#but it's still more than was probably responsible

[novaursa]

Bless you for opening your requests 🙇‍♀️

Could I get one, maybe following on from The Valyrian Bride, where cregan and readers children get their dragons? Maybe they get eggs in their cots, or maybe they have to travel to dragonstone as one of the children bonds with a dragon that’s already grown and unbonded, and cregan is a bag on nerves having to watch them claim the dragon, but reader is the opposite, she is composed and reassures him that they are safe?

Thank you for everything you do 💖

Valyrian Bride (dragon eggs)

- Summary: Cregan was expecting a quiet day. But nothing is ever truly quiet with his dragon-blooded children.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is an only daughter of Rhaenyra.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: dragon's bath

- Previous part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess @ferakillia

Winter had tightened its grip on Winterfell, but the great hall was alive with warmth and noise, the fire in the massive hearth burning bright and high. Cregan Stark sat at the long table with his bannermen, their voices filling the room as they discussed the usual matters—supplies for the coming winter, the training of new recruits, and the ever-present question of the safety of the northern borders.

He listened with half an ear, his thoughts drifting occasionally to his wife and children. The boy of ten and the girl of barely eight, were spirited and curious, always finding new ways to test their parents’ patience and were more trouble together than a pack of wild direwolves.

Cregan took a sip of his ale, his gaze turning toward the fire where children had spent most of the day. They had been unusually quiet, which in his experience meant they were plotting something. The problem was, with those two, ‘something’ could mean anything from sneaking a wildling pup into the kennels to hiding the cook’s ladle in the godswood.

“Lord Stark,” called Arnolf, his bannerman and old friend, pulling Cregan’s attention back to the table. “You seem distracted. More than usual, I mean.”

Cregan gave him a wry smile. “Just wondering what those two are up to. It’s too quiet.”

Arnolf laughed, shaking his head. “They’re probably just practicing their swordplay or playing a game. You worry too much, Cregan. They’re only children.”

“They’re Valyrian children,” Cregan corrected dryly. “And I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as a harmless Valyrian game.”

As if in response, a high-pitched scream rang out from the far end of the hall, followed by another, then two more. Cregan’s heart leapt into his throat as he shot to his feet, his chair scraping back across the stone floor. His bannermen did the same, hands going to their swords.

“Seven hells,” Cregan muttered, his stomach twisting. The sound wasn’t one of pain, but panic still gripped him. “What now?”

The answer came quickly enough. His children’s voices echoed through the hall, but they weren’t screams of terror—they were shouting and laughing, the kind of noise that only came from sheer, unbridled excitement. His heart still pounding, Cregan took off toward the hearth, his bannermen trailing behind him, their faces a mix of confusion and alarm.

As he rounded the corner, Cregan skidded to a halt, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

His children were kneeling on the stone floor near the hearth, both of them grinning from ear to ear. Between them, nestled in a thick pile of blankets and surrounded by a glowing ring of embers, were two dragon eggs—large, oval, and gleaming with a strange inner light. And right there, amidst the warmth of the fire and the delighted shrieks of his children, the eggs were cracking.

“Look, Papa!” his daughter cried, hair falling around her face as she pointed eagerly at the first egg. “They’re hatching!”

Cregan blinked, his mind trying to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. He’d known they had the eggs, of course—gifts from Vaetrix’s last clutch. They’d been family heirlooms more than anything, relics of their mother’s lineage, kept cool and dormant. He had assumed they would remain that way. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that the children would try to… heat them up.

“What in the name of the Old Gods are you doing?” he asked, his voice a mix of incredulity and exasperation. He took a step forward, waving a hand at the flickering flames that danced dangerously close to the precious cargo. “You—You put them in the fire?”

His son, crouched next to his sister, looked up at him, his face flushed with excitement. “We read about it in one of Maester Kennet’s books! Dragon eggs need heat to hatch. The hottest fire we could find was here in the great hall.”

“And now they’re coming out!” his daughter added, practically bouncing in place as she watched the egg wobble and crack.

Cregan glanced around, half expecting his wife to appear and explain that this was some sort of elaborate joke. But no, it was just him, his two children, and two dragon eggs about to hatch in the middle of Winterfell’s great hall.

The second egg shuddered, a thin crack running down its length. His son leaned in closer, eyes wide with awe, and for a moment, Cregan’s heart nearly stopped. “Careful, lad!” he barked, reaching out and pulling the boy back. “Those are dragons, not pets. They’re dangerous!”

“But they’re ours,” his daughter insisted, not taking her eyes off the eggs. “And they’ll be our dragons, won’t they, Papa? Just like Mama has Vaetrix.”

Cregan opened his mouth to argue, to tell them how dragons were wild, unpredictable, and far too dangerous to be playing around with, but before he could get the words out, the first egg cracked open completely.

A small, wet dragonling tumbled out onto the blankets, its wings flapping feebly as it let out a tiny, high-pitched screech. The creature was a deep, shimmering green, its scales flecked with gold, and its eyes—bright and curious—blinked up at them as it tried to shake itself free of the last bits of shell.

His daughter’s gasp of delight was echoed by her brother’s, and both of them immediately reached out, their hands hovering just above the hatchling as if afraid to touch.

“Look, Papa!” she whispered, her voice hushed with wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

Cregan stared at the tiny creature, his emotions a tangled mess of awe, terror, and something that felt suspiciously like pride. “Aye,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It is, but—”

The second egg gave a sharp crack, splitting open with a suddenness that made even Cregan jump. Another dragonling emerged, this one a dark, smoky blue, with wings that seemed almost translucent in the firelight. It stumbled forward, letting out a tiny roar that was more of a squeak, and promptly tripped over its own claws.

His son let out a whoop of joy, scooping the clumsy hatchling into his arms without a second thought. “Papa, did you see? They’re both here! We did it!”

Cregan rubbed a hand over his face, torn between laughing and banging his head against the nearest wall. “Yes, I see,” he said, his voice strained. “But do you have any idea what this means? Dragons, here, in Winterfell?”

“They’ll be safe here,” his daughter said firmly, as if she had already thought the whole thing through. “We’ll take care of them. They’re ours.”

Cregan looked at his children, each now holding a wriggling, squirming baby dragon, their faces shining with joy and excitement. He could see it in their eyes—that fierce, unyielding sense of responsibility and love that only children could have. For them, this wasn’t a mistake or a danger—it was a miracle. Their dragons had come to life, and they were ready to embrace them with open hearts.

He let out a deep, resigned sigh, shaking his head even as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, alright. We’ll find a way to keep them. But you two—” he pointed a finger at each of them, his voice stern despite the warmth in his eyes, “—will have to take responsibility. Feeding, training, cleaning up after them. They’re not to be toys or playthings. Dragons are dangerous.”

“We promise, Papa!” they said in unison, their voices so earnest that Cregan almost believed them.

“And no more hatching dragon eggs in the hearth, understood?” he added, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think Winterfell’s ever seen this much excitement in one day.”

His daughter giggled, stroking the tiny green dragon’s head with a gentleness that belied her usual rough-and-tumble nature. “No more hearth hatchings. We promise.”

Cregan looked at his children—his wild, wonderful, dragon-blooded children—and then at the two new lives they cradled in their arms. The absurdity of it all hit him suddenly, and he let out a low, incredulous laugh. Who would have thought? Two baby dragons, born not in the hot skies of Dragonstone, but in the icy heart of Winterfell.

“Come on, then,” he said, shaking his head as he turned back to his bemused bannermen. “Let’s see what your mother has to say about this.”

As they made their way across the hall, the dragons chirping and squeaking softly, Cregan couldn’t help but marvel at the scene. Only his children could turn a quiet day into something this… extraordinary.

And though he’d never admit it out loud, a part of him was secretly thrilled. There was never a dull moment with dragons in the family, after all.

[rafecameronssl4t]

i miss thornton!reader so bad!!! can we get one, maybe reader got hurt by barry and topper fights rafe about it! love uuuuu

Protective || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: I've missed writing Thornton!reader :(

Warnings: suggestive, slight angst if you even call it that lol, other than that nothing rlly

Word count: 3,417 (longest fic i've written so far lol)

MASTERLIST (rafe x Thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The music thrummed through the house, filling every corner with a heavy bass as Kelce glanced around the crowded room, his brows furrowed. He leaned closer to Topper, who was lounging on the couch with a half-empty beer in hand. “Yo, where’s Rafe? Haven’t seen him all night,” Kelce shouted over the noise.

Topper, barely looking up from his drink, shrugged lazily. “Probably off somewhere with my sister,” he muttered, taking a slow sip. Just as he said it, the sight of you and Rafe caught Kelce's attention, and Topper turned his head. Rafe appeared at the top of the staircase, hand firmly gripping yours as the two of you descended.

His expression was smug, almost victorious, while you walked carefully beside him, your legs unsteady, a faint flush still lingering on your cheeks. The subtle tension between you didn’t go unnoticed. Topper narrowed his eyes, rolling them dramatically. “Where were you guys?” he started, though a moment later he held up a hand, groaning.

“Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t even wanna know,” Topper groaned, his eyes narrowing as he sank deeper into the couch, clearly regretting the question. Rafe’s smirk only widened in response, that signature arrogance playing on his lips as he pulled you closer, his hand sliding possessively to the small of your back.

“What’s wrong? Not havin’ fun?” Rafe’s tone was taunting as he sat down, effortlessly pulling you into his lap. You settled against him, your body fitting into his like second nature, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the alcohol in the air. Topper’s response was a dry scoff, his eyes cutting away, tired of the banter.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He took another sip of his drink, clearly unimpressed with the scene unfolding in front of him. You glanced at your brother, trying to lighten the tension. “Where’s that girl you were seeing? Natalie or something—” you began, but Topper’s cold voice sliced through your words, shutting them down.

“Broke it off with her. She was a bitch anyway,” he said, his tone harsh, dismissive, like the whole thing had been a waste of his time. There was a chill to his words that left an awkward silence between you, broken only by the sound of the party continuing in the background. You exchanged a quick glance with Rafe, who simply shrugged, his expression unbothered, like the drama swirling around him barely registered.

Rafe’s fingers, however, were far more interested in the hem of your dress, teasing the fabric between his fingers as he leaned in closer. “I’m having a smoke. You comin’?” His voice dropped lower, intimate, a subtle invitation. You glanced towards the patio door, the thought of stepping into the cold night air making you hesitate. “But it’s so cold out there,” you pouted, your lips curving into a playful smile.

Rafe chuckled, his eyes dropping to your legs as he gave your thigh a teasing pat. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea wearin’ this dress,” he murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he traced lazy circles on your skin with his thumb. “Oh, it was a bad idea, huh?” you quipped back, tilting your head slightly, a smirk playing on your lips as you met his gaze.

You could feel the electricity between you, the unspoken tension that always lingered just beneath the surface. Before Rafe could respond, Topper groaned again, loudly this time, clearly done with the back-and-forth. “Get outta here, seriously. The two of you are disgusting,” he muttered, rolling his eyes so hard you were sure he was going to walk out. You held up your hands in mock surrender, laughing softly.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” you teased, sliding off Rafe’s lap. Rafe stood, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you closer as the two of you made your way outside. The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cold, but Rafe didn’t seem to mind, pulling you against him as if he could keep you warm just by being close.

~

Rafe leaned back against the side of the house, the dim glow of the porch light casting shadows across his sharp features. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the faint trail of smoke curling lazily into the cool night air as he gazed down at you. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words spilling from your mouth, your voice a pleasant hum in the background, but his eyes were locked on you—specifically, the way your glossy lips moved as you talked.

You were leaning casually against the wall, your phone in hand, gesturing slightly as you yapped about the latest gossip swirling around Figure 8. Your voice was animated, every detail about who hooked up with whom and who got into another petty fight filling the air with energy.

Rafe, however, was only half-listening, his attention drawn more to the subtle curve of your lips, how they glistened under the soft light each time you spoke. The way your mouth moved was more captivating than any story you could tell. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the embers lighting up briefly as his gaze drifted lower, trailing from your lips down to your neckline, his mind wandering.

You didn’t seem to notice his distracted state, too engrossed in the details of your latest story. But to Rafe, it didn’t matter what you were saying. He was content just watching you, the way you moved, the way your presence filled the space between you both.

You continued talking, the glow of your phone illuminating your face as you swiped through the latest drama on social media. “So apparently, Anna broke up with Drew,” you said, your voice filled with excitement as if it was the most riveting thing that had happened all week. “And get this—she’s already seeing Chase. Like, they were spotted together at The Wreck, can you believe it?”

Rafe exhaled a slow puff of smoke, his eyes lazily following the movement of your lips, still half lost in his own thoughts. “Mm-hmm,” he mumbled in response, barely processing the names you were tossing out. His mind kept drifting—your lips, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the subtle scent of your perfume mixing with the cool night air.

You didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm as you scrolled through your phone, continuing. “And then there’s Claire—God, she’s still with that guy from The Cut. You know everyone’s talking about it, right? Like, what is she even thinking? She could do so much better, but nope, she’s still with him.”

Rafe took another drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash off to the side before responding, his tone casual and almost uninterested. “Yeah, she’s an idiot,” he muttered, his gaze still fixated on your lips, completely disconnected from the gossip itself. You sighed, exasperated by how uninterested he seemed. “Are you even listening, Rafe?” you asked, shooting him a playful glare, though you knew this was how he always acted when you talked about Figure 8 drama.

He smirked, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips as he finally met your eyes. “I’m listenin’,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “I just don’t care about half the people you’re talkin’ about.” You rolled your eyes, leaning in just a little closer. “You should care. It’s your crowd, Rafe. You act like you’re too cool for it, but you know you love it when someone else’s life is falling apart.”

Rafe chuckled, his hand firmly tugging you closer by the waist. “Nah, I just like watchin’ you get all worked up about it,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your lips as he tossed his cigarette aside, his focus now entirely on you. You sighed, tucking your phone into your back pocket, arms crossing over your chest as a shiver ran down your spine.

“Can you hurry up? I’m freezing my tits off out here,” you groaned, leaning into Rafe for warmth. The night air was biting, and the flimsy dress you’d chosen was doing nothing to help. Rafe smirked, wrapping an arm casually around your neck and pulling you against him.

“Quit whining. I already warmed you up earlier,” he teased, his eyes twinkling as they glanced down at you. His hand rested possessively on your hip, the cockiness in his tone making you roll your eyes. You were about to fire back a snarky remark when a voice cut through the darkness. "Rafe!" someone called out, the tone sharp and angry.

Before you could turn to see who it was, you suddenly felt a rough pair of hands grab your shoulders and shove you aside with force. The world seemed to tilt for a moment as you let out a startled shriek, your body stumbling as you lost your balance, crashing into a bush. The cold leaves scratched against your skin, the shock of the shove still fresh as you blinked, trying to regain your composure.

“What the fuck, Barry?!” Rafe’s voice exploded with fury as he shoved the man back, his stance immediately tense, ready to throw a punch. But before he could escalate, he turned back to you, eyes wide with concern. He was by your side in an instant, one hand gripping your arm, steadying you as you struggled to get up.

“You okay?” Rafe asked, his voice softening, all the teasing from before gone, replaced by genuine worry. His hands moved to gently brush the dirt and leaves off you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of injury. You took a deep breath, still a little shaken, but nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice quieter now.

But your eyes were narrowed, darting to Barry, who stood a few feet away, his face twisted in a malicious grin, his energy dark and threatening. “Oh, my bad, Princess,” Barry sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glared at you. “Just here to let your boy know he’s gotta pay up. Real fuckin’ soon.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Rafe instinctively moved you behind him, his body blocking yours in a protective stance. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in confusion and anger. “Pay up? What the fuck are you talking about?” Rafe snapped, his voice rising with frustration. “I already gave you the money—what more do you want?”

Barry chuckled darkly, taking a step closer, his eyes flickering with something dangerous. “Yeah, you gave me some of it,” he growled, his tone low and threatening. “But we both know that wasn’t the full amount, Cameron. I don’t like bein’ shortchanged.” Rafe’s posture stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides as he squared up to Barry, tension rippling through his body. “You got what I owed you,” Rafe hissed, his voice laced with fury.

“I’m not giving you a goddamn cent more.” Barry took another step forward, his gaze shifting from Rafe to you, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Better be careful, Rafe,” he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. “You wouldn’t want Princess here to get caught in the middle of your little debt, would you?”

Rafe’s entire body went rigid, the implication in Barry’s words sending a jolt of rage through him. He stepped closer to Barry, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep her out of this,” Rafe growled, the muscles in his neck tightening. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.” You stood behind Rafe, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

You could see the barely contained fury in Rafe’s stance, the way he was holding himself back from lunging at Barry right then and there. Barry gave a mocking shrug, stepping back with a grin still plastered on his face. “We’ll see about that,” he said casually, turning on his heel as if the conversation was over. “But I’ll be back, Rafe. You know where to find me. Don’t make me wait.”

He shot one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the night, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the cold, the air heavy with unsaid threats. Rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before turning to you, his expression softening only slightly. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice still tight with lingering anger.

You nodded, but the unease in your chest didn’t go away. “What the hell was that about, Rafe?” you asked, your voice a mix of concern and frustration. He sighed, pulling you into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s nothin’ you need to worry about,” he muttered, though the look in his eyes told you it was anything but nothing.

"Why the fuck was a drug dealer walking through my house?" Topper’s angry voice sliced through the tension, making both you and Rafe turn toward him. His face was red, brows knitted together in fury as he stormed up to the two of you. The pulse of the party inside was distant, but the rage in Topper’s voice filled the silence outside.

His eyes landed on you, taking in your disheveled appearance, the dirt on your dress, and the lingering shock in your expression. “The fuck happened to you?” he demanded, his gaze sharp and piercing, searching your face for answers. You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the remnants of the altercation with Barry.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, brushing a hand over your arm as if to wipe away the discomfort. “Bullshit,” Topper snapped, cutting you off before you could even try to explain. His anger shifted, his eyes narrowing as they darted to Rafe, who was still standing protectively in front of you. “I told you to take care of my sister,” Topper growled, his voice low but filled with fury.

“I don’t want her around a fucking drug dealer, Rafe!” Rafe straightened up, his expression hardening. “Topper, calm the fuck down,” he shot back, his voice steady but laced with annoyance. “It wasn’t like that.” “Oh really?” Topper scoffed, taking a step closer. “’Cause from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like it was like that. What the fuck is Barry doing here, and why is my sister gettin’ shoved into a goddamn bush?!”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “Barry’s deal is with me. I’m handling it,” he muttered, but the tightness in his voice betrayed the weight of the situation. “I didn’t know he’d pull shit like that.” “That’s not good enough, Rafe,” Topper spat, his voice rising. “She’s not some collateral damage in whatever fucked-up deal you have goin’ on.” You stood between them, feeling the heat of the argument escalating, the tension rolling off both of them in waves.

“Topper, seriously, I’m fine,” you tried to interject, though your voice was drowned out by the two of them squaring up. Rafe shot a glare at Topper, his patience thinning. “I told you, I’ve got it under control.” Topper barked out a laugh, disbelief in his voice. “Under control? My little sister gets shoved around, and that’s you havin’ things under control?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he took a step forward, his temper flaring. “Watch it, Top,” he warned, his voice dark. “Barry’s my problem, and I’ll deal with him. You don’t need to worry about her.” But Topper wasn’t backing down, his protective instincts kicking in as his eyes darted between you and Rafe. “You better,” Topper seethed, his voice dangerously low.

“’Cause if this happens again, I won’t just be worried—I’ll make sure this thing between you and her is done. I don’t care what you two have going on, Rafe. If she gets hurt because of your shit, I’ll end it myself. She deserves better than to be dragged into whatever mess you’re caught up in.” Your jaw dropped, disbelief flooding your face. “You don’t mean that—” you began, your voice trembling as you searched Topper’s eyes for any sign that he might back down.

But the fierce determination in his gaze made it clear he was dead serious. “Oh yes, I fucking do,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade, unwavering in its conviction. “And I’ll tell Mom and Dad.” The threat hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating, charged with unspoken tension.

A chill raced down your spine, and your heart pounded violently in your chest at the thought of your parents getting involved. They had always been skeptical about your relationship with Rafe, questioning his intentions and whether he was truly good for you. You could almost hear their voices in your head, echoing their concerns “He’s trouble,” and “You deserve someone better.” The idea of them finding out about the chaos swirling around you made your stomach churn.

“Topper, wait—” you tried to interject, stepping forward to bridge the widening gap between them. “You can’t just threaten Rafe like that. It’s not fair—” “Fair?” Topper shot back, cutting you off with a glare. “What’s not fair is that my sister is getting mixed up with someone who can’t keep her safe. This isn’t just about you two playing house; this is serious!”

Rafe stepped in, his voice steady but edged with irritation. “I get it, Topper. You’re trying to protect her, but you’re not seeing the whole picture. I care about her. You think I want any of this to happen?” “Then act like it!” Topper snapped, his frustration boiling over. “You’re letting this shit happen right under your nose. If you truly cared, you’d make damn sure it never came to this.”

The intensity of the moment hung between the three of you, a taut string ready to snap. You glanced at Rafe, searching for reassurance, but his jaw was clenched tight, frustration and anger warring in his expression. “Topper, please,” you pleaded, your voice softer now, desperate to diffuse the situation. “You know how much Rafe means to me. He’s not like that—”

“Not like what?” Topper interrupted, his voice rising again. “Not like a drug dealer? Not like someone who can’t keep his life together? You’re smarter than this, and I refuse to watch you throw yourself into the fire just because you think you can handle it.” Your heart sank as you realized that his anger was coming from a place of love, a protective instinct that had always been there.

But it still hurt to see him turning on Rafe, the person you cared about deeply. Rafe’s expression softened slightly as he looked at you, and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the world. “Topper, if you really want to protect her, then trust me to do the same,” he said, his voice calmer, but the fire still simmered beneath the surface. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”

“Promises don’t mean shit when you’re dealing with guys like Barry,” Topper shot back, his voice taut. “You need to figure this out, Rafe. Because if you can’t, I’ll step in, and I won’t hesitate to make it clear to everyone—including Mom and Dad—that you’re not the right guy for her.” Rafe's lips part slightly as he glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern as he notices the tears welling up in your eyes.

“And you both know that the only reason this even works is because I’m allowing it. Mom and Dad are already skeptical enough about this whole thing. If anything goes wrong, you know it’ll be on me to explain why I let it happen” Topper says, his voice laced with frustration as he narrows his eyes at both of you.

He glances at you one last time, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment, before he turns and walks away, leaving the tension hanging in the air. As soon as he’s out of sight, the tears spill down your cheeks, warm and stinging. “Rafe…” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion, but Rafe doesn’t respond with words.

Instead, he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, enveloping you in his warmth as you quietly sob against his chest. “Shh, it’ll all be fine, don’t worry about it, okay?” he murmurs softly, his voice a gentle balm against your hurt. His hand caresses your hair, fingers weaving through the strands in a soothing rhythm as you cling to him, seeking comfort in his presence.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller. 

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as. 

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down. 

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen. 

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual. 

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space. 

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer. 

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant. 

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames. 

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal. 

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.” 

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.” 

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble. 

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead. 

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell. 

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?” 

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...” 

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.” 

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer. 

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron. 

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.” 

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job. 

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun. 

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.” 

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks. 

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around. 

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals. 

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you. 

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask. 

“Black’s fine,” he assures. 

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.” 

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?” 

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?” 

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?” 

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you. 

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.” 

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.” 

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner. 

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.” 

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.” 

He gives a gentle smile. 

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.” 

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.” 

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV. 

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly. 

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.” 

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases. 

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.” 

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.” 

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts. 

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?” 

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.” 

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders. 

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug. 

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.” 

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.” 

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you. 

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself. 

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly. 

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.” 

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.” 

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles. 

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?” 

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.” 

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?” 

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks. 

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?” 

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.” 

“Alright,” you back away and turn back. 

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter. 

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself. 

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor. 

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there. 

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him. 

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?” 

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.” 

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.” 

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?” 

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.” 

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own. 

“Do you sing?” He asks. 

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter. 

“Ah,” Steve nods. 

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.” 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says. 

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place. 

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table. 

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Zayne: Hard Day in the Office | NSFW

One of my buddies really wanted Zayne jacking it in his office. And so did I. So I did it. Here's a masturbation fic of our favorite doctor.

Unedited Drabble

Pairings: Zayne x Reader Warnings : Masturbation, Public Office Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

He had thought he handled the situation well. Your appointment had been going well, for the most part. Other than a little playful banter, it had been professional. Just like every appointment with Dr. Zayne.

Then the end of the appointment had come, and you had gotten a bit more casual with the doctor. Placing a hand around his arm as you spoke with a smile on your face, asking him what time he got off today in case he wanted to get dinner after his shift. It was sweet, it was innocent.

So why had Zayne's head gone to the gutter the moment you laughed and told him you'd see him later.

You had left him alone in his office, alone to his thoughts, and not a single one could be considered even somewhat professional. Instead the only thing he could think about was how uncomfortably tight his pants were, and how hot his office suddenly had gotten.

Zayne had checked the time at his computer, looking it over and sighing in frustration. He had at least half an hour before he had to see his next patient. At least if he had work to do, he could distract himself easier. Instead he was at his office, alone, for half an hour.

Trying to do paperwork was basically a lost cause as he shifted in his chair and winced when he could still feel his erection. With a resigned huff, Zayne got up and locked the door to his office before going back to his chair. Behind his desk, even if someone had walked in, they wouldn't be able to see him.

He sometimes hated how complex his clothes were as he began working his belt off and unzipping his pants. He didn't bother fully taking anything off, instead grasping his hard cock and letting out a soft grunt in response.

He was already so damn worked up from you as he used some of the pre cum at the tip to help him glide along his length. His breathing was already a bit shallower as he worked his dick, thinking about all sort of scenarios.

What would you look like underneath his desk at this moment. He could perfectly envision you under the large desk, away from view. Your mouth teasing him through his clothes and you nuzzled up against his thighs, asking him what he wanted. His hands going through your hair as he guided you closer to his cock and your smaller hand going to unzip him and pull out his length.

Zayne squeezed his own cock as he imagined how your mouth would feel. You'd probably be leaving butterfly kisses along the length of it, kissing upwards to tease him until you took the head into your mouth. Zayne closed his eyes now, imagining all of this happening and covering his mouth with his free hand to help stifle the noises he was making.

The things he'd do to you…the things he'd let you do to him. Whatever you wanted he'd be accepting of it. On top, on bottom, switching it up, eating you out, letting you suck him off. If it meant he could be with you, he'd be willing to do it.

Another gasp left his mouth as he felt himself getting close, his pace picking up as he worked his cock. He just needed to cum, to get that release so he could focus on his job. He grunted again as he took in deep breaths.

Would you be willing to swallow it? Zayne had a fairly healthy diet if you didn't consider all the sweets. He'd be more willing to eat things that would make him taste better if it meant he could watch you. Have you sticking your tongue out, showing him his own cum painting your mouth, then swallowing his load.

That mental image was enough to throw him over the edge. He groaned as he felt the warm release coating his fist as he worked himself through it, no longer capable of hiding all of his noises. He was panting again, slumped in his chair as he looked over at the time. Only ten minutes had passed. He let out an almost pitiful huff as he sat back up, then heard his phone chime.

It was a message from you. A short one, giving him the location of the restaurant you wanted to try. He thought it over and blushed, realizing how hard his day was going to be when he thought about you.

[itneverendshere]

hi! For the bartender!Universe would u mind writing a pregnancy scare? It brings a lot of mixed emotions when they find out she wasn’t pregnant and it ends up a really deep talk about what they want with their future? Thank you so much 💕💕

i got a similiar ask at the exact same time so i decided to combine aspects of both!!! the other request: "this one’s a lil angsty. maybe you have a pregnancy scare and while rafes like super excited for the potential baby, you’re not, the stress of keeping rafe clean and not heading back to rehab lingers your mind".

hope you both enjoy!!!!❤️🫂🤭

 just want you in my life keep you warm at nights - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: pregnancy scare; insecurities

Rafe was sprawled out beside you, his arm draped lazily across your stomach as he scrolled through his phone. You could feel the pressure of his hand pressing gently on your skin, but your mind was a million miles away, your gaze stuck on the ceiling fan.

It felt like everything had been on autopilot for the past few days, your mind preoccupied with one thing—late. Not like a few days late.

More like over a week late.

It wasn’t the first time your period had been irregular, but you couldn’t help but spiral immediately. Rafe and you had been together for three and a half years, living together for a while now and he’d proposed last autumn. But this? This wasn’t part of the plan.

Not yet.

“Hey,” His voice snapped you back to the present, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, concern evident in his blue eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked, trying to force a smile. “Nothing... just thinking.”

He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you more closely. “Thinkin’ about what?”

You stomach dropped. You hadn’t told him yet. You weren’t sure if there was anything to tell because you hadn’t even taken the test. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. Saying it out loud would make it real. And that terrified you.

Rafe, on the other hand, would probably be thrilled. He’d always talked about kids like they were a given, like it was part of some unspoken future you were destined for. You wanted them too, but the truth? The truth was, the idea of being responsible for another human being when you were still trying to recover from Rafe's scare last year and keeping your shit together now that you’d gotten a promotion at the club—well, it felt like too much.

You couldn’t say that, though. Not to him. So you kept quiet. 

The next day, you stared at the small plastic stick in your hand, heart hammering in your chest as you waited for the result to appear. The bathroom was dead silent, save for the faint drip of the sink, but your mind was anything but quiet.

This one stupid piece of plastic was going to dictate the rest of your life. It could change everything in the blink of an eye. Three minutes. That’s how long it would take to find out if your entire world was about to be turned upside down.

You still hadn’t told Rafe. You didn’t even know how to. His mind was in a good place lately, and you weren’t about to ruin that. After everything we’d been through—the relapse, the rehab, the nights where you weren’t sure if he’d make it out—this was not something you were ready to throw on both of you.

You hadn’t even wrapped your head around it yet. Shit, you could barely breathe just thinking about the possibility. You glanced at your phone, biting your lip as the seconds ticked by.

Almost time. Your stomach twisted into endless knots. He was in the living room, blissfully unaware of the panic attack you were on the verge of having just a few feet away. You could hear him flipping through channels on the TV, probably looking for some show to watch. Part of you felt guilty for not telling him, but how were you supposed to tell him when you didn’t even know what you wanted?

The idea of being pregnant had scared you more than you expected.

Not because you hated kids or anything, you grew up rising Milo for fuck’s sake—it was just the timing. Or maybe it was more than that.

Your mom died shortly after you were born and your dad…well, a drunk piece of shit was hardly a good parental figure. You’d never let yourself think about it before, Rafe had told you how good you were with kids a million times over the years, but you didn’t know how you’d turn out with your own kids. You didn’t want to be anything like them, ever. 

Taking a deep breath, you finally glanced down at the test.

Negative.

Relief took over you so fast it made you feel lightheaded. You hadn’t realized just how much pressure you’d been carrying on your shoulders until it was gone in an instant. Thank God.

Your shoulders slumped as you exhaled, leaning against the sink for support. You felt like you finally could breathe again, like you could relax for the first time in what felt like weeks. There was no baby. No life-altering change. No new responsibility that you didn’t know how to handle.

You closed your eyes. This was good. This was the outcome you needed. No baby, no stress, just… back to normal.

But then, life had a twisted sense of humor and the door creaked open. “Hey, baby, you—”

Your eyes flew open, heart dropping in your chest as you quickly shoved the pregnancy test behind your back. Rafe stood in the doorway, looking at you with his signature confused look—one eyebrow cocked, lips slightly parted, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to.

You forced a smile, too wide and too fake, and took a step back, trying to act casual. “Oh, uh, hey! What’s up?” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you internally winced. Smooth.

He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

Shit.

You tried to laugh it off, shaking your head like it was no big deal. “Hiding? Me? I’m not hiding anything.”

His eyes moved to the hand behind your back. “Really? Because it sure looks like you are.”

You swallowed hard, your brain rushing to come up with some excuse, any excuse. 

But the longer you stood there, the more suspicious you looked. And Rafe was nothing if not persistent when he thought something was up. Before you could stop him, he pushed off the doorframe and closed the distance between you two, his hand reaching behind your back in one smooth motion. Your stomach dropped as he grabbed the test from your hand, pulling it out in front of both of us.

He stared at the pregnancy test in his hand, his eyes widening with realization as he slowly processed what he was seeing. What he was holding. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. He just stood there. 

“Y-You thought you were pregnant?”

The heat rose to your cheeks, and the anxiety that had been building in your stomach for days came back at full force. You were still reeling from the relief of the negative result, but now that relief was giving up space for guilt. You hadn’t meant for him to find out like this, or maybe not even at all. You didn’t want to drag him into the spiral you’d been caught in, not when things had been going so well lately.

“I... I wasn’t sure,” you stammered, looking down at the floor because it was easier than meeting his eyes. “I mean, I was late, and I just…I didn’t know.”

Rafe’s face softened, the confusion in his eyes giving way to concern as he took a step toward you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing again, this time for a different reason. The last thing you wanted to do was lie but telling him the truth felt impossible.

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, “I wasn’t even sure if I was, and I didn’t want to freak you out for no reason.”

Rafe’s hand was still holding the test, but now he was looking at you with that intensity he always had when he knew you were telling the entire truth. He wasn’t mad—he never got mad, not anymore—but you could tell he was hurt that you hadn’t let him in. You felt awful about it.

“I wouldn’t have freaked out,” he said gently, stepping even closer until he was right in front of you. “You know that, right? You don’t have to do this alone.”

That was the thing, though. Over the past year you’d spent so long worrying about him, making sure he was healthy, that the idea of burdening him again with your own fears had become...strange.

You didn’t want to be another weight on his shoulders.

“I know, I just…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t know how to feel about it. And I didn’t want you to—”

“To what?” he pressed softly, his voice so calm and reassuring that it made the stress loosen just a little.

You took a deep breath, “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, I guess. Or feel disappointed if it was negative.”

He set the test down on the counter beside him, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. “Baby, I wouldn’t be disappointed,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “If it had been positive, great. If it’s not, that’s fine too. We’ve got time. It’s not like we have to figure this out right now.”

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak. “You’re really not mad?”

Rafe shook his head, “I wish you would’ve told me what you were going through. I don’t want you to carry that by yourself.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. There was so much you wanted to say, so many fears you’d been holding onto—not just about the possibility of being pregnant, but about everything. About whether you were even ready for kids at all, about what kind of parent you’d be, about whether you could handle the responsibility when your past still haunted you in ways you hadn’t recovered from.

“It’s not just that,” you whispered, “I don’t know if I’m ready, Rafe. And it scares the shit out of me.”

He was silent for a moment, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, his expression was so gentle, so understanding, that it almost broke you.

“Hey,” he pulled you into his arms. “We don’t have to be ready right now. There’s no rush. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about it."

You buried your face in his chest, letting him heartbeat calm you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to relax.

“I-I know you want a baby. But—”

He sighed against your hair, lips brushing your temple, “What I want is for you to be happy. And if this doesn’t make you happy right now, I don’t mind waiting. We got forever, remember?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want kids—it was that right now, everything already felt like too much. Planning a wedding, keeping up with work, holding your relationship together after what you both had been through, it was all overwhelming. And then the idea of a baby on top of that? You’d grow crazy.

Rafe’s fingers brushed through your hair, and you just let yourself be in his comfort. But the guilt was still there, eating you whole from the inside. You should’ve told him from the start, not carried it all on your own like you always do.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered into his chest, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just didn’t know what to do. It’s been a lot lately.”

He kissed the top of your head, his hands gentle as they held you. “You don’t have to apologize, baby. You’re dealing with enough already.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I think I’m losing my mind.”

The wedding. God, the wedding. You hadn’t even let yourself fully acknowledge how much that had been stressing you out too. You’d dreamed about this day since you were a kid, but now, between caterers, guest lists, dress fittings, and everything else, it felt like a full-time job. And the worst part was, the more overwhelmed you got, the more guilty you felt for not being excited enough about it.

“I just want everything to be perfect,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I want it to be special, but it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like I’m supposed to care more about seating charts and floral arrangements than... than actually enjoying the fact that we’re getting married.”

 “Then let’s cut back. We don’t need some huge, over-the-top thing if it’s stressing you out. I just want to marry you, that’s all that matters to me.”

He always knew exactly how to calm you down, how to remind you what was important when everything else felt a little too crazy.

“But what about your family?” you asked, wiping at the corner of your eyes. “They’re expecting this big thing.”

He shrugged, “They’ll get over it. This is about us, not them. If you want something smaller, we can do that. Hell, we can get married in the backyard for all I care, as long as it’s what you want.”

The sincerity in his voice almost made you want to bawl your eyes out. You took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “I think I’d like that. Something smaller. More us.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he nodded. You let out a sigh of relief, the knot in your chest loosening more. Maybe this was what you needed—to let go of the pressure to have it all figured out. To accept that it was okay to not be ready for everything.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

“I love you too,” he replied, his forehead resting against yours. “But baby, you have to stop worrying so much about me. I’m okay. I’m doing good, and I’m not going back there. But you’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep putting me first and ignoring what you need.”

You blinked, your breath catching slightly. “I’m not ignoring what I need—”

“You are,” he cut in gently, but firmly. “You’ve been doing it for months now. Since the relapse, since rehab. You’ve been carrying all this, stressing about keeping everything together. And I love you for wanting to take care of me, but you can’t keep putting yourself second. It’s not fair to you.”

You wanted to argue, to say you were fine, that it was just what you had to do to keep everything from falling apart. But deep down, you knew he was right. You’d been holding on so tight, so terrified that if you let go, if you stopped worrying about him for even a second, you’d lose him again. 

“I’m just scared,” you whispered, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Rafe said softly, pulling you closer. “But if you keep this up, you’re gonna lose yourself.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your face into his chest as the tears you’d been holding back finally started to fall. Rafe held you tighter, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. He didn’t try to hush you or tell you to stop. He just let you cry, let you get it all out, like he knew you’d needed this release for a long time. You couldn’t stop. Everything you’d been bottling up for months was spilling out at once.

Rafe held you tighter, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. He didn’t try to hush you or tell you to stop. He just let you cry, let you get it all out, like he knew you’d needed this for a long time.

You pulled back slightly, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizing,” Rafe shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling what you’re feeling. But you’ve gotta start trusting that I’m okay."

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”

"You’re allowed to let me take care of you too, you know?”

You let out a small laugh, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “I’m not great at that.”

“Meh, you used to be a lot worse.”

“Yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, leaning into his familiar warmth.

“Oh yeah,” he smirked, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You used to keep everything so locked up, I’d have to pry things out of you.

His words made you chuckle, despite yourself. It was true. You had gotten better at letting him in—at least compared to before.

“You’ve always been so good at taking care of me,” you whispered, your hand tracing soft patterns across his chest. “But I guess sometimes I still forget that I don’t have to be strong all the time.”

 “You don’t. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve always got you.”

He meant it—every word. This was Rafe at his best, the man who had fought his way back from the darkness, who had become the partner you always knew he could be. The boy you fell in love with, the man you were going to marry and grow old with.

“I’m really trying,” you murmured, blinking back the last of your tears. “I don’t want to keep worrying about everything or trying to control what’s out of my hands. I just want us to be happy.”

“You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip before finally speaking up.

"Rafe?" you said softly, looking up at him. He hummed in response, his hand still tracing slow, comforting circles on your back.

"Are you… are you sure you're not sad about the, uh, not pregnant thing?" Your voice was quiet, unsure. You didn’t know why you felt the need to ask again. Even with all his reassurances, a part of you couldn’t ignore the worry that he might feel disappointed deep down.

He sighed gently, his lips quirking into a soft, understanding smile. "Baby, no," he said firmly, shaking his head as if to emphasize his point. "I promise you, I’m not sad. It doesn’t change anything between us. I told you before—we’ve got time. I’m happy with where we are right now. I don’t need a baby to make me feel complete. You already do that."

You couldn't help but ask again, just to be sure. "Really? You’re not disappointed?"

Rafe sighed softly, moving his hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he looked at you with those steady blue eyes. "Not disappointed. Not sad. I’m just glad you’re here. That’s all I care about. I’m fine with whatever the outcome is as long as I have you.”

"You’re really okay with this?" 

He frowned slightly, his hand coming up to gently tilt your chin so you were looking directly at him. "Listen to me. You could never disappoint me. Okay?"

You still had questions, still had insecurities about the future, but for the first time in days, you weren’t consumed by them and allowed yourself to believe that everything really was going to be good.

"Okay."

[flemingology]

Bundled up, Pout and all | Leah Williamson x Reader

In which: Leah complies to wear the silly hat she knew she was going to get stick for

Warnings: none, just fluffy :)

WC: 1K

A/N: based on this look. Too cute I couldn't resist to write a blurb :(

Divider: @cafekitsune

“Put this on, babe. I don’t want you to get cold. Please,” you tried once more, met by another eye roll and a pout from your girlfriend.

Arsenal played the second leg of their qualifying round against BK Häcken tonight. Leah was ruled out due to concussion protocol, but she was cleared by the medical team to go watch in the stands — so she was adamant.

You had to pass this time, though. As much as you wanted to join your girlfriend and sit in the stands with her, you had to finish up on some things for work. You’d promised her you would watch the stream on tv, making sure to cheer for the girls — just as she requested.

It was a rather chilly night, though. The rain had been coming down in buckets throughout most of the day and there was a really cold breeze swiping through the air, making it slightly uncomfortable to be outside.

You had already managed to get Leah to wear a pair of earplugs, shielding her from the probably loud Arsenal fans she will be surrounded by — she might’ve been cleared to go see the game, but there was no harm in being careful.

The challenge you were facing now, though, was slightly bigger. You wanted Leah to wear a hat, to protect her from the cold — because you knew how she would be if she got a cold now while she was already sidelined.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the sexiest piece of clothing either of you owned but it would keep her warm, it would do the job, and you and her both knew she would pull it off anyway. She could pull off right about anything, let alone a slightly silly-looking hat.

“Babe, this thing looks so silly,” she grumbled in response, throwing her head back. You stepped closer to her and took her face in your hands, rubbing her cheeks affectionately. “I know, Le. But it’s for your own good. I don’t want you to catch a cold, especially now that you’re already sidelined,” you leaned in close to her ear and whispered the next part in her ear, “you and I both know how insufferable you get when you’re sick.”

Leah huffs but reluctantly tugs the piece of clothing out of your hands and puts it on, which causes a proud smile to spread across your face. “You look adorable. Now go, don’t be late,” you pressed a sweet kiss against Leah’s lips, which you wanted nothing more than to linger, but you knew this game meant a lot to her. You pushed a strand of hair that had escaped back under the hat. “I won’t be late. I love you,” she accentuated with a last chaste kiss before she was out the door.

You settled down on the couch with your laptop, waiting for the game to start while you got to work on some deadlines.

Deep into the second half, the camera had found your girlfriend and a couple teammates in the stands. You hadn’t noticed at first but a double take later, your eyes were attentively watching the screen. Your heart warmed at the sight of her, bundled up in a warm Arsenal coat, chatting away to Victoria and Steph. Much to your delight, you saw that she was still wearing her hat. You chuckled slightly, admitting that it wasn’t a particularly flattering item to put on her head — but if anything, you knew she wouldn’t be cold right now.

Before you knew it the game ended, sending Arsenal through to the group stages of the Champions League after a convincing 4-0 win against their Swedish opponents. You were happy for them, happy for Leah — she was gutted when she found out she couldn’t play this game.

The camera had found your girlfriend a couple more times post-game, some teammates making fun of the hat that was proudly sitting on top of their head — you’d seen the memes online comparing her to Smurfette and in all honesty, you found it quite funny too.

Before long, the coverage ended and you resorted to some binge-watching of a new show you’d discovered. You had a chunk of time to kill before your girlfriend would be home, knowing she’d probably hang around a bit longer than she should.

2 hours later, you finally heard a set of keys jingling outside your front door — signalling your girlfriend was finally home. You got up from the couch and turned off the tv, assuming she would probably want to head to bed immediately. You walked over from the living room to the hallway in a few quick strides. A bright smile crept onto your face when you saw your girlfriend, cheeks and nose rosy from the cold evening breeze.

“Hi baby,” she mumbled against your skin when you pulled her in for a hug. “Congrats on the win, Le. I’m so happy for you all,” you felt her chuckle against you, not making any moves to leave the safety of your embrace yet. “I didn’t have a foot in any of that today, but thanks darling. It means a lot.”

She pulled away from your hug and looked at you, eyes slowly narrowing. “This, though,” she starts and points at the hat on her head, before taking it off. “Never again.”

You bit your lip to try and hide the smile that was inevitably going to form. "Don't laugh," Leah countered before you had a chance to even say anything. "You looked adorable, Le," you tried to quip back but she didn't want any of that. "I didn't! People were making fun of it too, it was horrible," you would've thought she was being serious and genuinely thought it was horrible if it wasn't for the way the corner of her lip tugged up into a slight smile.

"At least you weren't cold, hmm," you said in your defense before you pulled her back into you and pressed a firm kiss against her lips. Leah went to deepen it, slowly manoeuvring the both of you so your back was flush against the wall, her hands roaming across your front. But you had other ideas. You sneaked under the arm that she placed against the wall to trap you in and started making your way upstairs, causing her to almost bump her face into the wall.

"Oi, that's not fair!" "Catch me if you can, Smurfette!"

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Obsessed with your blog! Can you write a Jason Todd x reader where it’s reader’s birthday and Jason doesn’t know until someone calls her saying happy birthday

Late Birthday

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 0.7 K summary: Jason tries his best to be romantic warnings: fluff a/n: this is such a nice request but i couldn't really come up with anything bombastically nice😭😭 i hope this is still cute and nice and thank you for the request!!!!!!!

The day hadn‘t been too exciting or eventful, it was actually like every other day. Once Jason got home, he did his usual routine of slipping into comfortable clothes and join you in your warm bed. It had been as usual, being snuggled up on top of you, head resting on your chest while listening to your steady heartbeat.

He almost fell asleep on you before your phone suddenly buzzed alive, feeling the subtle movements of you reaching and answer the call. You put it on speaker without any other thoughts, getting spooked again as a loud voice chimes through.

»Good evening! It‘s one in the morning and your birthday, so I— «

You quickly put the call back on quiet, putting your phone against your ear as you listen to your best friend ramble off her birthday wishes to you. Jason only processes the words seconds later, lifting his head off your chest to watch you intently.

He doesn‘t take his eyes off of you, even after you hang up the call after saying some thanks to your best friend. You carefully put your phone back away, meeting his eyes again. Finally, he speaks up.

»It‘s your birthday?«

He sounds betrayed. Actually, even hurt at this point. It makes you feel guilty, rubbing his back lightly in attempt to keep him calm… or rather yourself.

You nod lightly in response, still afraid of his reaction. In all honesty, you even forgot it‘s your birthday in the first place and didn‘t plan on telling him either way. It didn‘t make sense to you, celebrating some day felt wasteful.

He sighs out softly and shifts off of you, pressing a small kiss against your forehead before getting off the bed completely.

»Wait, where are you going?«

You sit up, confused and getting a little nervous about his sudden action. Is he really this disappointed?

»Just remembered I have some business left to do. I‘ll be back in a sec.«

Jason answers back casually, flashing you a soft smile as he puts his jeans back on and leaves your room. You are left alone for now, laying back and decide to wait patiently and not worry about it.

As you‘re distracting yourself with your phone for a few minutes, you finally hear the keys jingle at the front door, slipping out of your bed to see Jason again. He appears inside, his back still to you while he takes his shoes off. Without wasting another second, he turns around and reveals the colourful boquet of flowers in his hand. A smaller plushie in his other hand, a charming grin written all over his face.

»Happy birthday.«

He huffs out with a small shrug, making you melt on spot. That sweet gesture is enough to make you fall for him even harder and make you overwhelmed with feelings. The next thing Jason sees is your flustered smile, then you rosy cheeks, and how you hug him tightly. He hugs you back as best as possible, hands still full with the boquet and plushie.

Of course, the flowers aren‘t world class or expensive, but flowers are still flowers. He probably sprinted to the closest gas station and searched for the sweetest thing he could think of, without being overbearing.

He didn‘t ask any questions on why you didn‘t tell him beforehand, considering he also has his reasons on keeping his birthday as secret as possible. The night ends up with you two drinking some wine together with a shitty movie on the TV, snuggled up under a blanket on the couch. The flowers rest in a vase on the coffee table, actually paying more attention to them than the movie.

It feels like the best birthday you‘ve ever had. Being together with Jason with some wine and cosy movie night is probably the best way to spend the night. The way his hand traces slow circles around your back, how soothing his breath feels against the top of your head. How domestic this feels like. Jason can‘t stop thinking about you during this moment. He isn‘t used to things feeling so domestic and loving, but he finds himself wishing this night won‘t end.

a/n: sorry for making this short, but i do have some things going on rn..... i'm starting to believe the fanfiction writers curse is real. hope you enjoyed it, the next few fics are going to be longer and more intersting! promise!!

←MASTERLIST

[brickmvster]

An Old Flame (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

Synopsis: After getting hammered at a club in attempts to repair a broken heart, in your drunken stupor, you call the one person you were trying to get over. He takes you back to his place, taking care of you, and it's then you realize that your feelings for him never quite dissipated.

Tags: breaking up and making up/exes to lovers, angst, fluff, a little bit of emotional hurt/comfort that goes both ways, reconciliation

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of alcohol consumption

Word Count: 6,309

Author's Note: I'm alive 😭 writer's block sucks, but I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things, I think. I hope you guys enjoy this!! Notes and reblogs are appreciated of course. This has been proofread, but if any mistakes still managed to slip by me, apologies in advance, they're all mine.

I imagined RE4R Leon while writing this but please feel free to imagine any version of him you'd like!

(Read on AO3)

Sobbing in a dirty bathroom stall was definitely not how you envisioned your Friday night going.

The fact that you were also considerably drunk and could feel the liquid sloshing around inside of your belly, threatening to come up your throat and all over the floor, certainly didn't make matters any better.

You had come to the club with a group of friends who were all far more enthusiastic than you to be there. You never considered yourself much of a party person; and if you were going to attend a party, it was always a small one with people that you knew or were at least acquaintances with. At a dingy nightclub, you were surrounded by hundreds of sweaty strangers, and the music was so loud that you were sure you were going to be temporarily deaf for a while. To make the long story short – you weren't looking forward to coming here, but you regrettably let your friends drag you out of the comfort of your home.

The stupid leather pants your friends insisted you wore were feeling too tight. The bathroom was so stuffy and unbearably hot. There were two individuals in the stall next to you engaging in… a certain activity that you really didn't want to be around to hear. And the awful, terrible smell of puke was probably one of the worst things you've ever smelled in your entire life. It was all too much, every single one of your five senses being mercilessly attacked.

You shouldn't have let yourself get wasted; you knew that, and you mentally cursed yourself for such reckless behavior. But the longer you sat at the bar, completely by yourself and with your friends nowhere in sight, it was like no one was there to stop you. You still missed him and you thought alcohol would be better at numbing the pain than a tub of ice cream. Both were terrible items for getting over a heartbreak because they both only made you want to vomit, which is something you always learned the hard way.

That's how you ended up in a stall, tears freely running down your cheeks in a drunken haze. Your friends were on your mind, but more than anything you just wanted to be carried out of here. You grabbed your phone out of your bag and opened up your contacts. But for some reason, instead of clicking on one of your friend's names, you kept scrolling further down, subconsciously searching for that specific name that you knew you should've just deleted a long time ago.

You clicked on the little phone icon, and listened attentively to the ringing on the other end. It rang and rang and rang, and it went on for so long that it almost snapped you out of the very stupid thing you were doing, but then–

"Hello?"

Leon actually answered. And even after all this time, his voice was still the most soothing sound in the world. You cleared your throat before attempting to put together a sentence in response.

"Hey… I'm… I'm, uh, in a gross bathroom at, um… fuck, what was the name of this place…" you trailed off, your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment. You rubbed your forehead, trying to think despite how hard it was to do.

Leon was silent for a bit on the other end before speaking up.

"___? Are you okay? It's… really late."

You chuckled, a burp coming out alongside the sound. "I know, right? What the fuck am I even doing here?"

"___, listen to me. Are you alright? Why did you call?" Leon asked. You could just faintly hear shuffling on the other end, and the unmistakable sound of keys jingling, as if he was already gathering his things before you even told him the location. Your heart fluttered at that and even more warmth was sent to your cheeks.

"No. No, I'm not alright. I feel really fucking sick right now and I don't know where my friends are and I fucking hate being here and-"

"Slow down, sweetheart," Leon said. If the alcohol didn't kill you, the pet name that Leon apparently still liked using for you would.

Leon fell quiet on the line, almost as if suddenly realizing the word that had slipped from his mouth.

"Sorry, I mean– look, tell me where you are. Do you want me to come and get you?"

There was a voice in your head screaming at you to just say no. Your friends were a text message away. If they saw the state you were in they'd take you home in a heartbeat. You knew the right thing to do was apologize to Leon, hang up, and get your ass out of the bathroom stall to find your group. But the alcohol was clouding your judgment, and the rational part of you simply didn't exist right now. Going back to Leon's apartment was like reopening a wound that had just healed. But you couldn't deny how much you needed him in this moment, no matter how pathetic it sounded. He had been on your mind the entire time you were at the club, and hell, even if you had been sober you probably would have ended up back at his place anyway. Because you simply didn't know how to stay away from things that you walked away from.

"Yes. Please come and get me." You replied softly, your words shaky with sorrow and guilt, your voice cracking.

"On my way. Stay put, okay?"

____

"___?"

Your eyes opened slowly. The side of your mouth felt wet with drool. Your brows furrowed as you took in your surroundings.

"___, are you in here?"

Your eyes widened a bit more upon registering whose voice was calling for you. You immediately sat up, trying to adjust your hair and straighten your shirt – before quickly giving up, because you knew no amount of adjusting would make you look like less of a hot mess.

"In here," you called out, not bothering to get up and open the door as your legs felt like they didn't work and any small movement would've caused you to expel your breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

You saw two feet stop right in front of the door. You recognized those boots anywhere. They were your favorite pair.

"Are you… decent? Can I open the door?" Leon asked. You nodded, before quickly realizing he can't hear the movement of your head.

"Yeah," you replied weakly. Leon did just that, opening the stall door slowly.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you up right then and there. You knew you looked terrible, disgusting even. Your ex, on the other hand, still looked as gorgeous as ever, with his dirty blonde hair slightly longer than the last time you saw it and prettily falling into his deep blue eyes. He was wearing a form fitting black shirt that left nothing to the imagination with a pair of blue jeans and his expensive brown coat.

You averted your gaze out of pure embarrassment. Leon had never seen you in this state and you wish he hadn't. You wished you could turn back time and call your friends instead of him.

Leon kneeled in front of you in the cramped space, gently lifting your chin and making you look him in the eyes. The action only made you feel smaller.

"Hey, let me see you," he started, his gaze softening as he observed you.

"What happened? Nobody-" his jaw clenched. "Nobody did anything to you, right?"

You shook your head. You didn't trust your voice enough to speak.

"Okay, good. You just drank too much?"

You nodded that time.

Leon seemed physically relieved, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he stood back up. He held out his hand.

"Can you stand?" He asked. You muttered out something that sounded like a "yes," taking his hand and slowly rising off the toilet seat. You almost toppled over, but Leon was there to steady you.

"Put your arm around my shoulder." He instructed, but he was already moving your arm for you. You gladly took ahold of his shoulder as his hand held your wrist; his other arm was wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly. The two of you walked out of the bathroom together, ignoring the stares from other club goers.

The both of you made outside, and the cool air was a pleasant sensation to your extremely warm body. Leon helped you into your car, handling you like you were made of glass, before getting into the driver's side himself. He buckled you up first, leaning over you to pull the strap across your chest. His breath was fanning across your face, and you felt your heart rate skyrocket. You gazed at him with tired eyes, and he returned the eye contact briefly, his eyes mostly unreadable, but definitely filled with concern no less.

Once he was buckled up himself, he took off, and you just closed your eyes, hoping and praying that the motion of the car wouldn't cause any sudden hurling.

The car ride was mostly silent; aside from the radio that Leon had turned up slightly, playing some rock song, you were far too exhausted to say anything. You didn't even know what to say, anyway, and it seemed like Leon didn't either.

Eventually, when he stopped at a light, he spoke for the first time in several long minutes. "Your friends – did they abandon you?"

You shook your head. "No… I was the one who split from them. Told them I wanted to be alone."

"But they didn't even check on you?"

You glanced at him and noticed his tense jaw had returned, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"They're all probably shit-faced, too." You replied dryly.

Leon sighed. "I… sure, I guess. Then that brings me to my next question… Why did you go over your limit? You could've put yourself in danger."

You shrugged, gazing out the window.

"I really don't know," you lied.

"God, ___, don't do something like this again. Please." Leon replied.

"I'm… sorry." You said. What you were apologizing for exactly, you weren't sure. For worrying him? For making him come all the way out here to save you like a damsel in distress? The more you thought about it, the more you leaned toward all of the above.

Leon seemed to relax again upon hearing your soft-spoken apology. "There's no need for that, I just…" a sigh. "You should rest. We're almost home."

Home.

You let your eyes slowly drift closed again. The last thing you saw was the sight of Leon driving with one hand, still wearing that unreadable expression.

____

Leon was quick to help you out the car after finding a parking spot. He guided you up the steps to the second floor of the complex, walking to his door. You leaned against him while he fiddled with his keys.

He eventually got the door open, helping you walk through the door. As he walked you through his living room to the bathroom, rather slowly as your feet were slightly dragging across the floor, you took in the familiar space around you. Leon's apartment was, of course, just how you remembered it. He had few decorations, most of them put up by you. His raggedy, but deceptively comfortable couch was somehow still standing strong. His place looked well lived-in; not terribly disorganized, just slightly cluttered. Given the nature of his career and how often he was away, he was never home long enough to let huge messes pile up anyway. You felt a smile tug at your lips as memories crawled back into your mind.

You remembered shopping with Leon for his decorations shortly after you moved in. He pretended to be indifferent, but you'll never forget the grin on his face as he helped you hang up some abstract paintings with poorly hidden amusement. That very couch was often where you spent your time resting your head on Leon's shoulders, or sometimes his head on your lap. The kitchen was where you and Leon made huge messes together, doing more kissing than cooking.

But your smile slightly faded as memories of the tail end of your relationship tainted your mind. Waiting alone for Leon to return home for a mission, worrying yourself sick. Sometimes Leon was distant, going from attentive and caring to cold and unresponsive in a heartbeat. You knew his trauma made it difficult for him to be fully present in the relationship – but sometimes you acted harshly anyway, both out of frustration and out of concern. His career was eating away at you, too.

The sound of running water pulled you out of your thoughts. You quickly registered that Leon had sat you down on his toilet. After wetting a washcloth, he leaned down in front of you again.

"I'm just gonna wipe your face, alright?" He said. You nodded, closing your eyes.

Leon wiped your face with the washcloth ever so gently, dabbing away dried drool and removing the light sweat that had formed across your forehead. He even went as far as to brush your teeth for you, thoroughly reaching every inch of your mouth to the best of his ability. Somehow, even during this, you found yourself dozing off a few times.

"You don't have to wash up now if you're too tired." Leon said once he had finished a portion of your nighttime routine for you. He stood in front of you while you were still seated, waiting for your next move.

You wanted nothing more than to wish the stink of the nightclub off your skin, but your eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

"Take me to bed, Leon." You muttered, wrapping your hands around his waist and leaning against his torso.

Leon found himself grinning at how much of a koala you became when sleepy and drunk. With one hand, he played with your hair for a bit as you continued holding him. You sighed contently as you felt yourself slip away in the sensation. Leon looked down at you, feeling something tug at his heart strings at how vulnerable you looked like this. The warmth from your arms around his waist brought Leon to a painful realization – that he missed your touch more than he thought.

Leon tried to store that thought away. You'd be gone by the morning, right? He couldn't allow himself to open up to you after all this time. You had made the choice to walk away and as far as he knew, you hadn't changed your mind.

He gently tapped your arms, causing you to stir a bit.

"If you want me to take you to bed, you have to get up first." He said teasingly. You groaned, but reluctantly did what he asked. Even while standing, your eyes were barely open.

"Do you wanna change?” He asked.

“Into what?” You said sleepily, words slurring together.

“I can give you one of my shirts and a pair of my pants. I don't mind.”

You just nodded, leaning into Leon's side, your head falling onto his shoulder.

Leon walked you to his bedroom, grabbing some clothes for you as you stood there patiently, your eyes half open. He gave you an old shirt of his and some gray sweatpants.

You began stepping out of your gross nightclub clothes right in front of Leon, who didn't seem to mind – he helped keep you from stumbling as you got dressed.

“This is so much better.” You said, feeling free and unconstrained now that you were out of those awful leather pants. Leon found himself holding back a grin at the way you were happily rubbing at the fabric of his shirt.

“Let's get you to bed.” He spoke.

He assisted you in getting cozy under the large comforter, even going as far as to tuck you in.

Leon's scent washed over you as you sunk into the softness of his mattress. You almost instantly succumbed to slumber, subconsciously burying your head into Leon's pillow.

For a long time, Leon just stared.

You were safe now, finally out of that awful nightclub and resting comfortably. He felt the tension leave his body, and he could finally go about his nightly routine at ease knowing you were taken care of.

Seeing you in his bed like this reminded him of the nights he came home late. Those nights, he'd crawl into bed next to you, holding you close as if you'd disappear into thin air. Strangely, despite the fact that he was looking directly at you, this was another moment where he felt like you'd cease to exist if he so much as looked away.

But he eventually forced himself to look away, sighing to himself as he went back to the bathroom to freshen up himself. He decided to sleep on the couch, falling asleep with you in his mind and still feeling the phantom touch of your arms around his waist.

____

Upon slowly opening your eyes, squinting slightly at the sunlight filtering through the room, it didn't take you long to notice the splitting headache that pulsated uncomfortably right behind your eyes. You also took note of the fact that you were clad in Leon's clothing.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, your face bunching up in pain at your awful hangover. You were mentally chastising yourself, as you knew that this terrible headache could've been easily avoided had you not gone past your limit the night before. It was at the moment, as you were lying on your back and staring at the familiar sight of Leon's apartment ceiling, that all of the memories from last night came rushing back to you.

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, feeling a sense of shame wash over you. You barely remember anything from last night, but you knew that when you were shit-faced you turned into a giant child, and you were already feeling apologetic for putting Leon through your drunken antics. You didn't even want to get out of bed and face the man.

So, you did just that; you lied there for a few extra minutes, absolutely dreading the moment when you would have to get up eventually. You sighed, rolling over on your side, facing the closed bedroom door. It was then that you noticed the tall glass of water and bottle of painkillers on the bedside table.

You sat up slowly, feeling your heart warm at Leon's thoughtfulness. You took one pill from the bottle, swallowing it down in one large gulp of water.

You also noticed your phone on the table. Curiously, you checked to see if your phone was even alive – which it was, much to your surprise, but the battery was low. You saw numerous text messages from your acquaintances last night. Some of them were just talking about how much fun they had and thanking you for coming out. Others seem concerned about where you had gone. You didn't feel like replying to any of them, so you promptly shut your phone off. You needed to save your battery, anyway, as you didn't have a charger. You left your phone in its place on the table.

You sat in Leon's bed for a little longer after that, sighing to yourself, before getting up to go find where he was.

You didn't have to look very far after opening the door; there Leon stood in the kitchen, occupied with making breakfast. It seemed like he didn't notice your presence at first, so you took that opportunity to gaze at him, grinning softly at the concentrated look on his face as he flipped over a pancake, his hair falling into his eyes. He looked cuter than ever, clad in his well-loved plaid pajama pants and a loose black shirt. It felt strange, seeing him like this again after so many months.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Leon suddenly spoke, still turned away from you. You were slightly startled, quickly averting your gaze.

“Morning,” you said softly. “Did you know I was standing here the whole time?”

“Of course I did,” Leon replied, finally turning to you with a pretty smile on his face, one that you couldn't help but immediately return. “Government training helped me with my awareness, y'know.”

You chuckled at that, making your way over to the dining table and taking a seat. Resting your chin in your hand, you watched Leon lovingly, a comfortable silence settling between you.

“Need a hand with anything?” you asked.

“Nah, it's alright. I'm almost done, anyway.” Leon replied. “By the way, how did you sleep?”

“Like a baby. I forgot how comfortable your bed was.” you said.

Leon grinned. “That's good. And your head?”

“It's feeling better. Thanks for the medicine, by the way.”

“Of course.” Leon replied.

Eventually, he carried to the table two plates of food, along with two tall glasses of orange juice. It was a simple breakfast, consisting of just pancakes, but it was totally fine by you. They looked fluffy and perfectly cooked and you didn't hesitate to dive in.

Leon just watched you eat in silence, a small grin on his face as he watched you do a little happy dance upon taking a bite. He wasn't really showing it, but he was very pleased with himself; not just because he made you a decent plate of pancakes but because you were here with him, out of that grimy nightclub, content and being taken care of. Leon felt a tug at his heartstrings as he realized just how much he missed taking care of you.

“Leon. Are you gonna eat?” you said with a chuckle, nearly done with your food. Leon seemed to snap out of whatever trance you had put him in, quickly glancing at his untouched plate of food.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He said in a slightly bashful way that made you swoon. He finally had begun eating, thoughtfully chewing, taking his time.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling completely satiated. For a while, the two of you just sat in comfortable silence. It dawned on you that eventually you'd have to leave, sadness beginning to wash over you like waves.

“What's the matter?” Leon suddenly spoke. “Be honest, were the pancakes actually terrible?” He said jokingly. That got you smiling again, and you let out a small, half-hearted laugh.

“Leon, they were fucking amazing,” you replied sincerely. You smiled then faltered a bit. “I just… I still feel bad.”

Leon, who was also sitting lax in his chair, had straightened up, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he gazed warmly at you.

“About?” He inquired.

You sighed, looking down at your lap. Suddenly eye contact was too much right now.

“For last night. I know I've already apologized but… seriously, I'm really sorry for making you drive all the way out there. And for worrying you.”

Leon shook his head, looking at you with an expression that could only be read as sympathetic.

“I've said it before and I'll say it again – you don't have to apologize, okay? If anything, I'm glad you called me. It meant that you trusted me to ensure your safety; and that made me feel good.”

You felt your heart warm at that. You continued to stare down at your lap, twiddling your thumbs, still hesitant to let him into your gaze.

“Can you look at me? Please?” Leon said ever so softly. The gentle, almost desperate tone of voice was enough to get you to finally raise your head and meet his eyes.

“There you are,” he said fondly. “I want you to know that you can always call me. For anything. And if you need me, I'll be there. We're not… together anymore but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna step out of your life, okay? I still care about you. Always will.”

You were effectively silenced, so deeply touched by Leon's words that you couldn't even produce any of your own. Suddenly your vision began to blur and your bottom lip was quivering.

Your friends – really, just your co-workers – who had practically forgotten about you at that club? They probably didn't care about you all like they claimed to. But if there was one person that would always stand up for you, help you, tend to your needs – it was Leon. It had always been him.

With a shaky voice, you responded, “Thank you, Leon. I… still care about you, too. So much. I totally owe you after last night.” you said with a playful smile, although you were honestly very serious.

“No, it's okay. You don't owe me anything. I was just doing what a good friend is supposed to do.”

Friend.

You brushed the word off, ignoring the pang of disappointment that hit you. You simply smiled at him.

Clearing your throat, you started another topic. “So, um… I guess since I'm here, we should catch up a bit. It's been so long since I've last spoken to you.”

Leon shrugged. “Honestly? I don't have much to catch you up on. I've just been doing what I always do, lounging around, working, occasionally going out with Claire and Chris. You know me, I'm a boring guy.”

“You are not at all boring, Kennedy,” you said teasingly.

“You know, it's okay to admit it.” He replied, and you could only shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself.

“You're literally a government agent. That's the opposite of boring.”

“Well, what a lot of people don't know is that being a government agent also comes with a shit-ton of paperwork.”

“I suppose,” you said with a completely playful roll of your eyes. “Anyway, Claire and her brother doing well?”

“They're doing great. They're always asking about you.”

You felt guilt begin to rear its ugly head at Leon's comment. “I haven't spoken to them in a while too… God, I'm terrible.” You said.

“Hey, don't make it a huge deal. They know how busy you are. They still care about you too. You could go a thousand years without speaking to them and they'd still be excited to hear from you.”

“That's nice to know.” You replied. You made it a mental note to get in contact with them soon.

The dining table fell quiet again. There was this undeniable tension in the air, one that the two of you couldn't shake. As much as you hated to admit it, you had missed sitting at Leon's dining table, sitting across from him specifically, sharing peaceful mornings together. You knew that eventually you'd have to leave; you'd part ways with Leon once more. You wish you could say that'd be easy to do.

Leon pulled you out of the recesses of your mind when he suddenly stood up, grabbing the two plates and cups. You silently watched as he went over to the sink, turning on the faucet.

Without even thinking, you stood up as well, joining him in the kitchen.

“Let me help you,” you said, not even giving him the choice.

Leon shook his head, like you knew he would. “It's alright, I got it. I know you've probably got things to do, so I understand if you need to go-”

“Things to do? Like what?” You interrupted with a playful grin. “I want to help, Leon, please.”

“It's only a few dishes.”

“I know– look, stop being so stubborn and let me help. Please.” You said, taking a plate out of his hand and grabbing a washcloth to help with drying. Leon just chuckled, having paused his washing for a bit to admire you.

“You haven't changed.” He spoke.

“What do you mean?” You asked as you put the plate back in its respective cabinet. You didn't even need to ask where it went – it was muscle memory for you.

“I mean… always wanting to help with stuff. It's what I've always liked about you.” Leon replied, handing you a newly washed cup. You took it, slowly, still processing his words. You felt a certain warmth throughout your body, trying to distract yourself from the feeling by rather furiously drying the glass.

“That's just how I am. Can't help it.” You replied shyly, your voice coming out small.

“I know. You should consider being an agent since you like helping so much.” Leon teased. You were putting the glass up when he had said that and weren't looking directly at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. It made you smile.

“Absolutely not.” You replied immediately, to which the both of you broke out into laughter, the sound filling the kitchen.

The two of you finished doing the dishes fairly quickly, falling into an easy rhythm. It all felt too familiar. The both of you fell into your usual banter so easily, and it was almost like you two hadn't just spent months apart.

You ended up helping Leon clean his entire kitchen after the dishes, chatting with him every second and moving around each other with the sort of ease you can only get when you've spent enough time in one place to memorize everything. You told Leon that you didn't mind helping him knock out a few chores, which was true; you knew how busy he was and how he was usually too tired to take care of things like this himself. But deep down, the true reason why you were still here was because you just didn't want to leave. But you kept that part buried within you. It was difficult coming to terms with what that meant and you didn't want to think about it.

“Does anything else need tidying?” You asked him once you finished wiping the kitchen counter. Leon looked around, seemingly thinking for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Nah, it's all good. But I appreciate it.”

Your grin faltered a bit. You knew you had to go. You had been here for hours now.

“Ah, okay,” you said, trying to hide the dejection in your voice. “Well, um… I guess I should get out of your hair then.”

Leon perked up at that. “You don't have to leave.” He said quickly. He then cleared his throat, looking away. “I mean, uh– if you don't want to, you can stay as long as you want.”

You wanted to more than anything else. But the right thing would be to leave, even though that went against your heart's desires. Who knows what you'd end up saying– or doing– if you stayed. Whatever it'd be, you'd probably regret it.

“I should really go.” You said quietly. Leon just silently nodded. His expression was unreadable yet again.

After making sure you had all your belongings, and unfortunately having to change back into your cursed club outfit for the time being, you now stood in front of the door. Leon had changed out of his pajamas too, looking as handsome as ever in a simple pair of jeans, a black shirt, and boots.

Since your friends had driven you to the club, and Leon drove you to his place, he'd have to drive you back. You were waiting for him after he had said he had to find his keys. You took one long, final glance around his house as you stood there with a heavy heart.

Quite a bit of time had passed, though, and you were about to call out to Leon, as you noticed he seemed to be taking longer than you expected. You figured he just needed help searching for his keys, so you jogged over to his bedroom, where you saw him enter.

When you walked in, he was kneeling in front of a cardboard box. His closet door was open, so you presumed that's where the box came from. Your brows pinched together in confusion.

“Leon? I can help with finding your keys-”

“Oh, I have my keys. I just, um… suddenly remembered something.” He said, a bit cryptically.

You were still visibly puzzled. “Remembered what?” you asked, walking a bit closer to see the contents of the box. And then you realized.

In the box was some jewelry of yours, one of your shirts, and a bottle of perfume that you had forgotten at his home ages ago.

Your heart warmed at the fact that Leon kept them safe and tucked away in his closet, almost as if he was waiting for the day to return them to you.

“I completely forgot about these,” he said, standing up to face you. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I've been meaning to give these back.”

You just smiled, feeling so incredibly touched and endeared.

“It's okay, Leon. I didn't even realize I was missing these items.” You said with a chuckle. You kneeled down yourself, sifting through the contents of the box and reminiscing. The perfume especially reminded you of so many date nights and all the times Leon told you how nice you smelled.

“You know, that reminds me,” You began, feeling the cotton of your old, worn t-shirt that lay perfectly folded in the box. “I think I still have one of your sweatshirts. The old RPD one.”

You knew you did. It was still in your closet, hidden away. Not forgotten, just out of sight.

“You can keep it.” Leon said. “You looked better in it anyway.”

You felt that familiar heat rush to your face again. Even after all this time, his words still affected you.

“Well, um… thanks.” You replied.

“It's nothing.”

You stood up, holding the box, and the two of you walked back to the door. Every step felt heavier than the last.

You watched as Leon was about to open the door for you. But in that moment, as he was about to turn the knob, something within you snapped.

“Wait.” You said.

Leon paused, turning to look at you. “Did– did you forget something?” He asked.

You shook your head. You slowly put the box down on the floor, gently kicking it aside.

“I don't wanna leave, Leon.”

Leon still seemed perplexed. “I told you, you can stay as long as you-”

“No, I mean… I'm not leaving… again.”

It didn't take long for the realization to hit Leon. He was silent for a bit, unsure of how to proceed, or what to say.

“I need you to be more clear.” He said simply.

You stepped closer to him. You nearly reached your hand out, wanting to gently stroke his hair like you always used to do, but you weren't sure if he was ready to jump back into physical affection like that. You restrained yourself.

“I want to try again, Leon. I'm so sorry for how I treated you. At the time, I didn't understand your trauma – I failed to accommodate you. When I left… I realized how shitty I had been. How much I had missed you. I dated other people and none of them gave me what you did. You were too good to me and I was too selfish. I'm sorry, and I want you to know that I've grown. I will try my best to meet you where you are from now on if you just let me back in.”

You said all of this while staring directly into Leon's captivating eyes, sincerity in your tone and in the way you gazed at him. You hoped Leon could feel your guilt. Your remorse.

Leon just stared back, stunned into silence. You could tell his mind was racing, searching for what to say, processing everything you had told him. You were prepared for him to say no. You were bracing for the heartbreak. You wouldn't be upset, no. You'd be understanding. You were ready to leave for good if that's what he wanted.

But heartbreak isn't what you got.

“Thank you. For apologizing.” Leon said. “I should, too. I wasn't being totally honest about my line of work. And dating a government agent isn't necessarily an easy thing to handle. It was probably traumatic for you, too, seeing me come home so damaged, physically and mentally.

“And for the record, I don't think you were being selfish. You wanted to help, I know you did, you just didn't know how and it was frustrating.”

You felt a stinging sensation in your eyes, your emotions nearly meeting their boiling point, tears threatening to spill. Deep down, you didn't think Leon had anything to apologize for, considering everything he's been through and seen, but you were appreciative of his apology nonetheless. It warmed your heart to know that he never resented you when you were together, like you always thought he did.

“So… should we try this again?” you said, a playful glint in your watery eyes.

Leon grinned. “We should.”

At that, you couldn't hold back any longer. You went in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck snugly. He wasted no time in wrapping his around your waist. Being back in his arms again felt like a dream.

You brought a hand up to his hair, running your fingers through it. You felt Leon relax even more at the soft touch.

With your lips close to his ear, you whispered:

“I never stopped loving you.”

Leon pulled away a bit, his hands just lightly resting on your waist.

“Neither did I.”

A pause. You felt his breath fan across your face.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, already grinning like a lovesick teenager.

“Please.” Was all Leon said before you leaned in, your lips finding purchase on top of his, bodies pressed close together.

You had a hunch that making yourself at home again wouldn't be difficult at all.

[stxrvel]

remorse (5)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader... or not? content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, flashback, a lot of remorse, fights, stubborn people, lack of communication, angst. a/n. its finally here. i haven't re read this chapter bc im almost falling asleep and i have to work tomorrow, but i'll give this one another look in the weekend. a friend of mine helped me with the traduction bc i'm really really burnt out rn. also, chapters names changed!! i hope you guys like this one! see you on the next one🫶🏻

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“Oppa…”

Yoongi raised his head, his body leaning toward the piano acknowledging your presence in the room, and you could tell how he was physically struggling to move away from the instrument. Under his watchful gaze, you walked in his direction shuffling your feet, with a pitiful expression and every intention of openly complaining to one of the elders in your group of friends. But you relaxed your expression when you were a few steps away, recognizing his notebook on the piano lid and the trail of ink between his fingers at a safe distance from the keys.

His laughter confused you, and when you looked up, his lips were curved into a pretty smile. It was annoying. He was only two years older than you.

“What happened now?”

You remembered that you had come with a purpose, but your mind, as evasive and suggestible as ever, found more interest in what your eyes had caught.

“The usual,” you barely commented, moving to sit on your legs in front of Yoongi. “Were you writing?”

Yoongi glanced over to find his notebook, his shoulders shaking in a sigh because he knew he wouldn't be able to escape this conversation now that you had discovered him.

“Something like that…”

“Can I see it?”

“It's nothing decent. I don't think it's prudent.”

You pressed your lips together at his response, letting your shoulders droop, disappointed. But it was what you had expected; after all, Yoongi was quite secretive about his notebook, and it was rare for him to let you get this close and know so much about him. Even though you had probably known each other since you learned to swim and multiply, and surely knew more skeletons in his closet than he would like to admit, Yoongi still had a reluctance to show you or anyonw his writings. You had to catch him at a very relaxed moment.

So you set aside your emotions, not allowing Yoongi to respond as you pouted, and crossed your arms while turning your head away.

“Taehyung and Jungkook got so competitive on the court that they kicked us all out,” you frowned, remembering how the two had rushed past you and stolen the ball in the blink of an eye, moving so quickly and with cheeky laughter that you barely understood what was happening until you saw them tussling with the ball in front of the scoring area.

They were already in extracurricular hours, and although everyone had subjects to study and delve into, they decided to take a moment to take advantage of the fact that the school court would be empty and play for a while. Jin and Namjoon had left the game after two quarters because they simply couldn't keep up, and since one was in your group with Jimin and the other with the two kings of competition that day, they decided to kick them out and leave them as referees along with Hobi, who was the initial one.

Surprisingly, Yoongi also didn’t attend the game or his extracurricular class, choosing to get lost in the music room, taking advantage of the fact that it was empty that day because classes ended early.

“I don’t understand why they have to ruin everyone’s fun.”

Your little thirteen-year-old self, ignorant of many aspects of life, could only cross her arms and complain. Yoongi smiled, his two extra years of age giving him an understanding that perhaps you didn’t have access to, because it was inconceivable to you that such a sacrilege could be considered funny. Basketball hours were sacred!

“They're just messing around.”

“Oppa, you should've seen how they were pushing each other,” you shook your head, refusing to believe that Yoongi really wanted to defend them. “If you had been there, you could've stopped them.”

“And Jin?”

“He was laughing with them.”

“Ah,” Yoongi turned his head. “So the second best option was me?”

You shrugged. “Well, I thought I could convince you to go to the court, but…”

“But…?” Yoongi rested a hand on the bench, leaning in to see you on the floor.

“Maybe it’s more fun to listen to you play the piano.”

You smiled brightly, intertwining your fingers while Yoongi wore a half-smile. Without responding, he straightened up again, adopting the posture he had when you saw him through the glass of the door, before you interrupted his concentration. His fingers danced in the air for a few seconds, touching the notes in his head, recalling sound after sound, until the pressure on them gave way to a melody unknown to you.

It had to be a new piece, a new composition in his notebook. Yoongi played, calm and serene, focused and absorbed, letting the sound flow as if it came directly from nature.

Seeing Yoongi like this was… a strange event. Later, as time passed, you would think it was unbearable to have to see him everywhere, to hear his name around every corner, but at that moment you were lost in him, absorbing the sounds of his mind that his fingers materialized on the piano, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tide of his emotions, the way he conveyed so many words with his touches. The fast and slow notes, the change of tempo, all so meticulously created and organized to send a message, to describe an emotion, to paint a scene.

Yoongi was scared. Perhaps nervous, even. When he finished his piece, you could only look at him in awe, his shoulders moving a little faster due to the intensity with which he finished, keeping his head down, as if processing what he had just done. His fear was palpable, his hopelessness and unease.

“Oppa?”

“I don’t know…” he paused, dropping the lid over the keys and taking a calmer posture. “I don’t know if I’ll do the right thing when I graduate.”

“Why?” your brow furrowed, and you leaned forward in concern. “You’ve always talked about it. And you have a lot of talent, oppa, I know you’ll make it.”

Yoongi gave a nearly pained smile, as if he understood something you had no idea about.

“Jin is going to medical school.”

“I know. But it’s what he’s passionate about,” you moved closer to your friend, trying to give him some of the support he always gave you. “Isn’t music what you’re passionate about?”

The black-haired boy frowned. The answer was clear in his eyes, in the way he played the piano until he was breathless, but the gestures of his doubts were there too: when his fingers trembled with anxiety, his eyes gaining more shine as the seconds passed.

“Oppa,” you called, trying to break the silence, trying to prevent his thoughts from eating him alive. “If it’s what you love, you’ll succeed. I’m sure of that.”

You saw how the haze in his eyes disappeared, his features relaxing at least a little.

“I probably only have your support. I’ll have to rely on that.”

His small smile constricted your heart. In that moment, you didn’t know what you could do to show him that it was enough, but you were also unaware of the reality that his words held. It was probably due to your age, the age difference with Yoongi, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he would never be completely satisfied with that. You wondered if it was about you, just for a second, recalling the way he smiled when some of the other boys gave him words of encouragement.

Maybe he was just more vulnerable with you than with the others, but a thirteen-year-old's reasoning didn't go that far.

With your foolish conclusion, you came home that day with a heavy heart.

-

Speaking of loose ends and unresolved issues, there were some specific people who deserved to take home the award and the crown for the most intrigue of the century. Because when you entered Choi Dohyun's office, with Seojun and Yuna on either side, even knowing that there were things still pending answers and others you could barely understand, the last thing you expected was for those you weren’t even aware of to suddenly materialize, like a kick to the stomach.

But keeping your head high and your composure was something you had lacked the last time, and thus, against all odds, your face showed no emotion when you caught a glimpse of Min Yoongi storming out of the office looking angry, not even when his eyes moved towards your figure and his wires crossed for a millisecond, betraying his movements. The sound of his shoes against the floor didn’t even distract you, keeping your gaze fixed on the man who appeared behind the door, with a huge smile on his face and eyes that screamed that signing this contract might take more from you than it would give.

Min Yoongi flanked you, a nearly imperceptible gasp of surprise escaping him as you passed by his side, not even giving him a glance of acknowledgment over your shoulder, as if he were less than a mere insignificant dust particle, and he collected himself as best he could to keep walking, ignoring the astonished looks your companions shot him.

You flashed the biggest smile, a feeling of anger settling deep in your stomach, and you shook hands with Choi Dohyun, who was cheerfully introducing himself with a voice an octave higher than usual.

You didn’t miss the way he shot a glance down the hallway, where Min Yoongi should have been disappearing, and the bitter sensation in your throat intensified.

“Well, don’t take it the wrong way, I’m very happy because we finally have this,” Yuna beamed, raising the envelope with the contract as if it were her most cherished possession, just as they exited the large publishing house and the cool afternoon air greeted them, “but did we just see the damn Min Yoongi leave that office?”

You simply sighed, feeling the tension radiate from your brother’s body, who hadn’t separated from you since the moment you were ushered away by Choi Dohyun's secretary.

“That was… wow. I don’t even have words.”

Seojun rolled his eyes, and you had to suppress the urge to pinch his side when Yuna turned to look at you with the envelope in her hands while you all waited to see your father’s blue car navigate the avenue.

“Do you think… this means we’ll have more opportunities to meet the seven gods of Olympus than most people?”

Her smile made you feel nauseous, but out of her ignorance, you could do nothing but try to mimic it. Seojun, on the other hand, was making nothing but irritated faces.

“Maybe, if you work harder.”

Yuna let out another squeal of excitement, and you took a deep breath when she turned around to look at the cars again. Seojun wrapped his arm around yours, glaring at anyone who came too close, even by accident.

Your friend kept murmuring in disbelief, and all you could think was that she was probably holding in her hands the worst decision you had ever made.

-

Whatever the reason for your encounter with Min Yoongi, you had deduced that your bad luck came down to being out of the house. Putting a foot outside the holy altar of your home was proving lethal for your emotional stability, so you spent the rest of the day locked up, managing your social media and overseeing deliveries.

Dohyun had agreed that the publishing house would handle the entire printing, packaging, and shipping process of the books, as purchases were only growing with each passing day. His real offer was to leave you with nothing to do but continue planning your stories, because at that moment, you were a goldmine for him.

“Unbelievable! Jung Hoseok revealed the truth behind the distancing of the Korean entertainment dynasty.”

The voice coming from Yuna’s phone caught your attention. You lifted your head from the blank document on your computer screen, glancing sideways at your friend, who was comfortably sprawled on your bed with a furrowed brow and a conflicted expression, as intrigued as she was worried about what she had just heard.

“These past few days have been tough for the kings of entertainment, as the last public sighting of them was over a week ago when Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jeon Jungkook left the businessman’s building and enthusiastically greeted all their fans. As good followers, we know it’s too strange not to see them often, and the last time this happened was when Jung Hoseok had the accident that prevented him from continuing to play professional tennis.”

Yuna looked intensely focused, biting her nail and awaiting the climax of the video. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but you couldn’t deny you were a bit curious about what news they would share, knowing that the boys weren’t ones to openly discuss their private matters.

“With their reputations at stake and rumors flying back and forth [how exaggerated], Jung Hoseok had to come out to clarify the situation. His official statement, which was informally published on the famous app Whotalks, said: ‘We’re all fine. Please be patient with us.’ Whether his statement implies misunderstandings among friends that are in the process of being resolved or if we should wait for an official statement from their leader, we’re not sure. But it’s concerning the—”

“Why would they make such a big deal about this if they aren’t even sure what that post implies?”

Yuna paused the video, giving you a confused look, surely thinking you were immersed in whatever you were doing on the computer (nothing), too busy to pay attention to these “insignificances,” as you used to say.

“Y/N, you really have no idea of the magnitude of power these men hold over the entertainment industry. With a snap of their fingers, they could shake everything.”

“And why did they get so much power?”

“They earned it. Through their hard work.”

You couldn’t help the huff that escaped you. You didn’t find what Yuna had said funny because it was true; they had worked incredibly hard to achieve what they had at that moment. At least you knew that their beginnings had been humble. But it annoyed you, inevitably, because you couldn’t control the resentment shaking in your chest. Healing my ass, you hadn’t forgotten anything from the last few years, no matter how much you wanted to convince yourself otherwise. So much effort to force them out of your life, only for them to find a way to disrupt it again in a week as if they had some right.

What a bunch of audacious—

“Oh. A message came in.”

Your friend sat up on the bed, and you sent her a confused look.

“Messages come in every second, Yuna.”

“It’s from a verified account.”

Without lifting her gaze in your direction, you froze in your chair.

“Oh—”

Oh no.

“No fucking way—” Yuna stood up in the bed, exclaiming loudly: “Kim Taehyung is in your DM's!”

“Tell him to go to hell.”

“¿¿Huh??”

The words slipped out before you could think twice. From the tense way the words left your mouth, you could tell Yuna was torn between asking more or simply contradicting you. Her eyes moved from the screen to your face, her fingers moving almost imperceptibly over the device.

“You know, every time you make it harder to understand what’s going on with these people.”

Finally, she locked her phone and dropped it on one of your pillows. You had never been a fan; your friend understood that. She had never questioned you about it… except for that random afternoon in this same room when she asked too many questions, but after the encounter with Yoongi that afternoon, you wondered what moment or what would need to happen for her to stop believing that it was just a matter of taste differences and for you to have to tell her the truth.

Before everything that happened a week ago, you had never considered it necessary to talk about it because so much time had passed, and you believed you were at a point where things related to them really didn’t affect you anymore, nor would you ever have to interact with them again to warrant giving your friend a statement. But of course, things were different now, and emotions would continue to clash with one another, and you hated to think that their attitudes meant they were trying to return to your life, or at least get involved to some extent, which would imply, strongly, that you would have to tell Yuna what had happened.

“Have you ever thought that you might have run into him if you had gone to the convention?”

“Yeah...” you sighed in defeat. It was impossible not to consider that alternative, how things might have turned out. If you would still have this overwhelming resentment in your chest or if they would have carved their way back into your heart once more.

The foolish you at eighteen would be thrilled right now.

“And even with that doubt... don’t you have even a little curiosity about what he says?”

You preferred not to, to be honest. You would rather just rip out every memory from your head with tweezers to be able to return to a semi-normal life, where your biggest worry should be saving enough for a trip and not when those damn lunatics were going to leave you alone.

But you found yourself stretching out your arm to take the phone when Yuna handed it to you, a grimace of insecurity settling on your face.

“I’m not going to ask,” Yuna spoke, and you sent her a glance just as she turned on the bed and took her own phone to continue watching her celebrity gossip. “I’m not going to pressure you.”

You didn’t respond. You lowered your gaze to the device in your hands, feeling a mix of relief and bitterness. Well, at least she had given you the opportunity to worry about that later.

The screen lit up, and there it was. A new message from Kim Taehyung.

thv Hi. It’s Jimin.

Huh?

You ?

The read notification arrived almost instantly after you replied. With your brow furrowed, you watched the bubble appear from his side of the chat.

thv I’m sorry for writing from Tae’s account, but you blocked me

Ah. Ah. Right.

After receiving the notification that Jungkook had followed you a few days ago, and especially because he had shown up at your work out of nowhere short after that, you had blocked everyone else with an Instagram account, just to be safe.

A small detail.

You Oh, yeah

That Jimin was trying to contact you, considering the context of the whole situation, wasn’t too outrageous. When you studied together, apart from being the first to start teasing others and fostering friendly banter, he was also the first to try to fix things because he couldn’t stand hostile and tense environments. It’s not that you thought he had a chance to fix anything now, but maybe you were a little interested in what he had to say. After several days, it was inevitable not to feel curious, right?

After the bubble appeared and disappeared several times, the message finally arrived.

thv Do you think we could talk in person?

You No.

thv I promise it'll just be me

You No.

thv It can be anywhere you choose

You I said no If you have something to say, write it If you don’t have anything interesting to say, then I’m going to block this account too

thv No Wait Okay.

The sound of Yuna’s phone had faded into the background of your mind. You kept your eyes on the typing bubble, fearing that maybe Jimin would change his mind and decide not to respond to the questions swirling in your head. Now that he was being so persistent, you were more eager to know. I mean, it was the least you deserved, right? Some kind of answer, some kind of reason, a why. Something to explain everything, because the root of that growing resentment in your chest was due to their lack of communication, to their ease in discarding you like a worthless piece of paper, not even caring if the air swept you away or the rain destroyed you.

They owed you something, and you had the right to an answer. You could have moved on, yes; you thought you had, yes; living with resentment in your heart affected a person’s life, yes... but God would be the only living being on earth and in the universe who wouldn’t feel even a pinch of pain for everything that had happened. For the inexplicable disappearance, for the disconnection, for the destruction of an incredible blind trust that was woven with that friendship you believed to be unconditional but ended up being one-sided. Who could really blame you for being cautious of them?

If when you cultivated that friendship, that friendly love, the fruits they returned to you were rotten, how could you simply trust? Who could?

thv I’m sorry for what happened. I know this was very abrupt, and it must have been strange for you

Strange, for lack of a better word. Strange was a euphemism.

thv I apologize on behalf of everyone.

You I’m not interested

thv If we could meet in person, I could explain better

You I’m not interested. That wouldn’t change anything.

thv I know this goes beyond what happened this week, but I don’t want you to have a bad impression

You You’re a damn audacious one, Jimin Do you think it’s only the latest thing that would make me see you all negatively? Is that the only thing you’ve done? Or well, what you haven’t done either

thv Okay, I expressed myself very poorly I know we were already on bad terms before; I meant that I didn’t want it to get worse

You Well, honestly, I didn’t think it could get worse until now.

thv I’m making it worse

You Wow, apparently you do have awareness and common sense For many years, I thought you lacked that

You blocked the phone, letting it drop onto the table, your heart racing because of the audacity that man had to refer to what had happened as if it were just a silly childhood memory, as if it had simply been a stupid basketball game where you weren’t allowed to play. That only reinforced your thinking, the only plausible reason you had given life to over the past few years, the only explanation you had for their disappearance: that they never cared about you as much as you did about them; that you were never truly fundamental in their lives. Because, come on, they had built a friendship and shared memories before you appeared on the scene; they knew each other beforehand with a depth you could never reach, long before your name reached their ears. They had a connection; you were never ignorant of that; there was something in them that kept them united, something that made them understand each other almost on a spiritual level, and naively, you believed they had made you a part of it; that you had managed to be part of that connection.

But no, it was never like that. It was always one-sided. Whether you were a game, a case of charity, or someone they simply couldn’t say no to, you had no idea, but none of those options felt too foreign to reality. Especially considering the way Jimin referred to the past as if it had been a child's game and nothing more. There was never more for them. You should've known that.

thv I’m really sorry, y/n I truly wish I could talk to you in person I promise I can explain many things

His messages shone on the lock screen, and more than feeling curious again, you felt rage. So now they could talk. Now they could fucking communicate. Where was that willingness ten years ago? Five years ago, even? You never thought you would see any of them so willing to offer you what you had longed for, maybe at least to finally bring closure to the whole situation.

But you didn’t want to give them the right to become the victims in this situation. They had time to do something, yes, now you knew, and they simply chose not to; it was high time you really let it go. Let them go. What would an explanation fix now? When, if there was still something of the friendship you built, it should've crumbled to dust. Their willingness now meant nothing. If you ever saw any of them again, you would rather rip their hair out in a fit of rage.

You Fuck you Fuck all of you

And you blocked Taehyung’s account.

Anticipating any possibility, you also blocked Jungkook and hoped that would be the end of it.

Finally, you would try to seek true healing, because it was about damn time.

-

You y/n, I'm so sorry y/n? y/n????????????????

Oh no. Taehyung's going to kill me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Speaking of the king of Rome.

Park Jimin flinched, tightening his fingers around the phone he was holding, which clearly wasn’t his, literally caught red-handed. He swallowed hard when his friend’s footsteps drew closer, circling around to face what he feared most.

“Jimin...” Taehyung began, his confused expression turning into caution, quickly shifting his gaze between the phone and the wide-eyed blonde. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Jimin shrank even more, pursing his lips, realizing there was no escape. In his defense, he had fervently believed for a moment that he would succeed. Taehyung hadn’t agreed from the start, especially given how angry Yoongi had been that afternoon when he arrived at the penthouse and how he had locked himself in Namjoon’s office, and the tone of their voices hadn’t diminished for even a second, especially not when Jin arrived an hour later.

Taehyung and Jimin weren’t sure what had happened, but considering the recent events, they could make an educated guess.

It all led back to you.

They were surely paying for what they did.

“I told you it was a terrible idea!” Taehyung strode closer and snatched the phone from Jimin’s tightly clenched hands. Jimin let out a defeated sigh, sinking back against the couch as Taehyung began to scroll through the messages, growls escaping his throat.

“I didn’t think she’d be so...”

Jimin hesitated, and when he turned to look at his friend, his furrowed brow silently asked, “are you serious?”

Another defeated sigh escaped him.

“You’re not fixing anything. If Namjoon finds out about this...”

Taehyung didn’t finish his sentence, but Jimin understood. But could any of them really blame him? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone! No one was a saint in that place when it came to you. At least he had the decency to try to explain things when the others just charged in as if nothing had ever happened (for now, Taehyung and Jungkook, simply because he still had no idea what had happened with Yoongi).

The problem, of course, was that Jimin was better at comforting someone in person than through messages.

“There's no going back from this.” Taehyung murmured, still focused on the screen. The shine in his eyes gave Jimin an idea of what was going through his mind, and he remained silent until Taehyung looked up. “We really messed up.”

“Did you need this reality check?”

“Did you?” Taehyung frowned. “I don’t know why you expected a different response.”

“Well, what did you expect to happen doing what you did?”

Jimin watched his friend click his tongue.

“What did you expect me to do? I didn’t think it would snowball like this.” Taehyung shook his head, and Jimin barely recalled with a shudder how the atmosphere had felt in the penthouse after Tae had posted that story about your books on his Instagram. “I just wanted...”

Once again, Taehyung chose to remain silent, but in his absence of words, Jimin understood.

To make up for it.

“Obviously, I’m not going to say anything,” Taehyung added, shooting a sideways glance at his blonde friend. “After whatever happened with Yoongi, I don’t even want to imagine how Namjoon would react if he finds out about this.”

“If he finds out what?”

Jimin and Taehyung froze on the couch, watching through the reflection of the TV as the person appeared behind them before they could recognize the friendly yet concerned tone.

Jung Hoseok circled the couch, clearly troubled by what he had just heard. It was evident he had just returned from practice because his hair was wet and he looked somewhat flustered, his cheeks flushed despite the chilly weather that night. He dropped his training bag on one of the armchairs, and Jimin averted his gaze when he caught his friend's eyes. It wasn't that they usually kept secrets and tiptoed around the others, but ever since Jungkook had pulled that stunt of searching for you at work when Namjoon had expressly forbidden it, the waters between them had been a bit tense, and any topic involving you could explode any healthy and cooperative conversation in seconds.

Hoseok crossed his arms, allowing his cheerful expression at finally arriving at the penthouse to fade completely, hardening his features as he shot a stern look at the two young men.

Taehyung also averted his gaze. The moment he heard Hoseok's voice, he tucked the phone between his legs and probably looked tenser than he should have. He, just like Jimin, didn’t dare meet Hoseok’s eyes at that moment. Because Hobi had stopped at the door, and with whom they had in front of them, they couldn't hesitate. They both knew it, they both understood.

And Hoseok knew very well. He was aware of all the tricks the two shared and could sense from their silence that they were up to something. Besides, of course, their conversation had been overly revealing. They had to be thankful it was him who arrived in the midst of their confessions, and of course, he would demand to have a conversation of such gravity with such freedom.

But no, in that house, secrets were not kept.

“If he finds out what?” Hoseok emphasized the words, urging the stubborn young men to keep their mouths shut.

Hoseok then exhaled through his nose in a sigh.

“Is it about y/n?”

Jimin and Taehyung lifted their gazes, a bit tempted but diverting their eyes as if pretending to be uninterested. While the atmosphere had been very tense lately, Hoseok and Jin had kept themselves somewhat distanced from all that unease, mainly because their demanding jobs kept them away from the penthouse most of the time. Namjoon, for his part, couldn’t escape the topic as easily since he had an office at home, initially to monitor them in a healthy way, and now because he felt the need to keep an eye on each of them to prevent them from doing something stupid.

Yoongi... well, maybe he had tried to stay on the sidelines, but he had clearly failed miserably if he had ended up arguing with Namjoon and Jin.

“What did you guys do now?”

Hoseok's severe tone was chilling. Jimin remembered the times he had decided to participate in his dance classes, the few that he taught personally each month, and how he had felt Hoseok’s sharp gaze and his blunt comments about his steps in front of all the students. It was as if he became another person. Although it was terrifying, the two young men admitted it was refreshing to see him like that in the academy, because he had lost a bit of his spark since his accident. Before, he only looked that serene and committed when he was at his tennis practice.

At that moment, however, Jimin and Taehyung appeared more reluctant despite his severe attitude, because they didn’t know if he would spill the beans to Namjoon afterward.

“And what happened with Yoongi?”

The slight softness in his tone made Jimin lift his head. Still with his arms crossed over his chest, Hoseok sat across from them at the table in the center of the room.

Jimin sighed, and Taehyung shot him an alarmed look. Are we really going to give in this quickly?!

“We don’t know what happened with Yoongi. He just arrived in the afternoon, locked himself in the office with Namjoon, and they wouldn’t stop arguing. Then Jin came in, but that didn’t make them stop.”

Hoseok looked up, scanning the hallway. Now the house was silent, perhaps more grave and tense than usual. Hoseok didn’t know how it had come to this and hadn’t sensed that atmosphere immediately.

“Is Jin here?”

“I think he’s in his room,” Taehyung replied, shifting on the couch. “He stormed out of the office a while ago.”

Hoseok grimaced at the mere thought, causing a shiver.

“Then it is about y/n.”

Jimin and Taehyung once again averted their gazes.

“Oh, come on.” Hoseok uncrossed his arms, more frustrated than angry at that moment for not being able to fully understand what was causing so many arguments among his friends. “I’m not going to go talk to Namjoon later, regardless of what you tell me. I just want to understand.”

The two young men exchanged a glance, Hoseok believed, communicating mentally. It was always strange but interesting how those two could understand each other at such a level that often they didn’t even need a look. They could support each other's ideas without overthinking it, just like they were doing at that moment in front of him, and Hoseok couldn’t help but think that this topic could cause them more harm than they realized. That these two were even hesitant to share something with him now, fearing to do so, considering whom they could trust or not, spoke volumes about how this issue was being handled and it was not healthy at all.

Hoseok didn’t know that Namjoon had been arguing. The only time he had talked about that topic with the others was when Jungkook’s incident happened, because by crossing such a clear and blatant line, Namjoon saw the need to have a group meeting to set some ground rules. But whatever had continued to happen that he was unaware of was creating cracks in the trust of all the members, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I wrote to her on Taehyung’s Instagram,” Jimin began, looking down with his hands intertwined on his legs. “And I might have made things a lot worse...”

“Might have?” Taehyung turned to look at the blonde, who barely raised his head to meet his gaze before Hoseok interrupted.

“And what did you say to her?”

Jimin pressed his lips together. “I asked if we could meet in person, and when she said no, I just tried to apologize for everything.”

“Don’t forget that you proceeded to carry out a rather undisguised gaslighting.” Taehyung added.

“I didn’t manipulate her!”

“You spoke to her as if everything that happened didn’t matter at all!”

“That’s not how it was! I just expressed myself very poorly,” Jimin exclaimed, facing Taehyung’s accusations, who remained with his arms crossed and chin raised, clearly in disagreement with him. “You, more than anyone, know that I don’t communicate well through text.”

“Because you overthink everything. You didn’t even need to text her in the first place. I told you it was a terrible idea. Now she hates us even more!”

“Did she say that?” Hoseok intervened.

Taehyung gave him a disbelieving look.

“And I quote: fuck all of you.”

Hoseok took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Taehyung looked angry, and Jimin appeared offended that Taehyung was so upset about what he had done, in addition to misrepresenting his words, if Hoseok understood correctly. But the brown-haired guy had a point: it had indeed been a terrible idea, and Namjoon would lose all his hair if he found out. He understood Jimin’s motivation for trying to reach out, but Hoseok felt Jimin had lost some tact in the process by approaching you just to find a quick solution. Clearly, the atmosphere in the penthouse was affecting everyone, and not in a good way. He couldn’t judge or blame Jimin for trying to lighten the situation for both parties, even if he could have approached it differently.

So Hoseok sighed, understanding the magnitude of the problem they had, and turned to the two young men who were now looking at him attentively, after recently avoiding his gaze as if their lives depended on it.

“How did you think you were going to meet her with the level of fame you have?”

Hoseok knew Jimin had acted on impulse, and perhaps addressing the underlying reasoning would make him think better next time, if there was one.

Jimin opened his lips slightly, confused.

“I... I don’t know, but I would've found a way.”

Taehyung scoffed. That would have been impossible because, surely, only after Jungkook, Jimin was one of the most recognizable faces in the industry and, therefore, couldn’t walk freely down the streets without having a horde of fans behind him within seconds. If, for some divine reason, you had agreed to meet with Jimin, then he would have exposed you too much to the public eye and you would have had more problems before getting any answers.

“There’s no way, Jimin.” Hoseok spoke, as the blonde shot a fierce look at his brown-haired companion. “We’re no longer in a small town.”

The two young men turned to the elder, putting their silly squabbles aside. A feeling of nostalgia and longing filled the air, embracing them and bringing to the surface poorly buried memories in the gardens of their minds; the gusts of Hoseok’s words uncovered them easily.

“We can’t afford that luxury now. We lost the opportunity a long time ago.” Hoseok reminded them, with a hint of discord in his voice.

Taehyung hated remembering those times. Having had his hands tied, sealing his mouth voluntarily, believing he had no other option... it completely sickened him. For a long time, regret had physically drained him.

“I won’t talk to Namjoon, don’t worry.” Hoseok assured them, and although the two young men should've breathed with relief, the truth was that they already felt too shaken. “But be more careful about where you talk about these things.”

“What things?”

“Fuck!”

Taehyung jumped off the couch when the voice came from his right, being the closest to the source. The three friends turned to see Yoongi, walking down the hallway from his room to the main living area of the penthouse.

“Are you guys sharing secrets?”

Instead of being scared, Jimin and Taehyung fell back onto the couch, letting out an exhausted breath. Yoongi shot a confused look at Hoseok, who returned it with a more severe expression.

“Come here, Yoongi. We need to talk.”

-

i hope you guys enjoyed! and thanks to my friend for helping my unresponsive overworked ass.

[Friend: I don't know if the tags worked. I'm sorry!]

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @11thenightwemet11 @yoongznme @queenbloody @lynnettys-world @darlingz99 @dreamerwasfound @chaotickyrith @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthigs @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @kariningss @juju-227592 @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @jincapableoflove @notrustfratedjin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison @ismelllikechlorine247 @19yearoldjstryingtolivelife @thatgirliehan @yuuuumii @welcometomyworld13 @sugarbaby69x @whoa-jo @cerulean1riz @kawennote09 @angelfuzzy2 @themoonsblueside @damn-u-min-yoongi

[viasdreams]

Nightwalker ཐི❤︎ཋྀ ~ ok throat goat!!

the plan was simple: channel his inner chenle to make yn dislike him.

easy.

hyuck knew that if he were to be himself, yn would instantly fall head over heels for him, just like any other woman would.

acting like chenle should, in theory, make him off-putting and unlikeable, thus keeping yn away from him.

it was going to be a difficult feat for a smooth guy like him, but he needed to push away all his charisma and charm for mark's sake.

the first two hours of his shift consisted of hyuck planning out what he was going to say while kun was trying to train him and then subsequently getting scolded for messing up.

"no that goes in the romance section, not young adult. remember to read the barcode donghyuck."

"right, right, my bad."

"it's ok man, you'll get the hang of it eventually" kun said, flashing him a sympathetic look from the other side of the bookcase.

they sorted books in silence for a while, hyuck slowly getting the system down when the bell on the door chimed.

kun turned towards the door but hyuck didn't have to look to know who just walked in.

yn.

he recognized your scent the second the door cracked open.

usually, all the different smells of people blended together, creating a sort of dull aroma. but your scent was unique. it was stronger than all the others, overtaking the bland stench as it flooded his nostrils.

you smelled naturally sweet, like honey if it was cultivated by the hardest working bees in the most productive hive, using the prettiest flowers, on the most perfect spring day.

all he could do was stare at you wide-eyed as kun stood to greet you.

"hi are you yn?"

"yes i am, its nice to meet you!"

kun extended his hand but quickly stopped when he saw the white bandages wrapped around your right hand.

"oh i didn't see that, my bad." he awkwardly studdered.

"no its totally fine, don't worry about it." you asured him, holding your injured hand to your chest.

hyucks eyes immediately locked on the small red stain showing through the covering, his mouth staring to salivate.

realizing what was happening, he aggressively slapped his cheeks to stop his growing thirst, drawing the attention of his coworkers.

"donghyuck are you alright?" kun questioned.

hyuck fervently nodded in response, eyes still trained on your hand.

"anyways, im going to grab some paperwork for you from the office real quick. feel free to look around in the meantime." kun smiled as he headed toward the back of the store.

hyuck tried to look busy sorting the books, keeping his head down to hopefully deter you from coming over. he was for sure putting everything in the wrong place but that was of no importance to him at the moment.

despite his efforts, you immediately walked to the shelf he was at.

"you're donghyuck right? we met the other day when i came in for an application."

he slowly turned to face you, readying himself to be a complete ass, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he felt his tongue graze against two very sharp fangs.

"i-" , he slammed both hands over his mouth, "i'm donghyuck."

you stared back at him, caught off guard by his actions.

"um so what made you want to work at a bookstore? personally, i just really needed a job but i would imagine other people that work here probably like reading or something."

"yeah i-", his mind was blank, all other thoughts covered by the notion of drinking your blood again, "i book."

"you what? sorry i missed that because your hands are covering," you waved your hands over your lower face, "your mouth."

hyuck's eyes followed your hand as it moved, quickly darting back and forth. you caught this, furrowing your eyebrows in further confusion.

being this close to you had only caused his thirst to grow tenfold. he knew that if he were to open his mouth again, his fangs would once more find their way into the soft flesh of your palm.

so instead of talking, he turned around and sped walked into the office.

"kun, i don't feel good and if i don't go home right now im going to spew chunks all over the sci-fi section." he faked heaved into his still cupped hands to really sell his act.

"oh um yeah sure go home. text me tomorrow if you're still feeling bad and i'll cover your shift." kun replied, slowly backing up to get out of hyuck's potential splash zone.

"thanks man!" hyuck yelled as he raced to the door, avoiding your puzzled gaze as he passed.

previous ~ masterlist ~ next

a/n: sorry for not updating this for a literal year (5 days), wont happen again guys !!

taglist: @miyawwn @nanaxwi @mystverse @mmoonlee @chenlesfavorite @dudekiss3r @honeynanamin @nctjunie @nneteyamss @iamsimplyasimp @roseangelxfuma @haechsworld @kirbrary @hyuck-me @catpjimin @toyoongg @sthwaaberry @kim-seungmins-gf @sunghoonsgfreal @sunflowerhae @galacticnct @slayhaechan @multifandomania @jasluvsjae @injunnie-lemon

[muzansfangs]

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to Gin Ichimaru, Kaname Tosen, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Nnoitra Gilga, Shuhei Hisagi, Orihime Inoue, Ichigo Kurosaki, Masaki Kurosaki, Uryu Ishida, Isshin Kurosaki, Ulquiorra Cifer and Haschwalth Jugram;

Format: multi-chapters story;

Warnings for this chapter: nsfw, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk, body worship, dom!Aizen, sub!reader, oral sex (reader!receiving), hair pulling, domestic life, fake dating, dirty fantasies, violence, gore, blood, bruises, death threats, mutual pining;

Plot: Taking care of Mrs. Watanabe’s daughter is not hard. Trying to appear like a couple in front of her bright eyes is a completely different story, though. The pent up frustration building up throughout the day eventually explodes. The desire to have you, to touch you again, to be one with you is driving Sosuke insane. You are too tempting for him and the way you take care of children, surely, is not helping.

N.B: I had to split the chapter in two parts. Some of the warnings belong to the second part!

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

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𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

A sunny morning and a six-year-old girl standing at your front door, curiously staring up at you with her leaf green eyes, indicated the beginning of a new day. The storm had passed on through the night and the warm rays of the sun kissing your face had gently waken you up from your slumber. Albeit you had agreed on sleeping next to Sosuke, by the time you had come back to your senses, he was not there. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool. Probably, he had waken up a couple of hours earlier, leaving you to a well-deserved rest. A noble gesture, considering who he was.

Eyes landing on your lap, you had noticed your nightgown was immaculate and still on. The bed was not messed up and the blanket was securely wrapped around your waist. He had been a man of honor, keeping his promise of not touching you more than it was strictly necessary. Sleeping in his arms was surely not something you should have done, but he was the only one who could help you to find rest whilst a storm raged outside. Thinking about it, in the past, beside your late mother, no one else had ever slept by your side, silently comforting you. No one had ever done it but him. It was ridiculous.

After taking a quick shower and changing into a flowery sundress, you had entered the kitchen only to find him sitting on the stool with a novel and a cup of tea in front of him. Sosuke had glanced up at you, not a word leaving his mouth, as you made yourself some coffee and begrudgingly muttered a ‘Good morning’.

He hummed as a response and you took it as a sign it was better to end off whatever small conversation you could muster with him. Not even ten minutes later, you had heard the doorbell ring and there you were now: locking eyes with a small version of the hellish Mrs. Watanabe. A prettier one, actually. The woman had not even bothered to show up at your door, she had simply left her daughter there and had made her getaway. For once, you were glad she had opted for being rude. Beholding the sight of her face early in the morning would have probably made you throw up your breakfast.

“Good morning, Aoi. — you greeted the girl with a mild voice, leaning slightly down to her eye level — You’ve grown up since the last time I’ve seen you”.

The girl blinked, holding her plushie to her chest “The paediatrician said I’m two inches taller than I was seven months ago”.

You smiled softly, stepping aside to let her enter your flat “Ah, I see! Let’s go inside, come on” you chimed, watching as the small girl trotted inside your house, familiar with the environment by now. She was better than her obnoxious mother and you really hoped she was going to be the opposite of that snake with a raven bob and high-necked dresses. It was impossible to predict how she would have turned out to be, but you had promised yourself to mold her into a sweet and loving girl in the time you spent with her.

Closing the door behind you two, you watched as Aoi stood in the middle of the living room, tilting her head to the side almost puzzled. It was almost like the little girl sensed something was off. Following her gaze, you realized she was looking directly at Sosuke, now occupying the entry to the kitchen with his lean frame. He seemed disinterested, hands into his pockets as he shifted his gaze from the child to you. For some reason, your mouth went dry. You had no idea of what was going on inside his head, but you hoped he wanted to keep on acting as a normal man and ‘your boyfriend’ in front of the witch’s offspring. Aoi was young, but old enough to innocently tell her mother the truth about your relationship with Sosuke.

Therefore, here you were, heart pumping hard in your chest and pleading eyes boring into Sosuke’s ones. It was almost like you were begging him not to let you down now. And, surprisingly, he did not.

“Who are you?” Aoi asked him, causing you to hold your breath in anticipation.

“I’m Sosuke. — he introduced himself, soothing tone caressing your skin — I’m Y/N’s boyfriend”.

You detested the lie he had come up with to justify his presence in your house, yet you were glad he was sticking up to the original plan right now. He was more collaborative than you had expected him to be. Sosuke was still himself, arrogant and sneaky. Despite that, he was apparently blending into the human society better than you had imagined.

You released a breath you had not realized you were holding at the sound of his words and he had not failed to notice how your shoulders had relaxed, hand now patting the small girl’s back as you motioned for her to go sit in the couch.

“Really? But I never saw you with her. Where were you?” Aoi piped out, panic washing over you again as the kid ignored you, fascinated by the new man in your living room.

Sosuke’s eyes flitted from the child to you, proud to be the one who had to somehow pull you out of that mess “I was out of town for work. I have decided to move in as soon as I have come back” he shortly said, Aoi’s eyes growing round as she listened to your former enemy in sheer interest.

“Oh! What do you do for a living?”.

Gosh, she was nothing like her mother, but that hag had taught her well how to be a noisy pest at times. More details and lies you two had to invent the harder it would have been not screwing up.

“He’s a cr—”you blurted out, but the rest of the words died on your tongue upon realizing you were going to label him as a criminal. Colors drained from your face, Sosuke’s eyebrow quirking up to come up with a remedy to your idiotic inclination to speak without thinking.

“Cricket player. I’m a cricket player”.

This was not what you expected him to say. Out of the vast list of works existing, he had really chosen a peculiar one. You palmed your forehead, turning around not to look at him. Aoi, on the other hand, gasped and enthusiastically asked more questions.

“O my God, so you have a horse?”.

Sosuke did not even hesitate to provide the curious human more informations “Oh, I do. I have recently bought this new specimen. It’s a female and incredibly stubborn. It’s hard taming her, but I’m confident I’ll eventually succeed” he cooed, the hair behind your neck standing whilst your brain registered his smooth talk and rationalized the true meaning behind them.

He was definitely walking on thin ice. Knowing you had to keep up a syrupy lovestory not to plant doubt in the kid’s mind, he had resolved to send you messages for you to read between the lines. How badly you wished you could just hit him with a frying pan and kick him out of your house. Instead, you had to turn around and display a sympathetic smile at him.

“Alright, enough about his job! Why don’t you sit there and tell me what you’d like to do today?” you chimed in, blocking Aoi’s view on the special threat without even sparing him a glance. You could feel his gaze on you, boring holes on your back as if he was firing a gun. He was right about a thing, summarizing his impression on you: you were hard to tame. Going down without a fight was not in your style. He could ask Haschwalth Jugram about that, but considering he was dead he could always ask Uryuu Ishida to make a detailed report about your battle.

Aoi blinked and hummed, the index of her small hand playing with her lower lip thoughtfully “The beach”.

“The beach?” you repeated, bending down to her eye level.

“Yep! There is going to be a competition of some kind! I wanna go, please, please! My mommy never lets me go to play in the sand” the small girl piped out, her pigtails swaying around her visage with every little stomp of her feet.

You were not hellbent to pander to the kid’s whims. You had been dealing with children on your own after Masaki’s tragic death. Ichigo was not really a capricious boy, the even younger girls neither. However, you had learned how to moderate your inclination to give them the world after their mother’s loss. Clearly unhappy and lost, they needed someone to guide them and humour them. This is what you did, in the end. Aoi was not spoiled. She had nothing, besides a very strict and a non-affective mother looking after her. A little treat could not do any harm.

The situation was risky, though. Could you trust Sosuke enough to let him tag along to a most likely overcrowded beach? With every passing second, your temptation to go back to the Soul Society and evirate Shunsui increased notably. He had ruined your life.

You clicked your tongue, shooting a side-eye to an impassive Sosuke towering over you from behind. He did not mumble a single word, arms folding against his chest as you stood back up and hurried him out of the living room. Aoi watched you two with her big doe eyes, hoping you were going to make her small wish come true. Your heart clenched in your chest, gifting her a small and genuine compassionate smile, before you cornered Sosuke in the dark corridor.

“What are your intentions? What the Hell do you think you are doing?” you asked him, jabbing a finger at his sternum to emphasize your question.

“I am not doing any harm, detective”.

“You know very well what I am talking about. A cricket player, a stubborn horse, the hard taming deal. — you reminded him, gaze hardening just by watching him wearing a placid smile you had grown so familiar with — Quit it”.

Sosuke grinned “Oh, really? Whose fault is it? Were you not about to address me as a criminal? You never lose the habit of acting on your impulses. You truly are a feisty animal, after all” he taunted you, hand reaching for his eye-patch in the pocket of his trousers to latch it behind his nape and cover his eye.

You gawked, balling your hands into fists down your sides, nails digging onto your palms to resist the urge to slash his handsome face in the presence of an innocent child waiting for you to make her day.

“That’s what you are. — you hissed through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore the fact he was right to some extent — Now, before going back to Aoi, I will give you a small advice: don’t you dare to ruin her day out”.

Sosuke paused, glancing at the child playing with her plushie back in the living room. She was good-mannered, innocent. Not a complete nuisance “You are overprotective of that kid”.

“Her mother is a bitch. I have never seen her hug her daughter, or show affection to her. If I can somehow give Aoi a break, I am more than willing to do so” you explained, following his gaze with a softer tone accompanying your actions.

“You have a thing for misfits”.

You turned to look at him, furrowing your brows perplexedly “Excuse me?”.

“First, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra. Then Shuhei. This kid here and now me. You can’t blame me for thinking you have a tendency of taking care of broken hearts and outcasts” he said, not even bothering to look back at you, before sauntering back to Aoi to announce you were indeed going spend the day on the beach.

When Gin harshly tugged at the shackles binding your hands together, you stumbled forwards. It was a measure you had never been subjected to. Aizen had told you it was temporary, just to send a message to the ravenous army of Espada craving your head, or wanting to put their hands on you to reduce you to the brand new plaything of Las Noches.

He had sent Gin Ichimaru to pick you up from your quarters. You had never trusted that man, that sly, creepy grin of his sent frissons over your skin every time you bumped into him. He had almost killed you back in the Soul Society. If you had not died back then, it was for shameless luck and Aizen’s healing spells. You often wondered what would have happened to you, if the Captain crossing roads with you was not him. He had this different way of dealing with you, this certain respect you refused to believe was genuine, given his betrayal. Looking back at it, you were glad he had never actually tried to kill you. It was irrational, but you had a feeling he felt some connection with you. Perhaps, you were just being delusional.

“You are hurting me” you hissed, glaring up at the willowy man guiding you down the monotonous, sterile corridors of Las Noches. He was conducting you to Aizen and the former Captain of the Ninth Division to join the incoming meeting as a guest.

For some reason, Aizen had requested your presence. He had refused to abide to your plea to let you stay in your bedroom. He wanted you there and you surely did not wish for his wrath to rain down on you upon defying him further.

“Oh, I apologize! Aizen-sama will not be pleased to know I have bruised those wrists of yours, I guess. — he sang, his mawkish tone earning a snort from you — Shall I feel a sting of remorse for what I have done? I mean, hurting a sweet girl you don’t even know could be convicted as pretty mean by the mankind. Am I right?”.

You halted, realizing he had stopped walking as well. The ominous clink of the chains dragging along the polished floor underneath your feet contributed to set off a chilling atmosphere around you two. You could not see Gin’s face, but you could tell he was probably reminiscing something. There was a double-meaning he was masterly concealing behind his typical brisk monologues. You had a feeling there was a deeper intent and message behind those words spoken in a desolate area of the castle.

“Some men out there hurt people and don’t even bother apologizing. — he stated, whipping his head towards you — They kill, mutilate, do pretty gory actions to lonely, lovely girls. But you know, Kurosaki, today I’m in a good mood and, to be honest, I’m not quite as bad as you may think I am” he stated, before walking over to you and grasping your wrists to inspect the damage.

You straightened your back, allowing him to chant what you had learned was a healing kidō to mend the bruised skin. Now that he had stopped rambling, you wanted to hear more from him.

“What are you hinting to?” you boldly asked him.

Gin smirked “I was just philosophizing”.

“Did someone hurt—”.

“Thin ice, Y/N-chan. — he suddenly hushed you, his fox eyes opening even so slightly to pin you on the spot — You are lucky to have someone watching your back. To be honest, I would like to hurt you, but I can’t do it. Now, don’t take me for someone who would be devoured by regrets for having hurt a woman. The only regret I have is not having finished you back in the Soul Society”.

Your blood ran cold and you expected his blade to pierce your heart, but the moment he turned around and tugged at the chains again you felt glad this torture was over. The sooner you were in the company of your worst enemy, the better. Once again, you found yourself wishing he was there with you, because you were absolutely certain he would have never hurt you. This man here, however, was on another level. He wanted you dead and, despite some Arrancars and Espada had told you the same, you could feel all of his hatred blanketing you like snow covering the ground. There was a thirst for vendetta in his actions that made you freeze on the spot.

You were so vulnerable without your blade. You wondered when you would have been able to snatch it away. It had been two weeks without training. You could sense your sword calling for you, but you could not just enter Aizen’s quarters so easily. You, the older Kurosaki, the independent girl who had never relied on anyone, were hoping day and night for your brother to save you. But he never came. He was not there and, regrettably, you wished you had not so selflessly swapped places with Orihime Inoue. Lost into self-deprecation, you had not realized Gin had stopped walking until you ended up bumping onto his back.

Sighing, you distanced yourself from him, only to meet a pair of chestnut brown eyes already transfixed on you. Aizen Sosuke stood right before you, next to him Kaname Tosen. Chills ran down your spine, when Gin roughly pushed you towards him, but this time you did not trip, much to his dismay. Delicately, Lord Aizen grasped your chin, inspecting your face. He always did that, checking on you as if he really cared about your health. Usually, you knew better than protesting, but you already knew what was going to happen this time.

Two days without seeing him and you had a small purple bruise on your cheekbone. Your stomach churned, his eyes turning as cold as ice.

“Who?”.

“It’s not even visible. It doesn’t hurt” you replied, turning your head to the side to slip away from his fingers. Such a pity he roughly grasped your jaw harder, tipping your head up to force an unbearable eye-contact. There was no hiding from him, especially when the matter concerned your safety.

“Someone has dared to hurt my guest in my castle. I’m legitimized to demand you to give me a name” he stated calmly but firmly, the air around you shifting to gloomy and asphyxiating. Tosen and Gin tensed, awaiting for you to quench Aizen’s thirst for blood. Yet, you failed their expectations.

You were sick and tired of gory battles and violence. Nnoitra deserved pain and sufferings. However, this was not Aizen’s battle. This was yours. You had promised yourself to make that bastard pay for his arrogance and perverse sense of superiority with your own blade. But while Aizen would have taken his life, you aspired to simply put him back into place.

You shook your head “It doesn’t concern you”.

The man before you arched a dark eyebrow, his grip on your jaw loosening as he rested his hand on the top of your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze “Don’t play mind games with me. I perfectly know why you’re hesitating to reveal the culprit’s name. You just fear to witness to what I may do to him”.

His words resonated in your head as you pressed your lips together and scoffed, forcing yourself not to add more details, to confirm his inklings. The moment he was about to press you again with more questions, an Arrancar materialiazed a few feet away from you two. Eyes downcast, knees planted onto the ground, the Hollow belonged to the newly promoted lower ranks. His aura was far from threatening and you could actually sense distinct waves of terror radiating from him.

Aizen shot him a cold glance “Speak” his baritone voice commanded, just as he took a hold of the chains binding your hands together to nudge towards the exit.

“The Espada are assembled and waiting for you, Lord Aizen” the Arrancar meekly announced, but the sound propagating in the corridor as soon as he pronounced his last word made you zone out. What was that?

Bones breaking, organs exploding, maybe. All you knew, as Aizen walked you to the spacious living room, was that something viscous and crimson red colored was splattered over the wall and on your white, pristine dress. Blood, it was blood you could not wipe away from your clothes and face as he urged you away from the crime scene. You could feel it drip down the column of your throat, cling onto the luxurious fabric of the uniform as your eyes landed on the Espada inspecting you in sheer curiosity.

You kept your head high, spacing out, completely ignoring Aizen rambling about his plot schemes. What had just happened was nothing but him showing you what kind of treatment would have fallen upon the Espada who had harmed you.

To catch your attention was Aizen’s spiritual pressure bending Grimmjow’s knees, squashing him onto the ground. People snickered, amused by the scene as the man flexed his power on him. No, no, you could not allow any more violence, you could not withstand it.

Dashing before Grimmjow, shielding him from Aizen’s sight, you winced as the chain yanked you back towards your captor. Your skin burned where the metal unforgivingly bit your flesh, but you did the only thing that could have somehow granted Grimmjow enough strength to stand back up and breathe again: you unleashed your own spiritual pressure, letting it clash against Aizen’s one. There was no competition, but you really gave it your best shot. Blood dribbled from your nose, as you glanced at Grimmjow from above your shoulder to check on him.

“W-What the fuck are you doing? You idiot, move!” the Sexta Espada rasped out, panting, as he tried to push himself up. It was working, at least.

Murmurs echoed around you, comments on how foolish you were and about how they would have loved to watch you die for your impertinence. Instead, Aizen diminished the intensity of his spiritual pressure and you did the same. Your knees failed you, your eyes meeting his, before you slumped onto the cold floor and your vision darkened.

The horde of screaming, rowdy kids trotting around you on the beach made you almost regret having asked Aoi what she would have loved to do to spend the day. There were parents chatting in small groups, teenagers playing beach-volley and a few stalls selling toys and handmade floral decorations. The temperature was nice, the gentle breeze caressing your skin making the summer heat bearable. Holding her hand, you let the child guide you to explore the area, her cheerful laughter warming you up from the inside.

When she stopped by a giant yellow sign, pointing her finger at it, you blinked: ‘Wreaths competition! Do your best to win a limited edition Stitch’.

“I want to win the plushie! Please, please! Can you help me out?” Aoi begged you, turning towards you with such a puppy face you struggled to keep your composure. You had to killed the time somehow.

You were screwed. But you reminded yourself why you were doing it.

“Okay, okay. — you agreed, settling your hand over her head — Listen, while I attempt to create good garlands and crowns, why don’t you go play with Sosuke and collect some seashells? Maybe we can make some pretty necklaces too, later” you suggested, before shooting a subtle glance at Sosuke that implied he had to accompany her and protect the kid with his own life. It was a test, to be fair. You wanted him to show you that you could trust him a little bit.

He arched his eyebrow up, upper lip twitching imperceptibly but not escaping your hawk-eyes “Have fun with the flowers” he falsely muttered, before gesturing for Aoi to follow him down to the shore.

The sight of him walking side by side with the small kid made you faintly smile. It was the furthest thing from your imagination. Aizen Sosuke dealing with kids, babysitting them, controlling his hunger for power and cold indifference for the sake of a little child almost sounded like the beginning of a chilling horror story. However, you were willing to test the waters. Maybe, he was not the best choice to make, when it came down to pick a man to watch over kids, but he was surprisingly trying his best.

Down the shore, while Sosuke kept his eyes transfixed on the Ocean, Aoi began to choose the best seashells she came across in her exploration. Apparently, she had taken the task seriously. The special threat was not much bothered by her presence, as long as she just did her job silently. As he had already assessed back home, this human was well-behaved. Suddenly, however, she tugged at his trousers to draw his attention. Peace did not last long.

Sosuke averted his eyes from the crystal water and, arms folded over his chest, he looked down at the little girl “What’s the matter?” he asked, not bothering to adjust his tone of voice to a softer one.

“Why didn’t you kiss her when you walked away? You’re not very affectionate with her” Aoi piped out, making him stiffen up.

Oh, now the situation was getting interesting. The human child was questioning his relationship with Y/N. He knew that he had to be careful about what he said, especially since it would have been only fair to confront her before adding more details about their ‘love-story’. But Sosuke could perfectly handle the situation. He was not a fool and manipulating people had somehow been the key for his success. Playing a child was even easier, given their simple mind.

He cleared his throat, a small smile curving his lips “You see, she’s a little upset with me right now. I’m more than sure she wouldn’t appreciate my kisses at the moment” he lied, only for Aoi to shake her head and toss away in the water a chipped scallop.

“All girls like kisses! If you apologize and give her one she is going to forgive you” she mumbled, only for Sosuke to widen his eyes at her acute observation. Ah, she was not a fool.

“This is what happens in fairytales, though”.

“But she’s a princess! Look at her, she’s so beautiful!” Aoi insisted, tapping on his knee again and this time he could only follow her gaze.

When his eyes landed on you, he was pleasantly welcomed with a boculic and tender vision he had never even dreamed of in his whole life. Sitting with a group of women and their children, you were smiling softly as you held a baby in your arms. Your eyes shimmered in a light he had never seen before, as you playfully showed a pretty wreath to the newborn in your arms, soon settling it on the top of your head. You were the incarnation of kindness and to him you had always been some sort of a mindblowing enigma he could not solve. You looked so happy, so beautiful like that.

His mind wandered for a few moments, venturing in thoughts he had never keened to contemplate in his life. A child. You. A peaceful life. Your hips had always been his addiction. Even when he had finally had you pinned underneath him, Sosuke could not help himself but squeeze on them, caressing your hipbones with hunger.

A man who controlled himself like he did was a slave to such a primal and basic need. Why did he want to breed you? He would have loved watching his seed leak out of you again, just like in the Soul Society. Gosh, he could have done it again and again, fucking you until could not feel your legs anymore and your tummy hurt. He could give you the world, he would have kissed you from your lips to the valley between your legs, if only you let him in. How could you not understand it?

His cock twitched his pants and he gritted his teeth, his eyes straying away from you as he caught a glimpse of the baby tugging at the neckline of your dress.

He had to have you. Again. That night.

Still, the real problem was the Hōgyoku. It was true he had studied the abilities of that source of power and energy, however it was mostly uncovered what else it could do. Sosuke was almost certain the Hōgyoku had made him infertile, but what if, among the wills of its owner, that small device could also bend its powers to grant his seed to fertilize an egg cell?

When he heard you calling out their names, Sosuke ran his fingers through his hair and patted on Aoi’s head absent-mindedly “Let’s go, she’s looking for us”.

The small kid beamed and ran up to you, leaving Sosuke behind with his thoughts and the unfamiliar feeling of coveting the same things those mortal men had: a family. He was not husband material, he was a villainous man with too much ego to settle down and put his aspirations aside. Maybe, though, now he could have it. It was just a matter of when and with who. He never understood love, that feeling leaving people besotted with another being was foreign to him. Despite that, when he saw you hand the plushie to Aoi and pick her up to spin her around mid-air he was absolutely certain that, if he were to choose a woman to share his heart and life with, he would have always chosen you.

When you put Aoi down, she giggled and squeezed the giant Stitch to her chest, relinquishing the feeling of finally having what she had craved so badly. You felt a sense of fulfillment in seeing her happy. You had watched her pass by your door with a pouty face too many times not to make her day with such a small gesture. Glancing at Sosuke, you noted he was holding some seashells in his hands and a breathless chuckle left your lips. A melody he had yearned to hear for too long to forget how it sounded and how his heart had always picked up its rate whenever you laughed in his proximity.

“What’s so funny?” he inquired, before grasping your hand and putting the colorful shells onto your palm.

You shrugged and scrunched up your nose “Nothing. It’s just that… I didn’t expect you to carry the seashells for her. That’s nice”.

He rolled his eyes “She sprinted towards you as soon as you called for us. Also, I knew you would have not been pleased if I lost them”.

You hummed and nodded your head, before picking up Aoi and sighing. The flower wreath over your head shifted, almost slipping off and he was quick to catch it, positioning it back in its original place. You stilled, eyes widening even so slightly before he lowered his face enough to let your noses brush together and this small action stole your breath from your lungs.

“You look beautiful like that” he commented, but before you could even thank him for the unexpected compliment, your phone rang and the jig was up. You did not catch the gleam of disappointment darkening his eyes as you stepped away to answer your call. Still, you were genuinely surprised to find yourself missing a kiss that never lingered on your lips.

You spent most of the day at the beach. You had to admit something had changed between you and Sosuke. You began to impoperly see him as reliable, a mistake you could not forgive yourself for. You knew how foolish of you it was to esteem him as a good man. He was a murderer, a manipulator, a traitor, the devil himself. To keep him out of your head, you had resorted to busy yourself in teaching Aoi how to thread the flowers together, or how to do cartwheels. But when it came down to eat lunch together, you were forced sit on a bench right next to Sosuke. The couples passing-by with their kids attempted more than once to strike up cordial conversations with you two, while their children played around with Aoi. It was challenging keeping up that farse. Sosuke, on the other hand, was perfectly fine with shooting you adoring glances. Arm looped around your shoulders to pull you closer to him, small adventures invented about your encounters to feed the interlocutors an epic love story, you were hating him for depicting a good, healthy relationship you knew he could never establish with you.

With you! You felt so pathetic for even considering the possibility of dating him for real. In other life, in other universe though, if he was not a monster, you could have allowed yourself to fall irrevocably in love with him.

The last blow that made your stomach somersault was what Aoi told you, by the front door of her house when you accompanied her back home “I wish you two were my parents”.

That innocent way of declaring how loved she had felt with you two affected you more than you liked to admit. You had a quick dinner with Sosuke, barely talking to him, before you decided once again to isolate yourself in the privacy of your bedroom. Clutching the sheets in your hands, you laid face first onto your pillow and commiserated yourself for your stupid sensitivity. Weren’t those signs you just wanted someone to love you so desperately it hurt? You wanted to be loved and to love freely. But your life was too complicated for indulging into the delights of a couple-life.

A knock on your door brought you back to reality and you huffed in contempt, before rolling off of the bed and opening the door. Sosuke stood there, still fully dressed, beside the fact he had taken off his eye-patch and had undone some buttons of his white shirt. Mother nature had made him too handsome not to admire.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but this belongs to you. — he stated, handing you the bag of the gift he had bought you yesterday — Given the fact I know no one else who could wear it besides you, I’m afraid you have no other option but to accept it” he observed, only for you to sigh and grasp the bag.

“Come in” you said, turning your back at him and allowing your villainous roommate to enter your bedroom. Years ago, it would have sounded reckless to let him inside such a private part of your house. But did it make some sense, considering you had practically slept in his arms yesterday night?

You sat on the edge of the bed, silence swallowing you two for some seconds, before you looked up at him and finally decided to show appreciation for the day “Oh, and… Thank you, I guess”.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just thought this would have complimented your skin”.

You shook your head “I’m not talking about the gift. Thank you for having been a decent person at beach. — you corrected him, nails peeling away the sticker keeping the bag closed — And for the flattery remark you reserved to me out of the blue” you added coyly.

He smirked, taking a seat next to you without asking for your permisioon “It may sound so out of character coming from me, but I genuinely meant it. You are beautiful” he insisted, stretching his legs before him.

Good thing you had occupied yourself with pulling the fine piece of cloth out of the bag. Your heart was skipping beats repeatedly, almost leaving you out of breath. You scrutinized the red silky nightgown in awe, letting the smooth fabric slip through your fingers to fully appreciate its consistency. To add class to the item was the generous neckline bordered with lace. He definitely had good taste, but you were damn sure he had probably purchased such a scandalous nightgown to mess with your head.

You cleared your throat, folding it with care before putting it back into the bag and settling it down at your feet “It’s really beautiful. — you stated then, uncapable of turning your attention to him — But don’t you think it’s somewhat daring?”.

“Are you offended?”.

“What? No! — you fretted, cheeks warming up — It’s just that … I don’t know if I’m confident enough to wear it” you admitted, shrugging as you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. Well, this was definitely not a conversation you expected to have with him, or with a man in general. It was not like you had zero self-esteem. Honestly, it was more due to the fact that with your chaotic life, you did not have a lot of occasions to dress up. Let alone wearing something so revealing in bed for someone.

Sosuke let your words sink in for a few moments, before shifting on his seat to face you properly “Show me”.

“What?” you quipped, goggling at him as if he had just shouted a blasphemy in the middle of the road.

“I said ‘show me’. — he encouraged you again, gesturing at the bag at your feet nonchalantly — If you don’t feel comfortable in it, I’ll buy you a new one”.

You chuckled, your reaction earning a baffled glance from him. He was trying to be kind, probably. Still, it sounded hilarious. Also, why did he want to buy you stuff? You could provide for yourself on your own. He stared at you, silently demanding an explanation to your behavior while you stood up, grasping the fine piece of cloth “Sorry, I … I just don’t see why it seems to be so important to you”.

“Because that’s a gift. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable because of it”.

“Since when you care about my feelings?”.

He was not liking where the conversation was going “Just go to change. Isshin did an horrific job with you”.

You rolled your eyes at him, complying to his request and going to the bathroom to try the damn nightgown…Only to realize you actually adored it. The color really complimented your skin. The fabric embraced your curves perfectly, smoothly cascading down your valleys, barely reaching your upper thighs. You felt your body on fire, the idea of presenting yourself to him like that made you press your legs together in a combination of embarrassment and arousal. Why, though? Did you have something to be ashamed of? Absolutely not. He had seen you fully naked before and you were dressed now. Poorly, but you were still not indecent.

Stalling would have only prolonged the agony. Swallowing your pride, you made your way back to him. His eyes, strangely warm tonight, immediately pinned you on the spot. Basking in your beauty, Sosuke did not move from where he was sitting. He watched you intently, impassible face to let you stew on your own juice. To break the ice was your voice.

“To be honest, I have never forseen myself giving you a défilé. — you stated, eyes downcast — Somehow, it’s even worse than… Uhm, nevermind, forget it”.

“It’s even worse than sex. Is that what you wanted to say?”.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, the sensation familiar to you after all the times he had read you like an open book. It was frustrating dealing with the only person in the entire universe you could not block out of your head. Nodding your head, you shrugged in defeat and turned on your heels to leave the room. Sosuke, on the other hand, was not done talking. Not yet.

“You look even better than I had imagined, you know?”.

“Oh, please, I don’t need a pep talk” you argued.

“Indeed. — Sosuke agreed, raising from his seat to amble towards you — I believe you just need to be reminded you are a woman. You need someone who boosts your ego for the power you possess over men” he reasoned, hitting a nerve you had been trying to ignore for too long. How long had it been since someone had really made you feel special, appreciate you in all your glory? Searching for the name of an individual who had empowered you to that length, well, you found no one.

And, sadly, before that little adventure with Sosuke, your last intercourse was with Shuhei. Something happened in the heat of the moment, not really unexpected, but there were not the strong feelings of the attentions you craved. He liked you, it was plain and simply. But what had he done to show you how much he cared, if after an argument he had disappeared without saying goodbye? Adding salt to the wound was not helping. Especially since all of that thinking was leading you to reminisce about Sosuke.

God, he really knew how to fuck you and blow your mind.

“I see you still have fun in playing the role of the psychologist” you sarcastically remarked, indulging him into whatever he was keening to achieve. Frissons skimmed over your naked shoudlers for the inklings you were getting. Once again, you were diving into dangerous situations.

“Tell me, when is the last time a man made you feel like you were on top of the world? Has someone ever worshipped your body?” he inquired, ignoring your sass and letting his eyes travel shamelessly down your body.

Gluttonous like a vulture, attentive like a golden eagle, Sosuke had cornered you without giving you enough time to realize it. You were always screwed, when it came down to him.

“You must be out of your mind, if you merely think I’m going to discuss my sex life with you. — you dissuaded him from illuding himself he could ask you more about your relationship, your feelings and private matters — Now, unless you’re a masochist who wishes to be kicked out of my bedroom, I’d like to get some sleep. Alone” you punctuated, indicating the door at your back with a tight smile on your lips.

You wished you had been more convincing, you wished he was not that close to you and that you had not given much importance to what you had felt with him that night and morning. You wished you had take another step back, that the moment he had trapped you between his body and the wall you had protested.

When you thought you could resist him, showing him you were not affected by his presence and avanaces, he knelt in front of you. His hands glided over your legs, cupping your calves, whilst he captured your gaze with his deep, almond eyes “Your words and gestures tells you don’t even know what I’m talking about and it’s a shame. — he said, fingers now tickling the back of your thighs while he let his nose graze against your lower belly tentatively — I won’t beat about the bush, I want to show you what it feels like to be lavished. Push me away now, Y/N, or I’ll begin” he lowly warned you, but your fingers threading through his soft strands did not yank his head back to yell at his face.

You gaped, uncapable to refuse him, to bring yourself to think straight. That passion you had felt with him, that level of pleasure had been obnubilating your mind for too long. You wanted it, you wanted him again. Wrong at the eyes of so many people, you instead began to see it as a mere stress relief. Even if you knew it was so much more. Why not giving in, then? Why not perseverating? Nobody had to know.

“Sosuke, if this shit leaves your mouth and becomes a dinner conversation, I’ll make you choke on your dick” you threatened him, legs finally spreading to give him more access to your clothed pussy.

He grinned, fingers hooking underneath the elastic band of your panties, tugging the item down until you kicked it off in a hurry “And giving up on the chance to fuck you to oblivion after arguments, or in stormy, depressing nights? You know me better than that” he crooned, hand lifting your right thigh to settle it on top of his shoulder, the access to your tight hole clenching around nothing much easier now.

You never had a man kneeling before you to give you oral. To think the closest thing to a God was currently lapping at your core in such a degrading position was electrifying. Yet, you were far from deeming yourself in a superior position. He still had the upper hand.

He hummed, head slipping underneath the skirt of your nightgown, as his tongue ran flatly over your velvet folds, fingertips digging onto the plush of your thighs. His warm tongue seeked your clitoris and twirled around it, testing your reaction. You felt ashamed of how loudly you moaned, of how you were grateful he was keeping you balanced above him, otherwise you would have surely tumbled down onto the floor. Mostly, though, you felt embarrassed by the spasmodic buckling of your hips, by the way your hands were pushing his head closer to your need in search for more friction. He had turned you into a madwoman.

He groaned and you straightened your back, flattenening it against the wall “I’m sorry!” you quipped, chest raising and falling erratic, stupidly thinking you had somehow hurt him.

You could not see his face, hidden by the gown, but you heard him rasp out an answer against your pubes “If you apologize again, I’ll stop”.

And no, you did not want him to stop, not when his fingers spread your puffy lips and he tickled the sensitive area around your opening with the tip of his tongue. You were going insane, body on fire under his ministrations, under the smoldering orgasm building up in your lower belly. You tried and failed to remember one time another man had pleasured you this much.

“Sosuke!” you cried out, mouth falling ajar as you lolled your head back against the wall.

He did not stop his onslaught on you. His voracious mouth licked, sucked, penetrated into you like that of a starving man. Your thighs were quivering, shaking violently, while you held him close to you and, dear God, if he was leading you to crave more than just that.

Only when you were on the edge of reaching your climax, he stopped. His breath was ragged, his face glistening in your arousal, while he stood back up and encircled you waist with his arms. You were panting, sweaty, whimpering in need as you kissed him passionately, not even thinking twice. Tongues danced together, while he held you close and you tasted yourself in his mouth.

He grinned against your lips “Do you feel that? That’s your taste. Men should bathe into it and feel like they’re reborn” he whispered, while you both stumbled towards your bed, falling onto it tangled in one.

And it was in that moment that something into you cracked. Aizen Sosuke could give you the world and that very night you were in for it.

AUTHOR NOTE.

My dear readers, I had said I didn’t want to split the chapter but I had to. Editing is as stressful as writing, trust me, and I could not do more than that. I will include the rest of the smut part in the next chapter! Please, let me know what you think about this!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Luce

TAGS: @pseudowho @seireiteihellbutterfly @onyxino @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01 @noirfan12 @velaenaa @skexxll

[enviedear]

YOU SHOULD LET ME RIDE SHOTGUN

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི in which JASON TODD shares in your dilemma of keeping this security arrangement professional. lines tend to blur so easily though.

CW | bodyguard!jason & socialite!reader, sarcastic pet names, jason is so bad with feelings, but he's so good at upkeeping professionalism, baby-angst, and the fact this is probably getting a part two. 1.9k words. 🎧ྀི

your bodyguard unnerves you. not for his stature or his brooding presence—but for the way he stares at you. blue-green eyes always steady and with an unflinching watch. JASON TODD is certainly unlike any paid security you've had before.

sometimes, you dared to meet his gaze and match it for as long as you could ward off discomfort. you never lasted too long. his gaze had an uncanny ability to go right through you, picking you apart entirely. despite only engaging in polite conversation on rare occasions, the pair of you didn't truly speak—yet somehow you still felt he knew you wholly. just by the look in his eyes. that, was the unnerving factor.

he never inspired fear in your mind, just persistent questions. questions about who he really is? where the hell he came from? and why he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders?

you sneak in as much interrogation as he allows, which is much more than you would have first believed. you know a good deal about him now: he's an excellent cook, especially when you're nursing a hangover. the white streaks in his inky dark locks are naturally occurrent, somehow. he knows a lot about the bat, frequently muttering invocations of "idiotic" and “too easy” whenever the local news covers the hero. most importantly, you learned just how deceptively shy the big brute truly is.

the observation had you doubting yourself at first, because, how on earth could a man with a mere presence of imposition ever feel timid? but it was a truth undeniable—the way he studied the exits instead of your face after you'd start up your saccharine interrogations. how his legs bounced up and down in the car, fingers mindlessly twirling. the way his voice wavered before responding to your questions, lashes fluttering as he contemplates response. yes, deceptively shy.

tonight, he's been no different. save for the expensive suit you offered him, he looks the same. shadowed in the corner of the ballroom, eyes scanning the crowd over and again, pale pink lips curled into a restful sneer—unwelcoming and formidable.

but not for you. you make your way over to him, equalling tired of your fellow socialite peers and undeniably intrigued by your bodyguard's uninterested expression. when he spots you, sooner than you expected, you're still halfway across the room from him. when his head upturns and signals for the exit, you find yourself nodding.

he waits for you just outside, in the hallway—figure eclipsed in dim shades. the faint hum of the ballroom drifts through the open door, but it’s distant now, muted by the heavy walls of the estate. he doesn't say a word when you step beside him, just a brief glance. his eyes flick to yours before they return to scanning the area, ever watchful.

you’re not entirely sure why you followed him. you could have stayed, should have stayed—rubbed elbows with your peers to keep up your pristine reputation.

maybe it was the growing restlessness in the crowd, the way their empty smiles and shallow conversations felt suffocating. or perhaps it was the fact that jason, even standing in the corner in total silence, felt more natural than any of the people in that room.

he adjusts the collar of his suit, a clear sign of dicomfort, and it gives you a small jolt of satisfaction. no one else sees this—the subtle tells, his awkwardness beneath all that mystery.

“you didn’t have to wear the suit, you know." you murmur, folding your arms. “i said it was optional.”

his eyes flick to you again, and this time he holds your gaze for a beat longer than usual. “it’s fine,” he replies, the stiffness in his voice softened by the quiet space. “figured it’d help me blend in more.”

to that, you let out a rather uncouth chuckle, "you call that blending in?"

he stares at you, barely a hint of humor dancing upon his stoic face, "yes. i was unbothered all night, kept up the appearance, and had you safe the entire time. but sure, honey—feel free to give me some tips." the sentiment is used mockingly, but not demeaning. a thin line you've learned jason enjoys towing.

"still have to get me home in one piece, hotshot. let's not get ahead of ourselves." your quip is less hard-hitting, of course, he'll get you home safe—he's jason. he's never let you down before. no, somehow he excels where all the others faltered.

he tsks, falling back into silence as you walk towards the partition outside to wait for the car. you tilt your head, studying his profile. there’s that distance again—that subtle retreat whenever things get too close. it doesn't annoy you but you do find yourself running lines for something, anything, to get him talking again.

the air is tepid, barely even a breeze in the night air, but your nerves provide goosebumps along your exposed arms. you naively pray jason doesn't notice in the darkness.

jason's posture is tense, his broad shoulders squared, and he’s staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, his mind likely working through some invisible checklist of exit points and threats. the usual.

you want to, but you can’t ignore the way his presence affects you, how much calmer you feel standing beside him, even in silence. it’s a strange dynamic—and one you haven't entirely deduced.

the quiet lingers, stretching longer than you expect it to. with anyone else, it might be gauche, but with jason, it's genuine. his presence doesn’t demand to be filled, doesn’t prod for conversation. there’s a kind of comfort in the stillness, and yet, you can’t help the urge to fill it anyway.

“you always do that.” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, motioning to his form.

his eyes flick to you, a single brow raised. “do what?”

“go quiet when it’s just us.” you shrug, feeling the weight of his gaze settle over you like a heavy shroud. “not that i mind. i just…wonder what you’re thinking about.”

jason doesn’t respond right away. instead, he shifts his weight, the muscles in his jaw tensing as if he’s biting back whatever words on the tip of his tongue. it’s a familiar look—you’ve seen it before when you ask too much, pry too far. you’re used to him brushing you off, deflecting with a gruff remark or a half-hearted excuse.

but tonight feels different. maybe it’s the suit, the fact it may have thrown him off his game, or something else entirely. but he seems less rigid.

“i think about a lot of things.” he says eventually, voice low and a little unpolished around the edges. something undiscernible cracking through.

it’s not much, but it’s something. enough to keep you pushing, just a little. “like what?”

he lets out a breath, slow and deliberate, before turning to face you fully. for a moment, his eyes search yours, and you can’t quite read what he’s looking for. but there's a vehemence there, as always. that same gaze that unnerved you from the start, the one that seems to strip away every veneer you wear, leaving you exposed in ways you can’t fully understand.

finally, he speaks, "like how long you're plannin' on keeping me around."

you blink, caught off guard. “well i'm not planning on firing you. unless you want to quit?”

jason's expression doesn't change immediately, but there's a subtle shift in the air, like he’s bracing for something, eerily prepared for impact. he gazes down at you, eyes sharp yet somehow gentler than before, his usual forbearing walls giving way to the faintest glimpse of openness.

he shakes his head, his voice quiet, almost too low for you to catch. “it's not about me quitting.” his hands clench and unclench at his sides, as if grappling with the right words. “just…wondering how long you think you’ll need me.”

there’s something suppressed beneath the surface of his question, something that feels much heavier than the simple contractual relationship you two have. it throws you.

you were expecting a sarcastic comeback, maybe even for him to opt to brush-off the inquiry, but this? it’s not like jason to expose any hint of doubt, let alone ask a question that sounds as if he’s questioning his own value.

you meet his gaze head-on, this time holding it longer than usual, trying to figure him out the same way he seems to do to you. but jason, for all his candor in the last few seconds, remains a closed book. his eyes give away nothing but that steady, unnerving intensity that always makes you feel like he's seeing every single part of you.

“i don’t think that’s really up to me,” you say, a little softer than you intended. “you’re not just here because i need protection, jason.”

his brow furrows at that, a question clearly dancing on the edge of his lips, but he stays silent, waiting for you to explain.

you shift on your heels, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel under that stare of his. it's the same feeling from earlier in the night, when you found yourself drawn away from the crowd and towards him. that pull between you both, implicit and still so absolute. he never asked for it, and neither did you, but here it is. and for some reason, you feel the urge to name it, to make it clear.

"you’re not just some hired muscle to me," you continue, keeping your voice low. "i mean… you’re good at your job, don’t get me wrong. but it’s more than that." you fight the urge to add an imperative, 'right?'.

jason’s eyes darken, his stance shifting, but he says nothing, just watching you. the tension between you both thickens, and the night air feels suddenly chilled.

you swallow, your heart picking up pace. “i trust you,” you start, because it feels important—like he needs to hear it. “more than i trust anyone else around me. and maybe i shouldn’t, but… here we are."

his gaze softens, just barely, but it's enough to let you know your words have hit home. he’s still tense, still holding something back, but the way his shoulders ease slightly and the slight shift in his posture tells you that he’s heard you. really heard you.

"trust, huh?" jason hums, almost like he’s testing the word out. he doesn’t say anything else, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes, something close to appreciation, even if he won’t admit it.

you nod, not trusting yourself to say more. the silence stretches between you again, this time it feels less heavy, still unsure and uncomfortable—but your heart feels lighter, less weighed down.

after a moment, jason turns his head toward the street, eyes scanning for your ride. “car’s here.” he says, his voice back to its usual low grumble, but there’s something different in his tone, something gentler.

you follow his gaze, but your thoughts are still on him, on the way his presence has become more than just protective. it’s grounding. familiar. safe. strangely so.

as the car pulls up, jason steps aside, opening the door for you without a word. but just before you slide inside, you catch his eyes again—those blue-green chasms that seem to hold more than he ever lets on. you decide promptly that one day you'll tell him how pretty they are, one day.

"thank you, i'll see you tomorrow. bright and early." your voice is barely a whisper, as you step into the car. for once, he doesn’t brush off your remark with a snarky comment.

he just nods, watching as you disappear into the back seat, that same steady, unreadable gaze following you until the door shuts between you both. the car pulls away, but your mind remains fixed on the man sworn to be your protector. unnerving.

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Ultimate Decision - MYG

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 2.2k+

Summary: 

"I can't feel my legs Hop right on the ledge, jump right off the edge"

Alternatively, 

Worst decisions are always driven by anger and alcohol; but sometimes those are also driven by Love.

Warnings: so much angst, reader's inner turmoil, unplanned pregnancy, yoongi is making things worse, Hoseok is the doctor but he is not to be shipped with the reader here, he is a catalyst though, pining, so much pining.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

A/N: The next chapter from the present timeline.

Taglist requests are closed for now

Read the next chapter

You fumble with your phone, scrolling down numbers after numbers but can’t find a single contact you can call at a time like this. 

The pregnancy testing kit lies on your left hand as if it has been tattooed on your skin. For some reason, you don’t feel dread creeping up through the path of your neck. 

Should you cry? Should you call Yoongi and curse him to your heart’s content? Should you ask him to take the responsibility when he is about to start living his old happy life again? 

Probably you should. 

But the thing is… you can’t bring yourself to do any of those. 

You don’t even know what you should feel or what you need to feel at a moment like this. 

You don’t even have any idea of what’s going to be your next move. 

Will you keep the baby? Or will you choose to abort it? 

But before everything, you should consult with someone, who is wiser than you. 

Your fingers hover above your mother’s contact ID, even though you know your calls are going to go unnoticed, unanswered, ignored as if you never came out of her womb. 

And things will turn even uglier if she answers your call and you manage to tell her what you have done to yourself, more or less willingly. 

So you let your phone fall limp on your lap. 

How funny - you have absolutely no one to confide in. no family, no friends, no one. 

As soon as the realization hits, your eyes start turning blurry. 

Tear drops escape one by one, dampening your cheeks, throat, collarbones. You caress your stomach. 

“What do I do now?” the mumble comes out choked. And then you are thinking of him again. 

How he cried in his sleep the first time you brought him here with you. How he repeated his actions again during his last visit here. 

Both of the time you stood on the sidelines, the center of his universe has always been Gyuri. 

In the end, though, you have been the one affected - with blooming warmth in your chest and in turn a presence of life in your womb. 

As you think of Yoongi, your mind runs back to the man who had helped you in picking him up from the streets. 

You still remember, his card said he was an obgyn. 

Your tears cease. 

Yes. As much as you need a friend or family right now, you need an expert too. 

Standing abruptly from your bed, you run toward the other side of it, reaching out for the night stand, where you had kept the man’s card more than a year ago. 

You don’t have to struggle much to find out the card, it’s there as if it has been waiting to be found all these times. 

Holding the card in your hand, opens the flood gate of fresh memory of that night, of Yoongi’s dirty face, vomit all over his clothes and him holding you tightly in his sleep. 

That was the first and last time. 

He never held you for a second time, unless you were having sex. 

Pushing down the depressing thoughts, you grab your phone and with swift fingers dial the number of the man - Jung Hoseok. 

The clock reads 9 pm on a Wednesday night. And you pray, this is not past his business hours, he has no such mentions in the card as well. 

The universe seems to grant your prayer this time, probably out of sheer pity, as the man accepts the call on the fourth ring. 

“Hello, It’s Dr. Jung Hoseok, how can I help you?” The man speaks with a professional tone that sets you on an unexplainable ease. 

“Hi, uh, I am sorry to call you like this but I had managed to get my hands on your card and I think I need your help. I, um, I’m pregnant. And I think I need an appointment.” your hands start sweating now when you realize all of it is real. You are pregnant with the baby of a man who doesn’t love you. 

Pathetic. 

“How many weeks are you?” the man asks with the same professional pronunciation. 

“I don’t know. I just found out a few minutes ago. This is my first time and I don’t know what to do.” you speak honestly. 

These are the same words you want to confess to a friend, to your mother as well and most importantly to Yoongi. But talking to a stranger, about how helpless you are, is much less nerve-wracking. 

“You are not a teenager, are you?” he speaks, suspicion laced in his voice. 

A sudden chuckle leaves your throat, “I’m twenty seven.” 

The other side of the line only hums and then after a beat he says, “we usually don’t accept appointments made via phone calls but I can guide you on how to book one. If that’s okay with you?” 

“Anything is okay with me.” 

And you are not lying. At this hour, alone in your apartment, robbed off options, in the lack of a confidant - any assistance is okay with you. 

Any assistance is fine if that means you will be able to figure out what you are going to do with a baby in your womb, gifted by the man whom you let destroy yourself for the sake of love. 

The appointment is due at 3 in the afternoon and right now the clock is at 1:26. 

The hospital is an hour's drive away, hence, if you leave now, you will still have a 30 minutes on your hand. 

But the problem is that you didn’t inform anyone formally about this secretive appointment. Applying an official leave would raise questions about the nature and reason of the appointment and you don’t want that. 

You want to protect this truth with every drop of blood your body owns. 

So, you decide to quickly drop by Namjoon's office and tell him you need the rest of the day off for some emergency. 

For a matter you know Namjoon is not privy enough to inquire about the so-called emergency. 

Much to your dismay, your plans shatter like a porcelain vase as soon as you open the door of Namjoon’s office. Because one, there is no Namjoon, two, there is Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi’s expression mimics yours as he takes you in, standing there, staring at him as if he didn’t fuck you raw and left you with consequences just a month ago. 

But then again… a month of radio silence, a month of stolen glances, a month of no skin contact, a month of no Min Yoongi was more painful than you’d dare to admit. 

Your heart thumps inside your chest as you realize, you are standing in front of the man whose baby is currently in your womb. 

You are carrying a baby! And that’s Min Yoongi’s! Screams your mind at the loudest possible volume. 

But still, by some miraculous strength, you manage to smile at him.

A casual, nonchalant smile as you are used to. 

Except this time, Yoongi doesn’t smile back. 

He looks at you with eyes so deep that you fear you will succumb to them yet again if you stay here for a moment longer. 

“Where’s Namjoon?” you get straight to the point, without wasting your time in any greeting. 

“Y/N. Wait.” but you have always been weak to the way Yoongi calls your name. This time, you are hearing it after what feels like an eternity. 

“He went out to escort a guest.” Yoongi says, flatly, his tone devoid of any emotions. It’s tough to believe he cried in your arms a month ago.

“Oh. Then can you please let him know that I have an emergency and I have left for the day? Thank you.” you don’t wait for his reply as you start turning your heels to run away already. 

His voice works like glue and stops you in your tracks. You are now unable to move. A cold, calloused palm comes in contact with your upper arm, forcing you to face the man. 

When you face him, you see his face and expression has softened. The stoic expression is now gone and you are afraid of what to make out of it. 

This is not pity, is it? 

“How are you? It’s been so long- I wanted to see you but-” 

“But there is no reason to do so, right?” you finish his sentence for him, “I am fine, Yoongi. How are you? How’s Gyuri?” 

“All good.” he ignores the mention of the woman, "What's the emergency? Are you alright?” He places the back of his palm on your forehead, checking your body temperature. 

Your eyes fill to the brim. You need to leave right now or you will start crying. 

“I- I’m fine.” you lie, removing his hand from your skin, “it’s just something personal.” 

Yoongi frowns at that “oh. You can tell me. If you need any he-” 

“I can take care of it myself, Yoongi. You have a life to lead, you have better days ahead now, why would you even care about me? I was just a fleeting chapter anyway. Please- please don’t act like our time together meant anything to you. Please, I beg.” try as you might, you couldn’t contain it anymore. 

Just like you, Yoongi, too, is taken aback with your outburst. Though his eyes are kind, if you dare to add, then those might as well be in pain. 

But his next words only break you further, “wasn’t it a given? A silent agreement that our time together wouldn’t mean much to any of us?” 

Is he challenging you? Trying to elicit a further reaction? Is it a knife to dig more in your fresh wounds? 

If yes, then you will do everything to disappoint him. 

You nod, “Yeah. You are right. Forget I have said anything. Bye.” 

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something but you are faster than his words. Before he manages to say a word, you are out of the door and shutting it on his face. 

He is cruel. 

He has always been. 

But you still love him. 

You have always had. 

The fact that Yoongi can be a little heartless has never been a shock to you. 

Nevertheless, it didn’t harm you any less when he let those careless words out of his mouth. Then again, you can not even blame him because you had been the one to place your heart in his hands and asked him to play with it. 

In the end, it’s your fault. 

And you are already paying the price in more ways than one. 

“Miss Y/N?” a nurse calls your name, pulling you out of your miserable thoughts, “you can go in now.” 

With a bow and a forced smile you leave the waiting area and enter the OPD room. 

A man is sitting at the desk, with his scrubs and white coat on, the nameplate on the table says he is the one who helped you out that night. He is Jung Hoseok. 

You failed to look at his face that night, being too busy with tending Yoongi. But now that you are looking at him, he seems to be the embodiment of everything that’s positive, light, bright - much unlike you (or Yoongi for that matter). 

His eyes light up as he takes you in, with a big smile he says, “oh? You are Miss Y/N? I remember you clearly. Please take the seat.” 

You wonder how it's even possible to recall you after seeing you once, that too a year ago, “You do?” 

“Yes. I still remember that night and your friend.” He mentions Yoongi.

If he sees the man’s mention dims you even further then he doesn’t say anything but he chooses to change the topic right away, “have you filled the form?” 

“Yes.” you hand him the piece of paper. 

He goes through it all at once, probably having everything memorized, but his eyes get stuck at one point. And you have an idea what it can be. 

“As I can see, you have not added anyone as your closest contact?” he says with a careful tone.

“Yes.” you reply briefly. 

“You need to add one person at least, maybe a friend, or a family, or the father of the baby.” he suggests. 

“I- No one knows about this just yet. I don’t have any immediate friend or family who could help me out.” your hands are now shaking. 

“Sorry to pry, but what about the father of the baby?” Jung Hoseok leans a little further on the table, as if trying to measure your facial expressions. 

“He is unaware of the situation.” 

“Are you sure you want the baby?” he voices in the softest possible tone anyone has ever used against you. 

“Yes. I want to keep the baby.” and that’s it. If the baby is one last proof of what Yoongi had with you for no less than a year, if the baby is a proof that Yoongi had once held you, cried in your arms, dipped inside you to forget his own complications, then you want to keep it. 

And this will be your ultimate decision no matter what anyone else says. 

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: A Walk in the Park

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

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

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

You push through the door of the lobby and hold it open for the elder woman hunched over her walker. You patiently let her through but she doesn’t even acknowledge your deed. It’s too bad that most times you help people, you don’t even seem to notice. That’s fine. You’d feel worse to see her struggle. 

She heads for the outer door but before you can rush over to get that too, someone else does. You blanch as you recognise the man with the bristly mustache. It’s Lloyd. You haven’t seen or heard from him in the week since the sandwich shop encounter. You just assumed it was another random crossing of wires. 

The woman mutters as she passes through the door and his cheek twitches as he waits until he’s through to let go. He shakes his head and turns to you, “there ya are. Didn’t know your unit so kinda just been hanging around.” 

You blink, “you’ve been waiting on me?” 

“That lady was a grouch, huh? Not even a thanks. Telling ya, tootsie roll, you’re too sweet,” he says. That pet name is cute but a bit much. 

“Um, yeah, but she’s probably in a lot of pain. Maybe one day I’ll be in the same way and someone will hold the door for me,” you shrug. “But uh, why exactly are you waiting in my lobby?” 

“Friends stop by to say hello, don’t they?” He grins.  

“Sure, but uh...” 

“You said we’re friends so... did I misread this? Were you just being nice? The way you do, huh? Because lying isn’t very nice, tootsie.” 

You shake your head, “no, I just... I don’t know. I’m surprised. That’s all.” 

“Good surprise?” He lifts a brow. 

“Yeah, of course,” you squeak. 

“Mm, and where are you off too, besides helping little old ladies?” He challenges. 

“Just going for a walk. I like to walk through Garnet.” 

“Garnet? You mean the sh—the path down there?” He points to the wall and you nod. 

“They have pretty flowers.” 

“It’s... almost winter,” he sniffs. 

“Yeah, I know. I like it though. There’s still ducks around.” 

He nods, his eyes narrowed discerningly, “you always see the silver linings, don’t ya?” 

“I try,” you shrug. 

“Well, can I crash your walk? Could stand to stretch my legs.” 

You nod and hum, “that’s fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

“Lloyd,” you give him a look, “you’re more than welcome to walk with me.” 

You tuck your earbud case away. The left one is broken anyhow. He pulls the door open again and waves you out. 

He follows and catches up to you on the sidewalk. You walk down the pavement and breathe in the brisk air. You fix your beanie over your ears and slip your hands up your sleeves as you cross your arms. 

“Damn cold, isn’t it?” He puffs a cloud of steam into the air. 

“I can’t wait for the snow,” you say.  

Your father always loved the wintertime. You would watch the flakes drift down and build a snowman, even a tiny one if there wasn’t very much, and you’d have hot chocolate on the porch in your mittens and pajamas. And Christmas... 

You push away that thought. 

“You’re quiet? You alright?” He nudges you with his elbow. You flinch. You forgot he was there for a second. 

“I’m wonderful. How are you? How’s your ear?” 

“My ear...” he echoes. “You remember?” 

“Did you get it looked at? Does it still hurt?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright. Still a bit fuzzy on that side,” he shrugs. “It’s whatever. I’m a big boy.” 

“Right, but did a doctor say so or--” 

“You worry about me that much, tootsie?” He scoffs. 

“It’s important. You never know, could be worse than you think. And if it’s nothing at all, at least you know,” you say. You don’t want to nag him, even if you should have nagged your dad. Maybe... 

“No, I didn’t. Really, it’s not the first time I got a good blast to the ear,” he says. 

“Right,” you accept as you turn through the gate to the park. The arch is missing letters but it’s still beautiful. 

He sighs again and rubs his hands together. “God, I hate the cold.” 

“You should get gloves,” you uncross your arms and reach into your pocket, “I don’t know, mine might be too small.” 

You offer him the woolly mittens. He clicks his tongue, “that’s cute, definitely too small.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and chatters. You look at his jacket. You try to see the inside above the collar. “What are you doing?” He glances at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Is that lined?” You ask. 

“What?” 

“Your coat. Is there a lining in it? It looks thin.” 

“I’m just fine, mom, thanks,” he snips sharply. 

“Gosh, sorry, I just... I could sew a lining into it. I replaced the inserts in my boots too. It’s not that hard.” 

He furrows his brow, “it’s whatever. I spend most of the winter south. Right by the equator where it’s nice and sunny.” 

“Ooo, that sounds cool,” you say. “By the ocean?” 

“Surrounded by it,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Wow. I’ve never seen the ocean.” 

“You haven’t... tootsie, what’re ya doin’ to me? You’re lying.” 

“Nope,” you shake your head. “I’m sure one day I will. Is it pretty?” 

He looks at you and his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, “yeah, it’s... beautiful,” he looks ahead thoughtfully. “Guess I should pay more attention, but yeah, real blue and big and sh—stuff.” 

You bounce on your feet and stop suddenly. You hit his arm and point, “don’t scare him.” 

He nearly trips as you gesture to the little chipmunk on the broken bench. You can’t help a squee as it skitters onto the seat and glances around nervously. You squeeze Lloyd’s sleeve without thinking. 

“He’s so c-y-ute!” You say, “isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t answer right away but you’re too enamoured with the tiny critter to care. 

“Yea, super cute,” he agrees at last. 

[sunhighriptide]

My Headcanons for the Spice Tolerance of various members and associates of the batfamily.

DICK: He isn't a wimp, but also not a spicy fan. Give him sweet any day. He'll eat the hot sauce from your local mexican restaurant but will avoid spicy challenges at all costs. Has been burned by Jason's food more than once. Does have a liking for sour candy.

BARBARA: Not terrible, but very much not her thing. She likes sour and occasionally bitter. She will not eat your hot sauce. Handles it much better than some, but would rather not purposefully eat pain, thank you very much.

JASON: Spice King. There is almost no food he will not try. Had a high spicy tolerance before he died, after the pit and his world travels, nothing phases him. He loves Alfred's cooking, and it will always be his comfort food, but his palette is way more adventurous. He will only tone his cooking down for Alfred and Barabara. If anyone else wants to eat his food, they can shut up and deal. He doesn't have to feed them.

I don't really have an opinion on Helena. Probably similar to Dick's.

TIM: The biggest wimp to ever wimp. His taste buds are mostly destroyed, so if you feed him spicy food, he won't notice for the first five minutes. Until he realizes his mouth is on fire and is finally distracted from whatever he is working on. The burning will linger for the rest of the day, and he won't talk to the person responsible for a week. He used to gulp water until Steph told him that makes it worse, and he should use milk instead. He figured coffee has enough milk content. Both Damian and Jason have used this against him.

STEPHANIE: Suprisingly impressive. She can nearly match Damian, and no one but Cass can tell she's dying inside towards the end of the hot sauce challenge. She once attempted to eat Jason's spiciest dish while looking him dead on before bailing to the bathroom about six seconds in. Jason never told her it wasn't quite the spicest dish he makes.

CASSANDRA: She doesn't like spicy food and is fully okay with that. Sure, she can tolerate it, but as Barbara said, why would she willingly eat pain? Jason doesn't mind because it is Cass, and she's really chill about it. He'll give her the mild version he makes for Alfred and Babs.

DAMIAN: Obviously, he can handle spicy food, how dare you insult his constitution, plebian. Nothing in the U.S. is going to trip him up, especially nothing in New Jersey, but there are spices he would rather not suffer through, though he will never admit to such a weakness.

KATE: Enjoys spicy food, but European level spicy. She can handle anything found in Italy, no problem, but Indian becomes a problem.

ALFRED: He is English. No, he doesn't like spicy food. He will never like spicy food. This is okay, we still love him.

BRUCE: It is a very good thing he has a nearly perfect poker face because Talia would never have married such a wimp. Feed the white boys (Tim and Bruce), a pepper, and watch Ra's al ghul loose all interest. That's my solution. Cannot handle the slightest spice. The grocery store mild salsa is a danger to him. Will lie to your face about it. Lives in fear of his family discovering this weakness.

[vickyvicarious]

Honestly, I think it could be very impactful if Van Helsing did die in the graveyard tonight. It'd continue the trend of people taking any direct stand against Dracula being killed almost casually in return. Up the stakes even more. Maybe he could be found the next morning on a grave with his neck broken, a look of fear or defiance on his face - a reminder of Mr. Swales's death.

Jack would get the note and then find him or hear about him being found in the graveyard. The suitors would arrive thanks to the note the Professor sent them and they'd link up with him. I imagine they would go together anyway, though more expecting to support a Jack who is wondering if it can be real after all or if it was just madness before he was murdered somehow. They would all learn just how true it is together, would have to save each other and then follow the directions left to them. Or possibly seek out the Harkers first and then they might be involved in the Bloofer Lady staking. That would be a good moment of horror too, Mina seeing Lucy like this...

When the groups united they'd have to do research of their own, or go through the documents left behind by Van Helsing. Books of fairy tales and superstitions, pages with scattered notes, comparing them to the diaries...

Thematically, it would fit pretty well with all the other deaths around this part of the book. The parents are all dead and gone. And while Van Helsing is not a parent to anyone here, he was a mentor and guide to Jack in particular. He would join in with the others who now are orphaned/have to figure things out themselves. Jonathan has inherited the responsibilities of a law firm, Arthur has inherited the title and all that goes with it, Jack would inherit Van Helsing's final task.

There would be more collaboration in general (rather than all mostly following) and more leadership emerging from Mina, probably. None of the suitors are going to be as ready to take the lead in this situation, at least not as totally as Van Helsing. Of course, issues with her being left behind probably aren't going to just totally go away. But I imagine less so, or in a different way. Along the way I think there could be more moments for Arthur or Quincey to shine as well, stepping in at different points where originally Van Helsing took the floor.

The end of the story, where everyone splits up three ways, would have to be changed somehow, of course. Either someone has to go alone, or they have to ignore one route entirely. But I think that might be the biggest actual plot change you'd find completely necessary. Other than what happens to Mina, of course. I do think Dracula would still go after Mina somehow, even if she went with them to examine his boxes. But maybe they wouldn't get to the point of doing so as quickly until they collated all their info. Maybe things happen slower, maybe what happened the final night (Jonathan hypnotized into sleep right next to him) would happen more often. Oh, I guess the other change might be no one to hypnotize Mina while spying, unless this is some skill Quincey happens to have or whatever. But then, Jack seems familiar at least with the theory, so maybe he could make an attempt at it.

I mean, there's no reason you would have to stick that closely to the original story. But for the most part I think you could if you wanted, and it would just be a different tone that would still be really powerful. And it would be kind of interesting to have Van Helsing's role be limited to failing to save Lucy throughout. Hiding information right up until he tries to share it, after which he dies. That phrasing makes it sound really brutal, but... I mean it would kind of be brutal, but his legacy would be bringing the two groups together, showing them the truth (or confirming it as the case may be) and entrusting them with the future.