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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 hours ago

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The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - The Royal Wedding

In which you and Max tie the knot.

Warnings: just fluff. a bit of anxiety talk but nothing Max can't fix. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions - Master List

After getting engaged, there were two things that you and Max almost immediately agreed upon: first, because so much of both of your lives were already available for public consumption, you wanted to protect the peace and privacy of your wedding as much as possible. And second, you didn’t want to wait until the next summer break to get married.

Growing up, it was a cliche fact but a fact all the same, that you often thought of what you wanted your wedding to be like. You were even very much guilty of having secret wedding Pinterest boards set up all through high school and college. But the moment the even presented itself in real life, you suddenly felt choked by the weight of what a big wedding could entail.

It had been Max that had suggested the solution in the end, his idea passed by you casually one night as you walked hand in hand back to your hotel after dinner before the race in Italy. He had sensed your hesitation around hosting such a big, over the top wedding that everyone seemed to assume you wanted. The spark in your eye faded just a bit when Alex and Carmen had started talking about wedding venues and guest lists and he hadn’t missed the way your shoulders hitched up a bit more towards your ears as you listened to your friends ramble.

“What if we just eloped?” He works to keep his tone causal, not wanting to give away how appealing that idea sounds to him. He wants you to choose the kind and scale of wedding you want all on your own because he knows you’d do anything for him, right down to agreeing to plan a wedding that doesn’t suit you at all.

You stop dead in your tracks, Birkin bag swinging wildly at your elbow from the sudden halt. “What?”

Max sticks his hands deep in the pockets of his khakis, giving you a knowing smile. “You heard me. What if we just said ‘fuck this’ and ran off to the beach and got married by some old fishing captain. Captains can legally marry people, right? That’s a thing?”

Not for the first time in your relationship, you’re stunned into silence at something your soon-to-be husband says. For a moment all you can do is blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with you or not. “You’d…you’d want that?”

Max steps forward, earnest look on his handsome face. “Baby,” He murmurs, framing both sides of your face with his strong hands. “Baby, I’d marry you in an alley way in the middle of New York City. I don’t care where or how, all I care about is that we come out at the end of this married and tied together for life. I don’t care about the wedding, I care about the marriage.”

Max watches as your pupils blow wide, shy smile tugging at your lips. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max’s forehead rests on yours and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well, it’s true. I want you to have the wedding of your dreams because I know that will make you happy but other than that, I don’t care.”

He’d do anything to make sure you were happy, knowing it was just this side of obsessive the way he took you into consideration with every decision he made. Standing opposite of the man who consumed your entire soul, your stomach dipped low, the pleasant swooping sensation something you’ve become accustomed to over the last year. “I just feel so overwhelmed. Both of our lives are already so public and under scrutiny. I want this to be something that we can cherish without any of the potential tarnish of what it means to be so public.”

You shake your head, feeling a little silly and what you’re feeling. “I love our lives and know we’re privileged to live like this but sometimes I just want to have something that’s just ours. I want to share our love and relationship with everyone but maybe we could just shield some of it from the world?”

An idea forms in Max’s head then. “What if we eloped somewhere just the two of us and then have a party to celebrate with everyone after?”

You nod, “Have is quietly ours for a while before sharing the news with everyone?”

Max reaches for you, enjoying the way you press against him with ease. It’s a warm Italian summer night, the scent of perfumed flowers and left over sunshine hung heavy in the air and you wanted to snap this moment into something that stayed with you forever. Max’s hands heavy on your hips, digging into the flesh there as if he can’t get enough of you despite not leaving your side for the last 24 hours.

Ever since getting engaged, you’d hated spending any length of time away from Max, almost like your soul had already started to twin itself to him. It made leaving difficult but returning was always so sweet. You had this weekend in Italy before you had to leave on another trip but you’d been considering ramping down your travel over the next few months. But, that was another conversation for another day.

“Where would we go? And when?” The more you thought bout it, the more the thought of what Max was suggesting appealed to you.

Max releases you before taking your hand as you two start back towards your hotel, feeling a bit lighter at seemingly solving the problem that had been weighing on you for a few days.

“We could do it this winter? There’s always a total shut down of everything that week between Christmas and New Years. We’d see our families for Christmas and escape saying we were just taking a trip the two of us.”

You grin up at him, liking where he was going with this.

yourpersonalinsta posted

129,938 likes liked by yourdad, assistantshannon, maxverstappen1, and others yourpersonalisnta sun, sand, and a very cute finace kikagomes is this that place in Mexico you were talking about?! It looks so pretty! >>>yourpersonalinsta yes!!! it is gorgeous. you and P need to come here some day. alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous gorgeous girl >>>yourpersonalinsta love you bby user029 dream life fr user0092 looks like paradise! tell max congrats on his 5th title for us!!

December, 2025

The warm ocean breeze fluttered through the wide open doors of the villa behind you as the bright December sun heated your skin where you laid on a lounge chair. Next to you, Max was sprawled out on on the chair next to you, snoring softly as he took what you thought might just be his third nap of the day.

Ever since the pair of you had arrived in Mexico a few days ago, you hand’t done much beyond sleep, eat, and fuck. The 2025 season had been the most stressful, chaotic, out of control season Max had ever had and while he had managed to clinch the championship on in Abu Dhabi from Lando, but it had been a difficult ride to get there. So when Christmas had been celebrated and you had jumped on the jet to fly from Monaco over to Mexico, you couldn’t help but continually breathe a sigh of relief.

The fight had truly weighed on Max, the hollows underneath his eyes growing more and more prominent as the race weeks ticked by. The only relief he had gotten had been your midseason trip to Thailand when he had proposed. When Jensen had asked him what had gotten him through the difficult second half of the season during an interview after he won the championship, his immediate answer had simply been you.

Much to the disappointment of your fans, you had decided to really ramp down the amount of travel and work you had done following the summer break. Max had been resident at first, not even wanting to entertain he conversation at first when you had brought it up shortly after it had been decided you were going to elope. He didn’t want to even think of you putting your career on hold for him, to take care of him, to follow him. Not because he didn’t want you around. It was the exact opposite. Just the thought of you spending more time traveling with him instead of the insane schedule you’d been keeping over the last year had relief flooding through him. While he was tired from his schedule and the pressure of winning a 5th consecutive world title, he knew you were tired too. There were many times you both went weeks without setting foot in your shared apartment and sometimes you’d go weeks between seeing each other too.

No, it wasn’t because he didn’t want you around. It was because he didn’t want you to resent him one day down the line that you had given up your career for him. He couldn’t bare the thought of being the cause of any resentment or heartache for you and despite how much he wanted you by his side every possible moment.

In the end, reason had won out as you had explained that you weren’t taking a break because of him. He was certainly part of it, but like him, you were exhausted. You reminded Max of Brazil last year, how you had slept for so long the day after the race there that Max had postponed your flights home for another week he was so worried about you getting sick.

You had done a few interviews since the engagement, mostly with people in the motorsport world: Susie and Toto Wolff, Natalie Pinkham, and of course Lewis being your biggest interviews. In addition, you had done some post race interviews and coverage for F1TV, which allowed you to have even more of a reason to be in the paddock week in and week out. You weren’t sure where your podcast was going in the future, but for now, you were content with the schedule and where you were professionally, despite what some of your critics might be whispering.

All of this works through your mind as Max begins to stir beside you. His eyes blink open eventually and when they do, they immediately find you. “Hi baby.” He whispers, voice rough with sleep.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You grin, setting your book down beside you as Max rolls over onto his side, creating some space for you on the oversized lounge chair, beckoning you to join him.

As you snuggle deeper into his chest, Max slots his thigh between your legs and slips his top arm over your waist, pulling you closer. “You looked deep in thought. Everything okay?” He murmurs before his lips ghost over your cheek.

“Hmmm, of course. Just thinking about this year and how good it feels to just breathe.”

Max could tell when you got in one of your thinking moods just by the way your body language shifted. In those few moments between when he had woken up and you had noticed his eyes open, he had watched you staring out over the villa’s lawn. Your shoulders were relaxed, the usual pinch between your brows completely absent and with legs crossed at your ankles as you read your book, you had looked the picture of relaxed.

“You still feeling okay about tomorrow?”

Just the thought of what tomorrow would bring made your heart rate pitch up a bit. The first morning after your arrival, you and Max had gone over to the concierge in the main reception building to tell them of your plans for an elopement. They had, of course, been ecstatic and ready to help you in whatever way you wanted. After a few hours of discussion, you had everything planned and the concierge snapped into action.

“I am…unless you’re not?” It occurs to you that Max has been awfully quiet this morning, a soft reflective mood taking over his usual energetic attitude and suddenly, anxiety pinches in your chest. You desperately search Max’s face for any sign of hesitation or regret, not knowing what you’d do if he suddenly got cold feet before tomorrow.

Max shakes his head before pulling you even closer, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip, covered only by the little string of your bikini that you’ve been living in since you got here. “Lifeje, stop that. You know I would have married you the moment after I proposed to you months ago.”

Something settles in you at his words, having just needed that little bit of reassurance from him. As hard as you tired and as much as Max made sure to never leave any doubt in your mind that he was all in with you, you sometimes still found your anxiety getting the best of you. Scenarios about how Max was having second thoughts, how he didn’t really want to marry you, how this was all in your head sometimes ran rampant in your head. You were getting better at controlling them, especially after he had proposed but that was the funny thing about anxiety, you couldn’t always control it.

“I know.” You whisper, fingers trailing up and down his toned arm that was wrapped around you tightly.

“Anxiety?” It was almost spooky how well Max could read you from just a shift in your tone of voice. All you could do was nod, suddenly feeling silly. Max rolled his hips into yours, pulling your lower half closer. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asked, pressing his already half hard cock into your center. “Do you feel what you do to me just laying here? All you have to do is look at me and I’m a goner. There isn’t a single second thought in my mind, love.”

“I’m sorry I’m hard to love sometimes.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as Max lifts your chin so he can have a better look at you. “I’m sorry you have to constantly reassure me despite not giving me any reason to doubt you. I know it can’t be easy.”

You had spent most of your adult life being told how difficult you were to love. How hard it was to deal with the constant reassurance you needed when the anxiety crept in, telling you you weren’t good enough. It was unnerving sometimes when Max loved you so easily and effortlessly because how did he find it so easy to do when no one else before him had?

Max pulls back so he can get a good look in those pretty eyes of yours. It made him rage internally knowing how insecure you were. Not because he faulted you. Oh, absolutely not. He raged at the people that made you feel like you were inferior and hard to love because that was something that he simply didn’t see. Loving you and being with you was the easiest thing he’d ever done in his life.

“I want you to listen to me, okay?” He waits, brows raised, until you nod. “I will gladly spend the rest of my life telling you how much I worship you whenever and however you need or want me to. When I take those vows tomorrow, I mean it with every bit of my soul, schatje. For worse or better, you’re mine and I’m yours from tomorrow on, okay? You are not hard to love and I am so lucky I get the privilege of telling you every single day how much I love you.”

Your mind settles a bit at his words as you let the sensation of having Max so close to you wash over your anxious nerves. “How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“Oh, sweet girl it’s not you that’s lucky.” Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips as you sigh into him. “I’m the lucky one that somehow coincided you to love me back.”

There were only two people in your lives besides you and Max that knew what you two were really doing in Mexico. GP because Max was physically incapable of keeping anything from his race engineer and your assistant Shannon. GP had called Max out on his sudden change in demeanor in Italy after the decision to elope had been made, asking Max what had happened in the previous 12 hours to make him not so grumpy when he showed up to the track that morning. Max being a terrible liar when it came to GP had been unable to think quick enough to come up with an excuse and when he had simply looked at GP with a deer in the headlights look, he had fessed up and spilled the beans. When you had found out that Max had told GP you had sworn the race engineer to total secrecy, telling him you’d cut off a very important body part of his if it got leaked.

Shannon was the other person that knew and it was only because you had needed help with choosing and figuring out how to sneakily order, tailor, and pack a wedding gown without anyone getting wind of it. You knew if the paparazzi had caught sight of you leaving a bridal boutique with a dress in hand nearly a year before you had told everyone else that you were planning on getting married, people would talk. So, with Max’s approval, you had enlisted the help of your personal assistant who had honestly turned into one of your closest friends over the time that she had worked with you.

It had been Shannon that helped you choose the dress that you wore the morning you married Max, the white lace clinging to every curve and valley of your body. It was just going to be the two of you, the officiant, and the photographer there and the utter quiet and simplicity of getting ready in complete silence and peace was something you would cherish for the rest of your life. Max had left the villa about an hour ago, telling you he had a few errands to run before the officiant would turn up for the ceremony. What kind of errands could he be doing in the middle of a luxury resort in the middle of the Mexican jungle, you had no idea but you hadn’t asked any questions because you wanted the time alone to get ready.

You’re just slipping on the second thin strap up over your shoulder when there’s a knock at the villa door moments before it swings open. Max comes bustling in, wearing the khaki pants and white linen shirt you had chosen for the beach nuptials. He’s got a fresh haircut and shaved face, his bright blue eyes looking for you the moment he walks in the door. In his hand dangles a little black bag with silver ties that doesn’t look big enough to hold much more than a small box or two.

“Lifeje, where are -” Max stops in his tracks when you round the corner out of the bedroom and he sees you for the first time. His hand goes straight to his sternum, rubbing at the place that is suddenly aching at the mere sight of you. He had thought he’d been prepared to see you in your wedding dress but what he saw in front of him made every coherent thought tumble right out of his head. If he had thought you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen before, seeing you standing there before him in the white lace dress with it’s plunging neckline and fabric clinging to your every curve, just confirmed that he was the luckiest person in the entire world. “Christ.” He whispers, unable to move from the spot he’s rooted to.

You let out a little uncertain giggle, tucking a piece of hair that you had left out of the sleek low bun you had styled your hair in for the day behind your ear. “Do I look okay?”

Max finds the ability to move then, crossing the room in just a few strides, suddenly needing nothing more than to touch you. He had to know what that lace felt like under his fingers, had to know if your skin looked as radiant up close as it did when he had first walked into the villa.

“I am so glad I wrote my vows down because there is no way I’m remembering anything while I look at you.” He croaks, voice becoming totally unreliable with emotion just seeing you dressed like this solely for him brings up. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life, schatje. ”

And it was the truth. Max had never seen anyone as gorgeous as you were standing there in that white dress, veil tucked into the top of your bun so it cascaded down over your shoulders. The dress pools at your feet and dips low in the back, showing off the tanned and toned body you work so hard for. At your ears wink the diamonds Max had gotten you for Christmas just a week earlier. A diamond and sapphire necklace set in platinum sits at your throat, also a gift from Max for your one year anniversary earlier in the year. Seeing you wearing the jewels that he’s bought for you does something to Max, a possessive streak proudly zipping through him at the thought of you dripping in expensive baubles that he’s bought you.

“What’s in the bag?” You ask as Max settles his hands low on your hips, still checking you out with absolutely no shame whatsoever.

He seems to remember that there’s something else in the room other than you then, holding the bag out to you with a sly grin on his face. “I know we said our wedding bands were going to be our presents to each other but I saw this the other day when we were out shopping in that little jewelry store and had to go back to get it.”

You raise a brow but know better than to argue about Max spoiling you. It’s a lost cause at this point and you settled for just accepting the pretty things he liked to give you simply because he loved seeing you in them a long time ago. You take the bag from his hands and reaching in, you pull out a long, slender velvet box.

When you open the box, you barely stifle a gasp at the delicate bracelet sitting on the black satin. It’s the diamond and pearl tennis bracelet set in platinum that you had casually looked at yesterday when you and Max had gone into town to do some shopping and had mentioned in an off handed comment that you had liked how the pearls and diamonds worked so well together, although you had ultimately decided not to get it because of the price tag and the fact that you thought you’d never have anywhere to wear it.

“Max.” You whisper, gaze darting up from the box to Max’s own eager look. “It’s…it’s so pretty I don’t have the words. You spoil me.”

“And I’m going to continue to spoil you for the rest of our lives, lifeje. Now, can I put it on you so you can be dripping in diamonds for our wedding day, please?”

You laugh a little, somehow unsure of how you got this lucky to be here in Mexico marrying the man that literally worships the ground you walk on.

“Now, I understand that you both have written your vows for each other. Max, would you like to go first?”

Later that afternoon, the two of you stand barefoot on the beach, a gentle breeze teasing the veil at the back of your head, while the officiant the hotel recommended stands before you. The atmosphere could not be more perfect. The sun hangs low in the sky, sunset just an hour or two away so the golden rays cascade over you and Max. Behind you, the photographer you hired snaps discreetly away. The fact that it’s just the four of you on the beach witnessing this could not have been more perfect.

Max stands opposite you, large hands swallowing your smaller ones, and takes a deep breath. You can see the emotion playing plainly on his face and know he’s going to have a hard time getting through these words. For the outside world, Max Verstappen is a hardened competitor that takes no shit and will do anything to win. But here? On the beach with just you and 2 others as he professes his love and adoration to you, he’s as soft as kitten and almost more emotional than you are.

He couldn’t have been happier at his decision to write down the words to his vows because the emotions that swirled in him then, as he stands there looking at you in your wedding dress is so overwhelming he can barely put together a coherent thought. Here he was, the man that has won five world championships and zips around a race track at 200 miles per hour regularly, completely unable to speak he’s so happy.

The paper is a bit crumpled when he pulls it out of the pocket of his khakis but it’s fine all the same. He clears his throat nervously and then begins. “When Melissa suggested I go on your podcast, she said it would be an amazing PR opportunity for me. I think I told her no five times but on that sixth time, I agreed because GP said he thought I’d like you and then he sent me that interview. And then I walked into that studio on that cold, rainy April and have never thanked GP and Melissa so fast. That first time I saw you, I felt my entire world shift beneath my feet. Having the childhood I did ruined the idea of love for me for most of my life but the moment you waltzed into my life, schatje, I knew that you were going to show me how wrong I’d been. I love you endlessly and will forever be thankful that you’ve shown me what the meaning of real, true, unconditional love is.” Max takes a breath, swiping at an errant tear that falls down his cheek.

Across from him, you grip at his hands, desperately trying to commit this entire moment to memory. You’re endlessly glad you both had written your vows so you’d be able to look back and remember what was said today on this beach.

“I promise to love, honor, cherish, and spoil you,” He pauses when you chuckle and roll your eyes, but just squeezes your hand before continuing on. “Whatever you need, you’ll have. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you never want for anything ever again, both material wants but also emotional wants. You are my number one priority from here on out and I vow to never ever stop living up to these promises. I never believed in soulmates until I saw you for the first time and words can’t accurately describe how much I love you. Having the title of your husband is worth a million and one world champion titles and I promise to spend the rest of my days proving that to you.”

The emotions ripple over you as Max concludes his vows. The officiant turns to you, dipping his head to let you know it’s now your turn. Max squeezes your hands together and you drown in the watercolor blue eyes looking back at you for a moment.

“I stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. That is until you walked into that recording studio and looked at me like you’d known me for our entire lives. I tried so hard not to get ahead of myself for so long, but it was that first time you flew me down to Miami two weeks after meeting you that I knew. I knew that you were it for me, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ve been through so much in such a short time and I know there are so many people that are going to think we’re criminally insane for doing this. But it’s nearly impossible to put into words what you’ve done to my soul in such a short time, Max. I know it’s beyond cliche but you’ve altered who I am at my very core. I’ve never been with someone so unwaveringly supportive of everything that I am and everything that I do.” You draw in a shaky breath then, needing a moment before you can make the rest of your words materialize.

“I promise to love you so unconditionally and strongly for the rest of my life. I promise to be by your side during the highs and lows of your career, on and off the track. The life we live is so fast and so difficult sometimes but just knowing that you’re on the other side of that plane ride, waiting for me to come home to you, makes everything we do worth it. I promise to give you whatever you need no matter how difficult it may be. You are my life now and I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you. Soulmates are real and you’re mine. I’m so thankful that I found you, Max. I love you.”

A quiet settles between you and Max then, the vows cementing the bond you’ve been building since that first day in the recording studio. The officiant and photographer seem to sense it too, their soft smiles playing on their lips as they give the vows that were just exchanged a chance to sink in for each of you.

Rings are exchanged and before you’re able to get a handle on things, the officiant declares you and Max husband and wife. The feeling of sheer relief and excitement washes over both you and Max as you’re told to seal the vows with a kiss. And what a kiss it is. Max pours his entire soul into the first kiss he shares with you as your husband. Everything he said in his vows being repeated by the way his lips cover yours, working over your mouth in such a way that has your knees buckling.

“I love you so much, wife.” Max murmurs against your lips just before breaking the first of many kisses between husband and wife.

maxverstappen1 posted

1,309,292 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, assistant shannon, and others maxverstappen1 she's stuck with me forever now danielricciardo EXCUSE ME BUT WHAT THE FUCK user028 did they ELOPE??? Without telling ANYONE??? OH MY GOD??? HELLO??? user448 somehow, this feels very on brand for the both of them >>>user432 i was just thinking the same thing. charlesleclerc I'm sorry, WHAT??? yourpersonalinsta love you, husband >>>user0299 oh my god, i cannot be normal about this landonorris kinda heartbroken I didn't get to be the flower boy, ngl >>>user998 this is such a lando comment oscarpiastri wow! didn't even know you were engaged! congrats. man! >>>user332 why is this the most Oscar Piastri comment I've ever read??? >>>user948 HAHA OSCAR

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,029,398 likes liked by yourdad, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta wife>>>fiance user0298 the HAND PLACEMENT in that last photo. Max, my maaaan. user918 they eloped and didn't tell a single soul. i fucking love this so hard. kikagomes OH. MY. GOD. Congratulations gorgeous girl!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta love you pretty girl! user8892 my man wins his 5th world championship and then gets married in secret, max is winning at life rn assistantshannon so happy for you boss lady. you and max deserve the world. love you!!! >>>yourpersonalinsa so thankful i had your help with this, sweet girl. user827 are we just going to ignore the TATTOO on Max's wrist??? HER??? >>>user0291 oh my god oh my god

tag list: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff

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focusonkayjay · 2 days ago

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between the ride and the roses (5)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 5.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: mature language, mentions of an injury, jungkook is drowning in the sea of denial, heavy angst, misunderstandings, disagreements

A/N: well, i don't have much to say about this chapter. however, i am making a taglist, so please let me know if you want to be added <3 thank u for making it this far into the series, stay tuned for more !!

part 5: gears and vines of tension

You absently twirl the ramen in your bowl, your chopsticks moving in slow, deliberate circles as a heavy sigh slips past your lips. The warm steam rises from the broth, but it does little to soothe the tight knot forming in your chest.

Just an hour ago, the townhall meeting about the town fair ended, and now you find yourself seated at a small booth in a Japanese restaurant just around the corner, surrounded by your friends who, as usual, are keenly aware of what's going on in your mind..

You try to focus on the food, the familiar scent of miso and soy sauce, but your mind keeps drifting back to one thought: Jungkook. The idea of working with him for the fair that is set to happen two months from now, has lodged itself in your brain, and you can’t shake it off. Of all the people in this town, it had to be him, the one person who managed to make your blood boil with nothing more than a glance.

It's almost amusingly comical, if it weren’t so frustrating. The universe, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor, and today, it has decided that you must work side-by-side with him, out of all people.

The sheer irony of it... the fact that you, someone who prides yourself on peace, order, and avoiding conflict at all costs, are now paired with Jungkook for something as important as the town fair. It gnaws at you.

You feel your grip on the chopsticks tighten, the wood digging into your palms as you try to concentrate on anything other than the growing sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape the reality that you’ll have to spend an extended period of time with him, and that thought alone is enough to make you want to scream.

From across the table, your friends are watching you with knowing glances, their eyes flickering back and forth between you and the others. They know exactly what’s going on in your mind, and judging by the subtle smirks on their faces, they’re enjoying this more than they probably should.

Taehyung leans forward, a grin spreading across his face as he watches you with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Teaming up with Jungkook for the fair? Oh, this is gonna be good.” he teases, the amusement practically oozing from his words. His grin grows wider as he waits for your response, clearly relishing your discomfort.

Seokjin chimes in next, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d have to cooperate with the infamous biker boy. What’s next? You two finally getting along?” His eyebrows rise dramatically as he leans back, laughing.

You slump further into your chair, your fingers still gripping the chopsticks so tightly that you feel like you might snap them in half. A tired sigh escapes your lips. “I highly doubt it.” you mutter under your breath, your frustration clear in your tone.

“It’s bad enough I’m stuck with him for the fair, but do I have to hear this from you guys too?” You look up at your friends, meeting their teasing eyes with a halfhearted glare, but it’s impossible to stay mad at them for long. They’re enjoying this too much, and you can’t help but feel like the punchline of some inside joke.

“Come on, Y/N...” Namjoon says, his voice soft and rational, like he’s trying to calm you down. “You two have history, right? Maybe this is a good chance to... I don’t know, put the past behind you??” he suggests.

You shake your head almost immediately, a quiet laugh escaping you. “It’s not that simple.” you reply quickly, the words tumbling out without thinking.

“We don’t get along, Joon. This isn’t some... rom-com where we magically start clicking after a few awkward encounters. This is real life. And in real life, I can’t just forget about everything that’s happened between us.” you pause, taking a deep breath.

“Sure, sure,” Juwon adds with a teasing smile, her tone a little too playful. “Just don’t kill him before the fair is over, okay?” She laughs, but there’s an edge of genuine curiosity in her voice. She's not sure whether you’re joking or not.

You roll your eyes, half-annoyed and half-amused. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” you reply dryly, your voice thick with sarcasm. But even as the words leave your mouth, you can feel your thoughts slipping into darker territory.

The teasing continues as your friends rally around you, throwing playful jabs and remarks that only seem to make things worse. It’s hard to stay angry at them when they genuinely believe there’s some kind of positive outcome buried somewhere in this mess.

They see the potential for you and Jungkook to patch things up, and while part of you knows they mean well, another part of you can’t shake the nagging feeling that this situation is just a train wreck waiting to happen.

You might not be as optimistic as they are, but they’re all so convinced something good could come out of this, and it makes your frustration feel even more intense.

Jungkook, on the other hand, feels just as conflicted, though he’d never admit it. The whole town fair situation is just another annoying obstacle in his otherwise meticulously curated routine.

He’s not keen on the idea of working with you, at all. In fact, the very thought gnaws at him, like a thorn embedded deep inside, constantly prodding at his sense of control.

He’s already juggling a whirlwind of emotions—feelings he doesn’t fully understand, confusions he’s too afraid to face. And if that wasn’t difficult enough already, now he has to stick by you and actually work with you. All those stolen glances, those subtle moments of help, the cold silences... it all amounts to this, and he has no idea how to deal with it.

Even though both of you haven’t fought in a while, the tension still hangs thick in the air when you're in the same vicinity. It’s so glaringly obvious, like a dark cloud that refuses to dissipate.

The truth is, Jungkook has grown to admire you from a distance, but that only makes the situation more complicated. His feelings for you are a constant ache in his chest, something he can’t quite untangle. And now, here he is, stuck with you in a situation that feels like the last thing he wants.

But no matter how much he wishes it weren’t true, when Mr. Kwon’s words echo in his mind, he knows there’s no escaping it. The town fair is something both of you will have to navigate together, whether you guys like it or not.

Still, that doesn’t mean his friends are going to let him off the hook so easily.

“Seems like you have no choice but to get along with Y/N, huh?” Yoongi’s voice is low, almost teasing, but Jungkook can hear the hidden challenge beneath the surface. It’s a comment that cuts deeper than he wants to admit.

Jungkook scowls, his fingers tightening around the soda can he’d just grabbed, the metal crinkling under his grip. “Shut up, hyung.” he mutters through clenched teeth, the words more defensive than he intended. "I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but we’re just going to work together, and that's it." he states, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral. The words taste like ash in his mouth.

“Yeah, sure.” Hoseok adds, leaning in with that familiar, mischievous grin of his. “Just working. The way you look at her says otherwise, though.” His tone is light, but it’s clear he’s enjoying Jungkook’s discomfort a little too much.

“Shut up.” Jungkook snaps, his irritation flaring. He can’t stand their constant teasing, the way they poke at something he’s not ready to face. It’s as though they can see right through him, and it makes him want to retreat even further into himself. And since, he’s been avoiding you... avoiding everything about you like it’s some kind of plague, having to confront it head-on seems impossible.

Jimin, however, is the one who really gets under his skin. “I’ve noticed all those lingering looks you give her. I get it... you’re still holding on to something. But come on, man. It’s been ages. Just face it and talk to her.”

“That’s none of your business.” Jungkook growls, his voice low and thick with frustration. His temper is a simmering volcano, and it doesn’t take much for it to erupt. He hates that they can see through him so easily, as if every thought, every feeling, is written on his face.

And worst of all, he doesn’t want to think about you. Not now, not ever. But there you are, constantly in the back of his mind, disrupting his every thought.

“Maybe this is your chance to… fix things.” Yoongi muses, his voice taking on an almost knowing tone, like he understands something Jungkook isn’t ready to admit to himself.

Jungkook remains silent, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His jaw is set in a firm line, but inside, he feels a stirring unease. Fix things? With you? No, that’s not what he wants. Not at all.

But something about the space you’ve left in his life lately, the absence of your presence,,, it’s bothering him more than it should. It feels... wrong. And he can’t figure out why.

The emptiness in his chest is growing, and it’s eating away at him. He tries to ignore it, to shove it back down where it belongs, but the truth keeps creeping up on him and he’s not ready to face this. Not yet.

When the meetings finally start, you and Jungkook sit across from each other, a few feet apart, neither of you daring to breach the silence in the community center. The air between the two of you feels charged, thick with tension, like an invisible wall keeping you at arm's length.

Each glance, each shift of position, carries an unspoken weight, and even the faint sound of your breathing feels too loud. Every word spoken feels like an effort, a conscious choice to avoid snapping, but it’s almost impossible not to.

The first task at hand is the layout. You, the florist, are in charge of the decoration, but you know full well that it’s a collaborative effort, especially with Jungkook needing to ensure the space is functional. You’ve done this before, worked under pressure, but with him? It feels different. The stakes are higher, the frustration more palpable.

“So..." you start, forcing your voice to remain steady and calm, even as the anticipation lingers in your chest. “We need to figure out where the booths will be placed. The flower arrangements need to complement the flow of traffic, and we can’t block the stage view.” You turn to him, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before quickly averting your eyes, as though the intensity of the connection might shatter the thin facade you’ve managed to maintain.

Jungkook, however, seems unfazed. His eyes flicker briefly towards you, but it’s clear his attention is elsewhere. “Fine.” he mutters flatly, his voice devoid of any real emotion. He scrolls through his phone as if he’s in a different world entirely. “Tell me where to put the tents.” he says.

You feel a flicker of irritation at his nonchalant response, but you force yourself to stay composed. “It’s not that simple.” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. “You have to work with the dimensions. The booths need to be spaced properly to avoid crowding. Otherwise, the flow will be a mess.” you explain.

He hums in acknowledgment, but his focus never leaves the screen of his phone, his posture relaxed, almost too casual. He gives you nothing to go on, no acknowledgment that he’s actually listening, and yet, he doesn’t argue.

He’s making an effort, or so it seems, but the effort feels as half-hearted as his tone. You lay out the details of the booth placement, watching as his eyes dart back to his phone, the quick flicks of his thumb on the screen like a rhythm you’ve grown all too familiar with. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Still, he doesn’t outright ignore you. That’s something, right? A small victory, perhaps, but not enough to quell the simmering unease that’s growing within you. He’s pretending not to care, pretending like this is just another mundane task in his life. And maybe, in his mind, it is. But in yours? It’s so much more than that.

The following days unfold in a similar pattern. The meetings don't happen every single day. Maybe just two to three times a week. Whenever you sit down to discuss, you both speak in clipped tones, each of you trying to push your own agenda without crossing the invisible line into conflict.

It’s a game of subtle manipulations, of measuring your words carefully so as not to give anything away. Jungkook does his best to remain distant, as if he’s above it all... his expressions impassive, his body language indifferent. It’s the perfect mask, and he wears it well, making it nearly impossible to gauge what he’s really thinking.

And yet, despite the stone-cold exterior, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more beneath the surface. You catch the fleeting glances he throws your way when he thinks you’re not looking, the slight tension in his shoulders when you speak, and the subtle shift in his tone when he responds.

He’s trying to remain uninterested, trying to pretend he doesn’t care. But the little cracks in his armor? They don't fully hide from you.

However, neither of you is willing to make the first move. The walls you’ve both built around yourselves remain as sturdy as ever. The resentment, though unspoken, hangs in the air, a silent presence that neither of you dares to address. The past still looms large between you, an unspoken history that neither of you is ready to confront.

And so, you continue to go through the motions, working side by side but never truly together. The tension remains thick, like a fog you can’t see through, and the distance between you only seems to grow with each passing day.

For Jungkook, the real battle wasn’t the fair planning... it was you.

Every time your voice echoed in his ears, or your eyes briefly met his, it felt like a thousand invisible threads tangled around his chest, pulling him in every direction at once.

He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t. He tried so hard to stay indifferent, to bury it all beneath layers of cold indifference, but no matter how hard he fought, you had a way of slipping past his defenses.

The harder he tried to focus on the task at hand like the booths, the layout, the logistics, the more you seemed to invade his thoughts. It was maddening, the way you lingered in his mind even when he tried to distract himself.

The sound of your voice, the soft rhythm in your words, the way your eyes sparkled when you were engaged in something you loved... everything about you pulled at him, and he hated it.

He hated how easily he found himself drawn to you, despite everything. Despite the history between you, despite the distance he worked so hard to maintain. He had a job to do. He wasn’t here for this. He wasn’t here for you.

But it didn’t stop him from noticing.

He would notice the way your hair fell in soft waves, catching the light just enough to make it look like something from a dream.

He would notice the curve of your smile as you spoke to your friends sometimes, right before looking at him as he waits for you to head towards the community center together, and the way your smile instantly drops when you spot him makes his chest tighten in ways he didn’t know how to explain.

He would notice how your fingers gently caressed the petals of the flowers you arranged, each movement graceful and deliberate, like everything you touched turned into something beautiful.

It was all so distracting. And in that distraction, Jungkook found himself irritated by his own reaction. He hated how you made his heart race with the simplest of gestures, how his breath hitched when your gaze lingered on him a fraction longer than necessary.

He hated how much you affected him, how your presence seemed to make everything else fade away, as if the world revolved around you and him, suspended in the space between words.

He tried to shut it out. He tried so hard to ignore the flutter in his chest, to keep his focus sharp and steady, but each time you spoke, each time you glanced his way, it became harder. He tried to play it cool, tried to act like none of it mattered, but the truth was... it did matter. It mattered more than he wanted it to.

He despised how beautiful you were, how effortlessly you seemed to captivate every room you entered, how every little thing you did seemed to leave an imprint on his soul. You were the storm he couldn’t weather, the fire he couldn’t outrun, and he hated that he couldn’t escape it.

Every glance, every moment of interaction, felt like a slow burn, a tension he couldn’t release no matter how hard he tried. And the worst part? He couldn’t even find it in himself to want to escape it anymore.

Maybe, deep down, he didn’t want to. Maybe he was tired of pretending that it didn’t matter, tired of trying to push down the feelings that seemed to bubble up from the depths of his chest, no matter how hard he fought them.

There were nights when he would lay awake, the weight of the day pressing down on him, and he could still hear your voice echoing in his mind, still see the way your eyes flickered with a hint of something... something he couldn’t quite place. Something that made him think maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one feeling this tension.

But he never asked. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how to start.

So instead, he buried it, deep down where it could fester. He buried the way his heart seemed to beat a little faster when you walked into the room, and the way his thoughts would drift to you even when he tried to focus on something else.

He buried the guilt of knowing he was avoiding it, of knowing that he was pushing away something that, in some twisted way, he was beginning to want more than anything else.

Because, no matter how much he tried to pretend he didn’t care, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was all just a fleeting distraction, he was lying to himself.

He cared. More than he should. And it terrified him.

The days continue to blur into one another, each meeting a subtle repetition of the last. But as time passes, you both start to find a rhythm. The awkward silences between you become less frequent, and though the tension never fully dissipates, it becomes something more manageable.

Now, with only one month left for the town fair, your tasks seemed to intertwine more seamlessly, and while Jungkook still maintains that nonchalant, almost aloof demeanor, there’s a strange sense of understanding that develops between you two. It’s not friendly, but it’s cooperative, a balance struck somewhere between resentment and reluctant teamwork.

You start to notice the little changes. The way Jungkook no longer scrolls through his phone during every conversation, or how he no longer avoids your gaze completely. He still doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his tone is less dismissive, more practical, like he’s acknowledging that you’re both in this together, for better or for worse.

You can’t quite tell if he’s faking it or if something is actually shifting beneath the surface, but it doesn’t matter. You focus on the work, pushing through the awkwardness because at least, for now, the process is getting done.

As the days progress, there’s a certain ease in the way you both begin to collaborate. You don’t always agree, and you still bicker over details... where exactly the tents should be placed, what color scheme will work best with the space, and how to arrange the flower displays.

But the exchanges are less sharp, less pointed. It’s as if the constant friction between you has smoothed out into something more tolerable.

You start to enjoy the process in small ways, even though Jungkook remains stoic through it all. The occasional glance exchanged across the table, the rare, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment when you make a valid point... those moments feel like victories.

And just when you start to think that maybe this partnership, while not ideal, could work out after all... just when the days seem to stretch into a predictable rhythm and the weight of the past starts to seem less suffocating, you're pulled out of your trance as you glance up at Jungkook who barges into the community center, his shoulders harshly pushing the door open.

Today, you and Jungkook were supposed to sit with Mr. Kwon and a few other committee members to discuss the progress of your planning and work. They're all seated around the table as they watch Jungkook walk inside.

There’s something off about him today. His usual confident stride is replaced by a more cautious pace, and the first thing you notice is the bruise on his cheek... a faint purple mark that looks like it’s only just begun to heal.

Your gaze travels down, noticing the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. For a split second, your stomach churns. You want to ask, to understand, but before you can even take a breath, he’s sitting down without a word, his usual aloofness firmly in place.

You saw him two days ago, and he was completely fine so you look at him, wondering what exactly happened between the interval.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, though you can feel the tension in the air between you. It’s as if the bruise on his face, the bandages on his hands, are somehow adding to the already thick layer of silence between the two of you. His presence fills the room, but in a way that feels more distant than ever.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the tightness in your chest, the way your heart begins to race, but you force yourself to push those thoughts aside. It’s none of your business, you remind yourself. He’s clearly not in the mood to talk, and you have no right to pry into his life. Your ego keeps you silent, your lips pressed together as you try to focus on the meeting at hand.

The conversation begins, and for a moment, the work distracts you from the storm of emotions swirling inside. But the normal rhythm of the meeting is shattered when a disagreement arises.

It starts with something small... where to position the flowers around the booths, which side will get the best sunlight. The back-and-forth is nothing new, but today, it feels different. Jungkook’s voice is sharper than usual, his irritation more obvious.

“No, it’s wrong.” he snaps, his tone clipped and harsh as he shoots down your suggestion. “I don’t care what you think, it’s just not going to work.” he spits out.

You feel your frustration rising, the familiar tension between you flaring up once again. But this time, it’s worse. Usually it's just the two of you, but today you have spectators. His words hit a nerve, and before you can stop yourself, you shoot back, your voice laced with annoyance. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

Jungkook doesn’t back down. His eyes flash with a sudden intensity, his jaw clenching as he leans forward, almost daring you to push him further. “If you stopped pretending to know what you’re doing and actually listened to someone who does, maybe you wouldn’t be so completely useless.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, everything goes silent in the room. You feel your blood run cold as the sting of his words sinks in. There’s a moment of disbelief, followed by a sharp surge of anger.

You didn’t expect him to snap like that, especially not in front of everyone. But the truth is, you don’t care about the others in the room right now. All you care about is the unbearable pain in your chest that his words have left behind.

Without thinking, you stand up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor, the noise cutting through the tense silence. You don’t even spare him a glance as you turn to leave, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

Every step feels like it’s pulling you further away from the meeting, from him, and from the tight knot of emotions you’ve been trying to ignore for so long. The door slams behind you with a resounding finality.

Mr. Kwon and the others in the room are left in stunned silence, but Jungkook doesn’t move. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t say a word. He just sits there, staring at the empty space where you had been, the tension now painfully thick enough to cut with a knife.

He doesn’t know what’s worse... the physical pain in his body from the fight with the rival gang he just had before coming here, or the way his words just pushed you further away. But he’s not ready to admit that. Not to anyone. Not even to himself.

"Well..." Mr. Kwon starts, carefully eyeing Jungkook as he glances at the other members. " A little bit of a disagreement, I suppose." he breathes out.

"Let's talk about this calmly in the next meeting." he finally says, after a few seconds as the others silently agree with him. He stands up, softly patting Jungkook on the shoulder, before he exits the community center with the others.

It’s clear that something has shifted. And whatever fragile understanding you had begun to build between the two of you, now seems like a distant memory, lost in the wake of that one, harsh moment. Jungkook doesn’t know how to fix it, but somehow, he knows he’ll have to face it. Eventually.

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, casting its silvery glow across the empty streets below. Jungkook walks towards his shop, hands buried deep in his pockets, but there’s no warmth in the gesture. His body moves, but his mind churns, restless, unwilling to give him the peace he so desperately craves.

The meeting replays in his mind over and over, each iteration like a fresh stab to his chest. He can’t forget the sharpness of his words, the way they cut into you, when he knew better than anyone that you did absolutely nothing to deserve it.

A long, heavy sigh escapes him, but it offers no relief. The tension in his shoulders feels like an unshakeable weight, a burden he can’t cast aside. It wasn’t your fault, none of it.

You had no part in the chaos of his morning... a rush of irate customers, a critical delivery gone wrong, and an absurd brawl with a rival biker gang over something that, in hindsight, seemed like pure stupidity.

Yet, somehow, you ended up on the receiving end of all his frustration, a target for everything he’d been bottling up. Guilt gnaws at him as he walks, the sharp taste of regret lingering on his tongue.

Passing your shop, a soft, golden light spills from the glass door. His steps falter, a flicker of curiosity cutting through the wall his pride has built. It's late, and yet you're still here. He pauses for a moment, unsure, torn between his ego and the pull of something deeper. And then, against all reason, he steps closer, pressing his face to the cool glass, eyes narrowing to catch a glimpse.

The sight of you makes something tighten in his chest. Your back is facing him, but your shoulders tremble, faintly at first, but enough to set his pulse racing. His breath catches, and then the realization hits him like a punch. You’re crying.

His heart slams against his ribs, the sight of your silent sorrow unraveling him in ways he can't fully understand. His legs go weak, and the weight of his regret threatens to crush him. He's the cause of your tears, the reason for this moment of pain.

He stands frozen, torn between guilt and fear... fear that his presence will only make things worse. But the guilt surges, a relentless tide that drowns everything else.

His knees threaten to give away under the pressure of his own actions, and for a fleeting moment, he considers turning away, disappearing into the night. But the ache in his chest keeps him rooted to the spot.

Finally, he exhales, slow and deliberate, and pushes the door open, the soft chime of the bell echoing in the stillness. For a heartbeat, he wonders if you’ll hear it, if you’ll acknowledge his presence.

He steps inside, quiet, careful, as though every movement might break something more fragile than glass. The door closes gently behind him, and he moves closer, inching towards you, but the distance between you both feels like an entire universe.

The words he wants to say get caught in his throat. He doesn’t know if any of them will ever be enough. “Y/N…” His voice cracks, quieter than he intended, raw with the weight of unspoken regret.

You don’t turn around. You don’t flinch. The silence stretches between you like an impassable chasm, and the space feels impossibly wide. His chest tightens further as he watches your back, every muscle in his body aching with the need to fix this, to make it right. But he doesn’t know how.

“Y/N, I…” He swallows, fumbling for words, but none come. He knows an apology won’t undo the damage, but it’s the only thing he has left to offer. “I’m sorry. I...I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I shouldn’t have—”

His words fall short as he sees your shoulders tremble harder, your body shaking with the weight of everything you’ve been holding in. You turn slightly, enough for him to catch the tear tracks on your face, and the sight of them, the way your pain is laid bare before him, pierces him in ways he can’t explain.

“I didn’t mean to … to snap at you like that…” His voice falters, breaking under the strain. He knows it’s too late for his apologies to fix anything. You’ve already heard too much of it, seen too much of his anger.

You wipe your eyes hastily, trying to erase the evidence of your tears, but when you face him fully, there’s nothing but raw pain in your gaze. “No, Jungkook,” you cut him off, your voice trembling with anger but steady, unwavering. “You DON’T get to do this.”

He instinctively steps forward, his hand reaching out, but you step back, sharp and defensive.

“You don’t get to come in here now, after everything, and act like you can fix this with a half-hearted apology!” Your voice rises, shaking with emotion, and the dam finally breaks. “I don’t NEED your apology. I don’t WANT your apology!”

The words hit him like a physical blow, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t try to stop you. He just stands there, feeling the weight of every word, every accusation, land deep in his chest.

“You made me feel small, Jungkook,” you continue, your voice cracking as tears brim in your eyes again. “Ever since you moved next door, that’s ALL you’ve been doing. It’s like you go out of your way to make my life miserable. Everything you say, everything you do, it makes me feel like I’m constantly losing control over the one thing I’ve built with my own hands. Like me and my shop have always been a joke to you.” You pause, breath hitching as you try to steady yourself.

Jungkook knows exactly where this is coming from. He’s the cause of every inch of this. He feels it in his gut, the crushing weight of his mistakes, and he knows he has no right to defend himself. All he can do is stand there and listen.

“You don’t care. You treat me like crap... like I’m just some part of your day that you can lash out at whenever it suits you.” you spit, your voice trembling with fury. “In your world, it’s always about you. Your thoughts, your problems, your emotions... it’s like nothing else... like no else... exists. You never stop to think about how your words affect anyone else. You never stop to think about how your words affect me.”

Your chest heaves with each word, your voice raw with hurt. And as the weight of your anger presses down on him, Jungkook feels a heavy suffocating knot coil in his stomach. This is all his fault.

“You think I don’t have enough to deal with already?” you continue, voice breaking as your tears spill again. “That I need to be the punching bag for your anger? You don’t get to treat me like that, Jungkook. You have no right to make me feel like I’m the problem when you’re the one who’s always pushing people away.”

The words echo in the empty space between you, a finality that’s impossible to ignore. Jungkook stands there, silent, broken. Each word feels like a strike, each accusation hitting him harder than the last. “Every time I think we’re okay, every time I think we can coexist in peace, you give me a million reasons to prove me wrong. You make me feel so fucking stupid for even thinking we could be friends.”

You run your hands through your hair, tears falling like rain as you try to catch your breath, but it’s hard. The storm inside you isn’t over.

A few moments pass in silence, but it’s deafening, suffocating. You close your eyes, letting out a long, strained sigh. “I’ve had enough.” you whisper, voice raw and exhausted. “I can’t do this anymore... Not with you. Just... just get out, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t move. He can’t. He stands there, paralyzed by the weight of his own guilt. No words come, because he knows that nothing he could say will make things better.

You turn away, your shoulders shaking with the weight of everything you’ve just said, and as you walk further away from him, Jungkook knows he’s lost more than just your trust tonight. He reluctantly steps back, still watching you as he moves towards the door. He knows it won't change anything but before he leaves, he still says it. "I'm sorry."

<- part 4 // part 6 ->

series masterlist

taglist: @kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 (let me know if u wanted to be added !!)

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #bts fic #enemies to lovers #jungkook fanfiction

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aventurineswife · 23 hours ago

Note

HELLOOOO, i was wondering:

A reader that likes watch anime, and some HSR characters gives them a try. But, what anime would you think they watch with the reader? Based on what they like or just something to start watching.

I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE, please don't overwork yourself a lot, have a nice day/night! <3

What Anime Would They Watch With You?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Anime Watching, Humor, Lighthearted moments, Comfort and Bonding, Can be read Platonically or Romantically.

Warnings: Mentions of psychological trauma, Light spoilers for anime, Philosophical and existential themes, Violence and combat (in anime contexts), Emotional conflict, Mild language (?), Possible mild angst(?).

A/N: I don’t watch much anime, but my sister does, so I based the anime choices on what she’s watched and told me about, as well as clips I’ve seen on yt shorts 🫣😔 ALSO THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 I'LL TRY MY BEST HEHE

Aventurine stands in front of the TV, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His usual confidence is slightly tempered by the unfamiliarity of the moment — an evening of anime watching. He’s dressed in his usual stylish attire, the gold accents catching the light as he adjusts the remote with his gloved fingers. His gaze flickers to you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"So," he begins, voice smooth like a well-played hand in poker, "what do we watch tonight? I suppose I should try something new. But, I must admit, I prefer shows with a bit of strategy — something that makes you think, perhaps a game of intellect or manipulation."

You suggest Death Note, the classic tale of the battle between genius minds.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “Ah, an excellent choice. A battle of wits, a contest of who can outsmart whom. Much like life itself. I must say, the intrigue here appeals to me. The protagonist, Light Yagami, reminds me of someone who knows how to play the game... and win.”

As the opening credits roll, Aventurine lounges back, his eyes gleaming with the same focus he applies to his work at IPC. The intricate web of psychological tension between Light and L unfolds in a way that mirrors his own thinking — everything calculated, every move deliberate. The darker twists intrigue him, and he often leans over to comment on Light’s strategy, or offer his own hypothetical alternatives. Every so often, he’ll pause to explain a parallel to a strategic investment move, his voice laced with a playfulness only you can appreciate.

The night is filled with insightful discussions, his enjoyment of the show evident not just in his words but in the way his eyes spark with intellectual thrill.

Ratio enters your living room, dressed in his usual academic attire, though he seems slightly more relaxed than usual. His hair is perfectly in place, and he adjusts his glasses, his piercing eyes scanning the shelves. He’s intrigued by the idea of anime, but like everything else, he believes it must meet the highest intellectual standards.

"I assume this will be a pursuit of knowledge, correct?" he asks, his tone indicating that he is less concerned with entertainment and more with what the anime can teach him.

You offer him Steins;Gate, a mind-bending tale of time travel and its implications. Ratio raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Time travel," he mutters. "The concept is fraught with paradoxes, theoretical inconsistencies... But let's see how this unfolds."

As the show progresses, you can tell Ratio is captivated. His usual dismissiveness towards “mediocre” content fades as he engages with the intricacies of the plot. He is particularly drawn to the scientific explanations of time travel, making insightful comments about the laws of causality. The intellectual depth of Steins;Gate resonates with him, and he begins to see the show as more than just entertainment but as an exploration of the human condition through the lens of scientific theory.

His stern exterior softens slightly as he leans forward, absorbed by the delicate unraveling of fate. At one point, he pauses the show to make an impassioned argument about the ethics of time travel, his eyes alight with the thrill of the debate.

Feixiao, in her usual battle-ready attire, steps into your space with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. She’s not one for frivolous distractions, but she’s willing to give this anime thing a try — provided it’s something that involves action, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of inner conflict.

"You’d better not have picked something weak," she says with a smirk, her voice unwavering. "I don't have time for anything that isn't worthy of my attention."

You suggest Attack on Titan, with its intense battles and deep emotional conflicts. Feixiao grunts in approval.

"Alright, let’s see if they can deliver on the carnage." she says, as the opening scene plays out.

She’s immediately absorbed by the ferocity of the Titans and the desperation of humanity’s fight for survival. The battles, filled with adrenaline and relentless pursuit, mirror the kinds of conflicts she knows too well. She’s particularly drawn to Eren Yeager’s inner struggles — the deep rage that simmers beneath his resolve.

"That’s what I like to see," Feixiao mutters under her breath, her eyes flashing with approval as the protagonists fight with everything they have. "There’s more to these battles than just the physical; there’s emotion, too. A warrior’s mind is as sharp as their blade."

Throughout the night, she becomes invested in the character dynamics, especially Eren’s moral dilemmas. The show's dark tone and brutal honesty about the human condition resonate with her, and she even offers some commentary on the combat strategies used by the soldiers.

By the end of the night, she’s hooked, her face flushed with the excitement of both the action and the emotional weight of the series.

Blade steps into the room, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity, his demeanor as cold as the blade he wields. His mind constantly in turmoil, he’s not interested in frivolous entertainment. Everything he watches must speak to the darker aspects of his soul, and anything too light-hearted will not hold his attention.

You offer Neon Genesis Evangelion, a psychological and emotional rollercoaster that digs into the deep recesses of human existence. Blade’s expression is unreadable as he nods and sits, his eyes steely.

The first few episodes grip him, and soon he is fixated on Shinji Ikari’s inner torment — the crippling isolation, the struggle to find meaning in a world that seems bent on destruction. Blade sees pieces of himself in Shinji, his own existential struggle reflected on screen. He finds an unexpected resonance with the show's depiction of personal battles and the search for purpose in and the search for purpose in an uncaring world.

As the show delves into its more abstract and psychological themes, Blade’s face hardens in contemplation. He doesn’t speak much, but his occasional glances at you tell you everything you need to know — Neon Genesis Evangelion is more than just an anime to him; it’s a mirror to his own fractured soul.

By the end of the night, Blade is silent, lost in thought, the weight of the show's philosophical questions lingering in his mind.

Kafka strolls into the room with her usual cool confidence, adjusting her black jacket over her shoulders. Her hair sways slightly as she surveys the situation. While she doesn’t often indulge in entertainment, she’s intrigued by your suggestion to watch anime together. After all, there’s something elegant about the concept of using subtlety and manipulation to achieve one's ends, and Kafka is drawn to that kind of intrigue.

You offer Code Geass, a series filled with strategic battles, hidden motives, and complex characters. Kafka smirks, her interest piqued.

"This might be interesting. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype." she says, her voice smooth and measured.

As the episodes unfold, Kafka finds herself charmed by Lelouch vi Britannia’s calculating nature and his ability to manipulate others for his own purposes. She’s drawn to the layers of deception, the way Lelouch maneuvers through the world with his intelligence and charisma, much like herself.

"Ah, this is the kind of show I can appreciate," Kafka remarks, glancing at you with a knowing smile. "Power lies not in brute strength, but in the subtleties of the mind. Lelouch truly knows how to play the game."

By the end of the night, Kafka is hooked, her mind racing with the complex political strategies and moral questions the show raises. Her admiration for Lelouch’s ability to control events through sheer willpower is clear.

Silver Wolf lounges in her seat, her purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s always up for a challenge, and if anime is as much of a game as you say, then she’s ready to dive in. She’s looking for something that’s both fast-paced and unpredictable, a true test of her adaptability.

You suggest Psycho-Pass, a futuristic series that blends action with deep psychological exploration and questions about the nature of justice. Silver Wolf’s eyes light up as the opening credits roll.

"Alright, this looks fun," she remarks, her fingers tapping on her leg like she’s already hacking her way through the plot. "A system that reads people's intentions? Sounds like a game I could win."

As the series progresses, Silver Wolf becomes engrossed in the moral and psychological dilemmas the characters face. She’s particularly drawn to the futuristic technology, intrigued by the interplay between the systems that control society and the human minds that try to outwit them.

"I could hack my way through this world in no time." she chuckles to herself, but she’s also genuinely captivated by the philosophical questions raised. What is justice? Who decides what is right or wrong?

By the end of the night, Silver Wolf is already planning her next anime binge, eager to see what other “games” the world of anime has to offer.

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yeonmuse · 1 day ago

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MINI SERIES | YANG JUNGWON

CAN YOU HEAR MY HEART?

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : Jungwon falls for an antisocial girl with a passion for music and a love for the stars.

GENRE, fluff, slow burn , smau

( 𝐁𝐚𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ) : I honestly have no idea where this came from I just thought of anti social Jungwon and Anti social reader coming together and this is where it got me

Part 2 | Series Masterlist JOIN TAGLIST

Part 1

Jungwon spent years perfecting his craft, spent years further building his experience and techniques with his cinematography skills. Since the age of nine he had always found delight in having held a camera in his hands, by the age of 16 he experienced his first movie that opened his eyes into the world that was cinematography girl interrupted, though the movie itself was gruesome and somber it was one which he favored for its overbearing cinematography, the color grading and timing of every scene pulled the audience in and forced them to feel everything that the protagonist herself had experienced. Age seventeen his parents gifted him a camera for his birthday, a camera which further sparked his love for film and cinema. He and his friends would find themselves making short films or every log of their lives, though it became even more serious for Jungwon when a short film made by the seven of them won their towns film festival and earned him a full ride scholarship into any university of his choice.

She didn’t like people, she never liked people because they made her far too nervous for a multitude of listed reasons. From the age of six to eight children always proved to be rude, mean and annoying. She’d simply want to make friends though the endless bullying and teasing pushed her further and further from that goal. She simply ghosted her way through the entirety of her middle school years until the time to attend high school had come, it was then that her view on people had only worsened, she sat in silence nearly every day having to observe the bullying, countless fights, the endless number of attention whores and line upon lines of men that simply wanted to get into the pants of her and the many other young women that attended the school. Simply put high school took the cake for the most hellish and torturous years of her school life.

The only ongoing thing in her life that helped her dissociate her way through were the stars she’d see from her window growing up, though as she grew older the stars stopped showing up and slowly faded from the sky, and by the time she turned sixteen it was as if they ceased to exist. Now here she is alone yet again, this time without her parents or younger siblings to fall back upon, as they had been hours, and states away.

A sigh spilled past her lips as her gaze scans the campus of her new home for the next four years. She gave a silent prayer that things here would be different from high school, that some were all older and much more mature, that things wouldn’t be the same. Boy did the lord completely disregard that prayer, because it was a near carbon copy, the only difference being more people knew how to mind their business.

Jungwon eyed her curiously from afar as she stood in the courtyard for what felt like hours just staring into the void. Hundreds of girls on campus and yet his eyes just so happen to fall upon her, her who felt the moment anyone’s eyes fell upon her in classes, her who wouldn’t even want anything to do with him nor anyone else on campus.

It would continue on like that for months on end, Jungwons eyes somehow finding her amidst the overwhelming crowd of others, like a magnet of attraction they always found her. Whenever he’d look at her her head always seemed to be lost within the clouds, she always seemed so distant and distracted. Everywhere she went she wore those headphones and kept her head down as if she wanted to go unseen, but he saw her he always saw her.

Jungwon was someone that had never found interest in anyone other than himself or the same six friends he had known for the last seven years. Needless to say they themselves forced themself into his life but they had always been there ever since and he never felt like he needed anyone else. He never yearned for love nor for his heart to fiend for anyone. He had never desired sex, or the touch or kiss of another because he felt it to be impractical. Growing up he always had eyes on him, though it was attention that by him always went unwanted, but for some reason, here and now he finally experienced what it was like to yearn for someone's attention, for someone's gaze to fall upon him.

For 2 months he continued on this way, hoping that she would one day look his way but she never did. It frustrated him, so much so that he couldn’t even focus on his film making, he of all people? Any time he’d try to focus he wondered what it would be like to talk to her, what did her voice sound like? What was it like to see her smile? What kind of music did she listen to? He’d thought about asking around campus and endless amount of times but he never built the courage, he told himself that this was just a passing phase, that it was simply his mind yearning for some sort of muse, but it did nothing to lessen the ongoing fever of her that lingered every time she walked by.

Then one day, she walked into the library while he had been working on a project with his art study group and he took the chance to slip away without anyone noticing. His eyes curiously drank her in as she piled books into her arms.

She noticed him staring, she always noticed him staring, but what was she to say to him? She dreaded talking to people, dreaded talking to guys even more. With unspoken words she finally turns to face him and as her eyes meet Jungwons something within them sparks a flame. Realizing she had finally been looking at him, that he now fully had her attention his eyes widened almost instantaneously.

“Um.” What was he thinking? He didn’t even know what to say to her. “Hey so I’ve been watching you all this time because for some reason you interested me and I find you pretty? Will you do a film with me?”

“Jungwon, what are you doing? We need to hurry and finish this before tomorrow.” His unspoken words had gone interrupted as his given group called him back to his place at the camera. Jungwon mentally cursed, not knowing if this was an opportunity that he would get again.

“Jungwon..” his name melted on her tongue like cotton candy, her soft voice breaking the silence as she stood alone yet again. Though for some reason she felt slight disappointment.

Weeks had passed since Jungwon saw her again, he had gotten a taste of what it was like to have her look at him, to have her eyes on him and he yearned for it. So when given the opportunity he would force himself to talk to her, even if he didn’t know what to say.

Every day he’d find himself trudging through the aisles of the library, hoping to see her and eventually he did.

“Hi, I'm here to return my books.” That was the first time he heard her voice, a voice that made his ears melt, a voice that he wanted, no he needed to hear more of. If anyone were to view things from the outside they’d think him to be crazy, even he thought he was crazy, obsessing over some girl he had never even had the courage to approach until now. He didn’t understand why she had such a pull on him, and as much as he tried to dismiss the curious feeling and aching instinct to be close to her he couldn’t. Without thinking he pulled a random book from the shelf and stepped beside her at the opposing checkout.

“Oh Jungwon, are you checking out more books for your project? I thought you guys finished up yesterday?”

“Yeah we did, but you know I can never seem to stop the ideas from flowing.” Jungwon felt butterflies burn the pit of his stomach as he felt it again, her eyes on him.

For a moment her eyes did fall upon him, she was curious, curious as to who he was, what he and the other students had been doing in the library yesterday. Why did he approach her yesterday?

“Oh yn, have you met Jungwon?” Chaewon the library assistant seemed to notice her curious gaze and decided to break the overbearing tension that seemed to be pouring from the both of them.

“You’re always in here so maybe you saw him yesterday, he’s a film major, they’ve actually been looking for someone to help with choosing scores and soundtracks for one of their bigger projects, maybe you can help them since you’re good with music?” Her eyes widened and she glanced back and forth between her and Jungwon. At that moment she prayed that the ground would swallow her whole. She gave Chaewon a pleading look as if to ask her not to say another word but chaewon simply returned her look with a look of confusion.

Chaewon was the only thing close to a friend that yn had, ever since she started frequenting the library the girl had always been there. No matter how many times yn had tried to mind her business and avoid conversation Chaewon never stopped trying. Slowly but surely the girl found herself opening herself up a bit more to Chaewon.

“Do you really? We’ve been trying to find someone in the music department for months now that can match the vibe of the film and we’ve had no luck, if it's not a problem we could really use your help.” She hates the way he looks at her, expectantly, his soft eyes so full of hope that she might say yes. She felt her heartbeat quicken and her temperature rise as she froze on the spot. She always avoided people but now she had no way of avoiding the conversation at hand.

“Maybe?” That was enough, Jungwon didn’t need to hear anything else.

“Here's my number, if you do decide that you’d like to give it a try then you can text me? I’m always in the film room really late but I can swing by your dorm to get you if needed.” Hearing those words her soul completely left her body. Him? Come to her dorm.

“No! I mean- no it's okay i'll meet you in the courtyard? The big tree where the senior event planners usually sit?”

Chaewon couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something between the two of them but knowing yn she thought that maybe she was just feeling a little nervous or awkward talking to Jungwon. Both yn and Chaewon watch as Jungwon disappears from the library.

“He didn’t even sign for the book- ” Chaewon holds the book in her hand before looking down and reading the title.

“The kissing booth. Since when does he make romance films?” Chaewon shrugs and makes her way from behind the counter to put the book back in its rightful place, leaving the girl alone to drown in her thoughts.

The entire walk back to her dorm yn couldn’t stop overthinking and panicking. She couldn’t not show up because then she’d look like a bitch, but if she did agree to it then she would risk having to speak and be around groups of people which she completely dreaded.

Jungwon on the other hand couldn’t stop looking at his phone from the moment he had given her his number. If this were any other day he couldn’t care less about his phone. There had been many times heeseung would complain about his messages going unread or him having missed his calls since he was always working on some sort of project. Right here right now though, his eyes would shift to his phone every 5 minutes. An hour went by and he finally heard the ding of his cellphone. He blankly stared at his phone as he read the message sent by an unknown contact. What should he say?

Jungwon couldn’t help but chuckle at her panicked text, she was cute. He had gone from not even knowing her and not talking to her to wanting to only hear and see her talk. With a smile on his lips he responds to her panicked messages “meet me at the magnolia tree”

#enha #enha fics #enha au #enha smau #enha fanfic #enha fake texts #enha fanfiction #enha jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon fanfic #enhypen jungwon #jungwon #enhypen fanfiction #enhyphen fanfic #enhyphen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader

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bonezone44 · 18 hours ago

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'Dirt Clouds'

Joel Miller x F!Reader wc: 1098 Summary: You and Joel talk about your age difference on the way to a barbecue. a/n: real love makes an effort. (part of @iamasaddie 's 24-hr writing challenge. )

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You’re not sure how many dirt roads it takes to get to this barbecue Joel’s driving you to, but each one is bumpier than the last. One of the potholes back there sent your sunglasses bouncing all the way off your nose and up onto the top of your head. Joel mumbled a quiet apology when it happened and started gripping the steering wheel a little bit tighter. But there’s only so much the man can do along these unpaved and barely maintained back roads.

Shit, it’s been ages since you’ve been this far out in the boonies. Last time you were out here you were going mud-riding with your friends on four-wheelers. Afterwards, it took two whole hours to get all the red Mississippi clay outta your hair and another two to feel like a human being again. And last time, you knew everyone. They were your best of friends. This time, you’re going out there to meet a bunch of strangers. A bunch of Joel’s friends. And for the first time ever.

Part of you feels as if you should be more nervous than you are. But being with Joel has made you face a lot of things about yourself–about what you want and what you need from life. About whose opinion matters to you and whose doesn’t. You know you don’t have to win his friends over. You don’t have to win anybody over–you don’t have to compete with anyone’s ideals but your own. You sleep very peacefully at night with Joel by your side. And you won’t let anyone tell you to want any different.

The music coming out of the truck’s radio sounds like low static compared to the creaks and thunks coming out of the truck itself. Joel’s eyes are so dead-set on the road in front of him, you’re surprised he even noticed when you nearly lost your sunglasses. He keeps adjusting his grip on the wheel. He sees you staring at him and is quick to quiet your thoughts.

“I’m fine,” he says, flicking his hand.

You giggle. “They’re either gonna like me or they won’t. I am not worrying myself about it.”

“I’m not worried, either.” He deflects so fast that you know he’s lying.

“Joel,” you laugh and roll your eyes. “Everything is going to go just fine today.”

“I know.” His brows are terse and he side-eyes you as if he’s offended you were assuming things weren’t going to go just fine. Kinda like he’s obviously been doing the whole drive out here.

You smile and shake your head, looking out the dusty window at the wall of pine trees lining the pale yellow road. The sun is high in the sky–not a cloud to be seen. It’s hot enough outside that even in your tank top and cut-off shorts you feel your thighs sticking to the leather seat beneath you. You’re tempted to grab a beer and cool off a little, maybe hold the can against Joel’s cheek to cool him off, too, if the bead of sweat dripping down his jaw is any indicator of how he’s feeling. In the middle of your decision-making, though, the truck hits another pothole and sends you flying.

“Shit!” Joel eases the car to a stop. “Are you okay, baby?”

Your head tapped the roof on that one and you’re not sure where your sunglasses went. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” You grin and rub your crown.

“Are you sure? We can go back home if we need to. You just tell me and-and-and we’ll go.”

You throw your head back with a laugh. “Joel!” You’re grateful he stopped. Now you two can talk face to face without him trying to hide himself. He’s so full of nerves that it’s just silly at this point. You reach out and grab his hand. It’s thick and callused and warm. “What is going on?” You try to show concern, but there’s still an amused curve to your lips.

Joel melts. The way you look at him is like a warm balm over all the sore parts of himself. He can’t hide anything from you. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have to. He knows that he can say what’s on his mind and you’ll listen. You’ll make an effort to understand. He just gets all up in his head about things sometimes and forgets to open the door and let you in. He grits his teeth and sighs. “I’m just worried about the guys… sayin stuff ‘s all.”

“I can take care of myself,” you say with some attitude.

He smiles. “I know that, baby. I just–” He stops. His mouth opens, but the words don’t come out.

You already know. “It’s the age thing, isn’t it?”

His shoulders fall.

“Joel, look at me.” He does and you get real stern and in his face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby–”

“No–I love you.” Now you’ve got both of your hands holding his one. His hands are so big that it takes both hands to cradle his one. “I know you. You have been nothing but kind and respectful and supportive of me. You have been more generous with your time and understanding than anyone in my life has ever been. And that’s a fact.”

Joel’s chin rises. His lips tighten. His eyes soften.

“People are gonna make up all sorts of shit about us.” You shrug and shake your head. “And there’s nothing we can do about that. But these are your friends, okay? And once they see us together, it’ll all make sense.”

He sighs. “I just don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

“If I get hurt, then I get hurt.” You shrug again. “I’ll get over it. ‘Cause I got you.” You smile. “You make me feel safe.”

“And if that ever changes, you tell me.” His lays his other hand on top of yours. “You tell me so I can fix it.”

You giggle. “I know, Joel. I know.”

He’s more than proven himself to you over the past year of your time together. Your own flesh and blood was never as patient and dedicated as this man has been. You weren’t giving him up for anything. You inch forward and move in to kiss him and he meets you half-way. You love the poke of his facial hair around his pouty lips. You love this man.

“Now, come on. Let’s get going before the ice starts melting in those coolers.” You grin.

“Okay, baby.” He smirks. “Let’s go show ‘em.”

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dollyonm0lly · 1 day ago

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Hi, I love your things to much💕💕

So I was thinking maybe Lucius has also an niece, the daughter of commodus

No one knows of your existence, you are a concubine for the emperors. They have more but your their favorite. Then one day Lucius wanted to help you escape, you did not and told the emperors of it. Normally they are never soft doms, but this time they are and you are praised for what a good girl you are to them

Soo, soft stuff for you guys!! Or I tried at least, lolol, im still very sick, so this did wonders to me. <3 The reader in this one is kinda pathetic tho, not sorry.

“Love you, my Emperor… Love you so much…” – Both Emperors hear you say in your meek voice, like a song to their ears, you can feel Geta's warm hand on your cheek, caressing the soft skin of your face, which subconsciously seeks more of his affection, rubbing itself against his palm like an abandoned kitten would, your tongue obediently sticking out of your mouth, which he wastes no time in placing his thumb on top of, letting you explore it with your lips passionately. You close your eyes, feeling the pleasurable sensation of fingers running through your hair, combing your strands, untangling them, massaging your scalp. You try to sharpen your senses, focusing on their sweet aroma, Caracalla's hand massaging your head, urging you to lean even more towards Geta's hand, making you lose yourself more in their caresses, it's delicate. It's special, you feel special in this moment. You were good today, very good indeed.

“Nooo…” – You meow in disappointment when you feel Geta's hand start to move away from your face, instantly following it with your head so as not to lose its warmth, surprisingly Geta allows you to do so, on normal days, he would have brushed you away and slapped you across the face for your incessant neediness. You smile at today's change in attitude, just as you feel like purring when Caracalla starts spreading kisses in your uncovered cheek. You feel so loved by both of them, you wish that every day would be like this from now on, even if as an unattainable dream, you know why they are acting like this, you're not getting all of this good treatment on a silver platter, you earned it, deserved it, even though you had to sacrifice some things for others, you are content with your choice.

This feels good, you did good, you think to yourself, you don't feel guilty. You swallow hard, an audible gulp, you try to push that look of hurt and betrayal to the back of your mind. His look of hurt and betrayal. He seems like a ghost in your life now, you can feel the weight of guilt on your back, making you have to shake your head from side to side to shake off the negative feelings. It was worth it, it was worth it, it was worth it, it was worth it… You repeat in your head, until everything becomes clear again, until you can again feel the comforting caresses on your body, welcoming you. Finally, you are welcomed.

“We plan to make love to you today, my dear” – Geta says, taking your mind off other matters and focusing on both Emperors again, you open your eyes to admire him, he has what you would say is the closest to a sweet smile on his features than you will ever see from him. You can feel your heart skip a beat, turning to jelly in Caracalla's arms, who now holds you a little more firmly against his body, almost placing you on his lap.

“Make love?” – You question curiously, your voice dreamy with false expectations, never in the many years you have served them have you ever heard of this lovemaking thing.

“Don't you love us?” – You hear Caracalla questioning in your ear, pretending to be hurt by your question, his head rubbing against your neck, his hair tickling your face, like a puppy.

“I do…!” – You respond instantly, surprised that they would even ask you that, oblivious to the manipulative tone behind it. You did everything you did out of love for them, and out of love for the attention and affection they can provide you, in times like these, they are the only ones who could provide the minimum of security for you and your well-being, they make sure you know that, the certainty that nothing would happen to you as long as you are in their favor.

Silence falls, you can feel the words you want to say on the tip of your tongue, but uncertainty makes you hold them back for minutes longer.

“Do you love me…?” – You ask both Geta and Caracalla, you can't contain the anticipation in your voice, even if it's weak and hesitant. You are met with laughter from the twins, they laugh at your question, they think you're such a box of surprises, you really were born to be an entertainer just for them!

“You are so cute” – Caracalla says, it sounds mocking, just like their laugh, and it wasn't the answer you were hoping to receive, but even so, it makes your heart warm inside your chest. They think you're cute. They think something of you, you are something. Your happy little smile earns you a pat on the head from Geta.

“Cute indeed…” – Geta responds in agreement, both twins exchange glances, Geta licks his lips before smiling at you – "Why don't you get more comfortable for us, dear?” – He gestures to the bed, encouraging you sneak further back.

Caracalla helps you with that, taking the initiative to crawl to the headboard of the bed himself, resting his back against it, his pale legs spread wide to create the perfect space for you. He calls you over, patting his thigh twice, and you are drawn to him like a moth to light. You shyly walk over to him, turning to lay your back against his chest, with the two of you sitting in this position, he wraps his arms around your body, hugging you close, the easy access allowing him to bury his nose in your neck, laying his forehead on your shoulder. – "Help me get these off” – He says in a controlled tone, trying to be loving, you appreciate that, normally he would have impatiently instructed you, as if you were the fool for not knowing what he wanted before he even asked, or he would have pushed you and taken them off himself. You lift your hips off the bed a little, making it easier for him to remove your panties, doing so delicately with the tips of his fingers on the elastic, letting you feel the fabric slide over your skin until it is completely removed, earning you a little kiss of thanks on your exposed shoulder.

You miss the way the twins look at each other or how Caracalla hands your panties to Geta, who puts them in a place on the bed that he can remember later on. But one thing you don't miss is how Geta now also approaches your body, trapping you, his hands resting on the headboard that Caracalla leans on, trapping both your head and his between his arms. On Caracalla's lap, you open your legs, inviting Geta to settle between them, something that he gladly accepts.

“Let's get you all prepped and ready, dear” – Geta says as he admires your face, his hands going down to the bottom of your robe, lifting it to give him a better view of your body and intimacy, meanwhile, Caracalla does the same, letting your robe slide down over your shoulders, leaving kisses on the new free skin, your bust now exposed to the cold air of the room, your robe becoming a mess that only covers your torso and nothing more. You watch the way Geta takes his two fingers, the index and the middle one, between his lips, sucking them with intent, his eyes never straying from yours, Caracalla's own fingers already at work, moving down your body until they reach your lower lips, opening you for his brother, the cold air hitting your pussy.

Geta and Caracalla prepare you carefully, both watching attentively as your entrance slowly gets used to the intrusion of Geta's fingers, Caracalla stimulating your clitoris with his, every now and then you watch as he spits on his own hand before stimulating you again, they love the way you are always so tight, you crush their cock in the most perfect way possible. – "Must take good care of this cunt, it's my favorite one" – Caracalla growls, licking a drop of sweat that previously ran down your face, you giggle happily in the midst of pleasure, yours is the favorite, no other.

“She liked what she heard, she almost cut off the blood circulation in my fingers” – Geta jokes, referencing to the way you clenched and squeezed his fingers when you heard the compliments, you love it when they compliment you, you wish they would do it more often. – "How would you like to be taken today, dear?” – He questions, letting you make some of the choices, tonight will be about you and what you want, that's what they agreed between themselves.

“Want to be hugged…” – Embarrassed, you confess, you didn't expect such a needy response from yourself, however, this is a unique chance, unfortunately, you recognize that, you can't let the shyness of being so emotionally dependent on them take over. You need their embrace like you need air, you hate to be truthful to yourself.

“Awfully romantic, huh” – Caracalla chuckles, Geta arches his eyebrows in agreement, neither daring to question or stand against your decision. Geta helps you sit more precisely on his brother's lap, Caracalla's cock now rubbing at your entrance, you hold him by the base of his penis, slowly introducing him inside you, earning a moan from both of you when he reaches the end, you can feel it almost hitting your cervix, reaching all the perfect places in your pussy. You rest your head on Geta's chest, getting used to the feeling of his brother inside of you, as does Caracalla, who tries to control himself by resting his head on your back, it is a difficult task for both of them, being so patient with your body, normally they wouldn't prepare you or at least wait for you to get used to the feeling of intrusion.

A few minutes pass, your breathing gradually regulates, your pussy starts to want more instead of trying to repudiate what's in it, you look at Geta, and that's all he needs for confirmation, getting closer to you, you do the same to him that you did to his twin, holding him at his base, your delicate fingers feeling his pubic hair rise in goosebumps with the touch, and you bring him to your entrance, he lets you do everything in your own time, watching as you slowly insert him too in your pussy. It's a tight fit, you feel like you're being torn in half, and as tears stream down your face, a groan is heard from Geta and Caracalla, oh, how they love the feeling of being milked alive by you and your fucking perfect cunt, you can feel Caracalla's nails digging into your arm unconsciously, something he tries to alleviate by distributing kisses on your back. They hurt you so lovingly that you can almost pretend it never hurt.

As agreed, they embrace you, Geta wraps his arms around your waist, while Caracalla's make your hips their home, both pressing you against their own bodies, making you become inseparable from each other. You let one of your arms fall over Geta's shoulder, resting there, while the other wraps itself around Caracalla's head, playing with the strands of hair on the back of his neck, pulling him into a fervent kiss, his tongue tasting your mouth as if there was nothing more delicious, his moans being straight sinful on your lips. You rub your lower body against Geta's, seeking to stimulate your clit against his pubic mound, his hair there becoming sticky with your fluids, he mercifully helps you, letting a globule of saliva come out of his lips into the middle of your bodies, lubricating your movements more, earning him an animalistic moan from you and the separation of your kiss with Caracalla, starting one with Geta as naked and raw as the past, the carnal desire speaking for itself. Your minimal movements still do a lot to stimulate the cocks inside you, earning a unanimous moan with every rub you make or every adjustment, soon, you find yourself seeking more of that exciting feeling with the taste of heaven, moving your waist so that you start to ride them gradually.

It's almost too much, the way they let you make your own rhythm, your own dance, just helping you stand on shaky knees ready to give up, but you can't, you can't stop, you need that release that's so far away but so close that you can take it in your hands. You can barely see them anymore, your eyes close, you let yourself drown in the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sticky feeling of sweat, the profanities and compliments, the kisses, caresses and wounds, if you try hard, you can almost focus on the various I love yous that come out of Caracalla's mouth, who barely realizes who he really is when the pleasure is too much, and they would accuse you of being the romantic one, you laugh in your head.

You hear Geta's moan of pleasure mixed with pain as the hand on his shoulder begin to scratch and tear at it, drops of blood running down his bare, pale back. But he barely protests, being a good girl really does have its perks, huh. If being a good girl is always going to result in you having the affection of your Emperors and a free pass to do things without being punished, maybe you should rat people out more often, you let your mind wander as you reach your climax, writhing between their bodies, both of them letting their cocks impale you inside to your heart's content, you would have them forever in you if you could, their cocks are just made for you, a gift from God just for you.

“I love your smell.”

“I love your eyes.”

“I love your body.”

“I love your voice.”

"I love your breasts.”

“I love your curves.”

“I love this fucking pussy.”

You hear them say, one after the other cumming inside you, painting your walls white, and your body red with each touch. You feel disgusting. You feel loved.

“Do you love me?” – You ask again, between gasps, just like them, you feel your vision start to darken, you feel so safe that you could fall asleep right now, a groan of discontent as they disconnect from inside you. Everything is almost like a pitch black, you feel them cleaning you, you being gently laid on the bed, something clothing fabric like cleaning your pussy and everything that runs out of it.

They open your lips, shoving the fabric into your mouth. Oh, it must be your panties, you assume even with your clouded mind. It tastes like your fluids mixed with their divine cum. You suck on it like a pacifier, bodies intertwining with yours on the bed.

“Yes.”

“Very much so.”

#i did not proof read this sorry guys #kinda short #but im not planning on doing long stuff #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader

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theclownghoul · 2 days ago

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Arcane Season 2 has me messed up and not in a good way

It’s actually breaking my heart that I don’t love this show anymore.

I don’t want to hate it, there’s pieces I love but there’s also pieces I hate. Act l had me in such high hopes and then it stuttered then crashed and burned.

I just feel so disappointed with so many parts of it. Actively angry at others.

There are some moments that I loved that had me feeling the same high as the first season but every time I thought things would develop better they didn’t.

I think I’m only really happy with Ekko and I was worried about him for much of the season. As an Ekko and Jinx shipper I was pleased with most of their story but the way they ended Jinx’s story undermined the importance of their talk so…

Honestly I would trade all the ship stuff for a proper story arc for Vi, Jinx, Cait and the rest

I saw the signs for Vi as soon as her pit fighter arc didn’t extend passed the promo clips. I kept waiting to delve into her issues but that never came.

Jinx was done so dirty. And this was something I prayed wouldn’t happen. She’s so personal to me in ways that would take too long to go into here. I had high hopes for her, especially after Isha and her starting to move forward, I knew it wouldn’t last but I knew (hoped) it would be interesting. I fully expected Isha to die but the way it happened was so weird?? The scene itself felt like it was manipulating me which is something I hate with a passion.

Likewise I expected her to relapse into suicidality after that and I had suspected that the scene with Ekko would happen. Her scene with Vi beforehand hurt in a good way and I wanted to watch as she hit rock bottom then clawed her way back as she started to mend the broken relationships in her life.

The thing that finally set me off was her hair. I thought she would cut it after she decided to live, as a show a change but before was just so cliché (it did look cute but don’t go trying to distract me)

I really didn’t want people blaming Vi for Jinx running off to try to end herself again. And I didn’t, even though I knew something was wrong about the way the scene played out and lead into the sex scene. I knew something was wrong I was just hoping that I was wrong.

I was so looking forward to the CaitVi sex scene, since King Princess was revealed for the soundtrack. Hoping her and Cait would have a real ass conversation, a hard conversation and then get that moment together but it just felt wrong. I wanted to love it but I didn’t. As a King Princess fan I was so excited but all I feel now is at best apathy and at worst anger. The more I read from lesbians in the fandom and those that care for Vi how I care for Jinx the worse I feel.

Briefly let’s talk about Cait. I was interested in her arc after Act l. Messy it would be and a long road back for sure but I had hope. She was done dirty too.

Back to Jinx…. What the fuck was that ending? Her “sacrifice” felt so similar to her fights with Vi (Act l) and Ekko (S1) where she was going to let herself die. No growth from the rest of the season, that’s how they left us, that’s what they did to a character that they did so beautifully in S1. I don’t care if she’s alive, that’s not a fucking ending.

(Apologies for continuing to bring up my predictions. I just think it’s funny how my thoughts make more sense than what we got)

I didn’t mind the idea of her sacrificing herself for Vi, Arcane is a tragedy after all. Her being the one to protect her sister in the end not because she thought Vi was better off without her but because Vi protects everyone and her sister can help now would have been great.

But that ending rubbed me wrong in every way.

The story of these sisters meant everything to me and what a fool we all were to think it was in competent hands. Like seriously I can’t believe this is the same writing team.

All of us went in with high hopes and then had those hopes crushed.

I’ve seen so many people who were excited to react and analyze go radio silent after Act ll and I hope they stay that way. I’d love to change my mind but I don’t think I can. I don’t think there’s any coming back.

I wanted to take the good moments and leave it alone but I keep feeling the disappointment because the show’s first season left a mark on me that I’ll treasure forever and I can’t let go. I still have so many feelings about this. Piltover and Zaun, Victor and Jayce, Mel and Ambessa, admittedly not my area of expertise but safe to say they all deserved better and we deserved better.

I would say it felt like a fanfic but I know fans have more grace and respect for this story.

This is not the tragedy I signed up for.

#this is dragging me down man #and I know I’m not the only one #i just needed to get this out #I don’t post much but here goes #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane criticism #vi arcane #jinx arcane #caitlyn arcane #ekko arcane #caitvi #timebomb #arcane spoilers

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aonemanarmy · 1 day ago

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The explanation Vincent attempted to make for the Turks wasn't nearly enough to sway Sephiroth's opinion, although no one could've really done so considering his mental state. Trying to reason with a madman would always prove fruitless and an exercise in frustration, but it was nevertheless admirable that the gunman had made the attempt. Precious few other people would've bothered to grant Sephiroth even that much consideration, yet it was something that he'd come to except and even accept before long.

“And yet, they signed that contract fully knowing the consequences that would come of it.”

No one had held a gun to the Turks' heads to get them to sign their contracts. They had done so willingly all for the promise of money or power regardless of the consequences, that or they had foolishly thought themselves to be above them. Whatever the case was it all amounted to the same thing – that they had chosen their fate and as such Sephiroth couldn't feel any form of pity for them, not even if he were capable of such an emotion.

…What makes you think I could easily take theirs, when I hesitate to take yours?

He didn't. It was actually one of the things that had persistently bothered him about Vincent's presence. As a creature of logic and instinct Sephiroth couldn't understand why Vincent hadn't killed him yet or at the very least made a decent attempt. He always expected it, but so far it had never come and the fact that it hadn't continued to be a point of confusion for him because it made no sense. After all, why would Vincent not kill him?

Sephiroth already knew that humans saw him as a weapon at best and a monster at worst, so why hesitate in destroying him? Once he'd broken free of the shackles that bound him to Shinra's control he was no longer of any use to humans and had become an active threat to them, which was why he fully expected each and ever one of them that were capable to try to kill him. So why didn't Vincent?

Was it really because the ex-Turk thought himself responsible for had happened to him? If that were the case then he should've killed Sephiroth upon their first encounter, to make amends for the monster he'd released upon the world. There was no reason to keep the madman alive as he could no longer be controlled, and as such could no longer be used either. He was a liability and they both knew it, so why...?

The only logical conclusion he could draw was that Vincent wouldn't kill him because of some sort of deal he'd struck with Jenova, although what that deal was exactly remained a mystery to him. However, even that line of reasoning didn't explain why the gunman hadn't seized upon the opportunity when they'd first met back in the Shinra Mansion. By all means Vincent should've killed him and he didn't like the idea of not knowing why that was, but before he could voice those thoughts aloud the gunman continued in a soft, almost forlorn-sounding voice.

What was with that tone of voice?

Sephiroth couldn't understand sympathy as he'd never been the recipient of it before and as such he lacked the capability of expressing it himself. So when he heard it in Vincent's voice he was unsure what exactly he was hearing and automatically assumed that it was somehow meant to be taken as demeaning. But why ever would a lion concern itself with the opinion of sheep?

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Sephiroth's voice as his answer came automatically, as if it were obvious, and in his mind it was.

There was no question in Sephiroth's mind that dying would've been a mercy rather than living through what he had. What life could there be for him anyway? The only life he'd ever known was one of suffering, where he spent each waking moment living in fear of what new horrors the next day would bring. Worse still was knowing that he would never be able to escape from it, since when he tried he only suffered more and was left praying to whatever uncaring gods might've been out there to let it all end. Unfortunately for him those pleas for mercy were never answered and even when he tried to take matters into his own hands he found himself incapable of doing so.

Jenova wouldn't allow it.

Sephiroth didn't know it then, but even without meeting his 'mother' in person that Jenova's cells still retained some measure of control over him. As an entity beyond mortal comprehension Jenova was essentially immortal, and as such her cells always sought to survive no matter how harsh and unforgiving the circumstances. This survival instinct was hard-coded into her very DNA, so it required no conscious thought on her cells' part to act whenever their host was threatened, which was why whenever Sephiroth had tried to kill himself his attempts always failed. Either he would find his muscles freeze up and refuse to cooperate or the wounds he'd sustained would miraculously heal themselves no matter how severe the damage. It was as if his own body was working against him and in that regard it was true, and for that his suffering was forced to continue.

If only he'd been capable then he would've died long before ever reaching adulthood or even before he'd become a teenager. Things would've been so much better if that were the case, so knowing Vincent could've possibly granted him that wish and didn't was infuriating.

“What is this life that you speak of?” He spread his arms wide, the smile on his lips a stark juxtaposition to the topic of their conversation. “Forgive me if I fail to see this existence as something worthy of treasuring.”

Dropping his arms Sephiroth walked toward the gunman, only pausing beside of him as he considered the thoughts that must've been running through the other man's head. Did he truly struggle with such a decision? Did he really think that any form of life no matter how awful was worth living? If that were true then it only served to prove how naive Vincent was in spite of all that had happened to him.

“Would you have chosen this existence if you were given the option to chose between it and oblivion?” Sephiroth strode past the other man to gaze up the path winding up the canyon where several figures in black began to appear – the first of Hojo's failed cloning attempts finally making their way here. “If this is what life is meant to be then I want no part of it. Fortunately, mother has granted me an alternative, one which I had not thought possible until recently.”

It was also the only option he had left since Sephiroth knew that death would never be able to truly claim him.

The venom in Sephiroth’s voice was anything but subtle. Sephiroth could lightly regard anyone else’s plight in favor of his own. And while others would have spurned it all in the name of calling Sephiroth a full-bred monster, Vincent could understand Sephiroth’s point of view to some degree. However, he also knew that what Sephiroth knew of the Turks was only from the viewpoint of someone who had no understanding of kindness, of sympathy, a conscience, or simply moral dilemma. One couldn’t have a set of morals without an opposing side to compare it with. There was no point in correcting Sephiroth’s opinions in that respect.

“I cannot speak for the other departments. But as a Turk, the only way to leave Shinra is death. To defy ones orders could also lead to the same punishment.” The Turks were like walking secret databases. They were a huge liability to the company. The only free Turk was a dead Turk. Once a Turk, always a Turk.

Perhaps to Sephiroth, death was indeed a choice. But for mortals, it was the end of everything. Yet knowing this, Vincent had chosen to defy Hojo. He should have been dead. But instead, he had received an even worse punishment. Neither of them had the choice of becoming a monster. But unlike Sephiroth, Vincent did have a choice stepping into Shinra and submitting himself as a permanent employee of Shinra. He had a choice to become complacent and allow Hojo to work unsullied. He would have probably been high up in the ranks, and still be human, well respected within Shinra as head of the Turks. But now he was a killing machine, Sephiroth was a monster, and Lucrecia’s existence hung in the balance. If death could be considered a choice, then technically Sephiroth was correct. Knowing what Vincent knew of the Jenova cells, death was a luxury to even Sephiroth. The man was indeed a prisoner to the inevitable. It was tragic… something Sephiroth was quick to remind Vincent about. What was more blood on top of blood already spilled?

Vincent knew there was little he could do to explain the reasoning behind his motivation to spare the life of another. A soft glare crossed over Vincent’s face as Sephiroth trivialized his past murders. At this point, he couldn’t tell if it was Sephiroth or Jenova trying to worm their way under his nerves. Either way, he could feel a trap once again being laid. It was just a ploy to get him to do even more killings. “…What makes you think I could easily take theirs, when I hesitate to take yours?” Sephiroth had killed more than all the Turks combined. He was the most feared being in the entire planet, outside of Jenova. While one could argue Sephiroth had committed the greater evil, the flip-side could also be stated that Sephiroth saw himself as a savior. The Turks were ‘just doing their job’. Sephiroth was ‘just doing what Jenova wanted’. The sharp gaze from Sephiroth didn’t visually affect Vincent, but he felt it very keenly all the same. It was fleeting, but that response was coming from the depths of a hurt boy buried long ago. As Sephiroth drew his gaze upward, his second comment caught Vincent a bit off guard. Was Sephiroth admitting he had wished he had perished those many years ago…? Vincent wouldn’t have doubted such a dark thought had crossed his mind. It had certainly been one of his own wishes as well. The question made the gunslinger grimace and look away, diverting his gaze towards some of the gaping caverns where the winds were swirling. He wasn’t any better than Sephiroth. But at least he had something to anchor his sanity onto-- For now at least. He was merely a step away from becoming no different. “To kill the son of the woman who loved him” Vincent spoke more to himself than to Sephiroth, his fist tensing slightly at his side. "Or to let him live, knowing he would suffer." The guilt-laden gunslinger lifted his eyes, finally meeting Sephiroth's dagger-like gaze; his own eyes reflecting something akin to sympathy and less malice. "You were robbed of a normal life, yes." "...But should I have deprived you of a chance to live, as well?"

#.Cycle of Suffering #phantomyre

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sunflowerdigs · 3 days ago

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As many people have pointed out, S8 seems to be S5: Tim's version. There are also callbacks to S3, but the structure seems to mirror S5 (the season it's also speculated that Buddie would have happened if not for Fox).

With that in mind, I've put together some speculation about Buck and Eddie in the back half of s8, based on S5.

I'm anticipating Eddie going through with the El Paso idea in 8x10 like he went through with leaving the 118 in 5x10. Drama, not realism, is the point of the series, so even though Eddie is obviously coming back, I suspect they'll have him leave in a way that seems permanent (and it also sounds like it will affect the whole 118 this time, so that's nice).

Given the show's current set up, Eddie can't stay in El Paso alone for as long as he stayed at Dispatch. Only Peter and Angela are currently getting multi-episode arcs with multiple guest stars attached. Also, El Paso isn't built into the show like Dispatch was. My suspicion is that we'll get one episode (8x11 or 8x12) where Eddie has the B or C storyline and reconnects with Chris as well as talks to Helena and Ramón. I think we'll see him start to realize that LA and the 118 are home for him, and that his own happiness is paramount to taking good care of Chris, so he'll make the choice to bring Chris home.

In the meantime, Buck is going to be dealing with his abandonment issues and with the fact that Eddie's absence has hit him so hard. Now, 911 could easily chicken out here and try to examine the abandonment without going into Eddie specifically (which wouldn't make much storytelling sense if Buddie is indeed where Buck and Eddie's storylines are headed, but would let them drag Buddie out longer 🙄). Either way, as with s5, I'm expecting Buck to make some dumb relationship decision in 8x11 (5x11 kiss with Lucy) and then make some kind of confession about it in either 8x12 or 8x13 (he confessed to Taylor about the kiss in 5x13, but probably would have done so in 5x12 had the Boston episode not happened). The confession could be to whoever he made the dumb romantic choice about or it could be to Maddie (since he confessed to Maddie about the Lucy kiss before he did Taylor). If we're lucky, the confession will be about both his abandonment issues and how he feels about Eddie (his Oh moment, if you will).

And then, right after Buck makes that confession and things are looking more hopeful for him (8x12 or 8x13), he'll get a frantic call from Eddie, telling him that Helena is trying to take full custody of Christopher and may actually be able to do it and he needs Buck's help. This would parallel Christopher's call about Eddie's breakdown in 5x13, but would also be an evolution of it, with Eddie choosing to reach out to Buck rather than break down in a room alone. Buck would burn rubber down to El Paso, and the next episode would be Eddie's big confrontation with Helena, Buck by his side. Imo, having to justify his life in LA to a mediator with custody of Chris on the line might force a level of honesty out of Eddie that he may not be consciously aware of and could kick-start his own feelings realization.

Eddie would win custody with Buck's support in 8x13 or 8x14 (parallel to Buck helping with the horse therapy in 5x14). And then...idk. With both Buck and Eddie in Texas, the show could justify extending the arc there a few more episodes and could let a vengeful Helena kidnap Chris (imo unlikely since 911 seems to like to forgive bad parents). Or Buck and Eddie could return to LA and the 118 with Chris immediately after Eddie gets custody. Either way, I think the show will let feelings between Buck and Eddie percolate for a bit until either the episode before the finale or the finale itself, which will probably be their first kiss (in time for Pride month! If Pride month still happens in America...😬).

#buddie #911 buddie #911 spoilers #911 speculation #911 meta

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dangerpronebuddie · 2 days ago

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hi yes sorry i am late but i would like to know about ryliver and also sex complicates everything pls and thank <3

Hi Charlie 🥰 you're never too late!

Okay the Ryliver fic is incredibly self indulgent and I am just a little bit obsessed with it. Long story short, Oliver has the brilliant idea to practice Buck and Eddie's first kiss. There's not supposed to be a moment of hesitation between buddie, so he thinks this is the perfect way to negate that. It's totally not gonna lead anywhere else 😉. A small treat for you 🥰:

Ryan's lips are soft against his own. The kiss itself is soft, a gentle pressure, like they're holding back. Oliver pulls away and looks into Ryan's eyes, fully prepared to tease him about how that didn't even really count as a kiss, but the remark dies in his throat. There's something in Ryan's eyes. Something Oliver's seen before, but from Eddie. It's different seeing it now. “Oliver,” Ryan says in a whisper, sounding wrecked from just one kiss. Oliver can't say he's faring much better. Something sparks between them, burning away the remaining timidness. Oliver dives forward, desperate to taste his name on Ryan's lips. He slots their lips together, and if Ryan asks why, he really doesn't have a logical explanation other than the fact he wanted to.

And Sex Complicates Everything started out as a drabble prompt Tanis sent me in an ask a while back (I'm talking pre 7x09), but I got an idea that ran away from me and it became 20% sex, 80% feels. In summary, Eddie still can't get it up after Marisol and well, Buck did say he wished he could help! Have a little of my favorite part:

He feels like a cavity has cracked open inside him, joining the other fissures and caverns created in his efforts not to shake apart throughout his life. The one thing that kept him from completely crumbling is standing before him growing more concerned the longer he stays silent. "Does your offer still stand?" Eddie blurts out. "Uh, what offer?" Buck asks. "You said you wished you could help," Eddie says. He knows he sounds insane, and what he's asking of Buck is insane. But he's getting more than a little desperate. He wasn't lying when he said he was pent up. "I did," Buck says slowly, taking another step closer. "Are you saying you want me to?" "Look, I know this sounds crazy, but I really need your help. Nothing was working with Marisol, not just that, but I... I think something else might be causing this whole issue and I just- I need..."

Ask about my WIPs!

#Charlie 🩷#911 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #ryliver #maggie writes #buddie wip #ryliver wip #wip game #ask game

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nevertheless-moving · 7 hours ago

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Angsty Continuation of this Crack Szeth/Kaladin Time Travel AU:

"Sir, may I speak with you? It's a matter of some importance."

Dalinar looked up sharply, locking eyes with his Captain of the Guard.

Some of the clerks he had been meeting with had bristled, affronted as ever by what many saw as the unreasonably jumped up dark eyes. His intrusion into the room with barely a knock probably hadn't helped their opinion.

Dalinar ignored them for the moment, choosing instead to maintain eye contact. A chill ran down his spine.

Stormfather. When had the Captain started looking so…worn out? The man's gaze had always been strikingly intense, tired shadows kept at bay by a fiery rage. But now… Dalinar had perhaps seen that expression before, in a dying Chasmfiend. Embers of an unfathomably immense blaze, finally burning itself out. The heat it gave off still enough to scorch a man, but dying nevertheless.

He felt a twinge of guilt. Surely… he hadn't done that? Almight knows he asked a lot of the young man, too much perhaps. But storms… no, something must have happened. He had just seen the man, what, yesterday? Perhaps it had been a week since they had spoken more than in passing, but still. A week of overwork didn't burn through a person like that.

The Highprince cleared his throat. "I assume this has something to do with security?"

Captain Kaladin nodded firmly.

"Very well. Zaninel, Sherath, you're dismissed."

They left without a word, and barely a glare. Perhaps they had also caught something in the Captain's expression.

Kaladin closed the door behind him as he entered. He proceeded to the table, then all but collapsed into the chair across from the Highprince.

Dalinar raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

The darkeyed man rubbed a hand across his forehead, palm seeming to linger across the brands there. He started, sitting up.

"Sorry sir," he said hoarsely. "I forgot myself."

He pushed his weight forward as if to stand, but Dalinar waved him back.

"Its alright," he said. "I'm not one to make a soldier stand when hes clearly on his last chip."

The Captain sagged back.

"I apologize for the breach in decorum, I… last night…" He sighed, squaring his shoulder's and seeming to steel himself. "Well, sir, there's been vital matters I've been debating how to best present to your attention, but now one aspect has come to a head. Bridge four had… a visitor to our fire last night, scared the light out of my men. I've been trying to figure out what to do with him all night."

"A visitor?" Dalinar frowned. "This man is a security concern?"

Kaladin barked a humorless laugh. "It would be fair to say that, yes."

Dalinar waited for more of an explanation.

Kaladin sighed heavily. "I'd like to make a request sir."

"A request."

"That you not immediately put this man to death."

"Not…immediately?" Dalinar felt like an idiotic river spren, only able to mimic words/ But for the life of him, he had no idea where this conversation was going.

The captain nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. "I think he's of more value alive than dead, sir. And… I swore to try and help him regain some measure of his sanity. I can't do that if you kill him on sight."

"Kelek's Breath!" Dalinar said with some disbelief. "This madman if yours, he's truly so alarming, that you think I would do such a thing?"

Kaladin nodded, and Dalinar felt dread pool in his stomach.

"Who is this man?" he whispered.

"His name is Szeth."

"Szeth."

"Yes sir."

"That sounds like a Shin name."

"It is sir."

Dalanir stared down at the Captain, uncertain at what point he had stood up.

"Captain Stormblessed," he said with calm he didnt feel. "I can think of only one Shin man that I would desire to kill on sight."

Kaladin winced, then looked up locking those exhausted, burning eyes with his. "Yes."

"The assassin in white is here." Dalinar stated flatly.

"Yes."

The Highprince took a deep breath to steady himself. "The assassin who killed my brother?"

"Yes."

"The assassin who has been killing world leaders, throwing kingdoms into chaos."

"Yes."

Dalinar grabbed the lapels of Kaladin's jacket, towing him up with an enraged growl. He breathed heavily for a moment , attempting to restrain himself as he stared at that tired, dark expression.

"I trusted you," he hissed. "I trusted you with everything I had, everyone I loved, and you've been working with the Assassin in White."

Storms, did he feel tears in his eyes? Surely this betrayal couldn't hurt worse than Sadeas, but the dagger sharp pain in his sternum said otherwise. Had it all been a ruse? The tower, the retreat, Oathbringer…all one large, intricate lie to trick an old fool?

"No." The captain said firmly, meeting his unsaid questions with a steady, inarguable honesty.

"No, your maj — Sir. No, I have not been working with him. No, I had nothing to do with your brothers death — I was a child at the time, and Szeth and I hadn't even met. When we did first meet, I fought him. Then we fought again. I thought I killed him. I… I actually did kill him, from what i understand."

Kaladin Stormblessed's expression went very far away, but his words continued with that discordant lighteyed crispness he had had from that start.

"He was brought back by… a higher power. I'll explain what I can, but honestly, there's a lot a don't understand. He still very disturbed, but he is trying. He's taking another step along the journey, each day. Szeth is only a danger to himself now."

Stormblessed paused, then looked pained anew.

"Well…mostly. He's prepared to serve you, including as a killer. And…he's indicated that he's similarly willing to listen to my commands. He trusts me, sir. It…I realize this puts you in an uncomfortable position."

Dalinar felt his fingers unclench, and he lowered Stormblessed gently to his seat. There was no question in his mind if he could accept the Captain's word on this, he knew as instinctively as ever that this mans could be trusted.

Knew it more now than ever, seeing in those eyes a man who would rather break himself than break his oaths.

The pain of betrayal ebbed away, leaving a mess of emotions and thoughts in their wake.

Dalinar sat back heavily, rattling the maps and folios on the table.

"Storms!" He scrubbed a hand across his face. "You realize how mad this is, right?"

Kaladin laughed humorlessly. "Very much so."

"I —" Dalinar didn't know where to begin. "Where is he right now?"

"My office — my quarters in the Bridge Four Barrack."

"And he's under guard?"

"I have the Lopen and Rock switching off with him, but like I said, hes rather not a threat to anyone right."

"The Lop— wait, isn't Rock your cook's name?"

"Yessir. And you’ve probably seen Lopen before, he's hard to miss —small, loud, Herdassian."

"The one with one arm? You have a cook and a one armed man guarding the most dangerous man alive? Guarding a known shardbarer?" Dalinar found himself standing again, voice close to a shout. He forced himself back down.

Kaladin smiled weakly for some reason. "He gave me his shardblade, actually. As part of his surrender."

Dalinar glanced at Kaladin's hands, as if to find a shardblade he hadn't noticed.

The Captain opened his mouth, but Dalinar raised a hand. "…I'm not going to enjoy your answer on the location of that either, am I."

"Probably not, no."

#stormlight archive #stormlight fanfic #my au #stormlight au no 31 #kaladin stormblessed #nevertheless cosmere #Kaladin: Keeping him alive is your best chance at reforming the knight's radiant #Dalinar: you want me to have him teach my men??#Kaladin: No i'll do that. but my help is conditional on keeping him alive and letting me treat his mental health.#Dalinar:#Kaladin: ignore my men's snickering about treating him #Dalinar: I think you might have forgotten to mention something #Kaladin: I've been working on a way to help so called madmen — Drehy if you don't stop laughing I'm throwing you in a chasm #Dalinar: the knight's radiant. you teaching how to be a radiant.#Kaladin: ...I mean I DID say I beat him in a duel to the death. I don't know how I was supposed to do that without surgebinding.#Dalinar:...#Dalinar: I think it might be time for that longer explanation #Kaladin: Yeah that's fair

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cienie-isengardu · 2 days ago

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You know, looking how the elder Sub-Zero evolved through the various source media, it seems we could even argue that Kronika - the Keeper of Time obsesses with Perfect Balance Between Good and Evil - really set her mind to push him more and more on the “evil” side with each restart of timeline. And to do so, Bi-Han is more and more bound to cruel destiny bestowed on him while there is a part - maybe a memory from the original, previous life, or maybe it is just a cryomancer’s nature? - that rejects it. A pretty interesting thing to think about, as in older comics (Malibu) or even Mythologies: Sub-Zero, Bi-Han is more a neutral part, doing evil things as a means for his own survival and clan’s benefit than a cold bastard enjoying other people’s misery. Check, back in the past Bi-Han at times was a pretty heroic figure despite his assassin upbringing. All the real “corruption” comes after he is killed and turned into Wraith, stripped from his own humanity. So did Kronika consider Bi-Han to be a danger to her beloved Balance? Did she see Bi-Han as a threat of breaking it in a way she can’t control thus designing his fate more and more in cruel fashion? And even then Noob must be mind(?) controlled to keep in check by Quan Chi, as implied by

MK9 Noob’s Ending

"Quan Chi should never have resurrected Noob Saibot. Nor should he have enhanced his power to defeat Shao Kahn. The revenant he created had broken free of his control. Noob had secretly formed an "understanding" with a cleric from the realm of Chaos and opened for him a portal to the Netherrealm. Shinnok, Quan Chi and the Brotherhood of Shadow were unprepared as the forces of Chaos overwhelmed them, leaving the Underworld severely weakened. Satisfied with his work, the cleric, Havik, returned to the realm of Chaos. Noob Saibot remained to seize control of the Netherrealm."

MK11 intro dialogues

Noob Saibot: Quan Chi no longer binds me. Shao Kahn: Now what will you do, specter? Noob Saibot: Kill you.

MK11 Noob Saibot’s BIO

“Shadow of the Netherrealm. In life, Noob Saibot was known as Sub-Zero. Unjustly murdered by Scorpion, he was resurrected by Quan Chi and granted power over darkness, but as Quan Chi’s slave. Now, Quan Chi is dead. Noob Saibot is finally free to reclaim the honor that was stolen from him."

Mortal Kombat Onslaught (as can be seen here.)

All because Bi-Han refuses to grovel before any Master and once breaks out from the control, is out there to become a master of his own destiny and/or to kill his “owner”.

I mean, Kronika could manipulate time and timelines as she pleased but somehow the more she pushed her agenda, the more dangerous Bi-Han became to her own plans. The mortal Bi-Han, as the original game suggests, would take the money after killing Shang Tsung and quit the assassin job for good. Which is pretty low ambition considering all things while also the most neutral outcome to the general Balance. Then we have the Wraith. Noob Saibot may bow and obey, but he will seize any opportunity to bite back the hand that holds his leash. MK9 Noob? Brings Havik’s forces to fuck up Shinnok and Quan Chi and take over the whole Netherrealm. MK 11 Noob? Kills Kronika and transcends into being Death itself. Even the MK1 (2023) Noob, once his mind is mended, is out there to kill Titan Havik (though why Liu Kang objected that, when previously he had no problem with eliminating other timelines of Dark Titans, is a weird choice of the NRS).

Mortal Bi-Han just wants to be left alone and in peace, his clan’s safety secured. Noob is out there to fuck anyone that stand in the way of his freedom and ambitions, even if he needs pretend to be obedient for awhile.

Like, I’m really curious what Kronika was thinking when she so stubbornly decided that at best neutral mortal Bi-Han must be replaced with a much more ruthless, ambitious Wraith? It is like playing with fire, lol.

As Noob Saibot, he believes he has achieved absolute freedom, when in fact he is more a slave than ever of himself and the entire universe, even... He's like Hanzo Hasashi: the very personification of the tragedy of human condition in MK (I'm hardly exaggerating, honestly). And yet, he and Hanzo never give up. They refuse to believe that all is lost, and insist again and again on asserting their right to be truly free and happy, and to finally become masters of their own destinies. And in fact, this revolt against the universe's mortiferous determinism is already a powerful form of freedom.

I think Bi-Han as Noob is pretty much aware of his limitations due to his Masters (Shinnok, Quan Chi, Kronika), as most sources imply he is biding his time to backstab them and be on his own quest for power. I do think however he may really believe that death perfected him, in the sense he is cut from human weakness. As I imagine, a cold embrace of death is something a cryomancer accepts better than most people do.

I agree with what you said about Bi-Han and Hanzo and the fact that both managed to push past their trauma and rebuild their life in one way or another is really inspiring. But there is one big difference between them - all Quan Chi needed to keep Hanzo in check was to manipulate him emotionally, while Bi-Han was stripped from his humanity and enslaved in more controlling ways, like by dark magic. In that way, I think Bi-Han/Noob is even more impressive example of revolt against powers beyond his control and reclaiming what was taken from him while simply adapting to the situation at hand.

Bi-Han, an Imagery of Bondage

"One evening I sat Beauty on my knees—And I found her bitter—And I reviled her." Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell

See below the images for commentary. Johnny Cage:

Nitara:

Ermac:

Shang Tsung:

Kuai Liang:

Mileena:

Havik:

Geras:

Sektor:

Liu Kang:

Have you noticed? There's a recurring motif in Bi-Han's trajectory in MK1 and Khaos Reigns. In fact, it's almost a running gag. Bi-Han wants absolute freedom for himself and his clan. His personal lexicon is thus filled with the closely intertwined themes of independence and servitude: "again kneel before you?", "shackle us, no", "to free the Lin Kuei from bondage", "captivity", "perfect henchman", "now that we serve ourselves", "I had broken the Lin Kuei free of Liu Kang's enslavement", "we were now masters of our destiny", "allowed to desire a better future", "I had gained the Lin Kuei's freedom", "[Liu Kang] wants to control", "we must tighten control", "submit", "no one leaves the Lin Kuei", "living in your sister's shadow", "I refuse to fight in your shadow", etc.

But at the same time, Bi-Han is also the most imprisoned being in the game. The most manhandled, tied up and chained (physically, spiritually and mentally); the one with the most moments of vulnerability and unconsciousness—but also the one who is most carried by others and touched by them. It is as if no one wants him to achieve freedom, and instead wants to keep him jealously for themself. Is it because he is the most gorgeous character in the whole franchise, but also one of the most talented and powerful, as if he had been blessed by the gods? They all want to sit his ethereal beauty on their laps and never let it escape. They all want to possess it, selfishly revel in it and manipulate it as they please like a doll, out of lust, resentment or pure wickedness.

Blessed by the gods, really? Yes, and no. For it is because of all these gifts that Bi-Han's also been the most cursed character in the game for just over 30 years. In reality, the gods are envious, greedy and vengeful, and the laws of the universe wantonly punish the mortals they have elected of all people to embody their divinity on Earth. This is the basis of all tragedy. (All screenshots by me, except for the Nitara ones: sources 1 & 2.)

#mortal kombat #my replies #bi han #sub zero #noob saibot #hanzo hasashi #all gods want bi han lol #wonder if kronika is punishing bi han for stealing the amulet back from netherrealm by trying to make him a slave for her son's evil regime #and then bi han fucks up shinnok even more by bringing havik to trash the fallen god and quan chi alongside XDDD

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spatialwave · 5 hours ago

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Confession || Jayce Talis x Reader

➸ ask: “The sacred romantic moments prompts are so darn cute I can’t choose😩how about ‘truth is that i’m so damn in love with you that i don’t know what to do with myself’ for jayce. Thanking you🫶🏻” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.9k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, one-sided love, confessions, childhood friends, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: i think i popped off with this one! took me a couple of days to write, but i am so happy with it! if you like yearning then this one is for you!! hehe. the ask came from this prompt! – ➸ summary: jayce talis has never experienced love quite like this.

The melodic whistling from Jayce had woven itself into the very fabric of your life. A soundtrack to your life you hadn’t asked for. You were never able to escape the sounds or his presence. Stuck at the hip since children, spending much of your life watching him dream larger than life.

Jayce Talis was hope personified.

He carried a quiet tune under his breath, careful fingers toying with a rune he had meticulously carved. The warm pads of his thumbs brushed away the layer of dust that accumulated from the careful engravings, pausing his whistling for a moment as he carried out the task with a swift blow of his breath.

“Someone’s chipper,” your voice rang through his cluttered apartment. Leaning casually against the door frame, you watched as he perked up, head snapping over his shoulder. Those eyes reminiscent of the sun breaking through the clouds settled on your figure.

It was a pain, Jayce thought, for you to be so oblivious of his feelings.

Days, weeks, and months turned into years. All this time spent loving you, one-sided and terrified that you may never know. Too afraid to ruin a perfectly good thing. His yearning clung like a shadow.

Jayce had been there for you – always. Your first broken bone, your first love… your first heartbreak. Jayce remembered that day vividly, the way your body shook as you sobbed on his shoulder begging for the ache in your heart to stop, all while he held you and drowned with guilt for feeling happy that was the one there for you.

All because it meant that just maybe you would see him in another light. See him as a man who was worthy of your love.

As always, he bottled it up. Refusing to jeopardize the bond you shared. If he couldn’t have your heart, he’d protect his own.

“Yeah,” Jayce replied, his voice filling your heart with a sense of familiarity as you stepped into the room, hands settled onto your hips. Dropping his supplies, he quirked an eyebrow and straightened up slightly, “Wait, how’d you get in here?”

“You know, Jayce,” you sighed, giving a short ‘tsk’ of disappointment as your eyes bounced around his lab. It was messier than usual, the scattered tools and half-finished contraptions indicating he’d been spending more time here lately, likely on the brink of another grand discovery, as he’d call it.

“Locking doors is free and usually saves you from burglars,” you continued, bending to poke at one of the hextech crystals on a messy desk.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, hurrying to your side with a breath of concern, snatching the orb from your curious touch, “Careful!”

The way he carefully handled his precious work was endearing, almost as tender as cradling a newborn baby. There was no faulting him for that–after all, you weren’t going to be the one to have your eyebrows burn into flames again. You learned your lesson, but it was hard not to rouse a reaction out of him once in a while.

To see the way he’d growl under his breath when you pestered him, or how he’d nudge you with his elbow affectionately. Little gestures that made him fall for you harder and harder with every passing day.

You were so damned insufferable, and he couldn’t get enough.

Eyes met yours as the two of you stood next to each other, silently. A moment of solace to bask in each other’s presence.

“You look like you need a break,” you murmured, eyes squinting to get a better look at Jayce to take in the obvious signs of exhaustion on his face. His eyes were heavy and highlighted by dark circles underneath, the growing stubble–“Did you even sleep last night?”

“I’m fine,” he chided, avoiding your gaze as he turned to tuck away the crystal you’d bothered, safely in its proper case, “As for sleep, I got enough to keep me going.”

“So… three hours, give or take? Including a twenty-minute nap for about ten minutes sometime around the three o’cock mark.”

“That’s creepy,” Jayce shot you a sideways glance, a smirk pulling the corner of his lips, “You’re creepy for knowing that.”

Your mouth dropped in a dramatic expression of mock disbelief, a silent gasp, “And you’re quite rude, Jayce. It’s not kind to name-call.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he snorted, slipping off his gloves from his fingers and resting them atop the desk behind him. As your eyes flickered out his open window, momentarily distracted, he took the time to admire you as you soaked in the sunlight that cascaded past his open curtains. The sunlight illuminating your features.

Jayce smiled, captivated by your effortless beauty. He would do anything to be given the privilege of showing you the way you looked in his eyes.

“You need a break,” you declared, your eyes landing on his just as he averted his gaze, “Come on before you go crazy.”

Your hand extended toward him, causing his heart to leap up into his throat as he stared down at it. Impatient, you shook it in silent urgency, and he was quick to fill it with his own as you tugged him far, far from his cluttered sanctuary that desperately needed a good clean.

“Gods,” you breathed, laughter bubbling up your chest as you found yourselves standing on the bridge that separated Piltover from Zaun. Your hands rested over the railing, fingers curved along the stone as you leaned over and looked down at the waters below, “Remember that time we came out here back when we were… what, fifteen? We stole that bottle of wine from my mother’s cabinet and drank so much that you nearly toppled off the ledge trying to climb on it.”

Jayce hadn’t been paying attention, hands tight over the rail like yours, entranced by you. Your lips were stretched into a wide, toothy grin as you looked down and relished in the cool breeze that tickled your warm skin.

His heart ached, thumping irregularly as it yearned, and cried out to be loved by you.

It’s why he allowed himself to be swallowed by his work for days on end–anything to escape the unbearable ache of being around you. It hurt, to be next to you, like a physical blow to the chest.

For years, he stood quietly off to the sidelines, watching as you were loved by others. Seeing the way your entire being lit up when you spoke so passionately about the love in your life, light in your eyes. Only to be shattered when they inevitably stomped all over you like you were nothing, leaving you a shattered mess. Jayce would be there to pick up the pieces, spending long, sleepless nights consoling you until your soft snores overtook the tears that streamed down your cheeks.

Jayce was nothing if not a coward. Regret clouded his mind each night when he would berate himself for not having the courage to confess his feelings. To tell you how much he fucking loved you.

He hated how angry it made him.

“Hello?”

Your voice snapped him from his reverie, and his amber eyes widened as you stared at him, piercing through the fog of his thoughts.

“You really need some rest,” you said quickly, your eyebrows furrowing together in concern, “are you sure you’ve been okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, running a hand over his tired face in frustration as he turned away from you, “just tired.”

“Jayce,” your voice softened, and it struck a nerve in him that he wished hadn’t.

“I said I’m fine. Can you just leave it?”

Your body stiffened as you watched him in stunned silence, searching his face for any understanding of what was going on behind those pained eyes. Was it the research? Had his big breakthrough fallen out of grasp? Maybe he needed a nice herbal tea and a nap.

The entirety of your mind reeled with ways to help him, anything to alleviate the weight of the world he seemingly carried on his shoulders–unaware of the emotional turmoil that chained him to the ground beneath him.

“Why are you lying to my face?” You stood your ground stubbornly, arms crossed firmly over your chest, “It’s okay to be tired, Jayce. You work too hard.”

“I’m not lying,” Jayce replied sharply, a mix of frustration and desperation bleeding together. One hand lingered along the railing, the other moving with the passion of his words that masked the truth, “Why would I lie to you? I just–” he scrambled to gather his thoughts.

The struggle was evident on his face, and you felt your own frustration boil over. It was far and few between that you both indulged in these confrontations, bickering like an old married couple until they exploded into fiery words that often ended in mumbled apologies.

“Why are you being so difficult?” Your tone was loud and sharp, “I’m just trying to help!”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

The words stung your cheeks like a harsh winter storm.

Jayce’s jaw clenched tight, emotions roiling under his skin, “Do you want to know the truth?”

You watched him, noticing the storm that swirled in his eyes, “Jayce–”

“The truth is–” Jayce began, lips trembling as he pushed through, “the truth is that I’m so damn in love with you, that I don’t know what to do with myself,” he exclaimed, confession spilling from his lips as he pressed a hand to his chest, “It’s impossible to be around you because my heart breaks every time I have to watch you leave, knowing that I can’t be the one by your side,” he choked on his words, eyes glistening with unshed tears, “I’m so in love with you that it physically hurts. It’s unbearable, gods, it hurts so fucking much.”

Jayce’s chest heaved with each deep breath, his guts spilled out in front of you. Vulnerable and open–what he’d been avoiding for so long.

Your lips trembled. Moving, but unable to form any sentences. All you could do was look into those eyes that spoke more than his passionate ramblings.

Your heart swelled, chest tightening in the best way possible.

“Do you know how hard it is?” he mumbled, taking a step back, “I can’t stand this anymore. I can’t. I’m sorry–”

“No,” your hand shot out and latched to his wrist, fingers tightening against his skin and holding him back from leaving. Gold-specked eyes widened, staring at you with yearning, “You don’t get to leave me here, not like this.”

Jayce watched as tears brimmed in your eyes, a smile creeping onto your lips. Beaming under the evening sun and glowing so beautifully, as if you were both earthly and divine–transcending. You were too good for this world, too good for him.

“Don’t make me stay if I can’t have you,” he whispered, voice fragile as it broke like glass.

Then your lips were on his, a gentle touch that eased every worry that dared to destroy his mind with heartbreak. It planted a seed of hope deep in his heart, one that would blossom too quickly and strongly. All because it was you who did it, the one he’d longed for all these years.

“Then stay,” you murmured against his lips, answered only by strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist with no intention of letting you go.

#jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce talis #jayce arcane #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane fics #jayce talis fics #jayce talis arcane #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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