#i pour too much angst into cross sorry...

[what-have-i-unleashed]

so uhhhhh long post ahead

(cw: emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, survivor's guilt, if there's anything more please tell me)

underverse-adjacent, so it's cross being in the same team as nightmare and killer only. xchara is there too but his presence does nothing to comfort cross.

cross is touch-starved because he was stuck in the empty world for such a long time, and he also craves interaction with another person. and ink used to be that for him until cross realized he could not depend on ink for his goal (restoring xtale) and he felt somewhat betrayed by that notion. this man has trust issues now, not only with other people but also with himself. can he trust himself to be attached to another person? can he trust his decisions, when his past actions only brought him more grief than they're worth?

enter nightmare and killer, who do not care about the morality of his idea to steal and hack the codes of other universes to create his own. in fact, they're enabling him and xchara, only because their goals intersect. but that is more than anything he could hope for. after xtale, after the situation with ink, finally someone is on his side, silently assuring him that what he's done is for the greater good.

killer… does not like cross, mostly because of the whole xchara thing. but someone has to teach the newbie on how things work around here, and it's not going to be nightmare for sure. so he takes cross under his wings, pointing out how things are done. his teaching leaves a lot to be desired though, mostly because he's a cryptic asshole who just won't say directly what he means.

but as cross gets to slowly hang around killer, being mentored by him, he starts to observe how killer carries himself and feels a nagging thought probing at his mind, a thought definitely not from xchara at all. killer is the only source of affection cross can have in this situation - killer is free with his physical affection, always touching cross like patting cross' head, glomping on him, or resting his arm over cross' shoulders. cross likes these gestures from killer, but he cannot show it because he knows what killer will do upon seeing a weakness. his morality and killer's are different - they shouldn't be compatible.

and yet, that nagging thought gets louder and louder in his head. why does he look at killer too much? why does he anticipate any form of praise from killer? why does he hate it when killer contradicts him? one day, xchara will bluntly tell cross that he has an obsession with that guy. it's exhausting watching cross acting like a complete middle schooler with a crush who adamantly denies it. and like, there's no freaking way, right? there's no way a person like cross can have a crush on a sadistic multiversal terrorist. he has better tastes than that!

and like, cross is partially right. he has better morals than that, but it doesn't stop his soul from latching onto the first person who can offer him some physical and emotion comfort, however little there is. but also... cross likes the idea of killer, because he doesn't really know killer. he's in that queer phase of "do i like that person - or do i want to be them". killer is, for all his flaws, a good soldier. he's dutiful by nightmare's side and an excellent fighter. he's decisive, witty, and scarily smart. everything cross aspires to be, his ideal self. he doesn't want to be unsure, he doesn't want to be scared, he doesn't want to be weak. cross' conflicts within himself are multiple, and no doubt nightmare and killer take notice of that.

cross wants to be decisive and self-assured, but he also wants to be told what to do, to follow someone's will. because he's scared of himself - he's still not processed the guilt over his decisions and actions in xtale. he wants control but he also craves guidance, so if he's wrong, at least it's not his fault this time, right?

and killer would play with his head like that. "it's ok, i can show you", "it's ok, it's up to you", "i'll take responsibility for this". if cross listens to killer, then every mistake is on killer's shoulders and not his. "you don't have to feel guilty, because i will be your sacrificial lamb" type of situation. but also, cross will feel he owes killer for this, and he'll stay, over and over and again and again, despite all the horrible things they've done, despite all the times killer guilt-trips him into doing something not in his morality. but it's okay, because it's killer's hands guiding him to do it, and cross will do it if only to make killer happy with him.

and i think sometimes killer will use his wiles to get cross to agree to be his lab subject. cross has such a fascinating soul, and killer won't mind tormenting xchara for a bit. killer will assure cross that this is just something to strengthen cross, to make him a better soldier. a little bit of praises and surefire conviction will get cross relax in his presence. nightmare sure has found a perfect toy for his bloodhound, something that will keep his interests up and boredom away in the down time.

[manicmanuscription]

Selfish? or Rational?

SJM x Reader Week 2025: Day Two @sjmxreaderweek

Prompt: Friends / Family

Pairings: Azriel / Reader

Summary: The long awaited breakfast scene! This is the third part to unapologetically selfish and it just fit so well with the prompt!

A/N: I'm really not happy with this so I'm so sorry if I disappointed you guys. I really struggled with finding the right format but nothing fit and then it was just hanging over my head and aaa. I do maybe want to write one more part a few months into the future bc I have a cute idea but we will see. But for now this is the end of this mini series thank you for reading! (if anyone has any ideas how i can fix this finale please please lmk!!)

Tags: angst, fluff, ic beeing lowkey messy (but not really.)

Word Count: 1237

SJM x Reader Week 2025 | Acotar Masterlist

Cassian watched his brother as if he had grown three heads. He knew Azriel had hidden his mate from him, in fact his own mind was still reeling from that piece of information. But to actually see it? It was something else entirely Azriel had pulled the chair out for you after silencing all the questions his family had thrown out there. Growling that his mate needed to least eat before dealing with their nonsense. 

So now here they were all settled at the table once again and Cassian was mesmerized. You worked in tandem to prepare each other a plate of food from the options laid across the table.

You poured Azriel his tea the way he liked it and black coffee for yourself. Him returning the favor by buttering biscuits for you and so on. 

They were in sync and he could not stop staring. It was a simple task and yet so domestic, you looked up at him and give him a sweet smile when he passed you the small tin of jam unprompted. 

As if they’d done this little song and dance a thousand times and with an aching heart Cassian realized they had. 

And he had no idea about it. 

Until he did, and just didn’t believe his brother. 

Nausea rolled in his stomach at the guilt and heartbreak. He wasn’t the only one shocked at his brother’s actions. The rest of the Inner Circle not even trying to hide their interest in the couple sitting in front of him. 

Nesta comfortingly grabbed his hand under the table as she continued eating. He barely noticed the touch too focused on the foreign side of his brother he was currently seeing. The only sound heard in the room was the small ticking of a clock until finally Mor broke first. “How long have you been seeing each other? We didn’t know about you until recently.” 

“Four years.” You responded with a slight wince. Four years of his own brother hiding you away. Three years since he started acting shady. Two years since he told them and one year of Cassian absolutely tormenting him over a fake mate that was very much real. 

“My brother said you travel, is that true?” Rhysand asked diplomatically steering the conversation away from Azriel’s actions. Although from the storm brewing behind the High Lord’s eyes Cassian assumed it wouldn’t last long. 

“Yes. I do. I work closely with Thesan and occasionally Helion. Which unfortunately requires me to move across borders quite often.”

“What work do you-” Rhysand started but Mor interrupted him. “So busy you had no time to meet us?” She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hurt behind defensiveness. 

Azriel snarled and it shocked and amused Cassian. His brother was usually levelheaded. He opened his mouth to respond but you put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry it truly wasn’t malicious intent. I'm in Velaris only a few weeks out of the year and it’s been hard on both of us. The time we have together we prefer to spend alone.”

She didn’t have to mention what Azriel did for work. Their family barely even saw him even less since being mated but they all knew it wasn’t just his schedule alone that put a dent in your relationship. Rhysand’s hand tightened on his glass and if they werent friends for so long Cassian wouldn’t have noticed it was from guilt. 

Luckily Feyre pressed a kiss to his cheek as they conversed without speaking. “I can’t imagine being away from your mate for so long.” She finally said aloud after a few moments. 

“It’s been difficult.” And opened your mouth to say more but Amren beat you to it, looking directly at the Spymaster. “Are you going to say anything or just let her do all the talking?” 

A violent gleam passed in his brother’s so fast if Cassian blinked he wouldn’t have noticed it. “I don’t recall you having much of a place to voice your opinion.” She just hummed low in her throat and continued to observe you. Azriel and Amren had their own weird relationship, as if they were strategists first and friends maybe second or third. He didn’t understand the double meaning behind her comment but Azriel did and he just pressed himself closer to your chair, shooting the female a challenging look.

The tense moment quickly passed as everyone had questions for you and Azriel, even Elain and Varian tossing their two cents in every once and awhile. You just sat through it all with a smile on your face, answering politely and even returning barbs and underhanded comments as if you’d been apart of the family for centuries. 

“So yes I founded the Saving Soul’s community and-”

“Saving Soul’s?” Elain asked. 

“Yes, it's a proficient group of Healer’s and Innovators that try to advance medicine through lot’s research and unique cases of illness. It’s why I travel so much I was recently across the continent for research in prosthetic limbs” 

“You founded it?” Rhysand asked, surprised. “Yes, Thesan and I grew up together and he helped me create the project once it was on it’s feet and he became High Lord I’ve been managing it with a few others.” 

Rhysand and Feyre gave each other a knowing look before turning to you and you moved before they could voice whatever shared thought that had clicked for them. 

He just shook your head slightly and the conversation moved forward. After all you didn’t want Azriel knowing you and your team had requested border permissions for Illyria, your next study was wing repair which meant moving home. Permanently. 

“Looks like he gave you a good time when you came home.” Mor pointed out to the scarf that revealed a few purple hickeys.

Your hand shot up to your neck as you gave Azriel a scathing look. He just sat back in his chair unable to hide the smug smile. “I told you!” You snapped.

Mor started laughing and even Nesta cracked a smile. “How did you guys meet?” 

“Well that’s certainly a story.”  

Cassian didn’t speak the entire breakfast. Everyone was content to let you in with open arms as soon as they noticed how smitten Azriel was.

As everyone finished lunch and headed home Cassian was the last to leave. He had seen how absolutely in love his brother was but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Years gone by without his own brother sharing something so important with him. 

Nesta was saying goodbye to Nyx and it gave him a chance to catch Azriel as he was leaving. “Hey Az can we talk?”

Azriel looked over at you briefly. The male was rushing you out of here the second breakfast was over and he turned to him before nodding. “Yeah what’s up?” He asked as the males moved to a quieter part of the house. “Listen Cassian I know your upset about this-”

“Are you happy?”

Cassian had seen it but he needed to hear it.

Azriel smiled, a true smile. His brother never smiled. 

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” He said, giving him a squeeze on the arm before going off to find Nesta, and he meant every word. He could let go of the hurt, he understood why of course. All he wanted was for his brother to receive everything he wanted, and with a quick glance at you it looked like he had.

[novacorpsrecruit]

It’s lonely at the top

Part 1 | part 2 | here / final part

Read on Ao3

wc 1,698 | Steddie | angst with a happy ending!

“You need to give him some space,” Robin said over the phone. Eddie frowned. It’s been three days. He missed Steve. He nearly leaped over the couch to answer the phone, assuming it was him. Robin was the next best, he guessed. “You really hurt him.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “And I’m sorry. I really am. Will you tell him I’m done with the parties? Done with Trick? He means more to me than being liked.”

“Yeah,” Robin huffed. “You sure showed him that.”

“I mean it,” Eddie said honestly. “I do. I’m done with it all.”

“I think you need to tell him that yourself,” Robin said.

“How can I?” Eddie asked. “You won’t let me talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Robin corrected. “You need to let him be ready to accept you.”

Eddie sighed, pressing his forehead against the cabinet where the phone hung. He wished there was a way to tell Steve how sorry he was. As much as Eddie wanted to take the Green line to Robin’s dorm and talk to Steve, he can’t cross that boundary. But he needed a way to pour out his emotions, to let Steve know that he’s loved. That Eddie’s sorry. “Can I — Can I send him a letter? That way when he’s ready, he knows I’m there for him?”

There was silence on the other line as Robin thought it over. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Just address it to me. He’s not …”

“Supposed to be there,” Eddie nodded. “Yeah. I figured. Thank you, for being there for him.”

“Yeah. Look,” Robin huffed. “If he does let you back in again, and you fuck up again. It’s your balls, Munson.”

“Understood,” Eddie said. “I promise. Never again.”

Robin hung up with a click. Eddie sighed, running his hands over his face. He fucked up. Bad.

He guessed there was no time to start writing like the present.

💌💌💌💌

“Steve, someone at table 13 requested you personally,” Jenny, the hostess said. “He’s — uh — a little scary. So if you have issues, get Rod.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” Steve said, pulling his order book from his apron. He wasn’t sure who would request him at 3 pm. Most of his early birds on Saturdays stop by the diner for brunch and he barely saw a soul until 5.

When they first moved out to Chicago, Steve had no clue what he was going to do for work. He was attending Harold Washington College to get his associates in early education, and then potentially apply to UIC. Then one day, he got off a stop too early and saw the help wanted sign. It was easy for him to pick up, he made decent tips, and it worked with his schedule well. Plus, he was able to take home food at the end of his shift.

Robin’s been enjoying the pancakes lately.

Plus, Steve loved when it was slow and Eddie would —

He closed his eyes, letting the thought disappear. He missed Eddie. His heart ached any time he thought about him. But he was afraid that Eddie didn’t miss him in the same way.

He took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile as he greeted his table.

“Hi, welcome in. I’m Steve. I’ll be taking care —“ Steve stopped as he looked at the patron. He felt his lips turn into a frown. “Trick?”

“Patrick’s fine,” Trick winked. “I mean, we’re in your court, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve nodded. He pressed his lips together, feeling like he couldn’t stop staring at the black and blue circles under his eyes. “What happened to your — uh —“ he gestured to his own face. He winced. Trick didn’t like him in the first place. He wouldn’t give Steve the time of day. Why would he bother to tell him about an injury like that. “Sorry — shouldn’t have asked that. What can I get started for you?”

“Your boyfriend, actually,” Trick smirked. It was like ice water was dumped over Steve as the words washed over him. Trick’s smirk dropped. He leaned over the table. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hey — hey, sorry. I didn’t mean — It’s cool. It’s — Eddie and you — are cool, I mean.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he felt any better or worse. All he could say was, “Oh.”

“Yeah, uh —“ Trick ran his fingers over his buzzed hair and exhaled. “Half of our friends are gay or lesbian or queer. It’s — that’s fine. Promise.”

“Oh,” Steve repeated. He sat on the other side of the booth, across from Trick. “Okay.”

“I just —“ Trick looked up to the ceiling before turning his attention back to Steve. “We shouldn’t have judged you. We saw you and immediate thought you were gonna be some straight jackass like we’ve dealt with our whole lives. We built this community of accepting outcasts, and outcasted you while doing so.”

Oh.

Steve wasn’t sure what to think.

When Eddie and him started to date, the Corroded Coffin boys treated him similarly. But Eddie called them out on that before it got bad.

Before it got like this.

“I guess what I wanted to say was sorry,” Trick said. “For pushing you out. And name calling.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “I don’t recall any name calling?”

“Yeah, you weren’t around for that,” Trick winced, gesturing to his nose. “Eddie made sure I knew that was wrong.”

“Eddie,” Steve breathed. “My Eddie?”

“Yep,” Trick said. “I hope he gave you a big apology for everything. So, tell me. What do you got that’s good to eat here?”

Steve took Trick’s order — one strawberry milkshake and an order of fruit loaded French toast — sent it to the kitchen, then went into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and pulled out Eddie’s letter from his apron pocket. The first letter arrived last Monday. And he received a letter every day that he’s stayed with Robin.

With a shaky breath, Steve opened the letter.

💌💌💌💌

Dear Steve, there’s nothing in the world that I can do to make this up to you. But I will try every day to make sure that you don’t ever forgotten again. You are the stars that light my way home, the sun that brings warmth into my light, and the moon that shines love over me. To experience your love is something truly unreal. And to think I put you on the back burner for a taste of popularity? It was like the Ring of Power overtook my mind. I got lost in the feeling of being admired by many, I forgot what it’s like to be loved by one. I’d travel to Mordor and back for you. Through the Gap of Rohan and through the Mines of Mora.

In a world where everyone could know my name, I’d only want to know yours.

My apologies will never be enough. Love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I hope you are well. I hope your classes are going good and that you’re excelling. I know you are. You’re so fucking smart, you blow me away with every new piece of knowledge you brought home. I hope that basketball at the YMCA is going good. I’m sorry I missed your last couple of games. There is no excuse. I hope one day you’d allow me to be by your side again, cheering you on.

You deserve the world, baby. Nothing will stop me from showing you that. Everything from the water in the rivers to the trees in the forest. From the canyons in Arizona to the mountains in Colorado. It’s yours. It’s all yours. You deserve everything. You deserve the best. And I promise that I will prove that.

Forever in love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I’d move heaven and hell

Just to see you smile again

Or remember how it felt

To have you in my arms

When I begged God for mercy

In the depth of hells

It was nothing compared

To begging for the mercy of you

To hear you laugh, to see you smile

To counting the stars across your skin

To pick up where we left off

To start all over again

I’d move heaven and hell for you

💌💌💌💌

Steve folded the letters, slipping them back into the envelope and set them on his nightstand.

He laid back down, turning to his side. Eddie’s side of the bed was empty. Like it has been for four days.

After Steve read the first letter, he found his way back to their apartment. Eddie was hope and nearly wrapped his arms around Steve, stopping as if there was an invisible barrier in between them. Eddie stopped, respecting that boundary at the threshold.

It was Steve to crack.

Steve who took that step over the threshold and fell into Eddie’s arms, burying his face into Eddie’s neck. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve, holding him tight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” was all Eddie could say.

They agreed they needed to slowly integrate back into each others’ lives. Communicate when they’re feeling alone and listen when one’s feeling distressed. Nightmares seemed easier to deal with, but they were going to work it through.

Eddie said he would sleep on the couch until Steve was ready for him. “No matter how long it takes, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pressing a kiss against Steve’s knuckles. “When you’re ready for me, I’m here.”

And Eddie truly meant that. They could go back to just friends and Eddie would accept it. He would be heartbroken, but to have Steve in his life again?

That’s worth everything to Eddie.

Eddie was jostled awake, feeling the couch cushion shift underneath him. The blanket on his body lifted up and a familiar weight settle on his chest. He felt at home again. Eddie tugged the blanket back over the both of them, one hand around Steve’s waist and the other tangled in his hair as Steve laid his head on Eddie’s chest. Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, taking a silent vow to never lose him again.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[muwapsturniolo]

Sweet tooth 🍬 C. Sturniolo

"You're right, I do have a sugar problem, and it starts with you."

⟢ nothing but fluff tbh (tiny bit of angst? i think?) !!! kissing and spanking but nothing inherently sexual!!

@bernardsbendystraws for dividers

"How the hell do we make these?"

It was currently 11 PM, and the couple was in the kitchen, getting ready to make a sweet treat - rice krispies to be exact. He watches as the girl moves around the kitchen, her mind set on making the rice krispies.

"Bun come on, I can just doordash you-" He stops talking when she slams the box of fruity pebbles on the counter, a frown on her face. She crosses her arms and stomps her foot, a clear signal that showed she was frustrated.

Chris was all too familiar with this habit of hers, so familiar that he quickly tried to diffuse the situation before she blew up.

"Bun-"

"No! I don't want them door dashed, I want to make them!"

Bun-"

"If you don't want to spend time with me then don't! Just say that you don't want to spend time with me!'

He sighs and pushes himself off the counter, lazily strolling towards her and pulling her closer. " Hey hey hey, calm down yeah? I was kidding, you know I love to spend time with you, don't get mad at me." His thumbs rub soft circles against her hips, attempting to soothe her.

"Well, it doesn't feel like it sometimes...I ask to do something with you and it seems like you complain the whole time, like you'd rather be doing something else. It's frustrating and it hurts my feelings."

He watches the way she looks everywhere but at him, another habit of hers that he's too familiar with. She only tended to do that during a confrontation, the idea of looking at the person she's confronting being too much to handle.

He listens to her concerns, processing her words and where she's coming from before responding.

"And I'm sorry for making you feel that way or making you think like that. Like I said, you know I love spending time with you, I wouldn't trade it for anything. It's clear we have different ideas of spending time with each other, and I haven't been as open to your form of it as I should be. That's not fair to you and I'm seeing that now. So, if you want to make your rice krispies, I'll help."

Her eyes finally find his, her arms uncrossing as she holds his biceps. "You will?" She questions softly, her whole body relaxing. Chris nods, trailing one hand up to her cheeks and caressing her face.

"No complaining?"

"No complaining." He confirms, a smile breaking out on his face as her own smile forms. She stands on her toes, pecking his lips quickly.

"I love you."

"I love you too Bun. Now, let's make these Rice Krispies."

The couple resumed their activities in the kitchen, melting the butter and browning it, pouring the French vanilla-flavored marshmallows into the pot and melting them, before pouring the fruity pebbles in.

"These smell good as fuck," he murmurs to himself as he watches her scoop the sticky mixture into the dish, patting it down with the spatula so it's flat.

" I wish I had white chocolate to drizzle on top, that would make them taste so much better." Chris eyes her as she pops a marshmallow into her mouth, her tenth marshmallow to be exact.

He chuckles and shakes his head, use to her addiction to sweets.

"You have a really bad sweet tooth, you know that?"

"I know Mr, "Oh I need to have about 5 Pepsi's a day" isn't commenting on sugar intake." She looks back at him as she fills the pot with water to soak. He shrugs and pulls her closer, the girl quickly shutting the water off in the process.

He gives her a firm kiss, humming at the sweet sugary flavor left over on her lips from the multiple marshmallows.

"You're right, I do have a sugar problem, and it starts with you."

She squeals and giggles as he lands a firm slap on her ass, the girl quickly moving away and going to put the rice krispies in the fridge.

"What if I started calling you sugar tits?"

"Chris!"

"Alright alright, sugar tits is out the window."

[luvether]

MUCH LOVE, YOUR GUARDIANS ! In which they go from bodyguards to companions who you would crawl back home to, as they go through the thick of thins of what it’s like to love you intentionally and ardently.

jiaoqiu and moze x gn!reader (ft. feixiao) fluff and heavy (?) angst content. petty jealousy and overprotectiveness. mentions of self-deprecation, self-sabotage, low self-morale. heavy yearning. hurt with comfort. heavy found-family dynamic, platonic and romantic implications. politics. might be ooc. massive spoilers for the events on version 2.5. [12.6k wc]

sequel to a guardian or two ノ trying to dabble back into angst. tagging @bladism <33 love you and sorry for the atrociously long fic!! hoping to revive the jq and moze tags for this one (art by zassyoku_DD on twt.)

IN THE YAOQING, WHEN YOU THINK OF HAVING LUNCH you think of a small table crammed with four people, the strong scent of spices pricking your nose—making it all runny, the ruddy-cheeked Feixiao slurring between liquor lips, her vice arm wrapping unapologetically around the reluctant and defeated healer and your secret alliance with the shadow guard as he sneakily takes the button mushrooms in your bowl when Jiaoqiu is not looking, too busy being the General’s victim to her drunken affairs.

You and Moze exchange knowing glances, it was a deal that was recently established since he had lost a bet and dreaded reciting poems in the next festival.

Moze grumbles about a poem recital in front of strangers? You came to his aid.

You disliked the mushrooms Jiaoqiu gives you every lunch? He comes to your aid.

“You should come to the Luofu with us during the Wardance Ceremony.” A drink-addled comment gets thrown into the mix of everyday lunch atmosphere. You had almost missed it completely, had it not been for Moze who nudged you and you realized it wasn’t the delusional voices in your head speaking your wanton.

“Going to the Luofu for the Wardance Ceremony?” You echo Feixiao’s statement with perked up enthusiasm, food caking the insides of your cheeks, trying to push the words between your chewing.

“Finish chewing before you start talking.” There’s a mischievous smile on Jiaoqiu’s lips, tail flicking left and right in glee. He always finds every reason to tease you, this moment was no different. You shoot him a fond glare, pausing to finish a piece of rich meat in your mouth, licking the flavor between your teeth.

“Are you certain you want me to follow you to the Luofu?” You ask again, just in case it was Feixiao's drunk thought overtaking her senses.

But she straightens at the content of your tone, sobering. The expression on her face expresses her clear agreement.

“Why not?” She rests her cup on the table, her fingertips teetering towards the pitcher to pour more. “You have not visited the other Xianzhou ships before, it will be a good change of pace for you.”

A bright smile graces your lips, then it collapses. “I appreciate the invitation, but I cannot ignore the mountains of paperwork on my desk. I barely have time for leisure, much less go on a vacation somewhere.”

“Have you forgotten?” You turn your attention to Moze who speaks casually from your side, arms crossing over his chest. "You are looking at the Yaoqing’s lacking General, lacking in worries, regrets and…”

“Lacking in rivals.” You finish his sentence with a chuckle.

Moze’s lips tip upward, almost a smile.

“No one would dare say anything if a certain scribe vanishes from work and accompanies the General to the Luofu.”

Jiaoqiu adds. “Besides, we want you to come with us.” There’s a fond smile on his face.

“That’s three rebuttals against one.”

The atmosphere lifts at Jiaoqiu’s nostalgic tease, it all reminds you of the first time Jiaoqiu and Moze became your bodyguards, how time flies.

You chuckle then, “alright.”

“Now that it is settled,” Feixiao cheers. “Let us rejoice with—”

Jiaoqiu grabs the pitcher before your sister does, a sharp look of warning on his smiling face. “General Feixiao, please refrain from drinking anymore. And Moze,” He turns his head, you both stiffen. “Stop being an accomplice and let them eat their mushrooms.”

Moze tsked and a laugh bubbles in your chest, nothing can escape Jiaoqiu’s eyes now can it?

Despite the constant bantering that quickly fit into your routine with the three of them—you were extremely grateful for their existence in your otherwise very lonesome life. Aside from the excitement of the trip, you had been ruminating about their departure since you accidentally overheard them talking about it when you were slumbering.

The next couple of days, your enthusiasm never ceases until it’s the day to depart for Xianzhou Luofu.

The ship is already waiting by Yaoqing’s docks when you arrive, as your feet guide you there you double check your items before boarding: extra clothes, personal bathing essentials, wallet, notebook files, some medicines…yup. Everything you need for the trip has been accounted for, and even if you had forgotten something, you are certain the Luofu will provide you with it. You had heard a thing or two about Luofu’s dozing General from Feixiao herself, their generosity to foreigners have even touched the strings of your heart.

You are enthused about your first journey, being able to meet other people and seeing other sights outside of the usual IPC-styled architecture the Yaoqing has to offer.

You hear someone call out your name from a distance, you lift your head and see Jiaoqiu waving at you, already nestled on the ship’s seat cushions. He softly pats the space beside him,

“Come sit beside me.”

A Verdant knight allows you entry and you approach the smiling healer, doing as he had asked of you after loading your bag on the overhead bin. You allow your body to sink within the cushions with a contented sigh slipping between your teeth. Your arm touches Jiaoqiu’s and you cannot help but lean in and flop your head on his shoulder, soft strawberry cowlicks tickle your cheek and he reaches out to brush wild strands from your forehead.

“Didn’t get enough sleep?”

“I just had to finish files for a couple of IPC shipments that will be arriving in Verdant harbor.” This earns a light-hearted chuckle from the pink. You feel his weight on your head, his cheek pressed onto your crown.

“I thought you got an assistant?”

“I did.” You answer. “I need to make sure things are accounted for and queued in the proper order before I hand the management over to her.”

“Well, aren’t you a kind boss.”

“When was I not?”

Jiaoqiu grabs his red fan, small puffs of wind settle softly on your face due to his fanning. “I didn't say you were anything but.” Then a brief silence, his tone containing fondness.

“You are slowly trusting others again,”

You lift your head, unaware of how your face is close to his. From here, his butterscotch eyes are a gentle pool of honey and orange.

His lips tip up. “I’m proud of you.”

Your heart soars. Jiaoqiu winds his arm around you, tail flicking and his fan continues to draw air. “If you want to sleep, sleep.”

Your weight is leaning heavily on his, he doesn’t seem to mind it, his fingers coming to rub soothingly, almost lulling you, constellations of sleep blinking beneath your eyelids.

“But I wanted to wait and see the stars outside.”

“I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“Promise?” You yawn, this makes Jiaoqiu cradle you closer into his inviting warmth.

“Promise.” He says. “Now get some sleep. This will be a long trip.”

It has already been a couple of days since your arrival to the Xianzhou Luofu. Feixiao had left immediately to go sightseeing, leaving you, Jiaoqiu and Moze to announce your arrival to the Arbiter Generals at the Seat of Divine Foresight.

Meeting General Jingyuan was such an enlightening experience, his deep baritone faint in your ears, his gentle mannerisms and just as enthusiastic tone when talking about grueling papers constantly on office desks or wanting to travel more, it allowed for smooth conversations between the two of you, having so many things in common.

You had liked conversing with the General,

A certain two did not.

But your two ‘bodyguards’ knew better than to let their moods sully on such a simple thing.

It wasn’t strange for General Jingyuan to show a warm and respectful disposition towards you—he has, after all, heard of your astounding achievements in the Yaoqing, despite the nasty comments thrown at you, you prevailed, and Jingyuan admired that aspect of you, especially with your label as the Merlin’s Claw kin and the lack of swordsmanship practice.

Moze and Jiaoqiu understand that, because they hold the same amount of admiration towards you and your efforts.

But what they considered ludicrous was when you three had bumped into a Knight of beauty whilst trying to find for a certain General with white ears—you haven’t seen Feixiao in a long while and during your ventures of trying to find her, Argenti greeted you and you both clicked.

It was merely a curious exchange at first, trading words of greetings, introductions with a mix of interest for the other. Moze lags behind the group, preferring to keep to himself during this conversation which was understandable, he’s a man with few words much less sharing friendly words with Argenti—who was the complete opposite of Moze—radiant under public lights, forthright in his syrupy cadence, his eyes sparkle just as bright like ruby rose petals and succor violin strings.

Jiaoqiu could do nothing but smile politely at the interaction, happy that you are conversing more with others outside of your little circle.

But then Argenti picks up your hand, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

The friendly gesture made Jiaoqiu crack like stone and Moze stiffen.

The whole atmosphere takes a polar turn of frigid that feels harsh on your skin.

You’ve noticed it only briefly. Now, Jiaoqiu’s smile is no longer polite—but it’s still there, it just seems more…malicious and cynical than friendly. Or how Moze’s neutral stare sharpens as it follows the crimson hair of Argenti as he bids you all farewell.

When the knight turns the corner, Jiaoqiu places both his hands flat on your shoulders, a conflicting look in his amber eyes.

“I implore you to reconsider your choices.”

Your brows crease in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Jiaoqiu’s right. He’s bad news.” Moze inquired from your other side, adding spices to the already boiling pot. You can only flicker your gaze back and forth between the two, unsure why they are saying this all of a sudden.

“But Mr. Argenti seems sweet to me.”

You merely stated the obvious, Jiaoqiu jostles you softly like you’ve gone insane.

“The reputation of the Knights of beauty are fastidious. They don’t have time for such affairs since they travel all over the galaxy to pay patronage and share the gospel of their God all across the cosmos, so don’t even think about it.”

Think about it? Affairs? “Have you both eaten something funny today?” You ask instead, shaking away from Jiaoqiu’s firm grip.

Maybe they just ate something weird, their behavior will lessen in a couple days time, that is your initial conclusion on this matter. However their petulance only seems to metamorphosis the more days spent in the Luofu.

A day or two passes, and your run-ins with Argenti are few and far in between.

Two times, you’ve only bumped into each other two times after your first encounter. The Xianzhou Luofu is surprisingly a small place and with the current festival ongoing, it’s easy to bump into a familiar face among the streets.

But everytime Argenti perks up at the sight of you, calling you his ‘dear Yaoqing friend’ the air surrounding Jiaoqiu and Moze seems to freeze over, and you were semi-glad Argenti doesn’t take notice or offense to such looks pinned on him.

He’s quite the character.

You sigh again for the millionth time today when you parted ways with the red-head. You turned around, “Jiaoqiu.”

“Yes?”

“If you won’t stop glaring at him, the passersby will assume he jumped you in an alley and robbed you of your riches.”

“You’re just seeing things.”

“No, I’m quite sure of myself. What’s with the face, Jiaoqiu. Did he do something to you that I am not aware of?”

Jiaoqiu’s manners exude reluctance, his mouth open then close, as if unsure of what to answer you. “...Not in particular.”

You tilt your head. ‘Then w—” Before you can finish your sentence, the fox rips a part of his pastry and gently pushes it between your lips to hush you.

“Try this for me.” He says instead. “Is it to your taste?”

You lick the flavor from your teeth, nodding your head. At your response, Jiaoqiu pushes the remaining pastry on your hand and pats your head.

“Take it, I'm not really into sweet things.”

“Okay…”

As you watch him, you’ve taken note of how either of the two behave, which was a new experience on your part, you have not seen this side of them before. Like Jiaoqiu’s tendency to hide his nasty displeasures beneath his red fan, occasional amber eyes scrutinizing and ears twitching.

Or Moze that seems to have the tendency to either vanish into thin air mid conversation when something displeases him, tug his hood down and refrain from any eye contact or he would glare down at you with those magenta eyes of his, just like right now.

“Where are you going?”

You startle as the tall, brooding man materializes in front of you. You pause, looking around for any imminent danger for him to act like this.

“I was just gonna check out the stalls I haven’t stopped by in Aurum Alley.”

He blinks. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You defend yourself quickly, too quick. “I wanted to buy something but haven’t found the right place to custom make it, this is my second time trying to look around.”

Moze ponders upon your excuse, he melts immediately after thinking it through. “Okay.” He uncrosses his arms, shaving his stubbornness away. “I’ll accompany you,”

“Wait a second.” Your brows furrowed in confusion. “You…you cannot come with me, and aren’t you supposed to be in an important meeting in the seat of Divine Foresight with Jiaoqiu and the Madam General?”

He responds by shaking his head. “It’ll be alright, Jiaoqiu’s enough to handle it and I’m not fond of the limelight either way. It’s also protocol to—“

You try to sidestep him, he moves to block you again.

You scowl at him. He ignores you.

“It’s protocol to keep watch over you here more so than normal since this isn’t the Yaoqing, there might be others here that are out to get you.”

“It’s a festival, Moze.” You narrow your eyes.

He nods his head. “A great distraction for people to come and take advantage of the situation. So try—“

“To enjoy the celebration—“

“To stay alert since it is a celebration.”

You cannot help but sigh. “Let loose a little, will you?” You start. “If it makes you feel better, I’m heading there with a companion. They’ll be able to look after me while you are busy, better?”

Moze’s frown seems to deepen, not necessarily easing his worry like you’d hope. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Argen—”

“Absolutely not—“

Before Moze could finish his demand, you take his hand in yours. The complaints on his tongue die and his heated stare is on you. The folds of his worried expression only creases further, you had to squeeze his gloved hand.

“I have always been grateful for your companionship, so never think otherwise that I’m trying to cast you aside.”

“So why can’t I…” Moze bites his tongue when you shake your head again.

“Well if I mention anything then it wouldn’t necessarily be a surprise now will it?”

When his response is nothing but silence you finally drop his hand, trying to swerve around him yet again to leave. “Thank you for your generous services, Mr. Shadow Guard. Then, I’ll see you—“

A firm grip on your hand stops you dead on your tracks. You turn your head to look at Moze, there was a complicated expression on his face, his brow pinched more than usual, frown deeper and velvet pupils simmering.

“…Moze?”

He snaps out of it in an instant, “I do trust you, It's just I’m—” He blinks, reconsiders his words, then releases your hand. “Nevermind. Have fun, come find us if anything happens.”

You watch your companion turn to leave, his familiar purple hood disappearing around the corner. You cannot help but sigh, now you feel guilty for pushing him away like this.

“There you are.” Argenti greets you from behind as he taps your shoulder.

“Hey, Argenti.”

He takes notice of the look in your face, tilting his head. “What’s with the morose expression, my dear friend?”

“Oh.” You turn away. “Sorry, I just brushed away a friend just now and I feel terrible about it.”

Argenti hums, patting your head gently. “I see. Well, if it eases your worry, I am here to announce that I have found a stall that can help you make your requests. However, they are not in Aurum Alley.”

You perk up. “That’s great news.” You smile. “Thank you, can you show me where they are?”

“Of course,” Argenti smiles at you, “The craftsman I stumbled upon usually hangs around Exalting Sanctum, come with me.”

Before you take a step, you dare to look over your shoulders at the place where you saw Moze disappear, then turn to follow Argenti down the road.

When Moze returns back to Jiaoqiu and Feixiao with a sour expression on his face—they didn’t need to piece together the cause of such sullenness for the assassin. A laugh cannot help but slip from the lips of their General as she quips,

“You know, if the both of you are jealous due to lack of attention just say so. I can’t have two of my retainers looking especially like kicked pups in front of the Luofu’s and Zhuming’s generals.”

Jiaoqiu cannot help but grumble. “Don’t tease us like that, General.”

It was a brief feeling, and the first that you’ve felt in years: the fear in your skin, grief in your chest and the pain woven in your brain. Smoke dresses your veins and you choke on the exhaustion, knees hitting the bloodied grass beneath you.

Your heart is pounding in your ears and instead of the familiar Luofu inn—you remembered being back in that particular field of massacre, bodies of your people falling like weeds as Borisins cut them down, one by one, their screams of pain piercing through you.

More specifically, the bloody screams of your parents as they pushed you to continue running. Don’t look back, their words echo. Keep running my dear, don’t turn around— when their screeches are accompanied by painful gasps and squelches of bodies being torn apart like lacy ribbons, You dare to turn around.

“Mother! Father!” You scream so hard it makes you dizzy. Fat tears spill down your cheeks, a pitiful sob wrenching from your throat. “Please don’t leave me, I don’t have anybody else. What am I supposed to do, I don’t want to be alone, I’m begging you—!“

Your eyes snap open.

You awake from that nightmare with a billowing gasp.

The night is tame and your room is quiet, but your heart is a drum in your chest. When you sit up, the remnants of tears are all that remains of the tragedy of your youth.

Mom, dad. You cannot help but let out a shaky exhale, curling into yourself to stop the tremor that chills through your whole body. It’s okay, you’re no longer in that field.

Restlessness sinks into your bones after that, so instead of laying awake in your bed you were leaning against the open window. Luofu’s night air appears colder than what you were used to. You tap your finger against the surface of the wood beneath you.

You hear a brief noise faint in the ears.

You close your eyes.

“I know it’s you, Moze.”

There was silence, then a low hum that belonged to one person. “You’re awake still.” The tides of umbra shadows linger, materializing his familiar tall build leaning against the wall just outside your open window.

You shoot him a smile. “I am unable to sleep tonight.”

It takes a while for him to respond. He turns around, approaching you and ducking his head to enter through. “Are you alright?” He asks when his feet hit your wooden floors.

“Just, thinking a lot.” You say. “That’s all.”

“Nightmares?” Moze asks.

“Nightmares.” You confirm.

You can feel the man frown before you can see it. Though by then, you decided to lift the lighthearted mood with a question, “How about you, why are you still here?”

Moze decides to play along with your whims, “I decided to attack the General tonight, but as always, she managed to dodge it all.”

Ah, that.

You dare not question Moze’s and Feixiao’s weird little bonding the moment you found out about this arrangement. Apparently they’ve been going on like this since Feixiao first saved Moze from the disciples of Sanctus Medicus. To him, Feixiao is both his benefactor and enemy, the relationship they both have concurrently was fixed upon a promise, a declaration and a sense of respect for one another.

You stir from your own thoughts when you feel someone tug the ties of your attire.

“Your hanfu isn’t aligned properly.”

You look up at his steady velvet eyes. Moze’s in front of you now, murmuring his excuse as his fingers flatten upon the fabrics, tugging and hoisting and pulling until it’s finally centered and his irk is satiated.

You watch his fuss beneath your softened gaze, you reminisce on such a simple gesture. “Hey, Moze?”

He diverts his attention, looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, you know, for sticking around.”

You feel his fingers flinch from your statement. The frown on his face shows his puzzlement.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just that.”

“Are you gonna do something that would cause us to be separated?” You wanted to laugh at how serious his tone had become, hardened and alerted. The levity doesn’t sink into him, for he had pinched your chin, drawing your attention back to him.

“Answer me, please.” He pushes a little, not roughly but not gentle either. The moonlight strokes the crevices of his pinched expression, a sprinkle of salt and pepper of seriousness.

Just when you are about to retort, he adds in with a quickened breath.

“I don’t want us to be separated.” He says ardently. “You are too important to me.”

You are vaguely aware of his other hand still lingering by your waist, the one that was constantly tugging and pulling your hanfu in place. Outside the Luofu’s night air, you feel nothing but warmth, your heart is quickly filled with a flood of wanton and fullness,

And belonging.

You felt like you finally belonged.

The fear that you had felt mere minutes ago completely washes over, reassured by Moze’s blunt responses. You take a step closer to him, winding your arms around his neck and burying your face on his shoulder, the man stills at your unexpected behavior but is quick to recover, purchasing his hands on your lower back, soothing the skin there by rubbing his thumbs.

Reignbow Arbiter. You murmur to yourself. Whatever happens, please protect them. Protect my sister, protect Moze and Jiaoqiu. Do what you must, please, I beg of you. I don’t want to be alone anymore.

And for a split moment, you are weighed down by the reality that your prayers are merely just a gust of wind for something as almighty as the divine that ruled over the cosmos. It happened oh so suddenly that fear almost shatters your entire body into two.

“Hoolay has escaped from the Shackling prison!” A guard’s words echo through you that moment.

“He has taken a Yaoqing messenger with him, his name is…”

Moze inhales, messy in appearance after just coming back from the Shackling prison. The words thick on his tongue and fist clenched.

“…Jiaoqiu was taken by that escaped Borisin Warhead.”

You watch the starskiffs pass by your vision, the wind that gently gossips upon your skin felt so numb. You grip the rail before you, inhaling a breath, Jiaoqiu’s taken. You exhale, resting your head on your arm. He’s taken and no one knows where he is.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

You hear Feixiao approach you, you don’t lift your head to look at her and she settles on the space beside you, diamond blue-eyes accompanying you gazing at the numerous skiffs before you.

When you’ve gotten used to her presence, she turns, “How are you holding up?”

You cannot help but chuckle. “I’m not the one who needs comforting.”

She hums. “I know.” Her eyes are back on the starskiffs. “I am not familiar with offering words of comfort either, but I know you. I’ve known you for a very long time, don’t try to hide your emotions from me.”

You don’t answer her, you don’t for a very long time. So when you do, your voice cracks. “I’m scared. So, so scared—“

“Look at me, please?”

You finally lift your head. When your eyes settle onto Feixiao, she’s a watercolor of vanilla and blue. You didn’t realize you were crying until she started wiping the strays rolling down your cheeks.

You disliked crying, it makes you feel so weak—so open. However, you press Feixiao’s warm palm on your cheek, letting her comfort you because your fear is spiking yet again, memories of your dead parents rising to choke you whole.

“We’ll get him back, that I can promise.” Feixiao’s forehead is against yours.

You can only nod, squeezing her hand. “I know you will. You three are so strong, the strongest people I know.”

She finally releases you, not before pressing a delicate kiss on your temple. “I love you,” she tells you like she’s sealing a promise on your skin. “I’ll be having an audience with General Huaiyan and Jingyuan. Moze and I won’t be back for a while until this situation rolls over.”

You see the uncertainty clouding within Feixiao’s eyes. “Will you be alright being alone for a few hours?”

Your sister has always been so concerned for you, she’s been like this since you were young and you’re grateful that she cares about your well-being.

You shake your head with a smile as a response. “I’m no longer a child, Madam General. I can handle myself, so go do what you need to do.”

You don’t leave your place, raising a hand and waving as Feixiao leaves you to your own thoughts. Your smile falls then, ruminating on the current situation with a heavy heart.

“Jiaoqiu, Feixiao and Moze.” You mutter out to the wind and the virring skarskiffs passing beneath the bridge. “Please be safe.”

As you finally let your prayers fly in the wind, you step down the bridge and decide to focus your mind on other matters—you decide to stroll around Exalting Sanctum to check up on the craftsman that promised you your items.

Under the dim alley of Exalting Sanctum, Jiaoqiu stills with quiet breaths, his sharp eyes hovering between the disguised Warhead and Mok tok.

Even if he’s stringed up by them, he’s certain that General Feixiao had gotten the message of the prison break as well as his capture. His only course of action now is to stall for the Cloud knights, he’s giving time for Moze and General Feixiao to capture Hoolay.

“Since you’re so confident that the Cloud Knights have closed the ports, Jiaoqiu, I’m giving you a chance to go and see for yourself. Go to the ports, come back, and tell me what you saw.”

What is he thinking? Jiaoqiu scrutinizes as he steps into the bustling streets of Exalting Sanctum. His butterscotch eyes lift up to the sky, then around the streets, he’s certain that Warhead isn’t giving him freedom, the piercing gazes of suspicious foxians watching closely on his behavior is enough for him to thread carefully.

If he interacts with anyone aside from checking up on the ferryman, he fears there will be consequences. Jiaoqiu’s steps are paced, weighty and enduring. His mind is a blur of colors, but he manages to reach the port, his voice hushed as he talked with the so-called ferryman who’s responsible for the Warhead’s escape.

Jiaoqiu had thought the Xianzhou had closed the ports, but it still remains open. What's going on?

He inhales, he can feel someone watching him. The prodding looks make the hairs on his tail stand up. He exhales, climbing up a flight of stairs and turning the corner—

“Ah, there you are, young one. I was wondering where you were, and where’s your red-headed companion?”

“It’s just me today.” A familiar voice, “May I ask for the progress of what I ordered?”

Jiaoqiu’s breath is paper thin and his bones stiffen, what are you doing here?

He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s you, his amber eyes zone in on you in an instant. At first, he felt relieved. You seem to be faring well even after the events that had happened in a span of a few hours—and then after relief, he felt dread.

Jiaoqiu can still feel eyes following his every move, he cannot go to you. But what if you saw him? What if you approached him and demanded to take him?

What would the Borisins do to you?

Jiaoqiu should’ve left when he had the chance instead of just standing there—because after your conversation with a craftsman, you had turned on your heel and your eyes had stopped on him.

No, Jiaoqiu mutters to himself.

He sees the arraying emotions washing over your face, the look of shock, relief, then yearning.

“Jiaoqiu is that…you?” Your tone is laced with a certain type of sob that rips his heart into two. His fingers twitch on his side, the desperation to embrace you is almost palpable—your actions will have consequences.

He stops himself shortly.

Jiaoqiu turns his head, and leaning at the far corner is a stranger, a foxian, his shadowed expression sharp on him, scrutinizing and calculating.

“Jiaoqiu!” He’s snapped back to reality when he hears you approaching him, hurried paces against the stony ground. He cannot be seen speaking with you.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Your voice is strained and vulnerable, eyes glassy. “Where have you been, how did you—“

When you reach over to touch him, Jiaoqiu turns and slaps your hand away, harshly.

The two of you pause for a full minute, shocked at the action.

Jiaoqiu? Your eyes dissect him slowly, his butterscotch eyes are sharp, narrowed, expression complicated and folded with a million emotions. What’s happening?

“Is something wrong?” You ask him slowly. For a very long moment you only stared at each other. Jiaoqiu looks like he wants to reach out to you, to apologize for slapping your hand away—for his fingers ache to touch you.

But at the same time he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. He keeps shifting on his heel, like he’s ready to walk away from you. But why?

Is someone watching him?

You turn your gaze, looking around the crowd but Jiaoqiu’s voice stops you,

“Stop it.” he hisses at you, “Go, get out of here.”

”..Okay.” You can do nothing but exhale. “Okay uhm, then I’ll get someone here, perhaps a Cloud Knight—“

“No!” Jiaoqiu yells at you and you flinch.

“Don’t—just don’t do anything. Forget you saw me and go back, please.”

Forget you saw him, he says. This is the first time you’ve seen Jiaoqiu this agitated, not even your first argument was he this icy, so harsh on you—you’re trying to understand why he’s acting like this but you cannot come to a conclusion.

You want to abide by what he says, you really do, but Jiaoqiu’s right here. If you left now, what would those borisins do to him—would they kill him like how they killed your parents?

The very thought of it sends a chill through your spine, your heart seizing in fear. So when Jiaoqiu turns around hastily, dread crawls up your body just watching his back as he walks away from you.

You know Jiaoqiu’s trying to protect you. You know it, but at the same time you cannot let him go.

You close the distance, enough to grasp the straws of his sleeve fabric—but the response is almost instantaneous, Jiaoqiu circles your wrist and tugs you to a dim alleyway impatiently. He’s aware of the heated gazes of the borisins but he tries to get away enough to push you up against the wall, to take all your attention.

Jiaoqiu’s aware of your wide, tear-stained eyes and shaking body. “I’m sorry, Jiaoqiu. I just can’t, let me expl—“ your words stumble between your lips like a drunk as you try to explain yourself but he simply flattens his palms on your mouth, and his voice is low, hurt and in pain.

From here, his butterscotch eyes that were once a gentle pool of honey and orange are now hardened like a resin, angry.

“When I tell you to run, run, little scribe.” Jiaoqiu forces his voice to leave his throat, a shaky exhale of statements. “I promised you, I promised General Feixiao that I would protect you, I would do anything for that. Your life is worth more than mine.“

You shake your head fervently, struggling from his hold but Jiaoqiu holds you closer, head falling unceremoniously on your shoulder, his soft ears tickling your cheek.

“They’re listening.” Jiaoqiu murmurs, shifting his hands to hold the frame of your face closely. “I need to go back to them.”

“They’re gonna hurt you at this rate.” You hiss. “Just come with me, Jiaoqiu, and then—“

“Then they’re gonna hurt the people here!” Jiaoqiu’s ear twitches as he bites back. “We are not to draw any form of attention to ourselves, don’t be selfish—“

“So what if I am?!” You grasp his hand, pressing your cheek against the heat of his own palm. “I don’t care if you call me selfish, I—“

Your words stumble, he can feel fresh tears on his skin.

“You’re breaking my heart, Jiaoqiu.” you sobbed. “I just want you to be safe with me, with sister and Moze.”

Jiaoqiu closes his eyes.

He is reminded of that crammed table that could slot four people. He remembers the spicy scent of food, the banters, the laughs.

Jiaoqiu engulfs you in a tight hug, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” he pauses. “I know where you’re coming from, you told me your story before, haven’t you?”

His lips brush the side of your temple, as if sealing a promise.

“I love you.” He tells you, and agony is in your heart. “I’m sorry, so so sorry, but I can’t leave with you, not when I know people will die if I escape and especially not when I know Hoolay will be the key to cure the general’s illness. Go find Moze as fast as you can, I'll try to stall those wolves for you.”

“Jiao—“ but he’s pulling away and disappearing from your view, taking the warmth with him. You could hardly stand on your own two feet, barely registering what had just happened.

You foolish fox…you push yourself off the ground, stumbling out of the alleyway with your eyes sweeping across the area.

But he’s gone, just like that.

You bend down, your balled fist slamming hard against the wall in frustration.

Jiaoqiu, an image of him enters your head, the patterns of torment in his eyes. You turn around and sprint for it. Please, stay alive.

But the world is not in your favor.

As soon as you distance yourself from Jiaoqiu, it isn't long before you feel eyes following you. You have been ever since you left the alleyway. Your heart hurts, and you aggressively wipe your tears on your sleeve.

For that Warhead to force your companion to do all of those things, you feel anger simmering beneath your arteries. How dare he—how dare he force Jiaoqiu to say all of those?

You quicken your steps then, someone was after you. Maybe that’s why Jiaoqiu wants to get away from you despite wandering around freely, because he was kept under close watch, he didn’t want them to draw their gaze on you.

Foolish, so foolish. You should’ve taken notice of the bloodthirsty eyes around Exalting Sanctum. Your breathing is heavy, you try to turn a corner—

You bump into someone.

They hold your shoulders steadily.

“Easy there, are you alright?” Gazing down at you was a man in Cloud knight uniform, you physically relaxed at the familiar attire. You step away from his hold, swiping the back of your palm on your cheeks.

“I’m alright, I apologize for bumping into—“

You stop. You feel murderous intent.

You settle your gaze on the Cloud Knight before you, he had foxian ears and a scar running down one of his eyes. Despite his gentle and raspy tone, his expression is cynical, but most of all,

His scent was so achingly familiar to the scent of the people that massacred your parents.

This is not a Cloud Knight.

“Is something wrong?” The man asks you.

You shake your head with a polite smile on your lips, your fingers nitpick at the wild thread from your pants, brushing the hidden knife tucked into it. “No, it’s alright. I just argued with someone unnecessary. I’m sorry for being such a sight—“

You merely wish to aim for his neck, to immobilize him so you can stumble out of the quiet corridor you were on and to mesh with the crowd. Just as your fingers reach for the weapon and to swipe—you hear bone crunching, your knife falling to the ground and your scream is choked by his hand, clamping down and gripping your jaw and cheeks, his claws dig deep and they feel sharper against the pillow of your skin.

“Pathetic human.” the foxian clicks his tongue. “So much vigor for such a weak attack.”

Hot blood trickles down from the open wound on your wrist, it hits the pebbles ground like rubies.

“If you want to chastise me for my measly attempt, at least say such a thing out of your disguise.” You breathed heavily, gaze sharp and angry. “You have no right to say that to me when you’re the one hiding like a whelp, you damn wolf.”

“A sharp-tongue, just like that pink fox.” Mok tok says it so disdainfully, his claws cut your skin, he leans in close to you, inhaling. “You smell of him too, as well as two other scents on you. So you’re close-knit.”

Jiaoqiu, your mind utters. What did you do to Jiaoqiu?

The borisin laughs at your unfortunate situation. “Now because of both your stupidity, your life will be nothing but fodder for our cause. Sing praises, little human, you have no one but that fox to blame for your misfortunes.”

“Of course, a lowly beast like you would think like that.” You try to bite back your scowl. “Blame him? How shallow do you see me, blaming someone whom you’ve shackled and taken hostage?”

“You speak as if your opinions hold absolution. Well, relish in these short-lived quips. Our lord wishes to cause chaos within the Xianzhou streets, it won’t take long and you will be nothing but another body to clean up and placed on a star skiff after this farce.”

You close your eyes. White, hot anger threatens to brew out of you like a storm, but you can feel the bones in your legs weakening, the dripping blood causing you to feel lightheaded—is this how you’ll die?

You slump against the stone wall behind you, your vision starting to blur.

“Feixiao.” You mumble, biting your lip one last time. “She’s strong, her alone will be enough to cut down a thousand of you. I swear upon my name, she’ll make sure you borisins will taste nothing but bitter defeat. You and your lord will not leave this ship and see freedom till your last dying br—“

Your words were hindered as something sharp swipes through your throat. Your pulse dies and everything goes pitch black.

For a split moment, his heart hurt and his eyes snapped open to nothing.

The ache is almost indescribable, almost painful as Jiaoqiu jolts awake from a nightmare, hand flying to his throat. He didn't realize he was mumbling in distress until he heard the chair beside him creak clumsily—like someone had jumped up from being seated for so long.

When his nose picks up the scent of Dreambranch incense, Jiaoqiu momentarily realizes where he was.

He lets out a breath. “I wasn’t aware you were here, Moze.”

“Jiaoqiu you…” Jiaoqiu can almost hear the reluctance in his tone—and if he had his vision, he would have seen a complicated expression on the assassin’s face, the familiar furrowed brows and deep frown.

“Don’t sound so uptight. I’m fine, I just had a nightmare is all.” the lighthearted tone quickly withers after remembering the dream that had made his fingers tremble.

“Moze, has…”

Moze is quiet by definition, but the absence of even a breath from him is all too unnerving. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch, picking up on the way the chair creaks at the weight of being occupied, then a heavy breath.

Bitter is in Moze’s tone. “…little scribe has still not been found yet.”

Jiaoqiu smiles resentfully.

After the whole dilemma with Hoolay and the Wardance ceremony, he had just narrowly escaped the jaws of death when Moze had found him in an alleyway half-dead. He had lost track of the days that passed as he recovered slowly within Luofu's commission.

Everyone is slowly recovering from the aftermath, him, Feixiao and Moze—severely injured from fighting Hoolay and the remainder of the wolves that thrashed the streets.

All but you.

After everything was settled, General Feixiao had ordered knights to track your whereabouts. But not a single person had found you or possibly,

your body.

Jiaoqiu does not like to think of the latter choice.

But it’s been days, and the seed of hope within him is slowly withering.

After fixing his clothes, he peels the blankets which prompts a curt response from Moze.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to take a stroll, I feel restless..”

A gentle yet firm hand lands on his shoulder. “You mustn't.” Moze says. “That dragon lady just injected Draconic Ichor dewdrops to you last night, your tissues haven’t fully replenished, you’re not allowed to move as you please, at least not right now.”

“You’re confined to the alchemy commission just as much as the general and I.” Jiaoqiu quips back. “And yet you’re here in my room, defying clear orders from Miss Lingsha.”

It was unspoken, but Jiaoqiu is aware of the times Moze slips out the commission at night, searching for you until the dawn peaks and people start to flurry back onto the streets.

He’s aware of Feixiao talking with the authorities within the Luofu, talking with higher ups and people to help with the search, to find people who would help find even an inkling of you somewhere.

And just like him, those two are just as aware of the times Jiaoqiu sits alone on the bed, a smile on his lips as Lingsha or Bailu leaves the door when he says he was feeling okay. unaware—but aware to two of his companions—that he’d pray helplessly for your safety every day, praying that you’d show up at some point. He prays, promises that he’d never place mushrooms in your bowl again, so you can finally come back to him.

It wasn't spoken aloud, but actions were made clear on how the Yaoqing general and her two delegates had missed you like no other.

They loved you, after all.

The hand on his shoulder drops, and Jiaoqiu turns to the direction where he knows he’s facing the assassin. He’s still unsure with his own movements and gestures, being in such a state—he’s conflicted of what to feel, but his visual impairment doesn’t affect him as much as his growing dread of your absence and his heavy heart did.

“If you plan to take a stroll, then i’ll accompany you.”

Jiaoqiu’s smile is soft, feeling the looming presence of his companion by his side, easing him towards the door in a clumsy gesture.

“I owe you, Moze.” He tells him when they exit the commission.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Moze replies. “Just, keep yourself healthy so you can continue to be by the General’s side.”

“Of course. Isn’t that already a given due to my position?”

“…You’re making that face.”

Jiaoqiu’s ear flick at his directness.

He pushes out a chuckle, “What face?”

“Like you just failed the General.” The familiar thump thump thump of Moze’s footsteps pause, the pink-haired healer does the same.

“It’s not your fault that they’re missing.”

“Is that so?” Jiaoqiu wonders. From the distance, he can taste the sea waves, the ether trickling its whisper on his ears and kissing his skin cold. “Do you remember what the General told us months ago when we were first called to her office?”

Moze stays quiet. Jiaoqiu continues, “the General had told us that there was an attempted assassination on her kin.” He grits his teeth. “She told us that she was worried, that one day, the most precious person in her life would face a tragic end because of her—“

“Jiaoqiu—“

“The little scribe.” Jiaoqiu sighs, shaky. He feels pathetic, saying all of this in front of Moze. He’s supposed to be the eldest, the wisest, but given the circumstances, there’s nothing but loathing and self-deprecating thoughts in his mind.

Helplessness has found a home in his chest once again, he hasn't felt this way since being a healer on the battlefield.

“There’s no excuse for this.” Jiaoqiu turns then.

“It was direct orders from the General to protect them, I exposed them to Hoolay and now we don’t know if they’re safe or not. I…I failed that order. If only—“

And faltering, “if only I walked away just before they saw me—“

Warmth. Just before he finished his sentence, he felt arms embracing him.

For a moment, he was stunned. Moze hugging him? That’s quite an unlikely situation, then he smells that scent—the scent of wind and vanilla and herbs, as well as the feeling of smaller sinewy arms around his shoulders.

“Is that how you felt, Jiaoqiu?” It was General Feixiao.

“...Did you also slip out of the alchemy commission, General? Ignoring the doctor’s orders again I see.”

“Compared to you, I have almost recovered.” Feixiao’s embrace only tightens much to Jiaoqiu’s surprise. “But you, I heard from Miss Lingsha that you’re healing very poorly despite the treatments you’ve received. They had thought it was because of the toxins still in your body, but I thought of another reason. You feel responsible for what has happened.”

“It’s just a trivial thought of mine, I never wished to concern you with my own health and problems, General.”

“Don’t say nonsense, a healer doesn’t heal himself.” Feixiao mutters on his shoulder. “And I thought an embrace can help ease you, Miss March had said so.”

“Ah, the spirited one from the Astral Express.” Jiaoqiu dithers. “Thank you for the kind offer, General but I’m alright—“

He stiffened once again when he felt another pair of arms around him, piling up on Feixiao's embrace. He is unsure of what to do with his hands, so he pats either of his companion’s arms.

“This isn’t necessary.”

“It is.” Moze says it seriously, dutiful.

Jiaoqiu would have let this slip, if it weren't for the fact that his back is starting to ache from all the weight pushing him down. His companions are—after all—all bulk sinews and muscles from exercise, compared to his leaner stature.

“It isn’t. If anyone were to see this, they would think the Yaoqing—“

“Sorry, am I interrupting a beautiful sentimental moment between comrades?”

Jiaoqiu pushes both Feixiao’s and Moze’s arms when another tone quips up from the distance.

The smell of fragrant roses hits his nose, the subtle feel of the atmosphere shifting at the arrival of that knight whom you have accompanied half the time during the Luofu.

“This is the first time greeting you, knight of beauty.” Feixiao is the first to speak, kindness in her tone. “May I know the agenda of your visit?”

“I have come here to fulfill a request from a friend.” Argenti’s tone dips into genuine sorrow. “As well as to say sorry, for what has happened.”

The clack of armor against the cobblestone, the rustle of something he isn’t quite sure of, then Argenti’s syrupy tone again.

“Your young companion has had a surprise to offer to you three. They had sought me for assistance for it, and it’s only today that the craftsman had finished it. I thought of delivering it on their behalf.”

”What is it?” asks Moze. Argenti steps up and offers a hand, Moze reluctantly extends his, hitting his palm with something soft, almost heavy.

“I heard it’s Xianzhou tradition to give things like this to someone special.” His smile is soft. “It’s to signify good luck and blessings.”

Moze is quiet. “…They did this?”

And the knight nods, giving the other tassels to the two. This was the surprise you’ve been in secrecy for the longest time, Moze notes clutching the red tassel tightly between his palms. It’s a gift, for them.

“Thank you for delivering this, knight.” Feixiao offers her gratitude. She's the only one that is engaged in the conversation, Moze is otherwise quiet—and Jiaoqiu’s too busy trying to trace a pattern on the tassel thread to say his own tidings.

But Argenti is understanding, after a few more words said, the knight of beauty excuses himself, leaving the three to their own thoughts.

When silence is all that envelopes, Feixiao turns towards her companions.

“Do you want me to place the tassel on your person, Jiaoqiu?” The pink-haired healer smiles at the gentle brush of his general’s tone, giving his tassel to her so she can hang the accessory around his belt.

“I can do it for you too, Moze.”

“Okay.” Moze leans forward. “I’ll place yours, General.”

The tassels are caressed by the gentle breeze of the distant shore of Lunarescent Depths, the meaning of its thread weighs heavy.

“They are alive somewhere, that I am sure of.” Feixiao said it like a promise than an assumption. “We won’t return to the Yaoqing until I am sure of that.”

“I am with you, General.” rasps Moze.

“Where will I be if not by your side as your doctor?” Jiaoqiu chuckles. “Even with my current state, I wish to give it my everything.”

Suddenly, hurried footfalls on heavy cobblestone gave way to a new arrival.

Both Jiaoqiu and Feixiao’s ears twitch at the sound. Moze’s sharp eyes darted towards a Cloudknight who was approaching them, out of breath.

“General Feixiao!’ the Cloudknight heaves a breath, his hurriedness draws all three to his manners.

“What is it?”

“The Yaoqing scribe—your companion has been found.” The air stills and Jiaoqiu inhales a sharp breath, the Cloudknight continues through heavy breaths. “The IPC representatives have claimed that they found your scribe, they had just entered the Alchemy commission.”

It’s a miracle, one peels at your consciousness. Thank your Reighbow arbiter for such wonderment, you were given a second chance, the second sores a bruise on your skin.

Your carotid arteries are surprisingly intact, you only manage to harbor a few broken rib cages, wrist bone and clavicle, the third draws a muddy filth until you find yourself awakening from a tormented scene, clutching the expanse of your bandaged-wrapped neck like you’ve lost its anatomy—for a short moment, you thought you have gone without a neck.

Your eyes bruise beneath the sun, sticking it towards the open window of Luofu’s Alchemy Commission, the wind gossips, and the duvets hug your thin frame.

You inhale the medical-scented room, you're alive, exhale, you're okay.

“Feixiao.” your dry mouth utters the first words. “Jiaoqiu.” you push yourself up, dragging your feet towards the edge of the bed, toes hitting cold planks.

“Mo—” then, the door bursts open.

Your eyes snap up and a lamp lights in your pupils.

Moze was standing there, in the flesh.

“Moze—” and you startle in surprise when the gaps between the two of you immediately cease, large arms engulfing you whole. Which was unexpected, because Moze is not one to initiate physical contact with anyone. But to the assassin—feeling you in his arms, the dresses of breaths you let out and the warmth that wools you reassures Moze that you are here. You truly are here in his arms.

“You’re okay.” came his shaky response, he gathers you closer, your beating pulse resting on his cheek. “You’re fine now.”

A couple more footfalls came, Feixiao and Jiaoqiu had arrived.

Feixiao calls your name when her eyes land on you, the synonyms a delicate stroke on her tongue, then her warm palm finds a home on your cheek.

You gaze at her, watching her ocean eyes crinkle with relief, her ears tilted back to show just how troubled she was. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry, sister.”

She leans forward to bump her forehead with yours, levity in the air. “Don’t be sorry.”

When Moze and Feixiao finally pull away, your eyes drag towards the last person in the room who hasn’t uttered a single word yet. You see a smile on his lips but it does not reach his eyes.

“Jiaoqiu,”

“Little scribe,” his voice betrays his calm disposition. “You’re okay.”

“I am.” you start. “Please come closer.”

You see his reluctance before he approaches you—slightly slower than normal—reaching his arms out before finding your bed, sitting on the edge of it. His actions sent an ache through your heart.

“How are you feeling?” Jiaoqiu asks. “We heard your wrist was broken and your throat slashed…”

“The medicine that the healers from the IPC gave me helped and my wrist is healing. But you, Jiaoqiu, I heard that your eyes…”

Jiaoqiu gives you a smile and you finally confirm that it is in fact true.

He cannot see anymore.

Even if he’s visually unavailable, Jiaoqiu knows you. And he knew you were crying, his fingers reaching out to you, trying to feel where you were. You meet him halfway, clasping your fingers with his and pressing your cheek against the palm of his hand. His thumb swipes across your wet skin and his forehead taps against yours.

The whole situation weighs on your chest—your endangerment, the severe injuries those three received, the aftermath and the reunion, you cannot help but finally crash down from everything. You wrap your arms around Jiaoqiu, a heavy sob wracking through your whole body and he holds you impossibly close. You feel Moze’s and Feixiao’s hands rubbing circles on your back, soothing your cries.

“Please don’t cry, I’m—we’re okay.” Jiaoqiu softly croons, running his thumb up and down the wet skin of your cheek.

“So are you,” his face crumbles and he bites back his own sobs. “Thank you so much for being okay and coming back to us, thank you so much.”

When your heavy cries fade into weak sniffles, Jiaoqui holds the frame of your face so delicately, wiping away the remnants of wetness, leaning down to rub your nose with his. “Better?” and in response, you grunted.

Everyone takes a seat near your bed. Moze reaches out to give you a handkerchief and you gratefully take it. Afterwards, you fall back into conversation, asking them what had happened during your absence. Feixiao is the one to elaborate to you the aftermath of the borisin attack, their recovery and the resume of the Wardance.

You crack a smile, “I was really excited to see that ceremony.”

“We can all go there together.” There’s a faint smile on Moze’s lips. “That knight will take part from what I heard and there will be other contestants across the universe.”

“After our recovery, since everything has been handled by General Jingyuan, I will be able to join you three and partake in the ceremony.” Feixiao speaks. “It will take about a week before the Wardance will conclude, then we can all return to the Yaoqing.”

The Yaoqing, your gaze drops to your hands, your smile thinning.

“...I have something to tell you three.”

This garners their attention, with a breath of courage you mutter out, “When the Luminary Wardance concludes in Luofu, I won’t be returning to the Yaoqing.”

You look up, your face serious. “ I’ll be joining the Intelligentsia Guild.”

Hours prior to your return to the Alchemy commission, you find yourself in a room that has been rented out by the IPC.

Someone knocks on your door and you grit back an exhale.

“I believe I’ve already sent my regards to you lot. I am grateful for your aid but I never imagined I would be bombarded, entangled in some miscellany with the IPC, much less..”

You turn your head, glare landing on the tall man with dark purple hair. “Much less from such a distinguished figure from the renowned Intelligentsia Guild.” You let out a tired sigh. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Let’s not speak in riddles and pleasantries then.” Despite your bite, Ratio’s tone remains firm and gentle. “You are already aware of our intentions and I’m merely here to remind you of it.”

“As I said it once and I’ll say it again. I’m a pathstrider of the hunt, I have no interest in joining other factions.”

“I suppose a little stubbornness will suffice, however your missing the point of my argument. Your companions, I heard those three Yaoqing folks—including you—were severely injured during the attack of the borisins. If the IPC hadn't found you when they did, I’m afraid you would have been dead, long ago.”

“So this is the game you’re playing. I heard the Intelligentsia Guild was heavily sponsored by the IPC. I have dealt with people like you during my time in the Yaoqing office and I’m not a fool to fall for your petty schemes. This talk is more catered to your interest much more than mine, am I right, Doctor?”

Dr. Ratio sighs. “I must admit, I was sent here under orders from Madam Yabuli. But I also have my own curiosities about you.”

“Your achievements in the Yaoqing are far more popular than you think. The IPC has recognized it and so have I. There’s an open spot in the Intelligentsia Guild that we can offer you, the Candelagraphos, it’s a printing department of the guild. Your scribe work has gained acknowledgement outside its capital and thus would make a good addition to us.”

Your fist is clenched onto the blanket, “So it’s more of a one-sided investment for you and your guild.”

“Incorrect.” Ratio says. “Going back to your companions, one of them holds the ancestral bloodline of the borisins, and the other has had his vision critically impaired—” Your chest twists at what he said. “—If you join the guild, you can gain access to a lot of information to help them that you can use at your own personal discretion.”

Ratio stands, setting a glass of water and medicinal herbs at your bedside. “That’s my offer to you.” He nods. “I do hope you think this one carefully, at your state, this is more of an opportunity than a disadvantage. I will provide assistance and vouch for you. For now, please rest.”

He turns. “You will return to your family tomorrow.”

Instead of resting like what Dr. Ratio had said, your heart is a bouquet of conflict. You spent the entire day tossing and turning, thinking about his offer, thinking about the possibility and opportunity you can get,

Thinking about leaving them, your mind pauses at the notion. You thought about it again before dismissing it. Their impact on you is so significant that you cannot envision living a life without Feixiao, Jiaoqiu and Moze. They helped you stand on your own two feet, would you still be able to stay afloat when they’re no longer by your side?

Then clarity sinks into your artery.

Jiaoqiu’s permanent injuries and Feixiao’s chronic illness. You can find something to help them, and thus as the sun sinks its color on the horizon line, you made the decision to accept.

You had explained your situation and decisions to your companions. Your hands had turned clammy as they listened to you intently.

Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch. “...You want to join them and use your experience as the Yaoqing’s scribe to research more about our conditions?”

“I thought about it and I don't see any reason to give up on this opportunity.” Your gaze drags to each of them slowly, dissecting the emotions on their faces.

“I have an idea of what you are gonna say, and I am aware of the dangers of joining them. But this is a choice I made, Jiaoqiu and Moze—you both have been my protectors and companions for a short time but it felt like an eternity. Ever since that day at my sister’s office, I never expected for such a bond to happen, nor did I expect to care so so much about you both. If I could go back and do it all again—I won’t change a single thing. Now it’s my turn to help you out.”

Your eyes flicker to Feixiao. “Sister.” you start. “You have been protecting me for all my life, please allow me to do the same for you. I’ll search for a cure for you and Jiaoqiu with my own abilities, please.”

Silence, and you waited with battered breaths, slightly terrified of their reactions. After all, if you join the intelligentsia guild, you would be leaving them.

Then you hear a breathy chuckle, you look up and all three of them are smiling at you.

“Is this what you want to do?” Feixiao asks.

You nod your head and her grin widens. “If that is what you wish for, then who am I to deny such a thing?

Moze lets out a breath, nudging you softly. “We will leave it in your extremely capable hands, Yaoqing’s scribe.”

“We are nothing but proud of you.” Jiaoqiu’s smile is so, so sweet. “Never forget that.”

“I have always been worried about you and your future. If this is the path that you chose for yourself, then go for it, I wouldn’t dare block you from doing something you want to do.” Feixiao reaches out to caress your cheek. “Then, should we spend the next few days together? This will be the last time all of us will be able to hang around each other.”

Your eyes are on your hands, your vision blurring as you try to wipe the wetness from your lashes. “Yeah, okay. That’s a deal.”

The day continued, but most of it was spent being in each other’s company, talking about anything and everything under the sun like you’d always do. The epilogue of the day started when Miss Lingsha knocked on your door, asking for Jiaoqiu to do a quick check up. Everyone had decided to end the day there, not before bidding you a good night’s rest.

By the time you all were able to finally leave the Alchemy commission, the Wardance ceremony had finally commenced. The four of you enjoyed watching the contestants battle to your heart’s content. The atmosphere dressed with the thrill of the crowd, at some point—when a Belobogian fighter was pitting against one of the robots of the IPC, you notice Moze looking at you from the corner of your eye.

“Is something the matter?” You catch his stare, but his velvety irises were intent on something on your face.

He points towards the side of his mouth. “Sauce.”

“Oh.” You immediately raise your hand to wipe—your sleeve comes with a drag of the familiar orangey sauce of your skewer. You thanked Moze and he nodded at you in greeting.

Five seconds pass.

“Want to try?” You raise your berrypheasant skewer to him. You cannot help but laugh at the quiet enthusiasm Moze showed, you cup a hand beneath when he leaned down to take a bite.

You grin at him as his expression glowed at the sweet taste.

It's easy to get lost in the flurry of joy and before you know it, the Luminary Wardance has been concluded and it is your final night with them before you go your separate ways. The night is gradual and Jiaoqiu finds himself conscious on his bed. His face wrinkles on a wince, feeling a burn crawling up his pulse and his chest caving in on himself—chronic pain, he remembered a doctor telling him post-discharge. Due to Lupitoxin and the aftermath of that tumbleweed I’m afraid you will be experiencing episodes of chronic pain.

The healer could do nothing but bite his lip to ease his pain rolling in waves.

Through the pain that hummed in his ears, he heard footfalls nearing his room. It’s the kind of pattering that happens when rain hits a soft cloth, the type that almost anchors him from his splintered head.

His heavy breath hitches when there’s a delicate rapping of knocks, then someone approaching his bed. He recognizes the familiar pattern of footsteps and turns his back to it.

“Are you awake, Jiaoqiu?”

A second too late. “Is something the matter?”

Silence greets him. He feels someone tug his blankets, lifting his duvets so you can occupy the space beside him.

Your head touches his back, Jiaoqiu clenches his hand.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Jiaoqiu asks.

“Yeah.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Jiaoqiu, does it hurt?”

“No—” he slightly chokes on his reply. “I’m fine—I just need a few minutes, it will fade. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologize—”

“Then, can I hug you for a few minutes?” you ask. “Just for a few minutes—”

Before you can finish your own sentence, he has turned around and pulls you in his arms. Jiaoqiu smells like medicinal herbs and fragrance from incense.

You bury your face on his chest. He feels your hand clutch him tightly. “I…I wish I can stay for a little while longer and help—”

Jiaoqiu hushes you. “Why are you faltering now? Didn't you promise me that you would go to the guild to find a cure?”

“I know I did. I still want to go, but I wish to go to the Yaoqing first and be of assistance to you even for a short while. Leaving like this…”

“I will be okay, that I can promise you. Yes, it will be difficult but I don’t want my health to be a detriment to what you want to do.” Jiaoqiu’s warm breath is on your neck. There is a gentle rhythm to his palm running up and down on your back. “This isn’t our last goodbye, so don’t fret your head about it. By the time you come and visit, I will be better. Now sleep, you need the rest for the journey tomorrow.”

“Can I hold your hand while I fall asleep?”

Jiaoqiu chuckles heartily. “Silly.” He finds your hand, the furnace of warmth dancing beneath his palm. “I’ll allow it tonight. Now rest.”

Sometime during the night, like an invisible string—Moze appears, materializing within the room, his eyes gentle at the scene. You awaken to his familiar footsteps and the light rustle as you smell him burning another incense, stirring from your slumber and fluttering your drowsy gaze at the assassin.

Just as you part your lips to utter his name, Moze presses a finger to his lips.

He draws closer, pulling the blanket over both your shoulders and dragging a chair to rest beside the bed.

When your eyes lock with his, he mouths ‘keeping watch, go back to sleep.’

Your eyes crinkle and your heart flutters at his simple way of affection. You are aware of him coming sooner or later, according to your sister’s words, Moze would secretly slip into Jiaoqiu’s room. She believes he does this because he knows of the chronic pain and would light up the fragrant incense on the windowsill to make sure Jiaoqiu slept with a calm mind.

Then and there you’ve realized how different it is for them to love, to comfort. Not only love for you but love for each other. Feixiao and the two had a bond that was furnaced into iron—they were each other’s saving graces and security for as long as you remembered.

You can feel the weight of Jiaoqiu’s head next to yours, his arm loose around your waist. With your free hand you extend it towards Moze.

He looks at it, unsure of what you wanted.

“It’s chilly.”

“I just pulled the covers on you, are you still cold?”

“Your hand can warm me up nicely.” You say softly, “please?”

Moze’s palm without his glove is full of calloused surface, dried scars and roughness against your own. “Thank you,”

A beat of silence, then you see Moze lean forward. He runs his thumb across the bandages of your wrist.

“Your wrist.” He enunciates first. “Does it still hurt?”

Your lips curl up, shaking your head. But Moze does the honor of pressing his lips against your bandages, as if to ease you. Your consciousness slips to the comfort of Moze’s forehead on your knuckles, as if apologizing for being unable to protect you.

I’m sorry. His gestures suggest.

You squeeze back. Fingers brushing delicate strands of his grey hair, it’s okay.

When the night vanishes and the day breaks, Feixiao enters, then stops when she sees all three of you huddled together still sound asleep. The room barely nurses the sunny-egg yolk morning, creeping slow gold through the hard flooring.

Feixiao’s chuckle is thick with mirth. She grabs an extra blanket in the cabinet and quietly covers Moze’s frame slumbering stiffly on the chair, allowing a few more moments of respite between the three of you.

A few hours later, it’s finally time for departure and you stand on the Starskiff Jetty, your bags already loaded onto the skiff. Moze was the first to close the distance, giving you a very long hug as if to satiate the yearning he’d have if you leave. His muscled arms only seem to tighten as the seconds drag and you’re more than welcoming of this side of him.

“Take care of them and yourself.” Your whisper brushes his ear and you feel him hum.

“I’ll handle things over here,” he presses his lips against your temple. “You take care.”

When you pull away, you turn to Jiaoqiu. You’re the one that stepped into his open arms, claiming his shoulder as your homage for a split moment.

“I’m going to miss you.” His voice comes with a tremble. When he pulls away, his hands lay purchase on the chub of your cheeks. He runs his fingers through every angle, crook and dip like he’s memorizing the shape of your face.

You clasp his fingers and press a kiss to the back of his hand. “Me too.”

Jiaoqiu lifts his head, nodding at Moze. “I’ve packed you some Xianzhou food—with the help of Moze, of course. Thought you’d want to eat some one last time.” You turn and Moze hands you a bag of stacked lunch boxes. You cannot help the smile that creeps up your lips at the endearment.

“Thank you so much.” You dare try to sneak a peek inside one of the containers. The familiar aroma of Jiaoqiu’s homemade foods fill your bones in heavy nostalgia.

In one of the bowls, you’ve noticed something.

Your eyes snap up, “There’s no mushrooms.”

There was elation that crossed the fox’s expression, the tips of his lips curve upward and his tail swishes behind him.

“Just like you wanted.”

Your laughter is filled with sentimentality, you try to hide your sniffle, it does not escape him. “This is a first. I swear I'll miss eating your mushrooms though, even if I hated it.”

Jiaoqiu chuckles, reaching out to hold your face one last time. “I’ll take note of that then.”

Lastly, you turn towards Feixiao. A gracious smile settled on her lips.

“Sister.”

“Come here.” Her embrace is almost your last straw. You bury your nose on the crook of her shoulder, reminiscing her scent. Feixiao must’ve noticed your faltering disposition, for she had landed her hand on your back, dragging her palm up and down.

“Don’t cry.” She tells you.

“I’ll miss you, so so much,”

“I know.” She pulls you tighter. “I know. I’m gonna miss you too. You’re always welcomed into the Yaoqing anytime you wish to visit, and remember to write to us, okay?”

Feixiao rubs her cheek against your own. You nod and she spares you another grin. “Here.” She reaches for something. “I want you to have this.”

“What’s this?” You hold the tiny scroll in your palm.

“It’s a letter.” At her reply, you look up. “Open it when you’re on the ship.”

The time has finally come, and from behind Dr. Ratio calls your name. You turn to him, then back at them. Now that you’re gonna be separated, there’s hesitation rooted in your feet.

But your companions offer you encouraging smiles and you finally take a step away from them. With one last glance from behind and a—farewell, I love you—you enter the IPC starskiff. From your seat, you watch Feixiao, Moze and Jiaoqiu enter a different ship boarded for Yaoqing.

You press your hand against the glass, watching as their skiff breaks away from the same road as yours. Now that you’re here, there’s a creeping loneliness that settles on your chest.

“You think you’re gonna be okay?” Ratio comes by to check up on you and you nod your head, wiping the tears that rolls down your cheeks.

“Yes, sorry. I’ll be okay.”

You watch his eyes soften, crushed by a mortar and pestle. “The first goodbyes are always the hardest, there’s no need for apologies. It’s gonna be a long trip to the guild so help yourself with anything the ship provides. The IPC is the one funding it after all.”

“Alright, thank you doctor.”

When the Xianzhou Luofu disappears from your window view and the ocean of the vast galaxies span across vision, you finally tear away from it. You land your wet eyes on your clasp palms, the scroll that Feixiao gave you delicate in your hands.

You inhale, exhale, then open the letter—when the top comes off with a pop, something topples onto your lap and your eyes twinkle. Inside contains the same hand-crafted tassel, the only difference is that it is engraved with all your names,

You flatten the letter onto your palms next and it reads,

Even if such a perilous challenge comes your way, you were always the type to persist. We have always been aware of it, and in our eyes you are a strong and resilient person. We know you’ll do amazing wherever you go, you always have been, and we are so proud of you.

We’ll be alright, just as you would be.

May fates bring us all together one day, and when you come back to visit, let’s all have a meal together like we always do.

You are the pride of the Yaoqing, safe travels our dear scribe.

Much love, your guardians.

When your eyes rove the last characters of the letter it starts to blur. Your heart is honeyed by their words. You press your lips against the paper before lifting your gaze to the universe outside.

Goodbye, Xianzhou. You say your greetings to your home, no longer somber in the heart. Because at the end of the day,

You know you’ll all be okay.

THE END.

[sparklingchim]

you're losing me; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 3.2k

rating: 18+

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

warnings: thigh riding, liddol hickey, spittt, groping, dirty talk, name calling, only one spank!!, arguments 🙄, mentions of smoking?, daddy kink, fake sympathy, creampie, little cum play,

summary: jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.

a/n: this is for us angst girlies 🫂

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Something is not right.

Your nose picks up on the unfamiliar scent on Jungkook as you bury your face into his chest. He squeezes you tightly, big arms embracing you with a warm hug.

“Hi, love,” he softly whispers. Jungkook cradles your head and you melt into his hand. He is bent down to your position on the bed, his loose tie hanging from his neck.

“Missed you.” Your voice gets buried in the kiss Jungkook presses on your lips. You catch his tie and pull him closer.

“I told you not to stay up.” He leans back. Accusatory eyes peering down at you.

Your nose scrunches when he steps away, the pungent waft snaking up your nostrils.

“Did you smoke?”

His round eyes widen at the question, but he denies it with a firm shake of his head. His neatly styled hair doesn’t move – except the short, wispy flyaways on his forehead. Jungkook’s lips pucker the slightest bit. He appears innocent and you believe him if he tells you so.

“I was with Mingyu a lot,” he explains. He places his folded suit jacket on the dresser and begins to loosen the sleeve of his shirt. “You know how he is when he’s stressed.”

You lean against the headboard. “I don’t like the smell.”

“I know.” He starts unbuttoning the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” He walks over to his nightstand and exchanges his Rolex for his smart watch. You watch him with knitted eyebrows. “I’m gonna head down to the gym – do a quick workout session.”

“Jungkook it’s late. You just got home from work.” You reach for his arm.

He turns to you, chiselled chest peeking out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not tired.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Then let me watch you work out.”

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “You stay here.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep for me, yeah? I know you have an appointment tomorrow morning.” His knuckles trace the outline of your jawline.

You sigh and draw back.

“Hey – don’t be upset.” He catches your chin with his fingers. “I told you I was gonna work out today.”

A harsh glower settles on your face. “Well, I thought that meant you’d come home earlier.”

“I tried to, love. I really tried.” His worried eyes search for understanding in yours. “I don’t want you upset. I never want you upset.”

He tilts your chin, so you meet his eyes. Jungkook’s gaze is soft. The amount of softness you’d have if you were staring at a delicate, precious thing. He always looks at you like this.

“I only ever want to make you happy. Nothing else.” His eyebrows raise to stress the tender words he whispered into the room. “Just want to make my wife happy.”

Warmth spreads in your chest. “I know that,” you answer meekly.

Deep down, there’s an overwhelming desire to pour your heart out to him, to express the multitude of things that have been gnawing at your soul, each one a sharp thorn in your side, leaving you utterly upset. But considering how late it is you don’t think it’s the right moment to unleash this torrent of pent-up frustration.

You’re both tired from the useless arguments. You don’t want to make this day any more exhausting for him.

“If you want to make me a happy wife then finish off that workout quickly and join me in bed,” you say. “I need cuddles.”

His eyes crease before a gentle smile sweeps over his mouth. “Good night, love.” He catches your lips in a swift, tender good-night-kiss. “You should shut that thing off. It’s too late for that.” Jungkook regards your iPad with a disgruntling scrunch of his nose. He hates screen time before bed. But you just love drawing on it.

You’d tease Jungkook with it sometimes. Annoy the hell out of him until he’d see no other choice but to put you to sleep his way.

But now Jungkook tucks you under the bed, makes sure to grab his number one enemy when it comes to having you to himself at night and hides in his nightstand.

You watch him slip off his shirt as he crosses the room. You get a glimpse of his broad shoulders and unfairly teeny tiny waist before he leaves the bedroom.

You turn to your side. A tiring sigh flies past your lips.

With two gentle claps of your hands the dim lights in the room shut off.

The spot next to you is empty. Cold.

It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve gotten used to the feeling.

~

The mattress dips beside you.

“Hmm?” You stir awake, emitting confused murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hushes from behind you. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your head turns in his direction. “Jungkook.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He is a magnet, always pulling you in. Even when you are sleepy and can barely force your eyes open.

His fingers find their way to your hair and in slow patterns he strokes over the length of it.

“What time is it?” you mutter the question into his skin.

“Just past midnight.”

“Two hours?” Your peeved grumble prompts him to peck your bare shoulder. “You said quick workout.”

“I didn’t work out the entire week, babe.”

You rest your head on his arm, glaring up at him. “It’s just Wednesday.”

Jungkook shushes you with a firm squeeze on your hips. “I’m here now. Done with everything.”

When you hear him emit a tiny, exhausted blow through his nose – barely audible in the quiet room, but you notice because you notice every little detail about him – your eyes turn worried.

“You okay?”

Jungkook lets the questions linger in the air before he nods firmly, uttering a, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

You tentatively sweep his short hair from his forehead. It’s a little damp from the shower.

“The day was filled with lots of important meetings. It was a lot today.” Before you can place your hand back on his chest, he catches your wrist and adds a small kiss to the back of your hand.

You figured as much. Jungkook barely texted you back today. Needed hours to respond.

“Was at least the food that I ordered for you good?”

“Fuck – don’t remind me.” He bites his bottom lip, pleasure spreading over his face. “The food was incredible. Have you eaten there before?”

A smile curves your lips. “Uh-huh. Went there with Namjoon last week. I didn’t know when you’d have time to have dinner there with me, so I got my favourite from the menu for you.”

Jungkook has been coming late from work for over two weeks now. You barely had cute dates anymore.

“We can go there.” His tatted fingers toy with the hem of your lacy nightgown. “You wanna go there tomorrow? I’ll finish work earlier.”

Your eyes sparkle. “I’d love to.”

Jungkook’s dimple appear at your beaming face. He drags your thigh over his abdomen, the silky fabric of your nightgown riding up the curve of your butt. His palm rests on the exposed skin.

“Why didn’t you blow dry your hair?” you ask. You tug at some damp strands.

“Didn’t want to wake you.” Jungkook cranes his neck down to gently kiss your forehead. “We should sleep now. It’s late.”

Your brows furrow in exaggerated displeasure. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong, love?” He cups your cheek worriedly.

“Wanna hang out more.”

Jungkook chuckles lightly. “You wanna hang out?”

“You’ve been making me feel really lonely,” you say in a pout.

“Love, fuck.” His hand on the swell of your ass squeezes your flesh. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re barely home.” You get closer to him, if even possible, knee skimming past the front of his grey sweatpants. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin at that motion.

“You really don’t wanna sleep, huh?”

“Nuh-uh.”

You slowly start to grind your hips against him.

“Then let me make up for all the time I’ve been away from my wife.”

You giggle when he draws you on top of him. You straddle his thigh as Jungkook leads your face down to his mouth. It’s an impatient and longing kiss, the type that has your mind bewitched, compelling you into chanting his name in a never-ending rhythm.

Jungkook rids himself of his sweatpants, tossing them to the ground with his feet.

Your hips continue to move on his now bare thighs, moving your kisses from his lips to his neck. He doesn’t like having marks on his neck, but you can’t help but feel a little selfish when you start sucking on his skin. Just merely a second after, Jungkook pulls at your hair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he questions with a sharp gaze.

“Having fun?” Your desire to leave a little hickey might also stem from media outlets starting to question why Jungkook and you haven’t been spotted together recently, but you’d rather not admit that. You don’t want him to think that you care about public perception, even though Jungkook is very well aware of it all. You just like to pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You just can’t wait for the photos tomorrow when you will show up in a cute outfit with Jungkook holding your hand, a small love bite adorning his neck after not making a public appearance with him for a couple weeks.

He sniffs a laugh. “Just can’t help it, can you?”

“Never.” You bat your eye lashes.

His hands are on your waist, encouraging your slow movements. He bunches the soft material of your baby blue nightgown in his palms, staring at your clothed pussy.

“I can feel how wet you are for me.” His eyes move with the motions of your hips, a gentle smirk capturing his lips. “What’s gotten you so worked up, babe?” He flexes his thigh, coaxing a gasp from you.

“You.” You’re already a little breathless, his heartbreakingly handsome face fuelling the deep desire of needing more.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Have I not been taking care of my love? Hm?” Jungkook asks you in mock sympathy.

You nod, pressing your palms against his ripped chest while your hips grind a bit rougher on his thigh.

“I’m sorry.” He traces your bottom lip, gentleness coating his words. He pops his finger into your mouth, making you suck on it. You swirl your tongue around it until he withdraws his finger, sneaking it in your panties and pressing it against your sensitive clit.

A whine flies past your lips at his touch, moving even faster.

“You’re gonna cum for me like this?” He starts circling the pad of his thumb on your clit.

Arching your back, you lean in for a kiss, uttering little moans of his name against his lips. You can feel the smug smirk on his mouth, can feel his possessiveness in the way he squeezes your ass and hear it in the loud smack that echoes through the room after his palm collided with your butt.

When you feel the pleasure exploding within you, you bury your face into Jungkook’s neck. Your body trembles. Jungkook tilts his head and gingerly pecks your temple, hands skimming over your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Jungkook puts you on your back, tugging off your panties and carelessly throws them away. He does the same to his pair of black briefs.

You watch him spit on his dick and stroke his hard cock while you get comfy on the pillows. Jungkook rubs his tip over your soaked pussy, leisurely pressing his dick inside when his head is against your entrance.

“Fuck, I missed your pussy.” He wraps your legs around his waist, staring at how your pussy takes his entire length.

As he moves his cock, his hand raises to your head to tame your chaotic hair. You pucker your lips a little and he instantly answers your silent request with a smooth press of his mouth against yours.

“Want your vibrator?” he asks.

“Too sensitive.” Your nails graze his back, your feet keeping him close to you.

Jungkook pushes your silky nightgown past your tummy and over your tits. He loves watching them bounce as he thrusts his cock into your pussy. He gropes them, toying a little with your nipple as he swipes his spit over your nub. His eyes are practically glued to the supple swells on your chest.

Until he finds something prettier than your tits. Your face.

He wears a boyish smile on his face when you meet his gaze. You bite your lip, pleasure and giddiness swirling through you.

“Taking my cock so well,” he praises. “Such a good slut for daddy.”

You gulp, teeth sinking further into your lip.

He lowers his head, pulling your earlobe between his lips before he whispers, “Right? You love being a good slut for daddy.”

Chills spreads over your neck and you manage a meek nod as loud whines escape your throat.

“Use your big girl words,” Jungkook demands. “Tell me whose girl you are. You can do that, can’t you?” His voice turns sweet again, though the taunting glint remains in his eyes. Your pussy foolishly clenches.

“I’m daddy’s girl,” you utter with bright eyes.

Jungkook flashes you his dimples. Excitement spreads in your tummy at his approval.

“Open,” he instructs and you part your mouth. He drops a tiny bead of saliva in your mouth. With one hand around your throat, he feels you swallowing it. “Good girl.”

He pushes the back of your thighs towards your body, picking up on his speed.

“Jungkook,” you moan weakly.

“Gonna fill this pussy with my cum.”

He pounds you faster, harder, filling the room with filthy sounds.

“I’m close,” you mumble, fingers clawing at the bed.

“Cum with me,” he rasps.

Jungkook grunts your name and you feel yourself topple over the edge as his tip kisses the sweet spot inside you, repeatedly hitting it until your hands fly up to his shoulders and nails dig into his skin.

His hips still, painting your pussy white. Jungkook plants slow kisses on your collarbone, trying to catch his breath.

When he pulls out, his cum follows, but he pushes your mixed juices back inside. You moan lightly, tapping your feet against his back to tell him to get you something to clean you up.

But Jungkook remains on top of you just a little longer. “You did so good,” he whispers. He catches your left hand and pecks the ring that adorns your finger. “I love you.”

“Love you,” you mutter back, a tiny, exhausted smile curving your mouth.

“Forever.” With a doting kiss he conceals the promise he has been making to you for four years.

Getting off the bed, he puts on his briefs and disappears into the bathroom to fetch a warm cloth. When he returns to clean you up, he is gentle with you, peppering kisses on your tummy and thighs and flashing cute smiles your way as he does it.

With his sweatpants and now dirty cloth he walks back into the bathroom.

“Have you thought about costumes for the Halloween party?” you ask him.

“Halloween party?” His voice ricochets through the bathroom.

“Chanyeol’s Halloween party,” you remind him as he saunters back into the bedroom. The grey sweatpants hang dangerously low on his hips. “Wanna go through my Pinterest board? I collected some cute ideas.”

He grabs white lacy panties from the dresser. “It’s in two weeks?” Jungkook helps you slip on the new panties, ducking down to press a light peck on the little bow sitting on the centre of it. “I’ll see if I can find the time.”

You look at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook rakes his hand through his messy hair. “You know I’m extremely busy at the moment.”

“But we always go to Chanyeol’s party.” You reach for his hand, tugging him closer to the bed. Disappointment pulls your lips into a pout.

Chanyeol’s Halloween party is always big, extravagant and ridiculously dramatic, but that is exactly what makes it fun. You love extravagance. Love dressing up.

Jungkook’s finger brusher over your dainty ring. “You can still go. You don’t need me to go with you.”

You drop his hand with a frustrated huff. It’s not the response you wanted to hear. “Missing out on Jimin’s birthday last week wasn’t enough?” you ask disdainfully. A bit mean. You don’t care.

“I’m not doing it purposefully.” He levels you with reproving eyes. “I wish I could’ve come.”

You tuck your feet back underneath the blanket, pulling it up to your lap. “Just squeeze in a little time for the party.” You almost add a “please?”, but you’re feeling terribly annoyed; the kind that makes you unconsciously clench your jaw and pull your brows so tightly, they practically touch.

“I’m not going to schedule around a silly Halloween party, ___.” His tone drips with irritation.

“Fine,” you reply, scooching back on the bed. “Don’t know why I even bothered.”

“Love.” It’s a futile attempt at taming the sudden raging anger that crawled up your neck.

“You’ve been doing this constantly, Jungkook.”

He still stands in front of the bed. Tongue poking his cheek as he debates his next words. He swipes his hand over his face, sighing into his palm.

“You don’t understand,” he grumbles annoyed.

“I know you don’t.”

Jungkook scoffs at your reply – even wears a crooked, ridiculing smile. An angry flush appears on his cheeks.

“Let’s not do this before bed,” he suggests. Tiredness is written all over him.

We’re already in the middle of it. But you keep that to yourself. You don’t have the energy for a bigger fight. He’s drained it from you from all the fights the nights before this.

“I don’t care anymore,” you say. “Shouldn’t have asked you anyway.”

Jungkook turns off the little lamp on his bedside table before he gets into bed. You turn your back to him.

Your heart is heavy with confusing emotions as you lie there in silence. You almost feel your eyes well up with tears, but you blink them away as soon as you feel them.

“Want me to accompany you to your appointment?” Jungkook asks suddenly.

“No.” Yes.

“I’ll start work a little later.” Jungkook’s hand sweeps across your tense shoulders. You must’ve unintentionally stiffened at the mention of your gynaecologist appointment. “I know you’re a little anxious.”

As sleep gradually embraces you a little later, you try to pull back every time invisible strings tug you closer towards Jungkook. You don’t want to sleep in his arms this night, but your heart stubbornly ignores what your mind wants.

Your silent resistance eventually ends, surrendering to the inevitability of your limbs becoming entwined with his. Your cheek is pressed against his chest and his nose is buried in your hair while the soft cadence of his heartbeat finally lulls you into a deep slumber.

This is just the way Jungkook and you function.

Yet, despite your efforts, small seeds of doubt continue to sprout up in your mind, making you question just how much longer you can tolerate this.

[dilfluvrgirllxoxo]

post mission arguments and make-ups - j.f.w

summary: after a mission, john hurts your feelings during an argument and soon makes it his duty to fix what he did.

pairing: john f. walker x reader (i'm tired of hiding my truth he's been fine since tfatws)

warnings: angst!! grumpy x sunshine trope because i can't help myself, teeny bit of smut at the end, mostly just fluff, john is lowkey a little out of character but its okay, petnames (sweetheart, honey), no use of y/n + no reader descriptions, not proofread!

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

the car ride back from the mission was silent except for the occasional conversation between ava and yelena. as soon as the car was parked, you got out and slammed the door harder than you meant to, walking away, not caring if john was following behind you.

kicking off your boots and tossing your bag onto the floor, you trudged over to the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink as the others scattered off to their rooms. not john though, no. he decided he just had to come and be a pain in your ass...again.

he stood against the doorframe, jaw clenched, face dark and his arms crossed tightly against his chest, like a parent ready to chastise their child.

"you always do that," he snapped after a long moment of silence, his voice sharp.

you froze, turning around to face him with a sigh. “do what, john?”

“do missions without us, without backup. going in first, acting like you’re invincible, like you don’t need anyone. it’s reckless."

“so now i'm the problem? i can handle myself john, i'm not on this team for nothing!”

his eyes narrowed, his hands clenching into fists as he stepped closer to you. “i'm trying to keep people alive, including you, including the rest of the team.”

“you're not in the goddamn army anymore john, stop acting like you can boss us around!” you yelled, knowing that was a low blow by the way his shoulders tensed.

“you don't get it. you want to get yourself killed by being foolish? be my damn guest!" he hissed, his fist coming down on the table next to him and you flinched—he saw it, and instantly regretted what he'd done, but his cold, dismissive words were out now, no going back.

“right. yeah.” you said, voice cracking. “got it.” you practically scurried away, walking into the bedroom and slamming the door, on purpose this time.

you lay on the bed for what felt like hours, letting your tears fall, not even turning your head when you heard the door open and john stepping inside cautiously. “hey honey.” you didn’t answer.

he walked closer, voice lower now as he sat on the edge of where you lay on the bed, sighing as he thought about what to say. he wasn't good with the whole 'letting your guard down' thing. “i shouldn’t have said that. any of it.” still nothing from you, making him shuffle closer and take your hand in his.

“i...was scared,” he admitted, and that word seemed to make him flinch, like he'd never said it in his life. “i thought you were in danger, and i—i panicked and then i lashed out at you.”

you turned on your back, finally meeting his eyes as you tilted your head. “it made me feel like you didn't care about me and it hurt, john.”

john’s normally stoic expression broke, just slightly, into a softer one, one only you ever got to see.

“i know,” he said. “but you’re the only person who makes me feel like i’m worth something, i do care about you, more than anything. i just wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt, and i ended up hurting you. i’m...i'm sorry.” he whispered the last words, not knowing how to feel. he never apologised. god, you were softening him up too much.

"i want to fix this, let me make it up t' you honey." he murmured, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it be as he shuffled onto the bed fully, his arms at either side of you as he hovered above you. "cmon honey, wanna make this right, show y' how sorry i am."

you paused for a minute, tears now drying on your cheeks as you looked up at him and nodded, whispering a faint, “kay.” which was all the confirmation he needed as he nodded slowly, rough, calloused hands coming up to cup your cheeks with surprising gentleness, his mouth on yours before you even had time to think, the strength of the kiss making your head spin, barely registering his words when he finally pulled away breathlessly, tugging at the waistband of your trousers.

"want y' to sit on my face sweetheart, need t' taste you." he drawled, his request making your breath hitch as you stood up to peel your trousers off quickly, his hands grabbing your waist and easily manhandling you back onto the bed as soon as you were done.

safe to say, you'd soon forgiven him.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[daisymbin]

34. "you made me believe in us." scoups/jeonghan with happy ending

(p.s. i love that you’re doing these and theyre so good too 🥹/ side note: i chose 34 out all the angst prompts cause it seems like it would hurt less 🥲 idt id survive the rest because the one line alr hurts)

omg you softie 😿 thank you for your kind words & for requesting!! i chose cheol if thats okay with you! if you would still like jeonghan's vers. do let me know!!! hopefully I did it justice 🫶🤍 here's situationship!cheol 🥰 this one's a bit longer then usual, sorry about that 😅

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

angst prompt #34: "you made me believe in us."

the car ride home is quiet—too quiet.

seungcheol’s knuckles are white where they grip the steering wheel, his jaw set tight, and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. you sneak a glance at him, your heart sinking at the tension radiating off him in waves.

“cheol?” you ask tentatively, your voice soft. “what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t answer, his lips pressed into a thin line.

the silence stretches on, and the pit in your stomach grows heavier. you know something’s bothering him—he’s never been good at hiding his feelings—but no matter how much you try to reach out, he keeps shutting you down.

by the time you both get home, the air between you is thick with unspoken words. he walks in ahead of you, kicking off his shoes and heading straight for the kitchen without so much as a glance in your direction.

“cheol,” you call out again, following him. “seriously, what’s going on? you’ve been like this all night.”

he doesn’t respond, just pours himself a glass of water and leans against the counter, staring into the sink.

“okay, fine,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway. “if you’re not going to talk to me, then at least tell me what i did to piss you off.”

his head snaps up at that, and for a moment, you see something raw in his eyes before he quickly looks away.

“it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

“it does matter,” you insist, stepping closer. “cheol, if i did something wrong, just tell me.”

he slams the glass down on the counter, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet room.

“fine,” he snaps, his voice rising. “you want to know what’s wrong? it’s you. it’s the way you spent the entire night talking to that guy like i wasn’t even there.”

you blink, caught off guard by the anger in his voice. “what are you talking about? he’s just a coworker—”

“i know that,” he interrupts, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “but do you have any idea how it felt? sitting there, watching you laugh and talk with him like... like i didn’t even exist?”

you open your mouth to respond but hesitate, unsure of what to say. his words cut deeper than you expected, and you can feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on you.

“why do you even care, cheol?” you ask finally, your voice shaking. “you’re not even my boyfriend.”

the words hang in the air, sharp and cold.

seungcheol freezes, his expression crumbling as the tension in his shoulders collapses. he stares at you like you’ve just slapped him in the face, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“cheol,” you whisper, closing your eyes as regret over your words quickly settles in you. but seungcheol doesnt move or say anything. though the words are true; you didn't mean to hurt him.

“you made me believe in us,” he says softly, his voice breaking.

his words hit you like a punch to the chest, leaving you breathless.

“what— what do you mean?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

he laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he stares down at the floor. “you made me believe that there could be something here, that this wasn’t just... whatever this is. and stupidly, i let myself hope for more. but clearly, i was wrong.”

the raw vulnerability in his voice makes your heart ache, and for a moment, you can’t find the words to respond.

“cheol,” you say finally, stepping closer. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just... i didn’t know you felt this way.” guilt, heartache and panic sizzles in your blood.

he looks up at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “how could i not? do you have any idea how much you mean to me? how much i care about you? and yet, i’ve been sitting here, pretending like this is enough when it’s not. it’s not enough for me anymore.”

your breath catches in your throat, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

he shakes his head, his lips curling into a sad smile. “maybe i should’ve said something sooner. but now... i don’t know. maybe this was a mistake. i shouldnt—.... maybe i shouldnt have fallen in love.”

for a moment, you’re both frozen in place, the weight of his confession settling over you. has he always felt this way? were you too busy keeping your feelings at bay that you failed to notice his feelings?

you don’t know what to say, every thought in your head scattering as his confession hangs in the air. seungcheol runs a hand down his face, taking a shaky breath as he steps away from you, heading toward the door.

“i’m going to stay at jeonghan’s tonight,” he mutters, his voice strained & cracks. “i can’t do this right now.”

“wait,” you call out, panic rising in your chest. you grab his arm before he can leave, holding on tightly. "don't go, cheol, please."

he turns to look at you, his eyes glassy and filled with pain. “why? so i can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt? so i can keep playing this game where i feel like i mean something to you when i don’t?”

“you do,” you blurt out, your voice trembling as your chest tightens, “you mean everything to me, cheol.”

his breath hitches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to figure out if you really mean it.

before you can lose your nerve, you step closer, cupping his face in your hands. “i don’t want you to leave,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “i cant—... just, i can't lose you.”

the tension between you snaps like a rubber band, and suddenly, you’re pulling him down into a kiss. it’s desperate and messy, filled with all the emotions you’ve been holding back for so long.

seungcheol freezes for a split second before he melts into you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses you back just as fervently.

when you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“do you mean it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “are you really saying you want this—want us?”

you nod, tears streaming down your face. you don't know how else to reassure seungcheol that you feel the same, that you want the same, that you want him, all of him. your voice; still shaking, still trembling with nerves over all your unsaid feelings; you say the one thing you're sure will get him to finally understand, "I love you, cheol, i love you, i love you so please,"

the sound of your sniffling and light hiccups fills in the gentle, comforting silence that settles over the both of you as seungcheol's eyes searched yours. then, a shaky laugh finally escapes him when he sees it, when he sees the fondness in your eyes. his hand reaches up to wipe your tears away and he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder as he lets out a deep breath. “god, you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting to hear that.”

you cling to him, your heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks. “i’m sorry it took me so long.” you mumbled through your tears.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “you’re worth the wait,” he says, as he leans down to kiss your forehead. his voice filled with so much love it makes your chest ache.

you smile, your tears finally slowing as you lean into his touch. “so... does this mean you’re staying?”

he chuckles, nodding as he kisses you again, this time slow and sweet. “i’m not going anywhere, pretty."

[fordiaz]

I Love You, I’m Sorry (Eddie Diaz) 𓍯 ִ⋆.˚ 💋ྀིྀི ⋆

“Eddie, loving someone doesn’t mean they’re going to leave you. You’ve lived like the next loss is always around the corner, but she wasn’t trying to go anywhere. You pushed her out.” . ݁₊ 🩸⊹ . ݁💉˖ . ݁

Synopsis: You and Eddie have always shared something deeper than friendship — an unspoken connection that lingers in every glance, every laugh, every brush of a hand. But when Eddie realizes just how much power you hold over his heart, fear sets in. He pulls away, leaving you confused and heartbroken. When you confront him, he denies everything, leaving you shattered. As time passes, it becomes clear to everyone around you that you’re both falling apart without each other. Eventually, it takes a push — maybe from Buck — for Eddie to finally confront the truth he’s been running from: he’s always loved you, and he may have already lost his chance.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Slowburn, Mutual Pining, Fluff

AU: None

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Eddie’s an asshole but he didn’t mean to bc he runs away from his problems (😭)

Note: This was a request from my inbox (in my ask box tag) and I thought the plot was super interesting since it falls right into the genre of fics that I produce. Thank you to the anon who gave me a whole run down on the story! Happy reading and as always, every like + reblog and comment is highly appreciated.

There’s always been something quietly comfortable about being around Eddie.

You’re not sure when it started — the ease, the intimacy, the way your lives naturally bled into each other — but at some point, it became second nature.

His house was your second home. Christopher knew your coffee order and your favorite snacks. You knew which cabinet Eddie kept his aspirin in and which way the bathroom door creaked if you didn’t close it properly.

He never had to ask you to stay longer when you were over; your presence was a given.

You brought takeout on your nights off and folded his laundry when he forgot it in the dryer. He poured you a glass of wine after long shifts and let you steal his hoodie when it was late and you didn’t feel like going home.

There were no declarations. No spoken rules. Just the quiet way he always looked for you in a room, how he made sure to pour your coffee just the way you liked it — two sugars, no cream — or how his shoulder would graze yours when you walked side by side, like it couldn’t help but lean in your direction.

It wasn’t romantic. Not officially.

But God, if it didn’t feel like the most real thing in your life.

Sometimes he’d sit beside you on the couch, a little too close, and your thighs would touch for minutes on end. Neither of you moved.

You’d both pretend not to notice, but the air between you shifted. Grew warm. Familiar. Intimate. He’d chuckle at something on TV, and you’d smile because his laughter was your favorite kind of peace.

And the glances… those glances stayed too long to be casual. Like when you’d say something in passing and he’d stare at you as if he was memorizing your words — as if they mattered more than you knew.

His gaze would dip to your lips sometimes when you weren’t speaking, and you tried to tell yourself you imagined it, but deep down, you knew better.

Everyone else saw it too.

“Okay, seriously,” Buck said one night after a shift, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Are you two ever going to admit you’re in love or are we all just going to die waiting?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed it off. So did Eddie.

“We’re just friends,” you both said in near-perfect unison, which only made Hen groan.

“Uh-huh. Friends,” Chimney muttered, sipping his coffee like he was watching a slow-burn rom-com unfold in real time.

“Friends who look at each other like they’re planning to die in each other’s arms.”

It was embarrassing — the way the team teased — but it was also validating in a weird, terrifying kind of way. Because you’d started to feel it too.

The shift.

The tiny changes.

It happened quietly. The way he started opening up more. How his voice softened when he talked to you, how his eyes searched yours when he wasn’t sure of himself.

The way you reached for him automatically during calls, always scanning the wreckage for each other before anything else. And maybe the moment that hit you hardest: when you caught yourself thinking about him as home. Not just his house or his presence, but Eddie.

He was home.

And that terrified you.

Because if it was real — if this thing between you was more than friendship — it meant you had everything to lose.

Still, the idea nestled in your chest and refused to leave. You thought about what it would feel like to kiss him. To wake up in his arms. To be loved by him fully and openly.

You thought about Christopher, about Sunday mornings and slow coffee and a life that maybe, just maybe, could be yours too.

But nothing was ever said.

Not out loud.

Because maybe he didn’t feel the same. Or maybe he did, and was just too afraid to say it. Either way, you weren’t sure who’d be brave enough to say it first.

But something was building between you.

You could feel it every time he looked at you like you were the center of his universe. Like he was one breath away from telling you everything.

And honestly? You were starting to wish he would.

It starts small.

A missed call here. A shorter reply there.

You don’t think anything of it at first. People get busy. Shifts get hectic. Life happens. You give him grace — because that’s what you do for people you love.

But then it starts to happen more.

He stops texting back as quickly. Your usual post-shift dinners turn into silence. The calls you used to get at 11PM — just to hear your voice before bed — go unanswered. He still smiles when he sees you at the station, still asks if you’re okay after a tough call, but it’s like he’s flicking a switch now.

Friendly. Polite. Detached.

And it hurts. It hurts like hell.

You try not to show it. You tell yourself maybe he’s going through something, that he’ll talk to you when he’s ready. Because this is Eddie — he doesn’t always know how to open the door when he’s hurting.

You’ve seen him do this before with others. But never with you.

Not like this.

One night, you knock on his door with your usual coffee order, the kind gesture that used to earn you a soft smile and a “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

This time, when he opens the door, he looks surprised. Like he wasn’t expecting you. Like he doesn’t know how to be around you anymore.

“Oh,” he says, eyes darting behind him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, holding out the drink like some kind of peace offering. “Thought you could use this.”

He hesitates, then takes it from you. “Thanks.”

You stand there for a moment. Waiting. Hoping he’ll invite you in like always. But he doesn’t move.

“Is everything okay?” you ask softly. “You’ve been… different.”

“I’ve just been tired,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“A lot on my mind.”

You nod slowly, trying not to let the sting show. “Okay. Well… I’m here if you want to talk.”

He nods once, almost absently. “I know.”

But he doesn’t invite you in.

And that night, for the first time in months, you don’t fall asleep knowing how his day went. You don’t feel like his person anymore.

At the station, it becomes harder to ignore.

He avoids lingering too long. Doesn’t sit beside you at the kitchen table anymore. Talks to Buck and Chimney and Hen like nothing’s wrong — and maybe to them, there isn’t — but you feel the distance like a cold draft under the door.

It becomes unbearable.

And one day, when you catch him alone in the locker room, you finally say what’s been aching in your chest.

“Why are you pushing me away?”

Eddie freezes, halfway into zipping up his jacket. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Your voice cracks. “You don’t answer my calls, you barely look at me when I talk to you, and I feel like I lost my best friend without even knowing what I did wrong.”

He swallows hard. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what is it?” you demand. “Did I cross a line? Did I make you uncomfortable? Because I swear, if it’s something I said or did, I’ll—”

“It’s not you,” he interrupts, voice low, eyes finally meeting yours. “It’s me.”

You let out a shaky breath, because how cliché. “That’s not an answer, Eddie.”

He hesitates. Looks down at the floor like it might help him find the words.

“I care about you too much,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stutters. “And that’s… a bad thing?”

“It is when I don’t know what to do with it.” His eyes flash with something unspoken — pain, maybe, or guilt.

“You don’t understand what it’s like. To have someone mean so much, to love someone so much, that you start to lose your grip on everything else. That terrifies me.”

Your breath catches.

“Eddie…”

“I’ve already lost too much,” he says. “Shannon. The idea of loving someone again—loving you—and losing it? I don’t know if I could survive that.”

You step closer, heart hammering in your chest.

“You don’t have to be afraid of your feelings. I feel it too. We’re not just friends and you know it.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s all in your head.”

The words hit like a slap. You actually flinch.

“No,” you whisper, eyes burning. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend it wasn’t real.”

“I’m not pretending. I’m telling you the truth.”

You stare at him for a long moment, waiting for him to break. To take it back. To tell you he’s lying.

But he doesn’t.

So you nod, jaw trembling, and back away.

“Okay,” you say softly. “If that’s how you really feel.”

And you walk out of the room, out of the station, out of whatever almost was between you — your heart shattering silently inside your chest.

He doesn’t follow you.

Yet, a part of him wants to.

You don’t slam the door. You don’t raise your voice. You just leave.

Quietly. With the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t need sound to be loud.

And Eddie stands there in the locker room, frozen in the hollow silence you leave behind.

Fuck, he wants to go after you. Every part of him screams to. His legs twitch like they might move on their own. His chest is tight with everything he didn’t say.

But he doesn’t.

Because if he does, he won’t be able to lie anymore.

And the truth?

The truth is you mean too much.

You got under his skin in ways no one else ever has. Not Shannon. Not Ana. Not Marisol. Not anyone.

You’re woven into the little things:

How his day feels lighter when you smile at him across the firehouse kitchen. How he sleeps better after hearing your voice. How he’s memorized the way you take your coffee, and how his hands gravitate toward you even when he’s not thinking.

How you looked at him like he was safe.

And now? Now it’s too much.

Because the last time he let someone that far in, he lost her. And the fallout nearly destroyed him — nearly destroyed Christopher.

He can’t afford that again. Not for himself. Not for his son.

Not even for you.

But God, he wants to.

He wants to tell you that he lied. That it’s not all in your head. That every night he spent distancing himself from you, he stared at his ceiling wishing he had the courage to love you out loud. That he hears your laugh when you’re not even in the room. That it’s you. It’s always been you.

But the fear is louder.

The fear says: What if it all falls apart?

What if you get tired of him? What if he’s not enough?

What if Christopher gets attached and you walk away too?

Eddie Diaz has survived fire, gunfire, and grief.

But loving you — losing you — that’s a battle he doesn’t think he’d survive.

So he lets you go.

At least for now.

At least until the ache of not having you outweighs the terror of loving you.

And as he finally slumps down on the bench, head in his hands, Eddie whispers to himself the truth he couldn’t say to your face:

“I love you.”

You’re still there.

You show up to shifts. You answer your calls. You laugh at Chim’s dumb jokes, take your turn cooking in the firehouse kitchen, and go on like nothing’s shattered.

But it has shattered.

And everyone can feel it.

Especially him.

Eddie doesn’t sit next to you anymore. Not unless the lineup forces it. And when he does, he doesn’t speak much — like your presence stings, like proximity might burn him alive.

Which is ironic, because you’re the one feeling scorched.

There’s a hole in your chest where he used to be. The silence between you is louder than the sirens that wail from the truck. It fills the kitchen, the locker room, the back of the rig, the pause before you slide into your bunk at the end of the night.

He tore the thread between you with trembling hands and didn’t have the courage to stitch it back.

And you’re left holding it, frayed and useless, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to stop loving someone who never really gave you a chance to.

Buck is the first one who notices the real damage.

He knocks on your door a week after the blowout. Shows up with Chinese takeout and a bottle of wine that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to expense, but “Chim won’t know if we drink it fast.”

He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t need to.

“You can talk,” he says softly, passing you a spring roll. “Or you can just sit here and hate-watch rom-coms with me.”

You try. You really do. You sit beside him with your knees tucked to your chest, and you try to laugh at whatever stupid movie’s playing — but it cracks something open instead.

“I don’t get it,” you say, eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. “He was right there, Buck. We were right there.”

Buck doesn’t tell you it’s okay. He doesn’t say Eddie didn’t mean it. He just nods and says, “Yeah. I know.”

Because he does know. He’s been in that liminal space between almost and never. He’s lived with a heart that wanted too much.

So he lets you cry. He sits there while your voice breaks and your mascara runs, and you tell him how much it hurts to love someone who’s too afraid to love you back.

At the station, things feel colder.

Hen pulls you into more calls than usual, always with a hand on your shoulder or a glance like, I’m here.

Chim tries to make you laugh too hard, and you let him — for their sake. Not yours. Even Bobby gives you a longer look during lineups, like he’s making sure you’re still steady on your feet.

But Eddie? Eddie’s unraveling.

He’s sharper with his words. Slower to smile. Quicker to volunteer for high-risk entries — the kind that make Buck flinch.

And Buck’s watching him, arms crossed, jaw tight, because he’s done waiting for Eddie to fix this.

“You’re miserable,” Buck snaps one night in the locker room, voice low and cutting. Eddie looks up from where he’s lacing his boots, surprised.

“What?”

“She’s miserable. You’re miserable. And for what? Because you’re scared? Because it’s easier to push her away than admit you love her?”

Eddie says nothing. Just clenches his jaw, like the truth might slip out if he lets his lips part for too long.

“You’re not protecting her,” Buck says. “You’re punishing her for making you feel something real. And you’re punishing yourself too.”

Eddie stands, tense. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple,” Buck says, stepping closer.

“You’re not a scared kid anymore. You’re a man. You’re a father. You know what love looks like. You had it in front of you and you shoved it away.”

Eddie looks away. His shoulders sag. His voice is quieter now.

“I didn’t want to break her heart.”

Buck scoffs. “Well, too late. But you can still fix it. Unless you wait too long and someone else does.”

The words land like a gut punch. Someone else.

That thought had been haunting Eddie for weeks — the way Buck looked at you now with that softness, that fierce protectiveness.

He sees how you smile at Buck even through your heartbreak. And he knows — he knows — that if he doesn’t move soon, he’ll lose you for good.

Eddie doesn’t know when the house stopped feeling like home.

Maybe it was the way the sunlight pours in on Saturday mornings and doesn’t land where you used to sit on his couch, coffee in hand, laughter soft as wind.

Maybe it’s the quiet—too quiet—like something’s been vacuum-sealed from his life, and no matter how loud the world gets around him, he can’t unhear the absence of you.

Chris asked about you the other night.

“Why doesn’t she come around anymore?”

And Eddie, sitting on the edge of his son’s bed, couldn’t find a real answer. He lied, gently, the way people do when they’re trying not to bleed on the people they love.

“She’s been busy, bud. Just life stuff.”

But Chris is too smart for that. He didn’t press—he just nodded and turned to face the wall.

That silence haunted Eddie more than anything.

He finds himself at Hen and Karen’s, one of the few people who’s always seen through his best performances. He tells them he needed someone to talk to. Karen hands him tea before he even asks.

“So.” Karen folds her arms. “How long are you going to pretend you didn’t break your own heart?”

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“To everyone but you, apparently.”

He sinks into the couch. “I just… I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did,” Hen says. “And you’re hurting, too. It’s written all over you.”

“I thought if I kept some distance, it’d make it easier. Like… if I never said anything, she could walk away if she wanted. And I wouldn’t have to fall apart when she did.”

Karen’s expression softens.

“Eddie, loving someone doesn’t mean they’re going to leave you. You’ve lived like the next loss is always around the corner, but she wasn’t trying to go anywhere. You pushed her out.”

“I know,” he admits, voice raw.

“I was terrified. Of how much I loved her. Of how easy it was. And how… permanent it felt. Like once I let it in, I’d never come back from it.”

“And now?” Hen asks.

He doesn’t speak right away. He just stares at the tea cup in his hands like it holds all the answers he’s too afraid to say aloud. But eventually, the truth peels itself out of him.

“I love her,” he breathes. “God, I’m in love with her.”

Later, he’s on a late shift with Bobby, just the two of them by the rig. Bobby doesn’t pry—not at first—but he looks up after a long stretch of silence and simply says:

“You ready to stop punishing yourself?”

Eddie laughs, low and tired. “I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do,” Bobby replies. “You just have to stop running. You’ve been in survival mode for so long, you forgot what it’s like to choose joy.”

Eddie leans against the counter, voice barely audible.

“I think she was my joy.”

Bobby nods. “Then go get her back. You still have time.”

That night, Eddie lies in bed staring at the ceiling, and for once, he doesn’t picture all the ways he could lose you. He pictures what it would feel like to hold your hand again. To tell you the truth.

To stop being afraid of a heart that beats a little louder when you’re near.

And he decides—finally—that it’s time.

He’s done running.

It’s raining when he knocks.

Not the kind of gentle drizzle that clings to windows like a whisper, but a downpour—relentless, cold, unforgiving.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Eddie in anything more than passing glances at the firehouse, and longer still since you heard his voice say your name without flinching.

You almost don’t open the door.

But when you check the peephole, and you see him standing there—soaked to the bone, eyes like bruises, shoulders sagging—you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

You crack the door open just enough to lean against it. You don’t invite him in.

“Really?” you say quietly. “Now you show up?”

Eddie’s lips part, but he doesn’t speak right away. You almost think he won’t.

“I know I have no right to be here,” he finally says, voice gravel-thick and wet with regret. “But I couldn’t— I couldn’t keep doing this. Not after everything.”

You cross your arms, biting back the ache in your throat.

“Everything like what, Eddie? Like telling me it was all in my head? Like pretending none of it meant anything?”

He flinches.

“I was trying to protect something,” he says. “I just didn’t realize I was destroying it at the same time.”

You open the door a little wider, just enough for him to see the anger that still flickers in your chest—anger born from heartbreak, not hate.

“Protect what exactly? Yourself? Because I sure as hell wasn’t protected when you said all those things. You made me feel insane for loving you.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he says instantly, stepping forward but stopping himself short.

“I thought if I kept you at arm’s length, maybe I wouldn’t lose you completely. I’ve lost people before—people I loved. And you—”

He swallows thickly, shaking his head.

“You scared me more than anyone ever has.”

That stings.

You let it.

“That’s not an excuse,” you say, voice firm even as your hands start to tremble.

“You don’t get to burn down what we had just because it scared you. You don’t get to come back when I’ve barely figured out how to function without you.”

“I know,” he says, and he means it. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his shoulders curl inward like he’s folding under the weight of it all.

“I lied,” he says softly. “That night. When I said I didn’t love you.”

You glance away, jaw clenched.

“I was scared. I still am. But the truth is… I’m more scared of never getting to tell you how much I do love you.”

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, and for a moment, all you can hear is the rain pounding against the pavement and the thunder rolling overhead.

“Eddie,” you say quietly. “You broke my heart.”

“I know,” he breathes, voice wrecked.

“And I’ll spend as long as it takes trying to make up for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to trust me. But I needed you to know that I see it now. I see you. I love you. And I never stopped.”

You stare at him for a long time, and he doesn’t fill the silence with more words. He just stands there, letting it rain, letting it hurt.

Eventually, you step aside.

“Come inside before you catch a cold.”

He does. Carefully. As though you might change your mind at any second.

He peels off his soaked jacket and stands awkwardly in your living room, dripping water onto the rug he once helped you pick out on a lazy Sunday afternoon—back when things were still unspoken but full of promise.

“You still love me?” he asks, quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you walk toward him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his chest.

Your fingers brush over his shirt, soaked and clinging, and you look up at him through lashes heavy with everything you’ve carried.

“Of course I do,” you whisper. “That’s why it hurt so much.”

He exhales shakily, and for the first time in weeks, you see the man you knew—the one who carried your heart like something fragile and precious, even when he didn’t have the words for it.

“I’m still angry,” you warn.

“You have every right to be.”

“I’m not just going to forget it all overnight.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You stare at each other, storm still howling outside, hearts both threadbare and somehow still beating in tandem.

And when you kiss—finally—it isn’t perfect.

It’s desperate. It’s trembling. It’s soaked in tears and rain and months of unspoken longing.

But it’s real.

And when he presses his forehead to yours, holding you like the world might split open, you realize that maybe love was never supposed to be fearless.

It was just supposed to be brave.

Falling asleep next to Eddie Diaz becomes a ritual you never thought you’d have the right to experience.

Not after the heartbreak, the months of silence, the tear-stained pillowcases, and the long nights spent wondering if you’d imagined it all.

Not after the ache of watching him walk away from something he felt as deeply as you did. But now, with his arm looped around your waist and his breath slow and even against the back of your neck, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Like it was always supposed to be this way.

Your mornings are slow now ever since you started sleeping at the Diaz household.

The world still spins fast around you—calls come in, emergencies rise like tides, and grief still knocks on your door sometimes. But in the stillness of sunrise, before the rest of the world wakes up, you and Eddie find time to just be.

You’ve gotten into the habit of making coffee while still wearing his hoodie, sleeves falling past your fingertips, the scent of him wrapped around you like armor.

He pretends not to notice, but there’s always a soft little smile tugging at his mouth when he sees you in it.

“You know, you do own clothes your size,” he says one morning, voice still rough from sleep.

You shrug. “But yours are warmer.”

He pulls you into his chest with a soft grunt and presses a kiss to your temple. “Can’t argue with that.”

After rough shifts, you hold his hand on the ride back to the firehouse.

Sometimes, you don’t even realize you’ve reached for it until you feel his thumb rub slow circles into your knuckles.

It’s never for show. It’s never performative. It’s just… comfort. Constant. Quiet. Sure.

You don’t need words to know what he’s thinking when he squeezes your hand just a little tighter after a difficult call. You just lean your head onto his shoulder and let him breathe.

On another note, Christopher loves having you around again.

Not in the polite, oh-she’s-nice way—but in the real, deep-bonded way that tells you you’ve become something sacred in his world.

After school pickups are his favorite, and even when it’s supposed to be Eddie’s turn, he asks if you can come too.

“Dad says you’re better at choosing snacks,” he tells you with a grin, swinging his backpack onto your back like it’s already your job.

You catch Eddie giving you a soft look through the window of the car. One that says, This. This is it. This is everything I almost threw away.

Sometimes, Chris falls asleep on your shoulder on the ride home when you’re sitting at the back. And sometimes, Eddie takes a picture of it on his phone, storing it somewhere private. Safe.

The teasing from the team is merciless—but warm.

Hen grins at you during lunch and nudges your foot under the table.

“You know, we had a pool going on. I won thirty bucks.”

Chimney raises a brow. “You all owe me. I called it two years ago.”

You shoot Eddie a look, but he’s barely pretending to be bashful.

“It wasn’t exactly subtle,” Buck adds, leaning back in his chair. “The way you two looked at each other? Come on.”

“I don’t remember you saying anything that night I told her I didn’t love her,” Eddie says dryly, smirking.

Buck raises his hands. “I was giving you time to figure out you’re a dumbass. Took longer than expected.”

There’s laughter. Real, full-bellied laughter. The kind that makes your ribs hurt in the best way.

But what gets you most is this: Eddie laughs too.

Like a man no longer holding his breath.

At night, you lie curled up in bed with him, the lamp casting soft light across his face. He’s reading something quietly, one hand draped over your hip, thumb tracing idle patterns into your skin like a habit he doesn’t want to break.

You study him sometimes. The way he softens now. How his smiles last longer. How his laughter comes easier. How he kisses you with both urgency and reverence, like he’s still making up for lost time.

“I think I stopped breathing for a while,” he murmurs one night. “When we weren’t… us.”

You look up at him. “Me too.”

He touches your cheek. “You bring me back to myself. Every time.”

You lean into him, heart swelling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and you breathe together in the dark, the quiet warmth of the home you’ve built finally wrapping around you both.

Eddie Diaz once believed love was something you had to guard yourself against. That loving too much meant losing too hard. But now, with your head on his chest and your voice whispering sleepy dreams against his skin, he knows better.

Loving you didn’t ruin him.

It saved him.

And this—this gentle, messy, beautiful life—is everything he almost gave up.

But not anymore.

Now, he holds it all in his arms and doesn’t let go. Not ever again.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[gdinthehouseee]

Closed Door - Part 2: CHOI SEUNG-HYUN x READER

summary: seung-hyun proves he is more than enough for ji-yong's younger sister.

word count: 5205

tags: angst to fluff; angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, nightlife, alcohol, implied assault attempt (IF THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU PLEASE DO NOT READ!!)

ao3 link -- part 1

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of silence. Not just from Seung-hyun, but from all of them. Youngbae. Daesung. Even Ji-yong, in his own way, and it tells you everything you need to know.

Ji-yong got to them. Got to him. Like he always does. You should’ve seen it coming. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before. The second your brother decides a guy isn’t good enough, he makes sure they know it. Makes sure they know you’re off-limits. Makes sure they understand that trying to get with you means losing him.

And no one—no one—ever chooses you over him.

You swallow hard, staring blankly at your phone screen, at the last message you sent Seung-hyun weeks ago—unread. Your fingers tighten around the device before you toss it onto your bed, exhaling sharply as frustration swirls in your chest. You feel stupid for thinking this time might be different: for thinking he might be different. You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you rub at your temple. Of course he isn’t.

Seung-hyun is Ji-yong’s best friend. He’s loyal. He’s been at Ji-yong’s side for years. Why would he risk all of that just because you—

You stop the thought before it can finish, because it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

You shove yourself off your bed, heading into the kitchen. Maybe if you distract yourself, you can stop thinking about it. But just as you open the fridge, there’s a knock at your door.

You freeze.  Your heart skips once, twice— Before you shove it down, force yourself to move like nothing’s different, like your hands aren’t shaking as you swing the door open. And instead of the him your heart had foolishly prepared for— It’s her. Your best friend stands there, arms crossed, eyes scanning over you with concern. 

“Well, you look like shit.”

A breath of startled laughter escapes you before you can stop it. “Thanks?”

She rolls her eyes before stepping inside, shutting the door behind her. “You haven’t answered my calls. Or my texts. Or my DMs—which, honestly, is just rude, because I sent you, like, three different thirst traps this week, and I didn’t even get so much as a ‘damn.’”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been—”

“Don’t even try it.” She gives you a sharp look, reading through you like she always does. “I know exactly what this is about.”

You stiffen.

Her expression softens slightly. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer right away. Because if you do—if you so much as say his name… you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep it together. Your friend watches you, giving you the space to not answer. And that, somehow, makes it even worse. Because if she knows—

If she could see it so easily—

Then maybe Seung-hyun could, too. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much that he left. He knew, and he still let Ji-yong scare him away.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to smile. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Yup.” You turn back toward the kitchen, grabbing the glass of water you’d meant to pour earlier. “I’ve been through this before.” You take a sip, ignoring the way your throat feels tight. “I’ll get over it.”

Your best friend hums, unconvinced. But she doesn’t push. Not yet. Instead, she just steps closer, nudging you lightly. “Okay,” she says. “Then let’s get you out of this house before you actually turn into a recluse.”

You blink at her. “What?”

She grabs your hand, dragging you toward your bedroom. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

“I don’t want to go out.”

“I don’t care.”

You groan, but a tiny, reluctant smile tugs at your lips. For the first time in two weeks, the weight in your chest feels just a little lighter.

Your bedroom is a whirlwind of fabric and perfume, the air thick with the scent of your best friend’s signature fragrance as she pulls another dress from your closet. She moves with purpose, determined to drag you out of this slump, her energy a stark contrast to your own sluggish reluctance while you sit cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by rejected outfits, watching as she rifles through your wardrobe with growing impatience. The music playing in the background is lively, but you barely register it. The last two weeks have weighed you down, pressing into your chest with an ache you can’t quite shake.

Still, your friend refuses to let you wallow. She tosses a sleek black dress onto the bed and turns to face you, eyes sharp with challenge. There’s no room for argument; she’s already decided this is the night you pull yourself together.

With a sigh, you give in, slipping into the dress and letting her guide you to the vanity. She works with practiced ease, dusting warmth into your cheeks, shaping your lips with careful precision. The brushstrokes against your skin are soothing, and despite the heavy thoughts lingering in the back of your mind, you start to feel the slightest shift. When she finally steps back, you barely recognize yourself. The tiredness in your eyes is softened by expertly blended shadow, your lips are painted just enough to draw attention, and the dress—chosen with the confidence you lack—fits like it was meant for this very moment. It’s strange, seeing yourself like this after weeks of avoidance; borderline neglecting your self-care. 

You try to squash any thoughts of Seung-hyun, despite the way you desperately wanted to see the look on his face if he saw you all dolled up like this. 

The two of you finish getting ready, adding jewelry and perfume, slipping on heels that make your posture straighten. There’s something ritualistic about it, a slow transformation into the version of yourself that has always been there, waiting beneath the weight of your own emotions. As you grab your purse and step outside, the night air cools your skin, grounding you. The city hums with life, a stark contrast to the isolation you’ve felt these past two weeks. And though you tell yourself this is just another night out, a distraction at best, a small thought lingers—

What if he’s out tonight, too?

The moment you step out of the car, the night seems to shift around you. The streets are alive with energy—pulsing neon signs reflect off the rain-slick pavement, the heavy bass from the club vibrating through the ground. A line of people snakes around the corner, dressed to impress, some bouncing on their heels in anticipation, others murmuring conversations between furtive glances at the entrance.

And then, they see you.

Recognition spreads through the crowd in waves—whispers, stolen glances, the unmistakable flicker of phone screens lighting up as a few people subtly (or not so subtly) snap photos. You don’t react. You’re used to this. It happens everywhere—part of the life you lead, the name you carry, the effortless way you seem to glide through doors that others spend years trying to unlock.

The bouncer barely moves before stepping aside, giving you a nod of familiarity. No need to check the list. No need for introductions. You belong here.

Your best friend tightens her grip on your arm, her own confidence boosted by the attention surrounding you. “God, I forgot what it’s like going out with you,” she muses under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear over the music spilling from inside.

The club swallows you whole. The air is thick with perfume and liquor, the pulse of the bass syncing with your heartbeat. Strobe lights flash, illuminating shifting bodies on the dance floor, moving in a hypnotic rhythm. Everything is alive, buzzing with the kind of electric energy that only comes from people desperate to lose themselves in the night. Yet, you’re untouched by the chaos. Staff moving like clockwork the second they see you. A waiter materializes from the crowd, offering a drink before you’ve even reached the VIP section. The manager appears next, greeting you like an old friend, beaming as he gestures toward your usual booth—the best in the house, of course, always reserved, always waiting.

Exclusivity is intoxicating in its own way. Up here, away from the heat of the dance floor, everything is effortless. A chilled bottle of champagne is already being prepared, the ice clinking softly as the waiter pours the first glass. Plush seating, soft lighting, a perfect view of everything below without being swallowed by it. You settle into your seat with practiced ease, crossing one leg over the other as you accept the glass handed to you. Your friend does the same, grinning as she leans in. “Now this,” she purrs, “is what you needed.”

And she’s right. You should let go, let the music move through you, let the drinks warm you from the inside out. But there’s something about tonight—the way the air feels different, heavier, the way eyes linger a little too long. Your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass. The world around you moves, people laughing, drinks spilling, bodies dancing. But your mind lingers elsewhere—on someone else.

Still, you raise your glass.

If nothing else, you can pretend. For tonight, at least.

The first drink is the champagne, crisp and familiar. Then, another arrives—a deep amber cocktail with just the right balance of sweetness and burn. You barely have time to place your glass down before the next one is sent your way, this time from a stranger across the room. You smirk, twirling the glass in your fingers before lifting it in acknowledgment. The man—well-dressed, confident—raises his own in response, flashing a charming smile. You don’t hold his gaze for long. You don’t need to.

More drinks follow, some from admirers, others from people who simply want to say they sent a drink to you. Your best friend cackles beside you, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “You’re gonna have the whole bar competing for your attention by the end of the night,” she teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Let them try,” you muse, tipping back another sip. The warmth starts to spread through your limbs, a pleasant buzz settling in your chest. The tension in your shoulders eases. The music feels different now, the bass thrumming through your veins rather than pressing against them.

It’s easy to sink into it—the luxury, the attention, the way the world seems to revolve around you in moments like these. The weight of the past couple of weeks begins to fade, the ache of silence from the people you once called family pushed further and further back with every sip.

A DJ set kicks in, sending the dance floor into a frenzy. The beat is infectious, the kind that demands movement, that makes it impossible to sit still. Your friend senses it immediately, grabbing your wrist with an eager grin.

“Come on,” she urges, tugging you toward the edge of the VIP area. “No more sulking. You need this.”

You let her pull you along, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you do need this—just one night where nothing else matters, where you’re not your brother’s sister, not someone waiting for a call that won’t come. Just you, the music, the freedom. And the music takes over, a pulsating rhythm that thrums beneath your skin. Your best friend’s hands are in yours at first, spinning you playfully under the flashing lights, her laughter mixing with yours as you move. The energy in the club is electric, and you let yourself be swept up in it.

People gravitate toward you, drawn in by the effortless way you move, the way you let the beat dictate your steps. The strangers around you are eager, their eyes flickering with the kind of interest you’re used to—but tonight, you don’t mind. If anything, you welcome it.

One man steps closer, well-dressed, confident. His hands hover just near enough to be an invitation, waiting for a sign that he’s allowed to move closer. You let him. Not because you want him, not really, but because the thrill of attention is intoxicating, a distraction you so desperately need. Your best friend watches with an amused smirk before another person pulls her into the dance. She winks at you over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you surrounded by people who all seem desperate for a chance.

A hand brushes against yours, tentative, testing the waters. You don’t move away, just let it happen, just let yourself exist in this haze of music, flashing lights, and alcohol-fueled bliss. Someone murmurs something in your ear, their breath warm against your skin. You don’t catch the words, and you don’t really care to. The club pulses around you, a living, breathing thing—lights flashing in dizzying streaks, music vibrating through the floors, bodies pressing close as they move to the rhythm. Everything feels distant, as if you’re watching from behind a fogged-up window.

Your skin burns hot, but your limbs are cold, heavy, and uncooperative. A deep nausea stirs in your stomach, coiling tightly with something even more unsettling—an unshakable wrongness.

Why do you feel like this?

You’ve had drinks before, you know your limits. Your tolerance is high, your control steady. But now, the world spins in lazy, unrelenting circles, the edges smearing together like wet paint. Your breath comes uneven, shallow.

A hand steadies you at the waist. Too firm. Too much.

“You okay? You don’t look so good, sweetheart.” The voice is smooth, coaxing. Close. “Let’s get some air.”

No.

You try to step back, to push away, but your body refuses to obey. It’s like wading through thick, invisible water, limbs sluggish, weak. The grip on your waist tightens just slightly, steering you away from the dance floor.

No.

The word won’t leave your throat. It gets stuck, lost somewhere between the dizzying haze in your mind and the leaden weight of your limbs. You blink, trying to focus, trying to ground yourself, but the lights overhead blur, streaking across your vision.

Something is wrong.

The nausea rises higher, pressing against your ribs. You need to move. You need to get away.

And then—

A sharp voice slices through the fog, distant at first, then clearer, stronger. A hand grasps yours—smaller, urgent, safe. Then, just as quickly, the pressure at your waist disappears. Your balance wavers, legs barely supporting you, but the grip on your hand steadies you before you can collapse. There’s warmth against your side, firm but familiar, a scent you recognize even through the haze. Your vision swims, figures shifting, but then—

A face.

Familiar.

Safe.

Your best friend.

Her lips move, her expression stormy, but the words are lost to the thick fog filling your ears. Muffled, distant, like sound filtering through deep water.

But she’s here.

She saved you, she must have. Right?

A weak breath stutters past your lips as your fingers clutch at her sleeve, desperate for something solid, something real. She holds onto you tightly, grounding you, anchoring you. But something still feels off. Something lingers just beyond your comprehension, just out of reach. You try to chase the thought, try to grasp at the fraying edges of clarity, but the haze is pulling you under, thick and suffocating. Your best friend shifts, securing her hold on you, guiding you toward the exit. 

As the darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision, you let it.

“Look, man,” Ji-yong started, voice lower, more controlled than before. “I’ve had time to think.”

It’s been a week since you’ve spoken to any of them. He found himself sitting across from Seung-hyun, the tension between them thick but quieter now. Not fueled by anger, not anymore. Just something heavier. Something inevitable. He didn’t speak, just watched him carefully, waiting. Ji-yong scoffed, shaking his head, “you’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?”

“You’ve never made it easy for me,” Seung-hyun finally said, a small, humorless smile ghosting over his lips. “So, no. I don’t think I will.”

“You really love her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do…” 

Ji-yong swallowed hard, something tugging in his chest. “You know she’s my baby sister.”

“I know.”

“You know that means I’ve spent my whole life protecting her.”

“I know that, too.”

Ji-yong inhaled deeply, looking down at his hands before glancing back up, meeting Seung-hyun’s gaze head-on. “I don’t like the idea of anyone hurting her. Ever. And I don’t like the idea of someone taking her away from me.”

Seung-hyun’s expression softened, but his voice remained firm. “She’s not something to take, Ji-yong.”

Ji-yong flinched, just slightly, at the truth of it. He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “I know. But she’s—she’s important to me.”

“She’s important to me, too.”

Ji-yong let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. I can see that.” 

He sat there for a long moment, staring at Seung-hyun, the weight of years pressing down on him. His chest felt tight, his throat burned, and for the first time in a long time, he felt unsteady. Not because he was angry anymore—anger had long since faded, replaced by something more complicated.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice quiet. “I don’t know how to just—let go.”

Seung-hyun didn’t respond right away, and Ji-yong hated how much that made his heart race. He hated that he was the one feeling vulnerable. It had always been his job to be the strong one when it came to you—to stand between you and anything that could hurt you. And now, here he was, staring at the one person who could hurt you in a way Ji-yong never could stop. Not that Seung-hyun would hurt you in the first place. 

“I don’t want to take her from you, Ji-yong,” Seung-hyun finally said, his voice calm, sure. “I know what she means to you.”

Ji-yong let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think you do.” He exhaled sharply, looking down at his hands. “She was just a kid when we started all this, you know? And I was never around as much as I should’ve been. I missed birthdays, holidays—shit, I missed entire years of her life because of this career. I know it’s only a couple years difference, but every time I came back, she was older, stronger. More independent. She always looked at me the same way. Like I was still her big brother. Like she still needed me.”

His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard, gripping his hands together. “And now she doesn’t,” he whispered.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. She doesn’t need me to protect her anymore. She doesn’t need me to make sure she’s okay because you’re already doing that.” He finally looked up, his gaze raw and unguarded. “And I don’t know how to handle that.”

Seung-hyun’s expression softened. “She still needs you, Ji-yong. She always will. But she also needs to live her life. She needs to be happy.”

“And you think you can make her happy?”

“I know I can.”

Ji-yong studied him, searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation—but there was none. Seung-hyun wasn’t just saying it. He believed it. And Ji-yong hated that it made him feel just a little better.

“I don’t like it,” Ji-yong muttered.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Ji-yong exhaled sharply, shaking his head before finally meeting Seung-hyun’s gaze head-on. “Just—don’t make me regret this.”

Seung-hyun nodded once, firm and sure. “I won’t.”

Ji-yong stared at him for another long second before finally sighing, leaning back in his seat. “Fuck,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I feel like I’m giving my kid away.”

Seung-hyun smirked slightly. “She’d kill you for saying that.”

Ji-yong let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his chest loosening just a little. “Yeah, she would.” He sighed again, shaking his head. “Alright. Just—take care of her. Or I swear to God, Seung-hyun, I will ruin your life.”

Seung-hyun chuckled. “Trust me, I know.”

Ji-yong exhaled, finally allowing himself to lean into it. It still hurt, still felt like something was shifting in a way he wasn’t quite ready for. But for the first time since he’d figured it out, he didn’t feel like he was losing you.

And that, for now, was enough.

Soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The familiar scent of home wrapped around you, grounding you before your mind fully caught up with your body. Your limbs felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, but something was… different. Blinking against the morning haze, you slowly turned your head, and that’s when you saw him.

Seung-hyun.

He was sitting in the chair beside your bed, his tall frame slouched forward, elbows resting on his knees. One hand was curled loosely around yours, like he’d been holding it the whole night. His face was soft in sleep, his usual sharp features relaxed. Even like this, exhausted and barely upright, he hadn’t left your side. Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of it.

“Seung-hyun?” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it was enough.

His lashes fluttered before he stirred, blinking slowly as he straightened. The second his gaze found yours, relief softened his expression.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You nodded slightly, your mind still struggling to piece things together. “Where… where is everyone?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his thumb brushed over the back of your hand, grounding, reassuring.

“They went home,” he finally said. “Ji-yong wanted to stay, but he knew you’d be okay with me here.”

Something about that made your chest ache. Ji-yong had been here. He had wanted to stay. But somehow, Seung-hyun had been the one left behind, the one who stayed through the night.

Your fingers curled slightly in his grasp. “You stayed.”

“Of course.”

The weight of those words settled between you. Simple. Certain. And for the first time in a while, you just let yourself breathe. He stayed quiet for a moment, his thumb still brushing over the back of your hand as if the touch alone could keep you anchored. His gaze flickered over your face, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe understanding.

“You scared me,” he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. You blinked at him, startled by the rawness in his tone. “I’ve never seen you like that before,” he continued, swallowing hard. His other hand lifted hesitantly, hovering near your face before he finally let himself cup your cheek. His palm was warm, grounding. “I didn’t know what to do except—stay.”

Your heart ached at the confession, at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“I didn’t leave your side all night,” he murmured. “Not once. Because the thought of you waking up alone, especially after something like that happening…” He trailed off, his fingers curling slightly against your cheek. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

You felt your breath hitch.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed again, his eyes shining with something heavier now—something unspoken for too long.

“I know I should have told you sooner,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I should have said it before now, before last night, before you ever had to wonder where I stood. But I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I love you.”

Your lips parted, stunned into silence.

“I’ve loved you longer than I even realized,” he admitted, his thumb brushing against your cheek like he was memorizing the feel of you. “It just… snuck up on me. The way you talk, the way you laugh, the way you challenge me, the way you’re just unapologetically you.” His lips trembled slightly as he let out a quiet, almost broken laugh. “I love all of it. I love you.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Seung-hyun…”

“I thought I was okay just being near you,” he confessed, shaking his head. “I thought maybe that was enough. But last night…” He inhaled shakily, his eyes searching yours. “Last night, I realized it’s not. I need you to know. I need you to hear me say it, because I can’t—I can’t keep pretending it’s not true.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile. Then, carefully, you lifted your free hand, brushing away the tear that traced down his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, like he was savoring it. When he opened them again, you saw nothing but love in them. Deep, unwavering, and real.

Your fingers trembled slightly as they rested against Seung-hyun’s cheek, your own breath catching in your throat. His confession was still settling in, still sinking into the parts of you that had spent too long wondering, too long hoping.

But the weight of last night was still there, too. A tear slipped past your lashes before you could stop it. Then another. Seung-hyun’s brows knitted together in concern, his hand instantly tightening around yours. “Hey…” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone, catching the tears before they could fall any further. “Why are you crying?”

You let out a shaky breath, swallowing the knot in your throat. “Because…” Your voice wavered, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a second before looking at him again. “Because I thought Ji-yong scared you away.”

Seung-hyun’s lips parted, his brows drawing together even more.

“I thought—I thought I lost you,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “I was so scared you’d leave, that you wouldn’t want to deal with all of this, with me, with everything going on.” Another tear slipped free, and this time, he cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing your skin so gently it nearly made you break even more. His own tears still lingered in his lashes, his eyes searching yours with something close to heartbreak.

“You really thought I’d leave?”

You gave the smallest nod, biting your lip as your chest tightened. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again. If you’d think it was all too much. If—” Your voice cracked again, and you shook your head, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I didn’t know if I’d ever get to hear from you again.”

Seung-hyun let out a soft, shaky exhale before pulling you forward, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I would never,” he whispered, his voice firm despite the emotion in it. “I would never walk away from you. Not now. Not ever.”

Your breath hitched.

“Ji-yong didn’t scare me away,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing could.”

You let out a quiet, broken sound at that, your fingers clutching at the front of his shirt.

His hands moved, one slipping into your hair as he tilted his head to look at you, his nose brushing against yours. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispered. “You’re not losing me. You never were.”

The sheer certainty in his voice, the quiet but unwavering promise—it unraveled something inside you. So you let yourself sink into him, your hands fisting his shirt as you let out a shaky exhale, more tears slipping free. And Seung-hyun was right there to catch them, to catch you.

Seung-hyun let out a soft chuckle, his fingers still stroking gently through your hair. “You know… I actually talked to Ji-yong about everything.”

You blinked, sniffling as you pulled back slightly to look at him. “You did?”

He nodded, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smile. “Yeah. A real conversation this time—no tension, no dramatics, no threats of murder.”

A watery laugh escaped you, and Seung-hyun grinned, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. “I think he was relieved, honestly. He was just… scared for you, too. But we worked things out. He knows how I feel about you.”

“And… how do you feel about me?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart skipped.

“I have been for a long time,” he continued, his voice quieter now, more certain than ever. “And I don’t care how complicated things get, or how long it takes. I just want to be with you.”

A fresh wave of emotion welled in your chest, but before you could say anything, he exhaled softly, his lips quirking into something shy. “And, well…” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flickering to your lips for the briefest second before meeting your gaze again. “I’d really like to kiss you right now, but only if you want me to.”

Your stomach fluttered. The warmth in his eyes, the careful way he held you, the way he asked instead of assuming—it made your heart ache in the best way. So you didn’t hesitate. You leaned in first, tilting your chin up as your fingers curled into his shirt. “I want you to.” 

Seung-hyun’s breath hitched just slightly before he closed the remaining distance, his lips brushing over yours with a hesitation that made your heart stutter. The first press was gentle, almost as if he were memorizing the feel of you—soft, warm, familiar in a way he’d longed for. Then, with a quiet sigh, he deepened it, his lips moving against yours in a slow, unhurried rhythm, like he had all the time in the world to savor this moment. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs tracing delicate circles against your skin, anchoring you in the tenderness of it all. When you responded—kissing him back with just as much feeling—he let out the faintest sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

As he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his hands still cupping your face, a small, breathless laugh escaped him. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if grounding himself in the reality of having you here.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he murmured, his voice warm with affection.

You let out a soft, watery laugh, your heart still racing. "I think I have some idea," you teased, though your voice wavered with emotion.

"Then you also know I don’t plan on going anywhere," he said gently. "Not now. Not ever."

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from fear or sadness. They were from the overwhelming warmth of hearing the words you’d been too afraid to believe in before. You nodded, leaning into him, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

"Good," you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. "Because neither do I."

He let out a content sigh, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. He held you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable. And as you nestled into him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you realized that for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

You were home. And Seung-hyun was home, too.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis  @petersasteria @tweedledumb08 @forevervibezzzz1 @lariem-blog2 @slut4namgyu

[iheartmapi]

Vicious

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: After Spain’s match against Germany, Alexia injuries her knee. Having to take a health break from playing irritates her, Y/n tries to cheer her girlfriend up to no avail, they fight and Alexia leaves…she’s gone for a long time so you go looking for her.

Angst with happy ending.

TW: crude language, degrading language about oneself, ACL injury

Word count: 1,691

The sun was setting slowly behind the city landscape, the warm tones slowly turning into various shades of violet and dark blue almost reminded you of the way Alexia’s mood drastically changed after her ACL injury.

You stood in the kitchen of your shared house, occasionally looking behind you to see your moody girlfriend sitting on the couch in the living room, her injured leg perched up on a small stool, you were making some tea, the electric kettle buzzing, two cups were on the counter, for Alexia’s tea you had went with a blend of chamomile and lavender, it was advertised as “calming” and that’s one thing she definitely wanted right now.

As the kettle got done with heating the water up you swiftly poured it into the cups. You carefully put them on the coffee table and finally sat down next to your girlfriend. The silence went on for maybe like two minutes..during the few past days it felt as if you were walking on eggshells around her, you turned your head to look at her and smiled even though she wasn’t even glancing in your direction, only looking into emptiness with her brows furrowed and arms crossed almost like a small child that didn’t get its candy. “Hey, don’t worry so much I’m sure you’ll heal quickly, why don’t you drink some tea-“ You were about to finish your sentence but Alexia opted to cut it short “I don’t want tea right now” Well that was rude…but you shouldn’t be so hard on her, after all you knew how difficult dealing with this injury was for her, so you kept on trying, trying to cheer her up. “Oh…well how about we see what they’re playing on the TV? We can always watch some show or movie or anything really-“ Alexia sat up straighter, irritation clear in her eyes “Can you quit it with the tea and TV? Or better, just quit trying to cheer me up, it’s annoying” she barked at you, “Alright, Jesus…sorry for wanting to be nice” you answered calmly but it was evident that you were offended and perhaps getting annoyed with how unapproachable she was being lately.

“”Nice”? For fucks sake Y/n! Do you see my leg? I’m useless, and I’m supposed to be a ball of sunshine just because you want it?!” She waved her hands around like a maniac “But why would I expect you to get it” she scoffed, you turned to look at her again your eyes narrowing “Seriously? Am I some subtype then or something?“ Alexia looked away, running away from your gaze that was demanding an explanation “I didn’t say that” she answered more quietly now “You kind of did though” you argued, “Oh my god can’t I just live in peace for one goddamn minute?! Here you go again, making a problem out of nothing, it’s like this every time something isn’t in tip top shape…it’s tiring Y/n, I swear you’re so difficult for no reason” that kind of hurt, you were appalled by her outburst “It’s not my fault, don’t you think it’s hard for me as well? Especially when-“ You bit your tongue before you could finish that sentence, maybe it was true and you were really making a problem out of nothing..but you had your emotions too, and Alexia shouldn’t be expecting you to be fine every time she gets enraged like this.

“Especially when what?” She repeated your words, her tone sharp, you took a breath not wanting to answer that, “Especially when what Y/n!” She said once again, this time nearly yelling, “Especially when you’re such a vicious bitch everytime you’re mad!” Quietness fell upon the both of you, before Alexia suddenly got up from the couch, slowly though as to not make her leg worse..but even for her it was clear how hasty she was trying to be with her moves.

“Where are you going?” Your eyes were trying to run after her, she waddled towards the front door “Doesn’t matter” she fumed, you didn’t follow her at first, but as you heard the sound of jingling keys you stood up as well and rushed to the front door, surely Alexia was leaving.

“Alexia?” Confusion crossed your face, and then worry and regret for your earlier words “Alexia come on! I’m sorry I didn’t mean it!” She didn’t answer your pleas, and just left…you sighed as the door closed.

She was a grown woman, you couldn’t just stop her from leaving the house if she wanted to..you sulked onto the carpet beneath you, hands covering your face, why the hell did you say that? You were definitely too rough on her..but at the same time what were you supposed to do? There was nothing you could do now, you were just going to wait for her to come back home, after all she couldn’t be out for too long, especially with a leg like that.

So here you were now, sipping on your tea as you sat and welled in your own sadness, eyes glancing at the empty cup on the coffee table that was supposed to be Alexia’s..It’s been probably three hours now, and there were no signs of life from Alexia, you picked up your phone; the lack of messages or missed calls from your girlfriend was no surprise to you, you picked your best friends number, Mapi, you had to talk to someone when there was no one in this empty house filled with bitter tension.

“¡Hola, tía!” Mapi’s voice echoed from the other side, “Hey” you answered, a small smile on your face, which was heard in your tone but the overwhelming sadness took it over, Mapi could easily recognise that, “Is everything alright? You sound very down in the dumps” you weren’t sure how to answer, eventually you just sighed and told Mapi about what happened earlier with Alexia.

“And then…she just left the house, it’s been three hours I’m starting to worry, I mean- what if she like fell down and hurt herself even more or something?” You said “You know how she can be, I’m sure she’s fine, she can’t stay mad at you forever Y’know?…especially not you” Mapi said with her cheery voice “I have to go and look for her” you answered seriously “Have you seen her? Do you know where she can be?” You then added, looking for any kind of answer for someone in reasonable humour “Nah…sorry, just be careful ok?” The girl attested “Yeah..I promise I’ll be” the two of you said your goodbye’s and you hanged up..you grouched, trying to think of ANY place Alexia could be right now.

Then one thought came rushing to you like an arrow, what about a specific football pitch she always went to after lost matches? You figured; if she was gone for so long, and you didn’t know where she was then it wouldn’t hurt to drive there and see for yourself.

You literally bolted to your car, and just drove…fifteen minutes passed and you arrived at the spot, the football pitch was set in the outskirts of the town, here it was quiet for a change, the sky was now dark since so much time has passed…as you looked around the place you could understand why this place brought a sense of comfort to Alexia.

Through the tall fence you noticed a figure sulking on one of the benches, as you entered the pitch, it became apparent to you that it was Alexia..thank god you thought first, at least you knew she was safe.

You sauntered over to the bench, the melancholy, regret and anger all mixed together into one confusing combination hanging in the air.

The two of you didn’t say anything for now, instead you just sat yourself next to her on the bench, once again Alexia’s gaze was far and blurry she was just simply staring nowhere. “Alexia…” you kept it quiet not wanting to cause any more arguments today. Finally, your girlfriend looked at you with something else than annoyance and silent resentment.

“Please, let’s go back home” you asked half-whispering, her chest rose as she took a deep breath, it’s like she wanted to but didn’t at the same time, maybe going straight to the point wasn’t the first option, there we’re definitely some things the two of you needed to say to each other. “I’m sorry…I know it’s hard, I know how useless you must feel right now..I really just wanted to make you happy, I hate seeing you like that..that- that I’m just willing to try anything to make it better” you started, Alexia turned to you at once her eyes almost glassy “I’m..I’m sorry too Y/n I just don’t know what came over me..I guess the irritation took over me, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you” she answered “I don’t know why I did that, but I just…I don’t know, it’s my whole life, and now with this stupid knee I’m just stuck home, and I just feel like I’ve got no other purpose” she almost teared up, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into an embrace “Alexia…you know that’s not true” you whispered “Injuries happen, you’ll get back to playing in no time I’m sure” you added, a quiet sob was heard, it was unlike her to be so vulnerable…but you appreciated that she was able to show that side of herself with you.

Pulling away, you placed a kiss on her temple, “You’re right, let’s go back home” she said wiping the traces left behind by some tears with her sleeve.

You got up and offered her your arm, she took it and the two of you slowly made your way towards the exit of the pitch.

“I’m sorry I called you a vicious bitch”

“No, don’t apologize, you were right then…I guess I was a bit of a bitch” she smiled

“I’m sorry for calling you annoying” she then added more seriously

“You were being honest then too” you grinned as well and the two of you chuckled.

“I guess we’re a good match together”

(Thanks to @kshvue099)

[paigebuckets6]

Number One Pick

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x reader

Genre: Homoerotic friendship, cheating, smut, angst + comfort ending.

Summary: You want Caitlin to pick you over her boyfriend Connor, just once.

Warnings: Smut with plot! Fingering, name calling/pet names, teasing, mild degradation

The game against Chicago Sky was close.

Caitlin had been booked and busy lately, playing 11 games in 20 days. This was the second game you were able to attend in person, as the only other had been her very first game of the season.

During the third quarter, you watch Chennedy Carter knock Caitlin to the ground while waiting for an inbound pass. You scream "flagrant foul!" with the rest of your section, but the refs declare it an away-from-ball foul.

It doesn't end up mattering anyway, though, cause the game ends 71 to 70.

The crowd is roaring, and you're cheering as loud as you can, watching the pride all over Caitlin's face. This was Indiana Fever's second win of the season, so you can't help but grin like an idiot at Caitlin and her teammates all celebrating on the court, high fiving, and yelling.

After Caitlin finishes her after post-game interview, she picks you up into a bear hug, her eyes lit up with happiness.

"We won!!! I missed you so much y/n"

Caitlin buries her face in your neck and her hands linger on your waist for a few seconds longer than necessary before she puts you down. You smile at her, patting her back.

"Yeah, I saw!! You did so good"

Caitlin rubs her arm absent-mindedly,

"I'm tired as hell.. I think my ankle hurts from earlier, too."

You just smile, and grab her bag from her.

"Come on, I parked outside"

Normally Caitlin drives, but you know she's exhausted from tonight, so you drive. She falls asleep in the car, and while you're stopped at a stoplight, you watch the way her hair's fanned out prettily on the headrest. Her eyelashes are dark, creating crescent shadows under her eyes. She looks so tired, the dark circles much more prominent than you remember.

You pull up to Caitlin's hotel- you're staying with her for a few days. She's been lonely lately, and wanting you to come visit. After her game tomorrow against New York Liberty she'll have a few free days until her game against the Washington Mystics on the 7th.

You're shorter than Caitlin- most people were, considering she was 6'0, and certainly not as strong, so you can't pick her up in her sleep, but in this moment you wish you could.

"Caitlin, we're here"

She blinks groggily and gets out of the car, and you make it all the way upstairs before she just flops onto the bed.

"Ugghhhh.. sorry y/n, I know I asked you to come stay, but I'm just so wiped..."

Caitlin groans into her pillow as her phone starts blowing up with notifications. During games she keeps it off, but now that she's at the hotel and connected to wifi, everything's pouring in.

"Probably just Twitter covering the Carter foul.. bullshit"

She turns over onto her side, looking at you.

"Yeah I saw that, what the hell was that foul??"

Caitlin rubs her arm again and you scoot closer to her on the bed, checking for a bruise.

"Nothing, you're good- and man, maybe they'll reevaluate?"

Caitlin just kicks off her shoes, chucking them closer to the door.

"They asked me about it during the post-game interview.. whatever, honestly, we still won."

Just then, Caitlin's phone rings, high and shrill. Connor's name flashes on the screen, bold and large.

"Who- oh him"

She ignores the call, flipping her phone over.

"I'm gonna take a shower- hopefully I'll be less dead after that and dinner"

Caitlin walks away then, not bothering to even give her phone a second glance, as she pulls clothes out for her shower.

Around 20 minutes later you hear the water turn off and she comes out of the bathroom with her hair wet, in nothing but a tank top and shorts.

You shift your position on the bed at the sight of her, crossing your legs at the feeling.

Caitlin presses a knee into the mattress and stands with her arms out.

"Come here, I'm sleepy"

Your heart wrenches a little, you're sure you're half in love with Caitlin- and how could you not be. Whatever this is between you two, you refuse to label it as just friendship. You wish you could.

Even still, you crawl over and hug her waist, breathing in the scent of her fresh shampoo. Her head rests on top of yours, water droplets hitting the back of your shirt.

"You should eat something-"

You say, your words slightly muffled by her chest and shirt. Her hands are in your hair, tangled in the strands, combing gently.

"Yeahhhh.. about that"

Caitlin tilts your head up to look at her, her fingers cool under your jaw. You feel her switch her weight to her other leg, sliding her knee between your legs.

Her brown eyes are dark, desire dilating her pupils, and you feel yourself longing for her more than you'd like to admit. You feel the pull in your stomach and subconsciously your hands grip her waist a little tighter as you stare at her.

You know what's gonna happen, even though you've told yourself over and over again to not let it happen. To just be friends, to set some boundaries, because she's got Connor and you can't just keep doing this, that she'd never pick you over him. But you just can't find it in yourself to hold back right now, the want too much.

Caitlin kisses you hungrily, hands on your face, and she pushes you over onto the bed, hips straddling your waist.

You moan into her mouth, hands pulling her in. You squeeze her ass as she adjusts on top of you.

"Take this off," She demands, and you take off your shirt quickly.

Caitlin just raises a brow, unhooking your bra for you, and sucks your nipple immediately, fingers kneading the other.

"Oh Caitlin-" You clutch at her hair as her hands continue to roam over you, pulling off your sleep shorts.

"You're so wet for me.. just waiting for me to do this huh?"

Caitlin's face is cocky, playful smirk playing on her face. Her fingers dip into your wetness, circling your clit, and she smirks wider as your hips raise slightly at her touch.

"Did you touch yourself thinking of me when I was away? Been my little slut?"

You moan at her words.

"Yes..." You admit.

"You like it when I call you a slut? My slut?" She asks, pressing kisses right under your jaw.

You moan a yes out as she pushes two fingers easily into you.

"Look at that, taking me so well"

Caitlin's going at a quick pace, her palm rubbing against your clit. You're gonna come fast if she keeps this up, and you feel it building in your lower stomach.

"I'm- I'm gonna come.. Caitlin"

You arch your back as she continues to hit your g spot roughly.

Caitlin grabs your face, making you look at her again.

"Come for me, I wanna hear you say my name y/n"

"Fuck Caitlin.. Caitlin.." You moan her name as you climax, finishing all over her.

She sucks her fingers when she takes them out, and you pull her down into a kiss.

"Wait, what about Connor?" You whisper, giving her an out, even though you know that's never stopped her.

"Who cares about him-" She says, panting slightly, too busy chasing her own high as your fingers dip into the waistband of her shorts.

"Fair-" It's your turn to smirk, even though the temporary win is bittersweet.

You find her clit easily, her underwear soaked.

"You made me feel so good, baby." The term of affection slips out by mistake, but she doesn't seem to notice as you kiss down her neck.

"Come on y/n, make me come-"

Caitlin's demand is cut short when her phone rings again, and Connor's name flashes on the screen for the second time.

"You gonna pick that up?" You tease as she sits up, looking at her phone. Your fingers are buried inside her, curling to hit her g spot, and you can tell she's warring with herself, even on top of you.

"I- uh-" Caitlin's moans are breathy, her hips rocking into your thrusts.

"You should answer, tell him who's fucking you"

You're being a little mean, annoyed at yourself for letting yourself get swept up in her again, annoyed at his existence, she doesn't even love him- so you tease her further by pulling her down onto you again.

"Fuck- I.. I can't.. I'm gonna come y/n"

Caitlin's moaning into your ear, her hand still clutched around the phone, the call ringtone loud and annoying, just like Connor himself.

"I want everyone to hear who's fucking you like this, cause it ain't him-"

"Y/n... oh god y/n" Caitlin comes, her body flush against yours. You bite her as she does, leaving a pretty hickey smack in the middle of her neck that she'll have to cover up later.

The call goes to voice-mail, and Caitlin's phone sits forgotten beside you two.

Caitlin gets off you, refreshed grin on her face.

"That was good.. UGH.. I guess I'll have to call him back later-"

You're not surprised, this is common. You wonder if you should say something, if you'll finally have the courage to tell her that this is the last time, that you can't keep doing this because you like her more than you should.

"Is it always gonna be like this Cait?"

You ask her, watching her run some water on a towel to throw to you, as per usual.

"What? It's just sex y/n" Caitlin avoids your eyes as she replies, pulling a shirt on.

"You're my best friend, it can't just be sex- he doesn't fuck you like this, doesn't make you feel like this!"

Caitlin's stepping into her shorts, her eyebrows knit together.

"He tries! And I don't know.. we're just friends..."

She trails off, like she's unsure of her own words.

You can't believe she wants to keep avoiding how she feels,

"Who was there at your first game of the season? Who was on call after every game after, debriefing with you? It wasn't him!"

"Y/n.."

You keep going as you throw on clothes of your own, suddenly feeling vulnerable naked in front of her.

"We act like girlfriends, in every sense but the title- we do everything together, we have sex, we call every night- do you even love him? You know this is more than sex."

Caitlin's standing up now, hand on her forehead.

"I... I don't know if I love him.. but I'm not gay! Or at least.. not-"

"What, not for me? Do you hear yourself??" You scoff at her.

Maybe it's too much, everything that's been going on, because Caitlin bursts into tears.

"Cait-" You say, lost for words as the tears run down her cheeks. She hates crying.

"It's too much.. being out here alone, not playing with Kate, Jada, Gabbie- being the rookie.. dealing with Connor.. and.."

She wipes at her eyes, looking at the bedspread as she tries to get out her next words.

"And how I feel about you- I know it's not fair to you that I'm still with him"

Your heart physically aches at her confession and you tap the spot on the bed next to you, placing her phone on the bedside table.

Caitlin hides her face in your chest, arms clutching you tightly.

"I'm sorry y/n"

You soothe her, stroking her hair,

"Shhhhh.. it's okay Cait"

She looks up at you, pushing herself upright.

"No, you're right.. it's not.. I thought if I kept trying to like him, that it might happen- and if I tried hard enough, maybe I'd feel even a fraction of how I feel around you, around him."

You move the hair out of her face, wiping away her tears.

"I get it" You say, as she continues.

"You're more than my best friend.. it'd be stupid to say this was just sex.. I don't want to lose you"

Caitlin's clutching your hands, and you want to believe her, to believe in you two.

Her phone rings again.

"It's Connor" You say softly.

There's determination in her eyes now, a fire you hadn't seen before. She takes the call, swiping across the screen.

"Hey I can't talk, I'll text later" Caitlin says briskly, before hanging up. You smile wide at her, despite yourself and the situation, and she smiles back.

"I'll dump him, I'm gonna make this right.. you're my number one pick y/n.. I swear it"

Caitlin's eyes are wide, solemn and honest. You believe her.

The clock on the wall reads 1 am and the tiredness hits you like a wave. You know she must be exhausted too.

You say softly,

"Why don't you start by cuddling me and sleeping?"

Caitlin's eyes light up at your words, relieved.

"Okay, I can do that"

Caitlin settles under the covers, and you feel yourself falling asleep as you kiss her forehead.

Guess she really would pick you over him.

---

Authors Note: I know I usually write for Paige but I've been wanting to write a fic with this concept and couldn't make Paige work. Hope y'all don't mind the change, Paige fic coming soon.

[hyuckswoman]

mark and you arguing pt2

pt1

genre: angst then fluff

summary: after rain comes sunshine, he finally listens.

pairing: mark x y/n

“good morning” you say to your boyfriend as you pass through the kitchen reaching into a cabinet to take out a glass 

last night had been tense, because of the argument you had a really hard time sleeping, waking up every five seconds. it didn’t help that your boyfriend was the exact same, the only difference between you two being the guilty look on his face

you wanted nothing more than to tell him to forget about it and just cuddle him to sleep because being mad at him or more like emotionally tired wasn’t easy. yes, he fucked up but he’s still the greenest of green flags ever and you just love him too much so being apart with all those angsty feelings was taking a toll on you

but you decided to stand your ground nonetheless, it couldn’t be like every other time where he swooned you with his words and you ended up forgiving him. he had to learn. and even on your end, it’d be fucked up to put yourself through this. so when you woke up this morning with no one next to you, you decided to not care. turns out he was just in the kitchen though

“good morning lovely, i tried to make breakfast, i couldn’t so i went and bought some, your favorite of course, i’m just reheating it right now, juice is in the fridge by the way” your boyfriend greeted you, his back facing you (which you 100% guarantee is because he’s shitting his pants and hopes the tension eased) 

it did not though

“not only did you call me bitchy yesterday, you also said some dumb ass thing about if you were with her.. mark you’re not dumb you damn well that it’s going to take more than breakfast to ease things with me, don’t piss me off so early in the morning please” you said pouring water into your glass, getting out of the kitchen. you and mark took pride in your communication skills, so you weren’t giving him the silent treatment more like you didn’t want to be in the same room as him right now because him acting as if nothing happened pissed you off even more 

the guy was going to have to practically beg for you to be okay with him again 

“..i know, and i’m sorry” mark sighed as he joined you in the living room with the food he bought earlier hoping that despite you not being happy with him, you’d still eat cause no matter how bad the situation is, it’s important to take care of yourself! 

“like i said yesterday, i heard you mark but you know.. actions speak louder than words, until we’ve reached a point where she won’t ever be the cause of a disagreement there’s always going to be some sort of tension” you said as you reached for the food. yes, the food wasn’t an enough apology but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it 

“i know, that’s why i’m going to see her later today, set some real boundaries, tell her off kind of because i do really- and i’m not just saying this to please you or whatever, she has crossed some boundaries that she shouldn’t have so yeah maybe her and i aren’t as close friends as i thought we were” your boyfriend says pouring your favorite juice into your now empty water cup 

first of all, you did appreciate your boyfriend doing all of that (FINALLY!!) but you weren’t going to explode with joy because of him doing the bare minimum 

second of all, your boyfriend is just as much in the wrong as she is. and you debated on telling him that he should also self reflect but decided that you truly wanted him to realize it without you spelling everything out to him 

so you just hummed to the news, finishing up your breakfast heading upstairs while your boyfriend cleaned up and got ready to meet his friend

external pov? 

“hi markie” his friend said as your boyfriend took seat in front of her 

“did i make you wait long?” he replied. despite him not greeting her, her smile grew as she realized he cared about her enough to worry about her time 

“no don’t worry i just got here, anyway you wanted to talk?” she asked in anticipation, it was probably going to be good news (although good news for her meant bad news for you) she hoped your guys maybe broke up or something 

“yea and i’m going to talk for a while so please do not interrupt me” he asked as she nodded eagerly waiting for the breakup news to drop 

“i wanted to talk to you about yesterday, or every single hangout we’ve done ever since i started dating y/n. like i said, y/n and i are dating and i truly think she’s the one so i want to do everything in my power not to fuck it up. and that includes you stepping over boundaries that you shouldn’t step over seeing as though we’re friends. i think last night made me realize how odd? you were around me, how your hands lingered on me maybe a bit too long for a friend, or how you cut off my girlfriend when she was trying to talk, how you made backhanded comments towards her and look, i'm not asking you to like her but she's my girlfriend and she deserves some respect and i'll choose her over you in the blink of an eye. that’s why i’m choosing to put some distance in between us, at least until i’m 100% sure your behavior won’t be the same” mark finishes his rant, his fingers playing with his ring, dreading his (impulsive) friend’s reaction

“ain’t no fucking way you’re being serious right now mark, i’ve known you my whole life and you choose some random girl over me?” his friend says angry that not only you guys are still together but he’s dropping her for..you?? 

“if you don’t have anything respectful to say about y/n i’ll just leave clearly you’re not listening” your boyfriend answers, his patience getting tested 

“no, you don’t get the last word i do. you want to drop me for her? fine. i’ll do fine without you mark but what you cannot do is put the blame all on me. yes, i’ve been inappropriately acting with you but it’s only because you allowed it. each time i thought i was maybe reading too much into the mixed signals you were giving me you reassured me by apologizing because- in your own words - she was being irrational. mark, you are as much to blame as i am and i won’t sit here and let you shift the blame entirely onto me because you allowed me to flirt with you, which is something you would’ve never done if you loved your girlfriend as much as you say you do. and for the first time ever, i do hope you guys break up but not because i want you to myself but because she deserves better than you. fuck you mark” his friend says leaving the café leaving a dumbfounded mark. 

i mean she wasn’t wrong, if he had set clear boundaries from the start she would’ve never flirted with him. your boyfriend started to wonder if that was perhaps the reason why you weren’t THAT enthusiastic this morning when he told you he’d make things right.

so the whole drive home, mark’s head was clouded with thoughts that mainly centered around him being the biggest asshole ever, not only from the words he told you yesterday but also from the way he’s been acting all this time. and it saddened him that he put you through all of that. 

it’s with a heavy heart that he entered your shared house, silently praying god you weren’t going to realize that you do deserve better than him (which he knew was selfish but didn’t care) 

« so… how did it go? i don’t know what you told her but if it’s the same thing you told me this morning I’m guessing she didn’t take it very well » you say watching your boyfriend enter the house 

you guessed it must have went sour judging from the gloomy face he’s making and how deep in thought he seems to be. You didn’t like his friend but you know he liked her very much so you hoped that she said something along the lines of ‘yes i understand and i’m sorry, i’ll respect your boundaries better in the future and i’m hoping we can still be friend’ to salvage their friendship but at the same time you weren’t a fool and you knew that it realistically could never happen 

« it didn’t go super great, we’re not friends anymore but you know in retrospect it’s not a huge loss she wasn’t as good of a friend as i believed she was » you boyfriend started sitting down next to you on the couch 

you wondered what was up with him though, he looked genuinely devastated and it worried you to see him in such state 

« then what’s up? i wouldn’t usually pry and instead wait until you open up to me, but mark i’m concerned you look… sad. and i know we’re in a disagreement right now but i still sincerely believe that you’re the love of my life so i hate to see you upset » you say as your boyfriend slowly lifts his head and looks at you with glossy eyes before his first tear shed 

you immediately hugged your boyfriend rubbing his back as he mumbled through tears about how you deserved better, which you were confused about where it came from, so when his tears quieted down you looked at him waiting to explain

« she just… she said something about how we’re both in the wrong and it upset me because she’s right and she made me realize it instead of me realizing it on my own.. and she said you deserved better and at first i thought whatever she’s just mad i don’t care but she’s not wrong. You deserve better than a boyfriend who lets his friends flirt with him and who dismisses you and acts as if their friend is correct. i’m not trying to victimize myself or manipulate you with my words i’m just really sorry that i’ve been such an undeserving boyfriend and i selfishly don’t want to let you go when maybe i should so, please, give me another chance and i’ll prove to you that i can be the boyfriend you deserve. i swear i’ll be better just please don’t leave me » you boyfriend says. 

you were honestly kind of taken aback by every single one of his thoughts. you did feel a little guilty at first but that quickly went away when you remembered why you guys were in this situation in the first place. 

« listen, like i told you i’m not mad. i was just tired of you not listening to me but it seems like you’ve heard me this time even though i wished it had not gotten that far. i love you and i do not deserve better than you, you fucked up but i fuck up all the time as well and even though i did not picture the end of this situation with me reassuring you, it does not mean that you’re manipulating me, you feel guilty and that’s normal because you messed up but we’ll move past this. it’s a little bump in the road. and i sincerely think that if this situation has taught us anything it’s that we shouldn’t listen to your friend, ESPECIALLY when she says you’re not good enough for me. now dry your big boy tears and let’s go watch a movie yea? all is better don’t worry anymore » you told your boyfriend. 

you really meant your words, everything that mark needed to learn from this he learnt, you knew him well enough to guarantee that you won’t ever be put in a similar situation ever again and that this whole mess kinda made your boyfriend grow up a little? 

plus you were never one to hold grudges, so finally calling this fight over to cuddle and watch a movie with your highly sensitive, still borderline crying boyfriend was quite an easy thing to do. And even though you told him it was okay the next billion times he apologized to you during the following days, it did not stop him from spoiling you with gifts, kind words, actions etc.. like the man shoved all five love languages down your throat and even though it wasn’t necessary, it was always nice and made you feel loved.

that’s why in retrospect, you were (kinda) glad this whole thing happened and he was glad he learnt how to be better for his pretty girl. 

[svtiddiess]

The Fae In My Heart

Synopsis: Overwhelmed with work, you begin to neglect your husband without realising it. Ignoring his quiet efforts to care for you and accidentally destroying something he poured his heart into creating, you wound him deeply. Can you mend the rift, regain his love, and earn his forgiveness?

Pairing: fae!husband!Minghao x wife!afab!reader

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, slight angst, happy ending, established relationship, non-idol! au, fantasy! au

Rating: sfw

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: minor injury, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: Surprise Hanuel @chanranghaeys I was your cupid! I hope you enjoy your Fae Husband Hao!

This is part of @ddeonghwa-s Secret Cupid Collab! Check out the full masterlist here!

Thank you to @tusswrites, @tomodachiii, and @chugging-antiseptic-dye for beta reading! Thank you so much Kae @ylangelegy for the beautiful banner!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Heavy footsteps echo through the house at midnight as you trudge toward your bedroom. Another gruelling day at work has come to an end, and once again, you’ve had to work overtime. Work is consuming your life, leaving you feeling completely burnt out. Just until you get the promotion, you keep reminding yourself—a promotion that’ll benefit both you and your fae husband, Minghao.

Minghao, who, surprisingly, is still awake, is waiting for you in bed. Too exhausted to say a word, you offer him a tired smile before changing into your pyjamas and slipping under the covers. The moment your head hits the pillow, you’re out cold—but not before feeling the faintest brush of his lips against your cheek.

The next morning, you wake before dawn, having barely managed five hours of sleep. Minghao lies fast asleep beside you, his face peaceful in the early light. Careful not to disturb him, you tiptoe through your morning routine as quietly as possible. Before leaving, you lean down to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Darling?" He mumbles, his voice heavy with sleep. He stirs slightly but doesn’t open his eyes.

You shush him gently. "Go back to sleep," you whisper.

"Where are you going?" He murmurs drowsily, his words slow and slurred.

"Work. I’ve got leftover work from yesterday," you reply softly.

"But it’s so early…and the bed is so cold without you," he says with a small pout, his voice barely above a whisper.

Guilt pricks at your chest. His words weigh on you as you frown. "I’m sorry, my love. Work calls," you say, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

He sighs, turning away from you as he pulls the blanket up to his face. "Mmm… okay," he murmurs, his voice tinged with disappointment.

The ache in your heart grows as you watch him curl up under the covers, alone. With a heavy heart, you leave for work, the memory of his pout lingering in your mind as you step out the door, leaving him cold and alone in bed.

Sighing, you blink wearily and rub the sleep from your eyes. 11:47 PM. At least I’m home before midnight, you think, a hollow chuckle escaping your lips.

Your brows knit together when you hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen. Curious, you shuffle toward the source and find your husband busy preparing food.

"Love? What are you doing?" You croak, your voice hoarse from the endless meetings and presentations of the day.

"Darling! You’re back!" His eyes light up as he notices you. In an instant, he crosses the room and wraps you in a warm embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

"What are you making at this hour?" You ask, still trying to make sense of why he’s cooking so late.

"I made you dinner," he says with a soft smile. "I know you haven’t been eating well because of work, so I thought I’d prepare something light for you to eat before bed."

"Hao, I’m not hungry," you mumble, the thought of eating feeling impossible in your current state of exhaustion.

He pouts, taking your hands in his and gazing into your tired eyes.

"Just one bite, please?" He murmurs, his voice tinged with gentle pleading.

"Hao, I’m too tired. I just want to sleep," you sigh, your body screaming for rest.

His shoulders slump at your response, and his smile falters, replaced by a tight-lipped expression. He nods, pressing his lips together as if to hold back his disappointment.

"Okay," he says softly. "Let me clean up, and I’ll join you soon." He leans in to kiss your cheek, his touch filled with quiet understanding.

You nod, muttering a quiet "thank you" before heading to the bedroom. The weight of the day pulls you down, and all you want is to slip under the covers and let sleep consume you.

Waking up at 4 AM after only two hours of sleep might just be one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. At that point, two hours doesn’t even count as sleep—it’s more like a glorified nap.

Groaning, you drag yourself out of bed despite every fibre of your body screaming to lie back down. Your limbs feel impossibly heavy, and even the smallest movement seems like a monumental effort.

After trudging through your morning routine, you head to the kitchen to make yourself a much-needed cup of coffee. There’s no way you’ll survive the day without it. As you reach for the cupboard to grab a mug, your brows knit together. The door swings open smoothly without the usual resistance. You normally have to tug it open with a bit of force, but today it’s oddly cooperative. Shrugging it off as a minor anomaly, you finish making your coffee.

Sitting at the dining table with your steaming mug in hand, you’re startled to see your laptop and work bag already laid out in front of you. You distinctly remember tossing your bag somewhere—where exactly, you couldn’t say—in the haze of exhaustion when you got home last night. Did you put them here without realising it? Maybe. It’s too early to overthink. Shaking your head, you take a sip of coffee, bracing yourself for the long day ahead.

As you glance over at the table, something catches your eye: a coaster sitting neatly beside your laptop. Curious, you pick it up, turning it over in your hands. You don’t remember seeing it before. Is it new? Or maybe it’s something you bought ages ago and forgot about? Either way, the design is undeniably cute and completely your style. A small smile tugs at your lips as the little coaster lifts your sour mood ever so slightly.

Placing the coaster back down, you set your coffee cup on it, your gaze lingering for a moment to admire its charm. It’s such a small thing, but it makes you feel just a bit lighter.

Turning your attention to your laptop, you open it and prepare to tackle a few emails before heading out. Somehow, thanks to the unexpected little discovery, you feel a tiny spark of energy—the first of the day.

As you step into your home at an ungodly hour, you’re greeted by a soft, warm glow coming from the living room. Confused, you head in that direction and find Minghao fast asleep on the couch, the dim light of a single lamp casting a gentle glow over the room.

Your heart clenches at the sight. He must have been waiting for you to come home and dozed off while waiting. His messy brown hair only enhances his already ethereal features, making him look even more otherworldly. His lips are slightly pursed in a soft pout, and one hand rests beside him, curled loosely into a fist.

Frowning as guilt weighs heavy on your heart; you quietly head to the bedroom to grab a blanket for Minghao. You don’t want to wake him or move him to the bed; he looks too peaceful to disturb. Returning with a fluffy blanket in hand, you gently drape it over him. Kneeling beside him, you softly pat his head and press a tender kiss to the crown of his hair.

As you stand, your knee accidentally bumps into something on the coffee table, knocking it over. Startled, you take a step back—only to step directly on the object, breaking it with a sharp crack. You cringe at the sound, freezing in place, and immediately cover your mouth to stifle any noise that might escape. The last thing you want is to wake Minghao.

With a quiet sigh of defeat, you step away from the mess, deciding it’s a problem for your future self. Right now, you’re far too exhausted to deal with it.

By some miracle, you managed to finish work early today. A smile spreads across your face as you step into your house just as the sun sets. For the first time in weeks, you’re home early enough to see the sun from your own window.

Excited to finally spend time with Minghao, you giggle softly as you begin searching for him. You find him in the study, engrossed in a book. Pausing at the doorway, you take a moment to admire him. The golden hues of the sunset stream through the window, bathing him in a warm glow. His deep brown eyes shimmer like honey under the light, sparkling with a quiet intensity. The soft shadows highlight his ethereal features, making him look like a painting brought to life. Even after all these years of marriage, you can’t help but fall for him all over again.

"Surprise!" You exclaim, giggling as you step into the room, startling Minghao.

You wait for him to mirror your joy, but instead, he sighs softly and returns to his book, his expression unchanged.

What?

"Love?" You ask, your smile fading as your shoulders drop. All the excitement you felt earlier evaporates in an instant.

But he doesn’t answer. The silence feels heavier than it should. Frowning, you walk toward him and stand in front of him.

"Love? What’s wrong?" You whisper, your chest tightening as he continues to ignore you.

Instead of replying, Minghao sets his book down, stands, and walks past you without a word. Confusion and hurt bubble up inside you as you quickly follow him to the living room.

You find him kneeling in front of the TV cabinet, tinkering with it. Desperate, you kneel beside him and look at him with pleading eyes.

"Hao, what’s wrong? Please, talk to me," you murmur, tears pricking your eyes. The pain of being ignored by him feels unbearable.

But he remains silent, his full attention on the cabinet. You watch helplessly as he works, tightening screws and adjusting the hinges. After a few minutes, he finishes and opens and closes the cabinet door, testing his handiwork. That’s when you realise—it doesn’t squeak anymore.

Oh.

The realisation dawns on you. The fixed cabinet, the dinner he made for you, the coaster you found, your bag being neatly placed on the table—all the little things Minghao has been doing to care for you flash through your mind. And all you’ve done in return is neglect him.

Your eyes fall to the broken item beside the coffee table, and your heart sinks. The thing you stepped on and shattered last night—it was a bird feeder. A bird feeder Minghao had lovingly built for you.

Minghao knows how much you love watching birds, and he made it just for you. And you broke it. Breaking something a fae has created isn’t just about damage—it’s a symbol of rejection, a sign that you harbour ill will or a grudge against them.

Your chest tightens as guilt washes over you like a tidal wave. Tears blur your vision as you bite your bottom lip, struggling to breathe through the heaviness pressing on your heart. You’ve been hurting Minghao in ways you hadn’t even realised.

You open your mouth to speak, to apologise, but the words won’t come. Minghao rises to his feet without a glance in your direction and walks away, leaving you kneeling on the floor, choking on the weight of your guilt.

You watch as he disappears into the bedroom, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in your ears. Alone in the living room, you’re left to sit with your regret, drowning in the realisation of how deeply you’ve hurt the one you love.

Determined to win back Minghao and show him how sorry you are, you start coming home early and even take a few days off work. What’s the point of chasing a promotion when all it’s done is damage the most important relationship in your life?

You try to spend more time with him, but every time you enter a room he’s in, he quietly leaves, forcing you to trail after him like a lost puppy. You thank him for the little things he’s done for you, hoping to start a conversation, but he only responds with silence. Still, your determination doesn’t waver. You’re committed to earning back his love, no matter what.

That’s when an idea strikes—you’ll rebuild the broken bird feeder. You may not be as skilled as Minghao when it comes to crafting, but if it means he’ll talk to you again, then you’ll give it your all.

You head to the backyard and gather leaves, stones, and sticks, searching for the prettiest ones you can find. If you’re going to fix the bird feeder, it has to look perfect.

Once you’ve collected everything, you sit in the living room, placing the broken pieces of the bird feeder and your gathered materials on the coffee table. With a deep breath, you start rebuilding it—or at least, you try. Unfortunately, craftsmanship isn’t exactly your strong suit, and your attempts quickly fall apart.

You frown as the bird feeder collapses for what feels like the hundredth time. Frustration gnaws at you, but before you can give up, you notice Minghao standing at the edge of the living room, watching you silently.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with longing as you give him a small pout, silently pleading for him to come back to you. But he only furrows his brows and turns away, leaving without a word.

The ache in your chest grows as you stare down at the broken bird feeder, its shattered state mirroring your heart. A few stray tears escape, and you quickly wipe them away.

Taking a deep breath, you scowl in determination. Giving up isn’t an option—not when it comes to Minghao. You pick up the pieces once more and get back to work. No matter how many times it takes, you’ll rebuild this bird feeder. You’ll earn his forgiveness. You’ll win him back. You’ll make sure of it.

After days of effort and what feels like hundreds of failed attempts, the bird feeder remains just as broken as when you started. Frustrated, you conclude that the materials you’ve gathered aren’t good enough—or maybe it’s just your complete lack of crafting skills. Either way, you decide to head back to the backyard to search for better supplies.

As you’re collecting sticks and stones, your eyes land on a particularly beautiful leaf perched high up in a nearby tree. That’s the perfect leaf, you think, instantly deciding that it must go on your bird feeder.

The only problem? The leaf is far out of reach, and the only way to get it is by climbing the tree. It’s been years since you last climbed a tree—probably not since you were five—but you convince yourself that muscle memory will take over once you start.

You grab hold of the trunk and begin your ascent. Wobbly and slow, you inch your way upward, clinging tightly to the tree. You’re about halfway up when your foot slips. Before you know it, you’re plummeting down, a sharp scream escaping your lips as you hit the ground with a painful thud.

Dazed and aching, you try to push yourself up, but the moment your right hand touches the ground, a sharp pain shoots through your wrist, forcing a cry of pain from your lips. Realising you’ve sprained it, you clutch your injured hand to your chest, tears streaming down your face.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of rapid footsteps. Looking up, you see Minghao running toward you, his expression filled with concern. Without a word, he kneels down and gently takes your hand, inspecting the injury with careful fingers.

"Thank god it’s just a sprain," he mutters, relief washing over his features. Then, before you can protest, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you inside.

In your bedroom, he sets you down gently on the bed and retrieves the first aid kit from the cupboard. You watch as he carefully tends to your wrist, his movements tender and precise, and for the first time in days, you feel the walls between you begin to crack.

"What happened?" Minghao murmurs as he continues to carefully tend to your injured wrist, his hands gentle but precise.

"I was trying to gather more materials to rebuild the bird feeder," you admit, pouting slightly. "I saw this really pretty leaf in the tree, and I thought it’d be perfect. So I climbed up to get it, but…I slipped and fell."

Minghao’s expression hardens, a scowl settling on his face as he looks at you. "You climbed a tree for a leaf? Darling, do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You’re lucky it’s just a sprained wrist. What if you’d hurt yourself even worse?" He scolds, his tone sharp with worry.

But instead of feeling chastised, you smile, your expression softening.

His scolding trails off, and he blinks at you, confused. "Why are you smiling?" He asks, furrowing his brows.

"You’re finally talking to me again," you say quietly, your voice full of relief.

Minghao freezes, the weight of your words sinking in. Guilt flashes across his face as he realises the pain he’s caused. He closes his eyes, letting out a slow breath before opening them again.

Gently, he cups your face, his thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. "Darling," he begins, his voice thick with emotion, "I’m so sorry. Ignoring you like that was wrong—terribly wrong. I never should’ve weaponised my affection and made you feel like you had to prove yourself to me. You didn’t have to. I still love you, always. I was just…frustrated. I felt neglected because we hadn’t spent much time together, and seeing the bird feeder broken—it hurt more than I expected. But none of that excuses how I treated you."

Your pout deepens as tears gather in your eyes. "I’m sorry too, my love," you whisper. "I didn’t mean to neglect you or everything you’ve done for me. I thought I was working toward a better future for us, but I didn’t realise I was hurting our present. And breaking the bird feeder—I’m so sorry, Hao. It was an accident. I never meant to."

Minghao’s features soften, and his thumb gently caresses your cheek. "It’s okay, my darling," he says, his tone tender. "You were doing what you thought was best for us. Just please, don’t neglect me again. And I promise, I’ll never ignore you again either."

A smile blooms across your face as you nod. "I promise," you say, your voice steady. "And I forgive you too."

You lean in, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, and he reciprocates with a soft smile. The kiss is full of forgiveness, understanding, and love. When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest against each other as you gaze into his eyes, a peaceful silence settling between you.

"How about we rebuild the bird feeder together?" you whisper.

Minghao chuckles softly and presses a light kiss to your lips. "I’d love that," he whispers back.

After rebuilding the bird feeder—which mostly consisted of Minghao doing all the work while you sat nearby, occasionally handing him tools—it was finally ready to be placed in your backyard.

Once Minghao set it up, he walked back to where you were standing, keeping a safe distance from the feeder so as not to disturb the birds. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you close, making you giggle as you instinctively snuggled into his embrace.

After a few minutes, the birds began to arrive, fluttering down to settle at the feeder. You let out a soft squeal of delight, your eyes sparkling as you watched the different birds come and go. Your heart felt light, giddy with excitement.

Minghao’s gaze wasn’t on the birds—it was on you. Watching the joy on your face, he felt his own heart swell with contentment. Happy to have you back in his arms, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

You giggled, turning to face him before leaning in to press your lips against his. The kiss was soft and tender, a quiet reminder of your love and resilience. Despite the ups and downs, you knew that as long as Minghao was by your side, you could overcome anything.

As you pulled away, your gaze lingered on him, and your heart swelled with gratitude. Silently, you thanked the heavens for bringing Minghao into your life.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo

[ccupcakeyss]

Hi I dunno if you write Zayne, but my academic life is stretching my patience thin, and making me question why I put myself in this situation in the first place haha. The only juicy part of my day to day is seeing the top of our class with her very low key senior boyfriend. The dude reminds me of Zayne!!! Both are valedictorian, competitive introverts (like debate team, sports, etc.), both surprisingly good with people, and BOTH HOT AND INTIMIDATING AF. The World is unfair. 🥲

Can you perhaps write Zayne with an equally competent SO (can be MC or no), but insecure compared to his achievements?

Academic power couple x toxic competition x assurance is 👌 🔥

YES OFCOURSE this seems so fun okay LETSGET WRITING

(✿ ᴗ ᴗ） COMPETITIVE HEARTS♩  ᛝ

SUMMARY: in a high school AU, you’re in a relationship with Zayne, a perfect, talented guy. struggling with insecurity as graduation approaches, you feel overshadowed by his success. Zayne reassures you that you’re enough just as you are, deepening your connection and proving that love and mutual support matter more than perfection.

CW: female reader, insecurity, competition, emotional vulnerability, intimate relationships, intimate moments, some heavy kissing, suggestive situations, and adult situations, fluff.

WC: 1.3K!

NOTES: okay so this doesnt have much detailed smut in it, it's more fluff and angst for like academic rivals. btw, to the person who requested this - im so sorry if i misinterpreted this LMFAO i might've done something different to what you asked but this is what i thought you mean ! hope you enjoy!

You’ve always prided yourself on being driven. Even as a kid, you were the one who stayed up late, pouring over textbooks, making sure you understood every equation, every word in every essay. Excellence wasn’t just a goal — it was a lifestyle. You had big dreams, and nothing was going to stop you from achieving them.

But now, in the final year of high school, you’re starting to wonder if it’s all worth it.

Because he is here.

Zayne. The guy everyone else in your grade looks up to. The valedictorian. The one everyone whispers about when they see him in the hallway, standing near the windows, dark eyes scanning the world around him as if he were too much for anyone to keep up with. He doesn’t try to act intimidating; it’s just who he is. Top of the class, debate team champion, and a guy who somehow excels at everything — even sports — despite being the definition of “cool detachment.”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a thing for him. Hell, everyone had a thing for him. But there was one small problem: you were his girlfriend.

You were the one who’d caught his eye.

The days after graduation were a blur of parties, congratulations, and farewells. You could barely focus on any of it. All you could think about was Zayne. The way he looked at you. The way his hand felt wrapped around yours. He was going off to university soon, just like you were, but somehow, it felt like the time was slipping away too fast.

You hadn’t expected to feel so… insecure. Not now, not after everything you’d overcome together. But there it was, gnawing at the edges of your confidence.

Zayne was perfect. Always perfect.

You, on the other hand, were still trying to figure out how you were supposed to navigate this relationship — and your life — without falling short. Without feeling like you were constantly playing catch-up.

A week later, you were sitting on Zayne’s bed, your legs crossed, and a notebook open in front of you. You hadn’t touched it in hours, the pages were still blank, and you couldn’t focus on a single thing. Zayne had just come back from a long day of volunteering at a charity event for his future college. He looked so effortlessly put together, with his soft gray hoodie, his hair tousled just enough to look intentional.

“You’re staring at that notebook like it’s going to bite you,” he said, dropping his bag on the floor before sitting beside you.

You laughed softly, but it wasn’t genuine. “Just thinking,” you muttered, glancing at the pages again. You tried to focus but your thoughts kept drifting back to how much easier things seemed for him.

Zayne tilted his head, his eyes soft but piercing. “What’s really going on?"

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing. Just… stress. I can’t concentrate.”

“You can’t focus on that because you’re trying to outrun me,” he said, his voice a little teasing but with a serious undertone. “That’s what this is, right? You think you need to beat me at something to be enough.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding a little faster. His eyes were steady, like he could read you like a book. “No. I don’t need to beat you. I just… feel like I’m never going to live up to your level. And it scares me.”

Zayne leaned closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing gesture. “Listen to me.” His voice dropped an octave, and you found yourself leaning in despite the nagging voice in your head. “I love you. All of you. And none of that—” he waved his hand vaguely toward your notebook “—none of that matters to me. Not as much as you do. You’re not my competition, and I don’t want you to ever think that. I want you beside me, not because you can keep up, but because you’re you. And that’s everything I need.”

You swallowed thickly, the warmth in his words flooding your chest. It was hard to admit it to him, but… you needed to hear this. You needed the reminder that you weren’t just the person constantly running behind him.

Your voice cracked slightly as you whispered, “But it’s hard. I’m not like you.”

Zayne’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “I know you’re not. But that’s what I love about you.” His hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head up so your eyes met his. “You’re not like me. And I don’t want you to be. I don’t want you to be anyone else. You’re exactly what I need.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the hum of the outside world fading as you stared into his eyes. The vulnerability in your chest began to loosen. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this, needed him, until now.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. It started slow, tentative, but Zayne responded with a deep, needy kiss that made your heart race. His lips tasted like mint and something entirely him. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss.

Zayne’s hands drifted down to your waist, tugging you toward him until your chest was pressed against his. The heat between you two, the closeness, was enough to make your head spin.

“You’re all I need,” Zayne murmured between kisses. “You’re perfect to me.”

And that’s when you realized — maybe you didn’t need to be perfect in every way. Maybe the only thing that mattered was the way Zayne loved you, flaws and all.

Later that evening, after dinner and the usual quiet conversation, Zayne pulled you back into his bedroom, the door clicking softly behind you. The air between you was different now, more intimate. He’d taken a step back, both of you having processed the emotional weight that had been hanging between you for weeks.

But now, his touch was gentle, but insistent. He gently laid you on the bed, his body hovering over yours. There was nothing rushed about it, just a slow, patient exploration of one another. His lips trailed from your mouth down to your neck, leaving soft kisses that sent shivers down your spine.

“I’ve wanted you like this for a while,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as his hands slipped under your shirt, the cool air on your bare skin sending another shiver through you.

You felt a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of desire and uncertainty. The tension that had been between you two earlier now manifested as a thick, intoxicating pull. You wanted this. You wanted him. But you still felt the weight of insecurity.

But Zayne’s soft kisses along your jawline seemed to quiet that voice in your head. “You don’t need to be anyone else,” he said, his breath hot against your skin as he slowly undid your shirt. “Not for me. Just be yourself.”

His words unraveled the last of your doubt, and you let yourself relax into his touch. His hands were soft but sure as they traced the curves of your body. His fingers slid along the waistband of your pants, and you gasped as he dipped lower, his touch teasing but gentle.

“You’re so beautiful,” Zayne murmured, his eyes dark with desire. He took his time, tracing every inch of your skin as if memorizing you. The tenderness of his touch made your heart race, the lingering insecurity melting away as you let yourself give in.

It was slow at first. His hands explored, and his kisses deepened as he undressed you. You could feel the tension in his body — he was holding himself back, waiting for you to tell him when it was too much.

But you didn’t want to stop. You needed this closeness. You needed to feel him, to know that it wasn’t just about accomplishments or accolades. It was about connection.

When he finally slid inside you, you gasped, your nails digging into his back. Zayne cursed softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

You shook your head, your breath coming in shallow bursts. “No… it’s perfect.”

He moved slowly, patiently, letting you adjust, his eyes constantly scanning your face to make sure you were okay. It was everything you needed — his presence, his care, his love. It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about this. About him giving you the space to be exactly who you were.

“You’re more than enough,” he said again, his voice rough with desire. “More than I ever could have imagined.”

As the night went on, the love between you two grew, built on mutual understanding, trust, and the vulnerability you’d shared. You didn’t need to be better than him. You just needed to be with him.

Morning came, and as you woke, you found yourself wrapped in Zayne’s arms. His lips were softly pressed against your hair, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. No expectations. No competition. Just you two, together.

You looked up at him, his sleepy gaze meeting yours. “I love you,” you whispered.

He smiled, kissing your forehead softly. “And I love you. Don’t forget that. You’re perfect to me, just the way you are.”

And with that, the last of your insecurities melted away. You were enough. You had always been enough.