#but I was so bitter then. I can choose to leave or stay but I don't want to live in that bitterness. idek that it was wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shaisuki · 6 days ago

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Idea: You give birth to your children and play the perfect wife until they’re old enough to go to school. When Zayne picked up the kids they couldn’t find you so Zayne added you were in your bedroom, but when he got there he found your dead body instead

Years later your children have a faint memory of you, and every time they asked their dad if he’ll Rr-marry he says no. One day as they went through their old things they found a journal or notes signed by you, in it were your true feelings of the marriage, how it came to be and how you were sorry for being a coward but you couldn’t take it anymore

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. heavy angst + major character death + suicide + implied noncon + implied forced pregnancy.

❆ ₊⋆ notes. i was hoping for dark fluff with this series but you all keep sending me angsts. i ain't complaining though.

At the tender age of seven, Yue and Aurora lost their mother.

Too young to lose a mother and too old to understand what really happened. They only remember the blue and red of siren lights in the ambulance dancing at their front gate. Their father taking them to their own room — looking at them with eyes like he just failed them. He couldn't keep the mother of his children alive.

The funeral was silent as it can be. People passed out their condolences and grievances. Pity for the two children you left so early. Aurora was cradled at his father's arm. Aurora who looks exactly like you. Her mother's sorrow and joy. Yue stands besides his father. Holding his tiny little hand. They always say he looks like his father too.

Two halves of a soul carved from the flesh and blood of their parents.

You lost your life from a sudden illness. That's what they say but only the household of the Li residence knew what really happened. Yue has always been smarter and Aurora knew it too but they kept it silent cause no one bears the guilt of losing their mother more than their father.

He drove you to your own death.

You would rather take your life than spend another day with him despite the two reasons why you stayed alive for that short amount of time.

Seven. Seven is the perfect age for a child to lose their mother. They will remember you but as soon as you they grow older they will forget you. Too young for their little minds to grasp what made you die and every adults like your husband would say, “Mommy's in a better place.” and “She's watching over you.”

White lies. It didn't hurt anyone and keep the truth more bearable. You made sure of that. No one is to blame for your death but your own and even you planned it for a long time. A premeditated suicide. You made sure that at the last moments, your last days. Your children is loved even it breaks your heart you have to leave them.

You kissed them more. Hugged them tighter. Said I love you more than a thousand times in every chance you can get. Watch them sleep, admiring their innocent faces that even they were born out of unwanted circumstances — you loved them so much.

Choosing a date that won't make an impact in the day of your death. It wasn't also far from their birthdays. A normal day to passed away. It won't make a scratch or a dent. You made sure you'll die in a room where no one of the twins will look for you and you made it clean like you simply passed away. You wouldn't taint a day because of your selfishness and cowardice.

Your love wasn't enough for your children to keep you alive while you resented the man you used to love.

The years came in a blur. Your twins weren't children anymore. Teenagers they are but still grieving for their dead mother who haunts them with her presence in the halls and walls of the house. The garden whereas you tended is still alive. The flowers came into bloom again after a long bitter winter.

Their father was still their father without you. He knows he can't replace you and remained single and a widowed father in his days even the ghost of a former flame lingered. Waiting and wanting. But he extinguished that flame a long time ago.

They were whispers, masked as concern that he should take a wife again. If it wasn't for him, for the children. The twins would want a mother but he refused. He won't stain your memory and there will no be another woman for him. A wife. The mother to his children. He raised them as a single father.

Women swooned cause there's no more rather appealing than a handsome doctor who's singlehandedly raising his children after the death of their mother. Many wanted to replace you but they can't. The twins don't want it too, for they cry for their deceased mother in their sleep. Where your lullabies lingered in their dreams. Touch that still present. The kisses that they will always remember. You think they forgot but it stayed.

Seven years had passed and Yue comes home after finishing his applications for the university with Aurora tailing behind him. Aurora's older than him for a mere minutes but his sister possess the curiousity and wonder that even she's still sophomore on high school she couldn't care that her younger twin is already starting medical school at the age of fourteen. Aurora was still exploring what she wanted for herself.

Just like his dad, Yue cannot count how many times people have told him that. It was written on the stars they say. The second he came in the world looking like his father. Mannerisms and appearances alike. He wished he got your eyes. His mother's eyes but her older sister got the best of your features.

The house was silent. Zayne, their father was still at the hospital. Another overtime. They were used to it. Since you died, their father buried himself more in surgeries but not enough he's going to neglect his two children with you. They still deserved a father.

He was enough and that's fine. He didn't need more of him, Yue needed you more and Aurora too.

They visited their old room. The nursery untouched. The two cradle was still there with a addition of a new one. They were expecting a sibling too but it died with you too. A younger sister or a brother they will have if it wasn't for you leaving the world too soon. Leaving them together with their father that until this day still mourn for you.

Aurora was pulling the drawers one by one. Wanting to reminisce or a piece of their mother. Yue can see it that Aurora was the one who was the most shaken up when you died. When she understands that her mommy won't be coming back. Yue felt it too for he was alive with your touch. He lost a mother too.

His sister was rummaging their old stuff until she hit something hard beneath their baby clothes. A hidden compartment. Pulling the small handle, it revealed journals belonging to their late mother.

“Look, Yue. Mommy's journals.” His twin reaches for the journals olden with age but still intact. She gave him the other journal. Looking from the texture and the smell, it was a decade older, maybe before they were born.

Aurora got your much older journals. Starting when you were a teenager. A photograph was hidden in the pages. It was them from a stranger's first glance but it was not. It was you and their father. It was like looking at yourself but you know it's not you.

Yue caressed the leather cover of your journal. It was engraved with flowers and puppies. Your name written in cursive and Yue felt your touch at the cover, it feels like you were in the room again, hugging him. He missed you very much but it doesn't prepare for the secrets the pages are about to reveal.

The earliest entry were about your recovery from an accident that you miraculously survived. It contained how your emotionally distant fiancé, their father started to be more closer to you. Constantly hovering but you paid it no mind. He was a doctor and was doing his job.

As Yue flipped the pages, the pages contained the horror of being not able to breath. “I was going to leave him.” Then the details of not should be named and the inappropriateness that a fourteen year old should not see reveals in the ink of your words.

“I'm pregnant. With twins. I should hate it but they were living inside me. I cannot hate these two innocent souls that were born out of love from what their father understands. I'm afraid. What if I won't be a good mom? Zayne says he's going to be with me every step of my pregnancy but I'm terrified.”

His sister and him weren't born out of love. They were a result of a night where their mother was terrified and begging. They couldn't tell. Know it because you loved them very much. You didn't hold hatred in your eyes or resentment for him and his sister. You loved them very much the same you would have loved them if you wanted them.

Another page was flipped and Yue could tell you were crying while you wrote this. There are splotches of your tears staining the pages.

“I'm a mother now. I got two little angels. I named my eldest twin Aurora like the northern lights in The Arctic were Zayne once took me while I was recovering. Seeing the lights there made me think that Aurora deserves her name.”

Yue smiles at your handwriting. The softness in his face were visible but the truth of the reason they were here in the first place breaks his heart.

“I named my youngest, Yue. It means the moon. It was storming outside and after my little Yue was born, the moon was shining brightly. Yue who gave me the scare of my life. Yue didn't cry until he was in my arms like he was waiting for my permission to live. I cried that night, why would my baby want for my permission to live when I was waiting for him and his sister for me to love them both.”

He hears his older sister sniffling besides him. Your other journal was abandoned and he didn't realize she was beside him also reading the entries of their birth.

The final pages reveals the truth and they understand it now. You didn't die of illness. Their father made you kill yourself. There's the regrets and what ifs but you still took your own life.

“I'm a coward and a selfish mother. Who is in there right mind to leave their own children but it's not me. I'm too tired. I cannot live anymore. I tried to. Aurora and Yue was my reason to live but it's not enough. They're going to hate me and resent me for leaving them but I think it's better. I cannot breath and it's better for me to die early. They will understand and they will forget me.”

“I didn't regret killing myself. I have hugged and kissed Yue and Aurora many times more than I can count. I hope it's enough to last a lifetime. I only wished for them to be the best , no matter what path they'll take. I hope they won't be like me too.”

“Aurora, Yue. Mommy's sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.......”

The journal ended there. They look at the date. It was the day you died. The day where their father looked at them like the world ended. The world he created forced upon you, destroyed.

Yue closes the journal. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The same hazel green eyes, the dark hair and he was the younger version of his father. Yue thinks of you, his mother. You could have hated him but you didn't. Your heart was bigger and understanding. Forgiving too but you don't have the capacity to forgive yourself and you took your life as a punishment.

Aurora leans on his shoulder, silently crying. Clutching a photograph of you. Seven years. Seven years you waited. Yue felt numb. He doesn't know what to feel for his father for what he did to you.

He tucks the journal on his side. His only piece of you. Painful the pages are and he feels the anguish on them but there was still love on them.

His sister had fallen into exhaustion. He let her sleep before going outside, he sees his father.

“You didn't deserve her.”

Zayne looks at him. His face remains impassive as his old man.

“I know. You will understand it someday, Yue.”

They didn't need to speak another word to each other. Yue couldn't hate him more for he was starting to be like him too.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #zayne x chubby reader #zayne x reader #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads x chubby reader #lads x non!mc reader #love and deepspace angst #x reader angst

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22ayla21 · 2 months ago

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Disease

You are sick, and your partner is taking care of you. With the participation of: Mydei, Phainon, Anaxa

From the Author: I have been sick for three days now and I would really like some comfort from someone.

• He sits next to you, not leaving a single step, as if guarding your sleep. Even if you say that everything is fine, Mydei remains in the room, quiet and focused, watching your breathing and temperature. If necessary, he will sit silently in a chair all night to help at any moment.

• He brings decoctions and medicines, brewed according to old Amphoraean recipes. They are bitter and smell strange, but he looks so seriously and attentively that it is simply impossible to refuse. Moreover, he always checks that you drink to the last drop, even if he needs to hold the cup himself.

• If you are cold, he takes your hands in his without further ado, warms them with his breath, sitting next to you. His body radiates natural heat, so he can literally warm you, like a living heater.

• If you fall asleep, he will straighten the blanket, remove the hair from her face. He can lightly and almost imperceptibly touch your forehead with his lips, checking the fever. For him, this is not something ostentatious - just a natural desire to be close and protect.

• He will build an almost military regime: medications by the hour, only healthy food, bed rest and a complete lack of physical activity. Any attempts to get up are ignored. He will gently but firmly put you back down, making it clear that he is in charge here.

• Anaxa would first conduct his own "research" of the symptoms, writing down every little detail in a notebook. He would be skeptical of conventional treatment methods, choosing the ideal formula for a balanced tea from the rare herbs of Amphoreus.

• He would strictly ask everyone nearby not to make noise and not to disturb you. And he would only allow himself to speak in a hushed voice, staying near the bed and whispering something like: "Silence helps the body concentrate on regeneration."

• Anaxa would clearly draw up a schedule for your rest, food intake and medication. Any deviation would be accompanied by his serious and condemning look.

• And despite all his scientific approach and bold character, Anaxa awkwardly but sincerely held your hand when he thought you were sleeping and whispered: “Just try to get better... I still need your ridiculous hypotheses.”

• When the fever subsided and you came to your senses, Anaxa would arrange quiet conversations, telling you about what he had read while you were ill. All with the hidden purpose of not getting bored and keeping your thoughts away from the illness. "You don't think I'll let you fall behind in knowledge, do you?" he would say, adjusting her pillow.

• If someone from the Grove of Muses wanted to bother you or impose their "treatment", Anaxa would silently stand in the way, looking lazily but coldly: "She is under my protection. And no, your methods do not stand up to criticism." No one argued.

• For his beloved, Phainon has always been a true protector, and when you got sick, he completely enveloped you in all possible care. He carefully monitors your warmth, straightens the blanket, takes care of the silence around and tries to create an atmosphere of peace, as if with his actions he wants to protect you even from illness.

• While you sleep, Phainon stays close. He spends time reading books, not letting you out of sight, periodically checking your condition. These moments of silence are the most exciting for him - he rarely shows his worries, but when you are sick, he cannot hide his inner anxiety, and silently protects your sleep.

• Phainon tries not only to care, but also to cheer you up. When he sees that you are getting bored or sad, he can unexpectedly add a little humor to his care to distract you. He does all this with a serious look, which is why light jokes sound especially warm and sincere, making you smile.

• The most touching moments happen when you are almost falling asleep. Phainon gently brushes the strands of hair from your face, mentally noting how defenseless you look. It is important for him to know that you will recover, because your presence gives him strength. He rarely allows himself such quiet displays of affection, but it is at these moments that care becomes almost sacred.

• When you are sick, Phainon does everything to create an atmosphere of peace around you. He is not intrusive, but his presence is felt constantly - he remains nearby, even if he cannot find words of comfort. Just his silent attention and willingness to come to the rescue give you a feeling of security.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #mydeimos #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #mydei #anaxagoras #hsr anaxa #anaxa x reader #anaxa #phainon x reader #phainon

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moonydustx · 11 months ago

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a/n: just leaving it here

How does it feel?

Part 1 (you're here) - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

warnings: smut, porn with no plot. Law "teaching" F!Reader how to have orgasms. without many warnings to avoid spoilers.

Law x F!Reader

Comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

Law found it funny how escalating a conversation between his friends - coincidentally also his crewmates - could escalate.

It had started with each person commenting something about the most recent island they had visited, the chat continued until the topic became about Shachi having met a woman, staying with her and she said that she had had the best night of her life and then she charged him for the services. Finally, the subject that had left him uneasy: orgasms.

His uneasiness was directed at you and how you claimed you had never had one. That your previous companions didn't seem too concerned about it and you had never been able to get close to the height of your pleasure not even by yourself. You and Law were nothing more than a few stolen kisses when you were both high or when a certain need struck. You had never gone beyond that, you had never assumed anything either. But Law couldn't get it out of his head.

That was when he convinced you to accompany him to the bedroom and as soon as the door closed behind you, he took your lips in a kiss that, no matter how much you both denied it, was full of feeling on both sides.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked and saw you looked lost. "With the orgasm thing."

"Oh." was the only thing that seemed to come out of your lips. Your mind was going haywire with the information.

"I'll understand if you don't want to. I mean, it's a strange request, isn't it?" Law almost let his nervousness get the better of him. "I just want to make you feel good and I don't intend on actually reaching the end and..."

"Please." the request didn't seem clear to him, so you insisted. "Please give me an orgasm."

A growl escaped Law's lips and he had to control himself. The focus was on you and only your pleasure that night. After you discovered what it was like to actually get there, he would let you choose whether you wanted to continue feeling that way with him.

"Take off your uniform." Law took a few steps back and sat down on the bed.

He watched you take off your outfit and remain in just a thin blouse and panties. A sight that pleased him enough. He leaned against the headboard and tapped the padded spot in front of him and you promptly complied, sitting up and letting his arms wrap around you.

"What do you plan captain?" you turned your face so you could face him.

"First, no captain here." he pointed out. "I plan to teach you how to get there. And then you can do it yourself or teach your future partners." the idea sounded bitter on his lips, but he didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation.

"So where do we start?"

"This way."

He gently held your face and started kissing you. Calmly, he felt you snuggle even closer to him. Almost like an authorization for him to sink deeper into your mouth.

While his tongue massaged yours, eliciting small murmurs that vibrated between you, one of his hands kept you trapped in the kiss, cupping your face. The other walked around your body, running down the sides of your skin, down your thighs. You squeezed your legs, trying to find some relief from the heat that was starting to accumulate there.

"A kiss is a good way to start." He pulled away just enough to comment, returning to your lips for a few more seconds. "When it's about you, a kiss is a good thing for any occasion."

"Don't say things like that." you moved away from his lips almost definitively, your head lolling just enough to rest against his chest.

The sight - almost as sinful as his own thoughts - was something to behold. You were there waiting for him to start showing you what pleasure was. One of his hands continued to trace some incoherent patterns on your skin, while the other wandered over your hardened nipple.

"Women are a little different from men in this regard." now avoiding touching your nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt, he just circled the areola. "Some are extremely sensitive at this point, others not so much, for some it also depends on the period of the cycle."

This time, he suddenly ran his thumb firmly over your nipple, your back letting you touch his chest for a brief moment, just to seek more contact.

"I see you fit into the first group."

"And what does that mean?" the question sounded innocent and silly, but it was difficult to think with Law so close to you, where you needed him.

Both of his hands came up enough to remove the straps of your blouse and expose your breasts.

"It means I can have some fun with them." he need to focus this was about you and not him. "So fucking beautiful."

His fingers gently slid over the two highlighted points. First he caressed your nipples gently, testing to see how much more you might want. Seeing you tighten your thighs even more and move a little in search of friction, Law captured both nipples between his fingers, eliciting an intense gasp from you.

Since the position didn't allow him to taste it directly on his lips, he at least tried to simulate the sensation for you. The hands that were previously on your nipples briefly went to his mouth and were bathed in saliva. In a calculated movement, Law placed his wet fingers back on your nipples just as his mouth closed on your neck in a wet kiss. A no longer so shy moan escaped you and made his dick twitch inside the pants he was wearing.

"Law, this...this feels good." your body arched against his fingers.

"I bet I could make you cum with just that." his lips untied themselves from you only to speak softly in your ear. "I will do this next time."

His hands allowed themselves to slide down your body again, now exciting a more breathless version of you. Law took his hands to your bare thighs and after caressing them, he gently opened them, placing them on top of his legs. Even though you were still covered by your panties, you felt exposed.

"Most women don't like to get straight to the point. Teasing can help make things more interesting." His hands ran up your inner thighs, raising goosebumps.

"I don't think provoking is the best option." you tried to sound firm, but your voice came out more breathless than you expected.

"This tells me otherwise." without hesitation, two firm fingers pressed your damp panties. "This pretty pussy is so wet just from me teasing you a little."

"Please Law." you tried to move against his fingers, which were now sliding along the sides of your intimacy.

"Did you know that the labia majora also have nerve endings?" he pointed out, ignoring your plea and letting his fingers slide. "Some stimulus can help."

His movement stopped for a brief moment, so brief that you were unable to ask why he had stopped or to contain your moan when you felt him touch through your panties where you needed it most.

"But they're not as sensitive as this one." Law started to make small circles over where your clit was. When he looked at your face, he could see that you had brought both hands to cover your mouth, your nails digging into your own cheek. "Room. Silence." he saw your eyes look around briefly. "Just let me hear you, please."

As soon as the blue dome formed around you, Law deftly removed your hands from your lips and covered them with his own mouth. His tongue invaded your mouth shamelessly while his movements over the damp fabric of your panties became a little faster. Your hands tried to hold on to him as best you could and even with him kissing you so voraciously, your moans still found space to remain there against his lips. Again, he stopped his movements and moved away from your lips just enough to find your attentive eyes, dilated pupils and reddened lips.

"I'll buy you another one. As many as you want."

Instead of explaining why, you just felt his two hands force the fabric of your panties and it split into some pieces.

The touch of his fingers directly against your little bud could be enough for Law to have his own orgasm there. More exciting than that was just seeing your eyes closing in front of his, a loud moan escaping your lips at such a short distance from him. Heavens, that was a little bit of paradise he thought he'd never taste.

"I need more Law, more please." you turned to him again, but one of your hands remained tied to the back of his neck. "It feels so good, so fucking good."

"Fuck" he murmured against the skin of your neck as his fingers slid easily to your entrance. The warm wetness against his fingers left him on the verge of irrationality. Gently, he slowly penetrated you with his middle finger, your fingers against the back of his neck held tight to Law's dark strands of hair. "That's a good girl, I can feel you squeeze me. Is that what you wanted?"

"D-Don't stop Law, please." you involuntarily moved your hips against the back and forth of his finger, searching for more and more.

"I won't stop, babe, I won't." Law removed his entire finger and added his ring finger, slowly penetrating them again. The way you moved your hips against his fingers - and against his cock behind you - indicated that you wouldn't last long. "You're taking me so good, pussy so fucking tight."

“Law, I just…” as soon as his fingers pressed against your g-spot, a sharp scream left you. A knot beginning to tighten and burn inside you. "Fuck, that's it. I c-can feel something, I think… Law, please."

Seeing you start to lose control of your hips and tighten even more inside your pussy, Law knew he needed little for you to get there - and to be quite honest, he was about to reach an untouched orgasm himself.

"Stop holding back." His voice came out as a whisper at the edge of your ear, using the palm of his hand to stimulate your clitoris, your increasingly intense moans were a melody for him. "I can feel you squeezing me, begging for more. Come on, give it to me, let me feel you come. Just for me, okay? You're going to do this just for me."

"Law!" With one last moan from you, Law could feel you squeeze him hard and the fingers inside you become drenched as your body softened against his arms.

Giving a few more gentle caresses against your intimacy, Law took his hand away from you and had to dare the urge to put his fingers to his own lips. He would have the chance to taste you and when he does, he will taste it straight from the source itself.

Seeing your tired form nestled against his chest, Law let the caresses against your body be softer and without any trace of malice, just as his lips placed some chaste kisses on the top of your head.

"Thanks for trusting me." You smiled at his thanks, taking one of his hands and placing a small kiss on it. "So... how does it feel?"

"It felt so good, I've never felt that before." you adjusted yourself just enough to meet his lips.

"Yes, it was great."

"I'm sorry for not making it up to you." you pointed out and saw a light laugh escape his lips. "What?"

"I feel like a teenager, but..." his gaze directed yours to the wet spot on his light pants. "Feeling you and hearing you was a little too much for me."

You both laughed for a brief moment, enjoying the little bubble of affection that seemed to be surrounding you.

"Law?" his murmur indicated that he was paying attention. "You must be pretty experienced, right? To know all this."

"Not so much." his fingers intertwined with yours. "Part of it I know because I'm a doctor, so it's easier to know how bodies work. And part of it is because I've seen it in some books."

You just nodded and snuggled into him, his fingers were distracted playing with yours. This time, just like you had done, he called your name and you just mumbled back.

"What I said before." it was strange, but Law felt a little shy about bringing the subject on board. "I take back what I said. I wanted this – what you felt today – to happen just to me and not to other partners."

"It's okay. I also want you to be the one to do this to me."

#fiction #reader insert #one piece #no use of y/n #requests open #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law

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lost-in-thoughts03 · 2 months ago

Text

Falling for you // Hwang brothers

Previous part || Next part

Summary: Reality constantly confuses you. Who will you choose?

" And maybe you, change your mind."

Warning: Thick tension, heated kiss, confession, beating, arguing, more teasing, In-ho is being In-ho, Jun-ho realized something, broken hearted, pain, rejection, realization, grammatical errors

Love moves in ways we can’t always understand. Sometimes, it sneaks up on you, soft and quiet, like the warmth of the sun on a cold morning. Other times, it crashes into your life like a storm, wrecking everything you thought you knew about yourself.

It doesn’t care about timing. It doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It finds you in the most unexpected places—maybe in the eyes of someone you never thought you'd love or in the touch of a hand you can’t seem to forget.

It can make you feel invincible, like you’ve finally found the missing piece of your soul. But it can also break you, leave you aching for something—or someone—you can’t have.

Love lingers in the spaces between words, in the glances that last too long, in the silences filled with everything left unsaid. It stays even when you try to walk away. It makes a home in your heart, even when it has no right to be there.

And sometimes, love is cruel. It asks you to wait, to sacrifice, to fight battles you never wanted. It can betray you, leave scars so deep you wonder if you'll ever heal. But even then, love never really disappears. It changes, reshapes itself, finds new ways to exist in you.

Maybe that’s the mystery of love—it never truly leaves. No matter how much time passes, no matter how much it hurts, it stays. And sometimes, if you're lucky, it finds its way back to you.

Those three words. Three unexpected words that slipped out of his mouth.

It is what you have been waiting for. You continue to wait for someone to declare their love for you, but it doesn't bring you joy.

“ I love you.”

Instead…

Your body goes stiff. The air is sucked from your lungs.

“ I’ve loved you for a long time.” He continues, his voice steady, controlled—but underneath, you can hear the cracks forming. “ Long before you ever looked at my brother the way you did. Long before you ever ran after him like he was the only one who mattered.”

Your knees go weak.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You’re too stunned, too blindsided by the weight of his words.

“ I was always there.” He presses on, stepping closer, his gaze burning into you. “ I watched you fall for him. I watched you break for him. And I—” His voice falters just slightly, but he keeps going. “ And I hated him for not seeing what he had.”

A shiver runs through you. This is too much. Too intense.

“ This…” Your voice was shaky as you pushed against his chest, creating some distance. “ This is all wrong.”

In-ho frowned, his grip on you loosening slightly. “ Wrong?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “ I—I don’t see you that way.” You blurted out, your thoughts still scrambled from the kiss. “ I only see you as an older brother.”

Silence.

For a second, he just stared at you. And then—he laughed.

A low, sarcastic chuckle escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair. “ Older brother?” He repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. “ You’re really going with that?”

You frowned. “ What’s so funny?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “ Oh, nothing. It’s just… that’s exactly what you said to Jun-ho, isn’t it?” He met your eyes, his gaze sharp, unreadable. “ And look how that turned out.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of Jun-ho, but you refused to let it show. “ That’s different.”

“ Is it?” His voice was calm, but there was something bitter underneath. “ Tell me, Y/n, did you kiss him like that too?”

Your face burned. “ That’s not the point!”

“ Then what is the point?” He stepped forward, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “ Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m your brother.”

You clenched your jaw, hating how he was turning this on you. “ You’re just being stubborn.”

“ Oh, I’m the stubborn one?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “ You’re the one running from this. From us.”

“ There is no us, In-ho!” You snapped, frustration boiling over. “ I can’t—we can’t—”

But before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist again, pulling you toward him.

And then he kissed you.

Your lips still burned from the kiss you had just shared, a kiss that had shattered every line you swore you wouldn’t cross. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. But instead of pulling away, In-ho stayed close, his forehead nearly touching yours, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

" Is it still wrong?" His voice was low, hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words tangled in your throat, trapped between the battle in your heart and the fire in your veins.

" Tell me." His voice was more urgent this time, his fingers tightening around your wrist.

Still, silence.

Frustration flickered across his face, but then, something else—something deeper. Without warning, he pulled you to him, crushing you against his chest as if afraid you’d slip away. And then his lips were on yours again, desperate, raw, consuming. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a storm—raging, relentless, and devastating.

His hands found your waist, fingers tracing your curves before gripping you with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. He held you like he was afraid to lose you, like you belonged to him, like he had every right to claim you. And maybe, in this moment, he did.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, then to his hair, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss until there was no space left between you. Every touch, every movement, was a plea—one neither of you dared to speak aloud.

You knew this was dangerous. You knew the world outside this moment was still waiting, still ready to tear you apart. But right now, wrapped in his arms, tasting the urgency on his lips, feeling the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing—you didn’t care.

Maybe it was wrong.

Maybe it always would be.

But right now, in this stolen moment, nothing else mattered.

Your breath hitched, your entire body frozen as his words sank in.

" I don’t care what they say, I’m in love with you."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it crashed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every rational thought. His fingertips brushed through your hair, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feeling of you—like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your heart pounded so violently that it hurt. Your mind screamed at you to run, to push him away before this became something neither of you could undo. But your body—your traitorous, aching body—leaned into him instead, craving the warmth of his touch, the quiet promise in his gaze.

His eyes burned into yours, filled with something so intense, so raw, it shattered every wall you had left. It wasn’t just passion. It was devotion, desperation, a plea without words.

He had already made his choice. And deep down, you knew you had made yours too.

Slowly, cautiously, his hands traced down to cup your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as if he were touching something fragile, something precious.

" Say something." He pleaded, his voice thick with emotion.

But you couldn’t. Because if you spoke, if you admitted to yourself that you felt it too—that you had always felt it—you would never be able to walk away.

And maybe…maybe you didn’t want to.

“ And I don’t care if you think it’s wrong. I don’t care if I’m older. I don’t care if you only saw me as someone who protected you.” His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “ Because the truth is, I wanted to protect you. I wanted to be the one you came to. And I still do.”

Your chest tightens. “ In-ho…”

“ Just give me a chance.” He pleads, his voice raw with emotion. “ Give me a chance to prove to you that I’m serious. That this isn’t some mistake. That I’ve always loved you—long before you ever saw me this way.”

Your heart is aching.

You’ve never seen In-ho like this—vulnerable. He’s always been strong, always the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without breaking.

But right now?

Right now, he’s breaking for you.

And you don’t know if you can handle it.

…

Jun-ho stood at the entrance, frozen, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He hadn’t meant to see this. But now, the sight was burned into his mind—the way In-ho held you so possessively, the way your body molded into his, the way your lips clung to each other like you were both starving. And then, In-ho’s whispered confession—words so raw, so painfully sincere, that Jun-ho felt them like a knife to the gut.

“ I love you.”

" I don’t care what they say, I’m in love with you."

Jun-ho’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw locking so tightly it ached. He should be happy for you, for both of you. That’s what he told himself. That’s what should make sense.

But then why did it feel like something inside him was cracking apart?

Why was there a burning in his chest, a bitterness on his tongue, a rage curling in his fists?

Why did it feel like he was the one losing something—no, someone—he never even had?

His heart pounded as he forced himself to take a step back, then another, as if putting distance between himself and the scene would somehow lessen the weight pressing down on him. But it didn’t. It only made the emptiness inside him more apparent.

He had always known there was something between you and In-ho, something neither of you spoke about but was always there, simmering beneath the surface. He had ignored it, pushed it aside, convinced himself it wasn’t what it seemed.

But now, there was no more pretending. No more denying.

You and In-ho weren’t just a fleeting moment, a reckless mistake.

You wanted each other.

And Jun-ho… Jun-ho was just standing there, watching it happen, realizing too late that he had lost something he never even got the chance to claim.

Until the sound of the punch landing was deafening.

One second, you were locked in that heated, breathless moment with In-ho—the next, he was stumbling backward, blood trickling from his nose.

You barely had time to react before Jun-ho was on him, fists clenched, voice shaking with fury. “ What the fuck do you think you’re doing to her?!”

Your eyes widened. “ Jun-ho—”

“ Get your damn hands off of her!” He shouted, grabbing In-ho by the neck, ready to swing again.

In-ho, to your horror, only smirked, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “ Took you long enough.” He muttered before swinging his fist in return, landing a solid punch on Jun-ho’s jaw.

Jun-ho stumbled but recovered quickly, shoving his brother back with even more force. “ You bastard—”

Before you knew it, they were on each other, fists flying, bodies colliding as they fought like they’d been waiting years for an excuse to do this.

“ Stop it!” You rushed between them, grabbing onto Jun-ho’s arm just as he was about to land another hit, but he barely budged. “ Jun-ho, stop! It’s not what you think!”

“ He was forcing himself on you, wasn’t he?!” He snapped, eyes wild with rage.

“ No! It wasn’t like that!” You insisted, pulling at his sleeve. “ Just listen—”

But before you could say another word, In-ho—still smirking despite the cut on his lip—let out a low chuckle. “ What’s wrong, little brother? Are you jealous?”

Jun-ho lunged at him again, and you barely had time to react before they were crashing into the table, sending plates and cups shattering onto the floor.

You grabbed In-ho’s arm next, trying to shove yourself between them, but he barely glanced at you, too focused on his brother. “ You always act like you’re better than me.” He growled, wiping more blood from his nose.

“ Like you have any right to tell me what to do.”

“ And you always act like you don’t give a damn about anything!” Jun-ho spat, chest heaving. “ But when it comes to her—suddenly, you do?”

You froze.

For a split second, In-ho didn’t respond.

And that silence? It spoke louder than anything.

Jun-ho let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “ You’re unbelievable.”

In-ho’s jaw clenched, his smirk faltering just slightly. “ You’re a pain in my ass.”

Jun-ho scoffed, wiping at his bleeding lip. “ Right back at you.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. The anger, the resentment, the years of unspoken things between them—it all boiled over in that moment.

And you?

You were stuck between them, trying—and failing—to stop a war that had already started.

The tension was unbearable. You stood between them, your heart pounding as they glared at each other, both still seething, both still ready to lunge again.

“ In-ho, Jun-ho—enough!” You shouted, your voice cutting through the thick silence.

Neither of them moved. Their breathing was ragged, their fists still clenched. The only sound in the room was the dripping of water from the sink and the faint ringing in your ears from the chaos that had just unfolded.

Jun-ho turned to you first, his expression still stormy. “ Y/n, why the hell are you defending him?” His voice was sharp, filled with disbelief.

You exhaled, frustration boiling inside you. “ Because you’re not listening to me!” You gestured between the two of them. “ You just assumed things and started throwing punches before even asking what was happening!”

Jun-ho’s brows furrowed, but before he could argue, In-ho let out a scoff. “ She’s right, you know.” He muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “ Typical of you to act first, think later.”

Jun-ho tensed, his jaw clenching. “ Shut up."

You shot In-ho a glare. “ You aren’t helping either!”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but that damn smirk was still on his face, despite the blood trickling from his lip. “ Hey, he started it.”

“ Oh my god.” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “ You two are impossible.”

Jun-ho was still glaring at his brother, his breathing unsteady, his hands shaking slightly. But then he turned back to you, his expression shifting to something more vulnerable—something almost hurt.

“ Why, then?” He asked quietly, his voice lacking the previous anger. “ Why were you letting him kiss you?”

Your stomach twisted.

In-ho’s smirk faded slightly at the question, but he stayed quiet, watching you carefully.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under both their gazes. “ I—I don’t know.” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t a lie.

Because even you weren’t sure what had led to that kiss. Maybe it was the frustration, maybe it was the heat of the moment, maybe it was something buried deeper inside you that you had been refusing to acknowledge.

But Jun-ho didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. He scoffed, shaking his head. “ Unbelievable.” He muttered, stepping back. “ I thought you were smarter than this.”

His words stung.

Before you could say anything, he turned toward the door. “ I need to clear my head.” He muttered, storming out without another word.

The door slammed behind him, leaving an aching silence in his wake.

You stood there, frozen, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

Then, after a long pause, In-ho exhaled and ran a hand down his face. “ Well.” He said, voice light despite the tension still lingering. “ That went great.”

You turned to him with a glare, shoving him in the chest. “ You’re such an ass.”

He barely moved, only raising an eyebrow at you. “ Me? What did I do?”

“ You taunted him!” You snapped. “ You know how he is! You knew that would make it worse!”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “ And what about you?” He asked, voice lower now.

“ Are you mad because of the fight? Or because you’re starting to realize that you liked kissing me?”

Your breath hitched.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Because you didn’t have an answer to that.

And from the knowing look on In-ho’s face, he already knew that.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the weight of In-ho’s words pressing down on you like a boulder.

Your heart was still racing, your skin still tingling from the kiss—the fight—everything. And now, with Jun-ho gone and only In-ho standing in front of you, watching you with that unreadable expression, you felt more exposed than ever.

You swallowed hard. “ You’re full of yourself.”

He huffed a small, amused breath, his lip still slightly swollen from the punch. “ Am I?”

You crossed your arms, trying to regain some control over this situation. “ That was a mistake.”

In-ho took a step closer. Not enough to touch you, but enough that you could feel his presence. His warmth. His intensity.

“ Funny,” He murmured, his gaze locked onto yours. “ Didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

Your stomach twisted. “ That’s because you don’t take anything seriously.”

His smirk faded slightly. “ And you take everything too seriously.”

You turned away, frustration bubbling in your chest. “ This isn’t about me, In-ho.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “ It never is, is it?”

You froze.

His voice wasn’t teasing anymore. It wasn’t smug or taunting—it was tired.

When you looked back at him, there was something in his eyes that sent a strange pang through your chest. Something vulnerable.

Something real.

For the first time since this whole mess started, he looked…wounded.

“ You always run.” He muttered, more to himself than to you. “ Always pretending like none of this means anything.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “ But when it’s Jun-ho, you don’t hesitate, do you?”

You flinched, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

“ In-ho, it’s not—”

He shook his head, stepping back before you could even try to explain. “ Forget it.” His voice was quiet now. Resigned.

You hated the way that made your chest ache.

He licked his split lip, his usual smirk forced and empty. “ You should go after him.” He muttered. “ That’s what you always do, right?”

Your throat tightened. “ In-ho—”

But he didn’t wait for you to finish.

He just turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in the wreckage of what just happened, your heart pounding with an answer you still weren’t ready to face.

You found Jun-ho outside In-ho’s house, his back turned to you as he kicked at the gravel on the pavement. His posture was tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. “ Jun-ho.”

He didn’t turn around right away. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh, kicking another rock before finally glancing at you. His jaw was clenched, his expression unreadable.

“ What are you doing here?” You asked cautiously.

Jun-ho scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “ I came to say sorry to my asshole brother.” He muttered, voice laced with irritation.

“ But then I walked in on that and—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “ Guess I changed my mind.”

You bit your lip, shifting uncomfortably. “ Jun-ho, it wasn’t—”

“ You kissed him.” He cut in, his voice quieter now, but still firm.

Your stomach twisted. “ I—”

He turned fully toward you now, searching your face for something—anything—that would make this make sense. “ Tell me, Y/n.” He said, voice low, almost pleading.

“ Was it just him? Or did you kiss him back?”

You swallowed, the memory of In-ho’s lips on yours flashing through your mind—the way you had melted into him, the way you hadn’t pulled away.

You looked down. “ I…didn’t mean to.”

Jun-ho let out a bitter laugh. “ Didn’t mean to?”

“ It was just—it was just the moment, okay?” You said quickly, feeling your own frustration rising. “ I got carried away. It didn’t mean anything.”

“ Didn’t mean anything.” He repeated, his tone unreadable.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “ Jun-ho, it was a mistake.”

He was quiet for a long time before he finally spoke again. “ You don’t know him like I do.”

You looked up, confused. “ What?”

“ My brother.” Jun-ho muttered, crossing his arms.

“ He’s not some good guy, Y/n. He’s reckless. He doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process of getting what he wants.” His voice hardened. “ And he will hurt you.”

Your brows furrowed. “ Jun-ho, that’s not fair.”

He scoffed. “ Not fair? You think I don’t see what’s happening? I don’t know what his deal is with you, but I do know one thing—he’s dangerous.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “ You’re acting like he’s some kind of criminal.”

He shook his head. “ Maybe not. But trust me, Y/n, you don’t want to get involved with him.”

A strange unease settled in your chest.

Jun-ho’s anger wasn’t just about the kiss.

It was something more.

And you weren’t sure you wanted to know what.

You stared at Jun-ho, frustration bubbling up inside you as his words sank in. “ Why are you being like this?” you demanded, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

“ You keep acting like you’re trying to protect me, but it's just—” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “ It just makes everything worse.”

Jun-ho’s expression shifted, softening for a split second before he forced it back into that same hardened mask. “ I’m trying to look out for you.” He said evenly. “ That’s all.”

“ Why?” You shot back, feeling your throat tighten. “ Why do you even care so much? It’s not like I—I mean, you don’t even…”

You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

You don’t even like me.

Jun-ho looked away, kicking at the ground again, and for a moment you swore you saw a flicker of something—regret, sadness, guilt—but he buried it just as quickly. “ You’re important to me.” He muttered. “ But not like that.”

Your heart twisted painfully. “ Then why do you keep acting like—like you—”

“ Because you’re family.” He cut in, his voice firm. “ You were always part of my life, Y/n. You’re the closest thing I have to—” He swallowed, frustration and something else bleeding into his voice.

“ I don’t want to see you get hurt. Not by him.”

Your lips parted, a bitter laugh slipping out. “ You think you haven’t already hurt me?”

He stiffened.

“ All those times.” You went on, bitterness rising with every word, “ That you pushed me away, that you treated me like I was just some responsibility—you think that didn’t mess me up? That I didn’t—”

“ Y/n.” He warned, his tone flat, but you weren’t done.

“ You don’t get to act like this.” You snapped, your voice trembling as you fought back the sting of tears. “ Like you’re just some protective older brother who doesn’t know what’s going on—who doesn’t see what this is doing to me!”

Jun-ho’s fists clenched at his sides. “ You’re twisting this.”

“ No.” You said, stepping closer, refusing to back down. “ You are. You keep treating me like some little sister, and it’s bullshit.”

“ It’s not—” He broke off, looking away, and you saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. “ You’re making this more complicated than it has to be.”

“ Am I?” You shot back, your heart pounding. “ Or are you just too much of a coward to admit that you feel something too?”

The silence was deafening.

Jun-ho stared at you, his expression blank, but you could see the storm raging behind his eyes—the way he flinched, like you’d just hit him where it hurt most.

“ I don’t.” He said finally, and the emptiness in his voice cut deeper than anything else. “ Not the way you want me to.”

Your chest heaved, but you refused to let yourself fall apart in front of him. “ Fine.” You said, barely recognizing your own voice.

“ If that’s how you feel, then stop trying to control my life. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to save me from In-ho or anyone else.”

“Y/n—”

“ No.” You snapped, backing away. “ I’m done. If I get hurt, that’s on me. Not you.”

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but the words never came.

And you didn’t wait.

You turned on your heel, walking back toward the house, your chest aching, but you refused to stop, refused to give Jun-ho the satisfaction of seeing just how deeply he’d broken you.

You’d given him enough of yourself.

It was time to stop letting him rip you apart.

You barely made it a few steps before Jun-ho’s voice rang out behind you, sharp and filled with something raw.

“ I like someone else, Y/n!”

Your entire body froze.

His words echoed in your head, repeating over and over again, until they didn’t even sound real anymore.

Slowly, you turned around, your heart hammering in your chest. “ What?”

Jun-ho ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “ I’m courting someone. I love her.”

The world tilted under your feet.

He didn’t stop there.

“ She’s kind, she’s patient—she actually listens instead of picking fights with me all the damn time,” he went on, his voice laced with irritation, like he had been holding this in for far too long.

“ She doesn’t make things complicated. She just understands me.”

Every single word was a dagger to your heart.

You felt your breath hitch, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “ Why—why are you telling me this?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jun-ho scoffed. “ Because you keep acting like there’s something here when there isn’t.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, trying to keep yourself together, trying not to show just how much his words were destroying you.

“ You didn’t have to say it like that.” You mumbled, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

Jun-ho sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ I don’t want to keep hurting you, Y/n. But you’re not her. And you never will be.”

Your entire world shattered.

It was one thing to suspect it. One thing to wonder if Jun-ho had ever seen you as more than just a sister figure.

But to hear it out loud?

To hear him describe someone else—someone he loved—so effortlessly, so casually, as if it didn’t crush every last bit of hope you had clung to?

It was unbearable.

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head as you blinked rapidly, forcing back the sting in your eyes. “ Wow.” You muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “ Okay.”

Jun-ho’s expression faltered slightly, like he realized just how deeply he had cut you. “ Y/n—”

“ No.” You said quickly, holding up a hand. “ I get it. I really do.”

You turned away before he could see the tears forming. “ Good luck with her.” You said, your voice barely steady.

And then you walked back inside, slamming the door behind you before your walls could crumble completely.

The moment you stepped inside, you pressed your back against the door, shutting your eyes tightly as you let out a shaky breath.

Your chest felt hollow. Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs.

You’re not her. And you never will be.

Jun-ho’s words kept replaying in your head, over and over again, like a cruel mantra you couldn’t escape.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To erase whatever part of you still cared about him after everything.

But before you could completely break down, a voice pulled you from your spiral.

“ Tough conversation?”

Your eyes snapped open to see In-ho standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the counter with his arms crossed. His lip was still swollen from the punch, but there was no anger in his expression—just something unreadable, something almost knowing.

You swallowed hard, straightening. “ I don’t want to talk about it.”

In-ho hummed, tilting his head as he studied you. “ You sure? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“ I said I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped, harsher than you intended.

Instead of looking offended, In-ho just let out a quiet chuckle. “ So that's bad, huh?”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him. “ Why are you even still here?”

He raised a brow. “ My house.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “ Right. Of course.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the conversation with Jun-ho still hung heavy in the air, suffocating.

Then, In-ho took a step closer, his voice softer than before. “ So…what did my dear little brother say to break your heart this time?”

Your breath hitched, your eyes flickering up to meet him.

You wanted to lie. To pretend that Jun-ho’s words hadn’t just shattered you into a thousand pieces.

But something in In-ho’s gaze made it impossible.

So instead, you whispered, “ He loves someone else.”

In-ho’s smirk faded. His eyes darkened slightly, his jaw tightening just the smallest bit.

“ Of course he does.” He muttered under his breath.

You frowned. “ What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another step closer, so close that you could feel his warmth.

Then, with a slow exhale, he said, “ It means Jun-ho is an idiot.”

You blinked. “ Excuse me?”

In-ho’s gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no smugness—just quiet certainty.

“ He doesn’t see what’s right in front of him.” He said simply. “ He never has.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know if you wanted to say anything at all.

Because for the first time since you walked through that door, your mind wasn’t stuck on Jun-ho.

It was stuck on In-ho.

You stared at In-ho, his words settling deep into your chest, stirring something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

He doesn’t see what’s right in front of him.

There was something about the way In-ho said it—so certain, so matter-of-fact—that made your breath hitch.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “ It doesn’t matter.”

In-ho raised a brow. “ Doesn’t it?”

You let out a bitter laugh, crossing your arms. “ I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I’m done talking about Jun-ho.”

“ Good.” In-ho said smoothly. “ I’m sick of talking about him too.”

You glanced at him warily. “ Then why do I feel like you’re about to say something annoying?”

He smirked. “ Because I usually do.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could shoot back a response, he took another step closer.

Your breath caught.

There was something different about the way he was looking at you now. No teasing glint in his eye. No smug amusement.

Just…intent.

“ You deserve better.” He said suddenly.

Your heart skipped a beat. “ What?”

“ You heard me.” He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to memorize it.

“ You deserve someone who actually sees you, Y/n.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Because the way he said it—so effortlessly, like it was just an undeniable truth—made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed. “ And what, you think that’s you?”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes remained serious. “ Maybe.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse was racing. “ I just had my heart broken minutes ago, In-ho.”

“ I know.” He murmured. “ That’s why I’m not doing anything about it.”

You frowned. “ Then what are you doing?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something almost too soft.

“ Waiting.”

Your stomach flipped.

He didn’t move closer. Didn’t push any further. He just held your gaze, waiting for you to process his words, letting them sink in.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if it was Jun-ho or In-ho who was making your head spin.

A/N: Y/n and Jun-ho met when they were 16. In-ho, on the other hand, began to like her when she reached her legal age—around the time Y/n was in her twenties. (I need to clarify this to avoid misunderstandings between the characters)

Y/n and Jun-ho's age right now: 23 (College students)

In-ho's age right now: 30 (I need to lower down his age to make it more accurate)

Gosh...that was intense.

Question: If you are in the situation of Y/n, who will you going to choose?

Team In-ho or Team Jun-ho?

Tags: @maah-sama @storytellers-randomshortstorys @colorwastaken @frontwomann @roach457855688568876 @coruja12345

See u in part 8. 😝

253 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 3 months ago

Text

Tip of my Tongue - Azriel/single mom reader

His apprehension has withered into dust, a full blown garden blooming in its place.

You plague him. Every moment, every thought, he’s circling back to you. During training, at dinner, during work, he’s wondering.

Are you alright? Is Luna? How are you coping?

Your coat is threadbare.

He noticed it briefly that day in the Palace and filed it away for later, though he’s sure the cold doesn’t bother you so much considering where you’re from.

Still. You’re here now, and so is he. You don’t need to suffer.

The one he chooses is jewel toned, a perfect complement to your hair, your eyes, heavy enough to keep you plenty warm against the bitter chill, soft enough you could sleep in it.

It takes a lot for him to feel a sense of pride, but this… this does it. Easily.

He can’t bring himself to physically give it to you though. Something about it feels too intimate, too strong, too much-

And you’re skittish.

The coat is wrapped in brown paper instead, tied with a black ribbon, and left on your front step. It’s the coward’s way out, something he’s never been, but it’s all he has in this moment, unable to stomach the thought of your flat out rejection, choosing to lurk in the dark shade of nightfall until the lights in your home blink out and he can slip silently through shadow to your front door.

He wishes he could see your face when you find it in the morning. Will you be upset? Insulted? Happy?

He wants to know these things about you, see them for himself.

This will take courage. The kind he’s not sure he has, the he knows without a doubt, he will find.

For you.

“Hi.”

He inclines his head. “Hello.” He’s supposed to take you out today, show you around, help you get acclimated, but you’re holding the coat in your arms, anxiety pulling at your expression.

“Did you…” He nods.

“Yes.”

“It’s…” you smooth your fingers over the stitching in the collar. “It’s lovely but I can’t… I can’t accept this.”

“Yours is inadequate.” You wince at his straight forward statement, and he bites his tongue. “Please, it would be for me. I… it’s very cold.”

“For you?” The skepticism in your voice is painfully obvious, leaving him no choice but to double down. Forge ahead.

“For me. I… I will worry.” Weakness is an unlikable thing, a thing trained out of him, a thing beaten down and pushed away, shoved into the darkness since he was a child. It’s uncomfortable, how the idea of you out in the cold makes him feel, how unsettled he is whenever he thinks about you on your own, here or elsewhere. How mournful he is, imagining your trek from Stoneguard to here, alone, no one to help you.

Strong, brave girl.

Something flickers in your gaze. Something confused, something haunted, ghostly enough his heart pounds, his fists clenching at his side. Whatever it is, it’s enough to wear you down, and you give him a nod.

“If you need anything… I want you to come to me.” The day was too short, and he longs for more, wishes he could stay, knows better than to push his luck.

“That’s not necessary.” Luna coos, wriggling in your arms, a chubby fist reaching out to him. You bristle. Prickly, walls slowly raising, trying to push him away.

“I know it’s not,” he appeases softly, a long finger fitting in Luna’s grasp, much to her delight, “but it doesn’t change anything.” He’s careful to hold his tongue, keep everything he truly wants to say hidden for now. “All you need to do is call for me, and I’ll come.” Your brow furrows in confusion and he gestures to the misty shadow snaking along the floor at your feet. “In case you need me.” You look… confused, that’s the best way to describe it. Not as apprehensive as he expected, just unsure, staring down at the wisp, lips quirked to the side.

He wonders how long it’s been since someone took care of you.

He’ll fix it.

“Is it… going to watch me?” Yes.

“No.” Luna still has a firm grip on his finger and he strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, soaking in the way she smiles at him, gums and all.

“Azriel, really, I’m alright, we’re-”

“I know. I know you are, but Velaris is not as kind as it would have you believe, and you are… different, from them.”

“Illyrian.” Your eyes narrow, brief bravado slipping away as your shoulders slump. He takes a chance, tucks two fingers under your chin and tilts your face to his. Your breath hitches, his blood heats and your lips part, pupils expanding like an explosion of stars.

“Please.” He murmurs, and you swallow.

“Okay.”

#peaches writes #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar #azriel x you

240 notes · View notes

cbeargyu · 12 days ago

Note

hi! can i make a request of husband beomgyu pls 🥹 love you as always <33

second chance

summary: after weeks apart and a looming divorce, a tearful call from beomgyu leads to an emotional reunion. through painful honesty, soft memories, and tender promises, you both choose to love again.

pairing: husband!beomgyu x wife!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, slow burn, marriage reconciliation, established relationship

warnings: mentions of divorce, emotional breakdowns, crying, soft intimate scenes (suggestive not explicit), hopeful ending.

wc: 9,3k

notes: anon, thank you for your request T-T beomgyu as a husband is such a cute concept, I love him so much, these days I've been so obsessed with him, as you can tell, he's the one I've written the most fanfics about HAHAHA but really, I can't let him go, I hope you like this fic🩷

the second you heard the door unlock, your heart sank. not from fear, not even from fury anymore—just from the unbearable weight of disappointment. 2:47 a.m. the digital clock on the wall blinked mockingly in the silence. your legs were stiff from sitting too long, your arms folded so tightly across your chest they almost numbed your skin.

beomgyu walked in quietly, carelessly, like it wasn’t the third time that week he got home long past midnight.

he looked up, and for a moment, he froze. “you’re still up?”

you didn’t move. “yeah. shocking, huh?”

he let out a soft sigh and closed the door behind him, dropping his keys in the little ceramic bowl you’d both picked out together on your honeymoon. “we stayed late. my boss brought everyone drinks.”

you laughed under your breath, but it was bitter and sharp. “again?”

“it wasn’t like that,” he mumbled, toeing off his shoes. “you know how it is. if i want a shot at the promotion, i have to—”

“what?” you interrupted, your voice calm but taut like a stretched wire. “kiss ass? let him walk you around like some lapdog while your wife waits up, thinking maybe this time he’s in a ditch somewhere? or maybe—just maybe—he’s fucking someone else?”

he straightened up sharply. “don’t do that.”

“don’t do what?” you tilted your head, your expression unreadable. “don’t say out loud what’s been sitting in my throat for months?”

“you know damn well i wouldn’t cheat on you,” he snapped, finally facing you head-on. “i’ve been busting my ass for us. for this house. for our future.”

“and what future is that, beomgyu?” your voice cracked despite you. “we haven’t kissed in weeks. you don’t even look at me when we’re in bed. you roll over, you sleep, you wake up, you leave. when did we stop being us?”

he walked past you, his face hard, avoiding your gaze as if it burned. “i’m tired, y/n. we both are.”

“so that’s it? you’re tired?” you followed him, your steps heavier, breath catching in your throat. “we used to be a team. now we’re just… roommates who occasionally fight.”

he turned slowly, exhaustion etched deep in the lines under his eyes. “i don’t know what to do anymore.”

you looked at him for a long time. really looked. he was still your husband. still the boy who walked you home from school in the rain, who held your hand during every hospital visit your mom had, who cried like a child on your wedding night because he couldn’t believe he got to marry you.

but he was also someone else now. someone closed off. hardened.

“maybe we should separate,” you said, and it landed between you both like a gunshot in a silent room.

his lips parted, but no sound came out.

“just… for a while,” you added, as if softening the blow would make it less real. “i’ll go to my parents’ place in the morning. take some time to think.”

beomgyu looked down, his fists trembling by his sides. and then, slowly, he nodded.

“if this marriage is hurting us more than helping us,” he said hoarsely, “then maybe… yeah. maybe it’s the right thing.”

you didn’t cry. not then. your throat burned and your chest felt like it had caved in, but no tears came. maybe because you’d cried them all out on nights like this, waiting and waiting, hoping he’d still fight for you.

he didn’t beg. didn’t ask you to stay.

he just turned away.

when the sun broke through the blinds, the house felt like a ghost town. you barely said anything as you stuffed a few bags, folding clothes like you were packing for a short trip instead of leaving a life behind. beomgyu helped, but in silence. his face blank, his movements mechanical.

he walked you to the car with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“you should take the car,” he said, handing you the keys. “it’ll be safer. i'll manage.”

you stared at him for a long time, hoping—just hoping—he’d stop you. say something. ask you to give him one more day. but all he did was give you a sad smile.

“take care,” he murmured, barely audible. “let’s think about everything. properly. maybe some space is what we need.”

you bit the inside of your cheek so hard it tasted like iron. “yeah,” you said, your voice cracking. “maybe.”

you didn’t look back.

the drive to your parents’ house took forty minutes. but it felt like you were crossing continents. the entire world blurred outside your window as you clutched the steering wheel like a lifeline. every traffic light turned green for you—no stops. no pauses. just movement.

when you pulled into the familiar driveway, your hands were shaking.

your mother opened the door before you even rang the bell. maybe she’d known. maybe mothers always do. you didn’t say anything—you just collapsed into her arms, burying your face into her shoulder as the tears finally came, violent and unstoppable.

“oh, my love…” she whispered, stroking your hair. “you’re home.”

you clung to her like a child, sobbing harder than you had in years. twelve years. twelve years with beomgyu. how do you start to forget something that was your whole life?

“noona?” a softer voice called from behind.

you turned and saw jungwon standing there, already taller than you, his eyes wide and worried.

he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you tightly. “it’s gonna be okay,” he said with that naive, youthful certainty. “you’re gonna be okay.”

you laughed through your tears, kissing his forehead. “you’re so tall now,” you whispered, trying to smile. “when did that happen?”

“started high school this month,” he said, proud. “i’m not a baby anymore.”

you ruffled his hair, your smile wobbly. “you’ll always be my baby brother.”

and for a fleeting second, the weight in your chest lifted.

when the sobs finally slowed, and your mother’s arms loosened just enough for you to breathe again, she gently cupped your face and kissed your forehead.

“go lie down, honey. you must be exhausted,” she said softly, brushing your hair back like she used to when you were little. “your room is ready.”

you nodded, barely able to answer. your eyes were sore, your body heavy, and your heart… your heart felt frayed in ways you hadn’t even begun to understand.

you walked down the familiar hallway, feet padding against the cool tiles. everything looked smaller now—narrower, dimmer. like the house had aged with you, quietly, patiently waiting for you to come home.

you stopped in front of your old bedroom door.

it had been over seven years. seven years since you last turned that doorknob. seven years since you packed all your things and left with beomgyu, full of hope, your heart bursting with love and plans and dreams. you hesitated for a moment, almost afraid of what you’d find inside.

but when you opened the door, it felt like stepping into a memory.

everything was exactly as you’d left it.

the pale blue curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. your bed was neatly made with the same faded sheets you used in high school—soft cotton, patterned with tiny constellations. your desk sat untouched beneath the window, the surface bare except for an old lamp and a few dust-free trinkets. the shelves were empty. the repisas above your bed were clean, but void of the books and little figurines you once adored.

the air smelled faintly of lavender, of clean linen and something sweetly nostalgic. the sunlight filtered in, casting quiet shadows on the floor, painting soft lines across the blank surfaces.

you stepped inside slowly, your hand brushing against the smooth edge of the wooden desk. your fingers trembled. your chest felt hollow.

“i always kept it clean,” your mother said from behind you, her voice low and warm. “just in case you ever needed it again.”

you turned to look at her, eyes stinging. she smiled gently and stepped forward, fixing a corner of the bedsheet like it had even needed fixing. “didn’t have the heart to change it. not even the curtains.”

your throat tightened.

“everything’s gone,” you whispered, walking over to the empty shelves. “it used to be full.”

“you took your life with you,” she replied, resting a hand on your back. “as it should be.”

you nodded, staring at the barren walls that had once held photos, posters, love notes, your high school class schedule… now they were just walls.

“you can put things back, if you want,” she added. “or leave them like this. it’s yours, however you need it.”

you didn’t answer right away. you walked over to your bed and sat down slowly, the mattress creaking softly beneath you. it felt both familiar and foreign—like hugging an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

“i don’t even know what i need right now,” you said finally, staring at the floor.

your mom leaned down, kissed the top of your head. “then don’t decide anything tonight.”

she left you there in the silence, in that sacred, untouched space that had once been your refuge from the world. and now, again, it was.

you lay down slowly, curling up on your side, the same way you used to after long school days when the world felt too loud. the tears came again—but not violently this time. they came slow. quiet. like raindrops on a forgotten window.

twelve years.

you were sixteen when you met beomgyu. seventeen when you told him you wanted forever. twenty when you moved in together. twenty-three when you married him. and now… now you were twenty-eight and sleeping in your childhood bed, wondering how everything that once felt like fate had slipped between your fingers like sand.

you stared at the ceiling, your fingers curled into the pillow.

somewhere, back in the apartment you shared, beomgyu was probably lying awake too. maybe staring at your side of the bed. maybe not. maybe already letting you go.

but you weren’t ready to let go.

once your breathing returned to something steady and the tightness in your throat dulled into a quiet ache, you wiped your face with the back of your hand. the room still smelled like childhood, like comfort, but now it carried a tinge of sorrow too. you stood up from the bed, deciding to distract yourself, to at least put away the few things you’d brought with you.

you started with the closet.

opening it felt strange—like opening a door to the past, like stepping into something that had once been yours but had lived without you for years. the hangers were empty, the shelves dusted and bare. but down at the bottom, tucked into the corner where the light didn’t quite reach, you saw them.

boxes.

you blinked, frowning. boxes?

and then you remembered.

you had left them there.

they didn’t fit in the moving truck. there hadn’t been space, and you’d told yourself you’d come back for them later. you never did.

the curiosity itched at you instantly, like the gentle tug of memory pulling at your sleeve. what had you packed away? what pieces of yourself had you abandoned without meaning to?

you pulled one box out and placed it on the bed.

when you lifted the lid, the scent of old paper, dried ink, and something faintly sweet hit you. your breath caught in your throat.

letters.

photographs.

little gifts.

neatly stacked, carefully organized. like a timeline of your love. from the very first spark to the last flame before the plunge into adulthood.

you sat down, your knees weak, heart already pounding.

the first letter on top was creased and slightly yellowed at the edges. your name was written in beomgyu’s handwriting, back when it was still a little uneven, back when he still dotted his i’s with tiny hearts just to make you blush.

“i don’t know if you’ll ever like me back, but i think i like you too much not to say something. you smile like you invented the sun and every time you laugh i forget how to breathe. if you ever give me a chance, i swear i’ll make you the happiest girl in the whole damn school. maybe even the planet.”

you exhaled shakily, fingers trembling as you folded it back up.

you moved on to the next one. his confession letter, written after your first date at the old arcade in town.

“i still can’t believe you said yes. i haven’t stopped smiling since saturday. i keep thinking about how cold your hands were and how you still let me hold them anyway. i think you’re magic. like… like maybe you’re not even real. i don’t know. i’m just really, really lucky.”

another tear slipped down your cheek.

beneath the letters were bundles of polaroids tied with ribbon. you untied one, your lips parting as you flipped through them.

you and beomgyu holding ice creams, faces smeared with strawberry and chocolate.

a blurry one of him carrying you on his back through the rain.

another one from your first trip to seoul, sitting on the subway, both of you looking exhausted but so in love.

and then… your first anniversary. there you were, cheek to cheek, grinning at the camera, and between you stood jungwon, five years old, flashing a crooked peace sign like he was the star of the photo. he had two front teeth missing and a bowl cut that you’d teased him about for months.

you let out a choked laugh, the sound watery and fragile.

next was a box of keepsakes—movie tickets, pressed flowers, the wrapper from your first shared chocolate bar. even the doodles he used to leave in your notebooks during boring lectures.

“stay awake, sleepyhead <3 you promised me lunch after class!!”

“reminder: i love you more than ramen. and that’s saying a lot.”

your hands reached for one more envelope—thicker than the rest. inside were pages and pages written in his voice. you recognized the style immediately.

it was the letter he gave you on your 100 days.

“people say 100 days isn’t much. but for me, it’s been everything. 100 days of waking up excited. 100 days of knowing i’m yours. 100 days of learning your laugh and the way your eyes crinkle when you’re really happy. i don’t ever want to stop counting. 200 days. 500. 1,000. i want all of them, with you.”

you pressed the paper to your lips.

you couldn’t remember the last time he wrote you something. couldn’t remember the last time you kissed without it feeling like a routine. without checking the clock. without your mind already racing toward work, bills, dinner.

you leaned back slowly, curling up on your bed with the open box beside you, the letters scattered across your chest like armor and daggers at the same time.

he used to write you poetry on napkins.

he used to hold your hand under the table at family dinners.

he used to tell you that even on his worst days, coming home to you made him believe the world wasn’t so bad.

when had it all changed?

when did the love become background noise? when did you both stop fighting for each other?

you closed your eyes, the ache in your chest sharper now—because this love had been real. it had been raw and loud and beautiful. and now it was bruised and quiet and bleeding out slowly between your fingers.

you fell asleep without meaning to.

the tears never really stopped, they just slowed, like rain running out of strength. your arms curled around the open letters, clutching them tightly against your chest as if they'd vanish if you let go. the box of memories lay beside you, its contents half-spilled across the bed. it still smelled like him—like ink, cologne, and something warm you couldn’t name.

you didn’t remember when your eyelids gave in.

but suddenly… you were somewhere else.

you blinked against a brightness that felt unreal.

the sky above you was the kind of blue that looked painted, too soft and pure to exist in real life. you were lying on something hard—cement? gravel? no, the warm tiles of a school courtyard. familiar. strange.

the hum of voices buzzed in the distance.

you sat up slowly.

your limbs felt light, your body foreign. when you looked down, your heart lurched violently in your chest. you were wearing your old high school uniform—navy skirt, white blouse with the school crest stitched at the corner. your nails were painted a glossy burgundy, long and delicate like you never wore them now. your hair brushed past your waist.

what the hell...?

you stood, dizzy.

your eyes scanned the courtyard. same fountain, same benches, the same vending machine that used to swallow coins and never return drinks. everything was how you remembered it, but not how it should be.

and then—

there he was.

beomgyu.

but not your husband.

no.

this was the seventeen-year-old version of him. he was running across the courtyard, brows furrowed with something urgent, panic written all over his face. his backpack bounced on his back, shirt untucked, tie crooked—exactly how he used to wear it when he didn’t care about dress code.

you took a step toward him.

“beomgyu—”

but nothing came out.

your voice caught in your throat like a breath that never formed. you tried again, louder, desperate.

silence.

you looked down at yourself, touched your lips, tried to scream—but no sound, no reaction, like your existence here didn’t register.

and he didn’t look at you.

he ran right past you.

your stomach dropped.

you spun around, confused, breath shaky.

was that...?

a crowd was gathering. a cluster of students forming a circle near the gymnasium doors, their murmurs rising in pitch. you moved toward them, heart thudding like a warning, dread curling in your stomach. you pushed past ghost-like silhouettes, none of them noticing you.

and then you saw.

him.

beomgyu pushed through the crowd, dropped to his knees without hesitation.

and beside him—

on the ground—

was you.

you.

the past you. passed out. lips pale, skin gleaming with sweat, the buttons of your blouse undone at the top as someone had tried to help you breathe. your limbs sprawled awkwardly on the warm tile, your chest rising faintly with shallow breaths.

he was panicking.

his hands cupped your face with such care, trembling as he brushed your hair from your forehead.

“someone call the nurse!” he shouted. “she’s burning up—fuck, where’s her water bottle?”

his voice cracked.

you could feel his fear from here. how tightly he held you. how his fingers gripped yours even unconscious.

and then—memory crashed into you like a wave.

that day.

that impossibly hot, breathless day.

you had collapsed during p.e., heat exhaustion hitting harder than you expected. you didn’t even know beomgyu back then. maybe you'd seen him in a few classes, heard the way he always made everyone laugh. but you never talked. you didn’t think he even knew your name.

but when your body gave up, it was him.

he was the first one to move. the one who didn’t wait. the one who lifted you in his arms like you weighed nothing, running all the way to the infirmary with you whispering nonsense against his collar.

he didn’t leave your side that day.

he stayed.

until your eyes opened again.

and he smiled like he’d just seen the sun rise after a storm.

you remembered your friends teasing you after.

“your knight in wrinkled uniform.”

“your hero with pretty smile.”

and from then on, he never left your orbit.

but now—why were you seeing this?

why were you outside of it, watching like a stranger?

you tried to move closer, but your feet felt heavy, stuck.

everything blurred, like fog on glass.

and in a blink, the courtyard faded.

you were standing in the hallway now. the infirmary door cracked open. you could hear soft voices inside.

you peeked.

and there he was again—beomgyu, sitting beside your unconscious self, head in his hands. he looked young, terrified, still catching his breath.

“you scared me,” he whispered.

“please don’t do that again.”

and then he looked up, straight at where you were standing.

your heart stopped.

his eyes met yours.

but… that wasn’t possible. right?

his gaze didn’t drift away. he stared, like he saw you.

like he was looking through time.

“is it really you?” he said softly.

and before you could move—before you could answer—

everything went dark.

the dream shattered into blackness.

and you gasped awake in your old bed, the letters still clutched in your arms, your chest heaving.

your cheeks were damp. your hands were shaking. and somewhere, deep in your bones, the feeling of that day still lingered.

he had saved you back then.

you didn’t know what this dream meant. but one thing was clear.

something inside you had shifted.

the love you thought was lost wasn’t gone.

it was buried.

you woke up with a dry throat and a strange weight in your chest—one of those mornings where your body feels like it came back from somewhere far, far away. the room looked familiar, your old bedroom at your mother’s house, but you felt like a stranger inside it.

there was something off. you couldn’t tell if it had all been a dream or something more. the feeling clung to your skin like humidity. the memory of the uniform, the sun on your face, beomgyu kneeling beside your crumpled body on the schoolyard… it wasn’t fading. If anything, it felt sharper now. too vivid.

you went downstairs, still in your sleep shirt, walking like someone who didn’t fully trust the floor. your mom was already at the stove, flipping something in a pan. she turned as she heard you step into the kitchen, a soft frown on her face.

"morning, honey. you look like you’ve seen a ghost," she said with a half-smile, handing you your favorite mug, the one with the chipped handle.

you held it between your fingers like it might slip.

"i didn’t sleep well. that’s all," you muttered. "weird dreams."

you didn’t elaborate. what could you say? that you had felt him again? that you’d heard his voice in your bones?

the workday dragged by in a blur of emails, and pretending to care about things you couldn’t name. everything felt like a shell. like a play. you smiled and nodded, typed “best regards” with fingers that wanted to tremble.

by the time you returned to your mother’s house, the sun was low and warm, and the kitchen smelled like soy sauce and rice. you joined her, needing something to do with your hands, with your mind.

"i found some boxes in my old room," you said as you stirred the soup. "stuff i never took with me."

"yeah, i saw them. i never opened them," she replied. "didn’t know what they had… and i guess i didn’t want to look."

you both fell quiet after that. until the doorbell rang, and jungwon came in, cheerful as ever, making the house feel a little less haunted. the dinner was full of small talk, laughter that didn’t quite reach your chest—but it helped. It let you forget, for a while.

but when night came… the fear returned.

you lay in bed, eyes wide, body tense. you were scared—not of dreaming, but of remembering. of feeling everything again and not knowing what it meant.

eventually, sleep took you like a wave crashing over your head.

and again—you opened your eyes.

you were sitting on a wooden bench. the air was soft and golden. it was late, nearing sunset. the sky was lilac, dotted with floating lanterns. somewhere nearby, people were laughing, music echoed faintly in the distance. you were wearing a pink hanbok, your hair braided and pinned up in a way you hadn’t worn it in years.

your feet… ached.

you looked down and saw them—bare, red, sore. small blisters on your heels.

this day.

that day.

your first date with beomgyu. chuseok. the festival with the food stalls and the lanterns, the one where your shoes betrayed you halfway through the evening.

you turned your head just as his voice wrapped around you.

"y/n! there you are."

you looked up and saw him—young, flushed from running, holding two corn dogs, a plastic bag, and two drinks crushed between his fingers. he looked breathless and beautiful, like he always had.

"sorry, i took forever. there were too many people, and finding these was a nightmare," he said, smiling as he approached.

he handed you the corn dogs and set the drinks down beside you on the bench. then, without asking, he knelt in front of you.

you could barely breathe.

from his pocket, he pulled out a little box of band-aids.

"no one was selling these inside, so i had to go out to find a pharmacy. you should’ve told me your feet were killing you."

his voice was soft, a little scolding, a lot loving.

with gentle hands, he cradled your foot, cleaning it with a tissue from his bag before carefully applying the band-aid to the angry skin. the sensation made your breath hitch. he was so close. so warm.

"you should’ve said something," he murmured.

and before you could stop yourself, before you even thought to speak, you heard your own voice say:

"but i wanted to be with you."

you froze.

not because it was untrue—but because those were the exact words you had said back then. not now. then.

beomgyu blinked. he looked at you like you had just stabbed him sweetly in the chest.

he adjusted the cheap plastic sandals he’d bought for you, gently securing them around your sore feet. then he stood, slowly, standing in front of you with a look that was shy and full of something deeper.

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your skin like a whisper.

"i liked you before this," he said, his voice low, trembling. "but that night… i knew i couldn’t let you go."

your chest clenched. you swallowed hard, eyes already burning.

he leaned in.

so close, so slow, like gravity itself was pulling you toward him.

you closed your eyes.

his breath met yours. you tilted your head, lips parting.

and just—just as his lips were about to touch yours—

you woke up.

gasping.

heart racing like a runaway train. sheets tangled around your legs, skin hot, mouth dry.

but the scent of grilled corn dogs and candy still lingered.

the feel of his hands on your skin hadn’t left.

and in the silence of your old room, as you clutched your chest and tried to breathe, you knew it:

these weren’t dreams.

not just dreams.

they were memories.

and something—someone—was reaching out from the past.

the dream fades, slow and reluctant, like a fog lifting from a lake at dawn. you wake up still tangled in the remnants of it—your breath uneven, skin warm where you swore his lips had touched it. you stay still for a while, buried in the sheets that no longer smell like him, eyes fixed on the ceiling that’s slowly turning gold with the rising sun. your heart aches in that dull, pulsing way it always does now, as if it knows it’s missing something crucial but can’t quite remember what. you reach for your phone instinctively, fingers trembling just a little as you check your notifications. nothing. no messages. no missed calls. no beomgyu.

you shouldn’t be surprised. it’s been days. still, the emptiness stings in a new way every morning. it plants itself in your throat and swells throughout your chest as you force yourself out of bed. you go through the motions—brush your teeth, wash your face, stare at your own tired reflection and try not to ask why you look so hollow. you throw on the same sweater you’ve worn all week, the one that used to be his, and head out the door into a world that keeps spinning, oblivious to your slow unraveling.

the office is a blur of white light and cold coffee. your coworkers smile and chatter, and you nod when expected, laugh when prompted, answer emails like you haven’t been dying a little more each day. you check your phone again and again between tasks, hoping for a miracle notification, a simple “hey” that might put your heart back together. it never comes. during lunch, you barely touch your food, appetite lost to a gnawing ache in your stomach that no amount of rice or tea can soothe. when the day finally ends, you don’t go home. you wander instead, drifting through the streets like a ghost, ending up in front of the tiny bookstore he used to take you to. you step inside, hoping for comfort in old pages and the smell of ink.

you flip through poetry books, and a line jumps out at you: “i do not know what i was made for, but when you cried into my mouth, i remembered.” it hits something deep, something raw. you close the book and leave without buying anything.

your mom is asleep when you get home. you shower slowly, let the water wash over your face like it could cleanse the sadness out of you. it doesn’t. you fall into bed fully clothed, the blankets too heavy and the air too quiet. sleep takes you quickly, dragging you back under, where your heart can remember what your mind tries so hard to forget.

in the dream, you’re on the school rooftop, the wind tossing your hair like in some cheesy drama. you’re standing next to beomgyu, his presence warm and familiar beside you. the sky above is overcast, a storm on the verge of breaking. a group of students lingers nearby, and one girl—minhee, her voice sharp as broken glass—smirks as she speaks just loud enough for you to hear.

“he’s going to leave you,” she says with venomous confidence. “he told me he liked me. he just doesn’t know how to break up with you yet.”

your heart stops. your throat tightens. you turn to beomgyu, eyes searching his face for denial, for reassurance, for anything to counter the horror clawing at your chest. he frowns deeply, jaw tightening as he looks at minhee with disgust.

“she’s lying,” he says, stepping between you and the venom she left behind. “she’s been trying to get in between us for weeks. i told her to stop. she just wants attention.”

you want to believe him. god, you do. but the damage is already done. your eyes well with tears you can’t control, your vision blurs, and the ache in your chest sharpens.

“i just… i don’t want to lose you,” you whisper, your voice cracking like fragile glass. “even the thought of it hurts.”

his face softens instantly. he cups your cheeks in both hands, thumbs brushing away tears as fast as they fall, like he’s trying to undo the pain with just his touch.

“you won’t lose me,” he says quietly, urgently. “i’m not going anywhere. you’re the only one i look at. the only one i want. the only one i love.”

he kisses your forehead, your nose, your cheeks—lips gentle as feathers—before finally kissing your lips with a soft, lingering tenderness that makes your knees tremble. as he kisses you, more tears come, falling silently down your face, not from doubt anymore, but from overwhelming relief. he kisses each tear, one by one, whispering promises against your skin like prayers.

you wake up with your pillow soaked. the tears haven’t stopped. your chest rises and falls too fast, the sobs sharp and painful, tearing through your throat as your hands clutch the sheets. it wasn’t real. it was just a dream. but your body doesn’t know that. your heart doesn’t know that. you cry harder than you have in weeks, and for once, you let yourself. because it felt real. because you miss him. because he hasn’t written to you. because he promised he wouldn’t leave, and now he’s gone.

you curl into a ball under the blankets, breath catching in your throat, willing yourself to fall asleep again, hoping you’ll see him there—just for a little while longer.

the next morning is no kinder. your eyes are swollen, your limbs heavy, your spirit dulled. you check your phone. still nothing. the silence is louder than any goodbye.

your routine drags on—shower, coffee, the same lifeless office, the same forced smiles. your coworkers laugh at something, and it grates on your nerves. how can they laugh when your world is crumbling? you eat a single apple for lunch and throw away the rest. you scroll through old messages, rereading the way he used to say “good morning” like it meant something sacred. you ache.

that night, you fall asleep with the phone clutched in your hand.

and again, you dream.

this time, you’re in his room. the lamp is dim, casting a golden glow over his features. he’s watching you like you’re made of galaxies, and you’re breathing fast, heart pounding in your throat. you remember this night. you remember every second.

you’d told him you were ready. to be his. completely. and he asked, with trembling hands and wide eyes, “are you sure?”

you nodded. you remember the way his lips parted, how his hands shook as they held your waist. how he touched you like you were something sacred.

it wasn’t perfect. it was real. clumsy giggles, soft gasps, the smell of his shampoo, the heat of his breath, the way he whispered your name like it was his salvation.

when it was over, he pulled you against his chest, kissing your forehead, your temple, your shoulder.

“i love you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t know love could feel like this.”

you said it back. again. and again.

you wake up gasping, a sob bursting from your throat like a wave. tears stream down your cheeks, soaking your skin, your pillow, your soul. you bury your face in the sheets, fists clenched in pain. it’s too much. too vivid. too real.

you remember how it felt.

you remember everything.

and now you’re alone.

and he still hasn’t written.

you dream again. every night now. your mind keeps dragging you back, stitching memories into something soft and cruel. this time it’s your first anniversary. it had rained all day, the kind of soft, moody rain that made the world feel quieter. you’d both been too broke to plan anything extravagant, so he cooked for you in that tiny kitchen with the crooked lightbulb that flickered every time someone opened the fridge. he was wearing an apron that didn’t fit him, sleeves rolled up, hair messy, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he tried not to burn the rice.

you’d sat at the counter, watching him like he was magic. he handed you a plate with a bashful grin, eyes glinting as he said, “chef gyu at your service.” you’d laughed until you cried, and then he kissed you with soy sauce on his lips and the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. later that night, you danced barefoot in the living room, holding onto each other like you were afraid the moment would slip away. you’d fallen asleep tangled on the couch, the half-eaten cake still on the table.

another night, another dream—this one hazier. your first time. not the night it finally happened, but all the nights it didn’t. the failed attempts, the soft gasps, the nervous hands, the whispered “it’s okay”s. neither of you knew what you were doing. you were clumsy and young and a little scared. but it never felt wrong. it felt like… learning. like loving someone deeply even in the awkward, imperfect moments. you remember one night, curled up in bed after another failed attempt, how he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “we don’t have to rush. i just like being with you.”

you held onto those words like a lifeline. even now. even when everything else is falling apart.

you wake up in tears again, the kind that come from too much remembering. it’s exhausting—this longing, this ache that stretches through your chest like a second heartbeat. you stare at the ceiling and tell yourself: you have to forget him. you have to move on. it’s over.

you pull up the divorce email thread. it’s half-filled, half-hearted. your replies are short. factual. robotic. there’s no signature at the end. just your name, plain and cold.

and then your phone buzzes.

his name flashes on the screen. beomgyu calling.

your heart stops. your fingers hover over the screen like they’re made of glass. for a second, you consider not answering. but something in you still reaches for him, even now.

you press accept.

“hello?”

his voice is quiet. rough. like he hadn’t used it all day.

“hey. uh…” there’s a pause. “i found a lawyer. a good one. she said she can help with the case. make it simple for both of us.”

you swallow hard, forcing air through your lungs.

“okay.”

“i thought…” he clears his throat. “maybe we could meet? after your shift. during my lunch break. there’s that restaurant near your office. the one with the bulgogi you like.”

your voice doesn’t tremble when you answer. you don’t know how. maybe you’ve grown numb.

“sure. that’s fine.”

“okay.” another pause. “see you then.”

he hangs up before you can say anything else. you sit in silence, the echo of his voice still clinging to the walls.

when you see him, it’s like being sucker-punched. he looks tired. thinner. the bags under his eyes speak volumes. he doesn’t smile when he sees you. doesn’t even fake it. he just holds the door open for you, silent and awkward.

you sit across from each other at a corner table. the waitress brings water. neither of you touches it.

he opens his folder and places a few documents on the table.

“she says we don’t have to go to court. we can file separately and sign within the next few weeks. no need to argue over property. it’s all split already. she gave me a list of steps.”

he hands you a copy. you don’t take it.

“beomgyu.”

his hands still.

“do you really want this?”

his eyes flicker to yours. and in them, you see it—everything. the love. the guilt. the fear.

he doesn’t speak for a long time. when he finally does, his voice is barely a whisper.

“i don’t know what i want anymore. i just know we’re not… us. not like we used to be.”

you nod slowly. your throat is tight, your heart thundering so loud it drowns out the sound of the restaurant.

“we used to be everything.”

he presses his lips together.

“and now we hurt each other more than we help.”

your eyes sting. you blink fast.

“so that’s it?”

he looks down at his hands.

“i think it’s better this way. for both of us.”

“but it doesn’t feel better.”

“no,” he says, almost breaking, “it fucking doesn’t.”

you sit there, surrounded by the smell of grilled meat and the quiet hum of people living lives you’re no longer sure how to live.

you reach for the water. take a small sip. it doesn’t help.

he folds the papers back into the folder. pushes it toward you.

“just think about it.”

you stare at the folder like it’s a bomb.

“yeah,” you whisper. “okay.”

the phone rings at 2:17 a.m.

you’re not asleep. you haven’t been for nights now. the sheets are tangled around your legs, your eyes raw from crying, and your chest feels like someone’s been sitting on it for hours. when you see his name on the screen, your breath catches in your throat. your thumb hovers above the green button, shaking. you hesitate for one, two, three seconds… and then you press it.

you don’t speak. neither does he. at first, it’s just the sound of the line open between you, the hum of silence, and then…

his voice breaks.

“i’m sorry.”

it’s quiet. hoarse. like he’s been crying long before this call. you sit up slowly, holding the phone to your ear like it might slip from your fingers.

“i shouldn’t be calling you but—fuck, i can’t sleep. i can’t breathe without thinking about you.”

you say his name, just a whisper. it leaves your lips like a prayer.

“beomgyu...”

and then he lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been waiting to hear your voice to fall apart completely.

“i miss you. i miss you so much, it’s driving me insane. every night i close my eyes and it’s you. you laughing, you calling my name, you dancing in the living room in that oversized sweater... everything reminds me of you.”

your bottom lip quivers, and you press the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle the sob that’s already building.

“i dream about us,” he whispers. “not just once. every single night. our first anniversary, your hands in mine... the way you looked at me when we promised we’d never give up on each other. i see it all. i wake up and i swear i can smell your shampoo on my pillow. but it’s not real. it’s never real.”

his breath hitches again, and now you can hear the tears in his voice, full and wet and unrestrained.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he says, breaking down mid-sentence. “i thought maybe if we separated, if we took space, it would get easier. that maybe this was what we needed. but i was wrong. it’s not easier. it’s fucking unbearable.”

you’re crying now. soft at first, but growing louder with every word that spills from him like a confession he’s been dying to make.

“i don’t want to influence your decision. if you want the divorce, if this is what you really want, i’ll sign everything. i’ll do whatever it takes to not make this harder for you.”

he goes silent for a moment, like it’s physically painful for him to say the next words.

“but i need you to know… i haven’t stopped loving you. not even for a second. you’ve always been it for me. even when we fought. even when we hurt each other. you are—”

his voice cracks and he breathes out your name like it’s breaking him.

“you are the love of my life.”

and something inside you shatters.

you clutch the phone tighter, your body folding in on itself from the weight of everything he’s saying. from the truth you’ve been trying to run away from.

“i still see you in everything,” he continues, voice trembling. “i see you in the places we used to go, in the goddamn coffee i make in the morning, in the way i can’t fall asleep without your breathing next to mine. this divorce... it’s not fixing anything. it’s just making me more aware of how much i need you. how much i still want you.”

you can’t hold it back anymore.

“beomgyu, please...”

you sob into the phone, your whole body shaking. he goes quiet, waiting. and then you hear it—his soft cry on the other side. broken. desperate. raw.

“i love you,” he says again, this time so tender it makes your heart convulse. “i love you so much. too much. and if i could go back and fix everything, i would. but if this is what you truly want… i’ll respect it.”

but even as he says the words, neither of you believes them. not really.

because the love is still there.

burning. aching. undying.

and in that moment, in the dark silence that follows, you both realize—

letting go might be harder than staying.

he goes quiet after saying he still loves you. the kind of silence that vibrates with weight. and just when you think the call might end, he exhales like something inside him snaps.

“i’m coming to see you.”

your heart stops.

“what?”

“i’m coming to see you. right now.”

you sit up, your pulse thundering. “beomgyu, no. it’s late, and you’re far—”

“i don’t care.” his voice is raw, breathless. “i don’t care how far it is. i just… i need to see you. even if it’s just once. even if you close the door in my face. i need to see you one last time before i lose my fucking mind.”

your throat tightens. the tears you’d barely managed to hold back spill freely now.

“beomgyu…”

“please,” he begs softly, “please don’t hang up.”

you shake your head, clutching the phone to your ear like it's the only thing anchoring you.

“i’m not going to hang up.”

and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. there’s only the sound of your shared breathing, uneven and emotional. your heart feels like it’s been torn wide open, and suddenly, words pour out before you can stop them.

“i’ve been dreaming about you too,” you whisper. “every night. i remember everything. our first time holding hands, the way you cried when you gave me your first letter, our anniversary… even the night we didn’t know what we were doing, but it didn’t matter because we loved each other so much it made up for everything. i wake up missing you so bad it hurts.”

you cover your mouth with your hand, sobbing softly.

“i thought i needed space to think clearly, but all i’ve done is remember every reason i fell in love with you. and it’s still there, beomgyu. it’s all still there. i can’t let you go. i don’t want to.”

there’s a silence so thick it feels like the world holds its breath. then—

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he chokes out. “because i’ll be there in thirty minutes. i swear to god, baby, i’ll run red lights. i’ll come barefoot if i have to.”

and you whisper, “i mean it. come home.”

you don’t even change clothes. you wait by the door, heart in your throat, wiping your tears only for them to fall again. the longest thirty minutes of your life. your fingers twist the edge of your shirt. your feet tap nervously against the floor. your thoughts are a whirlwind. and then—

a knock.

you don’t even check the peephole. your body moves on instinct. you unlock the door and pull it open—

and there he is.

beomgyu, standing in the hallway, drenched in moonlight and grief and rain that must’ve started on the way. his hair’s a mess, sticking up like he ran both hands through it a hundred times. his shirt’s wrinkled, his jacket barely thrown on, shoes untied, cheeks streaked with tears. his eyes—god, his eyes—are swollen and red and filled with a kind of devastation you’ve never seen on him.

he opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.

instead, he stumbles forward.

his arms wrap around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. he buries his face into your shoulder, and you feel his body tremble as the first sob rips through him.

“you’re here,” you whisper, voice broken.

he clutches you tighter.

“i couldn’t stay away.”

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in, letting the heat of him soak through your skin.

“i missed you,” he cries into your hair. “i missed you so fucking much, i didn’t know how to survive it.”

you both collapse to your knees just inside the doorway, tangled in each other, crying, holding, clinging.

and in the silence of your shared heartbreak, something begins to heal.

because he came.

because you still love him.

because love like this doesn't die.

you don’t know how long you stay there, on your knees in the entryway, holding each other like lifelines. time folds in on itself. the only thing real is the weight of his arms around you, the way he breathes your name into your skin like a prayer, and the way your hands tremble as they run through his damp hair.

then, a light flicks on down the hall. footsteps shuffle. your heart skips.

your mom appears, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a soft robe, confusion etched into her face—until she sees you both.

her expression softens instantly.

“beomgyu,” she says quietly, blinking at the sight of him. “you’re here.”

he lifts his head from your shoulder, cheeks wet, lips trembling. “hi, mrs. yang.”

your mom’s eyes move between the two of you, piecing it all together. the tears. the way you hold each other. the way neither of you has moved from the doorway like you were afraid letting go might make it all disappear again.

she steps closer, places a gentle hand on your back.

“come inside. talk. say everything you’ve been holding in before it’s too late. don’t let the routine, or the silence, or the fear kill the love you built. you two have something worth fighting for.”

and just like that, she leaves you alone again, giving you the space your hearts desperately need.

you help him up, hands never leaving his. and you sit together on the old couch in the living room—the one that witnessed countless lazy sunday mornings, shared meals, stolen kisses, fights, makeups, and all the little moments that built your marriage.

you sit close, your knees touching. your fingers linked like you’re relearning each other.

“i don’t even know where to start,” you whisper.

“then start here,” he says, cupping your face with one trembling hand. “i love you. i never stopped. not for a second.”

you cry again, soft and open, and he catches your tears with his lips.

“i thought we were done,” you murmur, voice cracking. “i thought the love ran out.”

“we just got lost,” he says. “too much noise. too much pretending we were okay. i didn’t know how to ask for more. i didn’t know how to tell you i missed you even when you were lying right beside me.”

you lean into him, forehead pressed against his.

“we let it all pile up.”

he nods, breath shaky. “but i don’t want to give up. i want to work on it. every single day. i’ll learn how to love you better. i’ll talk more. i’ll listen harder. just… let me try again.”

you answer him with a kiss. slow. trembling. sweet and deep like home.

and when it grows late—when your bodies are too exhausted from all the crying, the confessing, the ache—you take his hand again and lead him to your bedroom. the same one you once shared, where the mattress still holds the shape of your memories.

you crawl under the sheets together, like you never stopped belonging there. his arms wrap around your waist, your legs tangle with his, and his nose presses into your neck like he’s memorizing the scent of you all over again.

your hands explore his face, his shoulders, like tracing the edges of your favorite story.

he whispers, “is this real?”

you nod, pressing your lips to his.

“stay,” you whisper. “for tonight. and tomorrow. and as long as you want.”

he exhales the softest sound, a smile breaking through the pain.

“always.”

and that night, you sleep curled against each other. his fingers never stop moving—over your back, your cheek, your lips. your kisses never stop—on his forehead, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

and just like that, two people who thought they were lost find each other again. not in grand gestures, but in small ones. in held hands. whispered apologies. quiet laughter between tears.

in love that refused to die.

after the long and emotional night at your parents’ house, you and beomgyu returned to your shared apartment—your home. it looked the same, smelled the same, every object still in place. but it felt different. lighter. as if the air had been scrubbed clean of silence and bitterness.

you unpacked slowly, side by side, laughing at the amount of socks he still had under the bed, and how your favorite mug had survived the weeks of absence.

you sat on the bed together that night and talked. about the little things—how many cups of coffee you’d had, what your coworker had said to you, how loud the subway had been.

you let your bodies melt into each other under the sheets, arms tangled, whispers between kisses, touching each other with the reverence of people who almost lost everything.

that night, you didn’t just make love. you healed. you forgave.

the next morning, you made breakfast together. you accidentally spilled flour on the counter, and he smeared some on your nose, laughing as you gasped. he kissed the flour off your skin before handing you the whisk.

you stood behind him, arms around his waist, swaying slightly to the soft music playing from the speaker as pancakes cooked. and when he turned around to feed you a bite, his smile was sunshine.

days passed, then weeks. and each one felt like a little piece of heaven earned.

you both kept your promise.

every night before sleeping, no matter how tired, you shared something from your day. sometimes it was a joke, sometimes a frustration. but it was always honest.

every morning, you made time to kiss goodbye—no rushed pecks, no distracted waves. real kisses. warm hugs.

during work hours, you sent each other messages—not clingy or constant, but enough.

"you got this today, baby." "thinking of you. breathe. you're doing amazing."

and you had dates again. little ones. ice cream runs. grocery shopping hand in hand. once, he surprised you with a dinner reservation at the place where you had your first anniversary. you wore the same dress. he wore the same nervous smile.

he listened more now. you did too. when he had a hard day, you held space for his words, even when they didn’t make sense. he did the same for you.

then came saturday.

you were curled up together on the couch, the soft hum of a movie filling the room. your legs rested over his, your head on his shoulder, his arm draped over you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you were watching some quiet, artsy film about love and time. at one point, the couple on screen found out they were expecting a baby.

there was a quiet pause between you and beomgyu as the characters celebrated on screen.

his hand, which had been stroking your arm absentmindedly, suddenly stilled.

"i want that," he said softly, eyes still on the screen.

you turned slightly, your breath catching.

"what?"

he looked at you now, his voice steady but vulnerable.

"a family. with you." he swallowed, his hand reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

"i want messy mornings and toys all over the living room. i want little feet running to our bed at midnight. i want to see you holding our child, laughing in the kitchen while i burn toast trying to help."

he laughed softly, but there was a crack in his voice, a shimmer in his eyes.

"i want everything with you. the chaos, the tiredness, the joy. i want to build that life with you, if... if you're ready."

you stared at him, your chest swelling so full it almost hurt.

"i do want it," you whispered. "i want it with you. only with you."

his lips met yours then, slow and deep, filled with silent promises. and as you lay there together, under the soft glow of the tv, you knew—this was the beginning of a new chapter.

you and beomgyu.

the home you rebuilt.

the love that refused to die.

and soon… a family born from it.

forever didn’t feel like a fantasy anymore.

it felt like the quiet beating of two hearts—pressed close, full of hope, writing a future one kiss at a time.

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almostempty · 5 months ago

Text

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part two

wc: 9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE summary: part two of 'right kind of dream': rebuilding your life, chasing, cans, and hitchin' a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

a/n: i battled five million error messages to deliver this bad boy so if something is weird or it seems like paragraphs are missing... they might be. i think some formatting got lost. i'll put the whole thing on ao3 asap. i am unsure what i've done to anger the tumblr hq but i apologize

@katiexpunk : here is part two, thank you for being patient, i hope the wait was worth it <3 tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin' that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta-mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am and for spending the afternoon fighting god to get this website to accept me thanks to: @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, and @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, and ideas, etc.

Joel wakes you up while it’s still dark, pulling your shirt over your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep,” he mutters in a gravelly whisper.

The ache in your body is a stark reminder of everything Joel did to you. Every movement as you roll over sends a sharp jolt through your muscles, and the hollow soreness deep inside you leaves you raw.

For a moment, you lie still, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. You can still feel him, the shape he carved out inside of you.

He said nothing. He didn’t gloat, didn’t tease, didn’t even try to explain. The silence felt heavier than any of his words ever could.

You can hear him outside, feeding the horses. You give in, curling up under the blanket for another hour until you figure you might miss your chance for fresh coffee from the visitor tent.

You pull on clothes, feeling hungover with anxiety twisting in your gut. Your head spins and your chest feels tight, but you march toward the picnic tables and get yourself coffee and breakfast.

You aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You sit at a table, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands, your head pounding as though you’d downed a bottle of whiskey the night before. The anxiety sits heavy in your chest, each sip of coffee doing little to loosen its grip.

You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.

You glance across the grounds, your eyes catching on Joel’s familiar silhouette near the fence. He’s leaning against the rail, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, but the moment his gaze lands on you, something shifts.

Your breath catches, the air between you thick and suffocating even from across the distance. Joel tips his head slightly, a subtle acknowledgment, but it only tightens the knot in your chest.

You tear your eyes away, focusing on the coffee in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingers, pressing into you like a brand.

You keep your distance, avoiding Joel as you move through the motions of the morning ignoring the questions and confusion gnawing at you.

The sun climbs higher, the dry heat pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the rodeo grounds are alive with movement. Dust clings to the back of your throat, blending with the faint, bitter taste of coffee as you linger near the edge of the action, pretending to watch.

You’re halfway to convincing yourself Joel’s not even here when you hear Tommy’s voice. He’s leaning on the fence, one boot propped on the bottom rail, his arm resting loosely on the top. A beautiful woman stands beside him, gorgeous with bold makeup and tight jeans, her dark hair catching the light. She laughs at something Tommy says, swatting at his chest, and he grins down at her like she’s the only person in the world.

You almost keep walking, but Tommy glances up and catches your eye, his grin widening as he waves you over. He calls your name in an easy, smooth tone.

“Morning,” you say stiffly, stopping a few paces away.

The woman glances between you and Tommy, murmuring something to him before she wanders off toward the trailers. Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, tipping his hat to you with that same infuriating grin.

“You sleep alright?”

“What?” you gape at him before rushing to fix your face.

“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No, slept fine. Thanks.”

He gives you another smile, and you move to lean on the fence watching the arena with him. He cocks his head, his eyes still on you.

“You worried about runnin’ Blue?” His voice is warm and light. His dark eyes sparkle with his natural charm, but it’s a genuine question.

You peel the edge of the paper coffee cup, looking past Tommy toward the warmup pen. “Yeah, I guess.” You give him a half smile. “We aren’t gunning for the NFR or anything, though.”

“Somethin’ else weighing on you, darlin’?”

You shake your head. Not willing to reveal anything else. “Heard you were up late partying with the roughstock boys and their fan club,” you accuse in a joking tone, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You aren’t worried about your own round?”

He laughs deeply at that. “Nah, that’s what a heeler’s for,” he says. “I just gotta be in the box on time. Joel’s the one that keeps us winnin’.”

“He’s not a partier?” You didn’t mean to dig, but the question slipped out anyway.

Tommy turns his head towards you, but you keep staring out at the arena, watching the crew setting up the barrels for the first division.

He studies you for a long moment, his grin softening into something closer to curiosity. “Joel’s not like me. Not really.” Your brow furrows. The words twist in your chest, setting your thoughts spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy chuckles again, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s just say, Joel’s always had his head screwed on tighter than mine. Even when he didn’t.” You stare at him, trying to unravel the meaning behind his words, but Tommy just grins. “Joel’s a loyal kinda guy, y’know? Don’t mean he’s blind, though.” He gives you a wink and you feel heat flooding your face. “Just means he wrestles with it longer than the rest of us would.” You scowl at him for that. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did Joel tell him? Does he know what happened? He shrugs. “Just means you’re a hell of a distraction,” Tommy says, tipping his hat. You laugh it off, but his words linger, your mind racing with questions you’re not ready to ask. You whip your head away again as if staring at the tractor raking the arena can save you from the conversation. But Tommy notices.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or prod, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you swallow hard, your thoughts spiraling. Before you can respond, someone calls his name from across the grounds. Tommy tips his hat one last time. “Good luck out there, neighbor,” he says, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “Don’t let that head of yours get in the way.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone, your thoughts spinning, your chest burning. You push off the fence and find yourself a spot on the bleachers. They’re dusty and worn. The boards creak as you settle into a spot near the edge. You watch the first few runs.

The riders move with precision, their horses cut through the dirt with sharp, clean turns. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling names and times, but it fades into the background as you watch.

Everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of Joel.

The set of someone’s shoulders as they lean against the fence, the low timbre of a voice nearby, a black felt hat in the corner of your eye. You try to banish the worry and the panic creeping in.

You remember the way he watched you train with Blue. The way he offered advice that sounded more like a challenge. The way his voice cut through the air like he knew more than you. The way he looked at you last night. The raw unguarded expression you’ve never seen before.

You hate the way he makes you feel small and uncertain. You hate the way you can’t stop thinking about him.

You can’t stop remembering the way his hands felt on your skin or his tongue. The heat in his voice and the way he saw through every lie you told.

The sound of someone hitting the dirt makes you snap your head up just as the crowd around you gasps.

In the arena, a horse stands, saddle hanging nearly sideways off of it. A rider scrambles to their feet, brushing dirt from their jeans with a wave. They lead their horse out of the arena and you can hear folks around you murmuring that their latigo broke and their saddle slipped as they turned for home. The horse and the rider are both fine, but your nerves flare.

You know the risks of the sport. But it makes you head back to the trailer early to inspect all of your tack closely for anything faulty. From across the grounds, Joel watches you. He stands near the holding pen, arms crossed over his chest. You haven’t seen him yet. Not really. Not in the way he sees you.

He can feel the tension in your shoulders as you walk, the way you crush the paper coffee cup in your hand.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out to you.

He doesn’t trust himself to. He shouldn’t have touched you last night. Shouldn’t have let his jealousy boil over. Shouldn’t have taken it that far. But now, standing here, all he could think about was the way you felt underneath him. The way you said his name like he was the only thing holding you together. And the way he needs to hear it again.

By the time your division gets called to warm up, you’ve eased your worries about your tack but you’re still swimming in Joel thoughts until you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on Blue’s back.

Then the rest of the world disappears. Your ride starts off smooth, but Blue’s sensitivity is a curse and a blessing. You figure he must be picking up on some anxiety as he gets a little hot, tossing his head and pulling on the reins when you try to bring him down to a jog.

You work out most of the kinks, circling and working on transitions until he feels supple and responsive to your seat and legs. Your nerves and the energy of the other horses still have his ears swiveling and his head perked up as you wait for the rider ahead of you to be called.

You can see most of their run, it’s smooth and they put up a good time. You squeeze your calves asking Blue to head toward the alleyway, but he’s springloaded.

You hold him back as he crow hops sideways for a beat before you’re backing him up. You try making a slow circle before heading in but he’s still jigging with short, bouncy steps like he’s ready to explode.

You’re tense, holding him back and trying to stay calm, making one more circle when he starts hopping again. You can feel eyes on you from the people standing near the gate. Before you can make another circle Joel is striding towards you with swift long steps.

He grabs Blue by the bridle, speaking directly to him in a calming, low voice. You glare at him reactively, but the words die before you can formulate them.

Blue’s jittering slows and Joel leads you up the alley toward the arena. His steps are sure and confident as he guides you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap at him and tell him you don’t need his help. The truth is you do.

“Go get ‘em,” he says quietly, turning to you.

You gather your reins, giving him a tight nod to signal you’re ready. He lets go and steps back. Your heart pounds as you encourage Blue to push off into a lope.

The moment you cross the starting line, everything else fades.

The noise. The nerves. Even Joel. It all melts away. Just you and Blue and the rhythm of his hooves pounding against the soft dirt.

The first barrel comes fast. You guide him into a tight turn, pushing him to pick it up toward the next. His lead change is smooth as you shift your weight, leaning into the next tight turn. You’ve got your body facing the final barrel before Blue pushes off with his powerful hind legs.

You thunder toward the last barrel. His strides are strong and controlled. You’ve just gotta make this last turn without taking it too wide or knocking the barrel over.

Blue doesn’t forget his training, bending around your leg, picking up his shoulder, and you’ve got one stride left in the turn before you’re free to haul ass home.

You’ve got this.

You don’t got this.

The footing is deeper than the arena you run at on Thursday nights. Blue’s hooves slide in the loose dirt. His balance faltering. Time slows and you feel his weight tipping. There’s nothing to do but brace for the impact. His body hits the dirt in a controlled, almost graceful fall.

You hit the ground with a dull thud, the breath knocked out of you as you scramble back giving Blue room to pop back up. He shakes off the dirt, your stirrups slapping at his side and the reins nearly coming over his ears. His eyes are wide, but he stands waiting for your direction.

You catch your breath, chest still heaving from the shock. You dust the dirt off your jeans and wave off the grounds person jogging toward you. “I’m fine,” you call. “We’re fine.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You pull his reins over his head and walk toward the end of the arena, keeping your head up and patting Blue on the neck. The crowd claps expressing support and relief that you’re both walking.

Hot, angry tears blur your vision by the time you get to the alley.

You don’t see Joel, staring at the ground as you walk, but you hear him hustling toward you calling your name. His boots crunch against the dirt as he matches your pace.

“You okay?” he asks, low and concerned.”

“Fine,” you snap, not looking at him as you speed up, pulling Blue along faster.

“It was a good-looking run you had going,” Joel says, his tone soft. “You two looked great, making good time. You can’t help the shitty footing—”

“I don’t need your pity,” you cut him off, sharp but trembling. “Not now.”

You don’t see the way his face tightens. The anger is spilling out, uncontrollable, and you don’t care if it cuts.

“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”

“Hey, easy.” He tries to interrupt you gently, like a spooked horse. “Nothing like that.”

“You think I’m dumb, too?” You keep jabbing him with questions as you get closer to the trailer, not caring if anyone else hears. “Just another woman that fell into your bed at another rodeo.”

“Enough,” Joel says steady and low, but you don’t hear him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” you snap, your voice cracking. “Didn’t think they were true, to be honest. Didn’t seem like you. Guess I don’t really know you though, do I?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes flashing with hurt, but you’re too far gone to notice.

“You know, maybe I was stupid.” Your voice shakes as tie Blue at the trailer to untack. “But for a while, I thought I was finally starting to feel like myself out here. Like I was where I was supposed to be. And now—” Your words catch in your throat. Tears streaming down your face. You shake your head, stopping yourself from revealing anything else. You turn away from Joel and start running your hands along Blue’s legs to check for any swelling from the fall.

Joel doesn’t move for a long beat. He stands rigid, watching you wrestle with your emotions as you work. Finally, Joel exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’ll leave you be.”

He walks away before you can respond, his footsteps heavy against the dirt. Your shoulders sag as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind the hollow ache of exhaustion. Your hands tremble as you finish untacking and brushing Blue, but you keep moving, your touch soft against his sweat-damp coat. “You did nothing wrong,” you murmur.

Fresh tears pool in your eyes. “You’re a good boy, Blue. You did exactly what we practiced.” Blue snorts softly, his ears flicking back toward you, and you lean into him, pressing your forehead against the warm curve of his neck. “I was the one who fucked up,” you admit, your words muffled against his dark coat. The truth spills out in quiet, broken pieces.

“I should’ve been watching the other riders closer this morning. Should’ve caught how deep the footing was at the far barrel.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Instead of thinking about how I could still feel his hands on me. Or wondering if he’s thinking about me.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Blue shifts beneath you, his weight leaning into your side like he knows you need the grounding.

You pull back, wiping at your face quickly before running your hands over Blue one more time, checking for any swelling or signs of injury. You move methodically, your touch steady despite the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”

The afternoon stretched on at the rodeo, the sun climbing high and unrelenting.

You do your best to avoid the temptation to look for Joel, though he somehow has a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mostly it was false alarms and your eyes playing tricks on you. But once or twice you saw him watching other events. He never seemed to notice you, or if he did he gave no indication.

You hadn’t decided if you were avoiding him out of anger, shame, or if it was because the thought of being near him again after last night still made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You’re still burying that last thought somewhere deep when you catch the flash of Joel’s red mare striding through the arena.

You can see Joel and Tommy putting their horses through some practice just past the main arena.

Your lips press together into a thin line as you watch them. Joel has a different aura about him when he’s in the saddle. He seems lighter somehow. Relaxed, but with a quiet command. He guides his horse in a way that looks effortless. His body moving in perfect harmony with hers. Tommy’s horse was a little snappier, making quick sharp turns. The pair of riders worked together naturally, movements fluid and precise as they get their practice in.

It was mesmerizing. Infuriatingly so.

You leaned back, trying to tear your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, drawn back to continue admiring him. The longer you watch the more it stirs up something unwelcome in your chest. You can’t keep letting him occupy so much space in your mind or your memories.

He’s proven time and again that he doesn’t respect you. He didn’t even argue when you laid it all out in your outburst after your run. He just walked away from you.

But there’s something in the way he carries himself. Something in the way he rides, the way he works with his horse, that hints at something different than what you know. Something that makes you curious.

You blink, realizing Joel’s head was turned toward the bleachers. For a second you think his eyes are on you and you quickly look away. When you glance back he’s already turned his attention back to something else.

Embarrassment wraps around your throat. This is why you had to avoid him. His presence alone seems to demand every ounce of your attention without even trying.

Before you can drown in your own emotional turmoil, an unfamiliar voice calls your name.

You see Cody waving a few rows down and give him a polite smile before agreeing to join him and his friends. Spending the rest of the evening with them feels like a safety buffer.

You don’t see Joel or Tommy when you get dinner. You watch some of the evening events before splitting from the group to check on Blue.

It’s nearly dark as you walk through the grounds. Your chest feels tighter with every step you take as you approach.

You’re hoping you don’t run into Joel—or Tommy and his knowing eyes. You let yourself into the pen, the noise from the announcer and the crowd are muffled by the distance.

There was a stillness in the dusk and the horses were calm.

Blue’s head swivels toward you as you approach. You pause to untie the braid in his tail before stepping between him and Joel’s horse. It’s not until that moment that you realize you aren’t alone. You freeze when your eyes land on Joel. He’s standing between his horse and yours, posture relaxed. The external light on the horse trailer casts shadows over his face making it hard to read his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say softly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He responds with a small shrug and shake of his head. “Nothing to interrupt.”

You still feel frozen, like concrete had been poured around your feet. You’ve been carrying the weight of your earlier outburst in your shoulders, and the rest of your muscles are still stiff from hitting the dirt earlier. Maybe that’s why your defenses feel lower, or maybe something else has shifted, but the next words come out before you have a real plan.

“Look, about earlier,” you start with more confidence than you feel. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, gaze fixed on Blue who huffs a warm breath out after nudging Joel’s pocket in search of a treat. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet but firm.

“You had every right to be upset.”

You frown at that, a line pulling between your brows in confusion, and you shake your head. “No, I didn’t. I was angry, frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

He works his jaw like he’s mulling something over, before letting out a sigh. You move closer to give Blue a scratch under his jaw. The spot that always makes him wiggle his lip. You see Joel’s expression softening.

“I’ve been where you are,” he says finally. “Trying to rebuild somethin’ when it feels like the world’s stacked against you. Trying to remember who you are. What matters most.”

You tilt your head, curiosity pulling at you. His words sound familiar for a moment. That conversation you’d had after stacking hay. “When you bought the property from my dad?”

He nods. “Bought the place after my ex split. Had to sell the business. Start over. Build somethin’ from scratch while trying to figure out what the hell my life was supposed to look like.”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you echo your past statement. He laughs a short, humorless sound.

“Sure ain’t. I know I made mistakes along the way.”

You stay quiet, letting the words hang in the air.

“It’s easy to get yourself a reputation in a small town,” he continues, tinged with regret. “I spent a while chasing somethin’ I couldn’t even name. Thought I could skip the pain with sex, drinking, and spending every weekend hauling to any rodeo I could afford the entrance fees for.”

His confession sinks over you, and you feel a pang of understanding.

“Took a while to figure it that it wasn’t working. Wasn’t who I was… or who I wanted to be.”

“I get that,” you say softly. You drop your gaze, not quite sure how to say it. “Not the same circumstances, but,” you take a slow breath, “I had a reputation back at my old job. It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. Once people decide who you are, it’s like there’s nothing you can do to change it.

You feel his eyes on you. “That why you came out here?”

“Sort of.” You run your hand under Blue’s mane, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you.

“Hated the job. Spent a lot of time and money in school to get there, and I dreaded going to the office every day.” You swallow thickly, still not sure you can look Joel in the eye.

“Then my engagement fell apart. The more we tried to split up our lives the more I realized none of it was my life. None of it was me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what mattered.”

“Takes guts to start over,” Joel says with a current of finality about it. Like it’s a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have the nerve.”

His words warm something deep inside of you, but they also make your eyes well up. You blink away the tears before you look to Joel’s face. His eyes are steady on yours. You offer a small smile.

“Feels less like guts and more like desperation most of the time.”

Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”

A heavy lump in your throat makes it difficult to respond, but you push yourself to be vulnerable. “I came out here to figure myself out and to do it on my own. I wanted to prove it to myself. But, then today, I got so caught up in my own head that I almost got us both hurt.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“I should’ve been paying better attention. Should’ve asked the other riders about the footing. Or—” your voice cracks and you pause to slow down your spiraling thoughts.

Joel moves closer, his presence solid. Anchoring. “You’re hard on yourself,” he says it soft, but firm. “You’ve got grit. You work your ass off. That’s what matters.”

You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?”

“I know so. I see you. The way you handle Blue, the balance you strike with your dad, the way you work twice as hard as most folks at a part-time job and still have time to learn the names of every old farmer in 50 miles that comes in once a month.”

You laugh at that, feeling something warm blooming in your chest. His eyes soften, and you’re drawn to the lines on his face.

“I’ve seen the way you push yourself even when you’re tired, the way you’re determined to bring out the best in yourself and others. Even those of us with a history.” He runs his hand along the scar tissue on Blue’s shoulder. The horse that broke a girl’s jaw.

“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel like your ribs have been pulled open, exposing your heart and soul in the moonlight.

You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards.

Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. Suffocating under the weight of other people’s judgment.

Hearing Joel’s praise feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders.

“Joel,” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you feels intense. Almost too much. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.

He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”

The slip in his voice–the raw, unguarded admiration–sends a flush of heat through you. Shit. The praise was already overwhelming, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s too much. Or not enough.

His centering presence somehow has you rocked off balance.

Suddenly you’re closer, the space between you charged. Humming like one of the generators at the other campsites.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle but deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. Everything that has been simmering between you feels like it’s about to boil over.

The rest of the rodeo disappears. Standing there in the moonlight, the world around you dissolves into quiet, only his gravity pulling you closer.

Joel’s hand lingers just long enough on your cheek to make heat crawl up your neck and coil in your belly. Before you can close the distance he pulls back, clearing his throat and stepping away. He moves slowly and deliberately, giving you space to retreat if you want to.

But you don’t.

Instead, you follow him out of the pen, your feet carrying you toward the trailer without thought.

The silence between you is loud, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken words and feelings, each step drawing you toward something you haven’t named yet. When he opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, the creak of the hinges feels impossibly loud.

Inside, the trailer is layered in soft shadows from the glow of a warm lamp. Joel closes the door behind you, and the quiet feels delicate. He stands a few paces away, his hat in hand, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for any sign of doubt.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

When you find your voice, it’s softer than you expected. “Yeah.”

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and the warmth in his eyes eases some of the nervous energy bouncing around in your chest. He hangs his hat on the hook near the door. The image of him reaching past you to hang it on the same hook last night flares in your mind and buzzes through your skin.

His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.

“Earlier,” he begins, “when I said I respect the hell outta you… I meant it.”

He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and solid. Your senses are heightened from the emotionally raw conversation, from his touch, and the warm, spiced scent of him wrapping around you. “I see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to be here. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with awe.

“And you’ve got no idea how much I—”

He cuts himself off, searching your face. His breath is warm, so close to your face. His lips look soft, so close to yours.

You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s nothing like the night before. It’s tender. Slow. Sprawling. Unspoken affection passes between you with the slip of your tongues and the soft sounds in your throat.

Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, every thought and worry dissolving into the sensation of your lips on his. Softer than he ever let himself imagine, a sweetness he didn’t think he deserved. The warmth of you seeps into him, steadying him even as it sends electricity down his spine.

His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.

So soft, he thinks, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist. Every inch of you pressed against him feels like fire and solace all at once. His other hand roams over your back, the delicate shift of muscle beneath his palm grounding him in the reality that you’re here, with him.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, but there’s no space left between you. His palm glides down your spine, lighting you from within. When you break apart, softly breathing in each other’s air, his forehead rests against yours, eyes dark and soft as they hold your gaze.

“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush with warmth, and you can’t help but smile.

“I might have some idea,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, but your smile grows wider.

Then he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you toward the bed. His touch is everywhere, his lips tracing a path from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, each kiss making you feel lighter and warmer.

He continues to pour his confessions into your skin between each article of clothing he pulls off of you. "I thought I’d never have this. Never have you. But here you are, and you’re perfect." The words spill out of him unbidden, each one carrying a weight he’s carried for far too long. His hands tremble slightly as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your clavicle, between the swell of your breasts, over the smooth fabric of your bra.

"I used to hate that I wanted you, that I thought about having you like this. But I don’t want to stop, sweetheart.” He unclasps your bra and slips the straps over your shoulders, replacing the cups with his palms, kneading your plush flesh. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands sends sparks through him, and he leans in, brushing his lips over the sensitive peaks.

“Don’t want you to stop,” you murmur back. He hums in response to you, rolling your nipples between his fingers before taking his time mouthing, sucking, licking at each of them until you moan and arch toward him.

“I spent too many nights trying not to think about you,” he confesses, his voice dipping lower. “And cursing myself for it.” He shifts down, between your legs to pull your jeans off. It feels like he’s just handed you a piece of himself you didn’t expect to see. The idea of him, alone and thinking about you, shifts something in your mind. It’s not just desire he carries for you. Is it something deeper?

He runs his hands along your bare legs, warm against your smooth skin. He already looks wrecked and he’s still fully clothed. You reach for him, but he shakes his head, dipping to line another path of kisses down your belly, to the sensitive skin inside the top of your thighs. His lips press against your skin, reverent, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. His admiration and desire are intense, making you feel stripped bare in an emotional way. He’s not just saying it; he means it in a way that feels different from casual compliments.

Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.

The heat of his touch and the need in his eyes have your core aching for attention. His breath ghosting over your swollen cunt makes you shudder with need.

When his lips press against the thin fabric still covering you, you arch into him. You feel him smile against you, breathing deeply before he slides his hands beneath your thighs, cupping your ass to tilt your hips before he descends again.

He kisses and sucks at your clit through your soaked panties without a care for the lewd sounds filling the small room. He doesn’t stop. It’s warm and wet, and the pressure makes you feel needy. You roll your hips seeking more contact, and he moans against you, the sound vibrating through you causing you to gasp and call out his name.

He looks up at you before pulling your underwear off and pausing to stare at your glistening cunt, before taking all of you in. His eyes dart to your face, all of your exposed skin, and back to your eyes.

“I never thought I’d actually get to touch you. To kiss you. Taste you like this.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the sound of your breath.

“Please, Joel.” He’s like a dream between your legs. His mouth, his tongue, his hands, his fingers. He uses everything with expert precision, bringing you closer and closer and erasing every worry, every stress.

You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.

His hips press into the mattress involuntarily, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he continues to worship you with his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair as he dips his tongue inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse and ragged already.

He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.

The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.

It tips you over the edge, chanting his name like a prayer as your release crashes through you. Your walls contract around his fingers and your muscles tense as he groans into your wet flesh before pulling back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs from between your legs, “you did good for me, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You’re boneless as the words melt into you. But you know you wanted to say something before he made your vision blur.

Your breath comes in slow, uneven waves as you blink at the ceiling, reality slowly settling back into your body. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and heavy with affection and need, and you realize the thought that had slipped away moments ago was this: you need to feel him, to see him.

“Joel,” you manage, your voice low and hoarse, your fingers brushing weakly at his forearm. He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he leans closer.

“What is it, baby?”

You swallow hard, the words tangled in your throat as you try to gather your strength. “Off,” you rasp, fingers tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down to kiss your temple. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Let me make sure you’re all right first.”

Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”

Something in your voice snaps the tension in him. His jaw tightens, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt in one smooth motion, tugging it over his head.

The sight of him leaves you breathless. Broad shoulders tapering to a firm waist, his skin golden and littered with scars and years of hard work. He looks wrecked, his chest rising and falling as though he’s been holding himself back for too long.

“Goddamn,” you whisper, as your mouth hangs open. Your gaze drops lower, taking in the soft lines of his abdomen, and the trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans.

And then, as he unbuttons them and pushes them down, his cock springs free, thick and flushed and so fucking perfect it sends a scalding wave of desire rolling through you.

Your expression fills Joel with pride. The hunger in your eyes makes his cock twitch, the intensity of your gaze threatening to knock him over right there.

You sit up slightly, your hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist gently, shaking his head. “Not like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. He eases you back onto the mattress, his hands warm and firm against your hips. “Not this time, baby.”

You whine softly, your need pulsing through every word. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

His pupils blow wide, his breathing uneven as he settles between your legs. “You need me?” he repeats, his tone darkening, the words laced with a feral edge that makes you dizzy.

“You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”

The shift in his tone sends a fresh rush of slick between your thighs. His hand trails up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he watches you.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna keep you so full of me you’ll feel it in you every time you move.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes your body burn, your hips rocking up toward him involuntarily. “Joel, please,” you beg, your voice raw and edged with frustration as he drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you.

“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you completely. “Look at you,” he coos. “Such a good girl for me.” The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending sparking to life as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”

Your walls flutter around him, your body already begging for more. “Joel,” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Move. Please.”

He obliges, his hips pulling back before driving forward again, dragging out the intensity of every sensation. His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers praise between each movement. “You’re so good for me, baby. So damn good.”

Your body writhes beneath him, the pleasure building with each heavy stroke. “More,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need more.”

The last of his restraint dissolves as he grips your hips and begins to move harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel it everywhere. The pace steals the breath from your lungs, threatening to consume you.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough and unrestrained. “Take it. All of me.”

Your cries fill the air, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hands hold you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he claims you.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the spot where your bodies meet, where his cock disappears every time he sinks into you. “So perfect, takin’ me so well. Made for this. Made for me.”

You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.

Again it’s the deep satisfaction you get from his unrestrained desire that makes you come with a blinding intensity. You try to tell him how close you are before you’re violently sucked into the sensations.

Your walls clench around him, making him shudder and groan. You try to beg him to come too. To fill you up. You’re unsure if the words make it past your thoughts, but he’s pulled into it with you either way.

Moments later, a deep groan vibrates through his chest as he tenses and his hips jerk against you. It feels like bliss, the sensation of his cock pulsing within you, the heat of his release coating your walls as they flutter around him.

The room falls into a warm quiet, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and the faint sounds of people laughing and shouting at another campsite, reminding you the rest of the world still exists.

Joel’s weight presses into you, grounding you in the present. He doesn’t pull away, softening inside of you as you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Just stay with me.”

He shifts you both just enough to hold tight against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as his hand smooths down your side. “So good,” he murmurs, “so perfect,” voice rough but soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

The early morning sun stretches over the rodeo grounds, bathing everything in a wash of pink hues. You wake to the soft hum of voices outside the trailer and the thud of a bale of hay being dropped just outside the trailer.

Joel’s weight shifts beside you as he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt. The sound pulls a smile to your lips as you turn to face him. His eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and he offers you a lazy smile that you mirror involuntarily.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing over his stubbled jaw.

There’s a content silence between you before a loud knock rattles the trailer door, making you both jump. Tommy’s voice rings out cheerfully, "Y’all better get movin’ if you don’t wanna miss breakfast."

Joel groans, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "That boy’s got the worst damn timing."

You stifle a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Joel watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and unguarded, before he stretches and follows suit.

The three of you sit at a picnic table near the cook tent, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits as the camp buzzes with early morning energy. Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, chatters on about their schedule and the competition, occasionally tossing in jokes that have you laughing despite yourself. Joel leans back in his seat, his body language is relaxed but his eyes are constantly flicking to you.

When Tommy excuses himself to check on their horses, Joel leans forward, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not real subtle, you know.”

You shoot him a mock glare, your cheeks warming. “Says the man who’s been staring at me all morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Joel shrugs.

Later, you find yourself perched on the edge of a fence near the arena, watching Joel and Tommy warm up their horses. Their movements are fluid and synchronized; you openly admire their skill.

Tommy tips his hat to you with a grin as they pass, and you wave back, your gaze inevitably drifting back to Joel. He glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that makes your heart skip.

The arena is alive with energy as their division gets underway. You lean against the rail, your fingers gripping the cool metal as you watch Joel and Tommy back their horses into the box.

The chute gate flies open, the steer bolting into the arena with Joel and Tommy in swift pursuit. Joel’s rope swings in a perfect arc, catching the steer cleanly around the horns as Tommy moves in to secure the heels. The crowd cheers as they pull the steer to a stop, their time flashing on the scoreboard.

The announcer calls their time and updates the standings. Joel and Tommy have the best time in their division so far.

You can’t help but cheer, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd as Joel and Tommy ride back toward the holding pen, their smiles wide and triumphant. Joel catches your eye as he passes, tipping his hat to you with a grin that makes your stomach flutter.

When they dismount near the gate, you meet them with a smile. "You two make that look way too easy."

Tommy laughs. "He’s the header," he tilts his head toward Joel. “I can’t do shit if he misses.”

Joel shakes his head, deflecting the comment.

“It’s a team event,” you counter. “Both of you are good at what you do.”

“We should bring her with us more often,” Tommy jokes.

Joel gives you another warm look with unspoken words.

“Your head wouldn’t fit in your damn hat if you had someone talking you up after every run,” Joel mocks. As they both swing their legs over the back of their saddles. You turn to watch as they lead their horses back to the trailer. You want to follow and stay close to Joel for the rest of the day, but you stay put.

Trying not to let Tommy in on whatever’s happening between the two of you until you figure it out for yourself. Instead, you head back to the fence to watch the next pair of team ropers. You’d rather be near him, but staying put feels safer—for now.

The afternoon sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rodeo grounds. You sit beside Joel on the bleachers, the two of you a quiet bubble of calm amid the hum of spectators around you. The events continue below—tie-down ropers hopping into the dirt, saddle bronc riders gripping for dear life trying to stick it out for eight seconds, bareback riders up next.

Joel leans back, one arm draped across the bench behind you, his body close enough that the heat of him radiates against your side. He’s quiet, but his presence feels steady and grounding. Every so often, his knee brushes yours, the brief contact enough to send a subtle thrill through you.

“You doin’ all right?” Joel asks, his voice low and soft. His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes warm but searching.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “This is nice. I didn’t think I’d enjoy just sitting and watching this much.”

“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

Your cheeks warm, but you’re spared from responding by the announcer introducing the next rider. Joel shifts beside you, his attention briefly pulled to the arena. You let yourself steal a glance at him—the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet confidence in his posture. He catches you looking and tips his hat, the subtle smirk that follows sending warmth blooming in your chest.

As the next rider lines up, Joel pulls his hat off, setting it on your lap. You blink, startled, and look at him.

“Put it on,” he says simply, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes—a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You hesitate for only a moment before lifting the Stetson and settling it on your head. It’s big, a little too big, but it smells faintly of leather and him. Joel’s gaze lingers on you, his lips curving into a soft smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

The weight of the gesture settles over you—the tradition, the meaning behind it. The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest. You’re not sure what to say, so you lean into his side slightly, letting the moment and the warmth of him settle over you like a blanket.

Later, as the afternoon begins to mellow, Joel takes your hand and guides you to the cook tent for dinner. It feels almost natural to walk hand in hand, weaving through the crowd of people. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and laughter from the other riders and their families.

Joel insists on getting your plate, waving you off with a playful, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of you.” You settle at a nearby table, watching as he weaves through the crowd with ease, stopping to exchange a word or two with acquaintances before returning with two heaping plates.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re at a rodeo. The noise and bustle fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a comfortable bubble of companionship. Joel’s low chuckle as you tell him a story about your first job, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the warmth in his voice when he says your name—it all feels so natural, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As the sun begins to dip lower, casting a golden glow across the grounds, Joel stands and offers you his hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s find a good spot for the bull riders. We can cheer for your new friend.”

You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.

He leads you back toward the bleachers. The two of you settle in as the crowd starts to gather, the energy of the evening event buzzing around you. Joel drapes his arm casually along the back of the bench again, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you, making you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.

Tommy and the woman you’ve seen him spending most of the weekend with join you to watch a few rounds. You tense as they come toward the steps, shifting to create space between you and Joel, trying to seem casual. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t say anything about your move.

Tommy shoots you a wink before they take the seats next to you. It makes you squirm, but you tell yourself he’s always just playful like that. Too charming for his own good.

They stay and chat long enough to finish their drinks before heading back to watch the rest of the event with her group of friends.

Joel stays seated beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the bench, his other hand resting on his thigh. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that feels like its own kind of conversation.

Finally, Joel clears his throat, turning slightly to face you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with something earnest and determined.

“I know this might be the wrong time to bring this up,” he begins, commanding your attention just with the timbre of his voice pulling at your heart, “but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about where I’m at.”

You tip your head, curiosity piqued. “Where you’re at?”

He nods, his gaze holding yours. “Look, I know your dad’s a good man, and I don’t want to cross any lines. But I also don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pauses, his hand brushing against yours where it rests on your lap. “I don’t want this to be our only day together, and I won’t have you sneakin’ out your bedroom window and hoppin’ the fence to see me. S’just not the kind of man I am.”

Your heart stutters as his words sink in. There’s no wavering in his voice, no attempt to downplay what he’s saying. He’s laying it out plainly, his honesty disarming in a way you didn’t expect.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”

Your chest swells. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.” Relief washes over his face, and he leans close to you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re such a true-blue cowboy, you’re gonna have to be the one to tell my dad.”

Joel nods. “I’ll handle it.” His voice is quieter, but honest. His gaze seems to look a little far away.

You squeeze his hand. “We’ll handle it.” You give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t have to do everything by ourselves right?”

He gives you a warm look. “Right.” He dips toward you for a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and playful. “Just don’t make me wait too long to take you out proper,” he rumbles as he pulls his head back.

You laugh airily, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his arm around you, the weight of his hat still on your head, and the quiet promise of what’s to come settle over you, the world around you fading into a comfortable hum of possibilities for you and your cowboy Joel.

thank you for reading! pls let me know what you think <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics tags for babes in case they want some cowboy joel: @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

#pedrostories #pedrostoriesgift24 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #cowboy!joel miller

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dismalflo · 18 days ago

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can i request a remus x insecure reader who feels like she isn’t enough to deserve their relationship?

hi darling, thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3

remus lupin x reader who thinks they should break up ✩ 1k words

cw: angst, tiny bit of fluff at the end, insecure/depressed reader

Something’s wrong. It’s in the way your shoulders sit high and tense, the restless shifting of your hands, the faint crease of worry etched between your brows. Remus notices how your eyes flit to him every so often, and each time, he pretends to read a book he hasn't turned a page of in minutes.

A quiet mix of concern and confusion stirs in his chest, just beginning to surface, when your voice slices through the silence—soft, fragile.

“I think we should break up.”

The world shifts. Everything around him narrows, shrinks, chills. You sink further into the cushions beside him, retreating inward, and Remus watches with wide, disbelieving eyes. His heart stumbles as he sets the unread book gently on the coffee table, his fingers trembling.

He swallows, throat thick. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Why… why would you say that?” The words scrape against his throat, shaky with disbelief. “What happened?”

You draw your knees closer, shoulders curling forward. You don’t meet his gaze, and the small movement of turning away feels like a knife to his chest. Remus leans in slightly, as though closing the space between you could keep whatever this is from slipping further out of reach. The pressure behind his eyes builds.

“I just…” Your voice falters, lip caught between your teeth. “I just think it’d be for the best.”

Remus reels, emotions crashing hard—hurt, confusion, but above all, fear. Fear that he’s already lost you without knowing it. A wall has risen between you, quiet and invisible, but now impossible to ignore. You’ve always had moments where you retreat, but this? This feels different. You look… hollow. Like something’s drained the light from you, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

In another moment, in another fight, maybe he’d reach out. Maybe you'd lean in, and this would all melt away. But now, his hands stay frozen in his lap. Instead, he fumbles for words.

“I don’t understand, dove,” he says finally, the nickname catching faintly in his throat. His voice is low, tender, uncertain. “Where’s this coming from?”

You don’t answer right away. Your fingers twist together in your lap. Then, so quiet he nearly misses it:

“Do you not get sick of me?”

His breath catches, sharp. For a moment, he’s not sure he heard you right. Your voice—so quiet, so broken—hits him harder than anything else could have.

"Sick of you?" He repeats, as if testing the words in his mouth, his mind struggling to comprehend. The confusion on his face deepens as he shifts closer.

“No. I could never…” He trails off, struggling, voice fraying at the edges. “I don’t know what’s going on inside your head right now, but sick of you?” He shakes his head slowly. “That’s not something I could ever feel.”

You shake your head in return. The look in your eyes nearly undoes him.

“I just… I don’t think I’m a good partner,” you say, each word like a stone in your chest. “Not for someone like you. I feel like I’m holding you back—from someone who could give you everything you deserve.”

The breath leaves Remus’s lungs like a punch. Your words crack something deep in him, something tender and unguarded. He wants to reach for you, to insist you’re wrong, but he knows shouting down your pain won’t fix this.

So he chooses quiet.

“Do you expect me to be perfect?” he asks, voice low.

You look up fast, startled. “Wha– No!” you exclaim, eyes wide, cheeks damp.

Remus gives a soft, broken laugh — not unkind, just weary. “Then why would I expect that from you?” he murmurs.

He waits, watches the way that the question settles. Your lips part like you want to argue, to resist, but nothing comes. Your hands still in your lap. You look smaller somehow—like the weight you’ve been carrying has been pressing down for too long.

Remus leans in, just slightly, his voice still quiet, careful. “You think you're holding me back, but dove, that’s not– I love you. A lot. And I don't know what I’d do without you sometimes– most of the time.”

Your mouth opens, trembling, and for a second it looks like no words will come. But then they do, choked out through the beginning of proper tears that well and spill over before you can stop them.

“I don’t actually want to break up,” you confess, voice thick and warbling. “Not really.”

Remus's breath catches again, this time with something softer—relief, maybe, but wrapped tight in the ache of watching you crumble like this. Your apology slips out next, rushed and raw and muffled by your hands when you lift them to cover your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t know how else to say it. I didn’t know how to tell you how I’ve been feeling.”

But he’s already moving.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. His arms are around you in a heartbeat, gathering you in and pulling you close, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, the pieces of you will start to fit back together. You press your face into his chest, and the quiet, shuddering breaths you take against his shirt break his heart in a hundred new ways.

He presses his lips to the crown of your head, voice gentle and steady against the shake in yours. “You never have to apologize for feeling like this,” he murmurs. “Not with me.”

You cling to him, fingers curling into the fabric at his side, and he just holds you tighter.

“Anytime you need reminding,” he says softly, his words a promise, solid and warm, “I’ll tell you. I’ll remind you how much I love you. How much I want you. All of you.”

Your shoulders start to ease then, just a little. The worst of the storm passes in his arms, and he doesn’t let go.

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x self insert #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fic #remus lupin angst #remus lupin

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strwberri-milk · 14 days ago

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How would the guys from Love and Deep Space react if Reader were married or in a relationship? Do you think they'd be "the other"? I don't know, I think they'd stop the wedding or something.

Pliss....🤗

i have this set of requests if you wanted it to be a request but i dont really know how to take it as a formal request but!! let me speak on this

i dont think any of them can handle being the other man. in my head, theyre wholly devoted to you and they would absolutely refuse to be in a relationship with you if it meant you're having him as your affair partner it just doesnt sit with him well also xavier isnt here bc idk where he falls on my scale and also this is kinda toxic so i hope you dont mind LMAO considfer it more. au ish

Caleb and Rafayel are more willing to be your affair partner. This is because he's confident that no matter what, you're going to love him more than you love your partner. He spoils you and is always ready to see you when you want to see him. He loves it when your partner leaves you for a long time because that means you're able to stay with him or he stays with you and gives you the full boyfriend experience.

It's obvious to him when you finally come to him and tell him that you're leaving your partner. It's the clear solution - you've never loved them as much as you love him and he's made sure of it. He doesn't worry that you're going to cheat on him either. He basically ruined your relationship because he wanted you. He's not going to give you the chance to even think of another man. He'll spoil you rotten, somehow even more than before. He keeps you both well fed and fucked, far too busy being happy with him to even entertain looking at another man.

Since he knows your "history" he is going to be even more jealous than he already is. He's overprotective and doesn't trust anybody who might get in the way of your relationship. He'll make sure you have no reason to leave him - whether it be because you're so happy with him, or because you don't have the opportunity to have an affair with how he keeps you.

Zayne and Sylus aren't going to get in the way of your relationship directly. He most definitely hates it and wants you to know that your partner is nowhere near good enough for you. He's your biggest opp and constantly telling you that you deserve to be with someone better. He'll talk down your relationship until you believe that he's right and then offer himself up.

If you end up not breaking things off with your partner, he'll be there until the bitter end. He isn't very happy about it and he'll sit there, urging you to look at him. If you don't, he'll end up basically either not seeing you ever (Zayne) or sits there and just silently judges everything your partner does (Sylus). His presence will be present in your life, but Zayne chooses to keep himself further and further away from the pain of being without you so you'd lose touch but Sylus is basically praying on the downfall of your relationship.

#love and deespace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader

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llamagoddessofficial · 8 months ago

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For the bad Sanses, if their SO would want to grow old and die, would they respect that?

Agh... well. Short answer? No. Long answer? No, absolutely not.

Horror, I think, would come the closest to actually respecting your decision. He has Papyrus to support him so he wouldn't have to go through it completely alone. He's experienced a lot of loss, and he knows the pain of seeing people you love hang around long after they should've gone, deteriorating into someone you hardly recognise. But also... he's just really not in the right frame of mind to let you go. Horror does not love in halves and the thought of losing you is like a point-blank shot to the Soul. If you bring it up, best reaction you'll get is him being confused and then pretending you didn't even talk about it, and the worst is a full smashing-things-flipping-tables-throwing-chairs meltdown. You might get a better response from Papyrus. He'll try to mediate. Perhaps give it a few years, once he's had time to ease.

If you press Dust about it, he will give you an ultimatum. If you really, really want to grow old and die, the relationship is over. You can die, if you like. But don't expect him to watch. He knows that when you go, part of him goes too, and at least this way his time feeling warm and whole again ends on his terms. He can sink back into the dark by choice. You get your wish, but you'll never see him again. He'll be pretty sour grapes about it (and about you) if you do end up choosing to die. As far as he's concerned you chose your mortality over him. He doesn't respect it or understand why. He feels abandoned and betrayed... and he refuses to reminisce positively on something that hurts so much to think about. Someone bringing up your name is enough to start a brawl.

Killer doesn't understand. You want to die? You want to leave him behind? You want him to be alone again - how could you say that? You don't mean that. If you hold your ground and tell him you really mean it, he'll tell you he's fine with it, but he's a bald-faced liar. Whilst Dust is bitter, Killer is shattered; he really thought he found someone who would stay by his side no matter what. The rug has gone out from under him. Now he's facing the prospect of being utterly alone again, surrounded only by the voices that still taunt him even now. He fully retreats into his own head... he acts like he's silly and fine, but his Soul has never been more red. You'll never see his white eyelights again.

Nightmare... uh, no. Sorry. He laughs it off like you're a kid telling him you want to eat a billion cookies. He thinks he knows better than you, in this regard, you don't really want to die, you'll understand in a few hundred years. He's a reasonable lover in most aspects but this is one of few things he doesn't budge on. Part and parcel of being a God's beloved, I'm afraid. D'aw, you want to grow old and die? Sure he'll let you. Aren't you cute. Just don't pay attention to how wrinkles never form on your skin. I'm sure it's nothing.

#llamagines #bad sanses #angst

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ghostedgwen · 19 days ago

Text

. . .“The mask hides the fear. The heart does the rest.”

Here I Stay — you're Gwen Stacy in TASM and you died — you're variant Gwen and you get pulled into Peter’s universe. part one | two | three

Bitter Sweet Reunions — you see your ex, Peter, at a party and he isn't too fond of your new boyfriend.

If It Isn't You — Peter meets an artist on his way to an interview and ends up saving her life later — pretty weird coincidence… until she gives him her nickname. part one | two | three

What A Sad Sight — Peter is due for another visit, and on his way to you — he's taken back to the past, and the memories prove to be sadder than they used to be. part one | two

Scared To See The Ending — Peter has been off, and you’re starting to worry for your relationship. It surely doesn’t help that everything he did could only be deduced into one thing you refuse to believe.

Ache In You — You could tell he blamed you in some way for her death — and that actually hurts more than when you heard that snap echo throughout the tower. It’s been months since you last talked and your reunion didn’t exactly provide healing. part one | two | three | four

About the Noise — Peter hears concerning noises from the apartment above his, growing worried for the person he heard crying after the interruption, he couldn’t help but knock on your door to see if you’re okay.

All By Design —You only signed up for photography to dodge a boring science class, but somehow ended up choosing Peter Parker as your muse — soft-spoken, brilliant, and criminally overlooked. He’s awkward, you’re accidentally obvious, and a late-night project might just turn into something a little more. Part one | Part two.

Bet on All Three — You’re Midtown’s golden girl on the soccer field. He’s the dork with a camera and a secret. It starts with tutoring, teasing, and late-night subway rides — and somewhere in between, lines blur, jokes linger, and Peter’s not so invisible anymore. Part one | Part two.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ TikTok Blurbs Series

Texting him, “He’s gone, you can come over now,” right after your boyfriend leaves.

He forgets your anniversary and comes up with the worst possible explanation.

You call Peter a “friend” during a phone call just to see his reaction.

You call Peter by the wrong name on purpose to see how he responds.

Peter’s reaction to you wearing the TikTok/Amazon leggings.

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jxwl4k · 2 months ago

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ᯓ★ bakugou katsuki | no one will save us

angst

It’s been two days since Bakugou and I fought.

Two days of silence—no laughter, no teasing, not even a simple “Have you eaten?” between us.

The only thing that’s happened in the past two days is the fleeting eye contact we immediately break. I don’t know who looks away first—him or me—but one thing I’m sure of is that we both choose this.

I sit quietly by the window in the guest room, watching the rain fall outside. This has become my hiding spot, my escape—so I don’t have to see him, so I don’t have to feel his presence.

But no matter how much I avoid him, I still feel him.

I hear his footsteps outside the room, the soft sound of him walking down the stairs, the door to his room opening and closing—I feel it all.

But him?

I don’t think he feels me anymore.

He was never like this before. He was never the type to ignore me this long. But now? It feels like he doesn’t care anymore.

And what hurts more is that, for the first time, I feel like a guest in this house.

Before, no matter how many days I spent here, I never felt like I didn’t belong. But now, every time we pass by each other in the hallway, I don’t know if I should acknowledge him or just walk past like we’re strangers.

Is this how it’s going to be now?

I want to talk to him. I want to know what’s going on inside his head. But if he won’t even try, why should I?

I’ve had enough.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up and walk straight to his door. I don’t hesitate to knock.

It takes him a few seconds before he opens it. When our eyes meet, I see nothing—no anger, no sadness, no longing.

This isn’t Bakugou.

Not the Bakugou I know.

“Can we talk?” I ask softly.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me for a moment before stepping aside, letting me in.

This room—I’ve been here so many times before. We’ve laughed over stupid things, spent hours talking about everything and nothing. But now, it feels unfamiliar, like I don’t belong here anymore.

He watches me, waiting for me to speak.

I take a deep breath.

“Katsuki, I can’t do this anymore.”

I see his throat bob as he swallows, his brows furrowing slightly.

“What do you mean?”

I close my eyes for a second before looking at him again.

“Us.”

He stays silent.

“It’s been two days,” I continue. “Two days of this—acting like strangers, pretending we don’t care. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the only one who feels like this is hurting.”

“You think I’m not hurting?” he says quietly.

I let out a bitter laugh. “If you are, then why is it so easy for you to ignore me?”

He doesn’t answer.

I shake my head and go on. “I don’t know what to do, but I know one thing—I can’t force this if this is all we are now. You can go days without talking to me like I don’t exist. But me? I can’t pretend this doesn’t matter. I can’t pretend that this silence isn’t killing me.”

His eyes meet mine, but he still says nothing.

I exhale sharply.

“I don’t want to wait, Katsuki. I don’t want to wait until we get so used to this silence that we forget how to come back from it.”

I look at him, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m tired.”

I know he feels the weight of my words, but he still doesn’t speak.

So I continue.

“Let’s end this.”

His jaw tightens. I can see his breathing grow heavier, but still, he says nothing.

And I don’t know what hurts more—the breakup itself, or the fact that not once did he try to stop me.

I let out a broken laugh.

“You’re really not going to say anything?”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and exhales sharply. “What do you want me to say, YN? That I won’t let you leave? That I can’t do this without you?”

“Yes,” I answer immediately. “I want to hear that you can’t stand this either. That no matter what happens, you’ll fight for this.”

But he doesn’t say a word.

And that was my answer.

I nod, forcing a small smile even though I feel like I’m about to break.

“Okay.”

I walk toward the door. Before I open it, I take one last deep breath and turn to him.

“Love doesn’t run out, Katsuki,” I whisper. “People just get tired.”

And then I leave.

No one stops me.

No one calls after me.

Nothing.

And in that moment, I realize—there’s no coming back from this.

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soeyekonic · 2 months ago

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— ✩♬ ₊˚. the truth? ⭑ M.S

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis megan wants to end things, and though her reasons are painful, they’re clear. you want to hold on, but the truth settles between you—sometimes love isn’t enough. you don’t beg her to stay.

disclaimer slight angst (i’ll write fluff one day chat), break up, megan skiendiel x fem!reader

currently playing: the truth? by kiana ledé

you know something’s wrong the moment megan tells you she wants to talk.

it’s in the way she won’t meet your eyes, the way she keeps shifting her weight from foot to foot, like she wants to run but forces herself to stay. you’ve known megan long enough to read her, to catch the hesitation in her body language before the words even come out.

you just don’t want to believe it.

the hotel room is dimly lit, the glow of the city outside barely reaching where you sit on the bed. megan stands by the window, arms crossed, looking anywhere but at you.

she inhales sharply. exhales slowly. “i don’t think we should do this anymore.” for a moment, the words don’t register. or maybe you don’t want them to. you blink. “what?”

megan swallows, gripping her arms tighter. “us. this. whatever we’ve been doing.” her voice is quiet but firm. “it has to stop.”

it’s like the air gets sucked out of the room.

your heart pounds so loudly you barely hear yourself speak. “you’re kidding.”

she doesn’t answer.

your stomach twists. a bitter laugh escapes your lips. “no. no, you don’t just get to say that like it doesn’t mean anything. like we don’t mean anything.”

megan finally looks at you then, and her eyes—god, her eyes—are filled with something that makes your chest ache. guilt. regret. pain.

but not doubt.

and that’s when you know. she means it.

your hands tremble as you push yourself up from the bed. “you’re serious.” megan presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “yeah.”

you shake your head, stepping closer. “megan, don’t do this.” “i have to.”

“no, you don’t.” your voice cracks. “you’re choosing to.” her expression flickers, but she doesn’t deny it. the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

you swallow past the lump in your throat. “tell me why.” megan sighs, running a hand through her hair. “because this isn’t fair to either of us.”

you scoff. “not fair?” the words feel sharp on your tongue. “what’s not fair is you making me believe we had something real. making me feel like i mattered to you.”

“you do matter to me.” “then why are you leaving?”

megan closes her eyes for a moment, her jaw tightening. when she speaks again, her voice is quieter. “because i don’t think i love you the way you deserve.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you physically take a step back. “what?”

she looks at you now, really looks at you, and it’s like she’s memorizing every detail, like she knows this is the last time she’ll get to.

“i thought i did,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. “i wanted to. but it’s not enough.”

your whole body goes cold.

“you’re lying.” the words come out too quickly, too desperate. “this is about something else. are you scared? are you worried about what people will think? because i don’t care about any of that. we can figure it out, megan, we always do—” she shakes her head, cutting you off. “no, we don’t.”

you freeze.

megan’s eyes are sad. “that’s the problem, isn’t it? we keep pretending this is something it’s not. that i’m someone i’m not.”

your breath catches. “you don’t mean that.” she exhales. “i do.”

and just like that, whatever hope you were clinging to shatters.

you stare at her, trying to find something—anything—that tells you this is just fear, that she’ll take it back. but there’s nothing.

you feel sick.

“so that’s it?” your voice is hollow now. “you just get to walk away?”

megan hesitates, guilt flickering across her face. “i’m sorry.”

sorry. that’s what she has to say after all of this. after everything.

your hands clench into fists. “no. you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to act like you’re the one hurting.” “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“well, congratulations,” you snap. “you did.” megan flinches but doesn’t argue.

you let out a shaky breath, blinking rapidly as the tears threaten to fall. but you refuse to let them. not in front of her. not when she’s the one doing this.

she shifts on her feet, like she’s waiting for you to say something. maybe even hoping you’ll make this easier for her. but you won’t.

you shake your head. “i hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

megan’s brows furrow slightly, but she doesn’t respond.

you take a deep, shaky breath and nod.

“okay.” your voice is barely above a whisper. megan’s throat bobs as she swallows. “okay?”

you force yourself to meet her eyes. “if you don’t love me, then i’m not going to beg you to.”

something in megan’s expression falters. for a second, she almost looks like she regrets this. but she doesn’t take it back.

and that’s all you need to know.

you step around her, moving toward the door. your hand grips the knob, and for a moment, you hesitate.

then, without looking back, you whisper, “goodbye, megan.”

and this time, she doesn’t stop you.

a/n: omg first megan fic 🙀

#soeyekonic #megan skiendiel x reader #megan katseye #katseye x reader #katseye #megan skiendiel #megan skiendiel x female reader #katseye angst #kiana lede #katseye smau #katseye fluff #daniela avanzini katseye #daniela avanzini x reader #sophia katseye #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza #manon bannerman #lara raj x reader

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dilf-docs · 3 months ago

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Tuyo Será, Y Tuyo Será

sub!javi peña x younger fem!reader

summary: after an stressful day at the office, javi finds solace in your warm embrace: you, his informant, who he has yet to cross that line he always crosses, like a goddamn vice.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, pwp, sub!javi, mommy/daddy kink (they call eachother mami and papi), oral (m. and f. receiving), hand job, face-sitting, fingering, creampie, p. in v., overestimulation, praise kink, degradation kink (u call him a slut once or twice lol), real men yearn™, bit of angst sprinkled, no sense whatsover just feels™

word count: 5,924 words

side note: i'm gonna be very honest with y'all. i listened to the theme song of narcos, tuyo (so good check it out), and got infested with a real bad crave to re-watch (but before reheating my narcos nachos i want to finish my romcom february marathon and finish the mission impossible movies). also, my tl is filled with javi gifs and my lewd thoughts abt him have gone beyond comprehension (not the bush reblog doing numbers...). see, it all started with an audio of him yelling maricón while i browsed twitter, which in case u don't know is the spanish equivalent to the f slur. sorry, it made me horny. javier's so bossy and intimidating but what if he wasn't? i'm all in for brat taming but i have a thing for sub boys lowkey. ah, i almost forgot, HAPPY VALENTINES MY LOVELY CITIZENS! (it's literally 12am) this is a gift from my single delulu romantic ass to you (and it's filthy sex? well, yes! isn't that a testament of our town's core beliefs? that's true love to me idk) (update: i became an oracle or smth bc our silly 49 year old babygirl freak admitted on the snl 50 red carpet he's into submission IJBOL)

The air around him was tingued with women for the night, licor, suave conversation and burnt cigarettes.

The Cali cartel case had been stuck for a while. After the success of Pablo Escobar's hunt and Murphy leaving, besides his ascend, Peña felt the need for things to go fast; succesful. Besides, he had found it hard to balance the stress left behind, the one women and nicotine used to fix before.

He's nursing a glass of whiskey, despite claiming he was going to quit that too, eyes scanning the bar for you.

Sure, informants weren't his thing anymore, but he had a long history with you: you, who despite the violence and danger stayed, probably for the money, probably for him. Yes, he likes to think from time to time that your reason for choosing Colombia and denying the fake ID and passport he gave you was for this borrowed time you had with each other, filling the gaps between long nights at an office too big for a person, all to avoid the same loneliness waiting for him back at his apartment, because home meant warmth, and there was no one waiting for him back there.

So he chose to entertain you when he picked up the phone.

"Peña" he answered the call, fingers drumming against his desk and the poor hues of the lamp above scattered paperwork, some pages tinted with coffee circles caused by the base of his mug, filled over and over again.

"It's me" and he smiles at the sound of your voice, sweet, unlike the bitter taste of caffeine. "Is it a bad time to call? Are you busy?"

Filler questions, to steady your heart. The lonely office answers back mockingly on Peñas side.

"For you, I'm always available" he responds instead, cheeky. "What are you doin' up late at this hour?" he's asking, even if the question applies to himself as well. "Stayed up thinking 'bout something?"

Your tongue backfires you, speaking before you can stop yourself.

"You" there's a satisfied hum on the other line.

"So I take you call for a lead?" he leans back on his chair, arm resting behind his face. "Would be real helpful, hermosa"

"Sorry to dissapoint" how would you reveal the real reason you called? No. Never. "I just wanted to hear you"

He's standing up before he can register, pacing around the dim lit room.

"Baby..." he's already speaking up, condescending. No, not you too.

"C'mon, Peña" your heart beats dangerously, feeling it swell painfully on your throat. "It's been a long week, hasn't it?" a beat, "I'm on this bar near the office, mind if you join an old pal for a drink? I know you are alone too"

The feeling settles in, like his mind.

"Yeah?" he challenges.

"I see the office lights, all dark. 'Cept for yours"

He laughs, "You're a true detective, baby. Might have to hire you"

He's always calling you baby, because that's what you were when you started working this. Baby first, laced with intrigue and amusement at how you'd stand tall despite your age, ready to risk your life to free your home of the violence and terror drugs had brought upon. Baby now, more like a reflex, a habit Javier Peña can't break; the worst of his vices.

"Well, am I not already?" you laugh. "Come, will you? Just a drink and I'll leave you alone. You're free to drown on paperwork after that"

Worst is, Javier had already agreed the moment he picked up the saccharine tinge of your voice on the phone, impossibly addicting.

"Deal"

So now he's here. And he's finally seen you.

"You're here"

He takes a quick scan of your body, sporting a rather simple outift. Yet you seem to pull it off, hair cascading down in soft waves that ressemble the sea, very fitting in their job to compliment your tan skin.

"I am"

"You said you were here" he remarks, finishing his glass.

You take the glass from his hands, stiff from all day at the office, then raise it, mockingly alluding a toast.

"Wanted to let you relax for a bit" you add. "Thought you stopped"

"I needed it" not to admit out loud your call had made him nervous, hidden desperation and fire behind your apparent casual words. Or maybe it was his mind, far too tired and stressed to think straight.

"Good. Ready to go?"

"Where?" but he's already stand up from the stool.

"My place" and there's that same undertone he picked at first (once an agent, always an agent) now less hidden and more out in the open for him to follow or quit, much like any other of his addictions.

"For?"

"It's up to you to find out"

"Cheeky baby" he's chastising, his eyes full of something dark, and not punishing. "Are you going to murder me? Drugged my drink?" he attempts to do a terrible joke, all to calm down the fire on his soft belly and the throb of his cock. Fuck, when was the last time he had blown off some steam?

"You don't bite the hand that feeds you" you quip, but your teeth ressemble fangs. "¿Quién te crees que soy?" (who do you think I am?)

The walk to your apartment felt longer, despite having been here on a pass before, or when sending novice agents to watch for your safety.

He's never been inside before, but now he's taking the stairs two at a time, despite being tipsy, reaching your floor while you giggle with confidence, yet there's some uncertainity when you fumble your keys due to shaky hands, probably because you've never let him inside or because of your plan for tonight.

"It's very you" he comments out loud while you mumble a soft Shoes off. He takes another quick scan, some dishes drying on the counter, a rugged carpet and a flower vase with some petals fallen over the coffee table in front of your TV. It looks like a home, lived in: unlike his, that seems a curated effort to show someone occupies it, as a hotel room rather than a place to live. It's your warmth, thought, the one that wraps him up like a blanket or a fire.

Peña's been so busy looking around that he doesn't notice you've dissapeared.

"Baby?" he searches around, "¿a dónde te fuiste?" (where did you go?)

"In here" coming from the yellow-ish light at the end of the hallway.

He walks in slow steps, the floor creaking under his weight. Javier is opening the door, and the last he expects is to see you like this: on the bed, sprawled out. Fuck, he had imagined it alright: pumping his cock to the thought of you, but never thinking he'd got the very real thing for him.

"Baby-"

But here you were, all while he drools like a pathetic hungry dog, wordless and so fucking touch starved.

"Like what you see?"

His eyes roam over every dip and curve of your body, how your skin trembles even if he hasn't touched you and the room is hot. Heat is building within him, primal instincts fighting to take you, claim you, and make you his. It's a goddamn burning feeling he knows all too well.

"Mucho" he grins wolfishly, purring "bet it tastes as good as it looks" (a lot)

You sport a victory grin. "Why don't you find out?"

Your voice is like a siren call, and he's surrendering to the years of depriving himself of you.

He slowly walks to the bed, afraid if he speds up things, he'll wake up of this dream. He begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing his honeyed skin and soft belly from stress eating and licor, a smattering of dark hair trailing down past his navel.

Peña makes a pause at the edge of the bed, where you have sat up. He delicately cups with his rough hand your soft cheek, capturing your lips in a short n' sweet kiss. Finally, tasting all of you, tongue in your mouth wet, exploring every corner to get to know you: not the brave and loudmouth but the needy and touchy side of yours in bed. It speaks about pent-up passion and a hunger that seems to be only sated by the taste of you; the water to calm his thrist.

"Need you, baby" he breathes against your swollen lips. "Want to feel your skin and heartbeat as my own"

But a smile paints your lips as you sit on the edge, and he's unsure what it means.

"Slow down, needy boy" you taut, kissing the tip of his nose. "Do you remember our call? Said you've been through some stress" Javier lets out a little whine, "haven't you?" he nods eagerly, melting under your confident touch across his bicep, tracing his stomach that protudes over his jeans and belt. "So, how about this? I had an idea"

He raises an eyebrow, trying not to get distracted by your persistent touch.

"Better make it good. My patience is wearin' thin" and you can't help but coo at his strained pants and needy demeanor, so contrasting to his broody and serious nature.

"You've had a terrible week" fingers now getting lost down his happy trail, dangerously low to his pulsating cock. "Why don't I help you? But not like you think, no" you smile. "Let me take care of you, baby. I'll do all the work, and all you have to do is follow my orders like the obedient pretty boy you are. Sounds easy, right?"

A shiver runs down his spine as his dick strains against his pants. He bites back a groan, hips twitching involuntarily as you tease him.

He gulps, thinking about it. It's a new proposition that makes his cock pulse. Truthfully, it's been a week, no, weeks filled with stress, and the idea of letting someone else take control, despite his preference on him being the one in charge, aligned with his powerful masculine husk, makes it hard to picture it. But your parted swollen lips, eyes set with that determination he loves and his aching aging body...

Al carajo con todo. Peña is in. (Fuck this shit)

"Are you sure you can handle all of this?" with a stupid grin on his face, signaling his heating body, glistening with a sheen of sweat from the make-out session from before. "I'm not used to this, but for you, baby, I might make an exception. I trust you to take good care of me, yes?"

You hum, standing up. Even if he towers over you, you feel in power.

"¿Cuál es tu plan, mami? I want to hear every filthy sinful thing you have in mind" (what's your plan?)

You stand in your tiptoes to lick his lips, then planting a wet kiss that sends a jolt of electricty straight to his aching cock. Javier's heart pounds with anticipation while your tongue roams his mouth, making out until his pupils are blown wide and hair disheveled. He must look pathetic now, but he doesn't give a flying fuck about it.

"Oh, but I don't want to spoil any surprises... it wouldn't be fun" you grin. "Are you willing to be obedient for me? So you get to see what I have planned. Now sit, on the edge of the bed, now"

Wordlessly, he sits on the edge you previously had, his feet planted firmly on the floor, his thighs spread wide in a delicious manspread Peña often did.

"I've done as you asked, baby" voice firm with a low desire. "What's your next move?"

His chest heaves with each ragged breath that drags like a cigarette.

You drop on your kness, pushing his thighs further apart, red nails (just as he liked; did them a day earlier for him) digging into his jeans as you squeeze the thick muscle. Then, you lean down and press a kiss to his bulge. A low, guttural groan tears from his throat, touch igniting sparks of pleasure that raise through his veins., hips bucking involuntarily, seeking fricction. His hands clench on his side, hold as white as your sheets, trying not to grab you and disobey the looming domineering aura you had imposed on him.

"Want to hear your pretty sounds when I treat you good, baby. All of them; don't hold back"

"Fuck, baby" he pants, voice starined with the effort of holding back. "W-want to hear your every breathy moan, every filthy curse and-"

You nuzzle your face into his bulge, cutting his words effectively, the rough fabric scratching your face over his painfully hard bulge, eyes teasing.

"Hmh, hear me? No, papi. Today is all about you, just you"

He shudders at the contrast of your soft skin over the rough denim. He gazes down, eyes as dark and intense as yours, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple from the intensity of his arousal.

"You're torturing me, baby" his voice is a low rumble on his chest. "You want me to beg, plead for your touch like a desperate man?"

Peña reaches down, calloused fingers skimming along your jawline before tilting your chin up to force your gaze to meet his own. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, the rough digit dragging across the delicate rosy skin.

"Very well. I'll play your game and be what you want me to be"

"Please, want to hear you baby: beg, plead for me. And I shall give" you squeeze his thigh, playing with his belt buckle, a soft metallic clink echoing in the charged air. "Would you want me to help you? Use your words"

"Please, y/n" he raps, your name a delicious sound on his lips. "Please, I need you. Your touch, your kiss, your everything... I'm begging you, baby, help me"

He never imagined he'd have you like this, let alone, on this scenario. Why had he restrained himself when you had always wanted this as much as he did: with the way your eyes took him in everytime he walked in the room, or the way your hand would linger on your brief meetings to share information. It was the way you held onto him, like faith.

Peña reaches down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt hidden under his belly, struggling to undo the clasp. The agent curses, feeling dumb all of a sudden with his display of desperation, at how a young girl gets him so out of himself, horny stupid. May be the lack of women or just, well, you.

"Touch me, baby" he pleads, his eyes dark and intense. "Wrap your hands around my cock and stroke me- Want to feel your mouth on me, for you to take me, please-"

He leans back, chest heaving. This raw need he feels, it tugs at his heart and cock.

"Since you've been such a good boy, I'll reward you" you smile, oh so sickenly sweet, as if you weren't edging him. "Gonna shove my cock so far my throat you won't be able to think of anything else"

Javier shudders at your words, cock leaking with precum at the thought of your lips around his shaft. The room falls silent, and he swears you might just be able to hear the beat that pounds in his ears, that be the reason why you're smiling while he anticipates your touch.

You unzip his jeans with a calculated sense of purpose, the denim material parting to reveal the straining bulge of his erection.

"Such a pretty cock, Javi" the nickname makes his groan, "is this for me?"

He lifts his hips, allowing you to tug the jeans down his thick thighs, dick in display.

"Fuck, y/n" his voice echos a needy rumble. "I'm not a man who begs, cariño, but for you, I'll do"

Peña's rough fingers grab your hair, guiding your face closer. The room grows hotter, and you swear you can smell his musky aroma, impregnated with desire and arousal.

So your reward is to wrap your lips around his tip and suck harshly. Javier lets out a rough hiss at the sensation of your mouth, even if just the tip. He feels your tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh, lapping at the drops of precum that had already leaked from his tip.

"Dios" he cries, his head falling back as he archs into your touch. His hand's hold on your hair turns more rough, as he's fighting the urge to thrust deep into your warm welcoming mouth.

You pull back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. You enjoy every second of his disheveled state, and the way your eyes darken, reveling in the power you hold over him, Peña's desire burns even more ardent.

"Please" he begs, "need to feel your throat around my cock as you swallow me down" and then he's bucking his hips slightly, not to force himself on you, but to let you set the pace. He moans at the wet sounds of your sucking, lips stretched around his girth.

Over and over, you take him, your technique getting more confident with each turn.

"You're a natural at this" he praises, voice rough with arousal. "You're gonna be the death of me"

You pull out with a Pop! making him whine.

"Don't talk, baby. I just want to hear your moans you desobedient old man" he barely registers your next move, slapping his cock. He lets out a sharp, breathless moan at the contact. "Will you behave now and let me jerk you off?"

"Sí, sí, sí" he pleads without a second thought, or embarrasment of his needy state. He feels your hand wrap around his throbbing dick, fingers barely able to encircle his thick girth. You stroke him with a teasing slowness, and his hips buck involuntary as he gasps, the pain bordering on pain at the intensity.

He then bites his lips, trying to hold back the desperate pleas that'll sink his masculinity even further, but his chest heaves with the effort, his skin sweat-slicked over his tense muscles.

"Mmm, yes..." he breathes out, the wet sounds of your palm gliding along his arousal, more than he could take. "I'm all yours, baby. Use my cock the way you want"

You smile, "that's my good boy"

He tangles his fingers in your hair once more, guiding your hand as you stroke him. Your fingers and lips brushing drive him wild, whines he can't contain coming out.

"D-don't stop" he begs, eyes fluttering as he looses himself in the haze. "P-please, keep on touching me, making me feel this good. I want to paint your skin with my seed-"

"Beg for it" your voice is low, and you slap his cock again. "Go on, wanna hear you, pretty boy"

Javier lets out a shar gasp at the sudden sting of pain mixing with the pleasure coursing through his veins. His balls tighten, the pressure a ringing sound on his ears as you continue to stroke him ruthlessly.

"Please" voice reduced to a desperate, needy whine. "Please, I need it. I need to cum so fucking badly. Te lo pido, cariño. Déjame, por favor" (i'm asking you, honey. let me, please)

He bucks his hips frantically, fucking himself with your fist at the amounted pleasure.

It's a real picture: disheveled hair that sticks to his equally sweaty skin, fluttering droopy eyes, ragged panting and desperate moans spilling from his pretty lips.

"Fuck, I can't- can't hold it back" he mumbles, eyes wild and fevered. "I'm going to cum, all over your hand. Please, let me have this. ¡Te lo ruego!" (i beg you)

He was lost in the haze of lust, body trembling with the force of his impending climax. The pressure was unbereable; he needed to find release.

"Aw. Pretty boy can't take it anymore, can he?" you coo, laughing a bit. Your nails dig on his thigh. "Do it, baby. And don't hold back: I want to hear every filthy little sound out of your lips"

Peña throws his head back at the same time a low, guttural roar of pleasure rips through his throat. His cock jerks and spams in your grip, spurting hot shots like a volcano. Javier's never felt like this before: so fucking hard, hips bucking and thrashing as he rides out the waves of his intense climax, painting your hand with his cum.

"S-so good. Se siente jodidamente bien, carajo" he moans, hips jerking erratically as the last spurts of his release dribble out onto your fingers. (shit, it feels so good, fuck)

His body slumps back against the bed, and from your knees, you get to see his chest and tummy rising up and down, struggling to catch his breath. His seed still glistens on your hand, so you do the most reasonable thing and suck it off. Javi's cock goes hard again at the sound, dying to see what it looks like, if the image is as obscene as what he can hear, but his back is killing him, so he lays still, fluttering eyes as he looks at the ceiling, a satisfied smirk at the corners of his mouth.

"That was-" he can't even speak, oh God, "I want to" he fumbles his words, "want to please you in return, baby"

But you're not done for tonight. You get up, and he gets to observe your body as you slowly undress the last remanents of your clothes (underwear), a show for him and his hooded eyes. Peña licks his lips like a starved man, but fuck, wasn't he?

Then, you push his body to stay against the mattress, sitting on his lap. He gasps sharply as you pin him down, straddling his lips with a wicked gleam in your eyes.

"Do you think you deserve to cum inside me, Javi?"

He can feel your core pressing against his sensitive cock, wet and hot, making him shiver.

You pinch is nipple, waiting for an answer. A soft cry escapes his lips, and he's arching into your touch. There's a jolt that goes straight to his dick, and he can feel himself getting overestimulated, twitching and jumping under you.

But his eyes are dark and hazy, wandering with lust your body, hands roaming wildly with teasing touches. You brush his too, no, burn it where your touch meets his soft tanned skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Mmm, I don't know if I deserve such a reward" his tone low and seductive, but there's a twinge of insecurity laced, as if he does believe he isn't worth it. "But I want it. God, I need it" you smile at his pleading. "Want to feel your tight little cunt squeezing my cock, for you to milk me for dry, to take every last drop of my cum"

He rolls his hips slightly, semi-hard cock brushing against your dripping sex.

"Tell me what I have to do to earn the privilege" he whines. "Haré lo que sea, sólo dilo" (i'll do anything, just say so)

"That's my good boy"

You grab his cock, settling it on your entrance, wet folds receiving him. You tease the tip before sliding it slowly inside, and Javier's body shivers when your slick heat taunts him, making him gasp sharply. He feels your moist coat his dick, allowing him to glide his cock along your slit with ease.

"So fucking wet, baby" he praises with a groan, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he fought the urge to surge forward, to bury himself in your welcoming heat in one hard thrust. "So ready for me"

You sink down slowly, every inch of your tight walls gripping him. It flutters and squeezes around his cock perfectly, making his eyes roll back in ecstasy.

"Feels so good, baby" he pants, hips lifting slightly to meet yours as you settle onto his lap. He can feel you enveloping him completely and its driving him mad. "Gonna make me cum before I'm even fully hard"

He meets your gaze, drowning in your dilatated pupils, your breasts bouncing with every move and breath. Javier finds that, with such a view, it's not hard to fall into this supplicant version of himself.

You start bouncing on his cock, letting it hit all your spots. You whine, softly.

"God, Javi, feels so good-" he's babbling nonsense in spanish as he holds you by your hips. You feel your release coming.

"Shit, Javi. Mami is cumming-"

You fuck yourself faster on him, making Peña moan louder when you ride him harder, hips slamming down onto his with urgency. The wet slap of fleash against flesh fills the room, mingling with his cries and your whines.

"Do it, baby. Cum for me, want to know I made you feel good" he urges as he feels your walls flutter and squeeze around his dick, his fingers sinking into your ass' soft skin, guiding your movements.

With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your cunt. You come undone around him, pussy clenching and rippling along every inch of his cok, sending him over the edge.

"Fuck, mami. I have to-"

You hold his hips down, still on your senses despite just having an orgasm.

"Wanted to cum without my permission, you needy slut? I said I want to hear you beg for it, ask me to come, and don't ever do it without me telling you to"

He can feel his cock pulsing and throbbing inside her, the urge to release his load overwhelming. But at your stern command, he forces himself to hold back, gritting his teeth as he fights for control.

"Perdóname, bebé" he pants, voice strained as he holds back. "It won't happen again without your permission" (forgive me, baby)

"Good. Have we learned, then?"

"Yes, yes!" he cries out, eyes wide and pleading. "Please, y/n. I beg you. Need to cum so badly, I- it's too much, please let me. Please, please, please!"

His fists ball tightly on his sides, knuckles turning white as his body trembles with his impending release.

"Please, let me have your permission to cum," he begs, voice a desperate, needy whine. "I'll do anything, baby. I'll be your good boy, your obedient fucktoy. Just say the word. Please, I'm begging you- let me cum for you"

You push your erection against your core, nodding in response.

"Cum for me, loudly, so I know that you're thankful for this"

With your permission granted and hips pressing down firmly against his, Javier allows himself to surrender to the overwhelming urge to cum.

Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from his shaft, painting your velvety walls with his essence. He can feel each powerful spurt of his release, the sensation of his balls emptying inside you pushing him to even greater heights of ecstasy. The pleasure was almost too much to comprehend, the feeling of your hot, slick walls milking his cock for every last drop of his release sending him spiraling into a state of euphoria.

"Thank you, baby" he pants, struggling to catch his breath. "Thank you for letting me cum inside you"

"Is that so?" I chuckle, "want to really show me how thankful you are?"

Without telling him so, you slip out of his dick, cum still leaking from your legs, and place on top of him: on his face, even if he slightly struggles for air, keeping yourself held up on the headboard of his bed, barely putting any pressure on him.

"Then eat me, baby" you feel his hot breath against my folds, "reward me for riding your needy dick; wanna hear just how pussy starved you are"

Javier's eyes widened as you suddenly straddle his face, the scent and taste of your combined releases filling his nostrils and coating his tongue. He could feel the sticky essence, a mix of your arousal and his own cum, smearing across his cheeks as you ground your dripping core against his mouth.

Without hesitation, Peña dives in, his tongue delving between your folds to lap up the sensitive nub. He moans deeply, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and against your cunt.

"Mmm, fuck yes" he growls, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he pulls you down harder against his face, savoring your sweet pussy that tastes like him too. "I'm starved for this pussy, baby, could eat this pretty little cunt for hours and never get enough"

Peña seals his lips around your clit, suckling the swollen bud as he fucks his tongue deeper inside. He can feel his cock twitching and hardening once more, the sensation of your dripping sex against his face and the taste of your releases on his tongue reigniting his desire.

You grind my hips up to meet his face, moaning loudly as he continues to devour your cunt. He looks up at you, mouth still glued to my pussy. His eyes are glassy and he's whimpering into your folds. The image alone makes your pussy gush.

"Sweet boy, keep going. Doing such a good job with your tongue" you moan while his hips buck into nothing in the air, "love how you eat me out"

Javier moans into your dripping pussy as you ground her hips against his face, the praise and encouragement spurring him on. Your juices flow freely, coating his chin until they drip down onto his chest.

"Love eating this perfect pussy. I fucking love the taste of you, the way you gush and quiver against my tongue. I could spend all day with my face buried between your thighs, worshipping this sweet cunt"

He could feel his own arousal growing, his cock hardening and throbbing as he lost himself in the act of pleasuring you.

Spurred on by your praising moans, he redoubled his efforts, sucking your clit hard as he plungs two fingers deep into your soaked cunt. He pumps them in and out, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot inside you.

"That's it, hermosa. Ride my face. Please, use me baby, please"

He can feel your thighs trembling on either side of his head, body tense as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. The thought of tasting your release, juices flooding his mouth, made his own arousal swell to painful proportions.

"Would you let me use your nose, papi? Wanna cum on your face, grind off of it" you say, but even if you ask for permission, you're already over it, riding it.

Javier lets out a muffled moan of approval as you begin to grind your dripping pussy more firmly against his nose, using it to stimulate your most sensitive spots. He can feel the sticky essence of your coupling smearing across his upper lip and coating his nostrils as you ride his face with increasing urgency.

"I want to feel you cumming, drenching my face with your sweet juices" he pleads. "Paint my fucking nose with your release, baby"

He could feel your thighs quaking and clenching around his ears, body tensing as you chase your rapidly approaching climax. The scent of your arousal is overwhelming, the sweet aroma filling his nostrils and clouding his mind with lust.

"That's it, baby. Fuck my nose, use it to make yourself cum," he urges. "Give it to me, y/n. Give me everything you have"

You grip the back of his head, pushing him down while grinding your wet pussy across his face. You feel yourself tightening your hold as you come against his mouth, Javier letting out a muffled cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure as he feels your fingers tangling and tugging demandingly.

"Then be a good boy and take it all"

"Yes, mami!" he gasps, the words vibrating deliciously against your soaked, sensitive flesh. "I'm your good boy. I'll take it all, every last drop"

Peña feels your pussy clench and spasm against his mouth, walls fluttering wildly as your climax crashes over you. He whines deeply, the sound drowned out by the gush of your release flooding his mouth and pouring over his chin. The taste of your arousal is as sweet as he imagined, intoxicating, exploding across his taste buds and sending a bolt of pure lust straight to his aching cock.

"You taste so fucking good, baby. So sweet and perfect" he pants, his voice hoarse. "I could drown in this pussy and die a happy man"

He feels your body shaking and trembling above him, hips still grinding weakly against his face. But you still have the strength to lace your fingers through his hair and pull his head back.

You can feel his dick barely grazing your ass, rock-hard again.

"Now swallow it, and I might help you with that" you slap his cock with your free hand. He bucks and jerks at the mix of sensations; the way you toy with him and tease him, only heightening his desperation and desire. "Be a good boy just as you've been. I want to see this throat swallowing it all"

You taut his neck and adam's apple with your nails, the pull exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. He can feel the sharp sting of the nails digging into his skin, the sensation sending a dark thrill of pain and pleasure racing down his spine.

"Yes, mami" his voice a low, submissive rasp. "I'll swallow every drop, just like a good boy"

He tilts his head back further, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps and swallows, trying to obey. The taste of your cum coats his tongue and slides down his throat.

"Good boy" you praise, stroking and slapping his shaft, your eyes never leaving his.

"Fuck!" he cries out, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand.

He can feel his release swiftly approaching, the pressure in his balls growing to an unbearable level. The way you touch him, the taste of your release still lingering on his tongue... he's gone insane, and it's your fault the same man who took down the biggest druglord of the world is now reduced to a moaning mess.

"Please, mami" he begs, his tone desperate. "I need to cum so badly. Will you allow me?"

"Do it" you pant, "and don't hold back any cute cries coming from your lips"

With your permission granted, Javier's cock spams violently in your grip.

"Fuck, yes! I'm cumming so fucking hard, mami. Thank you, baby, thank you so much!"

Thick, hot ropes of cum explod from his cock, painting your hand and his own abdomen with his essence. His body convulses beneath you, muscles clenching and unclenching as his climax tears through him.

He gazes up at you, eyes hazy and mind fucked.

This newfound pleasure was almost too much to comprehend, a weird feeling of ecstasy he had never dreamed of. And it was you, of all people, who had made him come by rendering him to a whiny and needy submissive part of himself he didn't know.

"Thank you for letting me cum, mami" he pants, his voice a low, rough rasp. "I am forever in your debt, baby"

You giggle, laying down next to him, while pressing a soft kiss to his sweat glistening temple.

"Anytime" you reply, so sweet and simple, as if you hadn't completely ruined his life.

But well, wasn't he known for his love to get into places he shouldn't have?

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @joelsknees / dts: para @ann-gell u know i love u right? my mx valentine, xoxo. no autorizo que te sientas mal así que ten una cochinada ft. javier peñita, te la dedico con amors, my hot funny lovely friend ♡

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