#anyway thank you so much for reading and your comments!

[greenlovescats]

@gob-lob *Gives you a big electronic hug*. You….you actually read my silly little posts? The ones where I complain into the void? That’s so sweeeeeeeeet waaaaaaah 😩💜💜💜. I’m sure I’ve already said this but I so so appreciate the beta-ing, you really didn’t have to volunteer but you did anyway which was SO NICE OF YOU. I like seeing your posts and your comments and everything!!! RAaaargh thank you 😂😂😂

@neverheroes I have no idea why you follow me, you’re so cool and your art’s so good???? I love seeing your stuff on my dash it’s like a little gift every time 😂

@imagionationstation Talking about turtles with you always makes my day, you’re also so much cooler than me and I’m like ????? Thanks for inspiring me to write again, it’s been a long time since I’ve had the energy!

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

[joelmillerisapunk]

Strangers

Stripper!Javier Pena x f!reader // almost 9k

Time stands still and it's only us, what we feel started way before we ever touched... must be from a different life been here before and it just feels right

summary: you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

warnings: mdni, 18+, javi is a stripper, he wears a man thong and gets pretty close to stripping it all off in public, there's cock and balls, unprotected p in v, f!oral receiving, lap dances for days, reader has breasts, a dress, and hair that can fall around her face and is internally conflicted about this man and his leopard thong, javi has a pov in this too

notes: i really don't remember what sparked this but here we are... it's been like a month or more of me working on this. I thought I was done and then I heard a single song and it pushed me to write even more. This was supposed to be just a smutty fic and then got some depth and I was like wtf. Anyway on to the thank yous, thank you to the 5000 people I have screamed to about this, and a massive thank you to @thundermartini for listening to me go on and on about this guy for a long time and then reading it for me love you baby! A special mention to @gothcsz for the thong idea, @evolnoomym, @milla-frenchy and @sawymredfox for being so supportive of this idea to @joelslegalwhre for reading and @syd-djarin for the moodboard

masterlist

The music thumped so loudly it seemed to shake the floor, the kind of bass-heavy track that rumbled through your chest. Your best friend’s bachelorette party was in full swing, and the rented penthouse buzzed with laughter, shrieks, and a significant amount of tequila-fueled chaos. The party planners had spared no expense, from the towering stacks of champagne glasses to the flashy male entertainment just about to take the stage.

And then, he walked in.

You couldn’t ignore the way the room seemed to shift when he entered. The man—Javier, as the MC introduced him—had an undeniable presence. Dressed in a tight police officer uniform complete with aviators, a fake badge, hat, and handcuffs, he adjusted his badge with a grin that screamed trouble. His dark eyes surveyed the room with the kind of confidence that could only come from knowing he was the main event. 

Every woman in the room, including you, took notice.

While your friends ogled and whispered not-so-subtle comments, you tried—and failed—to keep your eyes elsewhere. He was gorgeous, sure, but this wasn’t your scene. Loud parties weren’t really your thing. 

The first performance was for the bride-to-be, of course. When the lights dimmed and the music shifted to something playfully seductive, the room erupted into cheers and Javier made his way to the bachelorette. 

“Ladies,” he announced, his voice smooth and teasing as he pulled a pair of fake handcuffs from his belt. “I hear there's a bride-to-be here who’s guilty of breaking hearts. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in.”

Your best friend shrieked with laughter as he arrested her, securing one cuff around her wrist and helping her onto a nearby chair. The room buzzed with excitement as he began to dance, every move deliberate and designed to tease. 

You watched the scene unfold, biting your lip to stifle your laughter. He was undeniably good at what he did. But you couldn’t focus on the theatrics as much as everyone else seemed to. Your attention had zeroed in on him—his broad shoulders, the way his shirt clung to his chest, and the effortless way he commanded every inch of the massive penthouse, the man was sex on legs. As he began to set up for the big finale, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out.

His aviators followed, revealing deep, smoldering eyes that locked with yours for a moment too long. He’s just playing to the crowd, he has to look at all the women right?

The bassline shifted to a slower, dirtier rhythm, and he rolled his shoulders back, his body falling into perfect sync with the beat.

Then came the shirt.

He gripped the edges, peeling it off slowly, revealing inch by inch of sun-kissed skin stretched over a perfectly sculpted chest and arms. When he finally tossed the shirt aside, the room erupted in cheers and whistles.

And yet, all you could do was stare and clench your thighs together. Why was this affecting you so much? It’s just a party. It’s just a guy. Get a grip. But no amount of inner scolding could make you look away. Something about this man pulled you in.

His chest glistened under the soft glow of the light, each bead of sweat tracing a slow, tantalizing path over the chiseled contours of his body. Your breath hitched, captivated by the sheer allure of him—the way every ridge of muscle stood out, accentuated as his hand drifted slowly down his torso. He moved with deliberate ease, fully aware of the spell he was weaving, and the teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips made it clear that he was savoring every second of all the attention he was receiving.

But it was when his fingers moved to rip off his belt that the real show began.

The collective energy in the room surged as Javier teasingly ran his hands down his sides, and in one swift, practiced motion, he reached for his waistband and yanked.

The rip-away pants came apart with a sharp, satisfying sound, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The noise, a mix of gasps, shrieks, and raucous laughter, echoed through the penthouse. But none of that registered as you stared at what had been revealed.

Javier stood unabashed and grinning in a leopard-print thong that left very little to the imagination. Every inch of his sculpted body was on display—toned legs, powerful thighs, and that tiny scrap of fabric barely holding itself together. The cut of the thong framed his hips perfectly, the deep lines of his V cutting down, drawing your eyes exactly where he wanted them to go. The thin fabric of the thong clung tightly to him, leaving the unmistakable outline of his cock on display, straining the limits of the material. Javier seemed completely unbothered by how much was on show.

Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering as he shifted his weight, the motion only emphasizing how precariously the thong was holding itself together.

The room exploded excitedly, women fanning themselves, throwing bills, and shouting over one another. But you could barely breathe.

And then, just when you thought the spectacle couldn’t get any more outrageous, Javier turned around with a deliberate, teasing spin, giving the room an uninterrupted view of his backside.

The thong was practically nonexistent, the thin fabric disappearing completely between the firm, sculpted curves of his ass. His glistening, muscular cheeks were on full display, round and perfectly defined, drawing another deafening eruption of cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Javier struck a pose, bracing his hands on his hips as he arched his back slightly, flexing for effect. He glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin, clearly relishing in the chaos he was causing. The lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every curve and line of muscle, leaving no question as to just how perfect he was from every single angle.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your breath hitched and your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears it almost drowned out the music. Heat flushed through your body as your gaze lingered shamelessly on his backside, every inch of him a deliberate invitation.

After what felt like a torturous eternity, Javier turned back toward the crowd, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he surveyed everyone's reactions.

He strutted forward, running his hands up his torso and tossing a playful wink to the bride-to-be, who was practically falling out of her chair from laughter and shock. But his gaze kept flicking to you.

Your cheeks burned as he moved closer, spinning on his heel to give the audience another view. His movements were fluid and sensual, every roll of his hips and flex of his body perfectly in time with the music. When he leaned down to grab the bride’s hands to feel up his torso, his back arched in a way that emphasized the curve of his ass, and you bit your lip without thinking.

This man was a problem.

When he finally ended the dance with a flourish—dropping to his knees in front of the bride-to-be before flawlessly almost jumping back up to a standing position—the applause was deafening.

Javier laughed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He took a playful bow, blowing a kiss to the bride-to-be before gathering his discarded pants and shirt. His bare torso glistened under the soft glow of the party lights, and the lingering smirk on his lips suggested he knew he had the entire room wrapped around his finger.

The girls were still cheering and clapping, their voices a mix of exhilaration and tipsy enthusiasm. But while the others were caught up in the wild energy of the moment, you felt a strange tightness in your chest, like the room had closed in around you.

You weren’t used to reacting this way to someone, and it unnerved you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore, and no amount of pretending to be distracted by your drink could hide the fact that your eyes kept darting back to him.

And he noticed—like a magnet—his eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped.

For a split second, everything else faded; the noise, the laughter, even your own internal protests to look away. It was just him, standing there, looking at you with that maddening confidence.

Then he moved.

Javier began to dance again, hips rolling in slow, hypnotic circles to the bass-heavy beat. The fabric of the thong strained with every motion, but he didn’t shy away. If anything, he seemed to lean into it—one hand trailing down his torso to brush along the waistband, teasing as if he might remove it completely.

Your pulse fluttered wildly as he worked the crowd, making his way closer, dancing toward you.

Your breath caught as you tried to focus on literally anything else—your drink, the flickering candles on the table, the way your best friend was still howling with laughter. But there was no escaping the fact that Javier was now standing right in front of you, every inch of him radiating heat and presence.

“Having fun?” he asked.

You blinked up at him, your mouth suddenly dry. “Uh… yeah. It’s been… something.” Your voice wavered, betraying how flustered you felt. Something? Really? That was the best you could come up with? You scrambled for words, your brain short-circuiting. “I mean—great. It’s been great.”

Smooth.

His smirk widened. “Just great?” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—mingling with the musky sheen of sweat on his skin. “Because you’ve been staring like you’re enjoying yourself a little more than tha?t.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Relax,” he teased, his grin softening into something warmer, more inviting. “I’m just messing with you. Now come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “Let me make your night.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, though your cheeks burned with the effort of maintaining composure. You crossed your arms to emphasize your refusal, but Javier didn’t look the least bit discouraged.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re good. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned closer, his voice just for you now. “But I’m more than happy to change that.”

Despite your best efforts, the laughter bubbling up from your chest betrayed you. He grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. But when you refused—again—he didn’t press. Instead, he winked, gave an exaggerated shrug, and moved on to another guest, leaving you strangely disappointed.

————

Later, after the performances ended and the room was quieter, you found yourself sitting on a chair in the back corner of the room scrolling idly on your phone, trying to drown out your lingering thoughts about him. A few drinks had loosened your resolve. You noticed a stack of glossy business cards on the table where he had tossed his hat earlier. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked one up.

The card was sleek, black with gold lettering. At the top, in bold, elegant lettering, it read:

Elite Heat’s Javier Peña

To the left, there was a neatly organized list; a phone number, a Facebook link, which you immediately ignored, and a website address. But it was the bottom that made your breath hitch.

On top of a gold banner, the words Elite Heat: “The Best Sex Therapy” were printed in bold, confident lettering. 

To the right was a photo of Javier himself.

It wasn’t a professional headshot - far from it. It was one of those casual yet devastatingly attractive pictures that looked effortless but likely required perfect lighting and timing. He wore a grey long-sleeve shirt that framed his broad chest perfectly, the top buttons undone just enough to tease without giving away too much. His hand, however, made it impossible not to stare—casually slipping beneath the fabric, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his defined abs. The way the light hit his skin added a subtle sheen, making the whole image feel like a deliberate invitation.

For a moment, you just stared at the card. The combination of professional polish and brazen confidence made your stomach twist in a way that annoyed you.

“The best sex therapy, huh?” you muttered to yourself, raising an eyebrow at the audacity.

Curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your phone and typed “Javier Peña” into Instagram. After scrolling through a few accounts that clearly weren’t him, you found the right one.

The profile itself was… an experience.

Picture after picture of Javier dominated the feed—some in his infamous uniform, others in casual attire, and far too many shirtless to be accidental. Every post was a masterclass in confident allure, and his captions were just as bold.

The comments were what really got to you, though. Endless lines of hearts, fire emojis, and thirsty declarations filled each post.

“Find something you like?”

His voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your phone. You looked up to see Javier standing in front of you, his shirt slung casually over his shoulder and he was wearing his uniform pants again. How long had he been there?

“I was just…” You trailed off, trying to think of a plausible excuse for stalking him online. His smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning in closer than necessary. “You can follow me. Might even follow you back.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice wavered as he placed a hand on the back of your chair, caging you in.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make you a deal sweetheart, one dance. If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone. But if you like it… well, you can give me your number when it’s over.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling faster than you wanted to admit. After all, what was the harm in one dance?

Javier’s confidence was infuriatingly contagious, and your curiosity was louder than the protests in your head. You nodded if only to prove to yourself that he wouldn’t get under your skin. A small, victorious smile curved his lips as he straightened, offering his hand. “Good choice.”

He didn’t give you much time to second-guess as he guided you to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the penthouse. Some of your friends hooted and hollered, clearly thrilled to see you in the spotlight. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step as Javier led you to a chair he had conveniently placed in the center of the room.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he waited for you to comply. Against your better judgment, you did.

The music shifted to something slower and sultrier. Javier grabbed his shirt from his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. The movement was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his toned chest and large arms drew every pair of eyes in the room. Including yours.

He stalked closer, and suddenly it felt like the room had disappeared. Just you, the chair, and the dangerously attractive man who seemed to thrive on the tension hanging in the air.

“Relax,” he murmured as he noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of the chair. “I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Before you could reply, he began to move.

It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected. Yes, it was provocative—every roll of his hips and glide of his body was designed to tease—but there was something more deliberate about it. He kept his gaze locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands didn’t touch you—not yet. Instead, they skimmed close enough to make you ache for the contact, only for him to pull away at the last moment.

He straddled the chair, his thighs framing yours as he dipped low, his chest hovering just inches from your face. His scent filled your senses, and your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched, and you hated how easily he could see the effect he had on you.

Javier straightened, his hands gripping the chair on either side of you as he moved his hips in a way that felt borderline illegal. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, but he still didn’t touch. The lack of contact was maddening, and the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The song ended too quickly, and he stepped back, leaving you feeling both relieved and oddly bereft. Your friends erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on Javier as he extended a hand, helping you out of the chair.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he’d gotten to you. “It was… okay.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver through you. “Just okay, huh? I’ll have to work on that.”

Before you could respond, he winked and disappeared back into the crowd.

——

An hour later, the party was winding down. The penthouse was quieter, and most of your friends had migrated to the couches or left altogether. You were nursing your last drink of the night when Javier appeared again, a shot glass in each hand.

“For you,” he said, offering one with an easy smile.

You eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything in this, did you?”

He looked genuinely offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt you’d even ask.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, leaning in closer. “I did put something in it.”

You froze, and he smirked, finishing his sentence with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “It’s called tequila.”

Your laugh surprised even you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected, clinking his glass against yours. “Now drink up.”

Against your better judgment, you downed the shot, the burn of the tequila grounding you for a moment.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now, how about that number?”

Javier’s smile didn’t waver as he set his empty shot glass on the table. “Still hesitant, huh?” he asked, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “I don’t make it a habit to give my number to strangers, especially ones who…” You gestured vaguely to his naked chest and the police hat perched crookedly on his head. “...do what you do.”

“Fair enough,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice softening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to you. “At least let me follow you on Instagram..”

You stared at the phone, then at him. The sincerity in his tone threw you off balance, and the way his dark eyes searched yours made it hard to hold onto your skepticism. Against your better judgment—again—you took the phone and followed your account.

“Here,” you said, handing it back after following him.

Javier glanced at the screen, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the night with the same confidence that had drawn every eye in the room earlier.

Javi 

Javier leaned against the balcony railing outside the penthouse lighting a cigarette, the cool night air doing little to temper the heat still coursing through him. The party was still going inside, but his thoughts had drifted elsewhere—to you. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at himself. He’d performed for hundreds of women, charmed his way through countless parties, but tonight felt… different.  

You’d thrown him off balance in a way he wasn’t used to.  

Sure, you’d laughed at his jokes and taken the shot he offered, but there was something in your eyes—an intoxicating mix of curiosity and resistance—that had him hooked. He wasn’t sure what it was about you. Maybe it was the way you tried to keep your guard up even as he chipped away at it. Maybe it was the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, like you couldn’t quite help yourself.  

Or maybe it was the way he couldn’t stop replaying that moment on the dance floor in his head. The way your breath hitched when he leaned in. The way your lips parted, as though you were holding back words—or something else entirely.  

The music from the party shifted the song echoing in the distance. Javier’s mind wandered as the melody pulled him into his own thoughts. It wasn’t just lust that gnawed at him—though, hell, that was definitely part of it. No, this was something deeper, something that felt unsettlingly like longing.  

He ran a hand through his hair, the grin he’d worn all night slipping away. He’d never been one for complications, especially when it came to women. His job was to entertain, to tease, to flirt—but he’d never felt this kind of pull before. It was like a spark had ignited when he locked eyes with you, and now it wouldn’t go out.  

For the first time in a long while, Javier wasn’t sure if he was in control.  

The lyrics to the song playing in the penthouse hit him square in the chest.  

Must be from a different life, been here before, and it just feels right. No, this ain't the first time for you and I, we ain't strangers.

The words struck a chord, leaving him standing there, staring out at the city lights, wondering how a single dance, a single moment, could unravel him so completely.  

It's like it's driving me closer to you, every step back pulls me right back to you…

Maybe you wouldn’t give him your number. Maybe this would end here, tonight, like all the other nights before. But as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened Instagram, his thumb hovering over your profile, he couldn’t help but think—this didn’t feel like an ending.  

It felt like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready to let go of.  

———

Back in your hotel room, you flopped onto the plush bed with a groan. The events of the evening replayed in your mind, Javier’s smirk and the heat of his gaze lingering longer than you cared to admit.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your phone. A quick check of Instagram confirmed what you suspected—he’d already followed and sent you a message.

Javier: See? Now we’re not strangers anymore.

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. His confidence was irritatingly endearing.

You: I don’t think Instagram follows count as a formal introduction.

His reply was almost instant.

Javier: What would count? Because I’m pretty sure that dance was more personal than most first dates.

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to admit that.

You: Is this your usual routine? Flirt with everyone at the party, then slide into DMs?

Javier: Nope. Just you.

You stared at the screen, your stomach doing an annoying little flip at his words.

You: Why me?

The typing indicator blinked for a moment before his reply came through.

Javier: Because you didn’t throw yourself at me like everyone else. And because you’re cute when you’re pretending not to be interested.

Your cheeks burned as you read the message, but you couldn’t help smiling.

You: I’m not pretending.

Javier: So you are interested?

You: I didn’t say that.

Javier: But you didn’t deny it, either.

You sighed, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

You: Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?

Javier: Nope. Not tonight.

Before you could come up with a snarky reply, another message popped up.

Javier: You could come over, you know. Save us both the trouble of texting all night.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, and you hesitated, typing and deleting a dozen responses before settling on one.

You: Not happening.

Javier: Why not?

You: Because it’s late, and I’m not that kind of girl.

Javier: What kind of girl is that?

You: The kind that sneaks into a stranger’s room after one tequila shot and a few texts.

Javier: I’m not exactly a stranger anymore.

You stared at his message, your lips twitching at the boldness. Before you could type out another response, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a photo. From Javier.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the image preview before finally opening it. The picture was simple yet devastatingly effective: Javier, shirtless, sprawled on a hotel bed, the faint light casting shadows that only emphasized his toned chest. His dark eyes smoldered into the camera, and his messy hair added to the whole “devil-may-care” aesthetic he wore so well.

Javier: Feeling really lonely over here. Could use some company.

Heat pooled low in your belly and you groaned, tossing your phone onto the bed as if distance could break the spell he seemed to have on you. But of course, curiosity won out, and you grabbed it again, typing out a response before you could second-guess yourself.

You: Flattery and thirst traps won’t work on me.

Javier: Who said it was flattery? Just being honest.

You: Still not happening.

Javier: Okay, how about a compromise?

You: What kind of compromise?

Javier: Drinks. Just the two of us. Down at the hotel bar. Public place, no pressure.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. Saying yes felt like walking into a trap, but a part of you was curious—and maybe, just maybe, a little tempted. The idea of sitting across from him, away from the crowd, felt… different. Safer. Almost.

You: Fine. One drink.

Javier: I’ll take it. Meet you there in ten?

You: Fifteen. I need to change.

Javier: You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart. You already look perfect.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you tossed your phone onto the bed and rifled through your suitcase. Fifteen minutes later, you stepped into the elevator, your heart pounding with anticipation and nerves as you descended to the hotel bar.

The bar was dimly lit, with warm amber hues reflecting off the polished surfaces. The low hum of conversation mingled with the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere both intimate and unassuming. You spotted Javier immediately.  

He sat at a corner table, leaning back in his chair. He’d changed into a simple black button-down that clung to his frame in a way that was almost unfair. His gaze locked onto you the moment you entered.  

“Right on time,” he said, standing as you reached the table. He pulled out a chair for you, a small but unexpected gesture that caught you off guard.  

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, settling into the seat.  

“Noted.” His smile widened as he slid into the chair opposite you.  

The server appeared almost instantly, and Javier gestured for you to order first. You requested a simple cocktail, while he opted for whiskey on the rocks. As the server walked away, his attention returned to you and it wasn’t long before they returned with them.

“So,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “What convinced you to come down here?”  

You raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to see if you were as charming one-on-one as you are with a crowd.”  

“And?” 

You took a deliberate sip of your drink before answering. “Jury’s still out.”  

He chuckled, “I’m not worried. I’m good under pressure.”  

The banter came easily, the conversation flowing in a way that surprised you. He was quick-witted, teasing without being overbearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, he was easy to talk to, it felt like knew him without knowing him. The more you spoke, the more you caught glimpses of the man behind the cocky facade—sharp, observant, and surprisingly thoughtful.  

Still, you made him work for it.  

Whenever his compliments grew too bold, you deflected with a teasing remark. When he leaned in a little too close, you leaned back, though you couldn’t ignore the thrill that ran through you each time he tested your resolve.  

“I like this game you’re playing,” he said after a while, his whiskey glass nearly empty.  

“What game?” you asked innocently.  

“The one where you pretend you’re not interested.” His gaze was unwavering, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.  

“I’m not pretending,” you replied, though the words sounded less convincing than you’d hoped.  

He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “No? Then why are you still here?”  

You opened your mouth to respond, but the truth caught in your throat. Why were you still here?  

Before you could come up with an excuse, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.  

“Listen,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”  

For the first time that night, you saw something unguarded in his expression—genuine sincerity that made your heart stutter.  You hesitated, your walls cracking under the weight of his words. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, but something in you shifted.  

“Okay,” you said quietly.  

His brow lifted. “Okay, what?”  

“Okay… you’re not completely unbearable.”  

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “High praise.”  

“You know, I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”

His smirk softened into something gentler, his fingers still lightly brushing yours on the table. “Not everything has to be a good idea to be worth it, sweetheart,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Is that your life philosophy, or just your way of convincing women to give you their number?”

“Both,” he said with a shrug, his grin returning. “And it’s worked out pretty well so far.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you eased slightly. The conversation shifted after that, the teasing banter giving way to something more genuine. He asked about your life, your work, your dreams—and for every question he asked, he shared something about himself, too. 

“I wasn’t always this guy,” he admitted at one point, swirling the remnants of his whiskey in his glass. “I used to be a cop. A real one. Back in Colombia.”

You blinked, surprised. “A cop? Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. DEA, actually.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What made you leave?”

His expression darkened briefly, a shadow crossing his features. “Let’s just say… the job took its toll. And I realized I wanted something different. Something lighter.” He glanced at you then, a hint of humor returning to his voice. “Though I’m not sure stripping is what my father had in mind when I told him I was switching careers.”

The two of you laughed, and the conversation continued to flow. By the time your drinks were empty, you realized you were leaning forward, hanging onto his every word.

Javier glanced at the time on his phone and then back at you. “I hate to say it, but the bar’s closing soon.”

You nodded, a strange mix of disappointment and relief settling over you. “Guess I should head back to my room.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “Can I walk you to your door?”

Your pulse quickened at the question, but you nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you rode the elevator in silence, the charged tension between you filling the small space. When you reached your floor, he stepped out with you, his presence at your side was both comforting and exhilarating.

When you finally stopped outside your door, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Well… this is me.”

“Home sweet hotel,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense.

You fiddled with your key card, unsure of what to say. He didn’t push, didn’t try to move closer. Instead, he simply smiled.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You swallowed hard, his words sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tequila. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with unspoken possibilities, each one more tempting than the last. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, hesitant at first—a test to see if this was really what you wanted. But the moment his lips moved against yours, everything else fell away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm and steady as he deepened the kiss. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied.

His smile was slow, almost lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might take you up on that.” 

As Javier lingered, you found yourself hesitating. The way he kissed you had ignited something within you—something raw.

You opened your door but didn’t step inside, glancing back at him. "Well, you coming?”

He arched a brow, that teasing smirk returning. “You sure?”

You laughed softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

Javier followed you inside. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he studied you.

“So,” he drawled, his tone playful but low. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I think you know Javier.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his fingers lightly grabbing your wrist. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and his voice dropped an octave. “If we’re doing this, I’m in control, ¿entiendes?”

You nodded, and it must have been obvious how nervous you were.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands brushing your knees as he stepped between them. “This is supposed to be fun.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Do me a favor,” he whispered. “Touch yourself. Just a little.”

Your eyes widened, your pulse skyrocketing. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I want to watch you.”

When you hesitated, his hand trailed up your thigh, his touch light but maddening. “Go on beautiful,” he urged. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks and pooling low in your belly. Javier leaned back slightly, giving you space but never breaking eye contact. His gaze was dark, commanding, and utterly unapologetic. He wanted this. Wanted you vulnerable, open, and completely at his mercy. 

You hesitated, your heart pounding like a drum, but the way his fingers skimmed over your thigh made it impossible to think straight. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, his voice coaxing yet dripping with authority. “I want to see every bit of you, mi amor.”

Your hand trembled as it moved to the hem of your dress. Slowly, you slid it higher, exposing more of your thighs to his burning gaze. He walked back and pulled up a chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, but his eyes never wavered from you. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. The praise sent a shiver through your body. You could feel your arousal building, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.  

Your breath shuddered as your fingers brushed the fabric of your panties, the dampness betraying just how much his presence, his words, his command, had affected you. You glanced at him, unsure, but his gaze was steady, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse race. 

Slowly, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric, the first tentative touch drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. Javier's expression darkened with hunger, his composure unraveling ever so slightly as he leaned forward. 

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me see how beautiful you are when you can’t hold back.”

Your fingers began to move in slow circles, your body responding to your touch almost instinctively. The heat between your thighs grew, and your hips shifted slightly, seeking more pressure. The room seemed to shrink, the air heavy with the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of your movements. 

Javier's eyes never left you. His own restraint was evident in the way his fists clenched, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back from me.”

You whimpered, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent as you lost yourself in the moment. Every sound you made, every twitch of your body, seemed to light a fire in him. His control was slipping, and it was intoxicating to know that you were the one unraveling him. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “Keep going, just like that.”

Javier’s gaze burned into you, the tension in his jaw betraying how tightly he was holding himself back. But then, he shifted, his hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing the golden skin of his chest. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if daring you to keep watching even as your own hand continued its rhythm. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, the sound vibrating through you. His shirt slid off his shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor. Then, his hands moved to his belt, the metallic clink making your breath hitch. He undid it in a single, fluid motion, the sound of the zipper following shortly after. 

Your fingers faltered for a moment, your breath catching as your focus shifted entirely to him. He stood before you, stripped of all pretense, his movements deliberate and sure. When he pushed his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, your gaze locked onto him, and your thoughts scattered.

He was breathtaking. The sharp angles of his hips, the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the sheer strength of his frame—it was as if he had been carved just for you. Heat coiled low in your belly, a visceral reaction to the undeniable evidence of his desire for you.

Your eyes traveled over him, lingering shamelessly, drinking in every inch of him. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with a heat that left you both vulnerable and electrified.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze despite still being partially clothed. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing he could see—made your pulse race and your chest tighten with need.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken hunger, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide how deeply he affected you.

His hand wrapped around his shaft, a groan slipping from his lips as he began to stroke slowly, matching the rhythm you’d set for yourself. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t hide from me, nena.”

The sight of him, so confident, so completely at ease with his own pleasure, made your own need intensify. Your movements quickened, your body arching slightly as the tension in your core built. His gaze flickered over you, drinking in every shiver, every gasp, every movement of your hand.

“Dios mío,” he murmured, his strokes becoming faster as he watched you. “You’re so beautiful like this. I could watch you forever.” 

Javier’s hand stilled suddenly, and you watched as he got up, his body exuding confidence and unrelenting command. He stepped closer, towering over you where you sat, his dark eyes still heavy with desire. He leaned down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his voice a seductive rasp as he said, “Come here.”

You hesitated, your heart racing, unsure of what he was asking. But he took your hand, pulling you gently to your feet, and his lips brushed your ear. “I want you to dance for me. Just for me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you stammered, your cheeks burning. The idea made your pulse race, the vulnerability and intimacy of it all was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His hands moved to your waist, steadying you. “Yes, you can, you’re perfect.”

His words wrapped around you, melting your hesitation. Slowly, you began to sway, your movements tentative at first, but his gaze never wavered, filled with encouragement and raw need. 

Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and you began to lift it, inch by inch, exposing your skin. His eyes tracked every motion, his breaths deep and heavy, fueling your confidence. The dress fell to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. You turned away from him, your fingers trembling as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders before finally slipping out of your panties. 

“Fuck, you are so beautfiul.”

You felt the power in his words, the way they stoked your courage and your desire. With each slow sway of your hips, you inched closer to him, the magnetic pull between you was impossible to resist. His heated gaze anchored you, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.

You ran your hands down your body, over your curves, letting him watch as you closed the distance. His chest heaved as you straddled him and the tip of his cock brushed against your core, you froze, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. 

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “Just like that. Take your time, baby. Feel every second of it.

“Javi,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I don’t know if I—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His touch was firm, guiding but never forcing. “You’ve got this, baby. Dance for me—on me. Take your time.”

The raw hunger in his voice undid you. He guided your movements as you began to grind against him, slow and sensual. Your body aligned with his as you slid against him, teasing him with every slow grind. His head fell back against the chair, his jaw clenched as he groaned your name. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands tightening their grip, encouraging your movements. “Just like that. Feel me, nena. Let me feel all of you.”

Slowly, deliberately, you adjusted, letting your slick pussy tease the length of him. The anticipation was maddening, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, his restraint barely holding. Then, with a deep breath, you angled yourself just right and began to lower yourself onto his length.

The sensation stole your breath as you took him inch by inch, your body adjusting to his size. His growl of pleasure rumbled through you, his hands guiding you down until you were completely seated. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming and it felt so good.

“Now move, baby,” he urged, his voice strained. “Show me how good you can make us feel.”

You began to roll your hips, your movements slow and deliberate as you rode him, your bodies perfectly in sync. The connection between you felt electric, every thrust and grind drawing you closer together. His hands explored your body, his lips tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone as you moved, his murmured praises driving you to the brink.

Each undulation of your hips sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, and as you rode him, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in passion and ecstasy.

The sensation made you both gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as you began to move. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride me. Just like that.” 

The tension coiled tighter with every roll of your hips, the friction building to a fever pitch as Javier groaned your name like a prayer. His hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements, his thumbs pressing bruising circles into your skin as if to anchor himself. The entire time his gaze stayed locked on yours, dark and intense, as if he wanted to memorize the way you looked in this moment—completely undone above him.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

The words lit you up, your pace quickening as you chased the edge, that blinding release that teased just out of reach. Your breaths mingled with his, sharp and ragged, the room heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin and the delicious symphony of your pleasure.

“Javi,” you gasped.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Something in his voice broke you, the sincerity laced with desire, the unshakable promise that he wouldn’t let you fall. Your body tensed, your movements stuttering as the first shockwaves of pleasure crashed through you, and you cried out his name as you shattered around him.

Javier didn’t falter. He held you steady, his grip firm as he ground his hips up to meet yours, pulling you through the aftershocks until you were trembling in his arms. The intensity of it left you breathless, and you slumped forward, resting your forehead against his as you tried to gather yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice still thick with need, though his concern for you was evident.

You nodded, chest heaving as you caught your breath. “Yeah,” you whispered. 

“Your turn to relax. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he stood. A soft squeak escaped you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried you across the room.

“Javi, I can walk,” you protested weakly, though you made no effort to pull away.

“I know you can,” he teased, “but I like having you right where you are.”

The bed was cool against your back when he laid you down, but his body quickly chased away the chill. Javier followed you down, his weight settling between your thighs.

“Now,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face as his gaze softened. “Where were we?”

Javier’s lips captured yours in a kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second, and you couldn’t help but melt into him.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of heat as he paused to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. His hands explored you, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips before sliding lower. Every touch sent shivers through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasps escaping your lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your skin. “Every inch of you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, your body aching for more. “Javi, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He chuckled softly. “Patience, sweetheart. You just taste so good.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body arching involuntarily. “Javier, I need… I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re so beautiful like this. All mine.”

As his lips moved lower, he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your thighs, his hands spreading you gently. The anticipation made your body tremble, your legs parting instinctively as you felt him pause, his breath hot against your core.

“Perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before he leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he worked you with slow movements. Javier groaned softly, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you open, the sound vibrating through you and heightening the pleasure.

Your hips bucked against him, and you gasped, “Javi, please, I’m so close.”

He lifted his head slightly, his lips glistening as he smirked at you. “I love hearing you beg for me, come on let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His tongue and suddenly his fingers moved together in perfect rhythm, lapping, sucking and moving just right. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves that left you trembling. Javier didn’t stop until your body softened beneath his touch, his movements slowing as he kissed your thighs and worked his way back up your body.

By the time he reached your lips, you were breathless, your body buzzing with aftershocks. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“How was that beautiful?” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

“Incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw.

Javier groaned softly at your touch, his restraint visibly fraying. He kissed you harder, his body pressing into yours as his arousal became impossible to ignore. “You sure you’re ready for more?” 

You answered by rolling your hips against him, earning a sharp inhale as he gritted his teeth. “I need you, Javi. Please fuck me.”

That was all it took. He positioned himself, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed into you in one slow, steady motion. The stretch was intense, and you gasped, clinging to him as your body adjusted.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good, so damn tight.”

“Move..please,” you urged softly, your lips brushing his ear.

He obeyed, pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that was slow but deep. Every movement drew you closer until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your most sensitive spot, teasing it in time with his thrusts. “You’re taking me so well.”

Your nails raked down his back, the pleasure building impossibly fast. “Javier,” you whimpered, your body tightening around him as the tension reached its breaking point.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “Come for me, give me one more.”

His words were your undoing. You shattered around him, your cries filling the room as pleasure consumed you. Javier followed moments later, his movements faltering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping him as he found his release.

For a while, neither of you moved, the room quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Eventually, Javier rolled to the side, pulling you close against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips soft and tender.

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re not so innocent yourself, Javier.”

His smirk returned. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll need it for round two.”

[citrustan]

slipping through my fingers [5] (myg)

title: the storm-ish 1.0

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst!, fluff, smut

summary: you meet yoongi's fiancée for the first time and... don't care to get a good read on her. yoongi keeps upsetting surprising you.

warnings: [other parts should be read before this one] this one's frustrating, there's not much improvement regarding oc and yoongi, it gets worse actually. aand it's a teensy tinsy bit unedited bec j don't have access to my laptop rn.

"Here's the dining area!" Taehyung fakes excitement as he leads the party further into your home, "I set the table."

You crouch down, catching your daughter in a tight hug, “Hi, baby,” you whisper into Nao’s hair.

For a second, you could pretend everything was normal. Just you and your kid. No pink hair highlights.

But then you stood up and saw Yoongi standing awkwardly behind Naomi.

“Hey...” Yoongi greeted you softly. His eyes briefly met yours before flicking back to Nao, “Hyejin wanted to meet you, and, uh… she brought dinner.”

You forced a small, tight-lipped smile.

Dinner. She brought dinner. As if that made any of this easier. Still, you nodded once, knowing you had no choice but to go through with this.

Hyejin had walked into your kitchen by now, snooping around with curious eyes. She wants to know you so bad. Picking up a random iron skillet from the drying rack, she observes the room intensely.

She eyes the colour scheme you picked out for your whole house. It's plain but not bland, she notes. White. A little... woody. Vintage. Yet very colourful and so full of personality.

A lot of well-executed DIY projects, most likely done with your daughter--- a windchime, stained glass paintings, miniature clay figurines, jars of seashells, hanging jellyfish lamps, personalized ceramic plates and mugs with designs painted and characters sculpted onto them.

Hyejin finds you fascinating.

She noticed a bunch of crocheted tapestries. Similar to the ones in Yoongi's room. She had always found it an odd design choice in his home. But, it makes perfect sense in yours. And obviously, she finally understood where he got it from.

And she can't wait to finally get to know the woman who had her soon to be husband wrapped around her finger for years.

Yoongi never told her why you broke up but she intends to get that information out of the two of you today.

Suddenly snapping out of it, you speak stiffly, “Oh, um, thank you,” gesturing at the bags of food place on the coffee table.

Your eyes dart towards Hyejin, who was already gliding back to you sporting a bright, effortless smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, _____,” Hyejin smiled warmly, "Your home is lovely. You really are a true creative."

Whatever that means.

“I hope it’s okay I tagged along. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now. Yoongi never talks about you."

Oh!

That definitely didn't hurt.

You smile, not knowing what to say. Simply nodding, “Thank you. And sure, it’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine.

You still felt disrespected.

Taehyung’s brows raised slightly, but he didn’t comment either. Instead, he offered you a supportive smile from behind Hyejin and mouthed, 'You’ll be okay.'

You can only hope you would.

Yoongi knew how fragile you were, and how hard it was for you to see them together, but he had let this happen anyway.

Yet, you understood Hyejin too.

It isn't really her fault. You'd have felt better about it had this been your decision.

"Mimi, go wash up for dinner." Yoongi instructs his daughter.

Then Hyejin chimes in, "But remember not to get your hair wet! _____, do you have a shower cap she can borrow?"

Your mouth drops open a little and your ears start to heat up.

Who does this woman think she is? She's talking to you as if you're not Nao's MOTHER.

What the hell does she mean 'Do you have a shower cap she can borrow?'

That's your kid, not hers.

Not realising you were glaring at Hyejin, you forced out yet another smile. This time it was glaringly obvious.

"She has one. She knows where to find it. Don't you, Nao?" You smiled down at her fakely.

Your daughter grabbed at your dress, "Yeah. But it's okay if I don't use it. My school doesn't allow colourful hair. We'd get into trouble." She directed the last half to Yoongi's fiancée.

Oh, thank goodness it wasn't permanent dye. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Hyejin's smile drops a little but she recovers almost instantly. "Oh, wouldn't you want to twin with me though?"

Is this lady emotionally manipulating your kid?

You don't give Nao a chance to respond because you knew she'd never want to hurt anyone's feelings and you hate that she's pushed in a corner now. "Wash your hair, honey," you smile down at her sweetly, "Use mommy's shampoo if you need to."

Yoongi finally decides to intervene. "Or we could let Mimi make her own choice. She knows the consequences, and is smart enough to decide what's better for her."

And unsurprisingly, ever the diplomat (which is odd because he's literally a lawyer by trade), he won't take sides.

Sadly, he's wrong this time.

Your squint your eyes at him as if you can't understand him, "What consequences? There's a consequence. Just the one. And she already stated it. We'll get in trouble with her school."

Your anger is a bit misdirected when you demand your daughter to clean up, "Go wash your hair, Naomi. I don't want to see even hint of colour that's not natural."

Nao's eyes widen before she runs off pouting. She knew you hadn't meant to scold her but it still upset her.

This is exactly what you were worried about.

You look at Taehyung pleadingly, prompting him to check on Nao. He immediately complies and chases after her.

You weren't ready to deal with Yoongi's new life now because you knew you wouldn't be able to digest it. You did not want Nao taking the heat for something that isn't her fault. But you suppose that's inevitable because you still haven't learnt to process your feelings and emotions about Yoongi.

Also, in all honesty, you could've dealt with the school. It wasn't that serious of an issue. They aren't too strict on the appearance discipline, especially hair.

You're on a roll now though.

"And what the hell are you doing altering my daughter's appearance without consulting me anyway?" You don't know who you squeaked it at but it was definitely warranted for.

"She's my daughter too, _____." Yoongi speaks cooly yet firmly.

"Exactly. She's yours and mine. And I need to be part of every decision making process," you scoff frustrated, "I mean, how would you feel if Taehyung and I decided to chop her hair off? What if the three of us get... I don't know, bowl cuts?" You're on the verge of yelling.

Yoongi looks bewildered, "You wouldn't do that."

You record the time. This is the moment you think Yoongi finally understands you.

"That's the point, Yoongi!" You exclaim. "Of course I wouldn't because I'm not fucking stupid!" You place emphasis on 'stupid', "-and I respect you!"

The jab wasn't subtle.

"What are you implying? That Hyejin is? That I am? That we don't respect you?"

"Oh, am I wrong?" You raise a brow.

"It's just some hair dye."

"That's not the issue here," you suddenly point at his fiancée, "And why are you calling my kid Nao?"

Hyejin's eyes widen at the sudden attention. She looks to Yoongi for help.

Taehyung reemerges from Nao's room when he hears arguing.

He observes Yoongi's stance and his explosion radar goes off, "O-okay, why don't we just-" but before he could even try to diffuse the situation, Yoongi loses it on you.

"God, _____, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

A sharp pang hit your chest, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

He's never yelled at you before. He's yelled with you, around you, maybe even about you but never at you.

Moreover, he did not deserve to scream at you.

You wish you could just pout and run away into your room like your daughter had.

Instead you stand your ground and stare at Yoongi's face, challengingly.

Hyejin just stood back, a little bewildered. She's surprised Yoongi had it in him to scream this loudly. And he's the least angry, most stable person she knows. Though, she doesn't know how to feel about him treating you like this.

On one hand, she's elated that he's speaking in her defence. And on the other, she's worried she'd be on your bad side after this. And that you'd keep Nao from her. If she didn't have a relationship with Nao, she can't possibly continue being with Yoongi.

For a while, nobody said anything. Taehyung was too afraid to even breathe let alone say anything.

The two of you were like a pressure cooker.

And let's not get into what Yoongi said--- 'What's wrong with you?'

You'd like to know. Clearly, something must be wrong because you don't know why he'd marry a woman after months of dating but not you even after years of being together and even having a child with.

You watch as Yoongi's fiancée grasps his hand to calm him down.

There have been very few moments when you've wished you had one of your classic cream pies to smash in someone's face.

Now is one such instance.

And then it happens.

Your vision begins to blur.

Not wasting any time, you wrap your arms around yourself in a soothing manner and storm off into your room, refusing to break down in front of a stranger.

You wanted to make a good impression so badly but it was just too soon.

Yoongi swiftly shook Hyejin off of him to follow you but was pulled back by a strong arm. Taehyung.

He glares at the taller man before yanking his arm back, continuing after you.

Before you could slam and lock your door like a petulant child, Yoongi blocks it with his foot, "Stop."

"I don't want to talk to you." You assert.

"Then don't. Just listen to me." He suggests. More like demands. His face was stoic as ever with maybe a hint of discomfort and remorse now.

"Please?"

Outside, in the living room, Heyjin and Taehyung awkwardly lingered.

Taehyung breaks the silence, "You just had to do this now, didn't you?"

Hyejin doesn't reply but gives him a pointed look.

As much as she trusts Yoongi, she doesn't trust you and Yoongi locked in a room together. She noticed way too much passion for two people who've broken up.

Unfortunately having crossed way too many boundaries already, she can't help but just wait.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ rose blood by mazzy star ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: fuck tumblr for posting my half-baked chapter im literally so fucking annoyed i had to redo all the changes but it's whatever!

exhales

and i am still sorry for the delay! please let me know what you think; love it, hate it, can't stand it, can't live without it? tell me! bec i wanna hear all about it

(anf did you catch a subtle Gilmore girls reference 😋)

[krirebr]

More Than This 8

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~9.5k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, fighting, my own rampant abuse of italics and en dashes, the slooowest burn, family drama - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Ohhhhhhhh boy. Getting this update in right under the six month wire. I'm so sorry this one took so long, you guys. I had to drag this chapter out of me. But uh, it's horrifically long, so that's something?

And, I know I keep saying that we're about to start a happier part of this story and then deliver a bucketful of angst, and yeah, whoops, I've done that again. I should just stop making promises, huh?

Big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who has spent the last almost six months talking this one through with me. And to @bigtreefest who was so great with the encouragement and gut checks and did a quick beta of this chapter! But, of course, all mistakes are my own.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too! As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The rest of the day was quiet. Calmer, more settled than you were used to. After having gotten everything out into the open, it was so much easier to acknowledge Ransom’s presence, to coexist with him. You hadn’t fully realized how much you’d been holding your breath until you could suddenly breathe freely. It was a wild feeling.

Once you were all cried out, Ransom turned on the TV, turning it to the classic movie channel. That was how you learned he loved old movies. “Grandad and I used to watch them together. When I was a kid,” he said quietly. He didn't volunteer any other information and you didn't ask. But you watched the old noir with him.

One movie turned into two and soon the whole afternoon was gone. It had been… comfortable, in a way you’d never expected to be with him. Neither of you had said much, but the silence hadn’t been stifling in the way it’d been even just the day before. For the first time since you’d gotten here, you felt something a lot like hope.

He made two arrangements while sitting with you on the couch. The first was for movers to come to collect his gym equipment the next day so that your new room would be empty when your things arrived in a couple of days. 

You were made aware of the second when you received a text from him. You looked up in confusion. You were sitting right next to each other. He chuckled lightly. “That’s the number to your new car service. Call it, let them know where you’re going, and a car should be here within half an hour.”

You stared at the number. Holy shit, you’d be able to go places. You felt silly for how emotional you suddenly felt, but it was like your entire world was expanding in real time. It felt like fresh oxygen in your lungs. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

He just nodded in response. “After you’ve used that for a while, we can talk about whether a private driver might be more appropriate. If that’s what you need.”

You looked at your phone again. This was proof in your hands that you could tell Ransom what you needed and he would do what he could to help you get it. That he wasn’t the enemy you’d assumed he was. You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes and you took a deep breath to try to quell them without calling attention to your state.

Ransom, of course, noticed anyway. “Is that not ok?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head. “No, it’s perfect. Seriously, thank you. I’m sorry, I just–” You had no idea what to say to him, how to explain yourself. As good and necessary as the last several hours had been, he was still a stranger. And as much as he’d demonstrated a willingness to help you, that didn’t mean he wanted you getting your messy emotions all over him. “Sorry,” you said again, “I’m just emotional today. Hormones probably. I’m afraid you’re going to be dealing with this for the next nine months.” You grimaced in what you hoped was a playful manner as you tried to wipe the tears from your eyes.

He remained serious, concerned. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his tone still so soft. But if you looked very carefully, you thought that you might be able to see a hint of panic in his eyes. You didn’t know if it was for the havoc that your pregnancy hormones might wreak or everything that would come after. You didn’t ask. You knew you wouldn’t be able to answer the question for yourself either. So you turned back to the movie.  

At some point, you both started to get hungry, so Ransom ordered takeout. As you ate, you asked a few questions about the sorts of movies he liked, grateful for a safe topic to fill the silence. You certainly wouldn’t call him verbose, but you learned that he had a soft spot for Billy Wilder movies. You wouldn’t really say the conversation flowed, either, but your questions didn’t seem unwelcome. It was nice. He was starting to feel like a real person.

When you were done, you cleaned up the leftovers together, packing them up and putting them away in the fridge. It was while you were doing that that the doorbell suddenly rang. You both looked up, confused. “If that’s fucking Linda, I swear…” Ransom grumbled.

“She never rings the doorbell when it’s just me here,” you griped. You continued putting things away, sticking your head in the fridge as Ransom went to get the door. Then everything happened so fast.

First, you heard Lola yipping excitedly. As you started to turn around to see what was going on with her, Ransom asked “What are you doing here?!” And then–

And then Ransom was on the ground, clutching his jaw, and Steve was looming over him, his hand still in a fist.

“What the shit?!” Ransom ground out.

Steve’s eyes flitted around wildly until they landed on you. He sighed in relief, clearly doing a quick check as he looked at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone so much gentler than his posture.

“Am I– What– What are you doing here? I don't–” You felt like you couldn’t process anything that was happening. How was he here?? Your gaze caught on your husband, still on the floor. “Oh my god, Ransom!” You dropped to your knees next to him. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I–” he started, then carefully flexed his jaw, “Fucking shit. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Your hand hovered uselessly between you as he slowly stood up. You turned back to Steve, who had stepped fully into the house, closing the door behind him, and now had Lola in his arms, softly greeting her as she snuggled into him adoringly.

“Steve, what are you–” you started but then you saw the suitcase at his feet. “Are you staying here?!”

Steve finally turned his attention away from Lola. “Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously, with a challenging glare to Ransom. 

You sighed helplessly. “There’s no guest room…”

“Yeah,” Ransom grumbled as he rifled through the freezer until he pulled out an icepack, “as thrilled as we are to see you, we do have hotels here. You might be more comfortable in one.” The icy coldness that filled the room wasn’t just from the open freezer. 

Steve took an aggressive step forward. “And leave you alone with my sister for even one more day? I don’t think so. I’ll be just fine on the couch. I’m easy like that.”

“Steve–” you tried but you were quickly interrupted.

“Really? You’re here for your step-sister? That’s interesting because my understanding is that you haven’t had much time for her lately,” Ransom said snidely.

Steve started to puff up in a way that was much too familiar from the playground fights of your childhood. “Oh my god!” you yelled. “Stop! Both of you!” You briefly put your head in your hands and took a deep breath, then one more. You straightened yourself and tried to deal with one of the fifteen problems at hand. “Ok, I, uh, I guess I’ll see about making up the couch,” you said, then stomped your way upstairs to the linen closet.

Steve followed close behind you, still carrying around Lola. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “you haven’t actually said ‘hello’ to me yet.”

“No,” you growled, as you looked through the closet without turning around to look at him, “I guess I haven’t.”

He pulled your arm lightly. “Hey, come on,” he said. “I’ll help pull this stuff together if you tell me where to look. We both know Ransom’s just gonna let you do all the work.”

That earned you finally turning to face him. “Well, he did just get punched in the face, so I think he’s a little more concerned with that than making you feel comfortable right now.”

Steve’s face scrunched up. “Wait. Are you mad at me?”

“Am I mad at you? Well, let's see. You showed up unannounced and punched my husband in the face. Yeah! I'm a little mad at you!”

“He deserved it,” he growled. 

“How would you know?!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You sighed. You did not have the energy for this. And where were all the blankets? You remembered the pile currently in the corner of the gym. Right. You turned around and walked down the hall to your makeshift bedroom, Steve still on your heels. As soon as you walked in, he stopped, putting Lola down. “The fuck is this?” he asked, harshly, his hands on his hips. You realized your mistake immediately. His eyes scanned the cushions and blankets set up, the exercise equipment still there, your few possessions strewn about. “Is this where you sleep?”

“No! Just last night.”

“Why did you need to sleep here last night?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

It felt like a trap. If you told him you’d panicked and needed some space, he would ask why. Steve never dropped anything. And you just could not tell him you were pregnant right now. It was the absolute worst time for that. But you didn’t know how else to answer his question. “I just needed a little space.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. God, you hated being the focus of that look. It was the look he gave you when you scratched his car when you were 16, or when you were 18 and he had to pick you up from a party at 2 AM and wouldn’t tell him what had happened. It was the look you got when you were little and used to steal his paintbrushes so he couldn’t paint and he’d have to hang out with you. You’d hated that look since you were six years old. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He just shook his head for a moment. “You sounded so sad and tired this morning. And I’m just so sick of not being able to see you, not being able to tell what’s wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Not being able to protect you.”

“Steve,” was all you could say at first. Then you couldn’t help yourself anymore. You launched yourself at him and wrapped him in a big hug. He was a fucking idiot. You couldn’t believe he’d punched Ransom. You were so mad about that. But he was your fucking brother and you’d missed him so much.

He hugged you back tightly. “It’s so fucking good to see you, Chipmunk,” he murmured into your hair. 

You stood there, savoring the closeness for as long as you both were able, and then you pulled away and stared down at the mound of blankets and cushions. The big couch downstairs had been pulled apart the night before to give you a place to sleep. That severely limited the options for Steve. You sighed. “I guess it would make the most sense to put you in here.”

“And where would you sleep?” he asked, his tone taking on an aggressive edge, aimed at the man downstairs, you knew.

“I’d go back to the bedroom,” you said, with a put-on casualness like you weren’t aware of the fight that was about to happen.

“Absolutely not,” Steve said firmly.

“Oh my god, Steve! You can’t control where I sleep!” you said, throwing your hands in the air.

“The whole reason I’m here is to make sure you’re ok and that he can’t hurt you! I’m not gonna do something that puts you back in his space!”

“Steve, I don’t need that! He isn’t doing anything!”

“Then why did you text me? Why were you crying?!”

You did not have the energy for the conversation that would answer that question, so all you could do was glare at him, which he answered with a confrontational jut of his chin. The two of you just stood there locked in a staredown until Steve muttered, “What sort of grown man doesn’t have anywhere for guests, anyway?”

“The sort that likes an excuse to stop people from staying at his house,” Ransom said pointedly from the doorway, startling you both. “What exactly do you think I’d do, with you right across the hall? I’ve already gotten a taste of how you solve problems,” he said to Steve, gesturing with the ice pack still held to his face. Then, much softer, to you, he said, “I know you want your own space, but you’re more than welcome to share the bed until your stuff gets here. That’s all I wanted to say.” Then he turned around and walked into his bedroom, Lola scampering behind him, ready for bed.

You stared after him, unable to parse the feelings bubbling up inside you. He’d been so different lately. Or maybe you were just finally looking.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve asking “Your stuff?”

You turned your attention back to him. He was watching you too carefully. “Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to feign nonchalance. “I’m having my bedroom furniture shipped here. I’m turning this into my room.” He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask too many questions probably so you cut him off. “It’s been a really long couple of days, Steve. I’m tired. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

He set his jaw. You could tell he wanted to fight you. Force you to talk to him. But you held your ground, looked him in the eye with a hint of challenge, and eventually he deflated, just a bit. “Yeah, okay,” he relented before he pulled you into another crushing hug. You’d really missed his hugs.

“I am happy to see you,” you whispered.

“Me too, Chip,” he whispered right back. 

After making sure he had everything he needed, you left Steve alone with a quiet “goodnight,” and made your way back to Ransom’s bedroom. He and Lola were already snuggled in bed, snoring softly. You quickly went through your bedtime routine and then joined them, very careful not to wake either of them. After how eventful and emotionally wrought the last few days had been, it didn’t take you long at all to drift off into sleep.

You woke up in the morning pressed up against Ransom, face to face, your feet tangled together, Lola on your legs. You carefully pushed yourself away, watching him warily to see if he roused at all. Thankfully he didn't. You were sure he wouldn't be thrilled with how close you'd both gotten in the night. 

You quietly got up and let yourself out of the bedroom, a now wide-awake Lola at your heels. The door to the gym was open and the room was empty, Steve’s suitcase wide open on the floor next to the nest of cushions and blankets. You didn’t hear anyone moving around downstairs, so he was out on a run, most likely.

You headed down to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, then started looking through the fridge for the leftovers from the previous morning. As you were doing that, a creak on the stairs let you know Ransom was joining you. 

“Morning,” he said, voice scratchy from disuse. He went to the coffee maker and just stood in front of it, waiting for the pot to finish.

“Morning,” you said from inside the fridge. You found the leftovers and closed the appliance, finally turning to him with a gasp. You put the food down on the counter and went to Ransom. “Oh my god, your face!” A large bruise in a deep shade of purple took up most of the left side of his face, centered on his jaw and cheekbone. You rushed to his side and without thinking, extended a hand to touch him before you realized what you were doing and pulled back at the last minute, embarrassed. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he mumbled, his attention still fixed on the coffee slowly dripping into the carafe. 

You stared at him for another moment, before you just couldn’t keep your feelings inside anymore. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

He finally looked at you at that. “What do you have to be sorry for?” he asked.

So much, you thought to yourself, maybe, probably. But for right now, in this instance, you just shrugged. “He’s my brother,” you said, a little helplessly. 

“Did you tell him to punch me?” he asked as he decided he’d waited long enough and filled his mug.

“What? No!”

“Then there’s nothing to apologize for.” He leaned back against the counter as he sipped his coffee. “Where is your brother?”

“On a run, probably,” you said, now helping yourself to a mug and fixing it up how you liked.

Ransom scoffed. “Of course, he is.” He looked at you carefully for a long moment and you struggled not to squirm under his gaze. “You happy he’s here?”

“Of course!” you said, too quickly. He kept looking at you. “I mean, I didn’t invite him here, so… It was just a surprise. I don’t know. He’s very protective, you know?” Ransom raised an eyebrow and you couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. “Right, yeah. He just– Sometimes, he just– he decides what’s right. And then there’s no changing his mind.”

He made a little hum, then nodded and said, “Yeah, I know. I have met him before. But why are you worried about that?”

“Uh, he just, he isn’t always a good listener. And he’s gonna have a lot of questions for me today. I know he will. And I don’t know how I’ll answer any of them without telling him about the– that I’m pregnant.”

“And you don’t want to?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft.

“No, that’s not exactly– I just–” you sighed. “This isn’t what he ever wanted for me.”

Ransom made a small noise of understanding. “You think he’ll be disappointed in you.”

There was no judgment in his tone, but it still made you shrink in on yourself a little. You nodded.

“Listen, it’s no secret that I think he’s a sanctimonious asshole.” You opened your mouth to start defending Steve, but Ransom shook his head. “Let me finish. It’s clear that he loves you. I think you’ll be ok. And if he does give you shit, well, it’ll be just one of a few things he’s done to earn himself a punch.”

“Oh god, Ransom no, please don’t do that.”

He grinned at you. “Nah, I won’t. Some of us have self-control. I know him being here is important to you. I’ll try not to do anything to mess that up.”

You wondered if the warm feelings spreading through you would always be such a surprise. If he would always be such a surprise.

“But,” he continued before he paused to drain his mug. “I am going to try to get out of here before he gets back.”

“This is your house. You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, “you should have a nice day with your brother.” Then he put his mug in the dishwasher and went back upstairs to get dressed, with you staring after him.

Ransom left and, sure enough, Steve got back a few minutes later. He went straight to the shower and you tried to busy yourself and calm your nerves while you waited for the inevitable conversation.

When he came down, his hair was still wet and he was dressed in jeans and a plain white tee. There was nothing casual about his demeanor though.

“So,” he said, sitting down next to you in the kitchen, “you ready to tell me what’s been going on here?”

You started to get up. “Do you want some breakfast first? We have some pastries left over from yesterday.”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you back down into your chair. “No, I want to know why you've sounded so upset every time I’ve talked to you since the wedding.”

You squirmed under his sharp gaze. You knew him. You knew that he wouldn’t give up until you told him everything. But you also knew how awful his reaction would be and you just weren’t ready to give everything up. “It’s just been a lot of change, you know? Of course, it’s been hard. I’m just… adjusting. It’s been an adjustment period.”

“Adjusting to what, exactly?”

“To marriage! To living in a new place! You know, the obvious.”

“The obvious is why you always sound like you’ve been crying?”

You resisted the urge to bury your face in your hands in frustration. “You know me,” you tried. “I’m emotional.”

“You’re emotional?! Is that what he says to you?” Shit, he was already getting angry and you hadn’t even told him anything yet.

“No! God, Steve. That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just trying to say that it’s been a difficult transition, but I’m starting to feel better about it.”

“And I’m asking you to tell me exactly what about it has been difficult.” 

You wanted to growl. Once he got an idea in his head, he was so fucking intractable. “What’s been difficult about moving across the country to a brand new city and living with a stranger??”

“Yes. Exactly. In detail please.” And then he just stared at you and you wanted to scream. 

“I’ve been a little lonely,” you conceded, hoping a partial truth might satisfy him. “Ransom has to work a lot and it’s been hard to know what to do with my time.” And then, without giving him time to react, you asked. “How about you? How are you? Now that I’m out of the way, is Joseph trying to set up matches for you?” It was a low blow, but you were grasping for any defense you could reach.

“I don't understand why you won't just tell me what's going on.”

“I'm trying! It's just a lot more complicated than you realize and I think that maybe once you're in an arrangement of your own–”

“My marriage won't be anything like this.”

At first, all you could do was gape at him. Then you just sighed. “I don’t think,” you started slowly, “that you can have any idea what a marriage like this is really like until you’re inside of it, Steve.”

He shook his head. “I know what sort of man I am,” he said confidently. “I know how I’ll treat my wife.” And you saw it then, the pity in his eyes, and everything in you bristled.

Sanctimonious. That was the word Ransom had used. You loved your step-brother so much. You’d defend him to the end of the world and back. But he really could be such an asshole sometimes. And seeing him now, like this, you could understand why someone like Ransom might hate him.

“Well,” you said, trying so hard to keep your voice even, “you’ll be lucky then. To have such an easy go of it. I hope you don’t find that it’s harder than it looks. That appearances can be deceiving.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s why I’m asking you to tell me. I don’t understand why you won’t.”

“Because I know you won’t listen! You’ve already decided what’s going on here!”

“Well, it seems pretty obvious! I know you, and I certainly know him. So yeah, when you’re crying every time I talk to you and you send me cryptic texts wishing I was here, yeah, I think I have a pretty good guess about what’s been going on.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you growled a little. Then you sighed. It was inevitable. You knew it. At this point, you just wanted to get it over with. “Ok. Fine. But you have to actually listen to me, ok? Like, to what I’m actually saying. You can’t just jump to conclusions. Okay? I’m serious.”

“Chip, yes, of course. I’ll always listen to you.”

You took a deep, fortifying breath. “It’s been– It’s been really hard here. I’ve been on my own almost the whole time and it’s just been really lonely. You just– you can’t know what it’s like to be married to a stranger. We haven’t known how to talk to each other and I just– It’s been really hard for both of us.” At that, Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t stop now, you had to get this out. “Anyway, um, a few days ago I learned some news, that was–” You paused to try to find the right word. You had no idea how to classify it. It wasn’t upsetting, per se, but what other word was there? “And then Ransom found out and that’s when I texted you. And slept in the gym.”

“What was the news?” Steve asked, gravely. He was looking at you so intently. You really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you had to.

You looked off into the corner of the room, unable to get this out and meet his eyes at the same time. “I’m pregnant,” you said quietly.

Steve stood up so abruptly that you couldn’t help but jump. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he actually snarled. You’d never heard his voice do that before.

“Steve, please,” you started, both hands out in a placating manner. “Please, can you calm down so we can talk about this?”

But, of course, he ignored you. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, helplessly. “He’s out. I don’t, I don’t know where.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just clenched his jaw and stood rigidly, his hands on his hips. You could practically see the untapped adrenaline coursing through him.

“Can you please just sit down?” you pleaded. “Just take a deep breath and sit down and we can–”

“I’m going for a run,” he said, curtly, then turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

“But you just got back from one!” you called after him. He wasn’t even dressed for a run. But that apparently didn’t matter. He was gone.

You just sat there for a moment, completely lost, with no idea what to do. Then you got your phone out and texted Ransom.

He knows

Don’t come back for a few hours, I think. He needs time to calm down. I’m sorry.

The checkmark showing he’d seen your message appeared almost immediately, quickly followed by the three dots that showed he was typing, but then those disappeared. A few moments later they came back but quickly disappeared again. No response ever came.

The men from the storage company came to take Ransom’s gym equipment away. You threw yourself into directing them, happy to have a distraction from worrying about where Steve was, what he was feeling. But then they were done, the room was empty, and Steve was still gone.

Ransom got back first. He found you in the former gym, trying to rearrange the couch cushions in the center of the room into something more comfortable. He paused in the doorway, Lola dancing around at his feet. “Where’s Steve?” he asked, as he bent down to pet her.

“He, uh–” you said without looking up, “he went for another run. He wasn’t very happy.”

“Fucking asshole,” Ransom muttered.

You finally looked at him, shaking your head. “No, he just doesn’t handle it well when he doesn’t know how to fix something.”

Ransom looked at you very seriously. “And if he makes that your problem, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“That's not– That's not what happened. That's not what he's doing.”

He stared at you for a long moment, causing you to look away, uncomfortable with the attention. “Okay,” he finally said with the hint of a sigh. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you want company or…” He trailed off and shrugged, then left the room.

About an hour later, Steve burst back into the house, yelling into his phone. “Well, where the hell did that money go? There’s no reason for him to be that over-budget. I’ve seen the dailies. –No, you get down there and you get that set back under control. –I can’t, I’m not in LA. There was a family emergency. –Yeah, I know Joseph is still there. He isn’t my only family, is he? Listen, just go do your goddamn job.” With that, he hung up his phone forcefully then stomped upstairs without acknowledging you or Ransom where you were seated on the couch.  

You could feel the irritation coming off of Ransom but he didn’t say anything. You were grateful. You had no idea what to make of Steve right now, how to explain him. Or excuse him. The awkward silence was preferable to trying.

Several minutes later, Steve came back down, changed into fresh clothes again. He smiled at you in greeting and if not for the tense set of his shoulders, you would have thought everything was fine. “Hey,” he said, “I just ordered the two of us some food.”

“The two of us?” you asked, looking pointedly at Ransom.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed and the fucking fake look of surprise on his face made you want to scream. “I didn’t realize he was back. Well, I’m sure it’s fine. It’s his house. He’ll be able to scrounge up something.”

“Steve,” you started. Of all the unbelievably rude– 

Your ramp-up to letting your brother have it was cut short by Ransom’s hand on your wrist. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. He looked tired and sad in a way you hated. He looked annoyed too, beyond belief, but underneath all that, you also saw something pleading in his expression. You remembered what he’d said this morning. He wanted you to have a nice day with your brother. So you swallowed down all of your anger and didn’t say anything. But you cataloged everything so you could have a private conversation with Steve later.

“See,” Steve said with a smug grin, “it’s fine. This will be nice. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten to pig out together. I got all your favorites.”

Despite your protests, Ransom made himself scarce. The food arrived shortly after he disappeared and Steve dished it up like nothing was wrong. You sat and ate with him, even though you weren’t much up for conversation, despite his frequent efforts. He never said anything about the news you’d shared that morning. You tried not to be too hurt by that. 

As you were finishing up, Ransom quietly reappeared, grabbing something to drink from the fridge. Before he could run back upstairs, you stopped him, feeling awful that he must feel so unwelcome in his own home. “Do you want some food?” you asked, gesturing to the copious leftovers. “I could make you a plate.”

Not waiting for Ransom’s response, Steve cut in. “Is that how it works around here?” he asked, not of you but Ransom. “You’ve got her waiting on you on hand and foot?” his voice teeming with anger.

“Steve,” you hissed, trying to stop him, but he didn’t notice.

“I mean, I get it,” he continued, and there was a sharp edge to his voice that made you very nervous, “you must have thought you hit the jackpot, huh? Some sweet, naive little thing who's too young to really be plugged into the right part of the prep school rumor mill. Hasn't heard about the designer drugs, or the girls, or the parties. All the trouble your family's had to bail you out of. That's why they had to look clear on the other coast for an arrangement for you, huh? They had to go that far to find anyone who didn't already know what a piece of shit you are–”

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS” you shouted, your stool loudly scraping against the hardwood floor as you stood up. It’d barely been there, you’d barely seen it, the flash of deep hurt on Ransom’s face before he’d covered it up, first with a blank mask, then a sneer that threatened to bring everything down. But you wouldn’t let that happen. You were fucking done. You couldn’t deal with this anymore. “Can you just stop, Steve?! I’m so tired of this shit!” you yelled at him.

“What?” they said in unison, both men facing you now, surprised.

“Lola!” you called out. “Come on! Steve and I are taking you for a walk!” She came racing down the stairs, and you quickly put on her harness and leash. Then you were out the door, trusting that Steve was behind you.

You walked in silence for a few blocks. You could feel him watching you warily, but you didn’t turn around to look at him. You didn’t think you’d ever been so mad at him in your life. It might’ve been the angriest you’d ever been with anyone. Your hands were shaking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you finally seethed, stopping so suddenly that he almost ran into you.

“What?” His obliviousness made you even angrier.

You finally turned on him, your face heating up with rage. “You’re such a fucking asshole! You’re fucking everything up!”

He cowed just a bit at your glare but quickly recovered. “What are you talking about?! I came here to help you!”

“Well, you aren’t! I keep telling you that you aren’t but you never fucking listen to me!”

He recoiled a little, and then his eyes went steely. “Really? I never listen to you? I’m the only one who ever listens to you!”

Even if that were true, there was something about the way he said it that really pissed you off. “Fuck you!” you said and charged forward with Lola running to catch up behind you.

A moment later, Steve was on your heels again. “What is going on with you? You’ve been acting off since I got here.”

You spun on your heels to face him. “I’ve been acting off?! I wonder why! You’ve just barged in here like a bull in a china shop, not caring at all about the damage you’re doing!”

“I’m here to help you. I’ve been defending you!”

“Yeah, now! You’re trying to help me, now!”

“What does that mean?”

“Where have you been, Steve? You’ve been MIA the last three months, and now when things might actually get better, now you’re here to ‘defend’ me.”

“Better? This,” he hissed, flinging an arm towards your stomach, “is better?!”

“We had to do it. There was a clause in the contract. You know that!”

He scoffed. “Yeah, and I'm sure he reminded you of that every chance he got, as he fully took advantage of it.”

If he hadn't already set you off, that would be the thing to do it. “Never! Ok? I was the one who pushed it. I was the one who rushed It. Me. Never him.”

That brought Steve up short. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Because of your aunt!”

For a frustratingly long moment, he just gave you a confused look. Then you finally saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Laura.”

“Yes, Laura! That wasn't going to be me. Not ever.”

“I never would have let that happen!”

The laugh that burst out of you at that was cold, hard. “How?” you asked. “You're always saying shit like that, but what, exactly, would you have done?”

He started to answer, but you cut him off quickly, shaking your head.

“This is my life, Steve. Mine. I’m the one who has to actually live it. I don’t need you judging me for how I choose to survive it.”

“You shouldn't have to just survive it,” he said. His tone had suddenly turned sad. It made you even angrier. 

“I'll be lucky to survive it,” you growled. “You get to just waltz around, forgetting how this world works whenever it's convenient for you. Meanwhile, I have to claw and fight for just the possibility that I might not turn into my mom.” You took a deep breath. “Ransom, at least, can fucking see that. He's stuck in this mess with me, and I think he might actually want to try. You’re not going to ruin that for me just because he insulted you once at a cocktail party or whatever.” You turned on your heels. You were exhausted. You didn't have the energy for any more of this. “I'm going back. You can come if you want. But you better fucking apologize. He didn't deserve that. No matter what he’s done, he didn’t deserve to be treated that way by you.”

Steve was a few minutes behind you getting back to the house, and he did apologize, although through gritted teeth. The whole time, Ransom’s eyes were on you. 

You declared you were going to bed shortly after. It was too early, but you didn't care. You were done with this day.

As you were changing into your sleep clothes, Ransom quietly let himself into his room. You both looked a little startled by your state of undress. Part of you wanted to cover up. It felt so intimate, changing in front of him. But you knew that was silly. He'd already seen so much more of you. 

He just stood there for a long moment before he finally spoke. “You yelled at him for me.”

“Yeah,” you said. “He deserved it.”

“But he's your brother.” He almost seemed confused. 

The absolutely absurd thought And you're my husband popped into your head unbidden, but thankfully you didn't vocalize it. “That doesn't change the fact that he was wrong.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. Just stood there with a furrowed brow. After too much silence you asked softly, “Did I do something wrong?”

He jolted a little, like he’d been somewhere else, then shook his head. “No, sorry, I just–” He took a breath. “Thank you. I’m not used to people doing things like that for me.” 

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You suddenly felt so sad for him. But honestly, the only person who’d ever done anything like this for you had been Steve. And you’d seen Ransom’s family. You knew he’d never had a Steve.

Sparing you from having to figure out a response, Ransom took a deep breath, “Listen,” he started, “about the things he said, I–”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. Sometime, maybe, but not right now.” Nothing about his past would change things for you now. You’d still be married to him either way. It was better to just focus on the man he was showing himself to be now.

Ransom took a long moment and looked at you carefully. Finally, he asked, “Did you yell at him for yourself too?”

You nodded, then added a quiet, “I did.”

“Good,” he said, then started to turn around. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you whispered.

Right before he left the room, he turned back to add one more thing. “I’ve never seen you as naive. Not for a moment in this whole thing.” Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

You just stood there, in the middle of the room, unable to move for a few minutes. Then you took a deep breath and moved into the bathroom. As you finished getting ready for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that maybe you had two people in your corner now.

Your bedroom furniture and other belongings were delivered the next day. The movers set up the heavy furniture and then left everything else to you. As you started to begin unpacking, there was a hesitant knock on the door frame. 

Steve stood just outside your now bedroom, looking far less sure than you were used to. “Would you like some help?” he asked softly. 

“Sure,” you said, with a little shrug, pushing some boxes in his direction.

The two of you mostly worked in silence, only broken by Steve’s occasional questions of where you wanted your things to go. After a while he finally broke, “Dad’s been piling a ton of new stuff on my plate.” You stopped what you were doing and looked at him, listening. “Responsibilities and projects and– He wants me to take on more of being the face of the studio, too, so lots of parties and dinners and stuff. My schedule has been out of control. I’d think he was getting ready to retire if I didn’t actually know him.” He let out a weak chuckle. When you didn’t react, didn’t join him, he put his hands up in defense. “Not an excuse, just–” he shrugged his shoulders a little helplessly and sighed, “just an explanation, I guess.”

“You told me that I could call you any time of day for any reason. That’s what you said. And then I did, and you were nowhere to be found.”

“I know,” he started, “I–”

You shook your head. It was your turn to talk. “I spent months here feeling more alone than I ever have in my life. I’ve had nothing to do, no one to talk to. I was living with someone I thought I needed to be scared of.” You paused, wondering if that would set Steve off, but he just sat there, waiting for you to continue. Like he was really trying to listen this time. “His family’s been so awful to me, his mom especially. And you know my mom's been no help. She just kept telling me to keep him happy, even though I didn't know how. And I didn't know how to talk to him and he didn't know how to talk to me. But I knew the only way I could even start to feel secure here was if we fulfilled every part of the contract. So,” you put your hand on your stomach self-consciously and shook your head. “And the only person I actually wanted to talk to was you, and you wouldn't pick up your fucking phone. It felt like I was just stuck here while you went back to your life and forgot about me.” Tears spilled past your lashes and you hurried to wipe them away.

Steve’s face, which had grown sadder as you'd been talking, completely crumpled. He crawled from his sitting position across the room to you as fast as he could. “Hey, no,” he said emphatically as soon as he was sitting in front of you. “I think about you all the time. I've missed you so much. I've been so worried about you. I know I haven't done a good job showing it. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn't care. I–” He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, they had the distinct shine of unshed tears. “Talking to you was really hard. I felt like you weren’t actually telling me anything.” Before you even opened your mouth, Steve put up a hand to stop you from saying anything. “I'm not saying any of this was your fault. I know it's all mine. But I just didn’t know how to get you to talk to me. And if you wouldn't tell me what was wrong, then I couldn't fix it. I felt so useless. Every time we talked I felt so fucking useless. And so sometimes,” he paused like he was bracing himself, “sometimes it was kind of a relief to have the excuse of being busy. To have a reason to not call or text you back right away. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I was always thinking about you. I was always worried about you. But sometimes I just couldn't fucking talk to you.”

It took your breath away, the intense stab of hurt you felt. “I’ve never needed you to be useful,” you gasped out through your tears. “I just need you to be there for me. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I just need you to be there for me.”

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice so thick. “I know.” He moved forward, then paused, waiting for you to stop him. When you didn’t, he lunged for you, wrapping you in his arms. “I know. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”

You just sat like that, holding each other for several minutes. When you finally pulled apart, Steve blinked his eyes clear and said, “I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, and took a deep breath, “and I forgive you for doing it anyway.”

You watched some of the rigidness leave his shoulders. “Thank you,” he breathed out.

Neither of you said anything, and there was still this tension in the room. You were so tired of it. You just wanted your brother back. You just wanted any normalcy you could possibly get, so you wiped the tears from your eyes and said, “You're right. I wasn't telling you anything. I think because I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't listen past the first two words and then do something completely wild, like fly all the way across the country to punch Ransom in the face. Ridiculous, right?”

He just stared at you in shock and then clocked the wry smile on your face. He laughed despite himself, then rolled his eyes and groaned. “You're sure he didn’t deserve it?”

You pulled a small pillow from the box beside you and threw it at him, annoyed as he dodged it easily. “Yes, I’m sure, you asshole!” You scowled at him, but you couldn’t quite keep the corners of your mouth from ticking up. The whole room felt lighter now, easier to breathe in. It was such a relief.

“I can’t believe you actually like him now,” Steve whined, his whole face scrunched up in disgust.

You shrugged. “I still don’t really know him. But I’m going to try to. We both are, I hope. I don’t know, I think maybe we could be friends, eventually.” You shook your head in disbelief. “That’s a best-case scenario I never really imagined.”

Steve looked at you thoughtfully, and with a hint of playfulness, said, “Well. I’m never going to like him.” His eyes got a little more serious. “But I’m really happy, and so relieved, that things are getting better for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you said softly. Then you both went back to unpacking, conversation ebbing in and out much easier now.

Eventually, you heard him let out a long sigh. You turned to look at him as he carefully pulled something from a box. Oh. It was Mr. Bun Bun, your favorite stuffed animal as a kid. You remembered crying as you packed it away to put into storage, Steve sitting next to you, gently rubbing your back.

He slowly took a few steps to the head of your bed and then reverently placed it against your pillows. He just stared at it for a moment and then looked around at the rest of the room. “Wow,” he said, and he sounded so sad, “I guess you really live here now.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. “I've been here for months.”

“Yeah, I know. But I guess,” he shrugged, “I guess it still sort of felt like you'd be back any day. But all your stuff's here now. It just– It feels final.”

You looked around the room as well. It wasn't exactly like your old room in your old apartment but this was the closest thing you'd had to feeling home in months. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not quite sure what to do with these feelings. “I guess it does.”

Steve sat down on your bed and you immediately joined him. He knocked his knee against yours. “I know I keep saying this, but I really do miss you. It’s so weird to not have you in LA anymore. To go to all these parties and not be able to talk to you there. Or to be able to just drop by your apartment when I need to see you. Or when you need to see me.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “That’s why it’s so important for us to actually keep in touch.”

“I know,” he said, seriously. “I’ll be better at it. I promise.”

You hummed in response and grabbed his hand. Now that everything was out in the open, it was such a relief to just be able to enjoy his closeness, without the tension hanging over both of you.

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and spoke again. “I’m gonna go home tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“You were right. I’m just in the way here. It’s time for me to go.”

“Ok,” you replied, your voice small. You weren’t sure how to feel about that—the last few days had been so hard and so exhausting. But you’d finally gotten your brother back and now he was leaving again? “Are you sure?”

He jostled you with his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently with a smile. “I’ll be back. And I’ll even let you invite me next time.”

You smiled back. “Advanced notice?” you asked. “How novel!”

Steve grabbed one of your pillows and hit you with it. You collapsed into giggles, feeling lighter than you had for a long time.

You spent the rest of the day with your brother, which warmed your soul even more than you thought you needed. 

You took Lola out for a short walk in the evening, while Steve finished gathering his things before the car would come to pick him up. When you came back in, you found Steve and Ransom locked in a serious conversation. They spoke in hushed tones, leaning across the kitchen island to face each other. There was no yelling. No tensing muscles ready for a fight. All the same, it made you very nervous. 

They both quieted as they noticed your presence. That didn’t help to quell your worry at all. “What’s going on here?” 

Steve gave you his trademarked boyish grin. “Just getting to know my brother-in-law.”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously then cast a concerned glance at Ransom, but he waved you off with a reassuring shake of his head. Steve was still grinning at you like everything was fine. He really could be such an asshole. “Sure. OK,” you said, resigned to whatever weird dynamic was happening in front of you. “Are you all ready?”

“Yup,” Steve nodded, gesturing to where his luggage was waiting by the door. “Car should be here any minute.”

You nodded back, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened. He pulled you into a hug quickly. He just held you for a moment before you heard Ransom clear his throat behind you. “I’ll give you two your privacy.”

You pulled away just enough to see Steve look over your shoulder so he could say, “Remember what we talked about.”

You looked over to Ransom who held Steve’s gaze and firmly said, “Yeah, you too,” then went upstairs.

“The fuck was that?” you asked Steve.

“Nothing, just a conversation we needed to have.”

“Steve,” you sighed in exasperation as you separated yourself from him.

He put up his hands in defense. “It’s fine. I’m playing nice. I promise.”

“Sure.”

He took a step back and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s one more thing I need to say to you. I should have done it yesterday when you first–” he shook his head. “My reaction when you told me about the baby was awful, I know that. And I don’t know if ‘congratulations’ is something you want to hear right now, so I just want to say that I’ll be here for you, whatever you need. And I’ll be here for the baby too. OK? I just really needed to say that.”

You searched his face, his eyes for anything that might warn you that his words were empty, but all you found was sincerity. You took a deep breath. “All I need is for you to pick up your phone.”

“I know,” he nodded quickly. “I will.”

You were so torn between the exhaustion and frustration of the last few days and just how much you'd missed your brother. You pulled him into another hug. “You’re such a jerk,” you said with a hint of fondness.

“I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“And I love you so much.”

You felt him exhale, any remaining uneasiness bleeding out of him. “I know. I love you too.”

His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. “Your car is here,” you said sadly, pulling away.

“Hey, that’s ok. It’s not like they’ll leave without me.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you should go. You don’t want to get home too late.”

“Oh, chipmunk,” he sighed. “Ok, one more,” then hugged you again. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled back to look him in the eye. “What for?”

He took a moment to gather his words. Finally, he said, looking you right in the eye, “For being so much stronger than you should have to be.”

You had no idea what to say to that so you walked over to the door, Steve right behind you. 

At the door, he put one hand on his suitcase, and with the other, he grabbed your hand. “I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”

You nodded, searching for something to say. “Uh, thanks for coming.”

That elicited a big hearty laugh from him. “Yeah, sure.” He squeezed your hand. “Take good care of yourself.”

“You too,” you said, opening the door for him.

He gave you a big smile before he walked out the door. You watched the driver take Steve’s suitcase from him and open the back door for Steve to get in. You stayed in the doorway until the car slowly backed down the driveway and turned onto the road. After closing the door, you still stayed where you were, trying to breathe through the flood of emotions overtaking you. You already missed him so much, yet you were so relieved he was gone. What were you supposed to do with that?

You were finally jolted out of your reverie by the sound of Ransom coming down the stairs, the tinkling of Lola’s collar accompanying him. “Steve’s gone?” he asked as he came off the last step. 

When you nodded, you saw the way his shoulders slumped in relief. You held back the apology desperate to crawl out of your mouth. Steve’s actions weren’t your responsibility, you tried so hard to remember. But still, Ransom had lost the comfort of his own home for days. The guilt was there.

He got himself a water out of the fridge and then looked at you carefully. “How are you?”

The reflex to tell him you were fine was strong, but you did your best to resist it and answered honestly. “I don’t really know.”

He smiled a little ruefully. “I have no idea what’s normal for siblings.”

You chuckled lightly. “Neither do I.”

He took several steps towards you and you couldn’t help the way your body swayed in his direction, just a little. “But you’re alright?’

You nodded and said softly, “I will be.”

“Good.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the way the fingers on one of his hands drummed against his thigh. “Well. I just wanted to check on you before I went to bed.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, strangely aware of the space between you. “I appreciate it. It was a weird few days, but I think I’m ok. Or I will be.”

“Yeah. Good,” he said again. 

You both just stood there for a moment, the air around you oddly charged, until Lola pawed at your leg. “Right. Well, she needs to go out. So. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, then turned toward the sink as you went outside with Lola.

When you got back in, there was no sign of Ransom, so you led Lola upstairs to your new bedroom. She immediately hopped onto your bed, wagging her tail wildly. As you looked around, all of your things almost as they’d been in your apartment in LA, those feelings you felt while unpacking your things with Steve grew in you even more. You smiled at your little dog. “Yeah, feels almost like home, doesn’t it, Lola?”

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[isagispuzzle]

EMMMAAA CONGRATS ON 200!! I love reading the scenarios u post :3. For my req, I think my most fav trope(s) ever are misunderstandings, soul mates or the amnesia one hehehe, u can just pick one ! again congrats 🫶

HEHE THANKYOUU the amnesia trope is so fun to write, idk how i completely forgot it exists HAHAH thank you for reminding me of it!! anyway i'm really hoping you don't mind angst bc this was too irresistible to write

you wake up in a bed that's not your own. you recognise the pristine white walls and the lingering smell of rubbing alcohol in the air, and you know you're in the hospital.

the memories rush back. you were filming your newest action movie, and your wire snapped mid-jump. you remember falling, you remember the fear solidifying in your veins, and you remember thinking about him.

the door opens and sae walks in. his eyes widen the moment he sees you're awake, and the next thing you know, he's leaning over you with a hand carefully pushing your hair out of your face. he quietly asks you how you feel, in a voice so soft and tender, while his eyes turn glassy. he cups your cheek and squeezes your shoulder, the uninjured one, and you freeze.

you know he's the one you thought about right before you hit the ground, you remember every eyelash and every line on his lips, but you know you're forgetting something.

sae, ever so attuned to your every emotion, pulls away. the vulnerability drains from his eyes and he stares down at you from his full height. you look back at him, and you know that he's already read you like a book.

the doctor diagnoses you with selective retrograde amnesia as a result of trauma to your head. while most of your memories are intact, you can't remember much about your relationship with sae. the doctor assures both of you that your memories will return as you recover, and to help, you can revisit important or meaningful places.

sae brings you to your shared apartment after your discharge from the hospital. you remember picking out every piece of decor with sae, you remember assembling the shelf with him, and you remember falling asleep on the couch while waiting for him to come home. he brings you to the sushi bar you two always visit, and the beach where he confessed his feelings to you, and the hotel you're going to have your wedding at. you remember hiding from the paparazzi on your first date, you remember telling sae to wait till after your movie premier to hold the ceremony, and you remember going for cake tasting sessions alone, because sae was in spain and he didn't care what flavour the cake is.

you look up articles about you and sae to jog your memory too. countless tabloids have covered the two of you over the course of your relationship, teasing that you're the only one who can melt itoshi sae's icy heart and speculating that you're engaged after seeing a ring on your hand during a table read. you see comments online praising the picture-perfect relationship between you, an up-and-coming actress, and sae, the pride of japan's football. hell, you even scroll far enough to see fan edits of the two of you in hopes of remembering the rhythm your heart used to pound around him.

months pass and the day of your wedding marches closer. you remember all the details of your relationship with sae, you remember how much sae and everyone around him cares for you, and you remember how much you loved him before the accident.

you look at him across the dinner table and you know that he is your fiance, the man you're promising to spend forever with, the man you're supposed to love. you know and remember all this, but you don't feel it.

sae looks back at you, and you know that once again, despite your perfect line delivery and method acting, he's already read you like a book.

[moonlightfoxx]

Maggie!! Ive been reading every chance I get! But I haven’t reblogged or commented and for that I am so sorry!

So basically, I’m in love with this story as I am with all of your stories. This has been the most wildest of rides and I am here for it!!

Soooooooooooooo I feel like Jace only wanted some parts of Red….he didn’t understand all of who she is….I think he tried to convince himself he loved all of her but idk I was kinda shocked when he told her he loved her after their wedding night bc how could he? He doesn’t know all of Red and I don’t think he wanted to. I think he loved the parts she showed him but if she were to show him all of the pieces that she had kept hidden and locked away while at Heart’s Home he wouldn’t have loved her. I think he may have loved the idea of her more than anything.

Now Aemond knows Red. I don’t think he realized how much she needed to hear him say that he loved her but I think he was insecure about being emotionally vulnerable (not me an avid Aemond lover giving him excuses).

I want Red to claim the Cannibal SO BAD!!!!!! It’s all consuming at this point. I had a feeling she was going to linked to the Cannibal in the beginning and I’ve been HOPING that she would eventually. BUT OMG I SWEAR OF SHE DOESNT SAVE AEMOND IM GOING TO DIEEEEEE (but it’s okay bc you’re pretty much the only writer allowed to hurt my feelings 😂).

Anyways I LOVE IT ALL MAGGIE!!! Thank you for sharing!!! I cannot WAIT for the next chapter!

Cannibals [Chapter 8: Magma and Sky]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), grief and torment, a fun field trip to a volcanic rock, Red and Aemond have a very honest conversation, enjoy our special guest stars!!! 😉🔮🐍

Word count: 5.1k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

“I was with somebody else.”

You startle and look up to see Aemond standing under the arch of the arbor grown over with a quilt of red roses, twisted and thorny and thick enough to drape you in shadows. You are sitting cross-legged on the stone bench and reading a book about all the known varieties of bats; Helaena found it for you in some dusty, ill-lit corner of the library when she was searching for texts concerning insects. It is still the waning days of summer in King’s Landing, and Viserys is the king, and thin threads of sunlight like golden strands of a spider’s web fall down through gaps in the arbor. Last night was the first time Aemond touched you like more than a brother, claimed you, transfixed you, and you are already alight with the lust-red craving to do it again.

Here, now, in the garden of the Red Keep, Aemond won’t meet your eyes. Instead, he stares fixedly into the contorted nest of roses, wild green punctuated with blooms of crimson like blood or rubies or glowing embers. You have no idea what he means. You reply after a moment, closing your book: “With somebody…?”

“Before,” Aemond says, like it takes great effort. He is still not looking at you. “Years ago. It wasn’t my intention for that to happen, I didn’t plan it, I didn’t ask for it…but I didn’t stop it either.” His reticent blue gaze drops to the cobblestones. His voice is very soft, barely audible. “In a brothel…there was…”

Now you understand. “I know, Aemond.”

His attention jolts back to you, a fracture set, a lightning strike. “You do?”

“Aegon told me. He felt badly about it afterwards, he thought he shouldn’t have done it, but he…” You gesture as if you holding a goblet of wine, and Aemond nods. He was drunk, he was reckless, he mistook it for a favor. But he was wrong.

“You will benefit from what I’ve learned,” Aemond says, as if still trying to convince you not to be appalled or angry. In truth, you are neither. “I hope that is some comfort to you.”

“I don’t find comfort in anything that causes you pain,” you reply honestly, tenderly. A warm breeze blows in off the sea, tasting like salt and rustling the roses and the leaves. This morning you tucked a single flower into your braid, a blue forget-me-not. Now you touch it self-consciously. “Do you mind that I’m so unpracticed?”

Aemond seems to find the notion ludicrous. “No. No, of course not.”

“But you’ll have to teach me everything.”

“That’s how I want it to be. I’m of the belief that if two people wish to be together, there should be no other parties involved. I had meant to be pure for you. I’m sorry I’m not. It is a regret of mine that I carry always. It is a failing.”

You shake your head, sensing his distress as if it is your own: a gnawing anxiety, a sickening drop in your belly. “It wasn’t your fault, Aemond.”

“So I am forgiven?”

“I never considered it to be a transgression.”

“Oh. Good.” His mood lifts; there is a phantom of a smile on his lips and a lightness in his stride as he takes a taunting step towards the stone bench where you sit. “And how do you feel? After what happened last night before dinner?”

And you grin with glinting eyes as you answer, setting your book aside: “Still hungry.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven days on a ship, and you don’t speak to Aemond once.

The weather is bad, grey and windy, sometimes snow, sometimes sleet, sometimes hail that pelts the wooden deck, and the vessel rocks in bleak violent waves. Aemond had arranged for the ship to meet him near Heart’s Home, where the glacial mountain river flows into the Narrow Sea, where you used to collect seashells to shatter and rearrange into the faces of the people you left in your old life. He had known you would not be able to travel by dragon. And so now Vhagar flies somewhere out there in the cold iron-colored sky and Aemond stalks below deck, haunting your doorway, painting the walls with his shadow.

A maester prods your ribs and says some are fractured but they will heal with rest and time. He gives you tastes of milk of the poppy—just enough to sand the edges off the pain so you can sleep—and compliments the cleanness of your scar. Two maids bring you meals and help you dress, wash the soot and blood from your skin, comb your hair. But Aemond does not touch you. He tries once as the maester is examining you, and you look at him with hatred that is primal and infernal and black like volcanic glass, and he snatches his hands away and makes no further attempts. But he watches you, and he waits, and he tries to piece the truth together. You can feel the bewildered turmoil in him. The ricochets of it echo in the mausoleum of your skull.

When you are awake, you stare at the ceiling or at the floor. When you are asleep, you dream of Jace and Luca. They turn to torrents of blood in your arms, or crumble into ash, or are buried in the earth and you are digging for them with your bare hands. You dream that you are locked in a closet or a trunk and no one ever comes to let you out. You dream that you are at the bottom of the ocean in cages of leviathan skeletons, dragons that lived and died before Vermax or Dreamfyre, before Meraxes, before Balerion the Black Dread, before any of the beasts that perished in the Doom of Valyria. You dream that Helaena is falling from the sky and you cannot catch her, cannot save her. You dream that Mother is telling you that you’ve failed.

Then you wake one dreary morning and hear the sailors shouting that land is in sight, and you climb up out of the depths of the ship and stagger to the bow, hooking your fingers into the rigging to steady yourself as the ship pitches and reels in rough surf. Aemond is standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, his black coat drenched with rain and sea spray, his scarred face far away, miles away, years away. Out of the mist rise the dark jagged walls of the castle that sits atop the island of Dragonstone, where Aegon the Conqueror once plotted his invasion of Westeros.

You ask: “What did you do with him?”

Aemond whirls, stunned that you have spoken at last. His silver hair, half-tied back, hangs in long dripping waves. Your own blows wildly around you. “What did you say?”

“The baby. His body. You took him away from me. What did you do with him?”

“He was burned as a Targaryen.” Aemond’s voice goes quiet, gentle. “Not because Jace was one, but because you are. His ashes were cast into the sea.”

Aemond waits for you to respond. You don’t, you can’t. You close your eyes and see Luca swaddled in one of his blankets; you feel Jace’s dark curls threading through your fingers.

Aemond reaches tentatively for your arm. “Red, I…I didn’t…I never would have…”

You turn away from him and walk from the bow to the stern—your cracked ribs aching, the maids fluttering around you and chastising your sodden ink-colored dress, saying you will catch a chill and die, and if you did you wouldn’t care—and you wait there for the ship to dock.

When you step onto Dragonstone, it’s the first time you’ve returned to the island since you were a child and you tried to claim Vermithor. You don’t understand why Aemond has brought you here, and you don’t ask. You follow the pathway up towards the castle as Aemond trails silently after you like a shadow. Behind him, the maester and your new maids trudge begrudgingly up the countless stone steps and shudder when they hear the distant snarls of the beasts that have lairs here. Cold frothing waves thrash against the shoreline. Gulls circle high overhead, squawking mournfully. Magma flows beneath the black-glass rock; you can feel the radiating heat of it, scorching blood in the arteries of the earth.

Just inside the castle, someone is waiting for you. And it is the first time you’ve truly been roused since Aemond and Vhagar descended upon Heart’s Home.

“Aegon!” you shout, and he rushes to you as swiftly as he can, his walking stick tapping against the floor, his muscles straining beneath knots of scar tissue, his chipped teeth flashing white when he beams. He embraces you like a drowning man grappling for a piece of driftwood in the currents, almost knocking you off-balance. He is laughing, he is smacking graceless kisses onto your cheeks, he is marveling at your face to make sure you’re real.

“You’re alive!” he says, cackling triumphantly. “All this time we had no idea where they’d hidden you, we thought we’d never see you again, but here you are and you’re alive—”

“She’s hurt,” Aemond tells him severely. “Stop yanking her around.”

Aegon furrows his scarred forehead as he checks you for injuries. “Are you really?”

“A few broken ribs. They’ll heal.” Your fingertips go to his mangled cheeks and scalp, to what you can see of his chest. You’ve never witnessed wounds this bad on someone who lived. “Your burns…”

“They felt even worse than they look, if you can believe it. But I’m still here.”

Not all of us are. “Helaena…”

“We heard,” he says, tears glistening in his large ocean-blue eyes. He holds you one more time, more gingerly now. “And those butchers will die for it. All of them. The Bitch Queen and her aged uncle-husband and her idiot children too.” He steps back from you and looks to Aemond. “Our spies have brought word from the mainland. The people of King’s Landing are in open rebellion, they blame Rhaenyra for Helaena’s death. If they can get into the Red Keep, they’ll murder her and free Mother. The Hightower army will soon cross the Blackwater Rush.”

“Daeron knows to wait?” Aemond replies.

“A raven has been sent. I can’t say if he’ll listen.”

“He’d better. Tessarion may have proven herself quick and ferocious, but she is small. She must not fly against Silverwing and Syrax alone.”

“I told him!” Aegon says, exasperated. He means: What else can I do about it? He is still clutching his stick and leaning heavily upon it. He can’t fight as a soldier; he can barely even walk. “So what happened at Heart’s Home? Were the bastard and Vermax there? Did you kill him? Did he beg for you to spare his life, did he weep for the memory of poor pathetic little Luke Strong?”

Aemond doesn’t respond. He winces instead, then shakes his head like he’s telling Aegon to stop talking. You look down at the stone floor, and in the relentless grey gloom of the castle, the island, you feel the white-hot searing of grief and fury in your throat, and if you were a dragon it would not be invisible but a fire that consumes flesh all the way down to its bones.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon asks Aemond, alarmed. “What did you do?”

There are echoing footsteps on the stone staircase, and you are startled to see a woman descending. You’ve never met her before, and you would know if you had; her skin is like moonlight and her pale eyes wide and staring. Black hair hangs to her waist, and it makes you think of swaying branches of a willow tree, or strands of seaweed washing up on the beach outside the Red Keep, or feathers of ravens. She wears a velvet gown the color of moss. Her belly is rounded, just beginning to show. She rests a little white paw of a hand on it and studies you curiously, tilting her head. She is four or five months pregnant.

You gape at her, then turn to Aemond and Aegon, both of whom have averted their eyes. “Whose child is that?”

No one answers you. Instead, Aemond says to the woman briskly: “Your insights were accurate. You will be rewarded accordingly. At the conclusion of the war, you will take up residence at Harrenhal. Until then, you will make yourself scarce here.”

She curtseys; it is a strange, awkward motion, angles in all the wrong places. “Yes, my prince.” But she hesitates before leaving, still watching you. As she strokes the arc of her belly, things kindle in her coin-silver eyes like embers exposed to air: fascination, envy, a vague vicarious fondness. You stare back, thunderstruck. Her long fingernails are filthy with soil or ash.

Whose child? Aemond’s?

You cannot ignore a sharp, nauseous lurch in your own belly, a place where no life grows. Beside you, Aemond is palpably uneasy. You can feel it sweating out of his pores, you can hear it in the sick thudding pulse of his bloodstream. You are reminded of a confession he once brought to you in the garden of the Red Keep as you sat under the shadow of an arbor of scarlet roses.

“Back to the kitchen, witch,” Aegon flings at the woman. “Or the garden, or the cliffsides, or wherever you were haunting before your intrusion.”

She points a talon-like fingernail at you as she begins to ascend the steps. “She is here, but is she yours again?”

“Out!” Aegon barks, and when she has vanished he sighs wearily, as if this is a recurring inconvenience.

You look at Aemond, repulsed, bewildered, betrayed. He says: “Come with me and I’ll explain.”

For a moment, you do not acquiesce. You only glare savagely at him, and if this was before he left King’s Landing a year ago—before Rook’s Rest, before Rhaenyra seized the city and imprisoned you, before Heart’s Home, before your marriage to Jace, before Luca—Aemond would grab you and drag you to wherever he wanted you to be, and he would know that when you fought him you didn’t mean it. But he doesn’t touch you now.

Instead he implores you in a hushed voice: “Please.” And you follow him out of the grey and into the flickering amber light of the Chamber of the Painted Table, where a sweltering hearth crackles and candles burn down into pools of white wax. Westeros is illuminated by fire, like all the places Aemond has burned over the past year. There are chairs positioned around the table. You sit by the Vale; Aemond takes his place across from you near the Reach, where the Hightowers hail from, where your youngest brother Daeron has spent the war waging his battles and torching his enemies. A maid brings two goblets of red wine. You can’t drink it, just like Helaena couldn’t eat blackberry jam after Jaehaerys was beheaded in front of her. Aemond watches you push the cup away and then tells the maid to bring cider instead. You wait without speaking, the only sounds the splitting of wood in the fire and the rumble of the ocean outside and the distant growls of dragons. When the maid reappears with cider, it is a cloudy goldish color and hot and tastes of fermented apples. You sip it listlessly. The maid departs and closes the door behind her.

“It was an exchange,” Aemond says.

“An exchange?”

“Her name is Alys Rivers, she is a bastard of House Strong. I found her working in the kitchen when I took Harrenhal. She is an enchantress, she has some magic to her, just like we do. She said she might be able to help me find you. But she needed something in return. A son, a child built of our ancient Valyrian blood. An heir, a castle, a future. And since Aegon has been rendered impotent by his injuries, and Daeron is far away in the Reach and still a boy himself…”

“You lied with her?”

“Well, I’ve done it before,” Aemond says. And then, when you don’t immediately grasp what he means: “Been with a woman who wasn’t of my choosing.” He draws invisible paths on the Painted Table with his fingerprints. Firelight ripples across his face: a downcast eye, a scar to match the one that cuts down from your left collarbone. “She scoured the woods surrounding the Gods Eye for herbs, and feathers and bones, and all manner of strange talismans. She tried for months to conjure a vision. Then one day she saw it in the flames of the hearth: three black ravens, three red hearts. The sigil of House Corbray of Heart’s Home.”

“And for her services you promised her Harrenhal.”

Aemond nods. “She and her descendants will rule it as House Whent.”

“A new noble house?” you mock bitterly. “And what will its banners be? A burning castle? The charred skeletons of its murdered inhabitants?”

“No,” Aemond says quietly. “Bats.”

You look at him. His blue eye flicks up to your face again, to your black mourning gown—you will wear no other colors—and your unbraided silver hair that drips with rain and seawater.

Aemond asks after a while: “Do you like wearing your hair that way now?”

Distractedly, you touch the damp silver tresses that are unbound, soft and feminine and weak. “Jace told me I wasn’t a warrior. He wanted me to look like a lady.”

“You were wed to him,” Aemond says as if he still cannot comprehend it.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon after Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. It was Mother’s proposal. She convinced Rhaenyra to agree to it.”

Aemond is lost. “Why? He was a bastard, a traitor.”

You flinch. “Mother thought it would encourage the Blacks to spare us if they won the war. Rhaenyra thought it would give her heir legitimacy. Neither Jace nor I wanted the match.”

“But now you…you miss him? You mourn for him?”

“We grew accustomed to each other. There was true affection, there was warmth.”

“Did he…were you…?” Aemond cannot decide how to say it, or perhaps he just can’t bring himself to. You can tell—from the way his gaze drops from your face to your body, a mystery cloaked in soaked black velvet—that he is thinking of your wedding night, something you were supposed to share, something you spoke of often with desperate, willful, blazing yearning. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not purposefully.”

There is a flare of wrath. “It needn’t have hurt at all.”

“Why did you come after me?” you ask, and your voice breaks and tears spill down your cheeks, and your ribs throb and your throat is full of fire like a dragon’s. “Why did you kill all those people in the Riverlands, why did you burn Heart’s Home, why couldn’t you just…just…just leave me there?” Luca and Jace would still be alive. Lady Caro would still be alive. Tens of thousands of people wouldn’t have burned or starved.

Aemond is incredulous. His voice grows louder; firelight engulfs him like he is drowning in a lake of it. “I swore I would find you if you were ever taken away.”

“I waited for you. I wondered where you were. I stood in the rookery and stared out into the Mountains of the Moon and agonized over why you couldn’t hear me or see me, why you didn’t arrive on Vhagar to save me, but you never came, and so I tried to forget the promises we made to each other because I believed you’d forgotten me—”

“I never forgot you.”

“But I was different!” you sob, bolting to your feet, pressing a palm to the glow of the Painted Table. “With Jace, I was different! I learned to be his wife, I learned to be a mother, and I was fine there, I was safe and I was happy and you destroyed my life!”

“I could feel that you were in pain,” Aemond is saying as he stands and rounds the table to meet you. “It was months ago, it must have been when you…when you were in labor…physically, I could feel it, I thought they were torturing you, I thought you were dying, and how would I know anything else if all I’d been told was that you were stolen by the enemy? You think Daemon is above depravity? You think it’s so unreasonable that I believed you to be in peril?!”

“You were reckless and cruel,” you seethe, shoving him away. “You always are. You’re always killing people.”

“When I flew over Heart’s Home, I knew you were in the forest. I saw the trees through your eyes. I thought I was freeing you, I never anticipated that you would return to the castle. I didn’t know you cared for the lives of anyone inside.”

“You should have left me there,” you choke out through tears.

Aemond tries to take your hands, and again you strike him hard, meaning it, hating him. “I would never have abandoned you,” he says.

“Why not?!” you scream at him. “Because you believe you possess me like a sword or a jewel, because it is sacrilege to let another man touch me?!”

Aemond is shaking his head. “It’s more than that. You know it is.”

You scoff at him, vengeful cynical disbelief. “In eighteen years, you never once told me you loved me—”

He seizes your wrist, drags you to him, cradles your face with his left hand and skates his thumbprint over the crest of your cheekbone. “I have loved you forever,” he says. “And if I didn’t express that in a way you understood then it was my mistake, and I’m sorry, and I’d do anything to change it. I thought you knew. I thought we both knew that…that…” Aemond’s lone eye gleams desperately; he is pleading for you to hear him. “Do you have any idea what this past year has been like for me? It was hell. Aegon almost died at Rook’s Rest and I brought him back but I was alone, I had Criston and maesters and soldiers but I was still alone because Aegon was unconscious and you weren’t there, and neither were Helaena or Daeron. Then King’s Landing fell to Rhaenyra and there was nothing I could do about it until I was sure Aegon would live, and when I learned you’d been taken away…I set the realm ablaze, I waded through an ocean of blood, and I did it because I swore that I would find you and bring you home. And now I have but you…you…you don’t even recognize me. It’s like you don’t remember what we were. Only I carry it now, I’m cursed by it, I’m consumed by it.”

You break away from him and Aemond lets you go, but he follows you around the Painted Table, shadowing you, chasing you. You pitch at him: “You were always so rough with me.”

“Because you wanted it that way and I did too, we craved it, we needed it, we’re the same.”

“You liked that I didn’t have a dragon of my own, you aspired for me to be helpless—”

“No I didn’t,” Aemond insists. “I tried to help you claim Vermithor, right here on this fucking island I risked my life when we were children to pursue him with you. And he did not yield but I wasn’t to blame for it. I cannot give you a dragon. You have to bond with one yourself.”

You glower at him, swiping tears from your streaming eyes. “You hardly ever spoke of dragons to me.”

“Because I knew it pained you! Because I have felt the agony of being a Targaryen without a dragon and I didn’t want to remind you of it!”

“You should have left me with Jace at Heart’s Home,” you moan, collapsing into a chair and weeping into your open palms. “I would still have my son. I would still have my family.”

Across the table, Aemond slams his fists against the wood. “Jace could never fathom who you really are. It’s impossible. He wasn’t like us, he’s wasn’t one of us. We are Aegon and Visenya, we are Baelon and Alyssa. Jace wasn’t a Valyrian. He was a Strong, and part of you would have needed to die to live with him.”

You stare desolately down at the Painted Table, glowing golden lines in the shape of the Vale. “Jace hated that I loved you. You hate that I loved him. I’m always at fault, and yet my crimes are so harmless.”

Aemond is staggered; he is heartbroken. “You loved him?”

I told him I did. “I felt something for him. I grew to miss him in his absence. I desired him when he returned.”

Aemond goes to the hearth, rests one hand on the stone mantle, and gazes into the flames. You can feel it like an echo, like a reverberating tremor in the earth: he is broken. You cannot summon compassion for him. Each time you begin to, you feel the still lifeless weight of Luca in your arms. After a long time, Aemond speaks. “I have to return to the Riverlands. I can’t leave Criston unprotected. Daemon and the Northmen will meet our armies in battle soon. Vhagar and I have to be there. If I can kill Caraxes, I think this will be over.”

You turn to him, dimly startled. “You’re going now?”

“I have to make the world safe for us and our family. Even if I’m not here anymore.” Aemond studies you, afraid to ask the question that burns in his throat. “Do you…” He breathes deeply, salt and misery and smoke from the fire. “Do you still want our side to win?”

“I hate what we’ve done to each other. All of us.” The dead innocents, the destruction of our house, the extinction of our dragons. “And you murdering Luke started it.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees softly. He crosses the room and stalls in the doorway, looking back at you. He waits for you to say that you will miss him, or that if he returns there might yet be a future for the two of you, or that you will be distraught if he is killed in combat, or that you love him.

As the fire pops and crackles, you shrink into your wet black mourning clothes and say nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sprawled across the volcanic-rock throne in the nightscape gloom of the Great Hall of Dragonstone, Aegon gulps cider until his pain vanishes and his mind is a dull sloshing sea. You are slumped on the steps beside the throne and drinking with him. Neither of you speak it aloud, but it stands in the room like a ghost: you have both held a dead son in your arms, you have both lost a husband or a wife to this war. Torches burn along the walls. Outside, rain pours and the dragons creep and snarl. Sunfyre is here too, Aegon has told you. He can’t fly yet—perhaps he never will again—but he is alive and hostilely defends the cave where he dwells from the other creatures of the island: Grey Ghost, Vermithor, the Cannibal.

The Blacks believe Dragonstone to be abandoned, and in any event they are too preoccupied with their myriad of troubles in the Riverlands and King’s Landing to take it upon themselves to investigate, and so you are safe for the time being. You get drunk in the home of your ancestors, the Valyrians who carved out a stark, grim existence here, who dreamed of greatness, who despite all their magic failed to foretell their ruin.

“Do you know what he asked Sylvi?” Aegon slurs. “The woman from the brothel. Not the very first time, the first time…” Aegon smiles nostalgically. “Well, it’s like your first time riding a dragon. It takes you away and you’re just…” His hand flows in the shape of a wave. “Holding on. Mesmerized by it.”

“Sure,” you say, remembering not your wedding night with Jace but the evening when Aemond dragged you halfway out of the chair by your vanity and licked you, swallowed you, devoured you until you could not help but cry out, and you sank to the floor with your heartbeat thudding in your ears and Aemond lying beside you, smoothing back your hair from your burning face.

“Aemond only went to Sylvi a few more times after that. But she told me what his requests were when I inquired.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “He wanted to know how to make it good for a maiden. And who do you imagine he was thinking of?”

You don’t reply. You guzzle your cider instead. You want all of your bones to stop aching: your ribs, your skull, every place that Aemond ever touched you. You feel a strange smoldering inside, like all your bone marrow has been quarried and replaced with embers, pulsing, glowing. You feel something dangerous and primordial drawing closer.

“He never would have hurt you intentionally,” Aegon says gently, clumsily petting your loose silver hair as if you are one of the hundred cats Grandsire brought to the Red Keep after Jaehaerys was slain. “He worships you. He always has.”

“I can’t forget what he did.”

“Can you forgive yourself for letting him leave that way? If he dies thinking that you hate him?”

You swallow a mouthful of cider, hot and intoxicating. The room spins. Lightning flashes outside. “Maybe I do.”

“No, you don’t hate him,” Aegon says rather wistfully, with the solemn surety of drunks.

Alys Rivers wanders into the Great Hall, the train of her dark green gown whispering over the stone floor. Aegon scowls at her. She stops at one of the misted glass windows and gazes out into the storm.

“He flies to his death,” Alys murmurs sorrowfully, as if she wishes she could change it.

Aegon groans. “Shut up, witch.”

“Above the Gods Eye, the red and the blue, tangled threads cut by fate—”

“Be gone!” Aegon shouts and hurls his goblet of cider at her. It misses, strikes the wall, clatters to the floor and spills its contents in a puddle. Alys does not seem to notice. You sit upright on the steps by Aegon’s throne, watching her.

“He flies to his death,” she repeats, melodically like a chant or a spell. “Unless, unless…”

Alys looks at you, then turns to peer through the window again. Outside in the darkness, a monstrous beast growls, not Sunfyre or Grey Ghost or Vermithor.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 3

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Just the wine, thanks,” you tap your card on the edge of the lane counter mindlessly. The cashier rings through your single bottle and sends it down the next conveyor. You tap and the machine chirps. “Have a good day.” 

You take your receipt as the woman on the other side of the counter greets her next customer. You do your best to make yourself as little as a nuisance as you can when you switch roles. It saves everyone a whole lot of trouble. 

You go to grab your wine but it’s plucked up beyond your grasp. You keep your arm outstretched before you recoil it, staring at the stranger as he reads the label. You swallow and take a breath. You don’t have a window between you or a security button on a desk. It’s different when you’re out in the world. More dangerous, less orderly. 

“Excuse me, may I have my wine?” You ask flatly. 

The man clucks and tilts his head to look at you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and smirks, turning to face you completely. He keeps the wine in his hand. His bristly mustache slants in amusement. 

“Let’s try again. ‘Mr. Hansen, may I have my wine?’” He outlines the words with a flutter of fingers. 

You squint and shake your head. “Do I know you?” 

His lips part as he stammers, “uh, yeah? You—from the bank—Jesus. Doesn’t matter.” 

You nod warily and reach for the bottle. You wrap your hand around the narrow neck but he refuses to let go. Instead, he steps back, drawing you with him as the next customer comes down the lane. You cling to your middle shelf purchase. 

“I know you fucking remember me. You’re just trying to piss me off because Ronnie isn’t here to lay down the law. Trust me, I can do it myself, sweat pea.” 

He glares down at you. He sure has a lot of anger. You’re not entirely sure what you did to him. Working with peoples’ money is not easy, for either party. It’s such a sensitive subject as it is. Still, you don’t remember doing anything so egregious as to earn the spite creasing between his brows. 

“Alright,” you pull on the bottle again. “I just... I can’t remember. Honest.” 

He grips the bottle even tight. His large hand easily clings to the full belly. You sigh and let go. 

“Fine, it’s cheap wine anyway,” you shrug. You’re growing uneasy with this man. Not only is he aggressive but he’s much bigger than you. 

You let go and spin, striding away as you shake of your disappointment and the trickle of nerves. As the automatic door slides open at your approach, you hear a pursuit. You’re not sure if it’s him but you refuse to look back. You only speed up. 

“Hey, I don’t want your fucking wine,” he catches up to you as you come outside. 

You don’t stop. You step off the curb and keep your head straight. You deal with the erratic passengers on the subway, you can handle some stuck-up jerk made about a bank fee. 

“Would you stop? Hey, I’m trying to have a conversation here,” he huffs. You keep going. “Hey!” He grabs your arm and reels you back to face him, standing just behind a parked car. “Do I need to show my ID to have a fucking chat?” 

You blink at him and scour your mind. Mustache, demanding, intolerable. You think you remember now. He’s the one who refuse to show his ID. You glance back at the grocery marquee and your lips thin. As a black card holder, you don’t expect him to be shopping at a bargain grocery. 

“Can I help you?” You face him. 

His cheek twitches, “relax, darling, we’re not at the fucking bank.” 

You consider him, eyes darting as you search for some sense in all of this, “uh huh. So...” 

“Do you just not turn it off or are you really a bitch?” He sneers. 

You shrug, “guess I'm a bitch.” 

You look at his hand on your arm and yank away. You once more turn to strut off and he snorts. Once more, he has your wrist but you try to ignore him. Try to snatch it free as you refuse to turn back. He’s too strong. 

For as long as you’ve had the canister in your purse, you don’t relish using it. You wonder if it’s expired. You reach into your open purse, dangling by your hip and turn. Before can speak, you raise the nozzle at him and press down. The coyote spray scours his eyes and he recoils. 

The bottle of wine smashes at his feet and the staggers, stomping as he wipes his eyes desperately. He whines and wheezes, coughing through the cloud of spray. You back up to keep free of it. You allow a single second to mourn the pinot then scurry away. His anguished moans fade away as you dip around another car. 

You head down to the subway and wait on the ramp, looking back and forth over your shoulders. You’re certain he didn’t follow you, that he couldn’t see enough to do so, but still, you’re addled. The city isn’t the place to take chances. 

All you wanted was a drink or too. You planned on nursing that bottle over a few nights. The bank’s been so hectic, just the thought of getting up to go back has been keeping you awake. Well, a few chapters of your latest read will put you to sleep. 

You board and find a seat near the doors. You make yourself as small as you can as you hug your purse. You’re agitated. You can smell the spray on your fingers. What an asshole. He didn’t just waste your wine, he ruined your night. 

[tthoroughfare]

kerosene (part 3) // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the one where it's her birthday.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw. joel likes dad rock (of course) and so do you! (a little)

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 0.5k

this is part three of this series! find part one here

fun fact the stereophonics reference in this is all my dad's fault! when i was 13 we went on a roadtrip together and the only CD in his car was the graffiti on a train album because he forgot to bring any other music, so we just listened to it over and over. i was listening to that album for the first time as an adult around the same time i wrote this and just thought it was very joel and ellie of us... maybe she'd appreciate it. idk. anyway

after that, you get a lot closer again. even more so than before — although, it’s rare that you’re actually alone. you’re not sure if you’re thankful for it, or hate it. you tend to pass your time with jesse and dina, the foursome that temporarily drifted back in full swing.

it’s a lot of hanging out aimlessly, listening to music, watching movies — you spend most of your free time together, and it’s nice. you feel grateful for the friends you have, that in this fucked up world you ended up in relative safety, surrounded by people you genuinely get along with.

however, it also complicates things. while you love that you and ellie are closer than ever, you hate how much it makes your feelings develop. you feel like there’s more at stake, now. if you were to tell her how you feel and it wasn’t mutual, you don’t even want to think how it would mess up your friendship. mess the group up.

so, you keep it to yourself. you go through the motions: spending time together, trying not to read into every little thing. trying not to let your eyes linger on her. trying not to sit too close to her, or laugh too hard at her shitty fucking jokes.

for her birthday, you make her a mixtape. you try and act nonchalant about it, but don’t tell anyone the way you painstakingly went through your entire music collection, imagining ellie listening to it, picking out the songs you think she’d like the most. all in all, it takes you a good while to put together. you make a cover for it, too, covered in little doodles, ‘for ellie :)’ written in the middle.

you get shy giving it to her. it’s later on in the day, and several of you are having a small gathering for the occasion. you pass it over with a coy smile, reveling in the way her face lights up once she realizes what it is.

“wait, what the fuck?” she asks with a grin, turning the tape around to look at the tracklist you’d written out.

“i tried to pick stuff i thought you’d listen to,” you comment, flitting your eyes between ellie and your present, hand nervously coming up to scratch at your neck.

“dude, this is… so cool. seriously. this is the best gift ever.”

you shrug, meeting her eyes for a second with a warm smile, watching as jesse picks the tape from ellie’s fingers, studying the cover before showing it to dina. the two of them let out teasing awws, making your cheeks burn even more. the way that dina looks at you feels almost knowing.

it gets passed around the room, you wanting to sink into the floor at the way you feel a small spectacle is being made.

you take note of the way joel smiles lopsidedly at the doodled cover, saying, “that’s a good one,” tapping the title of a stereophonics song you’d included.

ellie stands up, snatching the tape back with a chuckle before sitting down and looking over the cover again herself, a content expression on her face. she looks over at you, meeting your eyes with a genuine smile. 

“thank you,” she says, holding the gift up. “this is… this is so awesome of you.”

your smile widens, and you can practically feel the affection in your gaze. you know you need to tone it down, but you don’t really care. “don't mention it.”

[acciocriativity]

A MOMMA'S BOY - K.H.J. ONE SHOT

Ateez Masterlist

Pair: Idol! Hongjoong x Non-idol! Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst; Slice of Life AU

Warnings: toxic mother and family in general (Hongjoong's side); implied emotional manipulation; descriptions of past emotional abuse; forced isolation; talks of fear of rejection and abandonment; Hongjoong is compliant with his family actions in a sense, he's neglectful at best.

WC: 1,2 K

N/A: This was supposed to be a reaction for all the members, then I got wayyy to excited with this idea, and the result... well, it's this. Anyway! Thank you so much for all the lovely people who read my stuff, Happy New Year!!

Hongjoong reassured you countless times his mother wouldn't mind your presence for dinner. But her to "not mind you there" wasn't enough for you at all. It was his family first night in Seoul after a long time apart, and you tried to do the sensible thing and give them alone time. He insisted they'd want your presence just as much as he did. It was hard for you to believe so.

In your eyes, his mom never made an actual effort to form a real relationship with you. Instead, she liked to see you try hard to earn your spot in her good graces. She was like the bridge of the family in a way, and your only point of contact to the rest of them, you knew, because she said so the first ever time you talked to her on the phone. It was an off-handed comment, and you didn't know what to make of it at that time. You learned later it was nothing but a simple warning. You had to earn her approval, or you were out. Hongjoong probably doesn't remember the first time she called in your presence, but you were fairly excited to talk to her. You remembered how fun and warm everyone said she was. Well, there was nothing fun and warm in the way she talked to you.

Her presence wasn't as constant as it became lately. Her influence never disappeared, but at the beginning of the relationship, it was the only thing you had to deal with. A mental tightrope that brought so many anxieties and bad thoughts became a real one with real-life consequences.

Hongjoong was tired of arguing about the same thing every single time. He understood to a certain point. You don't want to seem pushy, invasive, or bothersome to anybody, much less to his family. Those same words were used over and over to hurt you at some point in the past. You told him so in tears one night, almost a year ago. He was angry then. In his mind, you hated to talk to his mom, like it was a chore for you to become close to her. In reality, you were only scared to slip up and become that person you believed you were, needy, clingy, and inconvenient to others. Your fears and vulnerabilities were open to his eyes in a way that hadn't been before. He never understood why you had that kind of concern with his family, though. He never saw the pressure you were under. He never really saw his family, his mom, the way you did, the way she used your Achilles heel to keep you away from him and his family.

He never told you how he almost broke up with you, then. And thank God, because that would've been the biggest regret of his life. Deep down, he knew couldn’t be with someone who didn't get along with his mom or his family in general. Oh, but you knew. You noticed the look on his eyes weren't the same. Hongjoong's family were known to be kind, considerate, and generous. They had that in their eyes, some of the boys said so to you. Hongjoong was raised as such, but there wasn't any kindness or generosity towards you for a week or so until the moment he confronted you. It was your first big fight.

After you opened up your heart to him, he promised he'd never allow anyone to make you feel that way about yourself again. And you promised to try more. You didn't want to give up so easily with barely a simple tug on the rug beneath your feet by his mom.

And you tried, tried so much to remedy any bad impression they could have of you as well as make the effort to create good memories with them. But no matter how much you did try, his parents never engaged with you. The barrier was clear to you and you only. The consequences of passing through were rejection and abandonment, and you couldn't bear that.

To the unknown observant, your relationship with them improved drastically. You were explicitly welcomed in any space they were in and explicitly invited to every family function from that moment on. Of course, you had their number, but any conversation you tried to make, face to face or online, no matter the topic, were curt and dry on their end. The implicity message was clear, you didn't get the approval.

The whole way to the restaurant, you tried to calm yourself down. It was a familiar place, traditional in a sense, but warm and welcoming with great food to soothe anyone’s soul. Hongjoong chose it intentionally to make you feel comfortable in your skin. He was attentive to you, caring, thoughtful. That was the reason you couldn't bear the thought to lose him, even if his eyes turned blind when his family was involved. With you alone, he was an incredible boyfriend and friend, and that left you satisfied for a while.

The politeness game was a subtle one, and koreans played it really, really well. It was hard to master, but after so many years interacting with people in every step of the hierarchy ladder, you could say you learned it from the best. Did she just ignore you when you arrived? No, you couldn't say so. She smiled in your direction, but she only hugged her son. It wasn't a subtle move on her part, but it could be excused by many variants.

You checked to see Hongjoong's reaction, but he wasn't looking at you. He was glad to see his mom after so long. You sat instead of waiting for a warm reception from his father or brother. That would've been worse, humiliating even. Hongjoong were beside you, so maybe he hadn't noticed how uncomfortable you became after similar situations kept happening. That's the excuse you used for him up until now.

Whenever you commented on something that was said or asked about something they said, they would be polite but wouldn't engage with you further. His father did that many times, his mother only a few, and his brother barely directed words at you, so he did not have such an opportunity, but you didn't doubt it anymore. It was like the fluidity of the conversation met a brick wall the moment you spoke up. The water had no place to go further ahead, then it had no option but to slowly float along the edge in search for a way out. This was your punishment, their of way of telling you there wasn’t a place for you with them.

When Hongjoong left to go to the toilet, you almost got up with him. Instead, you stayed stiff on your seat as awkward silence filled the table. Well, awkward for you, of course. They didn't seem to mind your presence, unbothered, as they made small comments about the quality of the meat and whatnot.

You held yourself back, aware that confrontation would lead you nowhere but to your way out of this relationship and family. There's was no anger or resentment left in your heart against them, only the slowly realization that you wanted to leave on your own terms and the consequences that you wanted them to deal with.

That thought alone made you smile once again and casually agree that the meat was, in fact, delicious, but you'd rather have a colder meal in the near future.

[gyllenhaalstories]

FOOL — RUSTY SABICH 🍷

summary: rusty has a very normal and appropriate reaction to your selfie.

warnings: food & alcohol, reader is drunk, cheating, fade to black/brief smut (masturbation). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2100

gif credit: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/saradika-graphics

notes: (not so) quick little quickie that was inspired by @sizzlingcloudmentality's comment on this post. this is a continuation of FETISH, i suggest reading it first to understand the dynamic of this fic. i really wanted to write 15 fics this year, so you guys can have whatever this is happy new year <3 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

Rusty ate out at the bar, that night. He was not in any state to go home.

He made up some excuse about needing documents from the office to finalize a case. Half a truth, he had work that needed to be done. Half a lie, he needed to get things off his mind.

The holiday schedule kept Rusty booked and busy. One second he drove the kids to visit relatives, on the next he was cooking up a storm in the kitchen and, in between all of that, Barbara reminded him of the countless things he pushed off his to-do list during the whole year. He needed to change a light bulb or two, he needed to move a piece of furniture, he needed to fix the chain of his son's bike before springtime. There was also a long list of conversation topics Barbara pressed him to address without walking out of the bathroom and shutting her out.

It felt as though he laid to bed with more worries now than during the rest of the year. Rusty was desperate for a break. So, he went to the bar.

He ordered a drink and some food that he barely touched. He preferred to toy with his glass and to watch the ice cubes follow the ripples of the amber liquid.

The phone vibrated in a frenzy, he received a series of messages.

The messages came from you. You were texting him.

Since you had started working at a different firm, all thanks to Raymond Horgan's impressive network of connections, you kept in touch with your former colleague. Upon your departure, Rusty had insisted time and time again that you could reach out to him whenever you needed help. You exchanged emails every now and then in the search of advice about your job. You shared text messages about the length of the queue at the coffee shop Rusty and you frequented. Friendly, helpful, appropriate.

Rusty was proud of himself. He thought about you a lot less, since you quit to work somewhere else. The quick and easy interactions with you kept him going, they fed him enough crumbs to avoid going hungry for more. He managed his impatience fairly well while waiting for the next time you would reach out. You did not have the habit of making him wait too long. That was before the holiday break, anyway. He understood you were busy on most days, on most nights too.

It was a different kind of busy, that night. You attended a work party with your colleagues. The second to last day of the year turned out to be the only moment everyone had available in their schedules. So, you found yourself at a bar you never frequented, with people you did not hang out much outside of work.

Rusty unlocked his phone and checked the first photo you sent him: an array of fancy liquors and spirits. He recognized a brand or two.

"Can you believe Raymond sent all that? It came in a giant box. I'm sure that all these bottles are worth more than a month of salary." You sent the explanation after the pictures.

No wonder why Rusty recognized the labels, it made sense now. He quickly replied that good old Raymond definitely felt generous when he ordered the assortment to, once again, thank your superiors for hiring you.

A few minutes later, he received another message. You told him you tried one of the bourbons, it did not taste worth the elegant gold foil of the label. After that, you sent a photo of the glass of wine you held up along with a handful of your colleagues who did the same. You commented that only the people from your work occupied the bar, that a couple walked in and left when they realized that a party was happening.

Rusty did not know why you felt compelled to share all of the little details of your evening. You granted him with a chance to witness a side of you he had never seen. He would be a fool to tell you to stop.

You were too tipsy to think of your behaviour as annoying. You enjoyed having an excuse to be on your phone for a little while and listen to the office gossip rather than participate in it. You learned a whole lot about the guy a worked in HR, not that you would remember much about this story tomorrow morning.

You stayed silent for a moment, twelve minutes to be exact. Not that Rusty was counting... He was. He had typed several messages that he erased before sending. He had a tendency to be insisting, he wanted to avoid scaring you off. He did not want this moment to end.

You took a few more photos: of the menu and the funky cocktail names, of the tacky paper umbrella that hung off your friend's drink, of the neon blue liquid you received after you ordered something else. You had accidentally flipped the camera and, low and behold, you liked the lighting. You suggested to take photos of the people around you. Everyone squeezed close and showed you funny faces and pretty grins. Then, you took a selfie. You dragged your fingertip on the screen, attempting to send the photograph of the blue cocktail you had been sipping.

Rusty's entire body buzzed when he felt his phone vibrate again. Finally, you replied. He opened the picture you sent him. Your eyes sparkled, your smile beamed. Maybe it was the brightness of his phone that adjusted itself, or it was your beauty that shined through. He could not tell, he wanted to believe it was the latter.

You realized, too late, that you had sent the wrong picture. You tried to justify yourself, but instead you watched the text bubbles dance.

Rusty felt his cock twitch at the sight of your face. He shifted on the bar stool to spread his legs a bit more. He looked at the photo again, with a sigh and furrowed brows. It seemed as though the vein on his temple pulsated. His restraint melted away like the ice cubes in his glass. "You're amazing."

You read the message. Confusion painted the features of your face. You did not dislike the unexpected compliment, but it remained exactly that: unexpected. Perhaps he had too much to drink too, just like you. You did not ponder any longer about it.

"You look like you're having fun." Rusty sent another message after you left him on read.

You responded that you had a good time so far. "Are you having fun too?"

It was Rusty's turn to leave you without an answer. He chugged the last sip from his glass, then he paid for the steak and roasted vegetables that he picked at all evening long. He gave the bartender no time for Happy New Year wishes, Rusty jumped off the stool and grabbed his coat.

You had put your phone back in your purse, thinking it was the end of your conversation with Rusty.

Little did you know he basically ran to his car, unbothered by the cold and humid air of the night. He slammed the door shut, adjusting the car seat to give himself more space. Rusty pulled out his phone that he held in one hand, while the other expertly unbuckled his belt. The noise of the zipper going down blended with the swoop of the notification from his next message. "I'm having fun too." He opened your selfie, groaning with relief when he palmed at his bulge. It gave him a sense of déjà vu, to touch himself because of you. Except that, this time, he would not only think of you — he would admire the beautiful features of your face that had showed up one too many times in his fantasies.

*~*~*

Rusty got startled with the loud sound of his phone ringing. He furrowed his brows when he read the name of the caller, instinctively answering and putting his phone on speaker. He noticed something on the screen. "Fuck." He cursed at himself.

"Well, hello to you too." You answered before he could say anything else, grimacing at his attitude. You did not understand why he threw such bitterness at you, Rusty had been nothing but pleasant all evening. You squeezed your phone between your cheek and your shoulder while you tried to fix your scarf and jacket. "Am I calling at a bad time?"

Rusty's heart started to race. "No, no, you're good." He answered, his voice sounded strained for a moment when he reached for the glove compartment and pulled out the package of cleaning wipes. "It's all good."

You shrugged. You did not care much anyway. "Do you remember when you said you could help me with whatever I need?"

Rusty's ears perked up at the way you slurred your words, clearly you had more to drink than just the one glass of wine you showed in your photo. "Uh huh." He cleared his throat, pulling out a wipe. He started vigorously cleaning the steering wheel.

"Sooooo..." You dragged out the word, taking a look around. The street felt eerie and empty, it was so unusual for the city. "Wanna give me a ride?"

The bluntness of your question took him by surprise. He folded the wipe neatly, then he used it to scrub the screen of his phone. The frenetic motions managed to switch the screen to what it previously displayed. Now, Rusty stared at the zoomed-in selfie you sent earlier. Drops of his cum covered your cheeks and your chin. You looked so perfect like that...

You filled the silence with unnecessary explanations. "You're cheaper than a taxi and you're much better company than Uber drivers." You hoped the flattery would work.

And it did, you stroked his ego just the way he liked it. He let out a shaky breath, soaking in what you said. You really did like him.

"I'm not bothering you, right?" You asked. Both Rusty and you were unsure if you played it coy intentionally or not. "I assumed you had time to spare tonight to hold on to your promise since, well, you know..." Surely, if he had been at home with his wife and kids he would not have texted you back so quickly every time.

Rusty wanted to blame your bold assumption on the alcohol, but he had a shadow of doubt that there was more to it. You guessed correctly, even worse, you did not seem to mind it too much. Perhaps the blame rested, again, on the intoxication. Still, something stirred inside of him. Desire renewed easily at the sound of your voice, at the implication that you needed him — that you chose him.

Your words hung in the air, the silence spoke for itself. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, you began to feel cold. Your movements did not distract you from the noise you heard on the line. Rusty received a notification.

He pushed the notification away when he saw that the message came from his wife. "You're not bothering me at all, I'll pick you up. It's no problem." He blabbered. He pulled his shirt out of the pants, hoping to cover most of the reaction you gave him just by talking. Just by being so sweet to him. Just by showing him that he's on your mind too, albeit in different ways. "Where are you?"

You gave him the address while failing to hide the smile in your voice. Rusty commented that he was just a few blocks away, he would be there in five or ten minutes. "Great! That gives me plenty of time to order one more drink." You giggled, making your way back to the bar. You remembered that most of your friends and colleagues had already left, but that did not stop you from getting your favourite cocktail.

He reminded you to be careful, you blissfully ignored him so you could recite your order to the bartender.

"Oh, Rusty?" You realized you had not hung up the call yet. The music resonated loudly, but he could still hear your voice, as sweet as ever. "Thank you. I knew I wasn't a fool for believing that you would hold up to your offer." A little bit more ego stroking never hurt anybody.

And just like that, he made a sharp turn and sped up as the light turned red before his eyes. Rusty was off to the races.

[xinganhao]

is this something i should've included in my 2024 wrapped? probably. but i'm still doing it to close off the year! (´◡`)

incredibly grateful to have gotten so much love in the past three months. i'm not able to respond to everything, but trust that i see every comment— whether in the replies, reblogs, or in my inbox.

if anything, let this be a reminder to support your favorite writers/creators. in an algorithm that thrives on likes, reblogs with comments in the tags/replies/asks make a world of difference. if you liked someone's work, let them know.

here are some of your words that have stuck with me. 🫶

"#i heart tumblr user xinganhao #no one is doing it like them #the amount of depth in their work #THE EFFORT IS ALMOST TANGIBLE #not to participate in idol worship but …. #a role model for the fic writing community #hashtag proud to be born in the same timeline as tumblr user xinganhao" — g4minelvr re: fake dating!seungkwan

"i always look forward to vernon's slides because I CAN HEAR HIM!!!! its wild like all the replies???? his voice is in my head. but i also realized i can imagine/hear hoshi's so easily too!!! and a lot of his are so funny and witty. anyway ive been so entertained the past few days cos of kae's writing" — maplegyu re: svt reacts to 'i used to have a little bit of a crush on you'

"#so cute !! #“to love is to be burdened; but to not think of it that way.” #HELLOOO #thats such a fire line to drop ???? #sigh these alignments are all accurate but i really need hao to take caee of me :((" — planetkiimchi-rbs re: svt reacts to your drunk texts

"I bet your uni entry essay kicked ass. Youre so creative its mind blowing😭" — bambispostsblog re: sociology major!junhui x reader

"#welcome back dramateen😭😭😭" — dcrlingyou re: svt when idol!reader releases a breakup song

"#i think someone's already said this but #the writing under the texts is like a little treat that i somehow always forget about #its so fun #i read the texts and im like “aww thats so cute i love this blog so muchhhh” #and then i scroll #AND THERES MORE #its like the best thing ever" — forever-atiny re: svt reacts to your drunk texts

"This is DEVASTATING 😭😭😭😭😭 your writing is beautiful but DAMN did it rip my heart and throw it into the ocean" — sasalalista re: svt (taylor's version), heartbreak edition

"#okay maybe I'll allow myself to be this delusional only for this smau bc it's adorable 🥹" — stay-in-district9 re: chan x fansite!reader

"#kae did u know i have a whole maladaptive dream world abt this pairing #it’s like u looked directly into my brain #but like it’s just so perfect for wonwoo #and i just love how pathetic u made him" — pochaccoups re: wonwoo x streamer!reader

"#did i ever mention i am literally your biggest fan #ALL your works i am eating them up 🙏 #and this one was just oh my god #the way you narrate is always too good #with your little details abt the screenplay and all #i aspire to write like you- it's like mixed media but in writing #i loved loved loved this exes to lovers suits gyu so muchhhh" — simpxxstan re: film major!mingyu x reader

"#user xinganhao the way you EAT EVERY SINGLE TIME #COOKED WITH GAS AND FIRE AND DEVOURED #permanently sat for ur posts i fear #can’t get up won’t get up" — ahuiahoe re: seungcheol x fanbase!reader

"the fact that you do complete research into each and every one of the topics and write them well is just pure dedication and hats off to you!!" — choco-scoups re: biology major!vernon x reader

"i'm so in love with the way you design your extra content/headcanons under the photos!! the soccer team and notes app got me down bad, but i really adore the text visually fitting the concept in all of your works!! always excited to get a notification from you. thank you for sharing your creativity with the world!!" — purple-eustoma

"I hope you know your works always hit the spot just right. not even kidding I was in class for two hours and then I see this in my notifications the way i INSTANTLY SMILED?! how do you manage to make my day better😔🫶" — cxffecoupx re: operation dispatch (chan x idol!reader)

"Honestly I know most of your svt burner account fics are meant to be open end, and I really love that. It is just that your writing makes me keep wanting to know more of the story, it is soo well written. I want to dive into the world a little more every time🌸" — anon

"#THIS IS SO CREATIVE WTF #the genius interview and the whole song… kae ur BRAINNNNNN #this is so good omfg im rooting for them so hard #living vicariously thru simp cheol tweets pretending i am the fanbase 😔 he wants me guys trust #i love love love all the little bonus stuff you do for these literally most creative and fun smau writer ur changing the game" — junhui-recs re: seungcheol x fanbase!reader

"these keep coming up on my dash and i will never skip an smau made by the greatest smau creator on this silly little tumby app" — hachireads re: dead poets society!hhu x reader

"im so srs rn. pls never stop writing" — wonuloves re: vernon dates rockstar!reader (4)

"woozi loves silently, consistently, and sincerely. these are not the adjectives anyone would typically match with the concept of love. and yet, it fits. i first felt the depth of his love with vocal unit songs. and i never looked back. thank you for writing this. thank you for understanding seventeen so well. you deserve everything good in life." — chugging-antiseptic-dye re: jihoon x poetry account!reader

how lucky am i to get to say that this is a mere fraction of all the kindness i've been afforded. again: i see all the nice words directed my way, and it motivates me to stay on this godforsaken site (lol) for at least one more day. thank you, thank you, thank you.

if i can love well, it's because i've been loved well. please let me repay all your kindness in 2025 and for however much longer that i can (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ if you got this far: happy new year! i wish you clarity, courage, and compassion at every turn. xo

— kae

[ahatintimepieces]

Now that Tim is back in the human world, the prince realizes that he’s more alone than ever. Mari and Hat are desperate to keep him from giving up completely, but will the revelation that Mari knows who he is push him further away, or finally convince him that home isn’t as far out of reach as he fears?

[froggtogs]

he’s hanging out with goats!!

[sha-nwa]

Marinette’s mascara was clumpy.

She meant to buy a new tube last week—it was on her mental to-do list, along with seventeen thousand other tasks that could probably wait until next week: washing her sheets, cleaning out her desk drawer, throwing out the pile of discarded fabric shreds from her last project.

As it always was in Marinette’s life, things had come up. Akumas, mostly.

She jammed the mascara wand back into the tube, over and over, but it stayed a thick goopy mess. She could either smear the tar-like substance onto her eyes and pretend it looked fine, or—well. Or nothing. She had thirty minutes to get downtown.

Thirty minutes until she needed to be seated for Alya’s award ceremony.

Thirty minutes until she had to be completely fine, chill, supportive.

[harvestmoth]

more rejuv things but its. its just this guy again, im sorry shes all i can draw

[sainz100]

a few Carlos moments from the 2024 Azerbaijan GP