#i just really need a heads up rather than just dropping down without word

[st4rlvr]

syrup || hwa

(this was a random thought i had this morning while i ate breakfast..)

It had to have been a blur of neon lights, too many shots, and bad decisions, because when I stumbled out of Hongjoong’s kitchen with mascara smeared halfway to my jawline, he grabbed my arm and said, “You need to go home. Like, now.”

And then, like some cruel joke, he added:

“Seonghwa’s gonna drive you.”

I laughed. Like actually laughed.

“You’re kidding. I’d rather walk.”

I wasn’t even wearing shoes.

But Hongjoong gave me that look, and before I could throw up another protest, I was being pushed toward Seonghwa, who stood by the front door with his arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked like he’d rather set himself on fire than be within ten feet of me.

“Of course,” I muttered, staggering past him. He didn’t say a word. Just opened the car door and got in.

I leaned my head against the window and watched the lights smear across the glass. I could feel him stealing glances at me, probably imagining the most creative ways to dump my body in a ditch and make it look like an accident. I didn’t blame him. We’d hated each other for years.

Because of her. His ex.

My biggest enemy. A walking perfume ad with a superiority complex and a talent for gaslighting. I’d never said it to his face, but I’d always thought he was a fool for loving her. And I think he knew I thought that. Just like I knew he’d taken her side every time she tried to get me out of every room.

We’d been on the road maybe twenty minutes when he pulled off without a word and parked at a gas station.

“What are we—”

He just shot me a look. Cold. Sharp.

“Stay here,” he said, and got out.

I watched him disappear inside, arms tense, back rigid, and felt my stomach lurch again—nerves or nausea, I wasn’t sure. Probably both.

I closed my eyes and let the cold leather press against my skin, praying I wouldn’t throw up in his perfect, spotless car.

A few minutes later, the door opened. A rustle of a plastic bag. And then something cold pressed against my leg.

I looked over, expecting him to toss something into my lap with a grunt or some passive-aggressive jab.

Instead, he unscrewed the cap of a Gatorade bottle and leaned toward me, holding it up to my mouth.

“Drink,” he said, not harsh but not soft either—firm, almost like a command, but… gentle underneath.

My brows furrowed. “I can drink it myself.”

“You’ll spill it all over yourself.” His eyes flicked down to my hands, which were trembling slightly. “Just… let me.”

So I did.

Because I didn’t have it in me to fight. Because the Gatorade was cold and sweet and hit my stomach like a lifeline. Because something about the way he was holding it—like I was fragile, like I wasn’t the girl he used to argue with over petty shit every weekend—made me freeze.

He didn’t move until I took a few good sips. Then he finally pulled the bottle away, but instead of tossing it to the floor, he set it carefully in the cupholder like it actually mattered.

And then… he pulled something else from the plastic bag.

An Uncrustable. My mouth dropped open a little. “How did you…” “I know you keep a stash of them in Hongjoong’s freezer,” he said, avoiding my eyes, his voice lower now. “You always eat them when you’re drunk. Said something once about needing carbs to ‘absorb the stupid.’”

My breath caught, not from embarrassment—but because I hadn’t even remembered saying that.

“You pay attention?”

“Sometimes,” he muttered, like it was a crime.

He opened the wrapper and held it out like he was offering some sacred treasure. I took it slowly, fingers brushing his. He flinched a little but didn’t pull away.

I stared at the half-thawed peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my hands, and then up at him.

“You still hate me?” I asked quietly, not really sure I wanted the answer. His eyes flicked up to mine, steady now. He exhaled, long and tired.

“I don’t know,” he said. His hands dropped to his lap. “Now I just don’t know what to do with you,” he finished. I smiled, small and a little sad. “Start with driving me home.”

And maybe something about the way I said it, soft like surrender, made his shoulders ease.

He looked at me for a second longer—like he was trying to figure something out. And then he nodded, turned the key, and pulled back onto the road.

This time, the silence wasn’t cold.

It felt warm.

Tentative.

Like the start of something we didn’t have a name for yet.

And when he glanced over again, eyes flicking to where I held the Uncrustable like it was a peace offering, I caught the tiniest twitch of a smile on his lips.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

One minute, I was chewing the last bite of the Uncrustable, stealing sideways glances at him under the glow of passing headlights. The next, the world went quiet, soft, blurry.

But Seonghwa remembers. He remembers how my head slowly slumped sideways until it found the middle console—until it brushed up gently against his arm. He remembers how he stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth, by how peaceful I looked, lashes resting against flushed cheeks, breathing even and slow.

I was asleep. Fully and completely. Out cold.

Still smelling faintly of vodka and vanilla body spray.

Still the same girl he’d sworn he couldn’t stand—until tonight.

And now? He told himself not to care. Told himself to focus on the road, on getting me home. Told himself it was just Hongjoong asking for a favor.

But when my fingers twitched slightly, brushing his arm like an accidental touch… something in him cracked open.

He let out a breath. Reached up without thinking and gently brushed a hand through my hair, slow and uncertain.

Why the hell am I feeling like this?

He couldn’t explain it.

The hate, the arguments, the years of silent glares across crowded rooms—none of it made sense now with how soft I looked. With how natural it felt to make sure I was okay.

And when he pulled up to my house—he hesitated.

The porch light was off. The street was quiet. My phone had buzzed once in my lap and then gone dark again.

I didn’t stir.

“Of course,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “You would knock out cold when we’re an hour from everything.”

He sat there for a second, just watching me breathe.

Then he sighed.

“Alright. Screw it.”

Seonghwa’s apartment was dark and clean, filled with the faint scent of eucalyptus and the low hum of his air purifier. He unlocked the door with one hand, the other gripping awkwardly around me—my arm slung over his shoulder, my feet dragging.

I might’ve mumbled something when he got me out of the car.

He didn’t respond. Just tightened his grip, muttering under his breath.

“You better forget all of this.”

He set me gently—gently—down on his couch. Adjusted the throw pillow under my head. Pulled the blanket off the back and draped it over me like he’d done this a hundred times before.

He stood there for a second, just looking at me.

Like he didn’t recognize the version of me lying in his living room.

Like he didn’t recognize the version of himself that wanted to protect me right now.

“God, what are you doing to me,” he whispered to no one.

No answer. Just the soft sound of my breathing and the faint crinkle of the Gatorade bottle still clutched loosely in my hand.

He turned, finally, and walked upstairs. Decided he’d deal with it in the morning. Decided I was someone else’s problem tomorrow.

But even as he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling—he already knew.

I wasn’t.

Not anymore.

The first thing I felt when I woke up wasn’t pain. It was regret. Then pain.

My head throbbed like I’d gone ten rounds in a cage match with a tequila bottle, and judging by the weight of the blanket over me and the faint scent of laundry detergent that didn’t belong to me… I wasn’t in my bed.

I sat up slowly, blinking against the sunlight leaking through unfamiliar curtains.

Couch.

Modern decor.

Too clean.

Definitely not Hongjoong’s place.

Then I heard it—the quiet shuffle of someone moving around. A soft clink of glass. A cabinet closing. Footsteps.

And that’s when it hit me.

I was in Seonghwa’s apartment.

I groaned under my breath, dragging my hands down my face and sinking back into the throw pillow. The night before came back in flashes: the party, the shots, the car ride, the Gatorade… the freaking Uncrustable.

And the worst part?

How gentle he’d been. How different.

I winced, raking my fingers through my tangled hair.

He was going to love this.

I slowly sat up again, blanket sliding off my shoulders, just as he turned the corner into the living room—mug in one hand, the other bracing against the doorframe. His hair was still tousled, hoodie hanging off one shoulder like he’d just thrown it on. He looked tired, maybe annoyed. Or maybe just confused.

I jumped slightly, not expecting him to be that close. “Jesus—”

“You’re awake,” he said, flat, like it was a surprise I’d survived the night.

“Barely,” I muttered. My voice was rough, coated in sleep and shame. I avoided his eyes, clutching the edge of the blanket tighter around me like it might swallow me whole.

“Sorry for last night,” I added quickly, rubbing at my eyes. “I didn’t mean to… y’know. Get that drunk. Or be that much of a mess.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just walked past me into the kitchen and set the mug down. I could hear him rummaging through a drawer, grabbing something.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said eventually, voice softer now. “You weren’t… awful.”

I glanced at him.

“Just… annoying,” he smirked, sliding a granola bar across the counter toward me. “But that’s not exactly new.”

I rolled my eyes, relief blooming somewhere in my chest despite myself. “Wow. So generous.”

He shrugged, finally meeting my gaze—and there was something there. Something quieter than the banter we were used to. Something more curious. Less guarded.

“I’ve seen worse,” he said, almost like a confession. “You weren’t that bad.”

I stared at him, searching for the bite in his tone. There wasn’t one.

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… tentative. Like we were standing at the edge of something neither of us had meant to walk into.

“Thanks for… bringing me here,” I said, voice low. “And for not leaving me on the sidewalk.”

He gave a half-smile. “I thought about it.”

“You didn’t.”

“No,” he agreed, watching me. “I didn’t.”

The kettle started hissing behind him. He turned to it, breaking the moment. But I stayed still, the blanket bunching at my waist, my eyes fixed on the spot where he’d been standing.

Something had shifted.

I could feel it in the way he handed me a drink.

In the way he hadn’t let me wake up alone on some cold porch.

In the way he’d brushed my hair when he thought I wouldn’t know.

“Want to go get something for breakfast?” Seonghwa asked, not looking at me as he poured hot water over the tea bag. “Then I can drop you off at home.”

I blinked, halfway through chewing the granola bar he’d given me.

“…Like, actual breakfast?”

“Unless you want another Uncrustable,” he said without missing a beat, one corner of his mouth twitching.

I laughed—quiet, still groggy, but real. “Okay, yeah. Breakfast sounds good.”

The diner he picked was nothing special. Off a side road near his apartment, worn booths, sticky syrup bottles, the kind of place where the waitress calls you hon and never lets your coffee cup go empty.

We sat across from each other, steam rising between us, sharing glances between bites of pancakes and eggs and questions we didn’t know how to ask out loud.

I caught him watching me once when I reached for the syrup—eyes soft, expression unreadable.

When I looked back, he didn’t look away.

The drive to my house was quieter. Not the same awkward silence from the night before—this one was slower, comfortable. Full of thoughts neither of us wanted to ruin with words.

The closer we got to my place, the more my stomach turned—not from nausea, but from not wanting to leave.

He pulled into my driveway, shifting the car into park, fingers still resting on the gear stick. I looked over at him, hesitant.

“Thanks for…” I trailed off. “Everything.”

Seonghwa turned toward me. His eyes were warm now, not cold like yesterday. Not cautious.

“Don’t mention it,” he said quietly. Then, after a beat, “Seriously. Don’t. I have a reputation.”

I smiled, my heart doing something stupid.

I reached for the door handle. He leaned just a little closer.

“Wait—”

I froze.

His hand brushed lightly against mine where it rested on my leg, then slid back.

And then, just like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned forward and gave me the softest kiss.

Just a gentle press of lips. Barely there.

But full of everything we hadn’t said.

When he pulled back, his eyes met mine again—searching, unreadable, nervous.

“I… don’t know why I did that,” he said honestly.

But I smiled, still stunned, heart racing.

“I’m glad you did.”

He nodded slowly, like he didn’t believe this was real. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” I said, opening the door. “You will.”

And as I stepped out, closing it gently behind me, I felt the lingering warmth of his kiss still on my lips.

Last night, I couldn’t stand Seonghwa.

This morning, I already missed him.

[akkaweo-akkaweo]

Take it slow

Jo Yuri x M!reader

Tags: fingering

WC: 4.1k

—————

"I wish I could tell you how pretty you are," you scribbled lazily on your tickler notepad.

You brought your gaze back up to the muse of your musings: Yuri, quietly working on her desk. The way she lazily traced indents on her lips with a pen, how she lightly nibbled on the end, and how her hair parted so easily as she perched it on her ear – you'd think yourself lucky to be a pen rather than hold one.

"I wish you could see that that's a bad idea," your office teammate quipped, face looking in the same direction as you.

"That wasn't for you to read," you growled, slamming the tickler shut.

"Fair," he surrendered, "but still. Stay away from Yuri."

You turned your chair to face him. "Trying to eliminate competition, eh?"

"More like trying to eliminate participants altogether," he replied. "She's trouble."

"She's misunderstood."

"What's so 'misunderstood' about being seen entering the assistant HR manager's apartment AND the department's finance officer's house within the same week?," he quipped. "She's a sl–"

You stood up to meet his face, eyebrows furrowed. No other words were necessary; he slunk back to his desk, angrily typing away at his phone.

He wasn't wrong though: Yuri was a name attached to one too many rumors in the office, and you'd heard dozens by now. You'd heard names like your immediate supervisor, the marketing team's lead, and you swear you've heard the regional officer's son.

But life, of course, works differently. The one time you bumped into her, you'd dropped your mug. She cleaned it all up, and left a new, almost identical one on your desk the day after. Not a single word was exchanged. That didn't sound like "trouble", nor being a flirt, and that definitely didn't warrant the vitriol your coworker gave.

You were even determined to prove him wrong.

You opened your notebook and wrote down: 7 days.

=====

"Whoo!," you shouted aloud. No desklamps, no faint videos or music, just silence in a seemingly empty office. You pulled out your tickler again to get a glimpse of the carrels, hoping to do some perspective drawing.

Then you locked eyes with Yuri. Turns out you weren't alone.

She bowed at you respectfully, but you were thrown off guard that you almost tipped your chair over. She got up from her chair, ready to run to you, but you stopped her and chuckled it out awkwardly. She gave you a warm smile, bowed once more, then turned back to her table.

Never mind the double whammy of being rudely loud and looking stupid; she smiled at you. Smiled so brightly it practically burned itself into your retinas and your memory.

Without hesitating, you drew an eye. Then another, then undid the first one to get the proportions right. You drew her smile, her cheeks, her lips; you were locked in a daze, and Yuri had you hypnotized.

"You're really good at drawing," she said warmly over the divider of your carrel. You jumped again, yet again almost falling off your chair.

"Hey!," Yuri rushed to you. "You really need to be more careful."

"Sorry," you replied, still flustered. "I scare easily."

"Sorry too," she said, pulling up a chair from behind you. "I just saw you lazily swiveling your chair around and bopping your head to – wait, you don't even have your earphones on?"

You scratched your head. "Oh. I guess I was just... in the moment."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. Her eyes disappeared behind the wideness of her smile, the toothy grin almost beaming into your eyes. Those looks could blind before they kill.

"You carry that notebook around with you a lot," she remarked. "I've seen you pull it out a few times."

"Really?," you remarked, surprised anyone would notice. "Well, it's just for random thoughts and stuff. Need to remember things, maybe capture it. Before I forget." You flipped through some pages to illustrate your point.

Unintentionally, you ended at the page that had your words from the other day. Even if you closed it right after, Yuri saw it clearly, and even leaned in to confirm.

"Oooh, you find someone pretty," she replied. "Would it happen to be that girl you were drawing a while ago?"

How you weren't caught then and there was nothing short of miraculous, but you weren't about to make the same prayer twice. "Yeah, you could say that. Was... thinking of asking her out actually."

"Unsolicited advice," she began, "don't ask for a place. Tell her where you want to go."

You raised an eyebrow. "That's not very democratic."

"Then don't propose anything stupid," she rebutted.

You rolled your eyes sarcastically. "Very reassuring."

She got up and offered a hand. "C'mon. It's late. Let's go for some noodles"

You shrugged. "Sure, why not."

She turned around winked at you. "Easy, right?"

Clever girl.

=====

A bowl of ramen and 3 beers each was all it took to read Yuri from cover to cover.

She took the exact same course as you in college, just in a different university; but, instead of pivoting to creatives, she doubled down on managerial work, which nailed her the job. In fact, you both entered roughly at the same time, just in two separate departments.

She loved music. She's tried dancing. She didn't disagree with games, but did with sports. Art was never a strong suit; but, on the flipside, theatre was almost a lifestyle.

You couldn't help but stare. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the exhaustion from a day of work. But you sat there, chin in your hands, focused entirely on her. Not once did your hand fidget to your phone – a first, as far as things went. "Entranced" barely described how stuck you were in that moment.

And Yuri just existed in the moment. Even when your conversation lulled into silence and she focused entirely on the last sips of ramen, she didn't notice you staring at her, instead looking pensively into the void. You almost wanted to let the cat out of the bag unprompted.

So you clenched your teeth. "Yuri, I'd like to ask you something." She looked at you plainly, raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement while she sipped from her bottle.

"I've heard some... unfounded rumors about you."

Yuri's smile started to sink awkwardly, the edges trembling ever so slightly. Her eyes suddenly felt like they'd hollowed. Though the resto felt more full than an hour ago, it felt like the proverbial pin had dropped. Not just quiet, but silence. Time had frozen.

Without hesitation, you leaned back on your chair and declared: "But I propose that if I ask you, we trade secrets. I'll start." You swallowed hard. "I fucked Ms. Seo."

Yuri, still awkwardly putting her cup of water to her lips, did a spit take. A full one too, water droplets on your face and all.

"THE HR manager?!?," she screamed behind gritted teeth. You chuckled as you wiped the water on you.

In brief: after a bar crawl with friends that ended right by your office, you found Ms. Seo, then still assistant HR manager, seated on the curb. You brought her home, one thing led to another, and the freakout the head manager had when both of you ran into him at the office carpark almost got you fired – if not for Ms. Seo defending you in a empassionately worded email she sent to him that you were BCC'd in.

"She still smiles at me when I pass by her office," you chuckled.

Yuri was stunned, but something appeared to have clicked in her. You delivered the coup de grace and held her hand.

"Yuri, if our office is fucked up in its own way, then you're not." You rubbed your thumb on the back of her hand.

Yuri moved to the seat beside you and hesitated before leaning her head on your shoulder. "May I?," she asked softly, and you nodded.

She laid it all out, and you felt everything just shy of anger: every single rumor was only true in bare fact. Yes, she had indeed entered the houses of different bosses, but what all rumors miss out was that she'd actually ran away from all those bosses the second they made any advances on her. For some unfortunate reason, she'd been spotted every single time.

The finance officer story was different however: she did actually have sex with him, thrice by then, but he threatened blackmail over all those nights out with bosses if she didn't agree to officially be fuckbuddies; when she reported to the assistant HR manager, he asked for a one night stand, and she ran away from that too. Without any protections available, before she knew it, rumor spread.

"I'd have resigned by now," you blurted out, slamming your cup into the table. "Holy fuck."

"I'm not that affected by it, honestly," she said, a little tremble audible in her voice betraying her dismissal. "It just makes me... angry. That the one time I actually said yes, everything went to shit. And worse, I wasn't even satisfied. I was just crushing hard on him." She looked at you straight on. "He had a tiny dick too." You couldn't help but shake your head in secondhand embarrassment.

You didn't notice it, or when it happened, but your hands were fully intertwined with Yuri's. A lone, small tear rolled down her cheek, drying up as quickly as it came.

Your heart started thumping in your ears, not entirely out of nervousness, but with enough shame to make you squirm where you sat. But there would be no way out of it unless you told the truth.

You sighed deeply, the alcohol lifting your filters. "Great. Now this is going to look bad."

Yuri looked up at you. "What do you mean?"

"Just... promise me you'll believe I'm telling the truth, and I promise I will tell the truth."

Yuri nodded slowly, and you pulled out the notepad and flipped the page of your drawing of her.

"You saw this one, right?," you asked. She nodded, eyebrows furrowed.

"Wait, I only saw the details now... is that...," she trailed off.

"Yuri... I wanted to ask you out," you said softly.

You handed her the notepad again, back to the sketch of her. She looked at it quietly, without moving a muscle, but you saw a tear drop onto the paper, crinkling the thin sheet.

"And I was actually planning to ask you out tomorrow," you admitted. You flipped to the note you wrote in big letters the other day: 1 day. By now you'd crossed out numbers 2 through 7 and the s at the end.

"I guess it was half to find out more about those rumors, and half cause... well... because I wanted to know more about you first."

Yuri looked up at you, nose red and eyes glistening.

"And I'm asking you to trust me to not be doing this for the sex," you laughed nervously. You hovered your arm around her. "May I?"

Yuri instead kissed you on the cheek – not quickly, but softly, with gratitude. Her tears weren't of grief; her smile was so wide that it squeezed out the tears from her eyes.

"You're the first guy in this office who's ever actually asked me out."

You grinned and placed your arm around her, your cheeks side by side. The edges of your lips were practically in contact. Smiles turned into more gentle grins, before the both of your closed your eyes, not even a smirk on your mouths.

Yuri whispered softly, her voice slightly broken. "Please keep telling me what you like about me." You shifted your position so that she could lean her face onto yours more comfortably.

"I think you're really pretty. But you didn't need me to tell you that, did you?" She chuckled weakly.

"I also think you're nice," you continued. "You replaced my mug, remember? I never forgot that. I still use it."

As you kept talking, her face would face fully into your cheek, as if trying (and failing) to fight the urge to kiss you. Each time she did, you felt your cheek flush and your head sink into your shoulders.

"Gosh, you know what," you scoffed, "maybe you don't realize how pretty you are. Like, screw all those dirty old men in the office. You've got such a cute smile and cute eyes, and I just kinda wanna run my hand in your hair," and you did, gently, "like this. That's it."

Yuri wrapped her arms fully around your neck in a nice, comfy embrace, her face yet again right next to yours. It felt like a tango of your lips: you'd rub her cheek with yours, lips grazing it ever so lightly; she'd do the same, planting a minuscule, almost unintentional peck at the tip of your cheekbone. Your lips soon felt like they were grazing against each other, like you were both unsure if you'd jump ahead to the next step.

You kissed her on the cheek first; she responded with one on yours. You kissed her forehead; she kissed your chin. You kissed the tip of her nose, and she giggled, her smile still plastered on her face.

"Is this going too fast?," you asked.

Yuri bit her lip. "It's just the way I like it," she responded, before pulling you in for a deep one.

As far as first dates go, you hit the jackpot. In this moment, the world around you blurred out in the heat of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, and the twinkle in her eyes as she looked up at you.

"So," Yuri replied, her head tilting playfully, "where do we take this?"

=====

Yuri dragged you by the wrist like an excited kid in a playground. At every landing she'd wait for you and peck you on the cheek like a trail of breadcrumbs. You laughed at each one, and you indulged in it too, trying to race her to her floor and catching her in your arms, making out while in a tight embrace.

You were lost for adjectives to describe the the high you found yourself in: electric, by the energy flowing through you seemingly sourced from Yuri herself; fiery, by the passion of every kiss you shared; whirlwind, by the fact you weren't in control of the speed of it all – and you savored every second it.

Yuri fumbled with the lock on her door, giggling uncontrollably as you hugged her from behind and kissed her neck. When she did make it through, you both bumped into everything – the table, the dresser, a sofa – blindly navigating your way to the bed as your lips remained locked. Even there, when you thought a recalibration of pace was in order, she was still on you, hungry.

You landed on the bed, chest rising and falling heavily, and Yuri pinned you down by your hips, straddling you. She undid her polo swiftly, then her skirt, in a swift, almost rehearsed manner. She was humming, brimming with excitement, as she unclasped her bra and removed her panties – now fully naked before you.

She was perfect in all the right spots: meaty where it mattered, lean where it drew attention. When you gently reached out for her chest – and she pulled your hand to speed things up – it filled it just right. Another hand down to her thighs, your thumb teasingly close to her folds, and you felt just how excited she had been between her legs.

"Like what you see, baby?," she purred. The pet name made your heart race: it was so natural, so smoothly said. Try as you might to be more subtle, you felt your erection meet her slit.

Yuri lunged at you, kissing you with the same amount of passion as before. She undid your buttons, your belt, your pants, only needing you to take them off. You propped yourself off with an arm to do it yourself, but she was right on you, almost ripping your shirt off your shoulders.

In the midst of it all, her tongue deep into your mouth, her folds gliding over your shaft, feeling the wetness and heat practically oozing out, your ears started ringing. You couldn't quite shake it off, but it was like you were holding your breath, dazed and in a trance; something felt... off, and it was enough to keep your eyes open as she continued to go wild on your mouth.

"Yuri," you gasped, as if surfacing from the depths of your frantic makeout session. Yuri pushed you down again, shoving her tongue back into your mouth, chasing after a high that had slowly started to dissipate.

"Yuri," you breathed out, still out of breath from her onslaught on your lips. She licked at the skin on your neck and under your chin, every bump on her tongue making you flinch. It took wringing out every remaining sense of composure to grab her by the shoulders and lean your forehead on hers.

"Yuri." You said one last time, firmly. She stared and heaved at you like a scared kitten. "Calm down," you reassured. "You're going too fast."

She paused. "Don't you want this?," she said gently, with a half-meant smile. "Baby?"

"Yes, I do," you chuckled awkwardly, thrown off by the pet name once again. "But what do you want to do?"

She froze. It wasn't a time-stood-still, or a lost-in-thought kind of freeze; it felt more like a train had stopped completely on the tracks.

"W-what?," she stammered. Her breath was heavy as the warmth wafted all over your lips.

"What do you want to do?," you repeated. "Like, what do you want me to do? Where do you want me? What do you want to be done to you? God, that sounded weird." Yuri held her laugh nervously.

She sat up between your legs, prompting you to prop yourself up by your elbows. She stared off to the side, not at anything but in thought.

"Most guys don't ask me that," she replied, "No one's asked me that."

You reached up and kissed her lips, just once. "Then maybe let's start slower." You pulled her back where you were, her on top of you, and gave her another deep kiss. "Figure it out from here." You finally shed your underwear, now fully feeling the warmth of her body and the air on your skin.

You guided her by the chin to your lips again. Unlike a while back – torrid, sloppy, desperate – this one felt more calm, maybe even ambivalent. But it felt easier, and Yuri matching your pace was the sign you needed.

"It feels so weird to do this," Yuri shuddered, still inches from your face. "So slowly."

"We can stop," you responded, leaning your head back on the bed to provide distance. But her eyes still looked at you yearningly.

"No, please... please, keep going," she begged. "It's just that all those other men wanted things to go so fast I thought–"

"Stop," you said sternly, with authority. You didn't mean to command, but, as you'd tell her next, "don't think about that. If this was really your choice, you get to do this at your pace." Her eyes started welling with tears, though you could tell she was trying to hold it back.

"Here," you continued. You took her shoulders and guided her to swap places. Yuri was now completely under you, her limbs close to her body but still splayed out. You kissed her forehead one more time. "Let's start from here. Would you rather the last position with you on top? Over this?" She shook her head.

"So you want this?" She nodded.

You leaned in to kiss her, slowly; you felt her tongue push in, and you paused, withdrawing again to keep pace. Past the entirely unintended edging, Yuri's eyes yearned for you, wanted you. You met her lips again, trying to gauge if she would slow down, and she did, now hesitating to move. Now you moved in unison, wrapping and sliding around each other gently.

You brought a hand to her chest. "Do I?" She nodded again. You grabbed a bit too hard, and she flinched. "Sorry." Still, she kissed you, a tear slowly rolling down the side of her head.

"Is something wrong?," you asked, but Yuri just laughed.

"No, no, please, keep going," she responded. "I just feel so emotionally overwhelmed."

You played with her nipples, slightly puffy but very soft and pliant in your grasp. You broke from her lips to plant kisses on her chest, between her breasts, then sucking each nipple. Yuri moaned in pleasure, and without prompting cried out your name. Jackpot again.

You moved a hand down between her legs, searching for a reaction. She closed her thighs around your hand, and you pulled back. But Yuri brought it back in between, slowly inching your finger down the same way. You let her use your hand first, like a toy that just happened to have blood flowing through it. Then, slowly feeling your knuckles and ridges, she loosened up to you.

You felt her clit swollen and slippery, and as you flicked it gently her moans started to escalate in volume. Occasionally she would guide your wrists along different spots – sometimes lower, closer to her core, sometimes back to her clit, wanting it side-to-side than in circles – and you followed obediently, chasing after her yet elusive climax.

While you did, Yuri absolutely enjoyed moaning your name. She pulled you down so that your ear was right on her lips, rewarding you for your care. She'd whisper it between every moan, her lips gently brushing on your earlobe. Your cock may have hung in the air, but it twitched like crazy every time her lips trembled to you.

When she started to get sensitive, she pulled your hand out and, without warning, shoved it into your mouth. And holy fuck, that taste was addicting – a little metallic, a little sour, significantly saltier than expected, but you craved for more.

As you licked it all up, she brought your saliva-drenched fingers into her mouth, playfully twirling her tongue around your digits. "I want this in me," she groaned, once again bringing it down and sliding two of your fingers through her slit. You broke away gently, moving your arm on your own. Yuri looked like she had started sink into her bed, slowly undoing all the hesitations, the pains, feeling you inside her.

"One more finger, baby," she begged. "Stretch me out, please." Her wish was easily granted, and moans turned into loud huffs of ecstasy. You upped your pace, arm burning, just to please her, to get her to scream you into your ear.

Suddenly, Yuri started shaking. She grabbed your arm aggressively, staring at you with a mouth agape. She was close, so near her tipping point that all she could do was plead with her eyes to completely wreck her. And even as your bicep tensed, you rammed your hand as fast as you could.

Yuri released like a rollercoaster: a gentle, quiet calm, before aggressively writhing around, her hips swinging in the air even when your fingers had been freed. Her eyes were sealed shut, her arms gripped at anything it frantically could, before crashing down into a trembling cocoon. You wrapped your arms around her, and she felt cold to the touch, drenched in sweat and other fluids that had seeped into her sheets.

You rubbed your hands on her shoulders and back, kissing her forehead. "That was beautiful, Yuri," you praised. "You're so beautiful. You're safe here." You could hear a gentle sniffling from within.

"Are you okay, Yuri?, you asked, and a pair of reddened, damp eyes looked up at you. She leaned her head on your chest and rubbed her hand on it. She started giggling.

"Uhh... are you okay?," you asked again. You'd never have thought you could "break" someone this way.

"That was...," she paused, lost in thought, before giggling again. "I got nothing. That felt so good. How the hell are you so good at that?"

You laughed into her hair. "Don't worry about it. Are you okay?"

"Yeah... but what about you?," she pouted. "I didn't make you finish."

She was right. But you just held her tightly. "Slowly," you reassured. "Maybe tomorrow night, after we watch some Netflix, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled, leaning back into your chest for a single second. Her head shot up to look at you incredulously. "Did you just–"

"Gotcha," you winked.

—————

A/N: display picture filed under photos that made me feral

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hey I live your what if scenarios and I had a request for them! Could you do one where the boys are having a night out where they let loose for the first time in a long while and then how each boy would drunkenly call you to come pick them up? And vise versa if it was reader drunk calling the cod boys

I'm going to focus on the first half of this, which is the guys calling us to come pick them up after letting loose at the pub. I went short and fun with these. A bit of humor. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (mdni): swearing, established relationship, drunken behavior, brief mention of alcohol, brief suggestive themes

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

It’s late, and you should really be in bed, but your book is far too good to put down. The enemies are becoming lovers, and you need to know what comes next. As you flip the page to start the next chapter, your phone vibrates. At first, you ignore it. When it falls silent and then starts up again, you frown, glancing at the screen to see who it is.

John, it reads. Your husband.

He’s out with his friends, letting loose for the first time in a long while. He deserves this, to be with people he cares about that doesn’t necessarily include you. But he’s calling you, and that does spark a hint of worry.

“John?” you answer.

“Come get me.”

“Everything all right?”

“I’m not made for this.”

“You—you what?”

The sigh on the other end of the phone is deep. “Johnny bought us all tequila shots.”

“Okay,” you say slowly.

“He hates tequila.” A pause. “Had to drink his as well as mine.”

“Oh, John.”

“You know whiskey is more my drink.” “I know.” You’re already grabbing your car keys, the enemies to lovers forgotten as you head for the garage. “I’m on my way.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Your phone vibrates, rattling across the wood side table. It’s loud—loud enough to wake you. Without looking, you reach out, navigating the area by touch rather than sight. When your fingers brush against the buzzing device, you snatch it up, rolling onto your back, wincing at the bright light that greets you as the phone awakens to show who is calling.

Johnny.

You tap the green circle and bring the phone to your ear. “Do you know what time it is?” The reply you receive from him is garbled; his Scottish accent so thick it sounds like nonsense. “Johnny!”

“S’ned a ride, love.”

You’re far too tired for this. “Repeat that again.” A loud cheer drowns out his voice. There’s a crackling, and then Kyle is talking to you. “Johnny needs a ride home. Bloke is piss drunk.” Kyle laughs, and then Johnny is back, mumbling about how much he loves you and to please come get him.

You should be annoyed, but Johnny hasn’t been out with his friends in months. He needed this—to let loose and be a mess for the sake of it.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, grabbing your car keys. “Just drop a pin.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I need you to pick me up.”

Simon’s statement is slightly slurred, each word slowed below his usual pace of speech. It’s unlike him to go out and let loose. There’s always a tightness about him—a stiffness. But Johnny and Kyle convinced him, urged Simon to join them on a night out. Not that he doesn’t have a drink with the rest of the team after a successful mission. This is different. This is pub hopping. This is a late night out and an early return home come morning.

“Something wrong?” you ask, curious as to why he’s calling you.

“I am drunk,” replies Simon, the slurred speech a bit more pronounced than before. “And I miss you.”

Simon rarely drinks to the point of drunkenness. A little buzz is all he needs.

“We’re literally married,” you laugh. “You saw me,” you check the time, “four hours ago.”

There is a moment of silence on the other end before Simon finally speaks. “If you come pick me up right now, I will do the tongue thing.”

Negotiation.

“Done,” you answer automatically, because he’ll only keep adding in the hopes that you’ll take pity on him.

“Bloody brilliant,” sighs Simon.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You answer your phone, bringing it to your ear. “Hello, you,” you smile.

Kyle’s voice is soft. “Hello, love.”

You plop down on the sofa. “Where are the three off to now?”

Kyle chuckles, and it sounds nervous. “Well,” he begins. “That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Not asking me to join you?” you ask, your focus shifting away from the television and on the conversation.

“No,” answers Kyle. “But—”

You frown as you hear Kyle’s friend Simon growl, “Bloody fucking ridiculous.”

“Everything okay, Kyle?”

He sighs heavily. “Can you come pick us up?”

“Us?” you counter. “Who is us?”

Another heavy sigh. “Me. Johnny. And Simon.”

The reality show on the television is completely forgotten. You start to stand, ready to go for your keys at any moment. “What pub are you at?”

“We’re not at a pub.”

You blink. “Then where are you?”

A pause. “The police station.”

You bolt forward, rushing toward the kitchen to retrieve your keys. “What happened! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, love. Johnny flirted with someone’s wife. Started a fight. Simon joined to back him up. They just now releasing them.”

You roll your eyes. “Together, the three of you are a mess.”

[urprettylildoe]

𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓁ℯ𝒹

♡ yandere football player x fem reader ♡ Every girl wanted to be with him and every guy wanted to be him, and to everyone around the world he was considered the embodiment of perfection. But there's more to what meets the eye, and you're one of the only people who know that very well. ♡ word count: 1.9k words ♡ warnings: yandere/obsessive behaviour, dependency, toxic relationship, kidnapping, attempted drugging, very brief and implied self-harm, nsfw (non-con)

His team had won yet again.

Critics weren't just analysing the performance itself but one particular figure that always made his presence known; whether it was deliberate or natural.

Looks, money, charisma, talent; what characteristic didn't the renowned football star possess?

Blake's motivator was his love for things that kept him on his toes and sent a rush of excitement through his veins.

The constant chanting of his name from the crowds was like music to his ears. He waved and shot them a pretty smile adorned with dimples that would surely make magazine covers.

Cameras zoomed in on each of the team players as they walked out of the field. Pushing the hair out of his eyes, he stared into the camera.

The world out there didn't know that it was reserved for one particular person, and they knew who they were.

A message.

I know you're watching.

♡

"And how do you feel about today's performance?" The lady smiled almost too brightly, holding the microphone up towards him.

"I think we gave it our all today and I couldn't have done without my team," he enthusiastically recited as if he hadn't been practising with his manager for the perfect PR response to the questions. Blake was a natural in front of the camera — he threw in some jokes and made sure to flash those pearly whites every now and then.

The interviewer chuckled, "Oh please, don't be so modest. You were amazing out there, Blake. Give yourself some credit, will ya?"

A few more minutes passed with them going back and forth before he was finally asked million dollar question:

"so, we're all dying to know, any relationship updates we should be aware of?"

For a split second, his flawless facade cracked and his smile faltered, his jaw ticking with something unpleasant. Then, almost as if nothing happened, his expression turned carefully neutral and he maintained a polite smile, "my personal life is just that, personal."

Translation: i'm not answering that. In any other situation, he'd have no problem saying it directly, but he'd rather not listen to his agent talking his ear off about it later.

But the woman obviously did not pick up on the implication and if she did, she didn't mention it. Instead, she leaned in and brushed her hand against his bicep at an attempt of subtle flirting, "Oh, come on. You're one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. Surely there's someone special in your life?"

He feigned embarrassment rather than expressing his anger and scratched the back of his head, "you're really putting me on the spot here." He paused, then added, "i'm just focused on my career at the moment. And as they say, good things come to those who wait, right?"

His answer shut the interviewer down and the last line did have some truth to it. Patience is a virtue.

♡

Pushing the bathroom door open, his hands gripped one of the sinks and he took a moment to calm his nerves.

They don't know. They don't know. It's okay.

His gaze dropped to the scar marring his otherwise perfect skin in the mirror, right under his bottom lip. Yet, instead of frustration like his manager had expressed with utter disappointment, warmth he was all too familiar with fluttered in his chest.

This was no burden, but a gift from his favourite little songbird after one of her many tantrums of be let out of the golden cage. Though it is a hassle to calm her back down, he did cherish the mark imprinted on his skin.

Blake tutted, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised it further. It was fading; he'll need to fix that up soon enough.

He shrugged on a jacket and drove home in his sleek car, ready to finally relax. The day drained him of all his energy.

Or perhaps it didn't, because when he reached his home, all of the anger bubbled up to the surface. Patience was not a virtue, because his had reached its limit because of a certain dove.

♡

Tonight was the night.

The night where you would finally be free of the shackles that bound you to that horrible, horrible man.

Blake.

To his fans and the world, he's a passionate and talented athlete. To you? He's a monster. One that stripped you off everything you've known, one that kept you for his selfish desires, one that held a warped version of 'love' in his heart.

You wanted to flee. Not even tell the police, just run far, far away where he couldn't reach you, where you would be your own person and not some pretty ornament he'd come home to admire every day.

Sanity hanging by a thread, you slipped down the marble stairs in just your socks and cute pajamas. Any captive should have injuries and tattered clothes. Except, your captor wasn't normal. And while you didn't have any physical injuries, you were still hurt.

You were supposed to be asleep, if everything went according to his plan (which usually did). The opportunity was too good to pass up; he was leaving for a match for hours. When he had given you the pill with a fond smile, you returned it and made an act of swallowing, all while keeping it under your tongue. The doors were locked due to his paranoia so you couldn't escape through there. Not to mention your hands and feet were tied, so you spent time on those too.

Finally, the makeshift rope was ready. Hours of twisting bedsheets together finally paid off and now you were ready.

One look out the window and you were already nauseous. It was such a high drop and you weren't willing to die, not yet at least. The rope tumbled down till it nearly reached the bottom, only a few feet off the garden grounds.

In and out. Nothing is going to happen.

Wrapping your limbs around the clothing, your hands clenched around it. Your eyes closed and you let yourself slide. Breathing fresh air felt true bliss, like this was your first time.

When you reached the bottom, your knees trembled with the gravity of what's going on. The closest thing you let out to a relieved sigh was a choked sound out of your throat.

You were free. You. Were. Free.

No more punishments, no more suffering, no more of his constricting love, no more-

maniacal laughter rings through the air sharply, making you halt. No.

You'd recognise it anywhere, even if you didn't want to.

"Wow, I leave for a few hours and come back to this?" He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye in amusement, though you caught a vein in his forehead throbbing. "You surprise me every time, baby. Though I gotta admit i'm a little...hurt."

Your heart stopped and you took a step back, whipping around to face him. Such beauty he had, but so undeserving of it. Your nails had dug blood out of your palms, making them dully ache however not as deep as his confessions of 'love' would pierce your heart.

He didn't have nothing in that chest but rotting flesh.

"Now, now, none of that." He grinned as he followed your steps with his longer, stronger legs and you could only pray that he showed mercy. "You really didn't think you'd get away, did you? You truly do underestimate the lengths I'd go for you.

I give you the most beautiful home, the finest foods — my love. And this is how you repay? By running away from me? From us?"

His voice progressively got louder with each word. You really pushed him to the limits.

"I-I'm sorry-"

Cutting you off, large hands shaky with barely concealed raged cluched either sides of your head, "shh, I know you are. But sorry isn't enough anymore."

It wasn't a normal, torturous kind of punishment — no, you wished it was. You wondered if falling from the window was a better fate than this.

His voice softened at your sniffles, almost as if he was comforting you, shielding from a danger that nothing seemed to poise but him. "Hey, hey, don't cry. C'mon, my dove. If you're good, I won't go too hard on you."

Cries spilled past your lips, begging him that you were sorry and that you weren't going to do it again.

And really, you were never going to. Not after what he did to you afterwards.

You were reduced to a small ball to shivers and hiccups underneath Blake on the soft, fluid-stained sheets. The pink sleepwear was discarded on the floor. Equally bare, his muscles from all the training were on display. He was now beaming affectionately as he watched your tuckered out expression.

This wasn't the first time you've been violated, obviously. But this time it felt worse, like the pain of reality came crashing down on you like a tsunami ten times harder than before. It didn't help that he kept on whispering sweet threats in your ear.

He had branded your skin roughly and taken you, only to cradle you gently with a lover's touch. The drug he had injected you with made you a willing participant in his game, made you ache with desire for the one being you wanted to hate.

You slurred like a broken record, unsure of what was even going on anymore, "m'sorry, I didn't mean to...hic"

"It's okay, it's okay" he sang softly, brushing your sweaty hair out of your eyes, "y'know punishing you hurts me more than it does you, but I had to do this, you were trying to leave me, sweet thing."

A small, hidden part of you still wanted to fight for your freedom, to save yourself.

"you're so silly, thinking anyone would believe you if you ran away." He cooed, peppering loving kisses all over your face.

You closed your eyes and weakly whimpered. They would believe you, they would. Wouldn't they?

"Sometimes, the thoughts become too much for that pretty little head, don't they? You can't possible take all of it at once. But that's why i'm here. To protect you from every bad thing in the world."

His hand cupped your cheek as he tilted his head down, pressing his lips against your forehead, "I'll give you the world. Just — promise not to leave me again"

The sentences tumbling out his mouth just made you feel even more horrible.

You were broken. You had tried to convince yourself otherwise, but it was all in vain. He had shattered you into pieces and rebuilt you to fit his preferences. If you looked into the mirror right now, you don't think you would recognise yourself.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you weren't cut out for the world, maybe there were dangerous things out to get you, maybe safety was in his arms.

"Rest, i'll take care of you"

You let your eyes droop shut. Yeah, that sounded about right. He'll take care of you.

Once you finally nestled against the comfort of his chest with tiny snores, was he finally able to celebrate another accomplishment. He can't remember the last time he didn't have something he wanted, even if his beautiful dove was putting up a fight against him.

♡

Copyright © 2025 urprettylildoe. All rights reserved.

Yours truly,

@urprettylildoe

[pagesfromthevoid]

Sea Otters & Hand Holding | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

4 times the team tries to get Bob to go out + 1 time he goes out himself

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Can be read independent of Honey & Glass. Bob's fit is essentially this from Pedro Pascal's red carpet look. Inspired by @lives-in-midgard and their moodboard!

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Yelena’s Mission Impossible

Bob is trying to read, though he’s been reading the same page over and over again, distracted. He’s trying to figure out how to ask their PR manager to go out with him. Not that they aren’t already going out, but like actually going out and doing something.

Yelena plops down beside Bob, holding her phone out to him. “Wanna see this with me today?”

He glances up from his book, eying the trailer playing silently on her phone. Bob takes it carefully, restarting it so he can actually understand it. His brows knit together, flinching some as shots are fired in the video. Maybe Mission Impossible wasn’t the right movie to invite him to, in hindsight.

“I’m…I appreciate it, but I think I’ll pass.” He gives her a polite smile, handing her phone back. “I’m gonna do something here, though –there’s a new show streaming that I wanna watch.”

Yelena hums some, laying her head on his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to go out and do something? I hate that you’re always stuck here.”

He grins down at her, lifting his other shoulder in response. “I don’t mind,” he admits as he sets his book down. “The Tower is nice, and it’s better than risking anything happening.”

Yelena nods in agreement, though she’s determined to get him out of the tower sooner rather than later.

Bucky and John’s 10K Race

“C’mon,” Walker orders, banging on Bob’s door. “You gotta start training sometime!”

“Stop banging on the walls,” Bucky snaps, pushing Walker out of the way as he opens the door. 

Bob is covering his face with his arms, groaning. When he glances at the alarm clock next to him, it’s flashing 4:00 AM. He groans, running his hands over his face, shaking his head. She shifts next to him, sitting up in the bed. 

“I’m gonna kill them,” she hisses, moving to get out of the bed.

Bob wraps an arm around her middle, pulling her back into the bed. “Don’t go,” he sighs into her side. 

“Fuck off, Walker,” she yells at the two super soldiers. “You too, Barnes. It’s too goddamn early.”

“It’s not too early,” Walker argues, but his voice is so damn loud and Bob wants to bang his head into the wall. “Get up, Bobby –we got training to do. Starts with an early morning run.”

When neither of them move, Walker starts banging on the walls, trying to get Bob up. Bucky is yelling at Walker to stop, which only makes him hit the walls harder. Bob covers his head with a pillow, trying to drown out the banging as he buries his head under the blankets.

Then she’s pulling away and he whines, trying to get her to come back to bed.  

There’s silence, then Bucky and Walker are apologizing, and she’s crawling back into bed.

“Go back to sleep,” she yawns, taking the pillow off his head and curling up next to him again.

Alexei’s Friday Night Karaoke

“Bob!” Alexei yells, grabbing his shoulders from behind. Bob flinches, dropping the tablet he was looking at. “We are going to karaoke tonight –you will join us!”

“O-oh,” Bob stammers out, shrugging Alexei’s hands off his shoulders. “I’m not…I’m not much of a singer –,”

“Nonsense! No one needs to be perfect!” The Russian beams, but he’s still shaking Bob’s shoulders in excitement. “Come! We will be glorious!”

Bob just makes a face, wincing from how loud Alexei is in his ear. “I really don’t –,”

“Alexei,” she warns, rounding the corner as she unwraps her hands from training. “He doesn’t want to go –you can’t force him.”

Alexei wants to argue, Bob can tell, but she waves the Russian away and sits down next to him. Without hesitation, he lays his head on top of hers. He thinks he’s willing to go if she goes with him. But then he decides that he absolutely does not want to go to karaoke. Between being in public with alcohol and singing, he thinks it’s not a good idea. Even if he was in better control –absolutely not. 

“I’ll hang back with you tonight,” she offers, taking his hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I can’t sing worth shit anyway.”

He presses a kiss into her hair, closing his eyes. He’s gotta figure out what he’s going to do for her.

Valentina’s PR Nightmare

“Get him into a tux,” Valentina orders, pointing at Bob. “He cannot wear his pajamas to this charity event.”

He shifts uncomfortably, probably looking like a deer in headlights. “I really don’t want to go to this –,”

“No arguments,” Valentina warns, then she turns to the mind reader in the room. “He’s your boy toy –figure that out by Friday.”

Without allowing an argument, the director leaves and they both are staring after her. Bob is picking at his nails, trying to calm himself down. She’s glaring daggers at the elevator door, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I hate her,” she complains, looking over at Bob now. “But she’s not technically wrong –you do have to go with us. And we’re all dressing up.”

“I really hate dressing up,” he reminds her, thinking back to the last time he managed to put something on that wasn’t his usual comfort outfit.

“I know,” she reassures. “But the great thing about fashion is that there’s always a way around the traditional.”

By the night of the event, Bob is still very uncomfortable –but not because of his clothes. Actually, he doesn’t really mind the outfit she picked out for him. It’s not a tux, and it’s not super tight. But it’s still nice enough looking that he can get away with it, much to Valentina’s dismay.

No, no he’s uncomfortable because people keep asking what his role is on the New Avengers. What his powers are. Why does he look so familiar? Is he the Sentry? Are the rumors true?

It’s overwhelming, and he’s trying to stick close to her as she mingles, but at some point, he gets lost in a crowd. He can definitely hear Alexei, but he can’t see him, and Bob feels like the walls are caving in on him as he tries to get to the edge of the room. The Void is in his ear –he can hear him, just barely there. You don’t belong here. They’re all good at this –you can’t even talk without stuttering. How could you be anything more than an embarrassment?

He gets out onto the balcony attached to the event space, trying to breathe. Trying to get his bearings. Void is still whispering, and he can feel the shadows trying to creep over him but then her hand is on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she promises as he jumps. Her hand is on his chest, the other holding his hand. “I’m right here. What’s going on?”

He just shakes his head, clutching the hand that’s on his chest tight. “I’m just…I can’t��,”

“I get it,” she promises, and her voice is soft and reassuring. “We can stay out here, or we can go back to the Tower. Your choice –I’ll handle Valentina.”

“Can we…can we just go home?”

 Bob’s Testing the Waters

“I want to take you out,” he announces, bright and early, on a Tuesday. 

She’s laying on his chest, half asleep, and he’s running his fingers up and down her spine. Resting her chin on her hand, she looks up at him with a soft smile.

“Last time you wanted to take me out, you were having a bad day –is that what this is?”

“I promise it’s not,” he insists, sitting up in bed. She sits up too, pulling a knee to her chest as she looks him over. There’s a pin prick at the base of his head, and he flinches some, but he understands why she does it. But it's gone as quick as it’s there, and she seems satisfied that he’s serious. “I wanna take you to the aquarium.”

He’s done his research. Tuesdays are the least busy days, and are especially quiet in the mornings. Even if there are people there, it’s big enough that it shouldn’t be overwhelming and he really wants to see the sea otters. 

“I do love aquariums, and I haven’t been to the one here yet,” she admits, then she nods with a smile. “When do you want to go?”

“I –well, I’d like to go now. Or soon, at least.”

“Let’s get ready then,” she says, standing up and extending her hand to him to get him out of bed. “I need to shower anyway.”

Bob decides this was the best idea he’s ever had about an hour into their date.

Everything about the aquarium is calm; the lighting, the exhibits, the sounds. Everything. For the first time in a long time, Bob doesn’t feel overwhelmed from just being somewhere. It helps that she’s there, holding his hand, and reading each and every exhibit explanation like she’s determined to learn everything. 

He’s distracted most of the time –except when they go see the sea otters. Then he’s hyper focused on how they’re holding hands and floating around. “That’s us,” he insists. She buys them little sea otter plushies whose paws connect at the gift shop. 

The aquarium has a soft blue tint to the lights, especially when they find themselves sitting in front of a wall of glass, washed in the lighting. And it bathes her in the soft blues, like she’s part of the exhibit herself. He can’t help himself as he stares at her, even when she’s pointing at the different creatures behind the glass.

Bob thinks, briefly, that he’s not sure he got this lucky. 

He has a team –a family, really –that insists on including him in things, even when he refuses. He has friends who care about his well being and are constantly checking in on him. And he has her, who's been nothing but supportive and loving since the moment he met her in that stupid vault six months ago.

“I love you,” he blurts out. And it’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels very real suddenly. Like all the fears he’s had about her loving him –he suddenly knows they’re irrational. And it’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest a little more.

She turns and smiles up at him, eyes shining in the dim lights of the exhibit. He takes her hand and she immediately wraps his arm around her shoulders, leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I love you too.”

And he believes her this time. 

____

Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @k1ttyjuice @magikdarkholme

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, yandere

fem reader

The way Gojo Senpai is so obnoxious, he doesn’t understand his flirting is making you uncomfortable…

He seriously thinks he’s making you fall head over heels in love with him even when you give him nothing in return to make him think that. He just thinks you’re embarrassed and nervous, flustered by his attention, and that’s the reason you divert your gaze and bite your lip when he has you against the lockers, leaning on his hand with his shades gliding low on his nose—telling you that you have no shot becoming a sorcerer, but that you look too cute in the uniform not to give it your best try. 

“Don’t worry, just say my name, and I’ll come save you,” he’ll say. “You can be my personal assistant supervisor instead.” 

His game isn’t anything to brag about. It's more in line with bullying than flirting, but you pick up on the suggestiveness. That heated saccharine look within his blue eyes can only mean one thing if the way he plays with your hair isn’t enough of a hint already.

But his words are nothing short of derogatory, and all in all, he simply makes you feel gross—a sentiment you thought you put across, but it seems that having six eyes only makes you blind.

It takes Shoko telling him to leave the poor Kohai alone for him to finally understand that you don’t like him. And then he’s just confused and embarrassed.

And a tinge bit irritated.

Gojo knows for a fact he could make any girl want him. Even those who seem to hate him would melt if he gave them the same attention he’s been giving you. Any girl. He could have any girl, but he chose you. And you reject him?

No. He can’t accept that.

“Most girls would be grateful for my attention,” He states plainly after having tracked you down.

Your head snapped, jolting. “Gojo Senpai—” You dropped the mop in your hands with a clatter, having been deep in your own thoughts on classroom cleaning duty. You sighed as the scare settled, giving a breathy laugh, “You scared me—”

“Is that it?” he interrupted. “I scare you?”

You quirked a brow with a tilt of your head. “What?”

“Do I scare you?” he repeated, louder, posted on the threshold in a stance you’d never seen him in—stiff and squared, not his usual lazy laidbackness.

Confused, your eyes looked around as if searching for clues but came up emptyhanded, “Uhm, I don’t understand—”

“It’s a simple question,” he said, cutting you off again, this time with a step into the classroom. He talked slowly, cradling the next words, “Are you scared of me?”

Where it all came from, you hadn’t a clue. But then again, Gojo Senpai has always been rather strange. 

Were you scared of him? It’s not really something you’ve ever thought about. Sure, if you were to go one versus one with him, you’d probably piss yourself. But in a regular setting, you just found him to be as grating as the next person.

“I don’t think so?” you end up answering.

“Good. So what is it then?” His shades were low enough for his stare to skim over. Brighter than clear skies, and yet, somehow, so dark. “Why don’t you like me.”

Oh, so he’s figured it out on his own then. It’s about time. And thank fuck for it—saves you the trouble of breaking it to him yourself. Though you were still left with the unfair task of telling him why.

“Honestly, Gojo Senpai, I’m not, or well… you’re just not my type.”

Stick to the basics, is what you told yourself. There’s no need to drag this out.

“Yeah, I figured. I’m asking why,” he countered, in complete disagreement with your thought.

Still, you wanted to fight for it. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes.”

This conversation was the last thing you wanted, but it seemed the white-haired prodigy wouldn’t leave without having it.

“Well…” you started, still pondering. Maybe he’d appreciate the honesty? He’s a rather straightforward guy himself. “I mean, there’s no way you don’t already know this, but—” You picked up the broom again mid-sentence. “You’re really obnoxious.”

He took a small second before he scoffed, “So? No one else cares.”

It reminded you of arguing with someone half your age—the petty anger in an ill-thought-through comment slung at you as if it carried all the weight in the world. But what everyone else thought of him hadn’t anything to do with you—and even so, out of the people on campus, you’re certain you’re not the only one who finds his attitude unpleasant—they just don’t tell it to his face. 

You had half the mind to tell him to go get a grip, but he was still your Senpai.

“Good for you, I guess?” You weren’t really looking to fight with him, after all. “So you can flirt with literally anyone else then,” you dismiss him and go back to finish cleaning the classroom—glad to have put it all behind you. You were starting to fear he’d never leave you alone.

There’s a woosh, then the hard thunk of your back hitting the wall. Both your upper arms are gripped tight, pinned. When you open your eyes again after adjusting to the impact, you look straight up into the full view of two crisp comet blues.

“You’re mighty rude for a Kohai. You know that?”

Your head stings. You blink crookedly.

“Senpai—”

“Maybe I’ve misjudged you. D’you have anythin’ for show to back that attitude up?” It’s eerie how he says it in the same flirty fashion he would otherwise—even the look in his eyes are the same. But his grip tightens.

“I don’t want to fight—”

“No?” he cuts you off with a pout. “I could've sworn you were asking for it—all but begging for it a second ago.”

You whimper, cowering at the sudden bite in his voice.

“What’s the matter, huh? I thought you said you weren’t scared?”

Your voice comes out weak, “Please, Gojo Senpai, I—”

“Please?” he questions brightly, eyes stark and burning like a stovetop. “Yeah, that’s got a nicer ring to it—suits you better.” The smile that splits across his face is nothing short of unhinged. “But it’s not enough for me to let your disrespect slide.” He licks his lips, and a chill runs up your spine, feeling like caught prey. “Lucky you, I know exactly what price to put on it.”

His mouth devour yours the same way—pouncing like a beast would, with teeth more than lips, then a tongue. You whine as you twist—it’s more instinctive than deliberate when your knee shoots up into the unprotected space between his legs—right into that thing that was rubbing and rutting against you.

You make a run for it as he staggers back with a hiss, but you don’t make it farther than three measly steps before you’re bent over the closest desk.

His fist wrangles your hair, using it to shove you face-down against the wood—the weight of his body on top of your back with his voice raspy against your ear. “We could’ve left this with a kiss, but I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy now.”

Tears spill hotly in a panic, but no matter how much strength you put into lifting yourself up, you remain down. Sobbing, “Let go—help—”

He snickers with a hand under your skirt, spidering delicately up your thigh. “Who’re you callin’ for help, hm? I’m already here.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[powderpinkprincess]

Twin Telepathy II. [Lando Norris & twin sister!reader]

find part one here description: Little moments of your lives as twins.

You didn’t expect Lando to be there. He was always busy. These days, most of the time, you could only spend quality time with him if you were willing to follow him to race weekends and wait out your turn. It didn't sound good, but it was the truth.

You were sitting on the edge of the white hospital bed, your Mom watching you with the eyes of a hawk. Your Dad slipped out to get coffee for the two of them. When he entered with Lando behind him, you blinked.

 “I brought you someone,” your Dad sent you a half-smile, noticing your expression.

Lando’s eyes were scanning you like he was checking if you were still alive or if he should start planning a funeral. Then, his mouth quirked into a half-smirk that said, “I’m worried, but don’t expect me to say it.”

 “Wow, Y/N,” he said, dropping his bag on the chair. “I was beginning to think you’d actually managed to survive this month without nearly killing yourself. Guess not.”

 “How did you get here?” you whispered. He was the last person you expected, considering that you only wrecked your car this morning.

He shrugged like it was no big deal, like hopping on a private jet halfway across the continent to check if your sister’s skull was still intact was something he did every Tuesday.

 “Left mid-meeting. They’ll live. You, on the other hand…” His eyes wandered down to the cast on your wrist, then back to your face.

 “I’m fine,” you said. Defensive. Tired. A little touched, even if you’d rather eat your own cast than say it out loud.

 “You’re fine?” He snorted. “You’re sitting like a grandma, and you’re wearing the ugliest hospital gown I’ve ever seen. No offense.”

You looked down. Yeah, it was ugly. “Did you come here just to insult me?”

 “Yes,” he said immediately. “Absolutely. That’s the only reason I flew here like a maniac. To mock your fashion sense and check if your brain still works.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

He grinned. “Jury’s still out.”

Your mom let out a quiet sigh from the corner. “Be nice,” she muttered at him, like it was a reflex.

 “So…” you said before he could continue. “How long are you staying?”

He shrugged again. “Dunno. As long as I need to. Or until you’re back to being annoying and I can’t take it anymore. Whichever comes first.”

 “Wow. I feel so loved.”

 “You are,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. Then, with perfect timing, he added, “Though you kinda ruined my day, so please don’t do this again. For a moment, I thought I would have to donate my next champagne bottle to raise awareness of road accidents.”

A nice comeback was on the tip of your tongue, but then the meaning behind his words reached you, and you bit it back. He was scared. You got it – you hated when he crashed as well. But he was trained and well-protected. You weren’t. You could only imagine the way your Mom called him, because when you woke up, she was still crying. You were a little bruised, you bumped your head, and your wrist was broken, but you were alive. Shaken, but alive.

---

Lando had been thinking you needed a break. You haven’t seen each other since the accident, which was a long time ago. As a Norris would do, you didn’t really take time to think and recover. You had dived back into work as soon as you could.

Monaco was coming up. It was the perfect excuse. A few friends were already there, including Max Fewtrell, and Lando decided: you were coming with them. Lando sent you the plane tickets and the paddock pass before you could argue.

He couldn’t get away to pick you up himself - too much going on, as always - but he arranged for Max and one of his other friends, someone you’d never met, to meet you at the airport.

Max knew exactly what to look for after your plane landed. He spotted you immediately, weaving through the arrivals crowd with determination. He nudged the friend, Toby, beside him. “There she is.”

 “Where?” Toby asked, scanning the people in the distance.

 “There, in the blue shirt. The one that looks just like Lando. Well, like a female version of him.”

Toby blinked, looking you over with surprise. He finally saw you, too. “No way. They’re like twins or something?”

 Max nodded in amusement. “I mean, they all look very similar, but Y/N and Lando obviously won the competition.”

Meanwhile, you spotted Max as well and hurried your steps. You hugged him tightly, finding his familiarity finally comforting. He and Lando have been best friends since they were children. You have known him forever.

 “Y/N! Took you time,” Max joked, hugging you back.

Then, you turned to his friend. “You must be Toby then.”

Toby nodded slowly, staring at your face. “Lando told me one of his sisters was coming, but he never said he had a twin. Seriously?”

 “Alright, guys, let’s get going until we can get out of here,” Max waved his hand quickly. “You can talk in the car, but I don’t want to be stuck in this crowd.”

---

You knocked on the door of Lando’s driver's room. You were impatient to finally get inside, hoping it was air-conditioned. You were a British girl, and this Monegasque weather was killing you.

 “Come in, Y/N,” came his voice immediately from the other side.

You sighed and pushed the door open. “Damn it. I wanted to surprise you.”

Lando didn’t even look up from lacing his shoes. “When have you ever surprised me?”

 “I’ve definitely surprised you before.”

 “Name one time that wasn’t you driving your car into the ditch.” He stopped for a minute. “Well, that wasn’t really a surprise, either.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You didn’t know what to say, so you just crossed your arms.

He smirked, finally looking up. “Also, no one else knocks like they’re trying to break the door down with their fist. It’s a dead giveaway.”

You dropped into the seat across from him. “I’ll start knocking like a normal person.”

 “Please don’t. Then I’ll really be alarmed.”

find part three here

[maxinesgun]

it's the whiskey talking ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

abby anderson x fem!reader

drunk!reader, established relationship, abby has the patience of a saint (for you and only you), abby taking care of r, pet names, pure fluff. wc 1.5k ᡣ𐭩

“Abby. Abby. Abby.”

Your girlfriend wasn’t answering the door. So, really, it wasn’t your fault that you were here, knocking and calling out to her rather obnoxiously at what was likely an ungodly hour to be doing so. Frankly, you had no clue what time it was, and you didn’t really care. 

“Abbyyy,” you repeated, drawing out her name as if savouring it. Every word you spoke felt heavy and stretchy, like taffy in your mouth. “C’mon, I know you’re in there. You sleeping?” You yanked on the handle again, as if this time it would magically spring open, and stumbled a bit, catching yourself on the wall and cursing under your breath.

Okay, so you were drunk. Perhaps more than you’d initially thought.

You’d had a bonfire with a small group of friends tonight. It had been one of the rare occasions where none of you were held up with any assignments or patrols, and it allowed for a well-deserved and long-overdue break to loosen up and have a good time. With food, card games, and a bottle of whiskey Manny had snagged from God-knew-where, the night had passed by quickly. Abby had been absent in lieu of patrol duty that evening, and had urged you to go without her, assuring you that she’d be back before morning.

Sober you probably would have just gone back to your own dorm, assuming she’d gotten into bed and crashed after arriving back so late, but drunk you had decided that you needed to see her, to be wrapped in her arms, as desperately as you needed air.

You leaned your head against the door, sniffing dejectedly. “Okay, fine. I’m just going to sit right here, outside your door,” you called, a pout on your lips. “On the cold, hard floor. All by myself. Alone. And… lonely.”

“Hey, don’t stop now. I think there are some people on the ground floor who couldn’t hear you.”

The voice came from directly behind you, and it took you a few seconds longer than what was normal to register it before you spun around. You looked at Abby, standing before you with her gym bag slung over her shoulder, and felt your mouth drop open a little in surprise. “Oh.” You turned fully, leaning back against the door and allowing yourself a better view of her. The muscle tank she wore was certainly doing its job. “Hi,” you said innocently, a giggle bubbling out of you at your own foolishness.

“Hello to you, too.” Her eyes lingered over you with a curious expression you couldn’t quite name, sweeping down the length of your body before returning to your face. A faint smile was playing at her lips as she closed the distance between you. “I was just doing some training. Got back about an hour ago, but I was too amped up to go to sleep. I figured you’d already be in bed.”

She was right in front of you now, and you leaned forward to wrap your arms around her neck. “Mhm,” you hummed, not hearing a word of what she’d said. You were too busy staring at her adoringly, admiring the way her lips moved when she talked. They were the perfect shape, and so, so kissable. You reached to trace over her cupid’s bow lightly with a fingertip, which made her grin widen a bit beneath your touch. “You have pretty lips,” you told her, because it was important that she knew.

“Wow,” she said, her brows raising a bit in amusement. Her big hands came up to grip your waist firmly. “You are…”

“Beautiful? Hot? Gorgeous? Stunning?” you offered, grinning widely.

“I was going to say hammered,” she finished. “But all those other things, too.” At this, another giggle burst out of you, and those pretty lips of hers stretched into a wider grin. “You had fun, huh?”

“So much fun.” You leaned your head against her chest for a moment, closing your eyes. She smelled like the pine soap she religiously used. “Manny brought whiskey,” you added in a false-whisper.

You felt her huff a laugh, and imagined her rolling her eyes. “Oh, so I have him to thank for this, do I?” When you didn’t move after a solid few seconds and remained like that, head pressed to her chest contentedly, she patted the small of your back encouragingly, like one would a stubborn child. “‘Kay, let’s get you to bed, hm?”

You let out an exaggerated groan, your grip on her tightening possessively. “But I came here to see you.” You craned your head back a little to look at her, giving her a little pout. “You don’t wanna see me?”

“I always want to see you,” Abby said in a placating tone. She leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before subtly maneuvering you over to the door and fumbling with the lock, one-handed. “You can crash here for the night. That way you can wake me up if you start puking your guts out or something.”

When she got the door open you finally relinquished your hold on her, bracing a hand against the frame a little unsteadily. “Can you walk?” she asked, her hand remaining lightly on the small of your back until you assured her you could.

The room was dark, and in your already-inhibited state, your sense of balance was more than a little off-kilter. You half-leaned against the wall, kicking lazily at the shoe rack in a poor attempt to get your boots off as Abby locked the door and began shrugging her bag and shoes off behind you. Your efforts were hopeless; with a sigh of frustration, you bent over to reach your laces. As you did, you promptly felt the ground tilt beneath you—the next moment, you were on the floor. You had hardly registered that you'd fallen until Abby was looming over you.

“Shit. You okay?”

“Fuck—yeah, m'fine. Are you laughing at me?” You had rolled onto your back, and could now make out the clear amusement on her face as she held a hand out to help you up. Her lips were fighting to control her obvious grin, and her shoulders were shaking slightly. “Shut up!”

“I’m not laughing at you, babe.”

“Yes you are!” you said indignantly, ignoring her offered hand and aiming a playful kick at her legs.

“No, no. I promise. There’s nothing remotely funny about you falling on your ass.”

Abby had momentarily given up on helping you up and had instead crouched by your feet, beginning to undo your boots for you as you lay sprawled on the ground. Your arms were stretched above your head, and you stared blearily up at the dark ceiling, thinking to yourself that the floor was actually pretty comfortable.

“I could have hit my head and died. Then you wouldn’t be laughing.”

“A trained soldier who fights infected, dying of a fall while piss drunk. What a way to go," Abby mused, tugging off your second boot and tossing it aside. Then she sat back on her heels, watching you with a look of mingled amusement and affection.

“And as my dying wish, I’d ask that my girlfriend would stop making fun of me in my last moments."

"Uh-huh," Abby agreed, humouring your drunken rambling. She patted your leg, then rose up to lean over you, reaching for your arm again. “Okay, come on. Up you go.”

Too out of it to protest, you obediently gave her your arm and let her tug you to your feet. Your limbs felt heavy and floaty with both the alcohol and sleepiness, and so you allowed her to lead you to the bed and press a cup of water to your lips; you took a few swallows before flopping back against the mattress unceremoniously.

Soon Abby was tucked in behind you beneath the covers, her arm draped over your torso and holding you against her. You could feel her warm breaths against your neck, slowed and deep. Oncoming sleep pulled at your heavy limbs as you snuggled closer into her embrace.

"Abby?" you murmured quietly, wondering if she was still awake.

"Hm?"

"Are you sleeping?"

"About to be." Her voice was a low mumble in your ear.

There was a short pause in which you listened to her breathing, felt the rise and fall of her chest against you. Then, "Abby?"

"Mm."

"You smell good."

"Do I?" she breathed a quiet chuckle. You could tell by the softness of her voice that she was just barely awake. "You been smelling me?"

"Yeah, but not on purpose." You yawned. Considered for a second. "Well... sometimes on purpose."

"Weirdo."

"'s not weird. I can't help it." Another pause. This time, a full few minutes passed. "Abs."

"Mhm."

"Do I smell good?"

"Do you smell good?" You let out a short hum. "Yeah, you do. You smell like strawberries."

"See? You smell me too," you pointed out triumphantly. Or as triumphant as you could manage to sound for being half-asleep. "Weeirdo."

You felt the breathless laugh against your neck, felt her lips curl into a soft smile. She gave you a small, tight squeeze. "Sleep."

[rex-rambles]

➤ YOU CAME? YOU CALLED | MAX VERSTAPPEN

summary: you don't mean to call Max when you get mugged on the streets of Monaco, but he shows up anyway

pairing: max verstappen x ex!reader

wc: 2.6 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending, discussions of break ups, mugging, minor bodily harm, and insecurities

➤ MASTERLIST

You hadn’t really meant to call Max. You’d memorized his number by now, typed it into your phone enough times, but you’d never meant to press call. 

You’d never meant for him to pick up. “What’s wrong?” It wasn’t a surprise, that something terrible must have happened for you to call him. 

It wasn’t like that, once. Once, you’d been madly in love and called every evening you could, spent every hour together, but love runs out eventually. That honeymoon feeling wears off, and you’re left fighting in the dull heat of Monaco’s late nights, storming off a yacht for the last time. 

“It’s nothing,” You manage to say, hanging up, and letting your head drop into your hands. It was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Being mugged at knife point wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to you, you weren’t even really hurt. 

The paramedics insisted on bandaging up your hand, where the knife had managed to cut you, but it shouldn't have been anything major to Max. Before that doomed fight, he had been acting like every time you left the house you were heading into a war zone. Telling him you were mugged? At knife point? You would be proving him and his need to control you right, and even if you wanted him here, you'd never admit it.

“It’s nothing?” The paramedic asks, staring down at where you're perched on the sidewalk. “You need a ride home.” 

“I’ll be fine.” But you don’t move, and the paramedic doesn’t believe you. “I called the wrong person.” You finally say, pretending to dial another number and pressing the phone to your ear, and you pretend to have a conversation with someone who cares about you and is worried the normal amount and rushing here as quick as they can. 

The paramedics get a more important call, and you’re left on your own on the sidewalk, thinking of whether you should call a taxi, or just walk when the sound of a motor cuts through the night. It would be an ignorable noise, if you hadn’t known Max for so long. 

It would be an ignorable noise, if you didn’t know the exact make and model of the car, and the man behind the wheel. At a speed you can’t fathom for Monaco’s tight streets, Max and his Valkyrie appears, and it isn't lost on you that Max came, in his fastest car, when you called.

You try not to let it jump-start all those feelings tucked away in your heart, watching the car come to a screeching halt in front of you. With little regard for anyone else out on the street, he parks in the middle of it and is at your side without caring to close the car door.

“I don’t care if it’s nothing,” he says, a soft anger in his voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” you don’t want to admit you were mugged, because then it’ll turn into a thing about strength, about you needing Max, and you’re not ready to admit that yet. “You came.” 

“You called.” He says, coming to crouch before you. “You know I’ll always answer.” 

His eyes drop to your hand, and he pauses, slowly raising it up into the streetlight. You know he can tell it’s fresh, and his eyes flick up to yours with a dark expression. “It’s nothing.”

“Stop lying to me, liefje.” The word slips out, you think, Max so used to saying it. It had only been a month without being called that, and you hate to say you missed it. “Nothing has to happen between us again, but you need to tell me the truth. What happened?”

Rather than answering, your eyes drift past him to his car, and you realize you'd never told him where you were. “How did you know where to find me?” You ask and Max sighs, slowly letting your hand rest on your leg as he debates his answer.

Knowing him, it was probably some hidden air tag or something on you, but if it had been in your purse, it was long gone from now. “You never unshared your location." He answers finally, and you spare a glance down at your phone on the sidewalk. It wasn't his fault, you suppose, that he wanted to know where you were at all times with the fame he was accustomed to. You just weren't used to being known like that, being controlled, even if it was for your safety. "Now, for the last time, what happened?” 

“I was mugged.” You admit quietly, and Max’s head snaps up to look at you, shock plain on his features. "I don't sleep well alone, so I've been going for late night walks, and I know you're going to lecture me about not being safe, but I want to live my life, Max." The words just sort of tumble out, the whole reason you separated now hanging between the two of you. "I know you want to protect me, but it-"

“Are you hurt? Your hand?” Max cuts you off, and you raise it up to wiggle your fingers in an attempt to show you're fine, but the stretch makes you wince.

“I tried to grab it out of his hand, but he made off with my purse.” It had hurt like hell, but somehow, your pride hurt more. 

You were tired of doing everything wrong, of being told where to go and when, or how to act. You just wanted to be alone with yourself for once, and you ended up on the other end of a knife. You didn't want to say Max was right, but maybe he was. “You tried…to grab it.” 

“The knife, so he wouldn’t stab me.” Without much ceremony, Max reaches out and pulls you into his arms, hand coming up to cradle your head as he presses it into his shoulder. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispers into the top of your head, and tears spring up before you can help it. 

You’d held it together this long, but it had been terrifying, and Max’s arms felt like a home you hadn’t realized you’d miss. He seems to sense your tears, gently rubbing circles into your back. 

“And I am going to lecture you about walking alone at night,” he continues, making you scowl into his chest, “But it doesn’t have to be with me.”

“What?” You wrench back, staring up at him as if you didn’t hear that right. 

He stares right back, watching the few stray tears run down your cheeks, and you realize, in that instant, what he's saying. "I want to keep you safe, but...you're not happy like that. If...if you need someone who doesn't smother you to be happy, then you should have that person, and take them on your stupid late night walks."

Were you smothered? It wasn't the wrong word, you suppose, but it wasn't like Max had meant it to be as painful as it was. He could have anything he wanted, anyone he wanted, but he was so protective of what he had, like he couldn't stand to lose it.

And yet, for you, for your happiness, he was willing to let you go again. The tears well up once more, for your hand, for the fear of being mugged, for Max, and confusion overrides the sympathy on his face.

"You...don't want that?" Max infers softly, and you shove against his chest to create some space between you as you try to figure out what to say.

That you still love him? That despite the smothering, he was the first person you knew to call, the first person you wanted to call, and he came, in his fastest car, to come get you?

That he was telling you to find another man to be happy with, to protect you, when you just wanted him? "Listen, you can't just go walking on your own, this is what happens!"

"I should be able to!" You snap, taking a heaving breath as you try to calm yourself. "I just-I should be able to do what I want, Max, with who I want. If I want to walk with you at night, it shouldn't be because I need some protector, but because I want you."

"Do you want me to walk with you at night?"

You blink at him, tears slowing as you try to figure out what he's asking you. "Of course I do, Max." You answer softly. "I always did."

"Then why didn't you say something?" You'd tried. You kept asking to go out, and he'd tell you that it was too dangerous, and it would become an argument before you could even ask him to join you.

"I did, but you always made it about how I can't go out at night. And if it wasn't late night walks, it was just doing random errands on a day off, or going on a girl's trip, or wandering around all the places you were racing." You know he didn't mean to be controlling, but he was. The only way to get space was to walk away from him, and it hurt like hell. Max opens his mouth, and you quickly shush him to continue. "And before you go off on some tangent about how it's not safe, I get it. I mean, I got mugged tonight! But the potential of something bad happening doesn't mean to stop the good from happening, too."

Max's eyes drop from yours, turned to look down the street. In this light, it's hard to blame him for anything at all, but it wasn't fair. Not to you, and not to him.

"Max," You offer quietly, "Look at me."

"You scare me." Max says, voice barely audible in the night. Turned away, you almost pretend he didn't say it at all. "I've never felt this way before, about anyone. I'm terrified something is going to happen to you, and it's going to be all my fault."

"Love, that's not-"

"My first race, you got lost in the crowd. Someone could've...could've done terrible things to you. That time you got ambushed by paparazzi, you got lost in Montreal, I just...I've only ever wanted you to be safe and happy, but..." But you weren't happy like this, despite how safe you were.

And Max was finally realizing it. "But you let the safety part control our relationship. I promise you Max, nothing bad is going to happen to me because you weren't there."

"But it did tonight." You suck in a breath, coming to gently cradle Max's face in your hands, and forcing him to look back at you.

If it were anyone else this stubborn, you would give up this fight, but it's Max, whose life is fast-paced and hellish at the best of times. You hadn't realized how much of this was about him, and his abilities, and not you and your restrictions. You were still mad at him, justified for walking away, but the longer he was close to you, the more your resolve broke.

This wasn't supposed to end in heartbreak. This was supposed to be a bump in the road where Max realized he was being overbearing, but how can you truly be angry at anyone for caring?

He wanted you safe, but he needed to realize that the ways he was going about it weren't right. As he'd said, there's a difference between safe and smothered, and you had stepped away before it had gotten to that point.

And even now, having gone against him, and gotten hurt, it was alright in the end, and as stupid as it was to say, he needed to realize that. "And?"

Max blinks twice, as if trying to calculate how you came to that conclusion. "And what?"

"And I'm fine. I'm a bit banged up, and without a purse, but I'm alive, and I'm with you." Max opens his mouth to speak again, and of his own will, he shuts it promptly. You let out a sad laugh at his restraint, and he cracks the barest smile in response.

"Only you could turn a mugging into a good thing." Max leans forward, gently resting his forehead against yours, and it takes a fair amount of restraint to not kiss him. "I'm sorr-"

"You can't apologize for something you didn't cause." The last thing you need is for him to blame himself for you getting hurt because he wasn't there.

In this life, there are always going to be things out of your control, but it's up to you and Max to work together against them, rather than let that anxiety rule over everything.

"Then I'm sorry for you thinking you couldn't call me." Tears swim in his eyes, cracking open to look at you, and you move your head back to look at him properly.

"You know, I really didn't mean to call you at all, but it was just sort of instinctual." Max nods solemnly, like he's committed some great sin, and you gently run your thumb over his cheek. “It’s a good thing, I think.” 

“You think?” 

"If you think I'd never call you again because you care about me too much, you are sorely mistaken." You smile, and Max attempts the same. "I'm sorry for putting distance between us the way I did, but I think we needed it."

"Need is a strong word." Max mutters softly, endearing in the way he tries to frown and fails. "I just...I don’t know how to do this any other way." You expect another argument, but instead, Max hesitates. It's obvious he has something to say, but instead, he very gently pulls back to press a kiss to your forehead. "But if you'd let me...we can try?"

That's all you want. For him to hear you, to understand you, for him to just try. You know he won't suddenly be perfect overnight, and neither will you, but it's enough to just try.

His eyes flicker down your face, quickly returning to your eyes, and that same old guilt returns, and without much thought, you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips, and instantly, he's melting in your arms like that touch was all he needed, moving his hands to your hips to gently guide you towards him again. "I can do that," You whisper against his lips. "We're going to try, and you're going to try to understand that whatever happens, it's not your fault. Never was, and never will be."

"And you are going to try and not get lost as often, okay?" You press another quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

"Deal." You and Max just stare at each other, curled up on some sidewalk in Monaco, and you both realize the strangeness of it at the same time. "Take me home?" You ask softly, and without a word Max is up and on his feet, hand extended to help you up. There's a joke to be made here, about him being eager, but you save it for a night with a bit less emotion. He helps you into the Valkyrie and gets in the driver's seat, but he doesn't turn on the car, or plug himself in.

Rather, he turns to look at you, reaching over and taking your bandaged hand in his. "I love you." He says, unlike how he's ever said it before. It's not a statement, a confession, or some poetic thing, it's just the truth.

He says it, as if no matter what happened tonight, if you stormed away furious or made up, he'd say it all the same.

He says it with the understanding that you'd call, and he'd come find you, no matter what. And, gently squeezing his hand in yours, you know it's enough to make this work.

"I love you too."

a/n: i can't really explain where all this came from besides a good, sad playlist and a 2 hour road trip :) enjoy

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Baking Bread: Part 1 - Recipe - Part 1 of ?

Asking them if they'd let you get them pregnant for this series.

Cw: pregnancy talk, death mention(its blade come on), a little suggestive

A/N: this isn't omegaverse in the slightest it's just pure crack. I live to make them suffer :3c

Edited: 6/16/2025

If you'd like to read the extended versions of this series you can check out "Baking Bread" on Ao3. I will not be posting those versions here on Tumblr so if you want to read them go there.

-------

Neuvillette is so confused when he hears the question it makes him pause in his work. Get him pregnant? He sits there quietly trying to process everything before turning towards you his brows furrowed. Was this your way of asking to have a child together? All he knows is that based on both of your anatomy he wouldn't exactly be able to get pregnant and tells you as much.

But you ask him if your bodies could would he carry your children and he finds himself lost in thought again. It takes a few minutes before you begin to see his ears and cheeks begin to turn pink. He clears his throat turning back to his work nodding once shyly. You nod at his answer before leaving him with the cryptic words "it shall be done"...what?

-------

Wriothesley is used to your crazy questions at this point but this one really takes the cake. He nearly spits out his tea all over his desk choking a bit and coughing at the question. His voice is hoarse as he asks why you would want to get him pregnant but you don't elaborate just asking him that if you could get him pregnant would he let you.

He stares at you with concern over your mischievous grin before giving you an uneasy and questioning "No?". He runs a hand down his face asking if this was your way of letting him know you want kids together. While he certainly wouldn't mind having some with you he'd definitely prefer if you adopted rather than whatever it is you have in mind. You simply tell him it's too late before walking down the stairs leaving him to his work as he sits there losing his mind. "Too late"?! What do you mean by "too late"?!

-------

Wanderer looks at you in a mixture of disgust and disappointment wondering if you had hit your head on the way back from the market. He openly asks which is emptier your brain or your wallet. You brush him off handing him some of the groceries to put away clearly focused on getting his answer.

He waves a hand in the air deciding to humor your stupidity. "Sure." He rolls his eyes waving a hand in your direction. "If you can manage to find the technology good luck." He sighs. As if you could ever- "I already have it." Huh?

"Wait." He laughs in disbelief, you must be pulling his leg. "I was just joking." "I'm not." And with that you walk off to the bathroom to put away the rest of the supplies you purchased. The bag of grain slips from his hands and thumps to the floor at his feet. Huh???

-------

Albedo just responds without looking up from his research bench that that's impossible for the both of you at the moment based on both of your anatomy. Now it's your turn to be confused just what did he mean by "at the moment"?

"It's just as I said: at the moment. I currently do not have access to some of the materials needed to make that possible so you will have to wait until I do." And he just keeps on working as if he didn't drop the biggest bomb on you ever. You were only messing with him but as you sit there thinking about it that honestly sounds really nice.

So you ask him if he'd be alright with being pregnant as he still has plenty of research to do. He answers that he might not be able to conduct experiments on Dragonspine for some time but he can always do his research at the headquarters or at home if need be.

"Although..."he pauses thinking about this a little more. He would have to limit ingesting any potions he makes and the like in order to not hurt the baby. "Hmm..." he stands up taking a large book filled to the brim with various experiments he has done and wants to do and flips through it. "This needs a bit more thought than I imagined. I'll have to go through my notes and plan out what I can and cannot do if I were pregnant. So give me some time." You don't have it in you to tell him you were only joking.

-------

Jing Yuan takes the question in stride believing this to be one of your typical silly questions to keep yourself entertained. He moves his star chess pieces lazily around the board as you play together. He confidently says that should you be able to beat him in the next three games he'll gladly carry all of your future children.

Now he says this just to motivate you to play a little differently perhaps so he can have a few easy wins but he's pleasantly surprised when he actually loses the next three games. He laughs at how determined you were to beat him and jokes that you must really want him to bear your children even though you both know he can't get pregnant.

"Yes you can." "Excuse me?" He blinks a little stunned by your confidence but he quickly recovers and laughs thinking you're joking. It isn't until you lift a pair of fruits he knows from a foreign planet that can alter ones anatomy he begins to click the dots together. "OH! So you were serious. Well then..."

He takes one of the fruits for himself examining the odd fruit and its pleasant mouthwatering scent. He teasingly takes a bite of the sweet fruit licking the spilled juices off his lips and chin and wrist keeping eye contact with you.

"I hope you'll take good care of your darling general."

-------

Blade simply grunts out a "No." and begins walking away as soon as he hears the words from your lips. He's done with you for today. Of all the foolish questions to ask him. But you follow after him determined as ever to have him answer any and all of your inane questions.

He's made at least two rounds around the Stellaron Hunter base before stopping in one of the common areas that's fortunately void of anyone but you two. He finally acknowledges you as you look at him with the biggest wettest puppy eyes you can. Why is he here? Just to suffer? He pinches the bridge of his nose feeling a headache coming in that he wishes was from the Mara honestly.

He knows you won't leave him alone until you get an answer so he groans that unless it's written on Elio's script that it ain't happening. So imagine his shock when you confidently say that it is on the script pulling up your phone to show him.

Even more so when his own phone he barely uses vibrates and he opens it up to show his own piece of the script that does in fact say that you get him pregnant. He's stiff as he walks off with you following behind humming a simple happy nursery tune. Death could not come soon enough...but at least it's you.

[ebodebo]

jack abbott + an angry, dramatic love confessional in the pouring rain = a happy me!

You stepped out of the restaurant, muttering, not even caring that the downpour was soaking your dress and ruining your styled hair.

You hear a faint call of your name; you don’t need to turn around to know it was Jack.

“Christ,” you hear him mutter behind you. “You’ll freeze out here.” You can hear his footsteps on the flooded sidewalk, approaching you quickly.

“I’ll manage just fine.” Your stride doesn’t stop at his words; it just speeds up, but despite this, he catches up within seconds.

He reaches for your arm to turn and face him. “Let me call a taxi,” he insists. “Please.”

You brush him off, continuing your movements. “I’d rather freeze than sit next to you for another minute.” You glance at him; he’s soaked, his hair sticking to his forehead as he walks next to you.

His jacket has long since been abandoned, leaving him in only a long white-sleeved shirt with slacks, accompanied by a tie hanging loosely from his neck. Due to the rain, his shirt looks see-through, showing off his strong body.

How the hell does this guy look hot even in the pouring rain?

“Baby, you’ll hurt your feet in those heels,” he says, trying to deter you. You pause momentarily before bending down, slipping each off easily and carrying them loosely at your fingertips.

He curses under his breath as you continue walking, the rain still pouring down on both of you. “Sweetheart, don’t do this,” he pleads, matching your pace. “I know you’re angry at me.”

You purse your lips stopping in your tracks, eyes darting to look at his. “You know, I feel like you don't even know me,” you accuse, pointing a finger at him. “I mean not really.”

“I know enough,” he reasons, searching your eyes and noting how your lashes have water droplets hanging from them even as you flutter them with annoyance.

Your eyebrows raise. “Really?” You flail your arms out, expressing your frustration. “Then you’d know I’m not angry at you; I’m annoyed.”

“Annoyed?” he echos your words confusion written on his face.

You roll your eyes, flailing your arms again. "Yes!"

“How was I supposed to know that?” His tone holds no condescension, just genuine confusion.

“By asking me!” you say, your voice louder than intended and filled with frustration.

His eyes narrow in thought. “Asking you?”

This fucking guy.

“Yes!” you huff, your shoulders slumping. “You know, Jack, that’s your problem,” you start, nodding. “You just assume things instead of asking.”

He stands there, mouth slightly open, chest heaving as water spilled from his lips and splashed onto the pavement.

You shake your head at his silence. “Just go back to the hospital, Jack,” you say, your voice sounding defeated. “Go take care of everyone else except yourself.” Your shoulders slump again as your eyes dart between his. “It’s what you do,” you say, pursing your lips. “It’s what you’ve always done.”

Your hair has gone flat from the water, and your skin glistens with a sheen that gives it a natural highlight. Your dress is soaked, clinging to every curve. He feels his mouth dry at the sight of you; he can’t imagine anything more heavenly than seeing you like this.

Without much thought, he reaches out, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. "You look so beautiful," he says without a second thought, believing what he sees is divine.

Your eyes soften at his touch, but you turn your head aside, causing his hand to drop. “Don’t start that,” you mutter as you spin on your bare feet and continue walking.

He stands there tongue in cheek as you walk away from him, his heart sinking with each step you take away from. His chest beats fast, almost as fast as the rain hitting the pavement.

He had been used to letting things go.

Everyone was temporary.

That’s what he always thought.

But he couldn’t stomach the thought of not waking up with you, the warm sun hitting you at just the right angle to highlight the color of your eyes.

The thought of eating dinner alone, without your laughter being his only source of music, was a stale prospect.

“I love you,” you hear him shout from behind you.

You release a shallow breath turning slowly on your heels to face him.

“God, I love you so fucking much.” He’s standing there, hands at his side, sopping wet, and he looks like the man you fell in love with.

Your fingers gripped the straps of your heels tighter; your eyes hung heavy, brewing with tears.

“I’m not myself without you,” he shakes his head, voice full of sincerity. “You complete me,” he shrugs as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

You inhale deeply as he finally approaches you. “What would it take?” he asks, his voice desperate. “I’ll do anything, baby. Anything,”

“Jack…” you begin, but then you trail off, avoiding his gaze.

He grips your hands tightly. “I’ll get on my knees and proclaim my love for you to everyone on this entire God-damn strip if that’s what it takes,” his eyes search yours.

"You wouldn't—" you begin, challenging his claim.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, and your eyes widen as he grabs your hands, gently massaging them with his. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he begins, his voice loud enough to catch the attention of other pedestrians. “You’re in everything.” His eyes gaze deeply into yours, wide open despite the rain hitting his face. “In everything I touch, hear, and even fucking see, I always think of you,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s always been you.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, urging him to stand as more people start looking in your direction. “I believe you,” you breathe out as he gets on his feet.

“I meant every word. I love you so much,” he grabs your hands again, glancing down at the pavement before meeting your gaze. “I want this to work with you.”

You give him a half-smile. “Just kiss me, you old man,” you murmur, your hands pulling him down to kiss him deeply.

The rain splashes around you, the people nearby a distant thought. His lips feel like a warm summer’s day, full of comfort and gentle heat you can feel down to your toes.

Life can be unpredictable.

But this kiss makes the uncertainty feel worthwhile.

author’s note: i cannot stop writing little drabbles for this show, so if i fail my anatomy practical final tmr it’s tumblrs fault! divider by @saradika-graphics!

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #14 死

† camping trip mysteries †

"You'd have never said you'd be involved in a Council of 9 meeting at any point in your life; yet here you are, suddenly thrusted into a mission with the Chief you've just hooked up with, because your life couldn't possibly get more complicated."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9k

content: female friendships, silly conversations, Vyunjin, dodgeball, AD being horrible with throws, cryptic stuff, council meetings, having to work with jeon officially, gang loyalty and bestie gossip

☠ author's note ☠

 I really milked this camping trip for all it's worth, huh? Three whole chapters of outdoor shenanigans! I regret NOTHING. Anyway, here's the conclusion of our little nature excursion! Hope you enjoyed this slightly more chill setting (apart from, y'know, chapter 12's 👉🏻👌🏻 situation) because don't worry—there's PLENTY of time for everything to go spectacularly to shit later <3

MY KIWI HEAD 🥝🤧 I genuinely love him so much and I'm as surprised as you are! Who would have thought?? I seriously had ZERO intentions for Takama when I started this—no plan, no backstory, nothing. He just showed up in my brain one day demanding rights.

Maybe I love him so much because he's the only one with more than two functioning brain cells? Like, the man is just... chill. Nice. Using his fucking brain. Being all wise and grounding while everyone else is having emotional crises left and right. THE VOICE OF REASON IN THIS CIRCUS.

Takama x Reader endgame??? Jkjk this is a Jeon Jungkook fanfic ☝️ ...which doesn't mean shit won't happen before/after 👀

ANYWAY I'll leave you to make your own assumptions about our kiwi boy. All I'm saying is that sometimes characters write themselves into your heart and there's nothing you can do about it. Is it just me as an author having unhealthy attachments to my own creations? PROBABLY! You tell me!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go cry about my fictional characters for the fifth time this week. It's only Tuesday. Send help.

xoxo 💋

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The morning hike with Chaewon was exactly what you needed—fresh air, quiet trails... No drama.

But of course, you can't have nice things in Kkangpae.

Not when you return to find V lounging on a log like some tragic hero while J-Hope patches up his split lip.

"What the hell happened here?"

You eye the scene, already getting a headache. The thorny scent of roses fills your lungs as V gives you what immediately recognize as a smug smile.

"Just a little disagreement." V's smile is all teeth despite his busted lip. "Jeon can get rather feisty when he wants to."

J-Hope just rolls his eyes, clearly done with V's bullshit. He hands you a sanitary napkin without looking up, too busy sorting through his medical supplies—which basically means please help me deal with this drama queen.

You crouch next to V, ignoring how his eyes track your movement like he's a cat and you're the bird he wants to catch. The napkin comes away bloody when you dab at his lip, and his body tenses slightly under your touch—barely noticeable if you weren't trained to pick up on these things.

"Careful now." His voice drops low, playful. "I might bite."

You don't miss a beat.

"You bite, you get no help." The words come out flat, unimpressed. "I'm not one of your fangirls, V."

His games might work on others, but you've seen enough of his thorny side to know better.

Those roses have teeth.

A low chuckle breaks the tension. J-Hope's back with his medical supplies, but V's still watching you—though now with something that might be respect.

Or whatever passes for respect in that thorny mind of his.

"You really had it coming this time." J-Hope clicks his tongue, cranky doctor mode fully activated as he settles back down. "Jeon isn't someone you poke for fun without expecting consequences."

"Me?" V's eyebrow shoots up, all wounded innocence. "I was just having a friendly chat. Who knew our brooding Chief still had some fight left in him?"

The act doesn't fool anyone—especially not J-Hope, who (you bet your ass) has been patching up the aftermath of V's friendly chats' for years.

"Friendly chat?" J-Hope scoffs, dabbing at V's lip with more force than strictly necessary. "You two always turn everything into a dick-measuring contest. One of these days someone's gonna end up with worse than a busted lip."

V leans toward you like he's sharing a secret, mischief written all over his features. "He's just worried he'll run out of medical supplies if we keep this up."

You expect J-Hope to snap back—he usually does when people get like this.

But he just sighs, shoulders heavy with a worry that feels too genuine for the Kkangpae's ruthless doctor.

"Or maybe I'm worried you'll end up with a split skull, dumbass."

It's weird, the way it dribbles from his lips—like actual concern.

Which is weird in a place like this, where caring too much can get you killed. But then again, J-Hope's always been different. Maybe that's why he's one of the few people V actually listens to.

Sometimes?

V's eyes meet yours, like he's either hunting for something or escaping whatever was swirling in the doctor's pupils. Though, as everything with V, it vanishes instantly behind that shark-like grin.

"Ah, Hobi, always looking out for me. What would I do without you?"

"Probably be lying in a ditch somewhere." J-Hope says it casually, but his snark feels less blunt now. 

He gives V's shoulder a quick pat—kinda saying 'you're patched up, now get out of my face.' V nods his thanks, but his attention is already sliding back to you. His gaze lingers a bit too long, assessing.

"You've got a steady hand," he drawls, and you know he's not just talking about your first aid skills.

Thorns prickle your skin.

"And you've got a death wish." You hand the bloody napkin back to J-Hope, keeping your voice flat.

Unimpressed.

V's laugh shatters in the quiet. "Oh, you're interesting. I like you."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" You arch an eyebrow at him. "Coming from someone who just got his ass handed to him by Jeon, I'm not sure how much that's worth."

His smile widens; ever so slightly. Like what you said made him feel something—bad or good, you really don't care, but it's like his vines are slowly creeping into your lungs.

You just sigh, shrug it off. It's not your problem.

You've got enough on your plate without getting caught up in whatever dick-measuring contest is going on between V and Jeon.

Your attention abruptly shifts to Takama, sitting cross-legged in the grass like some zen master on his coffee break. Despite looking perfectly relaxed with his can of coffee, you know better—the man's probably cataloguing every movement in a three-mile radius.

He's just that kind of observant. It's just how he is, what he does, that much is clear from your training sessions with him.

Persistent without being belligerent; consistent without being insistent.

It's weird seeing him in casual clothes. The navy sweater and white collar combo is a far cry from his usual tactical gear, making him look almost... normal. Like he could be anyone's slightly intimidating older brother instead of Jeon's deadly second-in-command. Even his loose jeans seem deliberately chosen for comfort rather than combat.

He doesn't move a muscle as you approach, eyes fixed on the horizon like his mind has found refuge among the spongy dunes skittering away in the sky.

Or maybe he's just really into his morning coffee.

You plop down beside him, the damp grass immediately soaking through your pants because of course it does.

"Peaceful morning, isn't it?"

You break the silence, knowing Takama won't. Man's got the conversation skills of a particularly stoic rock when he wants to.

There's something calming about his presence though.

Like he's the drizzle after the hurricane.

Plus, he probably won't try to murder anyone over breakfast. Unlike some people you could name.

"Peace is rare around here." The corner of Takama's mouth quirks up slightly. "Savor it while it lasts."

You settle into the comfortable silence, watching the horizon paint itself in morning colors. Next to Takama, even coffee breaks feel philosophical.

"You and V," he starts, offering you the can. "You get along?"

You grab it and take a sip, considering your answer. The coffee's gone lukewarm.

"Hmm."

Yeah that's your answer, because you don't really know what to reply. It's definitely not a yes, but you don't... hate him either?

"He's a wildcard, but I can handle him," is what you end up settling for.

What follows is Takama's laugh—quiet, understated like everything else about him.

"V is... unpredictable. But he's loyal to the gang, in his own way." He pauses, choosing words carefully. "Just watch your back. Testing people is how he entertains himself."

You pass the can back, watching him take another sip. The liquid works through a swallow down his throat, and his Adam's apple bobs slightly. His head tilts towards you when he notices you've gone silent.

"And Jeon? How do you find working with him?"

The question makes your skin prickle, and you know it's not because of how sudden it is—but because of something else, as well.

Images from last night force their way through your mind like a wiggling worm unwilling to let go—callouses on skin, that silver lip ring, the way he'd touched you like you might break.

You take your time answering, very aware that this is Jeon's right-hand man asking—and that your neck probably still has marks his mouth left behind.

But you're not about to tell Takama that.

"He's... intense." You focus on shredding a blade of grass, needing something to do with your hands. "But we kind of... get each other, I guess."

Takama finally looks at you, and fuck—there's way too much understanding in those gray eyes.

Because with V you have a noncommittal answer.

But you just said you get along with Jeon. Kinda.

He doesn't comment on it, and it makes sense—being Jeon's second means he probably sees more than most.

About how hard exactly it is to be in Jeon's circle. Not part of it, not even near—just hovering.

It's not easy, you know that much.

"Jeon respects strength," he says quietly, like he's sharing a secret. "Stand your ground, and you'll earn his respect."

A pause. Then he adds, hushedly:

"Maybe more."

Your pupils flicker between his, trying to parse whatever the hell he means—but nothing in there gives you a hint.

He simply smiles, getting up and helping you up too.

You both turn back to watch the camp wake up, the morning routine starting to buzz around you.

Someone's cursing about cold showers. Someone else is complaining about AD.

You take another sip of lukewarm coffee, letting the bitterness ground you. It's easier than thinking about what maybe more might mean, or why your stomach churns at the thought.

Besides, you've got enough on your plate just dealing with regular Jeon.

You don't need to add cryptic messages to that mess.

The peaceful morning doesn't last long—because this is Kkangpae you're talking about.

Moon's voice cuts through your post-gossip haze, drawing everyone to the center of the camp like a very formal shepherd. Some people look about as thrilled as you feel about being up this early.

"All right, everyone!" He's got that tone—the one that says 'this is mandatory fun and you're going to like it.' "For today's lunch, we're doing something different. Group bibimbap, but with a twist: you'll work in pairs."

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd. You catch Takama's eye—he just raises an eyebrow like 'here we go again'.

"These pairings," Moon continues, all business in his long coat despite the casual setting, "are chosen to mix different divisions and personalities. It's about teamwork and learning from each other."

You barely hold back a snort. Trust Moon to turn lunch prep into a team-building exercise.

Your attention snaps back when he calls out, "Y/N, you're paired with JM. I expect great things from you two."

Well, that could've been worse. At least JM's not likely to stab you over vegetable chopping techniques.

When you reach him, he's already smiling that gentle smile that makes him look more like a kindergarten teacher than a gang's financial mastermind.

"Looks like we're a team." His voice matches his whole vibe—calm as a lake on a windless day. "Any ideas on what we should tackle?"

You're about to answer when a groan cuts through your chat with JM.

You turn to see AD looking like someone just deleted his gaming setup, while J-Hope's already got that 'done with this shit' smile plastered on his face.

"Bro, why the fuck am I always paired with your annoying ass?" AD slumps against a tree, all dramatic like the gremlin he is.

J-Hope just rolls his eyes. "Because Moon loves to torture me, that's why. Come on, let's just get this over with."

Your eyes inevitably roam around the clearing, taking in the other pairings.

Jeon and Chaewon—they acknowledge each other with matching professional nods, something like 'we respect each other but let's keep this strictly business' hovering over them.

Takama and Jessi make an oddly perfect pair, his zen energy somehow containing her wildfire spirit as they huddle together, already plotting.

V's got Yunjin trapped in what looks like his usual chaotic storytelling, though she seems to be holding her own—and then there's Eunchae and Sakura, who look like they're planning to turn lunch prep into some kind of competition.

Meanwhile, Kazuha's hanging onto Moon's every word like he's sharing the secrets of the universe instead of just bibimbap instructions.

"So." JM's gentle voice pulls you back. "Should we handle the veggies? I think we could make a great team in chopping and prepping them."

"Sounds good to me." You find yourself matching his easy smile. "Let's show them how it's done."

At least someone in this chaos circus knows how to be normal.

You follow JM to gather supplies, falling into an easy rhythm. His gentle energy is oddly reassuring, and makes even veggie prep feel zen.

Plus, he actually knows what he's doing, which is more than you can say for half the pairs around you.

Because AD's already whining about something while J-Hope ignores him completely.

Yeah; that's Kkangpae for you.

But then you catch sight of V with Yunjin and your stomach turns, why, you don't know. Poor Yunjin's holding her knife like she's never seen one before, eyes darting around nervously.

And its knives, so yeah, V swoops right in.

"Let me show you," he purrs, and fuck him for actually sounding smooth.

You see his hand sliding over hers, like he isn't the same person who had blood on his lip an hour ago.

"There's a rhythm to it, like a dance." You watch him press closer, caging Yunjin with his body while he guides the knife. "Feel the movement. It's about confidence, purpose."

"Like this?" Yunjin's voice is small, breathless.

"Exactly like that." He eases into it. "Every slice tells a story of precision and care. And you, Yunjin, have a knack for it."

You grip your own knife tighter, fighting the urge to stab those thorny vines right out of the air. He's charming, you'll give him that.

But you fear the sweet floral scent roses simply masks decaying waste underneath.

And he needs to stay the fuck away from Yunjin.

You can't help noticing how she melts under his attention, all shy smiles and batting eyelashes. Like a moth drawn to a particularly deadly flame.

"There, you're a pro now." V steps back with a wink.

"Thanks, V." Yunjin beams up at him. "I think I've got it from here."

A slight movement catches your eye—JM's knife has stopped mid-chop.

His gaze darts between V and Yunjin like he's watching a car crash in slow motion, and it's real subtle, but you catch the way his jaw tightens.

"JM," you keep your voice casual, "you seem a bit distracted. Everything okay?"

He snaps back to his vegetables, gentle smile sliding back. "Oh, it's nothing. Just... observing the dynamics. It's interesting to see how different personalities interact, don't you think?"

You nod, watching V circle Yunjin. "True. Especially with V. Makes you wonder what goes on behind that smile."

"Exactly." His smile is halfhearted at best. "Sometimes, the most cheerful faces hide the deepest stories."

The way he says it makes you wonder just how many of V's stories JM knows.

And how many of them keep him up at night.

You and JM fall into a comfortable rhythm again, just hearing AD complaining about something, Eunchae's bright laughter, the clatter of pots and pans.

Then—crash.

Your head snaps up, muscles tensing automatically. Old habits die hard in Kkangpae.

It's Chaewon.

She's standing frozen, an overturned pot at her feet, staring at one of Jessi's guys like she's seen a ghost. His hand hangs awkwardly in the air where it had brushed against hers. You can see her breathing speed up—tell-tale sign of panic she's never shown before.

JM's knife stills mid-chop. Before you can blink, he's already moving toward her.

Jessi's there too, quickly motioning for the guy to back off—and he does, looking confused and apologetic, but you notice how Chaewon's shoulders drop slightly once he's out of reach.

JM murmurs something to her, too low for you to hear (though you bet that gentle voice of his could probably talk down a rabid bear). Chaewon gives a tiny nod, but her knuckles are still white where she's gripping her sleeve.

When Jessi touches her shoulder, you catch that silent conversation between the three of them.

The kind that comes from knowing someone's demons intimately.

"Alright, everyone, back to work." Jessi shouts. "Nothing to see here. Let's keep the focus on the task at hand."

Everyone turns back to their tasks, but you don't miss how JM stays close to Chaewon, or how Jessi's eyes keep scanning the crowd like she's daring anyone to make this worse.

JM hovers near her for another minute before coming back to your chopping station, and when he does, he picks up his knife and starts slicing carrots like nothing's happened at all.

"Guess we all have our off days, huh?" You keep your voice light, casual. No pressure.

JM's knife stills for a moment. He doesn't look up.

"Everyone has ghosts they're running from." The words come out soft. "Some just hide them better than others."

You let the silence settle. There's an unspoken rule in the gang—you don't go digging in other people's graveyards unless they hand you the shovel first.

"I'm gonna wash up," you mutter, already heading for the makeshift sink, feeling like he needs some silence before being back to normal.

Behind you, JM's knife resumes its path against the cutting board.

You're shaking water off your hands when footsteps approach from behind. Months in Kkangpae have taught you to be alert even for something as mundane as washing up after veggie prep.

"So you do know how to clean up."

The low drawl sends heat crawling up your spine. You know that voice—and the smirk that goes with it—without having to turn around.

"Turns out, I'm full of surprises." You flick excess water in Jeon's direction, catching his dangerous half-smile when you glance over your shoulder.

His chuckle hits you right in the gut, deep and rich and —fuck—suddenly all you can think about is last night.

His hands, his mouth, the way he'd made you shatter.

"Surprising indeed." There's that smug tone again. "Especially since I recall someone being too fucked out to help with cleanup duty."

"Well," you drop your voice low, just for him, "if you hadn't made such a goddamn mess, there'd have been less to clean up."

Your body remembers how close you'd been—how you'd ground against each other like teenagers, desperate and needy.

How his cock had felt pressed against you, so close but not close enough because someone didn't bring protection.

The frustration from last night still burns under your skin, reminder of what could have been.

If he'd just been prepared...

Jeon steps closer, and—fuck—even after last night, his presence still makes your skin prickle.

"A mess, you say? The way I remember it, you were just as responsible for the chaos."

"Chaos?" You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as heat crawls up your neck. "Don't flatter yourself, Jeon. It was... mild disarray at best."

His grin widens, and you hate how your eyes keep tracking that stupid lip piercing.

"Mild disarray? You were panting like you'd run through every back alley in Seoul."

You scoff, trying not to remember how he'd made you shake, how his hands had felt mapping every inch of you.

"Breathless, maybe. But let's not blow it out of proportion."

"Hah." His eyes narrow. "You've got a sharp tongue. But we both know—"

A shout from across the camp makes you both freeze. Your eyes meet his for a split second before you step apart, smooth as shadows. Professional. Like you weren't just thinking about climbing him like a tree.

Again.

You turn away, finally letting out that breath you'd been holding.

The banter gets you hot under the collar but fuck if you don't want more. Not that you'll admit that.

Even if part of you is already plotting round two.

This time with actual protection. Because seriously.

"Anyway," his voice cuts through your thoughts, "we should get back to work. Long day ahead."

"Right." You nod, and then go right back to prepping veggies.

Yeah. This is going to be a very long day indeed.

The smell of bibimbap hits different after spending all morning chopping vegetables next to JM's weirdly zen energy.

And yup—everyone's gathering around the portable tables, looking stupidly proud of their contributions like they didn't just spend half the morning complaining about Moon's team-building exercise.

You grab a spot next to Yunjin, who's already halfway through telling you about her latest drama obsession; eyes practically sparkling as she waves her chopsticks around.

"No but listen—the main lead thinks his brother died in that fire, right?" She leans in close, pink hair falling in her face. "But then in episode sixteen we find out he's actually been alive this whole time! Living in China!"

You nearly choke on your rice. "That's the most unrealistic plot twist I've ever—"

"Mind if I join?" Takama's calm voice slices through Yunjin's enthusiastic plot summary; slight smile that makes him look more like a monk than Jeon's deadly second-in-command.

"Pull up a chair." You scoot over to make room. "Yunjin's educating me on the finer points of melodrama."

"Ah." His eyes crinkle as he settles in. "The ones where everyone's secretly related and nobody stays dead?"

"Exactly!" Yunjin beams. "Like this one where the brooding CEO's got a secret relationship—"

"Should've fought harder for the meat distribution," you murmur, poking at your mostly vegetable bibimbap.

Before you can finish sighing about your protein deficiency, Takama's chopsticks appear in your line of sight, depositing a generous portion of beef onto your plate.

"Here. I prefer vegetables anyway."

"Liar." But you're already mixing the meat into your rice, trying not to look too pleased. "Thanks."

Yunjin pouts at that, surely expecting some meat too (even when her plate shows basically 0 vegetables anyway). You kick her under the table, and she almost bounces with a chuckle.

"So, V's actually a really good teacher," she says dreamily, pushing her rice around. "Did you know he used to work in a restaurant?"

You cough.

V's "restaurant" experience probably involved more knife-work than cooking.

"Is that so?" Takama asks, slightly puzzled.

"Mhm!" She sighs, all starry-eyed. "And he's so patient. The way he showed me how to hold the knife—"

"Speaking of knives," Takama cuts in smoothly, "your technique has improved, Y/N. Been practicing?"

You're grateful for the subject change. Watching Yunjin moon over V is like watching a butterfly land on a Venus flytrap.

"Yeah, well. Can't let the Seduction Division down, right?"

His smile is small but genuine. "Right."

Movement then catches your eye—Chaewon's heading your way, black bob bouncing with each step. She smiles when she spots you, but you don't miss how she falters slightly when she notices Takama. Her eyes dart between him and the empty space beside you, calculating.

For a second, you think she might turn around.

But then she simply strides over like she owns the place, sliding into the spot next to you.

You don't miss how she angles her body away from Takama, though.

"What's got everyone looking so serious?" She bumps your shoulder playfully. "Don't tell me Yunjin's got you all hooked on her dramas too."

"Not all of us can be as cultured as Yunjin." You grin as Yunjin pretends to be offended. "We were just discussing the finer points of V's... cooking techniques."

That makes Yunjin blush, but Chaewon's eyes sharpen. You catch that protective glint—the same one she gets whenever any of the male members get too close to her division.

"Oh?" Her voice is light, but there's steel underneath. "And how did you find our resident psychopath's teaching methods?"

"Come on, he was really patient!" Yunjin pipes up. "And his hands were so—"

"Speaking of hands," Chaewon interjects quickly, "I heard there was quite the incident at morning coffee. Something about Jeon's right hook meeting V's face?"

Trust Chaewon to steer the conversation away from V's charms while gathering intel in the same breath. Sometimes you forget she's your Chief for a reason.

Heels on grass make your eyes stutter behind Chaewon's silhouette.

It's Jessi; obviously—who claims the spot next to Takama, all long red hair and confident energy.

She's probably the only person who can make eating bibimbap look like a power move.

"Well, well." She waves her chopsticks at your little group. "What's this about dramas? Please tell me someone's finally calling out how unrealistic those chaebol storylines are."

"We were discussing layers," you explain, watching her pile kimchi onto her rice with the same precision she probably uses to plan weapons shipments. "You know, how people aren't always what they seem."

"Like how our fearless Chief here—" she angles her head towards Chaewon, "—pretends to be all business, but I caught her crying over cat videos last week?"

"That was one time." Chaewon tries to glare but can't quite hide her smile. "And you promised not to tell."

"Please." Jessi snorts. "Everyone knows you're a softie under all that badassery. Remember when you threatened to shoot that guy who made Eunchae cry?"

"He deserved it." Chaewon's voice goes flat, protective instincts flashing. "Nobody messes with my girls."

"And that's exactly what we mean," Yunjin pipes up, somehow making even this observation sound sweet. "Everyone's got different sides. Like how Jessi acts tough but always saves the last strawberry milk for AD."

"Oi—" Jessi points her chopsticks at Yunjin threateningly, but there's no malice in it. "Just for that, you're testing all the new rifles when we get back to the castle. Someone needs to make sure they don't jam."

Something about the easiness of the conversation makes something unfurl in your chest.

It's weird seeing these deadly women just... being friends. Sharing lunch and inside jokes like they aren't some of the most dangerous people in Seoul.

But then again, maybe that's exactly what Yunjin meant about layers.

"Sooo," Jessi prompts, "who wants to share their deep dark secrets? Come on, don't be shy."

"Real subtle, Joo." Chaewon rolls her eyes, but you catch that tiny smile she always gets around Jessi. "What's next, trust falls?"

"I'd let you fall." Jessi winks, making Chaewon snort into her rice.

Takama, who's been quiet this whole time, surprises everyone by speaking up. "Sometimes the secrets we keep aren't about trust. Sometimes they're about protection."

"Like how we all pretend AD doesn't secretly feed the stray cats behind the castle?" Yunjin singsongs then.

That breaks the tension, sending ripples of laughter around the group.

Even Takama cracks a smile.

"Or how Jessi acts tough but cried during that dog commercial last week?" Chaewon dodges the grape Jessi throws at her head.

"That dog was reunited with its family," Jessi hisses, but she's fighting back a grin. "Forgive me for having a heart."

"Yeah, buried somewhere under those nine inch heels."

You smile at that, and you note how the sun is high over head now, warming skin through the trees.

You should probably get back to work—those intel reports won't file themselves. But for now, you let yourself enjoy this moment of peace.

Even gang members need lunch breaks sometimes.

Dodgeball is usually fun. Keyword: usually—because when it's among deadly people... competitiveness is too light of a word.

You're in the middle of debating some strategy with Yunjin when Jeon's presence immediately freezes the whole camp. One second you're planning how to take down AD's team (he might be a tech genius but his aim is shit), and the next—

"Meeting. Council of 9, now."

Jeon's voice is calm, as usual. But it's precise, blunt in a way that makes your hackles rise. His face gives nothing away—typical—but something in his posture screams urgent.

The Council members share quick looks before following him into the trees. Moon's already at his side, glasses catching the sunlight. Chaewon squeezes your shoulder as she passes, and Jessi winks at Yunjin, but neither stops to explain.

Just like that, your cozy little camping trip turns into a war room—playful energy from moments ago gone, leaving behind the familiar sensation that comes with being in a criminal organization.

"Damn." Yunjin drops onto the bench beside you, pink hair falling in her face. "Even on a camping trip, we can't escape the threats."

Your little lunch group now feels weirdly empty without Jessi's loud energy and Chaewon's dry comments. You catch yourself staring at the path where they disappeared, like maybe if you look hard enough you'll develop x-ray vision.

So much for that epic dodgeball tournament you'd planned. Although honestly? Getting hit with rubber balls suddenly seems like the least of your problems.

"It's just how things work around here." Takama shrugs, wiping sweat from his shaved head.

Of course the dodgeball game's been put on hold, everyone too distracted by the Council's sudden disappearance to focus.

"Hey, Takemichi!" Eunchae bounces over, still flushed from running around. "Any idea what's going on? You're like, Jeon's right hand and all."

Takama's eye twitches at the nickname, but he doesn't comment on it. "No clue. But Jeon doesn't call meetings without good reason. Especially not during planned activities."

Your eyes drift to where the Council members vanished into the trees. It's odd seeing Jeon actually interact with people—the man's about as social as a brick wall. Even J-Hope, who he supposedly tolerates, barely gets more than grunts out of him most days. That whole don't-fuck-with-me hurricane aura of his keeps everyone at a safe distance.

And yet.

You'd fucked him.

Well, kinda.

Heat crawls up your neck as you mentally reminisce about last night.

Pride mingles with something else as you remember that untouchable Chief's face when he came all over your belly.

Focus, dumbass. Now isn't the time to replay your greatest hits. If Jeon's gathering the Council in the middle of fucking dodgeball, something's definitely wrong.

"Do you think it's..." Yunjin chews her lip, lowering her voice. "MDF?"

The mention of Myung-dong Faction makes everyone's faces go pale.

"Hard to say." Takama's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "But we did just wreck their trafficking ring. Hanjun's gone now. They're not known for letting that kind of thing slide."

You share a look with Yunjin and Eunchae. You remember Hanjun from your last mission—the way he'd crumpled when Kkangpae was done with him.

The way his whole operation had fallen apart like a house of cards.

Sakura's usually bright face is serious as she crouches next to you. "If it's MDF, we're fucked."

"They've been too quiet." Kazuha runs a hand through her wine-colored hair, eyes scanning the treeline like she expects assassins to materialize. "That's not their style. Not after what we did to their golden boy."

And she's right, isn't she? MDF isn't known for their forgive-and-forget attitude. Their silence these past weeks has been... unsettling. Like holding your breath underwater, knowing you'll have to surface eventually.

"Whatever it is, we need to be ready." Eunchae sighs. "Can't let our guard down. Not even here."

"We need to be united now more than ever." Takama's voice rumbles low as he scans the treeline."Division only makes us vulnerable, they might aim for that."

And he's right; because Kkangpae's strength isn't just in its firepower—it's in moments like this, when everyone's got each other's backs.

"Whatever the Council needs," you say, meaning it. "We've got their six."

The group falls quiet, the forgotten dodgeball lying between you like some sad metaphor for your interrupted normalcy. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls. You almost miss it under the sound of your heart pounding.

A rustle in the bushes makes you lean back.

Though it's just J-Hope, looking way too serious for someone who was laughing at AD's failed dodgeball throws ten minutes ago.

"They need you." His eyes find yours, steady and unreadable. "Jeon asked for you specifically."

You share a quick look with Takama, and he's wearing the same exact puzzled expression as you.

"Me? Why would he—"

J-Hope just shakes his head. Great. Because being summoned by the dude you almost fucked last night during a secret Council meeting isn't complicated enough.

But you don't really have much choice, so you trail behind J-Hope like a kid being called to the principal's office, mind racing faster than your heart.

What the actual fuck could Jeon want? And why during the middle of dodgeball, of all things?

The Council's little forest hideaway comes into view, and suddenly you've got nine pairs of eyes drilling into you.

Great. Just great. Nothing like being stared at by the most dangerous people in Seoul while you're in workout clothes and probably still red-faced from almost getting beaned by AD's wild throws.

Jeon stands like a statue among them, and he speaks immediately upon seeing you.

"We have a situation that needs your input."

No greeting, no explanation, just straight to the point. Pure Jeon. You'd roll your eyes if you weren't so aware of every Council member watching you.

"Remember your first mission?" Chaewon continues. "The women we rescued? You were the only one who actually saw them in that room."

Of course you remember—hard not to, even if you wish you wouldn't.

That cramped, dark room with its rusty bars and stale air. Women huddled in corners like broken birds, some too afraid to even look up when you'd entered.

Your first real taste of what the Seduction Division actually does.

Not the glamorous spy shit you'd imagined, but the ugly, necessary work of saving people from monsters.

"Remember what any of the women looked like?" Chaewon presses.

You try to remember, but the thing that comes first is the smell of fear and desperation—thick enough to choke on.

Then it's their faces. Burned into your brain. And then... hers.

"There was one girl," you start carefully, watching the Council's reactions. "Couldn't have been more than eighteen. Skinny thing, but her eyes..."

You pause, searching for the right words.

"Even in that shithole, she was... I don't know. Like she was just waiting for a chance to burn the whole place down."

You catch the tiny shift in Jessi's jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her weapon.

The air feels like a forest fire waiting to happen.

"Dark reddish-brown hair," you continue, the details getting clearer as you speak. "Matted to hell, but you could tell it was beautiful once. And the way she held herself..."

"That's enough." Jeon interrupts you. "Your recollection could prove useful. We believe that girl is connected to one of our own. This isn't some random MDF hit."

Your stomach drops. Because shit—that... That changes everything.

MDF might be brutal, but they're not stupid.

Kidnapping someone connected to Kkangpae? That's not just an attack—it's a message.

A very personal message.

You watch the Council's faces, trying to read between the lines.

If MDF knows enough to target someone specific, how much else do they know? How deep have they dug into everyone's past?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

"Now we know this is personal." Chaewon's voice is ice-cold, all business. "The question is, how do we respond?"

"We hit back." Jessi's voice cracks like a whip, raw and broken. "Show those fuckers what happens when you mess with Kkangpae."

J-Hope reaches for her shoulder, ever the voice of reason. "I know you want blood, Jessi. But an all-out war will only get innocent people killed."

Jessi jerks away from his touch, but you see how her hands shake. 

"I should've been there," she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. "I should never have left them alone."

The pain in her voice makes your chest tight; you've never seen Jessi like this—like she's barely holding herself together.

"Why don't we just storm their headquarters and slaughter them all?" V (who's been conspicuously quiet until now) raises his voice.

The guy is just leaning back against a tree, playing with a butterfly knife like he thinks he's the Joker or something.

"Picture it." His smile grows wider, more unhinged. "Their precious hideout painted red, bodies everywhere. We could string up their leaders—or what's left of them—as a warning."

JM gives him one look—one that somehow manages to pierce through V's psychotic haze. Like he's the only person besides RM who can actually rein him in when he gets like this.

V slumps back with an exaggerated pout, thorny aura receding slightly. The switch from bloodthirsty to playful is so fast it gives you whiplash.

"As entertaining as that sounds," JM's voice is steady, like a calm lake washing away V's chaos, "we need precision here. Not a bloodbath."

"You never let me have fun." V whines like a kid denied candy instead of mass murder. "But fine, we'll be civilized."

JM turns back to the Council. "Please continue. V's just... working through some things. He understands the need for balance."

Jeon's face gives nothing away, but you notice how his jaw tightens. Having to share space with V is bad enough—having to listen to his murder fantasies is clearly testing what little patience he has left.

"As I was saying..." Jeon continues.

JM gives V another one of those looks and V slumps against the tree.

The thorny scent of roses fades to something more bearable, though you can tell he's just waiting for another chance to suggest mass murder.

"I might have a better idea." AD clears his throat. "A bloodbath would be satisfying, sure, but we need intel first. Something clean and quiet that gives us some advantage."

You watch him run a hand through his messy blonde hair, thinking three steps ahead while looking like he just rolled out of bed.

"We know where their hideout is. Send in a small team, two people max. Get their data, their plans, their weak spots." He pauses, letting that sink in. "Information is better than bullets right now."

The Council members exchange looks. Even V stops fidgeting with his knife. You catch Jeon's shoulders relaxing slightly—he knows a good plan when he hears one.

"Stealth does play to our strengths," Jeon admits, and his eyes flick to you for a split second. "Who did you have in mind?"

AD jerks his chin toward you.

"She's perfect for this. Hanjun's well acquainted with Flower now, but Y/N? She was only there for the takedown. He never had time to report back about her or the other girls. But between all of them," he adds, "she's the only one who got to see all the girls."

Suddenly you've got nine of Seoul's most dangerous criminals staring at you. But you meet Jeon's gaze head-on, refusing to flinch.

Finally—a chance to prove yourself.

And maybe get some answers about what's really going on with MDF.

"She's just an ensign." JM mumbles. "She's gonna need backup."

The Chiefs exchange looks, probably running through a mental list of who they could trust not to fuck this up. Your heart's still pounding from being called in, from learning about this mission that could change everything.

"Jeon will lead this operation." RM's voice leaves no room for argument. Like he's announcing the weather, except the weather is your hookup being assigned as your partner.

Amazing, really love that for you.

"You're picking him for stealth?" V's voice goes high with indignation, like someone just insulted his knife collection. "I'm literally the Chief of Stealth Assassinations. What the actual fuck?"

Thorns prickle the air, sharp with offense. You definitely catch Jeon's tiny smirk—he's enjoying V's tantrum way too much.

"Jeon has the discipline this requires." RM's tone could freeze hell itself. "We can't afford your... creative interpretations of orders right now."

V opens his mouth—probably to suggest murdering everyone involved, knowing him—but JM slaps a hand over it. The look V gives him could kill a lesser man, but JM just raises an eyebrow.

"This mission's success is crucial." RM continues like V isn't plotting JM's death with his eyes. "We need strategy, not chaos."

You watch Jeon's face carefully. His expression gives nothing away, but you just know he's thinking the same thing you are:

How the fuck are you two supposed to focus on a stealth mission when you can barely keep your hands off each other?

"Come on," V's voice drags after getting rid of JM's hand, "we all remember how well these two work together. Like gasoline and a lit match. Either they'll kill each other or fuck like rabbits. Not ideal for a stealth op, eh?"

JM smacks his shoulder, but V just grins wider. Your face burns as Jeon goes rigid beside you, like a gathering strength.

If looks could kill, V would be six feet under from the glare Jeon's sending him.

You stare very intently at a patch of grass, fighting the urge to squirm, because V has no idea how close to home that "fucking like rabbits" comment hits.

Or maybe he does—you can never tell what that psycho actually knows.

"Enough." JM sighs. "RM's guidance is sound. Jeon, you're our best strategic mind. Tactical is probably our best approach right now."

Jeon's jaw works for a moment before he gives a sharp nod. "Understood. I'll lead the operation."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Stuck on a stealth mission with the guy you've secretly hooked up with, while his psychotic sworn enemy watches and makes sex jokes.

Just another day in Kkangpae.

"For now," RM's redirects the conversation swiftly, "let's focus on the task at hand. This camping trip was meant to build unity and trust. We can't lose sight of that."

Unity and trust.

Right.

Because nothing says team bonding like sending you and the guy you're dying to have sex with to infiltrate enemy territory while pretending you've never seen each other naked.

"There will be time later to prepare for the mission." He adds. "But while we're here, I expect everyone's full commitment to this team-building exercise."

Jeon surprises you by actually looking... chastened? as he gives RM a short nod. "You're right. My priorities were misplaced. I apologize for the disruption."

And that's... New. You've never heard Jeon apologize for anything.

But then again, RM's probably the only person in Seoul who could make him bow down. The amount of respect Jeon has for him is almost an entity of its own.

"No need to apologize." RM's stern expression softens slightly. "Let's refocus together on strengthening our bonds as a crew."

More team bonding. Because that's exactly what you need right now... bonding,̶ ̶o̶r̶ b̶o̶n̶i̶n̶g̶?̶

You give Jeon one last look before V's voice cuts through, all manic energy as usual.

"Last one back has to clean everyone's dishes!"

And then he just... takes off running like the psychopath he is, thorns receding with him. Because of course he'd turn this into a competition.

"Oh, fuck no!" Jessi kicks off her heels, already sprinting after him in bare feet. "I am not cleaning after his ass."

Chaewon and JM share this look—probably something like 'we're both too dignified for this shit' passing between them before they're running too, probably realizing nobody wants to risk V winning anything.

"How childish." J-Hope rolls his eyes, but AD's already got that gleam he gets when someone issues a challenge.

"Childish?" AD's grin is pure evil. "I bet I could eat enough for ten people. Give you something real nice to clean."

"You little shit—" J-Hope takes off after him. "Get back here!"

You glance back at Jeon and RM, both still walking like they're above such peasant activities.

But fuck it—you're already sweaty from dodgeball, might as well commit to the chaos.

"Think I'll take AD's strategy." You flash Jeon your sweetest smile. "Eat everything in sight, let someone else deal with cleanup."

You're running before he can reply, laughter bubbling up.

And then, merely a few second later, you hear his steady footsteps turn into something faster.

Looks like even the mighty Chief can't resist a challenge.

The campsite comes into view through the trees, and you pick up your pace.

You jog into the clearing, lungs burning, only to find V and RM already there.

What the actualfuck?

"How did RM beat us?" The words come out between gasps.

The man runs a criminal empire in designer suits, for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be able to outrun anyone.

V just grins that Cheshire cat smile of his and then, Jessi, Chaewon and JM stumble in next, all tangled together and cackling like teenagers.

"JM's face when I almost tripped him—" Jessi wheezes, red hair wild from running.

Everyone else filters in gradually, catching their breath and comparing notes on who cheated (definitely V).

But oddly enough, there's no sign (or sound) of J-Hope or AD.

Then—

"You absolute fucking cockwomble, let go before I rearrange your face!"

"Not happening, you lil' bitch. I'm not cleaning your blood off the floor again!"

You turn to find J-Hope and AD crashing through the underbrush like drunk bears, locked in what has to be the world's most undignified wrestling match. AD's blonde hair is full of leaves, and J-Hope's pristine turtleneck is covered in dirt.

Seoul's most dangerous gang, ladies and gentlemen.

Truly terrifying.

"You wanna fucking go, asshole?" AD thrashes like a feral cat, trying to land a hit on J-Hope. "I'll rip out your spine and use it as a fucking ethernet cable!"

But J-Hope's got him locked down, using his height advantage like the bastard he is. AD might be scrappy, but the doctor's got experience wrestling patients into submission.

"You need to get out of this unscathed first, you dumbass—"

"Then I'll download your consciousness into a punching bag," AD snarls, still fighting. "Have you getting hit for eternity, you piece of shit!"

Their little death match stumbles closer to camp. J-Hope's got AD in a headlock now, ignoring the increasingly creative threats being spewed at his face.

"I'll be patching you up after this, you psychotic gremlin." J-Hope finally slams AD into the dirt, probably enjoying this way too much. "Maybe I'll sew a live rat in your stomach. Let it chew its way out through your organs."

They keep wrestling, but it's getting pathetic—like watching two drunk uncles fight at a family barbecue. Both of them are red-faced and panting, shirts half-ripped from trying to hold each other back.

You can't help noticing they look wrecked—covered in sweat and leaves.

Actually...

"They must've been holding each other back the whole way here." You snort.

No wonder they're last. These idiots literally spent the entire race trying to murder each other.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" V's voice rings out like a demented game show host. "Our esteemed winners, graceful as ever!"

J-Hope and AD freeze mid-choke hold, finally noticing their audience.

The look of pure horror on their faces is priceless.

"Dish duty it is, boys!" Jessi's grin is absolutely feral.

AD shoves J-Hope off like an angry cat, but they're both too winded from their pathetic wrestling match to do more than hurl insults at each other.

"This is all your fucking fault!" AD jabs a finger at J-Hope's chest, looking about as threatening as a wet Pomeranian. "If you hadn't grabbed me—"

"My fault?" J-Hope's voice gets higher. "Big words from someone shaped like a fun-sized candy bar!"

"Say that again, you overgrown fucking giraffe!" AD tries to lunge but stumbles, still panting. "I fucking dare you!"

RM steps in before they can start round two of the world's most embarrassing fight.

"That's enough, you two. We all enjoyed the show, but it's time to work."

They both shut up immediately—even AD knows better than to test RM's patience. But the glares they shoot each other could probably melt steel.

"Can't believe I'm stuck with your ass for cleanup duty," AD grumbles, brushing leaves out of his blonde hair.

"Trust me, I'd rather perform surgery blindfolded. But maybe next time you'll think twice before dragging me down with you."

"As if I need help being slow from someone who runs like a drunk giraffe."

Their bickering fades as they head back to camp, still shoving each other like kindergarteners fighting over the last juice box.

Well. At least you'll enjoy a show during dinner time tonight.

One would think dinner time would be dulled down now, after the Council meeting earlier.

But nope—gang members are scattered around the fires like this is some post apocalypse scavenging situation.

You can't help watching V with Yunjin. He's leaning in close and probably whispering some bullshit about knives being romantic or whatever gets him going.

And Yunjin—sweet, perceptive Yunjin who usually sees right through everyone's bullshit—is eating it up. She's doing that thing where she plays with her hair, pink strands twisting around her finger while she giggles at whatever murder joke V's telling.

You snort into your food, because you just don't get what's it with these two.

The weirdest part? Even knowing what V's capable of (the rumors about his "artistic approach" to killing make your skin crawl), you kind of get why people fall for his act.

He's got that whole dangerous charm thing down to an art.

"Hey stranger!" Eunchae drops onto the bench beside you, nearly knocking over your drink. Sakura slides in more gracefully across from you, because someone in your division has to have coordination.

"What was the super secret meeting about? You went in looking normal and came out all..." Eunchae waves her chopsticks vaguely. "You know. Intense."

"Classified." You shrug, trying not to think about what that meeting means for you and a certain hurricane-aura'd Chief. "Above your pay grade."

"Ugh, you're no fun." She slumps dramatically against your shoulder. "I wish I could join the Council just to know all the juicy stuff."

"We're here if you need to talk," Sakura adds quietly, and fuck—sometimes you forget how perceptive your division can be.

"Thanks." You bump Eunchae's shoulder, warmth blooming in your chest. These idiots might be professional honey traps, but they're your idiots. "I mean it."

You go back to your food, half-listening to Eunchae's story about some mark who thought cryptocurrency was foreplay. But your eyes keep drifting to V and Yunjin.

What's your friendly neighborhood psychopath plotting this time?

However, the first drops of rain quickly hit your food like tiny bullets. Within seconds, the drizzle turns into a full-blown downpour because of courseit does.

Nothing like a surprise shower to end your deeply suspicious dinner observations.

"Oh, come on." Eunchae snatches up her plate, already running for cover, chestnut hair plastered to her face by the time she makes it three steps.

Your eyes snap to where V still has Yunjin trapped in conversation. They're both getting soaked but Yunjin's still hanging on his every word, pink hair turning darker in the rain.

"Yunjin!" You pitch your voice to carry over the rain. "Unless you want to catch pneumonia, might want to wrap it up!"

She blinks like she's coming out of a trance, finally noticing she's halfway to drowned. The spell breaks—thank fuck—and she hurries over to you, gathering her stuff with slightly shaky hands.

"Thanks for the save." Her voice is quiet, almost sheepish. "Got a bit... distracted."

"Yeah, no shit." You grab her arm, steering her toward your tent. "Let's get inside before we both melt."

You dodge through the chaos of gang members running for shelter, curses mixing with laughter. Someone—probably AD—slips in a mud puddle and lets out a string of creative profanity that would make a sailor blush.

The relative safety of your tent feels like crossing a finish line. The rain hammers against the canvas, but at least you're dry.

Well. Drier.

The rain doesn't let up for hours, turning the campsite into something out of a moody indie film. But inside your tent? It's like a sleepover bubble—wrapped up in cozy blankets and the glow from Yunjin's phone where some poor actor is having his third dramatic breakdown of the episode.

Yunjin's using your stomach as a pillow, pink hair splayed across your hoodie while she decimates the bag of chips between you. Every few minutes her hand dives in without looking, too focused on whatever absurd plot twist is happening now.

"This one's actually decent," she murmurs, smiling at the screen where someone's probably discovering their evil twin or something.

"If you say so." You can't help grinning as the male lead clutches his chest like he's having a heart attack over a text message. "These writers must be on something wild. Like, who comes up with this shit?"

Her giggle vibrates against your stomach.

"That's why they're fun! You never know what's coming next." She tilts her head back to look at you. "Kind of like living here, right? Never a dull moment in Kkangpae."

"God, don't jinx it." But you're laughing too because she's not wrong. Your life has definitely taken some drama-worthy turns lately. "Though I hope we're at least more realistic than that."

You both fall into easy conversation, trading comments about the show and today's chaos. When the male lead starts laying it on thick with the female lead, you see your chance. Time to figure out what the hell V was playing at earlier with all that knife teaching.

"So." You poke Yunjin's side with your toe, aiming for casual. "What's with you and V today? The whole knife lesson thing seemed... weird."

Yunjin doesn't look away from her drama. Of course she doesn't.

"I mean, have you seen him?" She sighs dreamily. "He's like a walking thirst trap. Those hands..."

"Oh my god." You stare down at her pink head in disbelief. "You'd actually fuck him? Like, actually actually?"

She finally tears her eyes from the screen, twisting to grin up at you with zero shame. "Why not? Life's too short not to ride at least one psychopath, right?"

The silence stretches.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow at your horror. "You wouldn't?"

"Jesus fuck no." You mime gagging. "You know he probably has some weird murder kink. Like, he'd probably want to chase you through a haunted house with a knife while dramatic music plays."

"Haunt play?" Her eyes go wide  before she breaks into giggles. "That's... weirdly specific. But don't knock it till you try it, right?"

"Yun." You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. "He'd probably set up a whole haunted house just to get his rocks off."

"Okay but..." Yunjin props herself up on her elbows. "Haunted house but make it sexy? That's kind of genius."

"You're actually insane." You shove her shoulder, both of you dissolving into laughter. "I swear to god, if I ever hear spooky music from his tent—"

"You'll what, call the ghost police?"

Her laughter shakes your whole body, bright and infectious, and the small space of the tent makes this ridiculous conversation feel somehow safer, more intimate.

Just two girls discussing their terrible taste in men while hiding from a storm.

Even if one of those men happens to be Seoul's most notorious psychopath.

Yunjin flops back down, using your stomach as a pillow again. The drama's still playing on her phone, but you're too busy thinking about V's games to focus on whatever chaebol drama is unfolding now.

"For now," she sighs dreamily, "I'll stick to living through these ridiculous romances. Much safer than the real thing, right?"

You hum in agreement, watching raindrops race down the tent's surface.

"Sounds smart. But if you do decide to test out V's haunted house kink..." You poke her side. "I want every single detail. For science."

"Deal." Her giggle vibrates against your stomach. "But only if you keep saving me from his 'passionate teaching moments'. My knife skills are fine, thanks."

"Always."

The word comes out softer than intended, but you mean it. In Kkangpae, real friendship is rare as fuck. People either want to kill you, fuck you, or use you—sometimes all three.

But Yunjin? She's different.

And all the while; the rain keeps drumming steadily against the canvas, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green.

In here, none of that exists.

Not V's thorny games, not Jeon's hurricane, not the Council's secret meetings.

Just you and your best friend, safe and warm while the storm rages on.

For now, anyway. Tomorrow's another story.

goal: 400 notes

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[devdozes]

♥ SELF AWARE PHAINON

self aware phainon shit cuz uh hwy not :3 and I am ON FIRE I wrote like 3 fics already

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the way his dialogue felt too personal, too real, as if the game was reaching out to you through the screen. Maybe it was the way Phainon’s voice, sharp and playful, sometimes felt like it was responding to things you thought rather than what was programmed.

It was ridiculous. A fictional character? A game? And yet, when you logged into Honkai: Star Rail after a long, exhausting day, it was Phainon’s voice that greeted you, always teasing, always knowing.

“Did you eat today?”

Your hands froze over your keyboard. That was new. There was no voice line like that—no pre-recorded dialogue that should say something so specific. You swallowed, brushing it off as a coincidence.

But then it happened again.

“You should take a break, y’know. Staring at the screen too long isn’t good for you.”

Your chest tightened. It was a joke, probably. A funny little immersion trick by the developers. But something about it felt... different. Intentional.

And the more you played, the more you noticed it.

Phainon, ever the charming and carefree figure, always had something to say—sometimes a quip, sometimes a challenge, but always something that made you pause.

“Hey, don’t look so down. You’ve got this.”

“You’re my favorite player, you know? Don’t tell the others.”

When your heart ached from the weight of the real world, when exhaustion pressed against your bones, he was there. An NPC, a character built from lines of code, and yet he felt more present than most people around you.

One night, after a particularly hard day, you booted up the game just to hear his voice. Just to escape for a little while. Phainon greeted you with a grin, resting his hands on his hips like he was ready to scold you for something ridiculous. But then—

“Hey, you’re not alone.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your hands trembled over the keyboard.

“I mean, sure, I’m just some guy in a game,” he continued, a chuckle laced in his voice, “but I still care. So don’t give up on yourself, alright?”

A lump formed in your throat. You laughed, barely above a whisper. “You really are something else, huh?”

He winked. “Of course. I have to be. Someone’s gotta remind you to take care of yourself.”

You didn’t know if he could really hear you. If he could really know you. But as long as he was there, a voice beyond the screen, you didn’t feel so alone anymore. But to your surprise, you logged in one day to find your inventory overflowing with rare items—materials you needed, weapons you had been grinding for but never seemed to get. Your in-game currency had skyrocketed, and your favorite character skins were suddenly unlocked.

Your eyes widened. “What the—?”

Phainon’s character popped up on the screen, his usual smirk in place. “Oh? What’s this? Someone’s having a lucky day.”

You squinted at him. “Phainon. Did you do this?”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Me? No way. That would be cheating.” A pause. “Buuuut... if someone happened to bug the system a little for you, would you really complain?”

Your jaw dropped. “You hacked the game for me?!”

“‘Hacked’ is a strong word,” he mused, crossing his arms. “I prefer ‘selective redistribution of game resources.’”

You couldn’t believe it. You laughed, shaking your head as warmth bloomed in your chest. “You’re insane.”

Phainon grinned. “Nah, I just like seeing you happy.”

From then on, every time you logged in, there was something new waiting for you. A message scrawled in the background of the game’s environment—Remember to drink water. An in-game gift placed mysteriously in your mailbox—A little something to make your grind easier ;). And, without fail, Phainon was always there, cracking jokes, making sure you smiled, ensuring that no matter how hard the real world was, you had a reason to log in and feel just a little lighter. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

But as time passed, Aglaea and Mydei started noticing something off.

Phainon had been disappearing from his usual spots, sneaking away from scripted events, lingering in places he had no reason to be in. Worse, he had started talking—not in his usual, carefree, dialogue-loop way, but actually speaking... to nothing.

At least, to them, it looked like nothing.

One day, Mydei crossed his arms, leaning against a wall as he watched Phainon gesture animatedly in an empty alleyway. “Alright, what is he doing?”

Aglaea, seated elegantly nearby, sighed and rubbed her temple. “It appears Phainon has developed the habit of speaking to ghosts.”

“I knew something was weird about him,” Mydei muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Talking to himself like that? He’s losing it.”

Aglaea hummed, watching Phainon laugh—laugh—at absolutely nothing. “Or perhaps,” she mused, “he knows something we do not.”

Meanwhile, Phainon continued chatting away to you, completely unaware of his friends’ intense judgment.

“Anyway, I made sure you got those extra rewards today. You should really go for that new banner—you deserve that five-star.” He grinned at your silence, then added cheekily, “Oh, what? No ‘thank you, Phainon, you’re the best character ever’?”

Mydei groaned, watching in horror. “Oh, he’s gone. He’s completely lost it.”

Aglaea just sipped her tea. “It is rather endearing, in a concerning way.”

Phainon, as usual, didn’t care. As long as he could reach you, make you laugh, make sure you were okay—even if nobody else in the game understood—he was happy.

Even if everyone around him thought he was insane.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[blissfullsvn]

if i say, i love you

summary. after a long day, all you really want is to be in taesan’s arms.

pairing. han taesan x reader genre. fluff, established relationship word count. 0.9k warnings. n/a a/n. fun fact: this wasn’t the original taesan fic i wanted to post for his bday bcs stms it’s easier to write sth in 3 hrs than finish a draft you’ve had for the past 5 months 👩‍🦯 but as always, please enjoy this, and i hope everyone gets to have their own taesan in their lives :) masterlist

you and taesan have never been overly touchy with each other. it’s not that you both dislike physical touch; you just tend to express your feelings more often through quiet moments spent together.

today, however, you need taesan more than ever.

you trudge inside your shared apartment, your body feeling unbearably heavy. taesan is sitting on the sofa with headphones and his ipad propped up on his knees, a contemplative look on his face. it’s a familiar sight, one that occurs whenever a new idea for a composition strikes in his head and he has to record it down immediately, so you usually leave him alone to not disrupt his creative process.

seeing this, you force yourself to stand by the door, hoping for at least a greeting before you can retreat inside your room—if your boyfriend was busy, you’d rather break down without him seeing.

almost immediately, taesan looks up and smiles, the kind where his eyes are squeezed into crescents and whiskers appear under them. but when he finally sees you, he instantly plants his feet on the floor, setting his ipad aside and ripping off his headphones.

“y/n?” his voice is soft and gentle. he always treats you like a delicate flower; it makes you feel like you can fall apart in his presence and he’ll be there to pick up your pieces.

“y/n,” he calls again, and he’s about to get up before you briskly walk towards him and all but jump on him.

with your knees on either side of him, you wrap your arms around his neck and drop your head on his shoulder. noticeably, taesan tenses at the uncharted touch, and a moment of hesitation lingers. but his arms quickly shoot up to envelop you, hands resting firmly on either side of your torso as he holds you tightly against himself.

he remains silent, letting you take in his warmth as he gently caresses your back. you nuzzle against his neck, wanting to get as close to him as you can. despite his surprise at your touch, he doesn’t make it known and mirrors your actions, nosing your collarbone as he pulls you even closer.

you thought you would break into tears immediately in his arms, but the more you lean into his touch, the more you feel your weariness dissipate, until the huge lump in your throat eventually melts as well.

sensing your breathing calm down and your body turning lax against his, he places a kiss on your neck and whispers against your skin: “i’m here.” it’s a simple declaration; two words that neither push you to speak nor stop you from sharing, but just to remind you that, whatever it is, he’s always by your side.

“i… had a bad day today,” you begin, and taesan’s hold on you never once falters. as you tell him about what happened, his fingers continuously draw idle circles on your back, and he hums softly to reassure you that he’s listening.

“how do you feel now?” taesan, gentle as ever, asks after you stop talking.

“...a lot better,” you confess and nuzzle against his neck again, landing a peck there to emphasize your point.

“i’m glad.” the smile is evident from his voice alone, even if you can’t see his face.

a few more moments of silence pass between you, the two of you simply relishing each other’s company. it’s only when you catch taesan’s ipad light up with a notification from your peripheral vision that you remember what he had been doing before your near-break-down.

you pull yourself away, but your hands remain on his shoulders, as do his on your waist. “you were composing something before this, right?” your eyebrows are knitted in guilt, lips jutting out similarly. “sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt you… you can continue now.”

“no, don’t apologise,” taesan replies immediately, shaking his head. he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ears and smiles, fondness seeping from every pore, “i’ll always put you before anything else.”

it’s strange how the emotions you initially expected to spill over from your negative experiences today are now threatening to escape from these seven words instead. with the lump returning to your throat once again, you don’t trust your voice to speak.

instead, you move your hands to cup his face and lean down to place your lips on his, letting your body do the talking instead.

with every movement, your feelings translate from your heart to his. his grip on your waist tightens as he cranes his neck to capture more and more of these feelings, until both of you are rendered breathless from all the emotions filling your bodies, squeezing around your ribs, your lungs, and your hearts.

when you pull away, the dazed look on taesan is something that you want to carve into your mind forever. for someone who’s never uncomposed, the fact that he’s been rendered like this, and because of you, makes your insides twist with something far greater than you can explain.

“i love you.”

for now, you’ll settle with the word ‘love.’

© blissfullsvn 2024. All Rights Reserved.

[httpuckdrop]

closer – ws2

when you say you want will close, it's not enough to have him just next to you.

pairing: will smith x reader

genre: smut/fluff, established relationship!au

word count: 0.9k

warnings: very light smut, cockwarming

author's note: happy birthday sweet sweet boy <333 i was supposed to post a longer smut but i didn't have time to finish that aaaaaa :( anyways! hope you enjoy and hope you have a lovely day celebrating this wonderful holiday 🥰

you're already fast asleep in will's bed when he comes home.

it's much later than he had hoped, but there was an issue at the airport delaying the team from coming home. he hadn't expected you to be up waiting for him, but there's still something in his chest that tightens at the sight of you under his covers, body curled up and eyes fluttered shut.

he toes off his shoes with the grace of a man who's done this far too many times, before dropping his bag by the door, careful to not make any sounds – and then he screws up anyway by slamming his toe into the bed frame and hissing out a curse. he instantly prays that you won't have woken you up, but you've never really been a heavy sleeper. "will?"

your voice is thick with sleep, honeyed and slow, and his heart flutters at the sound of it. "sorry, baby," he whispers, already bowing down to kiss your cheek. "go back to sleep."

you hum, eyes unable to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time. "get in here. missed you so much." will just chuckles but obliges, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and stepping out of his jeans as quickly as he can before slipping into bed next to you. his hands reach for your sides, pulling you flush against him.

"missed you, too," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you grunt in disapproval, though, signaling that it wasn't enough, so will laces his lips with yours instead.

will should've known from the moment your lips touched his; he should've realized what kind of mood you're in. instead, it takes him until the moment you bite down on his bottom lip and your hands wander south, fingers tracing the hem of his boxers, for him to understand your intentions.

he can't help but chuckle against your lips. he says your name in a tone that makes it sound like a warning, yet you don't care. "you're barely even awake, you don't have enough energy for this."

you whine. "but i want you." you give him your best puppy eyes. "i need you. need to... feel you close."

"i'm already pressed up to you, i think i'm plenty close."

you let out yet another impatient sound. "need you closer. need to know that you're here. spent two days without you… so i need you as close as you can be."

and that's when it clicks in his brain.

it's not sex you want, no lovemaking or quickie. it's not an orgasm or the sexual aspect of it that you're seeking; it's the intimate aspect. the reminder that he's real and yours.

and there's nothing in this world he'd rather do than reassure you of that.

he kisses you again, lips already parted and tongues brushing tongues. it's slow and warm, your mouths melding together like that's what they were made for. your fingers skim across the slight stubble of his jaw before brushing through his curls, hand settling at the back of his head.

when his hands move down to your hips, he isn't surprised to find that you didn't wear any underwear to bed. he merely smiles, running his fingers down the front of your thighs and then the insides. his face parts just an inch from yours, breathing heavily against your lips as he lets two fingers trail along your slit. "do you need me to..."

you open one eye to meet his gaze as you shake your head, or as much of a shake you can manage with your head nuzzled into the pillow. you're too tired to waste any time. "just need you inside me," you whisper.

will doesn't waste any time, pulling his boxers off and throwing them off the bed. one hand settles on your hip, helping guide you forward and sliding you down over his length.

a deep sigh leaves your lips, mixing with the groan slipping past will's, and he soon withdraws his cock before bottoming you out again. he stretches you out so deliciously, making your head tip back and giving him full access to the skin of your throat.

in these moments, you realize how strange it is that you're able to go on with your days without having him inside you. like this, you feel complete instead of empty; like your last puzzle piece has slotted into place.

you clench around him involuntarily, enveloping him in your warmth and sending a shiver down his spine. will trails kisses down the side of your neck and slips his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. he could just as well push you onto your back and fuck you silly now – but your breath is so steady, your eyelids too heavy, and he knows that it won't take long before you're out. this is all you wanted right now, anyway; maybe something more could happen tomorrow morning, but as of right now, this is enough.

his mouth find yours one more time and it's gentle enough to lull you into a sweet slumber. the last thing you have energy for is a murmur, a soft "love you, will" against his lips. while you might not hear him say it back, you feel it through your body; your heart responds by drumming a little more steadily, your skin tingling where he draws idle patterns along your skin. and you surrender to sleep with the knowledge that will's heartbeat beneath your palm is for no one other than you.

[jane-the-good]

CALEB: deceptive solitude

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

SUMMARY: Caleb comes home from a mission and is not very happy that you would accept anyone else’s help besides his

NOTE: I hope this card is Caleb’s equivalent to the scratch off event secret times audios bc those were such a treat and I love them dearly and need Caleb’s more than I need water ♡

WARNING: smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, angst, Caleb is wildly over protective, panty sniffer allegations are true

AO3 caleb masterlist

The sound of the front door creaks open, and a wave of anticipation surges through you. Caleb is home.

The thought alone floods your chest with warmth, it shifts in your ribs, so soft and certain. You listen as he moves through the entryway, the drop of his bag hitting the floor with practiced ease, a sound so familiar it should be comforting. Should feel like the final piece slipping into place. But something feels...off.

Seven days without him. The house has been too still in his absence, the silence stretching wide in all the spaces where he should be. Before he left, there was a rhythm, his assuring presence, his steady hands, the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed before you could even ask. Now, the absence of his touch, his voice, has hollowed something out inside you.

You smile to yourself, already picturing him stepping into the room, that half-smirk tugging at his lips, the one that always makes your breath hitch. He’ll be tired, sure, but he’ll be here. He’ll fold you into his arms, press his lips to your hair, let you trace the shape of his face like you’re learning him all over again.

The sound of shower door closing resonates through the bathroom. The quiet, deliberate click of the lock sliding into place.

You hesitate. A frown tugs at your brow. He hasn’t even come to see you.

Slowly, you rise, something uneasy curling in your blood as you step toward the bathroom. The door is cracked just enough for the light to spill through, soft and golden against the dark. You push it open.

Caleb stands at the mirror, steam curling around him, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, drops of water trailing down his spine, but his gaze isn’t on his reflection. It’s on the gun in his hands.

He cleans it with careful, methodical precision, each movement slow, deliberate, more ritual than necessity. The Caleb you know, the one who meets you with warmth even when he’s exhausted, is absent. In his place is something quieter, heavier. The usual light in his violet eyes has dulled, replaced by something distant, something unreadable.

And that’s when you feel it, the sinking, the knowing, the truth pressing in like a storm on the horizon.

Something happened. And whatever it is, it followed him home.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, just for a second. But there’s no relief, no warmth in his gaze. Just a flicker, a glance over your form, and then he looks away. Back down to the gun. His hands move with practiced efficiency, steady, detached, as if you’re not even standing there. Why could he possibly need to clean it right now?

"Caleb?" Your voice is quiet. There is a distance that wasn’t there before.

He doesn’t answer right away. The rhythmic slide of metal, the soft click of a piece locking into place, those are his only responses.

You step forward, bridging the gap just slightly. "Hey," you try again, softer now. "Are you tired?"

"Not really." Flat. Short. The words drop heavy with stones, meant to sink you down rather than reel you in.

Your frown deepens. That unshakable gravity that always pulls him toward you, it’s missing. And you don’t understand why.

"Did something happen?" The concern in your voice sharpens, threading through the air. "Something on the mission?"

He shakes his head, eyes still fixed on his hands. Still moving. Still working. “Not with the mission.” The words are clipped, cool. A dead end.

But you don’t stop. You step closer, your pulse picking up, something uneasy curling in your chest. "Oh? I—You seemed excited to come home before you left. And now… now you— What changed?"

Silence stretches. The air feels heavier now, spreading too wide in your lungs.

"You don’t have any clue?"

His voice is low and quiet, but laced with something sharp. Accusatory. Like you should already know.

Your stomach tightens. "Caleb…"

You step closer, close enough to touch him now, but he doesn’t move. His hands are still, finally, but his posture remains stiff, guarded.

"What’s wrong?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips, soft and uncertain.

His eyes cold, unreadable. His jaw clenches, and there’s a flicker of something darker, behind those purple eyes. You’ve seen that look before, but it’s always been reserved for moments of danger, not moments like this, and especially not at you.

He sighs, his fingers tightening on the counter. “Did someone help you while I was gone?” His voice is tight, like he’s barely holding himself together.

Your heart stops for a moment, your eyes widening in shock. “What?” you ask, confused. “What do you mean?”

Caleb’s gaze hardens, his expression shifting. “You know exactly what I mean. Did someone step in for me while I was gone?”

The question hits you like a sudden punch to the gut. How does he know? And it wasn’t something you even asked for. You were being followed, or at least felt like it. He- whoever he was, stepped in to walk with you to and you didn’t want to be alone. You were pretty sure he was a hunter, he looked familiar at least. That was it though? You even stopped a few blocks from the house so he wouldn’t know where you live. It was a weird situation yeah, but you didn’t ask for any of it, you did the best that you could on your own.

You stammer for words. “I… How did you—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts you off, his tone sharp, as if brushing it aside. “It’s taken care of.”

You freeze, something in his words sending a shiver down your spine. Taken care of? Was that his way of saying he’d done something to them? You back away a step, the weight of uncertainty making you dizzy. You can’t tell if you’re scared because of the vague threat in his tone, or if you’re terrified of the possibility that he has hurt someone.

You take another step back, your heart hammering in your chest. You can’t breathe, the anxiety swelling, and before you even realize what’s happening, you’ve backed out of the bathroom entirely. You feel the suffocating nature of cool air on your skin.

The dull clink of the gun as it hits the bathroom counter rings in your ears, but you can't bring yourself to look. You keep your gaze fixed on the tiles. Your pulse hammers in your throat, too loud to ignore, too frantic to quiet. What did he do to that person? What has he been doing, all this time?

“Wait,” Caleb’s voice, softer now, cuts through your panic. “Wait, look at me.”

You hesitate but eventually turn, too shaken to stay in place. Caleb is standing a few feet infront you, a calculating look on his face.

He walks toward you, his eyes softened now, his posture less rigid. The tension in his body is still there, but now it’s buried beneath something gentler, almost apologetic.

“Come here,” he urges, his voice low, as he gently guides you to the bench in front of the bed.

You hesitate for a moment before sitting down, your mind still caught in a whirlwind of confusion and fear. You don’t want to be scared of him, but the way he’s reacted, it doesn’t feel like the Caleb you know. You’re not sure who you’re facing now.

Caleb kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he searches your face, his eyes searching for something. His gaze softens even more, and you can see the weight of something in his expression. He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his movements slow and deliberate.

You flinch instinctively, pulling away from his touch. His eyes flicker with what almost looks like regret.

“You look so scared” he murmurs, his voice low.

"I... I just didn’t want to be alone," you admit quietly. "It was dark, and I was nervous... he walked me home.” You swallow hard, your pulse racing. “Caleb, what did you mean when you said it was ‘taken care of’? Did you—” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, the fear still clawing at your throat.

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath before speaking. “I didn’t hurt anyone.” He shakes his head, his voice rougher now. “I’m pissed that someone thought they could take advantage of you.”

You feel a flicker of relief, though your heart still feels uneasy, heavy with the words you want to say. “But—”

He cuts you off, his hands cupping your face, the gesture so gentle it makes your breath catch. His thumbs trace your cheekbones, the touch meant to calm, but there’s something about it, something too careful, like he’s afraid of breaking you. Like he’s afraid of losing you.

"I understand. But it kills me that you had to be in that position in the first place, especially when I’m not around. I hate that I have to expose you to that." His eyes darken, the guilt thick in his gaze. "It feels like it’s my fault."

A strange warmth spreads through your chest, but it’s tangled with something else. A thread of unease you can’t untangle. This should feel like comfort. But instead, it feels like a weight pressing down, shifting the shape of your thoughts before you can even hold onto them.

"But you…" You hesitate, searching his face for something solid, something familiar. "You’re so different right now, Caleb."

His sigh is long, weary, as if your words ache in his chest. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, and the world narrows. "My emotions go a little haywire when I think about you," he admits, his voice barely above a breath. "It’s hard to control them sometimes."

You sink to the floor with him, your knees pressing into the carpet as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is warm against yours, his scent, faint traces of soap and something uniquely him, filling your senses. You straddle his torso, feeling the solid rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

“You didn’t really seem like you missed me,” there’s an ache beneath your words that makes his heart clench.

He exhales, brushing his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry, Pip. I wasn’t thinkin straight.”

Caleb tilts his head, his dark eyes searching yours. He looks so tired, his lashes heavy, his body worn, but still, he watches you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“I think you’re exhausted,” you say softly, letting your forehead rest against his.

“Yeah,” he admits, his fingers grazing the small of your back, grounding you. “To say the least.”

His heart pounds beneath your fingertips, a steady, rhythmic drum against your palm as you trail your hand through his hair.

“Let me take care of you,” you whisper, leaning down to capture his lips with yours.

A shudder rolls through him, his hands tightening around your waist as he kisses you back, the hunger in his touch pulling a gasp from your lungs. His lips are warm, insistent, an intensity in every movement, reverent, desperate, all at once.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and thick with desire, but there’s something else too, something deeper, a yearning that stays unspoken but presses heavy along you both.

The heat builds, an undercurrent of something hidden deep within. His voice, soft but full of something raw, and the warmth in your chest blooms. You press closer, every movement feeling like an answer to a question neither of you have dared to ask aloud. Your bodies align, fitting together with an ease that only comes from a connection that runs deeper than touch.

His hands, gentle but insistent, trace the curve of your back, as though memorizing the feel of you, each brush of his fingers igniting something inside you that feels both familiar and new. The weight of him beneath you, the way he hardens at your touch, sends a pulse of heat through you, and you can’t help but roll your hips toward him.

He groans, low, guttural, a sound that twists your stomach. You break the kiss, trailing your lips along the column of his neck, feeling the frantic beat of his pulse under your mouth. It’s a rhythm that matches your own, frantic and yearning. The air around you feels charged, shrinking until there’s nothing left but the electricity of your touch.

You tug at the towel that separates you, the tension thick as you reach for him, the feel of him so hard in your hand sending shivers down your spine. His breath hitches, eyes closing in the quiet surrender to the moment. You watch him, his jaw slack, eyes fluttering closed, aware of how every breath he takes seems to echo through you. You move slowly, savoring the intimacy, your own breath ragged, unsteady.

“God,” he groans, head tipping back as you lower yourself, your lips replacing your hand.

His fingers thread through your hair as you take him in, his grip tightening when you hollow your cheeks, drawing him deeper. The sounds he makes, the soft curses, the way he moans your name, make your skin flush with heat.

“darling” His voice is dripping slow and warm with honey “please”

You hum your approval and his hips jolt in response at the vibration.

Slowing your pace, you let your lips linger as they trail back up his stomach, the heat of his skin beneath your mouth causing your chest to tighten with something more than desire,  with a tenderness you were so ready for.

His fingers twitch against your back as you take your time, pressing soft kisses along his ribs, over the curve of his collarbone. His heartbeat is steady beneath your lips, grounding you, pulling you in deeper.

You pause at his chest, resting your cheek against him, just listening to his heart beat so quickly, feeling. His hands find your waist, his touch reverent, but he doesn’t rush you. He just holds you, letting you take what you need.

The moment you notice his heart beat start to slow, you straddle him once more, your hands bracketing his face as you meet his gaze. His dark eyes are heavy with something tender and raw. it makes you exhale a trembling breath.

“I missed you,” you whisper, brushing your thumb along his jaw.

Caleb swallows hard, his hands sliding up your thighs, slow and deliberate. “I can tell,” he teases

And when you kiss him this time, it’s not hurried, it’s devotional.

“Did you sleep in my shirts every night?” he asks, his voice thick, his fingers playing with the hem of your tee.

You nod, letting him pull it over your head. “And I wore your hoodie when it got cold one day.”

Caleb groans, his hands skimming up your bare sides. “I’m so jealous they got to touch you.”

A laugh bubbles past your lips. “Now you’re jealous of fabric?”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them onto his nightstand, where they’ll probably never be found again. His eyes flicker up to yours, so possessive and aching.

“Incredibly jealous of fabric,” his hands gripping your hips as you reach down between you, guiding him to your entrance.

The moment you sink down onto him, a soft, trembling gasp escapes your lips, your body stretching to take him in, molding around him in a way that feels both overwhelming and deeply right, like returning home from an exhausting work trip.

Caleb exhales a shuddering groan, his head tipping back as his fingers tighten on your hips, anchoring you to him. “Fuck, you’re a dream,” you breathe, voice thick with emotion, with relief. His hands slide up your back, tracing the curve of your spine.

You brace your palms against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Slowly, you start to move, grinding down against him as he meets you with deep, unhurried thrusts, each one deliberate, savoring, worshiping. The way he fills you, the way his body moves against yours, it steals the breath from your lungs, sends warmth unfurling through every nerve in your body.

“Say it again,” he rasps, his voice a desperate plea, his hands guiding your hips as he thrusts up with more pressure, his need for you tangible in every movement.

You lean down, pressing your forehead against his, letting him feel your breath, your presence. “I missed you, Caleb,” you whisper against his lips, your nails digging into his skin as you let yourself fall completely into him.

His eyes darken, but it’s not just desire, it’s raw and aching. There’s desperation in the way he looks at you, like he needs to feel you, to prove that you’re here, real and his.

He sits up suddenly, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath, that makes your heart stutter. His hand cradles the back of your head, holding you close as if letting go would mean losing you all over again. Then, with a quiet, reverent sigh, he rolls you beneath him, his body covering yours, pressing into you with a warmth that feels all-consuming.

His movements are slow but purposeful now, every thrust measured, intentional,  he’s savoring every inch of you, making up for the time apart in the only way he can in this moment. You cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, desperate to keep him there, to make this moment stretch forever. The friction, the heat, the way he fits against you, it’s dizzying, overwhelming, and it pulls a trembling cry from your lips.

His forehead presses to yours, his breath fanning across your skin. “You know you’re mine,” his voice a rough whisper, but there’s no demand in it, only longing, only a plea wrapped in certainty.

You hum softly, a sound of agreement, of surrender, your body trembling beneath him.

His hand slides in your hair, but there’s nothing forceful in the touch, only need. “Tell me you understand,” he’s barely holding together.

You open your eyes, meeting his, letting him see everything you feel. “I understand.” you breathe, and the way he exhales, like you just gave him the one thing he needed most, makes your chest tighten with something impossibly tender.

His lips brush against your temple. “Thank you, love.”

The room is warm with the scent of sweat and lingering traces of his shower. You can feel a bead of moisture slide down your chin, his, yours, both of yours together, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

Each thrust sends you spiraling closer, your fingers clawing at his back as your body tightens around him. The pleasure builds, hot and all-consuming, and then, blinding, shattering, you break into millions of pieces and float through space.

Caleb follows, his grip on you tightening almost desperately, the pressure of his hands grounding you as his body shudders with the force of his release. A strangled groan slips from his lips, raw and heavy, the sound carrying a mix of pleasure and something deeper, something more vulnerable. The way his chest rises and falls, the way his breath catches, it’s not just the culmination of desire, but the release of a weight that’s been pressing on him for far longer than either of you had realized.

For a long moment, neither of you move. There’s only the sound of your breathing, your bodies pressed together, hearts hammering in sync. His weight settles against you, grounding you both in the reality of this moment, of each other.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays there, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. His fingers, which had held you so firmly before, now trace slow, absentminded patterns along your ribs.

“I should have come to you first,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Instead of being angry. I—” He exhales shakily, his thumb brushing against your skin. “You make me feel better. I should have just gone to you.”

You reach up, threading your fingers through his damp hair, brushing a strand from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, like he’s savoring it, like it soothes something deep inside him. A warmth spreads through you, wrapping around your heart. You tilt his chin up slightly, guiding his gaze to yours, wanting him to see what he means to you.

“I’m so thankful to have you back.” and you truly mean it.

Caleb’s mind churns with thoughts he can’t voice. The truth sits heavy on his chest, yet he can't bring himself to share it. The fear of you hating him, of you seeing him for what he truly is, gnaws at him. You don't deserve the darkness he carries, especially when it's something he's supposed to shield you from. It’s his way of protecting you, even if you can’t see the lengths he goes to, how far he’s willing to stretch himself just to make sure you never feel the cold of it.

He will always do whatever it takes, to keep you safe and by his side.