#i just don’t want to miss him. i want every day to be like these where we just hang out and bullshit about whatever

[bewaryofpity]

NEXT STEP IS LOVE - L. HUGHES

[2.0k] luke brings you to the family skate, surprising his teammates, and the usual “i didn't know you had a girlfriend” comes up, but this time luke has enough of calling you just his best friend.

warnings: none ! just some cute ol' fluff; probably really cringey 😔

a/n: she's a short one, and i’m not really fond of it but here it is anyway. sorry guys :(

“Didn’t know Luke had a girlfriend.”

“That’s because he doesn’t. That is his best friend.”

“Bullshit.” Kovacevic laughed in Jack’s face before turning his head back towards Luke near the bench.

Luke was kind of a private person so the idea of him having a secret girlfriend would have made sense to anyone, especially to the new guys he wasn't close with yet. But when Jack revealed that the girl in front of Luke was simply a friend had to be the biggest lie Kovy ever got told. Because friends don’t look at each other that way.

Luke’s fingers were trembling as he tied the laces of your skates carefully, making sure they weren’t too tight or too loose. He felt nervous having you here with him, which was strange because it wasn’t like you’ve never been around the guys before, but the new season meant new guys too. Which also meant that the same old dreaded question was going to come up at any moment.

“Good?”

You nodded in response before stretching your hands out so Luke could help you up the bench. You were wobbly at first, as he tried to hold back the teasing grin creeping on his lips, definitely not used to being on skates as often as him. 

You slowly made your way onto the ice, clutching his hand like your life depended on it. He couldn’t help but keep his gaze on your concentrated face, cheeks flushed from the chill of the arena as you found your rhythm. He was lost in his thoughts, stomach filling with butterflies when your hands squeezed his tighter. And if it weren’t for the little squeak you left out, he would’ve let you fall.

“Sorry,” he said with no hint of honesty in his voice while you shot him a playful look. 

It wasn’t long before you found your footing and let go of his hands to skate side by side. There weren’t many chances for you to hang out with Luke in these settings. The last time you skated together was when he was still a rookie, and he almost got in trouble too many times for using the rink after hours just to teach you how to skate, but you loved every single moment of it. So when he realized your day off coincided with the family skate, he didn’t hesitate to mention it and you couldn’t wait to be there for him, doing something you know would make him happy.

Though, the only thing that was different from those times was the fact that holding Luke’s hands now had your heart doing funny tricks on you. The newfound warmth that has taken over your body in his presence this past year or so was unexpected and scary because you were well aware what this meant and you couldn’t lose Luke over a stupid crush. 

If only you knew that he too got to a point where hiding his feelings for you was actually painful. He tried everything to spend as much time with you as possible. Faking being too tired to drive back to his place and sleep on your couch, missing optional skates, staying up at night before an away game just to hear your voice, letting you nap and waking you up only to convince you to spend the night at his place because i don’t want you to drive, it’s too dark outside and dangerous. It was all worth it in his eyes. But the ache in his chest everytime he had to leave you was becoming harder to suppress than he thought and he couldn’t take it anymore.

As he tried to grab at your brushing hands, Pesce stopped abruptly in front of you and almost knocked you down in the process. 

“Didn’t know Rusty here had a girlfriend.” He said with a grin before turning his attention to Luke, wiggling his brows in a teasing maner.

“Oh, no, I'm just a friend.”

“Oh.”

“His best… friend, actually.” You tried to smile as sincerely as you could. The question never bothered you before, you two were close enough that such was expected, but the way Luke couldn’t look at you during the exchange with his teammate created a pit in your stomach.  

Before he could take you away from the awkwardness of it all, Cotter skated over too. “Here we go,” mumbled Luke. 

“Meeting the girlfriend without me?” 

“Not the girlfriend apparently.”

"Really?" He asked, his tone skeptical as his eyes flicked between you. "Could’ve fooled me."

Luke groaned, not missing the way his teammates exchanged knowing looks and chuckling under their breaths. He couldn’t really blame his teammates for jumping to conclusions. If he were in their shoes, he might have assumed the same thing, it happened way too often anyway.

He grabbed at your hand and pulled you towards him, skating as far as possible from everyone. Was it really that obvious he liked you? Yet, you were still by his side, seemingly not phazed by the constant nagging and teasing from outsiders about your relationship, which could only mean that you didn’t like him back. 

Luke was tired of all of this and the months he spent burying his feelings for you, convincing himself that your friendship was enough, were all coming down on him now with everyone assuming you were a couple. Feeling heavy, he hoped the family skate came to an end soon.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about them.”

“That’s okay.”

You nodded but didn’t press further, not yet at least. Your hand came to rest around his bicep, seeking his warmth and pretending to need balance as you grew tired. 

The easy rhythm you found earlier was now gone. Luke could tell you were trying to bring yourself comfort by staying close to him, though you kept your gaze on the ground which could only mean you were absorbed in your thoughts. And he hated that it was all his fault, he hated the idea of you thinking he was embarrassed or annoyed by the assumption that you were together. Because he wasn’t, he had dreamed of being your boyfriend more times than he‘d like to admit. And he wanted nothing more than being able to call you his. 

Sensing your exhaustion, he led the way towards the bench to change back into normal shoes. The rink was quieter now, families thinning out. You leaned back, stretching your legs, and looked at him with a small frown on your lips. You didn’t have time to reach down when he brought up one of your feet to untie your skate.

“What’s on your mind, Luke?” 

Luke hesitated, his fingers fumbling with your skate laces. “Nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing, Luke. You’re too quiet, what’s wrong?”

“Does it not bother you when people ask if we’re a couple?”

You blinked at him, startled by the question. It wasn’t what you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Luke had stopped untying your skate, his hands frozen mid-motion as he waited for your answer. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw tightened.

“Bother me?” You repeated softly, the chill of the rink seemed to seep into your skin, though you weren’t sure if it actually was the cold temperature or the sudden shift in the conversation. “No, not really. I mean, it happens all the time, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Luke nodded slowly, looking down at your skate again. He resumed working on the laces, but his movements were slower now, almost hesitant. You shifted slightly, your other foot tapping lightly against the rubber mat beneath the bench. 

“Does it bother you?” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. 

Luke let out a quiet sigh and dropped his hands on your leg. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “Sometimes, I guess. Not because of what they think, but… because of what it implies.”

“And what does it imply?” 

You echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart began to race, the steady rhythm you’d been clinging to slowly slipping away. You couldn’t help but search his face for clues, for anything that might explain the sudden vulnerability in his tone.

Luke hesitated, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours for something — permission, maybe, or courage. And for a moment, he seemed to be weighing his next words, his brows drawing together in a way that made your chest ache. 

“Luke…”

“I like you,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he waited any longer. “I’ve liked you for a while now and I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that I don’t. I can’t stand being apart from you, I need you close to the point where I am not my own person anymore. I’m tired of the ache in my chest everytime I have to leave you, not just for roadies, but every time we part ways, it’s like I’m a different person without you that I can't recognize.”

“When they say stuff like that, it just makes it harder because I want it to be true. I want us to be more than just friends. I want to wake up next to you and come home to you every day.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard. You tried to open your mouth as if to speak, but he pressed on, the words tumbling out like water breaking through a dam. His words started fading in your racing mind. His confession hung in the air heavy and raw, and all of it felt like you’ve been hit by a truck. Luke, your best friend, liked you and you were glad he hadn't stopped talking because, truly, you didn’t know what to say.

Luke’s heart felt like it might burst from his chest, every beat echoing in his ears as he braced himself for rejection, for awkwardness, for the possibility that he’d just ruined everything. The silence that followed when he stopped taking felt like an eternity. And for a moment, you just stared at him, expression unreadable. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… wanted you to know.”

You dropped your foot to the ground and scooted closer to him. As he turned to face you, your hand pressed against his cheek and you leaned in to place a delicate kiss on his lips. It was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to make Luke freeze. His mind blanked, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. When you pulled back, your face was mere inches from his, your hand still lingering on his cheek. Your cheeks were flushed, though whether from the cold or the weight of the moment, he couldn’t tell.

His heart pounded in his chest as you bit your lip, your hand dropping from his face to rest on your lap. 

“It’s always been you, Luke.” Your gaze met his once more, the blush on his cheeks making him cuter than he ever looked. Luke’s eyes widened, still incredulous even after your kiss. 

“Really?”

“Really.” You smiled, a small, tentative curve of your lips as you nodded.

He leaned forward slightly clearing his throat, his eyes searching yours. “Can I kiss you again?” He asked, voice barely audible.

This time, the kiss wasn’t hesitant or fleeting. It was soft and tender, a promise of everything you both hoped to build together. When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested against each other, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

“Hey, lovebird! Tone it down a bit, there’s kids around.”

Luke groaned at one of the guys’ teasing from the other side of the rink, and you laughed at his antics, the weight on your shoulders had finally been lifted off. 

“So… does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” You didn’t know your cheeks could flush any more, and smiling at his question, you reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from his face.

“Eh, I’ll have to think about that.”

[reverd-ck]

sweet like candy! -megumi fushiguro x reader (fluff)

ever since you and megumi started dating, you give him a small piece of candy each day.

wc: 884

“Oh! I almost forgot!”

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small roll of ramune tablet candies, shoving it in Megumi’s hand before he could protest.

“I told you, I don’t want—”

“Take it!” 

Megumi sighs before unwrapping the roller, giving you a piece before putting one in his mouth, then wrapping it up again and putting it in his pocket.

You both walk in silence as you munch on the candies, the flavor popping into your mouth. 

“So…how was the mission?” he asks, wanting to hear more from you.

“Hmm... it was pretty much the usual, actually. Kugisaki held off on calling Ijichi because there was a mall nearby, and she just had to go check it out and dragged me along with her.” 

“Sounds typical for Kugisaki,” he replies. 

“I know, right? So of course I had to go along with her, but I didn’t have much money on me, so I just got the candy I gave you.” you say, continuing on with your story.

“You know, you could’ve asked me to give you some extra cash if you wanted to.” Megumi replies, digging back into his pocket for the candy because it was actually kind of good.

“I know that... It just makes me feel a little guilty, you know? Plus, isn’t it Gojo-sensei’s money?” 

Megumi shrugs, already popping another piece into his mouth. “I don’t really care.” 

“Mhm, sure. Can you give me another piece? Please?” you ask. He scoffs a little but gives you one more, walking along the path to your dorm while you continue recounting the events of your day, Megumi quietly listening and adding a few comments.

And so went every day just like that, perfect the way you wanted it. Holding pinkies while munching on his favorite treat that you got for him again, you talking about another topic while he just listens. 

Every day you would always get him a small sweet, like a lollipop or a mochi. He always refused at first but would end up enjoying it in the end anyway. It would be something a little different every day, maybe an old-time favorite or a sweet new discovery, but this trend continued on so long that Megumi couldn’t deny he formed a sweet tooth just because of you. He found himself craving something sweet every now and then, and it always brought a picture of you to his mind. It made him just a little happier at that moment, bringing a soft smile to his face whenever he missed you. 

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨⋆｡‧˚ʚ📍ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

One morning, as you and Megumi headed towards class, you gave him his daily candy, a small cherry lollipop that you tried before and thought he needed to taste. You handed it to him as you both walked into class, but not noticing Gojo eyeing the lollipop, amazed that Megumi, the “I take my coffee black” kid was actually eating sweets! 

“Oh my days!” Gojo loudly exclaimed, startling you and Megumi, and Nobara who also just walked in, yawning. “You’re actually eating candy, Megumi! What’s up with that?! Are you sure you’re the real Megumi?!?”

Megumi groans loudly as you giggle softly into your hand, enjoying Gojo’s outburst.

“It’s not a big deal, will you shut it?!” Megumi retorts, clearly already annoyed with Gojo’s overly-dramaticised shocked face. “It’s just from Y/n, would you chill?” 

Gojo then looks at you and bursts into fake tears. “Oh y/n… you angel! How did you ever convince him to eat candy! He never eats my sweets!”

By now, you were already dying laughing at the scene, Nobara laughing along with you. You took a glance at your boyfriend and could practically see the vein on his forehead popping, only fueling your laughter even more.

Suddenly, a confused voice pops up from the laughter, the voice of Yuji, extremely confused about the room he just stumbled on. A Gojo who’s fake-crying, a seething Megumi, and Nobara and you doubled over laughing. “What, what’s happening?! Huh?” 

His confusion only adds more to the laugh you had right now, and Gojo ran up to Yuji telling him what he just saw.

“He... the boy that I raised for so long... he... he eats candy now! And it’s all because of y/n! I never knew she could soften him up like that. She has magic powers!” Gojo whines, confusing Itadori even more. 

As the laughter died down and the classes started, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about how right Gojo was. The man you sought out who was like a brick had finally molded into a soft clay for you to poke at. You sat there with a sappy smile on your face, chin resting on your hand as you only half-listened to Gojo. You were reminiscing on how sweet Megumi actually was, someone who melted at the tips of your fingers. Someone who you loved, and him who loved you back just the same. 

At the end of the day, you once again had your walk back to the dorms with Megumi, but this time, it was in comforting silence, not with the usual chatter. Still feeling the sappiness you had in class, it took Megumi by surprise when you pulled him aside and kissed him. 

He tasted sweet.

Sweet like candy.

a/n: first fic! excited to see how this turns out. how we feeling chat?

dividers by @.sister-lucifer and @.strangergraphics

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 7: Your Hand In Mine✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Get ready to meet soft, angsty Joel in this chapter. I would like to give him a big hug 🥺

Chapter Summary: Your first day of therapy is a little scary, but Joel helps you through it.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 4.7k

Chapter Tags: Soft! Joel, so much angst, yearning, reader goes to therapy, dual POV, age gap (reader late 20’s, Joel late 40’s), mentions of violence and kidnapping, grief

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“You nervous?” Joel asks from the driver’s seat, hands locked around the leather steering wheel.

   You nod while your hands fidget with your leggings. “Mmm, a little.” But a little’s a lie. You’re downright terrified. You’ve never been to therapy, never talked about yourself before like that. Well, Joel was the closest. You’ve talked to him, and you’re oddly comfortable with that now. But other than that? You haven’t done this.

   He must see the lie on your worried face and the terror ringing through your wide eyes. Giving you a gentle smile, he turns his focus back to the road ahead that’s shrouded in mist from the December rain. “Don’t be. Tess is great. You’re going to be great, sweetheart. I know it’s scary, but just know you’re taking that first step into the unknown. That first step of healing, and you’re going to do so well. I jus’ know it.”

   He’s always so supportive, so gentle, so easy with you. It makes your heart clench, makes it beat a little more just for him. 

   You take a good look at him. Watch as he cards a hand back through his tousled curls, watch as his green flannel clings to his flexed biceps, watch as that easy smile melts across his plush mouth. He’s just so nice to watch, so easy to keep your eyes trained on. 

   Darting your tongue across your bottom lip, you tilt your head toward him and give him an easy smile. “You’re always so sure about me.”

   “Yeah, guess I am.” He turns his head toward you and gives you a heart-stopping smile. “I guess I see all the potential in those pretty eyes of yours.”

   Your mouth parts, cheeks redden as you repeat that sentence over in your mind. He thinks you have pretty eyes. He’s always so sure of you. 

   Turning back toward the fogged-up passenger window, you lean against the door and smile. A smile that’s bigger than you’ve ever smiled before. You’re completely smitten by the handsome Texas man with big brown eyes. And he’s just continuing to show you how much life is worth living. Telling you how far he thinks you’ll go. But you don’t want to go far in distance. No. You just want to stay right here beside him. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When he stops at a red light, you brave another stare at him and smile like your whole heart is right there in his eyes. “Thanks for seeing the potential in me.”

   One side of his mouth curls up into a crooked smile, and his cinnamon-brown eyes sparkle against the windshield. “You’re so welcome, sweetheart.”

   When you catch your breath from melting, you ask, “Sarah said you see Tess, too?”

   He nods as the truck’s engine revs to life again. “She’s right. See her every couple of weeks or so. She’s patient and understanding and she really helps, I think. Helps when the nights get a little too dark for me.”

   The way he says the last sentence, his low voice sounds a little weary like maybe he fights the nights as much as you do. And you don’t miss the flinch in his right eye or the way his hand tightens on the steering wheel. He must get them too. The nightmares that haunt your dreams every few nights. You wish you could just scoop them up, replace them with dreams of ocean tides or snowy mountains filled with deep green trees. You wish you could take away his pain, whatever’s hurting him so deeply. He hides it well—the pain. But sometimes it creeps up on him, and it spills in different shades across his shadows that slip in his brown eyes. That’s something you don’t miss.

   Steady rain pelts against the windows, making the few trees in the distance look like monsters with tangled vines draping low to the ground. You flick your gaze back to Joel in the driver’s seat and another slow smile brushes against your lips. “Thanks again for driving me.”

   “It ain’t no trouble, sweetheart. I’ll drive you till you don’t need me to.”

   Another skipped heartbeat, another butterfly flitting through your stomach. The man is so sweet. 

   Biting your lower lip, you brave a question, mildly testing the waters. “What if I always need you to?” It comes out quiet, but not so quiet that he doesn’t hear you.

   He slows to a halt at a stop sign and turns to face you, eyes sparkling with promises. “Then I’ll be there every single time you need me.”

   “Promise?” 

   Another smile. “Cross my heart.” He folds a hand over his chest, promising once again. 

   You giggle under your breath, your eyes never leaving his. “Well, looks like I can trust you then.”

   “You can always trust me, sweetheart.” And he means it. You can always trust him, and you know that. God, you know that. 

   When the tires start spinning again on the damp pavement and the low sounds of an old Western song plays through the speakers, he clears his throat and speaks. “It’s gonna be a late night for me.”

   You flip your eyes back to him and give him a worried stare. “Do you have to go somewhere?” You already know what that means. He’s got an important job to do. One where he might be gone all night, maybe till morning. 

   He nods subtly. “Got an important run I gotta do with Tommy. So I might not be home till mornin’…” His voice cuts off. He knows you hate it when he’s away so long.

   “Gone the whole night?” Your voice is a meek whisper because you’re afraid what his answer will be. 

   He’s silent a beat. “Afraid so, but hopefully that ain’t the case. But still, even if I am back earlier, it’ll be well after two o’clock in the mornin’.”

   Your stomach churns just thinking about it. When he’s not across the hall when you’re sleeping, when he’s not just mere feet apart from you, it’s like something’s missing. There’s a void in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t seem to unravel that feeling till he’s in your space again. “I hate when you’re gone all night…” Your words falter, they break like your voice shakes.

   “I know, sweetheart. I know.” His right hand drops to the center console, just inches from yours. He seems conflicted, seems like he wants to reach out and graze his calloused skin against yours, but he doesn’t. But he’s trying. He’s still hesitant to touch you because you’re still so unsure of touch. He doesn’t want to scare you, and you know that. He’s just being careful. And maybe you’re still scared of physical touch, but his touch? That warm, gentle, soft graze he sometimes gives you. Well, it feels like sunlight skimming over you. 

   Carefully, you move your fingers in his direction. Just enough where you can feel the heat of his skin. You don’t touch him, not quite. But this is enough. This is your middle ground. “I umm… I worry about you at night when you’re not home. I’m always scared that… that...” You can’t even speak it out loud. You’re scared he won’t come back one night. And you can’t bear the thought of that. 

   His brown eyes soften. “I’ll be alright, sweetheart. I’ll come back. I can promise you that.” You give him a small smile and nod, keeping your fingers right by his just so you can feel the heat cover your own skin. 

   Physical contact is still something you’re struggling with, but you think Joel understands that. And he does. Always so careful around you. Never one to put you in an uncomfortable situation because he does understand your situation. He knows exactly what you’ve been through, and he wouldn’t dare make the wrong move because he doesn’t want to scare you. And you appreciate that. You appreciate him. So this is enough. Right now in this truck—hands centimeters apart, heat gliding over your fingers, a whispered promise that he’s going to take care of you. 

   Yes. This is enough.

   After a few more minutes, Joel’s pulling into a little parking lot, right in front of a tiny building with a lit-up white sign that says "Essence of Healing.” Your heart starts beating faster, your breath tightening in your chest as your eyes scan the brightly-lit sign. “Well, here we are. You ready?” He turns off the ignition and pulls the key out, his brown eyes flitting over to you. 

   You swallow once and nod, an array of emotions spinning in your head. “Yeah, I think so,” you breathe out as calmly as you can.

   He gives you an encouraging smile and pushes the door open. “C’mon, then.” You open the passenger door slowly and close it with a bang, your knees shaky, legs wobbly with every step you take toward the door. 

   This is it. You’re actually going to talk to a therapist for the first time in your life. What if you’re not ready, what if you choke, what if you burst out into tears and can’t sputter words from your choked-up throat? These are all valid questions, ones you never really considered, but you’re here. You have to do this. You have to do it for yourself. You owe that much to yourself. You are worth it.

   When Joel goes up to the front desk with you, the one covered in green succulents and a calming, trickling desk fountain running the corner, you collect all the paperwork you need to fill out and in exchange give her your photo ID. Joel was kind enough to go with you to get a new one since your old one was lost somewhere in Washington. As for health insurance, Joel was paying out of pocket for you to be seen. But he promised he was working to get you on your own health insurance plan. You still don’t know why he’s being so nice to you, but without him, you’d probably be dead by now…

   After a few minutes of fighting with the paperwork and scribbling out wrong information, you’re about to break out in tears. They’re swelling in the backs of your eyes, making your lips quiver and the words blur on the page.

   “Hey. You’re alright,” Joel coos, taking the pen from your shaky hand. “Let me help.” And you do let him. He fills out the questions you couldn’t answer yourself—his home address, your phone number you still haven’t memorized, emergency contact information, insurance details, even going as far as helping you fill out medical questions you’re having trouble with. 

   As you look up at him all focused and intent on getting your paperwork done, a little spark sizzles in your chest. You study him—eyes glued to the page, jaw flexed as his rapt attention is on each question, tousled curls a little disheveled as he cards his fingers attentively while he thumbs through the pages. You’re a little mesmerized, a little surprised he didn’t just leave you to shovel through the numerous papers. Instead, he chose to stay right by your side, saving you from breaking down from the weight of so many unknowns. 

   You’re scared, a little overwhelmed, a little more nervous than you’d like to be. But with Joel, it seems like you can get through anything. 

   When the paperwork is all completed and he’s back at your side, waiting patiently for them to call you back, you feel a little better—like you can do anything if he’s there next to you. Call him your knight in shining armor, but he truly is. He keeps saving you, and you hope he’ll never stop. 

   The nervous jitters start up again when you glance up at the clock. Five till noon, right when your appointment is supposed to be. Your knee is bouncing up and down in tandem with your flexed fingers against your leggings. Fear trickles down your spine, slides into the deepest parts of your veins. And suddenly, you’re downright terrified. 

   You’re about to get up, run out the door, but Joel senses your worry. He slides the back of his hand against yours, brushing your skin gently, a way to say ‘Hey, I’m right here.’ And when you look up and see those big brown eyes gazing softly down at you, you instantly quiet down inside. Your knee stops bouncing, and you’re left with this overwhelming peace that seems to radiate through every part of your body. Like a quiet forest that soothes your soul, that’s what Joel does to you. He makes everything else around you so still, so quiet. 

   When you’re about to say something to break the trance you’re in, you faintly hear your name being called from the open office door.

   You sit up straight and look toward the door, up at the woman that just called your name. “That’s me,” you call out with a shaky voice. 

   “Ahh. There you are.” She strides up to you and holds her hand out. You slowly take it. She has long light brown hair, strong cheekbones, welcoming hazel eyes, and a smile that instantly soothes you. “I’m Tess, by the way. It’s so good to meet you. This one’s told me a lot about you.” She flicks her eyes to Joel.

   When you take her hand, it’s warm. “It’s nice to meet you, Tess. And of course he has.”

   Joel shakes his head and lets a low chuckle leave his lips. “Guilty as charged.”

   “You got lucky with this one. He’s one of the good ones,” Tess nods as your hands disconnect.

   “He is…” you repeat back, getting lost just for a second in his syrupy brown eyes. He seems to get lost in yours too.

   “You ready?” Tess asks.

   “Oh, uhh. Yeah.” You take a second to push yourself up off the cushioned leather chair, let your legs stop wobbling beneath you. 

   When you’re just about to follow her back, Joel’s low voice serenades your ears. “I’ll be right here waitin’. You’re gonna do great, sweetheart.”

   “Thanks, Joel.” You give him a lasting smile, until Tess beckons you back to her office. 

   “Come on. This way.”

   With one last glance his way, you watch the front office door shut and what awaits you is a long hallway with mint-green wallpaper. Pictures of oceans, fields of wildflowers, and open spaces fill the painted walls. A small white table sits in the middle of the hall with multi-colored flowers hanging over the table that are tucked inside a cream-colored pot. 

   When you make it to the fourth door on the left, Tess nods inside and lets you go first. “Welcome to my office. Hope it’s cozy enough for you.”

   Gasping, you take in her array of rocks and seashells on her back wall. Dozens of colorful shapes and sizes fill the expanse of it. But what really catches your attention is all the little sand dollars spread out by her computer monitor. Her walls are almost the color of sunlight, and she’s got a massive portrait of a west coast beach framed with love behind her desk chair. A white leather couch sits right across from her mahogany desk, and the scent of soothing lavender fills the air. 

   “It’s perfect,” you whisper, amazed by all the decorative details of her office. It’s so inviting and welcoming. It instantly calms you down. 

   “Glad you like it,” she smiles. “Well, have a seat. Get comfortable.” You comply as she gets situated in her chair and pulls up your paperwork. Sifting through it for a minute, she looks up at you with a bright smile lit across her face. “So. This is your first session, is that correct?”

   “Yeah. I… I’ve never done this before,” you answer honestly, a little scared of what she might say, but she only gives you another encouraging smile.

   “Well, you came to the right place then. We’re just going to take this slow, take it one session at a time. Healing is a journey. There’s no one single path to it. We’ll do what works for you, what you’re comfortable with. That sound okay to you?”

   “Mhm,” you nod with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. You’re so fucking nervous, but this is normal, right? Everyone is scared of something they’ve never done before. But this? It seems like all your secrets will surely be unmasked, and that terrifies you. Sharing your past—what happened to you—isn’t going to be easy. Not one bit. 

   “I can see you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. This is a safe space. You can talk to me about anything. It’s all confidential. Nothing you say goes out that door.” 

   Your eyes flit to the closed oak door, and you nod in acknowledgment. “Right… Okay.”

   She scoots back and crosses one leg over her knee, leaving the open papers splayed on her desk. All attention is on you now. “How about we start from the beginning. Before… before you were taken. Maybe start with your childhood?”

   “Oh… I… Well, that’s a lot to tell,” you gulp out nervously. Your childhood trauma is a whole other monster you still haven’t tackled. 

   She smiles. “We’ve got an entire hour today. And if you come back, we’ll have many more sessions to unravel your past.”

   You bite your bottom lip and nod, your nerves getting the best of you, but you push through. “Okay…” You take a deep breath and dive in head first. “Here goes nothing.”

  ��Four o’clock flashes like an alarm on the oven clock, telling him he’s been gone for hours, but really, it feels like it’s been days. He reaches for the open whiskey bottle and pours the amber liquid over the square ice cubes in the glass. Every drop looks like the trickles of fresh blood that’s stained his flannel permanently. He should’ve fucking known tonight was not the night to wear nice flannels. 

   He scuffs his leather boots against the hardwood floor, dragging his tired legs from the kitchen to the living room, till he’s collapsed in a heap on the leather couch—one hand curled around the cold glass, the other raking down his face excruciatingly slow. 

   He failed. He was too late. Just minutes from being on time. Maybe he could’ve saved her. Saved that innocent little girl from her executioners. But he couldn’t…

   As he closes his eyes, he sees the flash of red covering the dark walls, serenading the lace of her pink dress. Eleven-years-old, just shy of turning twelve, a daughter that’ll never be able to return home to a worried mother and father. 

   He curses under his breath, feels the tears pour like droplets of water down his cheek. She didn’t deserve to die, didn’t deserve to be scared and all alone. He was supposed to save her, was supposed to get her out. That was his mission, and he fucking failed. 

   Three minutes. He was just three fucking minutes shy of saving her life, but he was too late. He misjudged the distance, didn’t realize the captors were early to their destination. He got there right after they smothered her—silencing her terrified screams forever. He can still hear them like shrill sirens blasting through the base of that rundown building. This isn’t the first time he’s been too late, but God. This one hurts like hell because it reminds him of someone he lost along the way. Someone he loved just as much as Sarah.

   And so, he did what he did best. He took them out—all the men that had hurt her. Thankfully, he took backup, including Tommy. He smothered their screams, pushed daggers into their throats, shot them dead in a frenzy of rage while his teeth were clenched and eyes were fogged with held-in tears. When he looked at that poor, lost girl—it nearly took him to his knees. Those eyes. Those same lifeless hazel eyes that still haunt his dreams to this day. They were the same shade as hers… The little girl that forever changed his life. The one that he wishes was still here…

   Ellie… That little girl tonight looked just like his lost daughter—the one he saved all those years ago. But he never fully saved her. Not after… not when he let her go…

   A wave of emotions floods through his chest as he takes another stiff drink of alcohol, letting the whiskey burn through him while visions of hazel eyes and crimson fill his foggy mind. 

   He was too late. He fucked up. He misjudged the minute hand from the second hand. Time slipped away from him. And before he knew it, everything he planned for was lost to the eerie night. Instead, it ended in bloodshed and turmoil. He hates it. Hates when things have to get extremely violet, but what choice did he have? He had to take them out because they stole an innocent life—a life he was supposed to keep safe. 

   He’s so lost in the crimson-stained memories in his mind that he almost misses that small, meek voice of yours. “Joel?” 

   When he opens his eyes, a part of his soul shatters. There you are, a plush blanket wrapped around your shoulders, heartbreaking eyes shining over to him from the staircase. You take in his half-drank glass of whiskey and the dried tears that stain his cheeks. But also, you see the faint crimson that tarnishes his flannel shirt. 

   Blood. There was so much blood… like a liquid pool of death.

   He adjusts his back against the leather cushion and sits up a little straighter, just so he looks less worn down and broken than he already is. You see right through him though. You always do. “Sweetheart, it’s late. Why don’t you…” 

   “Are you… okay?” Your voice whispers across the room, silences the crackling embers in the fireplace. Your voice… it sounds broken too.

   “I, uhh. Jus’ please, go back to sleep.” He tries to push you away, tries to get you to return to your room so he can sulk in peace. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Doesn’t want you to see just how physically and mentally defeated he actually is. He’s not as strong as you think he is. He’s fragile, grainy sand that gets blown away by the wind. He’s not rock-solid; he’s quicksand.

   You slide into the seat next to him, close enough where your knee could brush against his. “I’m not leaving you.” There’s finality in your tone, still soft but firm on your decision. And there’s those eyes. Those fucking beautiful eyes that could silence all the built-up pain he has piled on his heart.

   You’re so fucking beautiful.

   “Are you hurt?” You ghost your hand across the leather, reaching out just enough where he feels the heat of your skin. It soothes him over just a tad, but nothing can quite wipe away the excruciating weight of agony he’s carrying now.

   “No. I’m jus’… I’m so tired.” He pinches his eyes closed and takes a deep breath, his hand clutching the cool glass of whiskey like it’s his lifeline. “This job weighs on me like solid concrete. Some nights are so fuckin’ hard. Some nights jus’…” He pauses, takes a deep breath in and blows another out. He can’t finish. He’s too tired, too strained from the past few hours, months, years.

   He’s so fucking tired; he just needs some rest, some peace, some symbolism that he knows he’ll get to the finish line. But he’s been so struck down ever since he met that certain hazel-eyed little girl. Ellie. His little girl…

   “What happened tonight?” Your voice comes off as a whisper. Maybe you’re just as scared to hear what he has to say. 

   He taps the edge of his thumb against the solid glass and takes a deep breath. “We uhh… I lost her. Her name… her name was Abigail. Just a little eleven-year-old, and I was supposed to save her, to get her back to her parents. But I… I was too late. I was too fuckin’ late.” There it is. The pen drops, another tear splashes down his stained flannel, and he’s lost to grief again. 

   You pause a beat, but you gasp loud enough for him to hear the horror in your voice. He’s a failure. You must think he’s such a failure. “Joel… I’m so… God. I’m so sorry.” There’s only sorrow in your lilty voice, no anger or resentment that he failed yet another soul. You’re just as sad as him, he thinks.

   “I failed her… I failed everyone…” He shakes his head, sets his mind a little straighter just so he can grit the words out. “Sometimes I feel like none of this is worth it, like I don’t make a difference. Because when this happens, it makes me feel like I’m already six feet underground.”

   “Oh, Joel. No.” He feels it—the couch creak beneath him, the weight of your body sliding over, your hand inching closer to his. “You save so many lives. You make every bit of difference. You change lives.” There’s so much assurance in your voice; you’re trying to soothe him over.

   He snaps his eyes shut and shakes his head, anything to stop the burning sensation in his watery eyes. Maybe if he doesn’t blink then he won’t feel the pain of this gut-wrenching moment. “But I… I couldn’t save her… I couldn’t save…” 

   Ellie…

   With his eyes still shut tight, he feels warmth wrap around his hand, feels the soft caress of your skin. And when he opens his eyes wide, he sees the most beautiful shades of softness gleaming from your pretty eyes. 

   “You saved me. And that… that means everything to me. You saved me. You saved your daughter. You saved so many lives. You are a hero, and don’t you dare think otherwise. Not for one second.” There’s tears licking your lash line, the most sincere look over your pretty face. A desperate plea to get through to him. And in that moment, he believes you for a second. Believes that he is a hero, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

   His bottom lip trembles as tears gather in his watery eyes. Something hits him deep in the gut. Longing, the fear of losing you, and an all-consuming wave of tender emotions. He sees you. He really sees you. Such a beautiful soul. Such a lovely, amazing woman. To think he almost didn’t go to that auction, almost wasn’t able to save you. What would he do if he never found you? It stings to even think about. Because you… Well, you’re everything all at once. And he’s so fucking soft for you.

   Carefully, softly, he laces his fingers through yours, holds on for dear life, praying you never let go.  

   Don’t let go. Never let go. 

   Your hand is a perfect fit for his. Every line, edge, dip carved specially for his hand to fit in. The weave of your fingers against his, the light brush of your skin, the heat that spirals into complete warmness when your skin slips against his—you were fucking made for him, just as he was for you, he thinks. Because when your bright eyes and soft smile are in his presence, he sees pure sunlight, sees the pure angelic essence you’re bathed in. 

   He was made to find you. This much he knows. And whether you choose to stay or go—he’ll have this moment to hold on to. Because he got you once. Your hand in his. This right here is everything he’s ever needed. It may just be your hand brushing against his, your fingers intertwined together, but it feels like home. You feel like home. 

   So, he lets the soft rain pelt outside against the living room windows, lets the dying fire crackle and pop in the fireplace, and savors the feel of your honey-like soft skin sliding against his. And he stays there for several minutes, maybe an hour, and there’s only silence shrouding the room. But your touch? It screams volumes, makes him feel human again. 

   For a breath of a moment, you’re his. 

   Texas rain was a rare phenomenon. Misty showers only a once in a while type thing. But you? You made it pour, made the flood waters wash clear through Austin. He didn’t see it coming, didn’t expect anything like you. But it sure as hell knocked him clear off his feet when you bathed him in your electric thunderstorms. 

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[insidekatmind]

Rainy day~Jobe Bellingham

The rain was softly drumming on the window panes, creating a soothing melody that enveloped the room in a sense of peace. The gray clouds outside made the atmosphere cozy and perfect for a day of cuddling at home. You and Jobe Bellingham were on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, while the aroma of hot tea filled the room.

“I can’t believe we finally have a day all to ourselves. No training, no commitments… just you and me.”

You held him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. His strong arm wrapped around you, offering you a feeling of security that only he could give you.

“It’s perfect like this. I missed spending time with you without rushing.”

You heard him sigh, while his fingers gently brushed your hair.

“I know… Sometimes I think time flies too fast. I want to be able to stop every moment with you, enjoy it without thinking about anything.”

You looked into his eyes, your heart beating faster for that sweet and sincere smile.

“I wish time would stop too. With you I feel safe… I feel at home.”

He slowly approached you, placing a light kiss on your forehead. That simple but loving gesture made you smile.

“I promise that I will always try to find time for us. Even when life gets hectic, even when I’m far away… you will always be my priority.”

Those words warmed your heart. You looked at him with affection, moved by how sincere he was.

“You don’t have to promise anything. I know how much you love me, I see it in your gestures, in the little things. And I love you for who you are, with your commitments and everything else.”

Jobe smiled and held you tighter. After a moment of silence, he got up from the sofa.

“Where are you going?”

He turned around, with an amused expression.

“I have an idea.”

He disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes and returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a tray of cookies. He put everything on the coffee table and sat down next to you again.

“There’s nothing better than a hot chocolate on a rainy day.”

You took your cup and smiled sweetly at him.

“You’re too sweet.” you say softly

“Just for you.” Jobe replies with a sweet smile .

As you sipped the chocolate, the conversation flowed naturally. You talked about your dreams, your fondest memories, the future you wanted together. Every word made that day even more special.

At one point, Jobe took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Do you know that every time it rains I think of you?”

You looked at him with surprise and curiosity. “Really? Why?”

“The rain makes me think of how you bring calm into my life. You are like a sweet rainy day… relaxing, enveloping, and incredibly beautiful.”

Your heart seemed to burst with emotion. His words were sincere and full of love. You slowly approached, placing your lips on his in a sweet and delicate kiss.

“I love you, Jobe.”

“I love you too, more than words can express.”

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside the house there was only warmth and love.

[suguslve]

‧˚꒰🍷꒱༘‧— WE'LL NEVER LAST SO WHY CAN'T I LET GO OF THIS?

synopsis: loving malleus felt like a dream come true, a beautiful, perfect dream—but what would it be like to wake up and face the reality of returning to your world?

♰ pairings. malleus draconia x gn!reader

♰ genre. fluff to angst (?) idk i think its just full on angst hehe

♰ word count. 1.2k

♰ a/n. oh lookie here another angst!! you can't blame me for writing angst bcus this is all my friends ever request. lowkey (highkey) inspired by laufey's song promise. enjoy reading and lmk your thoughts!

You two weren’t bound to last—your love was a ticking time bomb, and with every passing moment, you felt the weight of the inevitable end pressing down on you. You dreaded the days that followed, each one a reminder that soon, the love you shared would crumble into nothing. You tried so hard to push the thoughts of leaving aside, to immerse yourself fully in the present, but they lingered, persistent and quiet. You knew that leaving would break you, carve wounds so deep in your heart and soul that they might never heal, but you could never walk away—not when he looks at you every time with so much love and adoration—as though you had woven the stars and moon into the night, casting light into a world he saw as nothing but dark and gloomy. And so you gave in, finally accepting the love that he was more than willing to give.

He never thought he’d feel like this, never thought that the day would come where someone would be able to tug at his heart strings—yet he wasn’t upset, quite the contrary rather. For the first time, he felt alive in a way he never had before, the walls he’d built around himself through time finally began to crack. Vulnerability wasn’t something Malleus was used to—but strangely it felt warm, normal, right. When he fell for you, he fell hard, wanting nothing more but to surrender every fragment of his soul to you. Who would have guessed that the great powerful mage would be capable of something so delicate?

Loving Malleus was easy, as did being with him. He was the epitome of a gentleman: greeting you with a gentle kiss on your hand and softly kissing your forehead whenever he bid you goodbye, surprising you with beautiful flowers “just because”, wiping away your tears with the softest touch, and soft whispers of his unwavering devotion. He knew you better than you knew yourself, recognizing your feelings even when you kept to yourself. He doesn’t push you to explain what’s troubling you; instead, he holds you gently, offering a warm embrace that speaks to you in ways words never could. He loved you in every way he knew how to. And he knew that loving you would also mean letting you go. 

“Hush now, child of man. It’s going to be okay,” his voice was muffled as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of you one last time. You felt the warmth of his tears against your skin as his grip tightened, as if he were holding onto the last thread of something beautiful. Your sobs erupted once more, harder this time, your heart breaking as you cried into his chest, his hand gently caressing your hair in a feeble attempt to soothe you. God, you were going to miss him.

“It’s not going to be okay! Wanna stay here with you, just like I promised.” Your voice broke. He then pulls you away from his embrace, his eyes bloodshot, tears staining his face. He tried to hold a smile, but it was fragile, as if he were breaking inside too—which, he is. Despite all the hurt and pain painting his features, he still looked beautiful, curse him and his gorgeous face.

He anticipated this, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I know,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I know, but sometimes promises... are not meant to last. And it hurts me greatly, my love.” His hand brushed your cheek, his touch soft and gentle. "But I can’t do anything to change things, I wish I could, but I can't... not this time."

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the thought of never feeling his warmth again, never having late-night walks with him again, never hearing the corny jokes he pulled just to make you laugh, never hearing his voice again, never seeing him again. “I don’t want to forget you, Tsunotaro…”

His expression softened, but it didn’t stop the tears that slipped from his eyes. He stroked your face gently, trying to memorize the feeling of you. “You won’t forget me,” he said, but his voice trembled, betraying his own doubt. “I’ll always be a part of you, even when I’m not there, because a piece of me will always live within you, just as a part of you resides in me, forever intertwined. In every step you take, in every laugh you share, in the quiet moments when you think of me. I’ll live in those.”

The thing with love is that it breaks you as much as it heals you, and though you don’t regret being with Malleus, you regret not having enough time with him. There was never enough time to keep loving each other as you longed to, never enough time to bare your heart completely, never enough time to love him with all the depth your heart had to give before the world demanded you let go.

You connected your forehead with his, feeling him once more. Tsunotaro’s face twisted with pain, his own tears mixing with yours. “I want to be with you as well, maybe even more than you do, but we can’t twist fate, my dove. You belong in that world, and I belong here.” he says, and you don’t know if he’s convincing you or himself, maybe the latter. 

You knew deep down that his absence would create a void that nothing could fill, and you couldn’t shake the fear that in the end, the memory of him would start to fade, piece by piece. “I’ll miss you, Tsunotaro, so damn much.” you whispered, your voice shaky, the weight of your words heavier than you had ever known.

“I will too, child of man.” he responded, his voice low, thick with the same sorrow that gripped your heart—and he kissed you. A kiss that was filled with sorrow, yet so much love. A kiss that would forever be engraved in your memory. A kiss that he made sure you will never forget. A kiss that you knew would be the last. As he pulled away, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, his gaze tender, but filled with an undeniable weight. You could see the love in his eyes, but there was also the painful understanding that this was it—this was the end. The end of something beautiful, something irreplaceable.

You reluctantly pulled away from him, the pain of doing so almost unbearable, and started making your way toward the mirror that would lead you back home. Before stepping through, you glanced back at him. “I promise to visit when the time comes. Make sure you don’t fall in love with someone else while I’m gone okay? Or else I’d kill you myself.” you joke, as he chuckles in response.

“I wouldn’t even dream of being with someone other than you, I’ll be awaiting your arrival, no matter how long it takes.” You turned your gaze forward, fearing that when you looked at him for much longer, you’d run back into his arms and refuse to leave. 

“I love you, Malleus.” you whispered, just before stepping into the mirror, knowing you were leaving a piece of yourself behind.

“I love you too Y/N.” he answers back but you didn’t even hear him, because you were already gone, taking his heart with you.

When you turned around, the mirror had vanished, and so had he. A strange sense of relief washed over you, being back, but deep down, you knew this wasn’t truly your home. Because home wasn’t a place—it was a person. It was your Tsunotaro. It was Malleus.

all rights reserved to © suguslve.

[becertainlust]

doctor!law who always maintains his stoic professionalism with every patient—except when it comes to you. He insists it’s “just routine” that he visits you so frequently, ensuring your health is progressing as it should.

Morning rounds start with him pulling up a chair beside your bed, his amber eyes scanning your chart with precision. But even as his hands work with practiced ease, the way his thumb lingers on the edge of the clipboard suggests something more. His voice is low but gentle, asking how you slept, what you ate, and how you’re feeling, as though he’s committing every detail to memory.

At night, long after visiting hours have ended, his familiar silhouette appears in the doorway of your hospital room. He claims he’s just finishing his notes or double-checking the evening staff’s updates. Yet, somehow, he always ends up seated beside you, shoulders relaxing as you talk about your day. You notice the faint smirk tugging at his lips when you tease him about working too hard.

The truth is, Law tells himself he’s just being thorough. That it’s his job to ensure his patients feel cared for. But deep down, he knows no one else has ever drawn him in quite like you—no other voice has ever made him want to stay so desperately beyond his hours.

doctor!law who doesn’t do sentiment. At least, that’s what he claims, his sharp gaze and sharper tongue scaring off most patients from ever trying to get too familiar. But when it comes to you, it’s different—not that he’d ever admit it.

“You’ve been sitting around too much,” he says one afternoon, his voice cutting through the soft hum of your hospital room. “Come on.”

Before you can protest, he’s helping you to your feet with that infuriating air of calm authority. You don’t miss the way his hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, steadying you like he’s worried you might topple over.

“I didn’t ask for a walk,” you mutter as he leads you down the hall.

He doesn’t even look at you, his pace deliberate but not rushed. “And I didn’t ask for a stubborn patient, but here we are.”

The courtyard is quiet, bathed in golden afternoon light. Law doesn’t bother making small talk as you stroll—he’s never been one for unnecessary chatter. But his sharp eyes track every step you take, scanning you for even the slightest sign of discomfort.

“Stop pushing yourself,” he orders when you quicken your pace, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You’re such a control freak,” you tease, trying to coax a reaction out of him.

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his usual scowl. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

Despite his gruff demeanor, there’s a strange comfort in his presence. He doesn’t fill the silence with platitudes or false cheer—he just is, his calm steadiness grounding you in a way nothing else can.

When the walk ends, and he’s escorting you back to your room, he slows, his voice softer now. “If you feel worse later, tell me. Don’t wait until morning rounds.”

“Do you always go this far for your patients?” you ask, half-joking.

He gives you a sidelong glance, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “No,” he says simply. “I don’t.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he walked away.

doctor!law who doesn’t entertain nonsense. That’s the image he maintains in the hospital’s halls and the workers’ lounge. The moment someone brings up the whispers about him and his favorite patient, he scoffs, eyes narrowing as if the very idea irritates him.

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, flipping a page in the medical journal he’s not really reading.

But when no one’s looking, his ears strain to catch the next part of the conversation.

“Did you see how he was walking with them in the courtyard yesterday? They looked so comfortable together,” one nurse says, voice filled with barely contained glee.

Another one chimes in, “Right? And the way he always stays late in their room? If that’s not a crush, I don’t know what is.”

Law’s fingers tighten around the edges of his book, his lips pressing into a thin line. Anyone watching would think he’s annoyed—but the faint flush creeping up his neck tells a different story.

“I’m sure they’re just being professional,” someone offers cautiously, only for another nurse to laugh. “Oh, please. That man has never gone out of his way for anyone like he does for them. He practically lives in their room.”

Law clears his throat loudly, snapping the room’s attention back to him. “If you have time to gossip, you have time to work,” he says, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

The nurses scatter, muttering apologies, and he goes back to pretending to read. But later, when he’s alone, he catches himself smirking faintly, replaying the words in his head.

He tells himself it’s absurd, that people are just reading too much into things. Yet, when he sees you later that evening and you joke about the “rumors,” he doesn’t deny them outright.

Instead, he leans against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed, a teasing glint in his amber eyes. “Apparently, I’m the topic of the day in the lounge. Care to explain why everyone thinks I’m obsessed with you?”

You raise a brow, smirking. “Maybe because you kind of are?”

He scoffs, though the tips of his ears turn red. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. If I’m here, it’s because you’re clearly a magnet for trouble. Someone has to keep you in check.”

But when he catches a glimpse of your smile and hears your laughter, he thinks, Maybe they’re not entirely wrong.

[arabella0001]

i writed like 2 days for this beloved man

kisuke doesn’t reveal his bankai often, lucky for you, he’s got plenty of other things he’s more willing to show

anime: bleach

pairings: kisuke urahara x reader

synopsis: curiosity killed the cat

warnings: long, a lot of tessing, edging, fingering, oral (male receiving), light rough sex, after care

You’ve always been aware of Kisuke.

He’s not the kind of man you can easily ignore. Whether it was that sly smile constantly tugging at his lips that makes him appearing carefree, his strategic mind always masking his true intentions or his frequently teasins others—expecially you. Kisuke Urahara had an irritating talent for making you blush. And as much as you found that part of him infuriatingly attractive, you never thought it was anything more than a game to him.

Why would it be? He’s teased you so many times it feels like second nature—just a harmless habit he indulged in because he could.

So you never let yourself think too much about him that way. It was easier to brush it off, to assume that was just who he was. Expecially when you’re not the only person he does this to.

But you’ve been working at Kisuke’s shop long enough to know when something’s up, like deflection from his true reasons.

His usual antics are predictable—constant teasing, sly remarks—but today feels different. His presence is present more, his touches wandering a little longer than usual, and the way his eyes track you isn’t just casual. It’s calculated.

You try to ignore it. It’s probably nothing.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself until he slides up behind you while you’re reorganizing shelves. His hand finds your shoulder, fingers snaking lazily around it.

His breath is warm against your ear, the flirtatious edge unmistakable.

“Well, well… look at you. Working so hard today. I hardly recognize you”

You fumble with the item in your hand, nearly dropping it. He’s too close—too casual about the way he leans in, his chest almost brushing your back. Is not like your touch deprived, but you’re not used to it, and his attractive persona and unconventional charm doesn’t help either.

“I-I just want to finish up quickly,” you stammer, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “The faster I finish, the sooner I can get home.”

“Oh? In a hurry, are we?” His voice dips lower, humor lacing around every word.

You feel his gaze on you, unwavering, even as you force yourself to focus on the shelves.

Kisuke steps in closer, his arm brushing against yours as he pretends to help by reaching for something—his fingers grazing yours. If you believe in coincidences, that is.

“Home’s nice and all,” he murmurs, voice quiet enough that it feels just for you. “But I can’t help but wonder… no date waiting for you?”

Your breath catches. You edge back, pretending to adjust a box. Why he is suddenly interested in this kind of answears?

Kisuke sees right through it, of course.

“A date?” you scoff, trying to recover. “Like I have time for that. I barely keep up with work here, let alone everything else.”

His smug smile widens. “Ah, yes. The ever-dedicated worker. Sacrificing love for labor. How tragic.” And you barely contain to don’t roll your eyes at that.

He leans in slightly. “A shame, really. I would’ve thought you’d have a long line of admirers by now.”

Your cheeks flush despite your best efforts, and you curse inwardly.

“I—I need a break,” you mutter, practically fleeing outside before he can say anything else.

His chuckle follows you out. “Take your time. I’ll be here if you miss me’’

You exhale, pacing just outside the shop.

What the hell is he doing today? Is he bored? Is he messing with you?

But after a few minutes, you manage to cool off. You tell yourself you’re imagining things, you need to just mind your business.

When you step back inside, Kisuke is laughing with the others, his usual breezy self. He’s chatting with Tessai and Jinta, but his eyes flicker toward you briefly—so brief it’s almost dismissible. Almost.

The day winds down, but the weight of his gaze follows you. Every now and then, when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, you catch him watching.

Evening comes, and after the last customer leaves, you finally snap.

“What’s your deal, Kisuke?” you blurt, arms crossing as you glare at him from across the room.

He pauses, leaning lazily against the counter. His hat tilts forward, shadowing his green eyes, but that damn grin remains.

“Deal?” he echoes, tapping his chin. “I’m just admiring your craftsmanship. Can’t a humble shop owner appreciate his employee’s dedication?”

You narrow your eyes, not buying it. “You never watch me like this.”

Kisuke chuckles, but the glint in his eye sharpens. “Well, you did say you wanted me to stop hiding behind jokes. I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

He steps forward. One step. Then another.

You retreat instinctively until your back brushes the wall. His hand lifts, palm flattening against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

You swallow hard, your eyes stretched in surprise. “Kisuke—”

“Oh?” His eyes flicker, and the usual playfulness deepens into something heavier, unsettling. “That’s the second time you’ve said my name like that. I’m starting to think you like this.”

His face looms over yours, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Well?” His voice lowers, teasing but firm. “Didn’t you ask me to stop playing around?”

Your pulse quickens. Heat rises in your chest. You didn’t see this coming at all.

“I… didn’t see expect this… whatever this is,” you admit, voice quieter than intended.

Kisuke hums softly, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, tilting your face up just enough to catch his eyes hidden behind the brim of his hat.

“Expect?” he repeats, the word rolling lazily off his tongue. “Sweet thing, I live to defy expectations.”

His gaze drops to your lips—smooth and slow. You notice. And he knows you notice.

His hand slips lower, fingers grazing your hip. Light enough to make you shudder, unrushed enough to know exactly what he’s doing.

Your eyes flick between his lips and his unreadable gaze. “You drive me insane,” you murmur, frustration blending with something else.

“I noticed,” he says easily, arrogant while tilting his head. “So… what are we going to do about it?”

You think for a moment and then.

You kiss him.

His response is immediate. One hand slides to the small of your back, tugging you body against him as his lips part against yours. The kiss deepens—measured but heated, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth, coaxing a quiet moan from you.

There’s a moment where his teasing pauses, lips parting as his head tilts back slightly.His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head further. He swallows every sound you make, his grip on your waist tightening.

You gasp when his lips trail down, nipping at the soft skin of your neck. A low, rumbling hum escapes his throat, as if savoring the way you feel beneath him.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” Kisuke chuckles against your skin, lips brushing just below your ear. His hand drifts lower, fingers teasing the curve of your thigh.

“Kisuke…” you manage, your voice shaky.

“Oh, I like the way you say my name,” he murmurs, his lips tracing your pulse. “But I think you can do better.”

His hand inches higher. There’s weight behind his touch, but it’s not rushed—it’s the slow, savoring kind of touch, as if he’s in no hurry to reach the finish line.

You groan softly, pressing closer. “Touch me.”

Kisuke’s breath hitches faintly. His smirk returns, curling lazily against your neck.

“Touch you?” he echoes, fingers skating just beneath the hem of your shirt. “My, my. Forward tonight, aren’t we?”

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers deftly unbutton your pants and slip inside, finding your already dampened panties. He rubs slow circles over your sensitive flesh, making you gasp into the kiss.

"Tsk tsk… Someone’s more responsive than I expected. Should I take credit for this?’’ he teases, nipping at your lower lip before trailing kisses along your jawline.

He pulls back just enough to gaze into your flushed face, a mysterious smile playing on his own lips.

“We wouldn’t want to cause a scene—at least, not here. Shall we?”

With a flick of his wrist, the store's security charms disappear, leaving the two of you alone amidst the shelves of Soul Society merchandise.

Your legs tremble as he continues to tease you through your underwear, the sensation of his fingers on your most intimate area driving you wild with need. You almost hate how your body reacts to him.

At his words, you glance around the shop, a mix of excitement and uncertainty coursing through you.

Noticing your glance, he let out a low scoff, fingers never ceasing their maddening caress. "Oh, don't worry, dear. No one will disturb us. These charms ensure our privacy."

He leans in close again as he whispers,’’Let’s take this somewhere more… accommodatin, hmm?’’

With a effortless motion, he lifts you onto the counter, the cold glass beneath your thighs a stark contrast to the heat building within you. His hands immediately resume their exploration, this time slipping beneath your skirt to push your panties aside.

"Such a responsive little thing, aren't you?" he muses, his thumb circling your clit as his big fingers delve deeper, stroking your slick inner walls.

You moan loudly, unable to hold back the pleasure as he touches you so intimately. Your hips buck against his hand instinctively, craving more friction.

"Oh god, Kisuke... Please... I need..."you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling to him desperately.

The way he's playing with your body, the filthy and teasing words spilling from his lips, you can feel the coil of tension in your pussy tightening, ready to snap at any moment.

"Just... Just make me come," you so close to begging, your voice trembling with desire "I can't take anymore..."

Kisuke's cheeky smirk widens as he watches your reactions, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed, hmm? Can't handle a little teasing?"

He slows his movements, letting his fingers just graze your sensitive spots, stoking the flames of craving rather than quenching them, looking at your submissive look, whimpering for release. He smirks at you, taking your mouth in an intense kiss, his movements low and precise, driving you mad.

He bite your lip and you moan, you can’t take it anymore.

“I hate you” you barely managed to let it out.

With a sudden shift, he resumes his previous rhythm, his fingers plunging deep and fast, hitting that exact spot inside you that left you trembeling.

"Ah… such harsh words for someone trembling under me." Kisuke’s chuckle vibrates against your skin, low and rich, the sound curling around you like smoke. "I must be doing something right to earn that kind of praise."

He drags his tongue along the curve of your throat again, lingering when he reaches the soft thrum of your pulse, his hand grabbing your hair with a light tug making you gasp.

"I wonder if you even realize how much you give away… Naughty thing, getting this worked up over a little attention."

He pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, eyes gleaming with that familiar glint of trouble. "Don’t worry, Y/N. I don’t mind. In fact…" He leans in, brushing his lips just barely over yours. "I find it rather endearing."

You can’t understand how his teasing words make you so aroused, your legs tremble so hard while your vision start blurring.

“Kisuke oh my—“

As your orgasm crashes over you, Kisuke's fingers continue their relentless strokes, prolonging your climax until you're writhing and sobbing with pleasure. Only when your spasms begin to subside does he slow, then withdraw his fingers from your still-quivering pussy.

He brings them to his lips, sucking your essence clean with a satisfied hum. Kisuke smooths down your skirt with practiced ease, his hands on you thighs "There we go—neat and presentable"

His tone is light, but the wicked gleam in his eyes betrays him. It’s as if he hadn’t just left you shaken and undone.

Without waiting for an answer, Kisuke pulls you to your feet gently, guiding you through the dimly-lit shop by your hands until you reach the tucked-away corner of his personal space. The faint scent of sandalwood lingers in the air, grounding yet evidently his.

His gaze flickers with desire as he eases you onto the couch, standing over you with a quiet intensity. "Now, let’s see… where were we?"

Kisuke’s fingers ghost over your skin as he undoes your clothing piece by piece, his movements deliberate but unhurried.

"Ah… what a sight," he muses, trailing a fingertip down the curve of your collarbone, his finger circling your swollen peck, hardening in his wake. “Almost as captivating as the hidden gems of this shop. But I must admit…" His eyes catch yours, glinting with something darker. "You’re far more tempting."

His hands continue their exploratory journey, tracing the curves of your body with a gentle firmness.

Kisuke’s fingers trace delicate patterns over your sensitive skin, your arms and waist, your thighs and hips, drawing out soft whimpers and gasps that only seem to fuel his amusement.

"Oh, I hear you loud and clear, darling. But let’t have a little patience…" his lips hover near your ear, his voice a velvety purr.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, your skirt slips to the floor, pooling at your feet. Kisuke steps back just slightly, his gaze roaming over you, drinking in the sight with a dangerous glint dancing behind his half-lidded eyes making you flusttered.

"Mmm… now that’s a view worth savoring." His fingers ghost along the edge of your lace panties, knuckles grazing your hips as if testing the boundaries of his self-control. "Let’s see what other secrets you’re hiding, shall we? I think these curves deserve a little more… attention."

His hand lingers, not moving further just yet, letting the weight of his words—and his gaze—sink into you.

Your cheek flush under his intense gaze “Your turn now” Kisuke's eyes still flash with amusement as you boldly strip him bare, revealing his lean, toned physique. He doesn't resist, instead leaning back to allow you full access.

"Well now, isn't this a surprise? The tables have turned, haven't they?" he remarks, his voice tinged with fascination intrigue.

As your hands wander across his body, eager and curious, Kisuke’s gaze never wavers.

His muscles tense beneath your palms, subtle but telling. His body responds instinctively, hips canting forward with a deliberate slowness that lets him draw out every second of pleasure.

"Careful now, Y/N… you might unearth secrets even I’ve forgotten I was hiding."

His hands slide effortlessly to your hips, fingers pressing in just enough to remind you who’s leading this dance. With a gentle tug, he pulls you against him, the heat between you igniting like a slow burn.

The heat of his body envelops you, and you can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your belly.

"Now, why don't you show me what else you're capable of, my little explorer?" he whisper, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips over the corner of your mouth

Kisuke's breath hitches as your lips and tongue trail a scorching path down his torso, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He threads his fingers through your hair, guiding you lower.

“Mmm… careful now, Y/N. You're treading dangerous ground," Kisuke muses, his voice low and laced with desire. "Once you start something like this… stopping isn’t so simple."

His warning is light, but there’s no real intention behind it. He makes no move to dissuade you, his gaze fixed intently as you sink to your knees before him. His eyes widen slightly, that flirtatious glint tempered by something far more primal.

"Oh? Bold as ever…" he murmurs, his head tilting slightly, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying just how much he’s enjoying this. "Tell me, my curious little kitten—" his hips shift forward, just enough to tempt, "—will you strike now, or are you going to let your prey squirm a little longer?"

The challenge hangs between you, thick and electric, his gaze unrelenting as he waits for your next move.

You look up at him shyly, your eyes locked with his as you wrap your fingers around his rigid cock, giving it a slow squeeze.

Kisuke's eyes roll back, a low groan rumbling in his chest as your hand closes around his throbbing member. A shaky exhale slips through gritted teeth, and for once, the usual witty remarks are replaced by quiet, indulgent groans.

He rocks his hips, subtly thrusting into your grasp, seeking more of that exquisite pressure. The sight of your flushed cheeks and lust-filled eyes only fuels his arousal. His pupils dilate, lingering on your errotic position as if committing the image to memory.

"Look at you, so bold and daring," he praises, his voice strained with pleasure.

With a fluid motion, he guides your head closer, the tip of his erection brushing against your parted lips. "Why don't you put that clever mouth of yoursto use, hmm?´’ He tilts his head slightly as he watches your reaction unfold. "No pressure, of course… but I’d hate to think all that potential is going to waste."

Kisuke's breath catches in his throat as you take him into your mouth, his hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Well, well, looks like someone's eager to please—mmm”

His gaze lingers, drinking in every reaction you give, clearly savoring the effect he has on you. He felt your throat muscles flutter around his cock, the vibration of your muffed moans make it so hard for him to control himself.

His eyes narrow slightly, his usual demanour unexpected slipping into something more untamed, running his fingers through your hair, guiding you to take him deeper, he is panting as your tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his cock—it was pure eroticism.

Kisuke's gaze bores into you, his expression a mix of playful smugness and intense focus. He's clearly enjoying the sensation, but there's an undercurrent of something more – a challenge, a game of cat and mouse.

Kisuke's breath hitches again as you increase your efforts, his grip on your hair tightening reflexively, his knuckles turning white.

He press forward hitting the back of your mouth. He held still for a moment, savoring the sensation of being deepthroated by you. He tries to maintain his composure, but the intensity of your oral attentions and you innocent flushed cheecks is quickly eroding his defenses.

"Hah... Y/N, you naughty minx," he manages to gasp out between clenched teeth, his hips beginning to piston faster. "If you keep that up, I won't be responsible for my actions."

Despite his warning, Kisuke allows himself to surrender to the pleasure, his movements becoming more erratic and forceful. His groans make clear he won't last much longer under your skilled onslaught.

He decided to pull out before is too late, panting heavily. He lifts you onto the plush couch, his hands roaming your curves with a possessive touch while you still recover, face ravished and your voice more hoarse.

“Time for the main event, my dear. Are you ready to see what this old fox is truly capable of?" his eyes is searching yours, looking for consent “May I continue?”

Seeing you nod immediately, he settles between your thighs, his hard length nudging against your entrance. With a wicked grin, he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely penetrating you before withdrawing making you whimper.

Kisuke's fingers dig into your hips as he grips them, holding you in place as he lines himself up once more. This time, he drives forward with a smooth, powerful stroke making you moan loudly as he fills you completely, your nails digging into his back.

“Ahhh—“ Kisuke's lips curve into a triumphant smirk as he feels you stretch around him, your inner walls clenching tightly around his invading length.

His back arches subtly, muscles rippling beneath your touch. He stills for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried so deeply inside you, making him gasp. There’s a hitch in his rhythm, as if even he can’t maintain the act when it feels this good.

"Oh, I think the gods are very pleased indeed," he teases, his voice low and rough with satisfaction. "To think, I was worried you might not be able to handle me after all."

With a subtle shift of his hips, Kisuke begins to move, setting a languid, sensual rhythm that has you panting, writhing beneath him. His hands roam your body, caressing and exploring every inch of skin he can reach.

You can’t even control your moans, bucking your hips to meet his deep thrusts

“Fuck fuck fuck—“

Kisuke's eyes glint with delight as he listens to your impassioned cries, his hips snapping against yours with increased urgency. His teeth graze your earlobe, breath hot against your skin. "Don’t worry. I’ll give you exactly what you need”

Kisuke's hands slide down to hold your thighs, spreading them wider as he picks up speed, driving into you with long, deep strokes that have you teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“Mmmm…you are too big” Kisuke's smirk widens at your indirect praise, his chest puffing up with masculine pride. "Of course I am, dear. After all, I am a master of my craft."

He punctuates his statement with a particularly forceful thrust, grinding against your sensitive clit as he bottoms out inside you. "But size isn't everything, now is it? It's how I wield it that truly matters."

Kisuke's fingers dig into your thighs, holding you steady as he continues to pound into you with relentless precision, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep within. A soft groan escapes him, muffled against the curve of your neck, and his fingers flex—digging in just enough to leave faint marks in their wake.

Kisuke's smile widen as he watches you writhe beneath him"Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you? Getting so nicely worked up on my cock.

He rolls his hips, grinding against you with a tantalizing slowness that has you arching off the couch. "I must admit, I'm rather fond of seeing you like this - all flushed and desperate for release. It's quite...flattering, really."

Kisuke's hands skim down your sides, his fingertips dancing along your ribs in a maddeningly light touch.

Your whole body trembeling with the effort of holding back you orgasm “Kisuke…please harder—“

Kisuke's eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise at your plea, a wicked gleam entering his eye. “Harder, you say? Oh, but where's the fun in that, my dear?"

He slows his pace to a teasing crawl, his cock dragging deliciously against your sensitive inner walls. “You know, some people might call this torture. But I prefer to think of it as...extended pleasure."

Kisuke's hands tighten your hips, pulling you onto him with a sudden, brutal thrust that has you crying out in a combination with pleasure and agony. "There, does that hit the spot? Or would you like me to continue our delightful game?”

As you let out a piercing scream, Kisuke's eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense and unyielding. He doesn't break eye contact as he plunges deep, his thick length stretching you to the limit. He presses his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged but steady, as his lips curl into a faint smirk.

“Such a beautiful sound, ,Y/N he murmurs while his hips begin to move again, each thrust precise and powerful, designed to drive you wild with pleasure. His hands roam your body, fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he pours all his focus into bringing you to the brink and beyond.

Kisuke’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he senses your impending climax, his eyes never leaving yours.

His hips snap forward with a particularly deep, forceful thrust as he aims to send you hurtling over the edge “Don’t hold back now… I’m enjoying the show."

Kisuke's fingers flex against your skin, his movements become more urgent, driven by the need to bring you to completion and savor the rush of your release.

Kisuke's expression shifts from playful to utterly focused, his eyes burning with intensity as he watches you unravel beneath him and for a fleeting moment, you feel the raw, unfiltered need behind his touch.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you, his own orgasm crashing over him in tandem with yours. Kisuke's hips jerk erratically as he spills deep inside you, his hot seed painting your inner walls as he rides out the aftershocks.

Kisuke’s breathing slows, but the satisfied grin on his lips remains as if permanently etched there. His blond hair falls messily over his eyes, though the sharp glint behind them remains as he leans back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Well, well… I’d say that was time well spent,” he muses, voice low and lazy, but pleased with himself. “You look like you’ve had your fill. Though, I wouldn’t mind another round of applause for my efforts.”

His words drip with a harmless humour, but there’s something softer beneath it—something he won’t name, even if you asked.

Kisuke stretches out on the couch beside you, one arm props his head up, while the other lazily draws faint shapes along the curve of your hip, like he’s absentmindedly tracing a map only he can read.

“You know,” he drawls, “for someone who claims not to trust me, you seem awfully comfortable right now. I’d almost say you like having me around.”

His gaze flickers to yours, watching for that telltale flicker of embarrassment he so dearly loves to coax out of you.

Kisuke’s chest still rises and falls against you, slow and deliberate, but there’s an alertness in his posture. He’s aware—always aware—and the slight downturn of your eyes doesn’t escape him. His fingers pause for half a second before resuming their lazy path.

“Well, you’re certainly more relaxed now,” he notes, watching you with that familiar sharpness. His hand shifts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead, tucking it behind your ear with careful precision. “Though, if this was your master plan to seduce me, I have to say… you could’ve just asked.” Your cheeck blush at his remark

“I hate to admit but indeed i’m relaxed” Your voice carry a playful cadence, but you catch his gaze lingers too long for it to be entirely superficial. You know him well enough to recognize it—he’s watching for something.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you shoot back, though your voice lacks its usual bite. You feel raw—too exposed under his gaze. It’s unfamiliar, needing something more than teasing remarks.

Kisuke laughs softly, but there’s a subtle shift in his expression. His hand doesn’t leave your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that feels almost foreign coming from him.

“My plan? Ohoho, I wish I could take credit for such a clever scheme,” he purrs, but the usual exaggerated flair is dialed back. “No, I just happen to be exceptionally gifted at identifying tension. And relieving it.”

His arm curls around your waist, pulling you just close enough for his nose to brush against your temple. He doesn’t press for more; the gesture is light, easy, like breathing. Kisuke smells faintly of sandalwood and something sharper—like incense that hasn’t quite burned out.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your hair, voice dropping into something softer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your body sinks into his chest almost involuntarily, and for once, Kisuke lets the silence hang between you. His fingers resume their slow path along your spine, tracing patterns that feel more like grounding than teasing.

“See?” he hums after a long pause, lips curving against the top of your head. “Much better. And you didn’t even have to buy me dinner first.”

You huff quietly against his chest, shifting enough to glare up at him, though the heat behind it doesn’t land.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when you make it this easy,” he replies without hesitation, flashing that trademark grin—the one that somehow manages to be both irritating and devastatingly charming in equal measure.

You bury your face against him with a muffled groan, and Kisuke’s laughter rumbles beneath your ear, quiet but genuine. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, cradling it as though the gesture requires no thought at all.

“You’re dangerous,” you murmur into his shirt, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Oh, I know,” Kisuke replies smoothly. “I’ve been told it’s part of my charm.”

You sigh, half-annoyed, half-amused—because of course he’d say that. But his hand hasn’t left your back, and the warmth pooling in your chest tells you that maybe, just maybe, he does know exactly what you need.

After a few moments, you shift slightly. “Will you walk me home?”

Kisuke hums, tilting his head to glance down at you, his eyes half-lidded but alert.

“Walk you home?” he echoes, tapping a finger against his chin as if in deep thought. “Mmm, tempting. But then I’d have to give up this incredibly comfortable spot I’ve secured for myself.”

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. “Kisuke—”

“Or…” he interrupts smoothly, lips curving as his gaze sharpens with that familiar playful glint. “You could stay the night. Much less effort. And far safer for both of us.”

You arch a brow at him. “For both of us?”

Kisuke’s grin widens, shameless. “Oh yes. I’m very fragile, you know. I’d sleep much better with you here to protect me.”

Despite yourself, a quiet chuckle escapes your lips. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He leans closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “And I promise to behave. Well… mostly.”

His smirk is impossible to resist, but something in his tone—something subtle, beneath the teasing—feels sincere enough to ease whatever lingering vulnerability lingers in your chest.

“…Alright. Thank you.”

Kisuke pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes softening as he presses a light kiss to your forehead.

“No need to thank me, darling,” he murmurs, already tugging the blanket over you both with the finesse of someone who planned this outcome all along. “Now, get comfortable. I expect payment in the form of breakfast tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but your body presses closer all the same, the comfort of his presence settling over you like second nature.

“Fine. But I’m not making you anything fancy.”

Kisuke cackles softly, tucking you against him with ease.

“That’s alright,” he replies, lips grazing your temple one last time. “You’re all the sweetness I need.”

another smut with bleach

aizenxuraharaxreader

aizenxreader

a small appreciation for: @apocalypsesushi-chan

[taehyungsgrowl]

birthday cake

hi! it is one of my best friends birthday today (happy birthday, reyna ily) and so here is a little yoongi birthday fic 🩷

in which yoongi decides to make a cake for his gf…

just blushy yoongi. fluff. slightly suggestive. no smut!

Yoongi found himself standing in the middle of his tiny kitchen, apron tied around his waist, frantically flipping through a baking book. He hadn’t baked in God knows how long, but today was different—today was Y/N's birthday, and he was determined to surprise her with the perfect cake.

He glanced at the clock, nodding to himself—plenty of time before she’d be back. No need to worry. After all, how hard could making a birthday cake be?

He regretted those thoughts instantly, rushing the first layer of cake back to the counter—if you could call it rushing. The kitchen was a disaster: eggshells scattered like confetti, flour dusting every surface (mixing in with the few strands of gray that nestled between his black hair), half-used sticks of butter, and sugar in places sugar should never be. "Ah, ah, ah..." His fingers danced under the baking tray, trying to avoid the heat, even through his thick baking mitts.

He shoved everything he could into the sink, trying to make room for the first cake layer. This couldn’t be the only way to do it—he had to have missed a step. What do you mean he had to repeat the whole process for the second layer? He muttered curses under his breath. Why hadn’t he thought to grab a second pan? Now he’d have to clear the one he was using, then make the frosting, decorate the cake, clean up, decorate the house, and still somehow look presentable. Where had the time gone? Y/N would be home any minute, and the kitchen looked like a war zone—with no cake in sight.

Yoongi's phone vibrated in his back pocket, taking him out of his zone. Her face flashed on his screen from the incoming call. Panic started to set it. She'd have to be on her way if she was calling! He tried to get it together and answered the call. "Hi honey," she could hear the smile in his voice, "Happy Birthday."

"Yoongi, you've already wished me a happy birthday," she laughed, adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder as she walked down the street.

Yoongi’s phone was wedged between his shoulder and neck, his head tilted just enough to keep it in place. His hands were busy, stirring the cake mixture as he tried to work the clumps out. "Yeah, I know I already said it, but I mean it. I want you to have the happiest day—every day, really. How was lunch with your sister?" He was proud of how carefree he could sound despite the anxiety this cake was giving him.

"Great! I'm actually calling you to tell you that she's taking me to go pick out my gift so I'll be back at a little later than expected -"

"He'll be fineee," he heard Y/N's sister whine in the background.

"Tell her I say hello too," he chuckled, "And not to keep you too late -she has to share." He couldn't stop the pout from forming on his lips, but he was also started making a mental list of ways he could thank Y/N's sister for buying him time. It was gonna be okay!

He quickly resumed his work, moving through the kitchen at the speed of light (or so it felt - but he had to keep stopping to check the instructions and recipe).

Yoongi carefully tried to lift the first cake layer, hoping he could slide it onto the cooling rack without incident. But as he moved it, the spatula slipped, and the edge of the cake tipped over the side. The layer landed with a soft thud on the counter, its corner now crumpled and slightly bent.

“C’mon, don’t fall apart now,” he muttered, his heart rate picking up. He gently tried to lift the cake, but the soft edges were starting to crumble under his touch.

With a frustrated sigh, he quickly steadied the layer, praying it wouldn’t collapse entirely. The last thing he needed was for this to fall apart before he even got to the frosting.

He glanced nervously at the clock—Y/N would be home soon, and this wasn’t exactly the picture of a perfect cake. "This is fine," he told himself, wiping his hands on his apron. “It’s fine. I’ll fix it.”

He gently placed the cake back on the rack, willing the crumbling edges to hold. It wasn’t perfect, but it was salvageable. At least, he hoped it was. Frosting fixes everything, right?

After more work, Yoongi stepped back and looked at the scene with a small, exhausted sigh. The cake wasn’t perfect, but it was finished—mostly intact and topped with a layer of frosting that, while not “artistic,” at least covered the obvious flaws. He gave a quick glance at the clock again. Y/N would be home soon!

He quickly grabbed a rag, scrubbing down the surfaces, and tossing used utensils into the sink. He kept glancing over at the cake, praying that it would stay intact for a few more minutes. It wasn’t perfect, but he was determined to make it look like he had it all together.

His mind was already racing to the next task. The house. He had to make it look less like a disaster and more like a cozy birthday surprise. Yoongi hurried through the living room, straightening the pillows on the couch and turning on her favorite candle. He didn’t have time for perfection, but he could at least make the place feel welcoming. He placed the happy birthday banner up on the wall. The fresh bouquet of flowers gently placed in a vase. It was all coming along!

The door opened just as Yoongi finished adjusting the last of the decorations. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly wiped his hands on the apron, glancing around the living room one last time to make sure everything was in place. It wasn’t perfect—there were still a few flour smudges on the counter, and he hadn't quite managed to get the place spotless—but it would have to do.

He opened the door with a wide grin, his eyes lighting up as he saw Y/N standing there her face lighting up when she spotted him.

“Happy birthday!” he exclaimed, his voice a little too loud, a little too eager. The words came out with so much enthusiasm, but that was fine—he was just relieved she was finally home.

Y/N smiled back at him, her eyes softening in that way they always did when she looked at him. "You didn’t have to do all this," she said, looking at the decorations and then back at him. "It looks amazing."

Yoongi’s heart fluttered at the compliment, but before he could say anything more, Y/N’s eyes flickered down, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Uh… Yoongi,” she started, her gaze narrowing in on the corner of his mouth. “I think you missed a spot.” She reached up and gently wiped her thumb across his lip, picking up a small smudge of chocolate frosting that he hadn’t noticed. Without missing a beat, placed the thumb in her mouth sucking it clean, slow and deliberate.

Yoongi’s face went red as he stepped back, blinking in surprise. "What? Oh," he chuckled, his voice soft as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I, uh... might’ve taste-tested the cake. Can’t risk it being too sweet, right?”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to her thumb, then back to her, his breath catching in his throat. He was blushing so hard he could feel the heat creeping up to his ears.

He flashed her a sheepish smile, still standing in the doorway in his apron, realizing only now how ridiculous he must look. “I kind of got caught up in... well, the cake... and, uh, decorating…” He gestured vaguely to the living room. “You know, the usual birthday chaos.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and warm. She stepped inside, giving him a playful shove. "You're adorable," she teased, brushing past him to take in the rest of the room. “But seriously, you didn’t have to go all out like this. I’m happy just being with you.”

Yoongi felt a swell of warmth in his chest as he closed the door behind her. “I wanted it to be special,” he said quietly, his gaze softening as he watched her smile.

“Don’t worry, it is,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with a wink. "Though, I might have to help you with that messy kitchen... and maybe some other things later."

Yoongi followed her into the kitchen and he nervously glanced at the cake, still standing in the kitchen with his hands behind his back. He couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck. "Uh, so..." He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "I, uh, made this for you."

He turned around slowly to reveal the cake—lopsided but covered in a thick, uneven layer of frosting, and sprinkled with a few hastily placed decorative touches. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely made with care.

Y/N smiled warmly, her eyes softening as she looked at the cake. "Wow, you really did this all yourself?" she asked, genuinely impressed. She leaned in closer, taking in the little imperfections with a fond smile. "I love it. It’s perfect."

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her as his heart raced. "I, uh, wanted it to be special. I know it’s not... fancy, but I—"

Before he could finish, Y/N leaned in, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Don’t worry," she said, her voice soft as she reached for the cake. "I think it’s perfect."

Without another word, she dipped her finger into the frosting and brought it to her mouth, licking it off slowly, savoring the taste. Yoongi’s breath hitched as he watched her, his pulse spiking. He tried to look away, but his gaze was glued to her finger and the way she cleaned it off, her eyes meeting his for just a second.

The warmth in his chest spread to his cheeks, and he immediately turned his head to hide the flush on his face. “Did you... like it?” he asked, his voice low. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest like it was about to leap out of his ribcage.

Y/N, still holding her finger to her lips, smiled coyly. “Mm, I do. It’s... sweet.” She licked her lips slowly, her gaze playful. “I think I’ll need more of this.”

Yoongi swallowed hard, the heat in his face intensifying. He opened his mouth to say something, but his brain couldn’t quite catch up with his racing thoughts. Instead, he just stammered, “Happy birthday, by the way…”

She let out a small giggle, stepping closer to him.

“Mm, the cake is really yummy," Y/N said with a smile, wiping a little frosting off her lips as her eyes locked with his. The look was gentle, but there was something in it—something more—something Yoongi recognized.

He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing. “I’m glad you like it," he murmured, his voice low. His hand reached for hers, fingers brushing her skin lightly.

Y/N’s thumb traced the back of his hand, the light touch sending warmth up his arm. She didn’t say anything more, but the silence between them was heavy with everything they’d been feeling in that moment. She was close and yet it wasn’t enough. Yoongi could feel his breath hitch as he gazed at her, his fingers tightening around hers just a little.

"Y/N," he breathed out, his voice soft but full of meaning. She didn’t pull back. Instead, she gave him a look that made his stomach flip, and the distance between them was gone.

He leaned in, his lips finding hers with a familiarity that made his heart race even more. It wasn’t tentative or hesitant. It was the kind of kiss they shared when there was nothing else in the world but the two of them. Yoongi’s hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb gently brushing her cheek as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer.

Y/N’s arms slid around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair, her body pressing into his. Yoongi’s chest tightened with the simple pleasure of having her so close, so warm. They kissed slowly, savoring the closeness, the sweetness of the moment. His tongue parted her lips as he deepened the kiss. He could taste the chocolate off her tongue.

Yoongi smiled as he heard her gasp against his kiss. He swallowed her sounds, his fingers gripping her hair.

Y/N's senses were everywhere. The sweet scent of the kitchen filling her nose, Yoongi's tongue tracing patterns as he kissed her, her fingers tangled in his hair.

She could feel him smirk as she gripped his hair and Yoongi made a mental note to keep his long length just a little longer (if it were up to Y/N, he knows he wouldn't be getting his hair cut any time soon).

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breath. Yoongi smiled softly, his fingers still tangled in her hair.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a little raspier than usual.

She smiled back, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Thank you, Yoongi," she said, brushing her lips lightly against his. "Best gift ever.”

Everything just felt right. It was simple—just them, the cake, and this little piece of happiness they’d carved out together.

[hees-mine]

L. Heeseung - Wrong One

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: mentions of smut, cursing, reader slaps heeseung, friends with benefits, alcohol, angst.

Genre: friends with benefits.

WC: 4,582k

-

“Are you staying the night?” You asked heeseung, the guy you’ve been friends with benefits with for four months, as he rolled over on the opposite side of the bed, breathing heavily.

You two had just finished your weekly routine. By routine, you meant the both of you fucking every last ounce of energy out of each other.

He wipes his palm over his face, wiping away the sweat that gathered at his hairline. “Nah,” he says and sighs shortly after. “I never stay, you know that.” he sits up on the bed once he’s regained enough stamina.

“Yeah…. I do know that” you reply disappointedly and pulled the blankets up to your chest while he stands up, searching for all his discarded clothes.

“So….” He starts out rolling the used condom down his shaft and tying it off before tossing it in your trash bin. “I was thinking we could do it at my place next week. My parents are out of town on vacation.” he pulls his boxers around his waist and then grabs his shirt that was thrown off in a corner, slipping it over his head. “That way, we can go for as long as we want and be as loud as we want to.” he turns to you and gives you a flirty wink, to which you only respond with an airy laugh and a forced half smile. “So, what do you think? Will you be coming over?” He questions once he’s fully dressed.

“Y-yeah, I will be.” You try your best to sound convincing like the idea of meeting him just for sex the next week was just as exciting as it was four months ago when this whole friends-with-benefits thing started.

“Okay, I’ll see you next week, don’t be late.” he heads to the door to your bedroom, slipping on his shoes.

“I won’t” you smile half heartedly and without so much as a bye he opens the door leaving you to clean up all by yourself.

“I know,” he smirks. “You can’t resist me.”

-

You on your way? It’s fifteen past ten.

You barely even noticed the alert tone go off on your phone if it wasn’t for the music in the club changing tracks you wouldn’t have.

Rolling your eyes at the screen, you dryly reply.

That was tonight? I totally forgot

You send to him.

How could you forget about me? We’ve been doing this for the past four months without fail.

He sits up on his bed, squinting slightly at his phone screen.

Must’ve slipped my mind once I had a few drinks.

It didn’t, but you couldn’t see him, not because of how you were feeling tonight. You needed some drinks to get your mind off of him, and you’re so glad your friend decided to accompany you as well.

Drinks? How many did you have? And where did you get them from?

He chews on his index fingernail softly while waiting for a reply.

I’m too drunk to answer all that, but I’m out with some friends.

You reply and down another shot, not caring about your missed date with heeseung.

I can come pick you up, give you some water, and we can finish where we left off if you want

That’s okay. I got a ride.

Oh

From who?

His name is Jake, but I really have to go now. I’ll talk to you sometime later.

Text me when you get home.

Heeseung sighed putting his phone aside and sighing. “Just great now what am I gonna do?” He looked down at the tent in his lap and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed you couldn’t make it he literally changed his sheets and took a shower and got his room ready for the occasion only for you to cancel on him.

Oh well, his parents would still be on vacation for another six days, and you and him could make up for lost time, but for now, he was gonna go to bed and try to forget about the bulge in his underwear.

-

Next week arrived, and you still hadn’t gotten together with heeseung at his place nor at school. Even though he texted you every day, you still hadn’t found time to fit him into your schedule at school. You’d always be running “late” or “not feeling well,” and you left all his text on seen, leaving him to believe you were avoiding him.

Especially after it had been two weeks since you hadn’t bothered to get in touch with him, could you really be that busy for two whole weeks?

Luckily he was able to flag you down today before you left school. “Y/n wait up!” He calls and you immediately stop in your tracks and turn around to face him for the first time in weeks you couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Hey,” you smile softly at him.

“Hey,” he says, sorta out of breath from running to catch up to you. “Just wanted to catch up. We haven’t seen each other in quite a while.”

“Yeah, about that, sorry.” You lowered your head, unable to make eye contact with him. “I’ve just been busy.”

“I see” he starts to walk beside you. “How about now? Do you got any free time for me?” He turns his head to the side to look at you.

“Sure,” you say, feeling unsure you wanted to be with him. You really did, but you wanted more than just sex, and he couldn’t give that to you. Sadly, he made it obvious, so distancing yourself from him felt like the best decision.

“Good, it’s only been two weeks, but I feel like I’m going crazy without feeling you.” he goes behind your back, hugging you as you both waddle down the street to his home. “Hmm, come to my place,” he whispers in your ear, kissing down your neck as he holds you by your torso. “Please?”

“Okay, hee.” You could feel his lips curling into a smile against your skin.

“Hmm, thank goodness I need to feel you so fucking bad” he nibbles your ear rubbing his cheek against yours as he walks you to his house.

Once you enter his house you trudge upstairs after him the sinking feeling making it’s way to your stomach as much as you wanted him the feeling of knowing you would never be with him fully was making you feel down and you barely even wanted to have this friends with benefits relationship with him anymore.

He kicked off his shoes and tossed his backpack to the side. “Come here baby” he sat down on the bed and patted his lap calling you over to him.

Read full story HERE!

-

[goblinontour]

For Him

it’s all for him

warnings: explicit love

word count: 6k

Love doesn’t even begin to cover it. Love — the all-encompassing, all-consuming, above-all-else feeling. Love doesn’t feel adequate. Love doesn’t even come near enough to describe it. To describe what this is, what you feel, what he is to you. Love is a shallow word, a placeholder, a stand-in for something bigger, something you can’t name and never will. Will not be able to. 

It was there, though. Love was there. From the first moment you felt him. The moment you touched him, and you wished, in the quiet, echoing depths of your soul, that you’d met him earlier. Earlier, because there will never be enough of him.

And maybe if you’d had another year, you could have settled for love. Another month, and maybe it would have been enough to fill the spaces he’s carved out of you. Another day, and maybe you wouldn’t be here, aching, wanting, needing more. Another minute, and maybe the hollowness wouldn’t ache so much. Another second, and you might have been fuller.  

Fuller of him.

Because every second he doesn’t fill feels empty — even when they’re crowded with the thoughts of him. Those haunting thoughts of him. They are heavy. They linger. They never leave. Because you won’t let them. Because you can’t bear to let them go, even when they so desperately fight to dissolve. To let him go, even in your mind, feels unbearable. Because you can’t miss any more of him. You won’t allow it. It would hurt more than hanging onto those desperate thoughts. 

And the thought of goodbye? Nothing’s worse than saying goodbye. Saying goodbye to him, even the him you keep stored away in your head. It feels a little bit like dying. 

It feels worse than dying.  

You don’t miss him. You can’t. He’s here. His body beside you, his warmth in the bed. But you still long for him, as if there’s a piece of him somewhere else, just out of reach. A part of him you’ll never touch.  

If love’s not enough — will never be enough — then why? Why do you love him? Why do you love him so much that it splits you open and spills you out to make more room for him? Why do you love him when it hurts more often than it doesn’t?  

But then, he stirs. A faint, lazy shift beside you, and your heart lurches toward him. His hair is mussed, dark locks curling over his forehead, and you can feel the warmth of his skin before you even touch it. His breathing slows, evens, and your chest tightens. You lean in, closer than close, lips grazing the shell of his ear. 

There is nothing to be afraid of.

“I love you.”

The words come quiet, soft. You whisper them because saying them too loudly would only make it feel like acknowledging their insufficiency. Like shining a light on the void that still exists, even in love. So you keep them quiet and hope — hope — hope that they’re enough. At least for him. Enough for him to understand a fraction of what you mean. Of what it truly is. 

Because it’s more than love. It’s greater than affection. Beyond. Beyond the hugs and beyond the words or the way you hold him. More. More than the way he holds you back, like the two of you are all that’s keeping the world from breaking apart. Because you’d fall apart without each other there. Holding it all together, together. Yourselves and the other. 

“I think you’re supposed to say, ‘Happy Birthday.’” he murmurs, his voice slow and drowsy, still thick with sleep even though the sun hangs high in the sky. 

Almost noon.

You glance up at him, his eyelids heavy, his lips curling into the faintest trace of a smile. The kind of smile that’s more reflex than effort, born out of his teasing rather than true amusement.  

He doesn’t sleep well at night. He never has. He calls it wasting time, lying awake in the dark, restless, as if sleep itself is a thief robbing him of moments he’ll never get back. Time. Precious time. He treats it like gold dust, hoarded and spent with care, but never wasted.  

And yet, come morning — or afternoon — he always regrets it. Always drags himself out of bed with a sigh, muttering about the hours he’s lost. Same guilt, same cycle. A war between the time he holds too tightly and the time that slips away.  

Precious, precious time. 

You smile faintly against his skin. “I don’t want to remind you you’re getting old.”  

“You don’t want to remind yourself.” he corrects, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk. He’s always right, even when you don’t want him to be. Especially when you don’t want him to be. He’s always right.

“It’s okay, little love.” he says, and his voice wraps around you like a blanket never could, soft and warm but never suffocating. “I don’t mind it. But don’t worry too much. You’re making it sound like I’m eighty.”  

“Sorry.” you whisper, and you don’t know why you’re apologising, but you do it anyway. You shift closer, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling the faint, musky warmth of him. Now that he’s awake, you don’t have to be so careful. No tiptoeing so as not to disturb. You can disturb him now, without feeling as guilty. He won’t mind.  

“I love you too, just so you know.” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.  

You press your ear to his chest, to feel, and listen, and then feel some more. His skin is warm and sticky, still, from sleep. Sticky enough that your ear almost gets suctioned on there and you can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your cheek more than his voice. 

Thumping. 

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

“I know.” you say. Barely audible. You don’t want to risk drowning out that sound. Of his heartbeat. You close your eyes and let it fill you, every hollow, aching part of you.  

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

Time feels cruel. You don’t say it, but you feel it. Time that keeps slipping through your fingers, dragging you both forward. But for now, there’s this. 

For now, it’s enough.  

It has to be.

“I didn’t get you anything.” you whisper again, even quieter this time, as though saying it aloud might further cement your failure. 

Your breath feels shallow, as though the confession has siphoned all the air from your lungs. You can feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, his warmth enveloping you, but it’s not enough to quiet the churn of guilt in your stomach. Your hands fidget against the hollow in the middle, that perfect slope that you imagine deepens every time you lay on it, tracing patterns in the heat of his skin.  

You didn’t. You didn’t get him anything because nothing felt like enough. If love wasn’t enough, how could a thing — a mere object, bought and wrapped and handed over — ever suffice? How could you trust that a trinket, something so tangible and small and fleeting, could carry the weight of everything you wanted him to know? What you needed him to feel? Everything you couldn’t say. If love wasn’t enough, how could you put your faith in anything else?  

If love wasn’t enough, how could anything be?  

“That’s fine.” he says. He’s impressively calm, unbothered, compared to your chronic restlessness. His fingers brush over your arm in slow, lazy strokes, as if to soothe you. He shifts slightly beneath you, adjusting his arm around your back. His fingertips trail lightly against your spine.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.

But his reassurance doesn’t land. You can’t stop. You can’t stop the words from spilling out, your voice trembling, faster now, desperate to explain, disjointed and raw. “I just-” You swallow hard. Your throat tightens. You press your cheek harder against his chest. “You already have it all. I didn’t know what to get you that you couldn’t just…get yourself. And I- I ran out of time…time. I thought about it too long, and then I woke up today, and it was too late.”  

“Sweetie…”

Your hands press against him, fingers curling slightly, clinging to the safety of his presence. You can’t look at him. You can’t risk it. You can’t risk seeing the disappointment that might linger in his eyes. The possibility of it burning in there would undo you completely, and you’re already teetering on the edge.  

You keep your gaze fixed on his collarbone, unable to look up. 

You can’t risk it. 

“Sweetie, stop.” he says. He’s firm. The words slice through your spiralling thoughts.  

You hear the barely there hiss of his breath, a flicker of frustration. And in that moment, your chest tightens, and the guilt surges forward. You fucked up. He exhales a soft huff that brushes against the crown of your head. You feel the faintest shift in his chest. You’ve said too much, and now you’ve ruined something.  

Everything.

But then his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. He wraps himself around you like armor. Firm, his hands warm against your back, his hold so secure that it feels like the world outside of him doesn’t exist. He wraps himself around you so completely. The kind of embrace that makes you feel small and safe, protected in a way that nothing else does.  

He holds you tighter, tighter still, until the edges of you blur into him. He holds you so tightly you know you’d have to fight to escape. Until you know that escape is impossible.

Not that you’d ever try. You’d never want to.  

“Sorry.” you murmur against his chest.  

“No.” he says, sharp and immediate with an insistence that leaves no room for doubt. His hands move, one slipping up to the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, the other splaying wide across your back. “No, no. You were right.” His voice softens and drops into something gentler. 

You hesitate, confused, and your body tenses slightly against him. He must feel it, because his hand on your back begins to move in slow, soothing circles, the friction of his palm against your shirt creating a faint warmth.  

“I have everything.” he continues.  

He pauses, and the silence stretches out. And again, all you can hear is the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear. 

Beating.

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

The rhythmic pulse of life. It’s almost enough to drown out the self-doubt still clinging to you.  

“Right ‘ere.” he finally says, his voice breaking just slightly on the words.  

And then he inhales, so deep you feel the tremor in him, the slow expansion of his chest pressing into yours, the way he seems to pull the air in as if it might just be the thing holding him together. He holds it in. Exhales slowly. Like he’s releasing something, letting it go into the space between you. 

“I have you ‘ere.” he whispers. “That’s enough.”  

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just lie there, your body pressed against his, your hands gripping him. His words feel warmer and heavier than his body, sinking into your skin, and for the first time in hours — maybe days — it begins to ease.  

Slowly, cautiously, you lift your head. You finally look up at him, chin resting on his chest — right in that special spot. When your eyes finally meet his, you see nothing but softness. There’s no disappointment there. No frustration. Just him. Just Alex, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.  

And for a moment, the ache eases.  

You search his face, your gaze tracing the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the messy curls that fall across his forehead. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink. He just watches you, patient and steady, like he’s willing you to understand.  

You do. 

You let yourself believe him.  

For a moment, you let yourself believe that you are enough. 

So you watch.  

You look, and you study, and you wish — desperately — that your eyes were fitted with tiny microscopes so you wouldn’t miss a thing. You don’t want to miss a thing. You want to memorise every detail, every imperfection, every fleeting expression that might escape you if you look away too soon.  

Your gaze drifts to the corners of his eyes, to the faint wrinkles that fan out like delicate etchings. You start counting them, one by one, as you always do, wondering if there are more than last year, or even yesterday. You always count, and yet you never remember the last number. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your eyes move to his forehead, and you study the lines there, the ones that seem a little deeper than they used to. They’re there constantly now, carved into his skin like tiny scars from years of raising his eyebrows just so. He says it’s to soften his expression, to make himself look less unapproachable to the outside world.  

You think it’s ridiculous.  

You’ve told him that before — how silly he looks when he does it, like he’s trying to imitate some wide-eyed, overly eager version of himself. You’ve teased him for it, and he’s laughed, but still, he does it.  

He says his face falls weird when he’s neutral, and this, apparently, is the fix. You think it’s unnecessary. You like his face as it is — neutral, serious, tired, upset. Whatever he is, it’s fine.  

Because it’s him.  

It’s him, and it’s real, and you wouldn’t change a thing.  

Your hand moves instinctively, your fingertips brushing against the faint lines there, on his forehead. You trace them gently, lightly, and harder as you’re trying to memorise their shape. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He just watches you, patient as ever, his dark eyes soft and steady, as always. 

“You’re staring again.” he says. There’s no real reproach in it. He doesn’t mind the spotlight when that spotlight is you.

“I know.” you murmur, not bothering to deny it.  

He raises an eyebrow slightly, and there’s that look again — that playful tilt of his lips, the one that’s almost imperceptible, like he’s fighting the urge to smile.  

“Am I passing inspection?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.  

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You always do.”  

His expression softens further, the teasing edge fading. His hand comes up to rest over yours, his fingers curling gently around your wrist, holding you there against him.  

“You don’t have to, you know.” he says quietly.  

“Don’t have to what?”  

“Look so hard. It’s like…like you’re afraid I’ll disappear if you don’t.”  

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. Your hand stills against his forehead, and your breath hitches slightly, your chest tightening.  

“I just…” you start, your voice trailing off as you search for the right words. “I just don’t want to miss anything.”  

“You won’t.” he says simply, his thumb brushing lightly against your wrist. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”  

You nod, but that ache in your chest doesn’t fully subside. Because time doesn’t care about promises, and no matter how tightly you hold on, it always finds a way to slip through your fingers.  

“You’re struggling to breathe.” he announces, his steady voice pulling you back to yourself.  

You hadn’t noticed until now, hadn’t realised how shallow your breaths had become, how your lungs felt heavy, like they were carrying too much. The moment he says it, the awareness hits you — harder and harder, a wave crashing over you, dragging you under.  

Your chest tightens, and the sting in your nose starts to surface, hot and sharp. Your eyes feel like they’re being pressed from the inside, the pressure swelling until you can’t ignore it anymore.  

“Don’t cry, my baby.” he whispers, a plea as much as an attempt at comfort.  

But it’s too late.  

The cracks in you deepen, widening into fissures that can’t be held together anymore. The tears come, spilling over before you can stop them, before you can even think to try.  

He tries. He always tries. 

He wipes at your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, murmuring soft reassurances, holding you closer, tighter, like he can somehow stop the flow through sheer force of will. 

But it doesn’t work. He knows it won’t work.  

So, finally, he lets it happen. He lets you break, lets the tears fall freely, lets the overwhelming weight of it all pour out of you. Because it’s too much.

It’s too much love, too little time.

And when love feels like this, when it swells so big it aches, clothing is just another barrier. A suggestion, for that reason, never an imposition. 

He breaks it down with clumsy hands, fumbling with the neckline of your shirt, pulling it over your head in a movement that’s more desperate than it could ever be classed as graceful. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t hesitate, just keeps going until there’s nothing between you but skin.  

The moment you feel him — him — warm and solid, the familiar press of his chest against yours — it hurts a little less.  

You press yourself against him, a wet cheek against his shoulder, hands clutching at his back because you’re still afraid he might slip away. His arms wrap around you again, this time even tighter, to the point it almost hurts. It hurts. But not as much as not having him hold you. His hands spread across your bare skin like he’s trying to hold you together, to keep the fissures from splitting into something irreparable.  

He doesn’t speak now. There’s nothing left to say. He just holds you, lets you cry into him, lets the warmth of his body seep into yours, lets the moment stretch out until the edges of your pain start to dull.  

And in his silence, you feel it. The unspoken truth. The promise that doesn’t need words.  

The fissures won’t turn into holes. Not with him here. Not with the way he holds you, the way he keeps you from falling apart completely.  

You can breathe again.

And you can breathe him in again.  

Ah, there it is. That sweetness. It clings to him, a scent that feels like home. It soothes. It’s calming you.  

But now…now, he’s restless.  

You feel it first in the subtle fidgeting of his fingers against your skin, then in the shifting of his limbs, the tightening and untightening of muscles as he tries — and fails — to settle. The closeness that was comforting moments ago has turned into a puzzle, the edges too tight, the pieces overlapping awkwardly.  

“Oh.” you gasp softly. He’s restless all over, his body betraying him.  

“Sorry, girl.” he mumbles, his voice tinged with embarrassment. His hands move hesitantly, unsure whether to pull you closer or let you go. “I didn’t mean to. It- it’s just… you’re naked. Almost. It just…”  

“It’s…” you start, but you trail off.  

“I’m sorry.” he repeats, firmer this time, like he needs you to believe him.  

Why would he be sorry?  

It’s only…natural.  

“Who are you?” you ask suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at him, your eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.  

He blinks, startled, but before he can answer, you lean in again, pressing a kiss to the dip in his collarbone.  

“Just me.” he says with a nervous giggle. His cheeks flush, the color creeping up his neck, and you feel his chest rise sharply beneath your palms.  

He’s so fucking cute when he’s like this.  

“I don’t know you.” you tease. 

You’re purring.  

Up now, your knees bracketing his sides, your hands splayed across his chest. His breathing quickens further, his flush deepening as he looks up at you. From his point of view, there’s something there. A spark, a shift, something playful. But your eyes are still red, rimmed with the remnants of tears. 

And yet, he can’t help it.  

Not when you’re like this, pressing up against him, leaning over him, commanding his attention so effortlessly. His eyes flicker over you, wide and unblinking, like headlights catching something fragile in the dark. He knows he should look away, should steady himself, but he can’t.  

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

A palm reaches out, hesitant at first, then bold. It cups you, warm and engulfing, his fingers splaying instinctively, mapping every inch of you. The other joins. 

“Security! Security!” you call out dramatically, a breathless laughter.  

The corners of your eyes crunch as you smile, betraying any hint of real fear. The peaks of your skin, hot beneath his squeezing fingertips, send a rush of heat between you both, and you feel his hand falter for a split second before tightening its hold.  

The act of innocence.  

“I don’t mean to…” he says, his voice dipping low, a rasp threading through his words. He tilts his head back against the pillow, his eyes half-lidded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m just a tortured artist, baby.”  

“Yeah?” you challenge, shifting your hips, enough to feel the friction between you both.  

“Yeah.” he breathes.  

Hips roll.  

Heat intensifies.  

The wetness that once blurred your vision now pools low, deep, undeniable. It seeps into the space between you, pulling you both into its gravity.  

He groans softly. And…God! It’s so beautiful…his grip on you tightening as his body moves in sync with yours. His gaze never leaves you, even as his lips part, his breath hitching with every shift, every roll, every press of your skin against his.  

You smile, a wicked, knowing smile, and lean down until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Tortured?” you murmur.  

“Always.” he whispers, his words swallowed by the heat between you as his hands guide you closer, closer, until there’s no space left at all.

“Is that solely a bad thing?” 

It strikes him harder than you intended. His body stills, his breath catching as he processes what you’ve just said. He doesn’t answer right away, his silence stretching out, heavy and charged, while you wait.  

You’re hesitant in your approach, your fingers hovering, dancing lightly across his skin. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A rhythm that mirrors the beat of your heart. You’re waiting, always waiting, for his sign.  

And then it comes.  

A nod. Another squeeze of his hands on your breasts.  

Green light.

You move, reaching in just barely, your fingers brushing against the warmth of him. He’s sticky already.  

“I think…that…suffering is necessary.” he says, his voice uneven, halting. His legs twitch beneath you, begging to squeeze together, to curl inward, but he can’t. You’re holding him down without even trying, just by being there, your weight and presence enough to pin him in place.  

“In order to- to access the high levels of feeling- fuck-” His voice cuts off, his words swallowed by a sharp intake of breath.  

He can’t.  

His right hand quits its job of squeezing, abandoning your chest to join yours below. His fingers wrap around yours, warm and insistent, guiding you, begging you, leading you.  

“Of love.” he finally concludes, his voice trembling.  

Love.

It echoes in your mind, that single word reverberating.  

“Profound…” you start, leaving the word open, unfinished, unsure of how to follow it.  

Your hips shift, your body moving instinctively, rubbing yourself against his thigh in time with the rhythm of your holding hands. The sensation sends sparks shooting through you, but your focus stays on him, on the way his breath hitches, on the way his fingers grip yours tighter.  

He’s soft there, on his thighs. The skin is plush and fluffy in a way he rarely shows to anyone but you. It’s intimate, that softness, a vulnerability he keeps hidden from the world but offers to you without hesitation.  

“…ness.” he completes.  

Profoundness.  

It feels bigger than the moment, bigger than the two of you, and yet it’s tethered here, grounded in the heat and closeness of your bodies.  

His hand tightens over yours, guiding you with more urgency now, his movements less controlled, more desperate. His eyes lock on yours, wide and glistening, and you can see everything in them — his need, his fear, his devotion.  

And love. Always love.  

You lean forward, lips brushing against his ear, and whisper, “Show me?”  

A command, a plea, a promise all wrapped into one. And he does. 

“I can count this as my present…if it makes you feel better.” 

His fingers toy with the bow on your panties, that delicate little detail that always seems to fuck with his head. It’s so small, so dainty, so perfectly out of place between the rough pads of his fingertips. His hands aren’t particularly big, but somehow, you make them feel enormous. You make him feel enormous.

Almost…wrong.  

You nod, your breath catching, and the sight of you offering yourself like that — open, willing, waiting — pulls a groan from deep in his chest.  

“God…” he breathes, the word dragged out.  

The way you give yourself to him. Every time. All the time. It feels so wrong.  

It feels like the only thing that’s ever been right.  

His hand dips lower, and he rubs the tip of himself over the fabric that clings to you, already damp, already sticking to every curve and dip of your shape. Now it sticks to him too, and the friction of it, the teasing pressure, makes his jaw clench.  

You shiver, your body trembles as you try to hold yourself steady, but it’s too much.  

And yet, not enough.  

Your legs weaken, and you drop back down onto him, pressing yourself against his lap with a need that borders on desperation. The heat of him, the solidity, the sheer realness of him, makes your breath stutter.  

It’s too much-  

It’s not enough.  

He exhales sharply, his hands flying to your hips to hold you steady, to keep you from sliding away, but his grip isn’t tight enough to stop you from moving. It never is. You grind against him, the thin barrier of fabric doing nothing to dull the sensation, and his head falls back against the pillow with a muffled curse.  

“Fuck, baby…” His voice is strained now, thick with the weight of everything he feels but can’t quite say.  

The bow beneath his fingertips feels almost absurd in contrast to the heat between you, but it grounds him somehow. He tugs at it gently, watching it stretch and twist, and the sight of it makes his head spin. It’s delicate, almost too delicate. 

Like you.  

He knows better. You aren’t fragile. You just let him treat you like you are. It ruins him every time.  

You both need more.  

His hand slips lower, finding the edge of the fabric, and with a slow movement, he pushes it to the side. The wetness there makes him shiver, his breath catching as he lets his fingers toy with you for a moment, drawing soft, stuttering sounds from your lips.  

And then, finally, he pushes himself in.  

Slowly.

You wince, your body tensing, and the ache is back. That familiar, consuming ache — the one that feels like it starts in your chest and radiates outward, like it’s eating you alive.  

The closest of closeness.  

The most you could possibly get.  

And you still feel so utterly empty.  

He notices, of course he notices. He always notices.  

“It’s okay, baby, it’s ‘kay…shhh.” he whispers, like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal — you feel like one. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you gently into the curve of his neck. “I don’t like to think of people…of…I don’t want to think of you suffering. But then you do.”  

His hips roll, slow and measured, and the stretch of him inside you makes your breath hitch. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you don’t know how to reconcile the two.  

“You breathe at such a rate that you’re bound to suffer, sweetie.” he murmurs, his words almost lost in the rhythm of his movements.  

“I…I don’t know if it’s pain or pleasure.” you choke out, your voice muffled against his shoulder. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and you sniffle, clinging to him, to the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.  

His pace is so slow, so tender, that it hurts in its kindness. Every thrust feels like a question, every withdrawal like an apology.  

“Reality is pain,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, “but we bring out the pleasure, in each other, with each other.”  

You can feel it in the way his hands roam your body, always searching, always reassuring. But even as he speaks, you can tell he’s fighting his own demons. His mind flickers through the darker corners of himself, the parts he tries to keep hidden. He wonders if he’s hurting you more than helping you, if his presence in your life is a blessing or a curse.  

You, meanwhile, can’t stop cataloging him.  

The way his jaw clenches and unclenches with every thrust. The beads of sweat gathering at his temple. The soft, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice when he whispers your name.  

You wonder if he feels it too — that emptiness. If he’s trying to fill it the same way you are, with this act, with this closeness.  

You wonder if it’s working for him.  

Because for you, it’s both too much and not enough.  

You press your lips to his shoulder, kissing the damp skin there, tasting salt of sweat and tears, and heat, and him.

“Do you feel it?”  

His movements slow even further, his body stilling for a moment.  

“I feel everything.” he finally says. His hands tighten on you, pulling you closer, as if that’s even possible. “You make me feel everything.”  

So you kept offering yourself to him. Because it was the only thing that made sense. Because in those moments, when words failed him, when he avoided eye contact like the answers were buried somewhere else, he’d offer you the deeper meaning of his touch.  

He was avoidant, yes. Could be classed an asshole, if you wanted to simplify it. He wouldn’t talk. Not too often, not too much. 

Unless he did.  

When he thought you needed it so desperately that you wouldn’t make it out without the explicitness, without the explanations. He’d relent. He’d offer you a sliver of his mind, a glimpse into that labyrinth of thoughts he kept so well-guarded.  

And sometimes, those words would only make it worse.  

It’s hard to overstate. The impact he had. 

Has.  

The chokehold.  

“Tighter.” Your voice is a rasp, your breath already unsteady, but you say it anyway. His hand rests on your throat, not pressing yet, just holding, and you arch into the weight of it. “Tighter.”  

His gaze sharpens. There’s something unreadable in his eyes. A pause. A moment of hesitation. Then his grip tightens, and the air between you seems to still.  

He turns pain into something beautiful.  

“Take me.” you whisper, your voice a low, almost imperceptible plead. His fingers begin to move.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Against your neck, as if testing the rhythm of your pulse.  

Intuitive. Always.  

Then he takes.  

His free hand finds your jaw, thumb pressing against your lower lip until your mouth falls open. He’s watching you, watching the way your body responds to him, the way your chest rises and falls in its shallowness.  

Knuckles knock against your teeth as he slides his fingers inside, pads pressing against your tastebuds, filling the space until you’re choking on him. Nails scrape against the back of your throat, and you gag, tears springing to your eyes.  

Impactful.  

“Good girl.” he murmurs. Like velvet over steel. The praise is quiet, but it ignites something primal in you. You whimper around his fingers, and he groans, barely holding himself together.  

He watches the tears spill over, watches the way your lips stretch around him, and something in him snaps. His hand tightens further on your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you feel weightless. To make you float in that space between pleasure and pain. Until you can’t tell them apart. Until you can’t settle on either one. 

You grab at his wrist, not to pull him away but to anchor yourself to him. Because…he’s everything. Your air, your gravity, your entire world condensed into the roughness of his touch and the way he looks at you.  

“Breathe, baby.” he says. His hand loosens slightly, giving you just enough to draw in a shaky breath around his fingers. “I’ve got you. Always.”  

You believe him.  

You have to.

He is your only salvation from this pain. The doer and undoer. Cause and effect. The wound and the salve.  

And the aura of him remains, remains…

Remains.

“Oh-”  

“Fuck-”  

The words tear from both of you in unison. A tangled cry. You’re unravelling together. And it feels like the closest you’ve ever been to him. And yet…it still isn’t enough.  

His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers pressing into your flesh. He thrusts deep, every movement a combination of tenderness and force, as though he’s pouring everything he can into you, trying to fill the empty spaces you both know he never fully can.  

At this moment, it feels like he could.  

He drags against every nerve inside you, heavy and thick, and you feel the way he throbs, the heat of him building, threatening to spill over. It’s overwhelming, the way he stretches you, the way every inch of him feels. He moves with an unsteady rhythm now, hips stuttering, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.  

You’re both trembling. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins.  

“Shit…” he gasps, voice strained, breaking, as his pace falters. He’s so deep now, the tip of him brushing places that make you cry out.

Again. And again. And again.

That make your body tighten around him, pulling him even closer. It’s messy now, desperate. He’s losing himself inside you.  

“Fuck, baby, I-” His voice catches, and then he’s gone. 

You feel him twitch inside you, sharp and insistent, and then he’s spilling, warmth flooding you in waves. It’s a slow, pulsating release, and you feel every surge of it, every shudder that wracks his body as he empties himself into you. He presses as deep as he can go, burying himself completely, as if he could carve a place for himself inside you, as if he could leave a part of himself that will never fade.  

He’s soothing from the inside. A plea for forgiveness he can’t bring himself to ask for aloud. He gives you little pieces of himself — small, fragmented traces of his love, his essence, his everything.  

And it’s insufficient.  

It will always be insufficient for the vastness of your longing, for the endless craving that gnaws at the edges of your soul. He feels it too. You can tell by the way his hands tighten on your waist, by the way his forehead presses against yours, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.  

He knows.  

He can’t help but feel that way, that what he gives you will never be enough. But what more can he offer than this? Than himself?

The peak caves slowly, unbearably, and it’s not just pleasure — it’s everything. It’s love and desperation and grief for the moments that slip through your fingers. 

It’s heartbreaking.  

So you smile.  

You don’t mean to do it. You don’t even realise you’re doing it until you see the reflection of it in his eyes. But it’s there — a soft, almost involuntary curve of your lips that speaks to something deeper than words.  

You don’t have to keep smiling.  

But you do.  

Because this is the best thing.  

The best he can give you. The best you can take. The best the two of you can be in a world that feels like it’s always working against you.  

And when the peak finally crests, when your body shatters around him, you don’t stop smiling.  

Even as the tears spill over. Even as the ache in your chest sharpens. Even as the world starts to creep back in, threatening to pull him away from you.  

You smile, because for this fleeting, fragile moment, he’s yours…

Yours. Yours. Yours.

…Completely.

He gives you a great desire to love. 

a/n: Happy Birthday, Al.

[luvyeni]

jeongin finally giving in after all your oblivious teasing

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 아이엔 x fem!reader )   ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. oral ( f ). unprotected sex. word count. 0.8k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ my smau will definitely be a ayen one i miss him.

if it wasn’t for the fact that this has happened almost every day for the last year you two have been living together jeongin could’ve sworn you were doing this on purpose — riling him up just to leave him high and dry each and every time.

but you didn’t know it , you didn’t know that when you’d squeeze his thigh when you’re randomly talking about something that excited you, he had to think about anything else to keep him from getting hard. or when you’d walk around the house in an oversized shirt and shorts so short they might as well be panties while you cleaned or lounged around.

he constantly had a hard on when you were around ; and you didn’t even notice , and it was eating him up inside. “innie?”

he was brought back hearing your voice. “are you listening?” no he wasn’t , his eyes were current bulged out of his head because you were standing there in a towel. “i said the water is cold , you need to cool it on the 2 hour showers.” you pouted , the water dripping down your face. “i could only shower for 15 minutes that’s not even enough time fo…” it was like your voice was fading away , he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “you aren’t even listening.”

before his brain could send him a warning ; his feet were moving , and moving near towards you. “jeongin.” his hand coming to your face , you gasped out. “please shut up.” before you could even scold him his lips were on yours , you took a step back , but he didn’t let you pull away , he only pulled away when he began to get light headed due to lack of oxygen. “fuck i need to do that again.”

he could barely keep it together as he basically dragged you back to your room. “je-jeongin slow down , what’s gotten into you?” it’s not like you didn’t like it , you were just confused. “you , you’ve gotten into me , you don’t even know.” he pushed you down on the bed. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

he was bent down on his knees in front of you , his mouth kissing in between your thighs. “innie.” you sighed , moaning as you felt his breathing on your cunt. “fuck you smell so good.” he kissed your mound , licking your folds. “oh fuck innie.” your hands tangling up in his hair as he ate your cunt like a starving man , finally getting a taste of you.

“so good.” your legs hanging off his back ; your taste was addicting , it was even better than he envisioned , he groaned , his cock becoming unbearably hard. “fuck innie , im gonna cum.” you tugged at his roots to try and pull him away from your cunt , but he held your thighs tightly , he did not want to let you go. “fu-fuck! im cumming !” you shouted as you came , your juices dripping on your tongue. “i-innie.”

he finally pulled away, the towel now laying on the bed leaving you bare. “fuck if i didn’t need to feel you on my cock , i could spent the rest of the day in between your legs.” he slowly made his way up to you , undoing the string to his sweats. “you taste so good.” your face was flushed watching him pull his cock out , it was big , and veiny with a precum dripping from his red tip. “so-so big.” he cursed , pressing his cock against your hole. “but you can take it right?”

he didn’t even wait for you to answer , pushing his cock inside , watching your mouth drop open. “oh fuck you’re so tight.” he pulled out , pushing back inside. “so fucking warm.” folding your body in half , legs pressed against your chest as he began to pound into you. “fuck just like i dreamt of.” he grunted. “re-really?” you stuttered.

“fu-fuck baby yes , but you have been so inside the pretty little head -shit- you haven’t even noticed how bad i wanted to fuck you.” he hit that spot inside you , your fingers raking down his back , he hissed. “jeongin im gonna cum.” you cried out , the knot in your stomach tightening. “fu-fuck me too.” he groaned. “where do you want it?”

“inside.” he had to stop for a second to keep from cumming that second. “sh-shit i almost came.” he moaned. “you want me to cum inside you?” you nodded. “ye-yes please.” he sped up his movements. “fu-fuck im gonna cum , want you to cum on my cock.” both of you moaning out. “fuck cum , cum on my cock.”

you let out a breathy moan , mouth dropping over as you came. “of fuck , im fuck-fucking cumming, nmph!” he cursed as he came inside you , you whimpered as he rode out your orgasms. “fuck im still hard.” he said breathlessly. “i need more of you.” he started to move again , slowly dragging his cock in and out of you. “fuck i need to make you cum more.”

“i need to fuck you until you only remember my cock.”

©️LUVYENI

[peachhcs]

I feel like Will could be a little shit sometimes, like we know he’s down badddd for Samy but I feel like sometimes when they haven’t seen each other for a while he’s determined to keep her close.

She’s trying to get up for the day? Lays his entire body on top of her, she’s trying to get dressed? Her clothes keep going missing, like he’s taking a sock and making her feel crazy because she knows she JUST sat them down.

He’s doing Anything he can to keep her at his side.

will is definitely doing everything he can to keep samy from leaving his side. he follows her around like a puppy honestly. samy likes to say he has separation anxiety sometimes

au masterlist

it was already 11 when samy finally woke up. she hadn't slept in that much in forever. she stretched out, but she didn't move that far because a strong pair of arm were wrapped securely around her torso. beside her was will still fast asleep, his face basically hidden in the crook of her neck. the girl smiled, reaching her hand up to tease some of his curls in her fingers.

she loved when he was always so close after not seeing one another in awhile. if he could, will would spend every second of the day by her side.

samy laid there for a few minutes just admiring her boyfriend's soft, sleepy features and playing with his hair. he didn't sleep with a shirt on last night, so she also got to admire his muscles peaking out of the covers. he was always fit, but his time with the sharks the last few months really worked in his favor. samy loved it.

she loved how he looked no matter what, but she really loved seeing his muscular arms in his t-shirts and built quads through his pants. it was literally every girl's dream.

after another few minutes, samy really needed to pee. she always had to when she woke up, but will's hold on her was pretty strong. she tried detaching his arms from her without waking him up. the blonde stirred and only pulled her closer to his body despite not waking up.

samy huffed. she poked will's cheek, "will, i really gotta pee."

he mumbled something incoherent.

"please, i have to pee so badly," the girl tried again and finally, will loosened his grip. samy took that as her chance and literally jumped out of bed to run to the bathroom.

when she came out will was still sprawled across the bed. the girl grinned and crawled back over to him where he finally poked his eye open.

"you left me," he grumbled.

"i had to pee. i'm sorry," samy laughed at his pout. he reached his arms out and made grabby hands as an indication that he wanted samy back in the bed. she got herself back in and will was quick to wrap his arms around her like before.

"did you sleep well?" the blonde wondered.

"i did. did you?" samy played with his curls again.

"i always sleep well with you," he hummed making her blush.

"what do you wanna do today?" the soccer player wondered and laughed when all will did was snuggle in closer.

"lay here with you all day."

"i wouldn't complain, but i feel like we should do something. it is like 11:15," samy said.

"so?" will didn't see what the problem was. he didn't have hockey for two days, so that meant he could use one of the days to do absolutely nothing. it was even better because samy was in town.

"we should at least eat something. i'm kind of hungry," just as the youngest hughes said that, her stomach rumbled.

"i know what you can eat," the hockey player earned a smack on the head for that comment.

"will."

"i'm kidding. i'm kidding," he lifted his head back up so samy could see the smirk on his lips.

"you're so immature," she rolled her eyes.

the brunette began pushing herself back up because she seriouly needed to eat something, but when she made a move to get up, will threw his entire body across her leaving her unable to get up or even move.

samy let out an oof, "hey!"

"you can't leave," will determined.

"i'm not leaving you this time. you can come with me to get food," the girl laughed.

“i don’t wanna leave the bed,” the hockey player mumbled. his weight was a bit crushing, but samy was used to it after being crushed and tackled by her older brothers growing up. she curled her arms around his back where she began drawing her fingers up and down his spine.

“you don’t wanna eat something?” the girl wondered and she was surprised to hear that will wasn’t already up looking for food.

“i’d rather lay in bed with you all day then go downstairs,” will said and samy couldn’t help but laugh. he was so adorable.

“okay, five more minutes but after that we need to eat something because i’m starving,” she compromised.

they laid there together with will’s crushing weight and he marveled in being so close to her. his favorite part of spending time with his girlfriend was being able to be so close to her and wake up to her at his side.

the five minutes passed way too quickly. the blonde reluctantly rolled off of samy so she could finally get up. he huffed and pushed himself off the bed as the girl found an actual shirt and pajama pants to put on. will threw on a random shirt on the floor and then snatched one of samy’s socks on the ground before she could find it. he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing little kisses to the side of her head.

“i wonder sometimes how you survive without me,” the brunette mumbled seeing the state of will’s very messy room.

“i don’t,” he said.

“remind me that we’re cleaning your room before i leave again,” the girl giggled and became confused when she couldn’t find her other sock she swore she threw onto the ground by the bed last night.

will watched in amusement knowing he had the sock. “where’s my sock?”

“what do you mean?” he played dumb.

“i swear i had both socks by the bed,” she bent down to check under the bed where she unfortunately found more miscellaneous things underneath.

“maybe they got mixed in with something?” the blonde hummed. samy stood back up and eyed her boyfriend. he had a really bad poker face when it came to her so she always saw right through him.

“will, did you take my other sock?”

“no.”

they stared at each other for a second before the youngest hughes lunged for his pockets. will yelped when she stuffed her hands in both front pockets and successfully found her missing sock. will pouted.

“that wasn’t fair,” he argued.

“you’re so weird. come on,” she tugged his hand and they started down the steps to the kitchen.

[allwaswell16]

A One Direction fic rec of soulmate fics that are hidden gems as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

💕 De amore ex tempore by @persephoneflouwers

(M, 101k, historical) the Time Travel AU where alternate versions of themselves live simultaneously in different realities and their paths collide every time, until somehow, they converge into one.

💕 I'm Praying (that you don't burn out or fade away) by @lululawrence

(NR, 75k, soul stars) Harry and Louis are literal stars who have known they were soulmates from their creation eons ago, however when Louis came to Earth to start the next phase of their fated future, he forgot everything. Even Harry.

💕 You, Who Never Arrived by abrighteryellow / @a-brighter-yellow

(T, 42k, 90s au) Louis Tomlinson is days away from marrying a perfectly nice podiatrist when he gets a phone call that changes everything. Or, the Only You AU in which Louis has a soulmate and it's definitely not Harry Styles.

💕 i got a heart (but i don't got a soul) by tempolarriefics / @tempolarriefix

(NR, 19k, famous/not famous) the one where louis sells his soul before meeting his soulmate, harry is a popstar with a heart of gold, niall is inadvertently responsible for harry's boners, liam is a meddling angel, and zayn is a demon who made a mistake

💕 The Journal by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou , RecycledStardust

(G, 13k, magic) When Harry finds himself purchasing an antique journal in the ancient bookshop of a town he's never heard of, he doesn't exactly want to admit that he has no idea how he got there.

💕 Swimming Against the Tide by @neondiamond

(G, 9k, enemies to lovers) Louis and Harry are rival competitive swimmers who kinda hate each other. Turns out they’re also soulmates.

💕 You Can See It with the Lights Out by @larryatendoftheday

(M, 8k, canon) In a universe where you know as soon as you meet your soulmate, Harry's been shaking hands his whole career, waiting for the one.

💕 Crimson Clover by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt

(T, 5k, historical) Harry and Louis are soulmates, but one is already promised to another. When their plan to flee is discovered and they are separated, Harry falls gravely ill.

💕 Oh, what a world, and then there is you by LaDiDah

(T, 5k, historical) Harry and Louis have met many times before, in many different universes. Soulmates always find each other.

💕 Can't Imagine You Without The Same Smile In Your Eyes by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 4k, uni) It’s been over a week since Harry’s first semester at university began, and he has had zero new exciting friendships or noteworthy experiences, just a bizarre dream that keeps waking him up in the middle of the night.

💕 Louis and the no good, very bad day by @haztobegood

(E, 4k, soulmate goose) Louis collapses back into the bed with a groan. Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse, there’s a fucking goose stuck on his balcony.

💕 Falling by @reminiscingintherain

(T, 4k, soulmarks) Based off the prompt:  you’re my soulmate and I know we’d have a happy ever after but you’re my best friends ex and if I dated you they’d never speak to me again and I don’t know what to do

💕 That’s the way love goes by bella28 

(T, 4k, soulmate goose) In a world, where soulmate geese are sent to the people who can't figure out who their soulmate is, Harry finds himself stuck with a goose when he is attending a concert of his favourite artist Louis Tomlinson.

💕 Bitter Soulmates Series by theweightofmywords / @lil0

(T, 4k, angst) They had never met, but he didn’t think there was anyone in the world he missed more.

💕 So Paris When We Kiss by cherrylarry / @beelou

(G, 4k, exes) There’s a travel website open that he certainly did not open himself. Niall has been trying to get him to Paris ever since he got his mark. There’s not any particular reason why he hasn’t gone, it just never felt like the right time. 

💕 What’s in a Name by @hellolovers13

(T, 2k, friends to lovers) Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate. The name on his arm disagreed.

💕 emotions won’t grow by localopa / @voulezloux

(G, 1k, angst with a happy ending) so, you’re the unfortunate soul stuck with me

- Rare Pairs -

💕 neither wanting more, neither asking why (series) by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 40k, ot5) For Louis Tomlinson, there's nothing that compares with getting his soulmark and meeting his soulmate. Nothing that he could imagine that ever could.

💕 I Saw Several Angels in the Self Help Section by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 3k, ot5) Zayn and Louis are soulmates. They're also missing some soulmates. For extra flavour, it's Christmas.

[poisonouswonderland]

Canine!Reader x Octanville Dorm

Azul Ashengrotto ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Truly? He didn’t expect to be as fond of you as he was. You were silly, clumsy and loud.. simultaneously, you were joyful and reminded him to see the bright side. You made him laugh and smile so often his cheeks hurt. You accepted and adored him as he was which he couldn’t be more (silently) grateful for

• You compliment him at every turn— your stream of consciousness was constantly pouring out of your mouth! Which didn’t bother him as much as it made him blush

“Hi! I missed you.” You blurt out as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, tail wagging in excitement just from seeing him.

“I—” He has to blink away the surprise and force his voice to cooperate instead of crack, “Yes, I-I’m happy to see you as well.”

• Azul needs a while to get accustomed to your physical affection. You’d pounce on him and pepper his face in kisses in the courtyard if he’d let you, but he prefers to keep PDA to a minimum. He can see (and appreciates) how you try not to hound him for hugs, cuddles and kisses. You’ll bounce on your heels, tail going berserk as you wait for him to hug you or pet the top of your head

• He wants to reward your devotion and loyalty, it means a great deal to him.. you help him realize that’s just being in a relationship.

“All I want is you, my silly fish!”

“Not a fish, silly pup.” Azul corrects gently, his thumb mindlessly stroking your soft ear.

“Silly cephalopod doesn’t roll off the tongue, though.”

“I don’t have to be a silly anything.” He offered, turning his head to look at you when his nose met yours. Your smile was too wide, eyes too bright and heart too full.

“Fine, but you have to be mine!”

• Fond didn’t begin to cover it, now. He loved you.

Floyd Leech ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Y’know he was actually worried he’d be bored of you one day? Or worse, if took one of his bad moods out on you and lost you because of it. He’d never thought about something like that before. And he made it your problem

“Oi, shrimpy, you know I care about you, right? You think I’m nice to you, right?” Floyd asks as he’s— carefully— pulling on your ears.

“Ah! You’re such a bully, you’re lucky I love you!”

A perfect answer if he’s ever heard one.

• He knows he could stand to be kinder to you, though. You deal with endless antics, pet names, jokes, puns and, of course, squeezes. He doesn’t mean to be so rough with you, like when he pets you too hard or pulls your tail to make you mad. At least you give as good as you get, tackling him and matching his playful moods

• You’re painfully patient yet honest with him, on par with Jade! Like with his tweel, he doesn’t acknowledge it but that doesn’t mean it goes unnoticed. You’re silently added to the very short list of people he trusts

• Floyd loves how you somehow always bring an adventure to his day. You heard a rumor there’s buried treasure in Heartslabyul’s rose garden? Riddle won’t mind if the two of you check that out!

• Yeah, he lets you think you’re his guard dog but, in actuality, he’s fiercely protective of you. He recalls the evening that he nearly got expelled because someone hurt your feelings. His temper spikes at the memory of your face, and how hard you tried to hide the mark the comments left.

“Didn’t know they let dogs in here.” A patron of the lounge snickered.

“Hopefully Ashengrotto can get the smell out.”

Your ears drooped, though. It was as if the cafe went silent so he could hear the heartbreaking, tell tale sniff before you got up to leave. Floyd’s usual sharp smile dropped, his bi-colored eyes moving to your offenders with a dangerous glare… He doesn’t remember much else after that.

No one was rude to you again, though, so how bad could it have been!?

• You changed how he felt about mornings, too. He used to be the worst to wake up, losing quite a few alarm clocks to his bad mood. It’s impossible to wake up grumpy when you he feels the gentle thump thump thump of your tail against the mattress, telling him that you’re awake and simply happy to be next to him. Floyd ends up pulling you closer to hide his growing smile from you

Jade Leech ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• It may not have looked like it but under his aloof demeanor, he was ecstatic to have a new member for his club. You loved being outdoors, loved being with him! You were enthusiastic about his interest in flora, specifically mushrooms, and would ask every question under the sun if only because his eyes lit up when you did

• He checks you for ticks after hiking

• Jade inadvertently compares you to his terrariums. As your boyfriend he assumes that it’s his responsibility to look after your well being. He does it for his brother after all. However, while care of Floyd is a chore he’s happy to do, taking care of you is a choice that makes him happy. He keeps snacks for you on his person, fixes your uniform when it’s crooked and if you’re not feeling well he’s the one checking your temperature

• You do things that remind him you’re very much not a terrarium, though. Like jumping in his lap during a study date for a kiss or bolting away from his side when Ruggie steals your backpack (in good fun you assured him, luckily for the beast) or bringing him random gifts merely because you thought of him when you saw it

“What’s… this?” Jade’s smile widens in confusion. You’re a continuously curious creature that delightfully confounds him at every turn. He longs to understand you, though it seems he never will.

“A survival pack! Look this bracelet—“ You’re grabbing his hand and clicking the chunky cord into place around his wrist, “—can hold 550 pounds, so if you needed to, I don’t know, lower yourself off’a mountain; you could!” You were out of breath from explaining everything as you took them out of the box.

“Why would I... Where did you acquire such thoughtful items, dearest?”

“Someone over there was selling them.” You mumbled quickly, rummaging around until you found something that brought back your excitement, “and and and they said if I bought everything they’d gimme stickers! Look, it’s your favorite! Let’s put them on your new water bottle!”

Mushroom stickers. You bought him an entire camping essential kit for mushroom stickers

Jade sighs fondly, “You are something else.”

• He’s weak for your pleading puppy-dog eyes. He has actually covered your face with his hand and looked away because he can’t tell you no when you do that! You try not to abuse the power.. but he can be just as manipulative, so you call it even

• Keeping up with his brother is nothing compared to your boundless energy. Jade loves every minute of being with you but finds your sleepy self adorable. He can read in peace while you rest, sprawled out in his lap. You’re playing a game quietly on your phone, trying to keep your eyes open as his nails gently scratching your back and lull you to sleep.

“We have to be up early tomorrow.” He warns, “You should stop resisting it.”

You yawn, “I know. I jus’ wanna spend more time with you.”

His heart aches at your tired confession, though it’s not the first time you’ve said it. You’re always fighting for ‘five more minutes’, even if you’ve been beside him for hours. It’s endearing.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promises.

After a moment he feels you grow heavier in his lap, your breathing changes and he knows you believe him enough to let yourself fall asleep.

[callsign-rogueone]

the love letter

sawyer henrick x healer!reader (peach!) words: 1.7k 🏷: no book spoilers, no warnings, set in iron flame, the 4th chapter in sawyer and peach's story, more of james being creepy but he doesn't make an appearance this time, nolon is still out of office, two points extra credit if you find a reference to another gf in here somewhere, both of these kids are still in denial and will be for another... three? chapters, first chapter of 2025 lezgeddit

Two more shelves of supplies to inventory, and then you’ll be done for the day. You pull yourself up from the floor, wincing at the ache in your knees from squatting in front of an under-the-sink cabinet. “Almost done,” you sigh. 

“I’ll finish up,” Sarah says, nodding toward the door. “You go see loverboy.”

“He’s a friend,” you correct, hoping she can’t see the warmth in your cheeks.

“Mmm,” she hums, clearly not buying it. “A very good friend, then. He’s here almost every day.”

She’s right. Like clockwork, Sawyer is waiting for you at eleven twenty eight. Always just a little bit early, but never ever late. You suppose riders have to be even more punctual than healers. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving her a rushed half-hug before you head out to the main room of the infirmary.

He’s always sitting at one of the study tables, and always stands up as soon as he sees you. 

You don’t wait for him to ask. “I got a hundred percent on my foraging assignment,” you say by way of greeting.

He smiles. “See? I told you not to worry about it, miss future Head Healer.”

“You’re not letting that go anytime soon, are you?”

“Nope.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully, but there’s no denying that his belief in you feels good, even if it’s exaggerated — there’s a tiny bit of truth in every joke. 

“Could you thank him again for me?” you ask softly. 

“Of course,” he says warmly. “And I brought you something, to celebrate.”

“It’s not another knife, is it?” you ask with a nervous laugh.

“I promise it’s not a knife.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a piece of cloth, then folds back the edges, revealing something that glitters in the afternoon sunlight — a delicate metal chain with a tiny flower pendant at the end of it. He lays it in your palm, pocketing the cloth. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“I didn’t. I made it myself.”

Your smile fades near immediately. “You made this?”

He looks a little crestfallen. “Yeah, why?” 

“I love it,” you reassure him quietly, still gazing at it, “but I don’t want you to be in pain. Especially not for me.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

You look up at him. “Doesn’t it hurt? Using your signet?”

He looks concerned, his eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not. It felt a little weird and tingly at first, but it never hurts.”

“But the Colonel always looks so uncomfortable, and the other mender… fixing a broken bone nearly brought her to tears,” you tell him, looking back at the tiny metal flower that you hold in your palm. You wouldn’t want to wear it if it had caused him pain to make it — but then if you don’t wear it, the pain would have been wasted. Which is worse?

“Hey,” he nudges, his hands settling on your forearms. “I promise you, it didn’t hurt me at all to make this, or to adjust that dagger for you. It’s easy, like shaping clay. Easier than that, really. I don’t have to sculpt all the details, I just picture them and they appear.”

You crack a smile. “I was wondering why you stole a single flower from my basket the other day.”

He blushes. “Sorry. I needed a reference — I wanted to make it accurate.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Thank you. Can you help me put it on?” You know you could do it yourself, but some part of you wants him to be the one to close the clasp, to lay his claim to you.

He takes it back from you, roughened fingers brushing against yours. “Turn around,” he prods.

You move your hair out of the way, letting him drape the thin chain around your neck. It’s just long enough for the tiny flower to sit exactly above your heart. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, seeming to glow under his touch as he clasps it, his fingertips brushing against the sides of your neck. 

He wants to kiss the soft skin there, to wrap his arms around your waist and press his chest to your back, to nudge his nose against the side of your throat and just breathe you in, because you smell absolutely intoxicating — sugary, fruity perfume and a hint of whatever herbs you’d been working with this morning. He settles for a gentle, fleeting touch to your shoulders, smoothing out the sleeves of your shirt before he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Thank you, Sy,” you say quietly, turning to face him again. There’s a soft pink blush across his cheeks, his lips curved into a shy smile. It’s adorable. You’d definitely kiss him right now if this weren’t all an act. It would be so easy to step forward and rise onto your tiptoes and just… Nope. Boundaries. He’s just doing you a favor, as a friend. Don’t make it weird.

He isn’t saying anything, so you attempt to cut the tension by changing the subject. “You’re pretty good at this pretend boyfriend thing, you know. Bringing me gifts, slipping that love letter under my door…”

His head tilts to the side in confusion. It's unbearably cute. “What letter?”

You give him a sly smile. “I know it was totally over the top and super cheesy, but you don’t have to pretend. It was kinda cute.”

His gaze hardens. “What letter, peach,” he repeats, with an edge to his voice that you’ve only heard a few times — it’s not a question, but an order for you to tell him what the hell is going on.

Your heart drops. “It really wasn’t from you?”

He shakes his head no.

It all starts to add up. You haven’t seen Sawyer’s handwriting in years, but now that you think about it, it didn’t look anything like what you’d seen this morning, and there isn’t any trace of amusement on his face as he looks at you — he’s telling the truth. It wasn’t him. It was James.

All those sweetened words now feel like taunts, the promises like threats. Maybe they are. Maybe you’re right to be scared of him.

“Do you have it with you?” he asks gently.

“No, it’s… it’s on my desk.”

He picks up your bag, shouldering it and gesturing toward the door, as if to say lead the way. You make the trip silently, taking him down hallways that have become familiar to him in the last few weeks. He’s memorized the turns by now; a left past the infirmary, up two flights of stairs, another left, third door on the right. Room 322.

You unlock it with an actual key — something he’s still not used to — and shrug off the healer’s robe as soon as you walk in the door, tossing it over the back of your chair.

He’s walked you to your door a few times, but he’s never been inside. He realizes that the way everything in the riders' rooms is black, the healers’ are powder blue; the sheets and drapes, and the woven rug between your desk and the bed. He steps back, not wanting to dirty it with his boots.

It’s just as sparsely furnished as the riders’ rooms, but you’ve added a few things to make it less austere. The stuffed bunny you’d carried around as a child and taken meticulous care of sits on your pillow, there’s a neat row of tiny nail polish bottles on the desk — and a small piece of paper there among your books.

You hand it to him, chewing your lip. “I just thought you were being overdramatic about it to be funny, but…” You watch his eyes flick back and forth as he reads through it, and you make a second, sickening realization. “I don’t know how he figured out which room is mine,” you whisper. “All of my healer friends think he’s crazy, so they definitely wouldn’t tell him. And you’re the only other person who knows, besides the leadership.”

He looks up from the paper, his jaw clenching. 

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this,” you whisper, holding back tears. “Hey,” he soothes, dropping the anger completely. “Don’t apologize. None of this was your fault.”

“Maybe it was,” you say softly. “Maybe I was too nice to him, did something to make him think I liked him…”

“Whether or not you were nice to him, he should have taken no for an answer the first time,” he says firmly. 

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I told him about you, because I thought that would finally get him to stop, but I think that might have made it worse. I don’t want him to go after you.”

“I’ll be fine. Nobody else is allowed into the rider’s quadrant, and even if we crossed paths, I could totally take him in a fight,” he says with a half-smile — it doesn’t make you feel any better. “C’mere.” 

You step forward without hesitation, letting him gather you into his arms and resting your head on his shoulder. The leather of his jacket is cold against your cheek.

“I promised you we would get you through this, and I’m not going to quit. Is Nolon here today? Or the head healer?”

You shake your head. “No. I never know when they’ll be around. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Then tomorrow, you and I will talk to them about what’s going on, and see what he can do about it. I’ll meet you in the infirmary, like always. Bring the letter with you.”

“Okay,” you sniff, worrying the little flower back and forth between your fingers nervously. “Thank you, Sy.”

He reaches up to cradle your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Of course, sweet girl. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You nod silently, leaning into his palm. He lingers there a moment, until you hear the muffled chime of the tower bells. “You should go,” you say quietly. “I don’t want you to be late.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he soothes. “Are you going to be okay for the night?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

He gives you one last little squeeze before he pulls away. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hum in response, silent as you watch him leave.

Tomorrow. You just have to make it to tomorrow.

[thecubspeaks]

[there is no one at work and i've been wanting to poke at this idea... i have no idea where the plot would actually go except in the broadest strokes, so who knows if there will be more]

Karlach cries when Jaheira presses the harp-shaped pin into her hand. 

She’s been crying at everything since emerging from Avernus, it’s honestly getting embarrassing. Sunsets, sunrises, grass, a guy selling cabbages, some kids playing a game in the street. 

Obviously she cries when Wyll sets off– she cries about ten times on their last night together, which very quickly becomes a very drunk last night– like, singing-on-the-roof-of-the-Elfsong drunk. Not that it’s the last last: they will see each other again, but Karlach needs to be in Baldur’s Gate for a little bit and Wyll needs anything but, and he’s given up enough for her so she’d never ask him to stay, badly as she wants him to.

She takes a couple days after that to just be. She wanders the city, she eats all the food she missed, she scares the hells out of Dammon turning up unannounced and they both cry yet again. She calls on every friend she ever had: Rolan and his siblings (Lia’s a Flaming Fist now!), Alfira and Lakrissa (not married yet, but possibly finally together? Still hard to tell), Fitz and the baby (not a baby now, he’s walking around and can almost hold a conversation), Danis and Bex (who have a baby now, too), Barcus and his pals– hells, she even stops in at the Guildhall. Cries at all of them.

She buys fruit on the Wide and visits the House of Wonders, because she’s a fucking hero of Baldur’s Gate and best mates with the Grand Duke’s son, so she can actually go to the Upper City now. Doesn’t spend much time there, though. There’s too much to do in the Lower City. She spends a day hanging out by the docks. She considers Sharess’s Caress, but loses her nerve. She haggles with street vendors in Little Calimshan. She visits her parents. Definitely cries there. She lays in the grass in Bloomridge Park for an entire day, even when it starts pouring rain. Then she catches a stonking cold, and spends a few more days in bed, luxuriating in the knowledge that she can just lie around feeling sorry for herself and a bunch of imps aren’t going to try to stab her in the neck while she’s sneezing. She has a big, snotty cry about that, too. 

When she’s well enough to not turn Jaheira’s place into a plague pit, she makes her way there, the last and accidentally delayed stop on her list. She hasn’t really made it past the Blushing Mermaid in this direction. She tries not to look at the statue of Balduran in the square– pity that, of all fucking things, didn’t get destroyed– and as she’s thinking it, resisting the urge to look at that face, she stumbles into someone.

She laughs at once– looking the way she does, you’ve got to let people know right away you don’t mean any harm– and hold up her hands in apology before she’s even fully turned around. “Sorry, mate, I wasn’t–”

She stops. The woman, dressed in a plain black gown, is brushing herself off with visible irritation. “Watching where you were going? Yes, obviously.” She looks up, and her frown deepens. “Why are you staring?” 

Karlach blurts it out despite herself, despite knowing what a bad idea it is. “Shadowheart?” 

Her eyes flash wide in surprise, then she quickly composes herself. “Is that supposed to be a name?” She gives her skirt one final flick– she’s wearing gloves, so Karlach can’t see if the wound is still there on the back of her hand, but why wouldn’t it be? 

The ache of grief and guilt is so sudden and strong, Karlach feels sick. She can’t speak, can’t say anything as Shadowheart gives her a last disdainful look, mutters something about people with more muscle than sense, and stalks away. Karlach sinks right down onto the plinth, sitting there at Balduran’s feet. This is a very different wanting to cry than all the other crying she’s been doing. This is– all the things she hasn’t been thinking about. The people she hasn’t seen, because she can’t bear to see them. This is two fucking years for guilt over what he did– what they did– to curdle into certainty that it was the wrong fucking choice. 

She’s never stopped thinking about it, even in Avernus where you couldn’t ever lose focus, had to sleep with one eye open and keep your mind ten steps ahead. Even in the midst of all that, her shitty old brain found time to remind her constantly, constantly, of the look on Shadowheart’s face as the Mother Superior and those creepy, evil masked Sharrans dragged her away. The look on Jaheira’s face as she stared down Astarion, like she might spit at his feet. Wyll and Astarion shouted at each other for what felt like hours that night, until Karlach and Gale just had to drag them off to separate corners of the camp.  

And there was so much left to do, so much they needed each other for. So they just never spoke of it again. 

They hadn’t killed her. Was that a comfort? 

And on the other hand, they had killed her, hadn’t they. They’d killed Shads, Fringe, the spiky heart with a soft centre that Karlach knew, wanted so badly to know better. There was nothing in those eyes, in a mind they’d probably had to wipe clean half a dozen times since Karlach saw her last. Since Karlach just let them take her away. 

I’m not usually one for making the first move, she’d said. But then again, you haven’t exactly been quiet about wanting some companionship tonight. So… shall we give this upgrade a trial run?

And she’d grinned and said, Oh fuck yes. 

And Shadowheart had laughed, just the smallest bit, and said, Let’s just not go announcing it to the whole camp.

So they never told anyone. 

She’s half in a daze still as she walks to Jaheira’s place, knocks on the door. She can hear the noise of all the kids tearing around inside. One she’s never seen before, an absolutely miniscule little halfling, opens the door and stares up at her with huge eyes and huge rosy cheeks like two apples. 

“Hi,” Karlach says. The kid is so small, it’s really not helping her feel more anchored in reality. “Is your mum in?” 

The halfling takes in a long, deep breath that puffs up her whole little chest, then yells impossibly loudly, “JAHEIRAAAAA!” 

“How many times, Cheska?” scolds Rion’s voice from somewhere inside, but then she, too, is shouting, “Mother! One of your mysterious friends come to call, apparently!” 

Coming here always feels like a flash of a life she could have had, and that’s really not something she needs layered on top of her present state of mind. She almost just turns and leaves right then, but Jaheira’s there at the door before she can, and must see something in her face, because she hauls Karlach right into her study and shuts the door. Then she stops short, her hands on Karlach’s shoulders.

“Let me look at you,” she says. There’s an unignorable waver in her voice.

“Jaheira,” Karlach says warningly. “I’m a fucking faucet these days, so if you start, you’ll never get me to stop. And I just…” 

“Just what?” Jaheira prompts, and seems very glad to get to move past the moment of near-miss vulnerability. “You do not look nearly as happy as I expected you to. How long have you been back?”

“Just over a tenday,” Karlach says. “I meant to come sooner, honest, but–” 

Jaheira cuts her off with a laugh and a wave of her hand. “You needn’t make excuses to me, of all people! Rion would tell me I am getting my just desserts. But come, sit. Tell me what’s the matter, cub.” 

A voice in Karlach’s head that sounds suspiciously like Rion’s points out that clearly, Jaheira is bored. She wouldn’t be home in the first place otherwise. But that can be true at the same time as it can be true that Jaheira cares. About Karlach, about all of them. 

About Shadowheart. 

Karlach takes a breath.

“I just saw Shadowheart.”

Something goes dark in Jaheira’s expression, like a shutter drawn over her eyes. Karlach should wait to see what she has to say, but– well, Karlach’s always been impatient, and talked too much, and two more years in Avernus isn’t about to change that. “How did I let that happen, Jaheira? How did I just– stand there? It was like… it was like I was in Avernus all over again, in Zariel’s court, just watching horrible things happen and telling myself I was powerless to stop them, so it was more important to keep myself alive.” 

“Astarion was in no place to be a leader then, and we should have been quicker to see it.” Jaheira sinks into a chair next to Karlach’s. Karlach knows she was angry about it once– she saw it herself– but it sounds like all that anger has burned away with time and just left weariness behind. 

“I guess we were so used to just letting him do the talking,” Karlach says, not that the thought consoles her. “And I was so proud of him, after everything with Cazador, freeing those other spawn. I really thought he’d just– keep making the right choices.” 

“No one makes the right choice every time,” Jaheira says. “And Astarion is better at hiding his grief than most. He was far less at peace with what he chose than he wished us to know. And Shadowheart paid the price for our inattentiveness.” 

Karlach shakes her head. “I should have seen. I should have done something. It wasn’t too late to fight.”  “You are finally free,” Jaheira says firmly. “Do not turn around and cage yourself in regrets. We were none of us thinking clearly then, with the weight of the world on our shoulders– you, with the spectre of your own death always at your heels.”

“It’s because I’m free that I have to think about her!” Karlach retorts. “I get to be free. We condemned her forever.”

Funny, to get angry and not feel the literal rush of flames engulfing her. It’s just a normal heat– well, probably still a bit hotter than normal, but not literal sparks at the edges of her vision, and– in those last tendays– not the ominous clunking and whirring that said she’d started to push too hard. But it was never just the engine that got her heated up. 

“You’ve had all this time to make your peace with it, but I’ve never stopped thinking about her! I don’t regret anything more in my whole fucking life. We did so much good, and none of it even matters to me because I just think of that one evil, evil thing we let him do. That we did. I need to–” The idea’s words before it’s an idea, she says it without entirely knowing what she’s saying ‘til it’s said. “I have to do something. She’s still alive. I have to help her.” 

“I should have guessed you would say something like that.” Jaheira stands up. She goes to her desk and starts to rummage through it. “I know you know the stories, so it will sound strange to you, but you remind me very much of Khalid. You have the same heart. The same passion, though you wear it differently. Nothing can crush your kindness, after a life that would have ground all the good out of most. You cannot bear injustice, despite all the injustices done to you.” She finds what she’s looking for and straightens up. She plants both hands on the desk and fixes Karlach with a long, level, unwavering look. “You know I do not say this lightly. And you also know it is not entirely a compliment. He had– you have– the true heart of a Harper.” 

Karlach’s jaw drops. She’s just staring like an idiot but she doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say, how is she supposed to respond to that? Jaheira thinks that she–

“I have spent the past months,” Jaheria says, “determining how the House of Grief can be brought down. There is unsettled business between Viconia and myself, and I have allowed her to prey for too long on the city’s lost and hopeless. And I–” Her voice falters, almost imperceptibly. “I saw her, too. A few months ago. She must have been given some mission outside of the cloister. But that will be our opportunity.” 

“How’s that? Burn it down when she’s away?”

“We must be spies before we can be soldiers,” Jaheira says with a crooked smile. “They are too well-versed in secrecy. We must have someone on the inside, and none of my Harpers have had any success. There is only one person.” Jaheira splays out her hand. The silver harp glints in her outstretched palm. “When Shadowheart sees a glimpse of light, she reaches for it. They cannot crush this out of her no matter how hard they try. You have shown her before. I know you can do it again.” 

She cries when Jaheira presses the pin into her hand.