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

[tacoguacamole]

ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 2

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark, Kook's a jerk and mean for the earlier chapters]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Chapter Word Count: 8k+]

[Tag List: @iamstilljk | @captainchrisstan | @kokoandkookie | @rexana19]

[Note: Thanks to everyone who's read the story 💜 Enjoy Part 2 and just comment below if you want to be tagged for the future chapters. I'm sorry but we're going to have to keep up with jerk Kook 😭 The warning did say he was going to be mean for the earlier parts. I promise, I love the bunny man 🥹]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The morning light fills the room, warm and steady, like a soft blanket over everything. A familiar, rich smell drifts through the air — savory and comforting. For a moment, it feels like you're still dreaming.

Then you turn your head and see him.

Jeongguk sits beside you, back resting against the headboard, a food tray balanced on his lap. Makguksu and Samgyeopsal — the dinner you spent hours preparing the night before — now half-eaten as he absently twirls the noodles around his chopsticks, eyes glued to the flickering screen where Iron Man 3 plays.

For a long second, you just stare. You don't move. Don’t speak. Simply watched, heart clenching painfully at the sight of him – relaxed, at ease, eating something you made, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It shouldn’t feel like a miracle, but it does. You can’t even remember the last time Jeongguk touched a meal you cooked.

 “Uhm...morning?”

Jeongguk flinches slightly, startled, and looks at you with wide eyes. “Is it too loud?” his voice a little rough. “I was going to watch in the living room, but… it was too hot down there.” There’s a brief flash of panic on his face.

The sight tugs at something deep in you, almost painful. “It’s fine,” you murmur, voice rough with sleep. “Was about to get up anyway.”

You sit up, grabbing the robe hanging by the bedpost and pulling it over yourself. The fabric slides over the old, worn T-shirt you slept in — one of Jeongguk’s from his college photography club days, when his dreams were still caught behind the lens of a second-hand camera.

You wonder if he even remembers it. Wonder if he’d find it pathetic that you still wear it — clinging to pieces of him when everything else feels so far away. You wonder too much these days.

You tie the robe loosely, pretending you don't notice his gaze flicker toward you for the briefest second — before snapping back to the TV.

Silence stretches between you, the kind you've gotten used to.

Until Jeongguk speaks. “Any plans for tonight?”

The question throws you off. The last time he asked about your day, about anything that wasn’t transactional — groceries, bills, errands — you can’t even remember.

His words hang in the air, strange and unfamiliar.

Still, you answer. Because even now — especially now — you crave any scrap of normalcy he offers.

“Dinner with the Tuans,” you say, keeping your voice light. “Their flight's landing late from Paris, but they want to meet right away to discuss the deal we closed.”

Jeongguk nods slowly, still focused on his tray. “What time will that end?”

“Maybe 10? 11? Depends how much they want to go over.”

There’s a pause, filled only by the muffled explosions from the movie.

Then he speaks again, softer this time. “Can we meet after? Maybe grab a midnight snack... or coffee? Anything, really.”

It hits you harder than it should — how careful he sounds. As if he’s asking permission to step into your life. The sting comes fast and sharp. But you push it down. You push everything down. Because above the sadness, above the aching cracks in your chest — something small and stubborn flickers back to life.

Hope.

Maybe... maybe he remembered. Maybe this was his way of making up for last night. For all the nights he had forgotten.

You swallow down the emotion clogging your throat. “Sure.” You try not to let your smile show too much, try not to look pathetic in your own happiness. “I can meet you after or—"

“No.” He cuts you off gently, setting his chopsticks down. “I’ll come to you. Just text me the address.”

You nod, feeling a little breathless, hands trembling slightly as you fidget with the belt of your robe. Without another word, you slip off the bed and head toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

A small, giddy sound escapes your lips — half-sob, half-laugh — and you press your hand to your mouth to stifle it. Tears prick at your eyes, but this time they don’t burn the way they usually do.

Because for the first time in what feels like forever...

You smile. A real, honest-to-God smile.

Jeongguk’s day moves painfully slow, wearing down his patience bit by bit. He’s checked off plenty from his planner — finished reports in the first hour, helped train interns even if the seniors were around to do that job, gave notes on concept proposals, approved shoot locations, updated campaign boards that aren’t due till the next season — but the time on his laptop still feels like a joke. 4:00 PM. Only.

A loud knock breaks the silence.

"Come in.”

His secretary walks in, arms full of contracts. Normally, Jeongguk would toss them in a tray and forget about them for a week or two. Today, he forces himself to focus. Reads carefully before signing through each page, like paying extra attention might help calm his busy mind. Minutes later, he pushes the signed stack back across the desk.

"Gunning for Employee of the Year?" Taehyung jokes lightly. "Nominations don’t even open till November, you know."

Usually, Jeongguk would bite back with some sarcastic remark. Not today. His temper is already hanging by a thread.

"Don’t start with me," the words were harsher than intended.

Taehyung raises a brow but doesn’t argue. Has long grown used to Jeongguk’s moods — especially the bitter ones.

Their friendship was built not just on the grind of corporate life, but also on the pauses in between — the after-hours confessions, the tiredness that had settled into Jeongguk over the years.

Taehyung knows the truth, the ugly, heavy parts Jeongguk never says out loud.

How the man he respects stays late not for ambition, but to avoid the coldness of home. How Jeongguk puts on the mask of a devoted husband at office parties because their CEO pushes "family values" — only to curse quietly later, slumped in the passenger seat of his car.

How coming home feels more like serving a sentence than seeking comfort.

Taehyung remembers when it was different. The endless searches for anniversary ideas. The worried questions about how to keep the love alive after years of being together.

He remembers how Jeongguk's voice had cracked when he passed along the message no friend ever wants to deliver, "She's in the hospital. She's fighting for her life. You need to go — now."

Photoshoots. Endless meetings. The paperwork that buried his silent phone back then.

The guilt was a chain Jeongguk never managed to slip free from.

So when Taehyung hears the clipped anger in his friend’s voice now, he already knows.

Another fight. Another scar added to the ones that never healed.

Still, he asks gently, "Another one?"

Jeongguk doesn't answer immediately. Just drops his gaze to the edge of the desk, fingers tapping a restless, erratic rhythm.

When he finally speaks, it’s quieter. Different. "I'm taking her out tonight.”

The words hang in the air, almost fragile. Taehyung blinks, caught off guard. That... wasn’t what he expected. A glimmer of something — hope, maybe — rises inside him. Maybe the cracks weren’t permanent. Maybe there was still something worth saving.

Taehyung tries to sound casual. Cracks a joke to ease the mood. "About time. You’ve missed enough anniversaries already."

But Jeongguk doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile.

Instead, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a folder Taehyung had almost forgotten about. A folder that had been shoved away, gathering dust, no matter how many times Taehyung hinted that it was better to just get it over with. Inside, the papers wait — sharp-edged, cold to the touch, heavy with everything unsaid.

Taehyung’s throat tightens as he watches Jeongguk lay them flat on the table. He knows what they are. Remembers setting the appointments with Namjoon. Hearing Jeongguk’s hollow voice tell the lawyer what he wanted. What he couldn’t bear to want but felt trapped into choosing anyway.

"I'm telling her tonight," he says, barely a whisper. Almost like a plea, like he's sealing his own fate.

A year had already slipped by since then.

Taehyung knew Jeongguk hadn’t even hesitated to sign once the documents were handed over. His name written neatly beside the empty space meant for yours. That blank space had remained untouched, day after day, a cruel reminder that while Jeongguk had made peace with ending things, you still hadn’t — or maybe, couldn’t.

There had been countless nights spent practicing speeches, rehearsing apologies and explanations that never seemed enough. Taehyung had listened through them all — Jeongguk pacing across the office floor, torn between desperation and guilt, clinging to the hope that if he just found the right words, maybe it would hurt you a little less.

But Taehyung knew — they both knew — that was a lie.

Just meeting with the lawyer had already hurt you more than Jeongguk was willing to admit.

“Gguk…” Taehyung’s voice fades, the words he wants to offer catching painfully in his throat.

But Jeongguk cuts him off before he can even try.

“It’s killing me, Hyung,” he breathes out. “Do you know what it’s like? Sharing a bed just so she won’t notice the distance? Pretending everything’s fine so I don’t have to come up another lie? Keeping my clothes mixed with hers in the closet, so she doesn’t ask why I smell different every time I come home?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer. Can’t. Knows exactly what Jeongguk means. Knows the weight of the betrayal he’s been helping to bury.

He’s seen Jiwoo. Met her by accident once, but that was enough. Even now, every time he arranged a date or made a call under Jeongguk’s name, guilt twisted his gut into knots.

He still remembers the way your face lit up when you surprised Jeongguk at the office, eager for a lunch together. How your smile faded when you found his office empty. Taehyung remembers the lies that stumbled from his mouth — meetings, emergencies, schedule mix-ups — while he knew full well that Jeongguk was miles away, entangled with someone else in ways that had nothing to do with work.

But he never stopped it.

Because for the first time in years, he saw life return to Jeongguk’s dull eyes — a spark that hadn’t existed since the day everything fell apart. Since the day the small bundle of sunshine Jeongguk and his wife created had been taken away before her first breath even settled in this world.

Taehyung had made his choice. He closed his eyes to the damage Jeongguk was causing.

He let it happen. Told himself it was better than watching his friend rot from the inside out — pouring cheap whiskey down his throat at dingy bars, sleeping under his desk after too many bottles, slurring desperate voicemails at two in the morning.

Better this, he thought. Better a living sinner than a breathing corpse.

Taehyung voices out his hesitancy. “If you had just told the truth from the start, Gguk... you wouldn’t be stuck in lies now. You wouldn’t have to sneak Jiwoo around to places halfway across Seoul, just to avoid being seen. You wouldn’t be hurting both of them.”

Jeongguk’s fists tighten against the edge of his desk. The pressure builds inside him, snapping loose as his voice cuts through the air.

“I know, Hyung! I fucking know!” The tears barely held back. “I never wanted this. Never meant to hurt her. She wasn’t just my wife—she was my best friend. Seventeen years, Hyung. Seventeen fucking years together. I know her smile. Know her pain. I know every goddamn tear she tries to hide. And worst of all, I know I’m the reason for most of them.”

Taehyung swallows hard, feeling the weight of the truth neither of them can escape. “You’ve already hurt her, Gguk. No matter what you choose now... she’s going to be hurt.”

Jeongguk drops heavily into his chair, the fight bleeding out of him. His gaze turns distant, like he’s looking somewhere far beyond the four walls of his office.

“She made Makguksu last night,” he murmurs. “Samgyeopsal too. It wasn’t burnt. You know how she always overcooks the meat. But not last night. It was perfect.”

A bitter smile flickers across his lips, the memory cutting deeper than any silence ever could.

“You ate them?” Taehyung asks quietly, almost not wanting to know the answer.

“For the last time,” Jeongguk mutters, brushing off the heaviness in his friend's gaze with a dry, forced chuckle. He doesn’t tell Taehyung the truth — that each bite had tasted like guilt. That the food, prepared with so much care, had been harder to swallow than he let on.

Instead, his mind drifts to this morning. The way you quickly grabbed the robe to cover the old grey shirt you wore — his shirt, from a forgotten college club, frayed at the edges and stained with bleach. Jeongguk had seen it before you could hide it, the fabric loose on your body.

It wasn’t the first time.

There had been countless nights he came home late, the house quiet except for your soft breathing. He’d find you curled in bed, wrapped in his clothes like armor. That old Linkin Park sweatshirt, the one he wore during his teenage emo phase, worn thin but somehow still clinging to you for warmth.

Jeongguk always noticed. Always.

But he never said anything. Never pointed it out. Never asked why you chose to wear things that once belonged to a version of him that no longer existed.

Because recognizing it would give you hope, that those small gestures he noticed still meant something.

When it didn’t.

Not anymore.

“Jeongguk—” Taehyung starts, unsure if his friend even wants comfort.

But Jeongguk lets out a short, bitter chuckle, cutting him off.

“Why does she even bother?” His voice is sharp, edged with something close to resentment. “Why does she still celebrate our anniversary—her birthday—after everything? It’s like she wants to keep getting hurt.” His jaw clenches, fingers digging into the armrest of his chair. “I make sure to come home after it’s all done—after the candles are out, after she’s given up waiting—so she won’t have to be reminded. When will she get it, Hyung? When will she understand that I’m never going to be there for those days again?”

Taehyung exhales, running a hand through his hair. He could bite his tongue, hold back the truth Jeongguk refuses to face, but what would be the point?

“Because she still loves you.” The words land like a direct blow, knocking the air from Jeongguk’s lungs. “If those moments didn’t mean anything to her, she wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t spend hours making your favorite food. Wouldn’t set the table for two. Wouldn’t keep waiting.” Jeongguk swallows, throat tight. “She still sees you as the man who once thought she meant the world to him.”

Each syllable sinks into him like a slow, merciless blade, tearing open wounds he’s tried so hard to ignore.

For years, he’s dodged the truth—buried it beneath guilt. Beneath resentment. Beneath another woman’s touch. But now, it rises to the surface, raw and inescapable.

He sees you.

The memory of your smile, bright and effortless, the way your whole body shook with joy when he proposed. He sees you walking toward him in that breathtaking white dress, his heart pounding so wildly in his chest that he thought it might burst. He sees the way he once loved you—with everything, with all of him.

Those memories—once the light of his life—have become shadows he’s spent years running from.

And now, there’s nowhere left to run.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again. “It’s time to let her go, isn’t it?”

The answer has been obvious for a long time, but saying it aloud makes it feel final.

With a heavy heart, Taehyung nods. “It has been. For a long time.”

Finishing dinner with your business partner had never felt more relieving. Normally, you would drag out a meeting, obsessing over every last detail. As a perfectionist, you were known to discuss a deal twenty times over, then triple-check your notes on your iPad to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

But tonight, you couldn't stop glancing at your phone. Couldn't stop the way your heart leapt when Jeongguk finally texted back “On my way” when you told him your meeting was almost done.

A shared location pinged a moment later, showing he was close. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was actually going to meet you. A small, excited hope stirred in your chest, fragile but real.

You tried to hide it, but Mark Tuan noticed anyway. He always did. Years of working together had made him an expert at reading you, and teasing you had long been his favorite pastime whenever business wasn't occupying the conversation.

"Congrats! You just set the Guinness World Record for fastest eater in South Korea!" Mark teased, leaning back with an easy grin.

"Sorry! I didn’t mean to rush," you said, feeling a little sheepish as you tucked your iPad away. "Tonight’s kind of a big deal."

Mark smiled, looking clearly amused. "And here I thought Seora getting a spot at Paris Fashion Week two years in a row would be the highlight."

“It is! Showcasing our collection again at one of the top fashion events in the world? That's huge!" You paused, fumbling for the right words. "It’s just—"

"Just messing with you. Honestly, we should’ve just saved this dinner for tomorrow’s meeting with legal. Mom and Dad aren’t even here. But you know how they are—one topic at a time, just to dodge—"

"Excuses like, ‘I was too overwhelmed with the information; it slipped my mind,’" you finished for him, laughing as the two of you shared a knowing look.

After all these years of working with the Tuans, you knew them almost too well. Even before the partnership was official, you had already immersed yourself in every detail of their business operations.

You learned that Mrs. Tuan liked to organize her designs carefully, sorting collections by season in separate binders instead of keeping them in one portfolio. Mr. Tuan, on the other hand, expected his financial reports on time at the end of every quarter — grace periods were, to him, a sign of weakness.

And then there was Mark Tuan.

Unlike his parents, Mark preferred a work environment that was laid-back but still precise. A strict nine-to-five man, he focused on completing daily tasks efficiently, leaving anything unfinished for the next morning — as long as nothing slipped past the contract deadlines.

Despite the age difference, you and Mark had clicked right away. As two young entrepreneurs, you shared the same drive for innovation and the same determination not to settle for safe or ordinary. While you were intense and detail-oriented, he balanced you with a calm, grounded energy that made brainstorming new ideas feel like an endless conversation about the future you both wanted to build.

Working with him felt easy. Safe. Comforting in a way very few things were anymore.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Need a ride to your next stop?” Mark offered, casually tossing his keys in his hand as you both made your way toward the restaurant entrance.

You smiled, grateful but firm. “Thanks, but he’s meeting me here.”

“He?” Mark’s brows lifted, the word slipping out before he could stop himself, a little too eager, a little too sharp.

“Jeongguk.”

“Ah, the husband.” Mark’s laugh was light, but his smile didn’t quite match it. He reached for the door and held it open for you, his voice easy but slightly forced. “Always been the lucky guy.”

You paused for a second, sensing something beneath the surface, but chose to brush it off. Mark had always been playful, and tonight was probably no different.

“Have a great time,” he added, slipping his free hand into his pocket. “Don’t keep him waiting too long. Wouldn’t want to make a guy jealous.”

Just as he’s about to head for his car, Mark suddenly turns back. “Oh, before I forget—I got something for you.”

Confused, you watch him pull a small velvet box from his coat pocket. “Happy Birthday. I’m late, but better late than never, right?”

Curious, you lift the lid and find a delicate, white diamond pendant shaped like the Eiffel Tower, hanging from a fine silver chain.

Getting little surprises from Mark wasn’t anything new. You still used the custom iPad case he gave you last year, your name pressed neatly in one corner. You slept better these days, thanks to the memory foam pillow he had dropped off after you complained once about backaches at the office. Even now, your favorite pen—engraved with your initials—sat tucked in your work tote, a result of him deciding that bougie was the only way to go.

Mark had always been thoughtful like that. A little extra sometimes, but always thoughtful.

Still, this felt different. More personal. More... intimate.

Your fingers hesitated over the necklace. This time, it didn’t feel like a casual office gift. Jewelry like this wasn’t meant for business partners—it was something you gave to someone that meant more.

You glanced up at him, a slight panic bubbling in your chest. “Mark...”

He immediately caught the shift in your expression and waved it off with a laugh. “Relax! It’s not a big deal. Didn’t cost me anything. One of our clients gave a few out for promotion. Figured you’d like it — you know, since the Eiffel Tower is basically all you obsess over whenever we visit.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, feeling a little ridiculous for even hesitating. Of course. It was just business. Like always.

“Next time, start with that,” you said, shaking your head. “I almost thought—”

“What?” he teased, cocking his head with that familiar mischievous grin.

“You’re such an ass,” you muttered, laughing despite yourself.

The tension lifted, light and easy again. “Want me to put it on?” he offered casually, holding up the necklace.

You smiled and turned around, gathering your hair up without a second thought. You felt the soft brush of his fingers as he clasped the pendant around your neck.

The diamond caught the light when you faced him again, and for a second, Mark just looked at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. But then he was back to his usual self, giving you a mock salute.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Of course. Thanks again, partner. Drive safe.”

You watched him head to his car, the new pendant resting lightly against your skin, feeling nothing but grateful to have a friend like him in your life.

Alone now, you check Jeongguk’s message again. His location pin glows on your screen — parked somewhere nearby. Relief flutters in your chest.

He’s close. Any second now.

But the minutes drag on. Five. Ten. Thirty. The pin stays stubbornly still, unmoving in the dark.

Around you, the world shifts. The line that once buzzed with chatter has emptied out, replaced by new faces wrapped in jackets and scarves. The cold, damp air slips past your two coats as if you wore nothing at all. It's the kind of chill that bites at your bones, making you wonder if winter is already on its way.

You rub your hands together, hoping to warm them, but the ache that suddenly stirs in your joints isn't from the cold anymore. It’s something else.

Something deeper. Older.

You know this pain. It grows from within, heavy and bitter. It wraps around your chest, seeps into your fingertips, making even breathing feel fragile.

You try to steady yourself, counting slow inhales, slow exhales, the way the doctors taught you. You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. Just hunger. Just the day wearing you down.

But even as you lie to yourself, your body knows better.

The weight in your head grows unbearable. The world tilts slightly, and panic surges up your throat. You glance around desperately for a seat, a place to land, but the small bench near the entrance is already full — laughter and conversation blurring around you.

With no other choice, you lower yourself onto the edge of the pavement, not caring about your clothes, not caring about the stares.

Your hands barely catch your fall. The pavement's roughness scrapes your skin, but it’s a distant thing — muffled, almost gentle compared to the roar building in your chest.

You close your eyes. Tell yourself it’ll pass. It always does. It has to.

But this time, the darkness rises faster than you can fight.

Jeongguk should feel at peace.

It’s been three days — three days of coming home to an empty house. Three days without seeing the coffee pot you always left ready for him, even though he never used it anymore. Three days without the packed lunches you still made, even when he stopped taking them. He should feel free. He doesn’t have to wash off the scent of someone else’s perfume anymore after spending the day with Jiwoo.

But no matter how much he tries, he can’t feel happy.

His mind keeps going back to three nights ago.

He remembers sitting in his car outside the restaurant, watching you with your business partner. He saw how Mark stood close to you, how he laughed with you, how he reached out and fastened a necklace around your neck.

Jeongguk tries brushing the thought away. Tells himself it’s no big deal. But somehow, the image still sticks. Shows up when he least expects it. Tugs at the edge of his mind.

Simple work tasks now take forever. Emails sit unanswered in his inbox. Feedback on important campaigns, which he usually gives quickly, is delayed. His desk is buried under a growing pile of work he keeps putting off. Every morning, he wakes up already dreading the day ahead.

Taehyung notices the change. He doesn’t usually question Jeongguk’s habits, even when work piles up. But with the Calvin campaign shoot coming soon, and Mingyu as the new model, things need to stay on track.

He thought Jeongguk would feel better after finally telling you the truth. He thought letting go would give him some kind of relief.

Instead, Jeongguk looks worse. Instead of feeling free, he just looks even more lost.

“Did it end up being worse than you expected?” Taehyung asked casually, leaning back in his chair.

Jeongguk paused, confused. “Huh?”

“Dinner with her. Did it really go that bad?”

Jeongguk understood immediately. “No. We never actually went out. I didn’t even get the chance to tell her.”

Taehyung frowned. “You’re not avoiding it again, are you? We’ve talked about this, Gguk. You can’t keep running from the truth.”

“I know, Hyung. I went there, swear. You saw me leave with the papers that day. I showed up... just never made it to her.”

“Why?”

“Saw her with Mark.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Tuan? Her business partner?”

Jeongguk nodded, his jaw tight. “Yeah.”

“And that stopped you?”

Jeongguk shifted uncomfortably. “They were outside the restaurant together.”

“So?” Taehyung shrugged. “Could’ve just been a work thing.”

“It wasn’t,” Jeongguk knew it was a work thing. You mentioned it during your brief conversation earlier that morning. Just knew his gut was the more reasonable thing to trust. “That guy’s been in love with her for a while. Knew it the first time I met him at an event. The way he looks at her during her speeches... it’s obvious. And all those little gifts she brings home after their meetings? That’s not just business.”

He recognized the signs too well — they mirrored the same things he used to do for you when your marriage still had warmth left in it. Jeongguk’s voice carried an unexpected bitterness.

Taehyung studied his friend for a moment, sensing more behind his words. “Not to be rude, but... why do you even care? If she’s moving on, then so be it.”

“I don’t. Seriously, if she’s happy, found someone new, that actually makes everything easier,” Jeongguk paused, staring down at his hands. “It’s just weird, seeing them alone together like that, for the first time.”

Taehyung didn’t argue, but he didn’t look convinced either. “You shouldn’t be feeling anything, you know that, right? You haven’t felt anything for her in almost three years.”

The words hit harder than Jeongguk expected.

But he nodded, trying to ground himself in the decision he had already made.

After days in the hospital, you were finally going home.

The new agreement you signed with your lawyer left them with no choice but to release you. When your mom dropped you off, all you could think about was your own bed, your room filled with that soft lavender scent you missed so much. You just wanted a real shower, clothes that didn’t feel like paper, and a night of sleep without nurses checking your vitals every few hours.

You looked for one of Jeongguk’s old sweatshirts buried at the back of the closet. That old Linkin’ Park sweatshirt was always the comfiest, giving you the warmth of late-night talks and reminders of when you’d tease him for his broody music taste and soft, wide-eyed pout that made him look like a moody bunny.

As you pulled the sweatshirt free, something bumped against your hand—a soft thud, then a few papers slid out from the side of Jeongguk’s briefcase. Papers that looked too clean, stiff, and far too careful to be forgotten.

The sight made you stop cold. Your heart felt like it stopped too.

Maybe the universe thought it was funny — throwing one hit after another your way, just to see if you could survive it. Maybe it believed you were strong enough to take everything.

But even the strongest people get tired. Even they reach a point where they can’t keep going.

The universe clearly didn’t care. Because how else could you explain everything? The love you watched fall apart. The terrible news Dr. Min gave you. And now, these divorce papers scattered across your bedroom floor, already stained with the tears slipping down your cheeks.

You knew the marriage had been over for a long time. You felt it in the way Jeongguk drifted farther from you with every passing day.

But seeing it written down — seeing it official — still crushed something inside you.

You weren’t ready. Not today. Not after everything else.

But as you glanced down at the date typed at the top of the agreement, a bitter truth settled in. 

Maybe it wasn’t too soon after all. Maybe it was long overdue.

Because it had been three years now — three long years of being invisible. Of being nothing more than a shadow in the life you used to share with him.

Seeing the divided assets listed on the paper, you barely paid attention to the money he chose to split. It didn’t matter now. If anything, you thought Jeongguk had done a decent job of being fair.

What hurt was seeing his signature already stamped on it. It was realizing how easily his name stretched across the page, the faded ink, proof, that this decision wasn’t something he wrestled with. It hurt more knowing he had made the choice without even talking to you first.

Years of knowing his laugh before you even knew what falling in love with him felt like. Of sharing secrets under morning skies and sunlight that filtered through café windows. Of sneaking out of back-to-back meetings just to see each other for ten stolen minutes, coffee in one hand, his tie half-loosened, your heels in the other, saying nothing important—just “I missed you.” And meaning it. Of birthdays and anniversaries spent trying to outdo each other with handwritten letters, and slow, quiet mornings where nothing mattered except the way he looked at you like you were his favorite view.

You built a life with him. Chose him through every season. You held him when he broke down, he held you when your world went dark. You thought a love like that was untouchable. That all those years were proof of something unbreakable. That if anything in the world was real, it was you and him.

You thought that kind of history meant something. Thought it would keep you safe. Thought it would be enough.

But it wasn’t.

And maybe that’s the most painful part – that all those memories, all that love, all those years, not even the friendship you’ve built, was enough to stop him from letting go.

Seventeen years of love and memories, tossed aside like they didn’t matter.

The ache inside you wasn’t sharp anymore. It had settled into something heavier, deeper — a kind of grief that didn’t leave room for tears.

This was it.

The end of everything you once believed would last forever.

The soft creak of the bedroom door pulls you out of your thoughts.

Jeongguk steps inside. His eyes find the papers scattered around you, and for a second, you catch the panic flashing through him. "Where did you find that?"

The question is so cliché, you almost laugh. But you can’t even feel that anymore. There’s nothing left. Just emptiness.

You don’t bother answering him. Instead, you ask quietly, “When do you need it?”

His forehead creases. "What?"

"I’ll need some time to review it with Jin," you say, your voice steady, too steady. "But I’ll have it back to you before you know it."

You gather the papers neatly, ignoring how your hands tremble. Forced yourself to keep going, acting like none of it matters.

Jeongguk stares at you like he’s seeing you for the first time — and he doesn't seem to like what he’s seeing.

“Wait—” he starts.

But you cut him off, stacking the documents back into the folder. "Just tell me if you want it sent to you directly, or through your lawyer. Either way works. If there’s anything you want to change, send it back to me."

Your calmness seems to knock the air out of him. You can see it — the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his mouth opens but no words come out at first.

“That’s it?" he finally chokes out. "You’re just going to accept that I lied to you? That I kept this from you? You’re just... letting it go? You’re not even going to fight?"

You lift your gaze to him, tired, defeated. “Fight for what, Gguk?”

He doesn’t answer.

And you realize he has nothing left to give you.

“It’s over," you say, barely above a whisper. "You’ve won. You’re getting what you wanted."

You rise to your feet, feeling the weight of everything you’ve ever carried pulling harder now.

But there’s one thing you have to know.

You owe yourself at least that much.

"If you won’t mind..." you add, voice breaking just a little, "I just have one question." He watches you carefully, guarded, almost scared. "For once, Gguk... please be honest with me.”

You swallow the lump rising in your throat, then finally ask the question you’ve been burying for too long.

"Do you love her?"

Jeongguk’s face went pale. Sweat collected along his forehead, catching the light. His eyes—lately that’s been hard to read—were filled with panic now, darting between the folder on the floor and your face. He didn’t expect that question, not tonight.

He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a quiet, shaky, “When... when did you find out?”

“A while ago,” you said, voice steady but cold. “I went to your office one afternoon to see you. Brought lunch, thought maybe we could eat.”

You looked away, your gaze settling on the wall, anywhere but him.

“Taehyung said you were in a meeting, so I waited. Figured I’d stay at the café nearby in case you had time later. It was Ha-yun’s second death anniversary.”

You paused, the name alone pulling something deep from inside your chest. “We didn’t get to see each other that morning. Thought we could at least talk... remember her together.”

Jeongguk’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing.

“But when I saw you walking out of the building later that evening, you weren’t alone.” You let the words hang in the air, suffocating.

“She was with you. Was wearing your coat – the faded navy one with the frayed cuff. The one I spent hours stitching together, gave it to you on your first day for your new role. Told me it made you feel like you could conquer everything at that time.”

“And there she was, wearing it like it was just another coat. I saw you laughed at something she said – it’s that same laugh you used to share with me.”

“Then, she kissed you. You kissed her back like you had nowhere else to be.”

You paused, forcing yourself to breathe as the image flooded your mind again. “And then you both got in a cab. Left off to wherever it was you were going. Looked like you didn’t even care that you had me, that you had a wife and a home that was waiting for you.”

He flinched. A small, almost invisible movement—but you caught it.

“I stayed at the café a little longer,” you went on, voice quieter now. “Watched the street like an idiot, hoping maybe I was wrong. That you’d come back, even if I saw everything. Thought maybe you’d call me, apologize, tell me you loved me, that I still mattered to you. Thought maybe it was just a one-time thing. I was going to let it go for that one-time thing. Told myself something stupid that it might’ve been one of your drunken mistakes.”

You let out a shaky laugh, bitter and sad all at once. “But you never came back. It wasn’t a one-time thing. Because I’d seen all of it already it before. The scent on your shirts. The lipstick stains I kept finding. The lemon cake mixes you started buying even though you hated them. The tattoo—God, even the tattoo.”

His eyes widened, and for a moment, something flashed there—maybe guilt, maybe fear. You don’t know anymore.

“I saw the moon and stars on your wrist and realized you’d erased me. Replaced the sun��our sun. The one you said reminded you of how I made everything feel warm.”

You looked back at him, met his eyes, hoping to find even a flicker of regret—nothing. Just silence where love used to be.

“You didn’t even remember what that day was, did you?”

 “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, voice breaking. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You’re not.”

Then, you asked again, the one question you hadn’t dared to say out loud until now. “Just tell me. Do you love her?”

The way his eyes dropped to the floor, the way his lips stayed shut—it told you everything you needed to know. He didn’t have to answer. Because he already had.

You don’t say anything else. Just walked away with the weight of the papers still in your hand. Every step toward the closet feels heavier than the last, like your body is finally reacting to the emotional collapse you’ve been holding back. You open the door quietly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, even if your heart already has.

The space smells like both of you—faint traces of cologne and lavender, memories clinging to folded sweaters and hanging jackets. You grab the first largest bag you can find and begin packing what you can—just the essentials. A few changes of clothes. Some things for work. The rest you’ll deal with later, on a day when Jeongguk isn’t around, or maybe you’ll ask your mom to send someone for it.

You move on autopilot, focused on finishing before the lump in your throat can rise too high. Zipping the bag feels final, like the sound seals something off inside you.

When you step outside with the first load, Jeongguk is already there, standing near your car like he thinks he has something to say that could change the outcome. You don't look at him. Don’t have the strength to.

Another trip inside, another bag. Still, he’s there, hovering close like he’s waiting for you to fall apart in front of him. But you won’t—not here, not now.

You toss the last bag in the trunk and slam it shut. He takes a small step forward, eyes filled with something you can’t read anymore.

You pause before opening the car door, glancing back at him one last time.

“There are some conditions I want to add to the papers,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm inside. “But don’t worry. I promise, you'll get what you want."

And with that, you slide in, start the engine, and drive off—leaving him behind in the house that no longer feels like home.

Jeongguk sits at the bar, a glass of his usual whiskey resting in front of him. The ice has started to melt, untouched for too long. He knows he should be enjoying himself. Should be out there with Taehyung, laughing over stupid things, pushing through crowds, stepping outside to smoke and complain about the music being too loud.

But tonight, none of that feels right.

His hand stays curled around the silver ring resting in his palm. The wedding band he once wore every day without a second thought. Now, it’s just something he keeps in his wallet—close enough to hold onto, but not close enough to wear. He hasn’t figured out if that’s guilt, denial, or something in between.

It’s only been a week since you left.

The silence in the house is heavier than he expected. He thought he’d welcome the space, the quiet, the freedom. For years, he told himself things would feel lighter once it was over. And yet, all he’s felt since that night is the slow weight settling deeper in his chest.

The papers still haven’t come back. But he doesn’t mind. Told himself he’d wait however long it took. You deserve that. After everything, it's the least he can do. He’s not holding out hope that you’ll change your mind. Your last words still sit in his mind — your promise to finally let him go.

What haunts him is the way you sounded that night. Blank. Too blank. Like you’d already cried all the tears you had left and didn’t see the point anymore. That steady voice — wrapped around the pain you tried so hard to hide — plays in his head every time he closes his eyes.

In the mornings, it’s the marks on the closet floor that hits him. The faint skid of your luggage dragging out of the house feels louder than anything. A reminder that you left without looking back. That you made it easy for him, even when you shouldn’t have.

The missing car keys by the door breaks his heart the most. The keychain — the one with the little sun he bought you when you first moved in together — is gone too. Just an empty hook now. Every time he sees it, he’s dragged back to the moment to how you left.

Not just that you left, but how easily you did. You packed what you could, walked out the door in the middle of the night, and left him with everything—comfort, safety, warmth—when you were the one who deserved it more.

The vibration of his phone on the bar table pulls him out of the thought.

For a second, he welcomes it—grateful for anything to take him out of the spiral. But when he glances at the screen, the relief disappears just as fast.

Atty. Kim Namjoon: Divorce papers got delivered. On my way to the office to pick up. Let me know if you want to keep this off for tomorrow or if you want to meet up now.

Jeon Jeongguk: My house. Ten minutes.

He lets out a slow breath before grabbing his jacket.

Shoving his way through the crowd, he finds Taehyung still glued to someone on the dance floor. “Let’s go,” Jeongguk says, voice low. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

Taehyung groans in protest, but when he catches the look on Jeongguk’s face, he doesn’t argue.

Outside, the cold night hits his skin, but it doesn’t wake him. He’s already too alert. Too aware of what’s waiting for him.

The house is quiet—too quiet—but Jeongguk barely notices. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at the revised divorce agreement spread out in front of him like it’s written in a language he doesn’t understand.

Every asset under both your names will be transferred to him. The Cheongdam apartment—originally meant for rent— will be his, along with any future rental income. Your joint account? Expected to be emptied into his name. Your personal savings, too. Business shares you once celebrated over dinner? All will be redirected to him, including your shares in Seora— the company you’ve poured your heart into. Even the insurance policies, meant to protect you both, will stay with him. You’d even signed the car title transfer.

The only things you requested to keep were the vacation home in Busan, every photo you’d taken together, and both wedding rings.

That’s it.

Jeongguk leans back, the paper feeling oddly stiff. He doesn’t understand. He knows the agreement he'd made. Knows what was on the original papers. None of this makes sense.

“There’s a catch,” Namjoon says, opening a separate folder and handing Jeongguk a new document – a single list, yet the paper feels heavier than it should, as if every word on it carries a weight of its own.

Taehyung, seated across from them, leans in.

“What’s this?” Jeongguk asks.

“Her conditions. She had them delivered with the revised agreement,” Namjoon explains. “Said the divorce won’t be final until these are met.”

Jeongguk reads the page slowly, each point sinking deeper into his chest.

Namjoon watches the way Jeongguk’s expression tightens, the weight of the situation settling heavy on his face. It’s not a new look—he’s worn it often since the divorce talks began—but it still makes Namjoon uneasy.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay on the paper in front of him, the list of conditions still fresh in his mind.

“Why is she giving everything to me?” His voice is low, like he’s talking to himself more than anyone else. “Why is she making this so easy? What's with this list?”

Namjoon straightens. “We can counter. These conditions? They’re emotional leverage. Anyone can see that. This could easily be thrown out or adjusted. If you want to—”

“I don’t want to fight back, Hyung.” Jeongguk cuts in before Namjoon can finish. His tone is calm, but it makes both Namjoon and Taehyung freeze. There’s something cold in it. Resigned. “She doesn’t deserve that. Not after everything.”

He leans back, fingers tightening around the edge of the table.

“If this is all she’s asking for, I’ll do it. I just don’t understand why.” He shakes his head. “I did most of what’s on this list for fourteen years. The rest… I’ve been doing for three. And now all I have to do is repeat it for thirty days, and she signs everything over?”

Namjoon stays quiet. He knows where this is going.

“She’s not angry. She’s not asking for much in return. She’s not even trying to fight me for the things we built together. Why?” Jeongguk’s voice drops. “Why is she still being kind to me after all the shit I’ve done? Why is she making it easier for me to walk away from this?”

Taehyung shifts in his seat but says nothing.

“I don’t deserve easy,” Jeongguk mutters. “I’m not supposed to deserve easy.”

Namjoon knows the answer. Years working through countless divorces, he’s seen this kind of case more often than he'd like. The ones that settle the fastest, the ones that end quietly without dragging each other through the mud.

Taehyung knows it too. Having known you for over a decade, he’s watched how even through all the pain and disappointments, you never stopped choosing Jeongguk.

The unspoken answer hovers between them, heavy and bittersweet.

Namjoon and Taehyung share a look but say nothing, both silently agreeing to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Jeongguk isn’t ready to hear it.

Maybe he never will be.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part X

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: We're finally here! For a minute there, I didn't think this day would come XD I hope you've enjoyed reading this series as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for all the love and support, I honestly probably would not have otherwise finished it!

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, angst, fluff

WR: ~4900

Masterlist | Part I

Jake leaves his mug on the counter and slowly approaches the kitchen table. He watches Bradley incredulously as the news sinks in. “Where is she going?” he finally says.

“Back to her mom’s.”

Jake’s eyebrows flit up momentarily. “That’s halfway across the country.”

Bradley nods, although he looks somewhat uncomfortable under Jake’s persistent scrutiny.

“Why?”

Bradley sighs. “I got a call from her mom a couple weeks ago.”

“I remember,” Jake says, recalling the party and your unwillingness to speak with your best friend, despite his obvious distress.

“Said she was kicked out of her program,” Bradley continues.

“What?” Jake lowers himself into the seat across from Bradley. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bradley shrugs. “I didn’t know if she was sharing. Anyway, apparently her boyfriend called her mom and delivered the news.”

Jake’s jaw muscles contract. “I could kill him, I swear.”

“She submitted a plagiarized paper, Jake.”

Jake glances up at his friend fiercely. “Bullshit,” he says immediately.

Bradley nods. “I agree.”

Jake shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. Of all people, she wouldn’t.”

“I tried talking to her about it but, as you know, she’s been avoiding me like the plague.”

“She didn’t dispute it?”

Bradley shakes his head solemnly. “She came by yesterday to tell me that the engagement is off and that she’s leaving. For good.”

Jake glances up at Bradley abruptly, as if roused from a reverie. “The engagement is off? Since when?”

“She didn’t tell you that part either?” Bradley grimaces. “What the fuck did you two even talk about?”

Jake blinks at Bradley a couple of times and then leaps out of his seat. “Let’s go,” he says urgently, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “We can’t let her leave.”

Bradley stands and takes one final gulp of beer before following Jake out of the kitchen. He takes his car keys off the hook by the front door while Jake unplugs the fan and turns off the living room lights. “Shut up,” he mutters on his way out the door when Bradley gives him a knowing smirk.

Jake skips down the porch steps and marches to his truck. “Want me to drive?” Bradley calls after him, holding up the keys to his Bronco.

Jake pulls open the door to his truck. For some reason, he feels like driving might bring him a sense of comfort. “No, I’ll drive,” he says as Bradley approaches the truck. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, looking up at his friend over the cab. “Rooster.”

Bradley glances up at him, his hand over the doorhandle. “Yeah?”

Jake sighs irritably. “I’m in love with her.”

Bradley gives him a look and pulls open the passenger door. “I know,” he replies wryly and gets into the truck.

…

“Still not picking up?” Jake asks, looking over at Bradley who solemnly shakes his head. He sets his phone down over Jake’s, having tried you from both numbers.

Jake pulls up right behind the white mustang in your driveway. Bradley winces as Jake finally yanks on the handbrake about two inches from the pristine car’s sleek bumper. Before Bradley could comment on Jake’s parking job, however, the latter shoots out of the truck and jogs up to your front door.

Bradley, somewhat hesitantly, follows suit. He stops a few feet short of the porch, though, probably deciding that Jake is threatening enough all on his own.

Mustang opens the door a crack and Jake immediately steps forward, like a dog that hasn’t quite mastered the art of impulse control. “Where is she?” he growls, sticking his face between the frame and the door that’s still latched by a chain.

“Go fuck yourself,” Mustang spits out and tries to squeeze Jake out before slamming the door.

Mistake, of course. Because Jake isn’t afraid of getting his paint chipped. He pushes his weight into the door and reaches in through the opening to grab a hold of Mustang’s collar. Then he yanks on him sharply, causing Mustang’s temple to crash into the doorframe. Jake gives Mustang another tug until his wide jaw is wedged into the open space like a door jam.

Bradley clears his throat in the background uncomfortably, but keeps his hands in his pockets for the time being.

Jake holds onto Mustang’s collar tightly while the latter pants in alarm.

“Where is she?” Jake repeats, more quietly and more dangerously than before.

“She left already,” Mustang chokes out.

“Then why are you still here?” Jake hisses.

“I’m just getting my stuff.”

“Hangman,” Bradley says in an appeasing sort of tone. “We’re wasting time.”

Jake still glares at your ex with hatred, his grip tightening around Mustang’s shirt despite his eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets. “What’s her flight number?”

Mustang shakes his head with difficulty and croaks, “Fuck if I know.”

Jake gives him a rough jolt and Bradley, again, says, “Jake, we should go.”

“What time does she take off?” Jake asks. “What airline?”

Mustang’s eyes begin to water. “Fuck that bitch,” he sputters. “She got what she deserved.”

Jake, enraged beyond words, could have probably taken the whole door off its frame in his fury, if not for Bradley coming to haul him off the porch. “We have to go!” Bradley shouts while Jake, still fuming, flares out his chest.

“Come out and fight like a man!” Jake bellows, combatting Bradley’s attempts to restrain him.

“He’s not worth it,” Bradley urges, continuing to push him down the path back to the driveway.

“What’s the matter, Mustang?” Jake jeers. “Scared I’ll put a dent in that fancy mug of yours?” He jerks away from Bradley and heads straight for the white mustang in the driveway. “What’s the point” – he yells, push-kicking the door of the car – “of all that muscle –”

“Jake! Fuck!” Bradley yelps, dragging Jake back, away from the white car, less immaculate now that it’s got a depression in its frame about the size of Jake’s heel.

Jake chuckles and a moment later, Mustang appears in the driveway, gasping in horror when he sees the state of his car. “You piece of fucking –”

“Jake, go, go, go!” Bradley shouts, shoving his friend in the direction of the truck. They hop in before Mustang can orientate himself in his distress and Jake floors the pedal in reverse the moment his engine roars to life. “Ha!” Bradley exclaims, drumming enthusiastically on the dashboard as Jake pulls out of the driveway.

Jake smirks, adrenaline coursing deliciously through his body as he accelerates toward the freeway.

…

“What is this bullshit?” Jake grumbles, smacking his steering wheel in frustration.

Bradley grimaces at the string of red lights ahead of them on the ramp. “There’s another lot farther out,” he suggests.

Jake shakes his head. “I’m not turning around.”

“Okay,” Bradley responds patiently. “I’m sure this’ll be quick,” he adds, although he doesn’t sound very convinced, himself.

Jake lets out a sharp exhale, inching forward slowly. About fifteen minutes later, they finally pull up to the parking garage. Jake peeks up at the clearance bar with a grimace. “Think we’ll make it?”

Bradley glances at the marker and then at Jake. “How big are your tires?” he deadpans.

Jake looks at Bradley with a scowl. “What makes you think they’re big?”

Bradley returns Jake’s scowl twofold. “You got a roof rack on this thing?”

“Of course I’ve got a roof rack. What kind of man doesn’t have a roof rack on his car?” Jake scoffs offendedly. A horn blares from behind them and Bradley sighs, closing his eyes. Jake ignores the sound and leans forward over his steering wheel, staring up at the bar contemptuously.

“Well, we’ll have to risk it. We can’t park here,” Bradley reasons.

Jake nods but doesn’t move. Several more horns interrupt their conversation and Jake rolls down his window to yell at the car in behind, “Have some patience, asshole!”

Bradley drags a hand over his face wearily. “We really don’t have time for another conflict,” he remarks.

Jake groans grudgingly and slowly releases the brake. They both wince as the truck rolls precariously under the clearance bar and, when it makes it through unscathed, Jake howls excitedly while Bradley lets out an audible sigh of relief.

…

Finding an available spot takes about twenty minutes and about ten years off Jake’s life. Cursing, Jake clambers out of the truck and slams his door aggressively. Bradley extracts his phone from his pocket and takes a photo of their vehicle’s location.

Jake waits for him impatiently to which Bradley replies, “You’ll thank me later.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees, but walks briskly ahead to look around in search of signs that might point the way to the terminal.

“This way,” Bradley says, pointing to the elevators at the far end of the lot.

“This place is a fucking maze,” Jake grumbles.

“What, you never been to a commercial airport before?” Bradley jokes. Jake gives him a flat look and Bradley snorts and claps Jake on the back. “Relax, man. We’ll find her.”

Jake tries not to show just how anxious he is by giving Bradley a nod and a tight smile. He blazes into the stairwell, ignoring the slowly opening elevator doors, and Bradley follows behind him, jogging up the stairs.

In the terminal, they stop to look up at the flight information board listing all the departures taking place that night.

“Two possible flights she could be on,” Bradley says.

“Two different gates,” Jake comments solemnly.

“The first one is leaving in twenty minutes. She’ll already be on the plane,” Bradley says, “if that’s her flight.”

“Maybe she’ll be on the other one,” Jake says hopefully, starting in the direction of the second gate.

Bradley hurries to catch up with him through the crowded airport.

“Where are all these people going?” Jake mutters under his breath, pushing his way past slower moving, luggage towing individuals.

Bradley eyes him with a small grin. “They have just as much a right to be here as you do, Jake.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake says, pushing his way through an excited group of travellers wearing parkas and winter hats. “That’s her gate up there!” He starts for it at a run despite the dense crowd around them.

Bradley follows, albeit less obnoxiously. Then, about ten feet from the gate, Jake stops short and Bradley crashes right into him. “Dude!” he exclaims, rubbing his chest.

“It’s her,” Jake breathes.

Bradley turns his head and it takes him several moments to locate you because you’re already going through security.

“Y/N!” Jake hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth.

You don’t hear him, though, because there’s a glass wall separating you from the checkpoint queue. Bradley, in an effort to help Jake get your attention, also starts calling your name. Meanwhile, Jake starts for the security checkpoint at a run, which sort of worries Bradley. “You need a boarding pass to get through –”

But Jake, completely ignoring Bradley’s warning, hops right over the stanchion behind the security officer’s back.

“Fuck,” Bradley mutters under his breath as the officer turns around in alarm and brings a walkie to his face. Other security personnel rush over in a panic and Bradley, approaching as casually as possible, says, with a wave of his hand, “It’s cool.” He leans nonchalantly on one of the glass panels near the checkpoint, adding, “He’s a pilot.”

Several of the officers look over at him like he’s nuts.

…

Jake makes it all the way to the glass doors before somebody apprehends him, and then he shouts your name again. You turn around just as that somebody throws him to the ground. Jake groans, not too pleased about having to taste this particular carpet.

“What are you doing?” he hears you screech, and he glances up with just his eyes because his face is still being pressed into the ground.

“Hey, how are ya?” he manages to say.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you repeat, more aggressively this time.

Jake winces as someone’s knee digs into his spine. “Baking a cake. What’s it look like I’m doing?” He grunts as he’s finally lifted to his feet.

You are staring at him wildly when he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” he says again, rotating his shoulders to alleviate the cramp in his back.

Behind you, security personnel have started to block off the entire area.

“Sir, we’re going to need you to come with us,” the officer still holding onto Jake says firmly.

“What? Where are you taking him?” you ask.

“You need to come with us too, ma’am,” another officer says.

“No,” Jake groans. “She didn’t do anything.”

“This is a misunderstanding,” you say. “He’s a Navy Lieutenant. Jake, tell them!”

 “No, don’t tell them that.” Jake cringes. He would prefer not to be reprimanded for this incident by his superior officers.

You stare at him as the two of you are led to a holding area near the checkpoint. Meanwhile, Jake can see Bradley scrambling past passersby to keep the two of you in sight as he holds his phone to his ear.

“Didn’t know you were planning on taking a vacation,” Jake says as the officer in charge of detaining him nods for his colleague to open the door. “Going somewhere nice?”

You give him a dirty look as you are walked into the holding room.

“Please wait here until law enforcement arrives.”

You look up at the man in alarm. “Law enforcement? He’s in the military!” you shout.

“Shh,” Jake shushes you. “Don’t yell at the nice officer,” he warns you. “We can wait,” he assures the security team.

The door closes and you look over at Jake furiously. “I’m going to miss my flight!” you scream at him. “Because of you!”

Jake sets his jaw. “Good.”

You glare at him incredulously. “How are you so goddamn selfish?”

“I’m selfish?” he retorts. “I spent all morning with you. We had sex” – Jake takes note that you cringe at the word – “and yet you failed to mention that you’ve moving clear across the fucking country!”

“What do you care? You hate me, remember?” you yell back.

“Oh, I remember,” he snaps. “I also remember your diatribe on the avocado, and how much you loathe everything I stand for. I remember your outrageous appraisal of my truck, and the ridiculous way you hold a pool cue. Your annoying inability to shut the fuck up about the stupidest shit and your equally annoying refusal to tell me about the things that actually matter.”

You blink at him with a scowl and fold your arms over your chest. “This is the worst love confession I’ve ever heard,” you grumble.

Jake exhales forcefully. “I haven’t confessed anything yet.”

You suck in your cheeks and look up at the ceiling impatiently. “I’ll wait.”

Jake releases another irritated sigh. “There isn’t a single thing about you that I’ve been able to successfully forget. Despite my best efforts.”

You meet his gaze half-heartedly but say nothing.

“You just showed up one day, out of nowhere, and I’ve been messed up ever since. Do you get that?” He stares at you wildly, realizing that he’s getting something off his chest that he hadn’t even really known was weighing on him. “You walk around like you don’t owe anybody a goddamn thing. You’re out here pretending like your actions – your decisions – don’t affect people. Well, they do, alright? You affect people! You affect me.”

You lower your gaze mutely, as though you’re lost for words for the first time ever. The very idea is preposterous, however, and Jake is sure that you’re just waiting for the most opportune moment to counter. He decides not to give you the opportunity.

“What do you want out of life?” he says with an edge to his tone because he’s anxious to get to his point.

You glance back up at him curiously.

“Ask me again,” he says. “Ask me the whole thing. Disregarding the fact that we are meaningless or whatever nonsense you spewed. Ask me.”

You gulp and clear your throat. “What do you want, Jake?”

He releases a sharp sigh, deliberately maintaining eye contact. “You,” he responds firmly. “You, you, you.” He takes a step toward you, his eyes searching yours urgently because he’s desperate to be honest for once. To lay it all out so you have the facts before you run. “Whatever the damn question is, okay?” He takes up your hands and holds them to his chest. “My answer is always you.”

You watch him with that same unreadable gaze, the one that Jake has spent months trying to decipher. But he knows that he’s gotten under your skin just as much as you’ve gotten under his. Because he knows you. So, he waits; allows you a moment to gauge his sincerity. As if tracking you down at a civilian airport and getting detained isn’t evidence enough. Your eyes well up suddenly and, unexpectedly, you move away from him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry for affecting you.”

Jake lets his hands fall when you withdraw. “I just want you to tell me the truth,” he says. “I want you to stop acting like nothing ever gets to you.”

You glance up at him fiercely and cry, “You get to me, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I am also affected?” You draw in a sob and lean your back against the wall, hiding your face in your hand.

Jake, both distraught and relieved that you’re finally emoting, approaches you slowly. He puts an arm around your shoulders and brings you into his chest. All he wants is to express just how much you mean to him – just how far he’d go to make you happy – but all that comes out is, “I don’t want you to go,” which is partly muffled anyway because he says it with his mouth on your head.

You sniffle miserably against his shoulder and shift your weight to lean into him. “I can’t stay,” you respond.

Jake, whose entire body is both vibrating and paralyzed at the same time, says quietly. “Tell me why.”

“I got kicked out,” you whimper, as if this is the ‘why’ Jake is after.

“Not that,” he says, taking a step back so that he can look you in the eye. “Tell me why you got engaged. The morning after I – after we… Were you already engaged when you came to the party? When I kissed you?”

“No,” you say. “He proposed that night.”

Jake watches you patiently. “And you said yes?”

“Because he promised he’d confess.”

Jake stares at you. “Confess?”

“He submitted a plagiarized paper on my behalf. Right after we broke up.”

Jake grimaces. “What a fucking nutcase.”

“He was angry. But obviously he didn’t think I’d get kicked out for it.”

“Why didn’t he just come clean when shit hit the fan?”

“And get kicked out himself? He wouldn’t take that chance; his defense is coming up in less than six months.”

“So…you decided to marry him?”

“He told me he was sorry and promised he’d talk to the board as soon as he passed. I figured I’d just agree to the engagement and call it off once he came clean.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this? That day, when he announced the engagement. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You sigh. “What would you have done?”

“Kicked his ass,” Jake responds without a moment’s thought.

“Exactly,” you say. “You’re about one offense from getting kicked out, yourself.”

Jake has no rebuttal to this because you’re sort of right on the money in this case. His last altercation nearly cost him his wings and he’s not at all looking forward to explaining this airport fiasco to his superiors. “When did you call off the engagement?” he asks.

“This morning,” you say. “Before I came to see you.”

Jake plants his hands on his hips. “So why are you leaving?”

“Well, he’s never going to admit what he did. So, I’m out of the program for good. Why would I stay?”

Jake stares at you. “Are you for real?”

You shrug. “He’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Oh, he’ll leave you alone,” Jake says firmly. “Or I’ll break his legs.”

You give him a reproachful look. “And get arrested? Lose your job?”

“Fine, I’ll break his car.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not letting you run,” he says, taking a confident step toward you.

“It’s not up to you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t care.” He takes your face in his hands.

“Don’t be an ass,” you say, lisping slightly because your cheeks are squished between his palms.

Jake smirks. “But I’m good at it.”

“It’s my decision,” you say, trying to sound firm despite the aforementioned speech impediment.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake continues. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Jake!”

Jake lets his forehead rest against yours. “You missed your flight anyway,” he mutters. “And I love you,” he adds, casually enough for it to perhaps blend into the conversation unnoticed.

But you notice it. You lift your face to meet his gaze. “You do?” you ask quietly.

“Don’t act all surprised.”

You smile mildly. “Surprised that you can admit it.”

“One of us had to.”

You gaze at him mutely.

And just as Jake is about to spiral in response to your lack of a response, the door opens and someone steps inside.

“C’mon,” Bradley urges, waving his arm impatiently. “I’m busting you out.”

“How –” you begin.

But Jake cuts you off, “Shh, don’t ask questions.” He leads you through the open door after Bradley as he surveys the immediate vicinity in all directions.

“You’re both pieces of work,” you mutter under your breath and Jake, who’s got an arm around your shoulders, squeezes you affectionately.

There is a large crowd just outside of the holding room, and a commotion near the gate. Clearly, Bradley had managed to create some sort of diversion. A subtle craning of his neck allows Jake to see exactly who it is that’s causing a scene.

“Keep you head down!” Bradley whispers hoarsely from behind, smacking Jake’s crown with annoyance.

Jake ducks slightly and looks over his shoulder at Bradley, “Was that Bob?”

“Yep,” Bradley responds. “Apparently, he owed you?”

Jake scrunches up his eyebrows as Bradley continues to jostle the two of you toward the exit. “Owed me?”

“Said he cockblocked you at your party two weeks ago?” Bradley says. “Sorry, ‘my’ party,” he adds, with quotation marks around the ‘my’.

You glance between Bradley and Jake with a smirk as the latter raises his eyebrows. “He remembers that night?”

Bradley nods, finally walking out into the sunlight. “He’s felt bad about it ever since.”

Jake glances down at you, wondering if things would have been different had Bob not shown up that fated night, blasted out of his mind. Would you have spent the night? Not gotten engaged to Mustang? Would you have told him the big secret you were keeping, thereby avoiding the whole debacle entirely? Perhaps Bob does owe him.

“Anyway, I called up the cavalry and Bob immediately volunteered,” Bradley continues, making his way to the parking garage.

Suddenly, you stop, and Bradley and Jake come to a halt and look back at you in confusion.

“Here’s the thing about a quick getaway, princess,” says Jake, approaching you to take your hand. “You have to get away quickly.”

You pull your hand out of his. “When did I agree to staying?”

“Lord, give me strength,” Jake mutters, throwing his head back to look up at the sky with a sigh.

“Maybe you can decide this at a safer distance away from where you nearly just got arrested,” Bradley suggests.

“I don’t understand the issue here,” Jake says. “I beat Mustang to a pulp until he confesses. Problem solved.”

Bradley grimaces. “I can see why she might not be on board.”

“Guys, my luggage has already been checked.”

Jake places his hands on his hips and stares you down. “What goes up must come down.”

You roll your eyes. “My mom is expecting me,” you continue.

Jake takes a phone out of his pocket and holds it out. “Simple enough to fix.”

You exhale sharply. “This has to be my decision,” you declare.

Jake shifts his jaw, his face forming a frown without his consent. He locks eyes with you and nods. “Make it, then.”

You swallow uncomfortably without breaking eye contact and Bradley retreats a few steps in the background.

“I don’t know if you know this,” you begin quietly, and Jake dares not move lest he miss a single syllable of your speech. Who knew that a day would come when he’d pretty much give anything just to keep you talking? “But I liked you probably before I even started to hate you.”

Jake gives you a cautious smile. “Probably?”

“Don’t push it,” you retort.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up,” he responds, fighting to keep a straight face. “Go on, tell me how much I mean to you.”

You sigh. “Can you refrain from being an ass for at least a minute?”

Jake makes a face. “Doubtful.”

“Uh, I can attest to that,” Bradley chimes in from behind.

“Rooster, we’re having a moment here,” Jake calls over his shoulder.

“Are you sure about that?” Bradley counters, in response to which Jake just shakes his head.

“Continue,” Jake says to you. “Please.”

You let out an irritable sigh, “I can’t tell you why I liked you, I’m still trying to figure that one out.”

Jake plants his hands on his hips. “Liar.”

You stare at him rather uncomfortably. “I had a boyfriend, remember? I had no business liking you.”

Jake narrows his eyes but stays silent.

“I think it’s because…” you voice trails off and you let out a grudging sigh.

“It’s the truck, isn’t it?” Jake asks pompously. “One ride was all it took.”

You snort out a chuckle and shake your head. “No,” you say. “It’s that.” You gesture at him and he knits his eyebrows together, intrigued. “That ‘sharp sense of humor’,” you say, mockingly repeating the first ever compliment he made you all those moons ago. “No matter how mad you make me, or how pissed I am at the world, you somehow can always make me laugh.”

Jake watches you soberly now, touched that you were finally able to express your feelings. “Don’t tell the truck that,” he mutters.

“Why?” You grin, taking a step toward him. “Does the truck have an ego problem?”

Jake’s lips form a tight, guilt-ridden smirk as you approach. “The truck might have an ego problem.”

You’re standing so close to him now that you have to lift your chin to maintain eye contact. “I might have another confession to make,” you say softly, so that your voice nearly gets swept away in the small breeze filtering through the tunnel.

Jake gulps, not sure he could handle standing at this proximity without getting a little stupid. He’ll have to keep his mouth shut because his brain isn’t the organ being prioritized at the moment.

“I think about the truck a lot,” you whisper, your eyes flitting slowly between his.

“You do?” Jake croaks, and then, clearing his throat, repeats, “You do?”

You nod. “I like how it handles the bumps in the road.”

“Well, yeah, it’s got some heavy-duty shocks, plus the ground clearance –”

“Jake,” you cut him off, unimpressed.

Jake grins. “It’s pretty well-equipped for off-roading, was what I meant to say.”

You gaze at him in amusement. “Perhaps we could try to navigate away from the uneven terrain.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You lower your gaze with a small chuckle but, despite the smile, you look uneasy. “I need to know that you’re not going to do anything reckless.”

Jake considers your words for a moment. “Define reckless.”

You glance up at him impatiently. “Check the dictionary.”

He grins. “Fine,” he agrees. “But I can’t vouch for the truck.”

You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and take me home, Jake.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?”

You smile at him and start walking.

“Finally,” Bradley exclaims as the two of you catch up to him. “You guys talk way too much. We’re still fugitives, you know?”

“Sorry, I just needed Jake to know how much I love his truck,” you say with a giggle.

Bradley gives you a confused look while Jake does a double take. “You love my truck?”

You stare at him. “I thought that was obvious.”

“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “No, that was not at all obvious.” Jake steps around Bradley and stops you in your tracks.

Bradley groans in frustration, throwing up his hands. “Guys!”

“You love…” Jake say, “my truck. You love my truck. You love my truck?”

You blink at him innocently and nod. “Uh-huh,” you acknowledge and then walk around him to continue on your merry way.

Jake takes your wrist and you turn back to look at him. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “Just to clarify – so that I know we’re on the same page – I’m the truck, right?”

You press your lips together to keep your growing grin at bay and lower your gaze. “You’re the truck, Jake,” you respond coyly.

“I’m the truck,” Jake repeats stupidly. Hadn’t he earlier meant to stay quiet?

You catch his gaze and smile more freely now. “Right,” you say. “And I could really go for another ride.”

Jake stares at you for a moment, lost for words. Then he slides his arms under your butt and scoops you up so that you’re looking down at him, your feet dangling a foot off the ground.

“Way to remain inconspicuous, you two,” Bradley remarks in the background.

But Jake ignores his best friend and cranes his neck as you lower your lips to his. And he lets you cradle his face in your delicate hands and kiss him. Because, damnit, it’s high time for some action.

A/N: THE END!!! Thank you guys so much for reading! xoxo

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I'll try my best to put the rest of the tag list in the comments but it's gotten a little messy over the years so I might not get everyone.

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@maeleeme

[companionjones]

Not Your Fault

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Fandoms: Marvel, MCU

Summary: Bucky reacts accordingly.

Warnings: Cursing

*******

You always liked the quin-jet after missions. Successful missions, anyway. After successful missions the atmosphere on the quin-jet was so light and airy. You loved it.

"Honey, you're not making sense," Bucky, your boyfriend said suddenly, interrupting your thoughts.

Wait, had you said that out loud?

Everyone on the quin-jet was staring at you.

Had you said that out loud too?

Bucky slowly got up and approached you, "Y/n? Honey, are you okay?"

No, you weren't. Now that you thought about it. Your head hurt a little. You brought a hand up, hoping pressure to the painful area would help. It didn't. What also didn't help with your growing headache was seeing that your hand was then covered in blood. "Huh. That might explain why I'm narrating out loud."

The last thing you remembered before everything went to black was Bucky catching you before you hit the ground.

You woke up in the medbay back at the compound. You were surprised to see Bruce there. Usually, he was only involved in super-powered medical cases. As far as you could tell, your head injury resulted from hitting a wall that was not made of gamma rays.

"Hey, Banner," you smiled as you noticed your drug-induced haze.

The doctor reflected your grin. "Hey, look who's awake. And don't worry about me being here. Your head's all stitched up. It was nothing serious. Bucky just insisted I be involved to cover all our bases.

"Oh, Bucky." You face-palmed when you thought about your boyfriend. "Is he okay?"

Bruce was confused. "Yeah. He's fine, of course. Why wouldn't he--?"

"I know he's okay physically, Bruce. I mean--" You didn't need to refer to how Bucky usually got when you were in trouble.

"Oh," Bruce immediately got what you were saying. "Yeah, no. Buck is sorta..."

"Losing his shit out there?"

"Entirely," Bruce nodded.

You snorted, but the humor didn't stay. "Could you send him in here please?"

Again, he nodded. "Of course. Regarding the head injury, you'll be fine. Just stay on bed-rest for a couple weeks, okay?"

You mock-saluted, "You got it, doc. Thank you."

"Anytime." Bruce smiled just before he ducked out of the room.

Bucky entered less than thirty seconds later.

He looked like shit. You'd talked out loud on purpose that time. "How long was I out for? It couldn't've been that long, right?"

"Only a few hours, but it felt longer," Bucky explained.

He really did look horrible. "Oh, baby. Come here." You held out your arms to him.

Bucky approached you and sat down on your hospital bed. He took your face in his hands. "Banner said you're okay. Do you feel okay?"

"I do. Baby, baby." You took his hands in yours, partly to get them off your face. "I'm okay."

He was tearing up. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? I know you couldn't've stopped me from getting hurt, if that's what we're talking about...Bucky." You brought his gaze up to meet yours again when it fell. "Look at me and say that I'm okay."

"...You're okay," he mumbled.

"Now tell me that this isn't your fault."

"It's...it's not my fault."

"I'm sorry, what? I couldn't hear you."

"It's not my fault!" he laughed at how stubborn you were. "Happy now?"

"Almost...Come here," you smiled and pulled him to you for a kiss.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlists. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[lullaby-lilies]

Fandom: Harry Potter

Words: 421

Prompt: Initiative @wolfstarmicrofic

・❥・“You know,” Remus said quietly, “you’re not half-bad at this friendship thing.”

Remus wasn’t sulking. Not really.

He sat beneath the shadow of the library’s tallest window, pretending to read while very obviously not doing so. The book was upside down. He hadn’t noticed.

Across the table, Madam Pince gave him the kind of narrowed stare that promised ejection if he so much as breathed too loudly. He shifted in his seat. There were ink smudges on his cuff. A folded note in his pocket he hadn’t opened. And an argument still echoing in his head.

He and Sirius had fought. Not an earth-shattering, wand-throwing sort of fight - just something sharp enough to leave a mark. Sirius had made a reckless comment in class. Remus had snapped back. It was about rules. It was always about rules with them.

Remus had stormed off. Sirius hadn’t followed.

That was two days ago.

The chair opposite him scraped. “You’re reading that upside down, you know.”

Remus looked up.

Sirius dropped into the seat with all the grace of a collapsing tower. His hair was windswept, cheeks pink from the cold. He didn’t look angry. He looked... determined.

“You’re late,” Remus said, because it was the only thing he could think to say.

“I’m not meeting you,” Sirius replied, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out two small pastries, slightly squashed. “I’m interrupting your very important brooding session with snacks.”

Remus arched a brow, amused despite himself. “I thought you said these were ‘for emergencies only.’”

“They are. You’re the emergency.”

He slid one across the table, avoiding eye contact but pushing just far enough that it tapped Remus’s hand. A peace offering.

Remus sighed. “We weren’t really fighting.”

“Maybe not. But we weren’t really talking, either.” Sirius finally looked at him. “So I’m fixing it.”

Remus blinked, momentarily speechless.

Sirius smiled—crooked and awkward, but genuine. “Look, I know I can be a bit of a prat sometimes—”

“A bit?”

“Shut up. I’m trying to be serious.”

“You are Sirius.”

“Merlin help me,” he groaned, but Remus was smiling now, just faintly. That was enough.

Sirius leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Anyway. I’m taking the initiative.”

Remus looked at the pastry. Took it. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I also brought sugar quills and a stolen bottle of pumpkin fizz.”

“From where?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Remus considered. “Not particularly.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the tension slowly lifting.

“You know,” Remus said quietly, “you’re not half-bad at this friendship thing.”

Sirius smirked. “You’re just lucky I like you.”

[mylovesstuffs]

𝐀 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 ! @mylovesstuffs Hits 1k Followers ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

Celeste's Magic shop :: In celebration of this journey, the blog has opened its doors to requests and confessions! Step inside, pick your token, and leave your wish behind. See details below! ς(>‿<.)

i kid you not, i've been so excited for this day but now i'm overwhelmed by the emotional crash. i hit this milestone a few days ago, but it took me a little time to put everything together [turns out magic shops don’t build themselves]. i started this blog on December 26th, 2024, on a total whim — in fact, i made it within minutes of deciding to. i never imagined how quickly or how warmly things would grow. in just four months, we made it here. i was actually supposed to hit this milestone in early April, but a shadowban snuck in and slowed things down. even so, we arrived a few days ahead of my adjusted prediction, and honestly i’m still wrapping my head around it.

thank you to every single one of you who has read, reblogged, commented, sent asks, screamed in the tags, or just quietly followed along. this corner of the internet became something special because you chose to stop by. i don't think i'll ever stop being surprised that people care about what I write, but you made this silly little blog feel like a place worth staying in. so, i’ll keep writing, as long as you’ll let me.

i don’t know where we’ll go from here, but i do know one thing: we run anyway.

guidelines: • anon and non-anon asks both welcome • open for SEVENTEEN only • track with: #mylovesstuffs 1k milestone magic 🌙 • until: may 25th

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .WISH UPON A STAR. ،♥︎٫

choose from a list of a total of 30 prompts across fluff, angst, and suggestive tones, below [mix of originals + from pinterest]

send me an ✨ emoji + your chosen prompt + a seventeen member. it's not possible to full fill all requests but, i’ll select whichever ideas resonate most.

fluff

falling asleep with heads leaning against each other.

“i could stay like this forever.”

tying his/your [please specify or I'll decide] shoelaces for him/you.

“you have a freckle here—no, wait, let me kiss it.”

you tucked a flower behind his ear

“lets go home. you're freezing, and i don't want you catching a cold.”

“hold my hand or I’ll get lost, and it’ll be your fault.”

“god, i miss you so much.”

he learned to braid your hair

“let me kiss you better.”

angst

“why didn’t you fight for us?”

pretending to be fine in front of the other members.

“it wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“i loved you more than you’ll ever know.”

“give me a chance.”

a ring that was never given.

“don’t make me choose between you and my dream.”

“i lost the baby.”

“i wish we’d met at a different time.”

regretfully watching you/them [please specify or I'll decide] fall in love with someone else.

suggestive

you/them teasingly undoing the top buttons of your/their [please specify or I'll decide] shirt.

“make me forget everything else.”

“you think i won’t do it?” — “try me.”

“you're not going out in that outfit.”

trapped between him and a wall.

“you’re so lucky we’re not alone right now.”

“do as i say.”

a game of truth or dare that goes too far.

back hugs that turn into something more.

“if you bite your lip one more time—”

example ask: ✨ fluff prompt 7 + Seungkwan, please.

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .CHARM OF CHOICE. ،♥︎٫

send me an 🪄 emoji + a lyric of your choice + a seventeen member.

example ask: 🪄 “i knew you were trouble when you walked in” i knew you were trouble by Taylor Swift + Mingyu. thank you!

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .SPELL RECIPES. ،♥︎٫

curious about my already released fics and wips [ongoing and/or to be started]? send an 🗝️ emoji + fic/wip title or concept. i’ll answer with fun facts, untold scenes, or future plans, etc. — some peeks into my writing process.

example ask: 🗝️ can we know more about the ‘somewhere before’ ? like what happened after part 2 with y/n and jun?

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .MIRROR MIRROR. ،♥︎٫

want to know which SEVENTEEN member would be your reflection? send an 🪞 emoji + a short description of yourself, and I’ll match you with someone and explain why.

example ask: 🪞 I’m quiet, really love rainy days, and have a huge soft spot for pets, especially a rabbit!

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .SECRET SPELLS. ،♥︎٫

send me an ☄️ emoji + ask me anything! [about my blog, writing process, favorites, life outside tumblr, etc.]

example ask: ☄️ what's your favourite cake flavour? [lol]

note :: for all programs, one request per ask, but you’re welcome to send multiple asks. all fills will be drabbles/ficlets unless the muse takes me further.

〰︎ .FORTUNE TELLER’S GIFT. 〣 ᰵ —

i’m opening the door, just a little, to a universe close to my heart: 🔮 the 14th member au 13+1 verse. a separate masterlist will be created for this world tomorrow [11th May], and her story will unfold from the very beginning.

we’ll be starting at the roots — early life, pre-debut, and present day. i’ll first be sharing basic things like, backstory, and character information, and as we move forward, you’ll see her timeline gradually evolve and be updated, just like it does in real life.

the world is already 90% built in my head, but: you’ll help shape her future. i’ll offer you moments to choose between different paths, decisions, or fates; because this is as much yours to explore as it is mine to tell.

no asks needed for this one; it's a gift from me to you.

thank you for everything; for all the love shown ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

[lxdymoon0357]

Isei Airavara: relationship HCs

Author's notes: I ADORE THIS WEBTOON!! My utter favourite, it's lighthearted, cute and everything in between!! And I'm over the moon with Isei and Anita, I'm making more posts regarding them, I PROMISE!!

Genre: fluff || headcanons

Warnings: N/A

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

回 Isei Airavara, oh my god! First of all, there is no bigger crackhead in this relationship than him sometimes. Okay, you can count up to him. You both are very much runaway asylum patients together, especially while chatting or texting, Kshin is kind of concerned for his brother, Granny thinks it's too fast for him to grow up.

回 Isei would try to draw you, decorate you with jasmines, they're his favourite after all. You'd sit there doing whatever be it studying, sleeping, cooking and whenever he can he'll click a pic and draw that pic or he'll draw if you're in a still position long enough.

回 Isei would imagine scenarios with you in his head, being the simp he is for you and you for him, and write fanfics down in his head..maybe it becomes his main idea for a smaller book, his editor loves to thank you for such good juicy stories he brings because of his late night scenario imagining/simping time for you.

回 Gossips with his granny and Kicchu about you and how pretty you look and how you looked at him for 0.04 seconds which means you'd both getting married in two days and stuff. Granny is too tired and throws him out of her kitchen, Kicchu only laughs till he's on his literal death bed from laughing so hard.

回 he demands you read his romance book and give compliments and hell be all blushy-blushy like a little princess. No man ever perfect than him has come out. Meera would be glad seeing him like this, she'd be happy seeing her son happy if she alive.

回 You'd both gossip after you're both done with college classes, while you both sit at some cafe. You've never known a guy who could gossip harder than Isei..His brother, but leaving him. Growing up around so many women and only one trans cousin brother and his elder brother and dad who also grew up surrounded by women. He puts on gossiping competition and throws everyone out the round with just one few sentences.

回 Isie would spend writing little love notes to you when he can, leaving them in your bags, your books, laptop, phone cover, wallet, anywhere really. He wants to remind you he loves you and everything about you every moment of very day. From compliments to even tiny trinkets if he could.

回 He would always have snacks ready for you in his home whenever you visit; sweets, tarts, fritters, banana chips his granny would spoil you rotten and even give you blackmail if you want with old photos and tell you stories like any grandma would.

回 Would always be watching bollywood movies with you..his romance game is like out of his own romance books. He's so romantic, always preparing dates for you, sends you 'us' texts more often than not, lets you bite his biceps if you're hungry and maybe bench-press you...Granny does not allow any of it, so that stays in your imagination!

回 He literally works out, just so you'd climb him like the bridge. He wants you to do everything to him that you want to do with your booktok boyfriends. Happy to carry you around, carry your book around..literally falls in love over and over just by looking at your face, you're his..He just can't believe!

回 He is ready to buy and write you books, loves to use you as his weight whenever he does push-ups or deadlifts..lifts you like you're his personal dumb-bell. Anyways, he also skips any and all veggies you don't like in the food whenever he cooks for you.

回 Literally puts on lipstick and leaves kiss-marks on you, you know what he did with Anita. Literal pookie. I can see him wanting to match outfits with you, all ootd of yourd match his. A pookie with another pookie. He begs you to have matching accessories sometimes and always uses any flowers that might fall from your gajra in his pockets.

[padawan-snack-packer]

hey so, I saw that you had zero slots taken buuuuut you did say you had four fics in the making so like feel free to take your time ^^ that sounds like a scary amount lmao. I don’t think I ever said how awesome your writing is - it’s actually really really good !! Seriously whenever I read one of your fics they make my day :]

Anyways uh I’d like to request like, Teen!reader (am I predictable or what) who meets the Wolfpack somehow (maybe they’re in coruscant for leave?) and for some reason they have to work with the Wolfpack and they absolutely butt heads (both the Wolfpack and reader are stubborn) and argue, sniped etc

and then like, at some point, one of the Wolfpack (authors choice) stumbles on them having a breakdown - maybe they’re taking what the Wolfpack says too seriously maybe somebody hit a nerve - how would they react?

feel free to make it angsty but no sad ending please my heart can’t take it-

anyways, if the prompt is too specific then feel free to leave parts out, and tysm for the other fills you’ve done ^^

-✨ anon

Hi there!!!

Absolutely, ✨anon — thank you for the kind words!! I'm really glad my writing makes your day, that genuinely means a lot. 🥹💙 Here's your request: teen!Reader meets the Wolfpack, butting heads, snark, and a breakdown with comfort (and a guaranteed soft ending, I promise)!!!

Hope you like it and thank you so much for trusting me with this!!!!

You don’t hate the Wolfpack.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. You kind of do. But only because they started it.

You’d been pulled into helping them during their so-called “leave” on Coruscant—turns out clones don’t really do rest. Especially not Commander Wolffe, who seemed to run on bitterness, caf, and some ancient Jedi-granted spite. You’d gotten assigned as an extra set of hands by a cranky quartermaster who said, “They need help and you’re expendable.” (Okay, she used the word available, but the vibes said expendable.)

At first, it was fine. Then it got Wolfpack-y.

They questioned everything. Your form. Your speed. Your “attitude.” You tried to stay chill, but every comment was like a little needle.

"Kid, do you even know how to weld a power junction without frying yourself?" "Is that supposed to be straight?" "We’re not a daycare, you know."

Wolffe was the worst, naturally. Boost and Sinker just followed his lead, smirking behind your back or giving you that look. That ‘you're trying your best and it’s still not good enough’ look.

And it wasn't that they were yelling. That might’ve been easier. It was the disappointment, the quiet frustration, like you were a burden and they just didn’t want to say it outright.

Eventually, you snapped back. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Sinker had just raised an eyebrow. Boost muttered something about “kids these days.” Wolffe had stared you down and said, flat as ever, “Then stop acting like one.”

That was the last straw.

You made some excuse about needing a part and walked out—fast. Not running. Definitely not crying.

You didn’t go far. Just found some half-finished hallway two decks down, sat behind a stack of crates, and tried really, really hard to breathe normally.

You weren’t crying.

You were processing.

Okay fine, maybe a little crying. But you were quiet about it.

That’s when you heard the boots.

You panicked and tried to wipe your face with your sleeve, but it was too late—Wolffe was already there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, frowning.

You braced for a lecture. A bark. Maybe a sarcastic “Are you lost?”

But instead, he crouched down beside the crate, leaning on one knee. His helmet was off for once, scarred eye narrowed, mouth set in a grim line.

“…We didn’t mean to get under your skin like that.”

You blinked. “Really? Because you’re really good at it.”

Wolffe sighed. “Yeah. We are.” He didn’t sound proud. “We’re used to being around each other. Barking orders. Giving each other crap. We don’t think twice.” He paused. “We should’ve. With you.”

You bit your lip. “I was trying. I am trying. But it’s like—everything I do is wrong. And I know I’m not a soldier, but I’m not useless.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Then, in a low voice that didn’t have any sharpness in it, he said, “You’re not useless. And you’re not a soldier. You’re a kid.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised a hand.

“That’s not a bad thing. You’ve been trying to keep up with a bunch of trained troopers who’ve known each other since Kamino. That’s not fair to you.”

You blinked hard. “You could’ve said that instead of treating me like a glorified cargo crate.”

His mouth twitched. You almost thought he might smile.

“Yeah. We’re not always great at the talking part.” He looked down, then back up at you. “Especially me.”

You hugged your knees tighter. “…Why do you all act like I’m in the way?”

“You’re not,” Wolffe said immediately. “That one’s on us. We see someone younger than us, we assume they’ll slow us down. That’s not fair. Not when you’re pulling weight.”

You shrugged. “Still feels like I’m dragging everyone down.”

Wolffe shook his head. “You were right earlier. You’re not an idiot. You’re capable. You’re also… allowed to have limits. You shouldn’t have to work twice as hard just to be tolerated.”

You stared at him. “…Did you have a brain replacement? Or did Master Plo threaten to take away your leave time?”

That did get a smile. A real, small, tired one.

“Master Plo definitely talked to me.”

You both sat there for a second, the silence less heavy now.

Then Wolffe tilted his head. “You wanna come back? Help us finish?”

“…Only if I’m not going to get Boost-snarked into a breakdown again.”

“I’ll handle Boost,” he said. “And if he says one more word, you have full permission to pour coolant down his boots.”

You grinned. “Seriously?”

“Commander’s orders.”

Wolffe didn’t say anything when he brought you back. Just walked beside you like a quiet wall of scarred armor and unspoken apologies.

You didn’t expect anything from the others. Maybe more teasing, or that awkward silence people give you after they know you’ve been crying but don’t want to deal with it.

What you didn’t expect was Boost practically freezing mid-sentence when he saw your face. You could tell you'd wiped away most of the mess—face mostly dry, no ugly sobbing—but apparently your eyes still sold you out.

Sinker straightened like someone had slapped the sarcasm out of him. The easy grin dropped. His brow creased.

“Aw, kark,” he muttered under his breath. “We didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,” Boost cut in, voice lower than usual. “We were just messin’ around. We didn’t think you’d… y’know…”

Cry. He didn’t say it. He didn’t need to.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s fine. I just… needed a break.”

But it wasn’t fine, and they knew it now.

Wolffe gave them a look. Not angry—just sharp enough to say you saw what happened. Don’t let it happen again.

Sinker scratched the back of his neck. “Look, kid. You’ve been holdin’ your own better than half the cadets I’ve trained with. Probably better than Boost when he was your age.”

“Hey!”

“What, it’s true. You cried less than he did in ARC training.”

“I’m emotionally in touch, thank you very much,” Boost grumbled.

Wolffe rolled his eyes. “Alright, that’s enough.”

But the edge was gone now. The tension had lifted. And when Sinker clapped a gloved hand gently on your shoulder, it didn’t feel patronizing. Just solid. Steady. Brotherly.

“You okay?” he asked, quietly this time.

You nodded. Still sniffly, still not at 100%, but getting there. “Better now.”

“Good,” Wolffe said. “Because I think we all need a break.”

Boost blinked. “We do?”

“Yes,” Wolffe said, already grabbing his bucket off the table. “We’re going topside.”

You blinked. “Like… outside?”

“Yeah,” said Sinker. “Fresh air. Or what passes for fresh on Coruscant.”

“Wander the market, get something fried and questionably legal,” Boost added, instantly perked up. “You ever had street noodles with spicy glow-oil?”

You hadn’t. But the way his eyes lit up when he talked about it made your stomach grumble in agreement.

You ended up on a speeder heading toward the lower levels’ night market, wedged between Sinker and Boost, who were surprisingly good at finding all the most chaotic snacks. One stall gave you a drink that glowed neon blue and definitely wasn’t regulation. Boost insisted it “builds character.”

Sinker got you a tiny plush Tooka on a stick from a prize machine and said, “This little guy’s got your glare.” You tried to smack him with it. He laughed.

Wolffe stayed close, keeping half an eye on you like a silent escort droid, but every so often he’d nudge your shoulder with his elbow or ask, “You holding up okay?”

And each time you answered, “Yeah,” it was a little more true.

Eventually, you ended up leaning over a balcony, looking down at the speeder-lights and neon haze of Coruscant’s lower levels.

Wolffe joined you, arms crossed, quiet for a second before saying, “You’re one of us, you know that?”

You blinked. “Even after the breakdown?”

“Because of the breakdown,” he said, voice low but honest. “You stuck it out. You didn’t walk away forever. That’s guts. That’s family.”

You looked at him. At the others. Boost was trying to juggle glow-sticks. Sinker was dramatically fake-choking on spicy glowing noodles.

Your chest felt light. After all this time, the weight in your chest finally left.

“I’m still pouring coolant in Boost’s boots if he’s annoying tomorrow,” you said.

Wolffe smirked. “You’re definitely one of us.”

[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.

[waneborne-caverns]

Neither of which would ever live again. ┆ ╰⪼ (Inspired by: In Sheep's Clothing // @reignpage)

[harvestmoth]

more rejuv things but its. its just this guy again, im sorry shes all i can draw

[dawntheduckrb]

I'll stop posting wips eventually but it's been five days since I've said anything and I don't want anyone to think I'm dead/dying/stuck in a ditch and withering away, so here's 10% of the reason I disappeared (the duck is stuck in rendering hell) (and my little baby laptop is screaming at me every time I open up this file)

I might still be mostly lurking for a little bit so please be patient with me in the meantime 🙏🙏

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: The 1975 (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy, Matthew Healy/Taylor Swift, Matthew Healy&Taylor Swift, Karlie Kloss/Taylor Swift Characters: Taylor Swift, Matthew Healy, Selena Gomez, Jack Antonoff, Karlie Kloss Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Eating Disorders Summary:

“As I was saying, after the incident at your concert last night,” Tree restarted and Matty opened his mouth as if to question what the incident was, but was silenced by a glare from Jamie. “We need to move the speculation away from Taylor’s relationship with Karlie, and what many are claiming was a heated kiss shared between them, and onto her relationship with a new male suitor. Which is you.”

“Me?!” Matty exclaimed, bursting out laughing, it seemed his role in the cluster fuck had finally clicked. “You want Taylor Fucking Swift to pretend to date me, to save her image, because she got caught kissing her girlfriend at one of our gigs?” He ran his fingers through his hair, laughing even harder. “Are you guys aware that I am a raging alcoholic with a slight drug problem? I don’t think being linked to me will help rehabilitate anyones image.”

[bundlebrent]

Apparently my not doing well is noticeable because my boss gave me Friday off and was like hey take a long weekend and go see your family

[lesflaya]

+500 followers from this drawing thank you new people I’ll draw some more for you 😭

“I have to believe our worst moments don’t make us monsters, Jim”

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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[c4tto626]

rereading some of the fic comments i've gotten so i can store that praise in my brain for thinking about writing tomorrow at work 🙏