#is it really spark play when it's the spark itself playing?

[ikeuverse]

to believe | sjy

pairing: ex!jake x fem!reader  genres: angst, smut, fluff wc: 15.4k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : argument, swearing, mention of cheating, fights, brief description of a physical fight, unprotected sex (don't do it, do it safely), nipple play, cumming inside. lmk if i've forgotten anything.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : you have the mission of being godmother at your brother's wedding, but the only obstacle is sharing it with his best friend, and your ex-bf who you're sure cheated on you, jake sim.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : one of the many stories i have saved for my jake. it was supposed to be short, but i can't, i always get carried away writing it! i hope you enjoy it.

꒰ 𝅄 masterlist ꒱

“I don't believe it” you said, a sigh of weariness and discontent coming from your lips when your brother's voice informed you of this.

You had known that he and Josie would get married from the moment they got engaged in their last year of high school. Heeseung was completely in love with your best friend and you, being a great person, encouraged the two of them to get together. But what frustrated you wasn't the wedding itself, or the responsibility you had been given as a bridesmaid, but the fact that it would all be shared with Jake Sim, Josie's brother and, ironically, your ex-boyfriend.

It would be a blessing to have his friendship after the two of you broke up because, after all, both families would be united one way or another. But the break-up hadn't been pleasant at all and, after a year apart, any interaction between you and Jake was cause for friction. If you were in a cartoon, sparks would surely fly from the two of you every time you were in the same room.

“Come on Y/n, Jake is my best friend and Josie's brother” Heeseung sighed too, putting on a pout that almost had you convinced of the proposal “It was obvious that he would be best man with you at our wedding.”

Your brother was right and you knew it from the start. Since before you and Jake broke up. When Heeseung and Josie talked about marriage in college, saying that the two of you would be the best man because it was perfect that you were both also dating. A coincidence that life provided. Your best friend dating your brother and you dating your best friend's brother. But since things weren't that simple for you, only Josie was happy now.

“Can't you and she, I don't know, just have more than one best man?” your eyes wandered over to your brother who was trying to maintain a relaxed posture, his body slumped nonchalantly on the sofa at your parents' house. Where you and he got together every weekend for lunch or just to pass the time in your hectic lives without any contact during the week “I'd love to be a bridesmaid to Jungwon, for example.”

“He'll be one of the godparents, of course” Heeseung smiled at you, although his gaze was on the large television that was playing some program that your brother could barely pay attention to “But your mission and Jake's are much greater because, well… You'll be our witnesses.”

It was a more than important title. Witnessing their union from the beginning, seeing them sign the papers and then exchange vows, it was all so beautiful.

“That's not the problem” he sighed so loudly that it was only at that moment that Heeseung stopped staring at the television so that he could look in your direction “It's that I'm going to have to go after practically everything for you and Josie together with Jake.”

“A great opportunity for you two to talk and finally understand each other” he said without thinking, regretting it at the exact moment he felt a pillow fly at his head “Ouch! What the fuck, Y/n?”

“You're defending him again!”

“I'm just telling you to really listen to him” Heeseung protected himself from another pillow to the head, holding it in the air before you could even hit him “Jake wouldn't be able to do that. Even more so with you.”

Even more so with you. Why did your brother insist on defending Jake? As if you were dumb enough to have gone to meet him in the locker room before the friendly match and, unfortunately, found a bra in his locker that wasn't yours. You didn't even wear pink bows on the bulge, it was too cute. Only someone wore that kind of outfit, showing off to everyone who had the chance. So it was easy to associate Jake, the captain of the university soccer team, with the slutty cheerleader you grew to hate even more.

Both Heeseung and Josie were forbidden to talk about it, to defend Jake in your presence, or to make you talk to him after you decided to end it all. It could have been completely childish of you not to listen to him, to throw your bra at Jake and utter the last words you could, looking deep into those brown eyes you had once come to love.

“I hate that I loved you” Jake didn't think it would hurt more than the accusation of betrayal, even though he hadn't even had the chance to say anything. Your voice was like a deep cut, bigger than any injury he had once felt playing soccer.

After that day you saw Jake Sim as the biggest traitor in history and the person you had all the bad feelings for. Even if the words had to be a little more restrained in the presence of family or when you decided to omit all the bad things that happened, saying that the break-up was because you wanted to take a trip abroad. The trip happened, and spending almost eight months in Madrid was able to clear your head.

Being away from Jake and everything that involved him and your family – which was now his too – helped you to cope a little with the distance. But you came back so quickly with the news of your brother's wedding that the last few months since your arrival in Madrid have all ended in arguments, or you and Jake swearing at each other until you can't take it anymore.

You could say you felt physical pain just being in his presence because you knew it was inevitable that you wouldn't have a single argument. Did he feel entitled to feel resentful and hurt by something he had done? And did Jake get irritated by the way you got angry without even giving him a chance to explain properly? Jake would never do that, but your mind and your eyes told you otherwise. You didn't want to listen to him, you didn't want to live with him. Perhaps living in Madrid after your brother's wedding could be an almost real thought, although you would never be able to leave your family in the long term.

“Y/n” Heeseung called out, taking you out of your thoughts as he held your hand. The gentle, comforting touch that only your older brother could provide “I know this situation will always be bad for you and him, but—” he squeezed your hand lightly “Can you do this for me and Josie? Please?”

The pleading voice was an extremely low game that Heeseung played with you to get what he wanted, but at that moment you felt vulnerability. You felt that he really wanted you to accept because it went beyond anything between you and Jake. It wasn't on purpose that he and Josie had done this, after all, you and Jake were the brothers of the bride and groom anyway. You both had to be at that wedding one way or another.

Squeezing Heeseung's hands back, you let out a low sigh. Your eyes wandered over his face as you saw hope run through the boy's eyes. It didn't seem like he was older than you and about to get married.

“All right, I'll try” you said at last, watching Heeseung's smile widen even more.

“Thanks Y/n, you're the best sister in the world” he bent down to kiss your cheek, releasing your hands to get up from the sofa.

“I'm the only sister you've got, asshole. I have to be the best!” you protested.

Heeseung's laughter echoed down the corridor to the kitchen, where he had disappeared. Surely he was going after some dessert to share with you while jabbering on about some wedding details he hadn't stopped talking about for a second since you showed up.

Your break-up wasn't an entirely amicable affair between the two of you. Your mind and heart were convinced that Jake had cheated on you, although you had never seen him get so worked up trying to explain that it would never happen. His hands gripping his hair as he paced the room, stuttering or not finishing a sentence because you didn't want to hear it. Part of you knew that denial came because you didn't want to hear anything from him and have to go back on what you saw, but another part still kept the image of that pink bow bra inside his locker in the changing room vivid.

But for your family, the break-up had gone smoothly. You both agreed to make up some excuse, after all, you'd still have to deal with each other for the rest of your lives because now Heeseung and Josie were getting married. There was no way you could avoid Jake or he could avoid you. His closest friends knew what had happened, two of Jake's best friends besides Heeseung and Susan, your other best friend along with Josie. Even though your anger towards him still remained, you didn't want others to think the wrong thing about you and Jake. Sparing you explanations or embarrassment. Even sparing you from remembering that day.

Living in a small – and false – harmony while being close to your family or anyone else who didn't know what actually happened. That's why the two of you were together in the party store at that moment.

Being appointed best man was something Jake knew would happen, ever since Heeseung confessed that he was going to propose to Josie a month before they finished university. Jake didn't want to be selfish by seeing his best friend in love while he was on the brink of ruin because, in addition to breaking up with you, he had just learned that you were going to another country. Maybe that was a good thing after all. Having you away would help him think and even try to find some way to get you to listen to him. Jake wouldn't give up on making you listen to him, even if it took years, he would make you hear the whole truth.

Looking around with a small sigh, he returned to the present moment. Staring at some baskets that he couldn't tell the material of. Wicker, bamboo or straw? Were those ropes really woven together, one by one?

“What have you got on your list?” your voice snapped him out of his reverie and made Jake look quickly in your direction. Trying to concentrate on your serious face, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he looked down at his notes.

He reached for the piece of paper in the back pocket of his jeans, opening what was already all but crumpled. While you had a notebook between your fingers, he had a piece of paper.

Typical Jake Sim, he knew you'd say that out loud if you were still together. And if you were together, you'd roll your eyes playfully and walk over to him, pick up the piece of paper, and throw it away, because his notes would be in your notebook too. And that would make you lean over and kiss him on the lips ever so sweetly, mumbling something about how Jake was a bit disorganized about it and that Josie had the craziest big brother in the world.

“Jake” you called him, almost whispering.

“Sorry” he took a deep breath, trying to focus on what was happening. Rolling his eyes at the words Josie had said a few hours ago, he hastily jotted them down on the piece of paper he was holding “I have some fabrics she asked me for and about three types of flowers for the bouquet and table arrangements.”

“Really?” you walked over to him, leaning close enough to see the piece of paper. Jake held his breath for a few seconds so as not to inhale your perfume, but if he didn't breathe, he would surely die. Then you slowly let out your breath while looking at the top of your head “Do they both think we're ceremonialists?”

“Maybe so” Jake said quietly “but from what Josie said, it's because they both trust us so much that we chose this so carefully.”

They were words she would say. Trusting you and Jake to choose the small details without giving them into the hands of someone she's never seen. Even more so Josie, who had always planned her wedding down to the smallest detail since she was fifteen, back when she hadn't even dreamed of falling in love with Lee Heeseung.

“Which of these three do you think is Josie's favorite?” your eyes searched Jake's after reading the paper. At that moment, neither of you wanted to face each other with such intensity, so close together. But you didn't know that approaching him to read the list would result in being so close. Walking away abruptly at that moment would have been rude, although you had never cared whether it was like that or not with Jake.

He looked at you. Really looked. As he had done ever since he'd seen you for the first time, and it made you feel strange inside. You wanted to think that maybe it was the nervousness of being alone with him after such a long time, being assigned to tasks like being a bridesmaid.

“Dahlia?” he said.

“Was that a question?” you asked him back, raising an eyebrow when you saw the uncertainty in Jake's voice.

“Come on, she's your best friend.”

“And she's your sister.”

“So what?” Jake asked “I don't know what her favorite flower is, Y/n. I don't even know about flowers.”

A big lie, Jake understood. In parts. When the two of you started dating, he did a lot of research on the internet about flowers and their meanings, finding out about the orchid and what it represented. When he bought you your first bouquet of orchids, reciting why he had done it, that was when Jake saw you cry with joy and love for the first time since you two started dating.

And it was from that day on that you both called the orchid the flower of your relationship.

“Yes, you do” you whispered so that he wouldn't hear, you didn't want him to hear. For him to understand that you were thinking practically the same thing as him.

Having that moment of a few hours without a single argument was the result of many requests and practically an engaged couple begging you and Jake not to jump on each other for the sake of the wedding that was yet to take place. Josie knew you well enough to know your limits around Jake, just as she also knew how her brother would cope with being in your presence for so long. It had to be perfect, and it wouldn't be something from your and Jake's old relationship that would affect what she had always dreamed of.

“I'll find the decorations for the tables, can you see the flowers?” Jake just agreed with you as he continued down the aisle of baskets and trinkets for flower arrangements. Agreeing with what you were saying was something he had been practicing over the weeks as he was assigned to spend more time than necessary by your side.

Sometimes the two of you would go out with Heeseung and Josie, looking for things related to the wedding and everything that could be used for the big party. Jake saw how much Heeseung agreed with his fiancée and, with subtle comments, he managed to change her mind when she didn't agree with something. This could be the big key to why their relationship had worked so well from the start.

Where did I go wrong? Jake felt selfish for thinking so, knowing exactly where he went wrong. He didn't insist enough on a conversation, he didn't make you listen to him the way you should have and, as a result, almost a year went by with him being set up as a liar in your head. That's why he decided not to argue and just agreed when you asked or gave your opinion. He agreed with almost everything because he knew how good you were at decorating, not to mention the fact that he knew that you and Josie had talked about marriage for hours when you were still Jake's girlfriend. He remembers nights when he would play with Heeseung while the two of you watched dress fittings, giving your opinions on which one you would like to wear on the big day.

While his sister opted for more flashy things, with some stones and sparkles in the veil, you always chose the simple, strapless dress that accentuated the curves of your body and without too much lace because you didn't want something so big. This simplicity made Jake's eyes sparkle because he could clearly see you in a simple dress. Although all the beauty would turn to your face, no matter what you were wearing.

“Flowers, Jake. Focus on the flowers” he said to himself as he pushed a trolley through the aisles of the store. Memorizing the ones Josie had told him about as an option and going to where they all were.

He had to concentrate on that or he would go mad because there was no way not to have nostalgic thoughts when you were around without fighting with him. These moments were rare, but when they happened, Jake knew he wasn't the only one who thought like that.

Looking at the labels naming each flower, he wondered if it was really necessary. Whether Josie would be angry if he chose any of them instead of the three on that piece of paper because they were just flowers. A color that wasn't too flashy – the only thing Jake could think of was that his sister wanted everything in rosé and champagne tones – and the flowers could be light pink or white. If he got one of those colors, but it wasn't the one she wanted, would his sister be happy? He didn't want to risk that much, so he sighed heavily in search of a dahlia or any of the other two that were named.

Luckily, the white dahlias weren't that far away, and Jake managed to get just the right amount to show Josie and see if that was what she was going to take. Apart from taking a small bouquet, he would probably have to go back with Heeseung and pick up countless flowers just to put on the tables of so many guests he didn't even know his sister had invited.

Rolling his eyes at some of them, Jake gathered a good amount into a clumsy bouquet but organized enough to take to the cashier and pay. His eyes rolled over a few flowers until they stopped: the orchids. He didn't want his heart to race so much that he had to bite his lower lip to suppress a smile. Jake could go on for years without talking to you, but it would never leave his mind.

“You're an idiot, Jake Sim” he hated having the habit of talking to himself while he was in such an internal dilemma but taking just one orchid and hiding it under the bouquet of dahlias was necessary at that moment. He didn't know why he'd done it, but he knew he had to.

“Have you got the flowers yet?” your voice sounded a little louder than usual, at the exact moment when Jake put the flowers into the trolley and looked down the corridor in his direction. He just nodded, watching you approach with some things he couldn't even tell you what they were. Maybe not even you. But they were all named according to what the bride and groom wanted, so all was well and good.

“Do we need anything else?” Jake asked after you'd put everything in the trolley, not even bothering to check that the amount of flowers he'd picked up was correct. This made him sigh with relief, so he wouldn't have to explain why he'd picked up an orchid out of the blue.

“I think we got everything in this store” you said at last, turning away from Jake to look in your notebook and make sure you knew what you were talking about.

He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, run to Heeseung, and tell him what was going on. Or even ask his best friend to take his place on the next outing for the wedding stuff. Because if it went on like this, Jake didn't know if he could take it any longer.

The look on Josie's face could only indicate two things: either she was very nervous, or she had done something wrong. And considering that all the women were gathered in the living room of Mrs. Sim's house for the pre-wedding lingerie tea, maybe your friend was just nervous.

Looking at her for a while, you saw her say something to Susan and, when they both agreed on something before telling you, you could certainly suspect the second thought. This made your heart race because, if something had gone wrong, it was your job as godmother to fix it.

“What happened?” you quickly asked when the two of them approached, Susan looking around before glancing at you and then at Josie.

“Josie needs to tell you something” she said, and then you saw your sister-in-law and best friend open her mouth to say something, but the sound of the doorbell interrupted her.

Some women were arriving, Josie's friends from work, other family friends that Mrs. Sim and her mother had made a point of inviting. Everything would be very welcome if it meant getting things from people before her wedding, after all, Josie wouldn't deny any gifts. She also called some friends from college, and for some reason, your mind clicked so far ahead that you only realized what was happening when you saw her walk through the door.

Your stomach did such a somersault that you almost threw up the lunch you'd eaten with Susan before getting things ready for Josie at her mother's house. You thought the last time you'd see Stacy Joseph, the owner of the pink bow bra, would be in that hallway where you threw it at her and nearly broke her nose when you went to make amends. The last contact between the two of you was with Susan standing between you and her after you punched her in the nose, watching her bleed while you told her to swallow that stupid fabric. After that, you never saw her around the college campus, near anyone you knew or, worse, near Jake.

“Y/n, I—”

“Girls!” even her voice made you nauseous, and you wanted to ask yourself over and over again why Jake had chosen Stacy Joseph to be the pivot of the break-up and the reason for the betrayal between the two of you.

You remained silent the whole time she entered the house, left the gift package in the middle of the living room, and walked in the direction the three of you were heading. As a little dejavú, Susan stood next to you, almost between the two of you when Stacy got close enough to greet Josie.

“I'm so happy you're getting married, that's so cool” she hugged Josie so tightly, that you wanted to rip her out of her best friend's arms.

“Thank you for coming” she just replied, letting go of the hug and looking straight at you.

Stacy didn't say your name or Susan's, but the cordiality meant that she just nodded at you both in mute greeting.

“Y/n” Josie called your name, but your head was spinning and you looked like you were going to throw up. Her voice lingered in the back of your mind as you broke away from your friends and ran to Mrs. Sim's kitchen.

This couldn't be happening, not to you. For almost a year you had managed to forget what her face looked like, her voice, and even her presence, focusing your anger only on Jake because he was the only one you were around all the time. Now seeing her in front of you again, being invited to your sister-in-law's pre-wedding party… No, that was too much for you.

“Look Y/n, listen to me” Josie entered the kitchen, followed by Susan who looked at the two of you and then towards the entrance to the room, fearing that Stacy might follow them and, who knows, start an unnecessary argument “I heard she was coming a few hours ago, and it was because of your brother!”

“What do you mean?” you didn't want to look at her now, you didn't want to show how much this affected you. So your gaze went to the counter where your mother had placed drinks to be served when all the women had arrived. You didn't mind opening a bottle with the highest proof, grabbing a glass, and filling it halfway before downing it. “Shit.”

“Y/n” Josie was on the other side of the counter, right in front of you. Susan was next to her, looking at you too. “I didn't know she was Haechan's girlfriend because he never told us, and since Heeseung invited him because he was on the soccer team… He asked if he could invite his girlfriend and—” she took a deep breath, feeling her eyes burn at how shaken you had been. When you filled the glass for the second time, Josie quickly took it and drank, just like you had done a few seconds before, feeling the burning sensation go down your throat. “Haechan didn't say her name or anything, otherwise I would have made an excuse.”

“No” you quickly said. “It's okay, it's just—”

“Besides, Jake didn't even cheat on you, but you don't want to hear that right now” Susan took the glass from Josie's hand, looking in your direction with a raised eyebrow. You felt your whole body ache just thinking about starting that debate again, how tired and upset you were to see your best friends siding with a traitor like Jake. No one had seen what you saw in his locker, so why not believe you?

“We found you three” Mrs. Sim entered the kitchen with an unusual excitement. She smiled at the three of you and didn’t notice the strange atmosphere that was there before she arrived “Have you gone to taste our drinks yet?” she laughed when she saw the glass in Josie’s hand and the open bottle in front of you. Your mother came in right after with one of her arms linked through Jake’s. And that’s when your legs went completely weak.

“What are you doing here, honey? It’s a women-only party” Mrs. Sim said as soon as she saw her son enter the kitchen with your mother. She seemed to be babbling about something he hadn’t even heard yet.

“I came to get my wallet and car keys” Jake said, but his gaze was on you the whole time. You felt that he was, even though you had looked away so as not to look at him at that moment.

“Then you can leave, there will only be women’s talk here” your mother let go of his arm for a second, “Things about panties, drinks, bras, and stuff.”

She and your mother laughed, you saw Josie’s smile slowly appear, as she searched for your gaze.

“About bras? Then Jake can stay” you murmured, “He loves that.”

Oh, no. It had been too long since the two of you had had an argument since the wedding preparations began. You looked up at him, seeing that Jake seemed unreadable with that expression. He had definitely seen Stacy in the living room because your mother was there welcoming people, so he must have seen her. Or worse, he must have heard Haechan talking about her when he arrived for the boys' party that was happening simultaneously at your house at that moment.

“I love bras? Is that what you're saying?” Jake scoffed, the sound making your whole body shiver. Josie and Susan looked at the situation nervously, trying to predict the next moves to try to intervene since your mothers were there. It would be the first argument in front of them.

“Of course” you smiled falsely, “With pink bows and everything.”

The sound around happened naturally, people talking loudly and walking from one side to the other. In the other room, it was easy to hear the laughter of the women who were eager to start the party. Your mother and Jake's mother picked up some bottles, paying attention to the two of you who were standing there staring at each other. While Josie, surreptitiously, walked to her brother's side to try to get him out of there.

“I hate bras” Jake made a small face when his sister approached “You must know that Y/n, because I took yours off every day.”

“Holy shit” Susan almost choked on her own saliva as she held back a laugh, even though the mood wasn't conducive to it. But your face was priceless because no one expected that answer from Jake. Not even you.

“What?” your mother looked at you two, astonished, although she didn’t need to explain to anyone what happened in a relationship. Even more so for as long as it had lasted with you and Jake. You two were adults, above all, and no one would interfere in that.

“Sorry” Jake quickly said, feeling Josie’s hand on his shoulders, gently pushing him out of the kitchen. “Have a good party, girls. See you later!” he felt his cheeks burning, even though he had given you a good answer, it was still in the presence of your mother and his mother, so Jake acted on total impulse.

Of course, he was nervous and scared when he saw Stacy in the living room of his mother’s house. He knew Haechan was dating someone, but no one knew who she was until she showed up. Jake knew he had a lot to tell Heeseung as soon as he got to his house for the boys’ party, but that didn’t stop his mind from wandering to the moment the two of you had in the kitchen. If Jake thought that this marriage would be peaceful, even with the problems, now he had just felt that it wasn't.

Three days until the wedding, where Josie and Heeseung would exchange vows, celebrate, and finally become part of the same family. She was so happy to know that her wishes were coming true, especially with someone like Heeseung. Who had always taken care of her since the first moment they were together. So planning and executing every little thing of that party didn't become a tiring job because, in the end, it made up for the joy of both of them.

And that was why you tried to ignore the discomfort in your chest every time you were around Jake – more than usual – after the meeting between the two of you at his parents' house. A whole week passed after that and you tried not to be around him alone for so long, even though you had to hurry to try on the dresses that your sister-in-law had set aside for the bridesmaid.

Going to the wedding dress store had to be a task done by you and Jake, together. But after that, you wanted to avoid him as much as he was trying to avoid you too. So you left your apartment without waiting for his ride, which was happening in the last few moments of every place you two went together. You went into the store and gave the bride's name, saying that there were some spares for you to try on in the color Josie had designated for you. The saleswoman, smiling and attentive, took you to the changing room so you could try it on and see how it would look on your body.

Being covered in a chic, pink, almost silk dress made you feel beautiful and desired. You knew Josie had that kind of taste. It was easy to trust her taste in clothes, but it wouldn't be an effort to try them on just to make her happy. Maybe you would keep the first one you put on anyway, but since there were five more on the hangers, you would need to put each one on. That way you could tell her why you had chosen one over the other.

“This way, Mr. Jake” the voice of the same saleswoman called down the hallway and you quickly straightened up, adjusting the second dress on your body when you heard footsteps walking in front of your door.

You ran to it and unlocked it, on impulse, just as the saleswoman was opening the door to the dressing room across from yours.

"Y/n? Are you here yet?" Jake was startled when he looked at you, but his eyes softened enough for him to make eye contact for a few seconds. You just nodded, looking away at the saleswoman.

“So you two are Josie and Heeseung’s godparents?” she asked.

“Yes” you and Jake said at the same time, her smile widening.

“Perfect” you said slowly. “Mr. Jake, your suits are in there as requested, and Ms. Y/n, did the dresses look good?”

“I’m still trying on the second one” you opened the door a little wider to show her. It wasn’t the silk of the first dress, but the lace and rhinestone trim gave a perfect glimpse of the curves of your hips. The saleswoman had a fond smile on her face, complimenting how beautiful you looked.

“It really does look beautiful” Jake blurted out, taking you and the saleswoman out of the small conversation you had both been having. Only then did he notice that the three of you were still standing in the hallway and that you were still wearing one of the dresses.

Your voice didn’t come out as a thank you, but you walked back into the dressing room and closed the door behind you before saying anything to him. Leaning your back against the cold wood and trying to normalize your heartbeat. Why did he have to say that as if nothing was happening?

In the time that followed, you tried to focus your attention on the other dresses and how the colors Josie had chosen were flattering to your skin tone and the color of your eyes. You felt more and more beautiful in each piece that slid over your body, the reflection in the mirror pleasing you more and more, making it practically impossible to choose a single piece that you could definitely choose. Going to the last dress, then, you decided to take off the one you were wearing and slide the fabric over your body.

Another silk, this time a little thinner, but not enough to be transparent. This one could have been designed for you because Josie knew you didn't want anything so flashy. You smiled to yourself after putting on the dress, turning your back to do up the zipper that was the only lock on the piece.

“Shit,” you grumbled when you saw it get stuck right at the beginning. “No, no, no…” despair began to take over your body. You couldn’t take off that dress or pull up the zipper and risk ripping something so expensive. Your mind raced to call the saleswoman quickly. She would be the only one who could help you with that zipper and would even be a good company to give advice to others who had doubts.

So yes, that’s what you would do. Holding the front of the dress with the straps hanging loosely on your shoulders, you walked to the door and unlocked it. Only sticking your head out and looking for the saleswoman. Not a soul passed by that hallway and you started to get a little scared because the only sound was footsteps coming from downstairs, where people were walking back and forth through the store.

The only sound that took you away from your thoughts of taking off your dress and giving up on trying it on was the click of the lock on the door in front of you. Jake had messy hair, adjusting his fly and the first four buttons of his white shirt open.

“Y/n?” he called you, finishing closing the zipper and running a hand through his hair to try to fix it a little. “I heard your door opening and I thought you were leaving, but— Are you okay?” he looked at you as soon as he stopped talking.

You stayed quiet for a few seconds, admiring how handsome he looked even in that sloppy and unkempt way. You imagined how clumsy Jake was with formal and elegant clothes, especially since you were the one helping him with the tie knots since you had to learn because of Heeseung and your father.

“I think…” you sighed, not wanting to say it out loud. He almost scolded himself for knowing you so well and knowing that something was wrong, so he walked the few steps from his door to yours, stopping in front of you “I think my dress zipper got stuck.”

“Do you need help?” he asked. You nodded slowly and, without saying anything else, let him enter your dressing room and closed the door right after.

Jake could see how organized you were even with a larger amount of dresses than he had to try on pants and shirts. Everything was perfectly folded, some even already hanging on the hangers while the pants he tried on were on the floor and only the blazers were on the hanger because he couldn’t find a single one that he thought looked nice on him.

“Okay, what do I need to do?” he turned towards you, noticing the way you were holding the front of your dress for dear life.

“Can you try to pull up the zipper? Otherwise, we can call the saleswoman” you turned your back to him and Jake had to hold his breath a little. The amount of skin was too much for him to see, even though it wasn't an unfamiliar sight for him. But after so long having this kind of contact was something Jake wasn't expecting.

“Okay, okay,” he said more to himself, walking towards you when you threw all your hair to the side, leaving your back completely bare to him.

Jake’s fingers trembled uselessly when the tip of his index finger and thumb touched the zipper. Nothing more than that, because he didn’t want to cross any boundaries.

“It’s not going to happen,” he said after forcing it a little, the zipper not moving.

“Try again, please” you asked. “This dress is perfect and I think your sister chose it because maybe it suits me better than the others.”

He didn’t want to admit that yes, that dress was perfect on you. Even if you weren’t dressed properly and you still had to close the zipper to see the final result, Jake didn’t need that to compliment you or find you beautiful in any outfit. Taking another step forward, Jake thought he could dare and listen to his instincts, or he simply wouldn’t have a chance of doing that anymore. So he muted any other voice in his head and listened only to what his heart was telling him to do. With his free hand, Jake grabbed your waist under the thin fabric of your dress. He had touched your skin before under some silk that you had worn during the years of your relationship, but nothing compared to the dress you were wearing now.

You tried to hold back any sound that might come out of your mouth as his hand slowly squeezed your hip, while the other tried to pull up the zipper of your dress. Jake seemed focused on that action that bent over enough for his breath to hit the back of your neck. His eyes traveled up the length of your back and saw your skin crawl with that simple gesture.

So he still had some effect on you.

It was too much information for him to process. Jake affects your body, the closeness of the two of you, and the even heavier atmosphere between you after Stacy's arrival. It was too much for him to process. Jake could never do anything rational under pressure, so he knew it would have a drastic consequence, he wouldn't stop trying.

Turning your body and pressing it against his chest, you didn't have a chance to swear at him. There was not even time to speak a single syllable when Jake's lips quickly sought yours. It was like an act of returning home, where he already knew the way and only needed those few seconds to have his lips on yours.

If Jake was being irrational about the whole thing, you weren't going to be the only thinking person or get in the way of what was happening. Part of you wanted it, although the other part of you disagreed with having the tip of Jake's tongue poking at your lower lip. With a low moan, you gave way and that was all he needed. To tangle his tongue in yours, to taste you in his mouth again while his hands ran down your hips and gripped your body as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it did because to go a whole time like that without feeling his lips, without sliding your teeth across his bottom lip or having your hands wrapped in his hair. Your body pressed against his while you moaned low against his mouth every time the kiss intensified. Jake missed that as much as you did. And seeing how intensely you were giving yourself to him was more than an answer to what he needed.

Walking towards the nearest table, careful not to ruin his clothes on the way, Jake leaned you against the wood without interrupting the kiss in the process. He didn't want to pull his mouth away from yours and even though you both needed air, he wanted to be able to breathe the air from your mouth if at all possible. His hands, still on your waist, slid all over your back, still uncovered by the fabric that wouldn't close at all. Thanks for the stuck zipper, he thought, running his hand up your spine until he tangled the fabric of the dress between his fingers.

Jake's mouth parted from yours just then, his forehead still pressed against yours and his eyes slowly opening to search for yours. A silent request as to whether he could go on with it or whether you were sorry and wanted him to leave the room.

Your hands found his and as if to help him, you pulled the loose fabric down your body, revealing your chest as all the silk bunched around your hips. His eyes shone brightly. Jake could tell it had all been worth it just from that sight. Your hands found his hair and he slid his lips down your neck as you spread your legs, beckoning him to snuggle in.

Jake ran his hands up the sides of your body, his thumbs finding your erect nipples and putting a fair amount of pressure there, just as his lips found your earlobe.

“Jake” you moaned his name, and that sound he missed so much. How slyly you used to moan his name.

“Yeah, baby?” he whispered against your skin, his hands gripping your breast a little more firmly before he released his lips from your neck and moved down to your collarbone.

Your voice gradually died away as Jake's mouth descended your skin in slow, wet kisses, his tongue tracing a teasing path down the middle of your breast. His breathing made a point of getting heavy with every line of saliva he left against your skin, the heat building there and intensifying between your legs.

“Fuck” you moaned as his tongue flicked across your nipple, the tip circling a few times before he took it all in his mouth. Sucking and making it even more sensitive with every warm touch of his tongue and the light scrape of his teeth on it. Jake's attention took turns on each of your breasts, leaving enough of a mark for you to remember him when you got dressed for the wedding a few days later. Or when you came home to take a shower, looking at your chest and the amount of hickeys he was leaving.

You arched your back and, with some difficulty, pulled the rest of your dress down to your feet to get rid of the fabric that was now bothering you so much. The amount of clothing was unbearable for you as Jake settled further between your legs, still sucking on your nipples.

“Jake, please” you practically begged him as he looked more and more hungry with his mouth on your nipple. Circling his tongue and letting go with a low, teasing pop, raising his face to meet yours.

“Do you want it as much as I do?” he asked, his voice hoarse and low, his lips red and shiny from the amount of saliva that had been smeared across your breast.

“I want it, very much” if he kept teasing you, you'd be pathetic enough to cry out for him and ask him to fuck you right there.

Fortunately Jake understood you so well and you knew he couldn't stand teasing you for so long, even more so with the hunger and thirst he'd been teasing and kissing you with minutes ago. He didn't want to waste any time, lifting his shirt over his head without bothering to remove the buttons, the zipper of his pants came down in seconds and he quickly removed the fabric along with his underwear. Jake didn't want to wait any longer.

He went back between your legs, sliding his hands up and down your thighs. Caressing the soft skin he had felt for so long. Nostalgia washed over him with every touch, going down to your hips to grab the fabric of your panties, throwing them on the floor as quickly as he did his clothes.

“Y/n, we—” you kissed his lips, not letting him finish saying anything. You knew Jake would explain himself, say something to try and comfort you from what you'd felt for so long. But the heat of the moment demanded that he just be inside you. And that's what you did. Holding his cock and pumping slowly, you heard Jake moan against your lips, his brow furrowed as you rubbed the head of his cock against your pussy lips to gather the perfect amount of your juices.

Jake arched his hips against your hand, feeling his cock get wet with the union of your arousal and his pre-cum, without having to worry about preparing you or anything. It was also because of the rush you were both in to feel each other, but he wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you, and the way you were calmly taking it all in was driving Jake crazy.

“I don't want to hurt you” he whispered when you stopped teasing him and stopped rubbing the head of his cock all over your pussy. Jake's cock was already wet enough and you were already more than lubricated, he wasn't going to hurt you.

“You won't hurt me, I promise” you whispered with your lips close to his, without kissing him, waiting for Jake to take the next step between the two of you.

As if it were a communication just by looking, as soon as Jake leaned his forehead against yours, he understood that it had to be done. So you thrust your hips slowly, feeling your entrance suck the head of his cock. Just the tip penetrating you was enough to make you moan, pressing your lips against Jake's and bending your body over the table. He wrapped his arms around you, gripping your body between his arms, afraid that you would run away at that moment. Afraid that everything you were both experiencing would be thrown away and that maybe it was Jake's dream, where he dozed off in the fitting room opposite yours, idealizing what was happening.

But no, it was all real. He was slowly penetrating you, gripping your body between his arms and feeling your arms around his neck, as if you needed to steady yourself just by hugging him.

Reaching the bottom, with his cock completely inside you, Jake didn't let go of your embrace. He moved his hips slowly, withdrawing his cock and leaving just the tip inside you, only to return slowly and intensely until his cock was inside your pussy. The movement of your hips became constant, and the sound of the moans that the two of you shared in whispers gave the moment even more intensity. Jake was careful not to go too fast and hard because the way you squeezed his cock showed how sensitive your pussy was to receiving him back.

“You don't know…” Jake sucked a moan from your mouth, pressing his forehead to yours when a particularly intense movement hit you, making the head of his cock touch your spongy spot and your walls tighten around it. Jake could have sworn he was going to come right then and there, but he had to stop himself, he didn't want to finish yet “You don't know how much I've missed this… How much I've missed you.”

Your fingernails scratched Jake's shoulder blades, making the thrust forceful as his skin burned a little. You bit his lower lip, stopping yourself from moaning loudly so that the whole store could hear the two of you. Your legs wrapped even tighter around Jake's moving hips, giving him no room to pull away for even a second.

“I've missed you, Jake” your hips were now moving along with his, but slowly, while Jake was intensifying his thrusts, wanting you to feel every moment of his cock moving in and out of you. Withdrawing his cock slowly and putting it back in just as slowly, going hard only at the end so that the head of his cock touched your cervix or you felt every rise in your walls with his size “I've missed you so much.”

Jake could cum with the intensity of your gaze, your fucked-up expression, and how you moaned his name as you said those things. He knew that anything you did while he had his cock buried in you was a reason for him to come, and he didn't want to hold back any longer.

With a silent request, Jake kissed your lips and moved his hands down between your bodies in the small space you left between the two of you. His fingers soon found your clitoris and he circled it at the same speed as his cock moved in and out of you.

You could see stars with the double sensation, your body writhing between Jake's arms as his thrusts began to pick up speed. He was close to cumming and you weren't much different, you knew him well enough for that. You both knew each other's bodies that well.

“I need you to cum with me, please” Jake asked against your lips, his cock driving in a little harder, along with his fingers circling your clit a little faster.

Without the strength to say anything, you just agreed and continued to move your hips so that you were in sync with Jake and what he was doing. Your hands grabbed his hair, keeping Jake's mouth close enough to yours and catching his tongue between your lips. Sucking on his tongue with the same intensity as your pussy swallowed his cock was divine, Jake was losing count of how many times he came with this sensation. Being swallowed by your pussy and your mouth sucking his tongue just like you used to suck his cock.

He could hear you moaning his name in a muffled way, your lips around the tip of his tongue and your pussy swallowing more and more of him. A precise circle on your clit along with his cock moving in and out was enough to make the knot in your stomach burst. Your pussy convulsed, and your walls fluttered around his entire length, cumming all over Jake's cock. The heat of your pussy, the oozing of your cum, and the way you moaned his name over and over were too much for him to bear, and not a second later Jake's jets of hot, thick cum spurted into your pussy.

His thrusts became more and more erratic and sloppy as he still came inside your completely fucked pussy, pushing his cum that threatened to fall out of your hole by the amount he had cum in so long. You were still sensitive and the overstimulation wasn't bad, although you felt like crying at the way Jake still kept his cock in you, moving in and out until your pussy milked the last drop out of him.

Jake rested his hands on either side of your body, next to your hips on the table. With his cock still inside you and his body still between your legs. He opened his eyes slowly to find your face calm and serene, your expression a little more relaxed than before.

“Jake…” you whispered, not wanting him to pull away from you.

“Yes?” he said in the same tone, one of his hands coming up to push your hair out of your face. He shifted his gaze down your body, the sheen of the light layer of sweat forming against your skin, your hips still joined without the strength to separate. The skin of his chest covered by the marks of his mouth made him smile with satisfaction at his work.

“Can we stay like this for a few minutes?” your request made his heart race, even though it had been racing since the first second you two kissed in that fitting room.

“As long as you want” he moved a little closer, giving you a small kiss on the forehead before placing his forehead against yours. Not wanting to leave your side even after the post-orgasm sensation had passed.

The rest of the days passed like a blur, and not because you or Jake were avoiding each other after what happened. But because time got too short it seemed like more things were happening until the big day. You and he didn't seem to mind each other's presence while you had to sort things out, the tiredness of the final preparations giving way to each other's bodies while all you could think about was getting it over with.

You could breathe a sigh of relief after walking in with Jake at Josie and Heeseung's wedding, listening to the whole ceremony in silence and admiration. Smiling at the vows of the two newlyweds and holding back the tears that threatened to fall. Finally, it was over and you could proudly say that you had been a great godmother. That your brother and sister-in-law had been right to appoint you and Jake to that role.

Now, enjoying the post-wedding party was the only thing on your mind. The glass was freshly filled with booze for the fourth time, the empty hand resting on Susan's shoulder as she hugged Josie's waist, humming the song that was playing throughout the huge hall. This is what you three thought it would be like. Drunk, happy, and laughing as you remember how you met. The time you shared and how much your friendship meant to each other.

“Even though Y/n is my sister-in-law now” Josie swallowed a drunken sob, smiling as she pulled you into a hug with Susan “you two will always be my heart sisters.”

“Is that supposed to make us sentimental?” Susan asked.

“Is it working?” Josie retorted.

It might work because you all already had a fair amount of alcohol in your system, considering how long you'd been here after the ceremony. You still spent time with Heeseung, congratulating your brother and warning him to take good care of Josie. Although he was your brother, your brotherhood with her was strong enough for you to take her away from their house, which hadn't even been furnished yet. With Susan's help, the two of you would take Josie away without a second thought in case Heeseung did something to her. Even though you knew it would never happen.

After a few minutes of exchanging warm, sentimental words, laughing until your belly ached, and refilling your glasses, the three of you broke away from the hugs to go around the party in search of something different for the next few minutes before meeting up again. Josie would go after Heeseung or your mother because she wanted to talk to her new daughter-in-law. Susan would go after Sunghoon, for sure. She missed her boyfriend, who would probably be hanging around the party clutching Heeseung's tie and collecting funny nicknames for the newlywed. Your mind immediately wandered to Jake, thinking that you could go after him and just talk about what happened, maybe. But your feet were killing you enough that you didn't even consider the idea of going out, so you walked over to the nearest table to sit down.

“Can I join you?” your gaze lifted to the person in front of you, smiling when you noticed Haechan's presence.

“Sure, join me” he smiled back at you, taking off his blazer and putting it on the back of his chair before sitting down. You could tell by the lazy sound that came from his lips how exhausted he looked.

“Getting around with your brother and Sunghoon wasn't an easy task” he grumbled, his fingers lightly massaging his left temple as he looked around. Looking for one of his friends or even his girlfriend.

“Are they giving you much trouble?” you asked.

“Enough that Sunghoon and Jake made him almost undress three times” Haechan said, making you laugh.

“Hey, I didn't do anything like that!” the defense in Jake's voice took you by surprise, and both you and Haechan looked in the direction of the slowly approaching voice. At the beginning of the party, Jake looked impeccable. His hair, which he had let grow – because Josie had asked him to, wanting his brother to have an impeccable hairstyle for her wedding – had been slicked back with a little gel, and was now disheveled and messy. The first two buttons of his shirt were open and Jake's tie was completely loosened, but still around his neck. The typical scene of how relaxed he was, but not to the point of getting drunk like you were starting to.

“You'll have to fight with your sister if her husband gets naked in front of everyone” Haechan defended, having his train of thought interrupted by him making Jake laugh. The sound of laughter calmed every cell in your body.

You noticed that he was a little more relaxed, smiling at some of the things Haechan said to him while you switched off a little. Your focus was now on the heel you were trying to take off and how much your feet might scream if they could talk. Without much delay, you unbuckled your heels and took them off, leaving them in a corner under your chair.

“But seriously, this wedding is just the way you two wanted it, isn't it?” your attention returned to the two boys talking right in front of you. Jake slyly pulled out a chair to sit next to you and his gaze ran down to where you were futilely trying to massage your feet.

“In every detail” he smiled at Haechan “Heeseung tries to deny that it was all my sister's doing, but we know he wanted it that way too” seeing how much Jake knew your brother was very gratifying, to know that someone understood him as much as you did.

At some point in the conversation, you found yourself looking between the two of them as they talked about how nice it was to be friends with Heeseung. At the time in college when Haechan wanted to join the soccer team and almost didn't get accepted because he had missed the time to introduce himself to the boys. Jake had his full attention on him, listening to every word while his hands thought differently, running down your calf until they caught your ankle. Without saying a word to you and without looking in your direction, he picked up your foot and placed it on his lap. The fingers lightly squeezing the sole of your foot almost made you moan at how good it felt, how much you needed that silent massage from Jake.

“One relationship I also admire is the two of you” Haechan pointed at you and Jake. Your eyes quickly met his for a split second, Jake's fingers stopped just as Haechan smiled, and then he went back to massaging your feet.

“Why?” Jake asked for you, knowing that his concentration was on the pain that was leaving, and how his body was slightly tense from the question.

“Because even after you broke up, you two carried on as friends” Haechan sounded dreamy as he said that little bit of admiration, even if it wasn't true. That the image you and Jake passed on to your friends was false, because you and he weren't friends, you never were. The war footing you two were on was hell on earth and neither of you knew how you were surviving until the present moment “I don't know if I'd be able to be friends with Stacy if the two of us broke up.”

There was a brief pause when Haechan spotted one of his friends with two glasses in his hand. He asked for one, even though the guy wasn't a waiter, but he smiled and handed it to him, asking if you and Jake wanted one too. Denying it and thanking you both, Jake smiled at him and let Haechan take a good sip of his drink.

“How long have you and Stacy been together?” Jake asked, not knowing the origin or the reason for all this. Maybe it was to get away from the attention his friend had given to your relationship, but he just wanted to deflect it and do everything he could to keep you away from him.

“Since college” he replied, taking another sip of his drink “our relationship is a little crazy.”

Jake knew you were looking at him at that moment, he could feel the weight of your gaze almost smoking on the back of his neck while his gaze was on Haechan.

“Tell me about it, I never knew” Jake prodded.

You didn't know why he was doing it. Whether it was to torture you for talking about Stacy so freely in front of him or whether he wanted to talk to Haechan, who barely knew that you had almost broken his girlfriend's nose in college.

“Well, we started going out after a fraternity party, it wasn't anything serious at first” he shrugged, the unfinished drink in his glass now playing between his fingers and a small smile on his lips.

Haechan talked about his and Stacy's relationship carefully, as if the image she had made of herself to him was a version you had never met. But then your ears perked up a little more when he got to a particular moment in the story.

“Dude, I… Y/n, do you mind if I say that?” Haechan looked at you, noticing that the story was taking a turn that only boys could be interested in.

“Not at all” you tried to smile at him, almost grimacing at the way it had come out “I'm just focusing on my massage” you pointed downwards where Jake's hands were still occasionally squeezing your feet. He laughed and continued, looking at Jake this time.

“I went crazy when we started dating because Oliver talked about Stacy's fame and for the first few weeks I wanted to prove whether it was true or not.”

Stacy's fame in college was her cute lingerie, the famous – and hated by you – pink bow bra. It wasn't necessarily fame because she made a point of showing part of her bra with a tank top during training and it had even been proven by those who slept with her. It wouldn't be a fame if they already had proof.

“When I saw it, I made a point of… spicing up our relationship at the beginning, to prove that she wanted it and that it wasn't the same with everyone.”

“And how did you get her to prove it?” Jake asked Haechan.

“Oh, you know” he leaned back in his chair, stretching as much as he could and almost yawning, but he wasn't sleepy enough for that “I asked her to leave a bra in my closet on the day of the game.”

Jake was the first to make eye contact with you as if he'd expected that answer or any reaction to it. Your eyes sought his and, a few seconds later, you looked at Haechan.

“What day was that?” you asked “I mean… what game?”

“The last friendly we had against the University of the South” he looked nostalgic as he recalled one of the last games he'd played in a university shirt “I told her to leave it in my locker and then we'd celebrate under the shower, you know.”

You didn't know what it was like because you were disgusted to do anything in the university's men's locker room, but that didn't stop you from finding Jake and going home with him to celebrate. That's how you ended up in the locker room on that fateful day.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Haechan asked after a while. He was still talking to Jake about something you didn't even know you wanted to hear right now, your mind was racing. If Stacy had done that in Jake's locker, what story had she told Haechan to make him think he was the only one who had received a pink bow bra in his locker?

“Excuse me” you asked, taking your feet off Jake's lap so quickly that he didn't even have time to hold you or ask where you were going.

A lot of questions were running through your mind at that moment, for example, how Stacy was managing to cope with a lie that she maintained even after the encounter you two had? Even after you hit her and cursed at her even though she was dating Haechan after everything. While you maintained that Jake was the liar in all this, the big liar was there all along.

You didn't know what you were doing, but the next thing you knew, your feet were leading you in the direction where Stacy was. Near the bar and away from the many people at the party, she was chatting with Susan and Sunghoon as if she had been friends with them for years. Although you knew that your friend and her boyfriend were very polite, you didn't like the closeness she was trying to force.

“Hey, Y/n” Sunghoon was the first to see you coming, his smile showing the fangs that you heard Susan sigh almost all the time. He waved at you without a response, only to see you advance towards Stacy as soon as you got close enough.

“You slut!” your hands grabbed the fabric of her dress, almost tearing it with how hard you were squeezing.

“Let me go, you're hurting me” she whimpered, feeling your nails dig a little deeper into her skin as you gripped her dress even tighter.

“So you've been lying all this time, have you?” you pushed her away when you felt Susan's hands pulling at you, wanting to push you away from Stacy, but unable to put that much force into your actions. She was drunk enough not to be able to separate you as she normally did. Then she looked in Sunghoon's direction, searching for some kind of help.

“Lied about what?” she asked.

“Don’t play dumb!” you yelled, but your voice couldn’t be heard the way you wanted to by the people around you, only Stacy and Susan were able to hear how loud you were talking because of how close you were. “That day at the game, Jake’s locker. Tell the truth, you slut—”

Sometimes you had the slight impression that your brother arrived at the worst times, like in a suspenseful scene from your favorite series, or when you and your mother wanted to listen to the neighbors’ fights and Heeseung slammed the door right when one of them told you something very important. And like now, when you were about to live the nostalgic moment of punching Stacy right in the nose, but your brother’s hands were quick enough to grab you and pull you away from her.

“What’s going on?” he asked, standing between the two of you and facing you “Hey, sis, look at me.”

“Let me go or I’ll finish her off.”

“You’re not going anywhere” Heeseung said. His eyes searched for something behind you and when he found it, you didn’t even need to turn around to know that Sunghoon had gone after Jake and Josie.

“What’s going on here? Are you okay?” Josie asked as she looked at Heeseung and you, but when her eyes landed on Stacy, some of her sobriety returned. She knew that this could happen at the party and was already preparing for some argument between the two of you, she just didn’t know it would be practically halfway through the night.

“I… I was at the bar talking to Susan and Sunghoon when Y/n arrived and—”

“Oh, for God's sake, stop your shitty little act” you snapped, almost advancing on her if it weren’t for Heeseung’s strength still holding you in place. Your brother didn’t move an inch until Jake took his place, standing in front of you and holding you. On another occasion, you would be cursing him and not wanting Jake to touch you, but seeing him there at that moment seemed to make all the difference.

“Stacy, love, what’s going on here?” when she heard Haechan’s voice, Stacy seemed to freeze in place. She looked at him with wide eyes and rapid breathing, perhaps even more than before when the two of you almost argued.

She found herself between a rock and a hard place now, maintaining that lie was no longer hers and she knew that sooner or later it should have been said. Stacy just didn’t know why it had taken so long.

“I… I think I did something wrong and…” you couldn’t swallow her fake crying and the sobs that threatened to come out of the girl’s lips who, with the help of her boyfriend, took a step forward to tell the whole story to your friends.

Hearing all of that from the point of view of the one who had caused you the most pain only made your blood boil even more. You – and the entire campus – knew how much Stacy always bragged about getting with every guy she wanted, with only Heeseung and Sunghoon being the only ones under the radar, she wanted to be content with that. But when she found out that Jake, besides being on the soccer team, was coveted for dating the team captain's sister… Oh, she wanted him. It was impossible to get him, but she would do anything to try anything and get with Jake at least one thing. It was then that she had the brilliant idea of ​​replicating Haechan's wish.

The friendly match against the southern university was packed, with everyone on campus stopping to watch the match and cheer for the team. You and your friends weren't much different, wanting to see the boys and supporting them at all costs. Unfortunately, Stacy heard how lovingly you told Jake that you would wait for him after the game in the locker room to get his things and go home.

“Can you get my shirt from my locker? I left it open, you can wear it, it's for good luck in my game today. Then I want to take you out of here” his locker would be open, and fitting like a glove, Haechan's idea could serve Jake at that moment. Stacy would put her bra in his locker, let you think whatever you wanted and then she would go on with her life as if nothing had happened. She did that and took off the bra she was wearing to put in Haechan's locker, so she wouldn't waste time because she didn't know if you would throw the fabric away or if you would confront her. She found herself in the unfortunate decision of having the latter option two days later.

“You already got revenge on me for that day and I apologize to you.” Stacy felt her eyes burning, she was embarrassed for being caught and confronted at a wedding party she didn’t even know why she had gone to. She thought that not telling him she was Haechan’s girlfriend would be the best choice to see the faces of familiar people once again since no one had kept in touch with her besides her boyfriend.

“Did you get revenge on her? What did you do?” Jake looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, doubt in his expression, and his lips in a cute pout. If it weren’t for the current situation, you would have kissed him for sure.

“I didn’t do anything” you said softly, just so he could hear. But Stacy didn’t listen, so she kept talking.

“She hit me in the hallway of the north block a few days later” she sighed “Almost broke my nose.”

“What?” Sunghoon shouted in surprise “So our last fraternity party… The injury on your nose…”

“It wasn’t a cheerleader stunt” she continued.

A short silence fell between you all, only the music of the party and Stacy’s small sobs could be heard. You could notice how much Josie was trying to calm the situation and disperse the people so that everyone could enjoy the rest of the party.

Your gaze went up to Jake’s face and he was expressionless now. The astonishment that had taken over had given way to a neutral look, but it contained something that you couldn’t identify. Remorse? Fear? Anger?

“Jake…” you called him without knowing why you were doing that. He was still looking at you with the same expression, not even softening at the sound of your voice.

“Can we talk later?” he asked, his tone serious, but somehow trying to sound a little calm for your liking “I’ll take you home and then we can talk, okay?”

There was no way you could insist or say no, just accept it because you didn't even know why you wanted to talk to him at that moment. Everything had hit you like a blow, and just like you, Jake might need some time to cool down and talk to you at the end of the party.

Waving slowly, you watched him walk away as Haechan pulled Stacy away and the others walked through the party until it was just you and him left there. Or just you, as soon as Jake walked away and walked to the bar to get something to drink. So, you allowed yourself to release all the air you were holding, refusing to cry after reality hit your mind and heart.

You believed a lie for all that time. And there was no going back now.

Jake tried to loosen his grip on the steering wheel, but his firm grip on the leather showed how nervous he still was. Spending the rest of the party brooding over everything that had happened, in addition to seeing how shaken you were by it all, made him feel even worse. He thought he would be fine after you heard that he had never cheated on you, that you had believed a lie… But he didn't feel good. Jake seemed to feel even worse after seeing how bad you were.

That was why, when he guided you to the car to take you home after the party was over, he preferred to stay quiet and let you be quiet too. The whole drive was in complete silence, with the only sounds being the car engine and the city's movements in the early morning. Occasionally Jake would look in your direction to see if you had fallen asleep or if you were okay, checking on you or waiting for you to look at him too. The only time your eyes met his was when you pulled up to your apartment, Jake turning off the car engine as soon as he parked in the parking lot of your building.

He didn't have to ask if you wanted him to come with you, because you got out first and left the keys with him, as a silent request that he could go up with you. And Jake did just that. From the hallways of the building to the elevator, going to your floor in the most absolute silence. Maybe even more than when the two of you were inside the car.

He turned the keys when you both reached your door, letting you enter first and leading the way in the small darkness that formed inside your apartment. After locking the door, Jake took off his shoes and threw his blazer next to the hanger by the door to make himself a little more comfortable as he followed you to the kitchen still without saying a word.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Jake asked for the first time since the two of you left the party after the wedding. Your eyes followed his figure who was standing in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against the wood as he looked in your direction.

“I think…” you sighed, looking around after Jake held your gaze. Feeling a little shy from the intensity with which he was looking at you “I’ll make some coffee and…”

“I’ll make the coffee” Jake interrupted you slowly “Go upstairs and put on something more comfortable” he tried to sound a little softer with you, but there was still a hint of seriousness in his voice that you recognized. A palpable tension that he finally had the whole truth exposed, he just didn’t know how to act after all.

You wouldn't deny it, especially since your feet were almost killing you from the pain from the moment you took off your heels in the middle of the party. You definitely wanted to take off that silk from your clothes, even though they were so comfortable that you danced all night without worrying. But at that moment, your body just needed other fabrics. So you quickly went to your room, passing by Jake without looking at him because you knew that if that happened, there would be no way to go back or simply remember to change your clothes.

As soon as you got to your room, the first thing you did was slide the dress down your body and leave it lying anywhere on the floor. The air blowing against your almost naked skin was a soothing balm for everything you had witnessed in the last few hours. When you got to the bathroom, looking at your appearance in the mirror, Jake's idea of ​​taking a shower didn't seem so bad after all. Turning on the shower and letting the water run wasn't a thought you were reluctant to do, it had to be done. Getting all the dirt, sweat, and exhaustion off your body, both for the fun and for the mix of sensations and how sore and tired you felt. The pain in your feet went away as you squeezed them – not as gently as Jake did – with the help of the soap and hot water. Everything goes down the drain minutes later: dirt, tiredness, and a bit of sadness.

Quickly drying yourself, you grabbed a pair of old sweatpants that belonged to Heeseung and that you never let him take possession of. They belonged to you since the day you put them on by mistake at your parent's house when you and he still lived there since then those pants became yours and no one would say otherwise. For the top, the only comfortable thing you could wear was a sports bra. Without the clinging fabric of a t-shirt on your torso, you wanted something breathable and that would make you feel freer, this was perfect.

“Time to take off my makeup” you muttered to yourself after you had finished changing properly, looking in the mirror to find your mascara slightly smudged and the red lipstick already coming off your lips. You remembered the tireless hours you spent with Josie and Susan at the beauty salon that same day, in the early hours of the morning. Not even thinking that you would have to take it off at the end of it all, ending up with a beautiful job, even though you felt like you couldn’t keep your makeup on for so long.

Taking the cotton and the makeup remover, you moistened the cute object to wipe your face and, before doing so, looked at your reflection once more. Something in your mind made you think of everything besides the time you had taken to put on your makeup and get ready for the wedding. That had been the makeup for your brother and sister-in-law’s most important day, but it was also with that makeup that you faced the biggest event of your life. With that mascara on your eyes, you were able to witness the lies that Stacy had told you for so long. It was with that lipstick on your lips that you cursed her, and with all that makeup on you stared at people and saw Jake's gaze on you all night. Without being able to decipher, what he was feeling.

Everything, at that moment, was a shock and you only realized that you were crying and looking at your reflection when your vision blurred and you heard Jake calling you in the background. His hurried steps through the room before Jake's figure stopped right at the bathroom door.

“Is everything okay? Are you hurt?” the desperation in your tone, the look in Jake’s eyes as he turned you around, making you face him. This made you cry even more. Your mouth opened and closed to say something, but nothing came out, just silent sobs as you let the tears fall freely down your cheeks. “Hey… What happened?” he asked again.

“I just—” you sobbed again “I ruined everything.”

Jake’s hands found their way to your waist in a matter of seconds, bringing your body close to his in just enough space for him to tilt his face and be close to yours. Without saying a single word, he looked deep into your eyes, letting you shed as many tears as you thought necessary. His fingers held tightly to your skin and, with a small push, he picked you up and placed you sitting on the bathroom counter.

“Ruined what, exactly?” he asked, taking the cotton from your hand. Jake wet the makeup remover again and straightened up between your legs to take off your makeup for you. A few days ago, this position between the two of you yielded something beyond what was happening, and butterflies in your stomach hit you at the thought of it. But there he was, with the utmost sweetness and affection, carefully passing the cotton pad over the entire length of your face. Completely the opposite of what he had done to you last time.

“Us” you answered when Jake passed the cotton pad over one of your eyes, forcing you to close it so he could remove the mascara. You heard him sigh right in front of you, the air blowing against your face due to Jake’s proximity to you.

The silence that settled between you was strangely comfortable. Now and then your sobs could still be heard as you tried to normalize your breathing and stop crying. Jake was completely focused on wetting the cotton pads, removing your makeup, and making sure you were clean and comfortable enough. Once everything was over and he threw the rest of the things in the trash, he remained with his body still between your legs.

“You didn’t ruin us” he finally replied, his hands resting on your thighs instead of touching the marble of the bathroom sink. Jake’s fingers, although blocked by the sweatpants you were wearing, were a warm and comfortable touch. Something you missed and only realized the last time the two of you had a little more contact.

“Of course” your eyes burned again and your vision became blurry again. Jake’s figure in front of you was like a blur when you felt like you were going to cry again. “I spent all this time thinking that you—”

He knew what you would say, but he didn’t want to hear it out loud. It was a past completely behind him, one that Jake didn’t want to dig up and much less make you remember. So the only way for it to end was when he touched your lips with his. A soft kiss, placing his mouth on yours and slowly sliding the tip of his tongue along your lower lip. It didn't take long for your passage to be accepted, letting him guide the kiss while one of his hands came up to hold your face. He held you in his hands with such care, kissing you and making you feel every little touch.

That should have calmed you down, but it made you shed the tears that still insisted on appearing. Jake felt each one of them between the kiss you shared, each time softer and slower, the movement of your tongues in sync as he let you feel each small slide of his mouth against yours. When you both needed to compose yourself, Jake pulled his lips away from yours enough so that you could both breathe. Still keeping your mouths closed and the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

“You know what?” Jake said, still breathless and a little hoarse. You just murmured in agreement, letting him continue his train of thought “When we started dating, one of the first things Heeseung told me was that you were the most stubborn person I would ever meet in my life.”

“Really?” you opened your eyes in shock, staring at Jake who was still between your legs. His lips reddened and smiling at you.

“Really” he kissed your lips once more, his hand still on your face caressing your cheek and sliding his thumb to your lower lip “What happened in that locker room was shitty and I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I just…” he took a deep breath, his hands finding their place back on your waist. “I needed time until I made you listen to me. I would never rest until I knew I would never do that to you.”

It was your turn to pull Jake into a soft kiss, just to feel his mouth against yours again. The slow, calm slide of his mouth against yours before you pulled away.

“Do you forgive me for being so stubborn? For wasting our time?”

“I have nothing to forgive you for, baby” Jake took a few steps back, his mischievous smile making your heart race a little faster than usual. “By the way, I have something for you.”

“For me? What is it?” you asked.

“I’ll be right back” Without giving you a chance to answer, Jake ran out of the bathroom, leaving you still sitting on the sink counter. You decided to go downstairs and walk to your room, trying to think of what he could have for you. It couldn’t be coffee, because the cup he brought was resting on the nightstand on your side of the bed. Running to the bathroom while you were crying made him completely forget about the drink there, maybe it had even gone cold. You didn’t care, after all.

Jake’s footsteps were heard on the other side of the door and, before you could walk a little further and open it, he did it himself. One hand was hidden behind his back as he entered your room.

“What’s all this suspense, Jake Sim?” you raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical about all the mystery surrounding the two of you. Jake chuckled softly, walking slowly but nervously towards you until he stopped right in front of you.

“I bought this because I knew I could give it to you one day” he said softly, not quite a whisper, but his tone was still soft. Jake’s eyes were focused on every corner of your face, wanting to convey a little of everything the two of you had shared so far. Or at least try to understand a little of the emotion he felt after everything that had happened.

He pulled away until he showed you what he was holding and, as soon as you saw the only orchid he had between his fingers, you almost cried for the third time that night.

“Jake…”

“It was the flower of our relationship, I—” he held it out to you, letting you take it and smell it as you always did with every orchid he gave you over the years. The characteristic smile that showed you were truly surprised, but without a single word to express what you were feeling. While your free hand went to his face and caressed Jake's cheek, the skin against your fingers so soft “I bought it the day we went to see things for my sister. I thought I could give it to you at some point.”

“Did you think it would be soon?” you asked.

Jake took a step forward, getting close enough to be able to hug your body with his.

“I didn't think so, but I hoped it would be. I couldn't stand being away from you anymore with all these wrong and poorly explained things” he huffed, his forehead pressed against yours when Jake's head leaned forward to get even closer to your face. You allowed yourself to laugh for the first time since you had arrived home, holding the flower tightly in one hand, while the other still held Jake's face.

“So go take a shower, take off those wedding clothes, and stay with me in bed all night.”

“Just tonight?” Jake asked, pouting. Which didn't last long because you broke it with a quick kiss.

“As long as you want…”

“I think my whole life is perfect for me” he shrugged, kissing you once more before pulling away and quickly taking off his white shirt. Both because of the shower he was looking forward to taking and because of the lack of contact with you.

Jake wanted to make up for lost time and everything you two didn't experience because of the lies that surrounded you, him, and your relationship. A silent promise that, even if you were stubborn, you would never stop believing in him again.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Reader falling obsessively in love with kny men after getting poisoned

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader; Giyu x fem!reader; bonus Genya x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: There's no smut going on but it's definitely a close call lol, I just thought this concept is funny so the fics itself and the whole scenarios aren't 100% serious it's getting absolutely heated in every single one though hehe, Not proofread bc I literally finished this last minute before my flight lol, I'm currently in Greece when this gets published so surprise ya girl with your support until she's back 🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“And you’re sure this is safe?”, you question while looking up at Shinobu with frightful eyes.

It should be fine. After all, Shinobu is the one who invented a medicine that is supposed to finally force your headache away. She’s a professional, so well-educated that even Kagaya-sama’s very own children get treated by her.

Even though she didn’t have the chance to test this medicine, you should be fine.

Right?

“As you know, I’ll never promise something I can’t keep, (y/n). But you’re here with me and if something goes wrong, I will find a way”, she tries to reassure you, only to spike your panic up even higher.

“Listen Shinobu, maybe I’ll try something e-“

Before you’re able to finish your sentence and stop her, you feel a needle poking through your arm oh so gently.

For a moment, you simply sit there and blink in confusion. Huh, not as bad as you thought. It really seems like your headache slowly but surely starts fainting away while the medicine burns every so slightly through your veins.

Not bad at all.

Until your heartbeat picks up so suddenly that your eyes dart wide open. Like in trance, you yank out of the chair you were sitting in, orbs darting around without a real aim while frantically searching for something.

Or rather someone.

What a quiet and peaceful day it is to roam around the beautiful butterfly estate. Rengoku actually didn’t even plan to come here. After all, he isn’t injured nor does he need something from Shinobu-san. To be honest, he’s only here because of you.

You told him yesterday that you’ll see Shinobu today in order to test medicine that is supposed to end your ongoing headaches. You were a little frightened when you thought about getting an injection, so it was never a question for Rengoku to be there for you. Hopefully, he made it on time.

“Kyojuro.”

He furrows his eyebrows and turns towards that unusual seductive voice.

When your eyes meet his, he forgets how to breathe. There you stand, your kimono opened just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your chest like never before. But what simply sweeps him off his feet are your eyes. As gorgeous and captivating as ever, but this time igniting an so unknown spark, inviting him to a silent dance.

“(y/n), are you feeling alright?”

Your hips swing from side to side as you draw closer to him and place your hand straight over his beating heart.

“I’m feeling better than ever before, Kyojuro.”

Kyojuro can’t help but blush deeply, eyes widening in surprise. A nervous smile plays on his lips while he stammers slightly, unable to hide his flustered state. Is this really you, the secret love of his life, discovering his body with your bare hands? The second your flat palms start wandering over his back, his hands start to fidget. Out of instinct, he avoids eye contact, his very own hands now keeping you in place.

“W-What’s going on. (y/n)?”, he stammers like he never did before.

“Take me, Kyojuro.”

His eyes grow even wider, usual confidence momentarily faltering like a house of cards.

“I-I…um, what?”

With a force he didn’t even know you have, you shove him against a nearby tree, your knee gliding between his legs.

“I want you since the first time I saw you. I won’t wait for another opportunity when you’re right here.”

“(y/n)…D-did you already meet Shinobu-san?”

Are you sick or injured? A quick scan of your body reveals nothing that could indicate a serious wound. No, to be precise, you reveal nothing but your soft curves, your gorgeous frame he has never seen like this before. With your kimono slightly opened and the cleavage that peaks at him oh so invitingly…He never felt your hands pressed against his chest like that before, never got a taste of how well you fit inside of his arms.

No. He shakes his head ever so slightly, forces his own mind back to reality. This isn’t the (y/n) he knows. You’d never sneak up on him like this, even if the words you just spoke are true.

Oh, please let them be true.

“All I care about is you”, you purr, face now only inches away from his.

If his back wasn’t pressed against a tree already, Kyojuro would lose his balance for sure. He was always captivated by that gorgeous colour your eyes have, never able to look away. But now, with that dark gleam inside of them, your hands wrapped around his neck. A little innocent kiss, a dream that comes true right here and now-

“(y/n), come back right now!”, a voice cries behind him so suddenly that he jumps up inside the cage of your comforting arms.

“We are here, Shinobu-san!”, he replies automatically.

Only to regret his words instantly. Just one second more and his lips would have touched yours, only a few moments more in your embrace before it all ends again. It takes him all his strength to let go of you when Shinobu arrives with an injection ready in her hand.

“I’m beyond sorry, Rengoku-san! (y/n)’s strange behaviour is all my fault. But don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in just a moment.”

Faster than he’s even able to comprehend the insect pillar’s words, she sticks a needle into your arm and releases the injection.

You blink a few times, head spinning uncontrollably as you stumble backwards. Where are you? What happened? Your head pounds so roughly against your skull that you feel like puking any given minute.

“How are you feeling, (y/n)?”, Shinobu’s comforting voice rings in your ears.

Slowly but surely, your foggy vision starts to get clear again.

“Since when are you so tall, Shinobu?”, you mumble absently.

“It’s me, (y/n). Kyojuro.”

Oh.

“Kyojuro!”, you mumble in utter surprise.

“But…what are you doing here?”

“Let’s not talk about it. I-I…I need to go now”, the flame hashira announces before turning on his heels and walking away.

You stare at his back in nothing but confusion. What is wrong with him? Is he not feeling well, maybe?

“Is it just me or does Kyojuro walk very strange today?”, you question, earning endless giggles from Shinobu next to you.

“He does indeed.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“Watch out idiot, you’re gonna get hit!”, the white-haired man barks harshly at you before dashing towards again.

It happened faster than you were ready to react. A little troll through the woods at night, a deep conversation with the wind hashira. And just a few seconds later, an upper-ranked demon appeared out of nowhere.

“Don’t let it hit you, (y/n)!”

“I’m not stupid, dumbass!”, you bite back while dodging another hit with a tendril.

What a strange-looking demon that woman is. With countless pink tendrils that act as her hair and her long tongue, she really looks different from every demon you’ve seen before.

“Still fighting for your love, you fool?”, she jeers at Sanemi before trying to hit him once again.

"I will show you what love really is! It's a consuming fire that burns away your sense of self, leaving you hollow and desperate. It's an obsession that blinds you to reality, making every thought, every breath, every heartbeat revolve around the one person who becomes your entire world. In this love, you lose your freedom, your identity, and your sanity, as you sacrifice everything to feed the insatiable hunger that never goes away-“

“Can you just stop talking shit, ugly bitch? I just wanna go home”, Sanemi interrupts her dryly

You chuckle to yourself. As if a demon would know anything about love. Their only purpose on this earth is to kill innocent humans for the fun of it.

“What the hell do you know about love, huh? All you do is destroying it”, you blurt out.

Just a moment of sloppiness, a second of turning your back to the tendrils that surround you like a prison. The second you feel it, it’s already too late.

“(y/n)!”, Sanemi cries out, feet rapidly carrying him to your side in order to slice through that fucking piece of tendril that pierced itself through your leg.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, saves you from clashing onto the ground. But the second you open your eyes again, they don’t look like they did before. No, you look obsessed.

“Hey, look at me (y/n). Come back to me”, he insists, a slight tone of panic now taking over his usual so harsh voice.

What if that bitch poisoned you? Shinobu is miles away, there’s no way in hell he’d make it on time. And even now, tendrils continue to circle both of you, waiting for an opportunity to hurt him as well.

“Just see what love does to you! You’ll have to kill her!”

“What the fuck are you talking about”, he hisses under his breath.

“(y/n)?”

“Sanemi.”

Your voice sounds dark, unpromising, coated in something he’s never heard before.

“Hey, are ya alright?”

You’re moving too fast for him to react. In the split of a second, you sit on top of him, your hands holding his in place while your lips start tracing up and down his neck.

For a moment, Sanemi forgets how to exist.

You’re sitting on top of him.

With your lips pressed against his neck.

Almost instantly, blood shoots up his face and straight into his private parts, eyes widen in…horror?

No, not because of you, not because he doesn’t enjoy to finally feel you this close. But this isn’t you. This is the poison of that fucking demon.

Just before he gets hit as well, he slices through another tendril that was ready to attack both of you.

“You can’t save her and yourself!”, the demon shouts at him in sheer amusement.

“Your love will get you killed!”

“(y/n).”

His voice is as tender as never before, hands now grabbing your arms oh so gently.

“You need to come back to me, okay? This isn’t you, this isn’t…how you feel for me.”

He hates the way his heart starts aching as soon as those words leave his mouth. There’s no way in hell someone like you would ever fall for someone like him if it wasn’t for that demon. Not when you’re so gorgeous, so breathtakingly beautiful, so smart-

“But I love you, Sanemi! And I need you!”, you cry out, lips now only inches away from meeting yours.

“You don’t love me, (y/n). How could you ever love me?”

“Let me show you.”

Just before your hand gets the chance to grab his pants, he swings you around in order to lay on top of you – completely out of breath and flustered like never before.

“You need to focus. We need to kill that bitch”, he tries to remind you while dodging another wave of attacks with his free hand.

“You’ll need to kill her!”

“Shut up!”, he barks at the demon behind him.

But that thing’s right. With you writhing like a snake underneath him and those countless merciless attacks, he can concentrate on neither.

“I’m the only one who’s able to save her-“

“I said shut up!”

“(y/n), please get yourself together”, he breathes out.

God, why do you have to look so damn tempting with your legs wrapped around his waist and eyes as flustered as he’s never seen before? Countless lonely nights, he imagined what you might look like, feel like, sound like.

But this isn’t real. That sudden outburst of love isn’t real.

“Looks like you’re busy, Shinazugawa. Maybe you should do things like that somewhere other than on the battlefield”, a painfully known voice comments behind him dryly.

“Shut up at take care of that bitch. I need to look after (y/n)”, he instructs the serpent hashira sharply before picking you up and sprinting into the woods.

“I need you. Please”, you beg between his arms, the way your hands roam around his chest simply driving him insane.

“You can’t help her!”, a faint female voice cries behind both of you.

Screw that fucking demon. He needs to get the real you back, needs to finally confess his damned feelings. Even if all of this is nothing but poison, he simply can’t live like this anymore. Not when you’re so close to him every day, not when he secretly can’t get enough of that sight in front of him right now.

“Come back to me, (y/n)”, he almost begs while letting you down.

Fuck, what is he supposed to do? What if he’s not able to help you? Even if he sends after Shinobu, you might go insane until she arrives. And what if you do something stupid, what if he isn’t able to protect you? And what if this isn’t the only thing that cursed poison does?

“Don’t you love me? I thought you like me back, I thought we have a future together, I…I can’t do this without you!”, you suddenly scream on top of your lungs while bursting out in tears.

“What? I never said that-“

“I don’t wanna live without you. I…I’ll end this!”

It happens almost too fast for him to react. In the matter of milliseconds, you grab your sword and direct it towards your throat, ready to slice it open with full-force.

“You little idiot”, he hisses through gritted teeth while forcing your blade away.

“I love you so fucking much that it hurts, you’re the only thing I’m thinking about constantly! Can’t you see that you’re driving me crazy since joining the corps!? I love you, (y/n)! I always did and I definitely always will! You’ve got me trapped, goddamn!”

And then he presses his lips against yours. Longingly, passionately, as if you’re air and he cannot breathe. Never in his life, Sanemi longed for something so small yet so big. Each and every night, his mind wandered to your lips, your laugh, just you and your fucking perfect self. He can’t stand the thought of you talking about yourself so badly. Him not loving you? Are you fucking insane?

“Sanemi.”

You breathe his name against his lips oh so sweetly.

Sweetly, with that cheeky undertone he knows so well.

“Is that you, (y/n)?”

When he opens his eyes again, he gets greeted by the gleaming kindness that radiates from your orbs just inches away from his.

“I’m sorry for…throwing myself at you like that…”, you mutter with reddened cheeks.

How embarrassing. You can’t believe you were about to touch his groin without permission. Even if you were poisoned, what the hell has gotten into you? And why do you have to remember all the things you’ve said and done? That would have been the least that cursed poison could have done…

“Don’t be, it’s fine”, Sanemi replies equally awkward.

“But…are you actually into me?”, you mumble followed by a swift gaze.

“I…I mean…-“

“He totally is”, Obanai barges into the conversation from behind.

Giyu Tomioka

“Didn’t you say that-ah! This was supposed to be easy?”, you press out while fighting a bunch of demons.

You really have no idea how you ended up here. Just a few seconds ago, you were having the best sleep of the week when your crow interrupted your slumber as rude as ever and literally dragged you onto the battlefield straight on his side.

His side. Giyu Tomioka, to be exact. The mysterious yet captivating water hashira you are eyeing since the first day of joining the chosen circle of pillars. What is it that ties you onto him like a chain, that forces your mind to wander towards him each and every day without any break?

“I will take care of the right side. Stay focused”, he instructs you as absent as ever, not even sending you a single look while your heart is all over the place.

It’s ridiculous and you know it all too well. A man like Giyu would never fall for someone as clumsy and unsettled at you. He will never look at you the way you look at him, not even daring to send you a single smile. Because you’re nothing but comrades, distant known. If it wasn’t for your responsibilities as pillar, he would have never even talked to you.

And you absolutely hate the way this stinging fact bugs you every single day of your life.

“You’re not focused enough, stupid girl”, a voice way too close suddenly purrs inside your ear.

There’s no time left to react. Not even Giyu Tomioka is able to reach you in time when the demon scratches your neck oh so slightly.

Only enough to spill your blood.

Only enough to make you go absolutely insane.

Your mind gets flooded by a wave of emotions, memories, thoughts. All at once. So rapidly that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing hurts more but the truth. Did you ever wonder about what she might feel for you, even love, maybe? I will reveal her darkest secrets, her thoughts that were never said out loud. And when she finally loses her mind completely, I will force her to kill you and afterwards herself!”

Giyu’s eyes widen at those words. You, loving him? He never even dared to think about something like this, not when you are admired by everyone around you. Why would you fall for someone as quiet and boring as him?

He swallows hard. But knowing that deep inside him is definitely different from hearing those words coming out of your mouth.

“Giyu.”

Your voice sounds cold and distant, eyes completely blank.

“(y/n), I will get you out of here, I’m sure Shinobu is able to-“

“I love you.”

You hate him.

No.

You love him?

“And I’ve loved you for so long that I lost count a long time ago. I love the way you walk, the way you inspect the world around you so carefully. I love how tender you are when it comes to children. I love your kindness, your calm voice-“

“Wait, this wasn’t supposed to go like this!”, the demon cries out.

“I love the feeling of your eyes set on me even though I know I’d never stand a chance. You are so much more than a friend to me, so precious that it hurts. And I can’t help but imagine myself lying inside your arms every night. I can’t help but stare at you whenever I catch you training. I can’t stop those butterflies from invading my stomach every time you’re around. I love you with all my heart even though I know you’d never love me back.”

HIs mind goes blank, ocean blue eyes staring at you in sheer disbelief. Suddenly everything else around you goes silent. The demon, the screams from afar. All he’s able to see is you with those tears glistening in your orbs.

Giyu’s heart skips a beat when he begins to realize.

You really mean it. Every word you just said is true.

“But I do feel the same way about you”, he finally replies while cupping your hands with his.

“I just never thought someone like you would fall for someone like me.”

“I would always choose you”, you clarify in an instant.

And then your eyes roll back into your skull, your lifeless body threatens to hit the cold ground.

-later-

“Giyu? Where’s Giyu?”, you croak out before you even open your eyes, your heart hurting so bad that you feel like puking.

What happened? All you’re able to remember is Giyu’s hands intertwined with yours before everything turned black. Or was it just a dream?

“Finally, I was so worried about you, (y/n).”

But no. At this very moment, he still holds onto your hand tightly while looking down at you with his brows furrowed.

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned by a demon and lost consciousness. I carried you to the butterfly estate”, he explains as briefly as ever.

“You…carried me?”

“Of course I did. You were unconscious, like I said.”

“Did we hold hands?”, you blurt out so suddenly that you even scare yourself.

You can feel Giyu sliding back and forth on his chair, eyes avoiding yours at any cost. Oh no, did you make him feel uncomfortable? What if he’s annoyed because of your foolish mistake? You should have never asked him-

“(y/n), do you remember the conversation we’ve had on the battlefield?”, he questions with unspoken hope glimmering inside his orbs.

“I…I don’t remember anything…”, you finally admit.

What did you talk about? Did you insult him? And what about that demon? That thing definitely wasn’t a lower ranked demon.

“You told me you love me.”

Your heart leaves your body and soul behind, glossy eyes staring at him in sheer disbelief. Fuck, did you hear that correctly? You told him you love him?

“I…I said that?”, you stutter.

“I mean…M-maybe I h-hit my head a l-little too h-“

“And I love you too.”

Oh.

This is even more ridiculous.

“You love me?”, you shriek in reply.

“I never thought about the possibility that you might actually like me back. But when that demon poisoned you, when you told me that you love me…I can’t keep this lie up any longer. I love you, (y/n).”

Gently, he wraps his comforting arms around your aching body, allows you to take in his calming scent.

“It embarrasses me that it took a demon to finally say this out loud.”

“But…would you mind telling me what I said?”, you mumble against his neck.

He lifts up your head enough for you to catch a glimpse of his breath-taking smile.

“I’d rather keep these words for myself.

Bonus: Genya Shinazugawa

“Where’s (y/n)!?”, Mitsuri cries out in sheer panic while darting around the estate in a haste.

“(y/n)? I’ve seen her on her way to the hot springs just a few moments ago”, Tanjiro replies in utter confusion.

“Is there somebody else, Tanjiro-kun?”, Mitsuri continues while grabbing Tanjiro’s shoulders roughly.

“Hello, Genya”, you purr.

“(y-y/n)!? What the hell are you doing here, I’m taking a bath!”, Genya cries out with his cheeks already bright red.

But instead of getting lost like he told you to, you let your towel fall to the floor.

And stand in front of him.

Completely naked.

“What are you doing!?”, he shrieks.

In the matter of seconds, he turns himself away from you, his face burning like a thousand fires. Fuck, he’s already flustered when you’re around him in your uniform. But you, butt-naked, in the same hot spring? He’ll definitely die here.

“I needed to see you. There’s actually something I wanted to tell you in a long time, Genya.”

When the water around him starts to move due to you entering the hot spring, he feels like dying out of excitement and fright. You shouldn’t be here together, not when you’re completely naked, not alone. He never prepared himself for something like this to happen, didn’t even allow his mind to wander such places. Fuck, what is he supposed to do?

Suddenly, he finds himself whirled around in your arms, your chest pressed against his.

Your very naked chest.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“What are you doing!?”

“Come on, I saw the looks you were giving me when you thought I wasn’t watching”, you purr while drawing small circles onto his chest.

“I…no…I didn’t mean it…that way…I just think that…that you are awesome. And cute…”, Genya mumbles.

“(Y/N)!”

Another splash, another butt-naked woman that now grabs your shoulders and pulls you out of the water with impressive strength.

“I’m so sorry, Genya! I fear (y/n) mistook the love portion I made for juice!”, Mitsuri bubbles while trying to tame you down.

“CAN THE TWO OF YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE NOW!?”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @sanemifucker

[bunnygirllover45]

— CREATURES OF HABIT. ♱ TRIGGER WARNING(S): This one is about psychological training, pet play undertones (they're not undertones they're very on the nose but oh well.), slightly suggestive. dark content. Johann itself is a warning. WORD COUNT: 1k words. ADDITIONAL NOTES: First time writing something for this guy in a while, sorry if it sucks. I just enjoy writing psych yandere stuff.

The first months in Johann’s basement were grueling. The sudden change of pace, the claustrophobic sensation of always being surrounded by the same walls, you swore multiple times you were about to break, but each time you felt like that, Johann was always there to put you back in place like a beautiful —and fucked up— puzzle.

Then, one day, out of nowhere, Johann introduced some ‘mental exercises’ for you. He told you they were so your brain didn’t stagnate over time due to the confinement, but you couldn’t help but feel like there were some ulterior motives behind it.  Most of the exercises were simple, from just sitting at a table and drawing shapes on paper to following basic instructions, no matter what was going on, Johann never skipped the routine.

Today’s exercise was simple enough: sit down and obey. Johann was really patient with you, so despite your early nervousness, you always found yourself quickly getting accustomed to the session, trying your best not to overthink how utterly weird the whole setting was. Being mentally trained by your kidnapper—no. Scratch that; lover.

“You know about Pavlov’s experiments?” Johann asked softly, tilting his head to look at you. His brown hair fell over his stare, obscuring his expression under the dim light of the basement. His legs were stretched under the table, brushing against yours. “Pavlov discovered that dogs were prone to begin to salivate once they saw the trainers that often brought them food, it was an unconscious action they made.”

“They associate ‘this person’ with ‘food’. The same goes with sounds.” He explained carefully, playing with the chain of the collar attached to your neck, tugging it lightly in an almost mindless manner. “Notice how sometimes when you make sounds in the kitchen your pet always comes? It’s because they relate that sound with food.” 

A smile tugged on Johann’s features as he focused his dark eyes back on you, the intensity in his eyes made you shiver—you knew that look all too well, some wicked idea just sparked inside his twisted head. “I thought it would be interesting to try that with you.” 

The way he whispered those words with that tone of his that was equally aloof as it hid some of his excitement made you tremble, but a part of you felt curious about the idea too. Lately, you found yourself associating the sound of the chain of your collar with going outside, Johann always kept the collar inside the house but not the chain, which was saved for when you two went outside for short walks —for your legs sake, as he says—.

“What… did you have in mind?” You managed to ask softly, staring at him with expectating eyes. Johann almost shrugged nonchalantly at your question, his fingers caressing the length of the chain around your neck before settling on top of your hand, intertwining his long fingers with yours, his thumb now tracing circles on your knuckles.

“I don’t really know, why don’t we start with something simple?” his free hand reached to cup your cheek, tenderly caressing your skin, you almost leaned into it before he surprised you by suddenly snapping his fingers against your ear. The sound left you confused for a second not because of its loudness but because of how close it felt, you self-consciously reached to cup your ear, staring at him with a frown. “Why did you do that…?” 

“Sorry.” He chuckled, pulling your hand away from your ear to replace it with his own. “You know I don’t like screaming at you, so each time I want you to be quiet I’ll do that, okay?” 

“Each time I snap my fingers, you’ll be quiet.” 

A part of you wanted to protest, but at least you gave him the benefit that he hadn’t ever screamed to you before when you tried to escape or do something that slightly annoyed him, he was gentle, in his own twisted way, but Johann also had to establish some limits if he wanted to keep peace inside the little paradise he made only for you. “Snap equals quiet. Repeat that to yourself mentally until it becomes like second nature.”

As you got lost in your thoughts for a few seconds, you suddenly felt Johann’s hand tracing your thigh, up and down, his nails scratching your skin in a way that didn’t make it hurt but tingle, it was suddenly so overstimulating, the feeling of him tracing maddeningly slow circles on your skin out of nowhere.

Your eyes snapped back to him, but Johann didn’t seem to have any expression at all, he only looked at you with those empty black voids of his eyes, completely still in his seat. Your legs began to tremble as he traced closer and closer to the skin of your thighs, scratching softly, caressing in his own, tenderly violent way. “What are you…?"

Snap.

You jolted suddenly, your mouth closing shut at the sudden sound. Johann’s chuckle followed your reaction, and as you slowly opened your eyes again you found him smiling at you, pupils swallowing his already dark irises. “I’m glad to see it’s already working.”

“But-” Snap. “Quiet.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his sudden abuse of power, but Johann only smiled at you. “Don’t pout… I’m just having fun with you.” He tugged at your lower lip playfully. “You’re a quick learner, I’m proud of you.” 

A sudden rush of heat reached your cheeks at his words, and you found yourself looking away from him, but suddenly Johann caught your chin between his fingers, clicking his tongue. “C’mon… don’t look away. I need to know if the training is working or not.” 

“And don’t tense your jaw either, you’ll make your face hurt.” His big hand now cupped your face, pressing at the sides of your cheeks to unclench your jaw, you sighed in a defeated manner. 

Johann slowly stood up, walking around the table until he was leaning behind you, his brown hair making your neck tickle and your skin prickle with goosebumps at the feeling of his breathing against your ear. “I should test it in other settings, don’t you think?” 

His voice was heavy with suggestive undertones, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the idea, nodding slowly you looked at Johann, he gave you a small smile before pressing his lips against your temple. “That’s my darling.” 

Until each one of my actions seeps into your brain matter— until you cannot breathe without copying the movements of my own chest. Until your very existence intertwines with mine.

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 6 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: serious blood play ( it only gets worse from here, folks. welcome to hell), the realization that feyd has been scenting her, the harkonnen's have a supernatural sense of smell, minor talk of feelings, lots of talk and show of devotion, the baron, the mention of breeding, dubious consent.

word count: 7.6k

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ೃ࿔ savage bonds masterlist

Something dark was building up- roiling inside of him. 

It had a mind of its own. 

It didn’t belong to him. . . not really. It was its own entity entirely. 

It called to him in the middle of the night, waking him up from a dead, dreamless sleep. For a moment he stared at the slate grey wall, searching for any imperfections. When he found none he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t quite sure what he was searching for. Maybe a black hole to swallow him up. . . or an answer to his many questions. 

It wasn’t in his nature to be good. If anything, it felt off to display any kind of affection. Niceties were always just a means to get something that he wanted. Goodness was something he had to practice. A skill he honed over the years so that he could carry a conversation with those that weren’t raised by the same closed, hard knuckled fists that he was.  

It oozed off of you so naturally. Dripped from your mouth and your gentle hands. It was something that you freely created, and with zero effort at that. The thought of it used to infuriate him. He had heard about you, his promised one in passing. He’d always wanted you, from the first moment he’d met you back when you were children. 

And while he was. . .  infatuated with you? Yearned for you? Loved you? He wasn’t sure himself what it was that he felt, just that it had seeped itself into his very marrow- regardless of his feelings, he resented the fact that you weren’t cut from the same cloth. Feyd never minded the idea of putting you on a pedestal and protecting you. He’d play the part of your knight well, just as long as you’d let him relish in his misdeeds. No, he resented your kindness because he knew that eventually someone like him would use that against you. He had always wondered when it would happen. Had it happened on your planet when he hadn’t been there by your side? Or perhaps that moment had finally come whilst you were out on an excursion with your parent’s, making nice with other nobility.

You see, he hated the idea of anyone inflicting pain on you or inspiring fear in you. He wanted to be the soul owner of those sensations. Feyd could smell your fear in the air, the naturally floral scent of your skin turning slightly powdery the second that your pupils dilated and your heartbeat sped up. When he was in an enclosed space with you, like that damned closet, he could even taste it on his tongue. He often wondered if you were the same as he was in some aspects. If he choked you to the point of total oxygen deprivation would you cum harder? What if he ran his nails along your back and chest until you bled? Would you beg for him then? 

No. . . probably not.

 You were just as alien to him as he was to you. He didn’t see the world through your eyes, but as of late he wished that he could. Feyd wanted to know you so that he might be able to handle you better. 

No. . . that wasn’t it. 

Feyd wanted to know your favorite food and to be able to taste it for himself. Did you have animals back on Caladan and did you care enough about them to name them? Did you love anyone other than your family? He wanted you to tell him, in detail, what that was like. How did it feel to care for someone in that way, and how did you always make it look so easy to do so? What did you dream of when you closed your eyes to sleep at night? Did you prefer the night to the day and if you could ever get used to the thick smog that blocked your view from the sky, did you ever think at any point that you might stay with him here once everything was said and done?

He found no answers etched into the ceiling, and if they were really there, well then it was far too dark to tell. Instead he turned on his other side, his eyes instantly falling onto your resting form. He noted the way your lashes fluttered, eyes moving beneath your lids as you dreamed. 

Did he haunt you the same way you haunted him? 

His hand moved beneath his thin bed sheets, ghosting over your cheek. Instead he moved his finger just below your nose, feeling the warmth of your breaths. Someone had been so close to stopping those sleepy sighs completely, and while he had killed the perpetrators, the culprit was still in his own bedchambers, fat and bloated with greed. 

He knew what the Baron dreamt of: death and power. 

Feyd doubted that his uncle was finding any sort of trouble sleeping after what he had done. He’d gorge himself on food come the morning, another plan soon solidifying in his twisted mind. 

The dark thing moved inside of his chest again, jerking awake so severely that Feyd could only sit up in bed, his hands flying to his sides so that he could grip at the mattress and not your delicate face on accident. The feathers didn’t feel as satisfying as a throat would, but he squeezed down regardless, imagining his uncle’s fat neck breaking beneath his unyielding strength. Would he try to say something to his nephew in his last moments? Would his eyes flash at his own blood’s betrayal. . . or would he stare at him in silent hatred? 

No matter. Feyd reckoned that he would soon find out. 

People die everyday. The weak had to be culled, that was what he had been taught afterall. Powerful men were able to move the weak like pawns, but Feyd preferred to do everything by himself. That was the difference between him and his uncle. 

Feyd liked dirtying his hands. Vladimir had the numbers to command, but those men were all just as intimidated of his nephew as they were of him. The Na-Baron had two things that the “all powerful” Siridar-Baron did not: fangs and the ability to wield them. There was no weapon, unfamiliar or not, that Feyd couldn’t pick up and wield as though he had trained with them his whole life. There was no form of combat that he hadn’t honed his body with. Even worse, the Baron had raised Feyd with particular interest. He’d taught him since boyhood how to intimidate, barter, and kill legions of enemies with as little as a few words and harshly bit out threats. Above all else, Vladimir Harkonnen had taught Feyd-Rautha how to think and move across the game board just as he himself did. 

While Vladimir had faceless, nameless pawns to command at will, his nephew had only one other playable piece on his side. If it had just been Feyd against his uncle then he would have already razed the entirety of the empire that he’d been raised in to the ground. He’d deliver the embers up to the black sun as a final offering before leaving. Heading for you. 

Feyd wasn’t sure how something so weak could find its way to him. Better yet, that small, weak thing now lived inside of him, just as that nasty, violent entity did. There was once a time where he believed that they would always be separate. One could not live if the other was already inhabiting its host. . . but that was before. 

Before that first kiss. Before the first softening of your gaze. Before you. 

Slowly he laid back down, his head turning on instinct so that he could continue to watch you. So long as you were breathing then so shall he. He’d never had something that he needed to protect before. It felt heavy, but it wasn’t a bad thing- just a reminder that you were there. Still dreaming. Still loving. Death had always meant that there was something or someone better than him out there. If he had died then that just meant that he didn’t deserve to live. He had always been the type of warrior that craved to die in battle. How invigorating would it be to die by someone’s better trained hands? He’d watch with grave interest and jealousy as they carved him up. Feyd would want to feel everything. Experience it all with wide eyes so that he might learn and better himself even in his final moments. 

Feyd laid there in his bed though, the idea of being a coward playing over and over again in his mind. Could he run if it meant that you’d live? Yes. That fact was startling. So much in fact that it threatened to undo absolutely everything that he’d ever been taught. Every unspoken code that he lived by was being erased, replaced by an intrinsic need to be by your side. 

‘Could you accept her hatred?’ Yes, if need be. 

‘Would you let her paint you as a monster if her conscience called for it?’ Whatever it took. He couldn’t look back. 

‘What if it meant that she could never love you?’ Hate mirrored love in the grand scheme of things. He’d take whatever you’d give him willingly and without complaint, so long as you would let him pour his own affections into you. 

Feyd would continue to take. . . and take. . . and take. 

His next steps would all have to be carefully calculated. If he were in his uncle’s shoes then he would want to wait until after his enemy’s wedding, especially if it were obvious that suspicions were high. The pale man laid in bed for the rest of that night, his mind swimming with every possible step his uncle would take and might have already taken. If this were all going to work out then he would have to make sure that you were able to fight at his side when the time came. Despite his skill, it would be impossible to take an entire army on by himself, even if he timed things correctly. Feyd would have to start sowing seeds of doubt amongst his Uncle’s followers. He’d start with the men that had been assigned to his dimwit brother, Glossu. He’d no doubt side with their uncle when this all came to an end, though he’d be easy enough to dispose of. He was large, yes, but he was slow. He functioned off of anger and anger alone, which made him sloppy. Feyd could slit his throat whilst he slept and watch him gurgle on his own blood and dying breaths with not even a semblance of compassion. 

This evening he needed to start small though: the guards that you’d tried to distract at the door and those that saw the two of you fleeing down the hall. Whether or not he wanted to blame the two of you being alone in the Baron’s wing together on a moment of passion, he knew that his uncle would be all too suspicious. He’d have to do away with all of them before they could say anything. Feyd could blame the killings on his recent boredom and the rising tensions before the marriage. Either way, he knew the Siridar-Baron was less likely to become suspicious of his actions if he was to blame it on his own blood lust. 

He resented the fact that he’d still have to play the part of the Baron’s “beloved” nephew. Feyd wondered until the black sun rose high in the sky, the moonlight seeping from the room and plunging them in darkness yet again, whether or not he could even play nice with the man for a few more days. Everything inside of him, even now, screamed out at him: kill him. Kill him. 

He’d take out your adversaries one by one as the days passed. Whether you knew it or not, Feyd was completely at your disposal.

The memory of home had collected to a single point, dripping from your mind like liquid to pool at your feet. 

Your horse’s breath coming from his wide, kind mouth in thick plumes of aqueous smoke. Paul’s careful but unyielding fists flying past your cheeks in the training room. Your mother’s gentle hands cupping your face, the skin of her palms so soft and thin that you were scared that one day they might just tear against your lashes. Your father’s indulgent smile, always curious. 

In the moments that you spent by yourself in your now shared living quarters you found yourself clinging to their voices as well as the exact color of their eyes. You wondered if there would be a day that you would forget all of it. You had to stand in front of the mirror just the other day, hands palming your face, trying to remember every point of resemblance between you and your twin that your parents had always so lovingly pointed out. 

How long have you been on Giedi Prime? You tried to count on your fingers as you waited for Feyd to come back from wherever he’d stormed off to. How many nights have you slept in Feyd’s bed as opposed to the one that you’d been originally assigned? The wedding had been pushed back a few days due to the attempt on your life, but had your parents been made aware of the act? How many times have you eaten in the large dining room, miles of space between seats, feeling no more than a spectator of the life around you? You tried to imagine each breakfast, lunch and dinner that had been placed before you over the days, but the tan, black, and brown meats and side dishes all looked the same. They broke apart in your mouth and settled on your tongue like sand. 

You remembered staring up at that black sun for the very first time with wide, horrified eyes. When did it swallow you up? What day? Hour? Minute? Mentally you turned back the clock, wondering when it was that you lost the will to count down the days, the only thought on your mind being your own survival. You’d been lost to a planet that wanted you dead. 

Driven into a corner, you’d given in to your flight or fight instincts. The only thing on your mind at all hours of the day was the “when” and the “how”. When would the Baron strike next? How did he plan on taking you out? There wasn’t much of a reason to wonder why. You supposed he hadn’t taken a liking to you or had grown bored somehow. Vladimir never struck you as a man that followed the rules if he felt as though they didn’t give him a personal advantage, even the ones that the Bene Gesserit set in place. 

Shaky fingers reached up to brush against your lips, as though you could still feel Feyd’s brushing against them. That man. . . that infuriating man had done something to you. His constant mind tricks were beginning to wear you down and it seemed as though you were finally buckling under the intense pressure of it all. You nearly fell forward, catching yourself against the side of one of the black settees in the sitting area, eyes closing against your will as the memory of his dominance washed over you, nearly pulling you out into a sea of want and need with the high tides of your own desire. You had been drowning for days, no buoy in sight. Eventually you’d tire yourself, fighting against the power of those waves. Even now your limbs shook with the overexertion of it all. 

Your lips still tasted of sea water. 

Has this been their plan all along? Were you losing your mind? The non stop seduction had somehow made such a horrific place more bearable. Bearable enough that, even in your own overwhelming paranoia, you’d lost track of how many days, hours, minutes, seconds you’d been away from everything you’d ever known and loved. 

When the Na-Baron returned to the room you didn’t ask about the blood that clung to his pale skin, nor the crazed look in his eyes. By the time he was done showering, no doubt scrubbing off more carnage that your eyes hadn’t been able to see in the brief seconds that the two of you had stared at one another, the light had returned to his eyes. He was Feyd again. Just Feyd. 

Perhaps even your Feyd. 

He stood before you, wearing nothing but a pair of skin tight trousers that reminded you of what he so often trained in. He hadn’t dried off well enough, and you wondered if he’d been in a hurry to be in your presence. ‘Nonsense.’ You thought ruefully to yourself. The skewed view that your mind had created of Feyd Rautha-Harkonnen was nothing but a lie. A farce. 

Living so closely with someone that wasn’t completely evil was more bearable than being held in a room with just another Harkonnen that wanted you dead. He was one of them, no matter how many times he tried to tell you differently. 

Droplets of water ran down his pale chest. For a single, selfish moment you allowed yourself the time it took to follow one of the ephemeral bead’s trail. Down the line of his neck, pooling ever so slightly at his defined collarbone, before sliding down the harsh lines and planes of his chest and abs. It soaked into the waistband of his pants, dying there without even a whisper. 

Would you die there too eventually? Would he split you into two and forget about you? Would he leave you bleeding and broken on your shared marital bed? You had to bite off a sob before it ripped from your chest, especially when he finally opened his mouth to speak after what felt like hours of prolonged, painful silence. 

“Everything I do, from this point on, is for you. Even if I have to tell lies, know that my body and my mind would never betray you.” His eyes were searing, burning holes into your own. 

He was constantly flickering between personalities. One second he treated you as though you were as fragile as gossamer stretched thin over your mother’s bone china, and then the next it was as though he was staring at his own reflection; like you were a mirror image of every dark desire he’d ever had. 

Like called to like. 

“How will I know that you’re not betraying me? Feyd, my life is at stake here. I can’t spend what might be my final hours-” He closed the distance between you in a single long legged stride, reaching out to grip your wrist in his large hand. The size difference between the two of you had once made you shake at the knees. At one point he had seemed like an unclimbable obstacle that stood between you and your freedom. What was he to you now? 

“Stop talking like that,” He bit out, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tense at the mention of such finality. “I will cross one finger against the other when I’m telling a lie. Something only for you to see and to know.” He held up his free hand, demonstrating for you as he wrapped his middle finger over his pointer. 

A signal. 

“And how do I know that even that is the truth?” You whispered, the words painful to utter. 

Lost. You were so lost here. Somewhere along the way you had forgotten which way was up and which way was down. Would anyone blame you for asking him to prove his loyalty? Was it really so selfish to need such assurance? 

The pressure of his hold on your wrist loosened as he looked down at you, his jawline clicking. You could practically see the thoughts flashing behind his blue-grey eyes. Finally he settled on something, letting you go completely so that he could walk over towards the bed you had shared. Slowly he bent his large, broad body down, his pale hand running along the bottom of the frame. He retrieved a long, thinly crafted blade and showed it to you. 

‘Every night that you’ve slept here could have been your last.’ It was a confession, you supposed. Was he trying to show you how weak and naive you were? You’d checked the cushions in the seating area, beneath his pillows and mattress- but you hadn’t thought to check the bedframe for any sort of weapon that could be used against you. Shame slapped you across the face, and yet again you were reminded of how weak you were. 

Weak and stupid, the worst kind of combination. 

He moved back over towards you, the blade still clutched in one of his hands while his other reached back out for you. He took hold of your wrist again, even as you began shaking your head. “No, please. . .” You whined out, your pupils blowing out wide as your heart began to race. 

His nostrils flared and for a second he just stood there, the blade in one hand and your wrist in the other. “There’s no need to be afraid.” When he spoke in hushed tones like this it almost sounded like a hiss. You thought back to your first meeting with the Reverend Mother, your stomach clenching as a new kind of fear settled over you. 

Feyd had never been a man. He had always been an animal. The person before you wasn’t. . . wasn’t like you. He could treat you softly, but things like that didn’t come naturally to him. Reassuring you at all went against the basis of who he was, and still he tried. 

“My flesh is yours,” He told you, holding your gaze as he pressed the blade against his forearm. “As is my blood.” You flinched and tried to wrench your hand away from his as you watched him press against the leather handle. Onyx blossomed from the cut and fell onto your hand. It pooled in your palm as you fought to slide your wrist from his hold. It was so warm. . . and you wanted it to stop. 

“Enough.” You barked out, trying your hardest to take a step back from him. He kept you in place, his face displaying no sense of pain or even discomfort. 

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap?” 

He pressed the blade down harder, the small streams of blood turning into a river. It dripped from between your fingers and began to seep down the front of your linen day-dress. “Everything I am in exchange for all that you have to offer.” 

“There’s an animal kind of trick.”

“Feyd, enough.” Your voice shook as you stared in horror at the blood. All of that blood. . . for you. 

All that he was. All that he would ever be. 

In exchange. 

He dropped the blade beside him, the loud clanging sound causing your shoulders to quiver. The pale man stared at your hand for a few seconds and all you could do was watch him, your whines and prayers for him to stop whatever this was dying out on your tongue. His eyes. . . oh, heavens. You felt as though you’d disintegrate into nothing but ashes where you stood. The light in those blue eyes had been completely snuffed out and all that remained was darkness. It was almost as though the shadows that seemed to constantly wrap themselves around him had seeped beneath his skin. There were no pupils. No irises. Just. . . black. As black as his blood that now coated your hands. 

He was everywhere. Feyd was everywhere you looked, every scent you breathed in, every touch and sensation- and your chest heaved with some sort of emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It felt as though your heart was ripping at your lungs, at your throat, begging to be let out. You needed to be freed of these horrible, sinful thoughts. 

The pale Harkonnen warrior stared at you as though you were the beginning and end of everything. Nothing else existed outside of this room. The sight of his own life essence spilling down your skin, staining you. . . was the epitome of perversion. 

This animal- this paragon looked at you with phantom eyes and wished that he could possess you. 

He pulled your wrist higher up, his attention dropping down to your dripping palm. Slowly, too slowly, he dipped the tip of his pointer finger into the pool that he had created. He lifted his hand up between the both of you before pressing his thumb against your chin, prying your lips open. 

You were too confused to understand what it was that he wanted from you. It wasn’t until the metallic taste of his blood spread over your tongue did you truly understand what he was doing. Your eyes, now the size of saucers, locked on his. For a brief second you thought about biting his finger. Whatever was happening between the two of you was too intense for you to handle, especially with your mental wellbeing hanging in limbo. 

But you let his finger caress your tongue. You even opened your mouth wider for him, moaning when his lips curled up at your sudden obedience. His eyes flickered up to your eyes from your mouth when he heard the sound, a responding groan meeting your ears. Deep and guttural, as though he wanted you to know that he felt it too. He felt all of it. He hooked his finger on your bottom teeth, sliding them against your gums and then. . . 

Then he released your mouth. “Swallow me.” 

And so you did. The thickness of it coated your mouth and tongue, marking you from the inside out. You weren’t sure why you were so willing to do as he told, but there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t want to please him at that moment. 

It was almost as though he had watched the fight and the fear drain from your body. You stood there, languid and malleable before him. 

It was odd. . . but it was like you could finally breathe for the first time in days. 

“You never ask for permission.” You couldn’t project your voice the way that you wanted to. You had spoken in a barely audible whisper. 

“No,” His voice was low enough to be considered a hum in response. “Never.” 

And as if to prove that as fact, Feyd lowered his lips down onto yours. His grip was still on your stained wrist and you were positive that if he hadn’t been holding you in some way then you might have just floated away. The floor would have swallowed you up whole. . . or that black, black sun. The strength of his bruising hold acted as a tether, tying you to the floor and to him. Your lips tightened, compressing for a split second against the softness of his kiss. It wasn’t as searing as the other ones had been. A part of you reviled this small shred of humanity that he was showing you, the paranoia still biting at the back of your mind. Was he doing this to disarm you? 

But you remembered his blood and his promise. You could feel it beginning to dry on your skin, growing cold and tacky: a reminder. His flesh was yours. 

In that instant you yielded- submitted fully to all of it. You assaulted his mouth with your own, lips melting against his as your free hand moved up to cup the side of his neck, pressing him harder against you. The suddenness of your surrender had him staggering, his hold on your wrist loosening in his shock before he finally let you go, his strong arms wrapping around you so tightly that you feared that you might be crushed into his chest. 

Would you really mind that though? 

You allowed his lips to birth you anew and gave into the deranged desires. If this was what it meant to be mentally insane then. . . you weren’t sure if you wanted to be put back together again. His lips moved against yours, tongue curling into your mouth in such a way that you couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of you he could set ablaze. He owned your mouth, just as he had before when his finger had slipped past your teeth. 

No doubt he could taste the metallic film that still clung to your tongue, and you let him. Your newly freed hand slid along the expanse of his chest, and without needing to see it you knew that you were leaving your own marks. Hands, fingers, blood- it was everywhere. 

No matter how close he pressed himself against you it still didn’t feel enough. 

Feyd was kissing you with a fervent need- not to own you, but as if he truly couldn’t get enough. He pressed his lips against yours as though he could absorb you into his body. It would be safer there, you thought. If he wanted to breathe you in then you would damn well let him. 

He broke the kiss so that he could look at you, and after he had gotten his fill he pressed his lips against yours in small pecks. Once, twice, and then his eyes opened once again. The hunger in his eyes was still there, of course, but there was a strange sense of longing there too. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth you were stepping up on your toes, pressing your lips against his neck. 

You thought of every demented thing you’d wanted to do to him since you’d been stuck on this forsaken planet. At one point you’d wanted to gut him, then silence him and now. . . now you wanted him so badly that your hands shook as they began to pull at the waistband of his pants. The sound he let out was so loud that you were positive that someone had to have heard it. The moan was all beast, no hint of man to be found. 

“You’re covered in it,” He panted out, tilting his head to the side so that you could continue biting and licking at his pale neck. His skin tasted of the spicy, herbal soap he had used in the shower. You wanted more of him. All of him, in fact. “On our wedding night I’ll give you even more of it.” He promised, his hands moving to braid themselves into your hair. The tips of his fingers massage your scalp roughly, and when you bite down a little too hard on his soft skin you can hear a few strands of your hair popping as they are ripped from the roots. 

“I’ll mark every inch of your body,” He removed your hand from the waistband of his pants, and right when you were about to cry out a complaint he pressed your palm against his straining front. He allowed you to run your fingers along every inch of him, shuddering at the feel of your fingers- so tiny- brushing against him. “Make you drink it even.”

Those words tumbling from his lips sounded, in a fucked up way, as though he was worshipping you. The dam had burst wide open and the two of you could do nothing to keep Feyd from uttering every cursed, demented thought he’d ever had about you. 

“I’ll coat myself in it. My blood and cum belong in and on every inch of you.” 

You were finally touching him. Not because he was forcing it out of you but because you chose to. Again and again, as your fingers continued their exploration, you reminded yourself that this was what you wanted. 

More, more, more. 

“Na-Baron?” No one, not once over the days that you’d spent in Feyd’s quarters, had ever dared to knock on the door. Usually they’d place your meals just outside of it around the same time each day, not wanting to be sliced to ribbons after everything that had happened. The sound of the foreign voice cooled your hot blood so quickly that you swore that you could hear it fizzing in your ears, the heat being replaced by white, cold terror. 

For a few elongated moments Feyd stared at you, his breathing labored. You watched as he sucked in a singular breath, caging it in his lungs for a beat before blowing it out slowly. One step at a time he detached himself from you, looking pained all the while. You silently cursed whoever it was that had interrupted the both of you. 

This had been the first thing that you had, quite possibly, ever done for yourself. Every day, even back on Caladan, had been spent training with Paul. Since the day of your birth you had known that you would be shipped off, married to someone that you knew very little about. Every day had become a waiting game, filled with meaningless marriage training. 

This moment had been just for you. You had wanted him more than anything, and if not for the interruption then you would have more than willingly given yourself to him completely. It was all so complex, and you weren’t sure of the meaning behind it all. Had you come to care for Feyd or was it just the release that you were searching for? Either way, you had wanted it. Whatever it meant. 

“What is it?” 

You tried to drown out the voices as you slowly moved away from the sitting area and further into the room, realizing now that the two of you probably looked deranged. As you stared down at your clothes you finally noticed that this was all. . . so gruesome. With a small gasp you began pawing at your dress, noticing the sheer amount of blood that had been spilled. How deeply had he cut himself? Was he still bleeding, even now? 

You hurried to the bathroom, turning the sink on so that you could wash your hands. 

This place felt as though it had already stolen years of your life from you, when in actuality it couldn’t be more than two weeks. Still, you’d lived every hour on edge and in constant earth shattering terror. For the first time in those three hundred and thirty-six hours you didn’t feel alone. In fact. . . you felt good, if anything. A ten ton weight had been lifted from your chest. 

You didn’t just have a protector. An Atreides had somehow managed to find themselves a damned champion. 

“Our presence is needed at the arena,” Feyd started, crowding the door frame as you continued to scrub at your fingers. One of his hands reached out, as if to stop you, but he let it fall back at his side before his fingers could grip yours. “We need to make an appearance.” 

Yes, you should have expected that. Everyone must want to see the sacrificial lamb that had been led to the slaughter.

The black sun had set a few hours ago, and the light of the moon was blinding as you were led down a long black corridor and up a steep, obsidian staircase. The new color palette of your life: black, grey and white- it blinded you now as you gripped Feyd’s steady hand. The balcony had a clear view of the entire arena, the white sand below catching the rays of the full moon that hung high, suspended in the air above you. 

A few cloaked figures were seated, their backs towards you as they stared out at the scene unfolding before them. A loud voice that you didn’t recognize was narrating the carnage, the loud screams and voices of the crowd assaulting your ears. The arena itself reminded you of the training grounds that you and Feyd had spent much of your time over the last two weeks. It was so strange to think that it had been two full weeks since the day that you had threatened the Harkonnen man out on that sandy terrain, poised and ready to kill him. Back then you had wanted to spill his blood, especially if it had meant that you could find your way back to your family. 

It had been a fool's errand: husband or not, you were never meant to return to the life that you had lived before. 

The black gown that had been prepared for you was uncomfortable and so long that you had to kick your feet out just so that you wouldn’t trip on the train. You felt ridiculous and missed the breathable fabrics and gossamer of your home planet. As you looked out at the sea of spectators you realized that you blended right in. If you had been wearing a veil to disguise your facial features then you would have been just another Harkonnen, jowls wide and drooling as you stared out at the bloody terrain. Thirsty for carnage and wrath. 

The sun had begun to change you. You were no longer favored by the light. 

The hand clutching yours was a stark reminder of that, as was the way that you clung to him right back. “An hour. Tolerate this for an hour.” He whispered in your ear. 

His lips were still swollen from your kisses. The moment that had been shared between you had been far from gentle, but it had been the closest thing to loving that you’d ever experienced. You didn’t startle as he reassuringly squeezed your hand. 

The Bene Gesserit’s eventual arrival had been expected. You knew, eventually, someone from the Order would come and check on how the marriage ceremony was proceeding. You doubted that they’d been made aware of the recent threats. 

It was doubtful that they’d even care.

You’d recognized the old, hateful hag even with her veil on, the downward tilt of her lips visible even from a hazy distance. You squint your eyes against the light, bowing your head ever so slightly as you began to take the empty seat beside her. Imperceptibly Feyd reached out, moving around you so that he could take the seat next to the familiar woman and his uncle. It was a kindness that you happily accepted. 

“Mother.” It was a practiced greeting, but she nodded her head in your direction, her eyes still cast towards the arena. 

It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust fully to the light, the white bodies in the sand finally actualizing themselves as your pupils dilated. A man was on his knees, crawling towards a discarded dagger. The white landscape beneath him had been dyed with his blood. 

It was nothing you hadn’t seen before. You tried to rationalize that fact with yourself once you discerned that one of his legs had been completely severed at the knee. Still, as he inched forward, digging himself even further into the sand beneath him, you couldn’t help the bile that began crawling its way up your throat. 

“The gladiators know how special tonight is for the two of you,” Vladimir said with a sneer, his eyes catching on your face. “They were instructed to make it as flashy as possible.” 

You had to turn your head, the disgust darkening your eyes as you cast down your gaze. 

“You indulge me too much, uncle.” Feyd’s lips tilted up with a sick grin, one that you recognized from days past. 

The warrior- if you could even call him that- gave a final cry as he finally reached his blade. The poor bastard wasn’t even given enough time to grip the hilt in his bloody palm before the gladiator struck down with his own kindjal. 

It sliced through the air in a wide ark, cutting through shadows, cloth and bone as it hit its mark. The sound drained from the surrounding stands as the Harkonnens stood up on their feet. Their pale, terrifying faces gaping as they took in the carnage. 

Your chest heaved before you could stop yourself as you watched the warrior’s decapitated head roll across the ground, his eyes wide and lifeless. You were too caught up in the moment to even realize that Feyd had gripped the bell-sleeve of your dress, yanking you back down as you began to stand up. 

Escape. You needed to escape. 

“Your promised one seems eager to get up close.” The baron chuckled in his seat, having seen your reaction. 

“Our customs are unfamiliar to her. She will learn in time.” Feyd’s excuses for your strange behavior were becoming second nature to him now. 

“Perhaps you are eager to show her how skilled you are,” The Baron leaned forward ever so slightly so that he could meet your gaze, his chair creaking beneath his weight. “Your future husband is the most skilled gladiator that Giedi Prime has ever bore witness to. No one in this entire arena could ever match his might.” 

“I feel incredibly lucky.” And you did. Knowing that he was planning to help you fight your battles settled your stomach, but you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in that poor warrior’s place. The Harkonnens were no doubt wishing that you would get pushed onto that cold sand so that your colored blood could paint their arena walls. 

As if on cue the animals began to scream, raising their palms up to the sky as the gladiator gripped the severed head by its hair. Slowly he turned, letting every woman, man and child get a good view of the brutality of it. Finally he turned to you, his black eyes seemingly glaring straight through you. 

“An offering, lady Atreides.” He called out over the screams. 

Beside you Feyd tensed, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he bared his teeth at the other male. The Baron laughed loudly, clapping his hands together in gleeful approval. “It seems Feyd is eager to give you an offering of his own. Why don’t you volunteer yourself to fight?” 

The man beside you seemed tempted to take his uncle up on that offer. Whatever the other male had just done must have been a sign of disrespect. 

“He’s goading me,” Feyd seemed to read your mind, his blue eyes narrowed on the other pale creature below. “He’s presenting himself to you.” 

The warrior continued to grin up at the balcony, his eyes promising bloodshed. 

You blinked, stomach churning as you slowly turned to look at the reverend mother. She kept her eyes on the warrior, feigning interest. She must have seen much destruction in her long life because the old crow didn’t even bat an eye at the scene before her. She looked just as disinterested as she had that very first night you had made her acquaintance. Being stranded here with the Baron and reverend mother was a terrifying thought, but you didn’t dare beg Feyd to stay with you. The last thing you needed to do was show weakness to either one of them. 

So you sucked in a small breath and straightened your shoulders, looking expectantly at the both of them. You waited for the Baron to stand up and declare that his nephew would be dueling the unruly gladiator. No doubt you’d be cornered the second that he stepped away from the balcony. Not once had you been left alone with the Baron, and you silently wondered if his hatred would slip into his speech the second his “adoring” family member was out of earshot. 

“I wish to be married before I present her with an offering of flesh.” Feyd said through clenched teeth, his eyes still on the gladiator. The two of them seemed to be having a standoff with their eyes, communicating something that you couldn’t see nor understand. 

“The both of you already smell heavily of bloodletting. It seems to me that the two of you are already bound.” The Baron seemed smug in his observation, especially when you quickly whirled to face him with wide eyes. 

Smell? He could. . . smell Feyd’s blood on you? 

Feyd’s lips tilted up into a small, cocky smile as he turned to face his uncle. “You wanted us to try for offspring as soon as possible. We have been quite busy these last few days.” He placed his hand in yours as he spoke. 

One finger curled over the other inside of your palm. A lie. 

“I am pleased to hear so.” And the Baron, despite his apparent hatred of you, did seem pleased. He didn’t actually want Atreides-Harkonnen children running around. 

No, he was pleased that his nephew had deflowered and sullied you. 

“There will be another time for me to properly show my wife what I am capable of. I will offer her that man’s head as a wedding gift.” Feyd promised, and with the look on his face you were sure that he would deliver it to you on a silver platter. 

Your grip on sanity must have slipped. The black sun must have finally tainted your heart because heavens, with the new knowledge that the Harkonnens possessed an unnatural sense of smell, you had to press your thighs together in the hopes that no one around you could smell your arousal. 

“Yes,” The Baron hummed pridefully, his lips turning up into a secretive smile. “I have a feeling that our lady Atreides will become well acquainted with the arena in due time.”

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[edenesth]

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

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[fairestwriting]

Hello 👋 could I please request headcanons for leona's fem s/o defending him everytime one of the other characters start making backhanded comments to his face (if you've seen some of the vignettes you'll know what I mean) she doesn't reveal things like he's depressed or anything (tho he is) she just tells them it's shitty of them calling him lazy/selfish constantly without even knowing him personally

[Everyone treats leona like crap and I take personal offense to it >:( ]

You know i make fun of him on a regular basis. but theres a line thats gotta be drawn when it comes to leona bullying. cause damn this guy needs a real Break he cant even have issues in peace

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Before you got closer to him, there’s a fair chance the comments didn’t even stand out to you at all. It always felt a little unfair, yes, but not in a way that was particularly shocking, they were all just rude comments like any other. Back when you weren’t quite friends yet, and maybe even at the start of your friendship, you might have interjected with a simple ”hey, he’s not that bad” or "you don’t need to be rude about it”. It was just a gesture of basic politeness then, something the people around you seemed to lack.

But obviously, your perception of those interactions, and the way you see Leona’s situation itself, soon went through a rather radical change. Possibly even before you two started dating, or even before he “told you too much” — His own words, mumbled dismissively but bitterly, the day he came back after spending a weekend with his family and then proceeded to complain for a little longer than usual — As he warmed up to you, you started to notice things about him more. You started to see the spark of actual passion he has in his eyes during his club activities, the level of detail he gets into when analyzing things, the precise way he moved his chess pieces when you two played...

Above all, though, you started to notice how he often looked actually tired when he took part in any of the “slacking” he’s so infamous for. Learning the littlest bit more about his family life just worked as the final piece of the puzzle you’d been putting together without even noticing — And then, other people’s “rudeness” started to sound like something much more cruel. It didn’t help that he never seemed to react to it whenever he overheard others gossiping, or whenever you told him about the things you heard. “Why doesn’t he care?” The thought would echo in your mind for ages, trying to understand him through the tiny slivers of vulnerability he didn’t mean to show.

Now, as his girlfriend, you feel you just can’t let people say whatever they want, and you feel it more strongly than you ever have. ”Why don’t you mind your own business instead of talking about someone you don’t really know?” You snap back on instinct when one of your classmates, who was in Savanaclaw, comments on how lazy their dorm leader is. Their mouth closes instantly, regardless if you’ve made your relationship public or not — You realize that, on top of all the negative treatment Leona got, it was also extremely rare for others to defend him in any way at all. Enough that even a response that simple elicits shock from others.

”You know, it’s crazy to see you hanging out with Leona like that. I never thought I'd see anyone get so excited to spend time with him.” You hear some other day, while spending time in Savanaclaw’s common area, sat right next to Leona, and it just makes your blood boil. He’s just half-glaring at your particularly cocky acquaintance, sighing like he’s heard it a million times before, which you know he probably has. ”Hey, make sure you don’t get too influenced, we don’t need another person who just sleeps all day—”

”Yeah, you’re right. This type of person can be such a pain. I’m so glad I don’t know anyone who’s, you know, actually like that.” You say through grit teeth, just barely holding back aggression, and in the corner of your vision, the subtle flash of surprise in Leona’s face only encourages you to continue. ”Imagine if like, the Magift team had this sort of player in it… the club would be done for.”

They stare at you with wide eyes, having very much picked up on the aggression. The entire room is silent, you refuse to break eye contact, arms firmly crossed. ”Well, I mean…” The student stammers, but then, Leona himself speaks up for once. ”Did you not get her message? You need me to tell you to shut up instead?” He snaps, and they frantically shake their head, eyes fixed on the ground. You feel pride swelling in your chest, almost unable to hold back your smile.

”You know, Herbivore, if I needed a bodyguard I’d already have one.” He tells you later, in that same day. His tone has that snarky edge that feels like his default, but it’s much less pronounced than usual. You can even see a sort of softness in his eyes while he tries to play it cool. But needing and deserving are two different things, you think. As interactions like these repeat, with you defending him every time, you hope your message fully gets through to him, one day.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[hivemuthur]

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice is heavier. He sighs, “I know.” Then pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted of bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. Wrinkles carve his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, you press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

[veebeeboo109]

Touch

Drabbles of the LADS Men

{SFW & NSFW}

(Done as writing warmup)

Xavier:

Touch for him is either all or nothing. Like a door locked up tight. At first there is nothing. No touch except for the most chaste and innocent brushes. Nothing that could ever be considered anything more than professional or courteous.

Once that door opens though? Once he feels safe to open up? There's no going back. He's a leech. A little tick in your skin that you'd have to cut the head off of to get rid of at this point.

There's no question of his feelings once that damn breaks, though his mouth might not always give him away- his hands do.

A hand at your waist, or holding your hands. A tether tying the drifting ship at sea to the anchor of you.

He can still maintain professionalism while you're working, but the touches linger. They hold tighter, forcing you still until he can make sure you're unharmed. He touches your waist a lot, holding you in place or maneuvering you where he wants.

Kisses are sweet but moving. A slow dance as even the lightest peck lures him in. The feel of your lips a dangerous drug for him. Even a tiny hit is enough to make him wild.

NSFW

Xavier is the least concerned about PDA (outside of work of course). He doesn't care if people see him hold you. If he get's weird looks when he uses the anchor of his hand on your hip to pull you through a crowd. Or if someone happens to pass by the greenhouse window when you're laid out for him among the greenery.

His admiration for how easily he can move you around really shows itself when you're intimate. His hand in you hair, guiding you up and down his cock. He's not forceful, but he his firm. You don't move without his guidance.

He'll kiss you anywhere. Anywhere he can reach. Whatever skin that might be closest is where he'll drag his lips, nipping at you until you jump. The way you respond to his touch is dizzying. The fact that its him doing it is addictive.

He'd spend a lot of time letting his hands roam. Like they're restless. Dragging his fiongers up and down your body, skating over the places you want him unti your trembling. Begging rarely works- he likes the sound of it too much to stop.

Zayne:

Zayne is frugal with physical touch at first. Almost shy. To him, there is no rush. No need for desperation when there's all the time in the world.

He's fond of little caresses. A brush of the hair. A slide of the back of your hands against one another. Like flint and steel, striking to cause tiny infinitesimal sparks.

Before you're together, touch is reserved to necessity only. Examinations are one of them. Though neither one of you clues the other in to how much those touches entice the other. You feel ashamed for liking the touch of your doctor, and your doctor berates himself for how much he likes touching his patient.

Once together though, things aren't that different on the outside. It comes as a shock to those around the two of you because Zayne doesn't seem to act any different around you.

Alone though, he's a magnet. He might not reach out and touch, but he likes to be close. Sitting with legs pressed together, shoulders touching. If he can get away with it, you in his lap. It feels like to parts of a whole, sliding back into place.

Kissing him is either sweet and light, or dark and devouring. He's either the polite and gentle doctor that will kiss you like a gentleman. Holding the sides of your face to slowly press your lips to his, so delicate.

OR he's a man starved. His mouth dry and panting and the only relief is the wetness of your mouth, your tongue. Behind closed doors, he'll dine himself upon you like it's the last time. A man possess. Afterwards, he;ll always apologize, unsure of what comes over him.

NSFW

Zayne is a gentleman. Considerate too. He takes what you want into account and so will touch you like playing an instrument. The human body is a map he knows well, and yours is one he wants undone.

He learns the spots that you like, the spots you don't, and everything in between. He uses his mouth more than his hands, tasting the places he plays with you.

His favorite is being against your neck and chest- his lips and teeth leaving tiny marks easily hidden by your clothes. He likes the feel of your breath and your heartbeat against him. He can feel the way your breath stutters as you ride him, or when your heart pounds so hard he can feel the beat of it on his tongue.

He likes to feel you come as much as hear it and see it. He’ll make you wait to come until he’s inside, his fingers or his cock. Either way is fine for him. So long as he can physically feel it.

Rafayel:

Rafayel is a tease. Mean sometimes with how he likes to play with you. Sometimes you wonder what you've done to deserve this (if only you knew).

Making him wait 800 years makes a man both desperate, and very patient.

At first, it's hard to tell whether his touches are because he's attracted to you or because that's just how he is. When you start off as his bodyguard, you spend most of your time within three feet of him, and lots of the time some part of you is touching.

Eventually you realize that no- he isn't like that with everyone. If fact, he goes to some lengths to not be touched by other people. Even Thomas, his manager AND his friend, doesn't get so much as a handshake.

Though you get your hair mussed and cheeks pinched. Teasing you about some silly thing you've said or done. Or playfully punishing you for neglecting your job as a bodyguard, like you aren't ALSO a hunter.

The touches stay teasing once your together, but also soft. The gentle things like a caress, a brush of his hands against your hip-- those tender things he seemed reluctant to do until you were his.

He doesn't hug so much as cling. He doesn't kiss without the tiniest bit of tongue. A little taste at the end of every kiss across your lips.

NSFW

Rafayel touches with his whole body, and likes to cover you with it.

He likes to have as much as possible touching. From chest to hips, all the way to toes. He thrusts with his whole body, not just his hips. It’s lead to you smacking your head on the headboard more than once. To combat this, he’s figured out he can lace his fingers on top of your head to keep you in place so he can really pound into you.

Or, he likes to have you leaning against him. He’ll sit up against the headboard or even in a chair and have you in his lap, bodies pressed from shoulders to hips and he’ll play with you like one plays an instrument. Splayed out, preferably with a mirror in front of you. Oh it’s not for you. It’s for him. He wants to see everything.

Sylus:

Sylus is touchy, but keeps it only to certain areas. There are parts of your body that he seemed to tink was open season from the beginning. Your hands being one of them.

He likes to intertwine your fingers, watching as they lock together. The glow of the linkage that shows up reflects off his face and he always looks so smug.

His love language (one of them) is quality time. Any time he can spend with you is time well spent, and even better if he can somehow touch you.

PDA isn’t really for him, especially in the N109 zone, but in the safety of Linkon he’ll kiss your forehead or hold his hand at your lower back.

He likes to carry you, if you’ll let him. From piggy backs to princess carry, it makes him feel strong and settles something restless inside him. Like you might float away on the breeze, but when you’re in his arms, you can’t slip away

NSFW

Marking. Claiming. Anytime he can suck a mark onto you is an opportunity taken. Better if he can dig his teeth in too.

It takes him a while to let himself be as rough as he wants, because at the end of the day he never wants to hurt you.

It makes him feel vulnerable, how desperate he is to touch you. And he can get pussydrunk so easily. A slave to your taste and your touch. He maintains control by a single thread sometimes.

He likes to kiss your chest. To feel your heartbeat against his lips. The aether core in your chest harmonizes with the one his eye, making the most intense sublime resonance. The sensation of it is like lightning to his spine, jolting pleasure down to his very marrow. And he likes to leave a little bite there when he inevitably comes from the feeling.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Like Us

Where Y/N and Harry thought they had lost each other, fate gives them a second chance.

Word Count: 7,222

Content Warning: Cursing, alcohol, mentions of Zayn leaving.

Y/N had been with Harry through it all. Through the late-night calls filled with exhaustion, the frantic texts that barely scratched the surface of what he was feeling, the moments of silence where he didn’t have the words to explain what was breaking inside him. She had been there before Zayn left, and she was still there now, following him on tour like a quiet anchor in the chaos.

The energy backstage wasn’t the same anymore. Ever since Zayn had left, there was a palpable shift—like a table missing a leg, still standing but wobbling with every move. The crowds were still loud, the shows still electric, but behind the scenes, it was different. Unease lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break.

On his days off, they escaped together. Away from the arenas, the cameras, the questions. They did the kind of touristy things that made Harry feel like himself again—exploring tiny coffee shops tucked into side streets, wandering through museums with their hands intertwined, laughing at the ridiculous souvenirs in gift shops. She took pictures of him when he wasn’t looking, the city lights reflecting in his green eyes, the weight on his shoulders momentarily lighter.

But even in those moments, she could see it. The exhaustion. The restlessness. The way his mind was always somewhere else, thinking about something he wasn’t saying.

It was late, the city glowing beneath them as they sat on the small balcony of their hotel room. Paris had been a dream—long walks along the Seine, stolen kisses in quiet cafés, pretending for just a little while that the world outside didn’t exist. But now, reality was creeping back in, threading itself between them like an unwelcome guest.

Y/N glanced at Harry beside her, his gaze distant as he traced patterns on the rim of his wine glass. He had been quiet all day, his usual spark dulled by something he wasn’t saying. She knew him well enough to wait, to let him come to her when he was ready.

Eventually, he sighed, leaning back against his chair. “The band’s ending soon.”

The words weren’t surprising, but hearing them aloud still made her chest tighten. “You don’t know that.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I do. Even if we don’t say it outright, even if we call it a hiatus, we all know what it really means.” He looked over at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “It’s not gonna be the same after this.”

Y/N studied him, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or hope—but all she found was exhaustion. “Is that what you want?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. “I don’t know. I just know I need… something to change. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He turned his gaze to the city below, watching the headlights blur together in streaks of gold and red. “And if it ends… I don’t know who I am outside of it.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his, grounding him the way she always had. “You’re still you, Harry. Band or no band.”

He squeezed her hand, but the look in his eyes told her something she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I think,” he said slowly, carefully, like he was testing the words as he spoke them, “there’s gonna be a break.”

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken things. Y/N felt the weight of it settling in her bones, but she didn’t let go. Not yet.

And Harry was right.

A few months later, the band officially announced their hiatus. At first, it was meant to be temporary. Just a few months to rest, to breathe, to figure things out. But as time passed, the months stretched longer than expected.

One night the rain tapped lightly against the windows of Y/N’s apartment, the soft hum of an old record playing in the background. Harry sat on the couch, one leg bent beneath him, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ring on his index finger. He had been quiet all night, lost in thought, his gaze distant even when she spoke.

Y/N curled up beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re thinking,” she murmured, her voice soft.

He let out a small breath of laughter, tilting his head toward hers. “Always am.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, her fingers brushing over his arm. “What is it?”

Harry hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip like he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he exhaled. “I think I wanna do something on my own for a bit.”

Y/N’s brows lifted, but she didn’t look surprised—just curious. “Music?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I love the band, always will, but… I wanna see what I can do by myself, y’know? Find out what my sound is. And—” He hesitated again, his fingers still fidgeting with his ring. “I think I wanna try acting, too. I’ve always wanted to, and now feels like the right time.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, taking in the way he spoke—cautious, hopeful, nervous. She reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I think that’s amazing, Harry.”

He glanced at her, his lips parting slightly. “You do?”

She smiled. “Of course I do. You’ve always talked about wanting to try acting, and your own music? That’s exciting.”

He nodded, exhaling like he’d been holding it in. The rain kept falling, the record kept spinning, and for now, they sat there together, wrapped in the quiet of what came next.

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his fingers lightly tracing circles on the back of Y/N’s hand. The rain outside filled the silence between them, steady and rhythmic, but inside, everything felt still—like the moment before something irreversible happened.

He finally looked up at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “I’m gonna be busy a lot,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “With the music, with acting… with figuring out who I am outside of all this.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, a sinking feeling creeping in. “I know,” she said softly, watching him carefully.

Harry swallowed, his grip on her hand tightening for just a second before loosening. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And because I love you… because I respect you… I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now. Not while I’m trying to figure myself out.”

The words felt like a slow, unraveling thread, pulling apart everything they had built. Y/N held onto his gaze, searching for something—maybe a way to change his mind, maybe a way to understand. But deep down, she already knew.

She nodded once, her throat tight. 

Everything shifted.

Y/N felt her breath hitch, her fingers trembling slightly in his grasp. “Harry…” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish.

His face twisted in pain, like he hated every word coming out of his own mouth. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to do this, love. God, I don’t. But I need to.”

Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. “Why?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Why do you think we can’t figure it out together?”

Harry inhaled sharply, his hand cupping hers, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her skin. “Because I don’t know who I am right now. And I can’t drag you into that mess. I can’t ask you to sit around waiting while I run off chasing things I don’t even fully understand yet.” He let out a shaky breath. “You deserve someone who is sure, someone who can be there for you in every way. And I—I don’t know if I can be that person right now.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away, hating how fragile she felt. “But you love me.” It wasn’t a question; it was a desperate grasp for something solid, something real.

Harry’s eyes softened, filling with sorrow and something deeper—something that hurt just as much as it loved. “With everything in me,” he said. “I love you so much that it physically hurts to say this.” He let out a broken laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck. “I hate this, Y/N. I hate myself for saying it. But if we’re meant to be, we’ll find our way back.”

Her chin trembled as she tried to process it all. “And what if we don’t?”

Harry’s breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to keep his own tears from falling. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay strong, but her heart was shattering. “I don’t know how to be without you.”

He let out a soft, broken sound, his forehead falling to rest against hers. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he whispered. “Just promise me something.”

She swallowed hard. “What?”

“When the time comes—if we ever get another chance—promise me you’ll let me fight for you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, memorizing the way he smelled, the way he held her like she was something precious. She didn’t know how to promise him that. She didn’t know if she could.

But in that moment, with her heart breaking in his hands, she whispered the only word she could.

“Okay.”

And just like that, it was over.

They laid together for a long time, neither speaking, neither moving—just breathing in the same space, clinging to the last moments before everything changed. Y/N listened to the steady rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, memorizing the way it sounded, the way it felt against her skin.

His hand ran absentmindedly up and down her arm, slow and soothing, like he was trying to calm them both, like he wanted to keep this moment suspended in time. But time didn’t stop. It never did.

Eventually, he stirred, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before shifting beneath her. She knew what was coming before he even said it, but hearing the words still made her stomach twist.

“I should go home,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t lift her head from his chest. If she did, it would make this real. And she wasn’t ready.

Harry exhaled shakily and brought his fingers beneath her chin, gently tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. His green eyes were glossy, his expression torn, his lips parted like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he leaned in, pressing the softest, most devastating kiss to her lips—slow, full of love, full of sorrow, full of everything they still were but couldn’t be anymore.

When he pulled away, he lingered for just a second, his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin. Then, without another word, he stood.

She didn’t watch him leave. She couldn’t.

That night, she laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin. She waited for sleep, but it never came—not that night, not the next, not for a long, long time.

And even when exhaustion finally won, she woke up empty. Every single time.

Five Years Later

The late afternoon sun streamed through Y/N’s apartment windows as she flipped through the stack of mail she had just pulled from the box. Bills, a few random flyers, and then—her fingers paused as she caught sight of an envelope with elegant gold script.

Her heart lifted immediately.

Tearing it open, she pulled out a beautifully embossed wedding invitation, the words practically sparkling off the page: Mallory & Ethan—Join us as we celebrate our love!

A grin spread across Y/N’s face. She barely took a moment to admire the details before grabbing her phone and dialing.

It rang twice before a familiar voice answered. “If this isn’t Y/N calling to say she got my invitation, I will be thoroughly disappointed.”

Y/N laughed. “Guess you won’t be disappointed, then.”

Mal squealed on the other end. “You got it!”

“Of course I did. And obviously, I’ll be there. Like I’d miss my best friend’s wedding.”

“Ugh, I’m so excited! It’s getting so real now. I was just finalizing the seating chart and—wait.” Mal gasped dramatically. “Are you bringing a date? Tell me you’re finally letting some poor soul take you out.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling as she walked into her kitchen and leaned against the counter. “No, Mal. I’m not into dating right now.”

Mal groaned. “It has been years, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“And you’re telling me no one has caught your interest? Not a single, ridiculously attractive, emotionally stable man?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Nope. No one’s been worth the effort.”

Mal sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. You can be my honorary date instead.”

Y/N grinned. “Gladly.”

The girls dissolved into laughter, the excitement buzzing between them. It was going to be a beautiful day, a celebration of love.

The following months passed in a blur of wedding excitement—not hers, but Mal’s. Still, as Y/N shopped for a dress, something about it felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

She stood in front of the fitting room mirror, smoothing her hands over the fabric of yet another gown. It wasn’t even white, just a simple, elegant dress for a bridesmaid. But every time she looked at herself, every time she turned to see how it moved, her mind wandered to a place she tried so hard to ignore.

What would Harry think if he saw me in this?

And then the thoughts spiraled.

What would I look like standing next to him at a wedding? What if it were our wedding?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to shake the thoughts away, but they always came back.

Harry had always been the one. Even when he wasn’t.

They used to talk about it—getting married. Not in a serious, let’s-plan-this-right-now way, but in the way that two people who love each other deeply do when they think forever is inevitable.

She could still picture it—late nights in bed, her head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his tattooed skin.

“What would your dream wedding be like?” he had asked once, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/N had smiled, shifting so she could look up at him. “Small,” she had said. “Somewhere beautiful. Maybe Italy or the English countryside. I want twinkly lights everywhere, candles, good food, and dancing until our feet hurt.”

Harry had hummed, running a hand through her hair. “Sounds perfect.”

She had smirked. “What about you? Or do you just plan on showing up in a suit and letting me do all the work?”

He chuckled, his dimples deepening as he turned onto his side, facing her. “I wanna write my vows the night before. Just me, a glass of whiskey, and all my thoughts about you spilling out onto paper.”

Y/N had rolled her eyes. “You’d procrastinate on our wedding vows?”

Harry grinned, brushing his lips over hers. “You’d love ‘em anyway.”

And he was right. She would have.

She would have loved anything, as long as it was with him.

But now, standing in a dressing room, staring at herself in a dress that wasn’t even a wedding gown, it hit her. 

Still, every dress she tried on, she imagined what it would look like if Harry was standing beside her. If she was choosing a dress for him, for them.

And God, she hated that even after all these years, part of her still wanted that life with him.

The airport was bustling with the usual chaos—rolling suitcases, hurried announcements over the intercom, the hum of travelers moving toward their destinations. Y/N clutched her boarding pass, shifting her carry-on higher on her shoulder as she navigated through the crowd.

She had traveled alone before, but this time felt different. There was an unshakable feeling in her chest, something stirring beneath the surface. Maybe it was just wedding nerves, maybe it was seeing Mal walk down the aisle, maybe it was the inevitable string of questions about when she would settle down.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

The flight was smooth, and she spent most of it staring out the window, watching the clouds shift below her. Her mind wandered, drifting through old memories, old conversations, old pieces of herself that she thought she had let go of. But that was the thing about love—about Harry. It never really left.

After landing, she gathered her luggage and stepped out into the crisp air. The venue for Mal’s wedding was a dreamy countryside estate, nestled just far enough away from the city to feel like a secluded fairytale.

The car ride from the airport was quiet, scenic views rolling past the window as she watched the world blur by. When the car finally pulled up to the venue, her breath caught.

The estate was stunning—classic architecture with ivy climbing up the stone, fairy lights already twinkling along the pathways. It was exactly the kind of place she and Harry used to talk about for their own wedding.

She sighed, pushing the thought away as she stepped out of the car.

Before she could grab her bags, an excited squeal filled the air.

“You’re here!”

Y/N turned just in time to see Mal rushing toward her in a sundress and bare feet, arms outstretched.

She barely had time to drop her bag before Mal threw herself into her arms, squeezing her tight. Y/N laughed, hugging her back. “I told you I was coming.”

“I know, but now you’re actually here!” Mal pulled back, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, I need to show you everything! The venue, the flowers, my dress—I have so much to tell you.”

Y/N grinned, letting Mal drag her toward the estate, momentarily allowing herself to get lost in the excitement.

For now, she focused on the wedding, on Mal’s happiness.

What she didn’t know was that somewhere inside this very venue, Harry Styles had also just arrived.

Y/N followed Mal through the estate, taking in the stunning surroundings—the sprawling gardens, the delicate string lights woven through the trees, the elegant reception area where tables were already being set up with crisp linens and gold accents. It was breathtaking, the kind of wedding Mal had always dreamed of.

“I know it’s a little over the top,” Mal said, grinning as she led Y/N toward the main hall. “But Ethan wanted something classic and romantic, and honestly, who was I to argue? I’m marrying the love of my life—I’d say I’m winning here.”

Y/N laughed. “It’s perfect, Mal. Seriously. It’s like something out of a movie.”

Mal gave her an approving nod before looping her arm through Y/N’s. “Speaking of perfect—are you sure you don’t want me to set you up with someone at the wedding? Ethan has some very attractive friends.”

Y/N groaned. “Mal—”

“Okay, okay! Just saying. No pressure.” Mal smirked. “But I do expect you to have at least one fun, flirty dance with someone. It’s a wedding, Y/N. You deserve a little romance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll think about it.”

They stepped inside the main hall, where final touches were still being put together—florists arranging centerpieces, staff preparing tables. It was a flurry of beautiful chaos.

And then, just as Y/N turned to say something to Mal, she heard his voice.

“Mal?”

The world around her froze.

That voice. That voice.

Slowly, she turned her head, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes landed on him.

Harry.

He stood just a few feet away, looking exactly like she remembered and somehow entirely different all at once. His hair was shorter than it had been back then, but still slightly tousled, his sharp jawline even more defined. He was dressed casually in a white button-down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking through. But it was his eyes—those familiar, heartbreakingly green eyes—that sent a shock through her system.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

Mal, oblivious to the sudden tension, grinned and rushed toward him. “There you are! I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Harry tore his gaze away from Y/N, hugging Mal briefly. “Yeah, just got in. Thought I’d check in before the rehearsal.”

Mal beamed, then gestured between them. “You remember Y/N, right?”

Harry’s gaze flickered back to her, something unreadable flashing across his face. His lips parted, and for the first time in five years, he spoke her name.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t casual. It was heavy with everything unsaid.

Y/N forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat, to keep herself steady.

“Harry.”

The air between them was thick, the past pressing in on them like a ghost.

Mal, still completely unaware, clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is perfect! You two already know each other! Harry is one of Ethan’s best mates, and I was just about to tell Y/N she should have a dance with someone at the wedding.”

Y/N nearly choked.

Harry’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk playing there, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

Mal grinned between them. “Okay, I have a million things to do, but you two should catch up! I’ll find you later, Y/N.”

Before Y/N could protest, Mal was gone, leaving her standing there with him.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Y/N let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah. Same.”

And just like that, the past wasn’t so far away anymore.

The silence between them stretched for a moment, thick with years of unsaid words and lingering memories. Y/N could feel her pulse in her ears, her heart slamming against her ribcage as she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to say to the man who had once been her whole world.

Then, Harry’s lips parted, and his voice was softer than she expected. “You look beautiful.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just polite small talk, it was genuine. His gaze lingered on her like he was memorizing every detail, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

Y/N swallowed, shifting her weight slightly. “Thanks,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended. She forced herself to shake off the nerves, tilting her head as she took him in. “You cut your hair.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, running a hand through the shorter strands. “Yeah. Needed a change, I guess.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering over him, the tattoos on his arms more defined, his shoulders broader, his presence somehow even more commanding than it had been back then. But beyond all that, there was something else—something settled in his expression, in the way he carried himself. He had changed.

“Looks good,” she admitted.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah? Thought you liked it long.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a familiar warmth creeping up her spine. “I did. But you pull this off, too.”

Harry laughed, a sound that sent a flicker of something dangerous through her chest. “High praise, then.”

She exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied him. “You’ve been busy,” she said, her voice even. “The albums, the movies… you’ve done everything you said you would.”

Harry’s expression softened, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess I have.”

Y/N nodded, a small, bittersweet smile pulling at her lips. “I’m happy for you, Harry. Really.”

He held her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Thanks, love.” The old term of endearment slipped out effortlessly, like it had never left his vocabulary, like five years hadn’t passed.

Y/N’s breath caught for just a second, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she offered a small smile and looked away, focusing on the wedding preparations happening around them.

“So,” Harry said after a moment, rocking back on his heels. “What about you?”

Y/N turned back to him, raising a brow. “What about me?”

His gaze was steady. “How’ve you been?”

There was something in the way he asked—something deeper, something careful.

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Good. Life’s been… steady. Work, friends, the usual.”

Harry’s lips pressed together like he wanted to ask more, but before he could, a voice called his name from across the room.

Ethan, the groom.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, giving a small nod in acknowledgment before turning back to her. “I should probably—”

Y/N nodded quickly, stepping back. “Yeah, of course.”

He hesitated, then gave her a small, lingering smile. “It’s really good to see you, Y/N.”

She swallowed, her heart doing something stupid in her chest. “You too, Harry.”

And just like that, he was gone, walking toward Ethan, blending into the crowd like he hadn’t just turned her world upside down all over again.

Y/N wanted to scream.

Scream in anger for the way he had just waltzed back into her life like five years hadn’t passed, like he hadn’t left her lying awake at night, wondering if she would ever stop missing him.

Scream in joy because—God help her—she had missed him. Seeing him again had ignited something in her chest. 

But instead, she took a shaky breath, pulled out her phone, and opened her messages.

Y/N: Naomi. Emergency.

A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared.

Naomi: Omg what happened?? Did someone spill wine on Mal’s dress? Did you trip in heels?

Y/N: Harry. Is. Here.

A long pause. Then:

Naomi: I’m sorry. WHAT.

Y/N: HE IS HERE. AS IN, PHYSICALLY PRESENT. IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME.

Naomi: WHAT THE HELL. HOW. WHY. ARE YOU BREATHING.

Y/N: BARELY.

She could practically hear Naomi screaming through the phone screen.

Naomi: Start from the beginning. How did it happen??

Y/N exhaled sharply, moving to a quieter corner of the venue as she leaned against a column, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N: I was with Mal, she was showing me around, and then I heard his voice. I turned around and there he was. Just standing there like he wasn’t about to send me into cardiac arrest.

Naomi: Holy. Shit.

Y/N: He told me I looked beautiful.

Naomi: YOU’RE KIDDING ME.

Y/N: I WISH I WAS.

Naomi: What else did he say??

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip before typing:

Y/N: We talked a little. He asked about me. I told him I was happy for him. It was… weird. Like no time had passed, but also like a lifetime had.

Naomi: Oh my god. Are you okay? Like, genuinely?

Y/N let out a breath, staring at the screen for a long moment before responding.

Y/N: I don’t know.

Naomi didn’t respond right away, and for once, Y/N was grateful. Because she really didn’t know.

Naomi finally responded after a long pause.

Naomi: Do you need me to fly out there? Because I will.

Y/N smiled slightly, shaking her head even though Naomi couldn’t see her.

Y/N: No, you’re off the hook. I’ll survive.

Naomi: Will you?

That was the real question, wasn’t it? Would she survive this? Would she survive seeing Harry, being near him, pretending that it didn’t shake her to her core?

Before she could respond, Mal’s voice rang through the hall.

“There you are!” Mal rushed up to Y/N, her eyes bright. “I need you to come to the rehearsal dinner in like, twenty minutes. Bridesmaid duties. You’re sitting at the head table, by the way.”

Y/N blinked, still slightly disoriented from everything that had just happened. “Wait—what?”

Mal rolled her eyes. “You’re basically my sister, of course you’re sitting with me. Ethan’s groomsmen will be there too, obviously.” She paused, her expression turning smug. “Including Harry.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “Mal.”

Mal grinned innocently. “What? You two used to know each other. Might as well catch up.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. She quickly looked at her phone. 

Naomi: Why do I feel like something is about to go down?

Y/N sighed, typing back.

Y/N: Because it probably is.

She locked her phone and exhaled deeply.her.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, gripping Mal’s arm before she could walk off. “Mal.”

Mal turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding. “Harry… he’s the ex.”

Mal blinked, not catching on immediately. “What do you mean ‘the ex’?”

Y/N stared at her, her throat tightening. “The ex, Mal. The one I never got over.”

Mal’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait. Harry is that Harry?”

Y/N just nodded, feeling her stomach twist.

Mal’s eyes widened in horror. “Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me?! I just—oh my God—I just forced you into sitting at a table with him! I basically told you to flirt with your ex-boyfriend!”

Y/N let out a weak laugh, rubbing her temples. “Yeah. You did.”

Mal looked genuinely panicked, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “Okay, do you want me to change the seating? I can put you somewhere else. I can banish him to the other side of the room if you want.”

Y/N hesitated, her heart a mess of emotions. Every logical part of her was screaming yes, but deep down, there was something else. A tiny part of her—one she wanted to ignore—knew she wasn’t ready to run from this.

She swallowed hard. “No… don’t change anything.”

Mal searched her face. “Are you sure?”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “No. If I’ve spent the last five years surviving without him, I can survive one dinner.”

Mal groaned, shaking her head. “I cannot believe I was the one to unknowingly throw you into this situation.”

Y/N gave her a small smile. “It’s not your fault. I never really talk about him.”

Mal frowned. “That should’ve been my first clue.”

They stood there for a moment before Mal squeezed her hands. “Okay. If at any point you need an out, just say the word, and I’ll stage an emergency.”

Y/N smiled despite the nerves in her chest. “Thanks, Mal.”

Mal smirked. “And for what it’s worth… the way he looked at you earlier? Yeah. That man is not over you either.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but before she could respond, Mal looped her arm through hers and started leading her toward the dining hall.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Y/N walked into the rehearsal dinner with Mal, her stomach twisting into knots. The dining hall was breathtaking—soft candlelight flickered across the elegantly decorated tables, and laughter filled the room as guests mingled. It should have felt warm, exciting, celebratory. Instead, it felt like she was walking straight into the eye of a storm.

Her eyes scanned the head table, and sure enough, there he was.

Harry sat near Ethan, laughing at something one of the other groomsmen said. He looked relaxed, at ease, but the second his gaze flickered up and landed on her, something shifted. His smile faltered—just for a second—before he quickly masked it. But Y/N caught it.

And it made her chest tighten.

“Breathe,” Mal whispered in her ear.

Y/N inhaled deeply, forcing a polite smile as Mal pulled her toward her seat.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats!” Ethan’s voice rang out, and people began settling in.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she approached her spot at the table. As fate would have it, she was seated directly across from Harry.

Of course she was.

Mal slid into her chair beside her, oblivious to the internal battle raging inside Y/N’s head. Or maybe she wasn’t—because when Y/N hesitated for half a second too long, Mal gave her a subtle nudge.

Y/N had no choice but to sit.

As soon as she did, the table conversation picked up, and for a few moments, she thought maybe she could get through this dinner unscathed. But then—

“You look nice.”

The deep, familiar voice sent a shiver down her spine.

She looked up, and there he was. Harry. Looking right at her.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks,” she murmured. “You do too.”

He gave a small smile, but there was something behind his eyes—something hesitant, something unsure.

Ethan, oblivious to the tension, clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Mate, did you know Y/N used to date a musician?”

Y/N nearly choked on her drink.

Harry’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “Oh?”

Ethan grinned. “Yeah! I don’t think she ever got over him, asshole broke up with her to go fuck around.”

Mal visibly cringed. “Ethan—”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Harry’s gaze was steady, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. He looked at her, his voice smooth as ever.

“Yeah?” he mused. “Wonder what happened to him.”

Y/N shot him a glare across the table, her face burning, while Mal reached for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it in warning.

Ethan frowned, confused for a second before realization dawned on his face. His eyes darted between Harry and Y/N, his mouth dropping open. “Wait—no way.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. Mal let out a nervous laugh, while Harry just sat back, looking far too amused.

Ethan whistled low. “Wow. Okay. This just got interesting.”

Y/N peeked up at Harry, who was still watching her with that unreadable look in his eyes.

Ethan finally shut up after a pointed glare from Mal, and conversation around the table shifted away from Y/N’s romantic history—or rather, her history with Harry Styles. But the damage had already been done.

Y/N felt the weight of Harry’s gaze every so often, his eyes flickering toward her between conversations, his expression unreadable. She did everything in her power to ignore it, to focus on the food, on Mal’s wedding plans, on anything but the fact that Harry was sitting across from her, looking like a damn dream, completely unbothered by the chaos he had just walked into.

Eventually, the dinner plates were cleared, and drinks were passed around. Mal and Ethan stood to give a short thank-you speech, and while everyone was clapping and toasting, Y/N took the opportunity to slip outside for some air.

She stepped onto the balcony, the cool evening breeze brushing against her skin. She exhaled slowly, gripping the railing, trying to steady herself.

The air was crisp outside, a welcome contrast to the warmth and noise of the rehearsal dinner. Y/N gripped the railing, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the storm brewing in her chest.

She heard the door creak open behind her, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps.

“Running away already?”

She closed her eyes briefly before turning her head. Harry stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that same unreadable expression.

“Not running,” she murmured. “Just… breathing.”

He hummed in response, stepping closer until he was beside her, leaning against the railing. Their shoulders barely touched, but the proximity sent a ripple through her.

Silence settled between them, the weight of five years pressing down on both of them.

Harry exhaled, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood. “I tried.”

Y/N frowned slightly, turning to look at him. “Tried what?”

His jaw tightened for a brief moment before he met her gaze. His voice was steady, quiet. “To find something that felt like this.”

Her breath caught.

“Like us.”

The words settled between them, thick and heavy, cutting through the cool night air like a blade.

Y/N swallowed, her fingers tightening around the railing. She should say something—anything—but her mind was blank, her heart betraying her with how hard it was pounding in her chest.

Instead, she forced herself to look away, staring out at the dark horizon. “Did you?”

A beat of silence. Then, just as softly—

“No.”

The quiet stretched between them, filled with everything they weren’t saying.

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose. “Harry…”

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I know.”

But he didn’t move.

And neither did she.

The weight of his words sat between them, thick and unmoving. Y/N stared out at the night sky, her grip on the railing tightening.

She had waited.

For months. For years.

She had waited for the moment when he would come back, when the universe would prove him right—that if they were meant to be, they’d find their way back to each other.

But he never came.

And so, she had forced herself to move on, to let go of the idea of him and the promises they had made.

Except now, here he was. Standing beside her, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

She turned to him then, her voice quieter, but firm. “You told me if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back.”

Harry inhaled sharply, his gaze locking onto hers. “I remember.”

Her throat tightened. “I waited, Harry.”

A shadow crossed his face, pain flickering in his eyes. “I know.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She shook her head slightly. “I told myself I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t. But I did anyway.” She swallowed, the emotions she had buried for so long threatening to surface. “And the thing is… I didn’t have to let you fight for me.” She met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Because you were always the one.”

Harry’s breath hitched, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.

She didn’t look away.

“I was yours, Harry,” she whispered. “Always.”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He looked like he wanted to say something—needed to—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he did what he had always done.

He looked at her like she was his entire world.

The space between them was thick with tension, a storm neither of them could outrun. Y/N’s heart pounded, her breath coming in uneven waves as she tried to steady herself.

Harry looked wrecked, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back, like the only thing keeping him from reaching for her was the fear that she’d pull away.

“I thought about coming back a million times,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But every time I convinced myself it was too late. That you’d moved on, that I’d lost my chance.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I waited for you, Harry.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “You said if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back. And I believed you.” She swallowed hard. 

His jaw tensed, pain flashing in his eyes. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you deserved better than someone who left you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he hated himself for even saying it. “Scared that if I came back, I’d ruin you all over again.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “And what about me?” she whispered. “Did you ever think about what it did to me when you didn’t come back?”

Harry flinched like she had physically struck him. He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair before looking at her again, his green eyes burning into hers. “I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N. Not for a single day.”

She sucked in a breath, her hands trembling at her sides. “Why now, Harry?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t stand in the same room as you and act like I don’t still love you.”

Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs. “You—”

“I love you.” His voice was steady, sure. “I never stopped.”

A strangled breath escaped her lips. Every wall she had built over the years, every defense she had tried to put up—it all crumbled in an instant.

Because she loved him, too.

She always had.

And maybe she always would.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think about the consequences, she surged forward, her hands gripping his face as she crashed her lips against his.

Harry let out a soft, surprised sound before sinking into her, his hands flying to her waist, pulling her closer, like he had been starving for her.

The kiss was desperate, aching, filled with everything they had lost, everything they had missed, everything that still burned between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and shaken, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his hands still firm on her waist.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek.

“It was never too late,” she whispered back.

Harry let out a shaky breath, his forehead still resting against hers. His grip on her waist tightened, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

Y/N felt the warmth of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell in sync with hers, and for the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her fingers still cradling his face. His green eyes were glassy, searching hers for something—reassurance, hope, maybe even forgiveness.

“I can’t do this again if you’re not sure, Harry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I barely survived losing you once.”

Harry shook his head instantly, his hands cupping the small of her back, holding her like he never wanted to let go. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. “You say that now.”

“I say that because I know what it’s like without you.” He swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I’ve spent five years trying to figure out who I am, trying to find something that felt even remotely close to what we had. And I couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched, and she let her hands drop from his face to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

“So what now?” she murmured.

Harry gave her a small, almost nervous smile. “Now I prove to you that I mean it.”

Y/N felt something crack open inside her, something she had kept locked away since the day he left.

Before she could second-guess herself, before doubt could creep in, she nodded. “Okay.”

Harry’s face softened, and he let out a breath of relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A slow, almost disbelieving grin spread across his face before he leaned in again, pressing the gentlest, most reverent kiss against her lips—like he was sealing a promise.

Y/N melted into him, her fingers curling into his shirt, anchoring herself to him, to this.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy.

But it was them.

[muletia]

Starscream would particularly be a pathetic mess when he experiences human pussy/dick for the first time. He sits on his high horse claiming that humans are nothing more than inferior beings who don’t deserve to be acknowledged, then poof, you show up and put him in his place by making him cry and beg for relief as you use him for your own pleasure.

By the end, Starscream is panting like a dog, his legs shaking uncontrollably while you sit beside him smoking a cigarette (picturing that certain meme lol) and praises him for being such a good mech for them. Starscream is obsessed and whipped for reader from then on.

DON’T TELL MEGATRON FOR HIS AND YOUR SAKE‼️

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

[tfp] obsessed!starscream x human!reader 18+ content / valveplug

summary: behind megatron's back, many things are happening, all of which share one common trait: starscream is the source. this time, the decepticon SIC decided to strike his master's most vulnerable point: you.

cw: valveplug, dom!top!reader, sub!bottom!starscream, starscream rides you, multiple orgasms, praise kink, overstimulation, cheating? (is it really cheating if you are not in an established relationship?) yandere themes, obsession, possessiveness, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation

word count: 1130

'angel' by massive attack was played on repeat while writing. i thought the title kind of fit the content

It was supposed to be just another ploy. A move to get under Megatron’s skin. To finally prove who was better, more cunning; who deserved to rule.

The plan was simple. Use you: make you fall in love, spark emotions, make you care for him more than any other bot on that ship. Spread rotten roots throughout your entire body to ignite a desire within you. Enter your primitive brain and leave a piece of himself there—a piece that, in theory, would take control of you. Make you dependent on him, abandon Megatron, humiliating him. And then seize the moment of shock, disposing of both you and him. Take the throne that belonged to him.

But somewhere along the way, he stumbled.

Starscream had to be cunning, and think two steps ahead if he wanted to survive another day as a Decepticon. Scheming was an art of survival, and he had become its master. Or so he thought. For there was someone even more calculating, someone who deceived even him. Someone who broke into his processor, conquered it mercilessly and claimed it entirely.

“Oh, how beautiful you are, how lovely,” he hears beneath him.

He feels soft, warm hands trailing across the armor on his chassis. Stroking, caressing—the action itself a form of praise. They are delicate, gentle, incomprehensible because no one had ever been gentle with him before. Subtlety was unattainable for someone like Starscream. Illusory. A luxury he had long stopped hoping for.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

But you did it so easily, effortlessly. Without forcing, without intimidation. Praising him came naturally to you, as though you genuinely believed what you said. He knew he was magnificent, that he deserved more than he had. All the other bots, all the beings on that miserable planet couldn’t compare to him. But hearing it in real time made his ego feel real. He genuinely felt like he was the best.

Your hands wander higher. They leave his chassis, move to his shoulders, then to his neck. For a moment, he has the impression you’re about to choke him, the familiar, almost friendly sensation once again enveloping his neck. But you don’t hurt him. You don’t inflict pain. You just keep caressing him, sharing your warmth, even though he had long since begun to overheat.

His hips move quickly as he rises and falls over you, chasing pleasure. It’s lust. Hunger that only you can satisfy.

“More,” he moans. Half-lidded crimson optics look at you, and in their depths plays something far more dangerous than Megatron’s fury. “Say more. Compliment me, adore me. Love me.”

Finally, you reach his faceplate, forcing him to focus his gaze solely on you, and then you smile triumphantly. You’ve won, wrapping the very SIC of the Decepticons around your little finger. Now at your mercy, dependent on your whims and needs.

“You’re amazing, Star. So good, and just for me. You don’t even know what an honor this is for me.”

The pleasant tingling in his valve disrupts his focus. He wants to drink in your praise, to encode it deep into his processor and repeat it like a mantra when you are not at his disposal. But he’s so close to release… He feels his legs start to tremble, claws carving ravines into the berth.

He nuzzles his cheek deeper into your hand, seeking contact, reveling in the ecstasy you give him. Even while being passive, doing absolutely nothing but lying there and looking beautiful beneath him, you give him more than you could ever imagine. He does all the work, riding you, holding full control over when to stop and start, yet it’s you holding the leash. It’s your word that determines whether he’ll be granted the privilege of pleasure.

“You’re doing so wonderfully today, darling. Tell me, would you like to come? Would you like to be good for me?”

The tingling transforms into fire. His valve clamps around you, begging for release.

“Yes! Please!” he whines. “I want to be, hmm, the best… for you.”

“Then please, show me how much you adore me.”

He arches his back and sinks as deeply as he can. Pants heavily, legs still trembling. Optics remain open, locked onto you. Onto the human who managed to break him.

He leans low over you and kisses you, finalizing his overload. You can’t keep up with him as he ravages your mouth, constantly begging for more, for scraps of passion that temporarily soothe his frantic processor. One kiss lasts longer, almost romantic, but Starscream breaks it quickly, leaving five more hungry, greedy ones.

Finally, he leaves your lips and moves lower, to your neck. He hears you take a deep breath, and for a second, he feels guilty—until desire takes control again.

“Starscream,” you chide him gently. You saw right through him.

He wants to mark you, show everyone who you belong to, who you cheat on Megatron with. But he also wants to calm himself, to stop pretending in front of everyone that nothing connects you two, that you’re indifferent to him. To stop the madness tearing him apart after every separation, when both his body and spark craves you. Not just the feral interfacing but also the tenderness it carried.

Once more, he starts moving his hips, chasing another overload, though the remnants of the previous climax still cling to him. He’s already grown hungry again, longing for praise, which, as it turned out, was more satisfying than the desire to overthrow Megatron. His battered valve lazily takes you in, releases, and then swallows you whole again.

“Just a little mark,” he tries to bargain. He needs it. Needs to possess your body and soul the way you possessed his.

“No, I’m sorry,” you reply, stroking his cheek. “You know he’ll kill you if you do.”

He growls and pulls away because he knows you’re absolutely right. If your meetings were discovered, it wouldn’t just be him who’d pay. And he didn’t want to see you hurt. Not anymore.

He speeds up, forcing his processor to focus solely on you and the pleasure you provided him. He had to make the most of this meeting, to ravage himself until he had no strength left to move a digit. Not just so you’d care for him afterward and coo praise at him. The date of your next encounter was unknown, and he didn’t know if he would lose his sanity entirely and last scraps of self-control by then.

“What a good mech,” you murmur, drawing a moan from him. “Five overloads, and you still have the strength, huh?”

“There’ll be at least ten… ah! Or twe-twenty. But you—you’re not going anywhere.”

“As you wish, Star.”

He scratches with his claws so hard that sparks fly next to your head.

[amirasainz]

So after the whole Brazil GP weekend, I have to say that the drivers were so funny to watch during the whole "will there be a qualifying or not".

What about driver!reader that does something crazy during the whole thing. And afterwards she is sleeping by the tyres, because it's the warmest place to be.

Thank you <3333333

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

- xoxo babygirl 💙

Umbrella

It was Saturday afternoon at the Interlagos circuit, and the rain was relentless. The paddock was a mess of puddles, drenched engineers, and soaked fans who clung to their umbrellas, hoping for qualifying to start. The drivers waited in their motorhomes or huddled up in the pit garage, bantering, snacking, and desperately trying to stay warm. Every few minutes, the announcement would come over the speakers, postponing the start of qualifying yet again due to the downpour.

Max stretched his legs, leaning against the wall in the Red Bull garage. "You know, maybe they should let us race with jet skis at this point," he muttered, making a few of the mechanics chuckle.

Across the pit lane, Charles threw his head back with a laugh. "I’d like to see you try, Max!"

Just then, a slow, familiar beat started to play over the speakers. Boom, boom, ka… boom, boom, ka.

The drivers paused, exchanging confused glances as the unmistakable opening notes of Rihanna’s Umbrella played over the loudspeakers. But what really caught their attention was a ripple of excitement that surged through the crowd in the grandstands. The fans had all started pointing at something—someone—approaching from the back of the pit lane.

George squinted, “Is that…?”

Walking down the pit lane in a Red Bull jacket, drenched but looking determined, was Y/N, Red Bull’s first female racer, only 18 years old but with a spark and style that had everyone buzzing this season. She strutted through the puddles, the rain bouncing off her cap, her Red Bull mechanics flanking her like a squad, all clearly in on whatever she was planning.

The beat dropped, and as Rihanna’s voice filled the air, Y/N tossed her jacket off dramatically. With a grin, she and her mechanics began to move in sync to the music, just like Tom Holland’s legendary performance on Lip Sync Battle.

Carlos’ jaw dropped. “Are they—? No way!”

“Yep,” said Lando, unable to contain his laughter. “They’re doing the performance. Full send!”

As the first verse kicked in, Y/N spun, stepping through puddles with dramatic flourishes, her mechanics adding spins and claps that matched her every move. Fans cheered from the grandstands, chanting her name and holding up phones to capture every second.

Pierre and Esteban, usually rivals on and off the track, were both doubled over with laughter, cheering her on. “This is the best thing that’s happened all weekend,” Esteban said, wiping away a tear.

Max crossed his arms, nodding approvingly, “Respect. That’s commitment right there.”

Meanwhile, the Ferrari team leaned over the pit wall, watching in awe as Y/N absolutely nailed every move, the raindrops flying around her as if the storm itself was in on the performance. When she did the famous spin-and-drop move that Tom Holland had made famous, the entire pit lane erupted in applause and whistles.

“Look at her go!” Lewis called from Mercedes’ side, genuinely entertained. “She’s got the whole crowd captivated!”

Charles shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Forget racing, maybe she should go into show business.”

Y/N laughed, locking eyes with the crowd as she sang along to the chorus: “Under my umbrella, ella, ella…” The fans joined in, their voices echoing around the pit lane. Her mechanics, committed to the bit, twirled their umbrellas above her as if choreographed for the rain.

After the song finished, Y/N and her mechanics took an exaggerated bow, soaking wet but absolutely buzzing with energy and laughter. She waved at the crowd, blowing kisses, as her team threw their arms around her, cheering and laughing.

When Y/N returned to the Red Bull garage, dripping wet and grinning ear-to-ear, Max extended a hug. “That was epic, Y/N. Never thought I’d see someone pull that off here.”

“Thanks, Max,” she said, hugging him tightly back. “Thought I’d keep everyone entertained since, well, looks like we’re stuck here.”

Lando wandered over from McLaren, still laughing. “You know, if F1 ever falls through for you, there’s a career in musical theatre waiting.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Y/N said, laughing. “I’ll just have to be a part-time singer and full-time driver.”

The rain continued to pour down, and with no sign of qualifying starting soon, the energy in the paddock started to wind down. After the performance, most of the drivers and team members settled back, some checking the radar, others chatting and relaxing.

About an hour later, Carlos spotted something odd. “Uh…guys?”

Everyone turned to see Y/N curled up beside a stack of tires in the Red Bull garage, fast asleep. She had her arms wrapped around one of the tires, using it as a pillow, completely oblivious to the rain and noise around her.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s hugging the tires. Guess they’re warmer than the rain.”

Max grinned, whispering, “She really is something, huh?”

Y/N’s mechanic, Luke, covered her with a spare Red Bull jacket, careful not to wake her. “Let her rest. She earned it after that show.”

Back in the grandstands, fans were still buzzing, sharing clips and photos of Y/N’s impromptu performance all over social media. The whole weekend might have been wet and chaotic, but for one afternoon, everyone—drivers, fans, and teams alike—had found a moment of pure, unexpected joy in the storm.

[tojisrealwifey]

Crybaby — f. toji (pt. 1)

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Synopsis: When you realize your husband might still be hung up on his ex-wife.

・❥・requests : rules

・❥・characters: fushiguro toji.

warnings: mdni, 18+, kind of angsty, smut, degrotary terms (slut, bitch), saying the wrong name (whoopsy), drunk sex, very very very slight anal penetration, you are megumi's step mom, age gap, Toji's ex-wife's name is Rei, half-assed proofreading.

・❥・wc: 2.1k

・❥・masterlist

・❥・crybaby masterlist

Your ears rang with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and the bustling of the crowd. Your arm circled your husband's as you walked through the festival.

The event was coming to an end, which called for everyone to gather for the fireworks. You excitedly made your way to the benches with Toji in tow.

You were surprisingly quick, even with your kimono weighing you down. You were not one to dress up for festivals but you had just wanted to look and feel pretty for your husband today.

You were having the best day. Your mouth was still burning from the spicy yakisoba you had slurped up earlier, so you were delighted when Toji handed you a plate of dango for the two of you to enjoy.

Settling yourself down on one of the stair benches, Toji takes the now empty plate away and sets it down beside him. 

You hug his arm close, leaning and nuzzling into him. A hummed slightly, feeling content with the evening.

It wasn't long before the first firework exploded into life. The sparks fly as if they defy gravity with the subtle deafening ringing they bring.

The colors of each firework erupt into intricate shapes, sweeping the crowd in their wonder.

You couldn't look away at the beginning, not risking to miss the sight. But after a while had the urge to make a comment on the fireworks.

You turn to look at Toji, only, his sight isn't parallel to yours. His thin lips held a smile as his eyes were trained on someone else.

A woman sitting way ahead at the front. She was cheering with her friends, the radiant light displayed on her skin. The muscles of your cheeks twitch, not being able to stop the frown from embedding itself.

You felt the uneasiness bubble in your stomach when your eyes ghosted over her features.

Your chest felt heavy, not really knowing why. Sure, he was looking at another woman, doesn't mean he likes her, right?

He is just admiring something else, there's nothing wrong with that. You do so too, it isn't really a big deal.

No need to make it a big deal.

Goosebumps spread across your body, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

The fireworks show was over, yet, his eyes hadn't left her, and yours hadn't left him.

You softly shake his arm making him look at you, and seeing your glum face made him concerned, not that he showed it.

"You okay?" He asked plainly.

"My stomach's upset, I don't think the dango was prepared well."

"Oh? I feel fine though. Sure it wasn't something you ate before the festival?" He asks, taking his arm out of your hold and touching your back.

"Could be. Can we leave? I think I just need to sleep it off."

"Sure, let's go." He stands up, taking your hand in his as the two of you start walking away.

You take one last look at the woman he was staring at, making sure your eyes weren't deceiving you.

And your heartbeat only faltered noticing her uncanny resemblance to Toji's ex-wife.

Toji sat on the couch enjoying the music playing on TV as you took a bath. It had become a custom.

Despite the fact you took longer to clean yourself up, you would always shower before him.

It used to be the other way around when you first moved in together, but while Toji would be in the bath you would end up falling asleep, Toji not having it in his heart to wake you.

So he insisted that you shower before him while he could catch up on other things.

Like right now, getting daily updates from Megumi.

"Where's mom? I want to say good night to her as well." Megumi's voice comes through from the phone. 

"She's in the shower. How was college today?"

"Good. Tired though."

"Then sleep ya lil' shit."

"Not before I talk to Ma."

Toji grumbles.

"She just went, it might be a while."

"I'll wait."

You on the other hand were scrubbing every part of your body with a subtle harshness. The stinging cold water rained on you, the coolness calming the overwhelming thoughts of your brain.

This wasn't something that bothered you usually.

You loved your relationship with Toji, and you loved him. You loved Megumi as if he were your own blood.

Yet there was always something off, something uneasy that always radiated off of Toji.

And you knew why.

You always enjoyed the stories Toji would share about his past, Rei, and baby Megumi. Listening happily to him describing the husband and father he was before you came in.

You loved listening about Toji's last wife because you liked the small twinkle in his eyes, and how a smile would form on the usually stoic Megumi's face.

You understood and accepted the love he had for her. And you knew if she hadn't succumbed to her illness, the three of them would be a happy family.

And you wouldn't be here.

You had an unspeakable amount of respect for the late Rei, but just sometimes you wished it wasn't like this.

Because you would catch Toji trying to remind himself that she's not here anymore, and it's the most heartbreaking thing.

It was the first time the 12-year-old Megumi accidentally called you 'Mom' and you remembered catching Toji's crestfallen face from your peripheral vision. 

It had only been 2 years into this relationship, so you were caught off guard when Megumi did so.

You were really happy, but catching the look on Toji's face made your head fill with doubt.

4 years after your relationship, Toji finally got on one knee. So why did he hesitate before slipping the ring on your finger?

You still remember your third date with this man. It was a month after you both met and had invited him home for dinner.

He had declined but later changed his mind. Despite his dislike for alcohol, you both shared a few cups of wine.

Wine lead to dinner...dinner lead to more wine...and wine lead to talks. During your conversation, he had let it slip that his ex-wife had died 3 years ago today.

And before you knew it, he was moaning her name as he fucked you.

Your face was pressed into the pillow, letting out guttural moans at Toji's thrusts. You could feel the veins of cock against your walls, and your eyes rolled back, never having experienced something like this before.

"Ngh~ Yes! Please don't stop!"

"F-fuck you like this bitch?" 

He gives you a harsh spank, making you stick out your ass more and push against him. He suddenly halts, and his strong hold on you means you stopped too.

You manage to crane your neck and look back at him, taking note of his dazed look.

His face was pink and he looked completely out of it, and you couldn't tell if he was drunk on wine or your pussy.

His fingers brushed against your virgin entrance. Your breath hitched when he put pressure against the muscle.

"Relax. Had anything here before?" He asks, bringing his hand to his mouth and spitting on it.

"N-no..."

"Thought so." His wet fingers smoothed over your hole, simultaneously slipping his cock out, making you whine.

He crouches down, bringing his lips to where his fingers were, giving you a slow lick. 

You flinch at the foreign touch.

"Toji~" Your voice sounded like you were crying.

"Shhh, won't do much, baby. Just enjoy this." His tongue finally pressed against you, your hole flexing against him.

His tongue pushed in slowly making you move away from him from embarrassment.

"I can't Toji... 's too much!" You cried against the pillow.

His hands engulf your body, holding you close.

"Shhhhh...it's okay. She liked it too, so you'll learn for me, okay?" He slurs.

There was a flicker of discomfort from his words, but before you could question it, his cock was in you.

His thrusts were faster than before, hands working your chest as they painfully pinch your nipples.

"Hngg! R-right there! There! Toji!~"

"Such a fucking slut. Taking a cock that's too big for her. You're squeezing me out of you, nasty bitch."

"Fuuckkk~ Please! Please! I'm s-so close- Ahh!" 

Never had you had anything so deep within you before, your body absorbing every bit of pleasure that this man could give you.

"Yeah? Gon' cum f'me? Fuck cum baby. Wanna feel your pussy cum on me."

Toji's hand leaves your chest and finds your chin. He cups your face and brings you close to him, lips on your cheek as he grunts in your ear.

Your vision goes blank and you can hardly process Toji's moaning.

"You're so good Rei. So fuckin' proud of my wife. Clenching me so good. Gonna give you another baby, yea? Want my cum Rei?"

And you stupidly nod during your high, blatantly ignoring his calls for his ex-wife.

"Want your cum! Please Toji!"

You gasp out desperately. His hands find your hair, and he is once again pressing your face into the mattress.

Your body is shivering as you leave the shower, hand desperately wiping your face to soothe your red face.

Chewing on your lip, you sat on the bed contemplating your decisions up until now.

Did you make a mistake?

You did, didn't you?

You remember that night, just how pathetic you felt when you came to your senses. 

There had been a slight ringing in your ear after the session. You would joke in your mind that it was a siren, warning you of this budding 'relationship'.

Toji had made you feel a satisfaction like no other, yet it had left you feeling a sense of malaise.

Neither of you addressed it the morning after. You wanted to say something but were unsure if he had retained any memory from the night before.

So you let it go, just giving an excuse like 'he was grieving' or 'we're not even official, it's fine' and 'we were both too drunk'.

And something like that never happened again, but you still can't help but think if every time you both get intimate, is it really just you on his mind?

Toji is caught off guard when he enters the room, the concern now evident on his face. 

You had been behaving distant since the end of the festival, but seeing you spaced out, sitting at the edge of the bed with only a towel around you as your nails worked to peel off the chapped skin of your lips, something was very wrong here.

"You chill, babe?" Toji asks, Megumi still on video call.

You don't even flinch when you hear his voice. You just simply stop picking at your lips, look up, and smile sweetly at your husband.

"Mhm...just worrying about Megumi." You lie.

"Well, he's on call, waiting for you."

"Oh! Gimme!" You stand up quickly, pretending as if there's nothing wrong as you snatch his phone.

Seeing Megumi's.....your son's.....face lifted your heavy heart. You walk to the right side of the bed and settle yourself on the floor, back supported by the bed.

You look back once more, smiling at Toji.

"You should take a shower. And be quick, or I might just fall asleep before you." You grin before turning your attention to your...son.

Thinking of Megumi as your son had started to feel uneasy, especially in front of Toji.

"Hi, baby! How are the dorms? Have you been attending all your lectures? You shouldn't miss any." You start.

"Yes Ma, I have. They are interesting but the teachers are old and boring." You let out a giggle at his response. As you speak, you hear the showers turn on.

"You know, you can skip a few lectures here and there, just don't let it affect your credits. I won't tell your father."

"I heard that!" Toji's voice is muffled yet his words are clear, clear enough to reach Megumi. 

You and Megumi let out a chuckle at this.

"Yeah yeah." Megumi lets out a yawn and you 'aw' at the sight.

"Go to sleep, honey. It's late." You say, secretly hoping to end the call early.

"Mhm, I'll talk tomorrow, Ma."

"Sure. Night baby. Muahh!" You lean forward to give an audible peck on the camera.

"Good night." Megumi smiles subtly at your actions before hanging up the call.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You stand up from your seat on the floor, placing Toji's phone on the nightstand.

Walking towards the bathroom, you drop the towel on the floor and open the door.

From the looks of it, Toji had just finished cleaning his hair. So, without wasting time you crept up behind him.

Your hands find his back, slowly smoothing them over to the front. Toji had seen you enter so he wasn't surprised by your touch.

Your right hand that settled on his chest was now trailing lower and lower. Toji watched your hand intently, his eyebrows furrowing.

Just before your hand touched him, he had intercepted your trail by clutching your wrist in his hand.

He turned around, your wrist in his hold as he looked at you with a confused glare.

"Why are your hands shaking?" 

[cece693]

So, this might just be an excuse to write a Steve bashing fanfic, but I couldn't help myself. The idea is basically this: Steve leaves you (you're dating) without a goodbye or explanation after the airport fight occurs. So (naturally) you gravitate towards Tony. Steve comes back and doesn't take it well. Hope you enjoy!

What You Left Behind

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: past relationship with steve, steve bashing, reader moves on with Tony, pro Tony stark because why not, explicit sexual content, emotional angst, verbal confrontation, toxic behavior from steve

You hadn't thought Steve would leave—not really. You'd convinced yourself that somehow you'd always come first, that the deep nights spent wrapped in his arms, whispered promises against your skin, meant something more profound than duty or history. But reality had a sharp edge, and when Barnes resurfaced, broken and hunted, Steve’s loyalty crystallized swiftly around his best friend. He chose Barnes—perhaps the man he'd always wanted deep down—over you.

It felt like abandonment—because it was. Not just a physical separation, but an emotional detachment. He’d left you standing in the airport, eyes stinging with unshed tears as you watched him vanish alongside Barnes, shield in hand, never looking back. Yet you never blamed Barnes. He was a pawn caught in a twisted game that history played mercilessly. Your anger, quiet yet corrosive, was reserved entirely for Steve.

Months passed, during which you withdrew inward, throwing yourself into missions and assignments, barely surfacing for air. Tony, whom you'd always admired—maybe a little more than platonically before Steve—was a steady presence in your peripheral vision, watching, waiting.

One evening, after a particularly difficult mission, you found yourself nursing a drink in Tony’s penthouse. He was there, sleeves rolled up, eyes soft and understanding. He’d known heartbreak, betrayal, abandonment—the shattering loneliness of being left behind. “You know,” Tony murmured quietly, eyes glinting gently with compassion and perhaps something deeper, “he didn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” you whispered back, staring at the amber liquid swirling slowly in your glass. Your throat tightened. “And maybe I always knew.”

You don’t quite remember who moved first—maybe both simultaneously—but suddenly your lips were brushing Tony’s, hesitant yet filled with pent-up longing. He tasted rich, intoxicating, every touch igniting a new spark between you. You took Tony upstairs, guiding him onto the bed with practiced ease, his eyes dark and filled with want. His breathing grew heavier as you stripped him slowly, savoring the flush that spread down his chest.

“God,” Tony moaned softly when your lips traced along his throat, marking him gently. You moved lower, pressing kisses down his chest, fingertips grazing his hips until he trembled beneath you.

“You sure about this?” you murmured, hovering over him, your eyes locking onto his.

“More sure than I’ve ever been,” Tony whispered, pulling you into another fierce kiss.

You entered him slowly, watching Tony’s face closely, the way his expression melted into pleasure, his grip tightening around your shoulders. You filled him deeply, steadily, losing yourselves to each other. Tony surrendered completely beneath you, vulnerable yet trusting, until you both shattered together in overwhelming release, his name leaving your lips in a breathless sigh.

That night changed everything. If Steve's absence hadn't already been enough to tell you to move on, it was Tony's gentle touches and lingering kisses that convinced you this was far more than a drunken, one-night encounter.

Pepper, Peter, Happy, and the others were delighted when you made your relationship known. And that in itself was liberating. The people who meant more to Tony than anybody accepted you, welcoming you wholeheartedly into their family without hesitation or doubt. It felt like you finally belonged again. Months passed, each day with Tony strengthening your bond—each stolen moment, lazy morning, and shared laugh solidifying your future together.

Then Steve returned.

The rogues were pardoned—half because the public still loved them, the other half because the world needed defenders when another threat presented itself. You'd planned on avoiding them entirely, content to move on, but Steve showed up at the Tower without warning, assuming nothing had changed.

It was early evening when he strode into the main living area, pausing mid-step as his gaze landed sharply on you, sprawled comfortably on the couch, Tony curled up warmly against your side. Something dangerous flickered in Steve's eyes, a mixture of shock, confusion, and anger swiftly settling over his features. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, eyes narrowing, voice ice-cold.

Tony stiffened beside you, but you gently squeezed his arm before standing to face your ex-boyfriend. “Exactly what it looks like, Steve.”

“I leave for one minute—”

“You left for nine months,” you correct, each word clipped. “You walked away from me—from us—without so much as a goodbye. I was patient, Steve. I let you chase Bucky across three continents before the Accords. Was supportive of your decisions even if they didn’t align with my own, and you know why?” Your voice shakes, anger and hurt clawing at your throat. “Because I trusted you. I trusted that my boyfriend would actually come back to me. I told myself we’d talk things through, fix whatever went wrong…but you never bothered.”

Steve sucks in a breath, but you press on, refusing to let him cut in.

“I waited, Steve. Texts. Calls. I tried everything. Hell, I even asked Sam if he’d heard from you. Do you know how humiliating it felt, searching for any hint of your plans, trying to hold on to a relationship you’d already abandoned?”

Steve’s throat works, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he slips into the same brittle, defensive posture that’s become so familiar since he left. “I had to protect Bucky,” he says flatly, almost dismissively. “I didn’t have time to stop by for tea and a heart-to-heart. People were hunting him like an animal.”

“I get that,” you return sharply. “I supported your decision to protect him—even if I didn’t agree with every extreme measure you took to do it. But it wasn’t just about Bucky, was it? You ran off to save him, leaving me to deal with the fallout of everything else.”

Tony stands off to the side, tension radiating through his posture. He’s trying to keep quiet, to let you handle this, but his protective streak is obvious in the worried flicker of his eyes. And Steve, of course, notices. “So you’re with him now? Mr. Shoot-First-and-Apologize-Never?” He scoffs, crossing his arms. “Great choice. You know, he’s got a track record of letting entire cities drop out of the sky, and that’s when he’s not actively trying to murder someone’s best friend in a parking garage.”

“Excuse me?” Tony bristles, fists clenching. “Wanna talk about track records? Because punching your problems away hasn’t exactly been a glowing success, Cap.”

“Says the man who upended the world with killer robots but thinks he’s earned a gold star because he donated some funds and co-wrote a few laws.” The jab lands, and you can feel Tony’s anger roil. You’ve seen the remorse he carries daily—the nights he wakes up soaked in sweat, replaying Sokovia in his head. Steve flings it around like cheap currency, as if it doesn’t cost Tony to admit he messed up.

“Enough." you snap, your voice steeling. “I’m done letting you talk to him like that. Don’t you dare walk back in here after nearly a year and act like Tony’s the only one who’s ever screwed up. You made your choice, Steve. You chose Bucky over everything. Over me. And I…” You swallow hard. “I had to find someone to lean on when you left. Someone who would stand by me, who wasn’t going to run off and disappear.”

“And Stark was the only other option?”

“If you’re fishing for cheap shots, try again. I’m not explaining the basics of how Tony and I got here nor do I owe you an explanation. Maybe you're just angry that I'm not a dutiful little trophy, waiting for the great Captain America to grace me with his presence again.”

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “I thought you’d understand.”

“That I was just supposed to…what? Approve of you ghosting me for months while you played renegade with a handful of rogues? Steve, you hurt me. You don’t get to come back and pretend we can resume where we left off.”

He looks like he wants to argue—like he wants to push back with all the moral indignation in the world—but he glances between you and Tony, and something snaps in his expression: a raw, bitter mixture of disbelief and betrayal. “You made your choice,” he says, voice tight, so devoid of the warmth he once showed you. “I hope this works out for you, because when Stark screws up again—and we both know he will—I’m not going to be around to pick up the pieces.”

“You were never around to begin with,” you say evenly. “And I don’t need you to pick up anything. I’m not the same person you left behind, Steve.” For a moment, he just stares, eyes dark with anger and something almost like regret. But he sets his jaw and pushes past you, striding to the elevator. The doors slide shut with a harsh hiss.

Silence.

Behind you, Tony exhales, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry,” he offers, voice hushed. “I didn’t mean for any of that to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You turn to him. “Steve's hurting, and he’s lashing out. Doesn’t excuse what he said, though.” You pause, letting out a slow breath. “I’m not going to let him treat you like a punching bag for his guilt. Not now. Not ever.”

Tony’s lips curve into a faint smile, gratitude shining behind his eyes. He lifts his hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “For everything.” Tony’s fingers tighten around yours, as though he’s checking that you’re still real—still choosing him. You bring your joined hands to your lips and press a brief kiss to his knuckles.

“C’mon,” you say softly. “Let’s get out of the blast zone before Steve decides to storm back in for round two.”

Tony snorts, but the sound is thin. “Elevator cameras probably caught him seething the whole ride down. FRIDAY’s going to have a field day with the security footage.”

You guide him toward the kitchen, where the overhead lights are gentler and the hum of appliances fills the lingering silence. A pot of coffee still sits warm on the burner. You pour two mugs—Tony’s in the “Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart” cup he pretends he hates—and slide one across the counter.

He watches you over the rim as he takes a sip, brown eyes softening. “You really don’t blame me for any of that?”

“I blame you for a lot of things,” you tease, nudging his hip with yours. “Like leaving greasy wrenches on the couch and using the last of the oat milk without replacing it. But Steve’s anger? No. That’s on him.” Your smile fades, earnest now. “I meant what I said. You stayed. That matters.”

Tony sets the mug down and pulls you into his arms, arc reactor pulsing gently between you. “I keep expecting you to wake up and realize you deserve better than a walking cautionary tale.”

“Funny,” you murmur against his shoulder. “I keep thinking the same about you. Except I’m the cautionary tale.” You lean back, meeting his gaze. “So maybe we just keep proving each other wrong.”

A wry grin tugs at his mouth. “Deal.” He dips his head, kissing you—slow and certain, like signing a contract with lips instead of ink. When he pulls away he rests his forehead to yours. “You hungry? I can whip up something carbon‑loaded and terrible for my cholesterol.”

“You mean order something?” you deadpan.

“Hey, I’m a culinary savant when I want to be. I’ve watched Happy make omelettes at least twice.”

You chuckle, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Pizza’s fine, genius. But—” You glance toward the windows where the skyline glitters. “After we eat, maybe we should talk about what happens when Steve comes back. Because he will.”

Tony’s smile falters, replaced by a sober nod. “Yeah. He’s still part of the team—even if the team looks different now.” He exhales. “I can handle him throwing punches at me. I’m used to that. But if he aims for you again…”

“He won’t,” you promise. “Not while I’m standing.”

Tony’s gaze warms, fierce and fond. “That’s the thing—I don’t want you to have to stand alone.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a slim, silver keycard. “Been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment.” He presses it into your palm. “Full workshop access. Total clearance. It’s not a ring, but it’s the next best Stark‑level commitment.”

Emotion swells in your throat. “You sure? That’s basically giving me the launch codes.”

“I trust you with more than that,” he says quietly. “Besides, you already have the launch codes. I talk in my sleep.”

You laugh, eyes stinging. “Thank you.”

He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone. “Thank you for choosing me.”

A gentle chime sounds overhead—FRIDAY clearing her throat, if an AI could. “Boss, Captain Rogers has left the premises. He did not, however, punch any walls on the way out. Progress?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Mark it in the log, FRIDAY. ‘Rogers: zero structural damage, moderate emotional carnage.’”

“Logged,” she replies primly.

You shake your head, amused. “Let’s eat before another Avenger barges in.”

“Pizza incoming,” Tony declares, tapping the holographic interface on his watch. He pauses, smirks. “Extra pineapple. Just to spite the super‑soldier.”

[changisworld]

Katoptronophilia with Bangchan.

->Katoptronophilia: Also known as a kink for mirrors, this includes having sex or masterbating in front of a mirror.

Word count:1,901

->Smut warnings: pussy play, fingering(f rec), use of a wand vibrator, squirting, multiple orgasms, use of a spreader bar, praiseeeee, like SO MUCH OF IT:3, reader is so shy ;(

A/N at the bottom<3

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post, 18+ MDNI!!

Kinktober masterlist here

Main masterlist here

Since kinda early on having sex with Chan, he’s picked up on the fact that you’re a bit shy while having sex, hiding your face in the pillows or your arms or purposely kissing on his neck just so he can’t watch you cum around his cock & chan honestly has no idea as to why or how you could be even the slightest bit insecure about yourself, have you not seen you?? But knowing this about you made him think of a new way to try get you to come out of your shell so to speak & feel physically good at the same time!

“Tell me if it’s too tight or hurting anywhere” he says in a reassuring voice as he finishes fitting the spreader bar to just above your ankles, not wanting to get into his own position until you yourself are comfortable.

“‘ts fine Channie, not uncomfortable” you respond, giving him your usual smile, trying to mask the fact you feel as if you’re on fire under his gaze, & he seems to notice.

“don’t be nervous mkay? we can obviously stop if you really don’t wanna do anything we don't need to." he replies, brushing the hair out of your face as his calloused hand places itself on your naked thigh.

"I know channie, wanna do it" you speak, your voice sweet as you then pucker your lips for him to give you a kiss.

"Good, my angel, I'm so glad," Chan coos softly, his thumb caressing your thigh in soothing circles. "You're being so good for me, so perfect, i love you.”

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips with a peck as his other hand trails up your side, fingertips dancing along your skin. "You're so beautiful, y/n. I just want to take care of you, make you feel so good."

Picking up the wand vibrator, he turns it on to a low setting, the soft hum filling the air as he brings it closer to your aching, soaked pussy. "Look at you, so wet and desperate for me," he murmurs, eyes drinking in the sight. "I'm going to make you feel so amazing, princess. Just keep looking at yourself in the mirror, okay? I want you to see how gorgeous you are when you come undone for me."

you blush at his words as you feel the vibrator inching closer towards your cunt which is clenching around nothing & you lean back into his frame, your eyes scrunching closed.

"Ah ah, eyes open, angel," Chan gently chides, bringing the vibrator to your swollen clit and eliciting a gasp from your lips. "That's it, keep looking. I want to see your pretty face as you come for me." He purrs as he nudges your face to look at the floor to ceiling mirror He applies more pressure, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His free hand caresses your thigh soothingly, his voice a soft murmur.

He increases the speed of the vibrator, the wet sounds of your soaked pussy filling the room. "That's it, let go for me, princess. You're being so good, I'm so proud of you."

your legs try to shut themselves from the overwhelming feeling but are stopped by the spreader bar forcing them open, your toes curling at the sensation of the vibrator shooting up your spine as you let out a groan. “Channie, so much” you whimper, forcing your eyes open but still avoiding the mirror in front of you both.

"Shh, it's okay babe" Chan soothes, his voice dripping with adoration. "Just let go, I've got you." he increases the pressure and speed of the vibrator, pushing a desperate mewl from your lips.

"Look at you, taking it all so beautifully. Your pretty pussy is so soaked for me." He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your burning cheek. "I know it's a lot, but you're doing so well, angel. I'm so proud of you."

He glances up, catching your gaze in the mirror & he lets out a teasing but pretty smirk & satisfied hum as he pushes the button the vibrator & you instantly the vibrations intensify, sending you barrelling towards the edge as Chan murmurs endless praises and encouragement.

“g-gonna cum channie” your stutter as your hips buck under the vibrator, your eyebrows furrowing together as you then focus on his face, Chan sitting right behind you, you sitting in between his legs & his face resting on your shoulder.

"That's it, angel, let go," Chan coos, his voice thick with desire. "Be a good girl and come for me. I want to see it all."

He presses the vibrator harder against your throbbing clit, the ‘schlacking’ sounds of your soaked pussy spurring him on. He nuzzles your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin.

"Look at yourself, y/n. See how beautiful you are when you let go?" His eyes lock onto yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Come for me, princess. I want to watch you fall apart."

The vibrations ring in your head, sending you hurtling over the edge. Your back arches, your thighs trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

"That's it, good girl," Chan praises, his voice dripping with adoration. "You're doing so amazing, letting me see how gorgeous you are."

You try look at him through the reflection, not paying much attention to your own core being abused by the vibrator at almost maximum speed & your toes curl from the pleasure & before you can spew any words out, your orgasm gushes from you, my squirt soaking onto wooden bedroom floor as you let out a squeal, your body lurching forwards.

Chan's eyes light up with delight as your orgasm overtakes you, your squirt gushing out and soaking the laminated floor.

"Yes, that's it" he exclaims, his voice laced with awe. "Look at you, so beautiful, aren’t you?” he questions, knowing the chance of you replying is slim to none.

"I'm so proud of you, y/n," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. "You took that so well, didn't you? Such a good girl."

He gazes at you through the mirror, his expression adoring. "I could watch you come undone like this all day. You're absolutely mesmerizing." he purrs, pecking your cheek with his puffy lips & you lean into the touch.

Slowly, he reduces the intensity of the vibrator, allowing you to come down from your high. His touch remains gentle & soothing.

“do wan’you to see me, ‘ts aw-awkaward- want your fingers channie” you blabber the words, your hands gripping into his thick thighs, breathing heavily as your muscles are all clenching uncontrollably, your pussy dripping wetness onto the floor, collecting with your orgasm.

"Don’t be so silly, never awkward," Chan soothes, his voice dripping with adoration. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He shifts the vibrator to the side, slowly dragging his fingers through your soaked folds. "Is this what you want, princess? My fingers deep inside that pretty pussy of yours?"

Pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, he murmurs, "You can have whatever you need, hunny, just let me take care of you."

Slowly, he sinks two digits into your quivering heat, curling them to hit that sensitive spot. "That's it, angel. Feel how perfectly you grip me? You're doing so well."

His free hand gently guides your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. "Look at yourself, y/n, how can you not fawn over yourself?” he groans in your ear, his voice deep.

He picks up the pace, his fingers relentlessly stroking your most sensitive areas. "Come for me again, princess. I want to watch you fall apart."

You physically quiver as you feel his thick digits fill your already soaked hole, a small squelch noise being heard & that paired with the feeling of the vibrator now hitting your sweet spot on your inner thigh makes you squeak & your fingers tighten around his thighs, nails digging into his flesh covered by his sweatpants. “so s-sweet channie, feels so good, fuck” you whine, basking in the feeling of his fingers.

"That's it, my sweet angel, take it all," Chan croons, his voice thick with arousal. The sounds of your soaked pussy gripping his fingers only spur him on further.

He increases the pace, his fingers relentlessly stroking your most sensitive areas. "You feel so perfect around me, y/n. So hot and wet, just begging to be filled."

Pressing the vibrator firmly against your clit, he begins to work you towards another mind-shattering orgasm. "Come on, babe, let go for me again. I want to watch you fall apart."

His free hand caresses your trembling thighs, offering soothing touches. "You're being so good, taking it all so beautifully. I'm so proud of you, my gorgeous girl."

The sensations build in your lower tummy & the combined stimulation is quickly overwhelming your senses. "That's it, let it go. You're doing amazing, princess. I've got you."

you start to fall into a different floaty space that not just you but Chan loves so so much & your head rolls to look back in the mirror in front of the both of you, your eyes switching from my now swollen cunt filled with his thick fingers to his face, his own face looking fucked out as if he is the one receiving pleasure & you let out a guttural moan, clenching around his fingers as the vibrator is making you feel as if your skin is on fire. “C-close channie, g-feel like ima sq-fuck, squirt.”

Chan's eyes darken with lust as he watches your expression shift, a look of pure ecstasy washing over your features. "That's it, my angel, let go for me," he breathes, his voice thick with lust.

He curls his fingers inside you, stroking that sweet spot relentlessly. The vibrator hums against your swollen clit, sending you careening towards the edge.

His gaze is locked on yours in the mirror, drinking in every twitch and flutter of your expression. "You're being so good, taking it all so beautifully. I'm so proud of you, princess."

The sensations build to a new height as your muscles tensing as the pressure builds. With a guttural cry, you let go, your release gushing out and soaking Chan's hand and the sheets beneath you.

"Fuck, that's it, that’s a big one isn’t it?" he exclaims, his voice laced with awe. "You're so perfect, my love. So gorgeous when you come undone for me."

He works you through the aftershocks, murmuring endless praises and adoration. His touch remains gentle, soothing you as the waves of pleasure slowly subside.

Chan is quick to unlatch the spreader bar from your legs & they instantly shut from overstimulation & he can’t help but chuckle a bit as he picks you up & puts you on the bed & grabs the water that you had both set on the bedside table before the scene began.

“You can stay floaty for a while but then you need to come back to me mkay?” he says, not really expecting a response as he brushes the now wet with sweat hair from your face & then nuzzles into you for a cuddle, his cock softening after his own orgasm sprayed into his sweat pants ten minutes ago.

->A/N: im posting this over a week early because i am testing out a new writing style since i feel as if i dont use enough speech in my writing, so i need to see how well this does & depending on how well it does, i can adjust my writing to this style from now on!💛

->Taglist & anon list are open!

@jisungml @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @kissesmellow21 @lixies-favorite-cookie @keshet2k @mikaelless @minniesverse @missystay

(if your name is NOT in grey, it means i couldn’t tag you :( )

[pretentious-blonde]

right

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a date that doesn’t go as planned, steve starts to panic, but you’re there to steady him

warnings: anxiety, mention of suicide?? (like one line)

a/n: soft and tender steve!!! he is such a sweetheart in this istg

series masterlist

You had just finished choosing your outfit, adjusting the fabric to sit on your shoulders, when your phone rang. Steve’s voice was apologetic the moment you answered. You could practically hear him running a hand through his hair, messing up those carefully styled locks of his as he tried to explain himself.

“Hey, I’m so, so sorry,” he spoke quickly, urgently. “I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just—I’ve got this kid here whose ride hasn’t shown yet, and… well, I can’t leave him.”

You could picture him perfectly: face scrunched in concern, probably perched on the edge of his cluttered desk. He sounded so regretful on the phone, and you hated that he was even stressing over something so trivial.

“Steve,” you said gently, cutting off his rambling apologies. “It’s okay. Really. I’ll just head over to the school. We can go together once their parents show up.”

Your reassurance was immediate, relief palpable in his responding sigh.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you replied, twisting a stray thread on your sleeve. “See you soon.”

The call wrapped up on a calmer note, and you took a moment to smooth your hair in the mirror, feeling optimistic that it was deciding to behave itself. The two of you had planned a nice evening—a proper sit-down meal somewhere slightly fancy—and although things weren’t going exactly to plan, you couldn’t deny how much you were looking forward to seeing him in his classroom again. 

Grabbing your bag and keys, you slipped out the door, a small spark of excitement humming beneath your ribs. The drive to Hawkins Elementary was peaceful, dusk painting the sky in shades of lilac and amber. Soft music played through your car speakers, but your mind drifted more than once to a certain teacher…

Something about him, surrounded by all that childlike wonder, made him feel impossibly soft. That, paired with his contrite tone, made you want to reassure him in person. 

When you arrive at the school, there’s a still energy settling over the place. Most of the staff and students have long since gone home. You park in a spot near the entrance, stepping out into the gentle air of early evening.

Inside, the lobby is quiet, illuminated by the mellow glow of overhead lights. The smell still strangely nostalgic, it tugs at memories of your own school days. Behind the front desk stands the elderly receptionist you’d met briefly before. He’s in the middle of packing up his things, a well-worn coat draped over one arm. He looks up, a welcoming smile lighting his features.

“Back so soon?” he teases gently. “Another delivery, perhaps?”

You return his smile, recalling your last visit.

“Not this time,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m meeting Mr. Harrington?”

“Ah, yes.” A knowing glint sparks in his eyes. “Still in his classroom. Been there quite a while.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking a moment to note the kind crinkles around his eyes. Then you turn toward the hallway.

The corridors are hushed, classroom lights off, and the echoes of a busy school day fading into memory. You’re headed toward the same door you’ve visited prior: 2B, the sign now familiar.

Steve’s pencil stills when he hears the soft click of the classroom door. The moment he sees you, he falters, breath catching in his throat.

It’s obvious how much effort you had put into tonight—hair carefully styled, a soft glow to your skin that makes something tighten in his chest. Guilt flickers for keeping you waiting, but it’s drowned out by something stronger. 

The fact that you dressed up for him. 

He was torn, wanting to leap up and greet you properly, but he’s got a child at his side. So he settles for a warm, if slightly measured, Hey. His tone gentle enough not to startle the boy to his right. 

It was a stark contrast to the way he wanted to react. You deserved so much more than this.

“Hey,” you return, eyes drifting to the desk to see what they’re working on. He forces himself to swallow the pang of regret that he can’t whisk you off to dinner right this second. His mind spins with half-formed apologies—mentally promising he’ll make this up to you, somehow.

“Can I sit?” you ask, one hand resting on the back of the child-sized chair across from him.

“Sure,” Steve says quickly, gesturing with the pencil in his hand. He bites back a smile as you awkwardly manoeuvre into the small chair—it takes some getting used to. He would know.

Once you settle, he glances at the kid beside him. The boy’s chin is practically touching his chest, his expression clouded with an unmistakable sadness. 

“Hey, Samuel,” Steve begins softly, scooting a bit closer to the child. “You remember who this is?”

Samuel lifts his gaze from his drawing, eyeing you without the spark kids usually have. 

“She gave us the books,” he mumbles. There’s a small hitch in his voice that tugs on Steve’s heartstrings. The poor kid’s been waiting far too long for a ride that hasn’t arrived.

“That’s right,” you say softly, offering a gentle smile. 

Samuel just shrugs, returning his attention to the paper in front of him. Steve’s brow furrows; he hates seeing the normally bright-eyed little boy so down.

You desperately want to lighten the mood, so you lean forward, resting your forearms on the small table. Dinner can wait, the sad kid in front of you takes priority right now.

“So, what are you guys doing here?” you ask, voice patient.

Samuel pauses, glancing up at Steve as if seeking permission. He nods, a tiny, encouraging smile shaping his lips. Talking to you is nothing to worry about.

“We’re drawing,” Samuel offers at last.

“Oh yeah?” Your voice lightens, interest shining in your eyes. “Can I see?”

Cautiously, Samuel sets down his pen and turns the paper so you can look. 

“I’m drawing my dog,” he says, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.

“Whoa,” You tilt your head, offering an exaggerated tone, eager to make him smile. “It’s really good. What’s his name?”

Steve watches Samuel’s face soften just a bit, reminded of better things than this long wait. 

“Scooby,” the boy says, glancing between you and Steve.

“That’s a great name,” you tell him, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Did you pick it yourself?”

Samuel nods and a smile blooms on your face, and Steve’s chest feels inexplicably full at how you’re managing to draw the sad boy out of his gloom. He thinks you’re trying, but honestly, he can’t be sure if this is just who you are. Watching you interact with his student fills him with pride.

Clearly, you have an effect on people.

“It’s awesome.” You nod as you push it back towards the boy. “Gonna be an artist someday. I can tell.”

Samuel’s lips curl into a small smile, and Steve catches the way your kindness ignites the faintest spark in the boy’s eyes. He glances at you, guilt flickering across his face as he mouths a silent sorry for making you wait. But you just shake your head in reassurance. Don’t even worry about it.

“And what about you, Mr. Harrington?” you tease as you lean forward, a playful lilt in your voice. “What’re you drawing?”

Steve chuckles, ducking his head with a hint of bashfulness, not quite expecting to be sharing. He lifts his paper, revealing a carefully drawn sketch of the school’s entrance. It’s surprisingly detailed—the double doors, a few kids scattered out front, even a bright yellow bus parked at the curb.

He grows self-conscious as you glance over his scribbles, but it’s impossible to miss the care in each pencil stroke—the familiarity with every line and angle. There’s an intimacy in the way he’s captured the building, drawn entirely from memory, as if it’s a place he knows by heart.

What you don’t see are the countless times he’s stood in that very spot, staring at the view, willing himself to step inside. Day after day, swallowing the anxiety just enough to make it through the front gates.

Yeah, he knew it by heart.

“It’s not as good as Samuel’s, but….” He adjusts the paper in front of him, his pencil once again gliding across the page as he trails off.

“Well,” you say, shifting closer to the kid, but locking eyes with Steve. “I’d say you’re both very talented.”

Your enthusiasm is infectious as it wraps around him. His cheeks heat up again—something that seems to be happening a lot whenever you're around.

You lean forward, fingers brushing over the paper until you find a clean sheet and a decent pencil. Looking to Samuel, you tilt your head gently. 

“Is it alright if I join in?” you ask, voice just above a whisper, not wanting to break the comfortable calm that’s settled around the three of you.

Samuel hesitates, then gives a small, welcoming nod, so you begin sketching a few light lines—a simple floral pattern that requires little thought. Maybe a vine of leaves, or a daisy shape that reminds you of summer. It’s calming, focusing on the soft arcs and petals.

After a moment, Samuel’s shoulders slump a fraction, and he turns his attention back to his teacher. 

“Has my mom called?” he asks, voice subdued.

Steve’s expression softens with sympathy. 

“Not yet, buddy,” he says gently, setting down his pencil. “But she should be here soon, alright?”

The boy nods, looking down. “Alright.”

“Hey,” Steve leans forward, propping his elbow on the table. “But we’re having fun right?”

Samuel lifts his gaze, sadness still evident. 

“Yeah...”

Steve fought the urge to frown, not wanting the kid’s sadness to drag him down too—but more than that, he was desperate to lift his mood.

When he glanced up and caught the way your expression had wilted, the sadness in your eyes mirroring his students, it was clear this was getting to you too. And if there was one thing Steve couldn’t stand, it was seeing the people he cared about weighed down.

He racked his brain, trying to think—think—up something, anything, that might make the boy smile. And if there was one thing he’d learned about kids, it was that the best way to break through was with a distraction. Something new, something shiny to pull their mind in another direction. 

That, at least, he had plenty of practice in.

“Guess what?” He asked casually. 

Samuel peers at him. 

“What?”

A playful spark lights up Steve’s warm brown eyes. 

"Someone told me once that the best moments happen when you don't expect them."

Samuel thought for a moment about his teacher's words, trying to make sense of the profound statement. 

“Like what?” The boy tilts his head, confused but intrigued. 

Steve taps his pencil against the table, thinking. Slowly, a grin tugs at his lips as he pulls a memory to the surface. Pushing his chair back slightly, he leans in toward the kid, ready to share it.

It’s clear he’s done this plenty of times before.

“Like… this one time, I got stuck waiting in a super long line at the arcade when I was your age. Thought I was gonna be bored out of my mind.” He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated way that makes Samuel perk up a bit, already captivated by his teacher’s words. “But then, this older kid showed me how to do a trick where you flip a coin over your fingers—kinda like this.”

He picks up a pencil, rolling it effortlessly over his knuckles. It’s not perfect—every so often, he has to catch it before it slips—but to Samuel, it might as well be a magic trick.

“By the time I got to play my game, I didn’t even care about the wait anymore,” Steve continues. “I’d learned something really cool.”

Samuel watches with wide-eyed fascination. “I wanna do that!”

Steve winks, gently placing the pencil on the desk so Samuel can grab it. 

"Sure you will," he says, laying on the dramatics. "Just takes a little practice."

There is a small surge of warmth that floods you as you watch the two of them together. You cast your gaze back to your floral sketch, but you can’t stop the slight smile from curving your lips. Steve catches your eye for a second, and in the silent exchange, you can feel how he’s trying so hard to make this okay—for Samuel, and in a way, for you too.

Just as he is about to launch into a more detailed demonstration of his coin-flipping trick, the classroom door flies open, revealing a woman slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed from rushing. Her wide eyes dart from Samuel to Steve to you, immediately brimming with apologies.

“I’m so sorry,” she manages between quick breaths, pressing a hand to her chest as though she’s trying to slow her racing heart. “I—I got held up and—”

“Mom!” Samuel bolts up from the table, all traces of his earlier sadness vanishing in a burst of excitement. She crouches down, arms opening to gather him into a hug. 

The kid leans back slightly, his face lighting up. “I drew Scooby!” he exclaims, pride evident in his voice.

“Oh, you did?” Her tone melts with relief. “That’s amazing, baby. Why don’t you show me?”

Beaming, Samuel spins around to grab his artwork and then holds it out proudly for her inspection. The moment she sees the goofy dog’s face, her own lights up with genuine delight. 

“Wow, that’s so so good, honey! When we get home, we’ll put it right on the fridge, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Samuel nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Steve rises from his chair, long legs unfolding as he stands and tucks his pencil away. The woman looks up at him with gratitude shining in her eyes. 

“Thank you so much,” she breathes, a slight tremor of emotion in her voice. “I really appreciate you staying with him.”

Steve waves off the thanks, a dismissive but gentle gesture that speaks to his genuine humility. 

“It’s not a problem,” he says, glancing fondly at Samuel. “We had a great time, didn’t we, buddy?”

“Yes!” Samuel nods so hard his hair flops over his forehead. “And I learned a new trick!”

“You did?” His mom arches a brow, looking between her son and Steve. “Well, you’ll have to show me when we get home. Ready to grab your things?”

Samuel dashes off to gather his backpack from the corner, and she turns back to Steve, her face still awash in relief. 

“Thank you. It won’t happen again, I promise—”

Steve’s smile is calm, understanding as he holds his palm up. 

“If it does, you’ll just get another drawing, right?” He shrugs with playful lightness, hoping to ease any lingering guilt she has.

“That’s…” she says, voice catching as Samuel skids back into the room. A laugh escapes her, soft but genuinely thankful.

She straightens, ruffling her son’s hair. “Alright, say goodbye to Mr. Harrington.”

Samuel turns, waving a little too enthusiastically. “Bye, Mr. Harrington!” 

“Take care.” He lifts a hand in farewell. 

The door swings shut, and the moment Steve catches sight of the clock on the wall, his lips press into a tight line. His eyes widen.

“Shit—” He practically scrambles across the room, “we gotta go—like, now.” Snatching his coat from the back of a chair. “The table was booked for… ten minutes ago,” voice tight as he reaches for his phone on the desk.

“Steve.”

He’s mid-dial when you place your hand gently over his. He barely glances up, still fumbling with the buttons. 

“I’m sure they can—”

“Steve,” you repeat, a touch more insistently. “It’s fine.”

His gaze snaps to yours, and there’s guilt evident in the crease of his brow, the way his shoulders pull forward defensively. 

“It’s not fine. I mean—look at you,” he insists, flicking his eyes over your outfit. “You—you got all dressed up, and—”

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand, and he finally stills, waiting until he meets your eyes. “I dressed up for you.”

Something in his chest thumps painfully at those words. He opens his mouth, probably to offer another round of apologies, but you speak first. You step a fraction closer, heart stuttering in your own chest as you do. 

“We can do it another time,” you tell him as he sighs.

“This was seriously not the plan,” Steve grumbles, free hand raking through his hair. His breath is still uneven, cheeks tinted pink.

“Maybe not,” you concede, “but I’m here now.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You are.”

Should be eating steak at Enzo’s right now. 

“And,” you add, voice brightening a little, “I haven’t finished my drawing.”

His eyebrows shoot up. 

“Are you serious?”

A giggle escapes you, the sound soft and reassuring. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt like a kid again,” you explain, gesturing at the brightly decorated classroom around you. “What better place to keep going?”

Steve shakes his head like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, but there’s a lopsided smile at the corner of his mouth. 

“Alright,” he murmurs. “If you wanna spend your evening drawing, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“Good,” you tease, turning back toward the table scattered with crayons and pencils. “But you have to join in, too.”

He exhales a short laugh, relenting as the tension uncoils from his frame. 

“Fine,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Fine.”

He drapes his jacket over the back of the chair before settling across from you at the tiny table, where crayons and half-finished sketches are scattered about. A small, playful grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he scoots his chair closer.

He can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that this is how you want to spend your Wednesday evening. It’s nothing special, at all.

You seem to make the little things feel like something more, and he doesn’t know what to do with that—except lean into it, let himself get caught up in your glow.

“So,” you say, tapping a pencil against the table, “what’re you gonna draw next?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. 

“Not sure yet,” he admits, looking up at you with curious eyes. “What do you think?”

A mischievous spark lights in your expression. 

“Draw me.”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs, a hint of pink crawling across his cheeks. 

“I’m serious,” you press, leaning forward so your arms rest on the edge of the desk. “Always wanted my portrait done.”

Wow, demanding.

Now he had no choice but to put his subpar art skills to the test. But the more he thought about it, the more he didn't mind. The idea of drawing you was actually kind of nice—it meant he had a reason to stare at you, he wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse either. Really, it was a win-win.

“If it looks terrible, you can’t be offended,” he warns, gesturing with the pencil in his hand.

“Deal.”

You push aside the floral doodle you’d been working on earlier, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve quirks an eyebrow. 

“Drawing you,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Only fair, right?”

He huffs out a chuckle, though he can’t quite hide how flattered he is by the thought. You’re damn sweet. Honestly, you’d probably be a better fit in this classroom than he is, the way you can turn this disaster of an evening into something positive.

“I guess so.”

Leaning over, he grabs a nearby hardcover book—something about geography, judging by the cover—and props it upright on the table like a little barrier. 

“What?” you laugh, tipping your head to see his hands around it.

“I want to be surprised when I see it.” His grin widens, his brown eyes dancing. 

“Trust me, you’re gonna be very surprised,” you tease, tightening your grip on the pencil.

He laughs, the sound low and affectionate. Then he sets his own blank sheet in front of him and glances over the makeshift partition at you. 

“Okay,” he mumbles, lips quirking into a half-smile. “No peeking, alright?”

“Never,” you say, though your voice carries a playful challenge.

Pencils scratching softly against paper form a gentle soundtrack as the two of you work, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, yet sharing the occasional glance that makes your heart flutter. 

“So,” you say, keeping your gaze on the half-finished sketch in front of you, “does this happen a lot?”

Steve finishes shading a small curve on his paper before responding. 

“Missing dinner with a pretty girl?” He glances up, meeting your eyes. “No, I usually try not to make a habit of that.”

“I meant parents being late,” you clarify, with a small chuckle. 

So, Mr. Harrington can flirt. Good to know. 

He sets the pencil down, tapping it absently against the desk. 

“Sometimes,” he ponders. “They have long hours, multiple jobs. I usually stick around anyway, lesson prep, grading quizzes, stuff like that.”

Anything to avoid being home alone. 

“Can’t be easy for the kids, though,” you say, a little crease appearing between your brows.

A soft sigh escapes him. “Sure, it’s not ideal,” he admits. “But in Samuel’s case, his mom’s doin’ her best, you know?” 

He doesn’t elaborate further, but his expression speaks volumes—he sees more than anyone realises, and he tries his hardest to fill the gaps.

“They’re lucky to have a teacher like you,” you say gently.

A faint flush creeps over his cheeks, and he ducks his head. 

“Like I said,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it makes your chest tighten. “Kids love silly.”

Both of you return to your sketches for a moment. You’re perfecting the curve of his jaw, the slight wave of his hair, when your curiosity peeks again.

“So, what do your parents think about you being a teacher? They’ve gotta be proud, right?”

The question sets a flicker of nerves across his face. He fiddles with the pencil a bit before answering. 

“Uh… sort of,” he begins, brow furrowing. “They’re happy I’m, you know, employed. But they weren’t exactly my biggest fans after high school.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, wanting to understand. 

He draws a breath, eyes darting to his paper as if searching for courage. 

“I was kinda… lost when I left school. Had no clue what I was doing. My dad wanted me to work for him, but that just… wasn’t an option.” Something raw appears in his gaze. 

There was no way he could work for his father—not when he was already at his lowest. 

The man who pressured him the most, expecting him to survive in a high-stress office? He could already picture it: barely holding himself together while his dad, with his uncanny ability to pick apart his deepest insecurities, chipped away at what little confidence he had left.

Put all that together, and he knew he wouldn’t have made it to the end of the year.

The thought alone scared him.

“Screw what your dad says.”

“Wow,” his mouth curves into a tiny, startled smile. “Never heard you be mean before.”

“I’m not being mean,” you give a playful shrug. “Just being honest.”

“Yeah, sure,” he drops his eyes to the table and nods, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Like you even have one.

There’s a short lull in conversation as you both sink back into the comforting rhythm of drawing. This time, it’s his turn to speak up. 

“So,” he ventures, sketching a light outline of your hair, “you think you’re gonna keep the bookshop for a while? Y’know, with the finances and stuff?”

"I hope so," you reply, your voice bright with the same enthusiasm you feel in your chest—despite the stress. "I’m still finding my way, and like, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.” You breathe in a sigh that makes his pencil still. ”It’s just… doing it alone. That part still scares me sometimes."

Steve nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. He hates seeing you struggle, especially when there’s nothing he can do to fix it. It feels like Samuel all over again, and he’s already wracking his brain, searching for some way, any way, to be of service.

"Is there anything I can do?" he murmurs, always needing to be useful. "To help, I mean."

You shake your head. 

"This is plenty," you say, your voice a little softer now. "I like this,” you gesture between you both. "Spending time away… with you."

With him. 

And god, it’s like fireworks in his chest. The fact that he is the reason you're feeling even a little better—it echoes exactly how he feels about you.

He doesn’t have much to offer, but he’d give you this and more. He’d whisk you away whenever you needed it. That, at least, he can do.

"Well," he says quietly, not trusting his voice fully, "I’m always a phone call away. I can be there."

You nod, offering him a quiet thank you before turning your attention back to your drawing.

Steve Harrington sure was something.

It baffled you how he was still single—especially when he gave so much of himself so freely. Offering what he could without expecting anything in return.

Moving here felt like the right choice.

Meeting him felt like the right thing.

He sets his pencil aside, blowing out a theatrical breath as though he’s completed the masterpiece of a lifetime. He did have a great reference, after all. 

“Alright,” he declares, tapping his fingers against the paper. “I think I’m done.”

“Hmmm, yeah,” you glance down at the final touches you’ve added to your own drawing, then give a small shrug. “Me too.”

He leans forward, sliding the book aside but quickly clutching his drawing to his chest so you can’t see it. You mirror his motion, both of you practically giggling at this playful standoff.

“You go first,” he says, eyes bright with anticipation.

“Why?” you challenge, raising a brow.

A crooked grin tugs at his mouth. “Isn’t that what ladies do?”

You roll your eyes for dramatic effect, but the smile that follows is genuine. 

“Fine.” Leaning forward, you carefully place your sketch in front of him.

It’s not perfect—you know that. But as his gaze sweeps over your work, a low laugh escapes his throat, warm and surprised.

He’s delighted.

One could call it abstract—modern, even. It's a far cry from any respectable piece of art, but you have captured him not just in likeness, but with something real.

To him? It's priceless. You even included the faint dimple that appears when he grins. He had forgotten what that even looked like.

“You really got me.” He murmurs, studying the details.

“About time I made my old art teacher proud,” you joke, trying to mask how pleased you are that he likes it.

“You sure have.” Steve’s eyes lift, warm and appreciative. Not a hint of sarcasm in his statement.

Fuck, you’re precious.

His soft expression steals the slight sting from your cheeks, though you still feel the warmth of his compliments. Clearing your throat, you eye the paper clutched against his chest. 

“So… are you gonna show me yours, or what?”

A flicker of apprehension crosses his features before he offers you a small grin. 

“Sure.” Slowly, he passes the sheet over.

The moment your eyes settle on his sketch, your breath catches in your throat. 

It’s incredible.

There’s a tenderness in every line, an intimacy woven into the drawing. He’s captured the shape of your eyes, the curve of your smile—even that subtle confidence you sometimes forget you have.

Your fingers hover over the page before lightly tracing the details, almost as if touching it too firmly might smudge the feeling behind it.

“This is… really good, Steve,” you say, half under your breath.

His cheeks redden, and he scratches behind his ear. 

“You think?”

You nod. “Can I keep it?”

“Course you can,” he says, hurriedly straightening in his chair. “Drew it for you in the first place.”

A spark of bubbly excitement flutters in his chest as he watches you carefully set the drawing aside—not folding it, not tucking it away like an afterthought. You’re going to carry it home just like that, like it actually means something to you.

That alone makes him ridiculously happy for humouring your request of the evening. 

The clock on the wall blinks at you both, reminding you that the night has slipped far later than intended. With a small sigh, he flicks his gaze between you and the scattered art supplies. 

“Since we missed dinner,” he ventures, voice warm, “I know a diner that’s open late, if you’re hungry.”

A grin spreads across your face, soft and genuine. “That sounds way better than some fancy restaurant.”

Relief mingles in his tender expression—his eyes crinkling just enough at the corners. He sets the pencils aside. 

“Alright, but first…” He picks up your drawing—your portrait of him—and walks over to the nearest wall of taped-up masterpieces. With a careful hand, he pins it among the rainbow of kid-drawn dinosaurs, flowers, and stick figures.

You step up beside him, your shoulder brushing his lightly. Your eyes sweep over the vibrant array of drawings. Some of them were clearly made with Steve in mind—crude sketches of his unmistakable hair, big hearts labeled Mr. Harrington, and even the occasional speech bubble with some goofy letters scrawled inside.

“You really make an impact here,” you say, voice hushed with genuine admiration.

Steve glances sideways at you, then back at the wall. 

“I’m… not so sure about that.” There’s a bashful edge to his tone, like he can’t quite see the effect he has on others.

You turn, glancing at a couple of the drawings—an especially adorable one with MR. H scrawled in bold marker. You’re close enough that he can feel a hint of your warmth, your presence tethering him right here, right now. 

“If you can’t see it,” you tell him gently, “you must be blind.” Your voice softens, and you tilt your head. “I mean—look.”

He follows your gesture, eyes drifting over bright crayons and enthusiastic scribbles. There’s a tangible love in those images—love for the teacher who stuck around after hours, who shared life with them, who cheered for them every step of the way.

Even when he struggling himself.

“You’re special, Steve.”

His heart thumps hard. The weight of your words collides with the sudden awareness that you’re right there—looking at him in a way that makes the room tilt. He barely manages a breath before your gaze meets his, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Everything about you—the kindness in your eyes, the gentleness of your smile, the fact that you spent the entire evening drawing dumb pictures with him without a single complaint—hits him all at once. 

He’s overwhelmed by how right this feels. 

Without really thinking, he bends closer, gaze dropping to your lips as he crosses that small distance.

When his mouth meets yours, it’s soft. Tentative. Like he’s afraid the moment might vanish if he pushes too hard. But when he feels you press back—just as gentle, just as eager—something sparks inside him. 

It’s like a release of breath he didn’t know he was holding, the sweetest, most perfect rush, better than anything he’s felt in years.

He cups your jaw tenderly, the warmth of your skin sending shivers along his arm. He’s half-aware of how fast his heart is pounding, how desperately he wants to deepen the kiss—yet a flicker of nerves has him pulling back just enough to look at you. Your eyes are shining, and the look in them nearly undoes him.

“Sorry,” he breathes, voice a little shaky from adrenaline and pure exhilaration. “I just—”

You cut off his apology with a quick, playful peck that makes his cheeks burn. 

He wants you to do that again.

“So,” you say, lips curling into a grin that all but steals his sanity, “dinner?”

A small, breathy laugh escapes him, his fingers still lightly touching your cheek as if he can’t quite let go. 

“Yeah,” he manages, voice thick. “Yeah—dinner.”

With his pulse still thundering, he reluctantly lets his hand slip down. You gather up coats and keys and stray papers, placing them in his hands to put away correctly. You head for the door, and when you pause to wait for him, you extend your hand—palm up, an invitation.

It’s for him.

It’s a rush of gratitude, a soft feeling he doesn’t quite know what to do with. Without thinking, he slips his fingers through yours, giving a gentle squeeze.

It’s such a simple gesture, barely more than a touch, but somehow, it makes his chest feel full—like he might burst from it.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita

[cozycottagetarot]

What Changes Before You Meet Them?

🧺 Reading Contents:

The theme of what changes

Factors out of your control

Factors within your control

🫧 Reading Notes:

This reading was posted last year on my Patreon, but I've been wanting to share it here for a while now. I also don't remember what I wrote because it's been almost a year but I hope you enjoy! 🫶

This reading is for entertainment purposes only, please take only what resonates be it some, all or none.✨

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi

Personal Readings: Classic (New Readings Available!) | $10 and Under - OPEN

My laptop stopped working unexpectedly, and I had to borrow money to replace it so I could keep up with college and tarot readings. As an online student and tarot reader, my laptop is truly my lifeline.

If you’ve ever thought about getting a reading from me, now would be a really lovely time. It helps me more than you know and I’d love to create something special for you in return. 💛

Pile 1

The theme of what changes:

The Devil, Six of Wands rev, Knight of Pentacles, Two of Pentacles

What changes is how you handle what holds you back from reaching an important milestone or some kind of success (and subsequently reaching that success). It seems like something is holding you back. You should be making progress even though slow but it just has you in such a tight hold. However, once you learn to manage a temptation or commit to overcoming whatever it is that chains you, you will find not only reach a big personal success, but also meet your person.

Factors out of your control:

Eight of Swords, Strength, The Fool

There’s a leap of faith of you have to take, and the journey of what it takes to get out of this cage doesn't feel like it’s in your control. Even though the eight of swords being one of the tougher cards, paired with strength and the fool-- I think it may have it's difficult moments but overall it will be a beneficial experience.

Factors within your control: 

Seven of Wands, Eight of Wands, Two of Cups

When it comes to what you can control, one of the first things that stuck out to me was a matter of controlling who you ally with. This seems like it will be an important factor as you wouldn't want to partner with people who will help to keep those limitations in place. You can also control how you handle conflicts (internally and externally) as well as how you manage impulses and spontaneous decisions.

Pile 2

The theme of what changes: 

Three of Swords, The Lovers, Queen of Cups

A betrayal or heartbreak of some kind (don't panic!)... finding your 'queen of cups energy' again (nurturing, creativity, emotional expression). So there’s multiple ways this could play out as always. My first thought was obviously a previous relationship which is always likely. However, it could also be a friendship that means a lot to you... not so much, but maybe a professional relationship and of course self-betrayal or you breaking your own heart. The theme is one having some kind of harmony or bond being broken and not by positive means. It may even take place in a way where it’s a little bit difficult to differentiate whether or not it was ‘accidental’ or 'purpose work'. Regardless, you have to find your power after this event takes place before you meet your person.

Factors out of your control: 

Seven of Cups, The Ace of Wands, Two of Cups

The partnership or coming together (that is the catalyst for the change) is out of your control. I don’t want to be a fear monger, but it’s not something you can really avoid or see ahead of time and determine 'this person or situation is going to hurt me in some way'. And the purpose of this event is to meet your person so I mean… I don't think you'd want to avoid it? It seems like the relationship itself will bring you passion and spark something in you-- this could be a new interest, passion project etc. It could influence/improve the relationship too, but the relationship itself 'burning out' isn’t something you can control. It will be a deep connection or meaningful event and there’s so much potential — but you can’t control that potential. You can’t control how much something or someone means to you...

Factors within your control: 

Page of Wands, Queen of Swords, Four of Swords

What is in your control around this event is how you handle it and choose to heal from it. Making the decision to take the lesson or experience and use it to fuel you moving forward and to become stronger in the future. You’ll become more firm and self assured. For some it could be a first relationship or maybe a significant situationship? But I think you’ll definitely have what it takes to move forward and face any challenges with your person. So choosing to reflect and and ask yourself what you can take from the experience will be something within your control. Also I think whatever spark is ignited with the ace of wands, you’re going to be in control of how you harness that fire and make something with it.

Pile 3

The theme of what changes: 

Nine of cups, The World, Ace of Cups

I feel like there’s going to be this… I don’t want to say 'new found' desirability but a desirability you may now know how to work in your favour. It could be some kind of glow up or reinventing yourself that results in everyone suddenly seeing what you have to offer or how well rounded you are. It's a change the results in you having so many people clamouring over you and falling head over heels!!!

You also had The Hermit and The Sun as 'honourable mentions', so really doing the work to make yourself happy. It doesn’t feel like you’re the kind of group where romance or companionship is at the forefront of your mind, even though it maybe something you desire to have at some point.

Factors out of your control: 

Two of Pentacles, Death, Knight of Pentacles rev

There’s some kind of transformation that’s going to take place in your life, but you’re not really the one in control of it. It doesn't seem like something that you purposely bring about... just a natural flow of things. I kind of feel like you’re just minding your business. You may not even be aware how attractive you’ve become in the eyes of others. You’re more focus on doing the work and less focused on how doing the work is perceived by others. It doesn’t seem like this is a planned glow up either, just a natural outcome of trying to get yourself together.

Factors within your control: 

Queen of Cups, Eight of Wands, Knight of Wands rev

What you are in control of is your pace and how you channel your creative energy. I think you may be a little impatient or impulsive at times, and those are the two things that you need to work on... How you direct your energy and where you place your attention. What you go after is in your control but there’s a lot of moments of spontaneity and how you channel or use those moments are important. How you nurture those interest of yours is something in your control too, as well as being able to soften that fire when it starts getting a bit unruly and out of hand and being able to channel it carefully again.

Pile 4

The theme of what changes: 

Ten of Cups, Five of Swords, Ace of Cups, Knight of Cups

The theme has to do with a new emotional phase. One where you’re actively opening yourself to love and embodying love… I think the change is being at a point emotionally where a love offer is ready to come in. With the five of swords you could have a better understanding of who you are and it what ways you might be prone to deceiving yourself.

I don’t know why but on this pile I was suddenly concerned as I was shuffling with whether or not I should include a section with have you met your person yet… or do you know of them. I think you may know of them but you’ve either never met them personally, know them but never met the face to face, or you haven’t met “the new and improved” version of them yet….

Factors out of your control: 

The Lovers, Black Numen, Six of Swords

Soooo I’m a little bit stumped... but here’s my best shot. So you can’t control your lover and what I mean by that is you can’t control who it is… but at the same time I was being nosy and trying to get insights to make it make sense— your lover may be someone you’re manifesting. Something in your life is a sinking ship as represented by the Black Numen. The titanic came to me as well (confirmation anyone?) and there’s the six of swords which can be about moving away from something physically or mentally/emotionally. Something is fading into oblivion in your life and you’re already parting ways when this emotional change occurs. It’s like a test of faith it seems. You can’t control what dissolves but will you hold on to this positive out look?

Factors within your control: 

Five of Pentacles, Eight of Swords, Queen of Swords

The swords in this reading are kind of depressing here to be honest, so doubling back to the theme it’s a challenge of mental dexterity. You could be down on your luck financially/materially as the pentacles are the only insights into the physical realm of this change. It could also be in relation to how you approach care for your physical self. However you can control the ways in which you limiting yourself (be it good or bad) and your attitude towards the challenges you may be facing.