#he is soft!! don’t try fighting me on this!!

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

࣪ ִֶָ☾ ˎˊ˗. 🎀 TITS, ASS OR THIGHS ?!

If MYDEI had to choose, it would be tits—without hesitation. There’s something utterly mesmerizing about them, the way they fill his hands, soft and warm, pliant beneath his touch. He loves the way they press against his chest when he pulls you close, how they spill over his fingers when he grips them just right. But most of all, he loves watching them move—how they bounce with every sharp thrust, how they respond to his touch, how they look when you're riding him, lost in pleasure. It’s enough to drive him mad, enough to make him want to ruin you completely.

His hands are greedy, rough yet worshipful as they mold around your softness, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. He revels in the way your body reacts to him—how your breath stutters when his thumbs graze over your nipples, how you arch into his touch, offering yourself up without hesitation. There’s a thrill in knowing he can take and take, that he can be as relentless as he pleases, and you’ll still crave more. Mydei doesn’t just touch; he claims, his fingers pressing into supple flesh as if to carve his presence into your very skin.

And right now, he wants to see them bounce. His grip tightens on your hips before he drags you down onto him, forcing you to take him all at once. A sharp gasp leaves your lips, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets the pace himself, guiding you with strong hands, making you move just the way he wants. Slow at first—just to tease, just to hear that sweet little whimper you try to bite back—but soon, his patience wears thin. The way you bounce with every motion, the way your tits rise and fall with each sharp thrust—it’s hypnotic, addictive, and he can’t hold back. His fingers dig deeper, possessive, almost bruising, but it only makes you cling to him more.

“You were made for this,” he growls, voice thick with hunger, his breath hot against your skin. “Made for me.”

He tilts his head back slightly, drinking in the sight before him—your body moving in perfect rhythm with his, your skin flushed, marked by his touch, your pleasure written all over your face. It’s intoxicating, watching you come undone for him, knowing he’s the reason for your trembling thighs, your shuddering breaths, your desperate grip on his shoulders.

It’s almost too much. Almost enough to shatter the last threads of his control. But not yet. Because he isn’t finished with you. Not even close.

If PHAINON had to choose, it would be thighs—without a doubt. There’s something about the way they look wrapped around his waist, the way they tremble when he touches just right, the way they lock around him when you're desperate to keep him close. He loves how soft they are, how easy it is to slip his fingers beneath your skirt, to trace slow, teasing circles along your inner thighs just to hear your breath hitch.

And when you're on top of him? When you're straddling his lap, shifting impatiently as he drags his hands over your skin, taking his time just to watch you squirm? That’s his favorite. He loves the control it gives him, the way he can dig his fingers into your flesh and guide you exactly how he wants, pressing you down until there's no space left between you.

“Don’t run from me,” he murmurs, voice low and honeyed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you shudder. “Stay right here. Let me feel you.”

Your thighs squeeze tighter around him, and he groans, fingers flexing as if he might just hold you there forever. Because nothing drives him wilder than this—the warmth of your body against his, the way you cling to him, the way you look when you finally stop fighting and give in.

Phainon’s grip tightens, fingers pressing into your flesh, his touch both grounding and possessive. He loves the way your body reacts—how you shiver under his fingertips, how your breath comes faster when he kneads the softest parts of your thighs. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the way his slow, teasing strokes make you ache, the way he holds you in place just to watch you tremble.

“You’re so sensitive,” he muses, his voice lilting, almost playful. “Is it because you can feel how deep my cock is in you?”

His words alone are enough to make you squirm, but he doesn’t let you go far. He keeps you pressed against him, his hands spreading over your thighs, smoothing over the plush curves before tightening just enough to make you gasp. He drinks in the sight—your body poised above his, your thighs framing him so perfectly, your need so obvious despite your feeble attempts to resist.

And then, just to tease, he shifts his hips beneath you, letting you feel the growing heat between you. Your breath hitches, your thighs instinctively squeezing tighter around him, and his smirk only deepens.

"See? This is why I love them," he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your throat. "So soft. So warm. So perfect when they’re wrapped around me."

His voice is honeyed sin, his touch both gentle and possessive, and it only makes you want more. But Phainon is in no rush—he likes to take his time, to savor, to make you melt beneath him until you're pliant and desperate and clinging to him with no escape. Because he knows, in the end, you’ll let him have exactly what he wants.

If ANAXA had to choose, it would be ass—without question. There’s something about the way it fills his hands, how perfectly it fits beneath his grip when he pulls you close. He loves the way it moves when you walk, the way it presses against him when you sit in his lap, the way his fingers sink into the plushness of it whenever he gets the chance to touch. And oh, he takes every chance he can get.

He’s shameless about it, too. A hand slipping down when no one’s looking, a firm squeeze that makes you gasp, a knowing smirk when you turn to glare at him. He doesn’t care if anyone sees—it’s his, after all. Why shouldn’t he enjoy it? And when he has you beneath him, body trembling, ass lifted just for him? That’s when he’s at his most ravenous, when his grip tightens, when his palm lands sharp against soft skin just to watch you jolt.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement as his hands roam, as he kneads and teases like he has all the time in the world. “So eager. You like this, don’t you?”

He knows the answer before you say a word. Because when he finally pulls you against him, when he thrusts deep and watches you arch, watches the way your body responds to him so perfectly—it’s enough to make him lose himself completely.

Anaxa's hand finds its way back to your ass, fingers curling around the soft curve before he delivers a sharp smack that resonates in the air between you. The sound is followed by a breathy gasp from your lips, and he can’t help but chuckle, reveling in the way your body responds to both pleasure and surprise. The sting of his hand contrasts beautifully with the heat building between you, igniting a fire that makes him want to push you further, to take you deeper.

“Such a good little thing,” he teases, delivering another spank, this one a bit harder, just to see you jump. “I think you like it more than you’re willing to admit.”

His words are playful, but his gaze is dark and hungry, filled with the need to dominate, to claim you completely. Each smack is a reminder of who you belong to, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping, arching into him as your body craves more.

“Give in to it,” he urges, voice low and inviting. “Let me hear you.”

With every thrust, every squeeze, every resounding slap of his hand against your soft skin, he pushes you closer to the edge. He loves the way you squirm, the way you moan, the way you melt beneath his touch. And as he loses himself in the rhythm of your bodies moving together, he knows that this is just the beginning of what he intends to take from you.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[myderis]

love bites ꒱ mydei 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff 'n suggestive ⊹ word count 0.7k

MYDEI loved fiercely, the way only a warrior could—tender and untamed. The softness of his lips contrasting to how his fingers gripped your waist, after all, he was a child born under the influence of the God of Strife, a lion raised in war destined to fight, conquer, and guard his pride.

And just like a lion, he marked what was his. His teeth grazed the back of your neck, a possessive bite that made you ache for more, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin and it was maddening, the way he claimed your body and soul.

If someone had told you in the past that one day you’d be in a secret relationship with the prince of Kremnos, you would’ve laughed outright. The thought alone seemed absurd, almost impossible. But here you were hiding from prying eyes and mouths full of gossip.

The secret garden, aptly named by you, as what you do must remain a secret. Mydei had you pinned, his body pressed close, his hands exploring every inch of you, and when his soft lips met yours, demanding and giving, leaving you breathless. Kisses were traded like whispered secrets, stolen and deepened until soft gasps escaped your lips and you felt him smirk.

And just as your head tilted back, letting him have his fun, the sound of approaching footsteps, and rather familiar voice were caught in the distance. You froze. Mydei stiffened, his lips still lingering on your skin as both of you turned toward the sound. A figure stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock.

“I apologize for the interruption and my uninvited presence at such a time." It was Aglaea the Goldweaver, the one bearing the Coreflame of Romance…She wasn’t shocked to find you together, she was surprised by Mydei’s affection towards you.

For once, you don’t pity her—that she doesn’t need light to measure the world, because the threads tell her more than enough. And this time, those threads had woven her right to you. Aglaea hesitated, her head tilting as though trying to decide whether to retreat or approach. Then, softly, she spoke again. “I need your help. It’s an important matter.”

You sighed, not wanting to be away from Mydei just yet, but when you glanced at him, his eyes met yours. Silently, they permitted you to go. “I will make it up to you, my love.” And as you kissed him goodbye, he didn’t fully turn around to watch you leave. His presence stayed, like a ghost kiss on your skin, as if he was with you even if he wasn't.

Aglaea placed a hand lightly on your arm as you turned to follow her. “I won’t tell anyone about this,” she promised, gently smiling at you. “Your secret is safe with me.” After all, she is your best friend and she keeps her promises.

Now, hours later in the company of Aglaea and Phainon, the golden threads of her robes shining bright as she adjusted them, you absentmindedly brushed a loose strand of hair back over your shoulder.

“Woah… What happened to you, (Name)?” Phainon’s voice caught you off guard because he seemed rather impressed.

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“That thing on your neck…” He pointed at his own neck to mimic the spot. “Is that a hickey?” Your eyes went wide as you panicked. A nervous laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, that is, um…” You turned to Aglaea, silently begging for help, but she was too busy adjusting her garmentmaker to notice. “That is a…”

“Something you have been hiding from me?” Phainon smirked, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying your embarrassment, to the point where he wanted to make you tell him everything in his special way.

“No! I was just… cuddling with a baby lion,” you blurted out, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Phainon raised a brow, very skeptical. “A baby lion? Well, that’s cute. So when do I get to meet your new little pet?”

Before you could come up with another excuse, the door opened, and a familiar figure stepped in. It was Mydei. Phainon glanced between you and him, his smirk growing wider. He leaned in, and you just wanted to wipe the smile off his face. “Actually, I think I’ve already met him.”

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.

[melercies]

pairing(s): nam-gyu x reader, thanos x reader (separate)

warning(s): dubious consent, (guys, literally it's just) smut; oral fixation (receiving + giving) & fingering [minors dni], (fem anatomy, but gender-neutral), overstimulation, orgasm denial, degradation, dirty talk, power play, rough handling, choking/gagging, lowercase intended use and my best interpretation of the two characters. <3

author's note: i had to sit there for a good hour to think and just write LMAO PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED/MESSED UP ANYTHING. likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. i just want feedback. <//3

when it comes to giving oral for nam-gyu, he doesn't do things to please people—he does things for his own gratification. if he’s going down on someone, it’s because he wants to, not because he feels like he should. he doesn’t care about making the experience soft or romantic; he’s crude, rough, and enjoys seeing you squirm under his control.

when he pins you down, his fingers leave marks—his rings biting into your thighs as he spreads them apart, the cold metal contrasting against the heat of his touch. he likes seeing the indents they leave behind, a reminder of how thoroughly he’s going to ruin you.

he's aggressive. his pace is unforgiving from the start—he doesn’t waste time teasing unless he’s feeling particularly cruel. he’d rather get you messy and desperate as fast as possible, just to hear the sounds you make when you can’t hold back.

if he does feel particularly cruel, his fingers ghost over your inner thighs, barely skimming where you want him most. he watches with amusement as their breathing stutters, dragging his fingertips in slow, deliberate circles until you start begging.

you don’t get time to adjust. you don’t get a moment to breathe before he’s already working you up, dragging you towards the edge at a brutal, reckless speed.

his rings are cold against your skin, contrasting with the heat of his mouth, his fingers— and he doesn’t care if it’s too much, if your thighs twitch helplessly against his shoulders.

in fact? he likes it, it satisfies him to see you like this. to see how he could easily reduce you into such a state.

your body can barely keep up, writhing under him, squirming, panting— and that’s exactly what he wants.

he pulls back for just a second, only enough to lock eyes with you, his chin glistening with slick, his fingers still buried deep in you.

“messy already?” his tone is mocking, darkly amused, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he pulls his fingers out for a split second.

before his fingers slam back in, fast and rough, scissoring you open while his mouth latches back on, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast.

you cry out, body jerking, but he holds you down, forcing you to take it. "stay still."

expect zero tenderness. if he drags his tongue slowly, it’s not to be sensual—it’s to watch you twitch and whimper, just so he can pull back and smirk at you when you start begging. he gets off on knowing he’s the one reducing you to a wreck, and he’s not above mocking you for it.

he likes it messy. sloppy, wet, and borderline overwhelming. he enjoys seeing you come undone, saliva and arousal coating his lips, your thighs shaking under his grip. it feeds his ego—he’ll wipe his mouth with the back of his hand afterward, looking smug as hell.

control is a huge factor for him. nam-gyu isn’t the type to let you take charge—he'll literally fight for his life for it, even when he’s the one on his knees. he’ll pin your hips down to keep them from moving or tease you until you're pleading, just to remind you that he decides when you can get what you want.

if you try to guide him—tangling your fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper—he’ll purposefully slow down or pull away entirely. “getting greedy, huh?” his tone is amused, but there’s a warning in his eyes. he wants you to beg, not demand.

if you're close, he slows down—smirking against your skin as he pulls back just enough to make you whine pathetically. “what? you were right there?” his voice is mocking, but his fingers don’t stop, keeping you on the edge without letting you tip over.

when he finally does let you finish, it’s never gentle. his mouth and fingers work in sync, his fingers pressing hard against your most sensitive spots as he devours you. he’ll keep his mouth on you even after you finish and feel sensitive, which pushes you past your limits, he only wants to hear you gasp and stammer. he enjoys overstimulation, making you whine and writhe from how overwhelming it is.

he leans back, grinning like a bastard, dragging his fingers over his lips to taste them before wiping them on your inner thigh—a filthy, possessive mark left behind. “messy, huh? look at you.”

he doesn't do this to be sweet—he does it to own you, to leave you trembling and ruined so you don’t forget who’s in control.

when nam-gyu is the one receiving...he's rough, impatient, and demanding when it comes to being on the receiving end. he doesn't just sit back and let you take your sweet time—he expects you to handle him the way he wants.

the first thing he does? he rests his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him before he lets you start. the metal of his rings is cool against your skin, his thumb swiping over your lips before pressing in slightly, forcing you to open up for him.

he's not the type to just sit still and enjoy it. he thrives on power, and even when you're the one on your knees, he finds ways to assert dominance—gripping your hair, muttering crude praise, thrusting his hips forward just to watch you struggle to keep up.

he loves it when you choke on him. he won’t stop, either—if you gag, he’ll just chuckle, “too much for you?” before pushing deeper before it hits the back of your throat, enjoying the sight of you trying to take it.

he gets off on the control, but also on the raw desperation—he wants you to want and feel it just as much as he does. if you’re hesitant or shy, he’ll make you work for his approval, guiding you until you learn how to take him the way he likes.

he leans back, spreading his legs lazily, arrogantly, completely unbothered. one arm draped over the couch, the other resting against your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip, pressing against your tongue—just enough to feel the heat of your mouth.

“you nervous?” his voice is mocking, laced with amusement, but there’s a challenge in his gaze—daring you to prove him wrong.

if you hesitate? if you take too long?

he exhales sharply, shaking his head. disappointed.

“guess you don’t want it that bad.”

and then he pulls away. completely.

that’s what gets you desperate, isn’t it? the way he edges you emotionally, keeps you craving his approval, keeps you chasing after what he refuses to give?

but the second you give in—the second you grab at his thighs, lean in, take him into your mouth like you need it?

his expression shifts.

the teasing vanishes.

his jaw tightens, his fingers snap back into your hair, gripping tight, forcing you to take him deeper. his breath stutters out, sharp and ragged, his hips twitching as he groans through his teeth.

“fuck—” his head tilts back, his grip tightening just a little more, watching the way you struggle, watching the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, watching the way your lips stretch around him.

and once you’ve finally learned?

once you give in, let go, take him the way he likes?

that’s when he fucks your throat in earnest, forcing you to keep up, forcing you to take everything he gives.

because nam-gyu will only reward you when you prove you deserve it.

if you're being too slow, he takes over. his grip tightens, guiding your pace with short, sharp thrusts, his rings digging into your scalp as he fucks your mouth exactly the way he wants. he doesn’t care if it’s overwhelming—he gets off on watching them struggle.

he loves using his fingers to make things even messier. if you’re already drooling? he brings a thumb to your chin, spreading the saliva across your lips, watching with a smirk as you take him even deeper. “look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark. “sloppy thing, aren’t you?”

nam-gyu talks—a lot. his mouth is filthy, and he’s not shy about making comments that are meant to degrade and tease. “c’mon, you can do better than that.” “that’s it, don’t stop now—fuck, you look good like this.”

he’s not gentle when he’s close—his thrusts get sharper, his grip tighter. he doesn’t warn you before finishing, either. he expects you to take it, and if you struggle with it, he only finds it more amusing.

if you pull away too soon or try to pull away, he’ll grab your chin, tilting their face up to make you look at him. “did I say you were done? swallow it.” his tone is low and taunting and his gaze is trained onto you, daring you to try and defy him. a command, not a request.

thanos giving oral...he already is a wildcard—his unpredictability makes everything intense. one moment, he’s slow and teasing, dragging things out just to get a reaction; the next, he’s relentless, pushing you to your limit without hesitation.

he enjoys watching—he wants to see every reaction, from the way you trembles to the way your breathing hitches when he finally gives you what you want. it’s like a game to him, figuring out what makes you fall apart the fastest.

unlike nam-gyu, thanos doesn’t always go straight for the kill. he enjoys taking his time, licking, nipping, savoring—because to him, this is just as much about control as it is about pleasure. he'll slow down just to smirk against your skin, whispering filthy things that reaches towards your ears before diving back in—his fingers spreading you open, making you feel every stroke of his tongue.

he loves teasing. hovering his mouth over where you need him most, exhaling warm breaths against sensitive skin, barely touching you until you’re begging. he wants you to feel desperate for it, trembling under his touch before he finally gives in and gives you exactly what you want.

but once he does get serious? he doesn’t stop. his pace is brutal, relentless—he’ll grip your thighs to keep you from pulling away, tongue flicking, sucking, working you over while his fingers sink deep, curling slow and deliberate. he uses his thumb to press against sensitive spots, teasing in sync with his mouth until you’re sobbing from the intensity and continuous stimulation going through you. it makes you feel like there's nowhere to escape.

occassionally, if he sees you gripping the sheets, he pulls them away, intertwining your fingers with his own—a false sense of intimacy before he overwhelms them completely.

your fingers clench the sheets, gripping desperately, something—anything—to ground yourself as he works you over, tongue flicking with calculated precision. the overwhelming pleasure leaves your body tense, trembling, on the verge of breaking.

and then?

he notices.

before you can react, his hands are on yours, prying your fingers away from the fabric, lacing them together with his own. his grip is warm, firm, intimate—deceptively sweet. his thumbs stroke the backs of your hands, soothing, almost tender, like he’s offering comfort.

it’s a lie.

because the second your body relaxes—just for a moment, just enough to be fooled?

he ruins you.

his tongue flicks faster, lips sealing around you as he sucks hard, dragging another wrecked sound from your throat. your back arches violently, but you can’t pull away—he’s got you locked in, hands entwined, holding you down.

it’s cruel. so, so cruel.

he watches you the entire time.

his half-lidded gaze locks onto yours, drinking in every broken expression, every helpless sob that spills past your lips. and when your fingers tighten around his—not out of intimacy, but desperation?

he just smirks against you.

“that’s it,” he murmurs between deep, torturous strokes of his tongue. “hold on tight.”

overstimulation is his favorite game. even after you finishes, he'll keep going, his fingers stay buried inside, moving slower as he licks up every last drop, keeping you trapped under him, driving you past your limit. he enjoys the way you whimper, the way your body tenses from how overwhelming it is, and the expressions that you make just for him only. only him.

he'll be cocky as hell afterward, too. giving you a show as he licks his fingers clean in front of you before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at your wrecked figure like he just won something. “what’s wrong? thought you could handle me. didn't think you'd break so fast.”

thanos doesn't just aim to please—he aims to make you lose your mind.

thanos was already dangerous when he's the one being taken cared of—because unlike nam-gyu, who thrives on control, thanos enjoys unpredictability. his reactions shift on a dime, making it impossible to predict what he’s going to do next.

some nights, he lets you take your time—leaning back, watching you with dark amusement, running a lazy hand through your hair as you work and set your own pace, watching through half-lidded eyes. other nights? he’s ruthless, gripping your jaw or pulling your hair, fucking your mouth like he owns it. he snaps his hips snap forward, making you choke.

you're choking? gagging? struggling to breath? he finds it hot as hell. if you start to falter, he just grins. "c'mon, don't tell me you're already tapping out."

thanos leans back against the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, the other hand resting in your hair. his fingers are light at first, barely guiding, barely pressing.

at first, you think he's going to let you do as you please. but the second you slow down?

his grip tightens.

the lazy amusement in his expression shifts—something sharper, more demanding, as his fingers suddenly tangle into your hair and pull.

“not slacking on me, are you?”

his hips push forward just slightly, his other hand tilting your chin up—forcing you to look at him.

and the moment you start moving again?

he grins.

“good. knew you could take it.”

if you're hesitant, he gets rougher. his fingers press against the back of your head, forcing you down just a little further, making you take more than you're used to. "don't be shy now."

his thumb strokes the corner of your lips, wiping away the saliva that drips down your chin, smirking at the mess. he loves seeing you in such a messy state, being so desperate as you try to keep up with the way he moves.

but if you're experienced? he's a mess—growling, cursing under his breath, losing himself in the sensation. he loves it when you swallow around him, when you get sloppy and desperate just to get him off faster.

when he's close? his grip tightens, his voice dropping into something low and commanding. "you're gonna take it all, yeah? being so good for me."

when he finishes, he’s unpredictable—sometimes, he pulls them up for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting himself on their tongue. other times? he just tilts their chin up, smirking down at them with that wicked gleam in his eyes, like he’s already planning what’s next.

thanos doesn't just enjoy oral—he owns the experience. whether he’s giving or receiving, he makes sure it’s intense, overwhelming, and impossible to forget.

[silkscream]

sugar hiccup

ੈ✩ caleb (xia yizhou) x reader

ੈ✩ tags: pseudocest/incest (caleb is referred to as your big brother lol), brat!reader, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, pussy inspection (idk), use of gege, teasing, cum eating for those with the eyes to see (?)

ੈ✩ wc: 2.3k (hello????)

ੈ✩ a/n: i will not be held accountable for this as i was possessed during the two hours it took to write this. bye

Caleb likes to rough you up. He does it as a favor for never letting you get into fights with other boys on the playground. The grudge you held against him for locking you in the attic when he was dealing with a bully was so deep within your marrow, that it took months of allowance money for him to make it up to you. 

Now, though, he knows you can handle yourself. The little hunter girl you are. Talented and stubborn to a fault, with bright eyes and a sharp tongue you aren’t afraid to use. You’ve been like that since you were a kid.

He can’t help the satisfaction he feels when he gets to reduce you to tears, though. Likes to taunt you when what he’s doing to you is all a bit too much despite how much you pretend to be a big girl and grit your teeth through it. Whether it’s a playful arm wrestle or the trials of trying to take his cock in your tight heat. 

But even when he roughs you up and overpowers you, he loves to coddle you afterward. He’s your big brother after all – there’s a soft spot for you in his heart always. Even if it’s deep like a bruise on ruined fruit, his love for you is sweet all the same. It’s always hurt to love you. Like the masochistic thrill of pressing down on a wound.

He should feel bad right now. He was rougher than usual on you today, but you seem to like the bites and the bruises littering your skin. You were getting stir-crazy lately, which is probably why you talked back to him today, knowing damn well that his temper was short-fused because of work lately. 

But you’re just so good for him, milking his cock for all it's worth. He told you as such when he was deep inside you only minutes prior, kissing the tears on your cheeks. You know deep in your heart that your gege will always take care of you. Even when his love hurts, it’s all from a good place. 

Caleb looks up to the sound of the bathroom door opening. He’d expected you to go to your room and get dressed before returning to him, but you’re still naked. He narrows his eyes.

“Hi,” you say softly. 

“Hey.”

You climb into his lap, nesting yourself in his embrace. He takes a deep breath and tightens his grip on you, swallowing you inside his arms. You could never get used to how large he was compared to his lanky teenage self.

You whine when he squeezes your hips.

“Missed you.”

“I just went to pee,” you scoff. “Stop smothering me.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling my cuddles now?”

“Yes,” you huff. As if you didn’t make yourself at home in his lap moments before. 

“You’re being such a brat lately, you know that?” he says lowly, tracing your bottom lip. He smirks at you with a slight tilt of his mouth, his violet eyes gleaming. 

You part your mouth and his gaze darkens. You bite his thumb.

He laughs, not unkindly, but you know it’ll taper into his usual scoffs. The ones that you coax from him when you don’t obey him or when you’re picky. Spending more than half of your life with him means that you have his micro-expressions memorized. 

“See?” he mutters, pulling his thumb back. “Brat.”

Before you can respond, he pushes two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. 

“What’s wrong, Pip? You usually like having your mouth full.”

You whine in response. A noise that’s defiant more than anything.

“Suck.” Caleb’s voice is biting. You can feel his fingertips graze the back of your tongue and you exhale sharply. You end up obeying.

“There you go. Good girl.” 

You can’t help but glare at him. He finally pulls his digits out of your mouth, watching intently as a string of saliva stretches from your tongue to his fingertip. Your insides flutter with something in between arousal and disgust.

“Stop playing with me,” you huff.

He lets out a sharp laugh. “What do you mean?” he asks innocently. You shiver when he peppers sweet kisses below your ear, down your neck. 

“Tickles,” you whine, your shoulder jerking. You squirm and the strength at which he’s able to hold you down should scare you. Instead, it excites you. Your stomach pools with shame. 

You pout, continuing to defy him by moving so much. Trying to get off his lap, thrashing like you’re an unsettled bird. You don’t often bicker the way you used to when you were younger, but there’s still a place inside you that holds a specific kind of irritation when you hear him chuckle darkly. Knowing he doesn’t take you seriously. Even when he fucks you, there are moments you feel reduced to your younger self. His kid sister.

“Stay still,” he huffs. “Let me hold you, honey.”

You make a noise of protest just because. You always want to provoke him for reasons you can’t explain.

He sits you down firmly on his thigh and it reminds you of your size difference. Renders you embarrassed, because you’re still bare and your skin is so hot and his touch is so –

He holds you by the jaw. "I can feel you, you know," he says to you, his eyes inky amongst a bed of indigo. "You're not even trying to hide it anymore, are you?"

“Wh-what?”

His lips move to your ear, kissing the lobe before he whispers, "You're getting worked up again, hm? Need Gege to calm you down?”

He grinds you against his bare thigh, moving you like you’re a ragdoll. You gasp involuntarily. It’s now that you realize how embarrassingly wet you are.

Caleb makes a strangled noise. As if the air is punched out of him. “Hah – you feel that? Is that all you? Or you and me, baby?”

“You and… me?”

He leans back to flash you a raised brow. “Yeah. You and me. Did you forget that I just –”

“Yes,” you cut him off, blushing, “I remember. Don’t be crude.”

“I want to know. You’re not normally this wet, you know.”

Fuck. You want to bury your face in his shoulder to hide your reaction, your face up in flames. You had always admired his candor. But there are times like these when he could pry anything from you. When his bare honesty would humiliate you.

“I cleaned up in the bathroom,” you shoot back, frowning. 

“Did you?” he smirks. “I’d like my own proof.”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

He gives you a knowing look. Usually, he likes to wipe you down with a warm, wet towel, maybe bathe you after he makes a mess out of you. This time, you had fled to the bathroom without warning, still embarrassed for some reason. He didn’t understand. Fucking was the closest he could get to you without sewing himself inside your skin. He loved you, and you loved him, so it often puzzled him why you were so shy sometimes.

“What?” he asks. He tilts his head, soothes a palm over the bruise he gave you on your waist. “Just wanna see if you cleaned up as good as you thought.”

His hand moves down to your hip. “Or should I find out for myself before you start making a mess on my thigh?”

You shoot daggers at him. “Don’t –”

His eyes flicker with intrigue before he narrows them. “Don’t what, hm? Your big brother just wants to check. You were never so good at cleaning yourself up, you know?”

You frown. Your heart is ready to burst from your sternum.

“You used to ask me to wash your hair in the bath,” he says lowly, giving you a lazy grin. “Said no one washed it as good as me. I think you just wanted a scalp massage, though. Spoiled girl.”

Your face burns even hotter. For him to mention something so innocent from your juvenile self while suggesting something so dirty minutes prior – the humiliation almost makes you shudder. 

“I– I don’t need –”

“C’mon. You know you can’t hide from me. You never could.”

You blink at him. Before you know it, he lays you on your back, pressing his weight against you. Your eyes flutter when you feel his hard cock against your thigh, inhaling as you feel him shift his body.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, then pries your legs open. The intensity in which he examines your pussy makes you want to crawl into a hole. 

He hums, prodding in between your folds with deft fingers. You whimper at the stimulation. 

“C-Caleb –”

He hums. “Hm.. just as I thought,” he murmurs, amused. “You missed some.”

“I did not –”

“You know,” he tsks, “I’m a bit disappointed.”

“What? Why?”

“You were so eager to leave me. I would’ve cleaned you up myself,” he sighs, feigning disappointment. “Like I always do. But you still didn’t do a good job, even though you’re all grown now. What a shame.”

He’s quick to move down your body. It’s like whiplash. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice high with incredulity.

“What do you think?” he grins. “I’m gonna make sure you’re all clean.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He looks at you with a hint of disdain and it makes your heart sink. In the back of your mind, you know his demeanor is all play, but any sign of disapproval from Caleb always makes you panic slightly. You had always wanted to please him, even when you were kids. That coupled with your attuned sense of his emotions made it all the more Pavlovian. You’d give in to him if it would make him happy, no matter what.

“A-Are you serious?” you mutter.

“Deadly.”

He spreads your legs even more, pushes himself down his king-sized bed until he’s face-level with your glistening cunt. You almost gasp when you feel his breath against you. 

“Be good,” he whispers sternly. You can only nod.

He laps up your arousal with eagerness and everything inside you melts. You don’t realize how sensitive you are from the sex you had with him less than an hour ago until you feel his lips latch onto your clit. 

“O-Oh, Caleb, don’t–”

He simply hums. Your eyes roll back at the sensation. You whimper and you think that maybe you feel the hint of a laugh against your pussy. That or it’s a sharp breath. 

Caleb has kissed death too many times to count. He really thinks he should be dead by now, given the horrific incidents he’s been through, even beyond the explosion. It’s funny. He doesn’t think about his own morality anymore now that he’s with you again, reunited. He thinks that if he should dance so close to the edge of death again, he’d do it for you. Drown for you. Drown in you. Let the sweetness of you kill him like slow poison in his veins. Like mistaking heroin for honey.

What’s awful about Caleb is that he wants to sacrifice himself for you. The altar is where he can rest his head – on your shoulder, on your stomach. In between your legs.

He groans against your core and you cry out. You’re so, so sensitive. You pull his hair and whine to tell him as such, but he only doubles down on his actions. A man starved. 

You tug on his dark locks and he moans, squeezing your hips. Encouraging you to arch yourself up to his mouth so he can taste every drop of you.

“I– I’m probably clean now—”

He chuckles against you, then sucks on your clit. When he lifts his head to meet your eyes, he looks otherworldly. Rosy cheeks and messy hair. Boyish. You’ve never seen him look like this before in your life. 

“You want me to stop? Really?”

“You don’t have to keep–”

“You’re halfway there, baby,” he smiles warmly, kissing your clit. You jolt and his gaze turns unbearably fond. “Want you squeaky clean, okay?”

Your eyes widen. Before you can protest, he’s licking you up again. You moan out, your knees knocking together as if the middle of your body is struck by lightning. All the arousal in your belly seems to make a mess of your insides.

You gasp when Caleb hooks two fingers into you without warning. You don’t need it, really, you barely need any prep for it. You’re so slick with want that there’s no resistance. It’s so fucking easy for him to reach into the depths of your sex. He grazes the sweet spot by your cervix and your legs start to tremble.

You’re so fucking close, and for some reason, what comes to mind is the image of you and Caleb as your younger selves. When you were naive, when you were frustrated with him more than usual because you didn’t realize that you had a crush on him.

You think of the word crush and think of demolition. A car crash. An avalanche. His moans vibrate against your pussy as his tongue licks up all of your honey, his fingers prodding your g-spot with a constant rhythm.

“Caleb,” you whine. “I can’t–”

Your eyes shut tightly until the phosphenes behind your lids vibrate like the birth of a new star. That’s the only way you can describe the orgasm that washes over you – like chaos, like the big bang. You’ve never cum so hard from head in your whole life. 

Despite this, he doesn’t let up.

“Caleb, Caleb,” you gasp. “S’too much–”

You have to push away his head to get him to stop. He pauses, looks up at you with eyes half-lidded. Full of delirium. A wet, sweet mouth. 

You think of peaches. You think of him in the summertime, wiping his mouth from a bite full of watermelon.

He pulls his fingers out of you and licks up your slick, grinning. 

“All clean now, baby.”

[enhaflixer]

psh - king of tears. TEASER

Chaebol Husband!Sunghoon | Queen of Tears AU

Teaser #2

📌 summary: your marriage to park sunghoon was supposed to be a fairytale—until it wasn’t.

now it’s cold stares across the dinner table, separate bedrooms in a mansion too big for the both of you, and divorce papers waiting to be signed.

you were ready to walk away. he let you.

so why does he look at you like he’s the one who lost everything?

my fake marriage! Heeseung fic teaser

word count: maybeee around 15-20K

release date: TBA

genre: angst | slow burn | second chance romance | marriage in crisis | Queen of Tears AU | SMUT ANGST FLUFF (in that order)

⚠️ content warnings (explicit, minors dni!):  a marriage falling apart but neither of you can let go, divorce papers as a weapon but neither of you sign them first, staring at an empty side of the bed and pretending it doesn’t hurt, watching him struggle alone but being too proud to help, "we’re not together anymore." // "then why do you still wear your ring?", high society pressure, business marriages, and pretending everything is fine when it’s not, fighting in the rain because what’s a rich people angst fic without that?, angst-heavy sex (sex while crying, sex while angry, sex while pretending it doesn’t mean anything) "we’re supposed to be over, so why are you still fucking me like you love me?" breathless, desperate sunghoon (bc when he breaks, he breaks) sunghoon is sick, weak, exhausted—but still strong enough to pin you down "i don’t love you anymore." // "then stop moaning my name.", luxury penthouse sex but it’s tragic, a hand around your throat but it’s not just about control—it’s about possession, he fucks you like he’s trying to remind you who you belong to, aftercare that isn’t really aftercare bc he still won’t say he loves you,

-

The first thing you see when you step into the house is Park Sunghoon, sitting on the couch in the dim light of the living room.

The divorce papers sit between you on the glass coffee table—untouched.

"You haven’t signed them." Your voice is steady. Controlled. Nothing like how you feel inside.

Sunghoon takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his expression unreadable as he sets the glass down with a soft clink.

"No," he says simply.

You exhale sharply. "Sunghoon—"

"Say it." His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room like a blade.

You blink. "Say what?"

His gaze lifts to yours—steady, unreadable, but not cold. Not now.

"Say you don’t love me anymore."

Your breath catches.

It’s supposed to be easy. The marriage is over. You’re walking away.

But the way he’s looking at you now? The way his fingers ghost over the edge of the divorce papers but never actually touch them?

You realize, with a sinking weight in your chest, that if you say it—if you lie—

He might actually let you go.

The air between you is thick, suffocating. You should leave. You should turn around, walk up the marble staircase, and lock the door to your separate bedroom like you always do.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step forward.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker with something dark, something unreadable, as you stop in front of him. His cologne lingers in the air—subtle but intoxicating, a scent that’s too familiar, too much like home.

"You don’t get to do this," you murmur.

His gaze flickers. "Do what?"

You glare at him, your pulse hammering. "Pretend to care when you never did."

Something snaps. Fast. Brutal.

The next thing you know, you’re on the couch, pinned beneath him, Sunghoon’s hand wrapped around your throat.

Your pulse stutters beneath his fingers—not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to hold you there, just enough to remind you who he is.

"You think I never cared?" His voice is low, rough. Dangerous.

Your heart stumbles.

His other hand slides up your thigh, barely touching, but enough to make you burn.

"You think I don’t want you?" Sunghoon exhales sharply, his jaw clenched. His fingers flex around your throat, like he’s testing you, waiting for you to push him away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you lift your chin, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"I think you don’t know how to want me without ruining me," you whisper.

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

For a second, just a second, he looks wrecked.

Then his grip tightens—just enough.

Your breath catches.

His lips brush against your ear, voice a low warning.

"Tell me to stop."

You should.

"You won't, will you?"

You don’t.

His lips crash into yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s everything he’s held back for months—all the anger, the heartbreak, the longing.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, as he kisses you like he’s drowning, like you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

You hate him. You hate him.

But the way you arch into him, the way you tug at his shirt, the way you let his hands roam your body—

You don’t stop him.

Not when he drags you into his lap. Not when he whispers your name like it’s the only thing he knows. Not when his fingers slip under your dress, ghosting over your bare skin—teasing, testing, waiting for you to push him away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you breathe against his lips, a whisper, a confession—"I hate you."

Sunghoon lets out a breathless, bitter laugh.

"Liar."

-

TAGLIST: OPENNNNN!

[hakkkuu]

⋆⭒˚.⋆RIIZE BEING TOXIC DURING SEX⋆⭒˚.⋆

Shotaro ۶ৎ Overwhelming Need for Control

You’re trapped beneath Shotaro, his iron grip on your wrists pinning you to the mattress, his eyes blazing with a manic kind of dominance. “You don’t get to move,” he snarls, voice cold and commanding, as if your slightest shift threatens his ego. He doesn’t care about your soft whimpers or the way your body tenses—he’s too busy driving into you with a ruthless rhythm, each thrust a declaration of ownership. His hands roam, leaving bruises on your hips, and when you gasp in pain, he smirks, leaning in to bite your neck hard enough to make you cry out. “This is how it’s done,” he mutters, as if your discomfort is irrelevant, his only goal to assert total control. He finishes with a guttural groan, collapsing on you without a second thought, leaving you sore and shaken. His toxic trait is his obsessive need for control, reducing you to a mere object in his power play, where your pleasure is an afterthought, crushed under his unrelenting dominance.

Eunseok ۶ৎ Emotional Coldness

Eunseok’s body is pressed against yours, but his eyes are vacant, like he’s already checked out as he thrusts into you with mechanical precision. “Don’t overthink this,” he snaps when you moan, his tone icy, as if your emotions are an inconvenience. He doesn’t slow down or check in; he just keeps going, his hands gripping your thighs with a dispassionate firmness, like he’s ticking off a task. When you try to pull him closer, craving some warmth, he pulls back, his face hardening. “Stop clinging,” he mutters, finishing with a sharp exhale and rolling off immediately, not even glancing at you as you lie there, aching and ignored. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay or if you finished—he doesn’t care. His toxic trait is his chilling emotional detachment, treating sex as a cold, emotionless act, leaving you feeling used and invisible, craving a connection he refuses to offer.

Sungchan ۶ৎ Aggressive Overconfidence

Sungchan looms over you, his smirk dripping with arrogance as he pins you down, his movements brutal and unyielding. “You’re gonna love this,” he boasts, not waiting for your response, his hands groping you with a force that borders on violence, fingers digging into your breasts until you wince. He laughs it off, thinking your discomfort is excitement, and thrusts harder, faster, as if your body exists solely to stroke his ego. “Told you I’m the best,” he grunts, ignoring your pleas to slow down, his own pleasure the only thing driving him. When you try to shift, he growls, “Don’t fight it,” treating your resistance as a challenge. He finishes with a triumphant shout, leaving you bruised and breathless, not caring if you’re satisfied. His toxic trait is his aggressive overconfidence, bulldozing over your needs with a selfish belief that his performance is all that matters, turning intimacy into a one-sided spectacle.

Wonbin ۶ৎ Manipulative Sweetness

Wonbin’s lips are soft against your skin, but his words carry a sinister edge. “You’d do anything to please me, wouldn’t you?” he whispers, his fingers teasing you mercilessly, bringing you to the brink before pulling away with a pout. “Beg for it,” he demands, his eyes glinting with control, as if your desperation is a game he’s winning. You comply, voice shaky, and he finally enters you, but it’s calculated, slow, designed to keep you on edge. “See how good we are together?” he coos, but his tone is smug, manipulative, making you question if this is even about you. He finishes with a satisfied sigh, rolling off without checking if you climaxed, his sweetness a mask for his selfishness. His toxic trait is his manipulative sweetness, using flattery and charm to exploit your vulnerability, leaving you feeling trapped and used, his pleasure always the priority.

Seunghan ۶ৎ Reckless Disregard

Seunghan’s lips crash against yours, his movements wild and careless, no rhythm, no regard for you. “Just take it,” he mutters, ignoring your sharp intake of breath as he bites your neck, leaving angry red marks you didn’t ask for. His hands grope your breasts with a brutal force, squeezing until you gasp, but he laughs it off, “You’ll be fine,” and keeps going, his thrusts punishing. When you say, “Too much,” he rolls his eyes, “Don’t be dramatic,” finishing with a grunt and collapsing, not even checking if you’re okay. His toxic trait is his reckless disregard, treating your body like a playground for his impulses, with no respect for your limits or well-being, leaving you shaken and used.

Sohee ۶ৎ Selfish Focus

Sohee’s hands are all over you, but his eyes are shut tight, lost in his own world as he thrusts with reckless abandon. “God, this is amazing,” he groans, not once glancing at you, his movements erratic and selfish. Your attempts to guide him are brushed off with a frustrated huff, “Just let me finish,” as if your pleasure is an annoyance. His fingers grip your breasts, squeezing without rhythm or care, more for his thrill than yours, and when you try to speak, he shushes you, too consumed by his own climax to notice your frustration. He comes with a shudder, collapsing without a word, leaving you aching and ignored, his satisfaction the only goal. His toxic trait is his utter selfishness, treating you like a cum-dump for his hot release, disregarding your needs completely in his single-minded pursuit of pleasure.

Anton ۶ৎ Insecurity-Fueled Pressure

Anton’s hands shake as he touches you, his voice trembling with desperation. “Tell me I’m good at this,” he pleads, his thrusts frantic, almost painful, as if your validation is the only thing keeping him going. His fingers dig into your breasts, too hard, his body pressing down with a needy weight that feels suffocating. When you try to slow him, he panics, “Don’t you like me?” his voice cracking, turning your comfort into a test of his worth. He doesn’t care if you’re enjoying it—he’s too busy chasing reassurance, finishing abruptly with a whimper, leaving you overwhelmed and neglected. His toxic trait is his insecurity-fueled pressure, making sex about his fears rather than your pleasure, forcing you to boost his ego at the cost of your own satisfaction.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hear me out---- pregnant reader with sam, and they're in his bed, literally just spending the whole night talking and softly/lazily making out, and sam rubbing her tummy and just being so happy 😭😭🥲🥹

PAIRING: sam monroe x pregnant!reader

FLUFF ❦

As you shifted on the bed, the old mattress creaked beneath your weight. Ignoring it, you simply curled up closer to Sam's warm body. Your boyfriend's room was currently in the middle of being a pure darkness, except for the soft dim glow of the street lamp that filtered through one of the windows, giving a light over the mess of tangled blankets and your bare skins.

His hand rested on your belly, fingers splayed out like he was trying to feel every tiny, little movement, every bigger or smaller sign of life. You weren’t even that far along yet, just enough to start showing, but Sam had this new quiet obsession, he'd not admit to, with touching your stomach. Like he still couldn’t believe there was a tiny little person in there - his kid - growing day by day before his eyes.

You smiled, bringing your hand up to trace your fingertips over the sharp curve of his jaw. “You’re staring.. again.”

Sam huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing idly over the soft skin of your belly. “Yeah, well… can you blame me?” voice all low and sleepy, like he was drifting in and out of consciousness, yet still stubbornly fighting sleep because he wanted to talk to you...or makeout..both things were considerable

“I mean, look at you,” he continued, lips curving against yours as he leaned in, pressing the softest, laziest kiss to your mouth. “Carrying my kid and still looking like the prettiest damn thing in the world. Kinda unfair if you ask me.”

Your fingers carded through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp as he hummed contentedly. “You’re so corny,” you teased quietly

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam’s lips found yours again, kisses slow like he had all the time in the world to just love you.

Then Sam pulled back slightly, nudging his nose against yours. “What do you think they’ll be like?” he murmured.

Your fingers played with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “Who?”

“Our kid, obviously.” hand pressing a little firmer against your lower belly. “You think they’ll look more like me or you?”

“I hope they get your eyes.”

Sam huffed. “I hope they get your smile.”

You thought for a second. “I really hope they don’t get your temper.”

Sam snorted, playfully biting at your lower lip before pulling away. “Hey, I’m a changed man.”

You gave him a look. “Sam.”

“…Okay, a man working on it.” He smirked before his face softened again. “But seriously. I just—” He exhaled, like he was trying to piece together the thoughts swirling, twirling and twisting in his head. “I just want them to have a good life, y’know? Not—” He paused, swallowing. “Not like mine was.”

You cupped his face, rubbing your thumb gently over the cheekbone. “They will, Sammy.” Your voice quiet, trying to avoid waking everyone up “They'll have us, our families..all the love you've learned about in that book your mom gave you"

Sam rolled his eyes before staring at you for a long moment. He ducked his head, pressing his face into the crock of your neck. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you as close as he could without also crushing you. “God, I love you,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy-deactivated20250 @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

[aspenmissing]

hi hi !! any chance of a comfort fic (or headcanons) including viktor and someone that's very stressed from life in general ? like, im talking someone who feels like they haven't got any time to themselves anymore and they feel like every day is just them trying to keep their head above water :(( ofc you dont have to do it ! i just love the way you write viktor and your stuff is honestly vv comforting to me 🫶

ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 8499 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ, ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ/ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ(ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍʏ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ! ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ʜᴜɴ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

Y/N sat at the edge of the workbench, the dim light of the lab flickering in the background. A jumble of half-finished projects, scattered papers, and tools cluttered the surface. She tried to focus on just one task—just one thing that could make her feel like she was getting somewhere—but the weight of everything seemed to hang over her. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up a small wrench, trying to tighten a bolt, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t stop her mind from racing.

The noise of the world outside echoed in her mind: the demands, the expectations, the constant pressure to do more, be more, and keep pushing. Her body ached, and her chest felt heavy, as if the air itself had thickened, suffocating her. It was like she was caught in an endless cycle, spinning faster and faster, but never getting anywhere.

Every day felt like an uphill climb. Y/N tried to stay afloat—tried to stay positive, tried to make time for things that made her happy—but it felt impossible. The world had a way of pulling her in so many directions, and in all the chaos, she’d lost sight of who she was. It had been so long since she'd had time to herself, long enough to just breathe and do nothing without the constant shadow of obligation hanging over her. Every moment felt like an urgent race to keep up, to manage everything and not fall behind. The feeling of drowning, of barely keeping her head above water, gnawed at her every waking hour.

=

Jayce’s footsteps broke through the blur of her thoughts, the familiar sound of him coming closer. She barely registered it until his hand gently landed on her shoulder, sending a shock of warmth through her body. "Y/N..." His voice was soft, full of concern. "You okay?"

Y/N flinched slightly at the touch, not out of irritation but because she was so deep in her own head she hadn’t noticed him approach. She looked up at him, her eyes tired and heavy, the exhaustion in them reflected in the small, almost imperceptible slump of her posture. She tried to give him a smile, but it felt hollow. "I’m just... tired, Jayce," she whispered, her voice hoarse. The effort it took to even speak those words made her throat tighten. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. It’s like... I can’t keep up. Every day, it’s just one thing after another, and I’m trying to stay above water, but I feel like I’m sinking."

Jayce’s expression softened instantly. His eyes, usually so intense with focus, were now filled with empathy, his brow furrowed in concern. He crouched down beside her, making sure to meet her gaze as he gently lifted his hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek. The warmth of his palm felt like a lifeline, grounding her in the moment, in the stillness of the lab that felt so foreign amidst the whirlwind in her head.

"I get it," Jayce said, his voice calm but laced with a quiet sadness, as though he could feel the weight she was carrying. "I see how hard you’ve been working, day in and day out. I know you’ve been juggling so much, and I can tell it’s taking a toll. But Y/N... you don’t have to carry all of this on your own. You don’t have to do it all by yourself."

Y/N blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the tears that suddenly threatened to spill. She hadn’t meant to break down—not here, not in front of Jayce—but the strain of holding everything in had finally cracked her open. The vulnerability she’d been hiding felt almost unbearable.

“I’m scared, Jayce,” Y/N admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I’m trying so hard, but every day feels like I’m losing more of myself. And I don’t even know how to fix it.”

Jayce's eyes softened further, and for a moment, he said nothing. He just looked at her, his gaze gentle and understanding. His hand moved to the back of her neck, rubbing slow, soothing circles, his touch so steady and warm that it felt like an anchor in a storm.

"You don’t have to fix it all," he said quietly, his voice full of warmth and tenderness. "Not right now. Sometimes, all you need is a break. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard, and it’s okay to step back. You’ve done more than enough. But you can’t keep giving if you’re running on empty."

Y/N exhaled shakily, trying to steady her breathing, but she couldn’t fight the lump in her throat. Her heart felt heavy as Jayce’s words echoed in her mind. She knew he was right—had known it all along—but it was so hard to let herself admit it.

"I just... I don’t want to let anyone down," she murmured, her voice breaking as she finally let the tears fall. "I don’t want to disappoint you, or anyone else. I feel like if I stop, everything will fall apart."

Jayce immediately pulled her into his arms, holding her close in a gentle, protective embrace. His touch was grounding, warm, and unwavering, like he was giving her permission to let go of the weight she’d been carrying for far too long.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice firm but gentle, "You don’t have to carry all of this on your own. You never have to carry it alone. And as for disappointing me... I could never be disappointed in you. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask of you. Including me."

The weight in Y/N’s chest felt lighter in his arms. The world outside—the endless noise, the rush, the pressure—faded to the background, replaced by the warmth of Jayce’s presence. For the first time in what felt like ages, Y/N allowed herself to just be, to let go of the frantic pace she’d set for herself, if only for a moment.

Jayce pulled back slightly, enough to look her in the eyes. "You’ve been carrying so much, love. But you don’t have to keep doing it all. Let me help you, just for a little while. Take a moment to breathe, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes still watery but a small, fragile smile beginning to form on her lips. Jayce’s smile mirrored hers, warm and patient, like he was willing to wait for as long as it took for her to find her footing again.

He reached over and gently helped her sit down in one of the nearby chairs, guiding her like she was something precious, and for a moment, Y/N felt like she could just stop. Just breathe.

The air was still heavy, the world still chaotic, but for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel alone in it. And for now, that was enough.

"I’m here, Y/N," Jayce said softly, sitting next to her and resting a hand on her shoulder, not to fix anything, but to simply be there. "You don’t have to do this by yourself. I’m here."

And with that, Y/N let her head lean on his shoulder, finally allowing herself the space to relax. The weight in her chest wasn’t gone completely, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could take a step back and breathe.

VIKTOR

Y/N sat at her desk, her eyes barely staying open as the pile of work seemed to double in front of her. Her hands, once steady, trembled slightly as she tried to finish yet another task that seemed impossible to complete. It felt like a never-ending loop—wake up, work, sleep, repeat. No moments of rest. No time for herself. Every day she was getting further away from the things she used to love, her passions pushed aside by the weight of everything demanding her attention.

The ticking of the clock felt louder in the quiet room, its sound almost mocking her inability to keep up. The pile of papers in front of her blurred together, her mind constantly racing but never quite finding the right track to focus on. She longed for a moment to herself. Just a minute to breathe, to feel like she wasn’t drowning.

It wasn’t until she felt a gentle tap against her desk that she even realized Viktor had entered the room. She blinked, looking up through heavy eyelids to find him standing there, his cane resting against the floor as he leaned slightly on it. He watched her for a moment, his face soft with concern, before his eyes flicked to the scattered papers and the exhaustion clearly written on her face.

“Y/N…” Viktor’s voice was quiet but firm, the way it always was when he was concerned. His gaze never left her, studying her closely.

She forced a smile, the kind that barely reached her eyes. “I’m fine, Viktor. Just... a bit of a long day.”

His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. Viktor didn’t believe it. Not for a second. He knew her too well.

“You’ve been working for hours,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “I can see it on your face… You’re barely holding yourself together.”

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of his words sink in. She glanced at her watch—it was already late. Her body screamed for rest, but the work… the work had to be done. There was always something.

“I just need to finish this,” she muttered, but her voice faltered, her exhaustion clear.

Viktor gently placed his hand on the edge of the desk, his cane tapping softly on the floor as he leaned in a bit closer. “You can’t keep going like this, Y/N. You’re burning yourself out.”

She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that she didn’t have a choice, that she didn’t have the luxury of slowing down. But the look on Viktor’s face, the genuine concern, made the words catch in her throat.

He sat down next to her, his movements careful, as though he was afraid she might break if he moved too suddenly. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. You can’t do everything at once.”

Y/N lowered her head into her hands, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water… and everything’s just piling on top of me.”

Viktor’s hand gently rested on her shoulder, his touch grounding her in the moment. “I know it feels like that. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

His words hung in the air, warm and comforting, and for the first time that day, Y/N allowed herself to breathe. Viktor was right. She didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her own, even though it often felt that way.

“I’ll help,” Viktor continued softly. “Let me take some of this burden from you, miláčku. You’ve done more than enough. Now… let me take care of you.” (Darling)

Her heart fluttered at his words, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over her. Viktor was always there, steady and reliable, even when everything else seemed uncertain.

Y/N gave him a tired smile, a real one this time. “Thank you, Viktor.”

He smiled back, his eyes warm with affection. “You don’t need to thank me. Just… take care of yourself.”

He helped her gather her things, his movements gentle and purposeful as he quietly nudged her out of the chair. “Come on,” he urged softly. “Let’s go home. You need rest.”

Y/N nodded, her body aching for the comfort of her bed, but Viktor had other plans. He’d never been one to simply let her collapse into the world of sleep without giving her the space to breathe, to let go for a moment.

=

The walk back to their shared apartment felt like the longest part of her day, but Viktor was by her side, always there to steady her, offering quiet words of encouragement and support. Once inside, she shed her work clothes for something more comfortable and sank into the couch, letting her body fall against the cushions in a way that felt foreign—almost like she was rediscovering what comfort truly meant.

Viktor followed, careful not to disturb the peace she craved, and sat beside her. He didn’t rush her or demand anything from her. He simply wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. It wasn’t much, but the simple act of being close to him—of not being alone—was more soothing than any words could express.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Viktor reach for something on the table—her book. It was the one she had started weeks ago, the one she hadn’t had the chance to finish because work and life always seemed to take priority. She smiled weakly, watching as he gently opened it, his fingers grazing the pages with care.

“Would you like me to read to you?” Viktor asked quietly, his voice soft and comforting as always.

Y/N felt the weight on her chest lift just a little at the offer. It felt good to have him take the lead, to let him guide her toward something restful, something she didn’t have to carry alone.

She nodded, sinking further into his warmth, her head resting on his shoulder as he began to read. The words, though simple, felt like a balm to her worn-out soul. Viktor’s voice was steady and soothing, drawing her into the world of the story and away from the worries that had plagued her mind for so long.

As he read, she closed her eyes, letting herself be enveloped by the sound of his voice. She wasn’t thinking about the work waiting for her or the never-ending list of responsibilities. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to simply exist.

Viktor continued reading, his arm around her shoulders pulling her closer. The world outside their apartment faded into the background, and for that moment, Y/N allowed herself to rest. She could let go. Viktor had her, and that was enough.

JAYVIK

It had been a long, grueling week at the lab. Y/N barely remembered the last time she had a moment to herself, let alone a decent meal or a full night’s sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the work piled higher in her mind, like a stack of unfinished reports. It was as if there was no escaping the relentless demands. Each day, she was drowning a little more, struggling to keep her head above the water.

By the time she got home, she couldn’t even keep her eyes open. The exhaustion hit her like a wall. Her body was begging for rest, but her mind wouldn’t let her stop. The moment she stepped inside, Y/N didn’t even bother to take her shoes off. She shuffled into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, already halfway asleep. Papers were scattered across the coffee table, some unfinished reports, others filled with calculations, and a pen still loosely gripped in her hand. It was a scene that was all too familiar—her mind and body just too tired to continue.

When Viktor and Jayce arrived home, they found her exactly where they had expected: completely worn out. Viktor’s gaze softened as he surveyed the scene—Y/N’s sleeping form slumped on the couch, her legs curled up beneath her, her face pinched with exhaustion even in sleep. The faint click of Viktor’s cane against the floor echoed in the room as he stepped closer, his usually steady hand holding the cane as if it grounded him, yet his concern was evident in every line of his face.

“Lásko…” Viktor whispered, kneeling beside her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His heart ached seeing her like this. He could relate to the overwhelming weight of endless work, but he knew she was pushing herself too far. (Love)

Jayce stood beside him, his brow furrowed. He glanced at Viktor, his eyes full of concern. “She’s been burning herself out. She never gives herself a chance to breathe.”

Viktor sighed quietly, his voice low but filled with understanding. “She believes she has to handle everything on her own. She needs us… and a break.”

Without waiting for further words, Jayce knelt down and gently scooped her into his arms, his hands secure and strong around her. Y/N stirred slightly but remained asleep, her body instinctively curling against him as if she knew she was safe. She let out a small sigh, her muscles relaxing the moment she felt his warmth.

“Come on, let’s get her to bed,” Jayce murmured, his voice soft, almost protective.

Viktor, still kneeling beside them, gently took her hand, his fingers lightly curling around hers. As Jayce stood, lifting her carefully, Viktor followed behind, his cane clicking softly as it tapped against the floor. He stayed close, his presence a steady comfort, and he looked down at Y/N’s sleeping face, his thumb softly brushing over her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin and the steadiness of her breath.

When they reached the bedroom, Jayce laid her gently on the bed, adjusting the blankets around her so she was comfortable. He tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, his expression tender. Viktor moved to the other side of the bed, sitting down beside her, and continued holding her hand as he whispered words of reassurance.

"Rest, Y/N," he murmured, his voice calm and soothing. "Let go of all the pressure. We’re here now."

=

Once they were sure she was settled and asleep, Viktor and Jayce quietly left the room. They worked together to clean up the living room, stacking the papers neatly, organizing the reports, and making the place feel more inviting. The clutter of the day was swept away, and in its place, a calming atmosphere settled in.

Jayce busied himself in the kitchen, pulling out all of Y/N’s favourite ingredients. He moved with practiced ease, preparing a warm meal that he knew would comfort her—her favourite dish, made just the way she liked it. Viktor stood by the counter, helping where he could, but his mind kept drifting back to Y/N, his thoughts focused on her well-being.

“I think she’ll feel better after a good meal and some rest,” Jayce said quietly, glancing at Viktor as he set the table.

Viktor nodded, his gaze distant, yet soft. “She deserves more than just a moment of rest. We need to show her that it’s okay to lean on us. We can’t let her carry the weight of everything alone.”

=

After a short time, the meal was ready, and the kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering scent of Y/N’s favorite dish. Jayce and Viktor shared a look of quiet determination as they made their way back to the bedroom, where Y/N still slept soundly, the weight of exhaustion holding her in a peaceful slumber.

The moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a serene glow over the room. Viktor stood at the foot of the bed, watching Y/N with a soft gaze, his heart swelling with the quiet understanding of just how much she had been pushing herself. He didn’t want to wake her, but he knew she needed to eat and take care of herself.

Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers against Y/N’s cheek, a whisper of a touch meant to rouse her without startling her. His voice was soft but firm. “Miláčku… It’s time to wake up. We’ve got something for you.” (Darling)

She stirred slightly, a small sigh escaping her lips as the fatigue of the day clung to her. Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, taking in the soft light of the room and the warmth of her surroundings. She blinked a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep, but the sight of Viktor and Jayce standing there—looking at her with such care and concern—was enough to ease some of the tension in her chest.

She didn’t say anything at first, just took a few moments to process the quiet comfort of the room and their presence. But when her gaze met Jayce’s, a soft smile tugged at her lips. His features were gentle, and there was something so reassuring in his expression.

Jayce smiled back, his voice warm and steady. “We’ve got dinner ready for you. You’ve been working too hard, and now it’s time for you to rest and enjoy something just for you.”

Y/N's throat felt tight for a moment, emotions swirling inside her. She was overwhelmed by their care, by their willingness to take everything off her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much she needed this until now. Her eyes drifted closed for a brief moment, letting out a soft, quiet sigh as she let herself fully take in the comfort they were offering her.

Viktor, seeing her struggle to find her words, bent down to her level, brushing a kiss against her forehead. His touch was light, tender, and reassuring, as if grounding her in the moment. “Take your time,” he murmured, his voice low and calming. “You don’t have to rush. We’re here for you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she allowed herself to sink deeper into the bed. The fatigue from the past few days seemed to linger in the air around her, but with Viktor and Jayce’s unwavering presence, she felt it begin to slowly dissipate.

Jayce set the bowl of food on the nightstand next to her, then climbed into the bed beside her. He gently lifted her into a sitting position, making sure she was comfortable. His hand rested lightly on her back, guiding her to take the first bite of the warm meal. It was exactly what she needed—a simple, comforting dish she hadn’t realized she craved until now.

Viktor joined them on the bed, sitting beside her, his hand brushing over her hair, combing through the strands in soothing motions. They both watched her with quiet attention, their eyes soft and filled with affection. She ate slowly, savoring each bite, grateful for the care they were showing her in this quiet moment.

After a while, she finished her meal, and Viktor took the bowl from her, setting it aside. “How do you feel?” he asked softly, his gaze searching hers.

“Better,” she whispered, her voice hushed, but there was a genuine warmth to it now. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Jayce leaned in closer, placing a gentle hand on her knee. “You don’t always have to do everything alone, you know. We’re here for you. Just let us help.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her chest tightening with a mixture of relief and gratitude. She had always carried everything on her own—always thought she had to push through the exhaustion, the stress, the overwhelming demands. But with them here, she realized how much of a burden she had been placing on herself.

VANDER

The day had been a whirlwind, the noise from the kids echoing through the house like a never-ending storm. Vi was arguing with Powder again, Mylo had gotten into something he shouldn’t, and Claggor—well, Claggor just didn’t know when to stay out of trouble. It felt like there was always something to fix, someone to listen to, and the weight of it all was crushing.

Y/N had barely had a moment to herself in days. Every time she thought she might have a second to breathe, something else pulled her back into the chaos. They used to be able to balance everything, but lately it felt like she was barely treading water. The frustration, the exhaustion, it all boiled over when Powder had accidentally knocked over a jar, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Why can’t you be more careful?!” Y/N snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. Her heart sank the moment the words left her lips. Powder’s wide eyes filled with surprise and hurt, and Vi stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

“Y/N, calm down,” Vi said, her tone tense but trying to be gentle. “It’s just a mess.”

“I don’t have time for messes! I don’t have time for anything anymore!” Y/N cried, running a hand through her hair. “I’m the one always picking up after everyone. I can’t keep doing this... I can’t keep going like this!”

Without another word, Y/N turned and walked out of the room, their heart aching as the sounds of the kids murmuring followed behind. She felt the weight of their stares, but she couldn’t stay. Not like this.

Y/N shut the door to her and Vander’s room with a quiet thud, locking it behind her. The silence in the room was deafening. She collapsed onto the bed, her face buried in her hands, and let the tears come. It felt like everything had piled up—her responsibilities, the lack of time, the constant pressure. She felt like she was failing everyone, and worse, she’d snapped at the kids. They didn’t deserve that.

Her chest heaved with each sob, the tears flowing freely as the flood of emotions she had been bottling up finally overflowed. The weight of it all was too much.

A soft knock on the door made her flinch. “Y/N?” Vander’s voice was quiet, concerned. “Can I come in?”

She wiped her face hastily, sniffling. “I... I don’t want to talk about it, Vander,” she whispered.

The door creaked open slowly, and Vander stepped inside, his expression full of worry. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he could see it in the way she was curled up on the bed, how defeated she looked. The kids weren’t stupid either; they knew something was off, but he could see the toll it was taking on Y/N.

He walked over and sat beside her, gently taking her hand. “You’re carrying too much on your own, love,” he murmured. “You don’t have to do it all.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, the guilt sinking in as she leaned against him. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, Vander. I’m so tired of always trying to keep up, trying to keep everything from falling apart. I snapped at the kids, and now I feel like I’m failing them... failing you.”

Vander’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “You’re not failing anyone, Y/N. We’re in this together, always. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself. We’re a team, and if it’s too much for you right now, then I’m here. Let me help you.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding, the weight on her chest easing just a little. Vander’s presence was like a lifeline, steady and grounding.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I feel like I’m drowning.”

Vander squeezed her hand gently. “You’re not alone, love. You don’t have to do it all at once. One step at a time. And when you need a break, we’ll take it together. No shame in asking for help. Not from me, not from anyone.”

Y/N closed her eyes, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks as she nodded, letting herself finally lean into him fully. The world outside could wait for just a moment, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to just breathe.

Vander continued to hold her, offering comfort with every soft touch and reassuring word. “We’ll figure it out. One day at a time, Y/N. You’ve got this. And when you don’t, I’m right here with you.”

=

The room was heavy with the silence that followed Vander’s gentle reassurances. Y/N’s sobs had slowed to soft sniffles, and she felt herself drawing a little strength from the steady rhythm of Vander’s presence beside her. He held her close, and for a few precious moments, the outside world ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, holding onto each other, and for the first time all day, Y/N could breathe, even if just a little easier.

But the calm didn’t last for long.

A small creak at the door and then a soft knock interrupted the quiet. Y/N looked up, her red eyes meeting Vander’s, her chest tightening with guilt.

“Mom?” It was Vi, her voice quiet but unmistakably full of concern.

The door opened just enough for the kids to slip inside. Powder, Vi, Mylo, and Claggor, all standing there with wide eyes, their faces uncertain. They had followed her here. Y/N’s heart dropped, the guilt overwhelming her all over again. She’d been so angry with them, so caught up in her own frustration that she had lashed out. They didn’t deserve that. None of them did.

Y/N wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. She didn’t know what to say—how could she apologize for snapping at them, for letting everything get the best of her?

Vi stepped forward first, her brow furrowed but her tone soft. “We’re sorry, Mom... We didn’t mean to upset you.”

Y/N swallowed, her throat tight. “No, it’s not your fault, sweetheart. I—I shouldn’t have yelled,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t deserve that. You’re just being kids. I should have been better.”

Powder’s little face was a mixture of confusion and hurt. “But you were mad at us. We didn’t mean to mess things up, I swear!”

Y/N shook her head, her voice trembling with emotion as she looked at them all. “I know, Powder. I know you didn’t. I’ve just been so... so overwhelmed. And I didn’t know how to handle it. But that’s no excuse for taking it out on you.”

She took a deep breath, her voice breaking as she continued, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt any of you. I love you all so much. Please know that.”

A heavy silence fell between them. Then, without warning, Powder took a few steps forward, her arms opening wide. Without a word, she wrapped herself tightly around Y/N, burying her face into her mother’s chest.

Y/N’s heart twisted at the sight, and she immediately pulled her daughter closer, holding her tightly. "I’m so sorry, blue," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t mean to upset you."

Powder’s small voice came out muffled against her. “I know, Mom... I just... I just wanted you to know I love you.”

Y/N squeezed her tighter, a wave of relief washing over her as the love she felt for her children flooded her heart.

One by one, the others joined in. Vi, always protective, was next, her strong arms wrapping around both of them. Claggor, more reserved, stood behind her, his hand gently placed on Y/N’s shoulder before he slowly joined in the group hug. Mylo, who often kept his emotions locked away, hesitated for a moment but then stepped forward, his voice softer than usual. "We get it, Mom," he said, his arms finally circling around the family. "You’re doing a lot... We don’t blame you.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. She held them all, feeling the warmth of their embrace, the weight of her guilt melting away in that moment. “I love all of you so much,” she whispered through her tears. “And I’m sorry for not handling things better. I promise I’ll try harder, and I’ll always be here for you."

They stayed there in the middle of the room, huddled together, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade. The chaos, the pressures of the world outside, the overwhelming responsibilities—all of it didn’t matter in this instant. They were together, and that was enough.

Vander’s hand rested on Y/N’s back, grounding her in the quiet moment of love and connection, reminding her that no matter how hard things got, they were a family—and together, they would always be enough.

SILCO

Y/N sat in her cramped office, the dim light from the single desk lamp casting long shadows across the scattered papers and empty coffee mugs that had accumulated over the past few days. Her hands trembled as they clutched the edge of the desk, her breathing shallow and uneven. Another day of running, of deadlines, of feeling like she was constantly drowning in demands—yet none of it ever seemed to stop.

The clock on the wall ticked louder in the silence, each second a painful reminder of how much time had slipped away from her. She had always been the kind of person who could handle things, keep her composure, but today… today felt like the weight of the world was finally too much.

Without thinking, Y/N’s hands shot out and swiped across the desk, sending papers fluttering into the air like a violent storm. She shoved things off the edge, watching them crash to the floor in a mess of splintering wood and glass. The sound of it echoed in her ears as a sharp, hot pain bloomed in her palm. Looking down, she realized she had cut herself—broken glass had embedded itself into her skin, but the pain barely registered. It was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her exhaustion, her stress, her inability to just breathe.

She stood there, trembling, as a few beads of blood dripped onto the floor.

There was a brief, unsettling silence before she heard the door open.

Silco, with his usual calculated grace, stepped into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos around him. He took in the broken glass, the overturned furniture, the disarray—and then, finally, his gaze settled on Y/N, whose face was pale and flushed with the aftermath of her outburst.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and steady, almost too calm. "What have you done?"

Her eyes flickered to the shards of glass scattered at her feet, then back to him. The words stuck in her throat. How could she explain? How could she tell him that she was drowning in a sea of expectations, responsibilities, and the constant pressure to keep it all together?

Instead, she wiped the blood from her palm, trying to force a smile, but it only came out as a twisted grimace. "Nothing… Just… Just tired."

Silco took a slow step forward, his expression softening for the briefest of moments. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her injured hand, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the cold edge of his demeanor.

"You’re not fine," he said quietly. "You’re breaking yourself for things that don’t matter."

Y/N met his gaze, the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders. She didn't want to break down, not now, not here. But with Silco standing in front of her, offering something she hadn't expected—understanding—she couldn't help but let the dam crack.

"I don’t know how to fix it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I feel like I’m running out of time… like I’m always falling behind, always just trying to stay afloat. I don’t even know who I am anymore."

He didn’t say anything right away, but instead, he stepped closer, his presence towering over her in a way that should have been intimidating but somehow felt reassuring. His eyes softened as he took her uninjured hand in his, pulling her gently toward him. The tension in her chest loosened slightly as he held her, his grip firm, but not harsh.

"You don’t have to do this alone," Silco said, his voice now barely above a whisper. "I’ve seen what you’re capable of, Y/N. But even the strongest need a moment to breathe. Take it. You don’t have to carry it all."

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in her chest. Maybe… just maybe… she could let go for a while. She could trust that someone might be there to help her back up when she fell.

Her breath steadied, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to simply rest, letting the chaos fade into the background for just a moment.

=

Silco’s grip on her hand didn’t falter as he gently guided her from the wreckage of the office. Her legs felt shaky beneath her, the exhaustion now fully sinking in, and she leaned into him for support. The pain in her hand was a dull throb, but it was the last thing on her mind compared to the overwhelming sense of relief at simply not being alone with her thoughts.

They reached the door to their shared room, and Silco opened it with ease, ushering her inside. The warm, dim lighting of the room contrasted with the harsh, sterile feel of her office. Silco didn’t hesitate for a moment—he helped her over to the bed, carefully laying her down, the sheets cool against her skin.

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her body sinking into the comfort of the bed, but the weight of everything still hung over her. Silco stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, his gaze fixed on her, his sharp features softer than usual. It wasn’t often that he showed vulnerability, but in this moment, his concern for her was evident.

“You’ve done enough for today,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

Y/N watched as he moved to a nearby drawer, pulling out a small first aid kit. She was vaguely aware of his careful movements, the way he treated each item with precision. His presence was oddly calming, grounding her in the midst of her storm. As he returned to her side, he didn’t speak for a moment, simply taking her injured hand in his. His touch was surprisingly tender, as if he were handling something fragile.

“Hold still,” he instructed softly, his voice a low murmur.

Y/N did as he said, watching him with quiet eyes as he cleaned the cut on her palm with a soft cloth. The sting of the antiseptic made her flinch slightly, but she didn’t pull away. There was something about his care, the way he moved with such confidence and authority, that made her feel safer than she had all day.

Silco worked methodically, each motion deliberate. His gaze occasionally flickered up to meet hers, but he didn’t say much—he didn’t need to. It was clear he was focused on her, on making sure she was alright, and that was enough.

When the wound was cleaned and bandaged, he paused, his thumb lightly grazing over the wrapped hand. “This won’t be the last time you hurt yourself like this if you don’t take a step back,” he said, his voice still quiet, but firm.

Y/N glanced up at him, unsure how to respond. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could see everything she had been hiding from herself—her fears, her doubts, the mess of emotions she had tried so hard to keep contained.

“You don’t have to keep everything inside,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “You don’t have to be the one to carry all the weight.”

She swallowed, fighting the lump in her throat. "I don’t know how to stop. I don't know how to let go."

Silco sat beside her on the bed, his hand still resting gently on hers. For a moment, he just looked at her, his sharp eyes piercing, but there was something else there now. Something softer.

“You don’t have to let go all at once,” he said quietly. “But you need to let someone in. Let me in.”

His gaze softened as he brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I won’t let you drown, my darling. Not while I’m here."

Y/N's chest tightened as the words sank in. There was comfort in them, but also a rawness. A weight that she didn’t know how to carry, but didn’t feel quite so heavy with him at her side.

She closed her eyes, letting herself rest in the quiet, in the calm that Silco had offered her—a rare peace amidst the chaos of her mind.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with the weight of unspoken things.

Silco didn't answer right away, but his presence beside her was enough. His hand, still holding hers, was warm and steady—a silent promise that, for once, she didn’t have to fight alone.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N sat in the corner of the small, dimly lit room, her fingers tangled in her hair as she stared blankly at the table in front of her. The faint sound of ticking from an old clock on the wall was the only thing breaking the silence. She had barely slept in days, overwhelmed by everything piling up around her. Life had become a relentless wave, crashing over her with no respite, no time to breathe.

She hadn’t had a single moment to herself in what felt like forever. Every day was the same: wake up, face the chaos, try to stay afloat. And yet, no matter how hard she swam, she never quite made it to shore. It felt like the world around her was constantly spinning faster, while she was stuck in the eye of the storm, unable to move forward.

Jinx, ever perceptive despite her chaotic personality, leaned against the doorframe. Her mischievous grin softened as she saw Y/N’s exhaustion. "Hey, hey," she said, her voice a little gentler than usual. "You look like you’ve seen better days, pal."

Y/N didn’t immediately respond. She simply nodded, her gaze never leaving the table. Jinx padded over, plopping down beside her. The room was quiet for a moment, save for the occasional clink of Jinx’s bracelets or the hum of her wild energy trying to find its outlet.

"You know," Jinx began, swinging her legs back and forth as she nudged Y/N’s arm lightly, "it’s okay to stop sometimes, y’know? You don’t gotta keep running all the time. Life’s nuts, yeah, but you can’t let it steal all your joy."

Y/N glanced at her, trying to manage a smile, but it felt too heavy. “I just… I don’t know how to keep going, Jinx. It’s like... like I’m just treading water and I can’t get out of this cycle.”

Jinx tilted her head, her usual wild energy settling for just a moment. “Sounds like you need a break. Like, a serious one. Not one of those ‘I’ll just close my eyes for five minutes’ things. I mean a real one.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples as the weight of the world seemed to press down harder. “I don’t even know what that would look like. It’s like... everything’s so out of my control. I can’t even find a minute where I’m not thinking about what’s next.”

Jinx reached over, grabbing Y/N’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “You know what I think? I think you deserve a little chaos that’s just for fun. Not the kind that makes your head spin—nah. The kind that makes you laugh, even if it’s just for a second.”

Y/N glanced at Jinx, her expression softening just a bit. “I don’t know if I have the energy for chaos right now…”

Jinx tilted her head, her bright blue eyes studying Y/N closely. For a moment, she was quiet, sensing the exhaustion in her friend’s voice. She could see that Y/N wasn’t up for anything big—not the loud, explosive kind of chaos Jinx usually thrived on. Instead, her grin softened, and she gave Y/N’s hand another reassuring squeeze. “Alright, alright. Maybe we don’t need to go all out. You don’t gotta run at full speed. How about... something small? Just a little bit of fun. Something that doesn’t need all that energy.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by Jinx’s sudden shift. She was usually all about wild, unpredictable adventures. “Small?” Y/N asked, her voice hesitant. “Like what?”

Jinx thought for a moment, her eyes lighting up with a playful spark. “How about we take a walk? Nothing crazy. Just... get out of this place for a bit. I bet we can find something interesting, even if it’s just in the alley or down by the docks. I promise, you won’t have to run around like a lunatic.”

Y/N smiled softly, appreciating the gentleness in Jinx’s suggestion. “That sounds... doable,” she said, her voice a little steadier. “Maybe I just need to... breathe for a moment.”

Jinx grinned widely, her usual exuberance returning in full force. “Exactly! And hey, I’ll make sure nothing too ridiculous happens—no promises about what we find, though,” she added with a wink.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at Jinx’s playful tone. “Alright, let’s go.”

=

With that, they stood up and stepped outside. The cool night air hit Y/N’s face, and she felt a little weight lift off her shoulders as she followed Jinx down the street. The city stretched out in front of them, a familiar mix of shadowy alleys and the neon glow of distant lights. But tonight, it didn’t seem so overwhelming. There was no rush, no pressure. Just a quiet moment between two friends—one who had learned to slow down, and the other who, for once, didn’t need to drag her into an explosion of color and sound.

They walked, side by side, for a while. The pace was slow, almost meandering, and Y/N let herself enjoy the simple act of being out in the world, without the constant pressure of things that needed to be done. She didn’t have to think about the work waiting for her back home, or the things she had been neglecting for weeks. She didn’t have to focus on anything except the sound of her boots tapping softly against the cracked pavement, the hum of the distant city, and Jinx’s voice breaking the quiet every now and then with some random, offbeat observation.

Y/N smiled slightly at Jinx’s ramblings. Despite the madness of the world they lived in, the chaotic moments Jinx often dragged her into, there was something incredibly grounding about her presence right now. She wasn’t pulling Y/N toward a wild adventure or an explosive stunt. Instead, they were just two people walking. And in that simple act, Y/N realized, for the first time in a long while, she could actually take a moment to just be.

The wind carried the smell of old brick and faint smoke from nearby fires. The city always felt like it was half-dreaming, always moving yet always at rest. It was a rhythm that Y/N had grown used to, even if it sometimes felt like it was working against her. But tonight, she let herself flow with it.

After walking for a while, Jinx’s energetic voice broke the calm. She glanced over at Y/N, a sly grin on her face. “Hey, you’re looking a lot less like you’re about to collapse. Progress! But, I think it’s time for a little... treat.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curious. “Treat? What, like ice cream?”

Jinx shook her head in exaggerated disbelief. “Nah, no ice cream for you! Too cold for that. But I know a place.” She gave Y/N a mischievous look. “It’s weird. You’ll probably never find another one like it.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Well, if it’s weird, then I’m definitely in.”

The two of them veered off the main street, walking toward a tiny café tucked between two larger, much grittier buildings. The sign above the door was old and worn, and the words were barely visible from age and grime, but there was something charming about it—the kind of place where the inside felt cozy despite its external appearance.

As they stepped inside, the warmth of the café enveloped them, a stark contrast to the chill of the street. The smell of brewing coffee and baked goods filled the air, making Y/N’s stomach rumble softly. The interior was a mishmash of mismatched chairs and old wooden tables, the kind of place that looked like it had been around for ages, catering to everyone from tired travelers to locals who sought out its quiet corners.

Jinx, of course, wasted no time. She walked straight up to the counter, where an older woman with a kind face looked up from behind the counter, recognizing her instantly. “Back again, Jinx?” the woman asked with a small laugh.

Jinx grinned wide. “You know it! And I brought my friend Y/N this time. She’s in desperate need of some weird food.”

The woman raised an eyebrow but nodded, giving Y/N a friendly smile. “Well, you’re in the right place. We’ve got pastries that’ll make you question everything you thought you knew about food.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of a pastry that could be so world-altering. “I’m intrigued. What do you recommend?”

The woman leaned in, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “Our special today is something called ‘jelly beans and cheese scones.’ Strange, I know, but it’s a local favorite.”

Y/N blinked, not sure whether to laugh or grimace. “Jelly beans... and cheese scones?”

Jinx nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling. “I told you it was weird! You gotta try it! It sounds insane, but it’s kinda... surprisingly good.”

Y/N hesitated, but then glanced at Jinx. Her energy was infectious, and for some reason, it felt right to just go with it tonight. "Alright, I’ll try it."

The woman smiled knowingly and handed them both a small plate with the strange combo. Y/N took a tentative bite of the scone, and to her surprise, the sweetness of the jelly beans paired with the rich, buttery flavour of the scone worked. It was... unusual, but in a comforting way. She couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous it all was.

Jinx grinned like she’d just won a victory. “See? Told you it’s a game-changer. Life’s too short to take seriously all the time. Sometimes, you just gotta eat jelly beans and cheese scones.”

Y/N laughed, her heart light. She took another bite, savoring the oddness of it all. It felt good. It felt like a step in the right direction.

They sat there for a while longer, talking about nothing in particular—just letting the quiet moments stretch on, the world outside forgotten. And in that small, cozy café, Y/N felt the tension slowly ease from her shoulders. Maybe it was just a simple walk, a weird pastry, and a bit of conversation, but it was enough to remind her that it was okay to take a pause. It was okay to breathe.

And for the first time in a long while, Y/N let herself feel... at peace.

[cruel-seduction]

You need a massage? (Friends to something else)

You were cross-legged on your bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, trying—and failing—to ignore the dull ache settling deep in your shoulders. Hours of hunching over your desk had left you stiff and sore, your muscles tight in a way that made you shift uncomfortably every few minutes. With a frustrated sigh, you reached up to rub the back of your neck, fingers digging in where the tension was worst.

From where he was lounging against your headboard, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone, Peter glanced over.

"You good?" His voice was casual, but there was something soft beneath it, the kind of quiet concern he never really tried to hide.

You exhaled through your nose. "Just tense. My back’s killing me."

There was a pause. Just long enough for you to look up and catch him hesitating, his phone slipping from his hands as he considered something.

Then, a little unsure, he said, "I could—uh—give you a massage?"

Your fingers stilled against your neck. You blinked at him. Then scoffed. "Since when do you give massages?"

Peter shrugged, aiming for nonchalant. "Super strength. Good hands. What more do you need?"

Your stomach did this weird little flip—one you definitely ignored. Because, well. He wasn’t wrong. The thought of Peter’s hands on you, warm and firm, pressing into all the places that ached… Yeah, that was dangerous. And completely unnecessary.

So, obviously, you played it off. Kept it casual. "Alright," you said, shifting so your back was to him. "Just—don’t break me."

You expected him to be awkward about it. Maybe throw in a joke, squeeze your shoulders once, and call it a day.

What you didn’t expect was for his hands to land on you with just the right amount of pressure—strong, steady, like he actually knew what he was doing. His thumbs pressed into the knots at the base of your neck, and the effect was immediate. A deep, full-body shudder ran through you before you could stop it, your head tipping forward as his fingers dug in, slow and deliberate.

"Jesus, Pete," you muttered, your voice embarrassingly weak.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "That good?"

You just hummed, too busy melting under his touch to form a real answer. His hands worked their way down, easing the tension out of your shoulders, then lower, following the curve of your spine. It was… methodical. Almost too good. Like he was paying attention to every spot that made you relax just a little more, every knot that made you exhale a little deeper.

And that was when you became hyperaware. Of the warmth of his breath near your ear. Of the way his thighs shifted behind you.

Of how close he really was.

It was just a massage.

That’s what you told yourself.

But then his hands slid lower.

Not in a way that felt intentional—Peter wasn’t like that. But when his fingers pressed into the dip of your lower back, something in your stomach clenched. And maybe it was the way your breath caught just slightly. Maybe it was the way his fingers lingered for a second too long.

Or maybe it was the fact that when you leaned back—just a little, just instinct—you felt it.

The unmistakable press of something hard against your lower back.

Your body locked up.

Peter went rigid behind you.

For one long, charged second, neither of you moved.

Then, just as you were about to laugh—pretend you hadn’t noticed—he shifted. Just barely. Just enough for you to feel him again.

A sharp, breathless noise slipped out of you before you could stop it.

Peter’s hands twitched against your waist. His breath, warm against your shoulder, stuttered.

"You—" His voice came rough, strained. He cleared his throat. "You okay?"

You swallowed, turned your head slightly—just enough that your lips nearly brushed his jaw. "Are you?"

His grip on you tightened. Like he was debating pulling away. Like he was fighting against whatever was hanging thick in the air between you.

But then—slow, hesitant—his fingers flexed again. This time, they brushed just under the hem of your shirt. Testing.

Your breath hitched.

And just like that, something shifted.

No longer innocent. No longer just a massage.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, your thighs bracketing his. Peter swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between your parted lips and the heat in your gaze.

Waiting.

Letting you decide.

You did.

You kissed him—soft at first, then hungrier, more desperate. He met you halfway, groaning into your mouth as his hands slid beneath your shirt, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. You shifted against him, your hips rolling—just a little, just enough to feel the hard, heavy length of him through his sweats.

His breath caught.

"Fuck," he muttered, his head dropping against your shoulder. His fingers pressed hard into your sides, like he was barely holding himself together. "You—" He exhaled sharply. "You can’t just do that."

"Do what?" you asked, all fake innocence, even as you did it again.

He let out a strangled noise, his hands tightening on your waist. "That."

You grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw. "You sure you wanna keep massaging me?"

His grip on you tightened.

Then, before you could blink, he flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him. His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, uneven.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," he murmured, voice thick, dark, promising.

A shiver ran down your spine. "What do you have in mind?"

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk.

"Guess you’ll find out."

[wendichester]

i adore your work and have been binge reading while bedridden. i deal with some pretty chronic pain that can leave me completely incapable of moving by the end of given day. can you write a little something something about sam taking care of the reader when she’s having a particularly difficult time with her pain? again, love it to bits and appreciate the fuck out of what you do xx

𐙚 ⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 painkiller,

summary. sam will always take care of you. always.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 586

notes. hope you're feeling better, hun. come back with a request whenever. sam and I are always here for ya 🩷

The pain is a living thing. It curls around your bones, digs its claws into your muscles, and settles deep into the marrow of you. By the time the sun dips below the horizon, you’re a prisoner in your own body, trapped under the weight of it. You’re on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the ache that radiates from your spine to the tips of your fingers.

Sam finds you like that—motionless, silent, tears slipping down your temples and into your hair. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the room, and watches you.

“Hey,” he says finally, his voice soft, like he’s afraid of breaking you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. The words are stuck in your throat, tangled up with the pain, the frustration, and the guilt. Guilt because you know he’s been worried about you all day, guilt because you can’t do this alone, guilt because you hate that he has to see you like this.

But Sam doesn’t care about any of that. He never has.

He crosses the room in three long strides, his boots thudding softly against the carpet, and sits on the edge of the bed. His hand finds yours, his fingers brushing over your knuckles, and it’s so gentle, so careful, that it makes your chest ache differently.

“Bad day?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

You nod, and the movement sends a fresh wave of pain shooting down your neck. You wince, and Sam’s face does that thing it does when he’s trying not to look too worried, too scared. He’s always been bad at hiding it.

“Okay,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Let’s fix it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. He gets up, and you hear him rummaging through the duffel bag he keeps by the door. When he comes back, he’s holding a heating pad, a bottle of painkillers, and a glass of water.

“Sit up,” he says, and his voice is firm but kind.

You try, you really do, but your body doesn’t want to cooperate. Sam doesn’t get frustrated. He just slides an arm under your shoulders and helps you up, his touch steady and sure.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

He props you up with pillows, tucks the heating pad behind your back, and hands you the painkillers and water. You take them without argument because you’re too tired to fight, and because you know he won’t let you say no anyway.

When you’re settled, he sits next to you, his thigh pressed against yours, and starts to rub your shoulders. His hands are big, warm, and impossibly gentle, and you can’t help but lean into him.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sam doesn’t stop. “Yeah, I do.”

And that’s it. That’s all he says. No grand speeches, no pity, no frustration. Just yeah, I do.

You close your eyes, and for the first time all day, the pain doesn’t feel quite so heavy. It’s still there, of course—it’s always there—but it’s easier to bear with Sam’s hands on you, with his quiet strength holding you up.

“Thank you,” you say, and it’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it’s all you have.

Sam doesn’t say anything. He just keeps rubbing your shoulders, his touch steady and sure, and you know he understands.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @szyszoszelest ⋆ @angelicalm3ss

[onebadassunicorn]

As Different as Night and Day

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: angst

word count: 5.4k

Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway @sillyfreakfanparty @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @plants-w0rld

Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog @phoenix666stuff @breathingstarlight

Taglist: @melmo567 @ashduv @myfatbottomedgirls @batboyslutt

Image owned by Soluna Artworks.

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

********

Chapter 4

Azriel didn’t sleep.

He had laid awake all night, staring at the ceiling, shadows curling around him like restless creatures.

Trying—failing—to ignore the lingering pull in his chest.

The bond.

The bond that needed to be broken.

And so, at dawn, he winnowed straight to Day Court.

To end this.

The sun was already high in the sky, bathing the golden city in a soft, shimmering glow, the air warm and crisp.

But Azriel felt none of it.

Felt only the weight of what he was about to do.

The golden doors to Helion’s palace opened before he could even knock, and a courtier bowed, leading him through grand, sunlit halls until he stood in Helion’s study.

The High Lord of Day sat behind an ornate desk, swirling a glass of amber-colored wine despite the early hour.

He looked entirely at ease, like he had been expecting him.

"Ah, Spymaster." Helion’s lips curled, leaning back in his chair, golden robes pooling around him. "I had a feeling I’d be seeing you today."

Azriel’s jaw clenched.

"Where is she?"

Helion arched a perfect brow. "Straight to the point. How very Illyrian of you."

Azriel exhaled sharply, barely suppressing his impatience. "I need to speak with her."

"About?"

"The bond."

Helion took a slow sip of his drink, watching him over the rim of his glass.

"And what about the bond, exactly?"

Azriel straightened his spine.

"I’m going to reject it."

Silence.

Then—Helion chuckled.

Not the reaction Azriel had expected.

Not at all.

"Are you now?" Helion mused, swirling his wine. "How very fascinating."

Azriel’s wings twitched in irritation.

"She isn’t here, is she?"

Helion tilted his head, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. "No."

Azriel’s stomach dipped.

"Where?"

"Winter Court," Helion answered smoothly. "She left this morning to perform there tonight."

Azriel exhaled sharply, frustration creeping in.

Helion set down his glass with a soft clink, folding his hands together, his expression turning more contemplative.

"Tell me something, Spymaster."

Azriel lifted his gaze.

"Why are you so desperate to break this bond?"

Azriel’s jaw tightened. "Because neither of us want it."

"Is that so?"

Azriel’s brows furrowed. "Yes."

Helion leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly.

"Funny. Because from where I was standing in that alley last night, I saw two people who looked very much like they wanted each other."

Azriel’s throat bobbed.

"You saw wrong."

Helion just smirked.

"Did I?"

Azriel clenched his fists, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted at the memory of that kiss.

The way you had grabbed him like you were furious to want him.

The way his hands had pulled you closer, like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

No.

No.

Helion propped his chin on one hand, studying him.

"You don’t need a meek and mild mate, Azriel."

Azriel’s heart kicked against his ribs.

"You need someone who will put up a fight. Someone who will challenge you."

Azriel said nothing, only held Helion’s gaze, unflinching.

"And my daughter?" Helion continued, his golden eyes gleaming. "She won’t bow. Not to you. Not to anyone."

Azriel’s shadows twisted sharply.

He knew that.

Had felt it the moment you stepped onto that stage, when you had bent down to sing in his face, taunting him with your voice, your body, your defiance.

Had felt it even more when you shoved him away, hissing at him in the alley, refusing to be claimed.

Helion’s voice softened, his tone almost fatherly.

"But there’s one thing you should know about her, Azriel."

Azriel stilled.

"She loves big."

Helion’s gaze turned thoughtful and his voice, more serious.

"If my daughter ever decides to give you her heart, you will never know love the way you will with her."

Azriel’s chest tightened.

Helion watched him carefully, his golden eyes sharp, piercing.

"She loves big, Azriel. She loves deeply, generously and without reservation. She would love you unconditionally and would always defend you and stand by your side, consequences be damned.”

Helion shook his head slowly.

“She doesn’t give her heart away easily. But if she does? You will never want to be without her and you will never want to love anyone else again."

Azriel couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t even look away from the High Lord as those words settled over him, sinking into his skin.

Helion leaned back in his chair, watching him like he had already figured him out.

"She may be hard to win over," he admitted. "She may put up a fight. She may test you, push you, challenge you at every turn."

A pause.

Then—Helion smirked.

"But if you fight for her? If you fight to win her heart?"

His golden eyes gleamed.

"It will be well worth it because she will love you with everything she has."

Azriel’s breath caught slightly.

Because he had not expected that.

Had not expected to hear that beneath your fire, beneath your sharp tongue and refusal to submit—was a heart that, if given, would be given wholly.

Helion leaned back. "Just something to consider."

Azriel cleared his throat, forcing himself to nod.

"Thank you for letting me know where she is."

He prepared to winnow away, to go to Winter Court and end this once and for all.

But then—Helion spoke again.

"Azriel."

The Illyrian paused, looking at him.

Helion’s expression was serious now.

"Don’t make hasty decisions and screw up the best thing that’s ever happened to you."

A long, heavy silence stretched between them.

And then—Azriel nodded.

And vanished.

*****

Back at the House of Wind, Azriel sat in silence, staring into the flickering glow of the hearth, the flames dancing before him, but offering no warmth, no clarity.

Only chaos.

Only the unbearable weight of Helion’s words repeating over and over again in his mind.

"If she ever decides to give you her heart, you will never know love the way you will with her."

"You will never want to love anyone else again."

"She may be hard to win over, but if you fight for her… it will be well worth it because she will love you with everything she has."

Azriel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, gripping the strands tight.

Because he knew.

Knew what Helion was saying was true.

If he won you, if you chose him—

It would be everything he had ever wanted.

Everything he had dreamed of but never believed he would have.

A mate who would stand beside him, consequences be damned.

A mate who would love him unconditionally, without hesitation, without fear.

A mate who wouldn’t just accept his darkness, but match it with her own.

Because that’s what you were—fire and storm, unrelenting and wild.

And gods—what would it feel like to be loved by you?

What would it feel like to be chosen by you?

To be yours and yours alone?

Because he knew—if you loved him -

There would be no half-measures, no careful distance.

You would burn for him.

Would fight for him.

Would stand beside him even when the world turned against you.

And that thought terrified him.

Because he had never had that.

Because no one had ever truly chosen him.

Except Elain.

And he loved Elain.

He truly did.

It was a soft, quiet thing—a love born of gentle moments and whispered promises.

She was kind, sweet, and full of light.

She saw him as something more than just the Spymaster, more than just shadows and steel and blood.

She saw the softness in him, the careful restraint, the quiet longing he had never dared to show anyone else.

And for a long time, he had convinced himself that was enough.

That he didn’t need a love that burned.

That he didn’t need to be consumed, to ache, to hunger for more.

But you—

You had shattered everything.

And now—now that it was within reach, now that the Cauldron had placed before him the one thing he had always wanted—

He was afraid.

Because what if he fought for you, risked everything for you… and lost?

What if you decided you didn’t want him?

What if you looked at him one day and realized he wasn’t enough?

What if this bond was nothing more than a cruel joke, a mistake, a twisted twist of fate?

Could he live with that?

Could he survive loving you, knowing you would never love him back?

His chest ached, a slow, unbearable pain that coiled deep inside him.

Because there was also Elain.

Elain, who was safe.

Elain, who was kind and sweet and good.

Elain, who had chosen him when he had thought no one ever would.

But was that enough?

Was it enough to be safe?

To be comfortable?

To be loved gently, carefully—never entirely, never fully?

Or did he want more?

Did he want to burn?

Did he want to risk it all for something greater, something real, something raw?

Azriel clenched his jaw, staring into the fire, his heart thundering in his chest.

His heart told him to burn, to choose something real.

But his mind?

His mind told him his decision was already made.

He was going to break the bond.

He was going to uphold his promise to Elain.

Because he had to.

Didn’t he?

*****

The dressing room was warm, the glow of candlelight flickering off the mirrors lining the vanity as you adjusted the straps of your dress.

The fabric was rich and decadent, hugging your curves in all the right places, the color a striking contrast against your sun-kissed skin.

You reached behind you, fingers grasping for the zipper, twisting slightly as you tried—and failed—to pull it up.

A frustrated sigh left your lips.

And then—a commotion outside your dressing room door.

Loud voices.

Raised.

Angry.

And one of them belonged to Ryder.

Your brows knitted together just as the door was shoved open, crashing against the wall with a force that made the mirror tremble.

And standing there, his chest rising and falling hard, his hazel eyes dark with fury—was Azriel.

A very, very pissed off Azriel.

Ryder was immediately behind him, his expression wild, his body tense with rage.

"Who the fuck do you think you are—"

"We need to talk."

Azriel’s voice was low, sharp as steel, as he cut Ryder off without sparing him a glance.

His entire focus was on you.

Ryder growled, his hands curling into fists as he stepped forward, ready to throw Azriel out if necessary.

You sighed sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"It’s okay, Ryder."

Ryder’s head snapped toward you.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

You met his stormy blue gaze, offering him a firm nod.

"It’s fine."

Ryder exhaled sharply, glaring at Azriel one last time before reluctantly stepping back, closing the door behind him.

And then it was just the two of you.

Azriel didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stood there, taking up all the space in the room, his presence thick and suffocating.

His hazel eyes were burning as they raked over you, traveling up and down your body with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You hated the way your skin heated under his gaze, hated the way the bond in your chest thrummed in response to his presence.

You scowled, crossing your arms.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Azriel’s jaw tightened.

His hands flexed at his sides.

And still, he said nothing.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply before turning your back to him, exposing the open zipper of your dress.

"Well, while you think about why you’re here, you can help me zip this up."

Silence.

Then a slow inhale.

Azriel stepped forward.

His hands were shaking as they ghosted over the fabric of your dress.

His fingers brushed the bare skin of your spine.

And Azriel swore under his breath.

He curled his fingers around the zipper, slowly, painstakingly, dragging it up.

His knuckles brushed along the length of your back, his touch featherlight, reverent.

You hated the way your skin broke out in goosebumps, hated the way your breathing hitched, hated the way his presence was overwhelming you.

Azriel’s breath fanned over your exposed shoulder, and you swore he leaned in.

Swore he inhaled.

And for the briefest, most damning moment -

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you breathed.

Azriel’s fingers traced a slow, deliberate path back down your spine, his touch barely there, yet scorching against your skin.

You hated the way your body responded, the way your breath caught for a fraction of a second.

And you especially hated the way he hesitated at your hips—just for a moment—before stepping away.

As if it physically pained him to let go.

You turned back to face him, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest, the bond thrumming like a live wire between you.

Azriel’s gaze swept over you once more, dark and heated, his lips pressing into a tight line.

Then, with a scowl, he muttered, "You call this scrap of fabric a dress?"

Your brows shot up.

"Yes, this is a dress, Azriel."

His jaw clenched, his wings twitching behind him.

"You need to wear something that covers you more."

You crossed your arms, amused despite the tension crackling between you.

"Oh? Do I now?"

Azriel’s eyes flickered, his voice low, edged with something dangerous.

"Otherwise, men will be climbing all over themselves to touch you."

You let out a sharp, unamused laugh.

"Well, thank you for your concern, but I will be wearing what I want to wear. And what I want to wear is this dress."

You turned away, ready to put space between you before he made you lose your temper entirely.

But before you could take a step, a firm, unrelenting grip closed around your wrist.

Azriel’s fingers tightened, his touch scorching hot, unyielding.

You whipped around, glaring at him.

His expression was dark, unreadable, his hazel eyes flickering with something primal.

"If you were mine," he said slowly, his voice a low, lethal promise, "I wouldn’t let you out of my sight dressed like this."

Your stomach twisted violently.

Not in fear.

Not in anger.

But in something else entirely.

So you lifted your chin, steeling yourself.

"Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not yours, now isn’t it?"

His grip tightened just slightly before releasing you.

You inhaled sharply, your nails digging into your palms, grounding yourself.

Then, cold as steel, sharp as a dagger, you met his gaze.

"You wanted to talk, Azriel?" Your voice was icy, unreadable. "So talk."

Azriel didn’t look away.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t let himself focus on the way your chest rose and fell with sharp, irritated breaths.

Didn’t let himself acknowledge the way your scent, infuriatingly intoxicating, filled the air around him.

Didn’t let himself admit that his hands still ached from where he had touched you—your wrist, your back, your hips.

That it wasn’t enough.

That it would never be enough.

Because he had come here for one reason.

And one reason only.

He inhaled slowly, forcing his voice into something cold, detached, distant.

"I came to talk to you about the bond."

The amusement, the taunting edge, vanished from your expression instantly.

Your entire body stiffened, your gray eyes flashing with something unreadable.

He pressed on before you could interrupt.

"Since neither of us want it," he said, each word carefully measured, each syllable a slow dagger against his own chest.

"We need to reject it."

Silence.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out at first.

And then—you let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

A sound that wasn’t joyful, wasn’t amused—just bitter.

You shook your head slightly, crossing your arms, a cruel smirk tugging at your lips.

"So that’s what this is?" you muttered. "You storm into my dressing room, scowl at my dress, insult me, act like you have any say over what I do with my body, and then—"

Your expression darkened, hardening into something lethal.

"Then you tell me you want to reject the bond."

Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides.

"It’s not about want," he said carefully.

Your eyes narrowed.

"Then what is it about?"

He clenched his jaw. "We both made our choices before the bond snapped."

Something in your gaze flickered.

"You mean you made your choice, Azriel. You decided to chain yourself to a female who will never really be yours."

A sharp, dangerous growl rumbled in his throat.

"I have not chained myself to Elain. I love her. Besides, that’s not your concern."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re right. It’s not. Because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not interested in being anyone’s mate. Least of all yours."

Before he could stop himself, before he could think it through—

The words left his mouth like a whipcrack.

"So then what the hell are you doing with Ryder?"

Slowly, you faced him again, your expression shifting from startled to furious in the span of a breath.

"Excuse me?"

Azriel’s wings tensed, his hazel eyes darkening.

He fisted his hands at his sides, every instinct screaming at him to do something—

But he had no right.

No right to demand answers from you.

No right to be jealous.

No right to want you when he had spent all night convincing himself that he didn’t.

Still, he growled, "He’s not your mate."

Your eyes flashed dangerously.

"Neither are you. Not really."

His stomach twisted violently.

You took a slow step forward, tilting your head. "I happen to love Ryder. He has been the only male who I can trust, who wants me for me. Not my body or otherwise. So tell me, Azriel… what the fuck do you care?"

He opened his mouth—but nothing came out.

And gods—you smirked.

Like you had won.

Like you knew exactly what kind of war you had ignited inside him.

You shook your head, your voice turning sharp as a blade.

"That’s what I thought."

Azriel knew that should have made this easier.

Should have made the decision final.

Should have snapped the bond apart right then and there.

So why did his chest ache?

Why did his shadows curl around him, desperate, restless, as if they knew the truth before he did?

Why did the thought of breaking the bond make something deep inside him claw against his ribs?

But he had no choice.

He had Elain.

He had a promise to keep.

So he swallowed the bitterness, the pain, the fire that burned only for you.

And simply said, "Then we’re in agreement. It needs to be done."

Another long, tense silence.

Then—you turned away from him, exhaling sharply.

"Fine, Azriel. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it."

He should have felt relief.

He should have felt free.

Azriel snapped.

It was the way you said it—so final, so dismissive.

Like you truly didn’t care.

Like you weren’t feeling this bond searing beneath your skin, demanding, consuming.

Like you weren’t his.

And that sent him over the edge.

"You are so godsdamned infuriating," he growled.

Before you could react, he launched himself at you, gripping your arms and slamming you against the wall.

A gasp left your lips, but before you could even think—his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft.

It was claiming.

Desperate.

An explosion of fire and rage and everything he had been trying to resist.

A war.

His hands gripped your waist, sliding down your sides, mapping your body like he had been dying to touch you for centuries.

He kissed you like he wanted to devour you.

Like he needed to prove something to himself—to you—to this bond.

And you let him.

The second his tongue swiped against yours in a heated, bruising battle for dominance, you opened for him.

And Cauldron help him, you tasted like sin.

He told himself it was goodbye.

That maybe, if he kissed you one last time, if he finally took what the bond had been screaming at him to take, it would be enough.

Enough to get you out of his system.

Enough to break this unbearable, suffocating tie between you.

Because how could he want you this much?

How could he, who had spent centuries in control, in silence, in shadow—be unraveling so fast for you?

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest as he pulled you closer, flush against him, pressing his aching, straining erection against your stomach.

His hands tightened at your hips, fingers digging into your skin as if he could brand himself there.

As if he could make you feel what he felt.

Make you understand that no one else could touch you.

It was then he knew.

This was not goodbye.

It never could be.

Because you were his.

The bond wasn’t going to be broken.

The bond wasn’t something he could fight.

He ripped his lips from yours, trailing scorching, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, nipping at the delicate skin, his breath ragged.

"You are driving me fucking crazy," he murmured against your skin, his voice hoarse, raw, ruined.

His lips dragged over your pulse point, his tongue flicking out, making you shudder.

"I can’t get you out of my head," he confessed between kisses, his grip on you tightening.

And gods be damned, you moaned his name.

“Azriel…”

A sound that sent him spiraling, sent his control snapping like brittle twigs.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your nails raking into his scalp, tugging at his hair.

Azriel groaned, his mouth crashing against yours again, desperate, unrelenting.

You could feel it—the tether pulling you both together, the impossible force binding you, demanding to be acknowledged.

Demanding to be claimed.

And you were losing yourself in him.

Your mind hazed, your body alight, melting, responding, needing—

But then, it hit you.

Why he was here.

What he had come to do.

The truth - the betrayal of it - sent a white-hot wave of fury surging through you.

With all the strength you had, you shoved him back.

Hard.

Azriel stumbled slightly, breathing heavy, as he gazed at you, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes dark and dazed, completely wrecked.

And Cauldron curse him - he swore you were the sexiest fucking thing he had ever seen.

But you weren’t thinking about that.

You were seething.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you demanded, your voice shaking with rage and something dangerously close to regret.

Azriel’s chest heaved, his hands still twitching at his sides, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Like he wanted to pull you back to him, shove you against the wall again, kiss you until you forgot everything but him.

"This isn’t breaking the bond, Azriel!" you shouted, exasperated, your fists clenched at your sides.

"What do you want from me?!"

He opened his mouth.

Started to speak. “I – “

But before he could, the door swung open.

"It’s time," Ryder said, his tone clipped, his gaze flicking suspiciously between you and Azriel.

Azriel’s muscles tensed, his wings flaring slightly.

You nodded sharply, adjusting your dress, trying to steady your breath, trying to ignore the heat still coursing through your body.

As you moved toward the door, you paused.

Turned to look at him—this male who had just ruined you with a single kiss.

Who had made everything so unbelievably complicated.

Your eyes met his.

"This changes nothing."

Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable.

He should have agreed.

Should have stepped away.

Should have walked out of that dressing room and never looked back.

Because even after kissing you, even after feeling you against him, tasting your lips, dragging his hands over your skin—

He still fucking wanted you.

And gods, he hated you for it.

Hated you for making him feel this way.

Hated you for not pushing him away sooner.

Hated you for looking at him with fury instead of love.

Hated you because—he had never wanted anything more.

*****

Azriel should have left.

Should have winnowed away the second you walked out of that room, leaving him alone with the truth he didn’t want to face.

Should have gone back to Velaris, back to Elain, back to the life he had chosen.

But instead—he stayed.

And gods, was that a mistake.

The Winter Court bar was packed, fae from all over gathered to see you perform, the energy in the room electric as they waited.

Azriel stood in the back, hidden in the shadows, arms crossed, wings tucked in tight, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

And then—you walked onto the stage.

The room erupted into cheers, into whistles, into desperate cries of your name.

And Azriel?

Azriel forgot how to breathe.

The lights bathed you in a soft, icy glow, turning your golden skin almost luminescent, making you look ethereal, untouchable.

Your long, dark waves cascaded over your shoulders, wild and free, catching in the glow of the stage lights like spun silk.

The dress you wore was small, hugging every dangerous curve of your body, shimmering with each step you took.

And fuck, he hated it.

Hated how every male in this room was staring at you like you were something to be devoured.

Hated how he had touched you, kissed you, felt you against him—and yet, you were up there on that stage, completely untouchable.

And when you sang?

Cauldron damn him, he nearly groaned.

Your voice was sultry, smooth, sinful, wrapping around the air like smoke, slipping into his veins like a drug.

And the songs—each one more sensual than the last.

You swayed to the rhythm, moved your hips just enough to drive the entire room insane.

And Azriel?

He was barely holding on.

But what ruined him—what sent something deep inside him snapping—was the way you kept looking at him.

Because you knew.

Knew he was still here.

Knew he was watching.

And you met his gaze again and again, daring him, taunting him.

Your storm-gray eyes burned into him as you sang, as your voice dripped with every unspoken thing between you.

And gods, he hated you for it.

Hated how he was so drawn to you, so completely and utterly consumed.

Hated that, in a room full of people who adored you, who would worship the ground you walked on—

You were looking at him.

And when you reached the final song of the night, your voice dipped into something deeper, slower, dangerously sensual.

And the words—Cauldron, the words.

"Your skin on my skin - "

"Lights a fire within.”

“I know I should run away – “

“But you’ve got me spinning with these games that you play.”

“Ruin me tonight in the darkness of your shadows."

And you were staring right at him.

And he—he could barely think.

Because his hands still burned from touching you.

Because his lips still tingled from kissing you.

Because your name was already branded into every fucking part of him.

His fists curled at his sides, his shadows twisting wildly.

This bond—this fucking bond.

Was making him question everything.

And he had to reject it soon before it destroyed everything he had built with Elain.

*****

The cheers had long since faded, the echoes of your sultry voice still lingering in the air of the now-empty Winter Court bar.

But inside you?

Inside you, there was no silence.

No peace.

No relief.

Only chaos.

Only the weight of something unspoken, something dangerous, something you didn’t dare name.

You let out a slow breath, running your fingers through your hair as you sat alone in your dressing room, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

The performance had been flawless.

The crowd had been electric.

And yet—you felt nothing.

Nothing except the ghost of Azriel’s touch on your skin.

Nothing except the weight of his hazel eyes lingering on you the entire show.

Nothing except the memory of his lips on yours, desperate and unrelenting, branding you as if he had every right.

You exhaled sharply, your hands curling into fists.

You should be celebrating.

You should be basking in the aftermath of another successful night.

Instead—you were unraveling.

A soft knock on the door had you straightening, forcing a tired smile as Ryder stepped inside.

He gave you a small, understanding look.

"You were amazing tonight, as always," he murmured, stepping closer, reaching for your hand.

But you pulled away before he could touch you.

And he noticed.

His expression didn’t change, didn’t harden, didn’t even falter—but you knew he felt it.

"I need to be alone, Ryder."

He watched you carefully. "Did he say something to you before the show?"

You hesitated.

Because yes, he did.

He said everything without saying anything at all.

But you just shook your head.

"Seeing him before I went on just...unnerved me."

Ryder didn’t push.

Didn’t ask you to explain.

Because Ryder had always been safe.

Always been the one who let you breathe, the one who let you come to him on your terms.

Which was exactly why he wasn’t the one you needed right now.

He let out a soft exhale, nodding.

"I’ll be at the estate if you need me."

You nodded once, offering a small, grateful smile.

And then—he left.

And you were finally alone.

But even then—you weren’t really alone.

Because Azriel was still here.

Not physically.

But in the way your body still burned from his touch, in the way your chest ached with something unspoken, something raw, something terrifying.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against the vanity, your heart hammering.

All your life, you had yearned for a mate who would set your world on fire.

A mate who would challenge you, push you, refuse to let you back down.

A mate who would burn for you.

And wasn’t that exactly what Azriel had done?

Hadn’t he traveled across courts, across miles, just to find you before the show?

Hadn’t he stormed into your dressing room like a male possessed because he couldn't stand the thought of not seeing you, not touching you, not kissing you?

Hadn’t he grabbed you, kissed you, pressed you against the wall as if his entire existence had led him to that very moment?

Or did he really come to break the bond with you?

You swallowed, chest rising and falling unevenly.

You had always told yourself that maybe you had read too many romance novels.

That maybe you had been too enchanted by the kind of love your father, Helion, had shared with the Lady of Autumn.

The kind of love that was so consuming, so raw and real that it had risked everything just to exist.

You had spent your childhood admiring it.

Had spent your life yearning for something that intense, something worth burning for.

And now?

Now you were afraid.

Because you felt that same sort of fire every time you were near Azriel.

Yes, he was attractive. Devastatingly so.

But it was more than that.

It was in the way he looked at you like he wanted to unravel every part of you.

In the way he challenged you, infuriated you, made you feel like no one ever had before.

And gods help you—

You knew, deep down, that Azriel was the kind of male who would burn the world to the ground for his mate.

That if you ever gave him your heart, he would never let go.

That if you ever let yourself love him, it would be the greatest love of your life.

Or if he broke you, the greatest loss of your life.

Because if this bond was rejected—if he walked away, if he chose Elain over you—you would never recover.

Your hands trembled as you pulled off your earrings, forcing yourself to take slow, even breaths.

You had always wanted a mate who would burn for you.

But what if his rejection left you in ashes?

Chapter 5

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

An (Almost) Unheard Confession

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

genre: soft fluff

requested: yes

el's thoughts: i hope yall like it!! requests are open, so if you have any, feel free to send 'em my way!

bucky masterlist

Bucky and Y/N’s friendship had been forged in the middle of chaos. She had joined the Avengers a couple of years ago—sharp, capable, with a heart too big for her own good. Unlike most people, she had never looked at him with fear or hesitation, never treated him like a walking weapon.

At first, Bucky had kept his distance. He was used to being on the outskirts, keeping people at arm’s length. But Y/N didn’t let that happen. She had a way of worming into people’s lives, into their hearts, without even trying.

She checked in on him without making a big deal about it—making sure he ate after long missions, dragging him into movie nights with the team, and bringing him coffee exactly the way he liked it. She talked to him like he was just Bucky, not the Winter Soldier, not Steve Rogers’ best friend from the 40s—just Bucky.

And somehow, without realizing it, she had become his best friend.

She was the one who could make him chuckle even on the worst days, the one he trusted with the pieces of himself he still didn’t fully understand. She was the one who saw him—not who he used to be, not who the world thought he was, but who he was actively trying to become.

And somewhere along the way, he had fallen for her.

He had tried to push it down, bury it deep where it couldn’t ruin everything. She deserved better than him. Deserved someone who didn’t come with blood on his hands and ghosts in his head. So he stayed silent, stayed in his place as her friend, even when it hurt more than he’d ever admit.

Because having her in his life—no matter what—was worth everything.

~

The compound was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled in after a mission, when exhaustion weighed too heavy on everyone’s bones to do anything but rest.

Bucky sat on the couch, head tipped back against the cushions, muscles aching from the fight earlier. He should get up, take a shower, maybe even crash in his own bed for once. But Y/N had dozed off beside him, legs tucked under her in a way that was bound to cause her slight pain when she woke up, curled up under a blanket, and he hadn’t moved since.

She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, her breathing steady with her lips parted. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and Bucky had to resist the urge to brush it back. He clenched his metal hand into a fist instead.

He should leave. Should get up before he did something stupid—like say something he couldn’t take back.

But the weight of his feelings pressed against his ribs, suffocating in the silence.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “Maybe it was always there. I just refused to let myself see it.”

Y/N didn’t stir. Bucky exhaled, he rested his head on the back of the couch and tilted it so his eyes lingered on her peaceful form.

“You take care of everyone, you know that? Always checking in, always making sure I’m eating, sleeping, not losing myself in my own head.” He huffed a whisper of a laugh. “You probably don’t even realize how much you really mean to me.”

His fingers curled against his thigh. He’d faced enemies, and fought battles most people couldn’t even imagine, but this—this was terrifying.

“I care about you, Y/N. More than I should. More than I know how to handle.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. He finally brought his hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear, his cold metal finger dragging across her soft, warm cheek. “But I don’t wanna mess this up. I’d rather have you as my friend than risk losing you completely. But I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. I’m–what did Parker call me?” he muttered to himself. “Down bad. I’m down bad, Y/N. I love you.”

He swallowed, his chest tightening.

“Guess it’s easier to say this when you’re asleep, huh?”

Silence.

Bucky let out a slow breath, shaking his head at himself. He should really get up, and put some space between them before—

“Bucky…”

His entire body went rigid.

Y/N’s voice was groggy, quiet, but there was something else in it too—something careful, something knowing. She lazily reached out and laced their fingers together, the metal bringing her comfort against her hand. She moved closer and softly laid her head on his shoulder.

“I love you too.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

She had heard everything.

Bucky froze, barely breathing, as Y/N's words settled into his chest.

She loved him too.

For a moment, all he could do was stare down at their intertwined fingers, at the way she had instinctively sought out his touch like it was the most natural thing in the world. He had spent so long convincing himself that his feelings were one-sided, that loving her was something he had to keep buried. But here she was, curling closer, her heartbeat steady against his arm, as if loving him had never been a question.

A shaky breath left his lips.

“You—” He swallowed, shaking his head with a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “You heard all of that?”

Y/N hummed against his shoulder, her voice laced with exhaustion but warm with amusement. “Mhm. Every word.”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch. “Great. So you heard me say I was ‘down bad’ too.”

She chuckled, squeezing his fingers. “Oh, definitely. That was my favorite part.”

He glanced down at her, and for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like running from what he wanted. She was right here, looking up at him with tired, fond eyes, no hesitation, no second-guessing.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I really love you, Y/N.”

Her smile softened, and she shifted, pressing a gentle kiss against his shoulder. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I really love you too.”

He exhaled and the tension in his chest unraveled, replaced with something lighter, something hopeful. Slowly, carefully, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of hers, letting himself savor the warmth of her skin against his lips as he closed his eyes in contentment.

Y/N sighed blissfully, her grip on him tightening as she settled against him once more. “Can we talk more about this in the morning? ‘Cause I really just wanna fall asleep right here.”

Bucky chuckled, wrapping an arm around her, holding her close. “Yeah, doll. We can talk in the morning.”

And for the first time in years, tomorrow didn’t seem so scary—it felt like the start of something good.

[mrsnishimuraaa]

couples fuck right?

sunghoon x fem reader

note: im so sorry this is short, i felt the need to post yet i’ve been busy with school! im gonna attempt to write more on weekends, feel free to send reqs and ideas because i desperately need them lmao

m.list

the endless teasing of sunghoons friends drove him absolutely mad, especially the ones about him not having a girlfriend or so called getting any pussy.

he decided to put a end to that, and begged you to fake date him for game night tonight with the boys, after almost a hour and a half of him begging and reasoning with you, you finally gave in and agreed but for tonight and tonight only. and when he told his friend group he had a girlfriend’ they didn’t believe him one bit, until you walked through the door together. their jaws slacked at the sight of you, ‘since when could sunghoon pull pretty girls?’ was the initial thought running through all their minds.

sunghoons hand rested gently on your waist,guiding you as you made your way to the living room, greeting the others and trying to act as naturally as possible as if your heart wasn’t running a hundred miles per hour.

the night carried on, laughing and bickering as they fight over who deserved to win that round and so on until jake popped the question “so what’s the sex life like” he winks “who even asks that” jay gives him a weird look whilst laughing. “good actually” you didn’t expect sunghoon to answer, it only triggered a million more questions from them all.

after they all had left you slumped back down onto the couch “really, our ‘sex life’” you laugh “well couples do that” he turns and raises an eyebrow at you “we have barley even touched before” your giggle fills the room once again “i can change that” the smirk on his face grows “what” “i said, i can change that, couples fuck right? they have sex” his face inches closer to yours as his sentence drags on “cmon why don’t we really get into character?”

and that’s how you ended up here, face shoved into his soft bedsheets as he plows into you from behind, your moans continuously being muffled into the pillows as skin to skin noise fills the room, his low groans feel like music to your ears “shit, take it baby” his hands roughly grip your hips, pulling you back to him only to slam into you even deeper. “such a good girl” he almost whines, your tight, wet and warm pussy has his him almost moaning like a bitch, the way it sucks his cock straight back in and how you clench around him at his dirty words.

“oh im so close!” your knuckles turning white from your death grip on the sheets, a familiar feeling starting to build in your stomach with the way he’s hitting so deep inside you, abusing your g spot with the fat head of his cock. “yeah cum for me, cum on this dick” he feels you clench again. he’s fucking you so good your almost running from it, pornographic moans and whines leave your mouth as he continues to fuck into you even harder.

“ fuck im gonna cum” his head is thrown back as his groans deepen with his thrusts, and in seconds your coming undone on him , legs shaking as your pussy pulses and clenches around him violently, milking him for every last drop as you feel him fill you to the brim. his hands knead your ass as you come down from your high “shit you did so good for me baby” he utters as his palm rubs your ass gently now, taking in the feeling of the soft skin.

he slowly pulls out and you whine at the feeling of being empty now, his hot cum slowly drips out of you, pooling below you on his bed sheets, flipping you over to kiss you passionately, his hands roaming you as the gentle and hot kiss envelopes you. he pulls away, tucking your hair behind your ear and removing it from your face, taking a moment to admire you.

“ why don’t you be my girlfriend for real huh?”

[maddie0101]

𖤐 no escape (demon!dean x fem!reader)

𖤐 summary: when dean turns into a demon, the bunker becomes a hunting ground. sam isn’t the only one running, you’re caught in the middle, forced to confront the monster your best friend has become… and the feelings you’ve both been running from.

𖤐 warnings: gore, sexual tension, demon!dean, choking, reader almost dies, anxiety, brief pain, guilt, this fic is pretty emotional, somewhat dark?

𖤐 word count: 4.5k

Your breath came in short, panicked gasps as you pressed yourself against the cold metal shelving in the bunker’s storage room. The flickering light overhead buzzed, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist, just like the thing hunting you.

But it wasn’t just a thing, you reminded yourself. It was Dean. But that wasn’t really true, was it? Not anymore.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” his voice drawled from somewhere in the hallway, thick with amusement. “You really think you can hide from me?”

Your fingers clenched around the blade in your grip. It was barely steady. You hated that. You’d hunted monsters before, fought things way worse than this—but this wasn’t some random creature. This was him. Dean, your best friend, the man you’d spent years shoving your feelings down for. The man who always had your back. The man who wasn’t supposed to be the one you feared.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the memory of Sam’s warning before everything went to hell: Stay out of sight. If he finds you, run.

“Not very fair, is it?” Dean’s voice was closer now. A little too close. “Me, having all the fun while you’re stuck hiding like a scared little girl.”

The sudden clank of a pipe hitting the ground made you jump. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“You know, Y/N, I always thought you had more fight in you.” His tone shifted, something darker slipping in. “Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to find you.”

You took a slow, careful breath. He was toying with you. Drawing this out because he could. Because he enjoyed it. And despite the terror curling in your stomach, you couldn’t ignore the way his voice—smooth, teasing, wrong—sent a shiver down your spine.

This wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t.

—but it was.

You peeked around the corner just as he stepped into view, and your stomach twisted. His green eyes, once full of warmth and mischief, were now black pools of endless night. His mouth curled into a smirk when he spotted you.

“There you are.”

You bolted.

The bunker’s halls blurred past as you ran, adrenaline burning through your veins. You could hear his footsteps behind you, casual, unhurried. He knew you weren’t getting away.

You rounded a corner, aiming for the weapons room—maybe you could grab something, salt rounds, anything—when a strong hand wrapped around your arm and yanked you back.

You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall. Dean caged you in, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling around your wrist. He was too close, heat radiating off him in waves. His breath ghosted across your face, and you swallowed hard.

“Running?” he murmured, tilting his head. “That’s cute.”

You glared up at him, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you. “Let me go, Dean.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “See, that’s the problem. I don’t really feel like it.” His grip tightened slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart. Hurts my feelings.”

“Yeah? Guess you should’ve thought about that before you went full psycho.”

Dean grinned, but there was nothing soft about it. “You always were a mouthy little thing.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. “Gotta admit, though… I missed you.”

Your stomach twisted. “You don’t miss anything, Dean. You’re not you.”

He hummed, considering that. “I don’t know. Feels like me. Feels better than me.” His fingers lifted to brush a strand of hair from your face, and you flinched. His smirk widened. “Still the same guy underneath it all, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am. And you wanna know the real kicker?” He leaned in, lips a whisper away from your ear. “I remember everything. Every little moment. Every time I caught you staring when you thought I wouldn’t notice. Every time you got jealous over some girl at a bar.” He pulled back just enough to lock his gaze with yours. “Every time I wanted to kiss you but didn’t.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smirked. “That’s right, sweetheart. It wasn’t just you.”

Your body betrayed you, a shudder rolling through you despite every instinct screaming to fight. Because it was him. The same Dean who had driven you crazy for years, the same Dean you’d secretly wanted for just as long. But now, he was something else entirely.

And that terrified you. “You’re lying,” you whispered.

Dean exhaled a quiet laugh. “Am I?”

His fingers skimmed down your arm, slow, deliberate. You hated how your skin burned where he touched. How your body still knew him, still wanted him, even when you knew he wasn’t the same.

His head tilted, studying you. “Y’know, if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll let you keep running.”

You clenched your jaw. “Go to hell.”

His smirk widened. “Been there, sweetheart. Wasn’t all that fun.”

Then, without warning, he let go. You stumbled forward slightly, eyes snapping up to his.

“Run,” he murmured, voice full of amusement.

You hesitated, pulse hammering.

“C’mon, Y/N. Make this fun for me.”

Your fists clenched, anger flaring through the fear. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, wanted to scream at him for twisting everything between you into some kind of sick game. But you knew better.

So you ran.

And behind you, Dean just laughed.

Your legs burned as you sprinted down the bunker hallway, lungs straining for air. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to keep moving, keep running, but it was useless.

The hallways twisted like a labyrinth, but you knew them like the back of your hand—better than that. You and Sam had spent hours mapping every inch of this place, making sure you had an escape plan for anything. Except for this. Except for him.

You rounded a corner too fast, nearly slipping—And slammed right into a broad chest. A hand clamped over your mouth before you could scream. “Shh! It’s me,” Sam whispered, his grip firm but careful.

You exhaled sharply as he let you go. His eyes were wild, his hair damp with sweat. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “No. He’s coming.”

Sam swallowed hard, gripping the demon blade tight. “I know. We have to keep moving.”

A slow, mocking clap echoed through the hallway. You and Sam froze.

“Oh, look at you two,” Dean’s voice drawled, smooth and lazy, like this was fun for him. “Working together. Just like old times.”

Your blood ran cold.

Dean stepped into view, and the sight of him made your stomach twist. His green eyes, the ones that had always been so full of warmth, were black as the void. His lips curled into a smirk, dimples flashing like this was some big joke. Except it wasn’t. Not to you. Not to Sam.

Dean twirled the First Blade between his fingers like it was weightless. “Y’know, this is kind of sweet,” he mused. “The two people I loved most, standing side by side.” His smirk sharpened. “Too bad I have to kill you both.”

You barely had time to react before he moved. One second he was ten feet away. The next—Sam shoved you aside just as Dean lunged. The brothers collided in a blur of movement, Sam’s blade flashing, Dean’s grin widening. You scrambled to your feet, heart hammering as they fought, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoing through the hallway.

But Sam wasn’t winning. Dean was only toying with him. You knew Dean’s fighting style better than anyone. He always fought with purpose—every move calculated, every strike meant to end things fast. But this? This was different. Dean was dragging this out, laughing between attacks, dodging at the last second just to piss Sam off. He was enjoying this.

Sam swung the demon blade at Dean’s ribs, but Dean caught his wrist mid-strike and slammed him into the wall. Sam grunted in pain, dropping the knife.

“Sam!” You surged forward, but Dean turned his head, giving you a look.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tsked, holding up the First Blade. “I’ll get to you in a minute, sweetheart.” He pressed the Blade against Sam’s throat. And for the first time since this started—Dean stopped smiling. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “You always wanted to save me,” he murmured. “And look where it got you.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Dean—”

“That’s not my name anymore.” The words were low. Dangerous. Your stomach twisted. Dean pressed the Blade harder, just enough to break skin. Blood beaded along the edge.

“No,” you choked out, stepping forward. “Please.”

Dean’s jaw tensed. His grip twitched. For a split second, you thought he was going to do it. Kill the person he loved most in the world. Kill his brother. And then—He turned his head, locking eyes with you.

“…You’re crying,” he murmured, almost fascinated.

You hadn’t even realized it. Tears streaked your face, your whole body trembling. Not from fear. Not from anger. From him. From watching him like this.

Dean tilted his head, studying you. Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. And then, slowly, he smiled. “Oh, sweetheart.” He sighed dramatically, stepping away from Sam like he was bored now. “If you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

You stiffened as he took a step toward you. Then another. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “Stay away from me, Dean.”

His grin widened. “Make me.”

He lunged. You barely had time to react before he slammed you against the opposite wall, knocking the air from your lungs. His hand wrapped around your throat—not cutting off air, just holding you there, keeping you still. Keeping you his.

Your breath hitched as his body pressed against yours, his strength caging you in. His free hand trailed up your arm, his fingers grazing your pulse.

“God, you’re shaking,” he murmured. “I love it.”

“Dean,” you whispered.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something almost human, but as quickly as it came, it soon disappeared. His smirk returned.

“You know what I think?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I think you like this.”

Your whole body stiffened. “I hate you.”

Dean chuckled. “Mmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

His grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he could. That he had all the power here. Sam groaned from the floor, struggling to move. Dean ignored him. His black eyes locked onto yours. “I could kill you,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Right here. Right now.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs and Dean smirked. “But where’s the fun in that?” Then, before you could react—before you could even breathe—he moved.

Pain exploded through your ribs as Dean slammed you back against the wall, his grip tightening around your throat. You choked out a strangled gasp, fingers clawing at his wrist, but he was too strong, too cold—too gone.

“Let—go—” Your voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

Dean only chuckled, tilting his head as he watched you struggle. “You know,” he mused, almost thoughtful, “I always wondered what you’d look like under me. Writhing. Squirming.” His grip flexed, just enough to send a sharp spike of fear down your spine. “Begging.”

Your nails dug into his wrist, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even feel it. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give me something. A scream, a sob—anything.”

Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and you couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t—

A low, broken gasp forced its way from your lips.

And Dean—Dean shivered. “Fuck,” he exhaled, voice rough with something dark. “That’s it. That’s it.”

You hated him. You hated him so much it burned. But your body was weak. And he knew it.

His grip tightened—And then, just as the darkness nearly swallowed you whole.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice rang out, sharp and furious, and then—CRACK.

Dean jerked as something slammed into his head—a crowbar, swung with everything Sam had left. His grip loosened, just enough for you to suck in a ragged breath, just enough for Sam to shove him away from you. Dean stumbled, blinking, his cocky smirk faltering for the first time.

Sam grabbed your arm, pulling you up. “You okay?”

You coughed, nodding weakly, your throat throbbing.

Dean’s smirk returned, but this time, there was blood in his grin. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Atta boy, Sammy,” he drawled. “I was wondering when you’d finally get back in the game.”

Sam positioned himself in front of you, demon blade in hand. His chest rose and fell in quick, angry breaths. “We’re not gonna let you win, Dean.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Win? Win?” His smirk sharpened. “Sammy, this is me winning.”

Then he lunged. You barely had time to react before Dean tackled Sam, sending them both crashing into the wall. The knife skidded across the floor, out of reach. You scrambled for it, but before you could move, Dean punched Sam across the face, the sickening crack of bone echoing through the hallway. Sam grunted, his head snapping to the side. Dean grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. “Y’know, little brother, I gotta say…” His fingers dug into Sam’s shirt. “I always knew you’d be the one to break first.”

And then he threw him. Sam hit the opposite wall with a thud, sliding to the floor with a pained groan. Your stomach dropped. Dean turned to you and this time, his smile was gone. He stalked forward, his black eyes locked onto yours, the First Blade tight in his grip.

“No more games,” he murmured.

You grabbed the demon blade and lunged but Dean quickly caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted. A sharp cry tore from your throat as pain shot up your arm. The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor.

Dean laughed. “Nice try,” he cooed. Then his grip shifted—from your wrist to your hair—before yanking you forward, dragging you against him. You gasped, your hands flying to his chest, trying to push him back. He didn’t budge.

“God, you’re stubborn,” he murmured, his nose brushing your cheek. “That’s what I always liked about you.” You trembled, anger and fear battling inside you.“You’re a monster,” you spat.

Dean grinned. “And yet…” His hand slid down to your waist, grip firm, possessive. “You still can’t look away.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated that he was right.

Dean tilted his head, his lips barely inches from yours. His grip tightened. Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your waist, his body pressing against yours, keeping you trapped. His black eyes were locked onto yours, filled with something dark, something hungry.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “God, I love that.” His grip tightened further, and before you could react, before you could even think, he moved. A sharp, searing pain tore through your stomach. Your lips parted in a silent gasp.

Dean exhaled softly, like he’d just taken his first real breath in years. His forehead rested against yours, his smirk softening into something almost… tender. “There we go,” he whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked, struggling to focus, your hands clutching at his shoulders—at him—as warmth bloomed beneath your ribs.

Dean pulled back just slightly, his gaze flickering down. The First Blade was buried deep in your stomach and it was still in his hand. Your fingers trembled as you curled them around his wrist. “D-Dean—”

But a sudden gust of wind roared through the bunker.

Dean’s smirk vanished.

Bright, blinding light filled the room, illuminating the darkened bunker like lightning striking at midnight. A deep, commanding voice echoed through the space.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Dean was suddenly yanked away from you, violently thrown back by an unseen force. He crashed into the wall with a grunt, the First Blade slipping from his grasp as invisible restraints pinned him in place. The moment his body left yours, your knees buckled. A strong pair of hands caught you before you hit the floor. “Y/N, I’ve got you.”

You could barely lift your head, your vision swimming, but you knew that voice anywhere. “Cas—” you rasped, your fingers clutching weakly at his coat.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, easing you down carefully. His blue eyes flickered over your wound, his jaw tightening. “I need to heal you.”

“No,” you croaked, shaking your head. “Not yet. Get—get Dean first.”

Castiel hesitated, his gaze darting to where Dean was still struggling against the angel’s hold. Dean snarled, his black eyes burning with rage. “Let me go, you feathery son of a bitch!”

Sam didn’t waste a second. He grabbed the syringe from his jacket and slammed it into Dean’s neck. Dean jerked, eyes going wide, his entire body going rigid as the purified blood surged through his veins. His breath hitched, a choked noise leaving his lips. His body trembled violently, black veins creeping along his skin.

Sam stepped back, watching him carefully, his own chest heaving. “Come on, Dean,” he muttered under his breath. “Come back.”

Dean gritted his teeth, a strangled growl ripping from his throat. His body convulsed, his hands clenching into fists, and for a moment, you thought…

But then his entire body shuddered and the black bled from his eyes. Dean’s head snapped up, his gaze wild—his green eyes wide and panicked as he gasped for air, as if breaking the surface after drowning in darkness. Then his gaze locked onto you and every single ounce of breath in his lungs vanished.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, almost broken. His expression crumpled the second he saw you slumped in against the wall, blood soaking through your shirt, your body trembling from the pain.

Dean’s entire world stopped. “No.” His voice was barely a whisper, barely even a sound. “No, no, no—” Dean collapsed forward, catching himself just in time to crawl toward you. His hands shook as he reached out, as if afraid to touch you, as if afraid you’d break. His fingers hovered over your wound, barely brushing your skin. “Oh, God,” he rasped. “Oh, God—I—I did this.”

His breath hitched, his whole body trembling. His hands curled into fists, his knuckles white.

“Dean—” you tried to say his name, but your voice was too weak.

He wasn’t even listening. “I hurt you,” he choked out. “I—I almost—” His jaw clenched, his eyes shining. “I almost killed you.” His hands finally landed on you, gripping your arms, his thumbs stroking your skin like he was trying to keep you here, keep you real.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so—so sorry.”

You managed a weak, shaky breath. “Dean, it wasn’t you—”

“Yes, it was.” His voice cracked. His forehead dropped to yours, his fingers tightening their hold. “It was me, sweetheart.” His breath was warm against your cheek, his whole body trembling. “And I can’t take it back.”

You swallowed, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

Dean’s grip tightened in you, worry wracking his body.“Cas!” His voice was raw, desperate. “Fix her!”

Castiel placed a firm hand on your shoulder, his other hovering over your wound. A soft, golden glow emitted from his palm. Your body jolted as warmth flooded through you, the searing pain easing just slightly.

Dean’s eyes never left your face but as seconds passed your eyes remained shut. You weren’t moving. You weren’t even stirring. The color in your face was too pale, and your body was too still. His grip on you tightened. “Cas.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried every ounce of fear that was ripping through his chest. His throat was tight, his hands shaking as they brushed over your cheek. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel remained quiet for a moment, his gaze steady as he observed you.

“Cas,” Dean snapped this time, his panic rising. “She should be awake—why the hell isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel sighed, his expression unreadable but calm. “Dean, her body needs time to heal.”

Dean shook his head, jaw clenching. “No—no, you fixed her. I saw you. She should—she should be okay.” His fingers brushed against your forehead, then your wrist, searching for anything—any twitch, any sign of you coming back to him.

“She is okay,” Castiel reassured. “But she went through immense trauma. Her body is simply resting. She will wake up.”

Dean let out a sharp exhale, but his panic didn’t ease. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking your skin as he muttered, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re stronger than this. You’re—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat down.

Sam stepped forward cautiously. “Dean—”

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off, his voice raw. “Just… don’t.”

He bent down, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a shuddering breath. “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t do this to me.”

Sam and Castiel shared a look but said nothing. They knew there was nothing they could say. Dean stayed there, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. His fingers curled into your shirt, his breath uneven as he muttered apologies over and over again. “I swear,” he whispered against your skin, “when you wake up, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything.”

Two Days Later

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet. Dean sat slumped in a chair beside your bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. His head was bowed, his shoulders tense, and his face was drawn with exhaustion and guilt. He hadn’t left your side since Castiel healed you. Two days.

Two days of watching you sleep, of waiting, of replaying every horrific thing he’d done under the demon’s control. The image of you bleeding out in his arms was seared into his brain. The memory of your broken voice saying his name in a weak, rasped breath haunted him like a goddamn ghost. And the worst part? He did it. Demon or not, it had still been him.

Dean let out a slow exhale, dragging a rough hand down his face. His jaw clenched as he stared at the floor, unable to look at you, unable to face what he’d done. He’d almost lost you. He should have lost you.

If it weren’t for Cas, you’d be—Dean swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. The chair creaked as he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. His fingers curled into his hair, his chest tightening.

And then—A soft sound. A quiet, barely-there groan. Dean’s head snapped up, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes darted to you, heart slamming against his ribs.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets. Then, with a slow, exhausted inhale, your eyes fluttered open. For a second, you just stared at the ceiling, dazed and unfocused. But then—your gaze shifted, landing on him.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

You blinked sluggishly, your lips parting as if trying to form words. Your brows pinched together slightly before your gaze finally sharpened on him. “…Dean?”The sound of your voice—soft, fragile, but alive—hit him harder than a damn bullet to the chest.

Dean let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the mattress like he needed to ground himself. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I’m here.”

You swallowed thickly, your throat dry, and tried to shift, only to wince at the dull ache in your stomach.

Dean was instantly on his feet, leaning over you, his hands hovering—like he wanted to help but didn’t know if he should. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t push yourself.”

You blinked up at him, confusion flickering across your face as you took in his disheveled appearance—dark circles under his eyes, unshaven stubble, the way his shoulders were practically hunched under invisible weight. “…How long?” you croaked.

Dean let out a small breath of relief—because you were talking—before sinking back into the chair. “Two days.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Damn.”

That almost made him smile. Almost. But then, reality crashed back down, and the guilt returned with full force. Dean swallowed and glanced away, his jaw tight.

Your gaze softened as you studied him. Even without him saying a word, you could see it. The self-hatred. The way he was drowning in it. “Dean,” you whispered.

His throat bobbed as he clenched his fists. “I almost killed you.” His voice was rough, raw. “You shouldn’t even be—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Cas saved you, but it doesn’t change what I—”

“Dean.” Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still soft.

His green eyes flicked up to yours, filled with nothing but pain. You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say.” His fingers curled into his jeans, his whole body wound tight. “That it wasn’t me, that it was the demon, but I remember it. Every damn second of it.” His voice cracked as his gaze locked onto yours.

You felt your heart ache at his words. Dean exhaled sharply, running a rough hand over his face. “I hurt people. I hurt you.” His voice lowered to a whisper, like he hated even saying it. “And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

You took a slow breath, gathering what little strength you had, and reached out, resting your hand over his.

Dean froze. His eyes darted to where your fingers curled over his own, then back to your face, his breath hitching slightly. “You already came back,” you murmured.

Dean swallowed hard, his thumb twitching under your touch. Dean stared at you, like he didn’t understand how you could even look at him, let alone forgive him. For a moment, the room was silent. But then Dean turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours, gripping your hand like it was the only thing keeping him here. His gaze softened, raw with emotion.

“I almost lost you.” He murmured.

“You didn’t,” you whispered back.

Dean took a slow breath, staring at you like he wanted to memorize every detail of your face. Then, after a long pause—“I love you.” The words were so quiet, you almost thought you imagined them. But the way Dean’s grip tightened on your hand, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours, made it real. Your breath caught in your throat.

Dean exhaled, a small, almost broken smile tugging at his lips. “I do,” he whispered. “I don’t know why the hell it took me so long to say it, but… I do.” His thumb brushed against your skin, gentle, reverent. “And I swear to God, sweetheart, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes, your throat tightening. You gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “Dean Winchester,” you murmured. “You are a damn idiot. I love you too. ”

A surprised chuckle left him, the first real smile cracking through his grief. And then, with what little strength you had, you tugged his hand toward you. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss. And for the first time in days—He finally breathed again.

author’s note:

I finally posted it! This fic has been sitting in my drafts for over 2 weeks. I feel like I’ve posted so much this week already. I hope it doesn’t bother anyone 😅 I’m also thinking about writing for soldier boy soon. (Even though I haven’t watched the show yet but I plan on watching it this weekend!)

Anyways, I was going to continue the story with some smut at the very end but decided not to. Ending on a softer note is not usually my forte but we’re trying something new! Lmfao

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear

If you would like to be tagged in all dean fics please lmk! drop a comment and I will add you to the list! ☻

my works

[seungkw1]

don’t you want me, baby? — yjh [SIDE A]

🎧 spotify playlist

🖭 pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader 🖭 theme: 80s au, romance, humor 🖭 wc: 12.5k 🖭 warnings: part 1: smoking (brief), underage drinking, mildly suggestive, 95z are idiots (lovingly); part 2: smut 🖭 a/n: this fic parallels a mixtape and takes place over the course of most of reader’s life - Side A (this part) is childhood through high school and Side B (part 2) will be through college. the names of the chapters correspond to the playlist linked above, make sure to check it out :) shoutout to @lovetaroandtaemin and @miniseokminnies for beta reading <3 // this was written for the @camandemstudios Lonely Hearts Cafe collab! check out the full masterlist here!!

You've known Jeonghan nearly your whole life. At first, he was just the annoying kid who lived down the street, but eventually you became part of the same friend group. You date his best friend for a bit, but when that relationship ends, you begin to spend more time with him - one-on-one. Soon, you start to realize that there might be more to your relationship with Jeonghan than you initially thought.

TRACKLIST: SIDE A Track 01: Don’t You Want Me – The Human League Track 02: Jessie’s Girl – Rick Springfield Track 03: Take on Me – a-ha Track 04: What I Like About You – The Romantics Track 05: Tainted Love – Soft Cell SIDE B Track 06: The Boys Of Summer – Don Henley Track 07: Don’t You (Forget About Me) – Simple Minds Track 08: Everybody Wants To Rule The World – Tears for Fears Track 09: Let’s Dance – David Bowie Track 10: Can’t Fight This Feeling – REO Speedwagon Track 11: You Make My Dreams (Come True) – Daryll Hall & John Oates

🖭 Track 01: Don’t You Want Me – The Human League 

🎶 You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me

[1973, Spring - Third Grade]

“Y/n!”

You turn at the sound of your name. It’s your annoying neighbor and classmate, Jeonghan, chasing you down as you walk home. You had both just gotten off the school bus - he lives on the same street as you, just a few doors down. Unfortunate. As if seeing him all day in class wasn’t bad enough. You’re already past his house, but now it appears he’s following you to yours. You turn back around and continue down the sidewalk, choosing to ignore him - but he’s persistent.

“Hey y/n!! Wait up!”

You pick up your pace, but the sound of his sneakers smacking against the concrete gets louder as he runs after you, quickly catching up. You yelp as he yanks you by the handle of your backpack, sending you flying backwards. You crash into him, knocking the both of you to the ground.

“Ow! What the hell, Jeonghan!!” you shout as you scramble to get off of him. You roll to the side, lightly scraping your knees as you catch yourself. It hurts, but at the moment you have a bigger problem to deal with.

“You can’t say H-E-double hockey sticks, that’s a BAD WORD!” he yells back, trying to get up off the ground, but with a swift push of your foot you knock him back down. 

“Hey, no fair!!” he squeaks at you, wiggling away as he jumps back to his feet. “I’m telling my mom!”

“What are you gonna tell her, that you got beat up by a girl?” you taunt. He opens his mouth to argue back, but he realizes you’re right. Scowling, he sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry at you, before turning around and running off back to his own house. Annoyed, you brush the dirt off your knees and head home. 

Stupid boys, you think to yourself. I am NEVER EVER going to kiss one.

[1978, Fall - Eighth Grade]

The crisp autumn breeze rushes through your hair as you vigorously pedal your three-speed bicycle uphill. As you reach the hilltop, the image of the town unfolds before you: you see the arcade, the pharmacy, various shops and newspaper stands - but most importantly, your destination: the movie theater. You swing your feet out as you drift over the peak, releasing the pedals, letting gravity take over as you plummet downhill as fast as a rocket. As you near the theater, you apply the brakes, slowing yourself to a more reasonable pace as you ride up onto the sidewalk. Outside the entrance sits your best friend, Valerie; she looks up as you approach, giving you a friendly wave. 

“Finally, there you are,” she tells you with a grin as you hop off your bike and park it at the rack. “Let's go get our tickets.”

You start walking toward the ticket booth together, when a familiar voice calls out from behind you. 

“Valerie! Y/n!”

You turn around, spotting a group of boys hanging out in the alley - it's your classmates, Joshua, Seungcheol, and Jeonghan. You frown, glancing sideways at Valerie, but she's already skipping over toward them. You don't particularly care for these three, but it's no secret that she has a huge crush on Seungcheol. Reluctantly, you follow. 

“Hi boys,” she says as you two approach the alleyway, practically batting her eyelashes at Cheol. “What are you all doing here?”

Joshua beckons to the both of you with a mischievous grin on his face. “Come over here, look what Jeonghan’s got.”

As you step into the alley, Jeonghan reaches into his pocket. With a smirk, he pulls out a very crushed box of Marlboros. He opens the flap to reveal two cigarettes inside; he takes one out, holding the filter awkwardly between his forefinger and thumb. 

“Stole these from my dad,” he informs you proudly. You stare dully back at him, unamused. 

“Gimme the lighter,” he says to Joshua, holding his free hand out demandingly. Joshua reaches into the breast pocket of his jean jacket, retrieving a worn silver zippo and setting it in Jeonghan’s open palm. He flicks the lid open with his thumb as he places the cigarette to his lips. Snapping the wheel, the lighter ignites - but is immediately extinguished by a gust of cold wind. 

“You have to put your hand over it, dipshit,” Seungcheol says as he tries to snatch the zippo, but Jeonghan quickly blocks him with his elbow. 

“Ouch!” Cheol whines. 

“Shut up, I got this,” Jeonghan gripes, flicking the lighter open again. He raises the flame to the unlit end, this time blocking the wind with his other hand. The paper catches, glowing orange as he inhales - taking far too long of a drag. A coughing fit hits him, turning away as his poor unprepared lungs try to expel the smoke. Cheol rolls his eyes.

“Gimme that,” he snaps as he whisks the cigarette from Jeonghan’s fingers. He places it to his lips, taking a far more careful drag than Jeonghan did, but it’s still too much. With a harsh cough, he quickly rids himself of the cigarette by shoving it into Joshua’s hands. Unbothered by his friends’ current state, he pretends to take a drag, exhaling nothing as he shakes his head at the other two coughing boys. 

“You guys are stupid,” he scorns. He turns, offering the cig to you and Valerie. Val stares at Cheol and Jeonghan, still coughing, a mildly disgusted expression on her face. 

“No, thank you,” she tells him, waving her hand in dismissal of the cigarette. Joshua shrugs, pretending to take another drag, but this time he accidentally inhales. He tries to stifle the cough that hits him this time, to no avail. With a grimace, he tosses the half-burnt cigarette to the ground, extinguishing it with a few stomps.

“So,” Seungcheol says as he rejoins the group, dragging Jeonghan by the arm, pretending like he didn’t just completely embarrass himself. “What movie are you guys going to see?”

“We’re seeing Grease,” you answer, causing the boys to snicker. 

“Lame,” Joshua replies. You shoot a glare back at him. 

“We’re seeing Halloween,” he continues. “But I guess that movie isn’t for girls.”

“Oh, please,” Valerie scoffs. “Girls can see any movie that boys can.”

“Yeah right,” Cheol taunts her. “It’s too scary, you would run away crying.”

“Nuh-uh!” Valerie exclaims, stamping her foot into the ground. “We’re no scaredy cats.”

“Prove it,” Jeonghan says smugly. “Come see Halloween with us.”

“We don’t want to see Halloween,” you reject. “We want to see Grease.”

“Okay, scaredy cat. I double-dog dare you.”

“We’ll do it,” Valerie answers Jeonghan before you can say another word. You turn, giving her a frown, but she’s too immersed in gazing at Cheol to notice your disapproval. 

“Alright!” Seungcheol bursts out, punching his fist in the air. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

The three boys take off, racing back to the main street toward the theater. Valerie starts to follow them, but you tug on her arm.

“Do you really want to see Halloween?” you question - but you already know the answer.

“No,” she admits, crossing her arms and looking down at the ground. “But I want Seungcheol to like me. And I don’t think he’ll ever ask me out if I chicken out now.”

You don’t think that’s true, but you also don’t really want to get into the inner workings of how teenage boys operate right now. 

“Alright,” you concede, linking your arm with hers as you head toward the theater. “Besides, it can’t be that scary, right?”

It was, in fact, that scary.

You’re deeply embarrassed, but so are the boys. You may have screamed and cried for most of the movie, but they were no better. Jeonghan flew out of his seat with every jumpscare, Seungcheol was on the floor hiding for half of it, and Joshua was pretending not to be scared, but he had his eyes shut tight the whole time. Valerie was just as scared as you were, but her plan to catch Seungcheol’s eye was apparently successful. They walked out of the theater side by side, giggling together. You don’t bother hiding your displeasure, walking behind them grimacing at the back of Seungcheol’s dumb head. Joshua departs from the group, taking off running in the direction of his house without a word. Now with no one else to bug, Jeonghan makes his way over to you. 

“That was awesome, huh?” he says with a stupid grin you wish you could slap off his face. 

“Right, that’s why you cried four times.” You catch the sight of Joshua’s back in the distance - he’s two blocks away now and still running at top speed. 

“Did not! It was only three.” 

“Whatever,” you remark, still distracted by a sprinting Joshua. He turns the corner onto his street, out of your line of sight. You focus your attention back to Jeonghan, who is now startlingly close to you. You’re a good two inches taller than him, so he has to look up at you - and the look he has on his face now makes you nervous.

“So,” he starts, nudging his elbow into your arm. “Wanna go grab a soda?” 

You stare at him, blindsided by his sudden change of attitude towards you. Where did this come from?

“What?”

“Do you want to go grab a soda with me?” he repeats.

“No, I heard you,” you tell him with a puzzled look on your face.  “I mean, are you asking me out?”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan nods coolly. “I am. Figured it was about time.”

“About time?? What exactly does that mean?”

“Come on, y/n,” he tells you, the stupid grin back on his face. “Everybody knows you like me.”

You stop in your tracks. Jeonghan turns back, facing you to see you stare at him incredulously. 

“I do NOT ‘like you’. Not like that!” you snap, thoroughly annoyed. He smirks at your denial, irritating you further. “In fact,” you add, “I barely even like you at all.”

He chuckles, clearly not planning to believe you.

“Sure, whatever you say. Anyway, how about that soda?”

“You’re insufferable,” you retort with a glare before walking off.

“So is that a no?” you hear him ask behind you, but you ignore it. You head toward your parked bike, now sitting alone in the rack as Valerie and Cheol are nowhere to be seen. With a sigh you hoist your leg over the seat, ready to get the hell out of there. You take off, noticing Jeonghan still standing where you left him, watching you with a curious look on his face. He looks almost… sad? That can’t be right. For a moment you pause, wondering if you actually hurt his feelings. But then he winks at you, his lips curling back into that pretentious smirk. With an eye roll you pedal off into the street, your cheeks stinging once more as you ride into the cold wind. 

What a lousy day, you think to yourself. If you never saw Jeonghan or his dumb friends again, it would be too soon.

🖭 Track 02: Jessie’s Girl – Rick Springfield

🎶 I wanna tell her that I love her, but the point is probably moot

[1982, Fall - Junior Year]

riiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Your head snaps up as the harsh bell resonates from the hallway. You squint your eyes closed again as the classroom lights are suddenly turned on, signalling the end to the school day and the end to whatever boring video your chemistry teacher had decided to play instead of teaching today. Stifling a yawn, you toss your books into your backpack and swing it over your shoulder as you sluggishly traipse out the classroom door. The buzzing hallways quickly wake you up, filled with chatter and commotion as students flock to their lockers and out the doors. You locate your own locker, mindlessly spinning the combination lock until the door opens with a clunk. You rummage through your belongings, grabbing the notebooks and textbooks you need for homework tonight. As you swing the door closed, a face materializes inches away from you.

“Shit!” you jump, before registering the face’s owner as your boyfriend, Joshua. You give him a swift shove - he dramatically pretends to fall against the wall of lockers. You roll your eyes as you start to walk away. Joshua quickly catches up, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as you exit the building. 

“So,” he starts, grinning in a way that makes you immediately suspicious. “I had an idea.”

“Oh god,” you groan. “What is it now?”

“Aw come on, you never like my ideas,” he pouts.

“Yeah, because they’re always crazy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Last time you had a grand idea, Seungcheol had to go to the hospital to get stitches, and we got escorted home in a cop car,” you remind him. “I was grounded for weeks.”

“How was I supposed to know that construction site was off-limits?” he asks with feigned ignorance. You raise your eyebrow at him, unamused.

“Probably by the signs everywhere that said ‘DO NOT ENTER’.” 

He shrugs it off. “Okay, you got me there. But I promise this time it’s nothing crazy.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“So, are you game?”

“Maybe,” you answer. “If you actually tell me what it is first.” He grins, the mischievous look on his face making you skeptical already. 

“Just a small party. Jeonghan’s parents are out of town, so we’re gonna hang there.”

“And who’s all going?”

“Me, Cheol, Hannie obviously, Soonyoung… ya know, the usual suspects,” he replies. “Bring Val and anyone else who’s cool.”

“Alright, fine” you sigh. His face instantly lights up. 

“Awesome! Party starts at 8:30.” 

You stop walking, clutching onto his arm and turning him to face you.

“You promise it won’t get out of hand?” 

He takes your hands in his, nodding earnestly.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Well that seems a little dramatic,” you pretend to scoff, but a smile peeks through. He grins back, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. 

“See you there, then.”

“Truth.”

Val focuses on Joshua, waiting for his question. You think truth or dare is a stupid game, juvenile at best, but everybody always seems to want to play.

“Okay,” he replies to her smugly. “Who was your first kiss?”

Panic flashes through her eyes for a brief moment, but she plays it cool. You know her answer, and you know why she wouldn’t want to share. She pauses, pursing her lips, but Joshua is impatient. 

“Come on, don’t be shy,” he taunts. Her eyes flicker around the room, glancing at Cheol, then at you, then back at Cheol. 

“It’s okay babe, you can say it. I don’t mind,” Cheol assures her, lying. 

You spot Soonyoung quietly getting up, ostensibly to grab another pop. Val sees him too, narrowing her eyes at his back.

“Fine,” she admits. “It was Soonyoung.” 

“WHAT?!” Jeonghan exclaims, nearly doing a spit-take with his cup of Sprite. 

“No way,” Joshua responds, smirking as he glances at Seungcheol, whose face is quickly turning cherry-red. He bites his lip, attempting to remain nonchalant - to no avail. Val inadvertently giggles at him, immediately clasping her hand over her mouth. Cheol glares at Soonyoung, who is halfway to the kitchen, giving a solid huff before he flies out of his seat - Soonyoung sees him and flees, but Cheol is faster. He tackles his friend through the doorway, followed by the sounds of several objects clanking against the floor.

“Hey!” Jeonghan yells after them. “Don’t trash the place you idiots!!” He saunters after them, making sure the two don’t actually break anything - household objects nor bones. As he disappears into the kitchen the doorbell rings.

“Are you expecting more people?” you ask, glancing at Joshua. 

“Oh yeah I invited Mark - you know, from the basketball team,” he replies. “It’s probably him. Wanna get it, Val?”

“Not really,” she responds, staring dully at him. “But sure, I guess.”

She gets up and heads to answer the door, leaving you and Joshua alone in the living room. A big goofy grin spreads across his face as he slides over toward you, cornering you against the arm of the couch as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“Finally, a moment of peace,” he tells you as he draws your face in close. A loud bang resonates from the kitchen.

“You know Seungcheol is kicking Soonyoung’s ass in the other room right now, right?”

“Eh, they’re fine.”

He presses his lips softly against yours, pulling your body in close and resting his hand upon your thigh. You kiss him back, butterflies in your stomach as you savor the rare moment of alone time with your boyfriend.

“Ahem.”

You jump, breaking this kiss to see Jeonghan standing in the doorway.

“If you must do that, get a room, will you?” he asks, clearly irked. You feel your face grow hot.

“Sorry,” you mumble. Joshua opens his mouth, ready to tell his friend off, but he’s interrupted by the newcomers entering the living room. You recognize Mark, but it appears he brought the entire basketball team with him - a large string of boys wander into the room, the sound of “Eye of the Tiger” filling the air as a particularly tall one carries in a boombox on his shoulder. Soonyoung and Seungcheol stumble back in, hair and clothes tussled, pretending like nothing just happened.

“Hey Mingi!” Soonyoung shouts gleefully to the tall boombox boy. “Turn that shit up!”

You cast a nervous glance at Joshua. “I didn’t think there would be this many people here,” you tell him.

“Relax, y/n, it’s okay,” he says with his usual cheery smile on his face. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before hopping off the couch to greet the entourage. 

You look around for Val, but she appears to have disappeared, probably off somewhere with Cheol. Soonyoung and Joshua are engaged in a passionate debate about who would win in a fight between Indiana Jones and E.T., for some reason. Aside from Mark, you don’t really know anybody on the basketball team, but he’s in the middle of an arm wrestling match anyway. Once again, you have nobody to talk to. Why does this always happen to me, you mope to yourself. Sighing, you stand up and make your way to the kitchen in search of another Coke. Any excuse to leave the room that is growing more chaotic by the moment.

The chatter and shouting is still audible from the kitchen, but it’s certainly much quieter. You head to the fridge, spotting Jeonghan already there. He notices you, turning his head and giving you a nod.

“Hey, y/n.”

“Hay is for horses,” you reply. He raises his brow at you, letting out a small laugh. He grabs a Coke from the fridge and hands it to you.

“Oh, thanks.” The can lets out a crisp hissss as you pop the tab.

“I didn’t know so many people would be coming,” you remark as you take a sip. 

“Me neither,” he says with a concerned frown, glancing toward the noisy living room full of teenagers. A loud crashing noise echoes from amidst the crowd of people, followed by Soonyoung whooping loudly.

“Oh god,” Jeonghan grumbles. “I’m gonna be so grounded.”

“You should tell them to tone it down,” you suggest. “It’s your house after all.”

“No way,” he says as he shakes his head. “They’re gonna think I’m so lame.”

“Who cares?” you tell him.

He opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by an eruption of cheering. He wanders over to the doorway, peering out to see what the commotion is; you follow. There are even more people here than there were before, the living room now filled with even more jocks and a group of preps - all seniors - who appear to have brought several cases of beer.

“Shit,” Jeonghan mumbles under his breath, staring nervously at the crowd of high schoolers passing red solo cups filled with alcohol around the room. 

“What are you going to do?” you ask, turning to look at him. He’s standing much closer to you than you realized, but with you both in the doorway you don’t have much room to back up without it being obvious. You notice for the first time that he has really long eyelashes, framing his eyes as they shift nervously around the chaotic scene.

One of the preppy girls bounces over to you two, holding out two cups of beer. 

“Rad party, Jeonghan,” she smiles at him, handing him one of the drinks. To your surprise, he takes it. She turns to give the other drink to you, pausing to quickly look you up and down.

“And what’s your name again?” 

“Y/n,” you tell her bluntly, not doing much to hide your annoyance at her attitude. 

“Riiight,” she replies, her fake smile dropping. She gives up on trying to hand you the beer and turns back to Jeonghan, raising her cup to his before she takes a drink. Hesitantly, he raises the cup to his lips and takes a sip, trying his best not to make a face at the bitter taste. She stares at him for a moment before deciding that he is too lame for her. She gives him a soft “hm” of disapproval, and with a flip of her hair she turns and heads back to her snooty friends. Jeonghan looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. He takes another swig of the beer, making another face as he stares into the pale yellow liquid in his cup.

“Are you really going to drink that?” you ask. He shrugs, still staring at the rowdy crowd of people in his parent’s living room.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles. “This is making me feel like I need a drink anyway.”

“Okay…” you reply skeptically. “Just be careful.”

He turns, making eye contact with you. He looks like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind.

“Yeah, I will,” he sighs.

You spend the rest of the night dodging people trying to give you beer. Joshua gets mildly drunk, coming to find you a few times to make sure you’re okay, but eventually he gets sucked into a heated and seemingly endless game of Uno. The party progresses more or less without issue - that is, until there is no more beer.

“Hey Yoon, you gonna bust out your parents’ alcohol stash for us or what?” one of the inebriated meathead jocks hollers across the room to Jeonghan, who is in the middle of putting on a new record. Fear flashes across his face. 

“Yeah, break out the booze!” the mean girl from earlier shouts.

His eyes dart around the room, panickedly looking for one of his friends; his eyes land on you, silently begging you to help him. Not knowing what to do, you give him a solid nod before running off to find Seungcheol. If these drunk morons are going to listen to anyone, it’ll be him. You eventually find him off in a corner making out with Val.

“Hey,” you blurt out. Cheol turns to you, prepared to be mad at you for interrupting their makeout sesh, but he sees the concerned look on your face.

“What is it?” he asks sincerely.

“We have a problem.”

You frantically start to explain, but he quickly picks up the issue. He storms back toward the living room; you and Val follow, peeking around the corner. 

“Alright, party’s over,” his voice booms through the room of drunken teens. The crowd starts to boo him.

“Come on Choi, don’t be a square,” one of the jocks shouts back at him.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!!!,” he screams. “NOW!!!!!!”

Begrudged murmurs ripple through the crowd, but everyone slowly begins to shuffle out.

“And none of you better be fucking driving!!” he adds.

He herds the last of the partygoers out, locking the door behind them. Joshua, having laid on the couch just a moment ago, is somehow already fast asleep. Jeonghan stares at him for a moment before settling for sitting on the floor, his back resting against the couch. He runs his hand through this hair, staring at the mess left behind by nearly half the school: solo cups littered around the room, empty cans carelessly tossed aside, spilled beer puddled upon every surface. And judging by the sour stench starting to reek, it’s soaked into the carpet too. 

“This was a stupid idea,” he mumbles, holding his head in his hands.

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him, taking a seat on the floor next to him. “It wasn’t supposed to get this out of hand.”

“I should’ve known, though.” He sighs, letting out a disheartened laugh. “Things always go wrong for me.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks at you for a moment, but his gaze falls back to his shoes.

“I dunno, every time Joshua does something crazy it works out fine for him.” He nudges his head toward his sleeping friend on the couch above. “But when I try to have fun I always get in trouble.”

“Well, Joshua’s an idiot.”

“I heard that…” Joshua murmurs from the couch, before turning over and falling back asleep. An amused smile appears on Jeonghan’s face for a moment.

“Anyway, we’ll clean everything up,” you tell him. “It’ll be alright. It won’t take too long between the five of us - well, four. Actually… Where the hell is Soonyoung?” you ask Seungcheol as he walks back into the room. 

“In the bathroom. With his head in the toilet.” 

“Lovely. How much did he drink??”

“One beer.”

Jeonghan snorts. “How embarrassing.”

You chuckle under your breath. Jeonghan suddenly rises to his feet; you follow suit. 

“What should we listen to while we clean?” he asks, heading over to the record player. 

“How about AC/DC? ‘Have a Drink on Me’?,” you suggest. Jeonghan shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye, making Cheol giggle.

“No? Maybe some Judas Priest? ‘Breaking the Law’?”

He narrows his eyes at you, pretending to be irked, but the corners of his mouth twitch into a slight smile.

“How about no,” he retorts. Turning back to the stack of records, he pulls out a purple album. “Here, this should be good.”

He spins the vinyl in his hands before setting it on the turntable. He moves the needle into place - heavy synth notes fill the air as the familiar track begins, making you grin. Jeonghan disappears into the kitchen for a moment, returning with several trash bags and a roll of paper towels. He hands you a bag, then tosses the roll to Seungcheol. 

“Right, well, let’s get to work.”

The sound of Prince singing ‘We’re gonna party like it’s 1999' plays as you start collecting the plethora of empty cans strewn about seemingly the entire house, Jeonghan joining you. You think it would be more efficient if he started on the other side of the room, instead of following behind you, but you keep it to yourself. Val makes a reappearance, looking only slightly queasy; she joins her boyfriend in wiping away the spilled drinks. You glance at your own boyfriend again, asleep on the couch still - and now snoring lightly. You let out a sigh that you don’t mean to be audible, but Jeonghan picks up on it.

“You okay?” he asks you sincerely. 

You pause for a moment. Are you okay?? It's a question you've been asking yourself a lot recently. You do love Joshua, and even outside of dating him, he is a good friend. But, something has felt different lately - you can't quite put your finger on it, but things just haven't been the same. You feel a lump welling in the back of your throat, threatening tears. Now is not the time to overthink about your relationship - you decide to swallow your words before you get emotional.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, hoping he won’t prod further. He pauses, waiting in case you change your mind, but you go back to picking up cans in silence.

“Y/n,” he starts. His voice is soft, hesitant. You turn back to face him - you can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue, something he’s nervous to say.

“What is it?” you ask. He licks his lips, debating whether to tell you. With a deep exhale, he quickly shakes his head. 

“There’s a can in that plant right next to you,” he says, pointing to the large potted palm. “Wasn’t sure if you saw it.”

You peek through the leaves - sure enough, a crushed Coors can lay crumpled atop the soil. 

“Oh, thanks.” You pick it up and toss it in the trash bag, it landing upon the others with an unpleasant clanking sound. Over your shoulder you see Jeonghan still looking at you - you turn to look at him again, but he quickly occupies himself with the trash. He’s acting a bit odd, but you brush it off - he has had a shitty night, after all. You make your way across the room, joining Val as she sops up beer off the fine china cabinet. Still feeling eyes on your back, you glance toward Jeonghan, who is still looking at you, the expression on his face indecipherable. His focus on you is broken by Seungcheol joining him, handing him a cold can of Sprite.

“Here,” you say, turning toward Val. “Let me help.” She rips off a few paper towels and places them in your outstretched hand. You lean down to scrub the damp carpet.

Whatever Jeonghan’s problem is, you decide it’s not your business. 

“Here you go.” 

Jeonghan snaps out of staring at the back of your head, turning to his friend offering him a Sprite. 

“Thanks, man,” he tells him sincerely. He barely had had any beer, but his head was already starting to ache. Nothing the sugar in an ice cold pop can’t handle, he thinks, though considering that he’s never had a drink in his life he’s not sure how he would know that. Regardless, the cold Sprite tastes delicious after the lousy night it’s been. 

“What were you and y/n talking about?” Seungcheol asks. Jeonghan jumps slightly at the question, but he realizes he just was genuinely asking - he’s never told his best friend about his life-long crush on you, so why would Cheol be suspicious? 

“Hm? Oh, nothing really,” he answers nonchalantly. “Just in disbelief of how much mess some teenagers can make in a couple hours.”

“You said it, dude,” Seungcheol agrees, face contorting into a disgusted expression as he realizes he's just picked up a used tissue with his bare hands. “Blech,” he gags as he chucks it into Jeonghan's trash bag. “That's nasty." He swiftly disappears into the kitchen to wash his hands. 

Left momentarily alone, Jeonghan’s mind begins to wander. He stares at his other best friend, who’s passed out on the couch. He’s known Joshua pretty much his whole life - people even call them twins sometimes, due to how similar their personalities are. And they're not wrong, it doesn't bother him. But sometimes, if he starts thinking too much, he wonders why you ended up with Joshua and not him. It’s no secret that out of the two of them, Joshua is far more charming and socially adept. And besides, Joshua made his move first. He can’t blame him for that when he had spent his whole life too afraid to even talk to you. He knows it's a stupid thing to ruminate over - but he can't help it. I’m in love with my best friend’s girlfriend, he thinks to himself, and there's nothing I can do about it. He turns his gaze to you, eyes wistful as he watches you from across the room.

And why did I almost confess that to her just a moment ago?

🖭 Track 03: Take on Me – a-ha 

🎶 Oh, I'll be comin' for your love, okay

[1983, Spring - Junior Year]

You shuffle through the gravelly school parking lot toward the brown Ford Pinto parked in its usual end spot. You yank the door open, startling Joshua and making him jump so high he bonks his head upon the carpeted roof. You plop into the passenger seat and slam the door shut behind you, letting out a loud sigh as you let your backpack slide to the floor. Joshua stares at you for a moment, rubbing his head. You stare back at him, neither one of you wanting to break the silence first, but you don’t have the patience today.

“So, are you going to actually talk to me now?" 

He opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, thinking over his answer. For once, you think to yourself.

“I’m sorry, y/n, really,” he finally responds. “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”

“So you admit it, you were ignoring me then,” you point out. 

Realizing he’s already made a mistake, his shoulders drop as he sinks into the seat. He rests his left wrist atop the steering wheel as he stares at nothing in particular through the windshield. 

“I just didn’t know what to do,” he tells you downheartedly. Your stomach sinks - you know exactly where this is going. 

“Just say it, Joshua.”

Sheepishly he looks back to you, his face apologetic.

“I think we should break up.”

Even though you had mentally prepared for this moment, it still hurts. You turn away, leaning your head against the window as you stare off into the distance - you told yourself you weren’t going to cry, but your eyes start to water anyway. You take a deep breath, shoving the tears back down, but you still can’t look him in the eyes.

“Okay.”

He pauses, waiting for you to go on, but you say nothing. 

“So it’s mutual, then?” he asks quietly. You nod, still staring out the window. He lets out a sigh, somewhat relieved, but mostly melancholy. You both knew this was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“Can we still be friends?”

Your attention shifts, bringing your gaze back into the car. You turn, making eye contact with him. He seems nervous - he’s been avoiding this very conversation for fear of tearing the friend group apart. It’s the last thing he wants to happen, but he didn't know how you would feel about it.

“Yeah,” you answer, mustering up a slight smile. “Of course.” 

His head drops back against the headrest, a massive weight lifting from his shoulders.

“Oh thank god,” he says with a deep exhale. The edges of your lips twitch into a slight grin as you try not to laugh at his reaction. But you too are relieved.

He sits back up, reaching for the ignition. With a turn of the key, the dated car whirrs to life with a series of mildly concerning noises. 

“Need a ride home?”

“I’m gonna walk over to the library, actually,” you tell him as you pop the door latch and hop out of the car. That went much better than expected, but you still need to get the hell out of there. Grabbing your backpack, you go to give him the usual ‘love ya’, but you catch yourself. You stare at him blankly for a moment, trying to figure out what to say.

“Well, see you later then,” is what you land on; it comes out a bit too formally.

“See you later.”

You walk past the car and toward the main street. The library was an excuse, but you decide to head there anyway. Joshua watches you walk away for a bit, wondering if you’ll turn back around, but you don’t.

The last few months of junior year dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Like you both agreed, you and Joshua remained friends, and thus the friend group was saved. But, that didn’t stop things from being a bit weird. Nobody really knew what to do about it, but everyone reached an unspoken agreement to pretend like nothing happened. It was fine, for the most part, but you still found yourself avoiding Joshua at all costs. It ended up being pretty easy, as he was also avoiding you, and just spending noticeably less time with the whole group in general. Seungcheol and Val were still connected at the hip, of course. So, in a strange turn of events, you started hanging out with Jeonghan on the regular.

It was a little odd at first - not uncomfortable, you’ve known him your whole life, so spending one-on-one time with him was no biggie. But the frequency of you hanging out together, just you and him - that was certainly new. 

One of the first new Jeonghan-related discoveries you made was that you have a hobby in common: Legos. 

You didn’t really know anyone else who built Lego sets except for nerdiest kids in school, so it was information you generally kept to yourself, in the interest of not being made fun of. But one day, you make an off-hand comment about it.

Jeonghan’s face perks up, looking up at you from across the table. You’re currently in the mall food court, sharing a large serving of greasy french fries.

“You like Legos?” he asks, eyes wide as saucers. You shrug at him.

“Yup,” you reply nonchalantly. “Surprise, I’m a huge nerd.”

He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table as he gets closer to you, a smirk painted across his face. 

“I fucking love Legos,” he mutters under his breath.

And so, you end up in Jeonghan’s bedroom for the first time.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, you let him show you his favorites builds out of the dozens of completed sets on display around the room. You note the large pile of books on the floor, cleared out from the bookshelf to make space for even more Legos.

In the middle of telling you all about the Surface Rover set in his hands, he pauses, having suddenly become self-conscious of just how long he’s been talking. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles, embarrassed. “I’m probably boring you.”

“No no,” you pipe up, “These are so cool.” You smile at him reassuringly, making the mistake of direct eye contact. He stares at you through dark, pretty eyelashes, with an intensity that makes your stomach do a flip. It lingers for a moment, until he fully processes what is happening - he panics, staring at you with eyes even rounder than usual, before speedily looking down at the spacecraft in his hand. He occupies himself by fiddling with one of the tiny pieces, clicking it off and on several times. 

“Um, so,” he says as he places the ship back on its shelf. “What do you wanna do now?”

You’d already spent the whole afternoon with Jeonghan at the mall, and normally you would’ve gone home by now. You’ve never spent this much time with him - with just him - at once before.

“Um, I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. You shift upon the bed, drawing your legs up to sit criss-cross applesauce. Jeonghan stands there awkwardly for a moment, empty-handed and not sure what to do next either. His eyes drift around the room, searching for quite literally anything to talk about. They light up as he spots a shoebox over on his desk, a grin spreading across his face.

“Wanna see something?”

“What kind of something?” you inquire, but he already has the box in hand. He makes his way to join you on the bed, plopping down right next to you - so close that his outer thigh brushes against your knee. You wait for him to scoot back a bit, but he doesn’t. He opens the shoebox, revealing a jumbled collection of old polaroids. He flips through them until he finds what he’s looking for. He picks up the photo, giggling at it for a second before handing it over. Taking it from him, you see a photo of some little kids at what you can only assume is a birthday party, based on the pointy hats and cake slices. A clown poses behind the kids, holding a balloon animal with a big goofy expression on his face - much to the chagrin of the girl on the right, who is in tears. You stare at it for a moment before it registers.

“Hey!” you exclaim, making Jeonghan burst out laughing. 

“Look at your face,” he teases, pointing to the girl in the photo. “You HATED that clown.”

“Yeah, and I still hate clowns to this day because of him!!” you pout, shoving him in the arm. 

“Well that’s just rude. He was a very nice man.”

“Well, look at your stupid face!” you stammer back. “You got frosting all over yourself like an idiot.”

“You can’t be mean to me, it was my birthday!”

“Yeah, like a million years ago,” you say, rolling your eyes at him, but you crack a smile as you laugh.

“Here,” you say as you hand it back to him. “Take it away.”

“You can keep it.”

“Why on earth would I want this?”

“You’re right, let me keep it,” he says as he reaches for the polaroid. “That way I can show everybody at school.”

“On second thought, I will keep it,” you respond, drawing the photo back out of his reach - but not before he leans over onto you trying to snatch it from your hand. He leans so far that he loses balance, nearly tipping over entirely onto you. His hand falls upon your thigh to catch himself. 

Time seems to go in slow-mo as he glances up at you, a big devious smile lighting up his face; he makes eye contact with you again, this time so close so very close oh my god, his face mere inches from yours. His grin begins to fade as he realizes just how close he is to you right now, the expression of pure joy on his face shifting into one of equal parts terror and mesmerization. 

And as suddenly as it happened - the moment is gone. 

Jeonghan sits back up, retracting his hands into his lap, pretending to be very interested in a mysterious dark stain on the carpet. You unfold your legs, swinging your feet back down to the floor.

“I should probably get going,” you announce as you hop up off of the bed. “I promised my mom I’d be home by dinnertime.” You pick your backpack up off the floor and sling it over one shoulder, turning around to say goodbye. 

“See you later, alligator.”

He smiles at you softly, giving you a playful salute.

“After while, crocodile.”

[1983, Summer Break]

“Okay, now which character do you think you’re most similar to?”

Harsh sunlight greets your eyes as you step out of the cool, dim theater into the stuffy summer heat. Jeonghan slurps the last of his Sprite from the plastic theater cup, tossing the empty drink at a nearby trash can, which he completely misses. He scurries after the cup as it starts to roll down the sidewalk; snatching it up, he walks humbly back to the trash and carefully places it in the bin. Rejoining you, he gives you an expectant look, waiting for your response to his question.

“Hmm,” you reply as you rack your brain for names of Star Wars characters. Jeonghan rented the first two movies and forced you to watch them with him before Return of the Jedi came out so he could drag you to go see it with him. You didn’t mind the films, you actually ended up liking them a lot more than you expected, but there were just TOO many characters to keep track of.

“I don’t know. Princess Leia, I suppose?”

“No way,” he immediately rejects, shaking his head. “You’re not that cool.”

“Umm, rude much??”

He snickers, amused with himself as usual. For a long time, you thought Jeonghan was a real tool, considering that he seemed to constantly be insulting you. But as you grew closer to him, you realized that’s just what he does - the more he makes fun of you, the more he likes you.

“Okay dumbass, which character do you think you are? Let’s hear it.”

“Han Solo,” he responds without missing a beat. 

“Pshhh,” you scoff at him. “Yeah right.”

“He’s cool, sarcastic, gets in trouble sometimes,” he explains. “An independent guy that doesn’t like being told what to do. Sound familiar?”

“Okay, fine,” you concede. “You’re definitely not that cool, but I’ll accept it.”

“And since I’m Han Solo, that means you’re Chewbacca.”

“WHAT?” you shout, much louder than you meant to. “I can accept being uncool, but I don’t want to be a big, hairy monster!” 

“He’s not a monster,” he corrects you. “He’s a good guy!”

“Yeah, who’s big and hairy!”

“Hey now, don’t judge a book by its cover.” 

You roll your eyes at him, a reaction you swear happens no fewer than fifteen times a day.

“You’re an idiot. Have I told you that?”

“Frequently,” he nods, giving you a proud grin.

You continue to banter as you walk back to Jeonghan’s car. The light blue ‘73 Mustang sits parked at the meter, sun reflecting off the windows. Since you don’t have your license yet, Jeonghan drives you pretty much everywhere these days. You secretly really like the car, and it actually makes your dork of a friend seem cool, but you refuse to ever tell him that. The ego boost it would give him would be insufferable.

“So, where to now?” he asks as you hop in his ride. He turns the ignition, the sporty engine rumbling to life. 

“I should be heading home, actually,” you reply. His smile drops slightly for a moment, but he shakes it off.

“Already?” he protests, but he shifts the car into gear and takes off. 

“I have to go to dinner with my family for my grandpa’s birthday.”

“Oh, nice,” he responds, but you can tell he’s a bit disappointed.

The rest of the ride is mostly silent, but not in an awkward way. That’s one thing you appreciate about Jeonghan - hanging out with him is comfortable enough that you don’t feel obligated to make small talk. 

The car rolls to a stop as you arrive at your house. Although you live only a few houses apart, Jeonghan insists on driving past his home to drop you off in front of yours. “Don’t want you to get lost,” he always jokes.

“Wait,” Jeonghan calls out as you go to open the car door. You pause, hand on the door handle, as he pulls a cassette tape from the pocket of his cutoff jean shorts. Weird, considering that he normally just tosses his cassette tapes onto the dashboard, where they live until he brakes too hard and some of them slide off and land on the floor. He extends his hand to you, prompting you to take the tape.

“What is this?” you ask as you reach for the plastic case.

“A cassette tape,” he answers matter-of-factly. You whack him on the arm; he gives you a big grin.

“Alright, fine. It’s a mixtape.”

You look down at the clear case. On the paper insert, you see a tracklist - written neatly with a ballpoint pen. You recognize Jeonghan’s handwriting.

“What’s this for?” you ask, turning your head to look at him again. He shrugs.

“Just because.”

You stare at him for a moment. You’ve known Jeonghan long enough to know he doesn’t do things just because. You scan his face for a hint of ulterior motive, but he seems genuine. 

“Oh,” you finally say. You’re still confused, but you don’t want to come off as rude, so you give him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” he replies coolly, his eyes lingering on you. Several more seconds of silence pass. He looks like he has something else to say, but he doesn’t. The car suddenly feels way too small.

“Okay, well, see ya later!” you say quickly as you pop the door open and hop out onto the sidewalk. Jeonghan gives you a wave as you shut the door - you turn around and quickly head inside.

Heading up to your room, you take a look at the tape again. Every song on the tracklist is one of your favorites. How did he know I like all of these? you ponder. You grab the Walkman sitting on your desk and go to insert the tape, but you pause. For some reason, it makes you nervous, as if listening to it will force you to think about your feelings about Jeonghan…

Shaking your head, you set the Walkman down, placing the cassette case on top of it.

Later, you tell yourself. I’ll listen to it later.

brrrrriiiiinggg

The sound of the telephone resonates through your headphones, bleeding over your music. You pause the tape and slide your headphones down onto your shoulders, listening to it ring a couple times before somebody elsewhere in the house picks up the line. A few seconds later, you hear your mom shout from downstairs.

“Y/n! It’s for you!”

You reach for the phone across your desk and pick up the receiver.

“Hello?” 

“You’re back from dinner?” you hear Jeonghan ask.

“Well… Duh. How else would I be answering the phone?”

“Good,” he continues, disregarding your sarcastic comment - a rare occurrence for him. “Meet me at the playground in 15 minutes.”

“What? Why-” but the line clicks as he hangs up. Confused, you stare down at the receiver for a minute, the sound of the dull, steady tone filling your ears. You place the handset back on the base, jumping off your bed and grabbing your sneakers. You take a moment to shove some pillows under the covers before turning the light off. Quietly, you open your bedroom window and squeeze yourself out onto the roof, carefully stepping onto the branch that leads to the treehouse in your backyard. You climb down its ladder and drop to your feet silently upon the grass. You sneak out the side gate and head toward the neighborhood playground a few blocks away. 

As you arrive, you see a figure with familiar long dark hair sitting on one of the swings. Your feet crunch on the gravel as you walk over to join him, making him turn his head.

“Hey,” you say as you sit on the swing next to his. 

“Hey,” he replies. 

Your toes brush against the ground beneath you, further displacing the gravel that has already been cleared away from swing usage. The light wind against your back pushes you slightly; you let yourself drift back and forth. You look at Jeonghan, waiting for an explanation.

“So?” you prompt. “What’s up?”

He bites his lip, staring off into the distance as he thinks over his words for a moment. Shaking his head, he looks back to you, eyes locking with yours.

“I like you.”

He says it so nonchalantly that it takes a few moments for you to register what he just said.

“What?” 

“I like you,” he repeats. “Like, like like you. More than just a friend.”

Dumbstruck, you stare at him, lips parted ready to respond, but words escape you. Truthfully, you’re not even all that surprised by what he said - but his directness threw you for a loop.

“And I need to know how you feel, or I’m gonna lose my marbles.”

“I…” you start, but your words trail off as your mind wanders, thinking a million miles a minute.

“Even if you don’t like me back,” he adds. “We can still be friends and I’ll never bring it up again. Or if you don’t want to still be friends, I’ll respect that. I just have to know.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t be friends anymore.” You can see his heart sink, but before he can say anything you reach over and grab the chain of his swing, drawing him toward you.

“I mean, we shouldn’t be just friends anymore.”

His face is close to yours, so close; you watch as the gears turn in his head, your words finally clicking. His eyes light up, a big cheeky grin spreading across his face.

“You little…”

You giggle, then lean in and kiss him.

🖭 Track 04: What I Like About You – The Romantics 

🎶 Tell me I'm the only one / Wanna come over tonight, yeah

[1983, Fall - Senior Year]

The crowd erupts in a roar of cheering as the home team scores a touchdown, or so you presume. You’re currently a bit busy, making out with Jeonghan under the bleachers.

He stops kissing you for a second, his hand resting on the back of your neck as he locks eyes with you.

“Should I give you your birthday gift now?” he inquires, his lips pressing lightly against your nose. 

“That tickles!” you giggle, pushing him away playfully, but he quickly draws you back into his arms.

“You already gave me my present, dummy,” you remind him, referring to the new Star Wars Lego set he gave you three days ago on your actual birthday. You’d had your eyes on it for a while, but it was expensive, so you were planning to save up for it, but he knew how badly you wanted it and decided to surprise you. 

“I gave you one of your presents. But I have another one,” he informs you.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything else.”

“Hey, you only turn eighteen once,” he says with a shrug.

“Alright then, what is it?” you ask, smiling at him cutely.

“Can’t tell you.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

“Ooookay…”

“I have to show you.”

He grabs your hand, dragging you back toward the hole in the fence where you snuck into the bleachers.

“C’mon, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

He takes you back to his car, driving out of the stadium parking lot into the dark night. He drives for a while, winding down various backroads, taking you god knows where.

“Are we there yet?”

“Not yet.”

You wait a few seconds before pestering him again.

“How about now?”

“Patience, babe.” He reaches his right hand over, resting it on top of your thigh. Your stomach flutters - it’s not like this is the first time he’s touched you like this, but something about it feels different tonight.

The trees seem to get more and more dense the further you drive. You trust your boyfriend, but it’s still a little spooky. Eventually, he pulls up to a clearing, shifting the car into park. You look around, but you still don’t see anything but trees.

“We’re here!” he says cheerfully. You stare at him suspiciously.

“And where exactly is ‘here’?” you inquire, but he’s already hopping out of the car. He makes his way over to the passenger side, opening your door and offering his hand. You take it, letting him help you out of the car, but you’re still a bit wary. He laces his fingers between yours, dragging you along into the trees. 

“Watch your step,” he tells you as you come across a large tree root protruding into the path. As you step over it, you hear rustling up ahead, accompanied by the faint smell of smoke.

“Jeonghan…” you whisper nervously.

“Almost there, darling,” he responds, looking at you fondly. You see a break in the trees ahead - as you approach, you hear the soft splashing of water, and the orange glow of a bonfire comes into view.

“The lake? Why are we at the la-”

“SURPRISE!!!!!!” 

You jump, startled by the choir of voices shouting at you all at once as the familiar faces of all your friends pop out all around you.

“SHIT,” you scream, instinctively clinging to Jeonghan. He laughs, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you into him. You whack him in the stomach, but a big grin spreads across your face.

“You did all of this? Just for me?”

“Just for you,” he replies, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

Music starts to blare from a boombox as your friends swarm around you, hooting and hollering as the party begins. Somebody hands you a beer; Jeonghan has also acquired one - he raises his bottle to yours with a clink.

“Happy birthday, y/n.”

The party goes late into the night. Jeonghan had thought of everything: snacks, pizza, beer, balloons, and even smores. You sit around the bonfire, roasting a marshmallow and chatting with the few remaining partygoers - most people had headed out by now, it was almost midnight after all. 

“Hey,” Jeonghan speaks softly as he appears next to you, scooting in close and wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“Hiii,” you say, the big goofy grin on your face giving away that you’re decently buzzed right now.

“How was the party?”

“It was perfect,” you tell him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Good,” he replies proudly. “I’m glad you liked it.” His fingers raise to your chin, lifting your face up toward him, planting his lips on yours in a soft kiss. As he draws his head back, a smirk grows upon his face.

“What?” you ask.

“Your marshmallow is on fire.”

Whipping your head back toward the bonfire, you see the giant marshmallow at the end of your stick engulfed in flames.

“Oh fuck!” 

Giggling, he takes the stick from your hand and pulls the blackened sugar remnants out of the heart of the fire, shaking it a bit until it extinguishes.

“Man,” you pout, “I was looking forward to eating that.”

“Here, I’ll get you another one.”

Several lightly toasted marshmallows later, the last of your friends start to roll out. Seungcheol and Jeonghan put out the now-dwindling bonfire, the lakeside going dark in the absence of the flames. Everybody packs up, saying their goodbyes and driving off back into town. Finally, it’s just you and Jeonghan remaining. You start to head to his car, but he doesn’t follow.

“You coming or what?” you call, taking his hand, but he pulls you back toward him. 

“Wanna do one last thing?” he asks, a smirk growing upon his face.

“Oh god,” you groan, looking at him skeptically. “What are you up to now?”

Saying nothing, he bolts off back toward the lake.

“Hey!!” you shout, jogging after him. He peels his shirt off as he speeds off, tossing it aside, running onto the old dock protruding out into the dark water. He reaches the end, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them off, along with his socks and shoes in one fell swoop.

“Jeonghan Yoon, what the hell are you doing?!”

Standing there buck-ass naked, he looks back at you over his shoulder. He gives you a devious grin, then dives into the lake.

He surfaces as you reach the end of the dock, his long dark hair laying drenched against his face. He sweeps his hair back out of his face, eyes wide with rushing adrenaline.

“You coming in? The water’s nice!” he hollers, treading water to stay afloat.

“Is it really?” you ask, reaching down to dip your fingertips in the water.

“No, it’s fucking freezing,” he tells you truthfully, laughing like a maniac. Sure enough, the cold instantly stings against your skin as you drag your hand across the surface.

“You’re out of your mind,” you yell as he swims out further into the lake.

“Here, I’ll turn around. I won’t even look.” Sure enough, he twirls around in the water, facing away from you. 

“That’s not why… Jeonghan it’s cold!!”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” he shouts, barely audible as his voice carries across the lake. “I promise.”

You think about it for a moment. Fuck it, you decide. You take off your shoes and clothes, all the hair on your body standing up in the chilly air. Slowly, you slip your bra and panties off, crossing your arms over your cold breasts. You step up to the edge of the dock, your toes hanging off the wooden plank, staring down into the pitch black water beneath you. Your mind races, but you know if you stand here thinking about it much longer, you’ll talk yourself out of it. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and jump.

The frigid water hits your skin like knives as you plunge into the lake. You kick your legs, hurtling yourself back up to the surface. You gasp as you break into the night air once more, starting to doggy paddle to keep yourself afloat. 

“Yeah!!!” you hear your boyfriend cheer in the distance. You spot him as he starts swimming back, water splashing calmly around him as he glides toward you. He swims directly into you, throwing his arms around you and kissing you.

“Hey, I’m trying to stay afloat here you moron!” you shout as you push him away, but you’re laughing along with him. His gaze locks onto yours, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a huge smile plastered across his face. 

You’re drenched, you're frozen, and you don’t even really like swimming in the first place. But here, tonight, with Jeonghan - you’ve never felt more carefree.

[1984, Winter - Senior Year]

“Babe, you awake?”

You open your eyes to Jeonghan’s ceiling. The sound of the newest Rush album playing on the stereo had apparently lulled you into a trance; you sit up on his bed, looking over at your boyfriend reclining in the large navy beanbag across the room. He’s laser-focused, eyes on the small television as he controls his Atari joystick.

“Hm?” you ask sleepily.

“I was asking if you were awake,” he repeats, smiling as his eyes are still glued to the screen. “But you answered my question for me.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to ignore you,” you tell him, stifling a yawn. “I was just really relaxed.”

The game gives a series of upbeat beeps and boops to indicate victory. Jeonghan sets the joystick down and turns the console off, getting up and making his way over to you. You scoot over on the bed to make room; he plops down, curling up beside you.

“So,” he starts, placing his arm gently around your waist, tracing his fingers along your side. His parents are gone for the weekend, so you finally get to spend some quality time together - alone.

“What do you wanna do now?”

You roll onto your side, situating yourself even closer to him, your body pressed against his. A smile slowly creeps onto his face. His hand lifts to your cheek, fingertips brushing against the soft skin lightly, making your heart flutter. He leans in, planting a delicate kiss upon your lips; your hand snakes around his waist, clinging to the side of his shirt as you kiss him back. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in tight before pulling you over on top of him. The kiss breaks as you giggle; you gaze down at him, locking onto his dark brown eyes. Slowly, he slips his hands underneath your shirt, watching you carefully to make sure you’re okay with it. You grin at him, pressing your lips to his again. He grasps onto your skin, pressing himself against you as closely as possible as he makes out with you. He slides his hands further up your shirt, fingers grazing over the band of your bra. You stop kissing him for a moment; he looks up at you concernedly, nervous that he’s gone too far. You sit up, legs straddled around him, reaching for the hem of your top and slowly lifting it up and over your head. His eyes widen, staring at your body as you discard the shirt on the floor. He pulls his own shirt off, tossing it away, eyes still locked on your breasts. His hands trace up your stomach, eyes nearly bugging out his head as he slowly squeezes his hands over the cups of your bra, smiling like he’d just won the lottery. You lean back down, tucking your head next to his, lips hovering right next to his ear.

“You can keep going,” you whisper.

He reaches around your back, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and giving it a soft tug. With a snap of release it unhooks, straps slowly slipping off of your shoulders. Suddenly he flips you over, pulling the garment off as he rolls on top of you. He presses his hips into yours, admiring the sight of you. You reach for his belt, tugging gently on the waist of his jeans. He lets out an excited giggle, a huge grin spreading across his cheeks. Barely more than a whisper, he utters into your lips as he goes to kiss you again.

“I love you.”

🖭 Track 05: Tainted Love – Soft Cell 

🎶 Once I ran to you (I ran) / Now I'll run from you

[1984, Spring - Senior Year]

“Jeonghan!” you call out cheerfully, waving to your boyfriend from the schoolyard bench as he exits the building - but he keeps walking. You assume he didn’t hear you, so you sling your backpack over your shoulder and hurry after him. As you approach you see he has headphones on, his Walkman clipped to his belt. You tap him on the arm, making him nearly jump out of his skin. He rips his headphones off, turning around at a startling speed.

“Oh,” he says when he sees your face. “It’s just you.”

“Glad to see you too,” you tease, expecting him to laugh back, but he just gives you a small, seemingly-forced smile. 

“You okay?” you inquire, slightly concerned.

He hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Yeah no, I’m fine,” he says, fiddling with the headphones in his hands. “I was just zoned out. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you reply warmly. He doesn’t make eye contact, staring just past you instead. Your smile fades. You don’t know what, but something is up with him - and for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to want to tell you about it. Not your favorite thing in the world, but you decide to drop it for now.

“So,” you start, changing the subject. “Seungcheol told me you got into NYU, I didn’t even know you applied! When did you find out?”

“Oh yeah. I got the letter, um… about a week ago.” He mumbles the end of his sentence as he glances down, suddenly very interested in his shoelaces. 

“A week ago?” you ask with genuine surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t get the chance to yet,” he replies, but you both know it's a terrible fib.

“What do you mean? We were hanging out all weekend, dummy,” you say in a lighthearted tone, nudging him in the arm. But you are a little hurt to find out that he was keeping that information from you.

“I just… didn’t think of it,” he tells you. He runs his hand through his hair, giving you a sheeping smile. “Sorry babe,” he adds.

“Soooo…” you prompt, but he doesn’t answer your unspoken question. 

“So… what?” 

“Are you going to accept it?”

“Oh. Um, well I suppose I have to think about it.”

“Oh.”

You had talked casually about college numerous times, of course. You are seniors after all, it’s the only thing on everyone’s minds at this point in the school year. But all your conversations were had with the assumption that you were both going to Columbia - something you had both been planning on for years, even before you started dating. Since when had Jeonghan had a change of heart? Relax, you tell yourself. Just because he was accepted doesn’t mean he’s going to go there. But a sinister hunch lurks in the back of your mind.

He’s going to a different school because he’s planning to break up with you.

You force yourself to stop. You know you shouldn’t make any assumptions without at least talking to him first. But standing here, right in front of the school on a random Tuesday, doesn’t feel like the right place to have that conversation.

“Well,” Jeonghan pipes up before you can say anything else. “Speaking of the devil, I have to go meet Seungcheol. Says he needs me to fix his computer.” He gives you a cocky smirk. “Bet you five bucks it’s just not plugged in.”

He gives you a quick one-armed hug with a kiss on the cheek.

“Catch you later.”

“See ya,” you respond quietly, but he’s already walking off toward the parking lot.

The beefy Mustang engine roars to life as Jeonghan turns the ignition. He reaches for the first cassette he sees, inserting it into the tape deck and cranking the stereo volume. A melancholic tune blasts from the speakers as The Smiths begin to play, causing him to frown. As much as he likes this song, he doesn’t really want to listen to “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” right now. But he doesn’t have the energy to search for a different tape right now, so it is what it is.

He stares out into the schoolyard, mindlessly watching some jocks throw a football back and forth. But they evidently get bored of that and head over to the group of cheerleaders, a couple of the girls practically throwing themselves at their boyfriends - one couple even starts to make out right there, tongue and all. Jeonghan grimaces, throwing the transmission into reverse and quickly backing the fuck out of the parking spot.

The drive home consists of more sad songs and too much thinking. He knows he should have told you about the letter sooner. He was waiting to find the right time, the right way to say it - but he should’ve known better than to tell Seungcheol if he wanted to keep it a secret. He didn’t blame Cheol, because he hasn’t even told his best friend yet that he has to break up with you.

A car honking snaps him out of the pensive trance he didn’t realize he had entered. He glances up at the stoplight, discovering that it had in fact turned green. He shifts the car into gear and takes off, trying to think about literally anything else - but he can’t get his mind off of you. He is painfully aware that he’s being a fucking idiot. He’s in love with you. Hell, he can’t think about the future without you being there - but that’s the whole problem. Because as wonderful as you are, he simply doesn’t believe you feel the same way about him. He’s convinced himself going to college with you will only end up with you realizing that you can do so much better than him.

And that’s why he has to end things before you have the chance to break his heart.

[two weeks later]

The beating sun reflects off the sidewalk, hurting your eyes even as you sit on a shaded bench. It’s not particularly hot, but the cloudless spring day sure is making you wish you had brought some sunglasses with you. You close your eyes, slumping further into the bench as you wait. And wait. And wait. But Jeonghan doesn’t show. 

Maybe he just genuinely forgot, but that’s what you thought the first time. And the second time. But this is the third fucking time he’s stood you up. You had a suspicion he’d been avoiding you, and by now he’s all but confirmed it.

Finally, you detect the familiar rumble of a Mustang engine approaching. You open your eyes, spotting the blue vehicle speeding into the parking lot. Its brakes squeal to a stop as the driver pulls up in front of the mall entrance. Sighing, you get up and shuffle over to the car, flinging the door open and plopping into the passenger seat. 

“You’re late.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan mumbles. You see him looking at you sheepishly out of the corner of your eye, but you don’t meet his gaze.

“You’re really late,” you say coldly, staring out the window at nothing. “What’s your excuse today?”

“I just lost track of time-”

“I’ve been waiting for you for AN HOUR,” you shoot back, turning your head to face him. “I could have walked home by now!”

He looks down, resting his hand upon the stick shift.

“I feel really bad, y/n, I’m really sorry.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

Sighing, he shifts the car into drive and takes off.

“Do you still want to go grab a bite?”

“I already ate. I want to go home.”

The drive back to your street is silent, with only the radio humming at a barely audible level. He pulls up in front of your house; you go to exit the car, but he reaches out for your arm.

“Wait,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against your skin. “Please.”

You look back at him - the apologetic look on his face is sincere, but that doesn’t make you any less upset.

“Jeonghan, you can’t keep doing shit like this. You’re acting like you don’t even want to be around me anymore.”

“No, babe, that’s not true-”

“Did I do something?”

“What?” he questions. “No, no you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“I…” he sighs, staring back at the steering wheel. He shakes his head, his words trailing off. You wait for him to say something - anything - but he doesn’t.

“Fine,” you exhale, exasperated. “Call me when you’re ready to actually fucking talk to me.”

You throw open the car door, slamming it shut and storming off into the house. Your lip quivers, eyes watering as frustration swells in your chest, but you swallow it.

Jeonghan stares after you until you disappear through the door. He drops his head, burying his face in folded arms against the steering wheel. With a groan, he drives the remaining couple hundred feet and parks in his own driveway. He cranks the stereo up, “Love Will Tear Us Apart” blaring through the speakers - perhaps the worst possible song to be playing right now. He lets out a haughty laugh at the irony, laughter quickly turning into tears spilling from his eyes. 

Nice going jackass, he chastises himself as anger wells within him. You’ve really fucked this up now. 

Inside your bedroom, you throw yourself on your bed. You stare off into space, but there’s too much shit in your peripheral vision around the room that reminds you of him. You roll over, shoving your face into the pillow, letting out a dejected groan.

You don’t know what to do, so you just let yourself cry.

🖭 SIDE B coming soon - sign up for the taglist here

[ taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @tinycatharsis ] 

[hexa-ro]

Moonwater Micro Fic, NSFW, 502 Word Count

This one is probably the kinkiest micro I've posted on Tumblr...

Don’t ask why they decided the green house was the best place for this. 

Maybe it has something to do with the increasing suspicion from both of their friend groups, or the length with which the other prefects go to catch couples snogging.

Regardless, neither of them really think about it as they stumble through the doors and Regulus gets deposited on a random workbench, his tie loosened and Remus’ mouth overtaking him like a man starved. 

Regulus’ hands immediately make their way under the sweater Remus is buried in, fingers searching, scratching, and applying pressure as he sees fit. 

As Regulus continues his ministrations, his hand wanders lower “You want me to touch you, Remus?” his hand slips into the front of the other’s trousers, “Is that why you muttered that filth in my ear in the middle of the corridor?”

“Reg,” Remus mumbles, burying his face into his neck, moving his hands to settle on his hips “please…” 

“You should’ve stopped to think before saying those nasty things, my love,” he runs his fingers through the patch of hair at his base. “What would you do if I just left you like this, hard and leaking in your briefs, hmm?”

“No, no, please– Reg please,” he gasps, Regulus’ pointer finger traveling down the underside of his cock. 

Regulus hums, “I’ll punish you later, then.” He wraps his fist around Remus, “I have some especially pretty things tucked away for you. I can see it now; you spread out below me, delicate lace covering your flushed chest...”

He starts moving slowly, his grip loose. A frustrated groan leaves Remus and Regulus tsks, “You don’t get to complain right now, love. This is your fault.” 

He speeds up his strokes incrementally, rubbing his palm over Remus’ head on every upstroke. His body spasms and he pants into Regulus’ neck as he gets closer, soft ah’s and oh’s escaping his mouth.

After a couple more seconds Regulus uses his unoccupied hand to grab Remus’ jaw, bringing his eyes up to meet his own, “tell me how much you need it, pet.”

His pace picks up quickly, Remus crying out and collapsing forward against the workbench. 

“Please, please Reg— Regulus..” he gasps, “I need it, I need to cum, please.” 

“And what have you learned?” He speeds up a little more, pressing his forehead against Remus’, "what are you not going to do in the future, pet?” 

“To n-not,” he fights the urge to thrust into Regulus’ grip, “don’t say dirty things to you in the c-corridor, or try to distract y-you.” 

“You can cum whenever you need, my love.” He releases the grasp on Remus’ chin.

All it takes is a couple more strokes and Remus finishes over Regulus’ closed fist and his own briefs, gasping for air as he grips onto the edge of the table.

“Merlin…” he huffs, still panting as he looks up to Regulus, “t-the lace… you really meant that?” 

Regulus smirks, kissing him softly “Every word, Remus.”