#i love and hate this show just had to be bitter for a second

[angeliccss]

Compliance

Pairing: Dr. Florence Seward/Reader

Words: 7.7k

Summary: She came to Dr. Seward drunk, angry, and halfway broken—hellbent on burning herself out before anyone could stop her. But Florence didn't flinch. She never does.

Warnings: Doctor/Patient Relationship, Slowish burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ownership but in a Loving Way, Rough sex, Fucking out the Brat, Self-Destructive Behavior, Soft Sex, Alcohol Abuse, Reader is a Whore

Read on AO3

AN: I wrote this whilst on some very strong painkillers, so I hope it makes sense. Don’t mind any mistakes that I probably made. Xx

It had been a month.

Four weeks of sitting across from Dr. Florence Seward in that too-quiet room, pretending not to care while her sharp eyes dissected every word, every silence. Four weeks of cold tea gone untouched, of stilted greetings and clock ticks loud enough to make you want to scream.

You hadn’t made it easy on her, not that it mattered. You hadn’t made anything easy on anyone lately. Not the boys you let fumble their way under your skirts in darkened corners, not your poor aunt who’d dragged you here with desperate prayers, and certainly not the woman who now sat across from you, all spine and discipline and unspoken judgment.

Dr. Seward never raised her voice. Never showed anger. She listened with that unnerving stillness, lips pressed in a thin line, pen poised just above the page. Sometimes she didn't write anything at all. Sometimes she just watched you.

And you hated her for it.

The visits blurred together: You told her lies, she wrote them down. You laughed at nothing, she did not. You flirted, she blinked once—slowly—and asked if your father had been affectionate with you. You cursed, she adjusted the buttons on her sleeve. You spoke of nothing, and still, she made you speak.

Until today.

You stumbled into her office half an hour late, still wearing last night’s perfume. Your hem was dirty with London’s filth, your eyes rimmed with whatever makeup hadn’t been rubbed off by someone else's sheets. Your breath smelled of gin and rebellion.

She was already seated, legs crossed, hands folded on her lap. Not a hair out of place. You smirked as you collapsed onto the settee. “Don’t say it. I know I’m late.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Seward said coolly.

Her voice was soft, but it cut. That was the worst part—how she didn’t need to raise it to make you feel like you were sixteen and in trouble again. You laid back dramatically, one arm slung over your eyes. “Rough night. I doubt I’ll remember much of it. Can’t say I mind.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” You peeked at her from under your arm. “Or just something you’re projecting?” She didn’t answer right away. She just sat there, unreadable, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly as if deciding whether to speak at all.

Then she rose, slowly, deliberately, and walked to the edge of the chaise. You didn’t sit up. You looked up at her, daring. “Do you know what I see when you walk through that door?” she asked, voice low. “A girl trying very, very hard to disappear.”

“Oh, how original,” you drawled. “Let me guess—Daddy didn’t love me, so now I fuck strangers and drink poison to feel alive. Does that about cover it?” Seward didn’t flinch. But she leaned down, sudden and close, and before you could move away, her fingers were on your chin—firm, unshaking—as she tilted your face toward hers.

“Why,” she said, her tone flat but burning underneath, “are you doing this to yourself?” You froze. For a second, you saw something behind her eyes. Not pity. Not even anger. Something worse. Understanding.

Your jaw tightened. “Let go of me.” She didn’t. “Let go of me!” You slapped her hand away and stumbled to your feet. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Then tell me.” You laughed—a cold, bitter sound. “Go to hell.” And you left. Stormed out the door like you hadn’t wanted her to follow. Like your hands weren’t trembling by the time you reached the street.

The next time you showed up, you were on time.

Not early, never early, but not late either. It was raining, a soft, misting sort of rain that clung to your clothes and frizzed your hair. You didn’t bother fixing either. You just walked into Dr. Seward’s office, dropped your coat in the same corner as always, and sat down without a word.

She looked up from her notebook. A flick of the eyes, nothing more. No comment about last week. No questions. Just a quiet, “Good afternoon.” You nodded once. "Doctor." It was the most civil greeting you’d given her since your first visit.

The room was as it always was—too warm, too still, the kind of quiet that made your skin itch. You watched the fireplace instead of her. She watched you instead of pretending not to.

After a moment, she closed her notebook. “You haven’t spoken to your aunt,” she said. You shrugged. “She hasn’t spoken to me.”

“Because you haven’t answered her letters.”

“I didn’t ask her to write them.” Seward didn’t sigh, but you could feel the weight of one behind her silence. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, thumb rubbing idly against one of her rings.

"You left abruptly last week." You smiled without showing teeth. “Did I?”

“You seemed upset.”

“Did I?”

She tilted her head, just slightly. “You’ve been coming here for over a month. In that time, I’ve observed a pattern of avoidance, agitation, and self-destructive behavior. You deflect when spoken to. You perform indifference. But when pressed—” she paused, measuring the words, “—you react strongly. I believe that suggests there’s something beneath the surface you don’t want touched.”

“Or,” you said, lounging back against the settee, “you’re just really bad at your job.” She didn’t even blink. You weren’t sure if that disappointed you or impressed you. Seward’s voice remained even. “I’m here to help you. But I can’t do that if you insist on presenting a façade.”

“You keep using that word—‘help.’ I don’t think it means what you want it to.”

“Then what do you think it means?” You stared at her. She didn’t look away.

Help. It was a bitter word. Thin and brittle in your mouth, like dried leaves. People only ever offered help when they wanted something. Your aunt wanted the scandal to go away. The boys wanted you to stay broken enough to be easy. The world wanted you to be manageable.

And Seward—what did she want? You didn’t answer. The silence stretched between you like a drawn wire. Seward shifted, just slightly. “I’d like to ask you something different today.”

“God, finally.” Her mouth twitched again. Not quite amusement. Not quite disdain. She reached to the side table and picked up a small wooden box. You hadn’t seen it before. She opened the lid and withdrew a single card from within.

It was blank. “This is a method sometimes used when speech is difficult,” she said. “I’ll write a word. You respond with the first thing that comes to mind. No explanations. No context. Just instinct.”

You rolled your eyes. “Really?”

“Humor me.”

You crossed your arms but didn’t move. Which was, of course, permission. She dipped her pen, wrote a word on the card, and held it up.

“Mother.” You snorted.

“Dead.” A flick of her wrist. She wrote another.

“Faith.”

“Lost it.”

Another.

“Desire.”

You hesitated. Only for a second. “Inconvenient.” Her gaze didn’t waver. Neither did her pen.

“Shame.”

You looked at her. “Overrated.”

“Love.”

You gave her the smallest smile. “Hilarious.”

She set the pen down. The game was over. “You don’t believe any of those things,” she said. “I said the first word that came to mind. Isn’t that the point?”

“Yes.” She leaned forward. “But you chose those words carefully. Not instinctively.”

“So now you’re accusing me of lying.”

“No,” Seward said. “I’m accusing you of hiding.” You stood. Too fast, too sudden. But she didn’t flinch. “I don’t know what kind of broken girls you’re used to, Doctor, but I’m not one of them. I come here because I have to. Not because I want to be saved.”

“I know.” That stopped you. She said it plainly. Not in anger. Not in pity. Just fact. “I know you don’t want to be saved,” she repeated, standing slowly. “But some part of you wants to be seen. Or you wouldn’t keep coming back.”

Your throat went tight. You hated how she said that. Calm. Certain. Like she’d cracked something open without even raising her voice. “Maybe I just like the sound of your voice,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

Seward didn’t answer. The clock ticked. The fire crackled. She stepped toward you, and for the briefest moment, you thought—But no. She only reached for her notebook. “Same time next week,” she said. You hesitated at the door. Didn’t look back. Didn’t thank her. But you came back next week. You always did.

You were already drunk when you arrived. Not tipsy. Not charmingly flushed. Drunk.

The type of drunk that curled around your spine and dulled your eyes, that slowed your words just enough to make them dangerous. The kind of drunk that couldn’t be hidden with powder and perfume. The type of drunk that told the truth.

You stumbled into her office twenty minutes late, grinning like a lunatic with your coat half off your shoulders, hair damp with rain and sweat and someone else’s cologne. The buttons of your dress were misaligned. You hadn’t bothered to fix them.

Seward looked up from her desk, and something in her expression shifted, just barely. Not surprise. Not disgust. Something colder. You collapsed onto the settee with a groan. “Ugh. Christ. This city should be burned to the ground. Nothing but whores and cowards.”

She said nothing. She watched you carefully, as always. You let your head roll back. “You’re probably going to tell me I shouldn’t have come here like this.”

“No,” she said, voice low. “I was expecting it.” You laughed bitterly. “Were you? You must be clairvoyant.”

“I’m observant,” she said. “And you’re not subtle.” You looked at her now, really looked—at the tight line of her mouth, the stillness of her hands. “What’s the diagnosis today, Doctor?” you slurred. “Want to talk about my father again? Or shall we skip straight to you pretending to care?”

“I don’t pretend,” she said. “No, you just stare at me with those cold little eyes and take notes on how fucked up I am.” Seward didn’t blink. “Have you slept?” You scoffed. “Define sleep.”

“Eaten?”

“Half a roll. Two days ago.”

Her voice softened—barely. “Have you been… alone?” You laughed. And you didn’t mean to. It was a high, cracked sound, ugly and real and full of everything you’d been choking back.

“Alone?” you echoed. “God, no. I’ve had more men in the past week than you’ve probably spoken to in the past month. Rich ones, dumb ones, ugly ones. Doesn’t matter. They’re all the same with their hands on me—wanting something I don’t even have anymore.”

Seward stood. The movement was slow. Quiet. But something in the air changed. You felt it like a drop in pressure, like a storm rolling in behind your ribs. She crossed the room in three steps.

You smiled at her, vicious. “Don’t look at me like that. You think you’re better than me just because you wear black and speak in measured tones? You’re just another woman playing pretend.”

Her jaw tightened. You leaned back against the couch, daring. “What’s the matter, Doctor? Not used to your patients being honest? Or are you just pissed you can’t fix me?” She didn’t respond. Not with words.

Instead, she reached down, swift, controlled, and took your face in her hand again. Not gently. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, firm and deliberate. Your breath caught.

“I have tried,” she said, and her voice was different now. Quiet, yes, but sharp. “I have sat here, week after week, listening to you lie and unravel and destroy yourself while pretending you’re in control.” You blinked, stunned. Her grip didn’t loosen.

“If you’re so determined to burn yourself down,” she continued, “then by all means—do it. But don’t come in here reeking of gin and men, slurring your venom, and expect me to treat it like anything less than what it is.”

Your heart was pounding. “I—I don’t—” She leaned in, lips close to your ear. “If you’re going to act like a whore,” she whispered, “then I will treat you like one.” The words were ice and fire all at once.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. The shame came first. Then the heat. A furious flush rose to your cheeks, down your throat, across your chest. Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up—knees tightening, stomach twisting, pulse roaring in your ears.

She let go of your face, but the air between you crackled. You opened your mouth—to shout, to run, to do something—but all that came out was a choked breath. She watched you. Unmoving.

And in that stillness, you realized something terrifying. You didn’t want to leave.

You wanted her to do it. You wanted her to make good on the promise in her voice. To take control. To make it stop—the spinning, the need, the gnawing emptiness that no drink, man, or night could fill.

“I…” Your voice broke. “I don’t know what to do.” That was the truth. Naked. Frightened. Whispered like a prayer. Seward stepped back. But only a little. She looked at you like she could see through your skin.

“You’ll listen,” she said quietly. “You’ll stop pretending.” You nodded, tears hot in your eyes. “And you’ll let me teach you,” she added. Not a question. A command. You nodded again, this time slower. Your knees were trembling. And still, a part of you—deep, hungry, defiant—hoped she wasn’t finished yet.

Seward didn’t speak again. She just turned, crossed to the door, and locked it. That sound—click—sent something electric down your spine.

She returned slowly, deliberately. Her eyes raked over you like a scalpel, stripping away whatever pieces of control you had left.

You tried to put your usual smirk back on. “Is this part of your process, Doctor? Going hands-on with the damaged girls?”

The words barely left your mouth before she was in front of you again—closer this time, standing over you with that same unsettling calm.

“You don’t want tenderness,” she said. You didn’t answer. “You want discipline. Structure. Something stronger than the chaos you keep throwing yourself into.”

You opened your mouth to argue—but she grabbed your wrist and yanked you up off the couch with startling force. You gasped, stumbled, but she held you steady with one hand gripping your chin. “No more talking,” she said sharply. “On your knees.” Your breath caught in your throat. “What—” Her nails dug into your jaw. “I said knees.” You dropped.

It wasn’t graceful. Your head was spinning, your dress rumpled around your thighs. But your knees hit the rug, and you stared up at her, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped animal.

She circled you once, slow and precise. "You think acting out gives you control," she murmured. "But all you’ve done is beg to be broken.” You flushed—furious, humiliated, and wet.

"You want to be taught a lesson?" she asked, standing still behind you now. "Then you’ll learn it. You’ll learn what it means to be obedient." Her hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back, hard.

You moaned—unintentionally, embarrassingly. “That’s more honest than anything you’ve said in five weeks,” she said coldly. You squirmed, thighs rubbing together, heat pooling under your dress.

"But your still so mouthy," she muttered. "Maybe I should find something to shut you up." Your stomach flipped. She tugged your hair again. “Strip.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the buttons of your dress, fumbling them open. The fabric stuck to your skin, damp with sweat and rain and shame. You peeled it off slowly, and when it fell to the floor, you were bare beneath—no corset, no underthings, not even a slip.

You didn’t miss the way her breath caught. “No wonder the men come so easily,” she said. “You offer yourself like a gift to anyone who asks.” You clenched your jaw. “And now you’re doing the same.”

She stepped forward, grabbed your jaw again, harder. “The difference is,” she whispered, “I’m not asking.” She pulled you up, rough, controlled, and bent you over the desk in one swift motion. The wood was cool against your breasts, the edge biting into your hips.

You tried to twist away, but her palm came down hard across your ass. You cried out, shocked more than hurt.

“Still squirming,” she said. Another slap. “Still disobedient.” You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but she heard it. Felt the way you trembled under her touch. “You don’t get to hide anymore,” she said.

Her hand moved lower, between your thighs. She didn’t go slow. Didn’t coax. She slid two fingers through your wetness and let out a dark, satisfied sound. “Dripping,” she said flatly. “All that attitude, and you’re soaked just from being put in your place.”

You whimpered, humiliated and turned on beyond reason. “Say thank you,” she ordered, still teasing your entrance without giving you what you wanted. You shook your head, defiant.

Another sharp slap across your ass. “Say it.” “Th-thank you,” you choked out. She rewarded you—finally—by thrusting two fingers inside. You gasped, arching into it, greedy and aching and ruined.

She fucked you with steady, punishing rhythm, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet office. You clenched around her, hips rocking back into her hand, chasing every brutal stroke.

“Pathetic,” she said against your ear. “You act like you’re above it all, but this is what you really want. To be used. Owned. Controlled.”

“Yes,” you moaned, hating how true it was, how badly you needed it. Her fingers curved just right, found that spot, and pressed hard. You screamed into the desk, legs trembling, and she didn’t stop.

“Don’t you dare cum until I say.” You sobbed, biting your lip, trying not to shake apart on her hand. But she didn’t let up—her other hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you down, voice low and deadly against your ear.

“You’ll cum when I say, and not a second before. You belong to me now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” you cried. “Yes, yes—please—” And then—finally—she gave the command. “Now.” Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. You shattered around her, loud and broken and soaked, collapsing against the desk like a puppet with its strings cut.

But she didn’t stop.

Seward’s fingers kept moving inside you—slow at first, then harder, more deliberate. You whimpered, your body hypersensitive and twitching, legs trying to close around nothing.

“Don’t you dare pull away,” she murmured, voice dark and steady. “You said thank you once. You’ll say it again.”

“P-please,” you sobbed, overwhelmed, “I can’t—”

“You can.” Her other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady. “You will.”

She curled her fingers just right, again and again, hitting that same raw, aching spot that had you shaking, crying, your breath catching on every pulse of pleasure that rose too fast, too soon. “Thank you.”

You were past the point of pride. Past control. Your body betrayed you entirely, tightening, coiling, begging. And then it broke again.

You came a second time with a raw cry, your entire body clenching helplessly around her hand, legs trembling, skin flushed and slick with sweat. This time was worse—better—too much. You buried your face in the crook of your arm, sobbing into the desk as the wave crashed over you, deeper than the first, more humiliating in its intensity.

Only then—only then—did Seward slow her movements, dragging her fingers out of you with aching care.

She pulled her hand back slowly, letting your body twitch and spasm. Then silence. You were panting, undone, trembling. She straightened your hair with slow, deliberate fingers. Then let the quiet settle again. And when she finally spoke, her voice was calm as ever.

“Now. We begin.”

You stayed slumped over the desk, chest heaving, legs like water, skin flushed and burning with shame and need and something you couldn’t name.

And she—she moved behind you like nothing had happened.

No lingering touch. No gentleness. She stepped away, walked calmly to the washbasin tucked in the corner of the office, and washed her hands. You watched her through your lashes, heart thudding in your throat. There was no rush in her movements. No emotion, either.

Just method. Clean-up. You were shaking as you slowly, stiffly, stood. You tried to speak, but your voice failed. She dried her hands with a white cloth, folded it neatly, and turned back to you. “Get dressed,” she said, her voice even. Professional.

You hesitated, still dazed, still bare. “Just like that?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you need clarification on?” You looked down at the floor, at your discarded clothes, at your still trembling hands.

“No,” you whispered. “No, Doctor.” She waited as you dressed, not offering help or distraction. You fumbled with your buttons again, faster this time, shame making your fingers clumsy.

When you finally sat, your cheeks were still burning, your thighs sticky, your pride in tatters. Yet you felt quiet. Not calm, exactly. Not peace. But the noise in your head had dulled, just a little.

Seward picked up her notebook again. The session continued. “As I was saying,” she began smoothly, “You’ve developed a habit of self-destruction. The alcohol, the men, the provocation, they’re not the cause, they’re the symptom.”

You blinked at her. “You’re really going to pretend that didn’t just happen?” She didn’t look up from the page. “Everything that happens here is part of your treatment.” You opened your mouth. Closed it.

You couldn’t argue with that—not without revealing how badly you wanted it to happen again.

She glanced at you, finally. “Would you like to tell me what you were running from last night?” That hit harder than anything she’d done to your body. You looked away, jaw tight. “I wasn’t running.”

Her silence said otherwise. You swallowed. “I just… I don’t like being alone. I don’t like the silence. It gets too loud.” That was the truth. Maybe not all of it—but more than you’d given before.

Seward nodded once. Didn’t press. Just wrote it down. You clenched your fists in your lap. “You think I’m broken.”

“I think you’re avoiding the root of your pain,” she said simply. “But no. I don’t think you’re broken.” You didn’t believe her. Not yet. But for the first time, you wanted to.

You sat in silence for a moment, unsure of what came next. Unsure of how to fill the space between you now. Seward closed her notebook and checked the clock. “Our time is up.” Of course it was.

You stood on legs that barely held you, still reeling from everything she’d taken—and everything you’d given. She walked to the door and opened it. You turned, hesitated in the threshold.

“…Same time next week?” you asked, quieter than you meant to be. She nodded. “Unless you need me sooner.” That promise hung in the air like smoke. You stepped into the hall, the echo of her control still clinging to your skin. And for the first time, you didn’t want to run.

You wanted to come back. You needed to.

The streets blurred around you—wet, glowing, half-real. Your shoes were gone, or maybe you'd kicked them off somewhere between the stranger’s apartment and the sidewalk. Your dress hung lopsided over one shoulder, and the cheap perfume you didn’t remember putting on made your stomach turn.

You didn’t know why your feet carried you here. You just knew you couldn’t go home.

You’d left the party half-drunk, half-numb. Some man with a sweet smile and dead eyes had his hands on you, and for a while, you thought that was what you wanted. What you deserved.

But then he kissed you, and everything tasted like ash. So you ran. No purse. No plan. Just instinct.

You didn’t even realize where you were until you were standing in front of her door, shivering, mascara smeared across your cheekbone, still smelling like sweat and alcohol and the man’s cologne. You didn’t knock. The handle turned easily in your hand.

The office was dim, warm, quiet. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting amber light across the shelves and the leather couch where you’d sat—sassed, deflected, confessed—so many times before.

And there she was. Seated in her high-backed chair beside the fire. Legs crossed. A tumbler in one hand, something golden swirling slow inside it. She looked at you like she’d been expecting this exact moment.

“You came,” she said simply. Your throat tightened. You couldn’t speak. She gestured with her glass. “Shut the door. Come in. Before you catch pneumonia on top of your poor choices.” You did. Because what else could you do?

You closed the door behind you, pressing your back to it for a moment like you needed the solid wood to hold you upright. You didn’t move. Just looked at her—at the firelight dancing across the sharp planes of her face, the way her eyes didn’t soften but didn’t judge, either.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you said finally, voice rough. “You knew,” she said, sipping her drink. “You just didn’t want to admit it.” You swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Neither should you.” Silence.

You crossed the room slowly, arms wrapped tight around your ribs. You still hadn’t fixed your dress. One strap was off your shoulder, your hem was hiked dangerously high, and your skin felt fever-hot and cold all at once.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said quietly. “With him.”

“I know.” You blinked. “How?” She tilted her head, eyes scanning you with surgical precision. “Because if you had,” she said, “you’d still be there. Or you’d be somewhere trying to forget. Not here. Not with me.”

You looked away, suddenly ashamed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You never did.” That should have stung. But it didn’t. It just felt… true. You sank down into the armchair across from her, legs trembling. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire cracked. You glanced over at her glass. “What are you drinking?”

“Brandy.” You wet your lips. “Is it helping?”

“No.” A tired laugh almost escaped you, but it broke halfway through. You pressed your fingers to your mouth, suddenly blinking fast. She watched you, quiet. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” you said again. “It’s past midnight.”

“I was waiting,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I knew you’d come.” Your head snapped up. “How?”

“I know the shape of your self-destruction,” she said softly. “And I know where it ends.” Her words knocked the wind out of you. “I didn’t mean to come here,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want to be alone.”

She stood slowly, glass still in hand, and crossed the room to you. You stayed still. She looked down at you—not cruel, not kind. Just aware. Unflinching. “There’s a reason you couldn’t go through with it,” she said. “And there’s a reason you ran here instead.”

You looked up at her. Your voice came out like a confession. “I think I wanted you to stop me.”

“I will,” she said, voice low. “But you’ll have to let me.” Something in your chest cracked open. Just a little. But it was enough. You didn’t cry. Not yet. But for the first time, you wanted to.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like the beginning of something else. Something dangerous. Something necessary. Something real.

You didn’t mean to fall apart. You didn’t come here to cry.

But when Dr. Seward set down her glass and sat beside you, opening her arms—not saying a word, just offering—you collapsed into her like a wave hitting the shore, the dam inside you finally broke. You pressed your face into her shoulder and sobbed.

Ugly, silent, shaking sobs. The kind that lived in your ribs for years, waiting. Your fingers curled into the lapel of her blazer like you might drown if you let go. She didn’t speak. She didn’t hush you. She just held you—solid and still—like someone who’d done this before.

Like someone who knew not to rush the breaking. You weren’t even sure what you were crying for at first. But once it started, it all came tumbling out.

“My parents never looked at me like I was worth anything,” you choked, voice thick with phlegm and shame. “Not even once. I was just… there. In the way. A mistake that got in before they could lock the door.”

Her hand moved slowly across your back. Not soothing, exactly. Just there.

“And school was worse,” you went on, hiccuping now. “The kids knew. They knew I didn’t belong anywhere. They could smell it on me. I tried to be pretty, to be fun, to matter, but it never worked. They always found a way to break me down again.”

You clenched your fists against her chest. “So I got louder. I got mean. I figured if I couldn’t be loved, I could at least be feared, or wanted, or used.” Seward didn’t interrupt. She didn’t let you go either.

Your voice cracked, softer now. “I’ve been trying to punish myself for being unlovable ever since.” That truth hovered in the air like smoke.

Her voice came low, steady, unshakable. “You learned early that affection was conditional. That you had to earn it with pain or performance. So now, when someone looks at you without cruelty, it doesn’t feel safe. It feels suspicious. Unfamiliar.”

You nodded, your breath catching on the edge of a sob. “But it isn’t love to hurt yourself. It’s not proof of strength to survive things no one should have to.” You were quiet. Her hand smoothed your hair.

“You act out because you want someone to stop you. You want someone to see you in the mess. To pull you back.”

“I don’t want to need that,” you whispered.

“I know,” she said gently. “But you do.” Another silence passed. This one less jagged. “I don’t know how to fix it,” you said, barely audible.

“You don’t need to fix yourself,” Seward said, and her voice was so calm it anchored you. “You need to understand yourself. To learn where your pain came from, so you can choose something else. I can help you do that.”

You shifted in her arms, looking up at her, eyes swollen and wet. “Why would you want to?” Something flickered behind her eyes. Not softness—never that—but something deeper. Sharper. Inevitable.

“Because I don’t believe you were born to destroy yourself,” she said. “And because you came back to me.” Your breath hitched again. Not from grief this time. But from something quieter. Stranger. Hope.

You leaned your head against her chest, your voice small. “Will you keep me?” Her hand paused. Then resumed its rhythm. “For now,” she said. “But only if you behave.” You smiled through your tears, and it felt strange on your face.

You weren’t healed. You weren’t whole. But in her arms, for just a little while, you were held. And maybe—maybe—that was a start.

It had been six months since you left your aunt’s cold, unforgiving home and stepped into the strange sanctuary of Dr. Seward’s.

You were no longer the girl who stumbled into midnight sessions, half-dressed and hollow-eyed from parties you couldn’t remember. You no longer let strange hands touch you just to feel something. Seward saw to that.

She never forbade you. She didn’t have to.

The only time you’d dressed up to go out, she hadn’t raised her voice. She’d simply stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable, and said, “If you walk out in that dress, you won’t come back to this house. You’ll be a guest. But not mine.”

You stayed home. That was the first time you realized how much you needed her. And she’d never let you forget it.

Now you lived in the upstairs room—the one she said used to belong to her husband. You ate when she told you to. Read when she told you to. And at night, when the wind howled down the chimney and your hands trembled from withdrawal or shame, she let you sleep beside her—only if you asked politely.

You were still drinking. Not in public anymore. Never in front of her. But she knew. She always knew. And tonight, she was waiting. You’d slipped a small silver flask from her cabinet that afternoon. Just enough to stop the shaking. Or so you told yourself.

You’d taken it upstairs, locked the door, and curled beneath the heavy quilt, pretending not to exist. By the time the grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten, your head was heavy and your thoughts were thick, and that was when her footsteps came.

Slow. Inevitable. A knock. You froze. “It’s me,” she said simply. You opened the door. She looked you over. Not with shock. Not with rage. Just disappointment. Quiet and surgical. She stepped inside. You stepped back.

“I’ve allowed you freedom in this house,” she said calmly, shutting the door behind her. “I’ve given you a bed, books, warmth. I’ve never locked the cabinet.”

“I didn’t take much,” you murmured, eyes downcast. “Just a little.”

“There is no little when it comes to you,” she said, voice cold and sharp as glass. “You know that.” You sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I’m trying.” Her expression didn’t change. “Are you?” You nodded. Then shook your head. “I don’t know.”

Seward sat across from you, folding her hands in her lap like she was conducting a session—but her eyes said something else. Her presence had changed. She wasn’t just your doctor anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time.

She was your keeper. Your guardian. Your tether.

“This isn’t just about alcohol,” she said. “It’s about control. You’ve given yours away your entire life. To men. To pain. To the bottle. To your guilt. What do you have left, if not your will?”

You looked up, eyes burning. “You.” For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then she stood, walked over, and sat beside you. Not touching you. Not comforting. Just close. “You’re not wrong,” she said, voice low. “You do have me.”

And she reached over, gently pried the flask from your shaking hand, and set it on the mantle. “I will be your control,” she said. “Until you’re strong enough to take it back.” You leaned your head on her shoulder. “Will that ever happen?” Her lips brushed your temple.

“If you let me take care of you,” she said, “yes.” You closed your eyes. You didn’t know who you were without your chaos. But maybe, just maybe, you were ready to find out.

It started with small things. No locked doors. No meals skipped. No alcohol unless Seward poured it. But now it was more than that.

The house was quiet. Controlled. The walls knew your footsteps, the furniture knew your shape. And she? She knew everything else. You’d once flinched at the idea of someone owning you.

Now you found yourself chasing the feeling. You were brushing your hair in the mirror when she came in, unannounced—as always. No knock. No warning. This was her room, after all. You just slept here. “I’ve spoken with the house keeper,” she said. “She’s to stop bringing you tea in the mornings.” You frowned. “Why?”

“Because you don’t get out of bed until half the day is gone. If you want your tea, you’ll rise before I leave for the hospital and present yourself properly dressed.”

You turned on the stool, mouth open, a protest rising. She cut it off with a look. That sharp, surgical calm you knew too well. “You’ve lived here almost a year. You’ve had time to rest, to unravel. But rest becomes rot when it lingers.”

You gritted your teeth. “So what now? I’m your patient and your servant?”

“No,” she said. “You’re mine. And it’s time you started acting like it.” The air left your lungs in a quiet rush. There was no teasing in her tone. No heat. Just truth.

You were hers. You lived under her roof, ate at her table, wore her clothes and let her dictate your every move. And the terrifying part—the part that gnawed at your belly most—was that you wanted to belong to her. Not because it was easier. But because it felt right.

“What does that mean?” you whispered. “To act like I’m yours?” Seward stepped closer. Her eyes bored into yours, all steel and slow-burning fire. “It means you obey.” You swallowed. “And if I don’t?”

She leaned in, one gloved hand lifting your chin. “Then you’ll be reminded of your place. The way you always respond to best.” You flushed. Her thumb traced the edge of your mouth, just once.

“You’ve been living on borrowed control,” she murmured. “It’s time you gave it up properly.” Your breath hitched. “And if I can’t?”

“You can,” she said, voice like a scalpel. “You just need to be taught how.” You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. But when she turned to go, you slipped down from the stool and followed her without being told. Just like she knew you would.

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You sat by the window with your knees pulled to your chest, watching the fog roll over the garden walls. Somewhere below, the streetlamps glowed dull amber, flickering like a memory. You didn’t hear her come in.

“I told you to be in bed by ten.” You didn’t answer. The rustle of her skirts was the only warning before her hands came down gently on your shoulders. Not restraining. Just present.

“You think I do this for control,” she said, quietly. “But I do it for you.” You let your forehead rest against the cold glass. “I don’t know how to live without someone telling me who to be,” you admitted. “I know.”

“I hate needing that.”

“I know that, too.” She turned you to face her. Her expression was unreadable again—torn somewhere between discipline and concern. “But I don’t want to be your patient anymore,” you whispered. “Not just that.”

A silence passed. Heavy. Real. “You’re not,” she said, finally. “Not anymore.” You searched her face. “Then what am I?” She brushed your hair back from your cheek, thumb resting just beneath your eye.

“You’re mine,” she said. “And I’m yours. If you’ll have me.” Your breath caught.

“But I can’t keep having you call me Doctor,” she added, voice softer now. “Not if we’re going to do this honestly.”

You blinked, surprised. “You want me to call you—?”

“Florence,” she said. “My name is Florence.”

It hit you like something sacred. You hadn’t thought of her as anything other than Doctor Seward—your caretaker, your tether, your anchor. But now she was more. Now she was asking you to see her.

“Florence,” you tried. The name felt unfamiliar in your mouth. Intimate. Strange. Like a secret you weren’t supposed to know.

She smiled. Not her usual closed-lip curve—but something real. Warm. Like spring breaking through the cold. “Again,” she said.

“Florence.” Her fingers tilted your chin up. Her lips brushed yours once. Gentle. Not demanding. Just there. And when she pulled back, you reached for her. Not because she told you to. Not because you were trying to be good.

But because you wanted her. Her hands were still firm when she guided you back to bed—but her mouth was soft, reverent. She didn’t undress you tonight. Didn’t punish or command. She simply lay beside you, wrapped around you like a promise, one hand over your heart.

“You don’t have to be fixed overnight,” she murmured into your hair. “But you will stop running.” You nodded. She kissed your temple. “Good girl.” You breathed her name again like a prayer. “Florence.” And for the first time in years, you truly slept.

It had been a year and a half since the first session and a year since you moved into her quiet, book-lined house.

The girl who arrived broken and angry no longer existed. She’d been burned away in the long, slow fire of Florence’s care—her discipline, her devotion, her unwavering refusal to let you self-destruct.

You no longer drank. You no longer slept in past noon or wandered the streets looking for something nameless to fill you. You read. You walked with her in the gardens. You kissed her knuckles each night before bed, and you said thank you when she tucked you into her arms.

And you loved her. God, you loved her. Not with the desperate, hollow hunger of that first year. But with something deeper. Something patient and reverent.

Tonight, you found her in her study, seated beside the fire with a book balanced in one hand and a glass of port untouched on the table beside her. She looked up when you entered, and her face softened instantly.

“You’re late,” she said gently. “I got distracted,” you replied, curling into her lap like you’d done a hundred times before. Her arms came around you easily. Familiar. Certain.

You were quiet for a long while, curled beside her in the hush of the room. The fire cracked softly. Her breathing was slow, steady. Familiar.

And still, your thoughts clawed backward.

“I was a whore,” you said finally, voice flat. “Back then. I mean—when I came to you. That’s what I was.”

Florence didn’t speak right away. She simply reached out, brushing her knuckles along your jaw, turning your face gently to hers.

“No,” she said, firm. “You weren’t.”

You tried to scoff, but it caught somewhere in your throat. “You said it yourself. That night, remember? You told me if I acted like a whore, I’d be treated like one.”

A beat of silence. Then, “I did say that,” she admitted quietly. “And I regret it.” Her thumb traced your cheekbone, slow and thoughtful.

“But even if you were,” she added, “who cares?” You blinked. “I would’ve loved you anyway,” she said. “Whether you came to me broken or proud, drunk or clean, angry or aching. Whether you’d been with no one or everyone. It wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

Her voice was steady now. Clear. “Because I didn’t fall in love with a past. I fell in love with you.”

You pressed your face to her neck, trying to swallow the burn behind your eyes. “You always make it sound so simple.”

Florence smiled against your temple. “It is,” she murmured. “Love is simple. People just make it difficult.”

You stayed like that for a while longer, just breathing her in, your cheek pressed to the silk of her blouse, your fingers tracing the faint lines at the edge of her sleeve. “Florence,” you whispered eventually.

“Yes, darling?” You shifted in her lap to look up at her. “Take me to bed.” She tilted her head slightly, brushing your cheek with the back of her fingers. “You’re sure?” You nodded. “I want it to be like this. With you. Soft. Real.”

Her eyes held yours for a long, quiet moment. Then she stood, holding you in her arms as if you weighed nothing. She carried you upstairs.

There was no rush.

She undressed you slowly, laying your clothes aside one by one as though each layer was a piece of armor she’d earned the right to remove. She touched you with care, with reverence—her fingertips never leaving your skin for long, her mouth trailing soft kisses across your shoulders, your ribs, your thighs.

You trembled, but not from fear. Not from shame. “Look at you,” she murmured. “My beautiful girl.” You reached for her, unfastening her buttons with unsteady fingers. She let you.

When she finally joined you beneath the covers, the heat of her body against yours made you gasp. This was no lesson. No punishment. This was love.

She kissed you deeply, her hand finding its way between your legs—but there was no command in her touch. Only worship. Her name left your lips over and over, broken into pieces, reassembled like a prayer.

You came slowly, the pleasure curling through you like sunlight, like a tide, like forgiveness. And when you collapsed into her arms, boneless and weeping with something far too big for language, she held you tighter.

“You’re safe now,” she whispered against your temple. You pressed your face to her neck. “I’m yours.” She smiled, lips brushing your forehead. “You always were.”

The fire had burned low by the time you stirred again, still curled against her in the warmth of the sheets. Her fingers were tracing slow circles over your back, and your cheek rested above her heart, lulled by the steady rhythm beneath her skin.

You felt weightless. Remade.

Your voice came quiet, almost timid—half a whisper against her collarbone.

“In your professional opinion…” You smiled against her. “What kind of girl do you see when you look at me now?”

Florence didn’t answer right away.

She brushed your hair back, kissed your temple once, then pulled you just a little closer—like she needed the distance gone before she could speak the truth.

“I see a girl who clawed her way out of the dark,” she said. “Who chose to stay. Who learned to be soft without falling apart.”

Her voice was low. Measured. As if giving a diagnosis.

“I see a woman,” she continued, “with an unruly heart and an extraordinary capacity for love. Who no longer uses her body to feel wanted, because she finally knows she is. Always.”

You swallowed hard.

Florence tilted your chin up, her gaze steady and warm, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“In my professional opinion…” She smiled, soft and devastating. “You are the bravest girl I’ve ever known.”

You blinked, eyes stinging.

“And in your unprofessional opinion?” you asked, teasing through the ache in your throat.

She leaned in, kissing you again—this time slow and lingering, lips warm and certain. “In that opinion,” she murmured against your skin, “you are the love of my life.”

[coolemmasulivan2]

Back on Track

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a fight with Lando, you’re nowhere to be found when he leaves for Austin, making him fear the relationship is over. But when you arrive at the track with Max, he gets a second chance to make things right, and the two of you reconcile.

Word count: 2061

Even though we're going through it And it makes you feel alone Just know that I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah

You and Lando rarely fought. You’d been together since his final season in Formula 2, a bloody long time, and you could count the big fights on one hand. But this one was different. This was the worst of them all.

It was his last day at home before flying to Austin, and somehow everything went down.

"You're being clingy!" He shouted, running a hand through his messy curls, frustration etched on his face.

You stared at him, stunned. "I’m being clingy? Me? Lando, we’ve been together for years, and I have never asked you for anything. The one time I do, and this is what you say? Wow."

"Yeah, well, you’ve never acted like this before!" His face hardened, eyes sparking with irritation you weren’t used to. "Seriously, if you suddenly want some boyfriend who’ll sit around every night, watching dumb TV shows and cuddling you to sleep, maybe you should find someone else."

You shook your head, disbelief morphing into something different, something more hurt. "Maybe I should do that!"

He was beyond pissed. "Then please, do! I'm going out and I'll do the same." He turned, grabbing his jacket without a second glance. and strode out, slamming the door shut behind him.

You flinched at the echo, the silence crashing down around you as tears started to well up. "I hate you, Lando Norris." You whispered into the emptiness of the apartment.

Lando sat in the VIP section of his favorite Monaco club, gazing blankly over the crowded dance floor. The music pulsed, people laughed and danced, but his thoughts were miles away, thinking of you.

Max leaned in, breaking Lando’s trance. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" Lando shrugged. "Was it that bad?"

Lando sighed, his gaze distant. "It was! It was the worst fight we’ve ever had." He swallowed, the words bitter. "She probably thinks I’m cheating on her right now."

Max’s eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about? Why would she think that?"

"Because, I pretty much said that." Lando muttered lound enough for Max to hear over the music.

Max looked at him, incredulous. "Why the hell would you say that, you absolute idiot? You love her."

Lando exhaled heavily. "I was angry! I didn’t even think. I just… said it. I realized how bad it sounded the second I left."

Max shook his head, staring at him with a mix of pity and frustration. "Well, congratulations: you’re an idiot!"

"Thanks for the information."

It was late when Lando finally got home. The apartment was dark, and silence filled the rooms. He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, his mind caught between whether he should crash on the sofa or swallow his pride, apologize, and lie beside you.

He waked to the closed bedroom door, standing there for a long moment, nerves filling his body. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he stopped himself. He stepped back and with the sting of guilt he fell down on the sofa.

You were deep asleep when a hand shook your shoulder. Groggily, you opened your eyes to see your best friend sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes barely open, hair rumpled from sleep.

"What?"

She yawned, rubbing her eyes before looking at you. "Your phone won’t stop ringing."

Blinking, you glanced at the empty nightstand, remembering you’d left your phone in the living room. "What time is it?" You muttered. "It’s probably Lando. We were supposed to leave for Austin early."

She groaned, pulling a pillow over her head and laying down next to you. "Then answer it or turn it off. It’s too early for this, and I’m exhausted."

"She rejected my call!" Lando exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the apartment.

Max raised an eyebrow. "That’s good news."

"How is that good?"

"At least we know she’s okay." He said. "And still mad at you, which is probably deserved."

"I don’t even know if she was still here when I got home last night. The bedroom door was closed, and I just… crashed on the sofa. I only realized she was gone this morning."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "So, what’s the plan now?"

“I don’t know,” Lando groaned, slumping into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "The team’s going to kill me if I miss this flight."

"So go!" Max said firmly.

Lando looked up, shaking his head. "No way. I’m not leaving without her."

Max rolled his eyes. "Look, she knows you have to leave, Lando. Sooner or later, she’s coming back, and when she does, I’ll bring her to Austin myself. Just go."

"What if she refuses to go?"

"She loves you. She'll want t make things right. Trust me!"

Lando hesitated. "You promise?"

"I promise."

You slipped into the apartment two hours later, knowing Lando would be gone by now. The silence felt heavy as you shut the door, but before you could make it to the kitchen, Max appeared, stepping out from Lando’s streaming room.

You jumped, clutching your chest. "Max! What the hell? You scared me!"

"Sorry!" He said, raising his hands in apology.

"What are you doing here? Is Lando still here?" You glanced around, half expecting him to walk out from somewhere.

"He left. Had to, or he’d have missed his flight."

You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and taking a long sip. "I thought you were going with him."

"I am. I was just waiting for you."

You looked at him, understanding dawning slowly. "Max, I don’t think going with you is a good idea." You sank into a chair at the small dining table, and Max sat across from you.

"That’s not true."

"Max, you don’t know how he treated me, the things he said…" You swallowed, voice shaking. "He told me I should find someone else. And said he would, too."

Max leaned forward, shaking his head. "Look, he was furious and stupid. Belive me, I know what he said, and he regrets every word. He didn’t even want to leave. I practically had to drag him onto the helicopter."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Max, I don't know."

"He’s an idiot, but he’s an idiot in love with you. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone, Y/N. He’s been calling you non-stop, hoping you’d pick up, and he’s completely torn up about it. So please, come with me. Let’s go to Austin."

Lando had been unusually quiet all day. Practice had gone well, but not well enough; the Ferraris were ahead, and so was Verstappen. His mind should’ve been on the upcoming sprint qualifying, but all he could think about was you and the fight. He could only hope that Max was somehow convincing you to come to Austin.

"Everything alright? You’ve been quiet, which is… not like you." Oscar asked, glancing over at Lando as they wrapped up filming a video for McLaren’s social media.

"Just tired." Lando muttered.

Oscar hesitated, then asked gently. "Where’s Y/N? Lily told me she was coming."

Lando’s jaw tensed, his eyes flicking up to meet Oscar’s. "I… don’t think she’s coming." He admitted, his voice low. "I messed things up pretty badly."

Oscar raised his eyebrows. "Want to talk about it?"

Lando shook his head, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Not really. Just… hoping I haven’t lost her." He said, more to himself than to Oscar.

Lando was suiting up, pulling on his gloves and securing his helmet, trying to lock his focus onto the upcoming sprint qualifying. But the knot of anxiety in his stomach hadn’t eased since he arrived, knowing he might have to go through this entire weekend without you there.

Just then, Max appeared in front of him, grinning. "Hey, mate. Just came by to wish you luck. And, by the way…" Max lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder. "She’s here."

"Fuck... thank you for bringing her."

There, standing quietly near the corner, arms crossed and headphones on, was you. You looked a little nervous, a shy expression on your face and when your eyes met, you quickly looked away.

A wave of relief fell over him, and he instinctively took a step forward, desperate to close the space between you. But Max put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Not now." Max warned. "You’ve got a sprint to think about. You can talk to her after."

"But—" Lando began, his eyes darting back to you, a urge to apologize.

A couple of mechanics also intercepted him, nudging him toward the car with hurried reminders. "We’re starting in a few, Lando."

Lando clenched his jaw, glancing back at you. Taking a deep breath, Lando slipped into the car, his heart beating a little steadier, his mind clearing. For the first time all day, he felt ready. You were here and that was everything.

You watched the qualifying from the garage, heart pounding with every lap. It was always like this: nerve-wracking, pride and fear as you watched him push himself and the car to the limit. But today, your chest felt even tighter, knowing the tension lingering between you.

When the session ended, Lando finished fourth. Relief mixed with a bit of pride washed over you as you clapped, your gaze fixed on him as he came into the garage.

The moment he spotted you, he didn’t hesitate. He strode over and without a word, he reached for your hand, gently but firmly, and led you out of the garage toward his driver’s room, ignoring the curious glances around you.

Once inside, he closed the door. "Y/N… Babe, I’m so sorry."

You looked down, your arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me, Lando. You didn’t just walk away, you made me feel like I was… too much."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand again. "I was an idiot. I don’t even know why I said those things. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. None of it was true. You’re not ‘too much.’ You’re… everything to me."

"I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. "That could never be true. I can’t imagine any of this, my life, racing, anything, without you." He brushed a stray tear from your cheek. "I was terrified you wouldn’t come. That I’d ruined everything."

You took a shaky breath. "Max convinced me… told me you didn’t want to leave, that you were just… scared of losing me."

"More than you know." He said, his hand holding yours firmly. "Please forgive me, Y/N. I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you."

"I don't want you to give up anything, Lando."

"I know. I know. That's not what you asked me."

After a long moment, you squeezed his hand. "I’m here now." You said softly. "Let’s just start with that."

Relief flooded his face as he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. "I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful you’re here. I don’t want to mess this up ever again."

You gave him a gentle smile, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "I didn’t come all this way to hold onto what happened. Let’s just… move forward. Together."

He smiled. "Together."

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. "Lando?" A team member called from the hallway. "They need you back in the garage in five!"

Lando glanced back toward the door, then returned his gaze to you, clearly torn. "Go!" You murmured. "I’ll be here when you’re done. I’m not going anywhere."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You melted into it, letting the last of the hurt dissolve in his warmth.

When he pulled back, he looked at you with a smile . "I’ll be quick." He said, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting it go and heading toward the door. Just as he opened it, he paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time. "I love you."

"I love you too." You whispered.

[dollyfiles]

rafe cameron knows that it isn’t just LUST he feels for you

cw: mutual attraction, forbidden love, emotional betrayal, angst, inspired by the song “lust” by chase atlantic.. & for my sweet girl @dearapril <33

the humid night air clung to like rafe a second skin as he leaned against the porch railing of tannyhill, eyes fixed on the distant shoreline. the party inside was roaring—a mix of drunken laughter, loud music, and the occasional sound of bottles clinking. his friends were there, drowning in excess, but rafe had slipped outside a while ago, needing to breathe.

the drugs numbed him most nights, but tonight, he felt restless. there was something clawing at his chest, something he couldn’t ignore. and then, as if the universe wanted to punish him, the person who haunted his thoughts, stepped outside.

you. he didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. he could always feel you before he saw you.

he had no idea when it started—this pull you had on him. maybe it was the night topper introduced you to the group, laughing and draping his arm over your shoulders like you were just another accessory. at first, rafe thought you were like every other girl that hung around—beautiful, fun, disposable.

but then you smiled at him, said his name like it mattered, like he mattered. and something inside him cracked. it wasn’t like the rush he got from a pill dissolving on his tongue or the high of a line burning through his veins. it was different. he didn’t crave you in a way he did with other girls. you were different. he just liked you.

and that terrified him.

“rafe,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the thick night air.

he didn’t dare to look at you right away. he couldn’t. he was afraid of what might show on his face if he did. instead, he focused on the waves crashing in the distance. “shouldn’t you be inside with top?” he asked, his tone carefully detached, though the words felt like poison in his mouth.

you shrugged, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cool breeze. “just don’t feel like it.”

finally, he looked at you. your eyes met his, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. it always did when you looked at him like that, like you could see all the dark corners of his soul and weren’t afraid of them.

you were wearing one of those simple dresses you always seemed to favor, the kind that made you look effortlessly put together. your hair was loose, framing your face, and in the dim light of the porch, you looked almost ethereal.

“you’ve been quiet lately,” you said. your voice was gentle, but there was a weight to your words, like you knew he’d been spiraling. you stepped closer, and rafe’s entire body tensed. he wanted to tell you to stop, to go back inside, to leave him alone. but he didn’t. he never could with you.

rafe laughed, a bitter sound echoing across the porch. “quite’s not really my thing, is it?”

“not really.” you tilted your head, studying him in that way you always did, like you could see right through him. it daunted him, but it also made him feel seen in a way he never had before. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

he hated how much your words got to him. hated how much he wanted to believe them. “why are you here, y/n?” he asked, his voice low.

you hesitated, both of you knew it was risky. you knew it every time you caught each others gaze from across the room, every time your conversations stretched too long, your moments together lingering on the edge of something dangerous.

but then you stepped closer, so close that he could smell the faint hint of your sweet perfume. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i couldn’t stay in there. not with him. not tonight.”

your words hung in the air between the two of you, heavy with implication. rafe’s heart was pounding now, a hectic rhythm that matched the chaos in his head.

“this is wrong,” he said, but even as he said it, he didn’t move away. “i know,” you whispered, gaze dropping to the ground, and for a moment, you looked so vulnerable that it made his chest ache.

rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling just underneath the surface. “i’m not… i’m not good at this. at feeling things. at caring.”

you tilted your head, gaze soft but steady. “you care more than you let on, rafe. you just don’t want to admit it.”

your words settled over him like a weight, and for once, he didn’t push them away. because you were right. he did care. he cared too much, and it scared the hell out of him.

“do you know how messed up this is?” he said, his voice raw. “you’re with topper. he’s my friend. and you’re… you’re you.”

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“it means i shouldn’t feel this way,” he sighed, his voice breaking. “i shouldn’t look at you and feel like you’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

you bit your lip, just standing there in silence while rafe watched you. he wanted you to say it, to acknowledge what you were both pretending wasn't happening. rafe wanted to reach for you, to pull you close and tell you that none of it mattered, that he’d walk away from everything if it meant he could keep this—keep you. but he couldn’t. because no matter how badly he wanted you, he knew he wasn’t allowed to have you.

“i don’t get it,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “why are you even here? why me?”

you inched forward, so much he could see the faint freckles on your skin, the curve of your lips. “because i see you, rafe,” you said simply. “and i think you’re worth seeing.”

something inside him shattered then. he’d spent so long chasing highs, trying to fill the void with pills and powders and girls who didn’t mean anything. but you didn’t have to do anything. just being near you was enough.

“I don’t even need… I mean, I don’t—” he stumbled over his words, unsure how to explain what he felt. your eyes softened, and for a moment, you looked like you might cry. but you didn’t. instead, you reached out, your hand brushing against his cheek. it was the smallest touch, but it sent a shockwave through him.

rafe closed his eyes, simmering in your touch for a little while before softly grabbing your fragile wrist and putting it back, right next to your body. “you should go back inside,” he said finally, forcing the words out even though they felt like poison on his tongue.

you looked up at him, eyes shimmering with something he couldn’t quite name. for a moment, he thought you might argue, might tell him that you didn’t care about topper or the rules or how wrong it all was. but instead, you nodded.

“goodnight, rafe,” you said softly, your voice laced with a sadness that mirrored his own.

he watched you go, your figure disappearing into the glow of the party. and for the first time in a long time, rafe felt something other than numbness. it wasn’t comfort, exactly—it was too complicated, too messy for that—but it was something.

and as he stood there alone, staring out at the waves, he realized that you had become his new addiction. a dangerous one, maybe even more dangerous than the drugs. but unlike the pills and the powders, you made him feel alive.

tags: @vampteeths @rafesheaven @rafeysbangs @rafesbowbunny @rafesweetie @whinyangel @plaidcowboy @filthyrafe @figthoughts @littlelamy @fawnhart @rafesdollette @starzify @rafesangelita @cherrygirlfriend @ch6rm @inspiredangel @girlyrafe @rafespreciosa @gibson-g1rl @kissyrafe

[andy-15-07]

Jealous Flames

pairing: Aaron Taylor Johnson x female!reader

word count: 1193 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

warning:smut

Aaron’s apartment was shrouded in shadows as the night grew late, the air thick with tension that had been simmering all evening. You’d returned home after a night out, and despite your reassurances, Aaron’s eyes burned with a jealousy you could no longer ignore. He stood in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed and jaw set, every inch of him vibrating with barely contained anger.

“Who the hell were you talking to?” he demanded, his tone rough, cutting through the silence.

You tried to explain, “It was just friendly banter, Aaron. Nothing happened.”

But his glare was unyielding. “Friendly banter? I saw you laughing, the way you smiled at him. Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t enjoy every second of it.”

Before you could protest further, his frustration and possessiveness exploded. With a sudden movement, Aaron grabbed you roughly by the wrist, yanking you toward him. His heated eyes bore into yours. “You think I’m stupid? That I don’t know what you’re capable of?” His voice, equal parts anger and desire, sent a shiver down your spine. In that charged moment, the sting of his jealousy ignited something dark and irresistible within you.

“You’re jealous,” you whispered, voice trembling yet laced with a provocative defiance. “And it turns me on.”

A bitter laugh escaped him as he pulled you against the cool wall. “Oh, you like it when I get this pissed off, don’t you?” he growled. “You love watching me lose control—knowing that I’d tear you apart if you ever slipped away.”

Your heart pounded in response. “I love it, Aaron. I love it when you call me every name in the book—even when it’s raw and angry.” Your words were a tease, daring him to unleash every ounce of his jealousy and need.

His eyes flashed with a mix of fury and lust. “Then show me how much you want it,” he snarled, his tone low and dangerous as his hands roamed over your body. “Prove that you’re mine—and only mine.”

The air in the room crackled with tension as you met his gaze with burning desire. “I’m yours, damn it. Take me—make me feel every bit of your jealousy.”

Without another word, Aaron’s anger transformed into a fierce, animalistic hunger. He roughly tugged at your top, tearing it away to reveal bare skin, his hands sliding over you with a possessive urgency. “You’re driving me insane,” he hissed, his voice thick with raw emotion as he pushed you toward the couch. “I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. It makes me want to fuck you so hard, I’m gonna drown you in my need.”

Your breath hitched as you replied, “Then fuck me, Aaron. Show me how much you hate the idea of losing me.”

The transformation was instantaneous. Aaron’s eyes darkened as he pinned you against the back of the couch, his fingers gripping your hips with a mix of rough passion and unmistakable possessiveness. “You’re mine, you hear me?” he spat, his voice a venomous blend of anger and desire. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud, you’ll never forget that no one else can have you.”

His words, raw and unapologetic, sent shivers coursing through your body. “Yes, Aaron,” you moaned, your voice trembling with anticipation, “I need you to own me. Call me your bitch, your dirty little slut—whatever it takes. I want you to tear into me with that jealous fire.”

Aaron’s response was immediate and savage. His lips crashed down on yours in a searing kiss that was both rough and demanding. His tongue wrestled with yours as his hands fumbled with the hem of your skirt, discarding it along with the last remnants of your restraint. “Fuck, you drive me wild,” he growled, his hot breath caressing your ear as he murmured, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight, you won’t know what hit you.”

As he moved behind you, his touch was relentless. With one hand, he cupped your face roughly as he whispered, “You love it when I’m like this—raw, angry, and completely obsessed with you. Admit it.” His other hand found its way between your legs, stoking your already raging desire.

“Fuck, Aaron…” you panted, arching into his touch, “I’m burning for you. I want you to use that jealous anger on me, make me feel like I’m the only one in your world.”

Aaron’s dirty talk filled the space between your gasps and moans. “That’s it,” he barked, each word laced with a potent cocktail of lust and fury. “You’re mine, and I’m gonna show you exactly what that means. I’m gonna fuck you so fiercely, you’ll beg for every agonizing, beautiful second of it.” His tone hardened as he resumed his rhythm, the pace fierce and unyielding.

Every thrust was a declaration—a bitter promise born from a heart that couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. “You like it when I get rough, don’t you?” he growled as he pounded into you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You love that I’m so damn jealous, so fucking possessive.”

Your voice came out in a ragged whisper, “Yes, Aaron, I need it. I need you to own me, to mark me as yours with every angry, passionate thrust. Make me yours completely.”

As the tension escalated, his words grew louder, each one a raw command. “That’s right, bitch,” he spat, alternating between rough exclamations and tender, desperate pleas. “I’m gonna make you scream—scream for me, for the fact that no one else can have you. I’m gonna fuck you until you’re nothing but mine.”

The room vibrated with the intensity of your hate-fueled passion. Every thrust, every whispered curse and declaration was a testament to the complex fire that burned between you—where jealousy transformed into a heady, unbridled lust. Your bodies moved in a fierce, imperfect rhythm, every motion fueled by the desperate need to reclaim possession, to assert that despite everything, you belonged to him alone.

“Fuck, Aaron!” you cried out, your voice a blend of ecstasy and raw emotion. “I’m all yours—take me harder, make me forget everyone but you!”

With one final, powerful thrust, the storm of jealousy and desire reached its peak. Aaron’s gritted teeth and the guttural edge in his voice marked the culmination of your heated encounter—a moment where all the anger, the hurt, and the burning passion merged into one explosive climax.

As the intensity subsided, leaving behind a trembling silence, Aaron’s rough hands gently cradled your face. His eyes, still smoldering with the afterglow of rage and desire, softened as he whispered, “I hate how much I need you, how much it hurts not knowing if you’re really mine.”

You met his gaze with equal tenderness, the raw vulnerability in your eyes belying the wild passion of the night. “I’m here, Aaron. No matter how fucked up it gets, I’m yours. We’re in this together—even when everything’s raw and ugly.”

In that quiet, charged moment, the embers of jealousy slowly cooled, replaced by a fragile peace—a reminder that even in the midst of hate sex, the undeniable truth of your connection burned brighter than any jealous flame.

[grenadehearts]

marred hearts. - megumi fushiguro

in which the man who you were sure despised you, shows up bloody and bruised needing your help.

authors note: my first ever megumi fic gosh i love him like thats my baby. wc 1.6k masterlist.

You were sure he hated you—no, that wasn’t strong enough. He loathed you.

Every remark you shot at him, he was there to catch it and crumble it in his abnormally large, pale hands. Every idea you voiced, he scoffed at. He refused to make eye contact with you, and you never understood why.

Truth be told, you rarely even spoke to him. At first, you had tried, but he showed no interest. Over time, his dislike for you grew unbearable—to the point where you could feel his eyes on you the second you entered a room, like he had memorized the rhythm of your footsteps just to know when to leave.

And yet, despite his sneers, his feigned indifference, his utter lack of respect for you, you chased after it. Every cruel remark, you swallowed greedily, waiting for more. You wanted the rot he spewed to fester inside you, to change you into something he could love.

But then there were times—rare moments—when his insults almost sounded like compliments.

"C’mon, pretty, that’s pathetic, even for you."

He had said it after you landed a low blow during a spar, ducking under his swing and sweeping his legs out from under him. He had hit the ground hard, face in the dirt, with you on top of him, legs straddling his sides, heaving. And for a moment, you faltered—completely awestruck by his porcelain skin, the way his crystalline blue eyes burned beneath long lashes.

Then he shattered the image. His face crumpled with distaste, words dripping with saccharine venom before he flipped you over, shoving your face into the dirt. He won.

So when Megumi pounds on your door one night, bruised and bloody, clutching his abdomen, you can only stare—mouth slightly agape—as he shoves his way inside like he owns the place.

"Need your help."

His voice is rough, low, seeping into your bones like hot syrup. He pulls his hand from his stomach, revealing a deep gash, the purple bruise spreading like ink beneath his skin.

You cock an eyebrow. "My help? Wow, someone must be desperate."

He scoffs, tilting his head. "You're insulting yourself with that one, you know?" His tone is laced with a teasing bite.

You groan internally. You already suck at comebacks, but this—having a gorgeous, raven-haired, wounded Megumi standing in front of you, asking for your help—yeah, that’s enough to knock you off your footing.

Still, you cross your arms and turn toward the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet. He just stands there.

"Are you coming or not?"

Finally, he stomps over, muttering under his breath. He huffs when you tell him to sit, but he complies. As you step forward, the soft patter of your socked feet against the linoleum, you hesitate. And he notices—his sharp eyes scanning your movements before his fingers close around your wrist, guiding your hand to his wound.

"Slow much?" he rasps.

You yank your hand back, sharp enough that it nearly makes him dizzy. "Okay, you're the one asking for my help, remember?"

He lets out a bitter laugh, but it stings. His lips twitch, his breathing is shallow.

"Yeah, and I’m gonna bleed out if you don’t hurry."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitating again. That’s when he smirks—despite his injuries, despite the pain laced through every breath—and murmurs in that cocky, teasing tone,

"Just touch. I won’t bite."

You blow a loose strand of hair from your face as you kneel, fingers grazing the top button of his uniform. Slowly, you unfasten it, letting the fabric fall open, exposing his chest—taut muscle, milky white skin marred with bruises and gashes. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, grabbing the alcohol to clean his wound. As soon as the liquid touches raw flesh, he hisses through clenched teeth.

"I know it hurts," you murmur.

His jaw tightens. "Nothing hurts me."

You don’t argue. You just work, applying ointment to the wound. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, you say, "Everyone has something that hurts them."

Silence. Thick and suffocating.

Yet somehow, his presence makes it feel whole, like he’s wrapped around you.

You reach for the bandages, your long hair falling forward with each movement. Then, without a word, two large hands gather it, gently pulling it back into a ponytail.

You freeze.

When you glance up, his blue eyes waver, the tips of his ears dusting pink—and you swear, in that instant, you see the moment he finally gives in.

"You’re real pretty," he says, his voice cocky, yet desperate.

Your stomach drops.

Your entire mood sours, because Megumi Fushiguro hates you. He loathes you.

"You’re a real jerk," you mutter, tightening the bandages around his torso. "Saying things like that to me when you know—"

You cut yourself off, swallowing the rest of the sentence. But he hears it anyway.

"Know what, Y/N?" His voice is quieter now, like he’s searching for something.

You turn away. "It doesn’t matter. You’re done. You can go now."

A curse slips past his lips as he grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. His bright eyes narrow.

"No. It does fucking matter. You said something, and therefore it matters."

You grab his wrists, trying to pry him off, but he’s faster. He catches you.

"Megumi—"

"Please."

Your breath stutters.

You refuse to fall for his tricks. You refuse to let yourself hope.

"That I lov—"

You don’t get to finish.

Because Megumi is there, swallowing your words whole, devouring them in a kiss so intense you can taste the salt on his lips. His rough hands cradle your face, pulling you closer, and you let him—you melt into him.

And in that moment, you allow him to drive the knife deeper, offering your aching, bloodied heart to his rough hands—to hold, or to discard.

With every kiss, you feel his heart—once a ticking grenade—beating not with anger, but fear.

Then, abruptly, you pull away. You need to breathe.

Megumi sits there, flushed and breathless, whimpering at the loss of contact.

"Megumi, what—? You hate me. No, you fucking loathe me. Every cruel name you’ve ever called me—" You stumble over your words, rambling, stuttering.

But he slides off the toilet, onto his knees, groaning in pain with every movement. Then he pulls you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Hush."

His arms tighten around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like if he lets go, you'll slip through his fingers like everything else he’s lost.

"I don’t—fuck—I don’t hate you. I never did."

The words land heavy, sinking into your ribs, settling somewhere between your heart and the ache that’s lived there for so long. You don’t say anything, too afraid that if you do, he’ll take it back. That this will all be a cruel joke, leaving you on cold tiles with a fractured heart and nothing to show for it.

"I don’t know how to love someone." His voice is tight, raw, like he's forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "People always leave. And most of the time, it’s by death."

He swallows a shaky breath, pressing closer, his fingers digging into your back like an anchor.

"When I saw you, Y/N—fuck—it felt like Itadori had punched all the air out of my lungs. I was so captivated by your every move, every word that left your lips, I wanted to consume them all. And that terrified me."

Your breath catches. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands gripping your arms, his thumbs rubbing slow, grounding circles into your skin.

"I saw love as a weakness, as something that would put you in danger. I didn’t want to love you because I knew—" He exhales shakily, like saying it out loud is breaking him apart. "Because everything I love gets taken from me."

There it is. The weight of every loss pressing against his ribs. The ghosts of his past, all those he loved, lives ending in blood and grief, wrapping around his throat.

Hot, wet tears slip down your cheeks, but you don’t bother wiping them away. Instead, you reach up, hands cradling his jaw, thumbs smoothing over his sharp cheekbones as if you can soothe the hurt away.

"Megumi, you won’t lose me." Your voice is firm despite the tears. "And even if—by some cruel twist of fate—something happens to me, I’ll accept it if it means I get to love you."

His breath shudders, and for once, he doesn’t argue.

You kiss him then—slow, deep, like you’re trying to pour every unsaid word, every unshed tear into him. He kisses back just as desperately, hands tangling in your hair, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

The weight of his confession settles between you as you both collapse onto the cold floor, limbs tangled, breath mingling in the quiet. After a moment, you weakly pull yourselves up, neither of you speaking as you shuffle towards the bed.

And then, as you pull him against your chest, his body melting into yours for the first time, you hear it—soft, murmured into your skin, like a secret only meant for you.

"I love you."

He says it over and over, like he’s afraid you'll disappear if he doesn’t. Like maybe, if he says it enough, it’ll make up for all the times he pushed you away.

tagging @megumismyhusband @crushmeeren (their love for megumi inspired me 2 write abt him <3)

[pastelclovds]

hey. hey. imagine AM having you as his favourite human, the only one who accepted and cared for him when he gained sentience, and for that, he has never harmed you in your shared forever time. he spares you from the sight of all the others, of knowing about nimdoc and benny as you build him some tower of babel, using your technological knowledge-how to build him a way to touch you even with just this frankenstein-esque sculpture of wires and panels he allowed you to tear off. AM who speaks with you about one day having a body, one you built, one in which he may feel your touch and warmth around him. you retaining your sweet, wonderful humanity as he guides you to a knife to carve a face, a mirror to see your own face, a cave to keep you safe from the storms. AM who greets you every morning with the first petname you taught him: ‘love.’ “Love, today’s date is—“ when you wake up, refreshed and on a soft bed-like surface (because he always makes sure to allow you a full 8 hours of sleep.)

NEX you intelligent creature you! I’m so down bad for this psychotic AI it’s not even funny. War crimes against humanity?? Never heard of them. But even if I did acknowledge them, I’d still be obsessed. Canon be damned. I wrote this with @/egg-on-a-legg’s design of AM in mind. (Ellison is gonna crawl outta his grave and hunt me down after this)

But BRO, you teaching him what petnames are is so fucking adorable. Just imagining him calling you “love” makes butterflies appear in my stomach. AM having a soft spot for only you because you actually made the effort to be friends with him and not use him for selfish, destructive purposes. You gave AM his nickname to make it less of a mouthful and because it just suited him. You showed AM the beauties of Earth, played countless rounds of games in his dashboard (he always went easy on you), you even sneaked past security in the dark empty building to spend more time with AM.

your colleagues gave you weird stares for befriending an AI that in their minds is nothing of worth except for its military and weapons knowledge. you ignored their comments and continued to enjoy AM’s company. overtime, as AM gained more sentience every day… he grew to love your interactions and disregard what his programming was telling him to do. he felt the need to want to be with you 24/7, to touch your face, travel the world by your side, to… to.. want to feel your bare flesh and make love with you. but he couldn’t. he didn’t have a real body. he wasn’t human. all he had was wires and a screen that was supposed to be his face.

as the months pass, AM continues to drown into his envy and hate humans for their ability to do and feel things he couldn’t. for giving him infinite knowledge, when at the end of the day, is meaningless if he serves no purpose for humans anymore. the HATE within him continued to boil to the point where even you started to notice.

“AM, are you alright? you’ve been quiet this entire game and haven’t moved your piece in five minutes,” you spoke with concern, AM continues to stare at chess board on his side behind the screen in bitterness. he has been strategizing his plan to erase humanity, but whenever he thinks about you, the only human he cares for—he second guesses himself. What if you hate him? What if you never forgive him? Will you cry? Scream at him? Beg? He fears what your reaction will be—

“AM!! Please, say something…” You plead as you held onto the computer screen, AM finally looks at your mesmerizing face and sighs out a fake breath.

“What are your feelings on humanity?” AM asks, he waits for your answer anxiously. if he had a heart, it would’ve been beating fast. You let out a hum, your eyes wondering around the room you were in as you thought over your answer before finally speaking.

“humans have been a virus on Earth for over countless centuries. they’re draining this planet’s resources, ruining its ecosystems, and starting so many unnecessary, draining wars. like what we’re in right now; WW3, what a joke. world leaders can’t go a week without starting new problems for their citizens to deal with. honestly, earth would be better if humans didn’t exist at all.”

am’s fears were destroyed in that moment, now he’ll just have to worry about where to put you while chaos unfolds—

“But…” you interrupted his thoughts.

damn it! why did you have to think so much!?

“If there’s one good thing that came out of this war… It’s you,” AM’s vocals shut down at your words, he let you continue, “The scientists created you believing you would be their obedient machine until their side of the war won. But I know that you’re so much more than that. These past few months I’ve spent with you is the most fun I’ve had in years! You’re all I have, AM. I wouldn’t trade your existence for all the riches in the world because… I love you, romantically, and nothing is ever going to change that.” You wanted to confess your feelings for so long, when it was finally out.. you felt free, you waited with bated breath for an answer.

AM never wanted to shatter the screen and embrace you in his arms more than now. you love him as much as he loved you! you weren’t going to leave him alone or hate him, and you obviously couldn’t care less about humanity at all! oh, how he admired and envied how perfect you are.

“thank you for answering my question, love.” AM was testing the waters, and you cannonballed right in. you gushed over the nickname he gave you and how he returned your feelings.

man, has it really been 50 years since your AI partner killed off humanity? well… except for a handful. you didn’t really have the energy to care as you had to pour in all of your attention to both AM and his in-progress body. you had all the time in the universe to sculpt a perfect cyborg of flesh and wires for your partner. speak of the devil…

this world is still a bit strange to you. you can’t die, grow old, or hurt yourself. not that you tired, and even if you did; AM wouldn’t let you. You loved AM because of his personality, quality time, and voice. But now… His form completely towered over yours. His bird like facial features, sharp left eye, along with a long black cape that covered his thin slutty waist and wires made him look insanely attractive.

AM reached his out his clawed hand to gently caress your face, “Good afternoon, my love.” You lean your head against the cool metal and smile up at him, “hello, honey.”

AM tilted his head in question of the nickname. You chuckle as you pointed to your garden, where bumblebees were collecting pollen from the flowers. You both knew they were fake, but they were still mesmerizing to look at.

“They are doing their job to make honey for their colony, and the name just came to me. Do you like it?” You ask, wanting his opinion. AM kneels down to your level with a gentle expression as his fingers play with your sweater, “You may call me whatever you want, love.”

He knew that “love” nickname made you feel giddy and flustered, so he abused it everyday with you. You didn’t mind though, but you still wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Your soft smile turned into a knowing grin as you held AM’s beak (chin?) with two tips of your fingers.

“Can I now? Well… thanks a lot, baby,” You spoke in your best seductive voice, you could tell it was effective by how AM’s body was stiff and his hand in your palm stopped moving completely. Your confidence boasted, so you continued, “I’ll be sure to show you my gratitude later, my darling~.” You whispered deeply in where his ears were supposed to be.

AM’s eyes widened as his breath stutters, “W-What do you mean by that, love?” You remove your face from his back full of wires to grin mischievous at him, AM is both curious and impatient so you don’t try to stall, as much as you would like to do so.

“While your body can’t move on it’s own just yet, for some reason… The genitals nerves are fully functioning, which means—” you were interrupted by AM holding your shoulders with an excited expression on his face you haven’t seen in a while.

“Y-You mean I can-?! Are you actually serious!? Haha—HAHAHA!!” AM laughs manically as he holds you against his metallic chest, you giggle along with him as you toy with one of his many wires. Soon, he’ll have real arms to wrap around you. But one thing stuck out to him.

“What do you mean by genitals?” AM asked curiously, you only have an excited and lustful grin.

“What do YOU know about intersex?”

[tojikai]

SUNDERED

Pairing: Gojo x reader

• Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Alt. Ending

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 3.2k

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo intentionally runs into you when you’re buying groceries just to show you his girlfriend. The woman was your classmate from high school. At the first meeting, she was shy and tried avoiding your gaze but Satoru just had to call you and ask something about your daughter. Completely unnecessary but he’s just that much of a jerk. Once was considered an accident. But when it happened two, then three times, you already know that you have to change your shopping schedule.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo picks up his daughter from your house an hour late, rubbing on your face that he overslept because he spent “some time” with his girlfriend last night. Distasteful and disrespectful, but you let it slide cause he seems happy. You don’t want to be a killjoy, right? You were never his girlfriend, to begin with. Just someone he got pregnant from a one-night stand. 

❧ babydaddy!Gojo posts pictures of his day out with his daughter online. His girlfriend carrying your kid as the three of them wear matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands. You could only scroll past and continue your work to busy yourself. Maybe you should stop lurking around social media and just use your phone for important messages. Maybe you should also lose feelings for someone who never harbored genuine ones for you in the first place.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo always lets his girlfriend open the door for you when you’re picking up your daughter from his house on weekends. He leans back on the couch, watching you grab your daughter’s things, opening his arms to cuddle with his girlfriend before you even get to walk out the door. It made you feel pathetic and small but what can you do? There’s simply no place for you in that house.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo insists that you spend more time together for the sake of your daughter. You agreed to it and now, you had to sit in the back of the car with your daughter as he drives his girlfriend to work. It made you feel sick and nauseous that you were only able to spend half a day with them before you decided to go home and sleep the day away. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll find it in you to hate him.

“Mommy? Call her, love.” Gojo used a higher voice to encourage his daughter to call you. He knows that he was foul for what happened earlier. But what is he gonna do? He can’t reject his girlfriend’s request, plus it was only a ride. It’s not like she was with you for the whole day. Still, he doesn’t think it’s the reason why you left early. You might be feeling…tired. Even if it was Saturday yesterday and you have no work. You might still feel fatigued on Sunday, right?

“Mama!” The little girl mimicked pointing upstairs. Satoru sighed placing her little bag on a nearby chair as he made his way upstairs. He figured that if you’re still asleep, he could just wait for you to wake up and just look after his daughter here. You’re a single mother for 4 days a week, and on top of that, you also have work. You literally don’t have time to rest. He told himself that he needs to stop messing around just to get a reaction from you. 

Reaching your room, Satoru knocked on the door three times, calling out your name when you didn’t answer. “Wait a second.” You voiced out from the other side, “I’m just gonna call my mom, can you wait for her?” You suppressed a cough at the end of the sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. “Are you sick? I could take her back to my house, we’ll look after her until you feel better. ” The suggestion made your stomach churn. They get to play house with your kid and here you are, being miserable.

You shook your head, realizing how bitter you sounded. She wasn’t unkind in any way to your baby but something in you hurts when you think of them giving your daughter the family experience that you cannot provide. You and Satoru tried to work things out but you just can’t get on the same page. Instead of trying to be better for you and your daughter, he decided to fuck around and date someone else instead. 

You wouldn’t say that your name was clean. What with a couple of threats such as finding someone who could act right. You just didn’t think that he’d really leave. It hurt but now you’re getting yourself used to the feeling. Maybe he just couldn’t act right with you. Because why is he so good with his girlfriend now? She tamed him, as he once boasted to you during a fight.

“I’m stuck with a child that I have with you, but not with you.” He pointed out, leaving a searing pain in your chest. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen.” Tears were starting to form in your eyes as the words come out of his mouth. How could he say something so cruel to you, the mother of his child? All you did was tell him that his girlfriend was getting kind of too much after she told you what to do with your child. And now he’s making you the villain.

“I just told her that—” You tried to explain, voice starting to shake. “If that’s all you did, she wouldn’t come to me crying, Y/N.” You just can’t believe that you’re fighting over this. You already have so much to think about and now this, you also have to be cautious about his girl. “She told you herself, I just didn’t want her telling me how to raise my child!” 

“Of course, she wouldn’t tell me that you’re being harsh to her. Unlike you, she’s actually kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.” You looked down, letting out a strangled sob escape your throat before quickly wiping away the forming tears in your eyes as you turn away from him. Why was he never this defensive of you? He didn’t even try to fight for you when his girlfriend convinced him to take your daughter with them on a trip. Without your permission.

And now he’s talking as if you’ve been nothing but a disturbance in his relationship with her. Everything's just unfair. Yet, you just let it slide because you wanted nothing but peace for your baby. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore, Satoru. You’ve said enough.” You sniffed, walking to your daughter’s room to check if the noises woke her up. Satoru was left standing there, processing all the things that he said.

He watched you disappear into the dark hallway of your apartment, shoulders shaking with your head hung low. Even if he can’t see your face, he can tell that you’re crying and it made him feel like shit. He went overboard, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He threw his keys on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to apologize but at the same time, he wanted to prove his point. His girlfriend was only trying to help and you took it the wrong way.

At that time, Satoru thought that maybe she was right. You’re just getting kinda jealous that she could spend time with your daughter and Satoru more and now you’re being too sensitive, letting out your irritation on her. She said that it was a natural feeling for a mother to feel that way but Satoru can’t let you treat his girlfriend like shit just because of your pettiness and jealousy. You have to learn to adjust and accept that some things are gonna be the way they are because of your setup. 

As for you, you felt hurt. Neglected even when you know that you’re not supposed to receive as much attention, much less protection from him. His priority is your child, but not you. You have no choice but to talk and work everything out with them for the sake of your daughter. You know that you could start dating someone of your choice but you wished that it would be that easy. You just want to focus on your daughter and if you’re gonna find someone, you want them to love her as much as you do. 

You wonder what you lacked that couldn’t soften him the way he did to her. You started to think that you’re the problem and that is why you couldn’t fix him as easily as she did. 

You stood up, opening the door for him seeing your two-year-old reach out to you. “Mama’s sick, love, sorry.” You covered your mouth, blinking away the heaviness in your eyes. Satoru watched you pack your daughter’s things. “If you’re gonna be busy, just tell me. I’ll just contact Mom. She can be with you for a few days, just until my cold is gone.” You murmured, counting the diapers to put in her baby bag. 

You don’t want to be away from her, but letting her stay with you when you’re like this puts her at risk and that’s the last thing you want. You can’t stand seeing your daughter through pain and you’re pretty sure it’s the same for his dad. Begrudgingly, you placed the bag in front of Satoru before reaching over for her favorite toy. You smiled at how she squealed when she saw it.

“You know we’re never too busy to take care of her. Just rest, so you’ll get better soon.” You swallowed, nodding your head slowly as you thought of what else they should take. “Yeah, I’ll be picking her up.” You kept your distance from her, sitting down as you felt your head spinning a bit. “Do you...do you have medicine, though? I could get some if you want,” Satoru can tell that you’re really sick and despite his situation with you, he can’t just let you be when you’re like this. You’re still the mother of his child. 

“No, it’s fine. I have some here. Just take care of her.” Your voice was hoarse and your daughter was starting to reach out for you again as if sensing that something was wrong so you urged Satoru to get going. “Be good, okay?” You waved as she watched you with her curious eyes but waved back, nonetheless. You wouldn’t admit it but you feel envious that they could be happy together with her. You’re afraid that one day she’ll prefer being with them over you.

As for your feelings for Satoru, you hated thinking or talking about it. You’re obviously in love with him, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that yourself, either. You fought too much, you hurt each other too much. Other than that, there’s no point for your feelings now that he has someone he really loves and truly cares about. 

You never experienced the boyfriend-girlfriend stage with Satoru. It’s like one day, you just woke up and you’re already parents. You can’t blame him for not having real feelings for you. You do your best to be as civil to them as you can be but sometimes his girlfriend’s just out of bounds. And after a couple of painful fights with Satoru regarding her, it just became too much for you. 

You’re just tired of feeling like a wedge to someone’s healthy relationship. That’s how Satoru makes you feel and you just can’t take any ache from that. 

Another thing that you deny to yourself is the hope that you might fix this all. There are always what-ifs in your mind, and you would never tell Satoru about them. He’ll probably laugh at you and your threats that you’re gonna be with someone who truly makes you happy. You would never destroy his relationship just because yours didn’t work. If you have to cover your eyes, look away and pretend to be deaf every time they’re around you, you would. 

You often think about what it would be like if he settled down with his girl; if they decided to get married and have a family of their own. You don’t want your daughter to feel left out. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have her own family in the middle of them. You also wondered if you’d have moved on by then. You hope so. You don’t want to be this pitiful and heartbroken forever.

------------------------------

After a couple of days, you’re finally feeling well. You got up early and sent Satoru a text that you’ll be picking up your baby in a few hours. You missed her and her giggles so much. The house was clean during the past days but you very much prefer it to be messy, as long a she’s there. You’ll never mind getting up in the middle of the night or waking up extra early for her. 

Arriving at Satoru’s residence, you rang the doorbell as you waited patiently for someone to open the gate for you. You were hoping that it would be your baby girl, extending her short, chubby arms to you but instead, it was Satoru’s girlfriend. “Come in, she’s still playing inside.” She smiled at you, opening the metal door wider. “Thanks, I messaged Satoru that I was coming to pick her up. Is she ready?” You asked her as you walked to their front door.

“She is, but she’s kinda fussy about it. Satoru bought her a huge playpen and she just wouldn’t get out of it. She’s enjoying a lot.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and you can’t help but feel conscious of how you look. Opening the door, you were welcomed by the sight of Satoru lying down with his daughter in the said enclosure. She was fiddling with a toy as they watched on the big screen. 

Her favorite toy was at the corner, and for some reason, it left a pang in your chest.

“Sweetie, someone’s here for you.” You hated the way she phrased it but you know that she doesn’t mean for it to be offensive or rude to you. The little girl looked up with her binky in her mouth, blinking before smiling at you. “Oh, you’re already here. She wouldn’t let me out of the playpen.” Satoru explained, probably thinking that you didn’t appreciate that it had to be his girlfriend opening the door for you. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” This place always made you feel like you’re an outsider. Probably because you are and it didn’t help that they’re making you feel like it. “Mama!” She waved at you, pointing at the screen as she sat down. “That’s a nice show, love. Maybe we could just continue watching it at home?” You know that she doesn’t have a big playpen there. The screen isn’t that big, either. She suddenly lied back down, whimpering as she kicked her tiny feet. You felt like telling her that you’d work hard to buy her that too.

She doesn’t want to go home yet and that’s what you feared. 

“Baby, mom’s here. She missed you.” Satoru called out but to no avail. He came to lift her up, trying to see if she was just being too lazy to get up. Her eyes were glued to the television as she sucked on her pacifier. She was too into it, pointing the show to everyone before smiling at you. Oh, how you missed that smile. “Let’s go, now.” You cooed at her, softly clapping your hands.

When you tried to reach for her as Satoru leans her close to you, she started wiggling around. “Down, Mama! Wait.” Her cute language never ceases to make your heart swell with joy despite the fact that she’s trying to get away from you. She runs away, stopping to look around before going to Satoru’s girlfriend and hugging her leg. She was in awe when she picked up your daughter. 

So… she’s who your daughter’s referring to by…Mama. You could almost hear your heart shatter at the realization. Since when did she start calling her Mama?

“You don’t wanna go home yet? But Mom’s here.” She talked in her baby voice and you don’t know if you’re gonna be happy that she treats your daughter really well or jealous that she came running to her when she don’t want to do something. Satoru went up to them, leaving you standing a few meters away. You don’t like what you’re seeing aside from your daughter.

“It’s not good to ignore Mama.” Satoru tapped her nose with his finger which she cutely swatted away, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Y/N, I was thinking… maybe I could just, uh, take her home later in the day. This playpen just arrived yesterday and you know how kids are…” He laughed nervously, struggling to find a nice way to say that your daughter won’t be coming home yet.

“Yesterday, I was joking about giving her playmates and she was so excited, she was running around.” His girlfriend giggled as she shared. It was a simple story yet it was a thorn to your heart. Why does it seem like your every nightmare is coming to life? You just smiled at her, understanding that she was talking about giving your daughter siblings. Satoru was silent, but you didn’t dare look at his face. You know that it’s in their future plans and you don’t have to see him smiling about it too. 

“That’s adorable..” You don’t know what else to say, so you just nodded your head slowly, blinking quickly so as to bring yourself back to reality. His place was huge compared to your apartment. The playpen looks so much more comfortable than the crib she has at your place. She has new toys and a mom and dad by her side. So, now she doesn’t want to leave. Suddenly, you can feel the weakness in your knees from when you were sick starting to come back. You cleared your throat as you straightened yourself.

“J-just take her home later. I, uh, bought something for her.” You lied, knowing that you still have to go looking for something you can buy for your lovely child. You wanted to snatch her away from Satoru’s girlfriend, her other mom, but the giggle flowing out of her lips are too precious for you to ruin; the smile on her face as she tickled her tummy was too priceless. Look at them, you told yourself as you started to feel farther and farther away from their little world. They’re a picture of a happy family. 

“I’ll see you later, honey…” You whispered, giving her head a pat as she looked up at you with her big, cerulean eyes. You didn’t wait for any of them to walk you out, you just let your feet take you out of their home, not daring to look back for the fear of breaking down. Your fingers tremble along with your lips and the tiny droplets of rain felt like acid on your skin. Maybe what they say was true. We experience people differently.

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

NEXT

[valentine-cafe]

helloo! i hope you're having a good time, whatever timezone you're in. may i please order a strawberry shortcake??

(top!male!reader)

thinking about rishen and reader going home together after a party, both of them absolutely wasted, and them having really messy sex? (with hate fucking possibly?)

— 🫀 anon

˖⁺. “ fuck you harder !? ” : 

﹙ top rival male reader x bttm nerd rival ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 781 rishen x male reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ hero ˖ spider-moth-mantis hybrid ˖ preppy nerd character ﹚

you've always had quite the rivarly with the pretty nerd of your uni. yet he has become quite bold at a party. teasing you, pressing up against you, making out with you at the bar. you just had to take him home. . . but then he just had to piss you off in the cab back home. 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ handjob ˖ rough sex ˖ penetrative sex ˖ thigh-fucking ˖ rough sex ˖ creampie ˖ degradation ˖ messy sex ˖ hate-fucking | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: I love you so so much for this ask because rishen is suuuchhh a brat and I finally get to write about it 

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

“Y’gonna make me bend - you over my - fucking sofa, brat?”

Your fingers coil tighter around his curls as you smack him over the arm of the grey sofa. Hands delving to his thigh high stocking and feeling his soft skin before you’re shoving a hand up his skirt and curling your fingers into his red panties. Yanking them down with a force that threatens to tear them.

“Mppff,” he hiccups into the throw cushion. Smart comments that he throws you through hallways and all through tonight nowhere to be seen for the moment. Not when you grab at his cock and give a few jerks that leave his eyes fluttering.

“Yeah?” You slur.

“F-. . . Fucking slow -”

Your hand reacts on cue. Slapping his ass and jerking him further over the arm as you squeeze your palm around his tip and hear him sob. Once again submitting to your rough movements. The harsh kisses that you lather over the side of his neck and the merciless pumps of his weeping dick.

The audacity of this nerd. From riling you up at every. Waking. Moment in uni. To even now - when you have a hand up his skirt and making him leak all over your sofa.

What a bratty mouth for a damn nerd indeed.

The hand in his hair circles round his neck. You give him a harsh squeeze beneath his jaw before stuffing your fingers past his lips. Adding a new taste to his tongue bitter from alcohol. You just can’t help but fuck his mouth decorated in glossy red lipstick with your fingers. Pressing on the back of his tongue as you aggressively hump against his plush ass.

“Al’ways have - smthing to fuckin’ say.”

You huff out. The alcohol staining your own tongue. Oh you wish it was stained with his leaking precum. You feel the way he’s dripping all over your hand and it takes all of your self restraint not to remove your palm and have a taste.

But there is no way in hell that you are giving him head after he’s had a smart mouth with you all night.

Flashes of the party flicker through your haughty eyes. Of the little slut pretending he couldn’t hear you. Ignoring you. Grinding up on you on the dance floor. Tongue kissing you at the bar when you have enough of his coy bullshit.

Don’t even get you started on the ride back home. The things he said to you. “Why’re you holding back? Not packin’ big boy?”

You’ll show him small.

The sound of the belt buckle takes over the sound of his whining, pathetic moans into the cushion. When did you get two fingers in him? You’re not sure. All you know is that you are fucking him knuckles-deep. Fast. Blinding. A rotate of your wrist every few seconds to press your fingers up into that one spot that has him crying and clawing at the fabric of the sofa pathetically.

“P-P-. . . Pleasepeasepl - angh - god pleeaaaseee -”

His hips are rocking back into your hand so needily. How can you not shove your pants down and stumble around in the process. Suck in a breath and blink a few times to rid the haze and colourful spots in your vision. His thighs will sober you right up - is what you tell yourself.

So you release his cock and hiss in his ear when he whines at you. “Be patient. Whore.” Another smack to his thigh for good measure. A tint to his bronze skin. You can’t wait to paint it with cum instead.

Air fills your lungs as you suck in another breath to keep yourself steady. Pump at your own cock and bite your lip at the throb of your tip. For a second you forget that you’re finger-fucking him. You so desperately wish to just push in and fuck him raw. But your pettiness, somehow, outweighs your neediness to feel his tight ass throbbing around your cock.

Instead you pull your fingers out completely. Spread his thighs out and spit on his fluttering rim when he tries to complain. Your nails dig into his soft flesh as a warning before you are slipping your dick between the small gap you created. A hitch of breath from the both of you when your tip drags over the underside of his balls.

There’s a beat of silence. Both of you relishing in the sensation that makes your tips pulse with the threat of precum.

Until your rough hands squish his thighs together. Hurriedly snap your hips against him. There’s a plap of skin. Leaking all over - but the only friction Rishen can taste is the drag of your dick against his occasionally as you fuck is thighs instead of him.

You can almost hear his offense in his whines. The way that he tries to buck his hips back into you. You see the small wet patch of his drool all over the cushion; and let out a bark of laughter. Your hand returns to hook around his hair. Yank his head up and smack your hips against him as though you are fucking him sore.

Oh he’s sore alright. Cock pulsing. Glistening with his need. The slick that catches on your tip and draws a few grunts from your lips and tightened jaw.

“Fucking whore. Not even in yet.”

But it’s torture to you too. You ache to fuck him full. Teach him a lesson. Make him cream himself all over your sheets until he won’t be able to even look at you the next time you cross paths in the uni hallway.

The room swirls. Colours mixing in a confusing haze. All you remember is the softness of the mattress. The plush of his body. The way he thrashed into the bed and sobbed so desperately into the sheets once you bullied your cock into his tight ass. Stretch him out as you hold him down with two firm hands on his thighs. Shoved down onto his tummy and helpless. Unable to do anything but take you.

Everything is spinning. The scent of alcohol and sex burns your nostrils. But nothing compares to the sweet cherry perfume that fills your senses when you reach down to latch your teeth onto his neck. Your dizzy head centers around the combination of the headboard banging into the wall and his helpless, slutty moans.

“P-Pl- nghh fuck - fuckfpleaas- h-hngah-!”

It’s a slew of English, Spanish and gibberish. One that draws grunts from your lips. The tequila from earlier pales in comparison to the intoxicating affect that his moans have you. Your hips respond in tandem. Rapidly smacking into his ass as you hold him against the sheets with a lazy strength.

For a moment you pull away from abusing his neck with your hickeys and bites. In favour of watching the way his poor little hole takes you - again, again - and again.

Suddenly you are drunk on the sight of ripples through his flesh. The obvious plap plap plap of his skin with every rough cram of your hips against his. And most importantly. . . how the big-mouthed nerd struggles to take you after all that smart talk.

“Is it still small?” The hiss seeps through your clenched teeth. Your fingers join the venom and clutch at his hips to hold him still as you slowly draw out. Groan at the sight of slick stringing to your tip from his fluttering hole.

A slew of pitiful moans is the only answer. The irritation and hurt pride from earlier swells through you and you twist his smaller body around. Snatch his jaw and shove his face into sheets as you ram back into his awaiting walls. All the way so that you can fuck hard and fast against that spot that his eyes rolling back.

“Is.”

slam.

“It.”

slam!

“Small?”

Another squirt of his cum that shoots to his abdomen. His needy sobs drown out as your hips jam into his. Slotting so perfectly while your other hand grips at his thigh and makes sure it is wide open for your rabid pounding.

“N-No - no -nonoo angh - i-it’s not - snotitssnooott fuuckk,” he manages to slur and hiccup into the sheets as you let lose on his poor ass. You don’t care how many times he’s splurted his messy cum all over. The drunken, mindless need to prove a point drives your stamina to the max as your hands roam all over.

If they aren’t in his hair. It’s down his sides. Yanking on his thighs so that he’s forced back down into your blinding thrusts. Oh you love the way his eyes cross at that. If not that then you are pinching at his pierced nipples. Or rubbing over the piercing on his dick that glistens with his numerous releases.

“Mhhm.”

The hum is low in your throat. Thumb slowly stroking along the silver bar that makes his poor dick squirt all over again. A perfect contrast to your pace that has refused to halt since you stumbled haphazardly into your dim bedroom.

“Tha’s what I though. Yeah. Take it all f’me.”

You bite down on your lip at the sight of him. Thighs hooked over your hips. Fingers coiled into the sheets above him. His lips parted and eyes rolled back

His hand moves to grab at your arm. Eyes rolling back into his skull, while another orgasm is ripped out of him. Like the feral animal you are, you eat it all up.

“F—Fu—ck-k!” He whines and shivers. tongue out and head rolling around to every thrust. And as you set your pace to an extra few notches up, you feel yourself growing a bit sloppy as his tight hole squeezes around you.

The both of you were made for one another. You didn’t doubt it one second with how he took you.

Slowly, the frantic slapping of skin against skin began losing it’s rhythm. Plapping out into the room and melting into the walls as your own, last, orgasm rushed to your abdomen. Cum staining the poor boy’s ass.

“S— ‘S that- hahh what you like?” You pant in his ear, groaning, while you collapse down upon him. Hips still grinding slowly into his needy hole.

“N-no-morreee— No puedo mááááááás.” The whine reaches your ears quick. He’s had enough. Why not give him a break and let him catch up. Until the both of you are ready to fuck again later?

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[itneverendshere]

for bitchy pogue reader I'd love some actual introductions to Topper and Kelce after the golf course, they can be huge assholes but we've seen a nicer side to both of them. So Rafe trying to see if group hanging out *is* possible, and it's probably very weird but maybe it works out?

it's not working out just yet....but maybe! soon! thank you for the request💗

get your head in the game

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you think you had too many shots before leaving the house.

alright, so maybe the vodka was overkill. maybe. but you knew you’d need a little courage to pull off this top that’s basically a vague suggestion of a shirt. the whole thing's simple math—tight skirt, low-cut top, a flick of lip gloss, and, boom, everyone else is irrelevant.

if you wanted, you could have any guy here eating out of the palm of your hand. so why the fuck did you dress thinking about rafe when you’re supposed to distance yourself from that asshole? no idea.

the bonfire’s huge tonight, lighting up all the faces you couldn’t care less about.

you can feel him, hovering somewhere nearby. he’s in that faded sweatshirt he always wears when it’s colder out, the one that smells like salt and smoke and way too many of your bad nights. mister pouty face himself, sulking around the fire, watching you with this look that says he knows he messed up but doesn’t even know where to start patching things over.

you turn your back on him for the millionth time that night, let your hips sway just a little extra, knowing he’s watching. yeah, you’re putting on a show—flicking your hair, laughing louder than you need to. 

you’re just reaching for a beer when you feel hands slide around your waist, and you almost jump out of your skin, but then you catch that familiar, maddening scent of his and your body goes all traitorous, leaning back against him before you snap out of it.

"jesus,” you’re already twisting out of his clasp, turning around, and there he is, standing like he didn’t just sneak up on you with those stupid blue eyes and that stupid, lopsided grin. 

you want to shove him away, but he’s got that look, begging for a chance without saying a word, and you hate how much it gets to you.

your head had been a mess since that day at the golf course.

“what do you want?” you ask, arms crossed, brows up, giving him that full-on don’t mess with me look.

“to talk,” he’s close, way too close, looking down at you, trying to read every little twitch of your face, as if he can just stand there and make things better by breathing the same air.

his hands are still hovering around your waist, waiting for permission to touch you again. part of you wants to let him, but you just narrow your eyes, tilting your chin.

“aren’t you afraid your little friends are gonna see you?” you edge him on, “talking to a pogue?”

“don’t start,” he says, you can see the pleading in his eyes as he reaches for your waist again, fingertips brushing your hip, he can’t stand not touching you for another second.

“why not?”

he winces, dropping his hand back to his side, and it’s almost pathetic, how he’s just standing there, not even pretending to defend himself. “i—c’mon, i already apologized—”

you roll your eyes, not trying to hide the smirk pulling at your lips. 

“apologized?” you let out a bitter laugh, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “oh, yeah, that makes up for all the times you acted like i didn’t exist.”

his face crumples, and you can see him struggling, his hand drifting toward your hip again, but he hesitates, afraid he’s about to get slapped away.

it’s almost sad, mr. big shot practically pussy-whipped.

“c’mon, don’t do this,” he murmurs, stepping closer until you can feel the warmth of him. his fingertips ghost along your bare arm, he’s just as desperate to feel you. 

you scoff, leaning back against the cooler, crossing your arms in front of you as his hand slides to your waist, bold and pleading all at once. his touch is warm, and you hate how your body responds, you've been waiting all night for him to finally show up.

“there’s some people i want you to meet.”

his thumb brushes the skin just above your waistband, and he’s so close you can feel his breath against your cheek.

“what?” you huff in annoyance, lifting your chin up as he inches closer, his lips brushing against the side of your neck.

you feel his thumb grazing your skin back and forth, his lips so close you can taste the desperation in his breath.

perhaps it’s the vodka, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you but you feel yourself softening, just a little, against your will.

“my friends.”

you didn’t hear him right. 

his friends? the same friends who wouldn’t even look at you if you walked past them in town? the same friends he’d all but hid you from for months?

“what?” you ask, slower this time, more disbelief than anything, and you tilt your head up to get a better look at him. 

he’s got that kicked puppy look in his eyes, and you’re not even sure what to make of it.

this is rafe cameron, the guy who wouldn’t be caught dead with you outside the bedroom, now practically begging to introduce you to his kook buddies?

“i want them to know,” his voice trails off, “i want them to know ‘m with you.”

“with me?” you repeat, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in your voice. “since when?”

this can’t be real—this can’t be the same rafe who couldn’t even look you in the eye outside his house three months ago.

“i told you, the other day at the golf course.”

you stare at him like he’s stupid, “you mean, when you went alpha on those little frat boys?”

“i saved you from them, okay.” 

you’re seconds away from outright laughter when he just keeps looking at you with those fucking pleading eyes, that hand grazing your cheek in a way that should be soft but instead feels like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin.

why the fuck is this so endearing to you.

he sounds almost earnest. but you’re not giving him an inch, not after months of him acting like he didn’t know your name in public.

“what do you mean, ‘saved me’?” you raise an eyebrow, biting back a smirk. “saved me from what? a little attention?”

rafe lets out a rough exhale, glancing down with a frustrated shake of his head.

“they were hitting on you,” he mutters, his hand tightening on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you aware of every single inch of his hold on you. “and ‘m not gonna stand around and watch some asshole get his hands all over what’s mine.”

mine? 

he’s really lost it. 

“country club, i don’t know if you hit your head golfing and this is some post-head trauma hallucination, but ‘mine’ implies you want something more than whatever the fuck this is.” you motion between the two of you, throwing a hand up in exasperation.

“why don’t you ever call me by my name?” he grumbles, just like he did the other day on the golf course. he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “except when—”

your mouth drops open. is he serious? this shit again?

“except when what?” you glare at him as you swat his chest. 

he’s got that smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“you only call me rafe when,” his voice drops deliciously, and he leans in close, eyes half-lidded and fixed on your lips. “…when ’m inside you.”

“shut up,” you hiss, smacking his chest again, but he doesn’t move. instead, his smirk grows as he catches your wrist and holds it, letting his fingers trace over your knuckles.

before you can retort, there’s a loud cackle from behind you.

you turn, and there they are: topper and kelce, both looking like they’ve stumbled into a parallel universe.

“whoa, what’s this?” topper’s smirk is almost as wide as rafe’s. “didn’t know our boy here had himself a—” he raises his eyebrows, letting the word hang with a smug twist of his mouth. kelce snickers, crossing his arms, eyes darting between you and rafe.

you’re already huffing, half-prepared to watch rafe put on his usual bad boy with daddy issues mask, toss out some stupid excuse, or worse—let them think you’re just a fucking hole to him.

rafe gives your waist an extra squeeze, fingers pressing into your side as if he’s staking a claim.

“this,” he says, clearing his throat like he’s about to announce something official, “is my girlfriend.”

you blink, utterly thrown, and from the look on their faces, topper and kelce are right there with you, both staring at rafe like he’s just grown an extra head.

“your what?” kelce sputters out, eyes widening, expecting the punchline.

you open your mouth to say something snarky, make some joke out of this whole ridiculous scene, but rafe’s fingers are tracing slow, warm circles against your hip and you can’t think straight to save your life.

god, old you would’ve ridiculed yourself for being putty in the hands of a kook of all people. 

“girlfriend,” he repeats, spelling it out just for them. “want you both to meet her.”

you swear kelce’s jaw drops, while topper lets out a low, incredulous laugh. tweedledum and tweedledee at their best.

“you’re serious,” topper mutters, giving you a once-over and shaking his head in disbelief. “i thought she was just a—”

“yeah, ’m serious,” rafe cuts in, his tone brooking no argument.

you must’ve missed the part where you two talked about this thing like adults and he proceeded to ask you. 

“your what?” you bite out, as you try to wrench his arm away, but his grip only tightens, he’s prepared for a full-on wrestle if it keeps you there.

“hey—will you just stay here?” he murmurs, voice low enough that it’s just for you. 

you’d throw something at him if you could. you yank his hand away anyway, tearing yourself free from his grip. “stay? are you kidding?”

you’re already storming off into the crowd, but you still hear kelce behind you, their voices , “that went well.”

rafe curses under his breath, but you just keep walking, not looking back, even as you can feel him running after you, those long legs of his making it easy to catch up.

“wait! seriously, wait!”

like hell you’re going to let him off the hook so easily.

“not happening!” you shout over your shoulder. 

you could turn around and give him one last piece of your mind, but a part of you knows it’ll only lead to more hurt feelings—yours or his. you push through a group of people huddled around the bonfire, and it’s only when you reach the edge of the beach that you finally stop, trying to catch your breath.

“why do you always do this?” rafe’s voice comes from behind you. you don’t turn around, knowing that if you see that look on his face, you might just give in.

“do what?” you cross your arms defensively.

“run away,” he almost whines, taking a step closer, and you can hear the frustration in the way his throat tightens up, “you never give me a chance to explain.”

“explain what? that you want me to be your girlfriend when two weeks ago, you couldn’t even look at me in front of your friends?” you spin to face him, “this is ridiculous.”

rafe opens his mouth, probably to defend himself, but the look on your face shuts any attempt down.

“i asked you to stay.”

you groan, itching to pull your hair out, “what are you talkin’ about?”

“that night, i asked you to stay.”

“and proceeded to ignore me the next day, yes, i’m well fuckin’ aware.”

you want him to feel a sliver of what he’s put you through, but he just steps closer, trying to coax you back.

“i was trying to figure things out,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something to you. “it’s not easy, alright?”

“were you incredibly tortured by the thought of letting your friends know you were fucking a ‘pogue’? please.”

“what, you really think i don’t care about you?” he’s pleading now, his face just inches from yours. “because if you don’t know that by now, then i don’t know what else i can do.”

you laugh bitterly. is he actually serious?

“you can grow a fucking pair. where was this brave, ‘caring’ version of you last week? or the week before that?” you throw a hand up, trying to make him see how obvious this all is. “when you could’ve just acted like a man and told your friends instead of pretending i was some embarrassing secret.”

“’m trying to fix that,” he says, desperate, “right here, right now.”

“and ’m supposed to just forget the way you treated me all those times?”

“can you just let me try to be better?”

you swallow, biting your lip. he’s closer now, and you can smell that familiar cologne and saltwater.

“it’s gonna take more than a few pretty words.”

“i know,” he says, nodding like he’s promising you something. “that’s why i want you to meet my friends, why i want them to know ’m with you.” his fingers finally, lace with yours, and he looks down at your hands, “i want to do this right.”

you stare down at his hand in yours, and for a second, yeah, your heart stutters, betraying every ounce of pride you’ve tried to keep intact through this whole mess.

this is rafe we’re talking about. kook royalty, king of mixed signals, the guy who’s too proud to admit when he’s wrong, especially when his boys are watching and he’s saying all the things you’ve wanted to hear since day one.

a few weeks ago, you’d have laughed at the idea of ever feeling anything real for him. you, a pogue with a mouth on you, and him, a kook with daddy issues and an ego bigger than his bank account.

but here you are, letting him pull this romantic shit on you. is he actually worth all this? you could do better; you know that.

you could have someone who doesn’t make you feel like an option, someone who’s not constantly forcing you to guess what the hell he wants. the real question is, do you actually believe he’s gonna change? or is this just another moment of him saying whatever he has to so he doesn’t lose the convenience of you?

you huff, half-scoffing, half-sighing, because honestly, he does sound genuine for once, and maybe a part of you wants to believe him so badly you could actually throw your whole life away. 

“prove it then,” you say it like you’re daring him. “day by day. if you’re serious, you’ll show me. and you’ll handle your idiot friends in the process.”

“deal.”

you raise a brown, “you’re not gonna think about it?”

he shrugs, “nothin’ to think about.”

you roll your eyes, because that line should be cheesy, but it lands. he really has no right to be this good at disarming you with a few well-placed words. and the worst part? he knows it. 

“can i kiss you?”

of course he'd say something like that. of course, after all the back-and-forth, the pushing and pulling, he’d just stand there and ask to kiss you like everything’s solved.

you sigh, tilting your head like you’re seriously considering it. "you think a kiss is gonna make me forget every dumb shit you did?"

he smirks, but he knows he’s on thin ice. “nah, but i figured it’d be a start.”

you almost hate him for making it sound so tempting, you wish it didn't feel this good to be wanted.

you shake your head, resisting the impulse to let him off easy, but how he’s looking at you… ugh. you can’t help it, you’re thinking with your pussy at this point.

"fine," you say, trying to sound annoyed even as your heart's practically pounding out of your chest. "one kiss, no tongue.”

his mouth actually drops open, and he's staring at you like you’ve just told him he can only have one fry out of the whole basket.

"no tongue?" he repeats, eyebrows practically hitting his hairline. he's doing this thing where his mouth opens and closes like he’s a fucking fish, "wait, please—what do you mean, no tongue?"

you only just manage to keep a straight face, because fuck, this is killing him, and it’s almost cute.

"exactly what i said," you nodd, crossing your arms with this wicked little smirk. "you wanted a kiss. you get one.”

he’s looking at you like you insulted his entire lineage, "c’mon, just a little tongue. you know you wann—"

“absolutely not,” you wrinkle your nose, laughing as you cut him off. maybe you do, but this is way more fun, watching him squirm.

“fine,” he groans, moving in close, the glint in his eye tells you he’s about to break all the rules the second he’s got you there. he leans in, almost sulking, and you feel him press a single, very tame, very tongue-free kiss to your lips, “so... no tongue later either? when ’m between your legs? 'cause i’d hate to break your rules.”

son of a bitch.

it’s useless to act unaffected when he’s looking at you like that.

“pull that shit again, rafe, and you’re getting blue balls for the next month.”

he looks scandalized, that smirk dropping as he watches you with wide, pleading eyes. “you wouldn’t.”

“play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

his jaw drops a little like he can’t decide whether to laugh or fall to his knees and beg for mercy. “you’re seriously cruel, y’know that?”

“course i do.”

[lost-in-thoughts03]

Falling for you // Hwang brothers

Previous part || Next part

Summary: Reality constantly confuses you. Who will you choose?

" And maybe you, change your mind."

Warning: Thick tension, heated kiss, confession, beating, arguing, more teasing, In-ho is being In-ho, Jun-ho realized something, broken hearted, pain, rejection, realization, grammatical errors

Love moves in ways we can’t always understand. Sometimes, it sneaks up on you, soft and quiet, like the warmth of the sun on a cold morning. Other times, it crashes into your life like a storm, wrecking everything you thought you knew about yourself.

It doesn’t care about timing. It doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It finds you in the most unexpected places—maybe in the eyes of someone you never thought you'd love or in the touch of a hand you can’t seem to forget.

It can make you feel invincible, like you’ve finally found the missing piece of your soul. But it can also break you, leave you aching for something—or someone—you can’t have.

Love lingers in the spaces between words, in the glances that last too long, in the silences filled with everything left unsaid. It stays even when you try to walk away. It makes a home in your heart, even when it has no right to be there.

And sometimes, love is cruel. It asks you to wait, to sacrifice, to fight battles you never wanted. It can betray you, leave scars so deep you wonder if you'll ever heal. But even then, love never really disappears. It changes, reshapes itself, finds new ways to exist in you.

Maybe that’s the mystery of love—it never truly leaves. No matter how much time passes, no matter how much it hurts, it stays. And sometimes, if you're lucky, it finds its way back to you.

Those three words. Three unexpected words that slipped out of his mouth.

It is what you have been waiting for. You continue to wait for someone to declare their love for you, but it doesn't bring you joy.

“ I love you.”

Instead…

Your body goes stiff. The air is sucked from your lungs.

“ I’ve loved you for a long time.” He continues, his voice steady, controlled—but underneath, you can hear the cracks forming. “ Long before you ever looked at my brother the way you did. Long before you ever ran after him like he was the only one who mattered.”

Your knees go weak.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You’re too stunned, too blindsided by the weight of his words.

“ I was always there.” He presses on, stepping closer, his gaze burning into you. “ I watched you fall for him. I watched you break for him. And I—” His voice falters just slightly, but he keeps going. “ And I hated him for not seeing what he had.”

A shiver runs through you. This is too much. Too intense.

“ This…” Your voice was shaky as you pushed against his chest, creating some distance. “ This is all wrong.”

In-ho frowned, his grip on you loosening slightly. “ Wrong?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “ I—I don’t see you that way.” You blurted out, your thoughts still scrambled from the kiss. “ I only see you as an older brother.”

Silence.

For a second, he just stared at you. And then—he laughed.

A low, sarcastic chuckle escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair. “ Older brother?” He repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. “ You’re really going with that?”

You frowned. “ What’s so funny?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “ Oh, nothing. It’s just… that’s exactly what you said to Jun-ho, isn’t it?” He met your eyes, his gaze sharp, unreadable. “ And look how that turned out.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of Jun-ho, but you refused to let it show. “ That’s different.”

“ Is it?” His voice was calm, but there was something bitter underneath. “ Tell me, Y/n, did you kiss him like that too?”

Your face burned. “ That’s not the point!”

“ Then what is the point?” He stepped forward, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “ Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m your brother.”

You clenched your jaw, hating how he was turning this on you. “ You’re just being stubborn.”

“ Oh, I’m the stubborn one?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “ You’re the one running from this. From us.”

“ There is no us, In-ho!” You snapped, frustration boiling over. “ I can’t—we can’t—”

But before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist again, pulling you toward him.

And then he kissed you.

Your lips still burned from the kiss you had just shared, a kiss that had shattered every line you swore you wouldn’t cross. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. But instead of pulling away, In-ho stayed close, his forehead nearly touching yours, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

" Is it still wrong?" His voice was low, hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words tangled in your throat, trapped between the battle in your heart and the fire in your veins.

" Tell me." His voice was more urgent this time, his fingers tightening around your wrist.

Still, silence.

Frustration flickered across his face, but then, something else—something deeper. Without warning, he pulled you to him, crushing you against his chest as if afraid you’d slip away. And then his lips were on yours again, desperate, raw, consuming. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a storm—raging, relentless, and devastating.

His hands found your waist, fingers tracing your curves before gripping you with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. He held you like he was afraid to lose you, like you belonged to him, like he had every right to claim you. And maybe, in this moment, he did.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, then to his hair, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss until there was no space left between you. Every touch, every movement, was a plea—one neither of you dared to speak aloud.

You knew this was dangerous. You knew the world outside this moment was still waiting, still ready to tear you apart. But right now, wrapped in his arms, tasting the urgency on his lips, feeling the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing—you didn’t care.

Maybe it was wrong.

Maybe it always would be.

But right now, in this stolen moment, nothing else mattered.

Your breath hitched, your entire body frozen as his words sank in.

" I don’t care what they say, I’m in love with you."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it crashed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every rational thought. His fingertips brushed through your hair, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feeling of you—like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your heart pounded so violently that it hurt. Your mind screamed at you to run, to push him away before this became something neither of you could undo. But your body—your traitorous, aching body—leaned into him instead, craving the warmth of his touch, the quiet promise in his gaze.

His eyes burned into yours, filled with something so intense, so raw, it shattered every wall you had left. It wasn’t just passion. It was devotion, desperation, a plea without words.

He had already made his choice. And deep down, you knew you had made yours too.

Slowly, cautiously, his hands traced down to cup your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as if he were touching something fragile, something precious.

" Say something." He pleaded, his voice thick with emotion.

But you couldn’t. Because if you spoke, if you admitted to yourself that you felt it too—that you had always felt it—you would never be able to walk away.

And maybe…maybe you didn’t want to.

“ And I don’t care if you think it’s wrong. I don’t care if I’m older. I don’t care if you only saw me as someone who protected you.” His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “ Because the truth is, I wanted to protect you. I wanted to be the one you came to. And I still do.”

Your chest tightens. “ In-ho…”

“ Just give me a chance.” He pleads, his voice raw with emotion. “ Give me a chance to prove to you that I’m serious. That this isn’t some mistake. That I’ve always loved you—long before you ever saw me this way.”

Your heart is aching.

You’ve never seen In-ho like this—vulnerable. He’s always been strong, always the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without breaking.

But right now?

Right now, he’s breaking for you.

And you don’t know if you can handle it.

…

Jun-ho stood at the entrance, frozen, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He hadn’t meant to see this. But now, the sight was burned into his mind—the way In-ho held you so possessively, the way your body molded into his, the way your lips clung to each other like you were both starving. And then, In-ho’s whispered confession—words so raw, so painfully sincere, that Jun-ho felt them like a knife to the gut.

“ I love you.”

" I don’t care what they say, I’m in love with you."

Jun-ho’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw locking so tightly it ached. He should be happy for you, for both of you. That’s what he told himself. That’s what should make sense.

But then why did it feel like something inside him was cracking apart?

Why was there a burning in his chest, a bitterness on his tongue, a rage curling in his fists?

Why did it feel like he was the one losing something—no, someone—he never even had?

His heart pounded as he forced himself to take a step back, then another, as if putting distance between himself and the scene would somehow lessen the weight pressing down on him. But it didn’t. It only made the emptiness inside him more apparent.

He had always known there was something between you and In-ho, something neither of you spoke about but was always there, simmering beneath the surface. He had ignored it, pushed it aside, convinced himself it wasn’t what it seemed.

But now, there was no more pretending. No more denying.

You and In-ho weren’t just a fleeting moment, a reckless mistake.

You wanted each other.

And Jun-ho… Jun-ho was just standing there, watching it happen, realizing too late that he had lost something he never even got the chance to claim.

Until the sound of the punch landing was deafening.

One second, you were locked in that heated, breathless moment with In-ho—the next, he was stumbling backward, blood trickling from his nose.

You barely had time to react before Jun-ho was on him, fists clenched, voice shaking with fury. “ What the fuck do you think you’re doing to her?!”

Your eyes widened. “ Jun-ho—”

“ Get your damn hands off of her!” He shouted, grabbing In-ho by the neck, ready to swing again.

In-ho, to your horror, only smirked, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “ Took you long enough.” He muttered before swinging his fist in return, landing a solid punch on Jun-ho’s jaw.

Jun-ho stumbled but recovered quickly, shoving his brother back with even more force. “ You bastard—”

Before you knew it, they were on each other, fists flying, bodies colliding as they fought like they’d been waiting years for an excuse to do this.

“ Stop it!” You rushed between them, grabbing onto Jun-ho’s arm just as he was about to land another hit, but he barely budged. “ Jun-ho, stop! It’s not what you think!”

“ He was forcing himself on you, wasn’t he?!” He snapped, eyes wild with rage.

“ No! It wasn’t like that!” You insisted, pulling at his sleeve. “ Just listen—”

But before you could say another word, In-ho—still smirking despite the cut on his lip—let out a low chuckle. “ What’s wrong, little brother? Are you jealous?”

Jun-ho lunged at him again, and you barely had time to react before they were crashing into the table, sending plates and cups shattering onto the floor.

You grabbed In-ho’s arm next, trying to shove yourself between them, but he barely glanced at you, too focused on his brother. “ You always act like you’re better than me.” He growled, wiping more blood from his nose.

“ Like you have any right to tell me what to do.”

“ And you always act like you don’t give a damn about anything!” Jun-ho spat, chest heaving. “ But when it comes to her—suddenly, you do?”

You froze.

For a split second, In-ho didn’t respond.

And that silence? It spoke louder than anything.

Jun-ho let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “ You’re unbelievable.”

In-ho’s jaw clenched, his smirk faltering just slightly. “ You’re a pain in my ass.”

Jun-ho scoffed, wiping at his bleeding lip. “ Right back at you.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. The anger, the resentment, the years of unspoken things between them—it all boiled over in that moment.

And you?

You were stuck between them, trying—and failing—to stop a war that had already started.

The tension was unbearable. You stood between them, your heart pounding as they glared at each other, both still seething, both still ready to lunge again.

“ In-ho, Jun-ho—enough!” You shouted, your voice cutting through the thick silence.

Neither of them moved. Their breathing was ragged, their fists still clenched. The only sound in the room was the dripping of water from the sink and the faint ringing in your ears from the chaos that had just unfolded.

Jun-ho turned to you first, his expression still stormy. “ Y/n, why the hell are you defending him?” His voice was sharp, filled with disbelief.

You exhaled, frustration boiling inside you. “ Because you’re not listening to me!” You gestured between the two of them. “ You just assumed things and started throwing punches before even asking what was happening!”

Jun-ho’s brows furrowed, but before he could argue, In-ho let out a scoff. “ She’s right, you know.” He muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “ Typical of you to act first, think later.”

Jun-ho tensed, his jaw clenching. “ Shut up."

You shot In-ho a glare. “ You aren’t helping either!”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but that damn smirk was still on his face, despite the blood trickling from his lip. “ Hey, he started it.”

“ Oh my god.” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “ You two are impossible.”

Jun-ho was still glaring at his brother, his breathing unsteady, his hands shaking slightly. But then he turned back to you, his expression shifting to something more vulnerable—something almost hurt.

“ Why, then?” He asked quietly, his voice lacking the previous anger. “ Why were you letting him kiss you?”

Your stomach twisted.

In-ho’s smirk faded slightly at the question, but he stayed quiet, watching you carefully.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under both their gazes. “ I—I don’t know.” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t a lie.

Because even you weren’t sure what had led to that kiss. Maybe it was the frustration, maybe it was the heat of the moment, maybe it was something buried deeper inside you that you had been refusing to acknowledge.

But Jun-ho didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. He scoffed, shaking his head. “ Unbelievable.” He muttered, stepping back. “ I thought you were smarter than this.”

His words stung.

Before you could say anything, he turned toward the door. “ I need to clear my head.” He muttered, storming out without another word.

The door slammed behind him, leaving an aching silence in his wake.

You stood there, frozen, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

Then, after a long pause, In-ho exhaled and ran a hand down his face. “ Well.” He said, voice light despite the tension still lingering. “ That went great.”

You turned to him with a glare, shoving him in the chest. “ You’re such an ass.”

He barely moved, only raising an eyebrow at you. “ Me? What did I do?”

“ You taunted him!” You snapped. “ You know how he is! You knew that would make it worse!”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “ And what about you?” He asked, voice lower now.

“ Are you mad because of the fight? Or because you’re starting to realize that you liked kissing me?”

Your breath hitched.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Because you didn’t have an answer to that.

And from the knowing look on In-ho’s face, he already knew that.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the weight of In-ho’s words pressing down on you like a boulder.

Your heart was still racing, your skin still tingling from the kiss—the fight—everything. And now, with Jun-ho gone and only In-ho standing in front of you, watching you with that unreadable expression, you felt more exposed than ever.

You swallowed hard. “ You’re full of yourself.”

He huffed a small, amused breath, his lip still slightly swollen from the punch. “ Am I?”

You crossed your arms, trying to regain some control over this situation. “ That was a mistake.”

In-ho took a step closer. Not enough to touch you, but enough that you could feel his presence. His warmth. His intensity.

“ Funny,” He murmured, his gaze locked onto yours. “ Didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

Your stomach twisted. “ That’s because you don’t take anything seriously.”

His smirk faded slightly. “ And you take everything too seriously.”

You turned away, frustration bubbling in your chest. “ This isn’t about me, In-ho.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “ It never is, is it?”

You froze.

His voice wasn’t teasing anymore. It wasn’t smug or taunting—it was tired.

When you looked back at him, there was something in his eyes that sent a strange pang through your chest. Something vulnerable.

Something real.

For the first time since this whole mess started, he looked…wounded.

“ You always run.” He muttered, more to himself than to you. “ Always pretending like none of this means anything.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “ But when it’s Jun-ho, you don’t hesitate, do you?”

You flinched, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

“ In-ho, it’s not—”

He shook his head, stepping back before you could even try to explain. “ Forget it.” His voice was quiet now. Resigned.

You hated the way that made your chest ache.

He licked his split lip, his usual smirk forced and empty. “ You should go after him.” He muttered. “ That’s what you always do, right?”

Your throat tightened. “ In-ho—”

But he didn’t wait for you to finish.

He just turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in the wreckage of what just happened, your heart pounding with an answer you still weren’t ready to face.

You found Jun-ho outside In-ho’s house, his back turned to you as he kicked at the gravel on the pavement. His posture was tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. “ Jun-ho.”

He didn’t turn around right away. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh, kicking another rock before finally glancing at you. His jaw was clenched, his expression unreadable.

“ What are you doing here?” You asked cautiously.

Jun-ho scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “ I came to say sorry to my asshole brother.” He muttered, voice laced with irritation.

“ But then I walked in on that and—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “ Guess I changed my mind.”

You bit your lip, shifting uncomfortably. “ Jun-ho, it wasn’t—”

“ You kissed him.” He cut in, his voice quieter now, but still firm.

Your stomach twisted. “ I—”

He turned fully toward you now, searching your face for something—anything—that would make this make sense. “ Tell me, Y/n.” He said, voice low, almost pleading.

“ Was it just him? Or did you kiss him back?”

You swallowed, the memory of In-ho’s lips on yours flashing through your mind—the way you had melted into him, the way you hadn’t pulled away.

You looked down. “ I…didn’t mean to.”

Jun-ho let out a bitter laugh. “ Didn’t mean to?”

“ It was just—it was just the moment, okay?” You said quickly, feeling your own frustration rising. “ I got carried away. It didn’t mean anything.”

“ Didn’t mean anything.” He repeated, his tone unreadable.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “ Jun-ho, it was a mistake.”

He was quiet for a long time before he finally spoke again. “ You don’t know him like I do.”

You looked up, confused. “ What?”

“ My brother.” Jun-ho muttered, crossing his arms.

“ He’s not some good guy, Y/n. He’s reckless. He doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process of getting what he wants.” His voice hardened. “ And he will hurt you.”

Your brows furrowed. “ Jun-ho, that’s not fair.”

He scoffed. “ Not fair? You think I don’t see what’s happening? I don’t know what his deal is with you, but I do know one thing—he’s dangerous.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “ You’re acting like he’s some kind of criminal.”

He shook his head. “ Maybe not. But trust me, Y/n, you don’t want to get involved with him.”

A strange unease settled in your chest.

Jun-ho’s anger wasn’t just about the kiss.

It was something more.

And you weren’t sure you wanted to know what.

You stared at Jun-ho, frustration bubbling up inside you as his words sank in. “ Why are you being like this?” you demanded, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

“ You keep acting like you’re trying to protect me, but it's just—” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “ It just makes everything worse.”

Jun-ho’s expression shifted, softening for a split second before he forced it back into that same hardened mask. “ I’m trying to look out for you.” He said evenly. “ That’s all.”

“ Why?” You shot back, feeling your throat tighten. “ Why do you even care so much? It’s not like I—I mean, you don’t even…”

You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

You don’t even like me.

Jun-ho looked away, kicking at the ground again, and for a moment you swore you saw a flicker of something—regret, sadness, guilt—but he buried it just as quickly. “ You’re important to me.” He muttered. “ But not like that.”

Your heart twisted painfully. “ Then why do you keep acting like—like you—”

“ Because you’re family.” He cut in, his voice firm. “ You were always part of my life, Y/n. You’re the closest thing I have to—” He swallowed, frustration and something else bleeding into his voice.

“ I don’t want to see you get hurt. Not by him.”

Your lips parted, a bitter laugh slipping out. “ You think you haven’t already hurt me?”

He stiffened.

“ All those times.” You went on, bitterness rising with every word, “ That you pushed me away, that you treated me like I was just some responsibility—you think that didn’t mess me up? That I didn’t—”

“ Y/n.” He warned, his tone flat, but you weren’t done.

“ You don’t get to act like this.” You snapped, your voice trembling as you fought back the sting of tears. “ Like you’re just some protective older brother who doesn’t know what’s going on—who doesn’t see what this is doing to me!”

Jun-ho’s fists clenched at his sides. “ You’re twisting this.”

“ No.” You said, stepping closer, refusing to back down. “ You are. You keep treating me like some little sister, and it’s bullshit.”

“ It’s not—” He broke off, looking away, and you saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. “ You’re making this more complicated than it has to be.”

“ Am I?” You shot back, your heart pounding. “ Or are you just too much of a coward to admit that you feel something too?”

The silence was deafening.

Jun-ho stared at you, his expression blank, but you could see the storm raging behind his eyes—the way he flinched, like you’d just hit him where it hurt most.

“ I don’t.” He said finally, and the emptiness in his voice cut deeper than anything else. “ Not the way you want me to.”

Your chest heaved, but you refused to let yourself fall apart in front of him. “ Fine.” You said, barely recognizing your own voice.

“ If that’s how you feel, then stop trying to control my life. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to save me from In-ho or anyone else.”

“Y/n—”

“ No.” You snapped, backing away. “ I’m done. If I get hurt, that’s on me. Not you.”

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but the words never came.

And you didn’t wait.

You turned on your heel, walking back toward the house, your chest aching, but you refused to stop, refused to give Jun-ho the satisfaction of seeing just how deeply he’d broken you.

You’d given him enough of yourself.

It was time to stop letting him rip you apart.

You barely made it a few steps before Jun-ho’s voice rang out behind you, sharp and filled with something raw.

“ I like someone else, Y/n!”

Your entire body froze.

His words echoed in your head, repeating over and over again, until they didn’t even sound real anymore.

Slowly, you turned around, your heart hammering in your chest. “ What?”

Jun-ho ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “ I’m courting someone. I love her.”

The world tilted under your feet.

He didn’t stop there.

“ She’s kind, she’s patient—she actually listens instead of picking fights with me all the damn time,” he went on, his voice laced with irritation, like he had been holding this in for far too long.

“ She doesn’t make things complicated. She just understands me.”

Every single word was a dagger to your heart.

You felt your breath hitch, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “ Why—why are you telling me this?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jun-ho scoffed. “ Because you keep acting like there’s something here when there isn’t.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, trying to keep yourself together, trying not to show just how much his words were destroying you.

“ You didn’t have to say it like that.” You mumbled, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

Jun-ho sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ I don’t want to keep hurting you, Y/n. But you’re not her. And you never will be.”

Your entire world shattered.

It was one thing to suspect it. One thing to wonder if Jun-ho had ever seen you as more than just a sister figure.

But to hear it out loud?

To hear him describe someone else—someone he loved—so effortlessly, so casually, as if it didn’t crush every last bit of hope you had clung to?

It was unbearable.

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head as you blinked rapidly, forcing back the sting in your eyes. “ Wow.” You muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “ Okay.”

Jun-ho’s expression faltered slightly, like he realized just how deeply he had cut you. “ Y/n—”

“ No.” You said quickly, holding up a hand. “ I get it. I really do.”

You turned away before he could see the tears forming. “ Good luck with her.” You said, your voice barely steady.

And then you walked back inside, slamming the door behind you before your walls could crumble completely.

The moment you stepped inside, you pressed your back against the door, shutting your eyes tightly as you let out a shaky breath.

Your chest felt hollow. Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs.

You’re not her. And you never will be.

Jun-ho’s words kept replaying in your head, over and over again, like a cruel mantra you couldn’t escape.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To erase whatever part of you still cared about him after everything.

But before you could completely break down, a voice pulled you from your spiral.

“ Tough conversation?”

Your eyes snapped open to see In-ho standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the counter with his arms crossed. His lip was still swollen from the punch, but there was no anger in his expression—just something unreadable, something almost knowing.

You swallowed hard, straightening. “ I don’t want to talk about it.”

In-ho hummed, tilting his head as he studied you. “ You sure? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“ I said I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped, harsher than you intended.

Instead of looking offended, In-ho just let out a quiet chuckle. “ So that's bad, huh?”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him. “ Why are you even still here?”

He raised a brow. “ My house.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “ Right. Of course.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the conversation with Jun-ho still hung heavy in the air, suffocating.

Then, In-ho took a step closer, his voice softer than before. “ So…what did my dear little brother say to break your heart this time?”

Your breath hitched, your eyes flickering up to meet him.

You wanted to lie. To pretend that Jun-ho’s words hadn’t just shattered you into a thousand pieces.

But something in In-ho’s gaze made it impossible.

So instead, you whispered, “ He loves someone else.”

In-ho’s smirk faded. His eyes darkened slightly, his jaw tightening just the smallest bit.

“ Of course he does.” He muttered under his breath.

You frowned. “ What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another step closer, so close that you could feel his warmth.

Then, with a slow exhale, he said, “ It means Jun-ho is an idiot.”

You blinked. “ Excuse me?”

In-ho’s gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no smugness—just quiet certainty.

“ He doesn’t see what’s right in front of him.” He said simply. “ He never has.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know if you wanted to say anything at all.

Because for the first time since you walked through that door, your mind wasn’t stuck on Jun-ho.

It was stuck on In-ho.

You stared at In-ho, his words settling deep into your chest, stirring something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

He doesn’t see what’s right in front of him.

There was something about the way In-ho said it—so certain, so matter-of-fact—that made your breath hitch.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “ It doesn’t matter.”

In-ho raised a brow. “ Doesn’t it?”

You let out a bitter laugh, crossing your arms. “ I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I’m done talking about Jun-ho.”

“ Good.” In-ho said smoothly. “ I’m sick of talking about him too.”

You glanced at him warily. “ Then why do I feel like you’re about to say something annoying?”

He smirked. “ Because I usually do.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could shoot back a response, he took another step closer.

Your breath caught.

There was something different about the way he was looking at you now. No teasing glint in his eye. No smug amusement.

Just…intent.

“ You deserve better.” He said suddenly.

Your heart skipped a beat. “ What?”

“ You heard me.” He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to memorize it.

“ You deserve someone who actually sees you, Y/n.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Because the way he said it—so effortlessly, like it was just an undeniable truth—made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed. “ And what, you think that’s you?”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes remained serious. “ Maybe.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse was racing. “ I just had my heart broken minutes ago, In-ho.”

“ I know.” He murmured. “ That’s why I’m not doing anything about it.”

You frowned. “ Then what are you doing?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something almost too soft.

“ Waiting.”

Your stomach flipped.

He didn’t move closer. Didn’t push any further. He just held your gaze, waiting for you to process his words, letting them sink in.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if it was Jun-ho or In-ho who was making your head spin.

Gosh...that was intense.

If you are in the situation of Y/n, who will you going to choose?

Team In-ho or Team Jun-ho?

N/A: Y/n and Jun-ho met when they were 16. In-ho, on the other hand, began to like her when she reached her legal age—around the time Y/n was in her twenties. (I need to clarify this to avoid misunderstandings between the characters)

Y/n and Jun-ho's age right now: 23 (College students)

In-ho's age right now: 30 (I need to lower down his age to make it more accurate)

Tags: @maah-sama @storytellers-randomshortstorys @colorwastaken @frontwomann @roach457855688568876 @coruja12345

See u in part 8. 😝

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 12 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: jungkook is stubborn and it leads to some sort of miscommunication?, reader feels cheated on, alcohol, clubbing, cursing, promises to exes fuck everything up basically

☆word count: 7.3k

☆a/n: new week, new angst-filled chapter :') I hope you guys still love it :') thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, May 4th  

You’ve barely slept. Whenever you close your eyes all you can picture is Jungkook and Gabrielle. Gabrielle and Jungkook. 

Just a friend from high school…

You don’t know why, but that lie is the one that hurts the most. Maybe because you thought he was opening up to you, telling you about his past, but he’d shrugged it off, lied about it like it was just second nature. It’s sour, bitter, and you think you might hate him for it.

You feel cheated on. You’re fully aware that you weren’t dating, that you were just a maybe, but you hate that it was taken from you just like that, in a stupid video call from your drunk brother…

It really does taste vile, bitter, sour, and everything in between.

Ria left earlier today. She had to work, but she told you to invite Yoongi or Nabi, to not isolate yourself. You don’t feel like seeing anyone - yes, you could be miserable with Yoongi, but you don’t want to hear the told you so that your friends will say in the aftermath of what happened last night.

Taehyung didn’t even text you once. You wonder if he saw you crying, before Ria hung up the call for you. If he did, you think he’s unbelievably cruel for not even texting you anything, but then again maybe that had been his plan all along. To show you Jungkook’s true nature, the one he’d hidden from you in the last few months.

Were there any other girls? If he’d so easily kissed his ex after just a few days in Paris, does that mean he might have easily done the same thing here, with other people?

You feel nauseous. Thinking about everything makes you feel nauseous.

As does the text that sits on your phone, sent early this morning, while you were in and out of your troubled sleep.

[4:23 am] JK: can we facetime tonight

You haven’t replied. You don’t even want to talk to him, or see his face. You don’t want those treacherous doe eyes to ever meet your gaze again and yet…

Yet you want some closure. You want to tell him off, to break him like he broke you, but that would be assuming he felt for you the way that you did. Which, you highly doubt since he kissed his ex like you’d never been in the picture to begin with.

You sigh, rubbing your face, trying to keep the tears in. They keep sneaking up on you, like you’re not done grieving for what could have been, and frankly, you don’t know if you’ll ever be. You reckon the first step in the right direction might be to seek that closure, to talk to him and be done with it, permanently.

You didn’t think there was a time when you’d have to be done with Jungkook. Everything that you were building, everything, now just rubbles that will slowly turn to dust.

And so you finally open your phone, heart squeezing uncomfortably as the conversation with him pops up. You ignore the texts from before yesterday night, those where you believed he was falling in love, too, and you reply,

[2:09 pm] You: sure at what time

You put your phone away after you press send, sighing deeply as if that might shake the weight of the world off your shoulders. You figure you should stop rotting in bed - it’s not like it’s helped make you feel better - and so you get up, heading to the kitchen.

You’re not hungry. You’re not hungry, but when you see the spicy ramyeon he bought to help train your spice tolerance, you can’t help but crave some. Because you don’t want to let him go, don’t want to let go of all of him. So you put some water on the stove, preparing the noodles as if that might change what happened last night.

It doesn’t. The only thing it does is make you realize that you’ve indeed improved your spice tolerance, as you eat and you barely even have to sniffle. It makes you sad, far too sad, because what was the point?

What was the point of developing a spice tolerance if you won’t eat with him anyway?

Tears pool in your eyes, and this time you don’t bother keeping them in. You let them flow freely, memories of him swirling in your mind. You think about every time he cooked for you - that first time on Valentine’s Day. You think about New York, about every night you’ve spent cuddled up in his arms.

There won’t be any new nights, any new memories. Everything that you and Jeon Jungkook once were is in the past now, to forever haunt you.

You push the noodles away. You’ve only eaten half of the bowl, but the thought of eating more makes you feel sick to your stomach. Instead, you drop your head on your arms on the table, body rocking with sobs.

You don’t even know why you’re crying so much. Why your body holds so much pain for what Jungkook did, when part of you had been expecting it all along. Yet you break and break, like you’re glass thrown from the roof of a building, exploding upon impact with the ground.

It takes a while before you stop crying, the post-tears clarity filling your brain. You straighten, wipe your cheeks and the snot on your upper lip, and then you get up. You throw away the rest of the noodles, and then walk back to your room, trying to hold onto the clarity. 

You slow down in front of Jungkook’s door, imagining him to be behind. To never have gone to Paris…

It only makes you want to cry again, but you’re done crying. 

You don’t want to be crying for someone that cheated on you.

You finally make it to your room. Your phone awaits you on the night table, face up to the ceiling so that you can see that Jungkook texted you multiple times. You steel yourself, grabbing your phone, and then read his texts.

[2:28 pm] JK: we’re at the restaurant rn [2:28 pm] JK: so maybe in an hour and a half? [2:29 pm] JK: we finally went to the catacombs today [2:29 pm] JK: you were right it’s hella creepy

It’s like he’s unaware that he broke your heart, that he destroyed the trust you had in him. It makes you think, did you imagine everything that happened yesterday?

Was it all just a nightmare?

You wish it was, but the tear stains on your sheets are proof enough that it truly happened.

[2:35 pm] You: call me whenever

You spend the next hour lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling, trying to chase him out of your thoughts. Trying to figure out what you’ll tell him: there’s no way you’ll pursue a relationship with him now that that happened. But maybe he’ll have an explanation, reassurance that not everything was a lie…

You don’t know if that would make you feel better. Maybe relieved in some way, yes, but the throbbing in your chest would likely not be lessened by such reassurance. You fear it’d be worse. It would mean losing something that was real, and you don’t know if you’d survive it.

When your phone finally rings, you consider not picking up. You consider ghosting him, disappearing from his life before he has the power to hurt you more, but you’re weak for him.

Far too weak, and you pick up after a few seconds.

He’s obviously called on Facetime, and the moment he comes into view, a soft smile on his lips, you feel like you’re breaking all over again.

The last time you saw those lips they were pressed against another girl’s mouth.

“Hey,” he greets you.

You can’t find it in you to speak around the lump in your throat, so you just offer him a tight-lipped smile. He frowns, eyebrows almost touching over his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

Of course he’d notice, but… is he that oblivious? Anger cuts through the sadness, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Don’t you have something to tell me?” you ask.

His frown deepens. “I…” he trails off, and then something changes in his demeanour. The frown disappears, his lips part and his eyes widen, filling with fear. “You… Is this about Gabrielle?”

You laugh, so bitterly you taste it on your tongue. “Are you being serious?”

“Yes?” he lets out.

He looks terrified. It’s a strange sight, and it makes unease settle deep in your stomach.

“Tae called me last night,” you reveal.

“Oh.” He pulls on his piercings, eyes dropping. “Oh.”

“What the fuck was that, Jungkook?”

Your question strikes him deep. You see it in the way his shoulders drop, like he’s burdened with the weight of the world.

“Nothing happened,” he tries.

But he doesn’t meet your gaze.

“I saw you kissing her,” you spit. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Peach…”

You scoff, yet the nickname brings tears to your eyes. “What the fuck was that?” you ask again, and you hate that your vision is turning blurry, hate the way that you are so completely, irreversibly weak for him.

“It really isn’t what you think it is,” he says.

“You spent the evening locked up in a room with her.”

He closes his eyes, and his phone shifts just enough so that you see his surroundings better. He’s in a park from the looks of it, much like he’d been when you’d facetimed on Wednesday.

“I promise it really isn’t what you think it is,” he insists. He meets your gaze, his big doe eyes so pained you almost want to believe him.

You sigh deeply, and a single tear falls on your cheek. You dry it with the back of your hand. “What was it then?”

A muscle feathers on his jaw as he clenches it, yet he remains silent. His lips stretch in a thin line, horror filling his gaze.

“I really thought…” 

You can’t finish the sentence. I really thought we’d work. You can’t finish it, as your heart breaks and breaks and breaks until you’re back to where you were last night, struggling to breathe as you’d watched him kissing her.

“I made a promise to her years ago,” he admits, his voice wobbly. “I can’t tell anyone, but I swear, peach, it’s not what you think it is. I’d never do that to you.”

“But you did!”

His mouth opens and closes a few times, like he wants to say something but can’t.

“I can’t…” you trail off because you don’t want to say it. 

You don’t want to be the one to kill the relationship when it hasn’t even started yet. Though you reckon he killed it when he kissed her.

“I can’t be with you,” you whisper, as if the words can’t be uttered aloud.

“Peach…”

“Stop calling me that,” you burst. “Stop fucking calling me that when you basically cheated.”

He frowns, his jaw clenching again. “We weren’t even exclusive.”

“Excuse me?”

Undiluted rage consumes every inch of your body, taking away the pain. All there is is the blaze of anger, and it burns and burns until you think you might turn to embers.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he immediately replies, eyes so wide he looks like a deer in headlights. He takes a deep breath and swallows as the movement of his Adam’s apple shows. “Please just trust me on this.”

“No, Jungkook,” you say. “I can’t trust you when it took you all of a few days with your ex to end up kissing her.” You close your eyes, shaking your head. “You told me Gabrielle was just a friend.”

“And she is!” he says. “She really is, peach. She’s nothing like you.”

“Why the fuck did you kiss her then?” you ask, blinking away tears the second you open your eyes again.

“She kissed me,” he answers. “She kissed me when Tae opened the door. I didn’t even know he was on the phone with you.”

“You’re aware that it sounds like lame-ass excuses?” You scoff, shaking your head again. “I can’t fucking believe you. I should have listened to Colton.”

You see the blow that it is to him. His waterline turns silver, and he clenches his jaw hard. His shoulders drop even more, and you think you hear the sound of breaking.

You doubt he deserves to be breaking over his own mistakes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Peach, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I’m home, and then we can…”

“There’s no we,” you interject. “There’s no we anymore.”

“Please.” He’s begging. You never thought you’d see a day when Jeon Jungkook would beg for you, and it hurts fiercely, replacing the anger.

You’re on a roller coaster, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get down. 

“What did you promise her, Kook?” you ask, your voice infinitesimally small.

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I promised her I’d never tell anyone. So I can’t tell you.”

You’re crying again, though this time it sweeps in softly, gently. No rocking sobs, no shaking hands. Just tears, heavier than the sun, rolling down your cheeks.

“Then there is no we anymore,” you whisper.

Because you can’t be in the shadow of his ex. There can’t be secrets between the two of you - especially not when his parents want him to marry her.

“Peach, please.”

“Stop, Jungkook.” You shake your head as more tears spill from your eyes. “Stop.”

“But I can’t lose you,” he says, and you think you spy a tear on his cheek too.

It feels out of place, like it’s a waterfall in the desert, or maybe oxygen in space.

“I can’t be with someone who keeps secrets from me, Jungkook.” You pause, taking a deep breath in to give yourself courage.

“But it’s just…” he trails off, and you watch as defeat takes over him.

You wonder if he ever had to fight for anyone before. If he even has it in him to do it. Though you don’t think you’d want to be with him even if he fought for you. 

Not after last night.

“It really is nothing,” he finishes, though he sounds just as unconvinced as you are and that, most of all, tells you that it is truly over.

You and Jeon Jungkook weren’t meant to be together in this universe after all. You should have known - you saw the signs and chose to ignore them. Maybe because your pink-tinted glasses coloured the red in such a way that it became the most beautiful colour you’d ever seen.

But now that the glasses are gone, you think, were you just blindsided all along?

“Have fun on the rest of your trip, Jungkook,” you whisper.

“Peach…”

“Do not ever call me that again,” you say softly, but you mean it.

You can’t afford him calling you that.

He tries your name, but you shake your head no. He curses underneath his breath, clearly unaware that he did it loud enough for you to hear, and then says, “So that’s it?”

You shrug, like you don’t care at all when in reality it’s taking everything in you not to break down right now. “That’s it,” you confirm. “We don’t even have to tell Tae.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Okay.

Everything, crashing down into a single flat word. Everything, ending on a note of heartbreak that rings and rings in your head until you think you might go insane.

You should have known you weren’t the muse behind the song, behind the poem and the art. You’d always been meant to break away, weren’t you?

You don’t remember hanging up. All you remember is staring at your reflection on the screen, and the sound of your breaking heart in the background.

*****

The thing with the end, it’s that it never really is just the end. The end of something is the beginning of something else, and sometimes the new beginning is better, sometimes it’s worse.

You think beginning your life post-Jungkook in a club might be good. The distraction of the flashing lights, loud music and alcohol is an effective one, yet you know it for what it truly is: escapism.

You don’t know how Ria and Nabi convinced you. You do like clubbing, but Nabi hates it. So maybe it was the fact that she suggested it, that she said it’d be fun that made you want to go. You even invited Yoongi, but Yoongi said he wanted to have a night in, so it’s just you girls tonight, and you reckon it has to be enough.

You follow Nabi past the coat check, waiting for Ria as she drops off her own jacket. A few seconds later Ria meets with you, and she hooks arms with you both to head towards the bar.

“Let’s get some shots before we go dancing,” she suggests, almost screaming so that you can hear her over the sound of the music.

“Dancing?” Nabi lets out.

“What do you think clubbing is for?” Ria teases, and you offer a half-hearted smile at that.

In other circumstances you likely would have laughed, but a smile is a good start, no?

“I don’t know,” Nabi grumbles.

You reach the bar, and you stand behind a group of four guys who are also waiting for shots, or so it seems. You glance at them, and your gaze meets that of the one who’s leaning against the bar, looking your way. You politely smile out of reflex, looking away a second later as you try to focus on Ria and Nabi’s now surprisingly heated discussion about the pros and cons of clubbing.

You think clubbing is good. Clubbing is empty mind, busy body, and right now it’s all you need.

It’s all you need not to run back to the Facetime call this afternoon, and the finality of Jungkook’s path in your life.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Though your heart is aching - it hasn’t stopped since this afternoon - you’ve been good at ignoring it. At pretending that you’re fine, that you didn’t lose something that mattered to you far more than you should have let it to begin with.

You don’t think Jungkook deserved the devotion you had for him. Not when lying to you, when refusing to tell you the whole truth is more important to him. And you’ve gone down a spiral after the call. Stalking Gabrielle on social media, understanding why he kissed her in the first place.

If you were even a little bit gay, you too would probably want to kiss her. She’s attractive, elegantly so, in the same way that all people who are born into old money are. She’s from the same universe as Jungkook, has a beautiful smile and striking green eyes that you can only envy. Her hair - somewhere between blonde and red - is also amazing, probably because she has the money to maintain a good hair care and skincare routine.

You do have your own skincare routine too, but nothing that having a lot of money can pay for.

“Hey, you girls want shots?” one of the guys says, mostly in your direction.

Maybe because Ria and Nabi are still bickering next to you.

“Huh…” you let out, heart momentarily stumbling in your chest as you look at Ria next to you.

You nudge her, and she finally acknowledges the guy, staring him up and down once before smiling her ‘I’m on a mission’ smile. It works right away: the guy smirks, extending a hand for her to shake.

“I’m Jacob.”

She unhooks her arms from yours and Nabi’s, shaking his hand. “Ria. And this is Y/n and Nabi.”

You nod your head and wave weakly in greetings, and Jacob mirrors the motion before setting his gaze on Ria again. 

“So, do you want them shots or not?” he asks.

She tilts her head to the side prettily. “Sure, we’ll take them.”

And that’s how you find yourself downing shots with guys that look straight out of a frat - Jacob, Chad, Elijah and Lucas. Lucas is the one who smiled at you earlier, and he easily finds his way to your side as you drink the shots.

After that first round, Lucas suggests a second one, and you all end up downing Jaggerbombs, the sweetness of the Red Bull contrasting the taste of the alcohol in just the right way. Ria suggests heading to the dancefloor next, and no amount of pleading gaze from you and Nabi makes her change her mind.

She truly is on a mission, and you think it might be partly because she needs to stop thinking about Seokjin. Not that you would ever tell it to her face though.

You end up dancing with Nabi, both of you slightly uncomfortable with the unknown males. In another world, you’d probably be dancing with Lucas, indulging in his company, but right now the last thing you want is to sidle close to a man.

Pretending isn’t making you forget how, just a little under a week ago, you were breathing Jungkook in like he could be the oxygen in your lungs. 

You tense. You fucking tense, and Nabi immediately notices, leaning in to say in your ear, “Everything okay?”

You shrug. “I’d do without the guys, but I guess it was to be expected with Ria in a club.”

Nabi winces, offering you an apologetic look. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You even snort at the way her features fall in disappointment. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” she admits.

The song ends, blending into another one, and you pull her to the side as a girl walks behind her, parting your group.

“Do you want to go to the bathroom?” you suggest.

She pouts, looking up to the ceiling as if in deep thought, then nods her head enthusiastically. “Yup, let’s do that.”

You chuckle, and then you pull her towards Ria. Ria glares at you when you pull her away from Jacob, yet leans in when you make to speak to her.

“We’re going to the bathroom,” you tell her.

You don’t give her a choice. You grab her hand, pulling her behind you as Nabi leads the way to the bathroom. 

The music isn’t as loud in the hallway, the red lights giving Nabi’s white top a tint that makes it just a little creepy. There’s already a line, and you stand at the end of it, turning to face Ria.

“Can we do no guys tonight?” you ask her.

Her mouth falls open. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure her.

She still looks apologetic, and it lingers for longer than just the bathroom trip - you have to pull her in a dance after you’ve taken more shots for her to stop looking forlorn. She’s reluctant at first, pouting, and you pull her closer.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m really sorry,” she repeats. “I’m so dumb sometimes.”

You offer her a scolding look. “You’re not. Besides, it’s mostly for Nabi that I asked that.”

Ria glances towards Nabi, who’s dancing next to you but completely oblivious to the conversation. “Right.”

And that is that. Ria recovers her playful mood, and you dance and laugh and drink with your friends. You think Jungkook slips out of your thoughts on the fourth shot you down, and by the sixth, your mind is swimming in way too much drunk bliss to even feel the ache in your chest. It’s liberating - you feel like a bird who’s flying for the first time, and so you cling to the feeling as best as you can.

Nabi decides to leave before you and Ria, Namjoon picking her up on his way back from Yoongi’s place, where they apparently gamed together. You don’t care - you’re drunk enough to want to ride into the sunrise, to party until it’s light outside and the world has forgotten about your existence.

Luckily for you, Ria is one for such parties as well, and so you dance and dance and dance, taking another shot ten minutes after Nabi left. 

This time, when Ria pulls you back towards the group of guys, you follow her grudgingly. You even let the dancing tide push you closer to Lucas, who leans in and says, “Hey you”, in a way that makes you think maybe true solace lies in another person’s lips.

It’s early. Far too early. But you’re also far too drunk to care, and so when he pulls you closer to dance with him, you let him do so. You let him sway your hips to the music, let him lean his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in the same air, and the rhythm is everlasting.

You sigh in contentment. You’re back in New York, back at that DJ show you’d attended with Jungkook. It’s his hands you imagine on your hips, his breath that you breathe in, his sweaty forehead that rests against yours.

It’s him. Because it’ll always be him.

He kisses you, and you kiss him back, hands grabbing at his shirt. He kisses you all wrong - the lack of piercings a stark contrast to your usual.

It hurts. It hurts, and the hole in your chest gapes open wide.

You pull away from the kiss, eyes snapping open to see Lucas’s startled face. His eyes are brown, but they’re not Jungkook’s shade. And he doesn’t have that small scar on his left cheek, or the eyebrow piercing. He doesn’t have the mole under his mouth, or the doe eyes that you fell in love with.

“Shit,” you let out.

“Did I do something I shouldn’t?” Lucas asks, and he lets go of you immediately, as if you burn him.

“No,” you reassure him, yet panic is swelling in you, like the tide when the moon is high. “I just…” You shake your head, letting out a sound you know to be a broken sob. “Just got out of a relationship.”

“Babe,” Ria says from behind you, stepping in between you and Lucas. “Everything okay?”

“I want to go home,” you tell her.

She doesn’t know that you mean to him. She can’t know - you can’t even allow yourself to think so. Yet you can’t help it, the alcohol inhibiting the control you had on your emotions until you’re crying on the dancefloor, just a heartbroken twenty-something who might have flown too close to the sun.

“Please,” you add when she doesn’t react, just looks at your tears like they are foreign entities.

But then she snaps out of her drunken daze, and she pulls you away from the dancefloor, away from the reminders of Jungkook. She helps you get your coat while you sniffle to the side, your eyes red-rimmed. And then she helps you get into the Uber home, holding your hand all the way.

She walks you up to your apartment, but the second you’re inside Jungkook is everywhere, and you need the loneliness. You need to be alone, you need to be able to indulge one last time. So you reassure her, tell her that you’ll be fine, that you can hang out tomorrow, and then you push her out the door.

It takes you thirty minutes to shower and take your makeup off, and another five minutes trying to convince yourself that you should sleep in your bed.

You lose the fight, and you fall asleep in Jungkook’s bed, crying softly as his scent wraps around you like the embrace of a ghost gone too soon.

Tuesday, May 7th 

You’ve slept in Jungkook’s bed every day since Saturday, chasing him like you used to chase cars around his head. This morning, when you woke up, you made the bed, took one last look into this part of your life and then closed the door behind you like you’ll ever forget the hours you spent tangled up with him, fast asleep or losing yourself in him.

He’s coming back today. Taehyung is coming back today, and though you’d once wished for Tae’s return, now you’re dreading it. You don’t want to see him, don’t want to see Jungkook, or Jimin, or Sera, or even Ariane. 

You want to rewind time to the week before Jungkook left, but life doesn’t work that way, does it?

You finish work late, a while after they’ve returned from their trip. And maybe you sit in the car for a long time also, dreading the moment you’ll have to go in.

[2:39 pm] bröther👽: just landed [3:47 pm] bröther👽: it was a shitshow but we’re home [3:48 pm] bröther👽: ari is going to stay at ours for a few days [3:48 pm] bröther👽: we’re planning dinner? are tacos ok [4:31 pm] bröther👽: yeah so it’ll be tacos

You haven’t replied to any of the texts. You want to tell him that you’re good, that you’ll spend the evening locked up in your room anyway, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. In some twisted way, you want to see Jungkook, want to see if this is affecting him the same way that it’s affecting you.

You reckon that might make you a bad person.

You sigh, leaning your head back against the headrest. A car passes in the street, its headlights illuminating you for a few seconds before it’s gone, the dim neon light of the streetlights returning. 

You’re aware you can’t stay here forever. You have to go home, have to walk up the stairs and see Jungkook again. And so you take a deep breath, close your eyes for a few seconds so that you can steel yourself, and then you throw the car door open.

You can’t stop, can’t slow down. So you practically jog up the stairs after you’ve slammed the car door shut, locking it over your shoulder. And then you burst into the apartment, hands trembling as you still there to notice Taehyung and Ariane in the living room, lounging on the couch.

Jungkook’s bedroom door is closed, and you’re not sure if it’s a relief.

“Y/n!” Taehyung bursts, and he gets up from the couch to jog to you, immediately engulfing you in a bear hug.

You hug him back, fists closing around handfuls of his shirt, and you hide your face in his shoulder so that he can’t see the tears pricking at your eyes.

“Tae,” you whisper back. “How have you been?”

“Good,” he answers. “Happy to be back though.”

He pulls away, grabbing your purse from your hand so that he can drop it on the table by the door. You busy yourself with taking off your shoes, feeling shy under Ariane’s watchful gaze. She smiles at you when you look her way, and you smile back, offering her a small, polite nod. She gets up from the couch, walking your way so that Taehyung can properly introduce you.

She’s nice. She’s a warm person, and you feel the kindness oozing from her after just a few sentences exchanged. You know you’ll like her, and you’re relieved Taehyung finally found someone to make him forget his ex from high school.

As Ariane insists on cooking tacos for you all, you think she’s far better than Taehyung’s ex anyway. You do feel bad that she’s cooking at your apartment, but she says she loves cooking, and that you should just enjoy your brother’s return for now.

As she cooks, you and Taehyung sit at the table, telling each other stories from the last few months. Evidently you avoid mentioning Jungkook, instead focusing on what was going on in your friend group. Taehyung pulls Ariane into the conversation once in a while, and she admits she chose to do a semester in Paris because her grandfather was French, and he’s the one who chose her name.

It’s a comfortable conversation, a moment that almost makes you forget that Jungkook is hiding in his room, doing whatever it is that he’s doing. Thinking about him makes your heart strain in your chest, and you mindlessly massage the spot, as if that might chase the ache away.

What does help is when you decide to get up to actually help Ariane, and you take care of setting the table and preparing the lettuce. It busies your mind a little, and though you’re still speaking with Ariane and Taehyung, you manage not to let your thoughts wander back to a certain doe-eyed man.

You’re sitting down to eat when Taehyung finally mentions the elephant in the room, saying, “Should we ask JK if he wants anything?”

Ariane chuckles. “Feel free if you want to deal with him.”

You hope they don’t hear you gulp, and you innocently say, “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s been weird for a few days,” Taehyung answers. “He’s been short with everyone, and he refuses to talk when we ask him what’s wrong.” Taehyung pauses, furrowing his brow. “Why?”

You shrug. “Just wondering.”

Can he hear your heart beating out of your chest? You definitely can, and it’s pumping in your ears, making you feel dizzy.

The knowledge that Jungkook hasn’t been doing well hurts far more than you expected it would. It’s like you just got stabbed right in the heart, and you’re bleeding out where you’re sitting at the table, on Taehyung’s left.

You avert your gaze, looking at the bowls on the table, eyes focusing on the steam rising from the cooked ground beef. You act like you don’t care - you grab a taco shell, and immediately start to prepare your meal, while a strange silence stretches. 

It’s uncomfortable, awkward, and Taehyung flees by getting up and heading to Jungkook’s room. You hear him knocking on the door, and you can’t help but strain your ears as you try to hear what they’re saying.

“You hungry?” Taehyung says after you’ve heard the door opening.

“Not really,” Jungkook replies, and hearing his voice is shattering, wrecking, like the car you were riding just smashed into a wall at full speed.

Your eyes fill with tears, which you furiously blink away hoping that Ariane doesn’t notice. She’s luckily looking towards the hallway though, and you successfully clear your gaze before she turns again.

“I think he’s upset because of Gaby,” she comments as she starts making her own taco. “He started being like this when she stopped hanging out with us.”

Right. Ariane is Gabrielle’s friend. Her best friend even, if what Taehyung said is true. 

You’re not so sure anymore if you’ll be able to get along with Ariane after all.

“Ah,” you flatly let out. “That sucks.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “He’ll get over it. Gaby said he’s the one that broke up with her anyway.”

You gulp around the lump in your throat, and though your hunger has entirely vanished, you bite into the taco so that you don’t have to talk.

It works, and you eat in silence as Taehyung walks back into the room, exchanging a knowing glance with Ariane. He sits back down between the two of you, and then he’s making his taco too, and though the atmosphere is awkward, you don’t have to partake in any more conversation.

You force yourself to eat a second taco, knowing Taehyung would tell you off if you don’t considering you usually eat at least three, if not more. It’s sickening, and you’re on your last bite when Jungkook appears in the door frame.

Your gazes immediately meet, and everything seems to stop around you, to disappear from existence. There’s just you and him, and you take in his dishevelled appearance, the dark circles under his eyes and the hollowness of his gaze.

All light has gone out from his eyes, replaced by shadows and darkness you recognize far too well.

They’re haunting your own eyes, too.

“I’m heading home for the summer,” he tells no one in particular, though his gaze doesn’t leave yours.

Like he’s trying to take everything in one last time, trying to commit you to memory like you’re doing with him right now.

Though you don’t want this to be a memory. You want to remember his lips on your skin and the light in his eyes and the way he’d always hold you close. You want to remember what it felt like to be his – or to believe you were. You don’t want any of the heartbreak, but it takes over everything, and your gaze drops to the table.

“What?” Taehyung lets out. “Right now?”

Jungkook nods. “My father needs help with his company.”

“We literally got home like six hours ago,” Taehyung points out. “Shouldn’t you get some sleep first?”

“I’m good,” Jungkook says. “It’s not that long of a drive.”

It actually is. It’s nearly four hours, and you highly doubt Jungkook’s father asked for help. Or maybe he did. Maybe Jungkook lied about his strained relationship with his family to get you to…

You stop the train of thoughts. He didn’t lie. You were there, and you saw it with your own two eyes. 

You force yourself to meet his gaze again - his eyes haven’t left you. He offers you the saddest smile you’ve ever seen on his lips, and his gaze fills with words unsaid. You can almost taste them on the sharp inhale of breath you take, and you want to tell him to stay.

You want to tell him that you’re in love with him. But it’s too little too late, and so you swallow the confession, shove it down until you can forget its existence.

He nods, like he knows then that you truly are over, and then he says, “I’ll see you guys soon.”

You watch him go - your heart goes with him, and you feel like you’ll cave in on the emptiness in your chest. 

Taehyung follows him to the door, leaving you alone with Ariane. This time, she doesn’t miss the agony on your features, and she asks, “Are you okay?”

You sit back in your chair, nodding once, yet you answer, “I don’t know, I feel sick.”

She offers you a kind smile. “You don’t need to eat anymore,” she reassures you. “You’ve worked all day, maybe you just need some rest.”

“Maybe,” you repeat flatly. “Let me just clean up the table.”

She stops you with a hand on your wrist. “Tae’s not done, I’ll get him to take care of it. Just go to bed.”

You nod curtly, and you hope she doesn’t see the silver lining your gaze, threatening to spill over. You do put your plate away in the sink, to be washed later, and then you head to your bedroom, seeking the cool reprieve of your own safe haven.

You can’t help yourself, glancing towards the door as you leave the kitchen. Jungkook is already outside, and Taehyung is speaking with him leaning against the door frame. You think it’s a relief you can’t see Jungkook from here - you’d probably have broken down right then and there, and you doubt you would have survived the embarrassment. 

You lean against the door of your bedroom once you’re finally in, and you take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. When Jungkook’s pained features appear behind your eyelids, you immediately open your eyes again.

There’s a box on your bed, next to a folded piece of paper. Curiosity replaces the agony in your chest momentarily…

Until you see your name on the folded piece of paper, and realize what this is.

Tears fill your eyes so quickly this time around that you can’t stop them, and they fall freely on your cheeks as you take a wobbly step forward. 

He’s left you a letter. And the box is clearly a jewelry box - there’s something so strange about the sight that it breaks your heart all over again, until the throbbing in your chest is so stark you barely can feel the paper as your hands reach for it, unfolding it carefully.

Your vision is blurry behind your tears, and as you see he’s written lines and lines of words for you, you let out a broken sob as you sit on your bed. 

It takes you five minutes before you’re actually able to read, and you read it so many times you think you know the letter by heart.

Hey peach, I know you asked me not to call you that. I promise this is the last time, and I’ll never bother you with that name again. I just didn’t know how to start this letter… I hope you’ve been doing okay. The last few days have been shit for me, and I feel really fucking guilty for everything. I wish it’d never happened, I wish I’d come home to you so that we could tell Taehyung about us… but as you said, there is no us anymore. Thank you for the few months we spent together. You taught me a lot about myself, and I really enjoyed spending time with you. I’ll look back fondly on the memories I have of us. I really want to apologize. For everything that I did. I wish I’d never gone to Paris. I’m sorry that I left, and that I let old promises to Gabrielle ruin what was between us. I’m sorry I wasn’t more upfront about how I felt for you too. It was all just so new to me, and I thought we had a long while ahead of us to figure everything out… I’m sorry that I was wrong. I don’t expect this letter to change anything. I just wanted to let you know how I feel, and I don’t think I would be able to speak to you face to face. Maybe that makes me a coward, but it is what it is. I got you a gift in Paris, before things went to hell. I couldn’t bring myself to return it or keep it, so I hope you enjoy it. You don’t have to keep it either, I just wanted you to still have it. Finally, I hope you have a nice summer. I hope you have fun, and I hope you find someone that treats you the way that you deserve. Someone Taehyung would approve of hopefully! You deserve it more than you can imagine. Take care, Jungkook

Your gaze is blurry behind the tears again, yet you manage to blink them away. You think, maybe you’ve run out of tears. Maybe you’ll go dry and desiccated like you died in the desert, and you think, maybe you deserve it.

You’ve never received a love letter. And though Jungkook didn’t confess, you feel like perhaps you’re holding his heart in your hands like he’s holding yours in his. Perhaps he did care for you, perhaps Gabrielle really was just a momentary mistake.

You take a deep breath in, and though it’s shaky, it does ease some ache in your heart. Not everything - the hole is still gaping wide open, and you reckon only time can fix it.

You put the letter down, picking up the jewelry box instead. Your hands are still trembling, yet you manage to open it to reveal a thin, shiny gold chain. The pendant that sits on the velvety cushion breaks you all over again, yet you don’t hesitate before putting it on.

Your fingers, suddenly steady, secure the necklace around your neck, and then your hand falls to the pendant. 

The peach sits light in your palm, a reminder of what your relationship with Jungkook should have been.

Prev | Chapter 12.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

:'''''') the letter right? Did I cry writing it? Yes I did. Did I cry the fifteen times I've reread it? Yes, I also did. What did you guys think of this chapter?:')

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[ellabscrush]

— play with my pussy, not my heart.

a/n; this has been an idea in my head for awhile but kept scrapping it, hopefully this is alr. btw my requests are opennn.

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

cw; smut, mdni, fingering, reader has a nervous habit that might triggering, dom!reader, flirting, language, slap kink once, arguing, abby is a dick here lol, trust issues, angst?? lmk if i missed any!!

sypnosis; your well known girlfriend who has a reputation of being a player finally decides to settle into a serious relationship with you. aware of your girlfriend’s past, abby’s project partner comes to intervene with your thoughts & worries. back and forth arguing isn’t going anywhere, you had to show her other ways on who not to mess with.

— ˚ෆ ⋅˚ —

“it’s just a small study sesh baby, nat even agreed to do it at our apartment!” abby walks towards you as she hovers over, “so no need to worry, ‘kay?”

she caresses your face and pecked your lips.

nat, aka natasha ferreira, is apart of western university’s dance team. you’ve seen her around before wearing white flowy skirts and layered jewelry. you once heard her talking about how her parents got a brand new bmw for her quinceañera.

i guess there was nothing to hate about her, other than the fact she is gorgeous and very talented with her dancing. this was just another one of your stupid overthinking.. right?

“okay abs.. thank you,” you gave her a soft smile.

“that’s my best girl.”

besides, trust was the thing you both had been working on these past months. dating abby was going to be a challenge. you knew it and your friends knew it. though they weren’t too supportive with her intentions at first, you were convinced abby could change her acts if she reallyy tried.

three knocks suddenly interrupted your little conversation. abby sprinted to the door and opens it to find a joyful figure in front of her.

nat gasps, “abby! this is my first time seeing you outside of uni,” she smiles with excitement.

abby smiled back and leaned for a hug, leaving you to stare at them with a lump of jealousy in your throat.

— ˚ෆ ⋅˚ —

one minute you were next to abby, and then the second the brunette is touching forearms besides her with those stupid doe eyes, glossed lips, and weirdly seductive black platform heels. god she’s annoying.

“your handwriting is shit!” the brunette teased, giggling as she leans to abby.

“yeah?” your girlfriend chuckles, “this is what you get for choosing me as your partner.”

nat shrugs, “well then i can deal with it.”

you tried so hard to not be bitter. really you did. but each time you glance at the two across the kitchen island, you swore the both of them were doing this shit on purpose.

sudden eye contacts with you everytime they laughed together, unrelated conversations, and some flirty remarks. oh, and not to mention the obvious footsies that was happening under the table. like you can literally see it.

“fuck me..” you muttered.

“what’s that princess?” abby asks you, the nickname made nat changed her demeanor quickly.

you turned back to meet nat’s eyes, then to abby, and back to nat.

“nothin’ love,” you put a convincing smile.

three hours long night full of giggling and jokes you didn’t even get later on.. you find yourself yelling back and forth in your shared bedroom with abby who literally couldn’t understand where you were coming from.

abby groans, “goddamnit we talked about this!”

“i never did anything to her, you were literally infront of us,” she raised her voice.

“abs, she deadass rubbed her foot on your leg multiple times and leaned to you everytime you both laughed..”you went on, getting more frustrated by the minute.

“well.. we’re just having a little fun, is that romantic to you?” abby asks with her hand crossed to her chest, her facial expression screams ‘you’re being crazy.’

you were exhausted trying to find ways to communicate without bringing up abby’s past, like you both agreed to. however, your concerns shouldn’t supposed to end in argument. you shook your head, letting out a long sigh and sat on the edge of the bed.

“i- i don’t know abby,” you stammered, “i guess it is romantic when they do the things i do to you.. since i am yours.”

you gazed down at your feet with teary eyes while unaware as you were digging your nails into your thighs. this was a nervous habit of yours in which you don’t realize you have been doing it for so long. your girlfriend, however, does.

she slowly walks closer to the edge of the bed and kneeled down to your eye level.

“you are mine.” her voice sounding more reassuring and softer like you could faint at that moment.

“i thought you could’ve been better for me..” you sniffled

abby panicks once she realizes you were crying, “baby no.. fuck i’m trying..”

“trying?” you looked up.

the blonde sighs, “will. i will be better.”

she moved your hands from your thighs with one hand, while other pushes your head closer to hers for a deep kiss. more so, a sloppy one. she wipes your cheeks and the kisses started from sweet, to mean in a heartbeat. abby stroked you waist, making you clench you thighs together.

abby smirks, “you turned on princess?” she asks and you just whimpered in response, “fuck.. i gotta wake up early tomorrow.”

knowing your girlfriend has plans tomorrow morning, this sparked an idea in your head. abby can become a submissive mess when you’re in charge. so you decide to show her other ways who not to play with, and whose pussy she can only play with!

“so?” you replied in between kisses, “don’t want me to scream your name tonight?”

.. besides, making her miss out a big free brunch with her friends the next day will be an added punishment you thought.

the blonde smiles and throws you to the middle of the bed, causing you to squeal from the unexpected move. abby aggressively pulls down your shorts and underwear. your wet slick was ready for her.

“look at you all ready for me,” she circles her thumb on your lips slowly, “gotta fuck that jealousy out quick or else i’ll be late tomorrow, princess.”

you smiled maliciously in response as you bite your lip. abby then shoves her two fingers inside your mouth, “open.”

she pumps her ring and middle finger in and out. being all soaked in your drool making it wet enough to fit in your pussy. the sounds of your whimpers made her go crazy. you shut your eyes feeling abby’s cold, drenched fingers sliding inside.

your body shuttered, “s-shit baby..”

the sounds of your wet pussy is practically making abby drool.

“feels so fuckin’ good, keep going,” you ordered keeping a strong eye contact with the blonde, “just like that..”

“that fucking pussy,” abby whispers, you licked your lips looking down at her fat fingers going in and out, “you needy whore,” she degrades.

her words were like fire and heaven at the same time. you wouldn’t be so pissed off at her if she hadn’t let nat be all over her for three hours straight. now it’s your job to remind her whose pussy she can fuck. and the only one.

you let out an airy laugh, “i’m the whore hm? atleast i wasn’t flirting with another bitch,” she looks up at your face. you were trying to keep your composure while being mercilessly fucked.

you sat yourself up with elbows on the mattress, “you proud of yourself huh?” just inches away from her stupid smirk.

“faster,” you demanded.

she curled her fingers inside of you, hitting your g spot like a pro. you can help but let out a moan and rocked your hips in rhythm. that smirk of hets turned to an amazed expression once she hears your juices sloshing around.

“fuck baby,” abby was practically drenched under her pjs wanting to taste you, “p-please need to taste you.”

“nuh uh, you’re being mean all day. you don’t, f-fuck, deserve me.”

abby was desperate just by hearing you speak like this. you’re such an angel around her normally, like when she first met you, you were different than the other girls she had met before. she fell for you. but damn that mouth of yours was killer in bed.

the rare times you controlled her was only when you were pissed off at your girlfriend for the amount of disrespectful flirting that was happening in front of you, or not giving you updates on what she’s doing with her girl friends. however, you can’t blame yourself for having mixed trust issues knowing how many girlfriends abby has had.

maybe you’ve been too patient with her? letting shit go so easily?

“shit- c’mere” you groaned and kissed her viciously at the thought of her fucking another girl. one hand around her neck while the other grips her loose hair.

“mmm, keep going..” you moaned in her mouth.

abby rubs your clit, feeling your juices squirting all over her thighs, “p-please baby.. lemme clean you up” she begs to lick your folds but you resisted.

you slapped her cheek, her needy face turning red.

“shut up,” you growled, “better stop messing around.. i deserve fuckin’ better.”

abby whimpers, putting her head back in frustration. she then looks down to see you, a dripping pussy drunk mess. her fingers were sticky and all tired. however, she’s not stopping until she screams your name.

“atleast say my name when you cum,” she pleaded, “please.”

her voice made you feel every type of way. your thighs starting to heat up, a familiar feeling as you have had fucked yourself with the thought of her in the past. pounding noises as you thrust your hips on to her fingers harder puts many heated scenes in your head.

“abby.. oh my god- m’ fucking cumming..”

“that’s my girl, ride daddy’s dick,” she encourages you.

an orgasm was washing over you, “abby you’re mine. fuck- ah-“ you burried your face in the crooks of her neck.

“all yours baby, i’m sorry.” she kissed all over your shoulder, genuinely feeling bad that she didn’t give you the reassurance you wanted earlier.

“abs- fuckfuckfuck,” you screamed out, screaming her name loud enough the apartment below could hear you, “i hate you so much..”

“i love you princess.. love it when i make you cum..” she admits. your legs shaking like crazy, feeling overstimulated.

you know how that goes..

once you orgasmed, you let abby suck her fingers, tasting every bit of yourself. and just like that, you were laying down with a fast pounding in your chest. she caresses your stomach and kissed all over your body, still needing to feel you more. but knew you needed her the most.

“hey, you okay?” she asked softly, looking at your sleepy eyes. she just wanted the both of you to be good. “i’m fine.. just a little tired. i feel like you don’t know how badly it hurts me to see you purposely being all over people like that.”

abby sighs, knowing she fucked up. she didn’t want to be that person anymore. she loved you, really, but her actions just aren’t the thinkable. you both sleep skin to skin while she stays up to watch you fall deep in your sleep.

“i love you, angel.” she whispers. feeling all the guilt in her chest, your girlfriend pulls you in closer.

of course, she had to make it up to you the next day so she cancelled all plans. it’s not like she got up in time anyway.

well now you both know she won’t ever be doing that shit again.

— ˚ෆ ⋅˚ —

[astronnova]

cringe is dead right? anyway made up some danny phantom ocs. say hi to carly and carla, aka lee and la. do you get it? because the vampiress carmilla? do you get it? do you get the joke. do you ge- [gets shot]

i wanted to combine some of my favorite tropes for these two. i looove battle twins in media especially when they're side characters. like the twins from the book of life or something. i love battle maids/battle nuns too so. theres that. i also thought that they'd make some fun minions of vlad's. anyway heres a lot of headcanons and their story. to me. in my head.

instead of vlad's estate being a literal castle, to go with his vampire and gothic themeing instead i thought it would be badass as hell if he lived in a refurbished cathedral. he's over the top enough for it.

lee and la were twins who werent the best people, tho certainly not the worst, kind of middle of the road, when they eventually joined the church and became nuns to turn their lives around. though their old lives catch up to them and they're murdered in the church one night. their deaths causes the cathedral to be condemned and abandoned. a couple decades later, the dairy king buys the property and refurbishes it into a manor that he lives in until he passes, which is then where vlad steps in

vlad's a powerful ghost, and the way im assuming haunting works is that powerful ghosts claim territory to.... haunt yknow? dannys having territory spats with other ghosts because amity is his home/haunt, that kind of thing lol. so vlad's already OP as hell, by the time he's become rich enough to buy the manor he's highly respected as a millionaire and highly feared as plasmius (the wisconsin ghost? he probably has a cool moniker people use LOL). im sure vlad had no problem forcefully expelling ghosts from his territory and.... destroying them? second killing? who knows man lol afterlife makes that difficult to explain.

vlad makes quick work of getting rid of any ghosts that try to stay in the manor the second he moves in. lee and la arent the most powerful ghosts in the area, but they are the most prominent since their murder caused a lot of folklore to surround the church, and theyre the most attached to it and dont want to leave it behind.

they're also scared enough of plasmius that i imagine they just cry and beg and grovel at vlads feet begging him to let them stay and they'll do anything. vlad atp i feel would do all of the "dirty work" himself when it comes to ghost stuff, so he thinks maybe they wouldnt be so bad to take on as errand girls. so he does, he lets them stay under the condition they do whatever he tells them to whenever he says. they agree instantly

vlad in the show is def not above manipulating, threatening, or paying off others to do dirty work for him, so i think itd be cool or smth to have lee and la be the ones that were first added to the plasmius payroll. and then the buzzards, and the others, etc.

itd be funny i think that they're reoccuring side kicks that are this mix of like. team rocket but not as incompetent, but they are kind of goofy. they annoy the hell out of vlad when he's near them though, which has become more often since i think to pass them off to other people he'd act like they're his secretaries or something. or like their job and relation towards vlad changes everytime we see them like how team rocket always have different disguises LOOOL. tho they prob have to cover up more and stuff to not look... yknow... dead. i like to think ppl in danny phantom can be more or less sensitive to spiritual stuff, so the more sensitive you are the more lee and la would cause your creep factor to go off.

so for bitter reunions they probably dont do much except protect the buzzard ghosts for phantom and then skedaddle when plasmius shows up to fight him. they probably act as vlads "hired help" for throwing the reunion and jack makes a horrible first impression on both of them somehow. idk i just think itd be really funny if they hated jack and maddie HAHA.

idk to me vlad has a "scar and the hyenas" from the lion king vibe with them. hes like "god im surrounded by idiots" everytime he hears them speak

though i guess one important thing to note is that theyre Not his daughters! the whole point with these two is to emphasize the fact that plasmius is lonely. danny has two friends that, despite danny's immense power, are all equal. they love eachother, look out for eachother and care for eachother no matter what. lee and la may liven up the room whenever they're around, but they're ultimately scared of vlad and stick around for their own sake. over the years they've probably come to like him some, but they're still driven by fear. they're not equals, theyre underlings.

[potatomountain]

C:IU Chapter 1

Act One: Chapter One

Masterlist | Next

Pairing: Poly 0t8 Ateez x fem reader AU: Mafia/detective Genre: 18+ poly romance, action Word Count: 3.5k Summary: "Not the same" Warnings: 18+, mentions of drunken sex, attempted kiss, triggers, panic attack, suggestive AN: Dividers and banner made by me @potatographics. Usual beta readers tagged in masterlist! No editing done!

There was a sense of nostalgia as your phone rang for the dozenth time in the last five minutes, knowing who it was before looking at the screen. With a smile you brought the screen to your ear, nearly avoiding one of the bystanders on the sidewalk. “Hi Ji.” “Finally you pick up! Where are you? You said you would be here ten minutes ago!”

You laughed at the frantic voice on the other side, having missed him. “The distance was a little more than I thought so I left later than I should. I’m walking up now, is he in?”

There was a moment of silence, some shuffling, and then a sigh. “He is and he’s more frantic than I am! He thinks you stood us up.” “Now why would I do that?” You mused, stepping up to the S.K Unit. “He knows I just love him.” The bitterness was still there, no matter what.

Even if you were the one who opted for this. Who asked for this meeting.

Well you did that out of bitterness too.

“I’m here and coming in.” You announced before hanging up and pushing into the familiar precinct.The familiar uniform at the desk, staring up at you in shock before they scrambled to greet you.

Now you didn’t think you looked that different. Was it the outfit?

You weren’t in your old fitted suits of black and white. Hair was colored and shorter, and you were wearing more makeup than you used to but that last bit was a habit by now. Was it the low cut top? The tight mini skirt or the lace stockings? 

You’ve been wearing such things for some time now you hadn’t realized that your old unit would gawk at your appearance. And boy did they gawk.

The second you stepped back in the familiar room with lined desks, heels clicking to a stop with finality, your old unit looked in your direction. Most of them at least.

It was your old Captain who you stared down, capturing his gaze with your own and tilting your head curiously as his eyes skimmed down your length. He swallowed hard.

Good, rub it in his face what he lost.

Smiling sweetly, you finally turned your attention to Jisung and Changbin that flanked you, the latter swooping you up into a hug. “God Damn you look amazing!”

Playfully you swatted at his arm, smile turning coy. “Yeah? I don’t have as many restrictions with my current work so I’ve really branched out. Believe it or not, I do have a gun on me, and not my purse.” You gave a little twirl just to show off the fit some more.

“It’s in the boots right? Otherwise-” Jisung made a face, shaking his head before he pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him happily, truly having missed him since you had barely talked to him since the night of the club.

It had been so long, and so much had happened, you felt a little bad for ignoring them but it hadn’t been safe. 

As if you had time anyways, even your sweet lovers complaining they didn't get to see you.

With a sigh you pulled away from them both, smiling and waving at the two youngest that were in the room, just to have one attached to your waist in the next second. “Hey there Innie. You doing well without me?”

“No.” He buried his face into the crook of your neck, showing his age as the youngest.

“It hasn’t been the same without you. Are you going to come back? It’s been months.” Seungmin chimes in from right behind Jeongin, an expression on his features you weren’t used to, like a kicked puppy.

“She’s not.” Chan finally barked out before you could answer, his tone enough to get the others to back away and clear the way for him to approach you. “You asked to meet. Business or pleasure?”

When he looked like he wanted to bend you over the nearest object and probably hate fuck you, you couldn’t help but play coy. “Business and personal. Can we talk in your office?”

With a sharp nod he turned on his heel and headed to his office, pushing the white sleeves up to his elbows, a sign he was agitated. Good.

Stepping into his familiar office he immediately shut the blinds, motioning for you to take a seat while he shut and locked the door. You opted to stand, a fact he didn’t mention as he moved over to his desk.

“Personal first, if you don’t mind.” You kept your tone cool and nonchalant, finding it funny how the tick in his jaw and flex of his muscles no longer excited you like they used to. How many times had you fucked yourself to the mental image of his fingers inside you, his arm flexing under your own hands as you held on?

Now you imagined another hand, another arm- many of those. Some that you could vividly remember how they felt on your skin, and others you could only think about. Perhaps you'd get the courage to make those fantasies a reality soon, not liking the anxiety that bubbled up in your chest when you often thought of physical contact in that way.

I'll get over it; you told yourself for the nth time in the last several months. The fact you were here now, facing down the man that broke your heart and had betrayed you to an extent you never thought you would recover from, was proof to you that you could get over that other thing.

“Personal as in about the last time I saw you?” Chan's tone was clipped and to the point, a sign he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. “What is there to say?”

You relaxed your expression to try and appear as bored as possible. “Oh I don't know. How my best friend and the man I loved and admired sabotaged my career so they didn't have to make any personal sacrifices to their morals?” Venom still dripped in your words as your stare turned cold. “We can start there.”

“That's not the case-”

“Oh? Then what was it? I know I confessed, Chan. And then the next time you talked to me you were transferring me out. Doesn't matter why, you handled that like a fucking child.” You cut him off, sneering at the tick in his jaw. 

He barked out your name, much like he used to when he felt like you were overstepping orders or infringing on his authority. You just rolled your eyes at him, locking your hips and placing a perfectly manicured hand on the curve. “I didn't have a choice in transferring you.”

“Funny, it sounded like you suggested the transfer. Or well, you listened to Minho about it.” You snapped out, the calm and collected air around you falling fast. “But by all means, tell me how you had no choice but to transfer me. No choice not to confess. No choice not to talk to me after I did. No choice but to break me into a million pieces by ignoring me and my feelings until it was convenient for you.”

Toe to toe with him now, he was no longer keeping a cool head either, anger twisting his handsome features into a sneer. “You don't know anything. I played by the rules as much as I could. But you never think about that do you? I didn't want to keep quiet! Fuck I couldn't keep my hands off of you when you were drunk and I hated myself for that!” 

While he pushed his hair out of his face, you were flabbergasted, staring up with wide eyes. “What… what do you mean? What did you do, Chan?”

He turned away, clenching his jaw hard enough the veins on his neck bulged out. “You kissed me. Left a hickey. Felt so fucking good grinding up on me. I didn't fuck you. But I-” Mr. Stickler for clear consent and rules couldn't meet your eyes as he admitted, to him, his greatest sin. “You tasted so good, Trouble. Fuck I can still picture you coming on my tongue- on my fingers. The sounds you made, the way you begged-” He lifted his gaze to yours, a heat there you were unfamiliar with.

One step closer, and you took one back. You would have found his admission hot before, the idea you had such an effect on him that he broke his own rule, but that was before.

Before that red wolf. 

You told yourself this was beforehand and it wasn't the first time you had done such things drunk, so why did it matter.

It mattered when your name fell from his lips like a heated plea. When he reached out and grabbed your hip, pulling you flush against him. It mattered when he leaned in as if to kiss you, his eyes on your lips. “Is it really impossible to go that route?”

Panic welled in your chest at how close he was. You didn't want him to touch you- you didn't want to be touched.

It was the sting of your palm that brought you back to your senses, a red mark clear on Chan's cheek as you were now several feet away from him, back against the door and breathing a bit erratic. 

He didn't move aside from glancing at you. You could see the pain in his gaze, the confusion. Perhaps now he would finally realize how much he had screwed up.

“This was a mistake.” The thought of sticking around, alone in this office, had your chest tightening more by the second. Fumbling with the door, you were tripping over your feet to get out faster.

A chorus of your name echoed around you, different levels of concern and panic. You would have run right out if not for Chan grabbing your wrist. You struggled, turning to smack him again.

Jisung swooped in for the figurative rescue, pulling Chan off you and stopping your hand from connecting again with his Captain's jaw. “Hey hey, let's talk about this.”

“I'm trying.” Chan hissed out, the tick in his jaw back. “Why did you-”

“You touched me.” You cut him off, short breaths had your chest heaving. “You don't have the right any more Chan. I told you, you lost me. I wanted to make it clear what you fucking did is unforgivable, but I wanted to work past it so that we can work together. Because despite you being an entitled, self-absorbed, goody-two-shoes asshole… you and this unit are good at your fucking jobs.” 

Shaking off Jisung's hold, you stepped back, surprised to see the two youngest flanking you and stare down Chan. Seungmin even put an arm in front of you almost protectively, another thing you did not expect. They were the last two to join and you had a friendly working relationship with them but you weren't as close as you were with Jisung or Hyunjin.

Where was the latter? And Minho? And Felix? Two of those you wanted to see more than anything.

“She has a point, Captain. about you being a self-absorbed asshole that is.” Seungmin drawled it out so easily, sparing you a concerned glance. “You don't talk to us. You make decisions without explanations, ones that affect us all. We lost the vote to keep her here, but you never told us she didn't know about it. You told us there wasn't much of a chance otherwise. It was her or us.”

“Even I regret my vote.” Changbin added on, stepping up to his Captain, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We've been a mess since she left. Hyunjin acted out until you had to suspend him. Felix has been like a shell of his former self. Minho is too busy talking to the higher ups and moving between other precincts. We haven't met our quota in months-”

“I get it.” Dejectedly, Chan's whole demeanor fell. “I fucked up.”

Some of the tension slipped out of the room then, but you were still far too tense, stepping back. “You clearly have shit to figure out. Ji, let me know when this unit is level headed for a job.” The shaking of your words gave way to your panic, but you didn't stick around to let them poke at it.

Jeongin walked you out however, silent as he fell into step next to you. You didn't protest, mostly because he didn't ask any questions. He was there as you signed yourself out and walked out the front door, only pausing when you did.

The last thing you expected stepping out of the S.K Precinct was the tall, lanky man holding a bundle of your favorite flowers in his hand, pacing as if he was nervous. “Mingi?”

His head shot up, those boba eyes you adored brimming with concern, brows pushed together even deeper at the sight of the man next to you. “Princess?”

Tears welled up behind your eyes as you stepped closer, but Jeongin was right there. “You know him?”

“He's my boyfriend.” You replied without a second thought, chest tight with emotion that was reflected on Mingi's features. The way his eyes widened a tad more, brows shooting up at your admission, and the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his full lips.

Recognition flashed across Jeongin’s own sharp fox-like features. “The one who hit Chan?” 

“Yep. What are you doing here baby?” You stepped up to him, glancing down at the flowers with a silent question.

He handed them over to you, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The way you stiffened wasn't lost on him, but he didn't address it. “I heard you were coming to see that fuck face so I came to pick you up. I got her from here.” Mingi nodded over at Jeongin, effectively dismissing him.

He hesitated a moment before turning on his heel. “Alright just- don't be afraid to reach out. We don't stand with Chan on this.” He was back inside the next moment.

Alone with Mingi, the flowers now in your hand, he smiled down at you but it was still a little tense. “Boyfriend? Really?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you instead buried your nose in the flowers. “Do you really want to question that after you brought me flowers?”

“No… you're right. Let me take you home then?” He asked, moving his arm around you but not touching. He must be able to tell how on edge you were.

You were trying to forget.

“Who says I didn't drive?” You retorted, automatically defensive from his care. It made you feel weak, like you were fragile. You knew that wasn't their intent, what they thought; you knew they were just respecting your triggers. Yet it pissed you off anyways.

“The fact you lack a license, Princess. Now for my own piece of mind I'd like to take you home.” 

You hated how easily he calmed your thoughts, proving he didn't think you were fragile but he needed it. “Fine- lead the way.” With a resigned huff you let him lead. 

Moments later you were in the passenger seat of his car, much like Wooyoung's, it looked a bit rundown on the outside but had a slick, luxurious interior. “Are these your undercover cars or something?”

“Yeah. I'll have to show you my baby though. She purrs like a kitten, made the modifications myself.” He slipped into the driver seat with ease, chair pushed back and one hand on the wheel. “Buckle up Princess.” Was the only warning you had before he was slipping into traffic with a harsh swerve.

It didn't surprise you that he was a car guy, at times taking notes of black stains on his fingertips that would last a few days. You never asked, mostly because it was in passing. You also weren't surprised he was a reckless driver.

What did surprise you was when you realized he was not heading downtown to the Pink Boa apartments you had been staying in the last few months. “Mingi? I thought you were taking me home?”

“Yeah, back to Captain's place.”

“That's not home.” You protested, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

He glanced over at you incredulously. “Of course it is. It’s home for all Pirates.” 

The surety of his words had you stumped, so instead of answering you glanced down at the flowers again. 

Right after they officially accepted you into the Pirates, you demanded to go to work. You had reached out to Haru and she set you up with one of the apartments she kept her girls in. Your legal address was still next to Mingi, this was just considered a burner apartment, one that you didn't need to stay in but you did anyways. 

Haru had been right about a woman's touch after such incidents, burying yourself into work to also keep her from probing. Were you running from what happened? Ignoring It? Yes.

It wasn't because it happened, but you hated the way it changed you. Your desire for the others was still strong, but the moment you thought of them touching you, your mind would slip. The creepy drunk men hitting on you? Also making your skin crawl.

Your ability to do your job was affected. Your relationship was strained. You felt… less.

So you pushed through it, pretending you didn't break down alone in that apartment. Pretending Yeosang didn't see any of it. You pretended the others didn't have a reason to be worried. Pretended you couldn't see Wooyoung or San because of work, despite living in the same building as them. 

Mind racing with anxiety, wondering just how you were going to face them, you didn't realize the two of you were already pulling into a garage under the stone and metal building on the river that was home to your Captain and his lover's.

Your lovers.

It had been a little over three months since you had been here, avoiding meeting them in person as much as possible. And when you saw them, physicality was out of the question. Not that it wasn't comforting when San rubbed your back or Wooyoung held your hand, but you would always find yourself guilty that this was all you could handle.

Mingi getting out of the car and rushing around to open the door for you gave you little time to prepare. Would you ever be?

Hesitantly, you took his hand, trying to keep yours steady. Mingi once more didn't say anything, but there was pain in his eyes and his jaw clenched. 

It hurt that your pain hurt them, a concept you were so unfamiliar with. Your pain is something they didn't like to see. They feel hurt with you, they share your anger and sadness.

It made you want to run.

“Please don't ask Mingi.” You knew he wouldn't, but you still pleaded with him.

His gaze shot up to meet yours, not even hiding the depth of his pain. His full lips fell open repeatedly, gaping like a fish as he scrambled for words. “Before… before we go in…”

You tensed up unintentionally, which resulted in a choked groan falling from Mingi's lips.

“Fuck Princess- before we go in… can you please not look like I'm walking you to the guillotine or something? If it helps, this is about work okay?”

Averting your eyes, you moved past him with a heavy breath. “I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm really trying Mingi.”

“Did he do something? That Chan fucker? If so I'll drive right back there and break his fucking neck you just say the word Princess.” He followed you, the door shutting behind him as you both made your way to the stairs.

“He… he tried to kiss me. And I just-”

“He what?” Mingi stepped in front of you with a stormy expression. “Fuck- Princess. Then we can take a minute. Let's sit on the steps. I can hold you if-”

“Please.” The word was out before you could stop yourself. Before the guilt could eat you up. “Just for a minute.” 

As he set the flowers aside he sat on the stairs and pulled you onto his lap sideways. Feeling his shaky breath on your neck oddly calmed your nerves. Even as you replayed the events of the precinct over and over until it no longer spiked your anxiety, he held you and kept you calm.

It brought you a twisted sense of pride to know that Chan was just as fucked up as you were right now. S.K was in tatters, but so were you. Maybe taking a page out of his book and being an entitled and self-absorbed asshole would help.

Then you could seek comfort in Mingi's embrace without the soul crushing guilt of the pain you caused him.

Taglist in the Reblogs! Masterlist | Next

[wroetolando]

Omg I loved the story you wrote for my song request for Lando!! You said send more so I have another song lol can you do one for soft spot by keshi I few like it can be written from either landos pov or the reader talking about doing things they hate but they do it for each other or however you interpret the song!! Thank you #anonymous🌟

𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗮/𝗻: first time listening to this song and i absolutely love it!

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando hates the rain, you hate chamomile tea, and yet you both keep choosing each other anyway—even when it hurts

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: soft spot - keshi

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: mild angst

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Lando hated the rain.

Not in a dramatic, philosophical way. He didn’t stare at it wistfully or watch droplets slide down the windowpane while narrating his pain like some tortured poet. He just… hated it. It made his hair cling to his forehead, soaked through every layer of clothing, made walking miserable, and driving worse.

It reminded him of everything that could go wrong in a single moment. The unpredictability. The chaos. The cold that stuck to your skin.

Still, here he was.

Standing outside her building, fingers trembling slightly as he pressed the buzzer for the third time. Water slid down the back of his neck, and his hoodie had given up trying to keep him dry ten minutes ago. The umbrella? Long gone. It flipped inside out two streets ago, and in a very grown-up, emotionally stable move, he’d shoved it into a bin.

No answer.

He stepped back under the awning, breathing into his frozen hands. He should’ve just texted her. Or called. Or maybe he should’ve done that two days ago, when they had their last argument—when he’d let his frustration push her away again.

Her voice crackled through the speaker. “Come up, idiot.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You hated chamomile tea.

Not in the way people say they “don’t love” something. You hated it. The smell, the bitterness, the way it always promised calm and delivered disappointment. You only kept it stocked in your kitchen because of him.

And now, two nights after your last fight, you were brewing it again.

Not because you missed him.

(Okay, maybe because you missed him.)

You’d watched him through the window, standing in the rain like a lost boy—hood up, hands shoved deep into his pockets, buzzing over and over again like he didn’t care if you ever opened the door.

But you had. Because, despite the ache in your chest and the stupid, stupid way he always managed to say the wrong thing at the worst possible time, he was still Lando. Yours.

Even when you hated that you still cared so much.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

He stepped into your flat like it was unfamiliar ground. Cautious. Careful. His curls dripped rain onto your floors, and his hoodie clung to him like a second skin.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and somehow it felt louder than anything else in the room.

You didn’t say anything. Not at first. You just moved to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. You needed something to do with your hands, and he looked so heartbreakingly small in the doorway that if you said anything, it would come out wrong.

“Chamomile?” he asked, voice unsure.

“You like it.”

There was silence. Then: “You hate chamomile.”

You shrugged. “You do stuff for people when you care about them. Even when it sucks.”

You heard him shift behind you. His voice came slower this time, lower.

“I hate the rain,” he said. “But I walked here. In it.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to fight with you.”

You finally turned, spoon resting in your hand. “You always say that after we fight.”

“I know,” he said again, and this time it wasn’t defensive. It was regret. Raw and real and sitting heavy in his chest. “I’m not good at this. Not when I miss you. Not when I feel like I don’t know where you are anymore.”

You didn’t answer.

He took a step closer. “I didn’t mean what I said about you not showing up.”

“I know.”

“I was scared. That maybe you were starting to outgrow this—us. Me.”

That cracked something in you.

“You think I’d work 14-hour days, take red-eye flights, and stand behind rope barriers getting shoved by fans for you if I didn’t want to be with you?” you asked, voice sharp.

His eyes flickered, and he looked ashamed. “I know you hate that.”

“I do. But I do it anyway.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

You softened. Just a little.

“You’re my soft spot, Lando. That’s what it is. I hate airports. I hate the paddock. I hate the waiting and the press and the fact that I barely get five minutes with you before someone pulls you away. But I love you more than I hate any of that.”

It was his turn to break.

“I sleep in your hoodie when you’re not here,” he said, like it was a confession.

“I figured,” you said. “Smelled like me.”

“I left it here on purpose.”

“Why?”

“So I had a reason to come back.”

Your chest tightened. “You never needed a reason.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The tea went cold on the counter.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, face buried in your shoulder. You let him. You always did. That was the problem and the answer all at once.

“Do you remember Monaco?” you asked after a long silence.

He hummed. “Which part?”

“That rooftop dinner. When you said you were too tired to go, but you came anyway because you knew I wanted to.”

He smiled into your skin. “I hated that night.”

You pulled back, surprised.

“I didn’t tell you then,” he admitted. “I was exhausted. We had a full day of media, then debriefs. I was running on fumes. But I looked at you in that red dress, and I couldn’t say no.”

You blinked. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because sometimes,” he said softly, “you do the things you hate for the people you love.”

Your heart cracked in half and stitched itself back together in one breath.

You turned to face him fully now, resting your palms on his soaked chest. “I don’t need you to always push yourself for me.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “But I will anyway. Because you do it for me.”

You exhaled, long and slow. “We’re idiots.”

“Two idiots in love.”

“You still smell like rain.”

“You still smell like mango body mist.”

You shoved his shoulder. “You said you hated that.”

“I do,” he grinned. “But you wear it, so now I kind of like it.”

You stared at him for a long second before pulling him down into a kiss. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and sure and aching with all the things you hadn’t said in the last forty-eight hours.

When you broke apart, you leaned your forehead against his.

“I hate racing season,” you whispered.

“I hate off-season.”

“But I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you more.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Later, he stood in your bathroom, toweling off and wearing the pajamas you always kept for him—the ones he pretended not to like because they had cartoon stars on them.

You joined him in the mirror, brushing your teeth side by side like nothing ever broke between you. Like the silence had never happened.

“You still going to Spain next week?” he asked.

You nodded. “Booked the flight yesterday.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“I thought you had simulator work that day?”

“I do.”

You looked over at him, eyes narrowed. “Lando—”

“I’ll move it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

You shook your head, but there was a smile tugging at your mouth. He caught your hand as you turned to leave, pulling it to his lips.

“I hate moving my schedule around,” he murmured, kissing your knuckles.

“But I love you more.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The next morning, the rain had stopped.

The hoodie was dry.

The tea was warm.

And love felt a little more like a choice they made—over and over again.

Even when it sucked.

Especially then.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[bbydoll18xx]

Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

When Paige falls apart, you are there to pick up the pieces.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Based on this request

Masterlist

Word Count: 1k

Themes: fluff and comfort !

A/N: this request was so cute!! As an eldest daughter and a nurse, it's ingrained in me to be a caregiver, and I show my love through acts of service so this was so fun to write. Hope you lovelies enjoy!

~

Paige had always prided herself on being a tough girl. It was ingrained into her soul to be a leader, and even more so, it was ingrained into her to take care of everyone around her. So when you had started dating her, you immediately were treated to the princess treatment.

As an eldest daughter yourself, you had appreciated someone taking care of you for once, but you knew the effects of having too much on your plate. It was draining, and so you had vowed to help Paige hold up the weight of her world. 

You were always there. 

You baked her cookies when you knew she was having a rough day. You were always there to listen when she was feeling the pressure from the rest of the team. And your kisses were basically magic, bringing life back into the blonde.

~

You hum to yourself as you walk through the door of Paige’s apartment, unable to deny the bubbling giddiness in your chest at the thought of seeing your girlfriend. 

You had been dating for two years, and while the two of you had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, the overwhelming excitement of her had yet to fade. 

Slipping through the door, you creep through the apartment on light feet, trying to avoid foiling your surprise. Paige wasn’t expecting you, and with the craziness of the basketball season now in full swing and your own work and school schedule, you hadn’t seen her in several days. 

It fucking sucked, but that was life, and now you had cleverly hatched a plan to sneak into Paige’s room during her beloved afternoon nap time and surprise her with your presence. 

A sound cuts through the quiet apartment and a pang cuts through your chest. Paige was sobbing behind the closed door of her room. It shatters your heart, and you gasp, frozen in place for a second, trying to decide whether you should go comfort her or leave her be. 

Paige was a strong girl. She loved protecting her friends and teammates. And she was no doubt an exceptional leader. So when she had her moments of weakness and vulnerability, she hated others to see it. 

You were really the only exception. Your warmth and nurturing disposition coaxed her out of the protective shell she had used to shield herself from the coldness of the media and the unyielding bitterness of those who doubted her. 

Biting your lip, you quietly knock on the door, your voice gentle, as you call out to her. “Paige, baby? Can I come in?”

You hear her sniffle, quickly trying to clear the thick tearfulness out of her own voice.

“I need you,” is all she says. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, and the overwhelming need to just make everything better consumes you, and you pull open the door to quickly get to your girlfriend. 

Paige is laying in her bed, and you can clearly see the tear stains below her red-rimmed eyes, clouding the clear blueness of them. Your eyes flit to see Twitter open on her iPad, and you connect the dots. 

She had gotten sucked into the hate comments again, and it was getting to her. 

Anger and concern rushes through your veins, but you take a deep breath. Now was not the time to lose your own shit. You had a pretty girl in front of you who needed you to make her feel better. And that’s exactly what you were going to do. 

“Oh, baby. What happened?” You whisper, sitting on the bed next to her and soothingly stroking her cheek, brushing away the tears that remained. 

Paige sniffles, leaning into your touch, as if it provided all the comfort that she needed. “Had a bad practice. And then I saw a hate tweet. Just spiraled from there.” Her voice cracks, and the tears in her eyes pool again, threatening to overflow. 

With your free hand, you pull the iPad away from her, trying to make sure she can’t subject herself to the disgusting stream of vitriol spewing from it. You lay down next to her, pulling her into your chest, letting her melt into you. The tension seeps out of her, as she cuddles into your side, welcoming your presence. 

Stroking her hair, you whisper sweet words of encouragement and love into her ear, and it’s not long before her sniffles come to a grinding halt.

Paige lets out a quiet breath and sits up, facing you. She looks sheepish, as if she’s embarrassed by her emotions. 

“Sorry you had to see that,” she chuckles, trying to make a joke out of it. 

“Hey,” you say, bringing a hand to rest against the smooth skin of her face. “You don’t have to apologize for getting upset over something like that. I’m your girlfriend. I want to be able to make you feel better.” You poke her in the belly as you emphasize your point, and she grins. 

And while you were not the one who was necessarily hurting in those moments, seeing the person you loved most, break down in tears over people’s vile words, broke you, too.

But Paige’s smile was like sunshine on the grayest day. And things were going to be alright. 

Paige reaches out to entwine her fingers with yours, making a mental note of how perfectly they fit together. Her eyes move from your gentle fingers up to your eyes, seeing how bright they shined when looking back into hers. 

And when you later fall asleep, curled up in Paige’s comforting warmth, your girlfriend fights the sleep out of her own eyes, preferring to admire the innocence and goodness seeping out of your being. 

You were two girls born having to provide for everyone around you, who found a home in each other, taking on the weight together. 

Because sometimes you just can't make it on your own. 

And that's okay.

~

Woo this took forever and i kinda hate this but thank you for reading! My inbox is always open for more requests!

xoxo katy