#i think this is almost everything i have for this fic

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana. 

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we’re talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible. 

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him. 

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore. 

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.” 

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you. 

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways. 

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Saturday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?” 

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Saturday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him. 

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.” 

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest. 

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.” 

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple. 

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much. 

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp. 

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond. 

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion. 

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you. 

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.” 

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.” 

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you. 

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away. 

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fucking happening to him again. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack. 

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.” 

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm. 

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him. 

 “I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder. 

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him. 

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion. 

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack. 

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler. 

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED. 

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby. 

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him. 

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse. 

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim. 

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you. 

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do. 

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole. 

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye? 

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?  

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby. 

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby. 

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled. 

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street. 

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening. 

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.  

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary. 

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel. 

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object. 

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling,  but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious. 

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee. 

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way. 

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says. 

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page. 

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him. 

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily. 

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own. 

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in. 

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.  

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable. 

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself. 

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands. 

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you. 

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once. 

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you. 

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be. 

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did. 

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise. 

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood. 

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or reader going to a football game.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ and we’re back!! hi hi hi. sorry for no new part last week, i was busy as hell. ANYWAY we’re finally meeting reader’s friends !! also guess who managed to finish three different fics today… whew.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

for the next two weeks, not a day went by that you didn't talk to MalachiConstant; the screen time on your phone almost having doubled. most of the time it was just surface-level stuff; talking about your days, about your interests... but at night, it... changed. it became genuine. real. like you were sitting under the stars together, talking about things that actually mattered.

MalachiConstant: y'know MalachiConstant: sometimes i kinda worry that i'm disappointing everyone around me

YOU: how come?

MalachiConstant: idk MalachiConstant: i feel like i'm fucking shit up all the time MalachiConstant: like i'm a screw up and disappoint everyone

YOU: well, i don't know if it helps, but.. YOU: you haven't disappointed me :).

MalachiConstant: knocking on wood

now, you were sitting with your friends at lunch, occasionally glancing down at your phone screen as if beckoning for the stranger to message you, your lips pursed in thought as the group around you kept chatting, wondering why the boy hadn't texted you all day.

"hey, everything okay?" one of your friends, zainab, asked, looking at you with widened eyes, startling you out of your little reverie. you turned to the girl sitting next to you, feigning a small smile, "yeah, everything's okay."

"she's being ghoooosteed." vivian teased you, causing you to roll your eyes.

"ghosted? by who?" emilia asked with excitement, vivian's statement clearly having piqued both her and zainab's interest.

"it's no one."

"she's lying." vivian grinned, drinking some of her iced latte, "she met someone on that website i recommended. kildareuchats. she told me they've been talking for a few weeks now."

"viv, i told you not to say anything." you groaned, hiding your face in your hand, feeling your cheeks warming up, your next words coming out in an awkward mutter, "only reason i told you was because you saw me text him in the first place..."

"whatever. the important thing is," vivian grinned widely, "our friend here thinks that he's a member of the football team."

"how do you figure that?" zainab asked, and you threw your hands up in slight frustration, "well, i don't know it for sure!" you said, "but he keeps talking about how he has practice, and... he does know a lot about football."

"hot. you're e-dating a football player. who would've thought?" emilia snorted, making you throw a singular fry her way. "i'm pretty sure they have a game tonight."

"oooh, we should go support your boyfriend." zainab squeezed your shoulder and you could feel your face turn warm with embarrassment, "we're not going. and he's not my boyfriend..."

"i can't believe i let you three talk me into this..." you grumbled under your breath, pulling your coat closer to your body, feeling the chilly autumn air in your bones as you sat on the bleachers, watching the game you understood nothing about; when you were younger, your father tried to get you into sports, but most of the time you simply snuck in a book so you wouldn't actually have to focus on it.

"don't try to play pretend." vivian nudged your shoulder and drank out of her slushie, "we all know you're dying to see your cyber-boyfriend."

"again, he's not my boyfriend."

"but you wish he was. bet you've already made him in the sims, and you two have a brood of pixel-kids."

"i don't even know what he looks like."

"well, if it is someone from the football team, he's gotta be at least semi-attractive. have you seen their group picture?" emilia snorted, "everyone is somewhere between seven and ten."

"it's definitely not thornton." vivian snorted, "dude has the emotional capacity of a slinky."

"viv, you do know that that's a dig on yourself?" you raised your brows, "don't think any of us forgot what happened between you two."

"jokes on you." the pink-haired girl stuck her tongue out at you, "i've already forgotten all about it."

"that's what happens when you spike your slushie with vodka."

"don't act like you could focus on this shit sober. besides, this is not about who i've slept with. this is about who you're dying to sleep with." vivian winked and took another sip of her slushie.

"well," you pursed your lips in thought, "he's in a fraternity."'

"that does narrow it a little bit..." zainab mumbled, "maybe maybank? i mean, you did have a crush on him for like, the entirety of freshman year."

"it wasn't a crush!" you held your hands up, "it was... a mere fascination. he had nice hair."

"ah, yes. you were having wet dreams about his hair." vivian snorted, and you smacked her forearm, pursing your lips into a pout as you looked at the field, "how about... mason? he's got that whole broody, mysterious smart guy vibe going for him. he definitely reads vonnegut."

"dodge is a pretty valid option. though, i don't know if chatrooms are his style." emilia tsked, "what about the captain? cameron?"

that suggestion caused vivian to snort and smack the other girl's shoulder, "rafe cameron? yeah, he definitely isn't the type to do that. i think his longest relationship was when a girl accidentally fell asleep in his bed after they hooked up, and he was too drunk to kick her out."

your eyes went to number 9, the name 'cameron' written above his number, making you shake your head and look away before you spoke quietly, "this is stupid. i don't need to know who he is. i don't want to know who he is." vivian wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you close in a comforting gesture; you knew there was truth to your words, but you also knew that the reason you didn't want to know the identity of MalachiConstant was that you knew he'd be disappointed to know who you truly are. to know, that the girl he'd called witty and funny several times actually couldn't tell a joke without stuttering.

after the football game ended with your team winning, the four of you were making your way away from the field, only to hear someone calling out behind you

"viv! vivian, wait up!"

you turned your head to look at who was so eager to talk to your friend, a small snort leaving your lips, nudging vivian's side, "viv, it's your slinky." your friend looked at you with furrowed brows, following your line of sight to topper, the girl letting out an exasperated groan, "is it too late to hide?"

"hey, viv." topper gave the girl a lopsided grin that he surely thought was charming, his face slightly red from the game, "you came."

"most of the school came." vivian gave the boy a narrow, feigned smile before taking another slurp out of her slushie, "whatcha want, thornton?"

"well," the blonde scratched the back of his head while emilia, zainab and you grinned at one another, a strange contrast to the unamused expression on the pink-haired girl's face, "we're having a party, at our frat house. you should come if you feel like it."

"i'll think about it."

"you can bring your friends." topper glanced at the three of you briefly before his focus was fully on vivian once again, "hope to see you there."

"maybe." vivian said, turning around and continuing to walk away, the three of you following behind her, trying your best to control your laughter, "don't say a thing." she warned.

"come on, you've gotta come with me." vivian pouted, spinning around in your office chair, "i can't go alone, z doesn't do parties and em has an essay to finish."

"you know i don't do parties either." you mumbled, absentmindedly stroking angel's soft fur while shopping online for a birthday gift for vivian, "i think i'd suffer a stroke if i even tried to go to a frat party, of all things."

"please! i can't go alone, because then i'll end up hooking up with topper again."

"then just don't go."

"but then i'll have fomo! you know i love parties, i live for-"

YOU HAVE RECEIVED A MESSAGE ON KILDAREUCHATS FROM MalachiConstant. CLICK HERE TO OPEN.

you tuned out everything vivian was saying, instantly clicking the pop-up.

MalachiConstant: whatcha up to?

YOU: nothing much. YOU: trying to stop this annoying wasp from buzzing in my ear

MalachiConstant: a... wasp?

YOU: my friend. YOU: she's trying to get me to go to a party with her. YOU: it's essentially a babysitting gig, though.

MalachiConstant: one party won't hurt you MalachiConstant: wallflower

YOU: how do you know? YOU: what if i have a stroke the moment i step foot into that place?

MalachiConstant: c'mon MalachiConstant: what do you have to lose?

YOU: my dignity.

MalachiConstant: ah, yes. the dignified grandma. MalachiConstant: hey, if the party sucks you can just stand in some corner and send me messages MalachiConstant: might not answer immediately cause i also have a party

YOU: oooh, another frat party?

MalachiConstant: you know me so well MalachiConstant: i dare you to go, poe girl

YOU: this isn't elementary school.

MalachiConstant: i triple-dog dare you

you pursed your lips in thought, looking to vivian and narrowing your eyes at the girl, a pleading look on her face. you groaned, shaking your head in defeat and rolling your eyes, "fine, i'll come with you. but i have nothing to wear."

"don't worry." vivian jumped up from her seat with a victorious smile, ruffling your hair, "you're lucky i'm your fairy slut-mother. with piles and piles of slutty dresses and skirts. i'll go get us something to wear!"

you watched as the girl made her way out of your dorm, her long hair bouncing along with her "nothing too slutty!" you called out after her, before turning back to your computer.

YOU: if i die, i'm blaming you.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr

[ghostedgwen]

but I knew you | j.potter [part four]

note : THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR ALL THE ENTHUSIASM towards this fic! I can't believe I got over 400+ notes on the first three parts. This is wild! I am so grateful for u guys, pls enjoy the final part<33 p.s : my requests are open again if any of u are interested in sending anything

warning : more angst but some cute moment as well, some anxiety on your part but jsut briefly mentioned, James and his relentless firting, I swear this part is kinder, happy ending - sort of

James gets into an accident during a Quidditch game and develop amnesia - he doesn't remember the past 2 and a half years, and he currently has the mentality of fourth-year James. This doesn't bode well for you that your boyfriend of 2 years now currently thinks he's still  in love with Lily.

└——————— - [ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 - 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗 ]. +

You cannot believe you are here again.

Watching over his sleeping figure in the infirmary while Madam Pomfrey fuss over him.

You all decided to keep quiet about McLaggen for now, so you lot were being chastised by the matron over the "prank gone wrong" incident that landed James on her lap again.

You could feel the anger bubble in you but kept it at bay as James' well-being came first, obviously.

"Now, I have matters to discuss with Dumbledore so you four can look after Mr.Potter here." He tells you before leaving abruptly.

None of you dared to question her and only watched her leave. Once she was gone, you turn to the other three boys and they kept quiet, seeing the scary expression you had on. Peter looked like he was about to piss himself.

"____," Remus cautiously called out your name. "Are you okay? McLaggen said some vile things back there, we hope you know that we won't let him get away with this."

Sirius huffs. "The bloody fuck we won't, fucker will deserve what's comin' for him when James wakes up."

You nod slowly at them. "Could I - ask for some privacy, with James?" You ask them, watching them all get up and nod at you with sympathetic smiles. "I just, wanna think of what to say once he wakes up and I was hoping to have him all to myself for a bit when he comes about."

"No worries, we understand." Remus tells you and he pats Sirius on their way out as the other boy looked about ready to set the castle on fire. "We'll see you back at the common room."

You give them all the best smile you could muster while they piled out and it was just you left all alone to your thoughts. Your face was immediately  encased in the palm of your hands as you allow your frustrations to settle in.

Having held onto it well enough to get James settled into the infirmary first, you could feel the tears build up. It's already bad enough your boyfriend couldn't remember you, but then he gets injured again - and you feel like everything is your fault.

You missed your James even more.

He would know how to hold you, what to say and just what to give. He always knew you so well that you couldn't even be mad at him for even a minute, he was always quick to melt your resolve and fix anything that is even remotely broken.

James was perfect - so much so that you almost thought the universe had created him exactly for you. All the time he spent chasing after another girl long forgotten when he treated you so well, and not once made you doubt his loyalty -

Lily was a story of a very distant past, but that past has come back to haunt you.

But despite all this, you still love him. It did not waver one bit, despite how much hurt you got from the Quidditch accident, despite the struggle of going through your memories by going around the castle - you still wanted James Potter.

With a resigned sigh, you look up at him again to see his sleeping figure and wondered just how it all went so badly wrong.

You look around the Great Hall pointedly ignoring the way people were whispering as you walked by, it has been like that ever since James Potter very oublicly announced that you werer the new subject of his latest fascination.

At least, that's what you thought. 

There was no way a boy who pined for a girl for 2 whole years would just up and change his mind upon meeting you. He just probably got bored by the same familiar faces in the castle and barely met anyone outside.

You knew you were fresh, and even the other boys in your year wanted their slimy hands on you. You paid them all no mind and headed for the table cluttered with students clad in red and gold. 

Almost full from the attention, you still managed to serve yourself Dinner and pointedly ignored how even the Professors barely concealed their interest in you. You barely made it into Gryffindor, almost getting sorted into Slytherin.

You wondered if Potter's demeanour would be completely different if that was the case. 

You didn't get to think too deeply on it when he made his presence known, pushing aside the 2nd year boy that sat next to you in order to provide space for himself, which he eagerly took with a charming grin your way.

"Oh hey there, ____."

You ignore him. He did not seem fazed one bit as you learned that he's quite used to the treatment, how he's not dying from shame is beyond you. You continue eating until you could barely swallow anything, too uncomfortable from the way he watched you so shamelessly.

"Bloody fuck, what do you want, Potty?"

He lets out an exasperated laugh. "We're on nickname basis, eh?"

"Don't talk to me like we're close, like I like you." you tell him off but he brushed off your harsh words as if they never even left your lips.

"Alright, I'll take it though it's too out of my style -now what to call you. . ." he trailed off, then his lips stretched into a devilish grin. "Pretty girl."

You almost choked in your own spit. "What?"

"Pretty girl, that's your nickname."

"You are unbelievable."

"Thank you." he winks, taking a sip from his goblet.

.

.

"I'm going to be completely raw and honest, and I need you to answer me without any of your jokes and witty remarks," you tell him, biting the insides of your cheeks. "Please tell me it's real."

James frowned, he can see the tears building up in your eyes and it felt like a punch to his gut to see that expression on your face. He was too used to see you either scowling at him or laughing at either his fuck-ups or his jokes, though you admit to hating his audacity, you always laughed when he earned it.

This is new.

This is a new face that he wasn't sure how to process, so he asked - "What do you mean?"

You let a brief moment of silence pass as you gather all your strength to say your thoughts out loud. Nights spent questioning everything, wondering just what and why, you couldn't just come up with the answers yourself, so here you are.

"I need you to tell me it's real. All those months you chased after me, please tell me it wasn't just some game to you to get you out of your rejection streak from Evans - Merlin, please swear to me this is real so I can stop being scared."

His frown deepened, if that was even possible, and he took careful steps towards you. hesitantly grabbing your hand so he can hold it and the action urged you to meet his eyes. Although confusion pooled in them, there was also so much sincerity.

"This is real," James assures you. "This is very real and what I feel for you is not some game. You are not a prize to be won, ____. What are you scared of?"

You let out a humorless laugh as the tears finally fall. "Merlin, I think - I know - I am falling in love with you, and I needed you to tell me it's real because I needed to know it was safe to fall."

James' look of confusion slowly faded away and his pursed lips broke into a wide grin, his hold on your hand tightening as he felt the excitement bubble inside him.

"You don't have to be afraid, pretty girl," James kissed your hand without a second thought. "I will gladly catch you if you fall."

.

.

"James, you're not listening," you tell him with a roll of your eyes and he abruptly stopped whatever he was doing to focus solely on you. "Did you hear a word I said?"

James grinned his charming grin, neglecting to answer you because you both knew what he was gonna say anyway.

You groan. "I said I can't go with you to Hogsmeade, you snogging my face off every chance you get distracted me enough from my Potions essay that is due in 2 days."

James' expression soured at that. "You said it yourself, pretty girl," he smirks with a cross of his arms. "It's 2 whole days away."

"Uh huh, and my parchment is empty, not even a single drop of ink," you roll your eyes again. "Give my lips a break so my hands can get to work - don't even make a dirty joke or I will throw you out."

James let out a bark of laughter. "You can't throw me out of my own dorm room?"

"The bloody hell I will!"

As the memories replayed in your head, you can't help but sink deeper and deeper into your thoughts. The memories always seemed so sweet and innocent, but now had bitter aftertaste from your current predicament.

They did always say to treasure the present, for how quickly it can turn into a distant past - but you are only 17, you didn't think the past would be that far behind you so quickly. 

James would apologize profusely for even bringing up Lily again, he knew how much it scared you to let yourself fall for him. How much you struggled with the vulnerability of being in love, and yet all of that came back to hit you.

You can already tell how dramatic he'd get. Maybe even get on his knees as a grand gesture.

James. . .what would he even say - 

"Galleon for your thoughts, pretty girl?" 

Your head immediately snap to the direction of the voice and you felt your tears finally fall once your eyes met his warm hazel hues. Without even asking any questions, you could already tell that he was back. Your James, he's here.

"Jamey?" You ask, hesitantly approaching him, and he flashed you his famous Potter grin.

"In the flesh," he managed to joke out with a wink. "Mind telling me why my head feels like it got assaulted by bludgers?"

You laughed, throwing your body on him to hug him. The implications could be minded later, you just wanted to celebrate the fact that he's back, you got him back and all your inhibitions melted away.

"You have a lot to make up for," you sniffled, face buried into his neck. 

He hugged you back, his hold on you tight and secure as you allowed more tears to escape your eyes. Your James is finally back, and nothing else mattered for now.

.

Sirius throws his head back laughing, almost spilling the content of his goblet. Remus scooting away to avoid getting any of it to spill on him, making a face at Sirius who failed to see his disgusted expression.

"Fucking hell! We ought to thank McLaggen instead for hitting you," Sirius continues laughing, obviously having had too much Firewhiskey. "Thanks to his cheap ass attack, we got you back, mate!"

James laughed along though his eyes rolled halfheartedly. "Fuckin' twat still has to pay for trying it on with ____."

Remus clears his throat. "He's been hiding from us ever since, quite well, might I add."

Peter laughs from his seat on the floor, lap full of empty snack wrappers. "Least he's got his own head on straight, won't work though."

Sirius finally stopped cackling like a maniac and turned to you who sat on James' lap. "What are you thinkin', ____? Exploding zits? Broken ribs? A broken nose?"

You shake your head with a chuckle. "I am gonna sit this one out. I am just happy James is back."

James smiled at you, making Sirius let out sounds of disgust and Remus with a joking 'boo!' at the cute display of affection. Then Peter perked up from his seat as if he jsut remembered something very important.

"I reckon I've been told McLaggen is deathly afraid of spiders."

the end.

masterlist

-

Tags - @sweetstrawberrianne @d1lf-loverrr @hisparentsgallerryy @jaeviii @simp-for-fiction @froggiedragon @paankhaleyaaar @cumuluscranium @acad3miawhore @notmeduhh @cupcakesnviolets @msmarklee1213 @suyaaachin ! Thank you so much for following this fic 🌸

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Hii I love your writing, especially your jason todd fics! I was wondering if I could get a jason todd x reader, where she has had a lot of stress on her and it’s basically just fluff with a slight bit of angst. You can do it as headcanons or a one shot, it’s up to you! Thank you and have a good rest of your day <3333

Aww ty!! Im so sorry this took so long, life has been a little hectic recently, so this is a good time for me to get back into things

Just a Crappy Night

Jason Todd x Stressed! Reader

Guys I promise I'll start posting more regularly soon😰

First, your alarm didn't go off.

It wasn't a huge deal, at first. You woke up at 6:27 AM, so you still had a bit of time to do your makeup and hair before work. But waking up almost half an hour late puts every one into a crappy mood.

Then, your car keys died on you.

Honestly, you don't think they ever have before. You didn't even have the right batteries to replace them! And, of course, it was the cold-as-balls spring Gotham weather that greeted you as soon as you walked out of your apartment building. To make things worse, all of your good sweaters were still in the back seat or trunk, so you had to walk to the nearest convenience store in a T-shirt. It was fucking cold.

You could feel it in your bones—like the kind of cold that gnaws, not just chills. The wind cut across your skin every time it blew, and by the time you made it to the convenience store, your fingers were stiff and your nose wouldn't stop running. They didn’t even have the batteries you needed. You settled for an overpriced cup of coffee that tasted like burnt disappointment and barely stayed warm in your hands.

Then the train was late. Of course it was. And when it did come, it was packed. Shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers who didn’t understand the concept of personal space, you were pretty sure someone coughed directly onto your neck. Your earbuds died halfway through your playlist, leaving you alone with the sounds of screeching rails and someone’s toddler screaming about juice for seven stops.

At work, your boss sent an “urgent” email asking for a report you’d already submitted yesterday—twice. You pointed it out. They replied with a thumbs-up emoji. No apology. No acknowledgment. Just that damn emoji.

Lunch was worse. You were looking forward to the leftovers you’d brought from last night—Jason had cooked, and it was one of those rare nights he didn’t almost burn the kitchen down. But someone stole your container out of the break room fridge. Who does that?

You ended up eating sad vending machine pretzels and a can of flat soda while trying not to cry in front of your monitor.

The rest of the afternoon dragged. Your inbox wouldn’t stop pinging. You dropped your pen three times. A coworker made a passive-aggressive comment about your “resting stress face.” By the time you finally made it home, your feet hurt, your head ached, and you were one minor inconvenience away from losing it.

Then Jason showed up.

He let himself in, all leather jacket and soft eyes, carrying takeout and smiling like the world hadn't tried to ruin you all day. You didn’t even let him speak.

You didn’t even look at him when he walked in. You heard the door open, heard the soft thud of his boots on the floor and the rustle of the takeout bag, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Not because you didn’t want him there, but because you didn’t know what would come out of your mouth if you opened it.

Jason’s voice was soft. “Hey. Brought that dumpling place you like.”

You scoffed under your breath. That was what did it, somehow—not the keys, not the cold, not the train or your asshole boss or the lunch thief. The dumplings.

You stood up too fast. “Are you serious right now?”

Jason blinked, confused. “Uh. Yeah? I thought—”

“No, that’s the problem, Jason. You didn’t think.” You didn’t mean to yell. But your voice cracked and your throat burned and everything that had been building all day spilled out in a hot, ugly mess. “You don’t get to waltz in here and play hero with takeout like that fixes anything.”

He set the bag down slowly. His face stayed neutral, calm—but you knew him well enough to see the flicker in his eyes. The one that said he didn’t expect this.

“I wasn’t trying to fix anything,” he said carefully. “I just thought you might want something warm. Something easy.”

“Nothing’s easy.” You spat the words like poison. “Not today. Not this week. Not—God, Jason. I’m so tired.”

His silence pressed in around you. You hated it. Hated how patient he was. How gentle. How it made you feel like the worst person alive for yelling at someone who just wanted to feed you.

But the anger didn’t go away. It stayed under your skin like a fever. It wasn’t about him, but he was here. And you couldn’t keep holding it in.

“I had to walk in the fucking freezing cold, in a goddamn T-shirt, because I couldn’t get into my own car. I got coughed on. I had to eat fucking vending machine food while that bitch from accounting laughed like a hyena at something I wrote. And now you come in like some... fix-it boyfriend with dumplings and dimples and I—” Your voice broke. “I can’t do this right now. I just can’t.”

Jason stepped back, hands half-raised like he was surrendering. “Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

You stared at him. His face was unreadable now, jaw tight but eyes still soft. That just made it worse.

“I just need space,” you muttered, voice shaking. “I need, like... an hour. I just need not to be looked at like I’m broken, or sad, or something you have to fix."

Jason nodded once. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

You didn’t answer. You just slipped into your room, shut the door, and collapsed onto your bed. You didn’t cry at first. You just lay there, clutching a pillow like it might hold you together.

Eventually the tears came. Silent, exhausted, hollowing. Not loud or dramatic—just the kind that made your chest hurt.

An hour later, the door creaked open. All you heard were soft footsteps. No words. Jason climbed into the bed behind you, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pulled you close before covering you with the plush comforter. You didn’t resist. He didn’t say anything. Just held you. He kept one hand on your hip, the other brushing slow lines across your arm.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” you mumbled after a long while, the sound muffled slightly by his chest.

“I know,” he whispered into your hair, pressing a barely-there kiss to the crown of your head. "You're okay, sweetheart. It's all over now."

Eventually, the silence softened.

Your tears had dried into that hollow, shaky calm that comes after a storm—eyes puffy, throat sore, body heavy. Jason didn’t move. He just stayed wrapped around you, warm and steady, letting you breathe. Letting you be.

“Are the dumplings still warm?” you mumbled into his shirt.

He let out a small breath of a laugh. “Probably not. But I can heat them up.”

You shook your head against him. “Don’t wanna move."

There was a pause. Then: “Be right back.”

He slipped out of bed and padded quietly into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with the takeout bag, two sets of chopsticks, and the smell of something vaguely spicy and fried.

He sat on the edge of the bed, opened the box, and offered you the first bite like he always did.

You sat up, messy and quiet, and took it. The dumpling was warm-ish. A little soggy. But it tasted good—maybe even better than usual, because your stomach had been a clenched fist all day and now it was finally unclenching.

Jason climbed in next to you, cross-legged, holding the box between you both like it was sacred. You ate in silence, trading bites, not needing to say much. You didn’t even realize how hungry you were until the box was almost empty.

You licked chili oil off your thumb and looked at him. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For still being here.”

Jason looked at you like he always did when he wasn’t sure whether to kiss you or just hold you tighter. “You had a shitty day. That doesn’t scare me off.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I was kind of an asshole.”

He shrugged gently. “You didn’t mean it. And honestly? I’ve been worse.”

You laughed quietly, and he kissed the top of your head. “You want me to clean up?”

You shook your head. “Tomorrow.”

When the last dumpling was gone and you’d both fallen into that quiet post-meal haze, Jason reached over you carefully and grabbed the empty takeout box. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he leaned past the bed and set it gently on the nightstand, chopsticks sticking out like little flags of peace.

Then he turned back to you, tugged the blanket up over your shoulder, and smoothed it down like he was sealing you in.

“You good?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, too tired to speak, eyes already closing.

Jason kissed your forehead, then settled in beside you again, arm snug around your waist.

Masterlist

[saynotononsense]

My Girls

The one where I try my hand at writing a fic, because I forgot how much I love Noah Wyle until I binged The Pitt.

This one is: Dr. Robby x Wife!Mom!Dr. Reader ft. a cute baby girl (bc Robby is a girl dad, sue me)

No content warnings, just straight fluff & likely medical/hospital inaccuracies

--

The late morning sun was bright in your eyes as you stepped onto the front step of your apartment complex. You adjusted the little bucket hat on your daughters head to shield her little face from the sun. She let out a little grunt in response.

“Are we going to visit daddy at work, baby?” You cooed, it was a rare day off in the middle of your week, so you were able to skip daycare today. Her legs kicked in response, a big, gummy smile stretched across her face. Robby was her favourite person, second only to you. He said it was luck, you knew it was all the time he spent talking to your baby bump after long shifts drained him. 

After a quick stop at yours and Robby’s preferred coffee shop to pick a coffee for you and a lunch for him, the walk to the hospital was enjoyable. The early spring day finally warm enough to skip a jacket. It had been too long since you had a chance to have a slow day with just you and Miriam. Maternity leave was a fast three months before you were back into the regular rotation that the Pitt kept you in. Adjusting to a new schedule, on top of being deep in the throes of hormonal changes, returning to work was a challenge that you wished could have been pushed back another few months.

The staff entry door opened with a beep as you slid your key card back into your pocket. You stopped quickly in the break room to stash Robby's sandwich in the fridge and write a little note on the bag.

Walking through the hall, you could see that the emergency department was its regular flurry of activity with Dana leading the charge. She turned to see you and Miriam walk in coffee tray in hand, 

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Robinavich 2.0 and her mini!” She left her post to give you both a quick squeeze, Miriam letting out a little giggle from her carrier as the older woman tickled her foot. 

“And you just keep getting cuter and cuter each time I see you!” Dana gently squished Miriam’s cheeks in her hands. Your daughter only giggled harder and kicked her feet.

“Heavier too,” you laughed, “I wish I could press the pause button though. She’s started trying to crawl during tummy time and my heart can’t handle it.”

“Isn’t that just the way it goes, one day they’re small, squishy and totally dependent on you, the next they’re off to college saying they know everything.” Dana patted your shoulder, “I take it you’re looking for Robby?”

You nodded, scanning the busy department for his familiar gait. Giving a quick wave to Collins, as she made her way to her next case. 

“Yeah, Robby forgot his lunch this morning, and I figured he may need a pick me up after last week.”

“He was just leaving a room in South about five minutes before you walked in. Let me see if I can get eyes on him.” Dana started to walk to the south wing, while you pulled a chair up at the nurses station. Miriam fussed a little in the baby wrap, and rubbed her eyes. You began to pat her back, hoping she’d settle. 

“There’s my girls,” Robby’s warm voice pulled your daughter from her almost nap. Her brown eyes popping open looking for her dad. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead then the lips. His other hand came to Miriam’s back, rubbing softly. Miriam’s face broke into a heart melting smile. 

“Can you take five?” You asked, “The sun is beautiful, and I think you may need to see it.”

Robby grinned, checking the board, 

“I may have five minutes, Dana?” 

The nurse turned to look at you both, shooing you towards the ambulance bay.

“Get out while you can, I’ve got it covered.”

Taking advantage of the reprieve, Robby linked his hand with yours and walked with you into the bright sunlight. It wasn’t often he was able to catch his breath during a shift, but with your constant encouragement, he tried to be more consistent in allowing himself moments to refocus. 

“Oh! Almost forgot! I put your lunch in the fridge, you need to remember to eat more often, baby."

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” He asked, leaning down to kiss you. When you parted you answered,

“At least once or twice.” He smiled at that, eyes brown eyes warm and comforting. Home. You stayed tucked up against his side only shifting apart when an indignant cry from Miriam rang out. As you loosened the wrap, Robby supported Miriam’s little body as he pulled her into his arms. 

“And what about you? Have I ever told you that I love you?” Robby’s voice slipped into a honey sweet tone he only ever took with her. Miriam giggled and blew raspberries, a string drool sliding down her chin. Robby kissed her cheeks, tickling her with his scruff. You watched with love and admiration, sipping your coffee and trying to take as many mental pictures as possible. 

This is exactly what he needed. His two girls, a coffee, and a break in the sun. A reminder that life can be more than just despair and loss.

“Robby, MVA vic arriving in five, time to go!” Dana called out to the from the ambulance bay doors. Robby turned to you, 

“Duty calls,” He said. He gave Miriam one last kiss on the head before he handed her back to you. 

“Of course, it always does,” You replied, “Now, go! The sooner you go do what you need to, the sooner you get to come home to us, my love.” 

Robby gives you a quick peck and a shoulder squeeze, 

“I love you.” He was beside you then, in a blink he was at the doors of the hospital. 

“We love you too,” you called after him. A raised hand and a smile let you know he was going to be just fine for the rest of his shift. 

[revelboo]

my glorius queen please i beg can u pretty please write a fanfic a smuty of rodimus idw i feel like i am going back to my simping era for him i want top reader pretty please

Sure! 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

AO3 should be fully updated with everything as of last night and the first chapters of every storyline should now have 🔞🌶️ on them so anyone encountering a fic in the wilds of Tumblr that just uses the navigation buttons on them instead of going through my blog gets a heads up instead of surprise, here’s spikes 🤣 I don’t know what’s going on, but I picked up about 30 people since the pixel incident and I’m seeing a lot of new interaction with Everything Is Alright in the middle of the story…

Scenario-top

Rodimus x Reader

• “Give me a klik-wait,” he groans and you can feel his plating heating under your palms as he swears and reaches up, hands fisted over his head against his berth as he vents raggedly, optics shuttered. Biting into the bottom of your lip, it’s so hard to be still. There’s something so tempting about him on the verge of out of control. But you wait for him, feeling him shudder with a ragged growl.

• Optics finding you when you lean over him, it’s so hard to not reach for you. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you whisper, mouth brushing his jaw and you shift on him, wet heat gripping his spike to make his helm thump back against the berth even as his hips lift. Trusting him completely. Don’t you understand you’re playing with fire? Literally? And you’re moving on him, hips rolling. “Give me your hands, Roddy.” Staring desperately up at you as you watch him, eyes hooded, riding him.

• Watch his jaw clench before he lifts a trembling hand. So afraid of his own abilities, afraid of hurting you and you love him for it, but you trust him. Know he’s got a lot more control than he thinks as you grip his wrist and lay his palm on your hip. Feel when he rumbles where you’re tied intimately together and his servos slide over you, touch almost reverent. And so soft.

• “See?” You whisper, hips lifting and falling, rocking as you take him deep and you feel so good wrapped around his spike. Still can’t believe you’re his, still so worried he’ll mess this up. Accidentally hurt you. Servos skimming over you as your lips part, he loves the way you look right now, the sounds you’re making. Wants to memorize this moment.

• There. His hands on your hips, encouraging you to move faster on him as his optics never leave your face. Almost worshipful as his hips lift to meet you. “This is mine,” he growls, and you feel his hands, feel the heat of him on your skin, inside you. “More.” It’s a demand and you’re so close, lagging as you start trembling. And those big hands keep effortlessly moving you on his spike until you’re coming apart with a cry and he keeps going. Hips snapping up as he groans, venting raggedly and fills you, he shudders. Reaching to pull you down to him, mouth brushing yours and then your forehead as he wraps his arms around you.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I THINK I'VE SEEN THIS LOVE BEFORE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai finds himself back at your apartment in the weeks after the conflict with alexander pushkin while you're away in rome, hoping to push away the emptiness consuming him by dragging himself to the one place he's ever felt okay. it's not enough—not when you're not there—but he can't, and won't, ask you to drop everything you're doing to come deal with him and his fucked up head. luckily, he doesn't have to.

(wordcount: 5.8k; fem!reader, sfw, hurt/comfort, dazai depressive episode, implications of him having an eating disorder, mentions of past suicide attempts/self-harm, talks of suicide, dazai struggling with his place in the ada & struggling to find a reason to live, unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: YAYYYYYYYY ANOTHER AGE 22 FIC!!! this one was rlly ifhasudfhasd idk i liked writing this one. i like getting in deep with dazai's mental health it's therapeutic for me LOL. but i thought this one was a long time coming honestly, dazai's first bad depressive episode since they reunite at 22. wahhhhhh they both love each other so deeply it makes me sick. anyway there's a waterloo reference in here u guys better catch it or ill perish.

Dazai doesn’t know how he got to your apartment. Doesn’t know when he got to your apartment. Doesn’t even know what he’s doing at your apartment. By the time he finally starts to drag himself out of whatever dissociated state he’d been in, the sun has long set and the stars are shining brilliantly outside the windows lining the far side of your room, and he finds himself curled up in a ball in the center of your bed.

The last thing he remembers is that he was at work. He hadn’t slept the night before, or the night before that, or even the night before that, but he’d managed to drag himself into the office two hours late with a stubble he didn’t trust himself to shave, dressed in the same crumpled clothes he wore the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that.

They’re in a disheveled heap on your floor now. Dazai absently takes note of their location near your door and then looks down at himself, realizing that he must’ve changed into a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt when he got here. They’re not one of the ones you keep around for him, that’s for sure—the pants are riding up his calves because they’re too short for him, and the sweatshirt is a bit tight around his shoulders.

It’s a little uncomfortable, but the fact that they smell like you trounces the fact that they don’t fit him properly. He still feels a bit hazy even now that he’s drawn out of his trance, but he manages to drag himself to the top of your bed and shuffle himself beneath your dark sheets, letting his head drop against your pillow, eyes sliding shut as he desperately inhales the familiar lavender and vanilla of your shampoo.

Surrounded by the scent of you, he can almost pretend that the weight of the blankets on him is your arm draped around him as you pull him to your chest. He can almost drive away that cold, empty feeling that’s been consuming him the past few days. He isn’t sure what triggered this—he thinks maybe it’s been looming since you came back to deal with Alexander Pushkin two weeks ago, since he had to come to terms with the fact that you are the enemy now. That things aren’t the same as they used to be, that they’d never be the same as they used to be. 

It’s not you and him (and Chuuya) against the world anymore—ninety percent of the time from now on, it’s going to be him against you (and Chuuya) against the world, and Dazai has never felt so entirely alone. And he shouldn’t because he’s not alone: he has the Agency, but… 

But it’s just not the same.

His eyes flutter back open, and he stares ahead blankly at the windows. His reflection stares back at him, inhuman and incomprehensible; his eyes are dull and hollow and far too black, looking more like they belong on a monster than a man, and his skin looks gaunt and pale, his poor eating habits catching up to him. No wonder Yosano has been so on his ass about nutrition, and Kunikida has been stopping by more often with meals that end up getting thrown out. He looks like a ghoul. A wraith. Ugly and uncanny—his rotted mind and heart finally reflect onto his physical appearance so people can see him for what he really is. A demon. A monster. Something that cannot consider itself human.

He can only draw his eyes away from his reflection when he feels his phone buzz—he would ignore it usually, but it’s a welcome distraction from the haunting image of himself right now. He scrambles, trying to figure out where he’d dropped it, and it’s only when his fingers close around the device that he can finally breathe again.

The screen is too bright when he clicks it on. He grimaces at the light burning his eyes, fumbling to turn down the brightness so he can actually see what’s on the screen. His eyes scan quickly over the notifications—a dozen from Kunikida, a handful from Yosano and Atsushi, and—

And three missed video calls from you.

You must’ve gotten the notification that he was in your apartment—either from the security system or your doorman, but he’s pretty sure that he was careful to avoid the man’s notice and the cameras around the building. He chews on the inside of his cheek as his finger hovers over the call-back button, unsure if he wants to even call you back. You’re busy, surely—you’re back in Italy dealing with Port Mafia business, and it should be almost the evening there. You have more important things to be doing than dealing with his fucked up brain.

Still, his finger betrays him, pressing down on the screen before he can stop himself. The dial tone rings in his ears, each second stretching endlessly, anticipation curling in his chest. He braces himself for your voicemail, for the impersonal automated message to remind him that you’re too far away, too unreachable. But then—

“Dazai?” 

Your voice is soft, slightly breathless, like you hadn’t expected him to call back so soon. He swallows, throat painfully tightening at the sound of you, unable to look down at his phone. For a moment, he can’t bring himself to say anything. The lump in his throat is just too big for him to force his voice past it.

“Hi,” he finally whispers. His eyes rake over your face greedily, and he’s grateful that he video-called you back. You look beautiful—always do, he thinks wistfully—but even more so today. You’re dressed pretty, lips painted red, and eyes all done up; you must be at an event because he can tell that you’re not wearing the suit you usually wear. He can see the straps of your dress, just barely visible in the camera. “You look pretty.”

“Hi,” you reply, matching his tone. “Are you okay?”

He exhales shakily, forcing himself to play his part. “Of course, bella,” he says, injecting as much of his usual teasing lilt into his voice as he can manage. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You don’t buy it. He knows you don’t. You never have.

There’s a pause on your end, filled only by the faint sound of movement, a rustle of fabric, and a muffled voice calling your name. A male voice. Dazai’s fingers tighten around the fabric of your sheets. He hates the ugly feeling that curls in his gut. 

Your voice softens as you finally say, “You’re in my apartment.”

“... No,” Dazai lies after a few seconds, turning on his side to curl into himself. “Are you at an event?” 

“Yeah,” you agree, eyes flitting to the side to give someone off-screen a small, dismissive smile. “I’m with Tolstoy and Goldoni at a dinner. We’re meeting with a representative of the Church later—we’re trying to figure out who exactly Fyodor Dostoevsky is. Goldoni invited Tolstoy and me to Vatican City because he thought the Church might have information that could be of use to us.”

“Sounds important,” he says quietly, and he hates how small his voice comes out.

The corners of your lips soften as you look at him, and Dazai is suddenly very acutely aware of how ghoulish he must look. He almost wants to turn the camera away from his face, but he knows that’ll only bring more attention to it.

“Not more important than you,” you tell him, and for a second, Dazai thinks he might cry, all of the tension in his chest loosening at your words. “I would rather be there with you.”

“Me too,” Dazai breathes out, lashes wet and fluttering as he turns his face out of view of the camera, wiping his eyes furiously. “I don’t know what came over me. I don’t usually let it get to me like this. I just—”

“Don’t you think that's probably why?” you ask him softly. Dazai’s throat tightens painfully—if his eyes slide shut, he can almost imagine your fingers threading through his hair as you speak. “It’s Thursday there, right? Are you going to work in the morning?”

Dazai peeks up from the pillow curiously, wondering why you changed the subject so quickly. He bites his bottom lip, wondering if this is your way of asking him to leave. “I—I don’t know. Probably not. I can, I guess—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt immediately, and he looks at you again, waiting for you to continue. “I’ll be back Saturday night, wait for me?” 

“If you insist,” he rasps, still a bit drowsy, barely able to hold his eyes open as he looks at the screen. He sees you smile lightly, and that’s worth the burn in his eyes that the light of the screen causes. “Are you leaving?” 

You pause, and he sees you look back at where he assumes the rest of the people attending the dinner are sitting, and Dazai’s heart sinks. His chapped lips part to tell you that he’s fine, to crack a joke or flirt with you just enough to convince you that he’ll be okay if you go, but all he’s able to do is take in a ragged breath.

“I can stay on the phone,” you offer. “I won’t be able to talk, but I’ll be here, at least.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

He doesn’t hear you immediately standing up, so he cracks an eye open to see what you’re doing, and his mouth dries when he sees you staring at the screen with an indecipherable expression. You look like you want to say something, but Dazai can’t fathom what it might be. After what feels like an eternity, your head finally drops a little.

“Try to sleep,” you murmur before he hears you rise to your feet.

You don’t say anything else to him, but you don’t hang up either. Dazai listens as you walk back into the dining hall and laugh when Leo Tolstoy accuses you of trying to ditch them. He hears you apologize and tell them that you had to take an important call. He listens as Goldoni chuckles and teases you about a ‘mysterious lover,’ and he listens as you brush it off with a laugh, but you don’t deny it.

Dazai closes his eyes again, listening to the distant hum of your voice, the way you navigate the conversation so effortlessly, the way you sound so at home in a world that no longer includes him. He hates it. Dazai has regretted his decision to leave the Port Mafia before, but never more than now. He feels so separate from you, the two of you are living in entirely different worlds now, and he just hates it. He’s not good at saving people, he’s not good at being good at all, and it’s so exhausting pretending to be—he’ll never fully fit in with the rest of the Agency, and now he doesn’t fully fit in with the one person who has always accepted him for him, and it’s because of his own doing.

Eventually, his eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion finally catches up to him. He barely registers the moment his grip on his phone loosens, nor does he notice when the tension starts to seep from his muscles. The last thing he thinks he hears before sleep claims him is the sound of you excusing yourself from the table and the soft whisper of his name as if checking to see if he’s still there.

And then, silence. For the first time in what feels like forever, Dazai sleeps.

---

You’re not entirely sure if Dazai will still be there when you get back to your apartment. You don’t even bother going to talk to Mori, even though you know you should be heading to his office immediately to debrief everything you learned from Goldoni about Dostoevsky. You won’t be able to focus until you know Dazai is okay—you know that look in his eyes more intimately than anyone else. The first time you saw it, you found him on the roof of your building, swaying precariously on the edge, and the last time, you found him slumped over in your bathroom with a razor blade.

You drop your suitcase haphazardly on the ground, glancing down the hall to his bedroom, but your gut screams to go up to your room, so you place the food you grabbed on the way back down on the table and take off up the steps to your bedroom. The door is open, and you slow to a stop when you see a small lump curled up beneath your dark sheets.

You exhale softly, a fond smile curling onto the corners of your lips as you slip your shoes off and make your way over to him. 

You climb on top of the bed, careful not to disturb him, and you pull the sheets back just enough so that you can see his head. He looks at peace—fast asleep, his phone resting next to his head as he lets out even puffs of air. You let the call finally drop when you got up to your apartment, so you take his phone to rest it on the nightstand before turning your attention back onto him.

You lift your hand to run your fingers through his hair, watching as he lets out a soft noise in the back of his throat before leaning into your touch. He’s been sleeping since you got on the call with him over twenty-four hours ago, and there are still dark bags beneath his eyes. You don’t want to wake him up, but you know him and you know he probably hasn’t eaten in days.

Maybe more than that, you grimace, fingers tracing over his face. He’s lost weight, you know that just by looking at him—his cheeks are a bit sunken, and even though he’s wrapped in your blankets, you can see how thin his frame is. Dazai has never been bulky, but he’s always been lean and toned—now, he seems almost frail beneath the blankets. You swallow thickly as you lean down to brush your lips against his temple, watching as he slowly stirs awake.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, still brushing your fingers through his hair as his hazy gaze slowly focuses on you. The pet name rolls off your tongue easily in spite of the fact that you haven’t used it in years—it’s reserved for Dazai, and it’s specifically reserved for moments like these.  “You awake?”

Dazai doesn’t respond. You don’t really expect him to. Your hand slides from his hair to cup his face, running your thumb over his cheekbone. He leans into your touch instinctively, and you can see his lashes start to flutter shut again.

“I brought food,” you tell him quietly as you shift to lay down next to him, slipping an arm around his thin waist to spoon him. You kiss his shoulder blade before nuzzling your face in the nape of his neck. “You should come eat.”

He needs to shower too, you think absently, but you have a feeling that’s going to be more difficult to convince him to do than eat. You can see the bandages on his neck yellowed and frayed at the edges—he probably hasn’t changed them in a concerning amount of time—and his hair is oily and greasy, all of the usual fluff gone. 

“I’m not hungry,” he murmurs. 

His voice is hoarse, a little over a rasp. You make sure to keep your arm around him as you prop yourself up on your other elbow, looking over him to catch him staring blankly into his reflection in the window. His eyes are dark—too dark and too empty, which means his mind has retreated back into a bad place. 

You press your lips together before coming to a decision. You take your arm from around his waist to lift it to his head, wriggling your hand under his cheek to forcibly turn his head up to the ceiling. His whole body falls onto his back when you succeed, and you catch a hint of displeasure in his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling—better than the emptiness. You don’t think he was doing himself any favors staring at himself like that. He’s never liked his own reflection.

“I brought your favorite,” you tempt, sitting up so that you’re kneeling next to him. You pull one of his hands into your lap, using your index finger to trace the lines on his palm and each of his fingers. “Come have a little.”

His expression softens as he looks down at where you’re tracing his hands. He asks quietly, “You brought crab?”

“Good crab,” you confirm. “From the rooftop restaurant in Naka that you like.”

He blinks. “They’re not open this late.”

You give him a smug grin and tell him, “They’re always open for me.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but he almost does from the way he side-eyes you. “You sound like Chuuya,” he mutters.

You ignore the insult and say, “Come eat.”

What little energy he mustered fades as his gaze shifts back to the ceiling. “I don’t want to move,” he whispers, voice little over a breath.

I can’t move, he’s really saying. His throat bobs as his eyes slide shut, and you let out a soft breath, lifting your free hand to caress his face as you lean down to press your lips gently to his forehead, tracing them over the bridge of his nose before brushing them against his.

“I’ll bring it to you,” you say quietly, shifting to get up off the bed, but you pause when he reaches out to grab your wrist. His grip is weak, fingers clinging to your suit jacket desperately, you probably wouldn’t have even noticed him grabbing for you if you hadn’t seen him move. “What is it?”

“Stay.”

“I’m not going far,” you tell him. “Just down the steps—”

“Stay,” he rasps out, opening his eyes to look at you again, and you freeze when you see the glassiness in them. “Please.”

“Okay,” you agree, shifting to lay with him again. Usually, he’ll curl into you when you guys lay together, but he stays flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. You lift your hand to turn his head to the side so he’s looking at you, and your heart clenches when you see the pain plainly visible in his eyes.

You don’t have to ask the question. Dazai’s lashes flutter shut, wet with tears he’s not letting roll over his cheeks. You run your finger over his cheekbone again, drawing small circles against his skin as you caress his face.

“I’m so tired,” he breathes out, voice hoarse. “I’m so tired. I’ve done everything he wanted, but nothing has changed. I still feel so empty, I still don’t belong there. I thought maybe once I started doing what he asked, I would change, I’d be better, I’d be good. Happier. But I still feel the same. I still want to die. I’m still me.” 

You inhale shakily. For as much as you’ve always known about Dazai’s unending yearning for death, he’s never actually explicitly said it out loud before, at least not to you. For a moment, your thumb pauses in the steady circles you’re drawing against his cheek, but you force yourself to speak. 

“You can’t live for someone else, Osamu,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You need to find a reason for yourself.”

“But what if I don’t have one?” Dazai asks, a ragged noise escapes his lips—a sob or an inhale, maybe both. His fingers are trembling in your hand; you think maybe you were wrong. Dazai doesn’t want to die, not really; he wants a reason to live desperately, but can’t find one, and without one, he doesn’t see the point in going on. “What if I don’t have one?”

“Then I’ll help you find one,” you say softly, your voice steady in spite of the tremor that runs through you. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you. We’ll figure it out together, you’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.”

Your hand slips off of his face when Dazai turns his head away, breath hitching, but you feel the tears finally start to roll over his cheeks as your hand drops to the mattress.

“But why?” he breathes out, voice wavering. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“Why what?”

“Why are you here? Why are you helping me? I left you, I left you and didn’t even say goodbye, and as soon as I came crawling back into your life, you let me. I know you left Rome early to come check on me. You never leave right after events, you wait a few days until the politics of it dies down.” His voice is pitched. Wobbly. It cracks over every other word, and he becomes more and more distressed with each passing second. “I don’t understand. I wasn’t even—I wasn’t even good to you back then. I couldn’t commit to you, and even when I did commit to you, I was still making things hard. I don’t understand why you’re here, why you’re with me when I only ever make life harder on you, I don’t deserve it. I—”

“Because I love you,” you tell him, sitting up to take his face in both of your hands to force him to look at you. The three words you never spoke before he left because you were afraid it would make him run, the three words you didn’t say back when they slipped from his mouth in the haze of pleasure, the three words the two of you have been dancing around for six years. He stares up at you, frozen, brown eyes wide and lips parted. “I love you, Osamu. I love you so much that it makes me sick sometimes. I love you even when you make things hard, I love you even when you run, even when you push me away, even when you disappear without a word and make me wonder if I’ll ever see you again. And I hate that I do sometimes, I really do—you drive me insane, but I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”

His lips part, but no words come out. His hands are trembling, but his grip finally tightens on yours. His chest rises and falls in short, uneven breaths, and you carefully pull him into your arms. He instinctively curls into you, resting his head on your shoulder; you bring your free hand up to cradle his head, fingers tightening around his other hand.

“I left Rome early because I knew you needed me to,” you continue. “And I didn’t want to wait for you to ask, because I knew you’d never.”

His breath hitches. “I just don’t understand. I—”

“You don’t need to understand, Osamu,” you tell him quietly. “You just need to let me love you.”

“I don’t know how to be loved like this,” he whispers. “I’m going to mess it all up.”

“Then we’ll fix it again,” you promise, kissing the top of his head. “We have the rest of our lives for you to learn, yeah?” 

Dazai’s nose brushes your jaw as he shifts his head to look up at you, and you let your head fall to the side so that you can look at him. His eyes are swimming with emotion as he lifts his hand to your face—his fingers tremble as they brush your skin.

“I love you too,” he says softly, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. It’s different hearing it now when he’s not drunk with pleasure, when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him. It makes your throat swell, makes your eyes wet and glassy. “So much. It gets me so twisted up inside that I can barely breathe. I thought of you every day we were apart. It drove me crazy—you don’t understand, I saw you around every corner, I heard your voice in the wind. I dreamed of you every night, and I hated waking up because I knew you wouldn’t be there. When I heard—when I heard you were sent abroad, I went back to your apartment—”

Your eyes widen, and Dazai buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“I thought I would feel better. Your apartment—it’s always where I’ve felt… okay,” he continues, voice muffled against your skin, “but it made me feel so much worse. I’ve felt so guilty over leaving you without saying anything. It’s been eating me alive for years and—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper when his voice breaks into a sob. “It’s okay. I understand now. I—”

“It’s not okay,” he interrupts, voice rising in pitch as he forces himself to sit up to look at you. You sit up with him—his pupils are dilated, eyes wild, and he’s no longer trying to hold back the tears. “It’s not okay. I hurt you, I left you. It hadn’t even been a year since Itou died, and I knew you weren’t okay even though you pretended to be. You needed me and I left you. And—”

“And I forgive you, Osamu,” you tell him, reaching forward to grab his shaking hands again. It scares you how much you realize you mean it—you don’t think the resentment will ever fully go away, but you do forgive him. “I forgive you for leaving. I’m glad you left, I’m glad you got out of there, I’m glad you’re with the Agency. Of course I’ll always be sad that we’re not working together anymore, but we’re still us, we still have each other and that’s what matters.”

“But—” he starts to whisper, nails digging deep into the skin of your hands, but you don’t pull away.

“There is no ‘but’,” you say quietly. “I know you can’t see it yourself, Osamu, but I do. You have changed since you’ve been with them. You’ve changed for the better. I knew it the moment we first saw each other after all those years, and I know it now.”

“Then why do I still feel this way?” he breathes out desperately, looking to you for an answer. “I don’t understand.”  

“You’re not just going to suddenly wake up one day and feel okay,” you say with a wry smile, reaching out to caress his cheek. “That’s not how it works. But you’re doing good, Osamu. You are good. If the me from four years ago met the you now, I would never believe that you’re my Osamu—you haven’t let yourself see how far you’ve come, but before we met in my office, the last I remembered of you was when you were an executive, so I can see it better than anyone. The boy I knew four years ago is not the same man sitting in front of me today. I forgive you for leaving because it makes me happy to see who you’ve become since you’ve been gone. I’m proud of you, Osamu—and I know he would be too.”

Dazai grits his teeth to hold back another sob, head hanging forward. You shift toward him to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“I hate that you always know what to say,” he mutters, fingers digging into the back of your suit jacket as he clings to you.

“Well, it is kind of my job,” you say dryly, lips curling up when he lets out a puff of air that you can only assume is amusement. 

“What about you?” he finally asks. You barely hear him since he’s speaking so quietly. “You could leave too. You could come with me. You could be good too—we could learn together.”

“Osamu—”

“You could,” he insists before you reject him, sitting back on his heels to look at you. “You could—”

“I don’t want to,” you tell him firmly, watching as his shoulders slump. “I’m not like you, or even Chuuya. You never enjoyed being in the mafia—you were the most successful executive we had, and you just didn’t care. You were only there because you were trying to find a way to spend your time. And Chuuya, he’ll always do what needs to be done to protect the city—he knows that sometimes you need to do bad things for the greater good, but he doesn’t like it.”

“And you?” he asks quietly.

“I love it,” you admit, swallowing thickly. “I don’t give a shit about the city, or the people, I like the money and I like the power and I like the fear and the respect and the love. I like having the most powerful men in the world in the palm of my hand, and I like knowing that if I wanted to, they would kill for me, die for me, start wars for me. I like that when I walk into a room with the Prime Minister, he’ll walk up to me for my attention. I like being wined and dined in foreign countries because all of their politicians and oligarchs want my favor. I love being with Port Mafia, Osamu. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be good.”

You don’t expect Dazai to laugh, but he does. He barks out something caught between a sob and a laugh, pressing his hand to his mouth to smother it.

“And what does it say about me that you saying all of that made me hard?” he chokes out between either sobs or laughs, maybe both.

Your hand flies to your mouth to smother your giggle, but it’s to no avail, because when Dazai snorts, you can’t hold it back anymore. He leans into you as he bursts into laughter, and you press your face into the top of his head, burying your face in his hair as you giggle, absently wiping away the tears streaming down his cheeks.

When he finally starts to calm down, hysterical laughter becoming soft giggles, he lets out a heavy sigh. His lashes are still wet against the skin of your neck, and he’s still upset, but his shoulders aren’t tense anymore as he sinks into you.

“If you really think I’ve changed,” he asks, voice too small, “then how do you know you still love me?”

“Because you’re Dazai Osamu,” you answer instantly. “I’ll always love you—whether you’ve changed for the better or worse, I’m yours, and you’re mine. You changing just means I get the chance to fall in love with you all over again.”

A noise slips from his lips—you can’t tell if it’s a soft ‘oh’ or a gasp, but his arms tighten around you. After a few moments, he lets out a breathy, “I love you.”

You kiss the top of his head in response, running your hand up and down his spine absently before he finally lets out a heavy sigh and sits back on his heels to look at you. His eyes are heavy, and his smile is sad.

“Mori wants me back,” he says quietly after a moment. You inhale sharply, heart sinking as your hands drop back to your lap. “He’s mentioned it twice now. And you said it yourself, when he wants something—”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” you say firmly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I’ll handle it.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Osamu,” you say, and then add teasingly, “Don’t you still trust me? Didn’t you once say body, heart, soul, and trust?”

Dazai’s face instantly heats up. He rips his hand from yours to bury his face in his hands, letting out a long groan. “Can you not repeat all the embarrassing things I said when we were younger?”

“Please,” you laugh. “You don’t think me and Chuuya stopped re-enacting the ‘that’s why I love you’ just because you left, do you?”

“Oh my god,” he complains, falling over onto the bed to press his face into your pillow. You only barely catch the muffled, “I’m going to smother myself, and it’s on you.”

You laugh and shift to drape yourself over his back, kissing his shoulder blade before resting your head down on his back, drawing patterns on his back. “Anyway, I thought that one was cute, not embarrassing.”

Dazai only lets out an irritated grumble that makes you smile. 

“Ah, sweet hime, I’m going to have to disappear again for a few days after this one,” he sighs, turning his head to the side to look at you from the corner of his eye. You shimmy up a bit to press your lips to his cheek, watching his eyes flutter shut. “This is all just too embarrassing. You know how I feel about… talking and emotions.”

You can hear the disgust dripping from his words, and you laugh. “Tell that to someone who hasn’t had to talk you off the edge of a roof or wrestle you for a razor blade.”

His lips curl up into a soft smile. 

“Fair,” he whispers. 

You bite back a yelp when he suddenly rolls onto his back, hands darting out to shift you so that you’re lying on his chest instead. He reaches up to cup your cheek, and you let out a quiet breath when your eyes meet his. They’re still a bit too fragile for your liking, but there’s a peace that you’ve hardly ever seen before in them, and it makes your heart warm.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admits, running his thumb over your cheekbone, staring at your face like he’s trying to burn it into his memory. “Please don’t ever go somewhere I can’t follow.”

“Somewhere without you?” you tease. “Sounds dreadful.”

He lets out a laugh, but there’s something sad that lingers in his eyes, and it makes you pause. You remember the words he said to you after the near-successful assassination attempt on you four years ago—everything I never want to lose is always lost, I’m so scared that you’ll be next.

“You won’t ever lose me, Osamu,” you promise.

Dazai’s gaze lowers. “I hope not.”

[grandmaster-paradox]

I think Obi-Wan’s ruthlessness is one of my favorite things about him. And one of the things that is most overlooked, at least by the fic writers that I’ve come across. What’s that Katherine Applegate quote?

People don't understand the word ruthless. They think it means "mean." It's not about being mean. It's about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It's about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it.

I think in a lot of ways, Obi-Wan is this kind of ruthless. Especially, but not limited to, TCW. He commits a war crime on Christophosis because it’s the most efficient way to achieve his goal*. He bisects Maul as a padawan after calming down and cuts Anakin into four pieces before walking away while he burned**. Everything about the whole Rako Hardeen arc - on assignment he didn’t let anything get in his way, including witnessing the murder of people just doing their jobs***. Just, so many examples.

He cares - about his fellow Jedi, the men he serves with and leads as General, civilians. He’s Light with a capital L. But he lets very little get in the way of achieving his goals.

Whether this ability to be ruthless is a matter of singular focus or having mastered Jedi non-attachment, I’m not sure. But I’ve seen compilations of gifs from both the movies and show where he’s almost causally dispatching unimportant enemies with most of his focus ahead to where he’s going, on getting to whomever he’s hunting, on whatever his goal is. There’s no hate in the action. It’s almost - but not quite - apathetic; these [droids or whatever] are in his way, he needs them to be out of his way to reach his objective, so he removes them (lethally).

Like, we’ve all talked about that scene with Vader, but there’s been times where Obi-Wan moves through an area like the Terminator. Unmovable focus. Unstoppable force.

Tangentially related; I laugh whenever fic describes his fighting style as graceful or full of artful katas or whathaveyou. This man is efficient and he’s well trained but given half a chance he’ll fight like a damned brawler. It’s always weird to compare the (exhaustingly long) choreographed fight scene with Anakin at the end of RotS with those times he decides to just kick his opponent in the gut. Out-of-universe, it’s a difference in directors and vision and choreography. In universe though? When he’s not fighting other lightsaber wielders, he seems to err on a far more utilitarian, whatever works philosophy of battle.

(And yeah, the man is not a twink. Let’s just toss that idea into the sun, mmkay?)

* I’m aware SW doesn’t have Geneva Conventions but false surrender makes all future surrenders impossible, so I can’t see perfidy not being outlawed with the number of planetary, interplanetary, and galactic wars in SW history

** Admittedly, he felt bad about that last one

*** I have a hard time calling prison guards innocent, even in a kids show. Sue me

Hi! I think you've mentioned finding canon!Obi-Wan a fascinating character and that a lot of people miss a lot of stuff about him, can you expand on what your favourite parts of his character are or what you like to explore in him?

Tbh 'fascinating' is probably vastly overstating things - he's never going to be my favorite, but I like the canon version of him a lot more than the fanon version that's so common. I also definitely think people...mh. Flanderize isn't quite the right word, since it's not just his canon traits that get exaggerated, but. woobified, basically. Fandom very clearly tries to fit him into a certain mold, and I just personally don't think it really fits.

To me, Obi-Wan is sharp and fairly aggressive once he's encountered something/someone in his way. He's stubborn and a bastard and competitive, and he fits in just as well with Bane and the rest of the bounty hunters in that arc as he does with the other members of the Jedi Council. He's also self-assured and humble but not in any way shy or retiring. He can be very grumpy when things don't go his way, and he's snarky, almost cutting, even with allies. He's ruthless when it's necessary, and overprotective of the people around him, and he has a tendency to be morose and pessimistic when things go wrong, though he always keeps going anyway. He thinks he knows how people are going to act and can be too set in his beliefs about others, and he's kind but he's not exactly gentle.

Just - I think he's so much more interesting than a lot of fandom gives him credit for. And I am aware that fandom tends to make complex characters more one-dimensional, but god, Obi-Wan gets it so bad.

Also, if I hear one more person call him a twink I'm going to end up on the news.

[obfuscateyummy]

Late.

Holy shit. Thank you all for the LOVE on my last Robby x reader fic. You sure know how it make a struggling girl feel the love. PLEASE feel free to ask me questions or message me if theres something you think I should write. I'm not opening "requests" but taking idea. and I always am looking for someone to chat my ideas out with.

1,226 words. Slight angst. Mentions pregnancy. Everything medical I know from shows staring Noah Wyle as a doctor.

part 1

The next time you looked at the clock, it was 8:00. You sat down to type some patient notes. You sighed as you sat.

“Rough morning, kid?” Dana asked. 

You shook your head. “I’m just exhausted today. Think I need more coffee, and something to eat. Just gotta update these notes.” 

“I got a granola bar if you want one,” Dana offered. 

“Thanks I owe ya,” you said as you took the granola bar. You opened it up and took a bite.

You looked at the date at the bottom of your computer 5/4/25. “Uh, Dana? Is it really the fourth?”

“Yeah. Exactly one month after Pittfest. Can you believe it?” she said. 

You cursed under your breath. A month? You could’ve sworn it was only two weeks after Pittfest. You were wrong. And it gave your exhaustion a whole new meaning. You began to feel knots in your stomach. Knots you originally took as hungr pains, which also now have a new meaning. You were spiraling up in your head that you didn’t hear the conversation happening around you.

“Hey Robby,” Dana said as he walked by. “We got 2 coming in. One minor head lacerations, one major. ETA 5 minutes.”

“Okay, Dr. Mohan take the head laceration, take Whitaker with you. Have him do the sutures. Dr. R, you’re with me and the major. Santos, you’re with us.” Robby said. Everyone followed to where they needed to be. He gave you a minute and you still didn’t move, lost in your own thoughts. 

“Hey, y/n? Did you hear that?” he asked.

“What? Sorry,” you said.

“Car accident, 2 coming our way. ETA 4 minutes, you’re with me,” he said as he looked at you. You didn’t speak as you stood up to walk. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I told you, I’m fine,” you said. There was a tone of annoyance in your voice.

“If you say so,” he said as he walked away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You sounded angry. You snapped at him. You were moody, of course you were moody. Add it to the list of symptoms.

“It’s….nothing.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hey Robby, Kid - they’re pulling up!” Dana shouted.

Michael stared at you. Desperatly wishing you would tell him what was wrong. The two of you had been married almost 5 years - knew you weren’t okay.

“Let’s go,” you said motioning for your husband to turn around. 

The two of you approached the ambulance bay doors as the EMTs rolled in your patient. They ran over his name, vitals, injury details. You breathed trying to calm the nausea rolling in your stomach. Your head began spinning. Next thing you knew, you were in trauma 2 and you heard your husband’s voice.

“He’s gonna need a chest tube.”

“Got it,” you said as Dana handed you the kit.

“I’m in,” you said as you got the chest tube in, but there was blood. There was blood. Not a lot of blood. But it wasn’t the sight of blood. It was the smell. That awful smell of metal. That was what pushed you over the edge.

“Santos, take over,” you ordered. The intern did as she was told. 

You ran out of the room ripping off your gloves and trauma gown, disposing of them in the nearest bin. You headed straight to the restroom. You barely made it to the toilet before unloading your stomach’s contents into it. Tears streamed down your face as you finished. You sat with your back against the stall wall. “Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself. You wiped your tears, flushed the toilet and headed out to splash some water on your face and get back out there. As you were splashing your face, Samira walked in.

“Hey, Dr. R you-” Samira said as you blew past her. You had to find your husband. “Got a minute.”

You booked it for central. Dana approached you on your way. 

“Hey kid, you okay?” she asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” you said, avoiding the question.

“Maybe because you’re off your game today. Hell, I don’t remember the last time you ran out of a trauma like that,” she said.

You did. It was the spring of 2021. 5 months before Lucy was born. You had begged your husband to let you back in the trauma room, claiming you could handle it. That day, he pulled you from traumas until after you returned from maternity leave. “Have you seen Robby?” you asked, still avoiding her question.

“Headed towards central last I checked” she said. 

“Thanks,” you said walking away.

“Hey kid, you never answered my question!” Dana shouted after you.

You still didn’t answer her. You passed Myrna in the hallway.

“Hey Floozie, there you are!” Myrna said as you approached. 

“Not today, Myrna,” you said walking past her and up to your husband, who was typing notes at his desk.

“Dr. Robby? Can we-” you started to say as he interrupted.

“You said you were fine,” he said, not looking up from his computer. 

“Can we talk?” you finished the question you were asking earlier. 

He took off his glasses and looked at you. “Oh, now you want to talk?” he said, never raising his voice. 

“Please?” you asked motioning towards the lounge.

He stood up and followed you into the lounge. As soon as the door shut behind you, he started to speak.

“You’re not okay,” he said.

“I know.”

“What’s going on?” Robby put his hand on your arm. “Y/n, you got sick during a trauma. You haven’t done that since-”

“I was pregnant with Lucy.” You looked into his eyes and took a deep breath.

“ Y/n-”

You interrupted him, “Michael, I’m late.” You blurted it out.  

He blinked and looked at you, “What?”

“I’m late. Like late late.” you said as you looked up at him. 

“How late?” he asked.

“Two, maybe three weeks,” you said as you rubbed your arm and bit your bottom lip. “I-I kinda lost track.”

Michael stared at you. You knew he was trying to pinpoint how far along you were, when you were due, when it happened. “Did you-”

You shook your head, “I haven’t taken a test, but do I really need to?”

“You do. And you need an ultrasound. I need to tell Gloria.” He said rubbing the back of his neck. 

You shook your head. “Wait.” Robby looked at your confused. When you were pregnant with Lucy, the day you found out, you couldnt wait to tell everyone. “Please. Just - Michael can we just-”

“Dr. R?” Samira said as she opened the door to the lounge. “Can I get you to check out my patient in South 7? All the tests are coming back normal, but I think something is off.”

“Yeah, be right there Samira,” you said smiling at your friend. She turned to leave.

“I have tomorrow off. Hopefully I can get in for an ultrasound. I can stop on the way home and get a test.” You stopped talking because Robby’s lips crashed with yours. 

He pulled away quickly, “We gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I love you, Dr. Robinavitch,” he said.

“I love you too, Dr. Robinavitch,” you said as you exited the lounge and headed to Samira’s patient.

[aroselaine]

Mated

Masterlist, AO3 Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Castiel rescues you from a case gone wrong, accidentally exposing his wings. When he finds out you can see them, he can't help but lose control ;)

Content: smut !! wing kink, grace kink, praise kink, soulmate au, intense making out, body worship, fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, cas loses his virginity, switch!castiel, no use of Y/N

A/N - OMG I finally got around to finishing the fic from the poll, thank you so much everyone for the support and lmk what you wanna see next 🤭

If you had known demons were behind the disappearances, you would have never shown up alone.

From the outside, the case looked like nothing more than a few rogue vampires. While you had been hunting with the Winchesters for a few years now, they were busy with some impossible end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it crisis, and you had reached your breaking point. So when an article surfaced about two victims found completely drained of blood, you were eager to leave the brothers to their research.

It hadn’t taken long after arriving in town to locate the small nest. You'd even texted Sam and Dean before heading out—just in case. But nothing could have prepared you for what you found inside. The abandoned farmhouse you’d been led to was a trap, crawling with demons. You'd walked right into it like a rookie.

Now you were bloodied and shackled in some damp basement, breathing hard through cracked ribs and a busted lip, your hands chained above your head. Each breath was agony. Your vision blurred as one of the demons approached, a sick grin on his face and a knife covered in your blood in his hand.

You closed your eyes and did the only thing you could think of.

“Castiel,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and barely audible over the sound of your own pulse. “Please. I need you.”

The air changed.

It was subtle at first—the room felt tighter, heavier—and then everything happened at once.

A blinding light tore through the darkness. The demons turned just as a flutter of wings, louder than thunder, echoed off the stone walls. You heard screams—real, agonized screams—and then silence.

When you blinked your eyes open, the room was lit only by the soft glow of celestial grace. Blood and ash coated the walls. The demons were gone, their vessels crumpled like discarded paper.

And he was standing there. Castiel. Looking untouched, terrifying, and beautiful.

But it wasn’t his face that had you breathless.

His wings stretched behind him, dark and enormous, taking up nearly the entire room. Not shadowy impressions like you'd seen in glimpses before—these were real, radiant with flecks of silver and midnight blue, as if the night sky had been carved into feathers.

You gasped. “Cas…” you murmured, your head spinning. “Your wings…”

Then everything went black.

The motel room smelled faintly of dust and cheap detergent. Your eyes fluttered open to the dim light of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the faded wallpaper. For a second, you didn’t move. The pain was gone—but the memory of it, of shackles, blood, and demon laughter, clung to your skin like smoke.

Then your senses caught up. You were clean. Your ribs didn’t hurt. You sat up slowly, half-expecting the agony to return, but it didn’t. A bottle of water sat on the nightstand, unopened.

And sitting silently in the chair across from your bed, elbows resting on his knees, was Castiel.

His hands were clasped in front of him, head slightly bowed. He looked tired—not physically, but like something heavy sat inside his chest. Still, the moment your gaze met his, his head lifted, and relief flickered through his storm-colored eyes.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

You managed a tired smile. “Yeah. Guess you’ve been busy.”

“I healed you,” he said, his tone clinical, almost distant. “The damage was… extensive.”

“I figured,” you said, hand brushing gently over your ribs. “Thank you, Cas. Seriously.”

Something shifted in his expression. He didn’t nod or offer a typical "you’re welcome." Instead, a deep quiet settled between you, almost uncomfortable. He looked down, jaw tense, then back at you with an unreadable expression.

“Did you see them?” he hesitated, his voice rough, uncertain in a way that was so unlike him it made your stomach twist.

You blinked. “Your wings?”

He stilled.

You continued carefully. “Yes. I did. They were… Cas, they were the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

He looked like you’d struck him. His hands unclasped, falling to his sides as he slowly stood, pacing once before facing you again—guarded, but shaken.

“I didn’t think…” he began, faltering. “I never believed I had one.”

“One what?” you asked gently, though your heart beat faster.

He swallowed. “A mate.”

You froze.

“I shouldn’t have one,” he went on, voice low and distant now, as if speaking to himself. “Not after everything I’ve done. Not after who I’ve become. I’ve always felt a pull to you, but I never let myself believe…” he trailed off, refusing to look at you. “But only a soulmate can see an angel’s true wings. Not impressions. Not shadows. Only a mate.”

You stared at him, heart in your throat. “Cas…”

“I didn’t mean for you to see them,” he said, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “But you called. And I came. And when I saw you there, bleeding, chained—” he looked away, his eyes burning. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

You were already pushing yourself up, standing on shaky legs, the sheets falling from your lap. “Cas, look at me.”

He turned, eyes meeting yours, raw and searching.

“I saw them,” you whispered, stepping close. “I saw you. And I’m still here.”

His breath caught. For a long second, he didn’t move. Then—softly, like a man who’d been wandering for centuries and had finally found home—he reached out. Not quite touching. Waiting.

You took his hand.

And the room filled with something that had nothing to do with light, sound, or heaven.

Just you.

Just him.

Just this.

The silence between you hummed with something unspoken—warm, and impossibly fragile. You still held his hand, your thumb brushing gently along the callused ridge of his knuckle. Castiel’s eyes searched your face, hesitant, as if he was balancing on the edge of a precipice.

Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he asked, “Would you… like to see them again?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

He blinked once, slowly, as if he hadn't expected that answer so easily. Then he nodded, a small, almost nervous tilt of his head. “You should close your eyes,” he said, softer still. “They can… overwhelm. Even with you.”

Your heart fluttered. Not from fear, but from the quiet reverence in his tone.

You obeyed, lashes fluttering shut. You heard him inhale, deep and slow—and then the air shifted

You felt them before you saw anything. The beat of something ancient and holy stirring the air, brushing against your skin like a sigh. Warmth radiated from him, a divine hum that lit every nerve.

Then came the soft rustle of feathers.

“Okay,” he said, voice low and unsure. “You can look now.”

You opened your eyes slowly—and forgot how to breathe.

His wings stretched out behind him in a full, glorious display. No longer dimmed by adrenaline or divine fury, they unfolded like living art. Vast, sweeping things made of starlight and shadow. Each feather shimmered with deep sapphire and silver, like moonlight on dark water. The edges glowed faintly, kissed by heaven itself.

“Cas…” Your voice was barely a breath. “You’re incredible.”

A flicker of color rose in his cheeks. His wings twitched at the compliment—just a small fluffing of feathers, barely noticeable. You had a feeling he hadn’t been complimented nearly enough.

“I’m not,” he murmured, avoiding your gaze.

You stepped closer. “You are,” you insisted, eyes wide with wonder. “May I… can I touch them?”

His gaze lifted, startled and open. He swallowed hard, then nodded, unable to speak.

Your hand hovered near the closest wing. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, just watched you, tense with anticipation.

Then you touched him.

The feather beneath your hand was impossibly soft, like velvet and silk spun together. He shivered visibly. His lips parted with a breathy gasp, and a soft sound escaped him, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

“Did I hurt you?” you whispered, pausing.

He shook his head quickly, breath shaky. “No. The opposite.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. Slowly, you ran your fingers deeper through the feathers, marveling at their texture and weight.

As you moved along the arch of his wing, he made another sound—quieter, more desperate. His hands curled into fists, his shoulders trembling.

“Cas,” you whispered, awed. “They’re so sensitive…”

His voice was raw. “They are. Our wings are… sacred. Intimate. We don’t—angels don’t let others…”

Your breath hitched. “No one has touched them before?”

He met your gaze, pupils blown wide. “No. Only you.”

The weight of his confession pressed gently against your chest.

You moved your hands lower, fingertips brushing the base of his wings—and he buckled. A groan tore from him, low and wrecked. His knees nearly gave, and he gripped your waist for balance, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“Cas…” Your voice was breathless, your eyes locked on him. “You don’t have to hold back.”

“I—” He gasped again as your fingers stroked down the length of a primary feather. “You’re going to undo me.”

“Good,” you whispered against his ear, lips ghosting his skin.

His wings trembled under your touch, every sweep of your fingers drawing out soft, helpless sounds from deep in his throat. His body pressed closer, warmth radiating off him in waves. You could feel the hard line of his arousal against your thigh—undeniable, urgent. The realization sent a jolt through you, and a slow, aching warmth pooled low in your belly—in between your legs—drawn out by the sounds he made, soft and needy and completely unguarded.

You kept your movements gentle but deliberate, respectful in your exploration, yet unable to ignore the desire coiling tighter. Each delicate stroke through his feathers made him shudder, his eyes fluttering closed, jaw slack with pleasure. The air around you shimmered, thick with grace and tension. He made another sound—low, deep in his chest—and you felt it vibrate through you.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear. “I want you, Cas.”

His eyes snapped open, darker, hungrier. His grace pulsed, licking at your skin like heat lightning. You stepped back, curling your fingers around his wrist, guiding him toward the bed. He followed in silence, wings half-flared, catching the light like silk.

When the backs of your knees met the mattress, you pulled him close and kissed him—softly, just enough to push him over the edge.

He surged forward, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that was all hunger and promise. Not gentle—consuming, desperate, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips. He cradled your face, trembling with restraint, as if you were fragile. Sacred.

You moaned, your body arching. He deepened the kiss, sliding one hand to your waist. He kissed you as if he’d waited forever—because he had.

His grace pulsed faintly along your skin, like electricity dancing over every nerve. But it was his voice, low and wrecked, that sent the deepest shiver through you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered, breath trembling against your lips. “How long I’ve wanted you?”

You managed a small sound, overwhelmed by his presence. But he wasn’t finished.

“I’ve watched you laugh… bleed… fight beside me,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, lips brushing the curve of your throat. “And every time, I wanted to reach for you. To pull you into me. Never let go.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your breath ragged. “Then do it,” you whispered.

He froze, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes luminous, aching, meeting yours with a look that made your heart skip.

“You are everything to me,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I want you like I've never wanted anything.”

He kissed you again—slower, like he was worshipping you—and when his hands moved beneath your shirt, his grace followed, hotter and heavier. It wasn’t just desire; it was a dam breaking—a lifetime of restraint collapsing all at once.

“Then take me,” you breathed.

Clothes vanished—not torn, not stripped, just gone, dissolved by his will. You stood bare before him, and he looked at you as if you were something holy. You let your gaze travel over him—his body, his wings, his eyes wide with need—and your breath caught. “You’re beautiful,” you whispered, “Divine.”

His breath hitched, his pupils dilating. The tips of his wings twitched, then flared, reacting to the heat that surged through him. You watched his jaw flex as he fought for composure.

“You can’t say things like that,” he rasped, voice rough with need. “Not when I’m already barely holding on.”

A wicked smile ghosted across your lips as you brushed your fingers down his chest, slow and teasing. “Why not?” you murmured. “It’s true. Every part of you… breathtaking.”

His control snapped, not violently—but completely. With a low groan, he surged down, capturing your mouth again, guiding you down on the bed, his wings folding behind him, still trembling as he held himself above you.

“You say things like that,” he growled against your throat, “and I’ll never stop.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed. “I don’t want you to.”

He made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan—utterly wrecked—and pressed himself tighter against you. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “And if you keep looking at me like that… speaking to me that way… I’m going to worship you until you forget anything else ever existed.”

His eyes lit with his grace and a warmth rolled through you—trailing down your neck, across your chest, between your thighs. The sensation was blinding. You cried out, clutching at him as your hips lifted, desperate for more. His eyes darkened, and something wild flickered behind them.

“I want to feel all of you,” he said, voice thick with need. “I want you to feel me everywhere.”

His mouth claimed yours again, but his grace explored you—featherlight at first, teasing, then growing bolder. You gasped as it trailed down your body, warm and electric, moving lower and lower. You cried out as his grace gathered between your thighs, pulsing in tight, rhythmic waves that made your hips buck. It was like being touched and not touched all at once—phantom hands stroking you with aching precision, vibrating against your most sensitive spot until you were writhing beneath him, your breath ragged and your fingers clutching at his shoulders.

“Cas,” you whimpered, voice trembling. “I can’t—please—”

Your plea spurred him on. His mouth dragged away from yours, panting against your cheek as his hand slid down, replacing the pulsing shimmer of his grace with something achingly real. His fingers found you slick and desperate, and he groaned at the feel of you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

His thumb circled your clit with devastating precision as two fingers slid inside you, curling just right. You cried out, arching, and he drank in the sound as if it was his salvation.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick and broken. “Let go for me.”

His grace didn’t fade—it intensified, wrapping around you like a second mouth, a second hand, amplifying everything. It worked in tandem with his fingers, pushing you higher and higher, until the heat in your core exploded outward, pleasure crashing through you in waves so strong your vision blurred.

You screamed his name, your body shuddering as you came, and he held you through it—his fingers slowing, his grace humming like a lullaby.

He growled—a low, primal sound—as your pleasure washed over him. His wings flared wide, radiant and wild, trembling as he fought for control. His grace pulsed harder now, answering every sound you made, every arch of your body. He kissed your throat, your shoulder, voice reverent, breathless.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, mouth brushing your skin. “Falling apart for me.”

You were still catching your breath, your body trembling, when he pressed closer—his arousal heavy against your thigh, impossible to ignore. He cupped your cheek again, thumb brushing your lips, and he looked down as if barely holding himself together.

“I’m trying to be gentle,” he admitted, his voice strained, “but I don’t know how much longer I can.”

Your fingers slid through his hair, pulling him closer, your voice soft and steady even through the haze. “Then don’t,” you whispered. “I want you to lose control.”

His answer was a groan, and then he was moving. He shifted, settling between your thighs, the pressure of him a promise. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, giving you time to change your mind. You arched your hips slightly, a silent invitation, and that was all the permission he needed.

He pushed into you, filling you completely, and you gasped, the sensation exquisite and overwhelming. He was large, thick, and impossibly hard, filling every inch of you. For a moment, you could only breathe, adjusting to the reality of him inside you. "You're so tight," he breathed against your ear, causing you to flutter around him.

Then he moved, a slow, deliberate thrust that stretched you open, and you cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders. He stilled again, letting you adjust, letting you feel him, and then he began to move in earnest. "Beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

Each thrust was deeper than the last, each stroke more intense, and you met him thrust for thrust, your hips rocking against his. His heat pulsed around you, a living wave that intensified with every movement, every gasp, every moan.

He was no longer the gentle, restrained angel you knew. He was a primordial being, driven by a need that mirrored your own. He pushed you higher and higher, taking you to the edge and holding you there, until you were begging him to let go.

“Please, Cas,” you gasped, your body trembling with each stroke. “I need you…”

Your words seemed to embolden him, and he thrust even harder, faster, driving you both closer to the brink. As you felt yourself getting closer to your peak, you shifted your hands, your fingers carding their way through his feathers until you reached the base of his wings. You stroked him there, causing him to shudder, his movements faltering for a moment.

But then, with renewed intensity, he surged into you. You continued to caress his wings, your fingers dancing over the sensitive feathers, and he bucked beneath you, his control completely gone.

He roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, as he spilled his seed deep inside you, pushing you into your climax. He continued moving with slow, gentle thrusts that soothed and comforted, drawing out the last vestiges of pleasure. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, whispering words of praise and adoration. You clung to him, your body still trembling in the afterglow.

Finally, he stilled, collapsing against you, his weight welcome. You wrapped your arms around him, and let silence settle. After a few moments, he nuzzled into your neck, his wings wrapping around you both like a warm, feathery blanket. "I love you," he whispered softly, his voice full of contentment. You snuggled closer, smiling against his skin. "I love you too," you replied, feeling completely at peace.

[lixiesfreckless]

I AM MONTHS LATE TO REVIEW THIS BUT ANYTHING WORTH DOING IS WORTH DOING POORLY SO HERE'S MY (totally unbiased and objectively correct) OPINION ON THIS SERIES(spoilers ahead):

oooooooh this right here? peak fanfiction. dare I say hardly fiction at all, if you know what I mean.

lowkey I need everyone that is even a LITTLE bit into stan culture or fandom culture to sit down and read this like, yesterday.

there are things in this fic that had me questioning whether the author had previously been an idol. or knew someone who worked in the industry. I know fanfiction is inherently, well, fiction, but I wholeheartedly believe that this story has happened several times in real life. this isn't just a story that the author decided to tell, I genuinely think this is an untold story for many idols that we love, and to me that makes them so much more human.

I think as a collective we kpop stans tend to forget that the people that make the music we like aren't perfect. aren't any different from the consumer, have hopes and dreams that might not have anything to do with their current job and I think the industry AND the viewers need to hold ourselves accountable for the pedestals we trap these people on. it's honestly not fair and inhumane a lot of the time too.

and I think this story does a damn near perfect job of portraying that. seeing the behind the scenes of what goes on behind every instagram post, every hate comment, every curated article and pointed photo, all of it. at the end of the day kpop idols are real people that are just trying to get by. and they fall in love and make mistakes and say things they don't mean when their emotions cloud their judgement.

I originally wanted this review to be more about me screaming about how sunwoo could break my jaw with his [redacted] and I would tell him thank you, and I still feel that way, but I think this fic highlights something more important that I think all kpop fans need to understand.

everything we see in kpop is almost always severely reviewed and edited and perfectly crafted so that we, the consumer, will either like it, or hate it. we do not know these people, we only know as much as they are allowed to show us, and until they're no longer under a contract we need to stop pretending that we do.

honestly the scene where they were planning to ruin sunwoo's career just because they thought they would financially recover from that thanks to mvne's success BROKE me. it makes me wonder how many under the table transactions have happened in the past to guarantee something else stays afloat. quite literally had me rethinking every scandal we saw and bought into ever since I got into kpop in 2019.

and that kind of eye opening writing, as fun, and spicy, and heartwarming, and funny as it is and can be, needs to be read by everyone.

you know how in the movie ratatouille Ego shows up to Gusteau's and when it's time to order, he asks the waiter for some "perspective?"

that is this fic. I ordered some sunwoo shenanigans and got a plate of decadent, heart wrenching, pearl-clutching, jaw dropping perspective. and all I have left to say is damn. I wish I could read it for the first time again.

thank you melty, for this masterpiece. I'll recommend it to every deobi that dares to ask for recs <3

❥between two breaths (m)

↳ Navigating the realm of transitioning from fan-turned-trainee is difficult enough for you, but only half as difficult as the challenge of navigating the fact that your relationship with Sunwoo has long since moved beyond fan-and-idol to a very secret friendship.

And worse than that, is the way that your forced proximity is going to continue to evolve, and your long held decision to never take things a step further will truly be put to the test. Perhaps at the cost of both of your careers.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [105k wc COMPLETE] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 + authors notes

note from the author: for narrative purposes, company details have been altered from reality. additionally, though this work is meant to include certain aspects of idol and trainee life, details pertaining to weight management and diet culture have been mostly if not wholly omitted on account of the fact that i do not like them and i think they're bad <3. all characters in this work should be assumed to be aged 20 and above.

𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖: 𝕡𝕣𝕖-𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕦𝕥

𝚘𝚗𝚎 | 𝚝𝚠𝚘 | 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 | 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠: 𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕦𝕥

𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 | 𝚜𝚒𝚡 | 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 | 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 | 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎 | 𝚝𝚎𝚗

𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: 𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕖

𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 | 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎 | 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 | 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 | 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 | 𝚜𝚒𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 | 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

[rottenk1sses]

hiii mommy art donaldson anon here again and i looooved how you writed!! i'm so happy to read more pegging art fics i live for that shit and i absolutely love your writing

and i have silly little idea again hihihi

imagine you're fucking him full with the strap, and he's sooooo stimulated, dumb in your cock repeating everything you tell him. and you play into it for a while, telling him he's a good boy, that he's doing so good for you, you know, the usual. but then a sparkling idea comes to mind.

"you're gonna make daddy come if you keep moaning like that baby, you don't want to become a mommy so soon right?"

i know he would eat that shit up and start calling you daddy in a second

aaah hi hi lovely ! ! thank you so much <3 and i loved your ask, it definitely got me thinking

always happy to write more stuff about pegging art

usually art gets to relax when you’ve got your strap inside his guts, but tonight is different. he insisted on it being different, actually.

your back is pressed into the wooden headboard as he bounces over your lap, his warm face smushed into your neck as he pants and clings to your body—his hands holding the sides of your torso, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

he’s moaning like he’s got something to prove with you; a sharp cry muffled into your shoulder when he swivels his hips just right and gets his prostate bumped by the tip of the silicone rod. every time he slides back down the length of it, he lets out the prettiest “aah”.

“i wouldn’t mind if you wanted to go faster,” you whisper into his hair. one of your hands moving from his rear to stroke the nape of his neck. he swallows; you can feel his adam’s apple bob.

“faster?” he whines, automatically grinding quicker over the toy which only forces him to start whimpering between the rest of his usual gasps and groans.

you beam.

“fuuuck, artie.. god, you’re so good at this..”

the praise goes straight to his belly and boils its way up to his neglected, aching cock.

“mmngh, hngh—hngh—hngh, can i touch?”

such an obedient little thing he is when he gets like this. it’s precious.

“want me to?”

he nods before the words are even fully out of your mouth. you reach down and wrap a hand around his thick appendage, and he immediately jolts in your grasp, rocking faster and faster over the dildo. you scoop up the precome that’s been seeping from his tip for the last ten minutes and use it to start pumping him rhythmically.

his head snaps up from your shoulder and his back arches beautifully—his toned abdomen clenching and twitching as he clearly fights the orgasm that’s just seconds away. his balls draw up in the next moment. he hiccups around a broken sob.

but now that he’s pulled away, you get a view of his chest too. his pecs. the way they bounce with each of his movements. hm. it sparks something in you that’s all-too-familiar now.

“shit,” you suddenly groan, your voice lower and raspier than before, “if you keep that up, you’re gonna make daddy come.. and you don’t want to be a mommy yet, do you?”

and those perfectly-timed words are all that it takes to send him hurtling into his climax at full-force. blinding white pleasure thrumming through his entire body as he clutches at yours and wails, slamming himself down once more and letting his orgasm shoot out and into your touch. he doesn’t care that he can’t really get pregnant, because in that moment, when you’ve got his head spinning and his cock throbbing, he almost believes that he can. yes, he wants to be a mommy, he wants you to get him pregnant with your strap, that’s all he wants..!

“im c-cumming,” he shakes, as if you didn’t already know, your fist still stroking him as the prickles of overstimulation begin to creep in.

“gonna put a kid in you, baby,” you can’t help but rasp, deliriously and empathetically stuck in your lover’s pleasure.

and it’s damn near enough to make him meet his end.

[movingmusically]

Fic request.Austin has been developing a crush on his publicist(reader) for a while but she has no idea.He ends up confessing his feelings during a game of truth and dare with mutual friends. Could you write it from austin's perspective?

Author’s Note: I also received this similar request so tried to write something that worked for both.

Can i request a shorter chapter from austin's perspective? More along the lines of austin having a crush on a girl but she's completely unaware of it. More focus on anxiety that comes with wanting to confess your feelings but never finding the right words or moment to convey them?

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

The Truth of It

It started slow. A flicker. A shift. Nothing obvious. Nothing dramatic.

I’d been working with you for almost a year by then. Enough time to know that you were damn good at your job—and terrifying in that calm, patient way that made other people scramble to keep up.

You never raised your voice, never snapped, never panicked—not even when we were behind schedule or some journalist asked me a question I’d been strictly told to avoid. You’d just appear. Like magic. A gentle hand on my arm, a quiet, “Let’s move on, yeah?” before turning to the reporter with a smile so smooth it could cut glass.

And people listened. They always listened.

“You have to ask the boss,” I said once, halfway through a red carpet when photographers wanted more pictures. You gave me a look like don’t start, but you didn’t deny it.

“Smile, Butler,” you said, nudging me toward the camera. “You’re getting paid for that jawline.”

I smiled. Mostly because you made me want to.

Whenever we were swarmed—flashbulbs, handlers, noise—you reached for my hand to tug me through the chaos. Just like that. No hesitation. Your fingers curled around mine, steady, guiding.

It happened often enough that I stopped questioning it—just let you lead.

Then, one night, you glanced toward a cluster of fans at the barrier and said, calm as ever, “Quick stop for the ones with posters,” without breaking stride. “Then we’ve gotta move.”

And I went. Happily. Because if it was for fans, you always made time. But if it was for me, you made space—held everything still just long enough for me to breathe.

You knew me. That was the problem. You knew the version of me that everyone else saw—and the one that came out after too many interviews and not enough sleep.

You’d show up at my trailer with coffee before I knew I needed it.

You’d pull me out of conversations when my jaw started to lock.

You remembered what kind of gum I liked.

And you never made it feel like a job.

So yeah. Somewhere in there, something changed. I didn’t mean for it to. I just… couldn’t help it.

I almost told you today.

We were walking out of the hotel, post-junket, you listing the next day’s schedule like it was a grocery list. Calm. Efficient. Familiar.

And I looked at you—just looked—and the words nearly slipped out.

I like you.

Or maybe just, I think about you more than I should.

Something light. Something easy.

Something that might’ve meant everything.

But then you glanced at your phone and said we’d be late if we didn’t get moving, and the moment was gone before I even finished building it in my head.

It’s always like that.

These quiet, impossible seconds where I think maybe I could say something. Where I think maybe you’d hear it the way I mean it—not as pressure, not as some cliché, but just… honesty. A quiet truth.

But I never do.

Because we’re good.

Because I don’t want to mess it up.

Because you smile at me like I’m safe, and if I say the wrong thing, that smile might change.

You don’t know.

I’m almost sure of it.

You don’t know that I notice the way your voice softens when you’re asking me something you think I won’t like. That I know the exact shade your eyes go when you’re focused—really focused—on fixing something no one else saw coming. You don’t know that I’ve replayed a dozen almost-moments in my head, trying to figure out if I missed my chance.

If there ever even was one.

You don’t know that I nearly told you last week, when we were standing in line at that coffee place and you laughed at some dumb comment I made. Head tilted, sunglasses slipping down your nose. You looked up at me like I was worth looking at.

And I thought—just for a second—say something.

But I didn’t.

You got a call. I let the moment slip.

I’ve rehearsed it so many times it’s embarrassing.

I’ve tried casual. “You know, you’re kind of impossible to get over.”

I’ve tried funny. “Is there a non-weird way to tell your publicist you’ve got a thing for her?”

I’ve tried serious.

And I’ve said none of them. Not once.

Because you’re not just someone I like. You’re the person I count on.

You’re the calm in every cluster of chaos. The voice in my ear telling me we’ve got five minutes. The person who shows up with tea when my voice is shot, and a look that shuts down dumb questions before I even need to flinch.

You’re… you.

And I don’t want to lose that.

You’d be kind if I told you. That’s what scares me most.

You wouldn’t laugh or make it awkward. You’d smile, probably. Say thank you. Let me down gently.

Then keep doing your job—brilliantly, calmly, without missing a beat.

And I’d still feel like I’d dropped something fragile between us that I could never quite pick back up.

So I wait.

For what, I don’t know.

A sign? The right words? A day where it doesn’t feel like a risk?

Maybe just a second of courage I haven’t managed to find yet.

The thing is—I don’t want everything.

I just want you to know.

And if I ever do tell you the truth, I hope you’ll still look at me the same way after.

We had mutual friends. That helped and didn’t. You used to work with James’s old client, and somewhere along the way, you’d ended up in the same circles. A lot of LA people did. Tight-knit, overlapping, the way this city works when everyone pretends it’s huge but it’s really just one never-ending dinner party.

So when James said he was having people over for his birthday, I knew you’d be there.

He texted earlier to remind me it’s just a chill birthday hang. No pressure. I stared at my phone for a full minute before answering. He has no idea how loud “no pressure” feels when I know you’ll be there.

I should cancel.

Say I’ve got an early call or a migraine or—hell, just vanish.

It would be easier.

But then I remember that thing you said once, half-joking, half not—“You disappear when you’re overwhelmed. Try showing up instead.”

And I think, maybe this is me trying.

Even if I don’t say a word.

Even if I just sit there and nod like none of this is happening in my head.

Even if you never look at me the way I look at you.

I’ll still be there.

Because showing up counts for something, right?

I told myself I was just showing up because I hadn’t seen the crew in a while. But I wore the shirt I knew you liked—the black one with the slightly rolled sleeves—and I brought the bottle of bourbon you’d once said reminded you of New York winters.

You were already there when I walked in.

You looked up, already halfway through a drink and barefoot on James’s rug like you owned the place.

“Took your time,” you said, one eyebrow raised.

“Traffic.”

“Sure.” You glanced at the bourbon in my hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“You really think I’d show up without it?”

That earned me a smile. “I’ll put it with the rest.”

I followed you into the kitchen, where someone was lighting candles in a cake and James was insisting he didn’t want people singing. You handed me a drink—exactly how I take it, not that I’ve ever told you—and pointed toward the living room.

“Go be social. I’ll rescue you if it gets weird.”

“You always do.”

The night warmed slowly. A few more people arrived. Some I knew, some I didn’t. Industry adjacent, mostly—PR, management, the kind of people who always seem to know each other in LA. Not a massive party, but enough for clusters of conversation, background music, and too many shoes piled by the door.

You were everywhere and nowhere—laughing at James’s terrible playlist, refilling drinks, teasing someone for calling their agent mid-party. But every so often, you ended up beside me again. Elbow brushing mine on the couch. Knees bumping under the table during cake.

I pretended not to notice. Or tried to.

“You always this charming at birthday parties?” I asked when you handed me a napkin just before I dropped icing on my shirt.

You tilted your head. “Only for the ones who dress up.”

“This is me dressed down.”

You smiled. “Shocking.”

It was later—drinks flowing, lights dimmed to that comfortable, flattering level—when someone brought it up.

“I swear, we’re not doing Truth or Dare,” James said, groaning into the couch cushions. “We’re too old for this.”

“That’s exactly why we should,” someone replied. “Let’s act like idiots before our backs give out.”

There were protests, obviously. Groaning, eye-rolling, someone muttering something about ‘trauma from sixth grade.’ But no one left the room.

You were curled up at the edge of the couch, glass in hand, grinning. “Fine. But I’m going first so I can leave when it gets ridiculous.”

James pointed at you. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Truth.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the most unprofessional thing you’ve ever done on the job?”

You took a beat. “I once took a twenty-minute nap in a parked car during a film festival press day. Left my assistant in charge and set an alarm.”

Someone whistled.

I frowned. “Wait. Was that in Venice?”

“Yep.”

“I thought you were reviewing the schedule.”

“I was. In my dreams.”

“That was right before I went on Italian TV.”

“Exactly. I woke up refreshed and fully capable of wrangling you in two languages.”

The game rolled on. One person had to text their ex. Another admitted to crying after losing a pitch. Someone tried to do a handstand and immediately regretted it. All very grown-up stuff.

I stayed quiet. Sipped my drink. Listened. Watched you.

Then someone looked at me. “Alright, your turn Austin. Truth or dare?”

I leaned back, slow. “Truth.”

Of course I picked truth. It wasn’t the kind of night for dares. Not for me.

“Who was the last person who completely caught you off guard?”

It was meant to be harmless, I think. But the second they asked, I felt it—like a shift. Everyone looked relaxed, not really paying attention. But you were watching me.

And I knew I could dodge. Say some reporter. An old friend. Anyone but the truth.

But I shrugged. “Someone I work with.”

That got a few raised eyebrows. Someone whistled. Someone else asked, “Like actually work with?”

I didn’t answer.

But I wasn’t looking at anyone else.

Just you.

The game carried on, but it felt like the air shifted after that.

Maybe it was just me.

No one pressed for more details. The attention moved on—back to dares and dumb stories, someone doing their best celebrity impression, James complaining about the time he sprained his wrist trying to impress a girl with yoga.

You laughed. You rolled your eyes. But I could feel it—something tighter in the space between us. You didn’t look at me much after that question. Not directly. But your body stayed turned toward mine. Your glass tilted in my direction when you talked. Your knee still bumped mine under the throw blanket someone had tossed between us.

Eventually, the game fizzled out. People peeled off into different corners—some back to the kitchen for snacks, some to the garden for air.

You stood up to stretch, glancing down at me with that easy smile you wore like armour. “You want anything? I’m going to grab water.”

“Yeah,” I said, standing too. “I’ll come with.”

You led the way to the kitchen, and I followed. It was quieter in there. Dimmer. The fridge hummed gently as you poured two glasses, handed me one, then leaned against the counter like nothing was different.

But something was. You weren’t looking at me quite the same way.

You took a sip, then asked, too casually, “So. That answer.”

I blinked. “What about it?”

“That truth. ‘Someone I work with.’”

I met your gaze, waited.

You tilted your head. “You meant someone in this room.”

It wasn’t really a question. More like a guess you didn’t quite believe.

I gave a small shrug. “Depends who’s still technically on payroll.”

That made you huff a soft laugh—but your eyes didn’t leave mine.

“I didn’t know you could be cryptic,” you said.

I smiled into my glass. “I contain multitudes.”

You didn’t push it further. Just gave me one more look—curious, maybe a little unsure—and then turned your attention back to the glass in your hand.

And I thought, Not yet.

I wasn’t going to say more. Not here. Not when I didn’t know if you were ready to hear it.

Then a loud laugh burst from the other room—someone knocking over something, maybe. The moment snapped like a rubber band.

You blinked, stood straighter, and tapped your fingers against the counter.

“I should probably make sure James hasn’t burned down the snack table.”

I nodded. “Go. Be the hero.”

But you didn’t leave right away.

You stood there for a second longer, watching me with that expression I could never quite read. Like you were working something out. Like you were about to speak but didn’t want to get the words wrong.

And then you turned and walked out.

I stayed behind. Pretended to check my phone. Took a sip of water I didn’t want. Stared at the counter like it might offer answers.

I hadn’t planned on saying anything tonight. Hadn’t planned anything at all, really. But it had slipped out—honest and real—and now it was just… out there.

I wasn’t sure if you’d heard it the way I meant it. If it would change anything. Or if you’d pretend tomorrow like none of it had happened at all.

But a few minutes later, when I wandered back into the living room, you were waiting. Not near the others. Not caught up in a new conversation.

You were leaning against the hallway arch, arms folded, like you’d been waiting there a while.

Not scrolling your phone. Not pretending to be on your way somewhere else.

Just waiting.

I crossed the room slowly, careful not to make it look like I was hurrying. But my pulse picked up anyway.

You didn’t move. Just said, “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Was it… me?” You weren’t coy about it. You weren’t fishing for a compliment. You just genuinely didn’t know—and that, somehow, made the question land even harder.

I nodded once. “Yeah. It was you.”

You let out a breath, more surprise than relief. “Okay. Just… I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to assume.”

“Fair.”

You tilted your head, searching. “How did I catch you off guard?”

I looked at you for a long second. “Can I give you the real answer?”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Please.”

“Not here,” I said. “Come with me?”

The guest room was quiet. Lights low. Door half-closed behind us, like even it understood this wasn’t a conversation for public ears.

You stood just inside the room, arms at your sides now, watching me with that same careful expression. Not guarded, not afraid. Just… alert. Like you were bracing for something you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, but needed to anyway.

“So?” you said softly. “What was it?”

I leaned against the opposite wall, hands in my pockets, heart thudding like I’d run five blocks instead of five steps. “You want the honest version?”

You nodded.

“You caught me off guard because… I didn’t see you coming. Not like this.”

Your brow furrowed, just slightly.

“I knew you were good at your job,” I said. “Smart. On it. The person who always had the answers. That was obvious from day one.”

You watched me, saying nothing.

“But then there was the other stuff. Little things. The way you’d drag me away from a conversation right before I started saying something I’d regret. The way you’d hand me gum without asking, or say my name a certain way when I was two questions away from snapping. The way you’d look at me when I wasn’t even talking, like you knew what I was thinking before I did.”

You didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, still and quiet and listening in a way that made my chest ache.

“I didn’t expect to like you,” I said. “And I definitely didn’t expect to feel anything like this. You’re not… you’re not loud about anything. You don’t try to take up space. But you’re everywhere. And I didn’t notice until I couldn’t stop noticing.”

Something in your expression shifted. Softened.

“I meant it,” I added. “You caught me off guard. Not because you did something big. Just because you were you, and I wasn’t ready for what that did to me.”

The silence stretched—but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full. Heavy with everything we hadn’t said until now.

“I’m your publicist,” you said softly, almost like you were reminding yourself. “This is… complicated.”

“Doesn’t feel complicated,” I said. “Not right now.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Just let your eyes drag over my face like you were memorising it. Your voice, when it came, was quieter.

You exhaled slowly. “I really didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

You looked at me. “Why not?”

“Because I like having you in my life exactly as you are. And if saying any of this screwed it up, I didn’t think I could live with that.”

You didn’t speak right away. Just crossed the room in two quiet steps and stopped in front of me.

Close enough to touch. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of your skin, the weight of your focus.

“And now?”

I swallowed. “Now I think I’d rather take the risk.”

You didn’t smile. But your hand found mine. Your fingers curled around mine, steady and deliberate.

Like you were still thinking it through, still holding the weight of everything we were and everything this could shift.

I didn’t move. Didn’t try to push the moment further. Just let my thumb graze the side of your hand, slow and grounding.

You looked up at me, eyes searching.

“I don’t… I’ve never let myself think of you that way,” you said finally, voice quiet. “Not because I didn’t like being around you. I love being around you. I love working with you. You’re—” You stopped yourself. Swallowed. “You’re wonderful.”

That hit harder than it should’ve. Maybe because I could hear the care in it. Maybe because you still hadn’t let go of my hand.

“I just always thought mixing work and… anything else was a bad idea,” you added. “And with you, it’s never been complicated. It’s been good. Easy.”

“I’m not trying to make it complicated,” I said. “I’m not expecting anything from you. I’m not asking for all or nothing.”

You were still watching me, brows drawn slightly like you were working through something you hadn’t planned on solving tonight.

“I just meant what I said,” I added. “You caught me off guard. And I didn’t want to keep pretending that didn’t mean anything.”

The silence stretched, but not in a way that made me want to take it back. You weren’t pulling away.

You were just still catching up.

And then you stepped closer—half a step, maybe less—and said, “I don’t know what this means yet.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“But I don’t want to pretend either.”

That was it.

That was all I needed.

I brought my hand to your cheek, warm and tentative, giving you time to pull back.

You didn’t.

And when I kissed you, it was careful. Curious. A soft, steady press of lips like testing the shape of a new idea.

You kissed me back with the same hesitation I felt in my chest—like we were both standing at the start of something and still working out if the ground beneath us was solid.

But then your hand slid up to my chest, fingers resting lightly over my heart like you needed to feel what you couldn’t quite say yet.

And you didn’t let go.

When we pulled back, your eyes stayed closed for a second longer than mine.

Then you opened them, looked up at me, lips parted, a little breathless. “I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted.

“We figure it out,” I said. “Slow. Safe. On your terms.”

You gave the smallest nod.

And this time, when you smiled, it reached all the way to your eyes.

Taglist:

@thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @myradiaz @butlerrizz @chocolatetree222

[hungermakesmonsters]

(It Is) What It Is

Chapter Twelve

Plot Summary : When Billy Russo realises that there is a certain class of wealthy clients who refuse to contract with Anvil because of his playboy reputation, he decides to alter their perception of him. You’re just a down on your luck PA, just trying to get by so when Billy offers to pay you to pretend to date him, you can’t refuse. But the last thing you expect is for Billy to pull you into his secret world of lust and debauchery.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Spanking and smutty behaviour. There will be smutty themes throughout the story. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 6.4k

A/N : I take no responsibility for this😅

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN

Master List

Chapter Twelve

True to his word, nothing changed between you. In fact, it was as if nothing had happened at all. The next morning you might have chalked it all up to a strange dream if it hadn’t been for the lingering ache across your backside, and the serene and rested look on Billy’s face as you joined him for breakfast.

He made all the usual conversation, asking if you’d slept okay, what you wanted to do for dinner that night, and you had to wonder if he was deliberately ignoring the elephant in the room because he wanted you to be the one to bring it up.

You didn’t.

It was easier not to, you decide. It was easier to keep compartmentalising everything. The spanking could go on the shelf at the back of your mind along with the way he’d kissed you on the VKD balcony.

Days passed and you felt a strange sort of anticipation, waiting for the next time. Hoping for it. Every time he asked you to do something, your heart beat a little faster, and you found yourself fantasising, imagining Billy bending you over his desk and -

No. Nope. That sort of thinking was not going to help you get through the week.

He gave no indication that he was thinking about it as much as you were, and you weren’t sure if that made things better or worse. But you were both having the week from hell, so you couldn’t exactly blame him for being preoccupied. And you were preoccupied too - every day that passed without hearing from VDK made you feel worse, like you’d ruined things by confronting Catherine Van Der Koy.

Last minute tax returns and a slew of new and renewed contracts had you both working overtime all week. And, after work, he would take you out to dinner, claiming it was so you could both relax and have a few drinks without having to worry about tidying up after yourselves. He didn’t give you the chance to see if anything would happen between you again.

But that wasn’t to say you didn’t see his need for control presenting itself in other ways. In fact once you knew what to look for, it was hard to miss.

“Come on, we’re going for lunch,” he said, appearing from his office on Friday afternoon.

“I just need to finish this spreadsheet,” you answered, barely looking up from your laptop.

“You look exhausted, come on.”

He was probably right - if you looked even half as bad as you felt, then you looked terrible.

“Five more minutes,” you said, blinking as your eyes struggled to focus, “it’s got to get done.”

“I wasn’t asking, little dove.”

Before you could answer or start to complain, he reached over your shoulder and closed your laptop. A lump caught in your throat as you looked up at him, protests dying on your lips as your gaze met his, his eyes betraying the storm that was raging inside of him. 

It was a strange reminder of the first time he’d taken you for lunch, and how you hadn’t seen the gesture for what it truly was, but now it made you feel almost giddy.

His hand was offered and you took it, letting him help you to your feet before he slipped your coat onto your arms. When you turned to face him, you watched in silent surprise as he started to button it shut for you.

“It’s cold out,” he said.

It should have made you baulk - you could take care of yourself, you could do up your own damned coat - but, instead it made you feel something else. Your racing mind fell silent for a few seconds and you just allowed him to take care of you.

It was just a coat, just a silly gesture; you could give him that much without fighting.

“Don’t forget your gloves,” he added.

Without hesitation, you reached into your pockets for your gloves and pulled them on, and let him lead you towards the elevator.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, letting on a group of six men. Anvil operators. They each smiled and greeted Billy, and he did the same. As the elevator became crowded, Billy stepped behind you, his arm slipping around your waist and urging you back against him. It felt almost like a display of defensiveness, of dominance and ownership.

Again, it should’ve bothered you. And, in a way, it did. You weren’t some possession. You weren’t his. But, again, you felt a strange sort of calm come over you. With him holding you, you felt no need to force a smile or try to make friendly conversation with the men, no need to laugh at their dirty jokes or crude attempts at flirting.

Admittedly, it didn’t happen often, but you’d had more uncomfortable moments in the elevator than you cared to remember.

But not with Billy. 

With Billy you were safe.

His hand found yours as you stepped off the elevator, falling into step with him as you headed outside. Cold wind whipped around you and you pressed yourself into his side - he’d been right, it was cold out. And, you knew that if it hadn’t been for him, you probably wouldn’t have bothered buttoning your coat, and your gloves would have been left forgotten in your pockets.

It only took a minute to get across the busy street and into The Bean Grinder, but you were shivering by the time you got there. Billy turned to you and pressed a hand to your cheek, concern etched on his face, no doubt expecting you to have a coughing fit at any moment. When you didn’t he told you to go sit down while he got lunch.

You were too tired to protest and, thankfully, he knew what you liked. So you trusted him while you went and sat at your usual table by the window and shrugged off your coat. Resting your elbow on the table, you propped your head up with the palm of your hand.

At some point, you let your eyes close, resting them after hours of staring at your laptop. You didn’t open them again until the table was jostled by Billy putting the tray down. He was frowning when you looked at him and, without warning, he reached across the table to press his palm to your cheek again.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine. It’s just been a long week.”

He drew back his hand, let out a sigh, and started to move the drinks and food from the tray.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he put your panini in front of you. “I should’ve noticed you’ve been -”

“No, that’s not -” you interrupted. “- I’m not complaining, Billy. I don’t need you to notice that I’ve been doing my job.”

It was one thing to let him button your coat for you but you didn’t need him acting like you were struggling to do your job or that you couldn’t cope. Yes, it’d been a busy week and you were tired, but you’d handled busy weeks before and you would no doubt have to do so again.

There was a visible flicker of... something on his face, like he realised he was overstepping and quickly reeled it back in.

“I just don’t want you getting too stressed out,” he said.

It felt like a white flag and you were willing to let it go.

“It’s fine. As long as I get through everything today, next week we’ll be able to go back to normal,” you told him before taking a bite of your panini and letting out a soft little groan at how good it tasted. “I didn’t even realise how hungry I was.”

He gave you a look, his jaw ticking, but he held back whatever it was he wanted to say. Though, ultimately, he didn’t have to say anything. Clearly he’d known how hungry you were because the moment you’d finished your panini, he placed a slice of red velvet cake down in front of you. 

Your favourite.

But you’d never told him that, never eaten it in front of him.

“How did you -” you started to ask.

“I asked the barista.”

Finally, you actually looked at the table in front of you, realising that, not only had he brought you a slice of cake, he’d also gotten you a glass of water as well as your usual latte.

“You don’t have to look after me,” you said, but there was no malice or upset in your tone. It was just a simple statement of fact.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

Something somewhere inside you told you to fight it, to rage against it, as you had done every other time in the past that he’d tried it. But this wasn’t like those times, it didn’t feel like a push. No, it was more like a gentle nudge, an offer. And, now that you knew you could trust him, the idea of him taking care of you wasn’t quite so distasteful.

And it was just a piece of cake...

So you ate it. And you drank the glass of water once you’d finished your coffee.

(And, honestly, you felt so much better for it. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he was good at taking care of you.)

When you stood to leave, he reminded you to button your coat and put your gloves on, and you supposed you should have been grateful that he didn’t just do it for you himself in front of the whole coffee shop. Then, you steeled yourself to return to the endless spreadsheets, invoices, and emails you’d need to get through before the day was over.

Heading back into the Anvil building, Carl handed Billy an envelope that had been delivered while you’d both been out. An envelope bearing both of your names.

He didn’t open it until you were in the elevator but the moment he did, his mood changed drastically.

“What is it?” You asked when you noticed the grin on his lips.

Instead of answering, he handed you the letter - no, not a letter, an invitation - inviting you to a black tie charity auction being held by VDK.

You let out a sigh of relief, a breath you felt like you’d been holding onto for the last two weeks, your body sagging into his side.

Billy looked at you, confused. “I thought you’d be happy?”

“I am, I just -” your cheeks warmed and you felt ridiculous, “- I thought I’d fucked everything up and we wouldn’t hear from VDK again.”

The elevator doors slid open and you both stepped out but, before you could move to your desk, his hand caught your wrist pulling you back to face him.

“Have you been worrying about that all this time?” There was concern in his voice and a hint of irritation. You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know...” you said, your gaze dropping. “I thought I’d ruined it and, I guess, I wanted to keep it from you as long as possible because I didn’t want you to be disappointed. Or... I don’t know... I thought that you’d blame me, and I didn’t want it to be all my fault just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut in front of -”

You fell silent as his hands framed your face, forcing you to look back up. He pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. Your cheeks started to grow even hotter at the realisation that you’d been babbling, finally letting go of all the worry you’d been holding onto over the last two weeks.

“I never would’ve blamed you for that,” he said so firmly that it sent a shiver down your spine. “I could never be upset because of what you said to her, and you should never -”

He stopped the second someone cleared their throat behind you.

“I can come back if you’re busy.”

Frank Castle.

You slowly extracted yourself from Billy’s arms and went to go and hang your coat up, your cheeks burning hotter when you felt Frank’s gaze on you.

“What d’you need, Frankie?” Billy asked, stepping towards his friend.

“Just need to run some last minute numbers by you if you’ve got time,” Frank said.

“Sure thing, I’ll be through in a second.”

Frank nodded and disappeared back into Billy’s office to wait.

Billy caught your wrist again as you crossed the room towards your desk.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he told you softly, “we’re going to finish talking about it later, before we celebrate.”

Celebrate? Oh, right, the invitation.

You nodded, then asked; “do you want me to RSVP to the invitation?”

He pulled the invitation from his pocket and looked at it before shaking his head. “No, we’ll do that on Monday. I don’t want Catherine Van Der Koy to think she can upset you and you’ll just come running when she calls for you again.”

He didn’t bother to explain what he meant by that before disappearing into his office.

Then you were left to return to your work - though you found it infinitely harder to focus on your spreadsheet now that you also had to worry about attending another big event on Billy’s arm. 

Black tie meant you’d need a new dress, and you already knew that Billy would probably want to pay, which would definitely lead to an argument. And then you found yourself worrying about what you would say to Catherine when you saw her again. And Leah - fuck, did the whole Van Der Koy family know about the surveillance video?

After about half an hour, Frank left Billy’s office. Instead of heading to the elevator he stopped by your desk, offering you a friendly smile.

“Sorry for interrupting earlier,” he said.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you quickly answered, managing a smile of your own.

“You coming out with us tonight? I meant it when I said Karen’s really been wanting to see you again.”

Tonight?

Billy had said something about celebrating, but he hadn’t said anything about Frank and Karen. And it was a Friday - you usually went back to your own apartment on Fridays for the weekend.

(Not to mention that Billy already knew how uncomfortable you found lying to his friends and constantly feeling like you might accidentally say the wrong thing.)

“I don’t know,” you answered, giving a non-committal sort of shrug, “I don’t think so. It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he said with a shrug of his own. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

You thanked him and watched him go, and found yourself with yet another distracting thought to contend with as you struggled through the rest of the day. But, somehow, you managed to get through what you needed to do.

It hit five but Billy was still in his office. Rather than disturbing him, you folded your arms on your desk and rested your head, trying to work through all of the new problems the day had thrown at you. 

You’d go and look for a new dress tomorrow - hopefully before Billy even thought about trying to buy one for you. (And you already knew that was going to be awful. You hated dress shopping.)

When you were confronted by the Van Der Koys at the auction, you’d stay strong. If they wanted to say anything about what they thought they knew about you and Billy, they’d have to bring it up, because you weren’t going to act meek and apologetic.

As for tonight -

Billy’s office door opened before you had the chance to think about it. He shot you a questioning look as you got to your feet and started to grab your things. When you turned back, he was already holding your coat ready for you to slip into.

Once it was on, you turned towards him, now wanting him to fasten the buttons for you, wanting just one little moment where you didn’t have to deal with every little thing. The corner of his lips ticked upwards at the gesture, but he said nothing as he buttoned your coat for you.

“Gloves,” he said as he ushered you towards the elevator with that familiar hand on your back.

You slipped your gloves on and leaned against his side as the elevator started to move. Billy let out a slow exhale, clearly as glad as you were that the working week was over.

Neither of you said much of anything on the way home and, again, you let your tired eyes close for a few sweet minutes on the car ride. Then, again, you found yourself pressed to Billy’s side, his arm around you as you took the elevator up to the penthouse.

He waved you over to the sofa once you were inside and had removed your coat and shoes, and you went gladly, getting yourself comfortable while he made coffee.

A few minutes later, he was sitting beside you, both of you nursing your mugs.

“I wouldn’t’ve blamed you,” he said, before clarifying. “If we hadn’t heard from Catherine Van Der Koy again, I wouldn’t’ve blamed you. You know that, right?”

Right?

“But it would have been my fault for walking out of dinner with her and speaking to her like -”

“No. You did nothing wrong,” he said firmly.

“But, I -”

“No,” he said again, this time with more force.

“Then why do you sound so upset?” 

You weren’t sure what possessed you to ask the question, but there was no ignoring his clipped tone, the way he seemed almost annoyed by the situation.

“Because you should have told me that you’ve been worrying about it for two weeks. I could never be angry about what you said to Catherine Van Der Koy to protect me,” he said. “I’m pissed off because you shouldn’t have been making yourself feel bad because of it.”

You took an uncomfortable breath, suddenly aware that your heart was pounding awkwardly in your chest.

“What would you have done if VDK wanted nothing to do with you again because of me?” You asked.

Billy sighed. “It wouldn’t have been because of you. I was the one they recorded going into a sex club, not you.”

“But what would you have done? If there was no chance of a contract with VDK then you wouldn’t need me anymore, and -”

“I wouldn’t need you anymore?” He repeated and shook his head. “I’ve told you; you’re in my life now. I like having you in my life. I wouldn’t just kick you to the curb. We’re - we’re friends, right?”

“Right...”

You felt a strange sort of relief at the thought even though you’d never had a friendship quite as strange as the one you had with Billy. But it settled something inside of you to know that, even though you had your arrangement and some aspects of what you were doing were fake, he’d still want you around if it all fell apart.

“Do you feel better now you’ve got that off your chest?” He asked. You nodded and Billy smiled. “We could’ve had this conversation two weeks ago and saved you from all this worry.”

He was right, though you felt far too embarrassed to admit it. You were just used to dealing with things on your own, and it was one thing to let Billy take care of you physically but it was quite another to trust him to care for you emotionally.

Sinking back on the sofa, you focused on your coffee and, now that the air between you had been cleared, Billy could relax too. And he did, for all of ten minutes before his phone buzzed.

“Did you tell Frank you weren’t coming out with us tonight?” He asked.

“Yeah?” You answered, feeling as confused as he looked. “It’s Friday night...”

“... so?”

“So, I thought we were going to have dinner and then I was going to go back to my place for the weekend.”

“I said we were going to celebrate tonight,” he said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“I thought you meant just the two of us and -”

“Why does it matter if Frank and Karen are with us?” He asked.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, not even sure where to start, but the moment you started to talk, it all just seemed to come out.

“Because Mr Castle is my boss too, and he’s your best friend. If I say the wrong thing I could fuck everything up, and I don’t want to ruin your relationship with him,” you said, barely stopping to take a breath, letting out all the silly neurotic thoughts that had been festering inside you for weeks. “And Karen’s a journalist - a journalist, Billy - she knows how to spot lies and she’s... she’s...”

“What?” He prompted as the words lodged in your throat.

“She’s talented and smart and... she’s so pretty. And I... I’m just a PA. I don’t fit in in your world, Billy. I don’t belong. I’ll just be in the way.”

You remembered the balcony as you repeated the sentiment to him again; you didn’t belong in his world and it felt like everyone but Billy could see that. You were a background character at best, never meant for the spotlight, and you were scared that if people looked too closely at you, they’d see through the lies and find nothing but broken pieces.

Billy took a slow breath, trying to calm himself before responding, but his dark eyes flickered with every emotion he was trying to suppress. He reached for you, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly, possessively.

“You’re never in the way,” he said firmly, his gaze burning into yours. “And you do belong in my world. You belong with me, and I want you with me tonight.”

His voice took on that commanding tone again and, that alone, was almost enough to make you back down and agree to anything he wanted. But it wasn’t that simple, the mess of thoughts in your head weren’t so easily pushed away.

“I - I don’t want to make things awkward...” you said. 

The fight drained from your voice as you stared into his eyes and suddenly saw nothing but calm control, and the part of you that was panicking and overthinking started to grow still and quiet.

Billy got to his feet and, before you knew it, you were standing too. He kept a tight hold of your hand, making sure you understood that he was there, that he had you. His other hand cupped your cheek.

“What -” you started to ask but stopped because you already knew the answer.

“You’re overthinking it. Let me help you switch off for a little while.”

Switch off - yes, those were the words you’d used, what you’d told him you wanted. And, now, after a week from hell, you wanted it more than ever.

A slight nod was all he needed before he started to lead you to his bedroom. 

Your heart hammered in your chest as you followed after him, not stopping until you were at the foot of his bed and his attention was on you again.

“Take off your skirt,” he asked, and you obeyed without hesitation. Reaching behind you, you lowered the zip and let it fall down your legs. Billy smiled, pride on his face. “From now on, I expect you to do that without being asked.”

You nodded as his eyes travelled down your body to your exposed thighs and legs.

“Do you want to leave your blouse on?” He asked, his voice soft - not a command, a choice. You bit your lip and he immediately sensed your nervousness. “It’s okay, you can leave it on.”

He tugged on your hand, moving you closer to the bed.

“I want you to get on the bed on your hands and knees, facing away from me,” he ordered, voice instantly shifting back to that dominant tone, switching seamlessly between the Billy who gave you choices and comfort, and the Billy who wanted to exert his control over you.

Your heart continued to race as you clumsily climbed onto the bed in what felt like the least sexy display of all time. It took every ounce of effort you could muster to keep your arms and legs from shaking beneath you.

“Do you remember how this works? What you need to say if you want to stop?” He asked, and you told him that you did. “Good, because this time is going to be a little... different.”

“Different?”

You weren’t sure if the thrill that ran through you was worry or anticipation.

“Yes. This time I’m going to punish you,” he answered.

That did nothing to help you figure out all of your conflicting emotions. 

“You’re going to... punish me?”

“Yes. You should have told me how you were feeling about the VDK situation, and you should have talked to me before assuming that I wouldn’t want you to come out with us tonight,” he explained, keeping his voice commanding but measured. “From now on, I expect you to talk to me before you make decisions or upset yourself over things that affect us both. And if I find out that you haven’t, that you’ve been keeping things like this to yourself again, then I’ll punish you. Understand?”

Despite what he was saying and the rules he was imposing, you knew he was still giving you a choice. You could say no. But, really, was he asking for anything that you wouldn’t ask for in return? He just wanted you to talk to him, to be honest with him, and that shouldn’t have been difficult.

“I-I understand,” you said, consenting to what was about to happen.

“Good,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Now, you’re going to count out loud as I spank you and, if you’re good, I’ll reward you when we’re done.”

The mention of a reward was enough to have a strange, static-like buzz slowly filling your mind as you remembered the peace and calm you’d felt in his arms the last time he rewarded you. 

(Yes, you were definitely willing to take a little punishment if it meant getting to feel like that again.)

The first spank landed suddenly, the sharp sound filling the room and drawing a gasp from you. It wasn’t hard, just enough to cause a momentary sting of discomfort that quickly faded to a bearable ache.

“Count,” he reminded you.

“One,” you said, voice trembling. You bit down on your lip and waited for the next.

Number two came a couple of seconds later, managing to land exactly where the first had. Another gasp spilled from you but you quickly counted the smack.

Three hit the same spot again, causing a warm throb to develop beneath your skin, remaining even as the initial sting faded.

“Three,” you whined, then a second later, “f-four.”

Five didn’t come, instead Billy asked; “what colour?”

“Green,” you answered without hesitation, wanting him to continue so you could be rewarded. A moan carelessly spilled from your lips when he spanked you again. “Five.”

Six, seven, eight and nine followed in a daze, each punctuated by a gasped moan before you called out their number. You didn’t understand how or why, but each strike of his hand on your backside left you craving more, slipping further and further into the static in your mind, unable to focus on anything but Billy and what he was doing to your body.

While spanks one through nine had been measured, each enough to sting for a few seconds before subsiding, ten was different. Ten landed hard enough to cause an ache that spread up your back and down your thighs. Your whole body trembled with the intensity of it.

“Ten!” You cried out as your head drooped forwards.

The ache lingered, the throbbing heat beneath your skin almost burning now. But, once the initial shock was gone, you sank back into the static.

“We’re done now,” he said softly. “You did so well for me.”

You continued to tremble, each second feeling more like an hour the longer he kept his hands off you. It wasn’t long before you were squirming, desperate for his touch. And that was exactly what Billy was waiting for.

“Stay like that,” he ordered. “Keep your head down and don’t move.”

You stilled as much as you could, your arms and legs still trembling uncontrollably. 

The mattress dipped a little as Billy leaned on it and you felt hot breath ghost over the back of one thigh while his fingers trailed up the other. He reached the hem of your panties and hooked them with his fingers.

“What colour?” He asked, his breath still caressing your thigh.

“Green,” you answered, not knowing what he was planning but wanting to find out.

“Good.” There was relief in his voice again, like he didn’t know what he’d do if you asked him to stop.

A soft breath escaped you as he slowly started to tug your panties - your incredibly wet panties - down your thighs. He gave you ample chance to change your mind, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t. Couldn’t. A molten heat was already pooling in your belly, filling you with a desire you didn’t dare name.

The cool air of the room against your arousal slicked skin had you tingling, sensitive before he’d even laid a finger on you. And when he did touch you a whine tore from your lips, his finger slipping between your folds, running though your arousal. The suddenness of the whine was enough to make Billy still.

“Green,” you said - you begged - without needing to be asked.

His finger started to move again, pressing against your slit with a teasing pressure before slowly sinking inside you. It was only one finger but it was enough to have you moaning.

“Don’t come until I say you can, okay?” He said in that strong, commanding voice - which, on its own, was almost enough to push you over the edge. “This is still part of your punishment.”

“O-okay.” You barely got the word out before his finger started to move.

You bit your lip again, trying to stifle the needy sounds that wanted to escape you, but it was impossible. Soon enough you were moaning with every measured thrust of his finger. And judging from the sounds of heavy breathing behind you, Billy had no complaints.

When he slid a second finger inside you, you completely gave up on any and all notions of keeping your eager moans to yourself.

“You’re so wet for me,” he muttered as his fingers continued to pump into you, his wrist twisting every now and then as he learned you from the inside out. “You like this don’t you?”

“Yes!” 

Alarm bells should have been ringing in your head but, instead, there was nothing but static. You should have been worried that your boss was fingering you and muttering about how wet you were and how much you wanted his touch, but your head was empty and the only things you cared about were the pleasure he was stoking inside of you and the throbbing ache on your backside.

Your breathing turned shallow, and you felt yourself tense and clench around his fingers, getting closer and closer to a sweet oblivion. 

Then his fingers pulled out, leaving you unfulfilled and desperate.

“No -” you whined, finding the sudden emptiness unbearable.

“Stop squirming,” he ordered. “Trust me.”

You hadn’t even realised that you’d started to squirm, but you stilled the moment he told you, trusting him to make it better. Trusting him to take good care of you.

Again, you felt his warm breath on the back of your thigh and then, without warning -

“Oh my god,” you gasped as he pressed his lips to you, his tongue brazenly parting your folds and running through your arousal.

He began to devour you, every greedy swipe of his tongue making you keen and tremble. His hand pressed against your ass, gripping the tender flesh with his still-wet fingers and causing the ache to intensify and for the pain to become indistinguishable from the pleasure.

You didn’t even realise that breathless pleas were spilling from your lips, begging him not to stop, pleading for more, telling him how good it felt.

His hot, wet mouth drove you towards the brink of insanity, alternating between focusing his attention on your clit, circling and sucking the throbbing nub, and dipping the tip of his tongue into your dripping slit. You tensed and trembled, clenching around nothing as you tried to fight against the inevitable tidal wave.

It was overwhelming; you’d never felt so wet, so desperate. No one had ever made you feel this way before. It was all you needed, all you wanted. It was the only thought left in your mind, and there was nothing but surrender to Billy and his tongue. 

You were so lost in the haze of pleasure that you barely remembered his order - you weren’t supposed to come until he said you could. But you couldn’t hold it back much longer.

“Billy -” you gasped, “- I can’t... I need to -”

You were silenced by a moan stealing from your lips. And if Billy heard your pleas, he didn’t show it. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, his eager tongue wiping away the last of your sanity as the shaking of your legs grew more intense. 

“Please, Billy!” You cried out again.

“Come for me,” he groaned against your pussy, barely even pulling his tongue back as he did. And they were just about the hottest three words you’d ever heard.

Your body reacted almost instantly, like a spring coiled too tight finally being released. 

You spilled forwards, the force of your orgasm causing your arms to buckle beneath you. Billy’s mouth followed you, his lips not leaving your trembling flesh until you started to whine and beg for him to stop, too sensitive to take anymore. 

Before he pulled away completely, you felt his teeth scrape over your backside, over the aching, throbbing mark he’d left. For a moment you thought he was going to sink his teeth in and bite you, and you were almost disappointed when he didn’t.

He crawled up the bed and pulled your boneless body against his chest, holding you as you continued to shake with aftershocks.

You didn’t even notice that there were tears rolling down your cheeks until Billy gently wiped them away. He’d left you completely overwhelmed and overstimulated, your body still sparking with pleasure while your head was blissfully empty.

He shushed you and tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead. All you could think to do was press closer to him, resting your head on his chest, wrapping your arm around his waist and clinging to him like he was the only stable thing in the world.

“That’s it, little dove. Just let me take care of you,” he muttered, still so commanding, so dominant. “You needed that, didn’t you?”

You managed to nod as Billy continued to wipe away your tears, and the hazy static overcame you. You couldn’t remember your mind ever feeling so silent, so utterly at peace. Your eyes closed and you found yourself listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“You took your punishment so well,” he told you softly, his warm breath on your ear lulling you deeper into the haze. “I know you won’t let me down like that again.”

No, you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Just giving in to me, letting me take control of everything?” He continued to mutter, telling you how good you were and how you didn’t have to worry about anything anymore; he was there, he had you, he wouldn’t let you go, he’d take care of everything.

Your eyes stayed shut and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but it felt like hours before you slowly started to come back to yourself.

Lifting your head, bleary eyes struggled to focus on him, on his face, on his smile. You wanted to say... something, but the words weren’t there. You were still feeling too dazed and empty-headed to think about what you’d even wanted to say to him.

But you didn’t have to say anything because Billy was still in control.

“In a minute you’re going to go have a shower, and then you’re going to get ready to come out with me, okay?”

It was framed as a question but he’d already made it pretty clear that you didn’t have a reason to say no.

You nodded without hesitation.

“And you’re going to try to have fun tonight and unwind, aren’t you?”

Again there was only one correct answer and the words spilled from your lips automatically; “yes, Billy.”

As if to reward you, he pressed his lips to your forehead. 

“We’re going to celebrate, and you’re going to behave for me, aren’t you?”

You weren’t sure what behaving entailed, and the way he said it caused your heart to stutter. But if behaving meant getting to feel a fraction of what he’d just made you feel, then you wanted to.

(And if misbehaving meant more punishment... well, you weren’t entirely opposed to that, either.)

“Yes, Billy.”

His smile widened, genuinely happy that you weren’t fighting him anymore.

“Okay, go have your shower.”

He loosened his hold on you, and you climbed off the bed and onto shaking legs. But before you could take the first step away from him, his hand caught yours, pulling you back to face him again.

“One more rule, little dove,” he said, voice demanding again. “No touching yourself. Only I get to make you come from now on.”

Not a question.

A demand.

An order. 

The rational part of you that was starting to wake up again wanted to say that he was being ridiculous but, now that you’d experienced how he could make you feel, the thought of touching yourself just seemed pointless.

Again, you nodded and offered your agreement.

He let go of your hand and you didn’t even think about stopping to collect your skirt and panties before staggering out of the room. You didn’t know it then, but you’d never see those panties again.

A/N : I'm definitely having too much fun with this now. (Also please don't ask why most versions of Billy that I write like to steal readers panties... I don't have an answer for you 😂 Anyway, hope you all enjoy the cute mental image of Billy fastening readers coat for her to make sure she stays warm, there will be a lot more of that cuteness to come... and a lot more of the smut too, if I'm being honest 😂

As always I love and appreciate every like/comment/reblog and keyboard smash of love. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you all have a great weekend!

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! Otherwise new chapters will be posted around 7:30pm GMT on Fridays.

Tag list :

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[mylovesstuffs]

Omg this had me in a chokehold. The tension, the fake engagemeny, the childhood besties who lowkey never stopped loving each other but are now awkward and hurt and pretending not to care—I was EATING. The moments like him chuckling like he’s fine [but he’s sooo not], the unspoken understanding [iyk which scene I'm talking about; dawn one], and the he’s gonna kill me panix when she realised— I was living for this lmao

Also, the pacing in this fic goes from I am so done to oh wait, I'm soft in the span of one scene. It’s emotional whiplash for dure, but in a way that makes you crave more. And the angst was delicious. Like, I needed a trigger warning for the amount of painfully unspoken feelings packed into this

This fic is everything I love: angst, yearning, royal drama, and a dash of Jeonghan being that guy. 100/10 no notes. I need more.

Once again, under the cut, there are spoilers and the commentary I wrote in my notes as I was reading, so it might not be coherent.

“Objections will not be heard,” he says, rejoicing merrily. “Let it be said, as far and wide as the kingdom goes. My daughter is to be married!”— wow, what a nice father 🥺

How do you deliver news like this to someone you aren’t even on speaking terms with?— 💀💀💀????????

Your brain is on high alert right now, and every single self-defense lesson Jeonghan has given you kicks in as you get dragged into a dark room.— Jeonghan 😭😭😭

“So I was just convenient for you,” he says, scowling. “We haven’t spoken to each other in years, and you choose to throw me under the bus?” — IN YEARS??!???!!!!??! I thought maybe months- oh lord.

“And whose fault is it?” You step closer, glaring up at him and all his audacity.— for some reason, and all his audacity made me laugh 😂

Omg I love their banter sm! They have really good chemistry.

All’s well that ends well, right?— right.

The feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours sends a rush of heat to your face that you can’t deny. This confuses you, he confuses you.— ah this is so giddy, bittersweet, romantic and everything. I can't feel his fingers intertwining.

Wordlessly, he nods, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and draping it over your own.— gentleman for sure.

“Don’t make me fall in love with you,” you murmur softly, but Seungkwan is already gone.— girl, sorry to break it to you but, you already fell. It's hard not to.

The day Jeonghan returns, there is a downpour from hell.— ohhhh Jeonghan!!! So Jeonghan's self-defence classes wasn't just for show! He's here, yay.

The sudden greeting almost has you jumping, and your first instinct is to turn around and slam your heavy book into the man’s face.— in other words, self-defence at it's finest 😂 it was instinctive.

Jeonghan teaching self-defense was not a subplot, it was a prophecy.

Every time you see him again, he has changed somewhat, but also not quite at all. There will always be that inkling of mischief in his eye until the day he dies.— bahahah yes, until the day he does XD I think it's true for real life Jeonghan persona too.

“Because it’s true! Don’t you know that Y/N here used to – Ow! Again?!”— JEONGHAN!!! 😭😭

“I can’t believe you were about to reveal everything just then!”— why do I have a feeling that Seungkwan might overhear???

“Who’s that?” “Long story.” “I have time.”—thats so Jeonghan 🧍🏻‍♀️

But in the days that follow, Jeonghan’s words echo in your mind. You see Seungkwan less and less; every time you run into him, he seems to have an excuse on the tip of your tongue, and you can’t help but wonder what has happened.— did he overhear and now he's just avoiding?

There is an uncanny, knowing smile on his face. “Although, I might not need to leave so soon,” he drawls, “if I still have the opportunity to fulfill what I originally came here for.”— did HE overhear or put things together???? Oh lord, pls no!!

“Get up.” Seungkwan is, for lack of a better word, seething.— I'm sorry but that's HOT 🥵

It’s almost comical, the way that he walks away with a vindictive air about him. — thank lord he's walking away and not causing a scene!

“I saw you on my way to the training grounds, but you weren’t alone, so I just wanted to see what was going on,” he grimaces, “and I’m glad I did.”— that's so sweet and comforting and oddly romantic, too.

YES! He didn't overhear Jeonghan and Y/N, not that it would've been bad, but the way it turned out—is good.

“You deserve every good thing in this universe,” he tells you, “every beautiful moment that exists in time. But I can’t give that to you, no matter how much I wish I could, and it hurts to be near you when it’s all so very impossible.”— 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You just kissed me,” he says incredulously.— it just gave me all kinds of feelings in my stomach. So pure ngl.

Seungkwan smiles — a bright, gorgeous thing that could put even the sun to shame. — such a true and poetic line. His smile is really like that.

I loved this so so so much. Tysm Ashi, for writing this. I'll adore you forever ♾️

catch the rain ; boo seungkwan

summary: caught between a political alliance and the possibility of a prolonged freedom, you just can't help the easy lie that slips out of your mouth. now, you're left to deal with the consequences of putting up a front to your family, the court, and the rest of the kingdom.

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader

contains: historical/royalty au, childhood best friends to not friends to friends again to lovers, reader's surname is choi because scoups, fake engagement, cheol is married in this, bestie jeonghan coming in clutch

warnings: language/swearing, shady behavior from a dude (ew), mentions of war and blood

word count: 8.53k

a/n: it's finally done! many thanks to ro @shinysobi for beta reading and also jay @ppyopulii for your feedback <3 also this gorgeous gorgeous banner was made by jay too; they're literally a graphic genius & i am so thankful ❤️ i hope you guys enjoy!

tags: @mochacoda @ppyopulii (let me know if you'd like to be tagged!)

“And then there was chaos,” Jeonghan would say if he was here right now.

He wouldn’t be wrong, either. You can almost picture his smirk in your mind – you’re just standing motionlessly, watching as the ministers lose their minds and your father tries to process what you’ve just said for the entire court to hear. 

It has been several minutes since you’ve made the announcement, and there has not been a moment of calmness since then. Of course, you were aware that news of this nature would shock the general public to some extent, but you didn’t think it was that serious.

You watch nervously as your father calls for order, quieting the room down, and then turns to you.

“You are trying to tell me, child,” he says slowly, leaning back against his throne, “that you mean to marry General Boo’s son?”

“Yes.” The lie is bitter on your tongue, but you have no choice but to run with it, albeit a bit awkwardly. “He is the one I want to be with. I… I love him,” you add awkwardly, hoping nobody catches on.

“I see.” 

You must have sounded convincing enough because he doesn’t question you any further. Instead, he just chuckles to himself after a few seconds, relaxing his shoulders. 

“And all this time we were trying to find someone for you, suitor after suitor… Oh, my apologies, Doyun. I suppose your plans are not to come to fruition.”

At the corner of the table, the aforementioned young lord scowls in silence. You shudder, reminded of all the ways he had tried to court you – cornering you in some random hall of the palace and trying to come to your chambers at night. No matter how much you tried, for your father’s sake, you could not see yourself with him.

“Well, I suppose our search for a suitable groom is over,” your father continues, giving you a warm smile. “That is quite the relief, isn’t it?”

“Wait, you’re okay with this?”

“Why would I not be? I have seen the both of you grow from small children into promising adults, and Seungkwan is a good man,” he remarks kindly. “The court may have reservations, but that is irrelevant to me. I have none.”

Minister Park raises his hand tentatively. “But, Your Majesty –”

“Objections will not be heard,” he says, rejoicing merrily. “Let it be said, as far and wide as the kingdom goes. My daughter is to be married!”

It’s evident that the court is displeased with your choice, but they congratulate you regardless, not willing to risk their roles by further irritating the king. You play along as best as you possibly can, all smiles for everyone else. Clearly, your little lie was surprising enough for nobody to suspect a thing.

Doyun approaches you next, bowing slightly while making a face. You return it out of respect, though his mere presence around you is unsettling enough. 

“Congratulations, Your Highness,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Boo Seungkwan must be over the moon, to be engaged to a woman like you.”

Shit. Seungkwan. 

You haven’t even told him yet. How can you justify such a huge lie you let slip in a moment of sheer panic?

How do you deliver news like this to someone you aren’t even on speaking terms with?

“Uh, yes. He is,” you reply, trying to suppress the alarm from reflecting onto your face. “We are very happy. Yes.”

“Yes, that is good,” he says, slightly amused.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay,” you tell him, bowing again. Internally, you grimace a little, trying to prevent the awkwardness of the situation from getting even worse. “And I hope there are no hard feelings, sir. I truly am sorry.”

“Of course not, Your Highness.” He doesn’t look like he believes you, but he accepts the apology nonetheless. You plaster a fake smile on your face until he finally walks away, leaving you by yourself.

“Thank god,” you mutter under your breath, looking for a way out. Your father is attempting to move on to the next topic, settling the court, and you use this moment to leave through the back doors, finally getting some space from all the chaos.

In the silence, the weight of your actions hits you suddenly. God, Seungkwan is going to kill you, you realize, for dragging him into something that isn’t his problem at all.

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, assessing your next steps. Seungcheol – you could ask him for advice, although he might lecture you first. But you don’t know who else you could go to right now besides your brother.

Carefully, you slip into the hallway, making your way towards the library. It’s just barely evening, so you’re almost certain Seungcheol will be there. You pray you don’t run into anybody, making sure to stay quiet so nobody spots you away from the meeting you’re supposed to be at.

Immediately after you turn the next corner, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist tightly, pulling you aside.

“Wha– mmf!” Another hand comes up to cover your mouth, muffling any noises you make. 

Your brain is on high alert right now, and every single self-defense lesson Jeonghan has given you kicks in as you get dragged into a dark room. You struggle against the firm hold, elbowing your captor and delivering a particularly harsh kick to the inside of their knee in hopes that they’ll let you go.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

You’re about to do it again when you realize the man sounds strangely familiar for some reason. You stop trying to attack him and bite down on the hand that’s covering your mouth instead.

“Ow!” he exclaims again, clearly in pain. You almost feel bad, almost. “What is wrong with you, seriously!”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” you yell back, blindly following the wall to find the light. “I almost thought you were trying to kill me, and you still might be!”

“Why would I try to kill you?!”

The gears in your head start shifting as you finally get the light to work. The bulb illuminates the room as you turn to face the absolute last person you thought you were going to see today.

“Seungkwan,” you breathe, taken aback for a moment. You haven’t spoken to him in so long, and certainly not since he came back to the palace. Of course, you knew he had returned, but between all the things you had to do, you never got the chance to see him. Just looking at him now – his grown-out hair, and bruised knuckles – brings back a multitude of emotions. “What are you doing here?”

He just folds his arms, a deep frown crossing his features. “When were you going to tell me we’re getting married, Y/N?”

Shit. This is exactly the situation you were hoping to avoid. Seungkwan looks pissed off, and rightfully so.

“I’m so sorry,” you rush, the words tumbling out of your mouth. “I was at a court meeting, and everyone was pushing to hear some good news that I just didn’t have, and I just – I don’t know, I don’t know why I said your name first. I really didn’t mean to, Seungkwan, I’m really sorry.”

“So I was just convenient for you,” he says, scowling. “We haven’t spoken to each other in years, and you choose to throw me under the bus?”

“And whose fault is it?” You step closer, glaring up at him and all his audacity. “Whose fault is it that we haven’t spoken? I wrote to you almost every day for a year, and you decided to pretend I didn’t exist!”

“Did you expect me to drop all my responsibilities just for you? I was in the middle of a warzone, Y/N, I had bigger things to worry about than letters from home.”

Those words sting you into silence. Seungkwan has always been one to say things he doesn’t mean during a heated argument, but right now you have no way of knowing what’s actually on his mind.

“This is such a huge mess,” he says again after a few seconds, agitatedly running his hands through his hair. “Everyone thinks we’re actually engaged. We have to fix this somehow.”

“What, do you want me to go back and tell my father there will be no wedding because we hate each other's guts?”

“Ideally, yes.”

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. “Seungkwan, I can’t do that!”

“And what about what I want?” It’s evident that his patience is running out, especially as his jaw tightens and his hands clench into fists. “What about my life? This is a huge decision that you made all by yourself and now I’m dragged into it for no reason other than knowing you!”

He’s right, and you know this, even as you open your mouth to retaliate. It’s certainly not fair; you aren’t even friends for you to rely on him like this right now. It was convenient – maybe that’s why Seungkwan’s name was the first on your tongue when you were being cornered with questions about your marriage.

Now, standing in front of him for the first time in years, you just miss him. You miss how close the two of you used to be, and the way things have changed makes your heart ache.

“I’ll go speak with my father right now,” you decide, peeling your eyes off of him and beelining for the door. “We still have time, we can play it off as a practical joke and pretend we had them all fooled —“

“No, wait, come back,” Seungkwan calls after a second’s hesitation, frowning again. “Don’t do that.”

“I thought you didn’t want this?”

“Absolutely not,” he grimaces, “but you’re going to cause so much trouble if you go and call it off now. Also, you’re almost twenty-five. Do you really think the court won’t push your father to make you marry Baek Doyun for political benefit? That man is a disgusting creep, especially considering all the things he’s done before.”

You narrow your eyes at him upon hearing that last part. “How do you know about that?”

“People talk,” he shrugs. “Never underestimate the palace attendants.”

“Oh, great.”

Seungkwan just observes you for a second. Those eyes have always been the most perceptive, ever since you were little kids. Not many things can get past him.

“Listen,” he starts, a little tentatively, “Baek hasn’t done anything to hurt you, has he?”

“No, never.”

“Good,” he sighs with something akin to relief. “Never liked the guy.”

You don’t question it; you barely have the energy to. Instead, you just lean against the wall, letting your head fall back onto the cement. 

“What do we do now?”

“For starters, we can’t actually get married.”

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes at him. “You’re acting like I want to be associated with you any more than I already am.”

“Clearly.”

“Shut up, Seungkwan.” 

The quiet reigns for a little while longer as you sit with him and your thoughts. Never in your life would you ever have expected things to come to this. 

“We could keep this going for a while and then say we called the engagement off,” you suggest, musing to yourself. “We could just say we realized we’re better off as friends.”

“Right,” he says under his breath, but you still hear it. Whatever. “That might be our only way out.”

You groan, dropping your head to your hands. “God, this is going to be the longest few months of my life.”

“You’re not the victim here,” Seungkwan reminds you. “I’m the one who got pulled into a relationship that I had no say in.”

There are no words on the tip of your tongue. How are you supposed to tell him you miss him while you’re still on wildly questionable terms? You can't even begin to express how badly you want things to go back to the way they were.

From where you’re standing, you sneak another glance at him. Seungkwan was always beautiful in the way that ceramics are; carefully created but also tangible, so easily slipped into daily life. 

You used to be my best friend, you catch yourself thinking as you watch him fiddle with the hem of his shirt. How did we get here?

“We should go,” you say instead. “I can’t go missing for too long before someone realizes I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”

He pulls himself to his feet. “And where are you supposed to be, Your Highness?”

“Not here,” you quip, reaching for the door handle. “I really hope you’re a stellar actor, Seungkwan. Keeping secrets from the palace is far from easy.”

You receive nothing but a dismissive sigh in return. “Worry about yourself, okay? I’ll do just fine.”

Typical, you think, but the truth is that you’ve missed the quick sarcasm that is just so very Seungkwan. 

As you leave the room with him in tow, a sense of trepidation fills the pit of your stomach. All’s well that ends well, right? 

You aren’t sure. Right now, you can only hope that this is one of those things.

There is nobody in the palace that loves you quite like Seungcheol does.

Your father likes to recount the way he used to watch over you when you were learning how to take your first steps, the way he would start bawling if you so much as got a scratch on yourself as a child. Everyone knows he would draw blood for you in a heartbeat, if it ever came to it.

However, that is not evident right now. Instead, he’s giving you a stern look from his spot on his armchair, arms folded in an attempt to look intimidating. Beside him, your sister-in-law Seoyeon is curled up in the bed with her blanket, listening in out of curiosity.

“Let me get this straight,” he says once you’re done talking. “You weren’t engaged two hours ago.”

“Yes.”

“But now you are.”

“Yes.

“To Seungkwan?”

No part of you enjoys having to lie to your brother over something you wish you could just talk to him about, but you genuinely can’t risk a single person finding out about your coverup.

“Yes,” you respond again, wincing internally. 

Seungcheol seems to be slightly taken aback. He takes a long sip of his chamomile tea before saying anything, weighing the situation in his head.

“You’re sure about this?”

“I am.”

“You know I just worry about you,” he says gently. “It’s not that I don’t trust you to make your own decisions. I just want you to be happy, no matter what it takes.”

“I will be,” you assure him. “He… he makes me happy.”

It feels wrong to even say that, but it seems to be good enough for Seungcheol, who just gives a small smile at your words. 

“You know, I feel like most of us saw this coming,” he remarks. “Now that I think about it, I’m not that surprised.”

“Really?”

“Well, of course. You two were essentially inseparable when you were younger. Eventually you grew up and had to go off and do your own things, but that kind of bond doesn’t just disappear overnight, does it?”

Oh, he could not be more wrong about that. If Seungkwan was here right now, he’d probably start laughing out loud. 

“Right,” is all you say, mentally folding in on yourself. 

It’s late, and especially after your little altercation with Seungkwan earlier, you’re totally spent. It feels like you’ve lived several months within the span of a few hours. What you need right now is to be wrapped under your covers and block out all of today’s events. 

When you finally bid them goodnight and retreat to your own room, the fatigue hits you like a truck. It takes everything in you to change into your nightclothes and wash up before slipping into bed, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

In the following days, you receive congratulations from nearly everyone, fielding a plethora of questions about the nature of your relationship. The lies come easily in the moment, but you make a mental note to get your story straight with Seungkwan later.

“You two make a dashing couple,” Jiwon, one of your ladies-in-waiting, tells you. “It was always so very obvious the young man was in love with you.”

This stops you in your tracks. “What?”

“Did you not know? There could be no other explanation for the way he looked after you,” she recollects. “Even when you weren’t aware, he was always around.”

Was that true? You have no way of knowing; you don’t remember much from your childhood or your adolescent years. Either way, all you see when he looks at you is years’ worth of resentment built up and settled like molten rock.

The hours you spend with yourself eventually blur into days that morph into weeks. You never see Seungkwan for more than an hour at a time, meeting only in the public eye or to keep each other posted on the situation. 

Somewhere, though, you think you feel the ice melting. His gaze on you is a bit warmer now, less disdainful than the first time you ran into him.

When the hour is late and you are alone, you find yourself toying with the gold band now resting on your finger. Seungkwan had given it to you last week, standing a bit awkwardly under the late afternoon sunlight.

“It was my mother’s,” he’d said quietly. The weight of the moment was enough; nothing else needed to be said as he easily slipped it on you, the metal cool against your skin.

You think about it often. With one sentence, you’ve turned such a meaningful item into a mere facade. There is no love between you and Seungkwan, at least not the way anyone would expect there to be. The relationship feels like a carefully calibrated hourglass. 

The second it’s over, the illusion will break.

The worst of it all is the public appearances, you realize. Like now, in the face of shining lights and endless smiles. This ball is in honor of you and your husband-to-be, your father had told you, but it feels like you’re being made to walk on thumbtacks for the whole kingdom to watch. To top it all off, your dress feels awfully restricting, and you want nothing more than peace and quiet.

Seungkwan is not so far from you, greeting people you can barely remember the names of. He looks painfully good tonight, dark brown hair pushed back in a way you’ve never seen before. His burgundy suit compliments him nicely, and you try to ignore how he’s managed to match certain tones of your dress.

Your eyes drift over to your brother and Seoyeon, calmly sitting at their places and watching the liveliness of the night. Seeing them exist in their own happy bubble makes you mourn what you can’t have. 

“Hey.” You jolt at the light touch of a hand on your shoulder, but upon turning around, it’s just your fiancé. “Doing alright?”

The sudden tenderness has you on edge, but you nod anyway. 

“Do you want to sit?”

“No, I’m okay,” you decline, looking everywhere, anywhere but his eyes. “You should dance, you know. That’s sort of the whole point of this thing.”

“But you’re not dancing,” Seungkwan huffs, lips pulled into a small pout.

“So?”

He looks down at you curiously now, mouth parting ever so slightly. “Why would I dance without you?”

That you don't know how to respond to. It reminds you too much of the way things used to be. A package deal, you used to call yourselves. 

Instead, you simply offer him your hand with a small smile. “Shall we, then?”

The feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours sends a rush of heat to your face that you can’t deny. This confuses you, he confuses you.

Or maybe it’s because you’ve had a little too much champagne tonight. You can’t tell which it is, and maybe it’s better that way.

Seungkwan looks a bit nervous as you pull him towards the dance floor, weaving in between swaying couples. You raise your eyebrows at him as if to ask, ‘What’s wrong?’

“I could not tell you the last time I had to do this,” he confesses shyly. “I really can’t dance.”

“All those years in the palace and nobody ever taught you?”

“Not the time.”

“Do as I say and you won’t fall on your face,” you instruct, pulling him a little closer to you. “Now put your right hand on my waist.”

Seungkwan just stares at you blankly. “You want me to what now?”

“Just do it,” you hiss, ignoring your heart doing double time. “Okay, good, just keep mirroring me now. There’s really nothing more to it.”

“Everyone makes this look a lot easier than it is,” he grumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Yes, you are far more nimble with a sword in your hand,” you tease lightly. “Spin me, would you?”

“As you wish,” he relents, twirling you carefully in time with the beat. There are onlookers now, cheering on your semblance of a happy couple, and you can feel everyone’s eyes on you. The music almost makes you forget everything that’s currently on your mind – no, nothing but the song and Seungkwan’s gentle hold on your waist to think about.

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Seungkwan freezes, your breath catching on the moment, and the next thing you know he’s stumbling over thin air, trying to keep himself on his feet.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he’s apologizing to the people around him, giving you a pleading look that says I can’t do this. It’s hard to stifle the giggle that escapes your lips, and before you know it, you’re laughing with each other over the silliness of it all.

“You truly do have two left feet,” you remark, following him away from the dance floor. Seungkwan just chuckles in amusement.

“I did warn you before, you just chose not to believe me.”

“Well, my bad for trying to teach you something new today.”

“Trust me, your efforts were likely in vain.” He turns, eyes settling on you. There is something about this angle that makes him look a little ethereal. Maybe it’s the chandelier light illuminating the soft slope of his face.

“What is it?” you ask, when his gaze lingers a little too long. Seungkwan leans a little closer so you can hear him above the surrounding commotion. 

“You look beautiful,” he says, a tad delicately. “The maroon is a very nice color on you.”

“Oh. Thank you,” comes your unwieldy reply to the compliment that you weren’t expecting. “You clean up rather nicely, too.”

He was never good at taking any sort of flattery, and you recall this as you watch a light pink slowly coat his cheeks. It’s cute, you almost think, before kicking yourself for the stray notion.

“Your Lord Baek has been eyeing us all night,” he informs you, shedding his suit coat. “For what, I have no idea, but it’s a little weird, no?”

You scowl at him. “He’s not mine, don’t say that.”

“He would have been if it wasn’t for me ending up as your sacrificial lamb,” he points out, and you can’t argue against that. “I have half a mind to go over there and cause a scene.”

Your eyes widen with alarm. “Seungkwan, don’t do that!”

“I won’t,” he promises reluctantly, but you can tell it’s still bothering him for whatever reason. “When’s he leaving, anyway?”

“A few weeks, maybe?” You can’t remember exactly, but you must have overheard him speaking to your father about it a while ago. “In any case, soon. And thank god for it.”

Seungkwan hums in agreement, fingers idling on the edge of the table. He looks good in his vest, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to just below his elbows. You realize you like how his arms fill out the sleeves, unassumingly strong under the light fabric.

He takes another sip of his wine, pulling a face at the flavor, and looks at you with an impish glint in his eyes. “Do you want to leave?”

You give him a look. “Are you suggesting sneaking away from my own party?”

“Well, you definitely don’t look like you want to be here,” he notes, and he couldn’t be more correct. It makes you wonder how he still knows you so well after all this time. “So is that a yes, or…?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, already rising. “Please. Let’s get out of here.”

“Called it,” Seungkwan smirks, picking up his jacket and following as you slip through the crowd unnoticed. Your fingers just barely brush amidst the chaos, and you resist the urge to reach back and pull him along with you. 

The balcony is freeing, the gentle night breeze refreshing on your face. It’s a little cold, but you don’t really mind it just yet, ignoring it for the lovely view you’re taking in right now. 

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” You turn and look at him, mirroring your stance as he leans on the railing, observing you quietly. “Seungkwan, I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows raise in confusion as if to say, ‘What for?’

“All of this,” you say, vaguely gesturing towards the ballroom you’ve just left behind. “It’s a lot, and you didn’t ask for it.”

Seungkwan doesn’t meet the apologetic gaze you cast on him, stray strands of hair escaping his well-styled bangs. 

“It’s not the worst,” he points out. “Your father and brother don’t dislike me, which is what I was most worried about.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask, astonished. “That should be the least of your worries. They might like you more than me, honestly.”

He just laughs to himself, cheeks pink. “It’s nice of you to say that. Makes it a little easier to continue the act until our fake divorce.”

“We’re not married yet,” you remind him.

“Ah, right.”

It’s so easy to slip into a comfortable silence with Seungkwan, it always has been. You are not a woman of many words, and you like being able to bask in the quiet without constantly thinking of something new to say. 

In a way, not much has changed.

“So,” he starts, “how are we breaking this news to everyone?”

“I hadn’t thought that far yet,” you confess, pondering. “But everything’s gone by so fast, hasn’t it? A few months ago I was sort of doing my own thing and now I’m engaged to a guy who hates me.”

Seungkwan looks at you sharply, a peculiar expression on his face. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t need to lie to me, you know.”

“I’m being honest,” he insists, taking a step closer to you in earnest. “Was I upset when I found out what happened? Yeah, of course. Was it awkward that that was how we reconnected after a long time apart? Sure. But I can never, in good conscience, say that I hate you.” 

“That is certainly a relief,” is what you come up with after struggling for a few seconds. “Again, I’m really sorry for dragging you into this. At least you can enjoy the status of prince consort-to-be for a while,” you joke.

Seungkwan just frowns. “Y/N, I don’t care about the title. I care about you.”

The abrupt confession catches you off guard, more than you’d like to admit. You don’t know what to say to that, but you believe every word.

“We’ve been friends for so many years,” he continues with a soft smile. “You aren’t just anyone to me.”

Oh, you wish you had a wine glass in your hand right now. You can’t be sober for this, you think, as you return his warm demeanor while a strange feeling settles in your stomach.

“Good to know,” you manage. “That does ease my mind a little.”

“I’m glad.”

Seungkwan’s eyes shine under the moon’s soft glow. It takes you back to when you were a little girl, so hesitantly enamored by him and his heartfelt presence in your life. The wind stings your eyes, blowing away the memory, and then he is asking you if you want to go back inside.

“Go ahead,” you tell him, “I’ll be out in a bit.”

He lingers beside you still, like he’s wondering whether to insist or not. You place a careful hand on his arm.

“I just need a few minutes more of fresh air,” you explain. “I’ll join you soon, I promise.”

Wordlessly, he nods, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and draping it over your own. His fingertips barely graze your skin, but for some reason, you are hyper-aware of it.

“Stay warm,” he says, voice tinged with concern. “Please don’t catch a cold.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He smiles again, a sun in the night’s darkness. 

The moment is tender, like if you don’t reach out and grab it, it’ll slip through your fingers. You refrain from saying anything in response as he leaves you to yourself, looking over your shoulder as he walks away.

“Don’t make me fall in love with you,” you murmur softly, but Seungkwan is already gone.

The day Jeonghan returns, there is a downpour from hell.

You’ve been cozying up in your usual nook of the library as it rains outside, curled up in one of the large armchairs with a rather interesting novel in your lap. Engrossed in the pages, you don’t notice anything amiss until you hear a familiar, silvery voice near your ear.

“Miss me yet, Your Highness?”

The sudden greeting almost has you jumping, and your first instinct is to turn around and slam your heavy book into the man’s face.

“Ow!” Jeonghan clutches his nose, face contorted in pain. Seungkwan stands behind him, leaning on a bookshelf and watching the scene with amusement. “What was that for?!”

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t know it was you!” You rise to your feet, checking him for any signs of serious injury. “You know I have violent reflexes, you knew better than to do that!”

“I come home from war and the first thing you do is attack me?!”

Seungkwan just shrugs from his spot. “Don’t look at me. I told him not to do it.”

“Very helpful,” Jeonghan huffs, poking and prodding at his now swollen nose. “What a warm welcome the two of you are giving me, really, considering how few and far between our reunions are.”

You soften at that, going in for a long overdue hug. He smells of rusted metal and fresh soil, likely from his long time spent on the battlefield. His hair is longer now, tied back and out of his face with a simple cloth string, and he looks a little more weary than last time.

Every time you see him again, he has changed somewhat, but also not quite at all. There will always be that inkling of mischief in his eye until the day he dies.

“So,” Jeonghan says, still nursing his sore nose, “the second I leave the kingdom is when you two decide to get engaged, huh?”

You and Seungkwan exchange a look that’s somewhere between surprise and alarm. He shakes his head ever so slightly, answering the question you didn’t need to ask. 

No, not just yet.

“And you didn’t even write to me!” Jeonghan sulks, giving the two of you a betrayed look. “I can’t believe you had the gall to fall in love and not tell me about it.”

“Um…” You are not quite sure what to say to that, considering it wasn’t what happened at all. “Surprise?”

“Anyway,” he continues, “I’m not so shocked. I knew this was bound to happen at some point.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Seungkwan grumbles.

“Because it’s true! Don’t you know that Y/N here used to – Ow! Again?!”

You glare at Jeonghan as he recovers from your swift punch. “Keep your mouth closed and I might not attack you a third time.”

“You are insane,” he scolds you, massaging his arm. “I don’t even see what the problem here is.”

As a last desperate effort, you implore him with pleading eyes to stay silent. He doesn’t look like he understands what’s going on, but he relents anyway, leaving the subject of your childhood crush alone.

“What?” Seungkwan laughs, eyes darting between the both of you. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out, a little too fast. Jeonghan has to physically look down to conceal the laugh that’s threatening to bubble out of his throat at any moment, and you can tell. “Seungkwan, shouldn’t you be at training right now, anyways?”

“Well, yes, but Jeong–”

One pointed look from you is enough to silence him, it’s almost funny. “Yes ma’am,” he gives in ruefully. “I suppose I’ll see you after I get beat up to the point of exhaustion, then. Visit me on my deathbed.”

“Seungkwan, you’ll be fine.”

After a bit of grumbling, he finally leaves – you wait until he’s out of earshot before fixing Jeonghan with a pointed glare.

“Yoon Jeonghan, you little bastard.”

“Now that is hardly appropriate language for a princess,” he remarks, promptly receiving a well-aimed smack from you.

“I can’t believe you were about to reveal everything just then!”

“Why are you so pressed about it? He’s literally your fiancé!” Jeonghan’s face falls a little at your prolonged silence. “Oh. There is something you’re not telling me.”

“You’re either going to be so mad or you will laugh at me,” you say truthfully.

“I really hope it’s the latter. Please don’t hit me again,” he adds, ready to dodge you. “Alright, what is it?”

“Well, Seungkwan and I…” You wince, trying to word this correctly. “We aren’t actually engaged.”

Jeonghan just stares at you, confused. “What? But you’ve got a ring and everything!”

“I know,” you sigh, absentmindedly fiddling with the golden band, “but it’s all fake.”

He blinks once, then again, still processing. “So there will be no wedding?”

“Nope. We’re planning on calling it off right after Doyun departs.”

“Who’s that?”

“Long story.”

“I have time.”

Where do you even start? The past month and a half has been such a chaotic blur that you don’t know what to begin with. Agitated, you put your head in your hands, tugging at your hair. 

“You’re frustrated,” Jeonghan observes.

“Nice one, genius.”

“You know,” he says conversationally, “I don’t think you would be so upset if you didn’t have any feelings.”

You raise your head, distraught. “Feelings about what?”

Jeonghan gives you a look. “I think you know exactly who I'm talking about.”

His words take no more than a couple of seconds to click, gears shifting in your brain. You pin him with a stern glare.

“I do not like Seungkwan.”

“I didn’t even say it was Seungkwan,” he replies, a mischievous smile playing at his lips.

“But you were thinking it!”

“Well, you are not a psychic.”

A part of you wonders if you should never have confessed to your inconsequential crush all those years ago. After all, it had just been a result of confusing feelings at a young age, when you were just learning what being in love felt like.

But things are different now. You and Seungkwan have comfortably fallen back into your friendship, and it’s as easy as breathing. The last thing you need is old emotions resurfacing and ruining it all.

“That was a long time ago,” you say, not sure if you’re trying to convince Jeonghan or yourself. “It’s not like that anymore. Either way, I’m not sure how often I’ll see him after this whole thing is over.”

“More than you will see me,” he quips. “Really, Y/N, you know that he cares very much about you.”

“He didn’t talk to me when he was away for years,” you sulk.

He’s quiet – you know it’s because you’re right, and neither of you have an explanation for a question only Seungkwan can answer. 

But in the days that follow, Jeonghan’s words echo in your mind. You see Seungkwan less and less; every time you run into him, he seems to have an excuse on the tip of your tongue, and you can’t help but wonder what has happened.

You don’t say anything, though, with fear that you might scare him away if you bring it up. Instead, you leave it be, letting him stay at arm’s length and ignoring the dull ache you feel when he’s not around.

And sometimes, you wonder whether Jeonghan might have been onto something. The idea keeps you up at night, into the hours just before daylight knocks on your window. 

One night in particular has you strangely restless, unable to fall asleep even though the clock reads half past four in the morning. Your room feels awfully stuffy, like you’re cornered into one place, and the sudden need for fresh air overcomes you. Exhausted, you pull on some warmer clothes before slipping into the hall, heading for the gardens near the extensive training grounds.

You used to come here all the time when you were younger, too, always your safe haven. There is something about being surrounded by nature that puts you at ease. Like now, as you settle in your spot on the bench, chin in the palm of your hand.

However, your peace is abruptly interrupted at the sound of careful footsteps. You turn, and grimace at the sight of your unwelcome visitor. 

“It seems quite unsafe for a young woman to be out alone at this time,” Doyun says, approaching you slowly. 

“The palace is fairly secure, sir,” you reply curtly. “I wonder what you are doing roaming around before the sun is even up.”

“I am set to depart at dawn,” he informs you, taking a seat as well. Instinctively, you move over to put space between you and him. 

“Then I wish you a safe journey.”

There is an uncanny, knowing smile on his face. “Although, I might not need to leave so soon,” he drawls, “if I still have the opportunity to fulfill what I originally came here for.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“I have to admit, you and your friend play the part of a happy couple amusingly well. Almost had me fooled,” he says. “But every act has a weak link.”

“Sir, this isn’t what you think it is –”

“Oh, but it’s exactly that. And it was a smart plan, too. It’s such a shame you couldn’t see it through.”

You fold in on yourself, somewhat of a shield against the early morning breeze. “What are you trying to say?”

“Just that your father might appreciate a heads up about your little arrangement.” The expression he’s wearing fills you with dread. “Don’t you think he deserves to know what’s happening under his nose?”

“Nothing is happening,” you reiterate. “Don’t involve yourself in things that do not require your input.”

“Does this not involve me?” he asks incredulously, shifting closer. “I’ve traveled all this way only to be abruptly shoved aside for a farce. Do you not think it’s unfair?”

You open your mouth to retaliate, but you’re beat to it.

“Get up.”

Seungkwan is, for lack of a better word, seething. His face is pulled into that serious frown he wears whenever he’s particularly displeased. You stand slowly, slightly confused as to how he knew you were here.

“No, not you,” he says, eyes softening as they flicker over to you for just a second. “Do I have to tell you twice? Get up.”

Doyun rises to his feet, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. “Is that how you speak to your guests?”

“Yes. Particularly those who wear out their welcome.” 

The tension is thick in the air. The feeling of being caught red-handed has somewhat settled, but you have no way of knowing what’s going to happen next.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Doyun snickers. “You are just a soldier boy with nothing to your name.”

“He’s much more than that,” you say sharply, “and I pity your ignorance to the fact.”

“Come on, Y/N –”

“That’s my fiancée you’re talking to. You will address her properly,” Seungkwan cuts in. His voice is harsh, and his anger is evident through the glare he’s currently sporting. “You are not fit to even speak her name.”

Caught up in the conversation, you hadn’t realized how much time has passed, but the first few rays of sunlight are beginning to peek out over the horizon. It’s getting a little warmer now, the gardens bathed in the minimal sunshine. 

Doyun just shakes his head. “You two are impossible to reason with,” he says. “If you cannot clearly see how bad of an idea this is, Your Highness, then I suppose I will have to cut my losses. But don’t expect any sort of cooperation if you find yourself running back.”

“Fine by me,” you snap, tired of the conversation already..

It’s almost comical, the way that he walks away with a vindictive air about him. You don’t even clock the sigh of relief you let out when his silhouette disappears in the morning fog, sinking back into the wooden bench.

“Are you okay?” Seungkwan takes the first hesitant step towards you, then another. You just scowl up at him in annoyance.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” you say menacingly. “I can’t believe you’ve been avoiding me for so long and this is how you resurface again.”

“I wasn’t –”

“Please, Seungkwan, I’ve had a long day and the sun is barely even up yet.” You rub your temples, a headache already starting to form. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“You’re always here.” He says it simply, like it’s just a fact of life. “I saw you on my way to the training grounds, but you weren’t alone, so I just wanted to see what was going on,” he grimaces, “and I’m glad I did.”

“Right,” you mutter. “I hope pretending to care about me has made you feel infinitely better about yourself.”

Seungkwan frowns. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“How many times do I need to tell you that I don’t hate you until you finally believe me?” He looks at you pleadingly, but what exactly he’s asking of you, you can’t really tell. “Do you honestly think I would have played along all this time if I disliked you at all?”

“Seungkwan, I’m tired.” You put your head in your hands, overwhelmed. “Doyun will be gone in a couple of hours, so you can pull out of this anytime you want.”

“Y/N –”

“Please.”

It’s ironic how even through your various disagreements it’s easy to understand each other’s unfinished sentences. Seungkwan releases a pained exhale.

“Fine,” he says softly. “We’ll talk later.”

A part of you feels guilty that no matter how much time or space you’ve needed, he has always been ready to give it to you, and all you do is take. Maybe after a few hours’ rest you’ll feel up to speaking to him again, you think, watching his retreating figure with a dull ache in your chest. 

The sun is up, and the morning dew is long gone. You have no choice but to face another day.

“You’re the biggest idiot to ever walk this earth.”

Those had been Yoon Jeonghan’s parting words to you. You felt like you might cry as you hugged him tightly, hoping he’d carry the fond memories through the next several months he would be away. Seungkwan had stood a little behind the two of you, just out of earshot, though you knew he was trying not to tear up, too.

“You might be right,” you mumbled, eyes on the ground. “It’s all going to crash and burn, and then he and I will never speak again.”

“Well, you never know. But if you don’t do anything about it, I will personally come find you and hunt you down.” Jeonghan chuckled, a tiny twinkle in his eye. “When I come back, you better have married the man for real.”

“Jeonghan!”

He had just laughed, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Trust me, Your Highness. I have a good sixth sense about these things.”

That had been several hours ago, and your last real conversation with Seungkwan was even further in the past. 

Things had gotten busy, and between the days that whirled by the two of you hadn’t properly talked. And it stings, knowing the distance between you and your best friend is slowly growing, but you don’t even know if he wants to hear from you right now.

There are so many things you want to say and not enough words. The emotions dance on the tip of your tongue, but no further. But for how long now?

No. 

You toss your book aside in frustration. Enough of the constant restlessness and anxiety; you can’t keep living like this, you realize, hoarding all the things you feel in your brain. The sudden burst of courage has you on your feet, nearly sprinting to your door.

When you open it, Seungkwan is already standing there.

“Oh,” you blurt out. His arm is still raised to the door, as if he was just about to knock, and his feet are frozen to the ground in front of you. He looks a little disheveled, like he’s been running. “Come in?”

Seungkwan hesitates for just a second before following you through the doorway. “Thank you,” he says gently. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“No, you weren’t,” you say, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Did you need something?”

There is a moment’s silence. The words he hasn’t said yet hang suspended in the air, and you wait for them apprehensively.

“I figured we should come out with the truth now,” he says slowly, eyes darting everywhere but you. “You know, now that there aren’t any more reasons not to.”

You can’t put a name to the rush of emotion in your body. You should be relieved right now. Why aren’t you? A deep trepidation fills you instead, settling in your bones, but you don’t dare to put your finger on the reason behind it. 

“Right,” you say curtly. “We probably should.”

Seungkwan sighs, the exhaustion evident in his rounded shoulders. He pulls the stool he’s sitting on closer to you, placing a comforting hand on your wrist.

“It’s for the best,” he assures you. “You heard what Baek Doyun said that day.”

You’re already shaking your head before he finishes the sentence. “No, Seungkwan, he’s wrong.”

“You deserve every good thing in this universe,” he tells you, “every beautiful moment that exists in time. But I can’t give that to you, no matter how much I wish I could, and it hurts to be near you when it’s all so very impossible.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the honest, tender words. “What are you saying?”

Seungkwan smiles ruefully. “I am just the son of a soldier, Y/N. I have nothing more to offer you than the blood on my hands.”

“That is not true,” you say earnestly. “If it were, you know my father would never have agreed to all of this.”

“I don’t care about your father’s approval!” The words leave his mouth with a burst of frustration that surprises you. “The only opinion I choose to worry about is yours. You have to know that.”

“Why?”

The look in his eyes is one you could never forget – it’s vulnerable, with a hint of something else you can’t quite place. It scares and exhilarates you at the same time.

“Please don’t make me answer that question,” he whispers softly, mere inches from your face.

Something propels you to reach forward wordlessly, your hands gently cradling Seungkwan’s face. Come here, your fingertips say. Let me heal you. Come home.

Slowly, carefully, you bring your mouth to his. It’s everything one would think it shouldn’t be — hesitant, nerve wracking — but it’s right. 

When you pull away, he’s looking at you in awe.

“You just kissed me,” he says incredulously.

You reach for him, taking his hand in yours. It’s calloused and rough, and yet it feels just right against your own smooth palm.

“If the only thing you can give me is the blood on your hands,” you murmur, “then I gladly accept.”

For all of the next few seconds, Seungkwan does not move. And then, you feel his fingers encircling your wrist, his other hand coming up to carefully hold the back of your neck.

The kiss is both searing and soothing, somehow. He tastes faintly of tangerines, the citrus flavor tangy on your mouth, and his lips are impossibly soft as they move against yours. You could freeze time and stay here forever, you think, in the arms of a man who knows you like it’s the only way home. It’s something strangely akin to heaven on earth.

“I hope you meant every second of that,” you tell him, when you come up for air.

Seungkwan smiles — a bright, gorgeous thing that could put even the sun to shame. 

“Every second,” he answers. It’s a promise. “Every moment in time. For as long as you will let me.”

Dear Jeonghan,

You will be elated to know that I am no longer the idiot you proclaimed I was. Sure, I was being a little stupid, but aren’t we all sometimes? And you can’t say you aren’t, because I have many stories to prove you wrong.

In other news, Seungkwan and I have called off our engagement. For the time being, at least. We wanted to have some time to just be, you know? Take this relationship at our own pace, and make up for all the lost time we had spent dancing around each other instead. It turns out we were equally apprehensive about our feelings and ended up avoiding each other for weeks on end, can you believe that? 

Actually, you probably can. I bet you knew how he felt this whole time, you devil.

You know, I was a little afraid to tell Father and Seungcheol the truth, but they were quite understanding about it. It feels lighter now, too, without this secret to carry. You were right.

It’s summer now, and most everything seems right with the world. Only thing left is having you back here — Seungkwan will never say it to your face, but he complains about missing you nearly every day, as do I. 

Anyways, I’ll try and keep this short. Come back safely, okay? When Seungkwan and I do eventually start planning our wedding, we want you to be there for it. It wouldn’t be the same without you.

Okay, I will really leave you to it this time. Write us back when you can; it is always wonderful to hear from you.

Lots of love, 

Y/N (and Seungkwan!)

if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading, your support means a lot to me! much love, ashi xx

[love-quinn]

— THE GOOD WITCH

summary — you’ve done a lot of growing in the 4 years you and patrick have been broken up. you’re hoping he has as well because you’re still desperately in love with him

pairing — 2009!patrick zweig x fem!reader

track one — “the good witch” by maisie peters

warnings — swearing, weed mention, alcohol/drinking

word count — 2.2k

note — first patrick fic i struggled with the dialogue for him SO much cause he’s such an asshole from start to finish but there’s also something so incredibly endearing about him so i did my best i hope you enjoy, i’m super excited to be getting these fics out as quick as i can. ty for 350 (already????) thank u i love u i love u i love u :]]]]

You hadn’t had a martini in about three years.

It wasn’t ever a conscious decision, you’d realised. One night you went out and had one, and then the next time you went out you got something different. And then every time after that, and every time after that.

The gala was dragging on, and you were regretting accepting the invitation. It had been a hesitant yes on your part, done after a lot of thinking it through. Not enough, though, you were counting down the hours until you were able to leave without being rude. Sports journalism hadn’t been what you wanted to do at all with your journalism degree, and it still wasn’t. Writing about tennis every week in hopes that your boss would finally let you take the open politics slot wasn’t where you thought you’d be when you graduated Stanford, but it was your best option to actually use your degree.

The USTA had invited the top 100 ranked players to a charity gala for something or other, you weren’t listening. All you knew was that there would be important people there, people whom you could potentially use as connections.

What you hadn’t been anticipating, though, was your tennis player ex-boyfriend schmoozing the very people you’d come to meet.

You’d known Patrick was good at tennis. He’d been playing professionally when you’d met him. But then he’d been 474th best in the world, and he won one in every five matches. Everything you’d learned about tennis had been through Patrick at the time that you were together. It was pretty much the only thing he spoke about over the course of the ten months you were together, and unfortunately it had landed you a job you hated but needed.

So there you were, drinking your first martini in three years, seeing Patrick for the first time in three years, wishing you were anywhere else but here.

He looked good, you admitted begrudgingly. He had more muscle definition, he’d grown out his facial hair slightly, and was wearing a nicer shirt than you’d ever seen him wear. You were wondering if he’d bought it or if it was rented to him. Your boss had given you a company card and a low budget boutique for the event because you were press for it.

Googling your ex boyfriend at an event he was at was too much of a rock bottom for you, so you instead busied yourself with the toothpick from your drink, plucking the olive off with your teeth. Your glass was almost empty, you’d taken enough notes on your phone, you’d gotten quotes from your standard three athletes, you didn’t need to do any more work and you didn’t think that a second martini would cause much harm.

“Can I get you another?”

You didn’t even turn around. “Fuck off, Patrick.”

He’d sidled up to you the second that you put your guard down. He’d been watching you too, and he’d clocked it the second your shoulders dropped, the moment your eyes unfocused, the instant you turned away from him.

There was something different about his voice – it had less polish, more gravel. He’d changed in his chest over the last few years, going from someone who thought he was better than he was to a man who really was that good.

You’d always had high hopes for Patrick while you were together, you’d believed in him, you’d thought that he’d make it big if he just had slightly better luck. Now? You couldn’t give a fuck if he broke his hand and never played tennis again.

You’d been his number one supporter, and that was the first part of yourself you’d thrown in the trash once the two of you had broken up. You’d done a lot of growing, you’d matured, you’d realised that Patrick’s “bad luck” was a lack of hard work. He’d grown up rich, and that had been where you guys had the most disconnect. You’d worked for every single thing you’d ever had, and Patrick thought that you guys had that in common. You’d been sympathetic, you’d wanted to help him, you’d probably given too much of yourself to him in an effort to help him with his tennis and he had seemingly only developed a work ethic after the two of you had broken up.

Patrick laughed, leaning back on his elbows on the bar top. He was tall enough that it didn’t look uncomfortable enough (fucker). “You always were a bitch, weren’t you?”

You clamped your eyes shut putting your toothpick back in your drink. “What part of fuck off do you not understand?” You asked. “What do you want?”

He tsked, throwing up two fingers to the bartender, who nodded at him. “It’s okay,” he said sympathetically. “I like it.”

You accept the new martini from the bartender, who puts it on Patrick’s tab. “Great.”

It took you a lot of time to get over Patrick, and you weren’t going to let him get under your skin.

“It looks good on you,” he said, leaning in and taking a sip of whatever asshole IPA he’d ordered. “You here working?” You didn’t reply. “You need a quote?”

“Not from you.” You wanted to leave.

He was so close to you, you’d deliberately not noticed for as long as possible. But now that he was right next to you, you could smell his cologne. You realised that you’d never smelled cologne on him before, despite the fact that his mom had definitely bought him some nice ones. His scent of choice at 19 years old had been Unilever Axe Body Spray and weed. At the very least a cigarette was never far.

This smelled like a thing, not a concept. Citrus and florals. It was nice.

“Come on,” Patrick sounded like you were teasing him. Playing hard to get on purpose. Like if he just called you out on it, you’d fall right into his arms and swoon the way you would when you were nineteen and he had a “promising career in front of him” that made up for all the ways he was an asshole.

Not today.

“You’re not charming enough for this to work, Patrick.” You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink. It came out surprisingly calm; 19 year old you would have wanted to hurt 19 year old Patrick. Would’ve wanted to win the interaction. Now? You didn’t want to give him space in your mind, didn’t want to acknowledge him. You did not need Patrick taking up your time, looking at you like he knew deep down you wanted his tongue down your throat.

“Still pretending you’re better than me?” he scoffed.

“Still pretending you’re better than Art?” You glanced across the room at the blond, who was standing arm in arm with his fiancee. You’d met him through Patrick, or rather you’d met Patrick through Art. You and Art had gone to one of the same parties in college, along with his then-girlfriend Tashi, and Patrick had tagged along with them despite the fact that he wasn’t a student. Patrick had been better than Art when you’d known them all in school, but Art had spent more time honing his skills before going pro, and now that him and Patrick were in the same field it was clear the extra four years spent in training had benefited him more than Patrick’s eight month losing streak he’d had at nineteen.

Patrick laughed like he hadn’t been expecting for you to actually call him out on it.

You stood, leaning against the bar and watching the way Art interacted with Tashi. They moved through the party in sync, a shared rhythm you’d never been able to find with Patrick. It was a reminder that the two of you would never work out the way that they did.

“Don’t bring him into this,” he snapped, condescension deep in his voice. The two of you stood side by side, never touching, both of your eyes glued to the pair. You had spent years as Patrick’s backup plan, at the back of his mind as he clawed his way through the ranks, too proud to admit he had it made and too embarrassed to admit he couldn’t make it. “I always knew you liked him more than me.”

He was too close. The way he was speaking was too comfortable for someone you hadn’t known in years. You didn’t reply, instead swirling the liquid around gently in the glass, looking down at him. You didn’t want him to see how you’d rattled him.

Maybe you had liked Art more at first. He worked hard, he was kind, he didn’t laugh at you when you’d gotten wasted and spilt a drink all over the couch at the party you’d met at. But the second you’d learned he had a girlfriend it was like a switch had been flicked in your mind; he was off-limits, you didn’t even want him anymore.

Unfortunately, Patrick hadn’t had a girlfriend at the time, so there was nothing that had stopped you from letting him take you home that night, or every night for the next week before he left to go on tour again.

“Well look at that,” you snarked. “You are self-aware.” It was a lie (mostly), you had really loved Patrick. You’d never told him that, he was never there enough for you to spill that detail, but you were pretty transparent that you’d at least liked him.

“One of has to be,” he was so close your shoulders were pressed together now. “Look at you, too-nice dress, your little quotes from your little connections for your little magazine.” He was borderline cooing at you. “It looks good on you, sweetheart, almost like you’re a real journalist.”

“Fuck off Patrick.” You hissed, anger settling in your chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought that maybe you would have grown up since I last saw you, but maybe that’s my fault for having any faith in you whatsoever.”

He frowned at you, not sincerely, but like he’d expected better from you. “What happened to my biggest supporter?” He murmured, bringing a hand to stroke your chin. You didn’t stop him.

“Grow up,” you spat. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, and I don’t really care to-” he was so close you could feel his breath fanning against your breath. “You’ve never given a single fuck about me, have you?”

He could feel how hot your face was under his palm, trying not to watch the way your chest was rising and falling furiously. “I never made you feel that way did I?” His voice was so quiet he was sure only you could hear it. “I was a bad boyfriend sure-” he ignored the way you laughed bitterly and doubly ignored the pang in his chest from the sound, “but I never made you feel like I didn’t care about you.”

You still didn’t reply, despite the fact that his mouth was so close to yours he could almost taste the lipgloss you’re wearing. Your eyes were fiery and your hands had found their way to his biceps, gripping onto him like were trying to snap him in half. He’d let you.

He wanted to lean forward, to take your lips on his and to feel you properly again, for the first time in years. You’d changed, that much was obvious, but there was one question he’d had to ask for the first time since the night he’d met you: Did you want him?

“You were an asshole,” you muttered, still clearly annoyed. “‘Bad boyfriend’ is putting it lightly.”

His hands found your waist, running the material of your dress under his thumb. “I’m sure I had some redeeming qualities, right?”

“If you think I’m going to inflate your ego right now, you can fuck right off.”

He broke at that, a snicker falling from his lips, and you shoved him away. “Okay, I’m sorry!” He tried to pull you back into him, yearning for the closeness he’d almost pulled out of you. “I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, that was the only reason you let him touch you.

“I have work to do.” You said stiffly.

He disregarded that. “I’m sure you do.” You had another quip ready about how he wasn’t well-known enough in the space to make him worth your time as a journalist, how you should go bother Art and Tashi and ask if they’ll help you with the article that’s going to be due on your editor’s desk by tomorrow, but before you could force it out of your mouth he’d finally closed the gap, putting out the fire that was burning in your throat.

He pulled you closer so you were completely flush with his front, your hands coming to grab fistfuls of his suit jacket. Definitely paid for, you decided.

When your article was released the next morning, Patrick would be a little bit miffed that he wasn’t mentioned, scrolling through it one-handed on his phone. He couldn’t be too unhappy as he read it though, as he used his free hand to trace patterns on your back.