#but there are less than i thought when making this though

[gyaruhana]

Hi Xae, have a good new year, I wanted to ask you if you could write about Kang Dae-ho (player 388) from Squid Game 2, where the reader joins Gihun's team and even though it's only been a few hours, she and Dae-ho already have chemistry and Dae-ho tells Gihun's friend how pretty the reader is, making him a little angry and calling him a fool in love, ty ❤!

-🦊

Kang Dae-Ho/Player 388 - Fool in love

Synopsis: You and Dae-ho get along within the first second you meet - maybe it's meant to be?

A/N: Finally dropping this !! Dae-ho is so cutie and I love him sm

Warning: none !!

A game where death is lurking right around the corner is enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine. Especially yours. You only came here because you needed the money but you weren't confident that you'd be willing to die for it. The idea that you might die soon made you utterly afraid. You had a family that you'd most definitely like to go home to but most of the other players seemed far too keen to stay in this hell and it meant you were stuck there with them too.

On a more fortunate note, there seemed to be a previous winner amidst the hundreds of other players and you'd be damned if you didn't rely on someone who knew what he was doing. If he really was a winner, then he could predict the games. Maybe then you'd actually have a chance of getting out alive and with a lot of money.

“Hi. You're the guy from earlier who said that he played this before, right?” You ask as you stand in front of player 456. You thought maybe being his ally would make you feel better but, with the way he looked up at you, he was actually kind of scary. It's like his face had been frozen into a hard glare. Though, to be fair, he was apparently the sole survivor of the game he played so he must have suffered plenty of losses. You suppose you'd look that unhappy too if you lost people you cared about.

He gives you a nod as the other people sitting around look at you too. They looked a lot less terrifying than him which made you feel a bit better. “I was wondering if maybe I could stick with you guys? I don't really want to be on my own and, since you've played these games before, you can help, right?” you ask with a hopeful look. You were really hoping that they'd be welcoming to you. 

“Mm? Who are you?” Someone suddenly speaks and, when you look towards the voice, you see a boy with food stuffed in his mouth peeking out from around the corner. His eyes briefly widen when he sees you properly before he quickly puts his food down and jumps off the bed. “Of course, you can stick with us,” he says rather eagerly as the three men behind him give him a strange look.

“Ah, really? Thank you,” you say with a nervous grin as he practically pushes you to sit down. You honestly didn't expect to be welcomed with such open arms. Actually, maybe that wasn't really a team decision but you didn't complain because now you had a team who could protect you and that you could hopefully trust. 

“So, who are you?” He asks as he grabs his food from the bed before he sits down beside you with his legs crossed. He looked genuinely interested to know everything about you and it made your heartbeat a little faster. He was cute. That was for sure. So to have his eyes on you was certainly making you slightly nervous. You cleared your throat before introducing yourself as you tried to maintain eye contact with him.

He repeats your name as if testing out how it sounds when said from his own mouth. After a slight pause, he gives a slight nod of approval before speaking up again. “I'm Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho,” he says with a smile. In all honesty, he had never seen someone as pretty as you. You really captivated his attention. He felt like he couldn't take his eyes off you.

“Kang Dae-ho,” you repeat quietly as you engrave the name into your mind. “That's a nice name,” you say with a small smile and he smiles too. “It's supposed to mean big tiger. Kang means big and Dae-ho means tiger,” he explains before taking a bite of his food. 

“Big tiger? You don't look very big,” you say with a small smile, teasing him slightly. He swallowed down his food before responding to your comment. “Wha-? I'm big! I was a marine,” he says with a proud smirk. You look at him and down and raise an eyebrow to send a clear message that you didn't believe him one bit.

“No, I'm serious!” He says before pulling his sleeve up to reveal his tattoo. “See?” He says as he makes sure you get a good look at it. “C'mon, anyone could get that tattooed on their arm,” you say and he immediately shakes his head in denial. 

“You still don't believe me? Maybe I need to show you my strength then,” he says with a small smile before throwing some gentle punches at you. You laugh at his actions as you two play fight - something that captures the attention of the other three that were sitting around. They look at you two before exchanging a glance between each other then looking away and trying to act as if you and Dae-ho aren't clearly forming some sort of chemistry right now.

The next few hours you had spent exclusively with Dae-ho talking about every little thing. You opened up to him about why you were in these games and what you had gone through and he listened so intently, it made your heart race. You swear your brain would short circuit when he looked at you with that look. When his head was tilted and his eyes said all the words he wanted to say with his mouth.

You couldn't believe you were crushing on a guy you just met. Sure, he was a good listener, funny, strong, nice, and everything else that makes someone perfect but you couldn't just fall in love with him. Hell, you're both in a game of death! One of you could die tomorrow so you really shouldn't be letting your heart race at 100 miles per hour just because he's cute.

Before the both of you knew it, there was already five minutes until lights out and you'd all have to go to sleep to have energy for tomorrow’s game. You looked over at Dae-ho before speaking up. “Dae-ho, I'll be back. I'm just going to use the restroom,” you say with a small smile. When he nods his head, you wave before walking off quickly towards the door. He watched as you knocked on it before having it opened by a guard and then promptly disappearing round the corner. 

He let out a sigh before turning around and walking over to Jung-bae. You were so pretty. He honestly couldn't believe you were real. Maybe his brain had made you up as a coping mechanism? You were just so perfect in his eyes. Everything he could possibly want. God, he'd love to take you to dinner sometime when both of you get out of this place so he can give you the love and attention you deserve. He just wished that he could cover your face in kisses for hours on end and hold your hand while taking a walk together. He didn't care if it was cliche. It didn't matter because it was for you.

He finally made it to Jung-Bae and took a seat next to him quietly. He shifted slightly to rest his chin on his hand and waited for Jung-Bae to ask what was on his mind. It was quiet for a few moments as Jung-bae chose to pretend like Dae-ho definitely didn’t have anything to say about you so Dae-ho made the quick decision to let out another sigh- this time much louder to catch Jung-bae’s attention and force him to ask what's on his mind.

Jung-bae turns to look at him with slight annoyance. “What? Don't just sit there and sigh. What is it?” Jung-bae asks as Dae-ho turns to look at him with a shy smile. “She’s so pretty,” he says with his face flushed slightly red, embarrassed that he was fawning over you like this. “Huh?” Jung-bae responds, confused about what he was talking about. 

“Her. She’s so pretty. She has the most amazing laugh and the cutest smile and-” Dae-ho begins to speak before receiving a smack over the back of his head making him shut up. The smile on his face drops as he looks at Jung-bae like a confused puppy.

“You're such a fool. You just met her a few hours ago,” he says as he shakes his head in disapproval. Dae-ho laughs nervously as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess.. but still. She's so perfect,” he says in poor defense. 

He hears the door open and his head snaps towards it immediately. He was hoping it was you because he already missed talking to you, even if it's only been a few minutes since you left for the bathrooms. When he sees you, he quickly smiles and, if he was a dog, anyone would see his tail wagging back and forth. Jung-bae let out a sigh and shook his head like some father who was disappointed in his son.

“You're planning to ask her out, aren't you?” He says only to get an immediate response.

“absolutely,”

[elinty]

Beyond The Finish Line | CL16

pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

summary: A heartfelt moment helps Charles find comfort and self-worth beyond failure.

genre: angst with a fluffy ending

I found him in the quiet paddock. Too silent. It’s completely still, like if it's keeping its air.

Charles remained in the Ferrari garage, leaned on a folding chair with his head in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. I paused at the doorway, observing him for a while. He appeared so small, in contrast to the confident man who drove the car.

I hated seeing him like this.

“Charles?” I whispered.

He didn't raise his head. "Go home," he said, entering nevertheless and shutting the door. "No chance. Do you think I'll let you spend the entire night sitting alone?

No reply. My heart hurt even more when he remained quiet.

"Charles," I said once more, harder this time, and moved across the room to face him. "Speak to me."

When he did look up, his emerald eyes had become worn and red-rimmed. "What is there to discuss?"

"You tell me."

With a sigh, he leaned back and gazed at the ceiling. "I failed everyone. The team. The supporters. Myself. Once more.

When he finished speaking, his voice broke, and it took everything in me not to pull him into my arms right then and there.

I said, sitting in front of him so he couldn't avoid my eyes, "You didn't let anyone down." "Charles, you put your all out there. All anyone can ask is that.

"It's not enough," he replied angrily. "It never is."

"It's for me."

At that, he froze. His eyes slowly came into contact with mine, and I could see his confusion and doubt there. His voice was raw and gentle as he said, "Why?" "When I keep failing, why do you still believe in me?"

My heart began to crumble even more. Before I could question my words, I blurted out, "Because I know who you are." Charles, you're more than just a driver to me. You're a tough person who plays this sport. You're a good person who truly cares about others. That's the reason.

He simply looked at me for a moment, as though he was unsure whether or not he could trust me. Then he let out an anxious breath and combed his hair.

"To me, you're too good," he whispered.

"You make it easy," I replied, smiling a little.

It was like light seeping through the clouds as an eerie image of a smile grasped at his lips.

I stood up and extended my hand, saying, "Come on." "Let's leave this place."

He hesitated and asked, "Where?" "Anywhere but here."

He told me he used to go to this view outside the city when he was younger. In the distance, the car's lights sparkled, yet everything seemed darker here. less noisy.

With his arms folded, Charles gazed out at the scenery while leaning against the hood of my car. After some time, he said, "I used to come here whenever I needed to think."

"What were your thoughts?" As I stood next to him, I asked.

"Me winning. proving myself. bringing honour to my father. The softening of his voice as he spoke about his father made my heart hurt.

"And now?" I lightly pushed. "Now." He walked off staring at the horizon. "Now, I question whether it was all worth it."

My chest tightened as I turned to face him. "Stop saying that."

"It's true," he said quietly. Something always happens just when I believe I'm getting closer. A mistake, a collision, fate... I feel like I'm pursuing a goal that is impossible.

I put my hand on his arm and moved ahead of him. "Listen to me, Charles. You are more than all that you accomplish. More than the victories or losses. You have no one to prove anything to. Not to yourself, not to the team, and not to the supporters.

For some time, the pain in his eyes was nearly unbearable as he gave me a serious look.

"You think that's true?" he said quietly.

"With all my heart," I said in a firm voice.

I could sense the change in the atmosphere between us—the hidden bond that had always existed but was simply waiting for the proper time.

With a slight smile on his lips, he continued, "You know, I don't think I've ever thanked you for putting up with me."

In an attempt to lighten the situation, I mocked, "You haven't." However, I thought it was stated.

His laughter was warm and sincere. Thank you for everything."I answered, scarcely raising my voice above a whisper, "Charles, you don't have to thank me." "I want to be here, so I am."

For a minute, it seemed as though the world disappeared and there were only the two of us as his face softened. He gently put his hand against mine and linked his fingers with mine.

“He said, his voice a little shaky, "I don't know where I'd be without you."

I squeezed his hand and whispered, "You don't have to." "I won't be leaving."

Then he giggled, a genuine smile that extended to his eyes. And that night, for the first time, I caught a glimpse of the Charles I knew—the one who never gave up.

I came to a conclusion as we stood hand in hand. He might never have the same level of self-confidence that I did. However, I would remind him whenever I could while I was here.

Because he had already won in my eyes.

A/N: guys this is lowkey bad but hope you enjoyed this!! anyways im working on the Charles Leclerc series and i think you guys are gonna like it!!!

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Good Enough

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,520ish

Summary: Logan tags along as your date to your brother's wedding.

Warnings: some mental health issues, insecurities

Notes: This is extremely self indulgent and may be terrible. My brother's wedding was yesterday and I had a mental breakdown because I've never been in a relationship and have now grown so insecure about it all. If only I had any hope of something, so I wrote this.

You sighed at the invitation in your hand. It was no shock to you to receive the wedding invite, it was from your own brother, but it stung none the less. Though you were very happy for your younger brother, you couldn’t help but ache for a relationship yourself. You wanted someone to be your confidant, your best friend. You wanted a partner to go through the difficulties of life with, someone to lean on. But you were never that girl.

  You also had a lot of insecurities surrounding yourself and relationships. You had never been in one. No one was ever interested in you. You weren’t what the world deemed a perfect girl. You were average, for the most part. It didn’t help that you were a mutant with the ability to turn invisible. Often, your mutation linked to your emotions, making you go invisible when you were nervous or excited or embarrassed. You didn’t help the X-Men besides being a teacher at the school. You weren’t what people wanted, leaving you feeling alone and longing. 

“If you glare at that paper any longer, it may actually turn invisible,” Logan’s gruff voice broke through your internal downward spiral.

You jumped slight, looking behind you to see Logan leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Oh, sorry,” you mumbled.

“Nothin’ to be apologizing about.” He pushed himself off of the doorway and walked over. “Now, what’s got you glaring that hard?” He peeked over your shoulder. “A wedding?”

“It’s my brothers.”

He nodded, grunting. “And… we don’t like him?”

“No,” you shook your head, “we love him. And I’m so very happy for him. It’s just…” Logan sat down in the chair next to you, waiting for more of your response. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Not buying it, sweetheart.”

You sighed. How much of the truth to you tell the man you stole your heart but had no idea? “It’s just… I’m happy for my brother. I honestly don’t want the relationship that they have, but I… I want a relationship. Sometimes I get lonely or I just want someone to share the good, the bad, and the ugly with.”

Logan nodded. “I understand a bit. With my, uh, long life, I’ve definitely had my moments where I’ve felt that.”

“Do you still?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged.

“There’s also the fact that I really don’t want to go to this wedding alone. I will be cornered, asked why I’m single and given suggestions on what I need to do or change to get a man.”

Logan’s brows pinched together. “That’s not right.”

“Yeah, well, it’s how it’s gonna be.”

“Not if I come with ya.”

Your heart began hammering in your chest. “What?”

“I’ll come with you. As a, uh, date—a fake date. To throw them off your case.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Logan shrugged. “I’m free and Charles keeps trying to get me out of the mansion.” And to help you, Logan thought. He would do anything to help you and be close to you.

“Oh.” You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of hurt at the thought of Logan just coming to get Charles off his back. “I really don’t want to put you out—“

“I got no plans. I’ll be there.”

~~~

Your hands shook as you finished up getting ready for your brother’s wedding. This whole day was overwhelming to you. You were so happy for your brother and his bride, but the thought of people questioning you and pitying you had your stomach in knots. A firm knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you walked over and opened it. There stood Logan, looking better than ever. He had clearly done his hair with more purpose and trimmed his facial hair. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and a black bow-tie. You were taken back by the effort he had put in.

Logan felt the same way about you. You looked gorgeous. He had never seen that dress on you before, most likely because it was specific for the wedding. You were all dolled up and it took his breath away. Today might be more than he signed up for, and he was okay with that.

Logan cleared his throat. “You, uh, you look very pretty,” he said, more nervous than he meant to.

“Thanks,” you responded bashfully. You looked down, feeling your ability beginning to take control. “Shit.”

Logan reached out and took your arm. “It’s alright. Maybe letting it out now will help with the wedding.” He was assuming that your nervousness was triggering your invisibility and not his compliment. “I’ll keep a hold of you so I don’t lose you.”

All you could do was nod, thankful that only part of you was invisible. You shut your door and let Logan lead you into the garage and toward your car. He helped you into the passenger seat before going around to the driver’s side and heading off. 

~~~

The drive was mostly quiet, which you were thankful for. Between Logan being your date and this wedding, your mind was all over the place. You were also grateful that you were able to get your invisibility under control. Logan parked the car and glanced over at you.

“We can turn around if you want,” Logan said softly. “You don’t have to put yourself through this.”

You pressed out a smile as you looked his way. “Thanks, Logan, but I can manage.”

Logan sighed as he got out of the car and walked around to help you out. He wished that he had the courage to say something about his own feelings towards you. But he was sure you just saw him as a friend. You looped your arm through Logan’s and let him lead you into the venue. 

~~~

Your family was excited to see you and you were grateful that your parents understood not press the fact that Logan came with you. Logan sat in the last row during the ceremony as you were forced to stand on the bride’s side as on of the bridesmaids. His eyes remained glued on you. Your forced smile. The way your hands flickered in out how of visibility. But the thing that hit him hard was your glossy eyes. He knew that you weren’t crying because of the joy a wedding brought. Logan had to clench his fists tightly to prevent himself from going up there and pulling you away.

Logan continued to watch from a protective distance once the ceremony was over and you were pulled into pictures. The longer it went on, the more he could see everything weighing down on you and was angry that no one else was picking up on it. 

As soon as you were excused from pictures, Logan watched as you slipped away. Your invisibility took control and you were suddenly gone. Logan moved with purpose as he followed your scent and the frantic beating of your heart. He followed you to a small room in the back of the venue and locked it behind him. The sobs that began to sound from your invisible form, tore through Logan.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out, keeping near the door.

“I… I just don’t understand,” you sobbed. “I don’t understand why I’m not good enough… Not good enough for a date or a glance or a one night stand… I understand that I can be difficult and weird and I’m not the prettiest girl in the world but I… I deserve good things too. I just want to be good enough too…”

Logan’s heart was breaking at the pure realization that you truly believed that you were not good enough. He took a careful step forward, using his senses to try and figure out exactly what your position was in this room. He reached out his hand and was grateful when it brushed agains your arm. Logan gently grabbed it and pulled you into him. You leaned in and let yourself cry as he tenderly held you.

“I just want to be enough for someone,” you sobbed. “Why I am never good enough?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so wrong,” he softly said. “You are perfect. You are kind and beautiful. You are so talented and the best teacher. Anyone who can’t see those things are idiots… Darlin’,” he pulled back as you continued to shimmer in and out of visibility. His hands tenderly came up and held your face. “You are good enough… you are more than good enough.”

“Logan—“

“No, I should have been honest with you a while ago… You are enough for me, sweetheart. So much more than enough.” His thumbs gently brushed against your cheeks as your tears continued to fall.

“You… You aren’t just saying that?”

“Honey, you know me, I’m not one for words unless I mean them… You are good enough for me. Hell, you’re perfect in my eyes. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to show you that.” His lips met yours for a short but sweet kiss. “You are enough.”

[helen-with-an-a]

Beautiful Girl - New Year’s Eve(18+)

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope all your dreams come true, and I wish you well for the next year. Here is a totally indulged, dirtier-than-I-intended New Year fic with Alexia to help you welcome the new year in the right way. Also, will I ever learn how to write short smutty things? Probably not. This is the fic that started the Beautiful Girl series and yet I've already released so much for it ahahaha. For the anon back in August who told me I need to make my fics less ambiguous, this is for you. R IS A WOMAN. Have the day u deserve anon 😘✌️

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

Description: Thank god the New Year's party was cancelled.

TW: Smut, 18+, cunnilingus, strap (R giving - dom R; Sub Alexia)

You had never been more grateful for food poisoning. Watching Patri and the rest of the girls fall sick was hard, it seemed almost cruel to relish in their misfortune. Whilst is was undoubtedly horrific to feel so ill over Christmas, it did mean one thing. One thing you were so, overwhelmingly happy about.

Missing Patri's New Years' Eve party.

With so many of the team members now laid up with various degrees of illness, it was quickly decided that the party wouldn't be happening. Given the circumstances, it was the best choice for everyone, but it also meant you could spend the evening with Alexia alone.

It wasn’t your first year ringing in the New Year with Alexia – this would actually be the fifth you were welcoming in together. Up until now, each new year was brought in surrounded by friends, clinking glasses and a swift kiss at midnight before munching on some grapes. Whilst you loved the parties, the thought of just snuggling up at home was always niggling at the back of your mind.

This year, however, was different. For the first time, you had the chance to bring in the New Year alone.

“Ale,” you called gently, your voice barely above a whisper. She was engrossed in the countdown on the TV, her gaze locked on the screen as they ticked away the last minutes of the year.

“Hm?” she responded, lifting her head from where it had been nestled comfortably against your chest.

“Will you be my New Year's kiss?” you asked softly. It might have been a silly question – but it was something you asked each other every year, a small tradition of your own. It had started your first year together, when you were unsure about how the Catalan celebrated New Year's. The next year, she asked you - the pair of you celebrating in England this time, surrounded by your friends and family and Alexia had been unsure of whether you wanted to kiss in public. By Year 3, it felt strange not asking, even though you knew she would never say no, it felt odd, just assuming.

Alexia's heart softened as she met your gaze. A wide, warm smile spread across her lips, a dusting of pink settling on her cheeks.

“Sí, mi amor,” she said, her voice gentle. “I will be your beso de año nuevos.” Her smile was radiant now, a wide, joyful grin that seemed to light up the room. She added, with a playful glint in her eye, “As long as I can be yours?”

“Of course, my beautiful girl,” you replied, your fingers carding through her hair. “No lo querría de otra manera.”

“Good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the TV. She leaned closer, moving up your body with a grace that seemed almost dreamlike. As her lips brushed against yours, the world outside dissolved, leaving just the two of you, curled up in bed, without a care in the world.

She tasted like honey. Warm and smooth nectar that eased your soul. It was the perfect remedy for any issue. Her lips were soft as they worked in time with yours. A throaty hum bubbled up in her chest as you tightened your fingers in her hair.

As you finally pulled away from the kiss, the sudden burst of fireworks outside startled you, their vibrant explosions lighting up the night sky. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face as Alexia's hand drew you back to face her.

“Feliz año nuevo, mi amor” Alexia whispered against your lips.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled as she looked down at you, her expression full of love. “Happy New Year, my beautiful girl,” you replied softly, tugging her back to you, your lips finding each other again with perfect ease.

When she finally pulled away, her breath came in ragged, deep gasps. She took a moment to let her gaze wander slowly over the length of your body, her eyes moving with deliberate slowness. You watched as she took in your form, bare legs intertwined with hers, a hoodie she was fairly sure used to belong to her on your top half. To Alexia, you had never looked more beautiful. You were the epitome of quiet beauty - a radiance from within that made you glow.

You gently lifted a hand to her chin, your touch tender and deliberate as you guided her back to face you. Her gaze met yours with an almost innocent intensity, her eyes wide and doe-like.

"T'estimo molt, Alèxia Putellas i Segura." You mumbled, your voice thick. It was true, you had never felt like this before. So loved, so safe, so happy.

"I love you, Y/N Y/S/N, so much." Alexia whispered back, her words just as emotional.

You didn't know how long you spent, lying there kissing Alexia. But you didn't really care. All that mattered was the woman above you, the way she rocked her hips against yours, the way her hands explored your body, the way she gasped and moaned as you tugged at her roots and trailed your fingers under her pyjama top.

“What do you need, Ale?” you asked gently in between kisses.

“Tú,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “Te necesito.”

“What about me do you need, my beautiful girl?" You smoothed her hair away from her head, eyes searching hers. "How can I give you what you need?” Y

“I need … necesito … I …” Alexia’s words faltered. She was slipping into a state of mind that only you could bring out in her – a headspace where she shed all her external responsibilities. She wasn’t Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barça, or the face of Spanish football. She was simply Ale, your Ale, your Beautiful Girl.

“I need your cock, por favor.” Her eyes slid sideways, avoiding your gaze. You hated how she hated being vulnerable around you. It was something you had been working on together, her voicing her desires to you, whether it be as simple as what to make for dinner or as hard as voicing her deepest fantasies. She was doing a lot better, in the early days it had been exasperating to watch her flounder whenever you asked what she needed. But now, the pride welled in your chest as she spoke with relative confidence. You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Okay, beautiful,” you said softly, smoothing your hand against the skin on her hip. “Do you want me to get the strap? Or would you prefer to?” You reached up to push a stray piece of blonde hair out of her eyes, and pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose.

Alexia's response came with a hint of hesitation. “You,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she made her choice, taking a steadying breath as she did so.

“Alright,” you acknowledged, nodding with a soft smile. “The big black one or the smaller purple one?”

“B-black one,” she whispered shyly. There was a noticeable blush on her cheeks. The black one was her favourite, the one that stung in the best way, the one that made her arch and squirm as you split her open, the one that could leave her limping for the next few days.

A smile spread across your face at her words, your heart swelling with affection. “Okay,” you said gently. “Take off your clothes while I get the strap.” You let your fingers wander underneath the hem of her joggers.

“When you're finished, lie back on the bed with your head on the pillows,” you continued.

Normally, you knew her favourite way to take any strap was on her knees, you lying back beneath her, taking in the glorious sight above you as she moved without restriction. The way she would roll and rock, bounce and shift. The way she seemed so free as she took what she needed from you, as your hands rested on her hips or trailed up her body to grope and squeeze as you pleased. But you had other plans for tonight.

You reached up and pressed your lips against hers in a deep kiss. The kiss was slow and deliberate, you let your lips linger on hers a moment longer, savouring the taste of her before gently unwinding yourself from her embrace.

As you moved away, you went to the wardrobe, shedding your hoodie as you went. The cool air of the room met your skin as you tugged the material over your head, feeling her eyes follow your every movement as she went about her tasks. The sensation of her gaze on you made more goosebumps appear on your skin than any cool breeze ever could.

You opened the drawer and began to gather what was needed. You smiled as you looked down at the contents. The big, shiny black strap with a wider girth and a fake vein running underneath that she needed time to work up to glinted up at you in the dim glow of the lamp. You shuddered at the image of Alexia, hair splayed against the pillow, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you sunk into her again and again.

Turning back around, you were met with the sight of Alexia having perfectly followed your instructions. Her t-shirt was folded neatly on top of the dresser, the soft fabric arranged with meticulous care. Next to it, her joggers were laid out in a similar fashion, creating a small, organised pile. You couldn't help the smile, Alexia, ever the neat freak.

What immediately caught your eye, however, was the unmistakable sign of her arousal: her knickers had been removed and set aside. The grey fabric was marked by a noticeable wet patch. You hummed appreciatively as you clambered onto the bed next to her.

“Well done, beautiful,” you said, your voice filled with admiration. “Such a good girl for me."

Alexia’s response to the praise was immediate. She visibly preened, a soft flush spreading across her cheeks as she absorbed the compliment. Her eyes lit up with a mix of pleasure and satisfaction as her body relaxed into the bed below her.

“So pretty,” you cooed softly as you moved to position yourself above her. The warmth and tenderness in your voice made Alexia feel even more cherished and adored. As you spoke, your gaze lingered on her, your eyes raking down her body with reverence.

Your eyes took in every detail with a slow, deliberate appreciation. You started with the swell of her breasts, noting how they were perfectly shaped and inviting, their natural curve accentuated by the soft light of your bedroom. Your gaze then travelled down to the ridges of her abs, the defined muscles revealing the strength and dedication she put into caring for her body. Each contour and line told a story of her commitment and vitality, making her all the more captivating.

Continuing your exploration, your attention shifted to the strong muscles of her thighs. You observed the powerful yet graceful curves, appreciating the balance of strength and femininity they represented. The way her thighs connected with her hips and the subtle play of light on her skin added a golden glow to her already-tanned skin.

“G-gracias, mi amor,” she stuttered, her voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and shyness.

You responded with a warm, affirming smile, “look at you, using your manners. Una niña buena y bonita.”

You shifted closer, your face centimetres from hers. “Can I kiss you, Ale?” you asked, your voice laced with a tender reverence.

She met your gaze with a shy but eager nod, her eyes shimmering with anticipation . Her fingers, warm and reassuring, slipped around your hips, gripping them lightly. You slowly leaned down, your movements deliberate and unhurried, valuing the moment.

She hummed softly as your lips met hers, a contented sound that had your heart quickening. The warmth of your touch was immediately reciprocated, her hips pressing up against you eagerly. The contact of your lips made her skin tingle with anticipation.

As you continued to kiss her, you allowed yourself to ease more of your weight onto her. The gentle pressure of your body against hers helped ground you both. Alexia’s fingers, still resting on your hips, tightened slightly trying to draw you even closer. The world outside faded once again, leaving just the two of you.

You let your hands explore her body with thoughtful slowness. The touch was gentle yet deliberate as if you were memorising every curve and line of her form like you were discovering her for the first time. Each movement was tender and explorative, your fingertips lightly grazing her skin, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in their path.

As your hands made their way across her skin, a delicate shiver of goosebumps followed in their wake, spreading out like a ripple of water. Her breath hitched slightly, a soft, involuntary sound that had you smiling against her lips.

“Por favor,” she whined softly as you parted, your lips trailing down from her mouth, moving with careful slowness down her jawline until they found their way to her collarbones. The touch of your lips on her skin was a teasing promise, making her shiver.

“Apresúrate,” she urged, her tone full of frustration and desire.

You leaned back slightly, a playful glint in your eye as you raised an eyebrow at her. “Patience, Ale,” you said. “If you’re going to rush me, I’ll stop.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of panic crossed her face at your teasing warning. “Ho sento, ho sento,” she stammered quickly, her cheeks flushing.

You softened your expression, letting a reassuring smile light up your face. “It’s okay, beautiful,” you said soothingly. “Just relax for me.” Your touch was gentle as you placed a tender hand on her cheek, guiding her focus back to you. “Focus on what you’re feeling,” you continued, your voice warm and encouraging. You added a playful wink, watching as she nodded eagerly.

As she closed her eyes, settling into the sensation of your touch, you took a moment to appreciate her trust and vulnerability. With her eyes shut, you began your descent down her body again, your movements slow and sensual. You placed a series of delicate pecks along her skin, each touch a soft whisper of affection. Gradually, you shifted to sharper nips that made her breath hitch, and then to more fervent, intense sucks that drew out a deeper response from her.

You relished the way her chest heaved with each breath, the subtle quiver of her smooth stomach rippling beneath your touch. The contrasts between your tender pecks and the sharp bites you applied created a rhythm that had Alexia writhing beneath you. You cherished every reaction, every shiver, and every sigh as you made your loving way down her body.

“Mi amor,” Alexia gasped, her voice breathless. The sound of her voice sent a thrill through you as you settled between her thighs.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes shining with sincerity that made your heart swell.

“Te amo,” you replied with a soft, heartfelt smile.

You watched with careful curiosity as Alexia moved her hand hesitantly, as if uncertain whether she was doing the right thing. Smiling, you took her hand, letting your thumb smooth over her knuckles. “Hand or hair?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Hand,” she answered, her voice slightly trembling. With a loving smile, you gripped her hand tightly. It always amazed Alexia that you knew exactly what she needed. She had never had a partner that understood her so well, that knew everything she could even want without her having to ask. It overwhelmed her sometimes, thinking about how much she loved you.

“Am I okay to carry on, or do you want a moment?” you asked. Your eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation.

“Un momento, por favor,” she replied, her voice a little unsure.

“Of course,” you said immediately. You nodded reassuringly, placing a gentle kiss against her thigh.

After a few heartbeats of shared silence, she gently squeezed your hand. Her eyes met yours with a shy but confident smile, a silent affirmation of her readiness.

“Are you sure?” you checked.

“Sí,” she replied with a definitive nod, her voice firm and steady.

“Ok,” you said, your face lighting up with a warm smile. You leaned in and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her hip bone, right above the little '66' tattoo. As your lips touched her skin, you let them linger for a moment longer. You took in a ragged breath, inhaling the salty-sweet scent of her skin mingling with the coconut of her moisturiser. The smell was dizzying in the best way.

Leaning down, you took your time to savour the moment, your movements deliberate and tender. You placed a long, gentle stroke across the entire length of her pussy, your touch firm yet soft. The caress was slow and purposeful, your mind relishing in the taste of her against your tongue.

You repeated the action with careful speed. As you ghosted across her clit, you took a moment to appreciate the way her hand gripped yours, her fingers tightening as she sighed.

You decided to show a touch of mercy on Alexia, with a gentler approach, less teasing than you normally would. Your lips carefully enveloped her clit, the warmth of your mouth a welcomed contrast from the cool air outside. As you began to suck softly, your lips moved, alternating pressure and occasionally swiping over the nerves with your tongue.

Her reaction was immediate and visceral. She gasped sharply, the sound escaping her in a breathless rush as her body responded to the new, more tender touch. Her hips bucked instinctively, lifting toward you as you continued your ministrations.

You loved eating Alexia out. The way she enveloped your senses, the mix of her arousal on your tongue and the softness of her thighs around your head as she twitched and writhed beneath you, succumbing to her body's desires. You had never had that before, the casual hookups you had had before Alexia weren't the same. Going down on them had felt like an expectation from you, an accompaniment with your fingers, or like you were returning the favour. But with Alexia ... with Alexia, you were more than happy to spend the rest of your life between her thighs.

It didn’t take long for Alexia to transform into a moaning, squirming mess. You revelled in the rich sounds that filled the room, each one a unique note in the melody that was her pleasure. The gasps that punctuated the air, the moans that rose and fell in rhythmic waves, and the soft, needy whines. You could feel the sticky mess growing between your own thighs. The warmth that spread through you was a deep, satisfying heat.

Carefully, you eased finger into her, your movements precise and slow. You took your time, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion You slowly drew it back out until just the tip was still inside, before pushing back in again, trying to find that perfect spot.

When you finally found it, her reaction was immediate and intense. She squeezed your other hand tightly. From your angle, it was difficult to see the full extent of her expression, but you could vividly imagine her face – her eyes tightly shut, her features contorted in a mix of bliss and focus. One hand clutched yours with a desperate grip, while the other twisted into the sheets, her head pressing down on the pillows beneath her as she succumbed to the pleasure filling her body.

Sensing her increasing need, you added a second finger with practised ease. You could sense that she was nearing the edge of climax when her body began to twist and turn. The way she started to clench around you more forcefully. Her breathing, once steady and controlled, became fast and shallow. The grip on your fingers tightened as well, her hand's clasp around yours becoming almost painful.

“Si us plau,” she begged, her voice strained and trembling as she fought to hold back the powerful wave of her impending orgasm. Her tone matched the tightrope she was walking between control and surrender.

You didn't stop, humming lightly as you continued to work your fingers against her. She shivered at the sensation, her toes curling as she teetered closer to the edge. Her body tensed and arched in response to the wave of ecstasy that swept over her in a series of shudders and spasms. "Amor," she moaned, her voice hoarse.

You guided her through the aftermath, your fingers moving rhythmically in and out of her. You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as you savoured the taste of her. The tanginess of her essence was a distinct and cherished flavour. It was one of your favourite tastes – something that only you got to experience.

“Good, my beautiful girl. So, so good for me,” you cooed softly, your voice dripping with affectionate praise as her body finally stilled.

Her cheeks flushed deeply at your praise, the colour spreading across her face as she turned her head, avoiding your intense stay.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” you chuckled with a warm, encouraging smile, waiting for her to look back at you.

“Do you still want the strap?” you asked, your voice low as she locked her eyes with yours. The intensity in her gaze was unmistakable.

She nodded eagerly, but you weren’t going to let her off that easily. You raised an eyebrow at her, she knew your rules.

“Sí, your cock, por favour,” she finally replied, her voice laced with a hint of that earlier shyness but also with the undeniable need that only you could satiate.

“You want my cock, Ale?” you teased, each word dripping with lust. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to put my dick in you? Split you open? Make you cum for me?”

As you spoke, you slipped into the harness with practised ease, the leather straps sliding smoothly around your hips. The click of the buckles echoed in the room, a final, satisfying sound.

“Sí, mi amor,” she replied with quiet confidence.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you positioned yourself between her legs. “Bend your knees for me, beautiful,” you instructed gently, hands rubbing gently up and down her thighs. She complied without hesitation, drawing her legs up and opening herself to you with a trust that made your heart swell.

With a careful hand, you lined yourself up, the smooth plastic gliding through her wet folds with ease. You took your time, dragging it up and down. The slickness made the movement easy, but you were in no rush – this was all about her.

“I’ll go nice and slowly,” you promised, your voice soft and soothing. “It’s the big one, remember? Take as much time as you need.”

You offered your spare hand to her once again. She gripped it eagerly, her fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of her hand in yours was grounding you both.

As you began to press forward, you kept your gaze fixed on her, every subtle change in her expression magnified in your focus. You moved with deliberate care, inching forward slowly, ensuring that every movement was as comfortable for her as possible. Her breathing quickened slightly, and her eyes widened as she adjusted to the sensation of the strap inside her, the stretch more intense than she had anticipated.

“Grande,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Instinctively, you froze, your concern for her immediate and palpable.

“Do you want to stop? I can get the oth–” you began, already preparing to ease back, ready to swap out for something smaller, more manageable. Before you could finish, she interrupted, her hand tightening around yours in reassurance.

“No, no,” she insisted quickly, her voice a little firmer now, but still soft. “Me gusta,” she said conspiratorially.

“Is that so? You like being stretched out, Ale? You like feeling every inch of me?” you teased, relaxing at her words. Your voice was playful as you began to push forward again, ever so gently. You drifted your thumb up to brush against her clit, smiling as she sighed softly.

You could see the effect your teasing and actions had on her immediately. Her breath hitched slightly, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she absorbed the sensation, the deliberate, slow stretch filling her completely. The way her body responded, the subtle arching of her back, the way her hips shifted to accommodate you, was all the confirmation you needed.

As you moved deeper, your voice remained soft but teasing, an intimate whisper that kept her focused on every inch of movement. “Tell me how much you like it, Ale,” you murmured, your tone still playful. You wanted to hear her say it, to make her voice the pleasure that was clearly written all over her face.

You continued your slow movement, watching her closely, gauging her every reaction as you pulled back only to push straight back in again. The way she responded to each stroke was mesmerising, making your breath hitch just as much as the way the strap rubbed against your own clit.

“So … so much,” she finally gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to speak through the waves of sensation coursing through her. “I need it, mi amor. It’s like I can’t breathe without it. A veces… when we’re both away… en el camp ... campamento…” Her words were coming in halting breaths now, each one laced with raw emotion. “Sometimes ... Yo tomo ... I take it with me so I can immmmmm" she broke off in a moan. "Imagine you're with me.”

Her confession hung in the air between you, a revelation that sent a thrill of heat down your spine. You sped up your thrusts, torn between watching the pleasure on her face or where the plastic met her flesh, seeing her stretched out around you.

“It hurts so good, mi amor,” she continued, her voice trembling, her legs moving to press against your arse. “And when I sit down the next day and I can still feel the sting, me hace feliz por dentro. At night ... sometimes I sit on it for hours ... and I can barely walk the next day.” She pressed her heels into your arse again, urging you to go deeper and faster.

Her words ignited something deep within you, a fierce pride and possessiveness, The image of her, away at camp as she worked herself up, so desperate for you, burned into your mind's eye. You thanked the lucky stars you were an athlete as you picked up your pace.

You dropped forward onto your hands, your chest pressing up against hers.

“Please, mi amor. Make me yours. Use me. Lo necesito por favor.” Her voice was raw, trembling with desire, a sound that sent a surge of heat through your entire body. You could feel her desperation, her deep, unrelenting need for you, and it only fuelled your own arousal to new heights. You had never been this turned on in your life, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

You leaned down, bringing your lips close to her ear as you continued to move, your hips rocking forward with a steady, controlled rhythm. “You’re already mine, Ale,” you whispered, your voice husky with emotion. “Every inch of you belongs to me. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

With those words, you increased the pressure, thrusting deeper, more deliberately, each movement pushing her further into the pleasure that was building inside her. You smiled at the the soft moans that escaped her lips growing louder, more frantic with every stroke.

Her hands gripped you tightly, one hand twisting into your hair while the other squeezed your bicep. You could see the tension in her body, the way her muscles trembled as she fought to maintain control, and it drove you to push her even further.

“You feel that?” you asked, your tone dark and possessive as you leaned back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. You pressed down gently on her stomach, thrusting into her determinedly. “That’s me inside you, my beautiful girl. Filling you up. Owning you.” You watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through her as your words sank in, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Don’t hold back,” you urged, your voice a commanding whisper. “I want to hear you. I want to know how good I make you feel.”

Her response was immediate, her hips bucking up to meet yours. The sounds she made were intoxicating, each moan, each gasp sending waves of pleasure through you as you continued to thrust, your movements precise and controlled, drawing out every bit of pleasure you could from her.

You could tell she was close. Her walls clenching around you tightly, her hips meeting yours with every thrust. You were close too, the strap providing just the right pressure against your clit. Her moans were breathier now, toes curling against the small of your back."So sexy, Ale," you breathed, your voice hitching at the wave of pleasure that buzzed through you.

You moved against her, you lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “Now, Ale. Cum for me. Show me how much you need this. Cum with me.”

The effect was immediate. Her body tensed, her back arching off the bed as she finally let go, her orgasm crashing over her with a force that left her trembling beneath you. The sound of her release, the way she called out your name, was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard, and it sent you spiralling into your own pleasure, the intensity searing itself into your memory.

You held her through it, your movements slowing but never stopping as you rode out the waves of your orgasms together, your bodies entwined. As the tremors of her release gradually subsided, you felt her body soften beneath you, her limbs going limp with exhaustion and the kind of satisfaction that made everything else fade away. The room was filled with the suddenly deafening silence; the only sounds were your mingled breaths as you both caught your breath.

You leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, a kiss that was gentle and tender, a total 180 what had just happened.

Breaking the kiss, you hovered just above her and smiled down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, a lazy, content smile spreading across her face as she gazed up at you, her fingers still lightly tracing patterns on your back.

You pulled out gently, using one hand to release the snaps on the harness and throwing it somewhere in the room to be dealt with later. “If this is what it’s like every New Year,” you murmured, your voice playful but laced with sincerity, “We are never going to a party again.”

She chuckled softly, the sound a low, throaty hum that made your heart swell.

“I think I can live with that,” she replied, her voice sleepy but filled with contentment. “Sólo tú y yo, mi amor. That sounds ... maravillosa.”

You brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, your thumb gently caressing her cheek as you leaned in to place another soft kiss on her lips. “That sounds absolutamente perfecta,” you whispered against her mouth, your heart full of the quiet joy that only moments like these could bring.

She sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to you as you lay down, her body fitting perfectly against yours. “T'estimo,” she murmured, the words barely audible as sleep threatened to take her.

“I love you too, Ale,” you whispered back, holding her close as the world outside faded away once more, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

“Happy New Year, my beautiful girl.”

[aspenmissing]

ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 1077 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀʙ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴀ ʙᴏɪʟɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴘʟᴀʏꜰᴜʟ ʙᴀɴᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡ ᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

The lab always felt alive at night. The hum of Hextech cores reverberated through the space, their blue glow casting long shadows. You had stayed late again, tinkering with a device that had consumed your thoughts for days. When Jayce and Viktor entered the room together, their opposing energies filled the space, amplifying the already electric atmosphere.

“You’re still here?” Jayce asked, leaning casually against the workbench. His smirk was the kind that sent a thrill up your spine, his presence both confident and magnetic.

“She’s dedicated,” Viktor murmured, his voice softer, but no less compelling. His golden eyes lingered on you, and the weight of his gaze was enough to make your pulse quicken.

They were both here for you, though neither would say it outright. Over the past weeks, the dynamics between the three of you had grown... complicated. Subtle touches, lingering looks, and charged silences spoke volumes, and tonight, the tension seemed to crackle in the air.

“Maybe too dedicated,” Jayce teased, stepping closer. He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and warm. “You need to relax. Let us take care of this for a while.”

You glanced up at him, caught between amusement and exasperation. “I’m perfectly capable of finishing this myself.”

“We don’t doubt that,” Viktor said, his voice like velvet, as he moved to your other side. He leaned on his cane, the faint scent of metal and machine oil clinging to him. “But wouldn’t it be more efficient to... collaborate?”

The word hung in the air, its meaning layered. You turned your head, finding Viktor closer than you expected. His sharp features were illuminated by the soft glow of the Hextech core, his intensity pulling you in.

“Collaboration, huh?” you said, your voice teasing, though your heart pounded in your chest.

Jayce chuckled, low and rich. “He’s not wrong. We work better together.” He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Don’t you think?”

Your eyes darted between them, the space suddenly too small for the three of you. Their rivalry had been palpable for weeks, but tonight, it felt like something else entirely—a challenge, a shared desire that neither wanted to admit first.

“I think you both talk too much,” you said, surprising yourself with the boldness in your tone.

Jayce’s grin widened, his fingers brushing along your jaw. “Careful. We might take that as an invitation.”

“And would that be so bad?” Viktor countered, his voice low, almost a growl.

Your breath hitched as Viktor’s hand came to rest on your lower back, his touch cool and grounding, a contrast to Jayce’s heat. They were two halves of the same coin—light and shadow, fire and ice—and you were caught in the balance.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Would it?”

The question was barely out of your mouth before Jayce closed the gap, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as bold and passionate as he was. His hand cradled your face, holding you steady as he deepened the kiss, his confidence making your knees weak.

Just as you thought you’d lose yourself completely, Viktor’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you back slightly. When you turned, his golden eyes burned with something raw and unspoken. His kiss was different—slower, more deliberate, as if he were savoring every second. His fingers trailed up your arm, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake.

“I think we’ve found our synergy,” Jayce murmured against your neck, his lips grazing your skin.

Viktor chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “It seems we’re finally in agreement.”

As the night deepened, the boundaries between you blurred. Jayce’s hands explored with the curiosity of a craftsman, his touches deliberate and confident, igniting sparks wherever they landed. Viktor’s approach was more calculated, his precision uncovering hidden vulnerabilities, drawing soft gasps from your lips.

“You’re intoxicating,” Jayce whispered, his voice rough with desire as he pressed you back against the workbench. His strength was undeniable, his presence overwhelming.

“She’s more than that,” Viktor interjected, his tone low and reverent. His hand brushed along your collarbone, his golden eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “She’s brilliance personified.”

Their words and actions left you breathless, their combined attention a force of nature that you could neither escape nor deny. The contrast between them only heightened the experience—Jayce with his unrelenting passion, Viktor with his meticulous care. They were a perfect storm, and you were caught in its eye.

“You two…” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Let us show you,” Jayce replied, his grin full of mischief. He trailed kisses along your jawline, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin.

“Or perhaps,” Viktor added, his voice like a purr as his fingers threaded through your hair, “you’ll show us.”

Time seemed to blur as the three of you explored uncharted territory, the boundaries between passion and intellect dissolving entirely. Each touch, each whispered word, was a reminder of the unique connection you shared—a fusion of fire and precision, of light and shadow.

As the night stretched on, the tension that had simmered for weeks finally reached its crescendo. The lab, once a place of innovation and creation, became the setting for something far more intimate and transformative. In that moment, you weren’t just collaborators or rivals—you were something more, something electric and undeniable.

When the first rays of dawn broke through the windows, the three of you lay tangled together, the faint hum of the Hextech cores a soothing backdrop. Jayce’s arm was draped protectively over you, his warmth a comforting presence. Viktor’s fingers traced absent patterns along your arm, his golden eyes thoughtful as he gazed at you.

“This changes things,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain.

“Perhaps,” Viktor said, his lips curving into a small smile. “But change is not always a bad thing.”

Jayce chuckled, his voice warm and rich. “If this is what change feels like, I’m not complaining.”

You smiled, the weight of their affection and the promise of what lay ahead filling you with a sense of contentment. Together, you had created something extraordinary—not just in the lab, but in each other. And you knew, without a doubt, that this was only the beginning.

[revelboo]

LOSING! MY! SHIT! REVEL THE REAPER OF SOULS, CROWS IN A COAT, CRYPTID OF OUR TRANSFORMERS DREAMS, HOLY SHIIIIIT! Everything is Alright is so ✨️✨️✨️✨️💙💙💙✨️✨️✨️✨️💙💙💙💙💪💪🎉🎉🎉💙💙✨️✨️✨️ ITS DELIGHTFUL AND IT KEEPS ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT AND I HAVE LOVED SEEING THE TURNS OF EVENTS SO MUCH

Thank you! I have a lot of fun writing these

Everything Is Alright Pt 98

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Optics half shuttered, Megatron shifts uncomfortably on his throne. Had thought this would get that awful curiosity out of his system and be a lesson to Starscream about who’s in control. Punishing the Seeker isn’t going exactly as planned, though. More like punishing himself. Frame shuddering as you give a breathy moan, before crying out Starscream’s name. A deviant part of him wanting to know what his name would sound like on your lips as you come apart. Instead of hearing Starscream snarl as he finishes inside you. You’re just a human, less than nothing really. He shouldn’t care, but he does.

• Servos tangling in your hair, Starscream presses his helm to your forehead before claiming your mouth. Trying his best to ignore Soundwave and Megatron both. When you loop your arms around his neck, he slides his own arms around you, taking you from Soundwave. “If you’re satisfied?” He growls head lifting, unable to make himself add ‘Lord Megatron’ as he glares. Wondering if the warlord will demand Soundwave claim you, too. Not that he thinks the communications officer would mind as he runs his palm down your spine, crooning to you.

• Resting your cheek against Starscream’s shoulder, you reach for Soundwave and close your eyes when he immediately laces his servos with your fingers. “You’ll bring our pet back before reporting for your duties,” Megatron says, leaning back on his throne. Those red optics are watching you and your mates. And there’s a hunger on his face that twists inside you. Eyes widening at the sound of Star’s thrusters powering up, you cling to him, legs wrapping more firmly around his waist as he vents as if aggrieved and reaches a hand out for Soundwave to clasp. Eyes closing against a slightly hysterical giggle because you hadn’t realized he could fly when not in his alt mode. And because he’s mass displaced darting out of the bridge, through the halls, spike still buried inside you as he drags Soundwave with him, dangling by a wrist.

• “Stop squirming. It’s not funny,” Starscream snarls as you start laughing, face pressed against his neck. And the sound kills the last of Soundwave’s tension. Because you’re okay. They all are. The secret is out and Megatron hadn’t punished them. Not exactly anyway. Truth be told, he’s almost positive Megatron is interested in you. Not that he’s about to snoop in the warlord’s thoughts or mention that theory to Starscream. No telling how the flighty Seeker might take it. Sharing with him is one thing, forcing him to share with the one mech he despises above all others? He’s afraid Starscream will run with you and he can’t risk that. Won’t lose you.

• Venting tiredly as you keep laughing, one corner of his mouth twitches. Unable to believe you’re okay. Safe. That Megatron had watched him frag you. That he’d dressed you in that sheer, revealing outfit as a punishment. Can hear your chains sliding against his chassis where you’re clinging to him and he’ll need to remove them. Though, using them to bind your arms over your head does have a certain appeal. As does fragging you while in the air. Though you might be upset if he let go of Soundwave to do it. At any rate, he’s going to take full advantage of being mass displaced. Take his time with you.

• Tossing a leg over the arm of his throne, Megatron stares at the ceiling. King of nothing but sorrow. Destroyer of worlds, including his own. Frustration leaving a bitter taste on his glossa, he covers his face with a hand and laughs. Because he can see those defiant eyes when his optic shutter. Hear those needy sounds. That hungry dissatisfaction spreading through his lines and digging into his spark. Wanting something he shouldn’t.

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[helioooss]

silver springs

chapter one: what just happened?

paris was supposed to be the pinnacle. the culmination of years of sacrifice: the end of chaos theory’s first world tour. it was the city of light, love and the dreams you had nurtured since high school.

instead, it felt like the city of heartbreaks — the final place where everything was meant to fall apart.

you stood backstage in a venue that seemed far too beautiful to contain the rising tension within chaos theory. pacing under the grey parisian sky through the thick curtains, you could hear the low hum of a gathering crowd, muffled murmurs of excitement echoing through the walls.

soundcheck was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago, but instead of running through your songs, you and the rest of the band were waiting for the one person who wasn’t here: minjeong.

again.

no one wasn’t taking it lightly; everyone was on edge.

jimin leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, glaring at her phone as if sheer force of will could make minjeong answer her messages. aeri sat on the edge of the stage, her drumsticks tapping an erratic rhythm against her thigh that only served to worsen the anxiety hanging in the air whilst yizhuo paced back and forth, wringing her hands together like she was trying to squeeze the tension out of her body.

“she’s not fucking answering her phone,” jimin’s voice was low and tight, the clipped edges betraying her barely contained anger. “for fuck’s sake, winter!”

“big surprise,” aeri muttered, tossing her drumsticks into her bag with a sharp motion. “what is this now? the fourth time this week?”

“third,” yizhuo corrected, though her voice was soft, almost apologetic. she had always been the most optimistic one in the band, but even her usual warmth was waning under the weight of minjeong’s absence. “maybe something came up. traffic, or —”

“traffic doesn’t explain why she hasn’t been answering anyone all day,” aeri cut in, her tone sharper now. “she knows how important tonight is. we’re in fucking paris, for god’s sake. this isn’t just another city. this is it — the last show of the tour. and who knows what she’s even fucking up to these days.”

“do you think she even cares anymore?” jimin’s voice was cold, her words cutting through the room like a blade. she finally looked up from her phone, her dark eyes narrowing as she turned her attention to you. “y/n, where is she?”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening under the weight of their stares. “i don’t know,” you admitted, though the words tasted bitter.

and you really didn’t. you had sent her six texts and called her nine times since this morning. each message was read, but none were answered.

the silence that followed your words was heavy, filled with unspoken frustration and growing worry.

“maybe she’s just overwhelmed,” yizhuo said hesitantly, though even she sounded unsure. “we have to cut her some slack, she feels it —“

“we’re all overwhelmed, ning,” aeri snapped, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. “but we’re here. you have to stop making excuses for the bullshit she pulls.”

you remained silent, your gaze fixed on the door as if staring at it hard enough would make her magically walk through it.

“y/n?” jimin’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “we will eventually need to step in, or she’s out.”

“i’ll find her,” you said abruptly, grabbing your jacket. “no one is kicking her out of the band she built.”

“y/n, wait —”

“and what else am i supposed to do?” you cut her off, your voice sharper than you intended. “sit here and hope she shows up?”

jimin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue.

“you can’t keep doing this,” aeri said, her voice softer now but no less firm. “you can’t keep cleaning up after her mess. it’s not fair to you, or any of us.”

you didn’t respond because deep down, you knew she was right, but you couldn’t help yourself. you had always been the one to pick up the pieces, to drag minjeong back from the edge when no one else could.

“this is — no, this band is a fucking shit show!” manager kim walked by, screaming with his phone in hand as he paused, looking at you with fury in his eyes. “if minjeong doesn’t get her ass here in an hour, i’m terminating her fucking contract.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “i’ll get her, alright? everybody, just calm the fuck down for a minute!”

the cold parisian air bit at your skin as you stepped onto the street and walked out of the venue, slamming the door behind you. hard. it wasn’t just the chill of the evening that made your chest feel tight.

you hailed a cab, sliding into the backseat and giving the driver the name of your hotel. as the car pulled away from the venue, the weight in your chest only grew heavier.

paris passed by in a blur outside the window. the glittering lights of the city of love felt mocking, their beauty a cruel contrast to the heaviness in your chest. it had been months of this — worrying about minjeong, cleaning up after her, holding the band together when she couldn’t seem to hold herself.

you gripped your phone tightly, some of your unanswered messages glaring back at you.

-

to: mindungie

where are you?

soundcheck started thirty minutes ago.

minjeong, pick up. please.

read 3:45 PM

-

each text was marked as read, the small blue ticks on the screen like tiny daggers but there were no replies, no calls, no explanations.

you clenched your jaw, trying to shove the memories away. but they came anyway, unbidden and relentless.

the memories clashed violently with the present.

you remembered the minjeong from before — the one who used to sit with you in your parents’ garage, strumming her old acoustic guitar until her fingers blistered, the girl who smiled so brightly when you finally nailed the harmony to her melody that you thought your chest might burst, the woman who pulled you aside after your first gig in a dingy seoul bar and whispered, “we’re going to make it, y/n. i know we will. and i love you, never stop believing that. as long as we’re together, as long as we love each other —“

fame had stolen her from you.

she had been disappearing piece by piece since the day chaos theory signed their first major deal.

it hadn’t been obvious at first; just small things. the way she avoided your eyes in meetings with the label, the excuses she made to skip rehearsals, the late nights she spent with people you didn’t recognise.

and over time, those small things turned into something bigger, worst.

the signs had been there. you thought about the grammy’s afterparty in los angeles — the first time you really saw it. she had vanished for hours, leaving you and the rest of the band to awkwardly fend off questions from industry insiders who wanted to meet “the voice of the band of the century.”

when she finally reappeared, her eyes were glassy, her movements slow and unsteady. she laughed it off, saying she’d just had “a little too much fun.”

but you knew. you’d known even then.

and now there was sungchan.

the thought of him made your stomach churn. you had warned her about him from the beginning, begged her to stay away. his reputation wasn’t just bad, it was pretty fucking catastrophic.

scandals followed him like a shadow: drugs, parties and rumours of fights with his own bandmates. he was the kind of person who thrived on chaos, and somehow, he had pulled her into his orbit.

you’d tried to talk to her about him once, months ago, after you caught her sneaking out of his apartment. you still remembered the way her expression hardened, her walls going up so fast it was like she became someone else entirely.

“you don’t get to tell me who to hang out with, y/n,” she said, her voice icy.

“i’m not trying to control you,” you replied, desperate to make her understand. “i’m just worried about you.”

“well, don’t be,” she had snapped. “i don’t need you to worry about me.”

“hotel molitor again, right?” the driver, in his strong french accent, pulled you out of your thoughts, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

you nodded without looking up, your throat too tight to form words as phone buzzed against your thigh. you pulled it out and saw jimin’s name light up the screen.

-

from: rina <3

don’t do anything stupid, please.

sent 5:45 PM

-

you shoved the phone back into your pocket and exhaled sharply. your chest felt heavy, your ribs tight as if the weight of everything you’d been carrying for months was finally suffocating you.

“everything okay back there?” the cab driver asked, his accented english cutting through your spiral of thoughts.

you looked up, startled. he was an older man, his salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from under a worn cap. his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, kind but curious.

“yeah,” you lied, forcing a tight smile.

his gaze lingered for a second before flicking back to the road. “you look familiar,” he said after a moment. “are you — wait a minute,” his eyes lit up, and he grinned wide. “you’re in chaos theory, aren’t you? y/n?”

your heart skipped a beat. “uh, yeah,” you said cautiously, not sure where this was going.

“my kids are huge fans,” he said, his excitement bubbling over. “they’re at your concert right now! well, they’re outside, waiting for the show to start. chaos theory has been the soundtrack to our house for the past year.”

something in his words made your chest loosen, just a little. for a brief moment, the crushing weight lifted. “that’s…that’s really nice to hear,”

“oh, they’d lose their minds if they knew I was driving you,” he said, laughing as he glanced back at you. “my daughter — her favourite is minjeong, but my son? he’s all about you. thinks you’re the coolest guitarist alive. i think he’s trying to learn because of you.”

despite everything, you felt the corners of your lips twitch upward. “that’s sweet.”

“do you mind?” he asked, one hand on the wheel while the other reached into the glove compartment. he pulled out a stack of cds and a crumpled hat, his smile sheepish. “i know you’re busy, but if you could sign these, it’d make their year.”

“of course,” you leaned forward, taking the cds and hat. fishing a pen in your pocket, you scrawled your signature on the covers of the albums, each one bringing a small but genuine relief to your chest. “what’s his name?”

“jules,” he grinned proudly. “my daughter’s name is josephine.”

“beautiful names,” as you signed the hat, you added a quick note: keep rocking, jules and josephine! - all love, y/n.

“thank you so much,” the driver said, his gratitude palpable. “they’re going to frame these, i’m sure of it. you know, music means everything to them. and to me too. it’s been a hard year, but…your songs have been a bright spot.”

his words struck a chord in you, and for the first time that evening, the tension in your chest eased. the band had started as a dream �� a way to make people feel something, to give them an escape. and even if everything felt like it was falling apart now, you have done that.

your music reached people.

“thank you,” you said quietly. “it means a lot to hear that.”

the rest of the ride passed in a more comfortable silence. as the cab pulled up to your hotel, the driver turned to you, his smile still warm. “good luck tonight...and can we take a photo?”

you nodded. “of course!” then, you moved into the frame as you gestured a thumbs up.

“thank you, y/n,” he shook your hand. “i’ll remember this.”

you stepped out of the cab, pausing before you shut the door. “tell your kids i said thank you…i mean it.”

the weight returned — but it was softer now, dulled by the reminder of why you were doing this in the first place.

the staff greeted you warmly, but you barely registered them as you strode your way to the elevator. the ride up to her floor felt endless, each ding of the elevator a reminder of what might be waiting for you on the other side.

your thoughts raced. what if she wasn’t there? what if she was hurt? or worse? and if she was there, what would you find?

you didn’t want to think about sungchan. you didn’t want to imagine him in her room, his arm around her, his influence pulling her further and further away but the image was there, sharp and vivid in your mind and it made your hands curl into fists.

you hated him. but more than that, you hated yourself. for not being enough to pull her back.

for loving her so much that it hurt to breathe when she looked at anyone else the way you wished she would look at you.

the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open with a soft chime. you stepped into the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached her door.

as you swiped the keycard, your hands began to tremble; the soft beep of the door sounding impossibly loud in the silence.

and then your heart broke.

the smell hit you first — stale smoke, alcohol, and something sharper, acrid almost. the room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut. discarded clothes, empty plastic bags and crushed cigarette butts littered the floor, creating a mess that screamed of indulgence and recklessness.

but none of it mattered.

there she was. minjeong. curled up, her head resting on sungchan’s shoulder. his arm was draped lazily around her, his fingers toying with a strand of her hair. their closeness was casual, intimate and it felt like a slap to your face.

your chest tightened painfully, the air rushing out of your lungs like someone had knocked the wind out of you.

“minjeong,” you said, your voice low and trembling.

she didn’t stir, her eyes half-lidded as she leaned into him but sungchan looked up, his expression slow to register you before a lazy smirk spread across his face.

“oh, great,” he drawled, his voice thick and slurred. “the babysitter’s here.”

something in you just snapped. the worry, the anger and the sound of your own heart shattering; it all boiled over in an instant.

you crossed the room in three quick strides, your fists clenched at your sides. “get up,” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze hanging in the room.

sungchan chuckled, barely moving. “relax, would you? we’re just hanging out.”

“get the fuck up up,” you said again, your voice louder now.

“or what?” he shot back, sitting up slightly. his smirk widened, infuriatingly smug. “you gonna lecture me too? god, no wonder she’s always running away from you.”

the words were gasoline on the fire already raging inside you. before you knew it, your hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

“i said get up,” you snarled, yanking him off the bed with a force that startled even you.

“what the fuck is your problem?” he spat, shoving your hands off him as he struggled to balance himself.

slamming him against the wall, your grip tightened on his shirt as your face hovered inches away from his. “what sort of drugs did you give her?”

the smirk on his face disappeared, replaced by a scowl. “who the fuck do you think you are to speak to me like that?”

his fist came out of nowhere, connecting with your ribs. the pain exploded through your side and made you stagger, but you didn’t let go. instead, you turned, using the opportunity to shove him toward the small coffee table in the corner of the room.

he managed to get up on his feet; laughing with no care in the world.

and then it happened. your fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending a sharp jolt up your arm. the sound of it was loud in the otherwise silent room, a sickening crack that echoed in your ears.

he stumbled back once more, crashing into the nightstand and knocking over a lamp as it cluttered all over the floor, but he recovered quickly, his face twisting with anger as he lunged at you; his fist hitting your cheek.

the pain only fueled your rage.

you grabbed him again, your grip tightening as you shoved him backward. he crashed onto the wall by the window, the wood splintering under his weight. he groaned, clutching his side as he tried to push himself up.

“you’re fucking insane,” he spat, blood dripping from his mouth.

“i told you to get the fuck out,” you growled, your voice low and deadly. “too slow.”

he didn’t move fast enough. you grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the door, throwing it open and practically shoving him into the hallway. he stumbled, muttering curses under his breath as he limped away, his pride and body equally battered.

you slammed the door shut, your chest heaving as you turned back to the room.

and there she was. minjeong. sitting up now, her wide eyes filled with a mixture of anger and fear.

“what the fuck was that, y/n?” she yelled, her voice trembling.

you stared at her, your hands still trembling from the fight. “what the hell, minjeong?” you shot back, your voice rising. “this is what you’ve been doing? while we’re out there — while i’m out there, holding everything together, you’re here with him?”

she flinched at the venom in your tone but quickly recovered, her expression hardening. “you don’t get to come in here and act like you’re better than me,” she snapped, standing up. “i didn’t ask for you to clean up after me.”

“you didn’t have to,” you said, your voice cracking. “you don’t care about anything anymore, do you? not the band, not yourself, not —”

“not what?” she challenged, stepping closer.

“not me,” you finished, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

her eyes widened briefly, but then she laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through you like a knife. “this isn’t about you, y/n. not everything is about you.”

“this isn’t about me!” you yelled, your voice breaking. “this is about you throwing your life away. do you even realise what you’re doing? what you’re giving up?”

“don’t lecture me,” she spat, her voice rising to match yours. “you don’t know what it’s like. you don’t know what it feels like to have everyone watching you, waiting for you to fail.”

“then let me help you,” you pleaded, your voice softening. “please, minjeong. you don’t have to do this alone.”

“i don’t want your help!” she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. “i don’t need you to fix me!”

“i’m not trying to fix you,” you said, your voice trembling. “i’m trying to save you. but you won’t let me. you keep pushing me away, and it’s killing me.”

“then maybe you should just stop,” she said coldly, her eyes narrowing. “if it’s so hard for you, then maybe you should leave.”

you stared at her, your heart pounding in your chest. “is that what you want?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “for me to leave?”

she didn’t answer.

“minjeong,” you said, stepping closer. “look at me. please. tell me you don’t care. tell me none of it mattered. tell me all those nights, all those words, meant nothing.”

the silence was suffocating as you stood frozen in the middle of the room, her cold words echoing in your head like a cruel mantra.

you clenched your fists at your sides, the pain in your ribs from sungchan’s punches now mixing with the ache in your chest. the minjeong in front of you — the one glaring at you with bloodshot eyes, standing in a room littered with the aftermath of her recklessness — was a stranger.

“you think this is growing up? lying in bed with someone like sungchan, surrounded by —” you gestured to the mess on the floor, your voice shaking with disbelief. “you think this is who you’re supposed to be?”

“don’t you dare lecture me,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “you don’t get to stand there and judge me. you don’t know what it’s like.”

“what what’s like, minjeong?” you shot back. “having everything you’ve ever wanted? being adored by millions of people? doing what we dreamed of? tell me what’s so unbearable about it that you have to throw it all away like this.”

her eyes flared with anger and she took a step closer. “you think this is what i wanted? to have no privacy? to be picked apart by strangers every second of my life? i can’t even breathe without someone telling me what i’m supposed to do or who i’m supposed to be!”

“so this is your solution? destroying yourself? destroying us?”

her lips trembled, but before she could respond, the door burst open.

“what the hell is going on here?” jimin’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife.

you turned to see the rest of the band rushing in. jimin’s eyes darted between you and minjeong, narrowing when they landed on your trembling, bloody hands. aeri and yizhuo followed close behind, their faces pale with concern.

“y/n,” jimin added, stepping toward you. “what did you do?”

“what did i do?” you snapped, your voice rising again. “why don’t you ask her what she’s been doing?”

her gaze shifted to minjeong, taking in her disheveled appearance and the wreckage around her. her jaw tightened.

“minjeong,” she began, her voice low and steady, but there was no mistaking the anger simmering beneath it. “you promised us.”

“i don’t owe you anything,” minjeong shot back, her voice defensive.

“bullshit,” aeri cut in, stepping forward. “you owe all of us. we’ve been carrying your weight for weeks — no, months, and you don’t even care.”

“you think this is easy for me?” she yelled, her voice breaking. “do you think i wanted this? i never asked for any of it!”

“but you have it!” yizhuo’s voice was louder than usual, her usual soft demeanor replaced with rare frustration. “we all worked for this, together. and now you’re throwing it all away like it means nothing. do we mean nothing to you?”

she flinched, her eyes darting to the floor, but she didn’t answer.

“you don’t get to do this,” jimin interjected, stepping in front of her. “you don’t get to act like you’re the only one struggling. we’re all tired. we’re all under pressure but we’re still here, showing up because we made a promise to each other. and you’re breaking it.”

“i didn’t ask for this life!” minjeong screamed, her voice cracking. her hands clenched at her sides as her shoulders began to shake.

“but you chose it,” you said, your voice trembling as you stepped forward. “you chose it with us. we built this together, mindungie. don’t act like you’re the only one suffering. i’ve been right there with you through everything, trying to help you, trying to pull you back from the edge and you just keep pushing me away.”

“i don’t need your help,” she spat, her voice filled with venom. “i never asked for it.”

“because you’re too scared to admit that you can’t do this alone,” you said, your voice rising. “you’re drowning and you know it. but instead of reaching out, you’re dragging us all down with you.”

minjeong’s eyes flashed and for a moment, you thought she might cry. but instead, her expression hardened. “why can’t you just fucking let me live my life?”

“because watching you destroy yourself is killing me!” the words burst out of you before you could stop them. the room went silent, everyone staring at you. your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but the dam had already broken.

“it’s killing me, minjeong,” you said once more, your voice softer now but still trembling. “to see you with him, to see you like this, to see you turn into someone i don’t even recognise anymore. because i —” you stopped, swallowing hard. “because i love you.”

her eyes widened, but she quickly masked it with a bitter laugh. “you love me?” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“don’t do that,” you begged, your voice shaking. “don’t act like this is nothing. like we’re nothing. all those nights we spent together, all the times you said you loved me — what was that? was it all a lie?”

“we got caught up in the moment,” she said, her voice cold.

the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

you swallowed hard, the weight of her silence crushing you. “you don’t mean that,” you said, your voice cracking. “i know you don’t.”

“i couldn’t care less if you walked out of my life tomorrow,” she added coldly, her words like a dagger straight to your heart.

the silence that followed was deafening.

you stared at her, the girl you had loved for years, and like a missing puzzle piece clicking into place, you realised she wasn’t the same person anymore.

the fame, the pressure, the choices she had made— they had all changed her.

silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating. and in that silence something inside you broke.

finally, you exhaled, the fight draining out of you. “i’m done. i quit.”

the room erupted in protests — jimin, aeri, yizhuo, but you didn’t hear them. you turned and walked out, leaving behind the band, the tour and the girl who had shattered your heart into pieces.

the door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud, the muffled voices of the band barely audible through the thick wood. the hallway outside her hotel room was quiet, unnervingly so, a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just walked away from.

your breaths came in uneven gasps and your chest ached — not just from sungchan’s earlier punch, but from the weight of everything you had just said.

you stood frozen, your hand still on the door handle, as if part of you was waiting for it to burst open. for her to come after you.

but the door remained closed.

with a deep, shuddering breath, you let go of the handle and forced yourself to move. the patterned carpet underfoot blurred as you stumbled down the hallway towards the lifts; your ribs throbbing with every step.

the memory of him — of his smug smirk, the way he held her — made you sick. you clenched your fists, your knuckles still raw and stinging from the fight.

but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache spreading through your chest. her words replayed in your mind on an endless loop:

i couldn’t care less if you walked out of my life tomorrow.

as the lift doors slid open, you stepped inside and leaned heavily against the mirrored wall, staring at your reflection. your face was pale, your eyes red-rimmed, your lip split from where you had been clipped.

you looked as wrecked as you felt.

the lift descended with a soft hum and you couldn’t help but think about how it had all fallen apart.

a lifetime’s worth of friendship — and this was how it was ending.

the lobby was eerily quiet when you stepped out, the soft glow of the chandeliers above casting long shadows across the polished floors.

a few members of staff gave you polite nods, but no one stopped you. you made your way through the main doors and out into the crisp night. the city was alive with its usual vibrancy, the streets bustling with late-night wanderers, couples holding hands and the distant hum of music from nearby cafés.

but you felt disconnected from it all, like you were watching a film from behind a glass screen.

you walked aimlessly for a while, the events of the past hour replaying in your head. minjeong’s face, twisted with anger. her voice, sharp and cutting — the way she looked at you like you were a stranger.

surprisingly, you found yourself by the seine, the water reflecting the lights of the city in soft ripples. leaning against the railing, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

eventually, exhaustion won out. you turned back towards the hotel, your steps slow and heavy. when you reached the lobby, the new concierge on shift gave you a concerned look but smiled anyway.

as the lift doors opened on your floor, you stepped out and immediately froze.

jimin was standing outside your room, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. aeri was there too, sitting on the floor against the wall.

they both looked up when they saw you, their faces a mixture of relief and frustration.

“we need to talk,” jimin said firmly, not waiting for an invitation before stepping inside as soon as you tapped the door open. “please?”

aeri trailed quietly, shutting the door behind her.

“not now,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “can’t it wait?”

“yes, now,” jimin said, crossing her arms. “the show starts in an hour and twice is running out of songs to keep the crowd entertained — we were meant to be there already. we don’t have time to sit around and sulk.”

you flinched at her words, guilt stabbing through your chest. you knew she was right, but the thought of stepping onto that stage felt impossible.

“jimin,” aeri scolded, her gaze flicking to you. “go easy.”

she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “look, i get it. tonight has been a fucking mess but we’ve worked too hard to let it all fall apart now,” she looked at you, eyes searching yours. “please, y/n. just one more show. finish what we started.”

“what’s the point?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “minjeong doesn’t care. why should i?”

“because this isn’t just about her,” aeri said, stepping closer. “it’s about all of us. about everyone who’s been waiting for this night. about the band we built together. don’t let her ruin that for you.”

you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. their words made sense, but the weight in your chest felt immovable.

“look,” she added, her tone softening. “you don’t have to do it for her. do it for us. for the fans. for yourself.”

you lifted your head, meeting her gaze. the determination in her eyes was unwavering and for a moment, you felt a flicker of the resolve you used to carry.

they were right; just because minjeong couldn’t get her shit together doesn’t mean they should get punished for it too.

“fine,” you closed your eyes with a sigh. “i’ll do it.”

jimin exhaled in relief and aeri gave you a small, encouraging smile.

“thank you,” jimin mumbled quietly. “yizhuo’s with minjeong, trying to sober her up. we’re going to meet in the lobby in thirty minutes. get ready.”

you nodded and they left, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more.

one last show.

downstairs, the lobby buzzed with tension. chaos theory’s managers had arrived, their faces stormy as they spoke in hushed tones to hotel staff. you spotted one of them, seonghwa, pacing near the entrance with a phone pressed to his ear.

“y/n.”

you turned to see the other manager, jinah, walking toward you with a look that was equal parts concern and fury. her eyes flicked to the faint cut on your lip and the way you were holding your ribs.

“are you okay?” she asked, her voice sharp but tinged with worry.

“i’m fine,” you waved her off, though the ache in your ribs told a different story.

“don’t lie to me,” she said, lowering her voice. “i know what happened. seonghwa’s already making calls about pressing charges against sungchan.”

you blinked, startled. “pressing charges?”

“he assaulted you, y/n,” jinah said firmly. “that’s not something we can let slide.”

the thought of dragging this mess into a courtroom made your stomach turn. you shook your head. “it’s not worth it. just let it go.”

“we can’t,” she said, her voice softening. “not after what he did to you. this isn’t just about protecting you — it’s about sending a message.”

you didn’t have the energy to argue, so you nodded faintly, hoping that would satisfy her. just then, the lift doors opened and minjeong stepped out with yizhuo at her side.

she looked different now — cleaned up, her face free of makeup but scrubbed of the earlier haze. her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she wore a hoodie and jeans, the most unassuming outfit she could have chosen.

it wasn’t her clothes that caught your attention, anyways. it was her tired eyes and the way they avoided meeting yours completely.

the sight of her made your chest tighten all over again.

“we’re all here,” seonghwa began briskly, his phone now tucked into his pocket. “let’s move. the car is waiting outside.”

you stepped forward, your voice steady but firm. “i’m not going in the same car as her.”

the room fell silent. yizhuo glanced between you and minjeong, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. minjeong didn’t look up, her shoulders tensing at your words.

jinah exchanged a glance with seonghwa, neither of them daring to ask what had happened. finally, she nodded. “you can ride with me,” she said simply.

the car ride to the venue was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the silence. she sat beside you, her expression unreadable as she scrolled through her phone. you stared out the window, the streets of paris rushing past in a blur of light and shadow once again.

“you’re thinking about quitting,” her voice broke the silence, calm and steady, but her words cut straight through you.

you didn’t deny it. “yeah.”

she set her phone down and turned to face you fully. “do you know what that means?”

you nodded faintly. “termination fees. legal battles. years of contracts down the drain.”

“it’s not just about money,” she said. “it’s your reputation. your career. chaos theory is your foundation, y/n. if you walk away now, everything you’ve built could crumble.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you.

“do you think it’s worth it?” she asked gently.

you hesitated, staring at your hands. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i don’t think i can keep doing this. not like this — i’m so tired.”

she was silent for a moment, her gaze softening. “you’re not wrong to feel that way, but quitting isn’t just about leaving minjeong or the band. it’s about leaving everything. the music, the fans, the dream you’ve worked so hard for.”

her words hit you harder than you expected.

“you don’t have to decide now,” she continued. “finish the show. then take some time to think about what you really want. no one’s forcing you to stay but if you leave, make sure it’s for the right reasons.”

the car pulled to a stop outside the venue and jinah placed a hand on your shoulder. “just get through tonight, okay? one last time. then we won’t have to do this again for awhile.”

you nodded, taking a deep breath as you stepped out of the car. the roar of the crowd was faint in the distance and for the first time in hours, you felt a flicker of purpose.

you could do this one more time.

backstage was an echo chamber of tension. the low hum of the crowd seeped through the walls, a reminder of the thousands of fans waiting for chaos theory, but the energy that usually thrived in these moments was nowhere to be found.

instead, silence stretched between the band members, punctuated only by the occasional scuffle of shoes or a whispered instruction from the crew.

the room was filled with a fragile, uneasy silence as you stood near your guitar, meticulously tuning it even though you’ve already done it twice. your hands moved mechanically, but your mind was elsewhere — flashing through the events of the past few hours.

minjeong stood across the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. she hadn’t said much since the last confrontation, but you could feel her eyes on you, heavy with unspoken words.

finally, she spoke, her voice low but firm. “we need to talk about the setlist.”

you didn’t look up, your fingers plucking at a string as you adjusted the tuning peg. “what about it?”

she stepped closer, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. her voice was strained, though she was trying to keep it calm. “you can’t close with silver springs. it’s not even part of the set.”

you finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a coldness that made her falter. “yes, it is.”

her brow furrowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “no, it’s not. we haven’t even rehearsed it properly as a band. it’s not ready.”

“it’s ready enough for me,” you said, your tone sharp and dismissive.

“you can’t just decide that on your own,” she snapped. “we’re a band, y/n. we make these decisions together.”

“do we?” you shot back, finally looking at her. “because it doesn’t feel like it lately.”

her jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling just below the surface. “this isn’t the time for this.”

“no, it’s not,” you said, standing straight and slinging your guitar over your shoulder. “but here we are anyway.”

the rest of the band watched the exchange from a distance, their unease palpable. jimin leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her gaze flicking between you and minjeong. aeri sat on a stool, her drumsticks resting loosely in her lap, while yizhuo hovered near the keyboard, her expression unsure.

“why are you doing this?” minjeong demanded, her voice rising slightly.

you took a step closer, your voice cold and steady. “because i want to. because it’s my song. and because, for once, i’m doing something for me.”

“you’re being selfish,” she snapped.

you laughed bitterly. “maybe. but it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“y/n —” jimin started, but you cut her off with a sharp look.

“don’t,” you said. “not now.”

aeri opened her mouth as if to say something, but then the stage manager appeared, clipboard in hand.

“chaos theory,” she called, her tone brisk. “stop fucking bickering; you’re up in ten. let���s go.”

the band began to move, each of you grabbing your gear and heading toward the stage door. minjeong ended up walking beside you, her shoulder brushing yours as you made your way through the narrow hallway.

you flinched at the contact and stepped away. “don’t touch me,” you said quietly but sharply, not even glancing her way.

her steps faltered for a moment, and you caught the brief flicker of hurt in her eyes before she looked away.

the stage lights blinded you as you stepped into position, the roar of the crowd washing over you like a tidal wave. it was the kind of energy you’d lived for — the kind that made the sleepless nights and endless rehearsals worth it. but tonight, it felt different. heavier.

and you all knew why.

minjeong took her place at the centre of the stage, microphone in hand. her smile was radiant, her voice bright as she addressed the audience. if you hadn’t just fought with her backstage, you might have believed it was genuine.

“paris,” she called, drawing out the name of the city with that familiar playful tone in her voice. “are you ready for one last night of chaos?”

the crowd erupted, their cheers a deafening wave of sound.

you adjusted your guitar strap and stepped into your spot at stage right, the weight of it settling comfortably against your body.

the band launched into the first song, the opening riff sharp and electric and just like that, the music took over.

on stage, you and minjeong were untouchable. no matter what had happened offstage, no matter how broken things felt behind the scenes, the chemistry between you was undeniable. her voice soared, clear and powerful and your guitar answered her with equal force; weaving together in a way that felt effortless.

as the set went on, you found yourself slipping into memories.

you thought of the early days, playing small venues in seoul to crowds of barely twenty people. the nights spent crammed in cheap motels, laughing over instant noodles and dreaming of the big stage. the way she used to look at you, her eyes filled with a light that made you believe anything was possible.

those days felt like a distant dream now.

the crowd’s energy was electric, their voices rising with every song. minjeong worked the stage like a pro, her movements fluid and confident as she engaged with the audience. and despite everything, you couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

when the band transitioned into the next song, you stepped toward the mic.

“before we go on,” you said, your voice cutting through the noise, “i just want to give a quick shoutout to josephine and jules. your dad gave me a ride earlier and he told me how much you love chaos theory. this one’s for you!”

the crowd erupted into cheers, and you saw a few people in the front row light up, waving excitedly.

the band launched into the next track, the energy building with each chord. for the audience, it was just another unforgettable concert.

for you, it was goodbye.

as the final notes of the second-to-last song faded into the applause, you stepped forward to the mic before minjeong could.

“this next song,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, “is called silver springs. it’s a song i wrote for someone i thought i knew. someone i thought i loved…my soulmate.”

the crowd hushed, their anticipation palpable.

her expression was unreadable when you glanced at her then, her hands gripping the microphone stand like it was the only thing keeping her steady. you didn’t look at her for long.

“this is for them,” you added, your voice softer now. “and for all of you.”

you started the first chords, the haunting melody filling the venue. the band hesitated for a split second before falling in behind you, their accompaniment careful and restrained.

the lyrics poured out of you, raw and unfiltered, each word a confession you’d been holding back for years.

“time casts a spell on you, but you won’t forget me,

i know i could have loved you, but you would not let me.”

as you sang, memories flooded your mind — the way she used to laugh, the nights you’d spent tangled together in whispered promises, the weight of her saying “i love you” like it was the only truth in the world.

you thought of the nights spent crammed into your parents’ garage; the hours of laughter, of dreaming, of believing that the five of you could conquer the world. and you did. you thought of your first show, a tiny venue with barely twenty people in the audience, but the way she had grinned at you afterward like it was the biggest triumph of your lives.

her voice joined yours in the chorus, her harmony blending with yours in a way that felt like second nature. despite everything, the connection between you burned just as brightly as it always had.

you thought of your first real show, a tiny venue with less than fifty people and how she had grabbed your hand afterward, grinning so brightly it made your chest ache. “this is just the beginning,” she had said, her voice filled with certainty.

and you remembered the way jimin and aeri used to fight over not being in sync — or the way yizhuo would hum soft melodies after a heavy day at the studio. you were all so young then.

the tears came, hot and unrelenting. they blurred your vision, but you kept singing, pouring every ounce of heartbreak and love and gratitude into the song.

the crowd noticed. their cheers softened into a reverent silence, a few scattered voices calling out, “we love you, y/n!”

you closed your eyes, the memories playing like a film reel in your mind. the late-night rehearsals, the endless van rides to nowhere gigs, the microwaved meals crammed into a barely functioning bus and the first time a fan told you that your music saved their life.

“i’ll follow you down,

’til the sound of my voice will haunt you.

give me just a chance,

you’ll never get away from the sound

of the woman that loved you.”

as the last chord rang out, you stood frozen, your guitar hanging heavily against your body. the crowd erupted into applause, their cheers thunderous and reverent.

you stepped back, your chest heaving, and wiped at the tears on your face before stepping up to face the crowd one last time.

“thank you, paris,” you took a sharp breath, your voice trembling but strong. “thank you everyone….for everything. being a part of chaos theory has been the greatest journey of my life.”

your gaze swept across the crowd, the band and finally landing on aeri.

“i want to thank the people who made this possible. giselle, for being the heartbeat of this band. your drive, your passion — it’s unmatched. thank you for keeping us grounded.”

aeri looked stunned, her drumsticks frozen in her hands, but she nodded, her lips twitching into a small, grateful smile.

“ningning,” you continued, your voice softening. “you’ve been the light of this band, the one who always reminded us why we started. your kindness and strength have carried us through the hardest times.”

yizhuo’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she gave you a small wave from behind the keyboard, her lips quivering into a smile.

“karina,” you said, turning toward her. “you’ve been my rock. the one who kept us moving forward when things felt impossible. your leadership, your fire — i’m proud to say you’ve been the backbone of this band.”

jimin’s jaw tightened, her eyes locked on yours. she gave a short nod, her face unreadable, though her eyes glistened.

finally, you turned to minjeong.

“and winter,” you smiled, your voice breaking slightly. “you’ve been the soul of chaos theory. your voice, your heart — it’s what made people fall in love with us. with you. and it made me believe in something…it kept all of us going, actually. thank you for that.”

minjeong’s lips parted, her eyes wide and shining with something you couldn’t name, but she didn’t speak.

you turned back to the crowd, your hands gripping the mic stand tightly.

“but tonight…” you paused, the words catching in your throat. “tonight is my last show.”

gasps rippled through the audience, and the band stood frozen behind you.

“thank you for being here. for believing in us. for believing in me. i’ll never forget you.”

you stepped back, your gaze lingering on the band for a moment before you turned and walked off the stage. behind you, the crowd roared, their voices a mix of cheers and cries but you didn’t hear them. you walked away from the music, the fans, and the band that had once been your whole world.

and this time, you knew you weren’t coming back.

[solarmorrigan]

Wrote this a while ago for I think an Angsty August prompt but never posted it. Stumbled across it a few days ago and realized I actually liked it, so here it is

Rated: T | Words: 935 | CW: Anxiety attack | Tags: hurt/comfort, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington has chronic pain, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson, the stress and imperfection of caring for someone with a chronic illness

-

There are bills. There are always fucking bills – a pile of them lying on the kitchen table where Eddie sits now, head hanging, hair clenched in his fists as he tries to breathe.

He’s pulling so hard that he’s giving himself a headache, and it nearly makes him laugh, but he refrains. He gets the feeling that if he starts, he might not stop – he’ll get louder and louder, maybe get a little hysterical, and then he’ll disturb Steve, who’s currently laid up with the mother of all headaches. Eddie’s little tension headache pales in comparison to the might of the migraine.

At least it’s Saturday. Steve hadn’t had to miss another shift, and Eddie is free to stay home and keep him company. Not that there’s much Eddie can do; he takes another shaking breath, trying to burst the band of anxiety wrapped tight around his chest, but his thoughts keep racing.

The envelopes piled on the table stare back at him as he blinks watery eyes down at his placemat, rent and utilities and medical bills all crying out for payment. Eddie’s job is barely enough to keep them afloat, and Steve – he helps as much as he can. His new job doesn’t pay as much as his last had, but fewer and more flexible hours reduce the chances he’ll get fired after calling out one too many times (like his last job).

(And Eddie can admit, if only in the privacy of his own head, to some frustrated, bitter thoughts in his weaker moments, wondering why Steve can’t just push through his pain like Eddie does. There are days when Eddie’s scars act up, when his body aches and he wants nothing more than to stay in bed, but he doesn’t.

But then he sees the results of Steve “pushing through it” – ignoring the way his whole body hurts, moving until he physically can’t anymore, until even breathing feels painful. Shoving off the impending signs of a migraine until they get mornings like this one: vomiting and stuttering and auras, sitting on the bathroom floor until Eddie can coax him back to bed.

He sees it, sees how much it kills Steve that he can’t do more, and feels ashamed.)

It isn’t just the bills weighing on Eddie’s mind, though. More even than money trouble—something with which Eddie at least has experience—it’s Steve that’s scaring him the most. The days when he’s overwhelmed by pain or by exhaustion, by fogginess and migraines, seem to be increasing, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

Scrape together enough money to go see another specialist who will tell them shit they already know and recommend treatments they can’t afford?

(Eddie would. If Steve’s doctor gave him yet another referral, Eddie would find a way to make it work. He’s just not sure anymore that it would help.)

He hates feeling useless. Hates sitting by, unable to do a damn thing, unable to solve the problem, stuck in place just like he had been in high school, dead weight, no good to anybody–

A rustling of sheets followed by a quiet groan reaches Eddie’s ears from the bedroom, snapping him from his spiral.

He sits up, then, releasing his hair and rubbing his hands over his cheeks, catching any stray moisture from beneath his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, shaking less now, and stands from the table. There is one thing he can do, and even if it doesn’t feel like enough, Eddie is going to do it.

The bedroom is dim, curtains drawn over east-facing windows that blessedly get less light in the afternoon. The bed is a wreck of pillows and sheets, moved around or cast aside in an effort to alleviate the pain, to warm up or stay cool through a fluctuating body temperature. Steve lies in the middle of it all, turned now to face the door, one arm stretched over the empty space where Eddie had been.

His eyes are closed, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’s awake – sure enough, he pulls his arm back as soon as the bed dips under Eddie’s weight. Eddie slides back beneath the sheets and takes Steve’s hand with a gentle squeeze.

“Hey.”

Steve hums, eyes still closed, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. “Where’d you go?”

“Just got up to stretch my legs,” Eddie answers (it’s an easy lie, one Eddie feels no guilt over, because it’s better than explaining that he’d gotten up to avoid waking Steve with the anxiety attack that had built in his chest the longer he’d lain in the silence of their bedroom, watching the furrow between Steve’s brows that made him look pained even in his sleep).

After a moment, Steve’s eyes flutter open, searching Eddie’s face. Whatever he finds there makes his frown deepen.

“Kinda ruined our weekend, huh?” he says quietly. “’m sorry you’re stuck with me like this.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says lowly. “Never apologize. I’m not stuck with you, I love you.” He leans up, presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and Steve sighs.

He takes their joined hands and brings them to his lips, kissing the back of Eddie’s. “I love you, too,” he murmurs against Eddie’s skin.

“You need anything?” Eddie asks, before he really settles in.

Steve makes a noise in the negative. “Just you,” he says, lips still brushing Eddie’s hand. “That’s enough.”

Eddie can’t help the overwhelmed tears that well up in his eyes again. This is enough – they’re enough. As long as Eddie has Steve, they can figure the rest out together.

And that will always be enough.

[itendtothinkalot]

grumpy x sunshine!

summary: beomgyus open to his feelings about u! at work, he's always doing anything to make ur life easier...too bad, u find him absolutely infuriating. what happens when u tell him finally tell him to leave u alone...??? only to realise...maybe u do need him after all

genre: fluff

characters: beomgyu x f!reader

words: 8k words

warnings: nothing much

You and Beomgyu had always kept things strictly professional or at least, that’s what you told yourself. But unbeknownst to you, Beomgyu was already halfway in love with you. Every time he saw your face, his heart did a little dance, and when he woke up, your name was the first thing on his mind. You filled his thoughts at work, and even in the quiet moments of his day, he’d find his thoughts wandering back to you. To him, you were the most stunning person to ever grace the Earth, and it wasn’t just your appearance, it was everything about you. You were perfection in his eyes and everyone knew how much he liked you.

Meanwhile, you had a completely different view of him. You saw him as the gum stuck to your shoe—the kind of annoyance that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you tried to scrape it off. He wasn’t bad, not really. But he was like a persistent cockroach, always popping up in your space when you least wanted him there. He was too positive, like a walking ray of sunshine who just couldn't take a hint. You'd rolled your eyes more times than you could count at his over-the-top enthusiasm, his constant energy that never seemed to falter. Sometimes, you swore he was just too happy for his own good.

It started small, as always.

You were juggling three things at once—the printer spitting out half-printed pages, your phone buzzing with emails, and a cup of coffee precariously balanced on the edge of your desk. Then Beomgyu appeared, like clockwork.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. That coffee looks one nudge away from disaster,” he said, effortlessly sliding it back to safety.

“I had it under control,” you muttered, not even sparing him a glance.

“Sure you did,” he said with a laugh, already grabbing the stack of half-printed pages. “Let me fix this for you. You keep working.”

You wanted to protest, but he was already fiddling with the printer, somehow coaxing it to cooperate within minutes. By the time he handed you the neatly printed pages, you were too annoyed to thank him.

"Anything else you need? A snack? Maybe world peace?" he teased.

“No, Beomgyu. I need space,” you snapped, but he only smiled like you’d just told him the weather was lovely.

“Alright!” Beomgyu beamed, stepping away from you.

—

Later that week, during a team meeting, you realized halfway through that you’d forgotten your pen. As you fumbled through your bag, Beomgyu leaned over and slid one across the table to you without a word.

You scowled. “How did you even know I didn’t bring a pen?”

He shrugged. “You always forget on Mondays.”

“Oh, is that so?” you sputtered, even though it absolutely was.

–

And then there was the time he rewrote the entire client presentation the night before because he noticed an error you’d missed.

You didn’t even know about it until the boss praised your flawless work. Beomgyu, seated next to you, just gave you a thumbs-up like it was no big deal.

“Why do you keep doing this?” you hissed at him afterward.

“Doing what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Being... helpful, doing too much...like you owe me something.” you said, the word tasting like poison.

He laughed, that stupid, bright laugh that made your coworkers glance over and smile like he was the office mascot. “I thought you liked being less stressed.”

“I don’t need your help,” you said, glaring at him.

“Okay,” he said easily, but the next day, he still managed to fix the coffee machine your work life depended on before you even noticed it was broken.

—

Deadlines loomed, emails piled up, and every little thing seemed to grate on your nerves. It was one of those days where nothing went right, especially after your boss had sent you a text the previous night, calling you an "egghead" who was only surviving because of Beomgyu. And honestly, you couldn’t disagree with him.

Today, though, you’d finally reached your breaking point.

“Good morning!” Beomgyu chirped, balancing two cups of coffee in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other. “I got your favorite—almond croissant. You need fuel for the big presentation later!”

You didn’t even look up from your computer. “I didn’t ask for coffee, Beomgyu.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I know, but—”

“I didn’t ask for anything!” you snapped, your voice louder than intended.

Beomgyu froze, his smile faltering. He placed the coffee and croissant on your desk carefully, as though afraid any sudden movement might set you off further. “Okay. Got it. Sorry.”

But you weren’t done.

“No, you don’t get it,” you said, standing abruptly. “You’re always here. Always hovering, always ‘helping.’ Do you think I can’t do my job without you? That I’m some kind of charity case who needs your constant attention?”

His eyes widened, and for the first time, you saw something crack in his usual sunny demeanor. “That’s not—”

“You’re suffocating me, Beomgyu,” you interrupted, your voice trembling with frustration. “I don’t need your coffee, or your pastries, or your stupid jokes. With you here, constantly helping, are you suggesting I'm incompetent?"

"What—no! I..."

"Just... leave me alone.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Beomgyu stared at you, his expression unreadable, before nodding once.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “If that’s what you want.”

And then he turned and walked away.

You expected to feel relief. But instead, as you watched him disappear around the corner, a strange, hollow ache settled in your chest.

—

The next day, Beomgyu didn’t greet you with his usual bright smile. He didn’t bring you coffee or fix the fucked up printer. For the first time in... well, forever, he stayed on his side of the office, quietly working at his desk.

By the end of the week, it was clear he was actively avoiding you. The absence of his energy was almost suffocating.

“Is Beomgyu okay?” Soobin asked. “He’s been... acting strange.”

“Maybe he’s just busy,” you replied, your voice tight. But deep down, you knew better.

The weekend came and went, and when Monday morning rolled around, Beomgyu wasn’t at his desk. 

It wasn’t like you looked for him. Of course not. You were perfectly capable of handling everything on your own.

But when the office coffee machine sputtered and died on Tuesday morning, you found yourself glancing toward the door, half-expecting Beomgyu to stroll in, toolkit in hand, ready to save the day.

He didn’t. You scowled at the machine and settled for tea.

When the new team project was announced, you instinctively braced yourself for Beomgyu’s usual barrage of ideas. He always had a way of throwing out wild suggestions that somehow worked—like adding gifs to a formal presentation or using memes to lighten the mood in meetings.

But he didn’t say a word.

Instead, he just slid his chair closer to yours and whispered, “I’ve got some ideas if you need them.”

You didn’t need them, of course.

Except you kind of did.

And then there was the day the office printer jammed again.

You stared at the blinking red light, willing it to fix itself. Beomgyu wasn’t even in the office yet, but the thought of him walking in and making one of his stupid jokes about “printer diplomacy” flitted through your mind.

“Just hit the damn printer,” Yeonjun joked.

You frowned. “No, you have to press the reset button twice and then open the tray.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Wow, since when did you learn printer mechanics?”

You froze. You hadn’t. Beomgyu had. And you’d apparently been watching.

—

At some point, you noticed how much of your day was shaped by him. How the absence of his easy banter left your mornings feeling quieter. How the little acts of care—an extra pen, a fixed spreadsheet, a correctly formatted email—were missing.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need him.

You were just as capable on your own, with or without him.

But when he passed by your desk one afternoon and didn’t stop to say anything, just giving you a polite nod instead, you felt a pang of something uncomfortably close to disappointment.

“What’s his deal?” Taehyun asked, noticing the unusual lack of Beomgyu’s energy.

“Maybe he’s finally taking the hint,” you muttered, but even as you said it, the words felt hollow.

—

The next few days arrived and Beomgyu hadn’t. It was strange not having him in the office. Almost excruciating.

By Thursday morning, the office felt impossibly dull. It wasn’t like you missed him, you were just noticing how quiet everything was without his relentless chatter and boundless energy filling the air.

The coffee machine was still broken, and no one had stepped up to fix it. You stood there, staring at it with almost anger. Beomgyu had fixed it so many times before you’d even noticed it was broken.

You frowned. You didn’t miss him. You missed the convenience. That was all.

But as you walked back to your desk, you caught yourself glancing toward his empty chair. The space around it seemed oddly barren, as if his absence had drained all the color from that corner of the room.

Later that day, as you worked on a project, you opened your notes to find a little sticky note stuck to the corner of the page.

"Don’t stress too much—you’re doing amazing! - Beomgyu <3"

You stared at it, your chest tightening. He’d written that weeks ago, probably when you weren’t looking. It wasn’t the first time you’d found little notes like this, but you’d always dismissed them as just another one of his overly cheerful habits.

Now, though, it felt different. 

—

The memories started creeping in after that.

The time Beomgyu had stayed late to help you finish a project, even though he’d had plans. You’d been hunched over your desk, frustrated and on the verge of tears, your computer screen mocking you with an endless sea of spreadsheets.

“You okay?” his voice had come from behind you, soft but with that familiar, ever-present warmth.

“I’m fine,” you’d muttered, not even turning around.

He’d ignored your dismissive tone, pulling up a chair beside you. “Alright. You talk and I’ll type.”

You’d been too exhausted to argue, and as the hours stretched on, his presence felt less irritating and more... comforting. At one point, your head had slumped onto the desk in defeat, and Beomgyu had chuckled, brushing your hair away from your face.

“You work too hard,” he’d murmured, his voice softer than usual, almost... tender. You looked up, startled by the genuine concern in his eyes. For a moment, the air between you seemed to shift, thick with unspoken words. His gaze held yours a second too long, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, your body leaning just a little closer, your breath catching in your throat.

It felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, the space between you charged with something you hadn’t expected. And just as you were about to close the distance, his phone rang loudly, shattering the fragile moment.

Beomgyu pulled away, glancing at his phone and groaning, declining the call.

It was so brief…so fleeting…that you could almost convince yourself it hadn’t happened. You’d blinked, snapping back to reality, and cleared your throat.

“We’re not getting anywhere if you keep staring at me,” you’d said sharply, the irritation in your voice masking the strange flutter in your chest.

Beomgyu had grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Just checking to see if you’re still alive.”

–

Then there was the time he’d noticed you were having a bad day—the kind of day where everything felt heavy, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. He hadn’t asked what was wrong or pried for details. Instead, he’d quietly placed a piece of chocolate on your desk, tapping it lightly to get your attention.

“What’s this?” you’d asked, glancing up at him.

“A peace offering,” he’d replied with a wink. “From the universe. Delivered by yours truly.”

You’d rolled your eyes, but a small smile had crept onto your face despite yourself

—

And then there was the umbrella.

You’d been in a rush that morning, the sky dark, and of course, you’d forgotten to grab your umbrella. By the time you arrived at work, the rain was coming down in sheets, and you’d resigned yourself to staying put until it let up.

But Beomgyu had appeared at your desk, soaked to the bone, holding a bright yellow umbrella.

“Here,” he’d said, grinning.

“You’ve an extra one?” You asked.

He nodded.

It was only later, when you noticed the water pooling around his chair and the way his shirt clung to his skin, that you realized what had happened.

“You gave me your umbrella?” you’d asked.

He’d shrugged, his usual grin firmly in place. “What’s a little rain, anyway?”

You hadn’t known what to say to that. You still didn’t.

—

Now, sitting at your desk with the weight of his absence pressing down on you, those moments replayed in your mind on an endless loop. The way he looked at you during that late night at work. The way his fingers had brushed yours when he handed you that chocolate. The way his eyes had crinkled with delight when he saw your surprise at the umbrella.

You’d called him annoying. You’d pushed him away. But now, for the first time, you let yourself wonder: had you been lying to yourself all along?

Because if he was so annoying, why had your heart raced when he leaned in close? Why had you noticed the way his lips curved into a soft smile when he thought you weren’t looking? Why had you missed him so much it ached?

–

By the middle of the second week, the silence in the office was unbearable.

Beomgyu hadn’t just been the loudest person in the room, in fact he’d been the heart of it. Without him, the air felt stale, the chatter subdued. Even the irritating squeaks of the office chairs seemed less lively.

You sat at your desk, staring blankly at your screen, the cursor blinking as though mocking your inability to focus. Tasks you normally powered through felt tiresome, and even your coworkers had started to notice.

“You alright?” Kai, your desk neighbor, leaned over, his voice tinged with curiosity. “You’ve been awfully... quiet lately.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing his off.

Kai raised an eyebrow. “Are you, though? You didn’t even snap at me when I borrowed your stapler without asking yesterday. That’s not like you.”

You turned to glare at him, but even that lacked your usual bite. Kai just smirked, crossing his arms.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, “things have been... different around here since Beomgyu stopped coming in. And you’ve been different. Almost acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Your chest tightened at the mention of his name, but you forced yourself to shrug nonchalantly. “I’m fine,” you repeated, though your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears.

“Sure you are,” Kai said, his smirk widening. “If ‘fine’ means staring off into space and sighing dramatically every twenty minutes.”

“I don’t sigh,” you snapped, but your cheeks burned.

“You do now,” Taehyun chimed in from across the room. “Honestly, it’s kind of weird. We didn’t think you’d notice he was gone.”

“Why wouldn’t I notice?” you shot back, your voice sharper than intended.

“Well, you always seemed so... irritated by him,” Kai said, his tone lighter now. “But I guess even you can’t resist missing him a little.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you buried your face in your hands, willing the heat in your cheeks to dissipate.

–

That night, you found yourself scrolling through your phone, staring at Beomgyu’s contact name. You hadn’t reached out to him since the blow-up. A small part of you wanted to believe he was being dramatic, giving you space just to make a point. But two weeks? That wasn’t like him.

You hovered over the call button, your thumb trembling. Then, in a burst of frustration, you tossed your phone onto the couch and leaned back, rubbing your temples.

Why couldn’t you just admit it?

You missed him.

You missed the sound of his voice, the way he always greeted you with that infuriatingly bright smile. You missed the way he’d pop up at your desk with some ridiculous joke or a cup of coffee just the way you liked it.

You even missed the way he teased you, pushing just enough to annoy you but never enough to truly upset you—until that day.

—

It was the kind of day that felt like it was dragging on forever. The office was busy, but everything felt distant, like you were in a room full of voices, but none of them were quite reaching you.

Suddenly, you felt a presence at your desk. You looked up, and your boss, Mr. Choi, stood there with a thick folder in hand. His usual stern expression softened a little as he slid the folder toward you.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said, his voice carrying that slight hint of approval you rarely heard from him.

You blinked, momentarily confused. “What’s this?”

“A project I’ve been holding off on for a while. But after some conversations, I think you’re the perfect fit for it.” He paused, his eyes briefly darting to the hallway before focusing back on you.

You could feel your heart skip a beat. This was the project you’d been hoping to get—an opportunity to make a significant impact. You felt a wave of excitement flood over you.

“Oh my god, thank you! I’ve been waiting for this,” you said, grinning widely as you accepted the folder. “I won’t let you down.”

Mr. Choi gave you a small, approving nod. “I’m sure you won’t. But,” he added, “you should really thank Beomgyu for this.”

You frowned, not quite following. “Beomgyu?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Choi said, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was about to let you in on something secret. “He’s been talking you up to me for the past couple of weeks. Saying how impressed he is with your work, how passionate you are about your projects. I’ve had a lot of positive feedback from him—so much that I decided it was time you got something bigger to work on.”

Your heart stopped for a second.

“Beomgyu... has been talking about me?”

Mr. Choi raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding your shock. “Yeah, he really has a lot of respect for you. He believes in your abilities. Honestly, I think he’s been pushing for this project on your behalf. He doesn’t ask for anything in return, just wants to see you succeed. So, if I were you, I’d send a thank-you his way.”

You stared at the folder in your hands, the weight of Mr. Choi’s words sinking in. Beomgyu had been talking about you? He had been saying all those things about you behind your back?

Why hadn’t he ever said anything like that directly to you?

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized—you didn’t need him to say those things to you. His actions had always spoken louder than his words. He’d been helping you all along. The small gestures, the support he’d given without expecting anything in return, were just his way of showing how much he cared.

But now, hearing it from Mr. Choi, it was like a slap of reality. Beomgyu had always been there, silently cheering you on, always rooting for you—even when you couldn’t see it.

You felt a sudden, sharp pang in your chest.

You couldn’t wait any longer. The truth was clear now. The realization hit you harder than you expected—Beomgyu wasn’t just a coworker. He wasn’t just an annoyance. He was the one who had been there for you, in all the small ways, every single day.

You knew exactly what you needed to do.

Without thinking twice, you grabbed your things and stood up, your decision already made.

-

You didn’t know what came over you. One moment, you were sitting at your desk, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions, and the next, you were rushing out of the office. Your coworkers glanced up, confused, as you grabbed your things and bolted toward the exit.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn’t breathe properly without him around.

Beomgyu.

It had been over a week since Beomgyu last showed up to work. Not a single word, not a message. You’d told yourself it was fine—that he needed space after everything. But then, today, hearing your boss’s words, you knew the truth: Beomgyu wasn’t avoiding you because he was mad at you. No, it was worse. He’d been avoiding you because he was sick.

And you missed him.

The rain had started just as you’d left the office, a steady downpour that soaked you through as you hurried to his apartment building. You didn’t care about the stares or the curious glances—nothing mattered except seeing him again. When you reached his apartment, you rang the doorbell, your wet hair clinging to your face, your clothes plastered to your skin. You were probably irritating him, but at that moment, nothing else felt important.

Beomgyu opened the door slowly, blinking in surprise when he saw you standing there, drenched. His face was pale, his hair disheveled, and his eyes were a little glazed, like he’d just woken up from a deep sleep. He looked sick. But when his gaze landed on you, a small frown creased his forehead, his lips parted in surprise.

“You’re—” Beomgyu blinked, his eyes scanning you, noting how soaked you were. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice thick with confusion and concern.

You didn’t think. You didn’t even pause. You rushed forward and kissed him.

At first, Beomgyu froze, his eyes wide in shock, but then, as though some instinct took over, he leaned into the kiss. His lips were soft against yours, and the warmth of him, the way his body seemed to melt into yours, made your heart race. But just as suddenly, he pulled away, his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you back.

You blinked in surprise, your chest tightening with confusion and hurt. “I’m sorry! I didn’t— I just—” you stammered, words tumbling out in a rush.

Beomgyu sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “No–it’s not that! I’m just sick,” he said, his voice a little clearer now, but still strained. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that. In fact, I'd be living out my number 1 fantasy. But I’m awfully sick, and I don’t want to get you—”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his face and kissed him again, this time with more urgency. It was as if you couldn’t stop yourself, like all the emotions you had been holding in for so long came pouring out in that single moment.

When you finally pulled away, your heart was pounding, and your breath was shallow. You looked at him, eyes wide, and whispered, “Make me sick. Make me cry. I don’t care anymore… just don’t disappear without saying anything. I like you. A lot." You whispered the latter.

Beomgyu blinked at you, his expression one of shock and something softer—something that made your chest tighten. He sat down on the couch with a groan and patted the space next to him. “Alright, you’ve got me,” he said with a small, tired grin. “But before we go any further with this whole emotional breakthrough thing, I need to wrap you up in this blanket because you’re literally dripping water all over my floor.”

You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he pulled you down into the blanket with him, wrapping you so tightly that you could barely move. You could barely stop laughing either. “What is this?” you asked, amused despite yourself. “You’re sick, and you're still trying to make me feel better?”

“Of course I am,” he said, his voice warm but groggy. “That’s what boyfriends do, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

He grinned. “Well, if you’re gonna confess your undying love for me, I think it's only fair I start acting the part.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "I didn’t say anything about a boyfriend."

Beomgyu’s grin widened, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Well, I think it’s safe to say that after that kiss, you’ve got yourself one."

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your flustered reaction. "You’re quite the narcissist," you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice betrayed you, soft and a little breathless.

Beomgyu leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower. "Maybe, but you wouldn’t be so shy if you didn’t feel the same way."

You shot him a quick look, heart racing, and tried to compose yourself. "You’re impossible," you said, but it came out more fondly than you intended.

“Alright, fine, Mr. Boyfriend, what’s next?” you teased, settling deeper into the blanket cocoon.

He gave you a sly grin before standing up with a dramatic sigh. “I’m making you hot chocolate,” he announced like it was a grand gesture. “Even though I’m on death’s doorstep with this flu, and you’re the one who should be taking care of me.”

You chuckled as you watched him shuffle to the kitchen, holding onto the blanket as if it was his last line of defense against the cold.

Moments later, he returned, holding a mug of hot chocolate with way too many marshmallows. “Ta-da!” He placed it in front of you and sat back down, carefully covering both of you with the blanket again.

You took a sip, the sweetness warming you from the inside, and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“Just wait,” Beomgyu said with a wink. “I’ll be excruciatingly sweet to you when I recover.” He then shifted closer, resting his head against your shoulder.

You laughed softly, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I think I need you more than I realized."

"Good," Beomgyu mumbled, already half asleep. "Because you’re stuck with me, remember?"

“Beomgyu, about our argument–”

You opened your mouth, ready to apologize again, but before you could get the words out, Beomgyu cut you off. His lips gently pressed against yours, soft and reassuring, as if telling you everything you needed to hear without saying a word.

"I know," he whispered against your lips when he pulled away, his eyes still heavy with exhaustion but filled with something deeper—something comforting. "I know, and it's okay."

You blinked, stunned by the simplicity of his words, and the way he made everything feel like it would be alright. He already understood.

"Now before you start apologizing to me again, let's get you out of those clothes and into mine," Beomgyu winked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You gasped, your face immediately turning a shade of red that could rival a tomato. "BEOMGYU!" you sputtered, half-laughing, half-shocked.

Beomgyu smirked, unphased by your reaction. "No, I meant it literally. You're dripping rainwater all over my very expensive new sofa," he said, gesturing dramatically to the puddle forming on the couch.

You blinked, your embarrassment quickly shifting to confusion. "Oh," was all you managed to say, suddenly feeling a lot more self-conscious about the wet patches all over you.

Beomgyu chuckled softly, his usual playful tone now laced with a hint of fondness. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he said, winking again. "But first, let's get you changed before you flood the entire apartment."

—

The next morning, you woke up to a horrible reality. The warmth from last night’s kiss lingered in your chest, but unfortunately, it also seemed to have carried over to your immune system in the form of a nasty cold. You were now sniffling, with a sore throat and a headache that wouldn’t quit. But of course, you couldn’t worry Beomgyu.

You were lying in his bed, tangled in his blankets, his warmth still wrapped around you like a security blanket. The soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing was the only thing that filled the silence. You blinked, disoriented for a moment, before it all came flooding back—last night, the confessions, the kisses... and the way you’d ended up here, curled up in his bed after well another few hours of kisses and giggling.

For a moment, you just laid there, savoring the peace of it all. Beomgyu’s arm was slung across your waist, his face relaxed in sleep. You couldn’t help but smile. This felt right. So right.

Beomgyu stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open, a sleepy grin spreading across his face as he looked at you. "Good morning," he mumbled, his voice all groggy and cute.

"Hi," you whispered back, trying not to sound too giddy. It was still early, and the last thing you wanted was to make a scene of how perfect everything felt. You nuzzled into his chest, just content to be there for a few more minutes.

He chuckled, running a hand through your hair. “You look so peaceful when you sleep. Almost like you’re not the same person who yells at me for delivering them a croissant.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but smiling. “You’re one to talk. I wasn’t the one who couldn’t stop snoring last night.”

Beomgyu shot you a playful glare, but his smile was so bright that it made your heart flutter. "You're lucky you're cute," he teased, planting a quick kiss on your forehead.

As you both got out of bed and started getting ready for work, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation in your body—a lightheadedness that made your movements a little slower than usual. Your head felt like it was swimming, and there was a dull ache at the back of your throat.

You tried to shake it off. It was nothing. Probably just a little tiredness. Beomgyu had been so sweet last night, and you didn’t want to ruin the mood by worrying him over something as trivial as a cold.

But as you went to grab your shoes, your vision blurred for a second, and you swayed slightly. You grabbed onto the wall for balance, but Beomgyu, ever the observant one, caught sight of it immediately.

"Hey, hey, are you okay?" His voice was instantly filled with concern, his hands reaching out to steady you. His brows furrowed. "You don’t look too good."

"I'm fine," you said quickly, straightening up. "Just... a little tired, that's all."

Beomgyu didn’t seem convinced. He reached up to check your forehead with the back of his hand. "You’re a little warm," he muttered, looking suspicious. "Are you sure you’re okay?"

You gave him a smile that felt a little more forced than you intended. "Seriously, I’m fine. Just… didn’t sleep enough."

—

When you showed up at the office, your coworkers immediately noticed something was off. Soobin, Kai, and Taehyun exchanged glances as you walked past them with a box of tissues, your face flushed and clearly a little worse for wear.

“Whoa,” Soobin said, his voice full of concern. “You look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?”

Kai leaned forward, peering at you from his desk. “Are you sure you should be here? You look like you’re about to fall over. Is that a fever I see?”

You groaned, sinking into your chair and reaching for your cup of tea. “I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice scratchy. “Just a little… under the weather.”

“Under the weather?” Kai raised an eyebrow. “You look like one of them sewer rats in Ratatouille. What’s going on?”

You shot him a half-hearted glare, still too embarrassed to admit what had actually happened. You were definitely not going to tell them that a kiss had made you sick—no, that would just make you die of embarrassment. “I don’t know, just caught a bug, I guess.”

Just then, the door to the office opened, and there stood Beomgyu, looking completely refreshed. His cheeks were rosy, his hair perfectly styled, and there was a spring in his step that made you want to crawl under your desk and hide.

“Good morning!” Beomgyu called, completely oblivious to your sickly state, and grinned at everyone like he hadn’t just been sick the night before.

You let out a tiny groan under your breath. “Good morning,” you managed to reply, but it came out more like a croak.

Beomgyu noticed you right away, his smile faltering as he walked over. “Hey, you okay? I told you to stay home.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine. Really. Just… a little tired.”

Beomgyu leaned closer, his expression softening as he checked your forehead with his hand. “You’re burning up. You should go home and rest.”

Of course, that only made you more embarrassed. “I’m not going home,” you muttered, your voice raspy. “I’m fine. I can work.”

Beomgyu shook his head softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “I told you you shouldn’t have stayed over to take care of me,” he said gently, tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly tender.

You let out a dramatic sigh, almost pouting. “But you were sick. I couldn’t just leave you there all alone.”

Soobin, who had been watching the entire exchange like it was drama, suddenly raised an eyebrow and looked between the two of you. “Wait a second,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He pointed between you and Beomgyu like he’d just discovered a treasure chest. “You two were… together last night?”

Beomgyu blinked, clearly not following. “What? No, I—”

You froze, eyes widening, before you snapped your head toward Soobin. “What? No! We—uh—we just… we were just... uh—”

Kai, who had been pretending to mind his own business but was clearly eavesdropping, leaned over dramatically, his arms crossed, giving you a knowing look. “Oh, don’t try to deny it now. The way you’re both looking at each other? So obvious. You kissed, didn’t you? Probably did a little more than that.”

You froze, blinking in disbelief. “I—ugh—this is not happening. Shut up, you fiends.”

Taehyun, who had been listening in from his desk, leaned back in his chair, grinning like a cat who’d just eaten the canary. “I knew it! The way Beomgyu’s practically glowing this morning, and you’re over here looking like you’ve been hit by a new disease? Classic case of ‘love-struck sickness.’”

Beomgyu, who had been leaning casually against the desk, now looked unbelievably proud. His chest puffed out a little, and a smug grin spread across his face. “Well, since you guys are aware of the little exchange. I guess I can brag that I kissed her. And I’ve gotta say, I’m not at all sorry about it.”

"BEOMGYU!" You exclaimed.

You groaned, face burning, as Beomgyu made an exaggerated show of brushing his hair back with one hand. “It was a pretty great kiss, too. I mean, who can blame her?” He glanced at you with a teasing wink, clearly so proud of himself. “She couldn’t resist. Honestly, I’m kind of impressed with myself, too. Guess I’m just that irresistible.”

You stared at him, mortified beyond belief. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

Beomgyu only laughed, completely unfazed, leaning casually against the desk. “Hey, what can I say? I’ve got game even when I’m sick.”

Your coworkers exchanged knowing looks, and you could feel your face turning fifty shades of red as they all started laughing. Despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but notice how much lighter everything felt now that you’d finally stopped pretending.

And as Beomgyu grinned at you, his pride practically radiating from him, you realized… maybe, just maybe, you kind of liked it.

—

The day dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Your head was spinning, your throat felt like sandpaper, and your body was starting to ache. But you refused to acknowledge it, not wanting to worry Beomgyu further. You did your best to push through, but by the time lunchtime rolled around, you were barely holding it together. The heat from your body had risen to a feverish level, and you could feel it in every bone.

You made it through the morning meeting, but when you got back to your desk, your vision blurred again. Your hand trembled as you tried to type, and the cold sweat on your forehead was beginning to drip down your face.

Beomgyu, ever the observant one, noticed the moment you faltered. He was standing in the doorway of your office, arms crossed, his eyes narrowed in concern. “Okay, that’s it,” he said firmly, walking toward you with determination.

“I’m fine,” you protested weakly, trying to straighten up in your chair.

“No, you’re not.” Beomgyu didn’t give you a chance to argue. He grabbed your bag off the chair and slung it over his shoulder, then gently lifted you out of your chair. “You’re going home. Now.”

You tried to pull away, but you didn’t have the energy. You felt like you could barely stand, your body growing weaker by the second. “Beomgyu, I’m fine,” you muttered, though it sounded more like a plea than anything convincing.

“Nope,” he said, his voice brokering no argument. “We’re done here. I’m taking you home, and you’re not going to work like this.”

“But... but I was going to get ice cream on the way home,” you murmured, trying to argue. “Maybe some chocolate or...”

Beomgyu stopped in his tracks, his expression immediately hardening. “You’re not getting ice cream. You’re not even getting out of bed until you’re better. Do you understand me?”

He was being so stern that it made you pout. “But I want it,” you complained weakly.

“No.” Beomgyu’s tone was firm, like he was scolding a child. “You’ve been taking care of me but not yourself! You’ve barely eaten today, and you’re just running on fumes. I’m not letting you make it worse by stuffing your face with sugar.”

“But—”

“No.” He interrupted you with a pointed finger, like he was laying down a final rule. “You’re going to rest. You’re going to hydrate. You’re going to take care of yourself. No exceptions.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, but you weren’t in the mood to argue. You knew he was right. You just felt so weak and drained, and the idea of doing anything for yourself felt like too much.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible.

Beomgyu looked down at you, his expression softening but still serious. He rubbed the back of his neck before pulling you gently toward him. “You should’ve taken better care of yourself,” he said, his voice quiet but full of concern.

You groaned, a bit frustrated. “Well, it’s your fault.”

His eyebrows shot up. “My fault?”

“Yes,” you said, trying to muster some energy to tease him. “You kissed me first! I wasn’t even planning on getting sick. I was perfectly fine until you—”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened, and before you could finish, he interrupted you with an exaggerated sigh. “No, no, no. I did not kiss you first. You kissed me first, remember?”

“Excuse me?” You blinked, trying to keep your focus, but your fever was making it hard to think straight.

“You kissed me, and I just... responded,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “You were the one who attacked me at the door, not the other way around.”

“Beomgyu...” You couldn’t help but laugh weakly despite yourself. “You’re such a liar.”

He didn’t let you go. Instead, he lifted you in his arms, ignoring your protests. “Don’t worry about it. I’m getting you home. And I swear, if you try to make me feel guilty for that kiss one more time, I’ll... I’ll throw you in bed and make you take your medicine, whether you want it or not.”

You rolled your eyes, even as you leaned into him, grateful for the warmth. “You’re really something else.”

“Only for you,” Beomgyu said, his voice softening, the teasing edge gone as he carried you toward the door.

Once you were in his car, he kept his eyes on you, making sure you were resting, making sure you were okay. When you arrived at his apartment, he didn’t waste any time getting you to the couch. He insisted you stay wrapped in his blanket, and after a few minutes, he came back with a bowl of soup and a bottle of water.

“Drink this,” he said gently, handing it to you. “I’m not going to let you off the hook, so don’t even think about avoiding this.”

You glanced at the soup, then at him, trying to muster up a pout. “I still want ice cream.”

Beomgyu stared at you deadpan. “You’re lucky I’m not forcing you to take the medicine I bought.”

You blinked at him. “You bought me medicine?”

“Of course, I did. I’m taking care of you,” he said, crossing his arms and sitting beside you. “Now, drink the soup.”

You rolled your eyes but gave in, slurping a little of the warm soup. It actually felt good against your sore throat, and soon enough, you felt a little more human.

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll take care of myself... But only because you’re being so over-the-top about it.”

As the last bit of warm soup slid down your throat, Beomgyu stood up, his movements slow and deliberate as he went to grab the cough medicine. The bottle was a little too big, and the label had a cartoonish cough syrup mascot that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

"Here, take this. It’ll help you feel better, I promise."

You obediently took the medicine, but the moment it hit your tongue, something in your brain snapped. It wasn’t the usual medicine taste that made you feel better; no, it was something else.

It'd been a few minutes since the medicine had started to kick in. You started to giggle, this time uncontrollably, feeling the lightheaded, giddy rush of the cough syrup hitting your system.

“Beomgyu, you’re—” You hiccupped between giggles. “You’re so hot. Sexy. Kind of like a Ryan Gosling, except way hotter.”

If you weren't sick and fully aware of your behavior, you'd probably kick yourself. A ton.

Go figure, cough syrup had turned you into... well, a giggling mess.

He blinked, taken aback, and raised an eyebrow as he sat back down beside you on the couch. “What did you say?”

“You’re like, ridiculously hot,” you said with a giggle, your fingers reaching for his shirt, tugging at it gently. “I mean, look at you. That shirt… wow.”

Beomgyu’s cheeks flushed just a little, though he tried to hide it behind a soft smile. His white dress shirt—loose enough to show off the muscles in his arms—was half unbuttoned, revealing just a hint of his collarbone. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, the casual elegance of the outfit doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he looked so good.

You couldn’t stop laughing as you reached up and tapped his chest, your touch playful. “Like, seriously. You look so good, I can’t even—” You started giggling again, barely able to finish your sentence.

Beomgyu gave you a soft, amused smile, leaning back into the couch as you leaned closer, giggling like a schoolgirl. “You’re not making any sense, baby,” he teased, his voice smooth.

"I’m serious," you whispered dramatically, pressing your face into his chest as you clung to him. You couldn’t help it, your body was buzzing with warmth, and Beomgyu’s closeness was making everything feel even more intense. “Like, you're telling me...Choi Beomgyu...is my boyfriend?"

Beomgyu chuckled softly, but it was clear he was trying to rein in his amusement. He loved the attention, but he also needed you to rest. “Okay, okay. I’m flattered,” he said, rubbing your back. “But I need you to fall asleep, okay? You’re way too giggly right now.”

You pouted, your giggles fading into small chuckles as you settled back against him. “But I just—" you hiccupped again, “I just...can I touch you? I want to touch you.” You said, placing your hands on his arms.

Beomgyu sighed, but there was a warmth in his eyes as you traced small patterns on his arm with your fingers. “I know you do, but I need you to rest. We’re not getting anywhere with you all giggly like this. You’re supposed to be resting, remember?”

You stuck your lip out in a mock pout. “I can’t help it… You look so... nice.”

“You really can’t help yourself, huh?” Beomgyu laughed softly. He let you snuggle into him, his arm around you as he shifted you into a more comfortable position. “Alright, alright. I get it. But I’m not letting you get up for anything else until you’re asleep. No more giggling.”

You nuzzled into his chest, feeling ridiculously warm and happy. “Fine,” you murmured, your voice soft and drowsy. “But you look so good… even when you’re being all mean about my ice cream.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, but there was something endearing about your persistent giggles. He gently kissed the top of your head. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. You just need to rest, okay? That’s what I’m doing, too. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lifted your head just slightly, enough to look up at Beomgyu with a mischievous grin. “You know,” you said, your voice still a little giddy, “I’m actually feeling better now. So, maybe we can go back to making out instead of sleeping? I mean, you are really cute right now…I’m cute, you’re cute, we’re all cute.”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow at you, his lips twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. He was clearly tempted by your playful tone, but he knew better than to give in. “Nice try,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “You’re not getting out of resting just because you’re feeling a little better. You’re still sick. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

You pouted dramatically, rolling your eyes and flopping back against his chest. “I’m not sick anymore, though! Come on, just a little make-out session? You know you want to…”

Beomgyu’s lips curled into a small, teasing smile as he ran his fingers gently through your hair. “You’re impossible,” he chuckled. “Resting. Right now. You’re not going anywhere.”

You whined again, poking his chest with your finger. “But you’re not resting, either! I mean, look at you, sitting there all hot in your shirt... It’s like a sign!”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes dramatically. “You’re really gonna keep going with this? You’re so stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn, I’m charming,” you said, winking up at him, but your eyes were already starting to flutter. Despite your protests, the weight of exhaustion was starting to settle over you again, and the warmth of Beomgyu’s chest was pulling you into a calm, sleepy haze.

He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he kept talking to you, though you were barely listening now. “Seriously. You need to rest. No more ice cream, no more giggling, just sleep.”

Your eyes closed fully, the last of your playful energy draining away. The next sound that filled the air wasn’t another whiny protest—it was a soft snore.

Beomgyu paused, his words dying on his lips as he heard the unmistakable sound of you falling asleep. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, completely knocked out in his arms, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

"Well, guess that’s one way to get you to listen," Beomgyu murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Christmas in paradise

Summary: After a PR nightmare Clara "kidnaps" her client and best friend Dieter Bravo to a private luxury island to spend six weeks away from all the glitz and glam of Hollywood. Spending so much time together one on one might finally lead to confessions that will make them more than just friends...

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC named Clara

Wordcount: 10.8k

Rating: E

Warnings: friends to lovers, Dieter being involved in a PR Nightmare, humour, fluff, cooking, getting sober, feelings, kissing, skinny dipping, smut (protected sex, oral sex), happy end

A/N: With all those pics of Pedro on vacation coming out you would think I started writing this fic in the last couple days when actually, I started this fic in November 2023. This is my longest one shot yet, and I hope it does not disappoint!

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Full Masterlist // Dieter Bravo Masterlist

Clara’s days start early.

They always did. 

Her alarm woke her at 6 am (on good days), she got out of bed, took a shower and drank her first cup of coffee. Had breakfast on her way to the office where she drank her second cup. 

Then after 8-12 hours (sometimes 15 hour days) in her office dealing with her clients she made her way back home, getting take out on her way back. Where she would eat and then fall asleep in front of her TV.

Those were good days. Days Clara preferred. Sometimes she even got free days for herself where she could go and meet her friends (the few she still had) or get a massage at her favourite spa.

She once met Kate Walsh while in the spa and while Clara dealt with celebrities on the daily, thanks to the girlcrush she had on Kate she couldn’t even form a sentence to introduce herself. 

Good days were there. Occasionally. 

But… there were clients who made her life a little more… complicated. Which honestly was the part of her job she enjoyed up to a certain degree. 

That was what PR was for. Dealing with the outside perspective and well… scandals. 

She was married to her job which was why her actual husband, David, felt the need to search for someone who could…. Fulfil his needs more than Clara could. 

The divorce had been unpleasant. 

David and her had been highschool sweethearts, which meant there was no prenup. David had big plans back in college, wanting to open up his own law firm, and become a big name. And even though he was a law student the last thing both thought about at the age of 20 was signing a prenup. 

15 years later Clara came to regret that decision. While David was a more or less successful lawyer, her career had gone through the roof with her own PR Firm and office on the upper west side in New York and in downtown Los Angeles. 

David might have been the one who cheated on her and ended the marriage, but he made sure to take half of everything she owned with him when he left. And the worst part of it was, she didn’t even care. 

Instead on the evening after they had finalised their divorce she went out to dinner with a client of hers. 

Well… he was more like a best friend, yet definitely a client. Probably the most exhausting client she had, but one of her closest friends at the same time. 

Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Clara have known each other their whole life. 

They lived on the same street growing up.

They went to the same school 

They both moved to New York at the same time. 

But they only really got to know each other when Dieter was fired from his first manager after he was caught with well… his managers wife in the restroom of a restaurant. 

It was actually Clara’s mother who had called her and given her Dieter’s number. 

Clara signed Dieter as a client and he became like a…. Pimple that wouldn’t go away. In a very nice way. If pimples could be nice.

It was him who was there for her after the divorce. 

Sighing she rolled her head as she sat at her desk, her sixth coffee of the day cold in the mug that said “I’d rather be with Dieter Bravo” that he gifted her a couple years back as a Christmas gift. 

There was a knock on the door and she looked up, her assistant slowly stepping in with a sorry expression, a big bouquet of Peonies in her arms. 

Clara groaned loudly as her assistant set down the flowers in front of her. 

“When did they get delivered?” Clara asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago,” she said. Clara already felt the nerves fluttering in her belly. She never got flowers. The only person who sent flowers was Dieter when he fucked up. 

“Did… Is there any news out yet on what he’s done now?” Clara asked. Her assistant shook her head. 

“But this is… a big bouquet. Bigger than the last time and…”

“It’s my favourite flowers,” Clara sighed, glancing at the clock. 

It was after 5pm already. 

“He sent me flowers too,” her assistant said and Clara blinked at her, slowly. 

“And there’s also lemon sponge cake from the Magnolia Bakery outside….”

Clara took a deep breath, before she reached for her phone. 

“What did he do now?” Clara asked herself with a sigh. 

“I’m going to check all sources and stay in late,” her Assistant said. Clara smiled at her as she looked up. 

“Thank you. Order Pizza too. Whatever he had done now might end up with a night shift. You don’t have to stay though, you know that right?” Clara asked. 

“I know. But my girlfriend is out of town so… nothing else I have planned for tonight anyway.”

“You deserve a raise,” Clara winked.

“Wouldn’t say no to that. You want me to bring the cake in?”

“Let me call him first. Maybe I’ll need the cake to throw it at him when he gets here.”

Clara’s assistant laughed before she left her alone, her phone in her hand. 

Clara unlocked her phone, opening the contacts to search for Dieter’s name, her thump hovering over his name. 

He hadn’t called yet. 

Usually he would have at least tried to call her by now.

Taking a deep breath she pressed the dial button, bringing her phone up to her ear. 

Dieter was in panic mode.

And for Dieter to hit panic mode, he must have really fucked up. 

But this? This was not even entirely his fault? It happened at his house though which was more than enough. 

It also happened while he was in his house.

At his party. 

With way too many people around he didn’t even know. 

But the line of coke (or two) and some champagne made Dieter forget about how shitty he felt. 

It was high Dieter who fucked up. High Dieter did not think about sober Dieter having to deal with his shit.

Well, high and horny Dieter. Which was…. Daily Dieter. But coke high Dieter was different from weed high Dieter. 

And he was always horny really.

Anyways…

The news broke twenty minutes after he had gotten off the phone with Clara. 

“Senator O’Conelly overdosed at Dieter Bravo’s house party”

Which was something Clara could have handled. But then three hours later came:

“Exclusive: Senator O’Conelly’s wife was having sex with Dieter Bravo while the Senator overdosed”

Which…. Was harder to handle, but Clara was the best at her job, so she had a response prepared.

But then came:

“Leaked: Dieter Bravo’s Sextape”

Which wasn’t a first. It was just the first time he did not know he’d been filmed. Mostly because he was so high, he did not care. 

And this time it was in HD which made “Dieter Bravo Penis” the most googled topic for four days straight.

The senator had fucked Dieter so hard just before he overdosed, he still had bruises from his grip on his waist. Him fucking the senators very willing wife while said Senator overdosed was not Dieter’s fault though. 

And while his PR team tried to handle it, there was only so much they could do once the Senator’s wife gave a very tearful interview making Dieter the one who was responsible for putting the Senator in a coma. 

She conveniently left out how she had sniffed a line of coke herself while he was getting fucked by her husband. 

The only reason the news hadn’t broken earlier was because the Senator’s PR wanted to keep this under wraps but failed because someone on the party had taken photos. And that video.

Fucking Gen Z. Or… whatever. 

While there had been scandals around Dieter in the past, and a lot of them, the shit storm this one turned out to be, seemed not to end that soon. 

Of course the Senators PR Team pinned the whole story with him as the boogeyman. 

Dieter had a reputation so it wasn’t that hard. 

What was hard was him being forced to drop out of the HBO series he had signed because of the backlash. Or losing the Deal with Kit Kat. 

God the Kit Kat deal. He would be missing the weekly care packages. 

But the hardest was the disappointed look in Clara’s eyes whenever they face-timed. 

He could deal with almost everything, but Clara being disappointed? He couldn’t even explain why it was hitting him so hard, the one worded answers from her and the obviously acted smile she threw his way. 

Clara had become what he would call best friend. If he had friends.

She’s been with him through thick and thin (okay mostly because it was her job to fix his shit) but somewhere along the way the phone calls became more private than professional. He made sure to always have her favourite tea stocked at home for whenever she was in town and… something just wasn’t right when he wouldn’t hear from her every day. 

He’d taken a whole month off once she told him about her divorce and practically moved in with her. 

It was the last time he had been mostly clean. 

Apart from alcohol and weed, but that did not count anyway did it?

“We’re here Mister Bravo,” Dieter looked up at the driver, nodding once at him. 

Dieter had no idea where he would be going. He only got Clara’s message that a car would pick him up at 4:30 am and that she already instructed his PA to pack his suitcases. 

Maybe she was planning to kill him and frankly, he wouldn’t even blame her. What were the suitcases for then though?

Dieter got out of the car, finding himself already on the airfield of the small airport, the car close to a private jet. He saw two younger men carry his suitcases out of the car and put them into the trunk of the plane. 

Dieter looked up into the dark sky, taking a deep breath before he made his way towards the stairs leading into the plane. 

A grin sneaked to his face when he saw Clara sitting already cozied up into a deep blue blanket, her dark hair in a bun on top of her head. Her head turned towards him as she heard footsteps and she sighed exhausted, yet could not fight the smile. 

“One day you are going to be the death of me, Dieter Bravo,” she shook her head and got up to her feet, Dieter meeting her halfway to hug her close and kiss her cheek. She wanted to let go, but he kept his arms around her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and Clara squeezed him. 

“I know you are,” she whispered, kissing his cheek.

„You gonna throw me out of the plane over the ocean?“ He teased and she rolled her eyes. 

„Don’t give me any ideas,“ she scoffed. 

They both settled into their seats, taking their shoes off as the crew got through the routine of getting ready to take off. 

“So where are you kidnapping me to?” Dieter asked, pulling his glasses off. Clara looked at him. 

“You’re paying for this, so I don’t know if that counts as kidnapping.”

“True.”

“You have to get off the radar of the tabloids. And while I know I could just…. Make you stay at home or force you to another stay at a rehab clinic, I don't really trust you to just stay there by yourself. I know you too well,” she began. 

“So I booked you a 6 week stay on Gladden island. And I’ll be babysitting you.”

“On an island.”

“A tropical private island with 24 hour service.”

Dieter gave her a look. 

“Before you say anything, think about me having to put out a official statement about your penis. Again,” she raised her left eyebrow. 

“But it’s a nice looking penis,” he mumbled with a small pout and Clara groaned. 

“Okay, okay, okay. Six weeks. Private Island. Check.”

“No internet. No drugs. No hookers.”

Dieter pouted even more. 

“You know I’m a sex addict right?”

“Not diagnosed.”

“Dr. Google says otherwise.”

„Then I have a brain aneurysm since I’ve seen the video of you snorting coke of the cock of that senator,“ Clara grunted and Dieter winced.

„No sex, really?“ He whined. 

“I’m afraid it’s gonna be you and your hand from now on.”

“Would you want to have sex with…”

“Please do not finish that sentence. I have a vibrator that will take care of my physical needs and an iPad full of books for the rest, thank you very much.”

Dieter took a deep breath, closing his eyes to stop himself from picturing her with her vibrator, spread on a bed, working herself closer and closer…

“Dieter?”

He opened his eyes. 

“If you want to leave, you have to do it now. But if you walk out of his plane, I won’t be representing you anymore. I know I am getting paid for this but…. I can’t deal with scandals like this anymore.”

His heart squeezed in his chest at the look in her eyes. 

“I won’t leave. I think we both need some time apart from ourselves and our lives,” he said and she nodded before her eyes focused on her iPad. 

“Where exactly are we going?” Dieter asked. 

“Belize.”

Clara wasn't as exhausted as she thought she would be once they got to Belize. Dieter on the other hand looked like dead on heels. Or… Crocs.

His hair was unkempt, dark circles under his eyes after the 12 hour flight. 

The first thing he did was put on a cigarette, inhaling it like his lungs did not know how to work otherwise. 

Clara took off her sweater, revealing a pink top underneath. 

It was early afternoon in Belize and they weren’t even at their final destination yet. 

More than once she asked herself if spending so much time with Dieter without anyone else around would be a good idea. 

They were friends, of course. But they had never spent more than five days together and that was in a big city when they both could flee at any given point. 

Even in the time he had partially moved into her place they still got out to handle appointments or have dinner.

To flee the private island they’d have to wait for someone to pick them up by boat or helicopter. 

And then there was the drug problem. 

Frankly, Clara did not know how bad it was exactly. She was the last person to judge anyone and their life choices, but she was getting scared something would happen sooner or later to Dieter that would take him from her. 

Which was a strange way to think because he wasn’t hers in the first place. 

But he was a friend.

A good friend. 

Her… only good friend really and she wasn’t even sure if he knew her birthday. Then again he knew other things. 

Like her favourite flowers. And Pastries. And that she talked in her sleep. 

“I’m starving,” Dieter snapped her out of her internal whirlwind. She pulled her hand into her bag, searching for….

Dieter’s eyes lit up like a Christmas Tree at the big pack of Kit Kat’s she held up. 

“You know the way to my heart Clara honey bunny,” he grinned and she rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile. 

“You better share with me, Bravo,” she threw the package at him. 

“Nope,” he said and walked towards the car that was waiting for them already, their suitcases in the trunk .

This place was beautiful. 

The sun was setting when they got to the port, the sky in so many colours, she couldn’t wait to watch it everyday. 

Dieter was quiet beside her as he watched her watch the sunset. 

There was a soft smile on her lips, her eyes glistening. Maybe he could get some art supplies so he could paint her while they were on the island. 

She didn’t know that in a secluded corner of his studio at home there were some paintings of her that he painted, mostly after coming down from a high. When he felt lonely and vulnerable. 

He only had to think of her to feel a little lighter. A little more himself. 

Maybe this trip was the best idea she could have.

He needed some time away from all of… all of the people who called themselves his friends. 

When Dieter moved to LA almost 25 years ago he was young and full of hope and dreams. 

But the longer he stayed in LA and got into the industry and met more and more people, the more he changed.

Sometimes he wondered what 16 year old Dieter would think of the man he had become. 

Sure, he was a successful actor with an Oscar and some Emmy’s. Also a Golden Globe. And rumour had it the musical he just wrapped filming was on the road to get him another Golden Globe and maybe a Tony too. If he did not get kicked out of the Academy.

But… he couldn’t remember the last time he was 100% sober and clean on a set. 

Or when the last time was he really had fun on a movie set. 

He was getting older and his doctor was getting more and more concerned with the way he treated his body. 

But… it was easier to call his dealer and get some coke or LSD than to talk about his feelings to a therapist. 

It was easier to drink another glass of wine than tell his manager that no, he did not want to make another shitty cliff beasts movie. 

It was easier to get a groupie into his bed instead of finally acknowledging that he had been in love with someone for the last ten years without acting on it. 

Clara smiled at him as she turned her head, letting it fall against his shoulder. 

Dieter closed his eyes to just feel her so close. 

“I am going to be sleeping for the next 24 hours,” she mumbled and Dieter chuckled. 

“Think you can make it to bed or do I have to carry you from the boat to wherever you kidnapped me?” he teased. 

“Don’t want you to break your back, old man,” he could hear the smile in her voice and he dramatically rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll have you know I am working out now,” he said seriously. She looked up at him, suspicion in her eyes. 

“There better not be some kind of sex joke in there…”

“Hey, Cardio is very important. You should try it too,” Dieter grinned. She was about to answer him when someone called her name and she turned around.

“The boat is ready,” the man said. 

“How long until we get there?” she asked, pulling away from Dieter who definitely did not miss her warmth immediately. 

“About 40 minutes.”

Clara could see the island in the far distance. The last hues of sun had disappeared over the ocean some time ago and it was almost dark. 

Dieter was snoring next to her and she rolled her eyes to herself. 

There was a part of her that was scared of spending so much time with him. Not because they did not like each other. It was clearly the opposite. 

But…. frankly she did not know about how many drugs and things he consumed. She knew after Cliffbeasts he got more careful but apart from that? 

She had been with him at his Doctor’s appointment afterwards where the Doctor told him that he had been incredibly lucky and that he should take this near death experience as a wake up call. 

His heart was already suffering, even though only a little, but Dieter would turn 45 next year. 

And if he continued his life with the substances like this, there was a big chance he would not make it to 50. 

The thought of losing Dieter had put Clara in a state of fear and shock after. 

Yes, she was only his PR Manager. 

And a friend. 

Maybe a very good friend?

And maybe… maybe sometimes her feelings for him lingered on the verge to more but….

She had no right to tell him what to do. 

It was dark when they finally got to the island, leaving both Dieter and Clara so tired they just let them be shown their bedrooms only to fall asleep quickly after a refreshing shower. 

But while Clara stayed asleep throughout the night, Dieter woke up three hours later, unable to fall asleep again. 

So he put his boxer shorts on (remembering in the last moment that he wasn’t alone and Clara would probably appreciate not seeing his penis again so quickly, even though he kinda wished she would) and explored the villa. 

It was luxurious to say the least. 

He opened the extra large fridge in the kitchen, finding it stocked with all his favourites and some of Clara’s too. 

Where the fuck did she find this place?

His mind wouldn’t shut up so he focused on making something to eat. 

It was how Clara found him almost 4 hours later. The kitchen was in absolute chaos while Dieter had fallen asleep sitting at the kitchen island. Confusion replaced by amusement came to her as she watched the various dishes (or attempts) sitting on the counter. There was a very tasty looking chocolate cake right next to Dieter, his fork still stuck in it. 

Then there were pancakes (sweet with chocolate chips and savoury with bacon), some breakfast muffins too. 

She grabbed one, biting into it, surprised that it actually tasted good, though she should have known. He always had loved to cook. 

She jumped when an alarm went off and Dieter snapped awake, almost falling off his chair. 

“You’re awake! Finally!” he smiled, kissing her on the cheek, while he walked to the stove. 

“How long have you been awake?” Clara asked.

“Dunno. Couldn’t sleep. Made breakfast instead,” he put on the pink mittens, carefully taking out whatever he made. 

“For the whole week?” she asked and he shrugged. 

“No drugs means I have other cravings. And you don’t want to have sex so….. I am making food.”

“Is that… Lasagna?” you asked. 

“After my mama’s recipe,” he nodded proudly, setting the casserole down. 

“It smells delicious,” her mouth watered. 

“Grab a fork and get into it,” Dieter grinned. 

“It’s 7 am.”

“And?” he looked at her with raised eyebrows. 

Clara chuckled before she grabbed a fork. 

The first day was spent being very lazy, fighting off jet-lag and eating lasagna all day. Dieter told Clara that he had explored the house and might move into the private theatre.

They spend the whole afternoon in the private theatre watching Harry Potter and eating chocolate cake. Clare feel asleep during the second move, her head resting on Dieter’s shoulder. 

And Dieter watched her instead of the movie until he fell asleep too. 

Only to wake up shivering. 

He was sweating, not knowing if he was hot or cold. 

„You okay?“ Clara asked tiredly and Dieter closed his eyes. 

He was fidgeting, nervous. Usually he would take something now. Something to calm him down. 

But he was on a island in the middle of fucking nowhere and hadn’t had anything in almost 48 hours. Dieter closed his eyes, trying to calm his fast beating heart. 

„Wait here,“ Clara said before she got up. 

She knew what this was. 

Before leaving for this trip she had sat down with specialist in drug rehab who tried to explain everything that could happen once his body realised that it would be not getting a new fix. 

Doing this without medical assistance could be scary, but she wanted to help Dieter through it. She wanted him to get better. 

So she got some medication that would help him through it from the doctors. Only through the first couple of days. A doctor would visit them tomorrow and then every other day until Dieter would not need it anymore. 

Clara knew this could be hard. There was a reason that there were rehab centres and clinics for recovering drug addicts. And with Dieter already being in his forties and taking drugs for the, she guessed, at least twenty years…. She just hopped she could help him through this. 

Because she did not want to wake up one day to the news of him passing away from drugs. 

And so she had planned everything. 

Quickly getting through her luggage she grabbed one of the pills and walked back. Dieter was focused on the movie when she sat down next to him, his head turning towards her, his eyes glassy. She could see his hair clinging to his forehead, most likely due to the cold sweat. 

„I know you are probably going to hate me for a bit for bringing you here, but I just want you to know that I love you. And I want you to get better,“ Clara said and Dieter sighed. 

„I’m a real mess huh?“ He asked and Clara found herself smiling, reaching over to brush over his cheek. 

„You just need a little help sometimes. We all do,“ Clara said, before she gave him the pill she had gotten. 

„According to the doctors I spoke to this should help you with the withdrawal symptoms,“ she said and Dieter nodded, not even questioning her as he reached for the pill and swallowed it down. 

„Maybe I should just sleep through the next few days. I never got through more than five days before I quiet rehab,“ he said, disappointed and anxious. 

„Well, you’re stuck here for the next six weeks. With me. Maybe getting away from everything is gonna be what’s good for you in the end,“ Clara smiled before she laid down again next to him. 

The following week was a long one. 

Clara could see how Dieter was in pain but he never lashed out at her. He slept through most of the day, the doctor who came to visit them helping with infusions of vitamins and everything he needed when he was there.

Clara had taken to sleeping next to Dieter in his bed, wanting to be close in case he needed something. Or in case he got worse. 

More than once she found herself in Dieter’s arms when she woke up in the morning, his breath hitting the back of her neck in warm puffs. 

She knew he was a cuddler, and she was touch starved as hell so enjoyed it whenever it happened. 

By day eight Dieter began to feel better. 

„I can’t believe we’re on a private island and I haven’t even been out to the beach,“ he mumbled into his pillow, some true crime documentary on the tv in his room. Clara had made them some toast and eggs for breakfast which they ate in bed. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this lazy and relaxed. 

„We could just… go outside?“ She suggested, her head tilting towards the open sliding door that opened directly to the pool, private beach and the ocean. 

Dieter followed her line of view, contemplating what getting out of bed and onto the beach would entail. 

He still felt like shit. But not as bad as it had been the day before. Or the day before that. He didn’t know why but somehow it seemed…. Easier this time around. Getting off drugs. Dieter slept through most of it all, the withdrawal symptoms only really hard in the first couple of days. By now he just felt exhausted and wanted to lay in bed all day.

In bed with Clara around who smelled so damn good all the time. 

Meanwhile he couldn’t remember when he even took his last shower. 

Frowning he narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember. 

„You’re thinking this hard about going outside?“ Clara teased and he shook his head. 

„Thinking about when was the last time I took a shower,“ he grunted, before he smelled under his arms, shuddering. 

„It’s been…. Some time….“ She helped, looking at the TV with sucked in lips. He groaned theatrically before he took a deep breath and got out of bed. Yeah, no. He could smell himself and not in a good way. 

„I’m gonna…“ he moved his head towards the bedroom and Clara nodded. 

„I’ll meet you out at the beach after,“ she said, watching him disappear into his en suite bathroom, the door slipping closed behind him. 

She took a deep breath, hoping that the worst was behind them before she got out of bed and began to strip down the sheets to wash them. 

Once the sheets were in the washing machine she went into her room to put on her bathing suit and cover up, grabbing the sun lotion. Dieter was already outside when she walked the short path down to the beach. His bathing shorts were hanging low and she allowed herself to take in the broadness of his back in as he stared out at the ocean. 

„We’ve had this view since we got here?“ He asked as he felt Clara next to him. She hummed and he looked down at her. She had her hair up in a messy bun, her face free of any make up that she usually wore whenever they saw each other. 

Dieter always thought that she was beautiful. 

Had been since he was a child. 

The prettiest princess of all he used to say. 

He used to think they would get married someday. But somewhere along the way he got the offer he always dreamed off and moved from New York to LA and their calls got less and less until they stopped. It had only been his own stupidity that brought Clara back into his life and while she was his PR Manager, she was so much more. 

He didn’t think there was anyone left in his life who would have just taken him out of this toxic environment he found himself in back home just to help him, so he could get better. 

She genuinely cared about him and he wanted to find out if maybe, just maybe she cared more about him than just as a friend. 

Because Dieter had been in love with Clara since he was probably six years old, even though he only realised it around 10 years ago..

„You gonna help me with the sun screen and I help you?“ Clara asked, holding the bottle out. Dieter nodded with a small smile before they walked over to one of the numerous beach chairs and she sat down in front of him. 

„You feeling better after that shower?“ She asked and Dieter opened the bottle. Clara took off her cover up and Dieter swallowed harshly at the amount of skin in front of him he was about to touch. 

„Like a new person. I think…. I think I’m over the worst part,“ he said, squeezing the bottle to bring some of the sunscreen into one of his palms, rubbing it between both hands. 

„I still think about taking drugs all the time though,“ he confessed before he slowly brought his hands down on her back, feeling her jump. 

„Sorry,“ he hummed, beginning to rub the sunscreen into her skin. 

„I already looked for NA places in LA and in New York,“ she said and he found himself smiling. 

„Of course you did. Always prepared,“ he said with a smile and she looked over her shoulder at him with a small smile. 

„That’s what I get paid for,“ she winked before she turned her head back towards the ocean. He stilled for a moment, before he continued to rub the sunscreen in. 

„Is that… Is that the only reason why we’re here? Because of your job?“ He asked, anxious for her answer. She turned around then, sitting in front of him. 

„No. If you were any other client I would have quit back when that video of you your ex wife arguing went viral,“ she said and he sighed, letting his head fall down, chin against his chest. He felt her hand over his and he looked up at her. 

„I care about you and your life Dieter. I just want you to genuinely be happy,“ she said. 

„I don’t know what makes me genuinely happy,“ he whispered, feeling like a scared child. 

Her smile softened. 

„Maybe you’ll use this time away from everything to find happiness, then,“ she winked, before she grabbed the bottle of sunscreen. 

„And now turn around so I can put lotion on your back,“ she sassed and he chuckled before he turned around. 

„It rubs the lotion on it’s skinnnn,“ he said with a squeaky voice, gasping when he felt the cold lotion drip directly on his skin. 

„Do not test me, Bravo,“ Clara warned but he could hear the smile In her voice. 

It was the day after that he found the atelier on the other side of the villa. Clara was in a call for work and he ventured out, exploring the villa. 

It was a beautiful place of earth she had found. 

Earlier today the doctor had come to visit him and he was glad to find out that he was doing better. The doctor also agreed to help with a surprise for Clara which he would bring with him on his next check up which would be in four days. 

Now he found himself staring out at the ocean as he sat in front of the beginnings of a painting he started, his favourite muse already staring back at him from the canvas. 

Clara’s words of him using this time to find out what makes him happy echoed in his ear as he looked at it. 

It was her. It was always her. 

And maybe he took all these drugs to get over the pain and the feelings of never being good enough for her. 

Because what did he have to offer her? 

He had money, he had a career, he had awards. 

But Clara didn’t care about all of that. She cared about Dieter the person and he had no idea who that was anymore. 

Sighing he got up, making sure to close the door behind him as he ventured towards the kitchen. He could hear Clara talk in the living room just around the corner and he decided to cook something for her. 

What most people didn’t know about Dieter was that he loved to cook. 

He took one look into the fridge and decided to make some carbonara, with fresh pasta of course. He hummed to himself as he searched through the kitchen cabinets for the pasta maker. He knew it was somewhere. He had made the lasagna on the first day from scratch after all. 

As he cut the pancetta, the rest already prepared, the water heating up for the pasta he heard footsteps, looking up to find Clara walk into the big kitchen. 

„Whatcha making?“ She asked with a tired smile, sitting down at one of the barstools at the kitchen island. 

„Carbonara,“ he smiled. 

He had a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, a white shirt beneath. She could see some paint on his shirt, her smile softening knowing he found the atelier she had set up for him in the house. 

He seemed… lighter. 

The far away look in his eyes was gone, replaced by brightness as he prepared their dinner. 

„Can I help?“ Clara asked and Dieter looked up at her with a warm smile and she felt butterflies in her belly. 

„I saw some garlic knots in the fridge. Maybe you can pop them in the oven?“ He asked. She nodded, getting up from her seat. She prepared the garlic knots, continuing to watch Dieter out of the corner of her eyes. He was roasting the pancetta, the kitchen filling with the smell of it. He walked past her, his hand resting on her hip as he reached for the cheese. 

Giving her a warm smile he got back to work. 

„Maybe you can teach me to cook while we’re here,“ Clara smiled and Dieter grinned. 

„Or I can just continue to cook for you. I like taking care of you,“ he said and Clara was glad her back was turned towards him, her face flushing. 

„And what about once we go home? I gotta go back to sad microwave dinners and take out?“ She asked as she sat back down on the kitchen island. 

„Or you gotta keep me around,“ he said with a wink and she smiled at him. 

„I don’t think my kitchen has been used for actual cooking since I bought the new apartment. It’s kinda lonely there to be honest,“ Clara sighed and Dieter looked up at her. 

„It’s the same with my place. It’s way too big to live there alone. Maybe we should move in together,“ he joked.

Clara’s lips twitched into a smile. 

„Oh yeah? You sure we wouldn’t kill each other within a week?“ She teased. 

„It’s been working just find here,“ he shrugged, his palms resting on the cool surface of the marble kitchen island, as he leaned towards her. 

„You have been asleep most of the time we’ve been here,“ she winked playfully. 

„So I’ll ask you again when we leave,“ he winked back and she chuckled. 

„Do that.“

„Where would we live?“ He asked later, food eaten and kitchen cleaned. Clara and him had made themselves a fruity cocktail before they walked outside, sitting down in the warm sand, listening to the ocean. The sun had almost set completely and with how far away they were from everything they could see the stars come out, more and more each minute. 

„Mhhhh…. Which one do you wanna hear? The realistic one or the one I would dream of?“ She asked, her head falling against his shoulder as she sat next to him. 

„The one you dream of,“ he said softly, his arm coming around her from behind, his hand resting in the sand next to her hip. 

„I always wanted to live close to the ocean. I’d love to be able to walk on to my little balcony of my very big bedroom and see and hear the ocean first thing in the morning. If we were to live together it would have to be somewhere far away from LA. Somewhere we you could relax and paint and where I could… find an actual hobby instead of working twenty hours a day. Maybe I could take cooking lessons. I like to cook, I am just terrible at it,“ she mused and Dieter smiled. 

„I’ll give you cooking lessons. I told you so,“ he mumbled. 

„But what when you have to work?“

„In this dream reality I don’t work. Honestly? Acting doesn’t make me as happy as it used to. So if we’re talking about dreams? I wouldn’t be an actor,“ he said and she looked up at him. 

„What would you do?“

He hummed, looking away from her and back towards the ocean. 

„Maybe I’d give art lessons to kids. We could set up a room in that dream house of yours for that, right?“ He teased and she agreed.

They continued to look out until the sun had fully set, the only light coming from the house behind them and from the stars above them. 

„Would you have someone live there with us? A boyfriend or husband?“ Dieter asked quietly after a while and looked down at her. She shook her head. 

„In my dream there is no one but you, Dieter,“ she whispered and Dieter felt his heart jump in his chest as one of her hands came to rest on his knee. 

„What about you?“ Clara asked and he took a deep breath, her head tilting up to look at him. Even though it was dark they were so close that she could see all of him. Instead of answering he, his head dipped lower, his nose brushing over hers. 

„I would really love to kiss you, Clara,“ he whispered and she shivered when she felt his breath brush over her skin. 

„Dream you or real you?“ She whispered back. 

„Both,“ he hummed and without any more words she closed the small distance between them, connecting their lips in a soft kiss.

It lasted only a few seconds but they both felt out of breath as they looked each other. 

„I’ve wanted to do that for years,“ he said and she sucked her bottom lip in as she sat herself up so she could get closer. 

„Why haven’t you?“ She asked.

„You were married and I was… am a mess,“ he shrugged with a awkward smile. 

„I can handle your mess,“ she winked and he grinned. 

„I know,“ he said before he leaned in again, kissing her with more eager now, his hands reaching for her, pulling her closer and Clara let him, climbing into his lap, her hands first on his shoulders then in his hair as they kissed, tongues playing with each other.

„I can’t believe I’m kissing you,“ he mumbled against her lips, making her giggle. 

„You imagined it before?“ She asked when they parted, her still in his lap, his arms around her. She had one of her hands in his hair, her other hand on his cheek. 

„Oh yeah. All the time. But I didn’t want to lose you as a friend, so I never made a move,“ he sighed.

„What changed?“ She asked, genuinely curious.

„I think I was getting tired of denying myself the one thing I always wanted,“ he said and her thumb brushed over his bottom lip. 

„Me?“ You whispered and he nodded, kissing her thumb.

„You make things… quiet. Like cocaine,“ he grinned and she rolled her eyes. 

„Do not compare me to the drug that almost killed you,“ she said with an eye roll. 

„Might get addicted to you,“ he mumbled, pulling her closer, kissing her jaw. 

„I think…. I could live with that,“ she whispered as she tilted her head down to kiss him again. 

When Clara woke up in the morning from that day on, it was in Dieter’s arms. 

And if Dieter wasn’t in bed, he was in his studio, painting away on canvases she wasn’t allowed to see yet. 

The last two weeks had been… interesting. 

She thought the switch from being just friend to… more than friends would be awkward but surprisingly both Dieter and her slipped into… whatever they were now easily. 

At the end of the day not much had changed. 

They were still best friends and loved each other. 

Now they only kissed and touched each other whenever they wanted. And they did that. A lot. 

She could hear the speedboat approaching outside, the doctor that came to see Dieter now only coming once a week when groceries and other things they needed were delivered to their little private island. 

She never in her wildest dreams thought that not only she would love to spend so much time with Dieter but she would not look forward to get back into their old lives. 

But that was still two weeks away. Two weeks, that would hopefully give both of them all the answers they were searching for not only for themselves, but on how their relationship would change once they had to leave their little cocoon. 

She heard Dieters before she saw them. 

His naked feet hitting the wooden floor as he walked towards the main entrance. Only in the last second he seemed to see her, his eyes softening and walking towards her, kissing her softly. 

„Can you stay in our room?“ He asked. 

Another recent change. While they hadn’t actually had sex yet, they had been sleeping in the same bed since the first time they kissed. It was…. So different than both of them had experienced in the past. 

While before Clara, even in the beginning when she was in love with another person, still cherished her own space at night, she basically was attached to Dieter the moment they got under the covers. Something Dieter welcomed with open arms, loving the way Clara felt against him every night. 

She frowned at his request though. 

„Why?“

A grin sneaked to his lips. 

„You trust me?“ Dieter asked, one of his hands on her hip, his other hand pushing her hair behind her ear. He looked excited, so she nodded. 

„Good,“ he kissed her again. 

„Then come and meet me in the living room after your next call,“ he said, having memorised her online meeting schedule by now. 

„Fine,“ she said, still a little suspicious, eyes narrowing playfully, before she turned around, taking one last look over her shoulder before she rounded the hallway, walking towards their bedroom where she had been working from since they gotten here. 

With a deep breath Dieter turned away, walking outside to see if anything was going according to plan. 

His doctor and two other men who were carrying various boxes approached and he hoped it was the surprise that had been delayed due to shipping problems.. 

„You got everything?“ Dieter asked and they all nodded. 

„Awesome. Could you just bring all these boxes into the living room?“ He asked and the two men already walked past him into the house, knowing their way around. 

„You look good, Mr. Bravo,“ his doctor said and Dieter took a deep breath, a smile on his lips. 

„I don’t think I have felt this good in twenty years,“ he said honestly. 

„That’s good. Now, I talked to your therapist after you gave me the contact details. Let’s talk?“ He asked and Dieter nodded, showing the man the way inside. 

Seconds after Clara’s last call ended, Dieter knocked on the door. 

He had spend the last two hours talking to his doctor and then, after he left setting up a call with his therapist back in LA. 

There were a lot of things Dieter would have to work through, hopefully with Clara by his side as his partner. He was getting anxious only thinking about not spending every single minute of the day with her but he knew life had to somehow carry on once they left here. 

So he would make the most out of the time they had left here, just the two of them. 

He hoped she would like the little surprise he had set up. 

When she opened the door her eyes widened before her hand flew to her mouth covering her mouth as she laughed. 

„Santa?“ She asked and Dieter grinned, his finger flipping the end of his Santa hat playfully. She couldn’t help but laugh when she noticed the matching swim shorts he also was wearing. 

Almost giddy he held up a mistletoe over his head and she snorted before she got on her tiptoes, her arms coming up to cross behind his neck, her lips pressing against his. 

He would never get tired of this. 

„Ready for your surprise?“ He hummed against her lips. 

„A surprise?“ She asked, eyes wide. He nodded. 

„Come,“ he kissed her again before he took her hand and pulled her towards the living room. 

Her lips parted in shock when she walked into the living room. 

It looked like a Christmas store had exploded in there. There was a fake tree half assembled in the corner, Three big boxes of what she thought were ornaments next to the couch. Strings of Christmas lights that Dieter must have started to unpack lay on the floor in a tangled mess and she could just almost see where he got frustrated before he just let them be. 

She felt his arms come around her from behind, his chest against her back, hugging her close, his chin resting on her shoulder. 

„I know how much you love Christmas. And it’s my fault you aren’t spending it in your Fever dream of apartment this year,“ he teased and she rolled her eyes. He had always teased her about her decorations. 

„So I wanted to do a little something for you. To show you how grateful I am that you never stop believing in me. Even when I don’t believe in myself anymore. And I… I really wanna change this time. I wanna stay sober, be healthier,“ he promised and kissed her cheek. 

„Dieter, this is too much…“ Clara mumbled, feeling the tears in her eyes. 

„It’s not enough. You’ve been dealing with my shit for almost twenty years on and off. Let me start to make it up to you,“ he mumbled against her ear, lips brushing over her skin. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. 

„Okay,“ she whispered. 

There was something magical about a lit Christmas tree when she could hear the ocean outside.

They had spent all afternoon decorating the tree, Christmas music blasting from the speakers. 

They had sang together (horribly), dance together (sillily), kissed each other breathless (both ready for more).

After they finished he told her that he hadn’t unpacked all the food that had been brought yet. It was when she was sorting through one of the boxes in the kitchen, Dieter also putting stuff away that she found the package of condoms. 

She hummed interested, Dieter looking up at her as she held the condoms up with a raised eyebrow and puckered lips. 

„You expecting company, Bravo?“ She asked, teasing him. 

„I expect nothing. But… I like to be prepared for every scenario,“ he said with a wink and Clara nodded slowly. 

„I know that you had a vasectomy before you got married, and you know I had my tubes tied like ten years ago, right?“

He walked over towards her, nodding. 

„I also know I haven’t had my blood tested in a while. So….“ He shrugged, his hands on the kitchen counter behind her, caging her in. 

„Would you like to have sex with me, Dieter?“ Clara whispered, her lips kissing up his chin with a smile that only widened when she heard him groan. 

„More than anything,“ he said, dipping this head so he could catch her lips in a deep kiss. 

„Tonight?“ You asked and he groaned against her lips, his body pressing against Clara’s and she could feel him. 

„Tonight,“ he nodded, kissing her once more before he took a step back and moved back towards the box he had been unpacking earlier. He smirked at her when he caught her eyes, still flushed and out of breath. 

And now she was sitting on the sofa, looking at the lit Christmas tree, with Dieter walking around, closing every window and door for the night before he came back to her, holding his hand out for her to take. 

They didn’t talk as he led her to their bedroom, closing the door behind him as she walked towards the bed. 

The thought that this could get awkward really quickly crossed her mind, but then Dieter was kissing her. Kissing her like he hadn’t before, his tongue playing with hers as he walked her towards the bed they had shared for weeks. 

He guided her onto the it, parting from her lips to look down at her as she slipped into the middle of the bed, her eyes undressing him and he smirked as he took his shirt off, loving the way Clara’s lips parted in appreciation 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he slipped the Santa shorts he was still wearing down his legs, leaving him standing completely naked in front of her. Clara’s eyes took him in before she got on her knees, crawling to the edge of the bed. 

She kissed up his chest, her fingertips running up this strong back, feeling him shiver. Dieter took a deep breath as his fingers found the fabric of the shirt she was still wearing, groaning once it was off and he could see her boobs.

„Fuck,“ he let his head fall back before he felt her hand in his hair, pulling him down against her lips. He wrapped his arms around her, wanting her closer, his hands exploring her body, one hand slipping beneath the leggings she was wearing. 

He would never get tired of feeling her skin beneath his fingertips. 

Dieter felt her lips twitch into a smile as he moaned, her fingers lightly scratching over his scalp. 

„Can I suck you cock baby?“ She asked and he nodded. 

„Never gotta ask. The answer will always be yes“ he grinned and she giggled as she began to kiss down his chest, one of her hand wrapping around his already leaking cock. 

„Noted,“ she hummed before she licked at the tip, making him almost jump. Her eyes never lost contact as she parted her lips and took him into her mouth, slowly, almost teasingly exploring every vein and ridge of his length. 

Dieter was pretty sure he was gonna die. 

Her mouth was heaven and when she began to bop her head? He had to try to remember the lines from the first play he was in to not cum immediately. 

And the noises she made? 

Fuck.

Clara felt the same, enjoying the weight of him in her mouth as she sucked him off, the moans that came out of his mouth going straight to her pussy. She loved the way he was holding her hair up, winking up at him. 

If only she had known how much she would enjoy having him moaning like that, she would have done this so much sooner. 

„Fuck… Stop… Stop or I’m gonna cum. And I wanna feel you first,“ he said, taking a step back, his cock falling out of her mouth. 

He helped her get out of her leggings before he pushed her down onto the bed, climbing onto it and kissing her. She parted her legs, crossing them behind his back when he was on top of her, loving the weight of him on her. 

She blindly searched for the package of condoms she had thrown onto her bedside table, humming when she found it. Dieter kissed down her jaw, her throat, kissing himself down towards her breasts, his lips closing around one of her nipples, his tongue playing it it. 

She whimpered, rolling her hips up, feeling the weight of his cock slipping through her folds. 

„Wanna eat your pussy,“ he mumbled against her skin and she shook her head. 

„Later. Wanna feel you first,“ she said, finally having one of the condoms out of the package holding it up. Dieter released her nipple with a wet plop as he sat himself up, reaching for the condom, opening the package. He made quick work of rolling it onto his cock. 

It was then that his eyes dropped between her legs, seeing her for the first time. He released almost a growl before he slipped one of his hands between her legs, his fingers slipping through her wet folds. 

She moaned when he brought his fingers to his lips to taste her. 

„Gonna have you for breakfast every day,“ he wiggled his brows and she chuckled. 

„Promises, promises,“ she teased, her foot behind him slowly dragging up his thigh, teasing him. 

„You’ll see,“ he winked before he got into position, his hand wrapped around his cock, teasing the tip of it through her folds, before he slowly pushed in. They both watched him enter her, slowly, Dieter wanting to give her time to get used to his thick length. 

„Fuck, Dieter,“ she whined and he looked up at her, her hands on her tits, eyes still fixed on where his cock was filling her. 

She finally looked up when he was fully inside of her, and then she smiled and he lost it, leaning down so his chest was against hers as he began to move. The first moan he heard from Clara as he thrusted almost enough to make him cum right then and there. 

Her hands where everywhere she could reach as he fucked her, and he made a mental note to have her ride him the next time so he could explore more of her. 

„You feel so good, Dee,“ she moaned „I’m so close already.“

„Me too, baby. What do you need? Want you to cum on my cock,“ he panted, still fucking her in deep strokes. 

Instead of answering, one of her hand sneaked down between her bodies, starting to circle her clit. 

And within minutes she came, clenching so hard around his length that within seconds after he came too, twitching inside of her as he spilled himself into the condom, only imagining how it would feel to fuck her without one. 

They looked at each other, both out of breath before he dropped down to kiss her, rolling her so she was on top of him, making her squeal against his lips before they both laughed. 

„I could really get used to this,“ she whispered against his lips. 

„I hope you do,“ he smiled, before he kissed her again. 

The amount of time they spend in bed from that first time increased. A lot. Though it was not just the bed. It was the couch, the kitchen counter, the pool, the floor….

Clara couldn’t remember ever having this much sex, not that she was complaining. 

Dieter knew what he was doing and she loved to be on the receiving and of it.

It was Christmas Eve today and she was laying by the pool, naked as the day she was born as she watched Dieter, equally naked walking towards her from the ocean. 

Dieter had made the very compelling point that since they were the only two people on an island with no people and especially paparazzi around that he wanted to enjoy it as much as possible. 

Of course he had asked if Clara would be okay with him hanging around naked. When she took her clothes off as an answer he had fucked her against the floor. 

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched him now, skin tanned and glistening with ocean water as he made his way towards her. 

Fuck, she was one lucky woman. 

„Put those bedroom eyes away, you already have me naked,“ he teased as he leaned down to kiss her softly, his cold hands squeezing her boobs with a grin, making her jump. She put her arms around him, deepening the kiss and Dieter moaned as he let himself get on top of her, cock already half hard. 

„You taste like the ocean,“ she whispered against his lips with a smile and felt him grin before he slowly kissed down her body. 

„Rather taste like your pussy,“ he winked before he got in between her legs and began to eat her out. 

She woke up to lips kissing up her back on Christmas morning. 

With a smile she turned on her back, finding Dieter resting with his head on one of his arms beside her, his other arm wrapped around her. 

„Merry Christmas, baby,“ he smiled and she smiled back tiredly. 

„Merry Christmas yourself,“ she whispered and he leaned in to kiss her softly. 

„I have something for you,“ he hummed and she raised her eyebrows, surprised. 

„You have?“ She asked and he nodded.

„Can I show you?“ He whispered and she nodded, letting him kiss her again before she let him led her out of bed.

There were colours everywhere. 

When she arranged to set up this room for him so he could paint it was a beige sad little office. She had FaceTimed with the realtor who was responsible for renting the property out and giving instructions how to change the interior of the room and what supplies to get. 

Clara hadn’t seen the room in all the time they had been here. 

This room was… it was 100% Dieter. She knew he had spent a lot of time in here, she just never imagined that he had painted so much. 

And so many versions of herself. 

In all colours she could imagine. 

He had spend all this time painting her?

She was already fighting tears within the first minute of stepping inside the room, Dieter’s hand still in hers as he watched her. 

„This is… This is beautiful,“ she whispered softly before she finally looked at him. 

„Still not doing you justice,“ he said and now she felt her tears run down her cheeks, before she wrapped her arms around Dieter, hugging him closely. 

„I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, Dieter,“ she whispered when she looked up at him, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. 

„That’s good. Cause I know I’m in love with you,“ he whispered back before her kissed her. 

One Year later

Dieter had a smile on his lips as he looked up at the canvas hanging in the bright and new hallway. It was one of the pieces he had painted on their island last year, the first one he hung up in their home after the renovations had finally been finished. 

The last year had come with a lot of changes. Not just because him and Clara had made the decision to part ways professionally, but because the reason was so they could start their life as a couple. 

They both had made this decision, Dieter not wanting her having to deal with everything that he came with anymore. 

Not that there was much to take care of now that he had quit acting. 

Much to his surprise he had gotten the Golden Globe and another Oscar for his last project, so what more was there left to do for him professionally?

The last thing he had to promote would be coming up in march of the next year and after that he was ready to never see a red carpet again. He still didn’t know exactly what he would be doing now that he wasn’t acting anymore, but thankfully the investments he made and the way he had worked for the last twenty-five years gave him the freedom to take his time to find out. 

And then there was Clara. 

He was almost disgustingly in love with her (his sister’s words, not his) and there would be no stopping. 

It had taken only six weeks after the island for both of them to make the decision to move in together. 

And to their pure luck, while scrolling through Zillow listings one night when he had visited her in New York they had found their dream home. 

He never thought he would move to the Hamptons one day, yet here he was, in a big country style house with a wrap around porch and a private beach, living with the love of his life. 

With a smile he made his way downstairs, finding Clara in the kitchen, checking on the process of the dinner. They had invited family and friends for their first Christmas in their house together who would arrive later. 

They had both taken cooking lessons together in the last two months since they moved in and she loved taking her time to cook with him every day now. 

„Hey,“ he smiled and she looked up, giving him a sweet smile back. She had her hair up in a messy bun and was wearing one of his shirts. No make up. She was absolutely breathtaking.

Dieter walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. 

„Hey,“ she smiled back, turning her head to kiss his cheek. 

„Guests will be here in an hour,“ he said and she nodded.

„Just wanted to check before I go upstairs to get ready,“ she said and he nodded. He kissed her cheek, watching her hum as she stirred the soup in front of her. 

It was in that moment that he decided that he didn’t want to wait any longer, that he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else later. 

His hand searched for the small box he had been carrying around with him for the last six months, the ring he designed for her inside, Clara still focused on the food as he dropped to one knee behind her, He reached for her hand, as he took a deep breath, smiling at the surprised gasp escaping her lips as she turned around. 

She said yes before he could even ask his question. 

[barblaz-arts]

Found out about you and your chaggie art on twt and decided to check out more of it on here! I’ve heard about hazbins hotel before and have seen the pair and fanart of them but haven’t made the decision to watch the show.

Wanted to ask from your perspective, what is it about chaggie that you like? Could be anything about their relationship dynamics, wtv representation that they portray, anything! Should I watch hazbins hotel for them 🤔

Gosh! What do I love about them??

Oh man, welll... On a surface level? The dynamics they display are just so delicious to me, and I especially love that it's always a little subverted with them, yunno? It's angelXdemon, but the demon is the precious sunshine while the angel is the grump with a body count. The princessXknight dynamic they display is subverted too because although Charlie is the one born in the worst realm in Creation, she's still the privileged princess, meanwhile even though Vaggie is the one who came from literal paradise, she's the one who lived a life that wasn't exactly luxurious. They just present dynamics I've already always loved but with a fun little twist.

But on a deeper level, I think I love Chaggie because they're already so far along in their relationship, and you can see it in how comfortable they are with each other, which was such a surprise for me. You see, I'm not very good at fixating on ships when they're already canon. Like, I'd think it's cute, but I wouldn't be itching to find fics about them. And if a ship I've liked finally gets together, I actually... usually... Kinda sorta love the ship a little less... I'd still like them! I just wont be as giddy about them.

But omg Chaggie still manages to give me butterflies, and I think it's because they're way past the honeymoon phase, something that I barely see represented for sapphic couples who are such important characters in a story. Lotsa people didnt like how it wasn't initially obvious that they were a couple, but I actually really loved how the writers and animators showed how deep their bond is without having them making out ang grope each other all the time. God if they were like that, it'd probably give me the ick.

It was just lowkey, because they've been together for years. Charlie would casually rest her arm on Vaggie's thigh and Vaggie isn't flustered because it's probably a habit of Charlie's by now. Vaggie would tuck Charlie's hair out of her face while she's worried about something and it isn't framed as a special thing, but you can tell by how Vaggie looks at Charlie that it wasn't done with any less love than it did over the years. And when Charlie's stressed about a phone call, Vaggie wordlessly offers her hand and Charlie takes it with a quick appreciative smile before holding on tight and bouncing their joined hands up and down like it's a stress reliever.

Their interactions weren't uber sweet with heated physicality, but the show had them display familiarity and comfort instead. And idk i just love that. I love that you can clearly tell they're best friends. Like, the very first scene they appear in for the Pilot, Vaggie is tying Charlie's bowtie for her while Charlie stares at her with a smile on her face. So cute...

Also. I just think both of them are hot lmao

So. Do I think you should watch the show for Chaggie? Idrk. I personally watched for them, but I came into the show expecting not to get much shipping fuel bcuz they were already in a relationship in a show that has a whole dang lot more going on in it. So some people who wanted to get into the ship expecting maybe a lotta smooching felt unsatisfied. But honestly, what did they expect from a 8 ep season that only had a run time of 22 mins per episode, in a show that wasn't even a romance? 😭 I personally thought we got a decent amount without taking away from the actual plot.

I think you should try to watch with the mindset of just having plain ol fun. Try the first 2 episodes, which is only 40 mins of your day. If it doesn't jive with you, that's totally fine. But pls do check out the songs if you dont like the show. The songs are so good. My favorite song from the season has plot stuff, but this one is my second favorite

And since we're talking about Chaggie, here's the reprise of that song sung by them. It's short, but they promised more chaggie songs will be in season 2 so im not too sad about it. Charlie and Vaggie's VA harmonizing is just beautiful.

Edit: for those who saw this post when i accidentally prematurely posted it before adding the links and photos, no you didn't 😐

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

It hurt like hell but it was hot|| Poly!landoscar x fem!witch reader

Summary

Word count — 818

This imwas one of my first fics I’ve written it’s from my old blog which was deleted

You and Lando were together first. A year later, Oscar entered the picture. Your father was an old friend of Zac Brown’s, as they had gone to high school together. When your family decided to move to England, Zac offered you a job as Lando’s assistant. The role wasn’t glamorous—it mostly involved ensuring he stayed out of trouble, made it to his interviews on time, and maintained a semblance of professionalism. Essentially, you were his babysitter, though you liked to think of yourself as more of a handler.

Lando was two years older than you and Oscar. At 24, he was still very much the charming, mischievous boy he’d always been, though with a touch of maturity brought on by his career. You and Oscar, both 22, were younger but no less ambitious. Lando had a way of making everyone around him feel both exasperated and utterly charmed, a combination that proved irresistible to you.

The first time Lando discovered you were a witch was, unsurprisingly, a chaotic accident. He had sneaked up on you one afternoon, intending to scare you for laughs. Startled, your magic flared instinctively, and before you realized what had happened, Lando was flung across the room, landing with a loud thud. Horrified, you rushed to him, stammering apologies and preparing for the inevitable rejection. Instead, Lando groaned, sat up, and with that trademark cheeky grin, said, “As much as that hurt, it was pretty hot.”

That comment left you red-faced and speechless, but it also marked the start of something special. Over time, Lando became fascinated with your magic, eagerly asking questions and helping you practice spells. He loved watching you work with your powers, his enthusiasm making you feel seen and appreciated in a way no one else ever had.

A few months into your relationship, you started having vivid dreams. Dreams where Oscar wasn’t just part of your friend group but part of your relationship with Lando. At first, you dismissed them, thinking it was your subconscious playing tricks on you. But as the dreams persisted, you began to recognize them for what they were: glimpses into a possible future.

When you finally worked up the courage to tell Lando about the dreams, you were nervous. You worried he’d be angry or jealous, but to your surprise, he was intrigued. By now, Lando understood your dreams carried a weight beyond simple imagination. He trusted you, and instead of reacting negatively, he listened, considered, and ultimately accepted it.

Oscar, meanwhile, had his own complicated feelings. He thought you were beautiful, a captivating force of nature, and he couldn’t help but admire Lando, too. But knowing you were together made him push those feelings deep down, determined not to be the person who came between two people he cared about. As a result, he kept his distance, avoiding you both whenever he could.

But you had an advantage Oscar didn’t know about—your telepathic abilities. You could sense emotions, and Oscar’s feelings for both you and Lando burned bright, no matter how much he tried to suppress them. When you shared this with Lando, the two of you decided to confront the situation head-on.

You invited Oscar over for dinner at your shared apartment. He arrived, visibly nervous but trying his best to act casual. The evening went smoothly, though tension lingered in the air. After dinner, you and Lando exchanged a knowing glance before addressing the elephant in the room.

“We have something to tell you, Oscar,” Lando started.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his apprehension clear. “Oh? What is it?”

“We have feelings for you,” you said, voice steady but soft.

Oscar blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “Oh.”

“And,” you continued, “I know you have feelings for us too. That’s okay, Oscar. We like you—a lot.”

Oscar opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Lando chimed in. “There’s something else we want to share with you.”

“What is it?” Oscar asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

You took a deep breath, holding out your hand. A flicker of flame appeared in your palm, dancing for a moment before fading away. “I’m a witch.”

Oscar’s eyes widened in awe, his earlier nerves momentarily forgotten. “That… that was amazing.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah, it is. Though, to be fair, I found out the hard way.”

“How?” Oscar asked, looking between the two of you.

“She threw me across the room when I startled her,” Lando said with a laugh. “Hurt like hell, but worth it.”

That night marked the beginning of something new. For Oscar, it was a revelation—not just about your powers but about the dynamic between the three of you. He realized that being with you and Lando meant life would never be dull or ordinary. It would be filled with magic, laughter, and a connection unlike anything he’d ever known.

[dolliedyhard]

🔪Jeff The Killer Headcanons🔪 [PART 1]

I think is about time I posted my headcanons for him! BOY I did not plan this post to be sooooooo long, I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY OMGGG!!! I LUV HIM SO MUCH (  ੭꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)੭ ᰔ. I might have to make this into a multiple part series on my blog. These are all hc’s for adult Jeff, I have completely different ones for when he was a teen and I’ll make one for teen Jeff later on. None of these hc’s involve his relationship with Dollie or other pastas, this is all about him. All of this is SFW. Enjoy <3

AU: Paracosm of the Vagabonds

‼️TW: mentions of self harm‼️

♥︎A/N: btw this is my first time making/posting hc’s so plz don’t jump me if they’re bad- (/ _ ; )

♥︎Appearance & Attributes♥︎

He’s 25 y/o

6’4

Straight

White American

Full name is Jeffery Woods. I’ve always liked his name the way it was so I’m not changing it.

Muscular and lean. He’s got more of a sleeper build tho.

Despite being lit of fire he managed to heal his hair, it’s healthy now.

He loves keeping his hair long. He’ll never CONSIDER cutting it short. His hair is one of his favorite parts of himself.

He for certain wants his hair to be down to his waist one day

Hair type is 1c

Jeff’s hair is naturally brown. When the “incident” happened the fire made his hair temporarily black. (Ik that’s not how real logic works but cmon let me have fun >:c)

After a few months his hair went back to brown

Now he dyes his hair black bc he prefers it that way.

His tattoos don’t mean anything, he just got them because he thought they were cool.

He smells like incense and ash most of the time.

If he decided to finally wash his clothes then he smells like clean laundry.

He doesn’t wear cologne, he’s never cared for it.

He showers like twice a week. For the rest of the week he just wipes himself down this a cloth.

At least he uses a soap cloth (oh thank GOD)

When “the incident” happened his face scars would constantly bleed and wouldn’t close.

It was really sensitive and if he smiled or laughed to hard it would gush out again.

It took multiple years for the wound to permanently close.

It’s completely healed now it’s just deformed skin

The scars on his body are from fights, him doing stupid shit or self harm.

He’s not hairy, some underarm hair but that’s all

His veins are most visible in his forearms and hands

I don’t have a voice claim for him (YET!) but his voice is pretty deep and it has a raspy sound to it

He has dark circles under his eye from staying up for days at end

He got some sharp ass canine teeth. In my AU he got bit by a vampire. He didn’t get turned into one bc the transformation was stopped right after his vamp fang came in.

Warm to the touch. Doesn’t matter what season it is, his body manages to retain a significant amount of body heat.

His skin is very pale due to lack of sunlight and frequent blood loss.

♥︎Personality♥︎

When meeting him for the first time he comes off as an asshole.

He insults everyone and it’s hard to hell if he’s joking or not.

And if he’s really pissed he’ll get REAL creative with the insults.

Swears like a sailor

He’s distant and off putting to people that aren’t in his circle.

He loves showing off and will do it no matter what. Even if the circumstances are dangerous.

Jeff loves stroking his ego, it’s so obnoxious but he could care less.

Lowkey thinks he better than everyone

LAWD he’s handsome and he knows it

Doesn’t care about ur personal space

Will creep up on u to whisper shit in ur ear to scare you. And other stuff like that.

Gives people the nastiest stares of all time. And I dare u too say something to him about it, he’ll square TF UP.

Says some really offensive shit but he doesn’t care if you get upset because of it.

And he’ll say it loud and proud no matter how much of a dumbass he looks like saying it.

Jeff’s one of the most defiant proxies in the mansion

He listens to NO ONE and hates more than anything to be bossed around.

Though he partially listens to Slenderman, yk, bc he has to so he can live in the mansion. Masky too bc he’s Slenderman’s right hand man.

Can’t laugh like a normal person to save his life

Like he’s literally out of breath, red face, everything

“How do I befriend him?!?” I hear you say

Like I said before he loves his ego being satisfied so u could just blow smoke up his ass.

But to him you’ll be more like a “fan” than a friend.

And he will just use you for his benefit. He’ll step all over u since you’ve shown ur willing to be submissive to him ＿|￣|○

Show him you’re not to be fucked with but not to be intimidated by.

For Jeff it’s more about if you guys get along and have a good time together than having the same interests.

Jeff only plays favorites if he has a crush on you

Oh boy is he one petty motherfucker… He holds grudges over anything with anyone and is very vengeful.

He’s quick to temper too. He’ll go into a rage induced episodes and they can last for days at a time.

That’s due to his IED (Intermittent Explosive Disorder) and just him being a fucked up person.

He also has BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder)

He’s not trying to manage his IED by being more laidback and comedic but that’s not really helping.

Not a big fan of animals. So if you were to ask him what is fav animal was he wouldn’t say any.

♥︎Interests♥︎

Wannabe lead guitarist

He’s not good enough to be the lead but his ego says otherwise.

He owns a sick ass guitar tho

Started out being emo in his early teens, now he’s more of a metal head.

(I don’t know much about nu-metal or any metal at ALL so I can’t rlly say who his favs are. SORRY IM AN EMO FUCK AT HEART OKAY???)

Listens to goth music occasionally too

Loves going to concerts no matter who’s performing

If you happen to bring up a band he’s seen live before he will 100% without fail say “I saw them live at _!” And will proceed to info dump about what went down.

Even worse if they were in their prime when he went.

Fashion wise he dresses alternative but it’s nothing fancy.

A band tee + hoodie or jacket, jeans, shoes (cons, or boots), for accessories belt and some spikes bracelets. That’s about it :v

And yes he does consider his piercings as accessories.

Paints his nails black on special occasions

Likes to collect weird stuff

His biggest collection is of knifes

Some of them are ornamental and some he actually uses to kill

He gets the money to fuel his collection off the dead bodies of his victims

Also has a strange fascination with history

Specifically historical torture methods & atrocities

Sometimes he uses the same torture methods he learned about on his victims.

HUGE HORROR NERD

He collects dvds of slasher & horror movies

And of course you can’t forget about the vintage TV to play them on!

He’s not a fan of snuff films or gore videos

It just takes out the art out of film making. Why should he watch uninspired shock gore for 0% satisfaction when he can go cause it for 100% satisfaction?

♥︎Killing♥︎

To Jeff killing is something he does for 3 things. Survival, satisfaction, and emotional regulation.

Once he’s got you in his grasp you won’t make it out alive.

Jeff commits the worst murders when he’s having a IED or BPD episode.

He’s not a kidnapper type serial killer

He likes to get the job done by the end of the day at the longest

He loves the taste of blood and often licks it off his knife

He thinks he can train himself to be able to taste the differences between blood types.

He just likes inflicting pain on complete strangers, it’s thrilling to him.

And it’s usually not a stab and go kill, when he first started out that’s how it was bc it was more for survival.

Now Jeff has the taste for blood. And he’s got some horrifyingly creative ways to extract it.

Nowadays you’ll be lucky if it’s a stab and go. His goal is to make sure u feel the agony, every. second. of. it.

He would never consider hurting someone close to him, that would severely fuck with him.

Since the murder of his family he has no one. So he cherishes the few people close to him a lot more than he used to.

He’s never had any regrets about any of the many murders he has committed.

The one and only time he’s ever felt bad about inflicting violence on someone is his older brother Liu.

♥︎Vices♥︎

Jeff is a regular smoker (hence why he smells like ash)

He’s able to blow different shapes out of smoke

Prefers cigarettes over anything else

Hates vapes tho, he think they make you look like a massive pussy.

He’ll flat out refuse to fw you if you whip out your fruity-tuti flavored e-stick when yall go on a smoke break.

Jeff’s not a big drinker

Drinking just ups his already high sex drive to the max and he acts like a complete idiot when he’s drunk. Then after all that his hangover is fucking hell.

At the most he’ll get a bit tipsy cause the boost in arousal makes sex tenfold better.

Jeff’s never done any hard drugs and doesn’t care to.

Who needs a drug addiction when you have a murder addiction?

Okay so about the self harm earlier…

♥︎A/N: Btw in my au Jeff had a much shitter life than the og Jeffery Woods so all of this with context makes sense.

Jeff doesn’t s/h anymore but did it heavily in his teens before he went crazy.

His life was genuinely a miserable hellscape that was picking at his sanity and at every turn it only got worse.

His mother and father didn’t care about him at all. The only person that actually cared and loved Jeff was Liu. But Liu rarely showed any affection towards Jeff so it didn’t really matter how Liu felt about him.

No one knew what Jeff was doing to himself up until he ended up in the hospital with the gashes on his cheeks.

You have reached the end. TYSM FOR READING!!!

I hope you enjoyed reading my headcanons, and I will be doing more hc’s in the future for other creepypastas.

Stay frosty❄️ BAIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!

[sylvesterelle]

Meditations in an Emergency

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 1 of 2, 5,857 words, mature, tw: alcohol, cannabis

Read on A03

"I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. "

Frank O'Hara, "Meditations in an Emergency"

“I just think people should compliment each other more, that’s all,” you declare, biting the cherry off plastic sword that Kat, the bartender, had stuck in your Dirty Shirley. “Like we think these things all the time. Her scarf is pretty, or that guy’s got a cool haircut or whatever. We notice them, we think about them, but so rarely do we say it, you know?  Even though being complimented is the best,” you say emphatically, using the tiny sword to punctuate your words.

Kat nods and gives you a second cherry, because Kat is good people. Kat serves you doubles while charging for singles and listens to you ramble and lets you spread your notebooks and laptop on the bar when it’s slow, like tonight.

It’s early on a Friday evening which means you’re supposed to be writing. You pay the bills as a researcher and ghostwriter during the week and you like it, you do—the flexibility to work strange hours, typing late into the night, remote so you write wherever you want like coffee shops and cocktail bars and anywhere noisy enough to drown out the more distracting of your thoughts.  But you spend so much time devoted to other people’s work that you promised yourself you’d set weekends aside to work on your own ideas.

Easier said than done, when there isn’t a irate publisher on the other end setting deadlines and demanding pages. And the problem with your own ideas is that you just have so many of them; find it hard to devote yourself to one without getting distracted by another, a graveyard of drafts in various states of completion littering your hard-drive.

But routine helped, so there you’ve sat every Friday night for almost two months—even if you’ve spent proportionally less time writing than people-watching and sweet-talking Kat into making you interesting drinks off-menu (“This is a dive bar,” she’s told you more than once. “We don’t even a menu to be off of.”)

It’s not not part of your writing process, you reason. You’re a firm believer that life is stranger than fiction, and many of your best ideas have come from observations and unusual interactions. It’s what got you started on the importance of compliments in the first place, after all.

“I just think we should be more intentional about finding joy in each other. For example, what would you say, darling Kat,” you begin, batting your eyes at her sweetly, “if I told you that you look fucking incredible now and always, you’re so hot it gives me hives if I look at you straight on, and more specifically that little curl that’s coming out of your ponytail is particularly fetching and I like it a lot?”

Kat rolls her eyes, which is as good as a smile. “I would say you should slow down on the Shirleys,” she says long-sufferingly.

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends, not really, but there was a familiarity and ease in the relationship now that warmed you. You’d met her your very first night, taking your normal ramble to learn a new town, begin to make sense of its curves and corners and spirit and mentally mark interesting places to return to. The neighborhood you’d found an apartment in wasn’t the best, but it was furnished and month-to-month and good enough for you. Best of all, you had only needed to wander in the snow a couple blocks before you’d struck gold; drawn like a moth where a plain, unmarked door had opened, spilling warm light and the sounds of overlapping laughter into the night. 

Inside it really was a dive, all sticky floors and old dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, a jukebox that took dimes and a blonde bombshell behind the counter who served with a decided lack of smile. But a week of you showing up and chattering at her had cracked that icy shell enough to get a name and a few raised eyebrows instead of complete silence. By the time you’d earned your discount as a regular around the third week, she would venture to occasionally comment on your more interesting trains of thought, offer some searing observations and insights of her own if she was in a good mood.

A couple more weeks, and you knew her well enough to bring a second iced coffee with you when you arrived for the evening, Kat already pulling a bottle of Irish cream from the well as you removed the lids in a dance that had become comforting in its routine.

Yours sat mostly untouched, abandoned in favor of the syrupy-sweet mess Kat had waiting for you, while Kat slurps the last of her own, one hip propped against the other side of the bar as she issues her verdict on your…unique compliment.

“I don’t know if I’d particularly appreciate a stranger saying that to me. Don’t want strangers saying anything to me, really,” she frowns, “but particularly the bit about the hives.”

“Okay, I might have gone too hard out the gate with that one,” you admit. “More importantly, I think you might be in the wrong profession for strangers not talking to you.”

She flips you off, heading to where two regulars had slipped into place at the other end of the bar. It was still early enough in the night that the place was mostly empty, only a few singles and two-tops stopping for an after-shift drink, giving you and Kat plenty of time to talk. It’d get rowdy enough later on, the voices louder, the jukebox queue a little more violent—but you’d found that among the chaos was often when you did your best writing.

“Hives aside, you know what I mean though, right?” you continue when Kat returns. “Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.”

You ignore this, already imagining renting a sailboat somewhere sunny, tropical. “I always thought it’d be fun to be a sailor,” you say dreamily. “Kerouac was a Merchant Marine, did you know?"

Kat makes a face.

“What, you didn’t like the book?” You’d loaned her a copy of The Dharma Bums the week before, slim and beloved enough that you carried it with you instead of getting it from the local library, like you normally did. You had a collection of library cards now, rattling around in an old Altoid tin—the only souvenirs you kept from all the various cities you’d visited in your travels.

“It was fine. Good, even, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she said, swirling her coffee around. “He’s just so fucking mopey. I wanted to shake him, like c’mon man, you need to stop thinking about your life and actually fucking live it.” It was the most animated Kat got, which was just slightly more expressive than usual—eyes narrowed a little further, three degrees more derision in her tone.

Kat preferred nonfiction. History. Facts. Still read everything you recommended, but rarely had finished one where she didn’t get frustrated with protagonists making dumb decisions or whining about their life choices. And while some of the books she recommended to you were a little dry at times, they were certainly interesting—and the last one about organ harvesting had been surprisingly catalytic for story ideas.

You shrug, acknowledging the point. She’s not wrong, but you tended to live most of your life in your own head and your own worlds, so it didn’t bother you in quite the same way. Although, now that she mentions it…“You know, that’s kind of my earlier point actually, giving someone a compliment is like the ultimate shortcut to living outside your head. You’re not all wrapped up in your own issues and thoughts, but appreciating something around you. Even if you don’t say it—which you should—it means you’re paying attention. Noticing.”

You drain the last of your Shirley, swapping it out for the iced coffee and swirling around the diluted ice. “Proposal: we make a game of it, tonight. We notice.” It wouldn’t be that different from what you and Kat normally did; sharing little observations on other patrons, trading theories on this person’s job or that person’s backstory. They’d just be a little more…intentional about it. "Keep your eye out for any interesting hats or weird pins or extremely sexy noses and come tell me. That way we can both enjoy it,” you conclude, clasping your hands together.

You knew better than to suggest Kat actually compliment anyone; you were optimistic, not delusional.     

“What constitutes an extremely sexy nose?”

“Oh Kat, that’s something you feel in your heart,” you shake your head pityingly.

She rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar where a nicely-dressed couple are sinking uncertainly onto the cracked vinyl stools, looking around like they might be feeling a little out of place. You meet the woman’s gaze, smiling broadly. “I love your dress,” you say, and feel the joy of her blush bubble sweet and bright in your veins.

..........

You pride yourself on having a lot of good ideas, but this is one of your best. You get more writing than usual done, unusually productive while riding the high of giving out compliments left and right. Not so many that it feels insincere and never any you don’t mean. But Baader–Meinhof was a real sonofabitch because it’s true that the more you look, the more you see to appreciate. 

Like Bobby, the union electrician with his first name embroidered on the pocket of his work-shirt. It caught your eye because it wasn’t machine-printed but carefully done by hand, illuminated when he leaned over to order a Schlitz. His wife’s work, he shares when you comment on it. She’s paid special for her embroidery, but still makes time to do his name on all his shirts, “so I can carry her love around all day,” he tells you, unabashed even when his friends tease him good-naturedly.

Then there was the lady whose cheetah-print nails matched her furry coat, who winked at you when she caught you looking admiringly from across the bar. Right after her was the burly biker who sat down to show you a Halloween photoshoot of his toy poodle when you complimented the cute photo on his lockscreen. Others in between, some you spoke to, some you didn’t—but all you appreciated in a way you vowed to do more in the future.

Inevitably, little bits of what you observe throughout the night trickle onto the page, helping flesh out bits of characters and sparking ideas you jot down for later. You wouldn’t know until later if you’d end up keeping any of it, but it’s a nice thought to know you’ll always have some part of this moment—the people, the place, the time—woven into your story. A little souvenir in-and-of-itself.

Though the night gets progressively busier, Kat swings by from time to time to share her observations: money fished from strange locations, custom bank cards, or funny pins she got close enough to read when customers leaned over the bar to shout their orders over the sounds of the music—partially your fault, after you complimented an old geezer’s song choice and spent twenty minutes with him combing through the catalogue and cackling as you fed dime after dime, queuing enough dad-rock to last a fair few hours.

All told, you’re feeling fucking incredible as it nears midnight and the synth solo from Toto’s “Rosanna,” has you wiggling in your seat. You’ve a few thousand words under your belt and the high off of all those little moments of kinship is making you feel sparkling and happy and well, which—historically speaking—is sometimes a challenge for you.

You grin at Kat when she slumps next to you, enjoying a brief reprieve from new customers.

“Whatcha got for me, killer?” you ask, fishing in your bag for a granola bar for her. She takes it with a grateful look, shoving half of it in her mouth and talking as she chews.

“You’re gonna fucking love this. A mohawk, dude. In 2024.”

You perk up, looking around the room. It was pretty packed now, but you couldn’t believe you’d missed a cut that attention-getting. “Liberty spikes?” you confirm. You adored the punks of your acquaintance; always had interesting thoughts and insider tips on the local music scene.

Kat shakes her head. “Nah, it was cut short. Gym rat type, I think. Good tip, nice accent.  Scottish,” she clarifies while inhaling the last of the granola bar. “Talked some shit about the ‘natural supremacy of whisky over bourbon’ when he ordered a Maker’s for his friend.”

You hum, still craning your head. “See where they sat?”

She shakes her head. “Asked about smoking though, so probably on the patio.”

Calling it a patio was generous—a small bit of grass with a couple plastic chairs and an ashtray, mostly. But there was a heat-lamp that worked roughly sixty percent of the time, which made the bar very popular with those in the know on cold nights like this.

“Speaking of, ‘bout time to take your break?”

If it wasn’t too busy, Frank, the doorman, often agreed to watch the bar while you and Kat split a joint in the back, sitting in companionable silence and pointing out shooting stars and passing satellites—clear skies a benefit of the city’s frigid nights. Kat knew a startling amount about astronomy but nothing about astrology; could tell you the history of the visible universe up to the surface of last scattering, but just blinked at you when you had asked if she was a Scorpio or a Capricorn.

Kat checks the clock then whistles to get Frank’s attention while you shove your laptop into your bag. You don’t bother with your coat—your cheeks are flushed the warmth of the crowded room and you don’t mind the cold, not really. 

The patio looks abandoned, silent but for the wet sound of car tires moving through the snow-choked alley. Not totally surprising; most balk at below-zero temps even with the lamp. Snow clumps heavy and wet on top of the plastic chairs and overturned garbage pail that serves as a footrest but the air is crisp and clear, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light visible in the heavens. You breathe in the cold, night air and feel clean and sweet and cracked open wide, just pouring out love into the world.

Movement in your periphery catches your eye and oh, Kat was right, not a punk at all.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the two men standing half-shadowed near the lamp. Big is the first word that comes to mind and perhaps that’s sufficient for now, since you can’t seem to stop looking at the breadth of their shoulders and the curve of those strong thighs long enough to notice anything else. Kat had thought gym-rat but you’d put money on those bodies not just being for show—there was too much power, too much potential for carnage disguised in the plush softness that comes from muscles in repose.

“Why hullo there, barkeep,” the man with a shaggy, soft-looking mohawk greets Kat jovially, the Scottish accent just as charming as promised. “And barkeep’s friend,” he says, nodding to you as you come close enough to finally get a good look at his face. To latch on to details like the too-blue shade of his eyes and the too-sharp canines in his smile, the silvery-white starburst of a scar across his chin.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you hear yourself say. This happens sometimes, your mouth just venturing off on its own to get you into trouble.

Kat groans, used to it, as the man laughs warmly. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” he purrs, propping the lit cigarette between his lips and sticking out a hand. His palm is warm and callused against your own as you properly introduce Kat and yourself.

“I’m Soap, this here’s Ghost,” the man offers in turn, nodding towards his friend who steps forward, murmuring a quiet greeting. He’s enough in the light now to reveal dark eyes shadowed under a hood, a skull-print mask balaclava pushed up far enough to accommodate a lit cigarette.

“Fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” you grin at him, immediately charmed by the weirdness of it all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man says affably, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t smile but there’s a little twist of his mouth that could be amused, if you squint.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat mutters next to you, eyes shutting briefly in second-hand embarrassment. “She’s on a mission about compliments tonight, noticing people,” she explains with bemused emphasis as she clears off the chairs and kicks snow off the garbage can.

“I just think it’s important to be more open with our affection, even with strangers. Especially with strangers,” you argue, dropping into one of the seats and pulling out the battered Altoid tin that holds your stash and a few pre-rolled joints. “Will this bother you?” you ask the men, holding up the joint.

They shake their heads, amused.

“Good, because it’s my fucking bar,” Kat snorts, grabbing it from your fingers and dropping into the chair next to you.

“What, you own this place?” you say, flabbergasted. “And you never told me?”

Kat holds the joint in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter, coaxing it to life despite the wind. She takes a deep drag, tilting her head up before releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

It looks wicked cool until she collapses in half, coughing a little desperately on the tail end of the exhale. You can’t fucking blame her; you’d bought it off your teenage neighbor, a science prodigy who claimed to have developed the perfect strain. Ivy League, he called it, since it had paid for his entire college fund.

Kat straightens up, red face feigning composure as she passes you the joint. “You never asked,” she finally says.

And that was just…well, fair, actually.

“Huh,” you say, trying futilely not to cough on your own exhale and kissing away any dreams you had of looking cool in front of all the fashion models around you. “You know, I did wonder when you’d ever get in trouble with your boss about the free drinks thing. And the drinking on the job thing. And the this on the job thing,” you say, frowning as you contemplate the joint.

You offer it up to the men and Soap takes it, your hands brushing long enough to send a little fizz through your blood.

“You’ve known each other long, then?” Soap asks, taking a puff. Turning a vibrant shade of red as he heroically--and futilely--tries to hold in a cough.

“Oh, we go waaaaay back,” you tell them very sincerely. “I helped her bury the body of her ex-husband years ago, a mafioso named Jimmy the Janitor because he cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

“I met you two months ago. And I’m a lesbian,” Kat contradicts blandly.

“I didn’t know that, either!” you exclaim, smacking her in the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude, I would have been flirting with you from the start.”

“You’re not my type,” she says devastating, and Ghost snorts when you mime stabbing yourself in the heart dramatically. The joint glows red between his full lips, crossed with scars that shine silvery in the moonlight and trail up beyond his mask. Exhales in one long, smooth breath and looks suitably smug about it, the fucker.

“I do seem to remember you saying something earlier about me being ‘so hot I give you hives.’” Kat reminds you. “You telling me that wasn’t flirting?” she asks with an arched brow.

“Nah, that’s just being neighborly,” you beam.

“Then I shudder to think what your flirting does look like.”

“That’s the appropriate response, honestly.”

Ghost barks out a laugh and you shoot him a cheeky wink before turning back to Kat. “Alright killer, gimmie the goods then. What is your type?” you prod her with your foot. “Is it a black cat, golden retriever thing? I can bark, babe, just say the word.”  

Soap damn near chokes on his drink but Kat just sighs, sounding more fond than exasperated. She takes the joint and leans in, bringing your faces only a few inches apart. You watch, riveted, as she brings it to her cherry-red lips and inhales deeply. Holding your gaze, she leans ever so slightly closer, the moment stretching into eternity before she blows a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke directly into your face. You touch your mouth absently, wonder if you might be drooling.

“MILFs,” she says finally, devastatingly, before tucking the joint between your fingers and heading back inside—as good as a kiss on the mouth from anyone else.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap's voice is rough and low as the door closes behind Kat.

“You’re telling me, pal,” you say, sinking comically in your chair. “I think she broke me.” You’d already been drunk off the night’s joy but now you felt lightheaded with desire, literally dizzy with it.

This is not an uncommon response to Kat, you suppose. Nor, you expect, to the pretty lads that remain.

You summon your forces and sit back upright, kicking over the newly empty chair over in offering. Ghost takes it, the plastic frame creaking under his bulk while Soap drops down on the garbage can, resting his elbows on jean-clad knees. You pass around the rest of the joint in companionable silence, and it’s just…nice, all of it. The cold at your back and the heat of the lamp on your face, the fading alcohol buzz replaced by the sweeter, steadier high of the weed, always better at gentling your nerves and clearing your head. The easy camaraderie of smokers cast out into the cold, the same thing in almost every city and country you’d ever seen. You smile, thinking back on all those shared lighters and bummed cigarettes over the years. All those ships passing in the night.

“Getting’ us a refill,” Soap finally says, standing up and snagging Ghost’s empty glass, hooking their fingers together briefly in the action. You note it and immediately drop the thought, scalded. Know you will literally, actually combust if let your brain run-rabbit imagining the two of them together. All that muscle, all that strength, curved around each other, curved around you…

“What’ll it be, bonnie?” Soap’s warm voice snaps you out of your reverie and you flush, sure from his smirk that he can read the direction of your thoughts. You were legendarily bad at poker—couldn’t keep a neutral expression if they paid you to.

“Dealer’s choice, please and thank you,” you grin at him despite your embarrassment; turning down a free drink was against your moral code.  

He gives you that shark-like smile again and Ghost tsks as he heads inside. “You’ll probably regret that, birdie. Johnny’s got atrocious taste.”

“Aye can fucking hear you, you Manc twat,” Soap calls from the door, a little extra Scottish in his snark. Ghost chuckles lowly, stretching his feet out into your space.

“It’s Manchester then, our kid?” you tease, kicking your foot playfully against his combat boot. Leaving it there when he lets you. “Whose your fighter then, Liam or Noel?”

He thinks for a moment. “Liam. I like his spunk.”

“’A man with a fork in a world of soup,’” you quote, nodding approvingly. “I get that.”

You toy with the Altoids tin and debate lighting up another one.

Ghost fishes a pouch of rolling tobacco out of the kangaroo pocket of black hoodie and holds it up, raising an eyebrow. “Clever boy,” you praise, and he leans forward to pass it to you, pale hands dwarfing your own. When he settles back in his chair, he tangles his feet with yours properly and you feel the blush rise on your cheeks.

You prep the blunt in a practiced motion, balancing the tin on your knees as you sprinkle the peaty tobacco overtop the flower. “I’ve always been more of a Blur over Oasis fella, myself,” you finally offer to distract from the weight of his gaze. “Damon Alburn, the man you are,” you say fervently.

“Oi, we talking about the Gorillaz then?” Soap calls out, juggling glasses as the door closes behind him, muffling the chatter from inside.  “Fucking choon after choon, them,” he declares, dropping back onto the pail.

He passes Ghost a rocks glass filled with an inch of amber that matches his own, gaze locked on where your tongue runs across the filter paper, wetting it. He trades you the finished smoke for a glass with something alarmingly orange in it, another plastic sword stuck with three cherries laid across the top.

You sniff skeptically, all sweet and citrusy and strong. “This must be off-menu.”

“Dive bar innit, no menu to be off of,” Soap points out, and you smile at the familiar response.

You take a curious sip, looking up in surprise when you taste a bright splash of orange and vanilla across your tongue. “That’s fucking incredible,” you say, eyes wide. “What is it and why haven’t I been having it all night?”

Soap grins at you, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Had a feeling you were a lass that enjoyed a slow, comfortable screw against the wall.”

Ghost groans, and you squint suspiciously at Soap. “Who doesn’t, what’s that got to do with my drink?”

Soap laughs, delighted. “That’s the name of the drink, bonnie. A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” he says with emphasis.

Ah. Well. That’s—oh, motherfucker. “Does Kat know that?” She’s probably laughing her ass off at you inside, the sadist.

“Oh, aye. She seemed amused. Though she made an unnerving amount of eye contact while stabbing the wee cherries,” he says, eying the garnish. “Scariest fucking thing I’ve seen in a minute. Rather like someone we know, actually,” he says, giving Ghost a wry look.

Soap pulls out his own lighter to coax the blunt to life, a battered bic with his name scrawled in thick, Sharpied letters. He lets out a pleased sigh as the smoke curls through the cold air, then leans forward to rest his elbows back on his knees.

“Now, as for why you weren’t getting it slow, comfortable or otherwise before now I couldn’t say,” he says, blue eyes glinting with mischief when they light on yours. “But I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than happy to provide for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right L.T.?”  

“Right enough there, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is closer to a growl, setting off a delightful curl of heat in your belly.

You nibble on your straw as if their attention wasn’t going straight to your head, twice as intoxicating as the drink or the drugs. “You know what they say about variety and spice of life, though. Might get bored with just a screw against the wall. Got any thoughts on horizontal surfaces?” you tease, enjoying the way Ghost smirks around the blunt.

But oh, is that a dimple you suddenly see carving out of one scarred cheek? Before you’re even conscious of it you’re leaning in to get a closer look, propping one hand on his knee. “I adore your dimple,” you tell him very seriously, undoing any hope you had of appearing cool and hard-to-get. “It is very cute.”

You give him a businesslike pat on the thigh and start to pull away, but he catches you gently around the wrist.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he purrs, petting over the soft skin of your wrist. You try to play your delighted shiver off as one of chill. “We’ll keep you plenty entertained, don’t you worry about that. Bored is the last thing you’ll be, right, Johnny?” Ghost squeezes gently before releasing you.

“Oh, I fuckin’ swear to it, L.T,” Soap says, winking at the other man before unfolding his big bulk from the garbage can. “We’ll give you what need, bonnie, promise. Starting with this.” Then he’s got an arm around your waist and you’re in the fucking air and—

Oh, that’s not so bad, actually.

Soap sinks into the lawn chair and settles you across his lap, surrounding you with delicious warmth and a scent like peat and sea air. Your brain goes a bit soft and cottony for a moment and you latch on to the gentle pressure of his arms. Manhandling has always been a shortcut to your most devastated self, the kind of stupid and sweet and sated that you’ve only found once or twice through chemistry or luck or sheer fucking determination, and it bodes very well for the night to come.

Besides, for all he wears only a bomber jacket, the Scotsman is radiating heat like a furnace and it’s the perfect sensory foil to the plummeting temperatures, a few clouds beginning to fleck the sky.

“Saw you shiver. Couldn’t let our girl be cold now can I?” Soap says, chucking you under the chin like a kid. Should be stupid but you fucking like it, can’t help but smile up at him. Can’t remember the last time someone treated you so sweet, like you were something to protect. To treasure.

Ghost’s eyes are fond on the both of you, reaching out to trap Soap’s feet the same way he had yours a few moments before, big hand reaching out to cup possessively around your knee.

There’s no reason it should be as easy as it is, getting all wrapped up in each other as the night stretches on and the clouds continue to gather, chatting quietly and smoking through the rest of the blunt and finishing your drinks just as the first fat, fluffy flakes of snow begin to fall.

You watch, delighted, as it comes down in a sudden flurry, a magical, glimmering coat that turns the world into one whole thing. Untouched and perfect and silent except for the tides of your breath and the slight hum of the heat lamp, small sounds within a vast, quiet night.

You sigh in Soap’s arms, totally and unexpectedly content, luxuriating in the way your blood hums in anticipation of the night’s inevitable conclusion.  

People asked if you got lonely, sometimes, travelling the way you did. Never staying anywhere for more than a few months, only occasionally breezing through past towns for a few effusive, loved-up reunions before the wind starts pressing at your back.  

And though it’s true you’ve been seeking a place of your own, a place where you could belong, this, too, means something. To have these beautiful, fleeting moments of connection with once-strangers, to lose yourself completely in the headiness of such quick intimacies, no less passionate or kind or devastating for their brief duration. All those countless moments of connection—romantic, physical, platonic—coalescing into a kind of soft sweetness to hold on to long after you’ve forgotten a name or had a face grow fuzzy with memory.

All of that sweetness is swirling inside you as you nudge Soap’s chin with your head, drawing his attention from where he’d been conversing softly with Ghost, his hand petting gently, absently, along your waist.

“Take me home?” you ask softly, and his eyes melt at the question, his hand coming up to thumb a little desperately at your mouth.

“Oh, the Cap’n would love that,” Ghost snorts. “Fall arse over tits over a sweet thing like you walking through the door.”

“My home,” you clarify, though you’re not opposed—especially if their friend (captain?) looks anything like them. “I live like four blocks that way,” you say, chucking a thumb over your shoulder.

“Well why didn’t you say so, darlin’,” Soap says, standing up and dumping you on your feet. Before you can be too offended, he grabs your chin and presses his lips firmly against yours, searing hot and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. You look up at him a little dazed and he pets his thumb across your chin, grinning. “Ghost is right. Too sweet for your own good, bonnie. T’wouldn’t be right for us to let you walk home alone, sweet thing like you. Not in neighborhood like this.”

“Au contraire mon frère, I’m fast as shit,” you tell him. This occasionally happened when you got crossfaded in particularly the right way—went tearing off down the darkened street, drunk on the feeling of wind against your face and your heart hammering in your chest. Feeling like you could fucking fly. “No bad guy’s gonna catch me, no way.”

“That right, little rabbit?” Ghost moves as silent as his name, a sudden warmth at your back without you even noticing he left his chair. He curves that big body around you, nipping at the soft skin at your neck and caging you in against the firmness of Johnny’s chest. “Gonna let us chase you?” he teases.

The thought sends goosebumps rising along your arms. To be wanted, to be chased, to be caught. You shiver again and Ghost groans when you lean back against him, tipping your head back to nip at his jaw in return. “Home. Now,” he commands lowly, pulling down his mask.

You can’t help your shit-eating grin as you tug them both through the door and through the thinning, late-night crowd to collect your long-abandoned things from the bar.

Kat eyes the three of you suspiciously. “If I find cum anywhere on that fucking patio I will have your balls in a bear trap,” she threatens.

“No promises,” you wink at her, laughing as she flips you off. You shrug on your coat and pick up your bag, but Ghost immediately appropriates it, slinging it over a shoulder. Ignores your amused tug on the strap, already looking over your head presumably to plot the swiftest exit.

“Don’t wait up, babe!” you say, blowing a kiss to Kat as Ghost tows you and Soap toward the door.

“Call me if you need help burying the bodies,” Kat offers in response, and you cackle at the uncertain looks the late-night crowd shoots you both.

And then it’s just the three of you and the cold and the night, pressed together like you’re one body in the snow-crowned streets. 

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

𓇻 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗞 𝗚𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗣 ʰᵒᵐᵉˡᵃⁿᵈᵉʳ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; Homelander and you don't have a label, but everyone in Vought knows about it and they gossip (yes, so do the supes). 𝘼/𝙉 ;; And I begin writing for other fandoms! I'm slowly losing motivation, trying to stay active.. so more self-indulgent fics.

12.30.24 Masterlist

Vought Tower never really slept. PR teams worked around the clock, power brokers made backroom deals, and somewhere, members of The Seven working and committing graphic acts. But amid all that noise, there was one undeniable fact—Homelander’s fixation on you.

It wasn’t love, though no one dared call it anything less. It wasn’t quite obsession, though everyone whispered it was. It was something heavier, something that hung in the air like the crackle before lightning struck.

When you first appeared at Vought Tower, no one really knew what to make of you. You weren’t a supe. No flashy powers. Just… you. But that didn’t seem to matter to Homelander.

He started showing up at your side almost immediately. If you walked the halls, he was there, just half a step behind or beside you. His hand ghosted over the small of your back as though he thought the slightest breeze might carry you away.

To the rest of the Seven, this new attachment was unsettling. Homelander had always been unpredictable—prone to violent outbursts, passive-aggressive taunts, and the kind of superiority complex that only America’s most powerful supe could justify.

But with you, he was different.

“Oh yeah,” A-Train once snickered in the break room, “He’s whipped. Like, full-on.”

Maeve shot him a glare over her whiskey glass. “Keep talking like that and he’ll take your legs this time. You know he hears everything.”

The rumor mill churned harder than ever. The janitors swapped stories of seeing Homelander in the early hours, lingering by your office door like a lost dog. PR teams giggled about how he hovered as you prepped for press releases.

It wasn’t subtle. Homelander didn’t do subtle.

Even Starlight noticed—no, especially Starlight.

She thought she was prepared for the Seven. She thought she knew exactly what kind of nightmare Homelander was. But nothing prepared her for the sheer oddity of watching the most terrifying man in the building turn to putty when you walked into the room.

The first time she saw it was during a team meeting.

Homelander had been impatient, his arms crossed, his lip curling as Ashley nervously flipped through slides. “Just get to the point,” he snapped. “We don’t need the—”

Then, the door opened.

You stepped inside with no announcement, quietly making your way to the back of the room with a clipboard in your arms.

And Homelander—Homelander smiled.

Not the fake, polished-for-cameras smile he usually wore, but something softer.

Starlight watched as his eyes tracked you, burning with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.

Ashley visibly exhaled with relief as Homelander’s attention drifted from her.

He ended the meeting early. No one questioned it.

Later, Starlight caught Maeve at the bar in one of Vought’s private lounges.

“Okay,” Annie started, leaning against the counter, “Who is that?”

Maeve didn’t need to ask who she meant. She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, her expression unreadable.

“Homelander's little handler?” Maeve smirked bitterly, her usual confidence exhausted, "He's smitten for them."

“Seriously?” Starlight furrowed her brow. “I thought he didn’t… you know… do relationships.”

Maeve laughed dryly, “He doesn’t. Not like a normal person, anyway.” She set the glass down with a soft clink. “But they’re not a normal person to him. To him, they’re… different.”

“How different are we talking?”

Maeve shot her a sideways glance. “Different enough that I’m alive because of them.”

The weight of those words settled heavily between them.

It was strange, the way Vought adjusted to your presence.

Even the executives walked softer when you were in the building. No one wanted to cross you—not because of you, but because of the shadow that trailed behind.

Homelander had killed for less. Everyone knew it.

But you—oh, you had him wrapped around your finger.

When you walked down the halls, people scurried to clear a path, though you never asked them to. When Homelander wasn’t with you, his absence felt more oppressive than his presence.

The rare moments he couldn’t find you? His mood soured the entire floor.

Ashley once made the mistake of telling him she wasn’t sure where you were. His icy stare lingered on her for a second too long, before he disappeared, leaving a rush of air in his wake.

When he finally found you—probably somewhere mundane like the cafeteria—his demeanor instantly brightened, as if the storm cloud had passed.

ᵉᵃᵗᵐʸʰᵉᵃʳᵗᵒᵘᵗ

[snowyslytherinowl]

A Love Paid in Galleons - Part 2

PAIRING: Severus Snape x Reader

SUMMARY: Knowing that no one would ever want him, Severus hires a prostitute to help him lose his virginity. But what he doesn't anticipate is that he'll give his heart to her as well.

Part 1 here

This part is heavier and less smutty than part 1, but it ofc includes a happy ending. 🫶 WARNINGS: IMPLIED SEXUAL ABUSE AND DISCUSSIONS OF PROSTITUTION (no graphic descriptions of either, however). 

18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT; MINORS DNI!

*GIF isn't mine; credit to @smilingformoney

“G’morning,” you mumble into Severus’s back. He didn’t hear your footsteps as you climbed down the stairs. He has to stop himself from jumping at the sudden contact, but he soon relaxes. Nothing beats the feeling of your arms snuggly wrapped around him.

“Hello, darling.” Severus tries to discreetly hide the sliced food and basket. He can only hope that you didn’t see anything on your walk into the kitchen. 

“What’re you making?” you ask, your voice still heavy with sleepiness. You pull away from him to pour yourself a steaming cup of coffee, freshly brewed by Severus. Your eyes drift to the minced ham and plucked grapes resting in bowls on the counter. 

He nervously chuckles and pulls the food toward him in a poor attempt to conceal his plans. “Lunch. For later, of course.”

“Mmm, I hope you enjoy it.”

He picks at his cuticles and looks at the ground, too shy to look you in the eye. “Well, er, this is a picnic for the both of us.” When you only stare at him, he nervously adds, “As long as you do not have a busy schedule for the day.” 

Severus is surprised when you tear up and throw yourself into his arms. “Severus…. You really made this for me? For us?”

“I… of course,” he says. “There is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with you.”

“Oh, Sev.” You pull back from the hug and kiss him. He wraps his arms around you and melts into the kiss, pouring his heart out to you. 

You keep him close even when you have to break for air. You twirl his hair with your fingers and rest your head on his shoulder, your breath tickling his ear as you whisper, “I love you.”

Severus drifts from his dream into a groggy haze when he feels something wet on his neck. He first internally groans, wishing that the dream lasted for at least another minute. And then he panics, wondering where he is and what is happening. Then, he remembers the events of the previous night and relaxes. Even though he usually hates waking up in the mornings, this one is different: he has you here. Sunlight pours in from the window and shines on your face and messy hair. You move closer to him and press another wet kiss to his neck. Severus shivers. 

“Good morning, Severus. How you’d sleep?” Severus looks around and takes in more of his surroundings. One of your legs is sprawled over his legs and you’re tightly hugging his middle. He naturally gets flustered at even the briefest of touches from you, yet his most recent dream has left him extra sensitive to your touch. He tries to push away thoughts of the dream now that he has the real you in front of him, but he can’t ignore the pang in his heart. 

“Pleasantly. How was your night?”

“Excellent.” You nuzzle your nose in the crook of his shoulder and lazily kiss his neck once more. Severus relaxes in your embrace and your soft touches, feeling no rush to get out of bed. It seems that your touches aren’t aimless, though. One of your hands slowly caresses his chest and down his torso until you reach the hem of his pajama pants. 

Your hand isn’t even anywhere near his cock, but he struggles to stifle a whimper. You pull back so that you’re facing him, a lazy grin on your face. “Did you dream about me last night, Severus?”

He doesn’t know whether he’d be more embarrassed to admit that he had overly affectionate dreams about you, or to lie and say that he dreamt of inappropriate things. “Er… I… did,” he stammers, hoping that you won’t ask for specifics. 

You light up with curiosity. “What were they like?” 

“Well…. they were… relaxing,” he replies, trying to dodge the question. 

“Oh? What did we do?” 

“Er…” His mind goes blank, partially because he doesn’t know what to say and partially because he can feel your fingers playing with the hem of his pajama pants. You pull back the band of his pants and stick one finger inside while you aimlessly tap your other fingers. His face heats up as you continue to gaze at him expectantly. 

Seconds drag on for an eternity before you finally laugh. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me.” You go one step further, stretching back the elastic of the boxers and slithering three fingers inside. His breath hitches when you move closer to whisper into his ear, “I just hope that you dreamt only good things about me.”

“Of course I did,” he breathes. An angel like you can only produce heavenly dreams. 

You grin and slowly start to massage his cock. Severus groans in delight and allows his eyes to flutter closed, wanting to savor the moment and likely the last touches he’d experience from you. Without thinking, he rests his head on your shoulder and buries his face against your chest. He breathes in the dampened scent of your perfume and the orchid body wash you borrowed from him, trying to memorize this exact scent.  

You touch him like you’re in no rush either; your fingers stroke his length and you press wet kisses to the exposed parts of his neck and face. It doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and throbbing in your hand. You swipe your thumb over the precum now beading at the tip of his cock, spreading it up and down his length. And while he wants to drag this out, your touch is too gentle and he becomes desperate for more friction. He instinctually shifts his hips to press closer to you and thrusts himself in your hand. 

Your lips pull into a smile at the sound of his whimpers and how the slightest of touches turn him into a desperate man. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks, yet his heart and body show no desire to maintain his dignity. His hips rut more erratically, begging for you to squeeze tighter and rub more aggressively. A desperate “please” escapes his lips and his fingers clutch your forearm. 

You oblige to his desires and stroke his cock with more gusto, even slithering your other hand into his boxers to massage his balls. His balls tighten and his manhood twitches, waiting for sweet release. He begs his body to hold on for a moment longer, to stop being so sensitive, to not embarrass him by coming so soon. But he’s too weak to hold himself back. Severus presses his lips against yours as he shakes and cums all over your hands and his boxers, his moans drowned out by your lips. 

His body reels from your caresses and the warmth of your embrace, stuck in a state of utter bliss. He wants to stay here with you forever, even if it means never getting up from this bed. 

You nuzzle your nose against his and then into his hair to peck more lazy kisses. Severus can’t tell how long you stay pressed against him, but he’s disappointed when you pull away and stand from the bed. He feels an urge to pull you back into bed and cuddle against you, keeping you here for as long as he can. There’s also a strange look in your eyes; you gaze down at him in silence for an awkward amount of time before you speak up. “I’m going to wash my hands,” you say quietly. 

“Okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes follow you from the bedside table and to the sink until you close the bathroom door behind you. Severus spreads himself out on the bed and sighs, trying to prevent his mind from drifting into the inevitable yet horrible thoughts he doesn’t want to confront. 

Once you finish cleaning yourself, he slips into the bathroom without saying a word to you. He pulls down his pants and winces at the sight of his cum-stained underwear, feeling like a pathetic teenager. He peels off the rest of his clothes and starts a warm shower, wanting to erase the signs of how pathetic and sensitive he is. Yet his hands ghost over his hips, neck, and hair, remembering the feelings of your soft hands all over his body. Control yourself, Severus has to tell himself when a lump forms in his throat. 

But Severus struggles to keep himself together. He changes into clean underwear, pants, and a dark green T-shirt and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks at his crooked nose, his greasy hair, his sallow skin, the bags under his eyes, and the lines already forming on his face. So miserable, so pathetic. But as he continues to stare at himself, he sees something new in himself. He looks more relaxed, the usual tired and resentful expression in his eyes mixed with a new emotion: joy. How can he cope with your parting when you’ve made him happier than he’s ever been before? His eyes fill with tears and he faces away from the mirror, blinking them away. 

After he pulls himself together and erases the evidence of his tears, he goes back into the bedroom. He discovers that you’ve done his bed and neatly placed his sleeping clothes and the pajamas you borrowed into his laundry basket. He frowns when he sees that you’ve changed back into your original dress. It’s colder than usual this morning and he doesn’t want you to shiver. 

“If you prefer, I can give you a shirt to wear.” 

You shake your head. “But I won’t be able to give it back to you.”

“Do not worry about that.” He pulls out a black T-shirt from his closet and hands it to you. “You may keep it.”

You fiddle with the soft fabric and avoid looking at him. “Severus, thank you.”

“You are welcome.” An awkward silence engulfs the room until he asks, “When must you leave?” 

“I have to be back at the brothel by nine, but I want to leave fifteen minutes early if that’s fine by you. I want to have time to get ready for work.” He looks at the clock. 7:25. Less than an hour and a half. Severus feels like he might be sick.  

“They ask you to work this early?” 

“No. I work two jobs. This isn’t my primary job.” 

Two jobs? Why would you work as a prostitute if you have a second job? And if you start your second job shortly after nine, then that must mean you barely have any time for yourself. Even though he desperately wants to cherish your presence for these last two hours, he knows that he should give you a break. 

“I will go downstairs to cook us breakfast. You may stay here and do as you please. I will notify you when the food is prepared.” 

“It’s all right. I’ll come down with you.” You smile and put a hand on his shoulder. Severus tries not to immediately crumble. 

“Are you certain?” 

“Yes. I can help you cook too.” You gesture to the door, expecting him to lead the way. Severus obliges and brings you to the kitchen, secretly internally soaring at the thought of spending more time with you. 

Severus rummages the fridge for half-decent breakfast food. Sausages and eggs are the best that he can come up with. The bruised fruits he finds in the back of the fridge will have to do. Now he wishes he had gone grocery shopping to buy better food for you. 

When you ask him what you can prepare, he directs you to brew the coffee. Once the coffee machine stops whirring, you turn to him. “What else can I do to help?”

“Nothing. You may sit.” 

You instead lean against the kitchen counter, standing much closer to him than expected. So close that he can feel the heat radiating off your body. “Are you sure? You’re already doing a huge favor by cooking.” 

“Nonsense. You are my guest. I do not expect anything significant of you.” All he wants to do in these last moments together is to serve you, to make you feel cared for. 

“Alrighty then.” You watch as he cooks, how he moves effortlessly as he flips the pan and slices the bruises off the fruit. Years of cutting potion ingredients have given him swift fingers. 

Severus tries not to get flustered at your gaze or proximity, but it’s so hard when he can see your little smirk in the corner of his eye. He steadies his hand on the knife, trying to conceal his nervous shaking. Then, he stops himself from jumping when you nudge him and say, “You’re quite the talented cook.”

Severus looks up at you mid-slicing and pauses, the knife hovering above a strawberry. Your hair is still messy from sleep. Part of your shoulder is showing from your askew shirt. Your face may be plain after washing away the makeup, but you look utterly beautiful in the sunlight softly illuminating your face. He can see the natural pinkish hue of your lips and how bright your eyes are even without eyeliner or mascara to accentuate your features. He has to look back down at the cutting board before he looks even more like a fool. 

Your smile grows into a smirk when you see red tinting his cheeks. “You’re quite cute, too.” 

Severus coughs from the embarrassment. “That is hardly the right word to describe me.”

“I disagree. You get flustered easily and you’re so sweet. Those two traits epitomize cuteness.”

Sweet? You know nothing about him, nothing of his past. If you knew how he used to be a Death Eater, what he did to Lily, hell, even what he was like as a student, you would never call him sweet in a million years. What a blessing it is to have someone around who has no knowledge of him. 

“While I am certain that your intentions are pure, I would not describe myself as ‘sweet’ either,” Severus scoffs, despite the warm and fuzzy feeling he’s experiencing because of that word. He plates the food and guides you to sit at the table all while avoiding your gaze. 

“Well, I don’t often come across men who are as kind as you,” you comment with a shrug. 

Severus looks up at you and you give him a lazy smile. But he can tell from the slight sag of your shoulders and the tired look in your eyes that your comment is more than a compliment for him; it attests to what you’ve been through. He knows that you’re a prostitute, yet the full scope of your reality hasn’t hit him until you made that simple comment. What happens to you behind closed doors? You may be understanding and kind to him, but is that the kind of treatment that’s afforded to you on a daily basis? You may be cheery around him, but do all of your clients get that same reaction out of you? 

Severus likes to think that he’s treating you well. Yes, he provided you with clothing, allowed you to sleep on the bed, and cooked breakfast for you. But does doing those things really make him better than the other men who solicit you to feel better about themselves? He treated you as he should: like another human being. Yet how many nights have you gone to bed with an empty stomach, woken up with a stiff back from sleeping somewhere unideal, or abandoned like rubbish?

He feels as though his heart is being squeezed by a fist. A kind soul like you doesn’t deserve any of this. “I cannot imagine what you’ve been through…” Severus chokes out. 

Although Severus is usually a master at hiding his emotions, he can barely control himself around you. His inner turmoil must be clearly reflected on his face because you bite your lower lip and frown. You reach across the table and take his hand in yours. “Severus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty.” 

All of this feels wrong. You’ve spent your entire time here comforting and pleasing him. Even now, you’re comforting him after he became upset about your life. He wonders how you can stay so calm and be so sympathetic with him, and he can’t help but yearn to know more about who you are outside of this context. 

There is one question about you that pops into his mind. Knowing that it’s likely too sensitive to ask, Severus’s words drag as he says, “May I ask you a question?”  

Your thumb gently swipes over his hand. Even in these circumstances, the simplest touches from you are pleasant. “Of course. Go ahead,” you reply, encouragingly. 

“I apologize if this is too personal, but I would like to know.” Severus continues hesitantly, “If you have another job… why do you also work as a prostitute?’

You look down and poke at your sausage, but thankfully, you aren’t taken aback. “One of them is my dream job. Unfortunately for me, that one doesn’t pay well and the income I make varies by week. The other, well…” 

You pause and sigh before continuing, “Prostituting isn’t the… ideal job or something that I enjoy, but it pays well in proportion to how many hours I work. I need to spend as much time on… my other job as I can. I take on as many clients as necessary to cover the remaining expenses that my other job doesn’t cover. I usually only need to take on a few clients on the weekend and I’m free.”

Another pang pierces his heart. There has to be some other way for you to make money other than prostituting. “Do you have anyone to support you?” 

“No. I don’t have many friends and my parents never cared for me,” you reply sadly. You slump in your seat and pick at your food without actually eating. Your sociable, sweet demeanor is gone. 

Severus understands how you feel, to be trapped in a situation you don’t exactly desire without anyone caring for you. His father never loved him and his mother was too preoccupied with protecting herself to help him achieve a bright future. Even now, Severus doesn’t have anyone who truly loves or cares for him. 

The reminders of his loneliness bear down heavily on him, but Severus takes it upon himself to squeeze your hand in reassurance. “I am truly sorry to hear this. I have experienced something similar myself, albeit that it doesn’t involve prostitution.” 

“Really?” You perk up not because you are happy to hear about his own struggles, but because you’re happy that perhaps someone else finally understands you. 

“Yes. I am the Potions Professor at Hogwarts.” His earlier hesitation to reveal his identity is long gone. After all, you just opened up to him about something very sensitive and private. The least he can do is confide in you and he has a feeling that you won’t go around telling his secrets. 

“I took up my post at Hogwarts to honor an agreement I made with someone. Truth be told, I did not have a dream job in mind during my youth. My parents never encouraged me to think highly of myself or my capabilities, yet I knew I did not want to work with petulant students.” Severus tenses as he thinks of his parents, Dumbledore, Lily, and that dunderhead Harry Potter. “I have been stuck working at Hogwarts for approximately a decade now and am forced to clean up the messes of the rest of the staff and students. I dread the thought of returning there once this summer ends.”

“Hey, at least you have the rest of the summer to yourself,” you say, trying to cheer him up. There’s no humor or happiness in this conversation, but you continue, “At least look on the bright side. Only the best wizards and witches are hired to work at Hogwarts, so you must be incredibly intelligent.” 

“Do not flatter me,” he scoffs, yet your compliment has made him feel better. Severus has always prided himself on his intelligence, but to hear you praise him like that, he feels even more special. 

“It’s the truth! I was never good at brewing Potions. I’m pretty good with Charms though.” You pause and consider something. Then, seeming to have the same trust in him that he has in you, you continue, “I own a bookstore in wizarding London. I write and produce my own illustrated and charmed children’s books. It takes a long time to draw everything and even longer to test out what combinations of charms will produce the best effects.”

You sigh and shake your head. “I still haven’t made it big, though. It’s hard competing with Flourish and Blotts and there are already thousands of children’s books. It’s just disappointing because I’ve spent all my savings on buying that bookstore.”

“Do not worry. It is simply that your time has not yet come. I have full faith that you will find success soon.” As if to convey his conviction, he tightly squeezes your hand. He has never read your books or seen your store, but he just knows that there is something promising about you. You deserve all the success in the world. 

“Thank you, Severus. You’re very kind.” To his surprise, you reach across the table and peck a kiss on his cheek. He presses a hand to the spot where you just kissed him, hopelessly wishing that the feeling of your lips against his cheek will stay with him forever. 

You two start digging into your breakfast before it can get cold. Severus listens to your plans for the shop for the day and your complaints of children who try to steal books when they think you’re not looking. Dealing with annoying children is something that he can definitely relate to. 

After you finish eating, you pour yourself a cup of coffee. Severus notices that you stand still in front of the brewer for longer than what’s necessary and even when you turn around, your hands are gripping the cup too tightly. “Do you think that we could just sit on the couch for a bit before I go?”

Severus looks at the clock on the wall. Only fifteen minutes remain until you must leave. His heart begins to beat rapidly. How hadn’t he noticed how fast the time was flying by?

“Yes. That is fine.” Severus pours himself his own cup of coffee and sits on the couch. He’s surprised, yet pleased, when you scoot over and settle against him, your head resting on his shoulder. 

The time again moves by in silence. He doesn’t know what to say and perhaps that’s for the best. No matter what he may speak about, he’s afraid that his voice will choke with emotion. He can’t bear to look at you either, especially as you idly twirl his long hair with your fingers. Tears are already threatening to form in his eyes, his muscles are tense, and he can’t rip his mind off your impending departure. He’s at least thankful that you’re not snuggled closely enough to hear his heart racing in his chest. 

You suddenly break the silence when you quietly comment, “Breakfast was great.” 

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he responds without looking at you. 

“By the way, you should wear dark green more often. You look awfully cute in it.” 

There you go, using that word again. Severus meets your gaze and notices you biting your bottom lip, smiling at him. Just your smile causes his heart to skip a beat and he has to look away from you before he gets too emotional. 

“Thank you,” he says, not protesting this time. He does make a note to buy more dark green clothes, though.

In what feels like seconds, the clock indicates that it’s now your time for departure, 8:45. Severus hopes that you won’t notice the time on the wall or tell him you don’t want to leave either. A solid minute goes by without you saying anything until you sigh and untangle yourself from him. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go now.”

“I… I understand,” Severus concedes quietly. You two stand from the couch and head towards his front door, the place where all of this truly started. 

But the full threat of your departure doesn’t totally sink in for Severus until you place your hand on the doorknob. At that moment, he breaks into a full panic. These are the very last seconds he’ll ever spend with you. He’s never going to see you again, never going to learn more about you, unless he solicits you again or finds your bookstore. But after everything you said about prostituting, it doesn’t feel right for him to do that. It’s not guaranteed that he’d be able to find your shop either. 

This is too much to handle. His blood runs cold, his heart is now hammering, and he’s frozen in place. He has no idea how it happens, but his lips start moving. “I simply want to mention that I meant what I said earlier. I truly believe in you and your future success.” 

You turn around to face him. His gaze bores into you as if he’s memorizing what you look like. He must get one last good look at you. Your messy but smooth hair. Gentle eyes. Soft lips. The curves of your jaw and cheeks. The way that your eyebrows are curved. He stores it all in his mind, hoping to never forget a detail.

“And I hope that things will work out for you, too.” You look at him for a long time before adding, “Maybe you can start a potion shop if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

Open a potion shop, start a career in the Ministry, or work at Hogwarts for the rest of his life, it doesn’t matter. No matter what his future holds for him, he has realized one thing about it: he could truly be happy only if you were a part of it. As much as he hates to think that he’s given his heart to someone he’s known for less than a day, he knows that that is the reality. Yet there is one thing that will never become a reality: his desire for you two to be together. Your kind words and actions only occur because of your friendly affection towards him. He’s sure of it. 

“Perhaps,” he replies idly. 

You two look at each other for an awkward amount of time until you break the silence. “I guess I should go now.” 

“Yes… you are right.” When you turn the doorknob, Severus quickly interjects, “Allow me.”

Severus opens his front door onto the street. Sunlight shines brightly and the sky is a beautiful blue. He wishes that he could spend such a beautiful day with you. 

You two look out at children biking on the road and parents adjusting their briefcases before heading to work. “It would be best if you apparate behind the house,” he hesitantly suggests. 

“Yeah.” You make no effort to move except for the turning of your head. “By the way, thanks for everything. Especially the food and the clothes. Your kindness means a lot to me.”

You briefly touch Severus’s arm and he has to quickly blink away the tears that form no matter how many times he tells himself to stay in control. This is it. You’re leaving. You’re finally leaving. The only person that has made him feel alive, made him feel valued and heard, is leaving. How can he ever cope with this separation? When Severus climbs into bed every night, his mind won’t be able to settle into sleep because he’ll constantly think about how you slept against him. Whenever Severus sits in his desk chair, he’ll always think about how he gave himself to you there. Whenever he enters his study to create his lesson plans for the following year, he’ll instead be reminded of your first kiss. Whenever he sits at his dining table to eat breakfast, he’ll always wish that you were sitting across from him, holding his hand and telling him secrets that you’ve never told anyone else. The memory of you will be too painful for him to bear, but he doesn’t ever want to forget you. An odd concoction of desperation, sadness, shame, confusion, frustration, anger, pain, and love all run through him. 

Perhaps Severus is delusional. Perhaps this is the moment, out of all the moments in his life, that he’s completely lost his mind. But Severus notices something that sparks a dangerous sense of hope in him: one of your feet is on the pavement and the other foot is on the wood floor of his living room. You don’t want to leave either. And does he see a look of longing in your eyes? Did you place your hand on the doorframe to steady yourself or because you’re subconsciously tethering yourself to this place? 

But behind that longing, he can also tell you’re in pain. In pain because your bookstore is struggling. In pain because you barely ever make enough to make ends meet. In pain because you have to prostitute tonight yet again. In pain because you have no one that cares for you. In pain because your life feels meaningless.

At that moment, the moment that you move to fully step out of his house and turn to walk down the alley, Severus has an incredibly impulsive thought. He knows that he has to do something. Not just for him, but more importantly, for you. He can’t allow you to suffer any longer. 

“Wait!” he shouts after you. You stop and turn to face him, but you avoid his gaze. 

“I deeply apologize if I am overstepping. However, I must ask you this before you leave, or else I will regret a missed opportunity for the rest of my life.” Severus is so arrested with fear, panic, and self-consciousness that he has no idea how his lips move or how he even forces his words out of his mouth. “I would like you to live here with me. I will cover all your financial expenses and support your store. You will not have to prostitute anymore.”

He takes both of your hands in his and holds onto them for dear life. The tears that he’s been trying to suppress have won out. They now flow freely down his cheeks and drip onto his shirt. He must look pitiful and pathetic, but he’s too overcome with emotion to control himself. 

“I do not ask for sexual favors. I do not even ask that you pursue a romantic relationship with me. All I ask for in return is your companionship.” Severus is barely able to choke out his last sentence. “Please… I cannot bear to be alone any longer.” 

Your expression is unreadable. You stare at him in silence for such a long time that he convinces himself that this was a mistake. You would never want to stay with him. He’s a disgusting man who does not understand boundaries. He must remind you of a desperate dog tied to a post, pathetically begging his owner not to abandon him. He’s so ashamed, so embarrassed for even asking you that he’s ready to run back into his house, shut the door, and cry for the rest of the day. That is until you throw yourself into his arms and kiss him. 

Severus stumbles back from the impact but most importantly, the shock of your actions. You don’t need to say a word for him to understand that you’ve not just accepted his invitation to live with him, but that you want to pursue a romantic relationship with him. The new development fills him with such joy and giddiness that he wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes you tighter than he knows he should. And as demented as it sounds, he revels in the way your body shakes with sobs and how he can taste the tears now streaking down your face. Yet what he enjoys the most is how you kiss him with such intensity that this might as well be your last kiss. Thankfully, though, this will be the first of many kisses that you two will share. 

You kiss each other for so long and with such intensity that by the time you separate, it’s a real possibility that you both might pass out. You laugh at his red face and cheeks and rest your forehead against his. “I would love to live with you. And I would also love to be your girlfriend if you’re willing.”

His heart soars to the heavens. Never in a million years did he think that he would have a girlfriend, let alone that it would be you. He responds with such enthusiasm that he trips over his words. “Girlfriend? That would… I… er… that would be more than I could dream of. Yes. I want to be your boyfriend.”

“You’re so cute.” You press a kiss on his cheek and step back. “Look, I want to run back into your house, but I still have to check in at the brothel and let them know that I’m quitting forever. And I still have to tend to the bookstore for the day and get ready. But I’ll come back here tonight at six, on the dot. I promise.” 

“That is fine. I will see you at six.” These nine hours waiting for you will be the longest nine hours of his life, though every passing second means that he is one second closer to seeing you again. 

“Great. See you soon!” You peck one last kiss to his lips and then walk down the alley, apparating away. 

Severus has plenty of ideas of how to pass the time before you come back, but there is one thing that he’s most excited for: getting groceries and buying a second pillow just for you. And with you around, his house will finally become a home.