this to Sylus? He would believe you right away but at the same time, he would be probably looking for a way to make Caleb pay for his action. If those two ever met, it could be the end of the world. Seeing how Caleb is now and how overprotective he is with you. He would probably not like it one bit that you're dating the most wanted man in the galaxy. And thinking about how much Sylus doesn't like people messing with you…and how he usually treats his enemies. Very bad idea, very, very bad idea. Honestly speaking that would be a fight to see who has the biggest cock. The Farspace Fleet's Colonel vs Onychinus's Leader. Place your bets on who will be the last one standing. 

You are tense, tired and helpless. The whole thing just gives you a headache. Caleb has texted you a few times after New Year. He showed up a few times but it was still weird. That's it. You sit up on the bed, you look out of the window, it’s raining. Somehow he always brings a storm into your life. It doesn't matter if he comes back or if he is leaving. You truly wish you could trust him, like you used to. A tear rolls down your cheek. You breathe in deeply, trying to hold back all the emotions. 

A notification pops up on your phone. You wipe the tears from your face. 

“How are you doing? We haven't seen each for a while” You smile at Tara’s message, quickly typing a reply.

“Good, just trying to survive this weather. Feels like it’s been forever since we last spoke. You back from your family’s place yet?”

She responds almost immediately.

“Yeah! Just got back yesterday. It was nice, but chaotic as always. What about you?”

You hesitate for a moment before replying.

“Nothing too special these days”

Tara, of course, sees right through you.

“Nothing? Girl, that answer is screaming ‘I’m hiding something.’ Spill."

You roll your eyes, but your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could tell her about Sylus—about how you ended up together, the teasing, the tension, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. But you feel like it isn't the moment. 

"There’s nothing to spill 🥱"

“Mhm. Sure. You definitely didn’t spend time with someone who makes you all flustered and stupidly heart-eyed♥."

You: "I don’t get flustered😖"

Tara: So you were with him!!! 

You groan, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your pillow before typing back.

You: "That’s not what I said."

Tara: "You didn’t deny it either."

She’s relentless. You can practically hear the smugness through the screen.

Tara: "Oh, pleaaase. You are so gone for him. It’s painful to watch. Let's have fun this Friday, and share the tea with me. Girls Night!😘 

A distraction. That’s what you needed. Something to pull you out of your own head, away from the tangled thoughts of Caleb and the mess that had been occupying too much space lately. Maybe just enjoying the fact that Tara is back, you have Sylus and work isn’t too stressful since your mission in Skyhaven. 

You exhale tiredly, relaxing your body a little and you type back a quick "Fine, fine. Girls’ night it is." 

You toss your phone aside. If you keep this up, your thoughts will consume you. You need to rest, relax and disconnect, even if it's just for one night. You know full well that if it becomes too much, you can always return to the base. Lose yourself in assembling and disassembling illegal weapons, listen to the stories behind each stolen gem, or simply sink into the sound of a classic vinyl record.

But that would mean pretending, and you don’t have the energy for that either. So you stay. You stay in the solitude of your apartment, listening to the spring storm getting closer, raindrops tapping against your window.

The nightmares keep coming—fragments of memories slipping through your mind, haunting you in the quiet hours of the night. You toss and turn, drenched in cold sweat, your chest tightening with an unease you can’t shake.

That day, you walked behind Caleb. Why does he always look at you like that? Like you’re some helpless animal. 

“We’ve been outside for too long. Gran’s going to be worried” he says. You sigh, arguing with him a little longer. He worries too much. You’re an adult now, you can handle yourself. You’re one of the best in your squad—you don’t need protection.

Caleb shakes his head. “Since you’re grown up now, I won’t cover for you this time” he closed the door and with that a huge explosion knocked you off. 

You wake up gasping. Your hands tremble as you press them to your face, trying to ground yourself in reality. But the memory is so vivid now, more than it ever was before. Because he’s alive. But he shouldn’t be. You went to his funeral. You grieved. You cried for weeks, drowning yourself in work, chasing leads that led to dead ends. Searching, desperate, for any explanation that made sense. You were lucky to just have a few bruises and scratches, but you still don't know how you survived that. 

Is still raining outside.

Friday arrives, and with that, the bass thrums through the air, a hypnotic pulse that sinks into your bones. The music is loud, almost overwhelming, but it pulls you in, makes you move without thinking. The crowd around you sways in sync, bodies pressed close, some dancing, some lost in their own world. Flashes of blue and red lights sweep over the dance floor, catching glimpses of flushed faces, sweaty skin, and wide, dilated pupils. Laughter and shouts mix with the heavy bass, but it’s all just background noise. You let the rhythm take over, moving to the music, feeling lighter with every beat. The shots you took earlier are kicking in, smoothing out the tension in your mind, making everything feel a little more distant, a little easier. 

You're not here to drink yourself into oblivion, this isn’t about forgetting. But Tara knows you too well. She’s been sliding shot after shot of tequila your way, a knowing glint in her eyes. She’s not being subtle. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Tequila loosens your tongue.

And Tara? She’s waiting. Watching for that moment when your guard slips, when the alcohol smooths out the edges of your thoughts just enough for you to say what you wouldn’t sober.

You slightly stumble into the bathroom, Tara right behind you. The pounding bass from the dance floor fades into a dull thrum. You grip the edge of the sink, taking a deep breath, using the cold water to clean the sweat of your neck. 

"So," she starts, dragging out the word. "Are you going to tell me?"

You blink at her. "Tell you what?"

Tara tilts her head, exhaling like she’s dealing with a particularly slow student. "Skye. That ridiculously handsome fruit entrepreneur you’re definitely fucking aaand… you’re in love with?" She smirks. "That. Talk to me."

You hang your head in shame. Tara can read you like an open book. She’s not stupid. Sweet? Sure. Cheerful? Most of the time. But when she wants the truth, she has a way of digging it out of you, whether you like it or not.

"Fine, fine…" you mumble, rubbing your temples as if that’ll somehow erase the tequila-induced haze clouding your brain. "I have…" You trail off, searching for the right word like it might magically appear on the bathroom wall. Tara arches a brow, waiting. "...Something with him" you finally admit, the words tasting both bitter and sweet.

"I knew it" Tara says triumphantly, a smirk spreading across her face. But then, her expression softens. "But… there’s something more, right? Is he treating you well?"

Your instinct is to brush it off, to tell her everything is fine. Perfect, even. But you hesitate, and that tiny moment of silence is enough for Tara to catch on. Her smirk fades as she studies your face.

"Hey," she says gently. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head quickly, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to cry. Not here. Not now.

"I’m fine with Skye, really. I’m fine." you insist, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "Emm…  It’s not about him… I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it."

Tara doesn’t look convinced.

"You can always talk to me, you know that?" Tara says softly, her voice free of judgment, just warmth.

Before you can respond, she pulls you into a long hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. The kind of hug that makes your chest ache, like it’s holding together all the cracks you’ve been ignoring. For a second, you let yourself sink into it. Eyes closed, fists gripping the back of her jacket. You don’t say anything because if you do, you might break. You just want to forget for a moment, so you put on your best smile. 

You step out of the club with Tara, your laughter spilling into the crisp night air as you imitate the ridiculous guy who’d tried—laughably—to hit on both of you at the same time. The absurdity of it still had your sides aching. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this, the chaos, the rhythm, the freedom of letting go. Your feet ache from hours of dancing, but it's the kind of satisfying pain, the kind that comes from having fun. You glance down at your feet, sighing a little, but when you look back up, Tara's already pulling out her phone, tapping away at a text with that familiar, sly smile.

"Good night! Come home safe, you hear? she says, giving you a playful wink before stepping back with a wave.

You smile back, tilting your head to the side. "Night, Tara. We need to do this more often."

Her laugh rings out, light and warm, as she taps out one final text before slipping her phone back into her bag. She spins on her heel, her stride confident as she calls over her shoulder, "Oh, trust me, we will."

You decide to walk a few streets down, hoping the cool night air will help ease the alcohol still remaining in your system. The city around you buzz with the low sounds of late-night life—cars passing, distant conversations, and the occasional siren. You pull your jacket tighter around you, enjoying the peace after the chaos of the club.

As you walk, you briefly think about calling Sylus. It’s late, though, but you figure he’s probably busy with his usual late-night reading or, more likely, handling some shady business—being the leader he is. A smirk tugs at your lips.

You glance down at the bracelet with the cursed gem, remembering the hunt in the N109 Zone. The gem had caused so much trouble, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of Sylus swearing he had "lost" it. He really has no luck when it comes to keeping things, does he?

The thought of him—his unwavering confidence, the rare softness he reserves only for you—warms you from the inside out, like the memory of his hand brushing against your hand, your cheek and finally all over your body.

You shake your head with a quiet chuckle, a mixture of fondness and comfort washing over you. Sylus has a way of consuming your mind without even trying. It’s maddening, really. But in moments like this, you don’t fight it. You let yourself savor the pull he has on you, that magnetic connection you both share.

Maybe you’re finally ready to tell him how you feel. You haven’t said those tree teeny-tiny words that are always on your lips. Is undeniably to say that what you two have is certainly a relationship. The thought sends a flicker of nervous energy through you, but it’s one you can’t push away any longer. After all, you’ve declared it already—in your own, complicated way. The matching bracelets might as well be a couple's tokens, a declaration sealed by the ominous phrase you both had exchanged: “Live together and die together.”

Your fingers graze the gem on the bracelet, its surface cool against your skin. The memory of the moment flashes brightly in your mind. Sylus’s eyes, deep and endless like the gem itself, holding this mix of tenderness and affection. He had looked at you in a way that made your breath catch, and though he hadn’t said much, the subtle shift in his expression told you everything you needed to know. He was happy. Happy to share the „curse“ and whatever else might come with it, as long as it was with you. At that moment, you wanted to kiss him so bad.

You laugh softly to yourself, shaking your head again. Nothing about Sylus is ever quite normal—not the way he plans, not the way he cares, not even the way he agrees to wear such trinkets like it’s a love note. But that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s him.

So much has changed since that snowy night. Despite the low temperature outside and the way the snow piled heavily on the ground, you felt warm—warmer than ever on a winter night. Your territories merged into one, his skin became yours, and yours became his. The cold was forgotten as his touch anchored you, the world outside fading until only he remained.

During the festivities, creating lanterns for the New Year, in your new complicity. You have almost forgotten the mission you both went after that snowy night.

„I don't need to mention that you always surprise me, sweetie.“ Sylus smiles at you from the passenger seat.

You smile back, the satisfaction of your plans falling into place shining in your eyes. "It’s what I do best" you reply confidently, earning a soft suppressed laugh from him.

Sylus shakes his head lightly, his sharp red eyes glinting with intrigue. "Go on, tell me what you’ve figured out, my bold hunter" he prompts, leaning back in his seat, clearly enjoying your moment of triumph as much as you are. Your fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel as you prepare to unveil your findings.

It’s only when the faint scuff of a step echoes behind you, too close to be ignored, that the spell of your thoughts breaks. The warmth in your chest cools instantly, replaced by the sharp edge of awareness. You glance over your shoulder, the street seems empty. Either way, you pick up the pace, your footsteps quickening on the sidewalk. That nagging feeling won’t go away. Someone’s definitely following you.

You keep your pace steady, trying to stay calm, but your hand instinctively moves towards where your weapon would be. It’s not there. Dammit. You left it at home. Of course, the security guy at the club wouldn’t have let you in with it. You click your tongue in frustration. You wanted a simple, easy night. Instead, you're walking through dark streets, being stalked like some damn prey. Surely that moron from the club is stalking you now, for letting him down. This drunk dipshit has no scruples whatsoever. The last thing you need is a confrontation. You can’t help but feel the adrenaline start to pump, trying to spot whosoever tailing you. 

You whip around into a side street, your heart pounding. You peek over your shoulder again, the unease turning to full-blown anxiety. But as you turn to face forward, a hard, sudden impact knocks you off your feet. Pain erupts across your face, and you stagger back, knees buckling as the world tilts dangerously. Blood trickles down your cheek, hot and sticky.

A low laugh follows you, cruel and mocking. "We got you, honey... Be good, and don’t make any sound."

Before you can even react, something heavy slams against the back of your head, your vision spins out of control. The darkness takes over, pulling you under like a wave. Sylus... Hardly able to hold onto the thought as everything goes black for a moment.

"Hey! Are you stupid or something!? The boss said she should arrive in one piece" The big guy that punched you, swings out to hit the other guy in the face. "You!" He turned to the third man in a raincoat "Throw her in the truck, we're leaving".

The big guy spits on the ground, wiping his knuckles with the back of his hand, his face twisted in irritation. He shoots a glare at the third man, who's standing off to the side, clearly unsure of what to do.

"Get moving, asshole" the big guy growls. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Raincoat guy, a little skittish but obedient, steps forward and grabs your arm, yanking you to your feet with surprising strength. You barely register the movement, your head spinning, everything still hazy from the second blow you took. The world around you seems to blur and twist as they drag you along the alley, the sounds of their voices muffled as if coming from underwater.

"It wasn’t easy to get you" the big guy mutters, his tone low as they push you toward a black truck parked at the end of the street. "But.. It seems that today is our lucky day." The cold metal of the truck presses against your face as you slip completely into unconsciousness. You feel your hands being tied roughly. It hurts. You don't even have the strength to scream. The world fades away, leaving only the faintest whisper of the crow's caw ecos in your mind before everything goes dark.

Under the red moon in the N109 Zone, in one of the many locales under Onychinus's control, stood an opulent lounge hidden within the skeleton of an old industrial building. Polished black marble floors gleamed under the warm glow of crystal chandeliers, their light dancing across walls adorned with intricate carvings and rich velvet accents.

A long bar of dark wood stretched across one side of the room, lined with bottles of the finest spirits from across the world. Plush leather seating circled low tables, each arranged for privacy and comfort. The faint hum of classical music played in the background, a stark yet intentional contrast to the lawless chaos that marked the rest of the zone.

Sylus glanced at the cards in his hand, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he discarded one and leaned back in his armchair. On the table in front of him, cards, chips, and a half-full glass of whiskey were laid out in a casual arrangement that belied the tension in the air. The dim lights of the room flickered over his sharp features, creating shadows that only accentuated his calm, confident demeanor. His eyes flicked briefly to the clock on the wall. It was late, but that didn't matter. The game had its own rhythm, its own flow. Time was just another tool in Sylus’s arsenal.

The men —business associates, lackeys, and rivals alike— around the table exchanged words about profits and threats, the usual back-and-forth of business. Sylus sat at the head, his posture relaxed yet commanding, fingers loosely gripping the edge of his glass. To anyone watching, he looked completely in control, nodding at the right moments, his sharp eyes betraying nothing. But the truth is, he wasn’t really listening. His mind was elsewhere.

He’d just finished dealing with a potential problem in one of the sectors—nothing that couldn’t be handled by the twins, but still, it had required his attention. Normally, his focus would remain on the next move, but tonight, his thoughts wandered. 

He knew you’d be out tonight, enjoying yourself. Mephisto is taking an eye on you, even if he shouldn't be monitoring every time. But it is the best for both. And besides, you don't need to know everything he does to keep you safe. His jaw tightened slightly, and he forced himself to relax. The thought of you laughing, genuine and carefree, eased the tension in his chest. He wanted you here, with him. The room’s dim light, the murmur of voices, the ever-present hum of danger, it all felt less significant compared to the idea of you.

He imagines you sitting on his lap, dancing in the shower, looking at him with that sweet smile laying next to him…makes Sylus want to leave immediately, setting everything on fire. Burning the whole fucking planet down if that’s keeping him from going back to you. Especially after that sublime night when you finally fell into his arms, when you finally said yes to him. The memory of your sweet whimpers replayed in his mind, again and again. The way you called his name in soft whispers is a melody he couldn’t forget. 

The lascivious sound that emanates through the silence of the room, the rustle of the sheet under your skin, the slight creaking of the bed as Sylus thrust his cock inside you, a symphony that he wishes would not stop. 

“Sy..Sylus” you moan. “More...”

“As you wish." 

Each movement, each shift of his body against yours, sends a wave of heat through him, making it harder to stay composed. His muscles tighten with every gasp and every whimper that comes from you. Your fingers pulling at his silver hair, it's like adding fuel to the fire. 

Sylus took a discreet, deep breath, forcing himself to keep his composure. His dick is already reacting to the thought of your naked body. That night and all the others he has spent with you, have been the ones in which he has slept most peacefully. In his built fortress where he can have you all to himself, away from the dangerous world, where every second person wants to kill him. And in those moments, the chains of anxiety, loneliness and fear vanish with every smile you give him. He still doesn’t understand how, despite everything he did to you in the beginning—kidnapping you, forcing you to resonate with him—you still choose him. 

He would never have imagined that in this opportunity that the universe has given him, he would actually have you for himself. He doesn’t want to be selfish or let greed consume him, but it’s not enough. He waited so long, so painfully long. Every second he doesn't spend with you is another second wasted in his semi-mortal life that he has. The desire to feel your love forever, your hand gently caressing his hair, drowns him.

He needs to call you after this—no, perhaps he would come to you instead. Maybe pick you up wherever you were or better yet, slip into your apartment and fall asleep beside you, where he belonged.

His phone vibrated, a notification lighting up the screen. His gaze flinched to it briefly, a part of him wondering if it was you. Perhaps you wanted to share some late-night thought or even indulge in one of those rare moments of vulnerability you let slip with him. The idea of hearing your voice, even through the static of a call, pulled all his attention.

As soon as he unlocked the screen, his smirk faltered just for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed as the footage played. The image on the screen was unmistakable: you, stumbling, disoriented, your silhouette outlined in the harsh glow of streetlights. A group of bastards surrounded you, their movements quick and methodical as they shoved you half unconscious toward the back of a truck. His fingers tightened around the phone, the faintest crack of pressure whispering through the room as his grip betrayed his calm exterior. For a moment his Evol expands around him, the crimson mist charged with energy could have killed everyone in the room in an eyeblink.

Sylus’s expression turned dark, cold and lethal. A surge of bloodlust coursed through him—the calculated rage that always ignited when someone dared to lay a hand on his treasures. And in this moment the greatest treasure is you. The men at the table, sensing the shift in the room, grew tense. The air felt heavier, thick with the wordless fear of being in Sylus’s presence when his mood changed. The conversations died down, and even the bravest of them hesitated to make eye contact with him. Everyone in this room knew Sylus’s reputation. They’d seen or heard stories of what happened to those who crossed him. And they knew very well that, while his vengeance is swift, it is the aftermath that was truly terrifying. Feeling the weight of his anger was to face something worse than death itself.

Sylus tapped his fingers against the table like a countdown to doomsday. His mind raced through possibilities, contingencies, and plans he’d already set in motion to ensure your safety. He’d anticipated countless threats, prepared for a hundred scenarios. But this? This wasn’t business. This was personal.

Taking you couldn’t be just an arbitrary coincidence. You weren’t an easy target, not with the layers of protection he has placed around you. No, this was intentional. Someone had been watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Finally, he broke the sepulchral silence making the men feel the air grow colder around them. “Excuse me, gentlemen. It appears I have… more urgent matters to attend to.”

He stood slowly, his eyes scanning the room one last time. None dared meet his gaze, their fear as tangible as the tension in the air. They knew Sylus wouldn’t merely retaliate—he’d destroy whoever had dared to piss him off. Making them pay the price in the most painful, unforgettable way possible. They had unknowingly signed their own death warrants.

As Sylus reached for his coat, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen—coordinates update of Mephisto position. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway where Luke and Kieran waited. Both men straightened immediately, their usual confidence replaced with a cautious tension. They could sense it.

Luke spoke up, cautious, "Boss..."

Sylus didn’t even spare him a glance. He didn’t need to. Sylus shoved his phone into Luke's hand, the grainy clip of you being hauled into a truck playing in grim silence. His voice was low and cutting as he stepped forward.

"It’s hunting season," Sylus said coolly. Both stiffened. "I want a name. I don’t care who you have to hurt to get it." His eyes flicked between them, daring either of them to question him. They knew exactly what it meant: no one was safe. Every shred of mercy Sylus might have offered was off the table.

Kieran gave a sharp nod, already in motion. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, boss.”

Sylus’s lips curved into a smug smile. “Make sure you do. If anyone’s stupid enough to get in the way…” He let the threat hang in the air.

------------------

Your mind slowly clears, but the pain in your head and the taste of blood in your mouth make it hard to focus. You try to move, but something isn’t right. A sudden panic flares inside you as you realize your hands are bound. You attempt to shift your position, trying to find a way to free your hands, but there’s no give. The bindings are too tight biting into your skin, and your fingers are numb from the position they’re forced into. A curse escapes your lips.

A dim light flickers beneath the door, throwing unsettling shadows across the cold, concrete floor. The emergency light above you hums softly, its steady drone amplifying the oppressive silence that surrounds you. You swallow hard, the metallic taste of blood lingering in the back of your throat. It’s hard to think clearly with your head pounding like this, but one thing is certain: you need to get out of here.

Frustration rises inside you, the feeling of being trapped and powerless threatening to drown you. Your body hurts, each movement is an aching twinge through your limbs, but you refuse to stay down. You try to sit up, darkness creeping at the edges of your vision while your head is spinning. For a moment, the world tilts dangerously, and you think you might pass out again. You take a shaky breath, forcing your body to obey. Slowly you manage to sit up against the wall. 

With all the training you have had, even the session with Sylus or Xavier, nothing has prepared you for this. Being in pain and injured makes every mission hundred percent more dangerous, that's for sure. Now your body feels heavy and weak. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, but every minute you stay here, the situation gets worse.

“Where the hell am I?” you mutter to yourself, voice hoarse. No windows, no clues. No phone, no gun. The possibility of being found... It will be hours before anyone notices you've disappeared. Your breath catches as the realization hits: whoever brought you here isn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon. The thought makes your stomach churn. You shake it off. You can't afford to panic. The nice clothes you had put on for this trouble-free night are dirty, your socks torn. They've even left you barefoot. You try to hold back your tears. It seems that life loves to see you in these situations. Like seriously, how many times have you been so kidnapped already? This is the third time, if you count Caleb looking at you in his apartment and Sylus three days in his basement. Even if you believe you should have been stronger, this isn’t on you. 

What is this shit about!? 

After a while, the door swings open and a big guy comes in. The light from the hallway is bothering your eyes, making it hard to see the man clearly. He's not very tall, rather broad, wearing a shirt that's too tight for his body. He looks like some rich idiot's lackey. God, how you hate this. The smell of tobacco is definitely coming from him, but the smell of disinfectant comes from somewhere else. You try to pick behind the silhouette who is approaching you. 

"Wow, wow, look at that. Did you sleep well, princess?" he says with a mocking tone making your skin crawl. You press yourself harder against the cold wall, instinctively trying to make yourself smaller.

You glare up at him, forcing your voice to stay steady despite the surge of anger and fear in your chest. "Who are you?" you ask, but your words are tinged with more insecurity then you want to admit. “What do you want?”

He grins, kneeling in front of you like a predator sizing up its prey. The mockery in his smile is unbearable, and his words only make the situation worse.

"Oh, nothing" he says, the smell of your mouth makes you nauseous. "We just needed a bait." You manage to spit the rest of the blood on the floor, your eyes locking onto him with defiance. "Even with your damaged face you look beautiful. I understand why he has you around.” Your stomach turns, but you fight the urge to recoil as he reaches toward your face.  “I'm sure you suck him well off with that little mouth." You twist your head away, shaking his hand off with a quick, forceful movement. You breathe heavily and the pain in your head hits you again.

His malicious laughter has a sickening sound. "No need to be shy, princess. We know all about you."

You laugh trying to hide every piece of fear in you. “Oh... Entlight me”

“The untouchable Leader of Onychinus has a weak spot, his Achilles heel…” The man sneers. “A sexy hunter. ”His eyes glint with amusement as he leans in. “In other words... You” The words hit you hard, like a punch to the stomach.

“Achilles heel?” you ask with sarcasm. “I wish. So, you just know that I'm a Hunter trying to imprison him? Wow, great job, big boy. You really cracked the code, didn’t you?” You let out a soft, mocking laugh, leaning back against the cold wall as if his words mean nothing to you. Your heart is hammering in your chest, your ears are ringing because of the anxiety you’re feeling. Let him think you’re a regular Hunter. Nothing more. Let him underestimate you. The more he thinks you’re helpless, the better your chances of escaping this twisted game they’ve dragged you into.

He doesn’t seem amused. "Oh, I see," he sneers, his eyes narrowing as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your face. If he gets any closer, you might just throw up on him. "Playing dumb little girl, huh? Cute." He pauses for a moment. Checking your expression. "You think we don’t know who you really are? You’re not fooling anyone."

“Do you always talk this much, or are you just enjoying the sound of your own voice?” you counter, your words sharper now. It’s a gamble, but anything to keep your composure.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't seem fazed. If anything, his smirk widens at your resistance. "You’re a tough one. I like that. You are one of those that are more fun to break" he says, his tone makes you shiver. He stood up and grabbed you by your hair, throwing you into the middle of the room. You scream. He approaches you while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "Oh, yeah, I will have fun with you before the others can." He kicks you in the stomach, and you scream in pain. "Don't worry I won't kill you."

You just feel bumps all around your body, you don't know how much time passed but it felt like an eternity. The pain is everywhere, you try to protect yourself somehow but there is no way. You are completely at its mercy. The taste of blood fills your mouth and finally when he stops you throw up: the tequila shots, the drinks and your dinner. The deep laughter tells you it's over. The door swings shut behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the room and with that the silence follows.

Sylus...

You fall unconscious again, everything hurts.

------------------

"Speak" Sylus commands, his voice low and clipped, as he stands in the armory, carefully selecting the weapon he'll need. Luke and Kieran finally return after two hours.

"There’s a man, goes by Rudy," Luke begins, breaking the silence. "Seems he’s been conspiring against you for a while."

Sylus exhales sharply, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "Not that jerk," he mutters under his breath. Rudy was one of those insufferable enemies you can have. At best, you could ignore him and hope he didn’t get too out of hand, but it was always a risk. He was a horrible man—too much alcohol, drugs, and cigarettes, with more money than sense. A nobody with delusions of grandeur. His greatest desire was to dethrone Sylus and take control of the N109 Zone. The last bastard who tried that, is dead.

However, the last time Sylus had to deal with that human waste, things went a bit awry. Rudy tried to interfere in a protocore transaction a few months ago, where Sylus gave him a first and last warning, not to interfere in his business. Rudy didn’t take it well, of course. That mission was when you managed to get the plane tickets to go with him. Despite all his efforts to keep you safe, you always found a way to stand by his side. During the mission, Rudy must have memorized your face. Sylus never brought anyone but the twins into his business. He tries to keep out of the mess but… You taught him a good lesson, kicking Rudy’s ass when he tried to attack you, you managed to dodge and knock him to the ground with ease. His beloved is such a fierce hunter. 

"And...?" he placed some weapons on the table and the ammunition boxes.

"He’s the one who kidnapped Miss Hunter," Kieran adds, his tone tense. "It’s definitely a trap. He must know that you... have feelings for her."

Sylus’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening at the mention of that fact. He knew exactly what Rudy was capable of, but to dare mess with him directly—kidnapping you... He should have killed him right then and there. But now, hearing the confirmation of what Rudy had done, Sylus’s grip tightens around the weapon in his hand. The anger surging through him is sharper, more dangerous than it had been before, and no amount of control can suppress it.

The hours of waiting was almost a waste of time. Sylus knows that the twins surely tried his best to bring the information to him, as soon as possible. You could be dead by now. He tried to erase the idea from his head. Mephisto lost track of your kidnappers in a remote area, it seems there is an electromagnetic field. However rushing in blindly, without the proper intel, would be reckless. Sylus was never reckless. He won’t let this go. This time, he’ll make sure Rudy learns the true cost of crossing him.

“There’s something…” Luke started. Sylus’s phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. He picks it up without hesitation, his voice cold and dismissive as he answers.

"Mister Sylus! My old friend!" The voice on the other end is smug, dripping with false camaraderie.

"Cut the crap, Rudy" Sylus snaps, his patience already wearing thin. He leans against the armory wall, his hand gripping the phone with the same tension he holds his weapon.

"Oh, come on now" Rudy laughs, his voice thick with arrogance. "That’s how you greet an old friend? Don’t be so harsh..."

"I don’t have time for this shit" Sylus growls, his eyes narrowing as he listens to Rudy’s infuriating tone.

"Ah, ah, ah… Be nice." Rudy continues, almost gleefully "I have something of yours. I wouldn’t mind giving it back, but... I want something in return."

He straightens, his posture sharp as steel. "Where is she?"

Rudy chuckles, clearly enjoying the tension. "Impatient as always. She’s... fine." There is a pause. "Say something sweetheart." Sylus freezes as he hears your voice, faint but unmistakable in the background. 

His mind flickers with a clear dark scenery: Rudy’s lifeless body, each limb meticulously severed, his blood-streaked remains scattered in the ocean to be forgotten by the world. He doesn't usually take the time to torture any of his enemies, but he would take all the time in the world for Rudy. Disintegrating his body with his Evol wouldn't give him the satisfaction he needs. He can already picture the slow, torturous death he’ll deliver, every cut precise, every moment a lesson in regret.

"Don't touch me you asshole—!"

There’s a scream, followed by a sharp scuffle, and then the sound of you biting him. Rudy curses under his breath, but Sylus can’t help but smile—if only for a split second. At least you still have some fight left in you. It’s a small victory in the middle of a much larger storm.

“Rudy” he says, his voice dropping to an almost deadly whisper. “You really don’t understand what you’ve done.”

On the other end of the line, Rudy laughs again, the sound grating against Sylus’s nerves. “Oh, but I think I do. You see, Mister Sylus, I’ve been watching you for a while now. You’ve got a weakness, and she’s absolutely delightful. I’m just making the most of it.”

Sylus doesn’t respond immediately. “I’ll give you one chance. Tell me where she is, and maybe I’ll make your death quick.”

“Always so violent,” Rudy replies mockingly. “You think I’m stupid enough to tell you that? No, no, no. This isn’t a negotiation. You give me what I want, and I’ll consider giving her back. Whole, even.”

The sound of your muffled voice cuts through the conversation again, and for a brief second, Sylus’s mask of control slips. His teeth clench, his jaw tight, as he stares at the weapons lining the armory wall.

“You’re running out of time,” Sylus growls, the dark promise in his tone chilling. “Do you know what happens to people who touch what’s mine?”

Rudy laughs, though it’s tinged with a nervous edge. “Oh, I know exactly what happens. But... You’re not in control this time.”

Sylus just smirks, his free hand brushing over the handle of a blade.

"What do you want?" 

Rudy’s tone shifts, the mockery giving way to cold calculation, his words laced with greed. “You know what I want. The Aether Core. I want it delivered to me, and if I don’t get it... well, let’s just say things will get very uncomfortable for your precious little bird.”

Sylus’s jaw clenches at the mention of the Aether Core. That cursed artifact—the very thing he’d gone to great lengths to bury, to keep out of the hands of people like Rudy. It wasn’t just dangerous; it was catastrophic in the wrong hands. And he? He was the embodiment of “wrong hands.”

For months, Rudy had been sniffing around for it, pushing boundaries, threatening allies, but Sylus had always stayed one step ahead. Now, it seems he has finally found the leverage he needed to force him into a corner. He knew the Aether Core couldn’t fall into Rudy’s grasp. The devastation it could unleash wasn’t just Sylus’s problem—it was a threat to everyone. The thought of you... Sylus mind paused for a moment. Is true that he has it, you both rescued that thing in the last mission. If Rudy is just asking about that one, it means he doesn't know about your Aether Core in your body. Sylus click is tough, that would give him more time but you're still in danger.

“Tick tock, Mister S.” Rudy teased, breaking the silence. “I give you, let me think, ten no... eight, let's do four hours to decide. Bring me what I want, or I’ll start sending you little pieces of her. Maybe I’ll start with a finger... or should I play a bit with that mouth she has? I haven’t decided yet.”

Sylus’s vision blurred for a second, red with rage. He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to stay composed.

“You're dead by tomorrow.”

“Oh, I'm shaking.” Rudy replied smugly. “Don’t make me wait.”

The line went dead, but Sylus didn’t lower the phone right away. His hand trembled, not with fear but with the force of his restrained ire. He turned toward Luke and Kieran, who had been standing silently, their expressions grim.

“We need the location” Sylus barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “Now.”

Kieran nodded, already pulling out his device to track Mephisto. Luke looked at Sylus, his face tense. “Boss, what's the plan?”

Sylus’s eyes darkened, a murderous glint in them. “Tonight, we’ll put on quite the show. Bring everything—I’m going to destroy that worthless bastard and the filth he calls his empire.”

He picks up his leader jacket from the back of the chair and slips it on, his mind already running through the details. There’s no room for mistakes. Not this time.

"We’re going to meet him." Sylus says finally, his voice is colder than ever. "Get ready.” 

“Yes, boss!” They say in unison. 

Luke paused for a moment before speaking. “But there is something else you need to know…”

A/N: To be honest, I was nervous about releasing this. I hope I could live up to expectations and give you a good show. I had a lot of fun writing this. It's complex, as I've already mentioned, and I'm not used to long stories—let alone ones in this category. Next chapter in 2 weeks.

If you have the time, leave me a comment. I would love to hear your feedback.

[moon-ttokki-x]

Hi!! Could I please make a request? I was thinking of maybe a ot8 skz x 9th member reader, where the reader has anxiety and ends up having a panic attack and the members comforted the reader?

hihi anon >< i liked this request. i was actually thinking of writing another 9th member fic when this ask came in, so perfect timing ! here you go <3

dissonance - skz x 9th member with anxiety

pairing: ot8!skz x reader with anxiety

summary: you have a panic attack while performing on stage with skz.

genre: angsty, idol!au, mentions of eating, graphic descriptions of a panic attack, slight implication of sh, fluffy ending, mentions of eating, skz are sweethearts

a/n: go check out my 'skz valentines' day event special' if you haven't already >< !

You love what you do. Really. Being on stage, wearing cool outfits, doing what you love, and of course, singing and dancing and performing with eight of your best friends is the total dream.

You couldn't have asked for more.

But now that you're standing backstage, surrounded by staff members, stylists, maintenance techs, and a countless amount of other people you don't even know, you're beginning to feel a little bit overwhelmed.

You look across to where Chan is discussing something with a stylist; it's like you can barely see him because of the overloading environment, and as you watch, his image slowly splits into two. Like a hallucination.

The performance is in a few minutes, and the noise around you becomes even louder as you begin to make your way to the wings of the stage. It's darker here, at least, but the hustle and bustle doesn't end, and neither does the constant ringing in your ears.

You feel a warm hand press lightly into the small of your back and you look up to see Hyunjin gazing down at you.

"You okay?" He says, adjusting his mic. "I know it's noisy here."

You can't do anything but nod in response, not trusting yourself to speak, save you burst into tears, or rudely snap at him. You've been backstage to events like this countless times, but the overwhelm and nausea that seems to come with it never ends. It always starts to happen the moment you sit down in the dressing room to have your makeup done.

The other members gather in a group behind Chan, who's waiting at the curtain before the stage, and you, who's gripping into the velvety material with white-knuckled fingers.

It all feels too much; the coloured lights, the brightness of the stage, the jumbled, discordant noises around you, and even your own members being near you makes you want to scream. Looking at Hyunjin's face again is too much to even bear, the diamantes under his eyes shining far too bright, and the badges on his jacket feeling far too odd and icky to be fashionable.

Chan, who's turned back to count his members before going on stage, glances at you; he knows how you get with these sorts of events, and you can't bear the sight of his face either. You just want him to go away, even if he's not talking to you. A pang of irritation shoots through you as he begins to talk.

"Y/n," he says quietly, though you can barely hear him through the blood rushing through your ears. "Take a deep breath, yeah?"

He moves a little closer, a hand out to stop anyone rushing by from bumping into you. There's a heart-shaped diamante on his cheek, and suddenly you want nothing more to reach up and rip it off his face. The urge to do it is almost overwhelming.

But even if you wanted to, you can't, because suddenly Chan is shouting something and you all run out onto stage, the cheer of the crowd so deafening you can't hear anything at all, your ears buzzing. You start to move purely out of muscle memory, your subconscious forcing your to dance only due to hours of late-night practices where you repetitively drilled the routine into your bones. But it feels stiff and clunky, almost unnatural to be moving the way that you are.

You barely register singing your part; it must have been incredibly subpar, you're sure of that at least, because Minho turns to look at you a little strangely before moving to jump back into position. But you're so visibly out of breath that he seems to realise what's happening, and he takes over singing your part while you keep dancing. The white lights above you are so hot, almost searing against your skin, beating down on you relentlessly. None of the other members seem to be affected, however.

You wince and scrunch the left side of your face as you almost roll your ankle, and you swear you can feel the makeup crinkling against your skin, the unpleasant caked layer of it seeping into your pores, clogging them with impurity. You desperately reach up a hand to scratch it off, provide some relief, but all the members put their hands up as per the routine, and you do the same, so your current situation isn't immediately noticeable to anyone who's watching. You doubt you're performing at even an average level, but you can't find it in you to care, you're so out of breath.

I can't keep going-

Your clothes feel scratchy and irritating against your skin, the top just a little bit too uncomfortable, your shoes just a little too tight, and the fingerless gloves on your hands are almost too much to bear, your hands going numb. Your hair is done too strangely, the styling making your scalp feel all tight and pressured, and suddenly you can't do anything but drop to your knees in the middle of the rush and gasp, your head pounding so hard it hurts-

Too much too much too much-

Before you know it, the stage suddenly goes dark and you realise that the performance has ended. Hopefully no one saw what happened-

That hope is dashed to pieces as you're immediately swarmed by staff members, all crowding in concern. You hear Jeongin yelp as he's pushed to the side and someone else, Chan, you think, is shouting, trying to create order and get to you at the same time. The crowd is murmuring, whispering, but you can't hear them, your whole being numb and grey with searing anxiety.

The members seem to understand what's happening, though, and you look up through dark, blurry vision to see Danceracha making a barrier between you and the rest of the backstage crew with their bodies, Felix looking over his shoulder in concern. They've finally managed to get through the swarm and you collapse onto your back, simply too exhausted to do anything else despite the din of noise surrounding you like a cloud of wasps.

You feel someone's hands- Seungmin's, maybe, press themselves into your shoulders, and a spicy, warm scent fills your nostrils as you suddenly leave the earth, a prominent weight settling over your being. Chan is lifting you.

The rest of the members begin to make their way through the crowd to their designated group dressing room, you clinging to Chan's shoulders so hard you think you might leave crescent-shaped scars in the skin. But he doesn't flinch, not that you notice, since you're unable to do anything but gasp and hyperventilate. You think you might scream, but nothing leaves your lungs, and by now you've lost complete control of your breathing.

Chan sets you down in his lap once the dressing room door is shut, sitting on the couch, and Minho immediately turns the light off. Dimness floods the room and Changbin kneels in front of you, carefully slipping off your shoes and gloves while Jeongin runs his fingers through your hair, flaking out the harsh gel and returning your slightly sweaty hair to its usual state.

You gasp and keel over just as Jisung takes a hold of your hands, completely calm and in control.

"It's okay, Y/nnie," you hear him say, his voice sounding faint and faraway. "You did so well for us, just try and tune into the silence, it'll help..."

You almost forget that this is what Jisung does when he feels overwhelmed with a panic attack too; he told you once that sitting somewhere quiet helps your head to clear things up a little. He must be right, because your breathing is beginning to slow down.

You look down at your hands; you can't feel them, and they look almost alien through your buzzing panic, like they don't really belong to you. Jisung's firm yet gentle grip has left little white patches on the skin in the shape of his fingertips, the blood not flowing through your hands properly due to the hyperventilating.

Foundation gathers on the underside of your nails as you reach up and desperately try to remove all the makeup, your tears not even penetrating the thick, oily layer of cosmetic product. Diamantes come raining down and gather on your thighs just as someone gently swipes a damp, cool cloth across your cheeks, the fabric coming away the colour of your skin.

By the time all of the makeup is cleaned off, and you're sitting in nothing but the complete base layer of your outfit, your breathing has slowed down completely. You look up with red, teary eyes, your heart still pounding, and meet eyes with Chan, who's still sitting with you in his lap, one hand stroking your waist.

"I can't go back out there," you choke out.

Chan nods. "That's okay, Y/nnie. You did really well performing, okay? I think we should all just stay here a little longer until you feel somewhat better, then we'll figure out what to do, hm?"

You sniff. "I m-messed up the performance, though.."

"It's okay, Y/n," Changbin says softly from where he's sitting, his legs swung over a chair.

"Yeah," Hyunjin adds. "Don't worry."

The room is completely silent, until Seungmin pointedly gets up and moves to a stylist mirror, opening the cabinet and pulling out a packet of makeup wipes. He sits down and cleans his face, matter-of-factly, then tosses the wipes into a nearby bin. Minho moves to do the same, and undoes the clasp of his necklace, tossing all his jewelry into a shiny, clunky pile on the table without a word.

Chan nods in approval. "I think we're done here for today. Let's dress down and clean up, then go back home. I think all of us could do with some rest."

You lie down on the couch while the rest of the members change clothes and wash off their makeup in the adjoined bathroom. Everyone keeps their voices low, and the dimness of the room compared to the flashiness outside almost makes you fall asleep. That is, until Felix appears at your side, holding out a juice box and a couple of wrapped chocolates.

"Here," he says quietly. "It should help keep your sugar up until we get back to the dorms."

You sit up a little bit and accept them from him, sipping tiny little sips from the juice as Felix pats your head and leaves to clean off his makeup.

Jeongin moves to lie down next to you after a while, and Hyunjin makes little origami birds out of the chocolate wrappers while Chan finalises the group's departure from the event.

"Alright," Chan says with conviction as Jisung helps you up from the couch. The members assemble near the door, raring to go. "Let's get out of here. I've had enough of this place."

You fight a weak smile as he shoots you a wink.

I couldn't agree more.

a/n: i should really try and find images that actually match for my headers. sigh

[miradelletarot]

As someone who also identifies with Gale because of his experiences, I'm with you. People do not seem to understand that when abuse is all you know, the cycle is easily repeated. So of course he's going to do some not-so-great things to get what he wants because it's all under the guise of trying to be better. To do more. To be useful. The road is paved with good intentions, after all.

Diminishing his character would be to (imho here, don't come for me...) allow him to become a god (which, imho, strips him of everything that makes him *Gale*. His humanity, his passion, his zeal for life etc.) he wants to become a god because he thinks he can be better than them, but what happens is that he becomes a shell of the man tav once knew. Also, on the flip side, if we reduce him to simply nothing more than a person without any wrongdoing whatsoever, it strips away the complexity of his being, in the way of doing not so great things to try and get what he wants because what he wants is power. Maybe that power isn't to do big, bad, evil things, but his desire to be free of the gods who "use us a playthings" is him subconsciously screaming for agency and freedom, albeit in the most unhealthy way.

And I realize this is not a popular take, but I like Gale for the complexity he has. He's not a perfect angel, but that's boring. Yes, he's my sweet, adorable malewife, and squishy house hubby, but he's a curious mind. He's GOING to try and stick his hand in the proverbial cookie jar and hope there's no negative consequences.

Imho, out of all the characters, he's the most human and relatable. Not to diminish the core struggles of the other characters bc at the bare bones level they are all relatable in some way, but Gale's whole situation is so very...human.

I won't go into my whole life story to explain how this relates so hard with me. No one needs that. I will say though, that I understand his choices even if they aren't the best ones. That's why, for better or worse, he and the other companions have Tav to either encourage or prevent poor choices.

I love his complexity and how questionable he may be at times, but I do still believe, at his core, Gale's a good person. (Don't get me started on his alignment... That's a hill I'll die on).

We see this a lot in books, movies and TV. Think... Breaking bad for example. Walter White was a simple high school teacher, living as a poor middle class, average man. He does something completely out of character with the intention that he's only doing what he needs to provide for his family. In turn, he realizes that he thirsts for the danger and excitement because it deviates so wildly from what he knew. That power is a rush, a drug in itself. Sure he's making an illicit substance (you know what) but the real drug is the adrenaline rush of power and control because he never had that before. His desperate desire to be a good provider and not fail his family, took him down a darker path and turned him into something that his family ultimately rejected.

Again, the road is paved with good intentions. What Gale and Walter White have in common is that they are both trying to do better. To be more valuable, useful. Loved for what they can do and what they can provide to those around them. The end goal, however, isn't all that glamorous if they are left to their own devices.

I didn't mean to go off on a tangent here, but tldr: I agree with op.

I was trying to read some arguments on the whole "did mystra groom gale" debate. It doesn't make too much of a difference to me whether she did groom him or not because the relationship was still deeply unhealthy even without the grooming aspect. As a csa survivor, I tend to accept the grooming interpretation simply because I see a lot of myself in him. Out of the whole cast of companions, it's him that's painfully relatable oftentimes. I do understand this interpretation might not be canon though, so I wanted to look more into it to see the truth.

But aside from that, I saw people arguing that turning gale into some victim of mystra would diminish his character arc because gale would be lacking in agency and that it excuses all his wrongdoings and that... irked me.

A person being a victim doesn't mean they're free from all blame and are some sad little meow meow. We see this in ascended astarion, who falls into the victim becoming the abuser cycle.

It's a very black and white view of victims that would ultimately do more harm than good because it leads people to being dismissive of real victims because they don't fit the pure and ideal mold of one.