#it was true. but she was alone for so long

[icarusignite]

the sickness you foster, your favourite addictions (p.2)

Pairing: Colonel Caleb Xia x Non-MC Reader

Summary: After your brother was killed under the command of newly appointed Colonel Caleb Xia, you swore you'd never forgive the man who returned from the mission when your brother did not. But when you're forcibly reassigned as his second-in-command, you're pulled into a cold war of secrets and bloodstained power plays.

Assigned to spy on the colonel by the same institution that decorated your brother's grave with empty honours, you find yourself caught between two monsters, one who watches from above, and one who stands too close. But there's more to Caleb than perceived cruelty. He’s calculating, obsessive, and far too interested in what lies beneath your controlled fury. The closer you get, the more you begin to wonder: Is this grief? Hatred? Or the start of something far darker?

Warnings: Caleb being a FREAK. Yandere vibes. Angst? Mentions of violence and injury. SLOWBURN. Enemies to lovers. Caleb being a yearner.

Word Count: 5.6

A/N: MC is not a love interest here; she's just a person of interest to him, but more in a little sister/childhood friend way.

I always think these fics will be one chapter long, but unfortunately, I am a yapper and will need a part 3 to properly conclude this without rushing, lol. Sorry for the excessive rambling lol.

Also, thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the previous chapter. I would love to hear yalls thoughts on this one too <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

Caleb Xia had not come to the Farspace Fleet to make connections. He was not there to be liked or to get distracted. He had a mission, and more importantly, he had her to protect.

Even now, across the stars, across the politics and distance, the only thing that ever managed to rattle the precision of his focus was her. The girl he'd left behind in Linkon City. The girl who used to trail behind him like a second shadow, demanding attention in the way only someone utterly confident in their place in your heart ever could. She was his tether to a version of himself that didn't kill without pause.

She thought he was dead now, and maybe, in some ways, that was true. The version of him she loved had died on purpose, buried beneath classified reports and staged incidents to protect her. That's why Caleb kept his distance from everyone who wasn't her, unwilling to let anyone live in the space between his ribs, a place that was reserved for her and her alone. 

It had been easy enough until he met your brother. 

They'd been classmates at the aerospace academy, and while others sought to climb the hierarchy, your brother was foolishly earnest. He lacked ambition, sure, but he never lacked drive. He threw himself into every assignment like it mattered, even when it didn't. He laughed at things Caleb didn't think were funny. He saluted too fast, grinned too wide, and never once stopped talking.

It had annoyed Caleb at first until he realized why. Your brother reminded him of the girl he'd left behind. The same wide-eyed intensity. The same unapologetic need to prove themselves in a world that wanted them smaller. The same way they loved too loudly. 

Caleb had been even more surprised to see your brother again when he joined the Farspace Fleet. Not because he wasn't capable, but because he didn't have the edge it took to survive such an institution. 

Yet your brother remained a sincere fool, even when senior officers tore into the new recruits. He wasn't like the others, scrambling for promotion, slicing through their peers for a chance to rise. When Caleb made Colonel, he congratulated him, but laughed off any future attempts of his own to be promoted. 

"Colonel's not for me," he'd said. "The hours are shit. Can't spend time with the people you care about if you're chained to duty all day."

It should have irritated Caleb, but it only made his chest ache because it reminded him of her. That was exactly something MC would have said if she'd seen his atrocious hours, right before reprimanding him for not taking care of himself. So he let your brother reprimand him in her stead, allowing him close because it was familiar. MC thought he was dead and she'd never again tell him to stay hydrated or get enough sleep, so if all he had was a pale imitation of her concern, he'd take it. 

And then there were the stories about you.

He didn't know your name at first. Just "my sister" this and "my sister" that. Your brother could never shut up about you. Your brilliance. Your grades. The way you once rebuilt your home's broken heater by hand at fifteen, and the way you were always right.

Caleb didn't have the luxury to care about other people's families when he was trying so hard to protect the fragments of his own, but your name—you—slipped through all his defences, even before he'd seen your face. 

Your brother brought you up during drills, after lectures, even once during a brutal training session. During long study nights at the academy, when everyone else was cracking under the pressure of orbital physics equations, he would groan dramatically and say, "If my sister were here, she'd have done this with her eyes closed and still have time to fix the coffee machine." 

You were his benchmark and his gold standard. Caleb never encouraged it, but your brother offered you up anyway, story after story, painting you as brilliant, stubborn, terrifyingly competent, and always just out of reach. 

Every mention of you was laced with that fierce, protective admiration that siblings often carry without knowing how to name it. This also reminded Caleb of MC. The way she had once looked at him, as if he hung the constellations in the sky and his presence alone could bend the world into safety.

Somehow, in that mirroring affection, he found a fragile comfort. If your brother loved you the way MC once loved him, then perhaps—even in death—he would remain with her. In memory and in grief. If she missed him even half as much as your brother missed you during mere office hours, then Caleb would never truly be gone.

His interest in you began innocently, if such a word could ever apply to a man like him. At first, he only meant to put a face to the name. You had been spoken of far too often, your name bleeding through lips not just belonging to your brother but from seasoned officers with enough awe in their voices to catch his attention.

The first time he saw you, it was in passing, just before some minor routine mission. It was the kind of operation he could run blindfolded with half his team asleep, and most of his fellow pilots were lounging lazily until you walked in. 

You came in with no regard for the chain of command, and you didn't even glance at anyone else there. As far as you were concerned, your brother was the only person in that room worth your time.

You shoved a slim booklet toward him with a force only a sibling could weaponize and hissed, "Do you ever check your loadout before you leave, or do you plan to flirt with death every time?"

Your brother stammered out some excuse involving drills, but you weren't having it. You were the very image of exasperated affection, your hands already busy fishing out something from your pocket before he could finish, slapping a fistful of brightly wrapped candies into his hand unceremoniously. Caleb recognized the brand to be the same that your brother used to favour during their academy days, and the expression on your face reminded him of himself, back when he was still in MC's life. 

Back in high school, she used to forget her homework on the kitchen table more days than not, and it always fell on him to realize halfway through the commute. He'd groan, scold her for her airheadedness, and then sprint back, muttering curses under his breath, only to return with it in hand before the first bell. Every time, she'd beam at him like he'd saved her from death itself, and every time, he'd roll his eyes and call her a menace.

That was the face you wore now, and it pierced Caleb's armour in a way no weapon ever could.

You didn't even know he was watching, and when your gaze swept past him, it was with complete dismissal, like his presence was little more than background noise. But Caleb stared long after you left.

In you, he saw the version of himself he thought he'd buried with his past, something old and human stirring within him, despite his resistance. He had to know more about you, spurred on with the kind of need that pressed cold fingers to the base of his spine. The kind that made men like him start wars.

Unfortunately for him, you rarely left your sector of the base, and running into you was a rarity, except for when your team had to present projects. During these presentations, you were even more dazzling. You held the attention of the room with practiced confidence, answering even the most intrusive of inquiries with maddening calm. It seemed that nothing could ruffle your feathers, but that didn't stop Caleb from imagining he could do it. 

As he rose through the ranks, he earned clearance, and among the dozens of surveillance camera footasge available to his all-seeing eyes, he made sure yours was pinned. Your workshop. Your hallway. Your sector's elevators. He never told himself it was wrong, because how could it be? It wasn't interfering with your productivity, and what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you. 

Caleb's favourite thing was to watch you work, his monitors lighting his dark quarters like altars in the dead of night. On screen, you were bent over your workbench, welding sparks haloing your face like tiny suns, sweat glistening at your temple. You muttered to yourself when your calculations didn't align, tongue pressed to the inside of your cheek in frustration. You were beautiful in the way that comets were—all fire and trajectory and no apology.

When a single lock of your hair would slip free from the practical knot you usually wore it in, his composure would unravel. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach through the screen, like they could slip between time and space and brush it aside. Just one touch, enough to feel the heat of your skin beneath his knuckles. Just to tuck the strand of hair behind your ear and feel you lean into him, even if you didn't mean to.

When you began to hum absentmindedly, he wanted to press his fingertips to the hollow of your throat and feel the echo of your voice, to learn your tone not by sound but by vibration. It was worse when he imagined the shape your throat would make when you finally said his name. Would you say it like a curse or a prayer? How would your muscles shift as you formed the unfamiliar syllables? 

Caleb wanted to be closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of your breath against his collar, to count the heartbeats you lost when you forgot to eat, to feel the trembling in your wrists when you hadn't slept. Close enough to dismantle you, and rebuild you again.

And all the while, you went about your work, unaware that somewhere, someone was memorizing the shape of you, thinking about sliding his fingers down the curve of your spine just to feel the rigid tension of your posture melt beneath his touch.

Caleb knew everything there was to know about you, and in his own way, he intervened when necessary. He kept your records off promotions lists that would take you away from the base, and vetoed transfers you never even knew were proposed. He made sure those who disrespected you—the overconfident officers who burst into your lab and barked orders like you weren't twice as qualified—disappeared.

It didn't matter that you rejected the advances of the men who dared flirt. Didn't matter that you shut them down with a frown and a tone sharp enough to cut steel. What mattered was that they'd tried. They thought they could have you, and that was transgression enough.

He did it all from the shadows, but he never approached you, because the fantasy of you was safer. Fantasy didn't challenge, or bite, or bleed. In the safety of his mind, you were his, and it made sense to him. After all, Caleb had never been allowed to keep the things he loved, but he could watch them. He could protect them from a distance, even if that distance was laced with hunger, and every part of him itched to close it.

After your brother died, his fixation on you became a wildfire, no longer contained or rational, if it ever had been. Before, it had been something he could lie to himself about. Curiosity. Admiration. Surveillance under the pretense of strategy. A whisper of the past wrapped in the present. 

But afterwards, something shifted. The world tilted, and suddenly, you were the only thread left between who he'd once been and what he had become.

The mission itself had gone fine. If there was one thing Caleb prided himself on, it was the absence of chaos. But after the vessel landed and the debrief ended, he noticed the data sync hadn't completed. A minor bug, one he should've handled himself. Then your stupidly eager brother had offered to stay behind and transfer the log, and Caleb had let him. 

That was the mistake. The only mistake that mattered. The explosion was timed and deliberate, meant for him, but it was your brother who died, torn apart inside the very cockpit Caleb should have occupied.

There was no undoing it, and no violent retribution would bring him back.

He debated going to the funeral. Not out of grief—though the grief was there—but because he wasn't sure he could face you. 

He had constructed a hundred scenarios in his head for how he might finally speak to you. Maybe you'd brush past him in the corridor and offer a nod. Maybe you'd be assigned to consult with him on a project. Maybe, one day, you'd even look at him with something softer than indifference.

But when the time finally came for you to register his presence, it was with naked loathing. It rendered Caleb almost breathless. There was no distance now, no screen between you, and you saw him for what he was. The man who had let your brother die. The man who should have died instead. 

Gods, you were right. You should have spit on his boots and screamed in his face, but all you did was stand silently, clutching a box of medals like they were an insult.

Caleb didn't remember much of the service. Just a hollow eulogy, and the way the wind tugged at the strands of your hair—the same strands he had once ached to brush away from your neck with careful fingers.

How absurd that he'd dreamed of your smile. That he imagined you saying his name. That he thought he could meet you and not burn.

You hated him, and perhaps that was the most honest thing he'd ever earned.

When you were transferred to serve as his second-in-command, he hadn't seen it coming, and that alone was cause for alarm.

Caleb prided himself on always being five steps ahead—of his enemies, his superiors, and whatever machinations brewed behind the curtain of Farspace politics. When his previous second-in-command vanished mid-cycle, grievously injured during an unsanctioned mission, he knew then, someone was moving pieces behind his back. Someone wanted eyes on him.

He braced for a spy of some sort, but what he did not expect to see was you standing in his doorway and reporting for duty, his title tumbling from your lips as if pulled from one of his daydreams. You were here, and you were his. The one person he had watched for far too long had been handed to him practically gift-wrapped. 

The sane thing would have been to have you transferred. He knew your presence was a trap, and it would be easier to slaughter the person sent to spy on him if they weren't you. But when faced with your beautifully sharpened hate, Caleb found he liked it. Craved it, even.

You were finally looking at him. Not as a faceless officer in a crowd, but as him. Your body tensed every time he walked past, and though you pretended you weren't watching him during briefings, he caught your eyes flickering to him too fast, your scowl deepening when he gave an order you didn't like.

You were hyperaware of him, and that was a gift he would not squander.

No more watching you through flickering security feeds late into the night. You were in his presence every hour of the day now. He could trace the arch of your fingers as you delivered status reports, brush his hand against yours when passing datapads, and lean over your shoulder to review schematics under the guise of work.

You thought he gave you the menial tasks to humiliate you, but really, he did it to keep you by his side longer, so that you wouldn't scurry off to your workshop the moment you were finished. And of course, he liked to watch your lips curl around protests. To see how long you could last before that temper of yours finally snapped. 

When you started sabotaging his systems, he said nothing. Others would have been disciplined or stripped of rank, but since it was you, he let things slide. Every time he uncovered one of your petty tricks, he didn't reprimand you. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted, very nearly resembling a smile.

If you were plotting revenge, you were thinking of him. Pacing your quarters, teeth gnashing, deciding how best to needle him next. In that way, he was inhabiting your thoughts just as thoroughly as you had overtaken his own.

If you kept hating him, it meant he mattered to you, and until you were ready to admit it was something more, he would keep feeding the flames, one slow, inevitable coffee order at a time. As long as you kept fighting him, he would let you believe you had the upper hand. In his head, it was all foreplay, and Caleb Xia was endlessly, agonizingly patient.

He hadn't meant for the confrontation in your workshop to go this far. Caleb's initial intention was to simply remind you who you were dealing with. To let you know that he was aware of your juvenile attempts to undermine his authority with rescheduled debriefs and misplaced files. He hadn't expected to lose his composure. 

But then you'd opened your mouth and spoken aloud the accusation that had been brewing in you for weeks. You'd said the words that had haunted him since the moment your brother's body was dragged from the wreckage. 

"All you do is get people killed."

Something inside Caleb fractured, and his Evol surged forward. His hands were in your hair before he could think better of it, threaded through with enough pressure to keep you grounded, but you refused to look away. He was sure to use the arm of his that still had sensation, just so he could feel the heat of your skin, despite the gloves.

He had wanted to do this for so long, even if it was all wrong now. To brush your hair behind your ear, just to hear you snarl. To run his thumb across your lips and see what you'd do—bite him, maybe. To press his palm to the base of your throat to feel your voice catch.

In all his fantasies, when he imagined you kneeling before him, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to be willing. Supplicant not out of force, but from need. Your eyes were supposed to be affectionate, not seething. Your lips parted in surrender, not to curse him.

Instead, you spat poison and accused him of letting the other officers humiliate you. Caleb almost laughed at that, the sound clawing its way up his throat, and dying before it reached his mouth.

You really didn't know, did you?

Did you not realize it was never the same officer twice? That each one who dared to sneer at you vanished? Shipped off, demoted, blacklisted, sent into deepspace assignments with low return rates. Every insult you endured was a death sentence for the man who dealt it. 

Caleb protected you, and you dared to say that he let them humiliate you? You dared to question his abilities when it was you who was the traitor. 

When he mentioned the Admiral, the words corroded his tongue. That old man had always been a problem, and though Caleb had tried to handle it, he was far more influential than some mouthy officer. Untouchable, for now. So every report he received of you slipping into Harkins' office made his jaw ache. Every minute you spent alone with that leech fanned a flame beneath his skin he couldn't smother. And worse, you dared to lie to him about it, like he didn't already know everything there was to know about you. 

The sight of your bleeding palm was another distraction. You didn't fight when he reached out, but your expression was taut with disdain. Coldness spread across your face like a sheet of ice, so detached it might have been a mask, and that made something hideous twist low in his gut.

He had wanted another expression. Any expression. He needed a reaction; a spark of something that proved you were still with him in this room.

That's why he pressed his thumb into the wound, catching the resultant tears that fell from your eyes with something akin to satisfaction, because it confirmed the fact that you could still cry, that there was a flicker of something real and human under that armour you wore like a second skin. He was gentle, but not like a lover. He was simply a man starving for proof that he still existed in your world at all.

Then, without hesitation, his fingers rose to his mouth. The warmth of your blood lingered on his tongue like an oath, and when he pressed his lips together, the blood marked them crimson. It was unholy, and it was yours. The taste of you. Iron and salt. Heat and hate.

He hadn't planned it, but it felt right. To wear it in a way that made your pain now a part of him, bound beneath skin and instinct. If he could not reach you with words, then maybe he could with this strange intimacy carved from grief, proximity, and ruin.

Caleb wondered if you could feel what he felt. That pull in the air, strung taut between need and unspoken obsession. He wondered if you could hear the way your name echoed in his chest like a drumbeat.

Eventually, he let go, and the moment he released his Evol, you collapsed like a marionette cut from its strings. For a moment, he felt sick at the sight of it. The betrayed look in your eyes was one he wasn't prepared for, and it struck him deeper than your words ever could have.

Was that guilt?

Hatred is better than indifference.

He clung to that notion like a creed. If your stomach twisted every time he entered the room, it meant you were thinking of him. If you loathed him, then he hadn't vanished from your mind entirely. But somewhere between your shuddering breaths and the faint shimmer of your tears, that fragile truth began to sour. 

Caleb's selfish, traitorous heart wanted more. He wanted your voice to be softer. Your gaze steady, not guarded. He wanted to offer his hand and not see you recoil like it burned. He wanted—no, he needed something kinder than this war he'd created.

Every time he reached for you with whatever twisted shape his affection had taken, it drove you further away. You looked at him like he was monstrous, and maybe he was. But once, long ago, before the Fleet and the mission and the burden of who he had to become, he had been someone else. A version of himself that maybe you could have loved.

Why did everything precious slip through his fingers?

When he left, he lingered just outside the threshold of your domain, his back pressed to the wall. The door that sealed behind him was not soundproof, and he didn't have to wait too long before he heard the whimpers break free from you like a wound tearing open.

It wasn't graceful or quiet. It was devastating. You were trying so hard to keep it in. You always tried so hard to be strong. Now he was the reason you were falling apart.

Caleb closed his eyes and listened. He should have left, but he stayed rooted in place, willing himself not to return to you. Not to cradle your face in his palms and wipe away the tears that he had caused. Not to kneel beside you and whisper apologies he didn't know how to make real.

You deserved tenderness, but all he gave you was ruin.

The next day, Caleb you long before you burst into his office. He didn't even need to look up, because the storm of your footfalls had become as familiar to him as the beat of his own heart.

When the doors hissed open, your presence charged the air, and you didn't even bother with the usual pretense of a knock. Certainly not after last night.

"Why have I just been informed that I'm off for the rest of the week?"

Caleb leaned back in his chair, deliberately unhurried, savouring the defiance in your eyes. "You had vacation days. I thought now would be a good time to take them. Considering your... recent state of overwork." 

"As if you—"

"Well, we wouldn't want you to mess up now, would we? Better for you to rest." His eyes flicked meaningfully to your bandaged hand, and then to the dark shadows blooming beneath your eyes. 

You took a step forward, seething. "You can't just force me to take days off."

"Actually, I can. I am your superior."

"I have projects to attend to. Work that isn't just mine. I'm part of a team. If I disappear for a week, it stalls everything."

"That's unfortunate. They'll survive."

"Oh, please, do not pretend to care."

He froze at that, his mouth tightening as if you'd shoved a lemon between his teeth. "I'm not pretending. You need a break, and I'm making sure you get one."

"You're making sure?" you repeated bitterly. "Don't act like I'm your responsibility."

"Aren't you?" 

The silence between you sharpened, and you glared at him. "You are out of line, even as my superior."

"And you are exhausted," he countered. "You haven't slept in weeks, and you're obviously too proud to admit your body is falling apart, so I did what I had to do."

"Oh," you breathed furiously, "so this is concern now? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Call it whatever you like. Forgive me for trying to ensure my second in command remains in good health so I don't have to go through the trouble of looking for yet another replacement."

That made you laugh, and it was a joyless sound. "You've got some nerve, Colonel. You think giving me a few days off is some kind of gift? You think it makes up for everything else?"

Caleb studied your face as if he could carve the truth from your bones.

"You don't get a say in when I take days off," you snapped. 

"I do actually. I get a say in every schedule, every assignment, every time you're summoned or dismissed. That's the hierarchy."

You looked like you wanted to slap him, and briefly, he hoped you would, because then you'd be touching him. Unfortunately for him, you took a step backward instead, putting more distance between the two of you. 

"Do you have any actual work for me today?" you asked through gritted teeth. "Or would you like me to catalogue lightbulbs again?"

Caleb's lips twitched in amusement, already imagining your displeasure at what he'd arranged. "As it happens, there's a batch of records that need cross-referencing. Inconsistencies in pilot logs from last quarter. It all needs to be sorted and compiled."

"You're giving me filing duty?"

"Digital record consolidation. It is vital for the Fleet's progress."

"You want me to sit in a chair and comb through logs."

"You're most welcome to stand and do it." Caleb shrugged. "Regardless, it should require minimal physical strain. You can even keep that hand elevated if you like."

You narrowed your eyes. "I am not a data clerk."

"You're whatever I say you are." 

"This is punishment, then?" You curled your lips in disdain. "You behave inappropriately and invade people's privacy, and I'm the one who gets punished. Fantastic."

An odd expression flashed in Caleb's eyes, equal parts regret and irritation. "This is me showing restraint. If I gave you no task at all, I know exactly where you'd run off to."

He watched you storm out without another word, the heat of your resentment still lingering. He meant to speak gently this morning. Maybe even offer you a reprieve you could believe was your own choice. Instead, he'd defaulted to callous commands, the only language he truly knew.

He told himself it was to keep you safe, but the truth was uglier. He felt guilty. That wasn't a word he often allowed himself; it served no tactical purpose. Guilt was sentiment, and sentiment got soldiers killed. But last night he'd crossed a line. Several, in fact. 

He had only wanted to see if he could break you the way you kept threatening to break him. That much he could admit. But he'd ended up hurting you more than intended, not just with his Evol, but with the things he'd said, the way he'd dragged grief out of you and twisted it until it mirrored his own. He didn't realize the severity of it until he'd heard you cry out, but your sobs had left bruises on the walls of his mind.

It should've satisfied him, but it didn't. And when you were back to pretending everything was fine this morning, he couldn't stand it. 

The task he'd assigned to you served multiple functions. It kept you off your feet, gave your body a break from the pressure you refused to acknowledge, and it kept you close. Through the walls, he could listen for your pacing and track every frustrated mutter coming from the office adjacent to his.

Mostly, it was his version of a peace offering.

By the end of the day, Caleb was done with your silence. He'd summoned you three times today, but you never responded. There had been no snarky remarks through the comms or passive-aggressive delay. Just absence. 

You were never like this. Usually, you bristled like a cornered animal and followed orders through gritted teeth, but today felt different. He tried to convince himself it was fine. You were doing the task assigned to you, but the way you'd stormed out of his office earlier had stirred something restless in him, and it wouldn't let him sit still.

So, several hours later, Caleb strode into your temporary office, the one he'd chosen specifically for its proximity to his own. He entered without knocking, not that it would have made a difference, because there you were, fast asleep at your desk. 

Your head rested on your propped-up hand, elbow perched precariously at the edge of the console, and it wobbled slightly, as if you might topple at any moment. For once, you weren't frowning. No venom curled your lips, and no rebellion burned in your eyes. There was just the steady rise and fall of your chest. You looked vulnerable like this, fragile in a way he'd never let himself picture.

Caleb watched the faint furrow in your brow twitch, as if you were arguing with someone in your dreams. He hoped it was him. He hoped he resided in your dreams the way you did in his. 

Then, your arm slipped. Your head jerked forward, about to crash against the desk, and instinct moved before thought. Caleb's gloved hand caught you just in time, palm bracing your cheek and fingers spreading beneath your jaw in an almost tender hold. Your skin was warm and soft under his touch.

Your eyes opened, unfocused and glassy. When recognition dawned, your expression sharpened, making you flinch and shove his hand away, standing abruptly.

"Colonel," you greeted stiffly. 

He didn't answer right away, his hand still hanging in the air where your face had just been, before curling slowly into a fist and dropping to his side. "You didn't answer your summons," he stated evenly.

"I was working." You gestured bitterly at your work station, your voice hoarse with sleep.

"I noticed." His gaze swept over the screen and then back to you. "I didn't realize it was such dreary work that it would cause you to fall asleep."

"Are you going to tell me off for it?"

"You nearly broke your nose."

"I didn't." Your tone was clipped and challenging. "Congratulations on pointing out the obvious. You want a medal, Colonel? Although I'm sure you have enough."

He didn't take the bait. "This is what happens when you don't listen. I did say that you were tired."

You opened your mouth to retort but faltered for a beat. Then you turned away from him, muttering, "Well, thank you for telling me how I feel, your fraudulent concern is noted. Do not force yourself to express it in the future, I'm sure it has been a taxing endeavour."

"Your work is done."

You blinked at his sudden change of topic. "Excuse me?"

"Your work is done," Caleb repeated. "You may begin your vacation. Starting now."

"You can't just—"

But he was already moving. Without asking or waiting for your protest, he bent over your console and began methodically shutting down your work. 

Click. Tabs closed.

Click. Diagnostic tools powered down.

Click. Project logs minimized and archived.

You stood dumbfounded as he reached for the handwritten schematics beside your monitor next and stacked them neatly, tapping the corners so they were perfectly aligned.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't look at you as he finished tidying your workspace like it was his own. "You've been excused. Which means your tasks for the day are complete. The files will still be here when you return. Untouched."

"Untouched?" you echoed incredulously. "You don't get to decide when I stop working."

Caleb lifted a single brow as if your outrage were some amusing inconvenience. "On the contrary."

"Colonel—"

He gestured smoothly toward the door. "You're dismissed. Rest. Sleep. Or don't. I don't particularly care what you do, as long as it does not involve exhausting yourself into collapse on fleet time."

He stepped toward you, and again, you felt that disorienting pull in the air. A sense that he was too close, even when he kept his hands behind his back like a proper officer.

"I'll have a new task for you when you return," he said. "Something simple that even you can manage."

"I'm not an invalid."

"I am just trying to protect my assets." He smirked a little and walked to the door. "I better not find out you've been tinkering around in your workshop during your time off. Go home, or if you prefer, go anywhere but here."

Taglist: @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @mi-yaw @userjunhuii @yahumankdj @twismare @missybabes @elielielira @kazbrkker @sylusgirlie7 @velvtcherie @potania @lyn-auxcord @rjreins @applecaviar @dramaticalsachan @iwantsomepotatoxx @inzanekillian @unbaed-you @poisonpomme

(hope i didn't miss anyone ❤️)

[kenzdolls]

A COLLECTION OF MOMENTS .

⌗ synopsis: today’s izuku birthday, and you’re his lovely spouse. so, you surprise your husband izuku on his birthday after his teaching day at ua with a heartfelt gift which shows the memories of you and him.

⌗ pairing: (MHA/BNHA) {timeskip} izuku midoriya x spouse! reader

⌗ a/n: sry for like the sudden thing, but seriously happy birthday izuku!! legit has been one of my favorite characters to EVER stumble upon in my life (cause he’s totally relatable?) ILYSM IZUKUUU 🫶🫶

the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows of class 1-a, casting long golden shadows across the empty desks. izuku stood at the front of the classroom, erasing the last of the day's lesson from the whiteboard, his green curls catching the light as he moved. the soft scratching of the eraser against the board was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

"great work today, everyone," he had told his students just moments before as they filed out, their excited chatter about weekend plans fading down the hallway. teaching at ua had been a dream come true, watching the next generation of heroes grow and develop their quirks under his guidance. but now, in the peaceful silence that followed, izuku felt the familiar weight of exhaustion settling into his shoulders.

he was just gathering his papers when he heard the soft knock on the classroom door.

"come in," he called, not looking up from his desk.

"i hope i'm not interrupting anything important, sensei midoriya."

izuku's head snapped up at the familiar, teasing voice, and his face immediately broke into the brightest smile as he saw you leaning against the doorframe. even after all these years together, his heart still did that little skip whenever you appeared unexpectedly.

"you're never interrupting," he said, practically bouncing over to you. "i thought you were working late tonight?"

"i might have told a little white lie to my boss about feeling under the weather," you admitted with a gentle smile, reaching up to smooth down one of his unruly curls. "someone i care about has a birthday today, and i couldn't let him spend it alone grading papers."

izuku's cheeks flushed pink, and he ducked his head slightly. "you didn't have to do that. i know how important that project is—"

"izuku." you placed a gentle hand on his cheek, making him look at you. "nothing is more important than celebrating you."

his eyes immediately began to well up with tears, and he leaned into your touch. "i love you so much," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

"i love you too, birthday boy," you whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "now, are you done here? i have something for you."

izuku nodded eagerly, quickly shoving the last of his papers into his bag. "what is it? you didn't have to get me anything, really. just being here with you is enough—"

"izuku," you interrupted gently, taking his hand. "let me spoil you a little bit, okay? it's your special day."

the walk to your shared apartment was filled with izuku's animated recounting of his day, his free hand gesturing excitedly as he told you about his students' progress and a particularly impressive quirk development he'd witnessed. you listened with fond attention, occasionally squeezing his hand when he got especially enthusiastic.

"oh! and yamamoto finally managed to maintain her ice constructs for a full minute without them melting," he continued as you unlocked the front door. "she's been working so hard on her temperature control, and i think she's really starting to understand the breathing technique i showed her. it's the same one todoroki used to use, actually, and—"

he stopped mid-sentence as you led him into the living room, where you'd set up a small celebration. soft fairy lights twinkled around the room, and his favorite dinner sat waiting on the coffee table along with a small cake decorated with green frosting and a single candle.

"you did all this?" izuku's voice was barely a whisper, and you could see the tears starting to form in his eyes again.

"i wanted to make tonight special," you said softly, guiding him to sit on the couch. "i know you've been working so hard lately, and i thought you deserved something just for you."

izuku was quiet for a moment, just taking in the scene before him. then, without warning, he turned and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck as his shoulders began to shake with quiet sobs.

"hey, what's wrong?" you asked gently, running your fingers through his hair.

"nothing's wrong," he managed between tears. "i'm just... i'm so happy. i can't believe i get to have this, to have you. sometimes i still can't believe this is real."

you held him close, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. "it's real, izuku. you deserve all the happiness in the world."

after a few minutes, he pulled back and wiped his eyes, giving you a watery smile. "sorry, i'm such a crybaby."

"you're my crybaby," you said fondly, thumbing away a remaining tear. "and i love every part of you, tears and all."

you spent the next hour eating dinner together, izuku's eyes lighting up at every bite of his favorite katsudon. he told you more stories from his day, and you shared funny moments from your own work. the conversation flowed easily, as it always did between you two, comfortable and warm like a favorite blanket.

when the cake came out, izuku's face practically glowed in the candlelight as he made his wish. you had a feeling you knew what he'd wished for – the same thing he always did. more time, more moments like this one, more life to share with you.

"so," you said after you'd both finished your cake, "i have one more thing for you."

izuku perked up immediately, his eyes widening. "another surprise? really, you've already done so much—"

"trust me," you said, reaching behind the couch where you'd hidden his gift. "i think you'll like this one."

you pulled out a carefully wrapped package, not too big but substantial enough to hold weight. izuku took it with reverent hands, as if it were made of the most precious material in the world.

"can i open it?" he asked, and you nodded.

his careful fingers peeled away the wrapping paper, revealing a beautiful leather-bound photo album. the cover was a deep forest green – his favorite color – with golden lettering that read "our story" embossed on the front.

"oh," izuku breathed, his fingers tracing the letters. "it's beautiful, but—"

"open it," you encouraged softly.

with trembling hands, izuku opened the album to the first page. his breath caught in his throat as he saw the first photo – a picture of the two of you from your second year at ua, both of you grinning widely after a particularly challenging training session. your faces were dirt-streaked and exhausted, but the joy in your eyes was unmistakable.

"this is..." he started, but his voice failed him.

"keep going," you whispered, settling closer to him so you could look at the photos together.

page by page, izuku turned through the album, each photo carefully chosen and placed to tell the story of your relationship. there were pictures from your ua days – study sessions in the library, festival preparations, quiet moments in the dorms. photos from graduation, both of you in your caps and gowns, izuku's face streaked with happy tears even then.

"i remember this," he said softly, pointing to a photo of you two at your first apartment, surrounded by boxes and looking overwhelmed but happy. "you insisted we unpack the kitchen first because you said home wasn't home without the ability to make tea."

"and you cried when you found the mug i'd gotten you with 'world's best hero' written on it," you added with a gentle laugh.

"i still use that mug every morning," izuku said, turning the page.

more photos followed – your first anniversary, holidays spent together, lazy sunday mornings, and quiet evenings. there were pictures from izuku's first day as a pro hero, his face beaming with pride and nervousness. photos from your own career milestones, izuku always right there cheering you on.

"this is our engagement," izuku whispered, his finger hovering over a photo of him down on one knee in the park where you'd had your first date, his face red and tear-streaked but determined. "i was so nervous i almost forgot the speech i'd practiced."

"you were perfect," you assured him, remembering how your heart had felt like it might burst from your chest. "i would have said yes if you'd just asked without any words at all."

the photos continued through your wedding day – both of you radiant with joy, surrounded by friends and family. izuku had cried through the entire ceremony, and there were tissues visible in nearly every photo. your favorite was one of you wiping away his tears as he said his vows, both of you lost in your own little world.

"and here's our honeymoon," izuku said, voice growing thick again as he looked at photos of you both on a quiet beach, completely relaxed and happy. "that was the best week of my life."

"just that week?" you teased gently.

"well, every week with you is the best week of my life," he amended, making you laugh.

the album continued through your married life – moving into your current apartment, adopting your cat (who had somehow managed to get into several photos), quiet domestic moments, and celebrations with friends. there were photos from izuku's first day teaching at ua, his nervous excitement palpable even in the still image.

as you reached the more recent photos, izuku's tears were flowing freely again. there were pictures from just last month – you two cooking dinner together, izuku grading papers while you worked on your laptop nearby, a selfie you'd taken during a rare day off spent in the park.

"how did you get all of these?" izuku asked, his voice wonder-filled.

"i've been collecting them for months," you admitted. "every time i saw a photo of us, i saved it. i wanted to show you how beautiful our life together has been, how many wonderful moments we've shared."

"we have shared so many moments," izuku agreed, carefully turning to the last page.

the final photo was from just last week – izuku had fallen asleep grading papers, and you'd found him curled up at the kitchen table, his reading glasses askew and his hair mussed. you'd covered him with a blanket and snapped a quick photo, not because he looked silly, but because he looked so peaceful, so content. it was a perfect representation of your quiet, domestic happiness.

but it was the message you'd written on the last page that broke him completely.

"to my izuku, on your birthday – these photos represent just a fraction of the moments we've shared, but each one is a treasure. from that first day you nervously asked me to study with you in second year, to this very moment as you read this, you have been the greatest gift life has ever given me. thank you for sharing your dreams with me, for letting me be part of your story, and for making every ordinary day feel extraordinary. i love you more than words could ever express, and i can't wait to fill a hundred more albums with our adventures. happy birthday, my hero. here's to forever. all my love, forever and always."

izuku completely broke down then, clutching the album to his chest as he sobbed. these weren't just tears of happiness – they were tears of overwhelming gratitude, of disbelief that he could be so lucky, of pure, unconditional love.

"i can't— this is too much," he managed between sobs. "i don't deserve this, i don't deserve you—"

"stop," you said firmly but gently, pulling him into your arms. "you deserve every good thing in this world, izuku midoriya. you deserve love and happiness and someone who sees how incredible you are."

"but i'm just me," he whispered into your shoulder. "i'm not special, i'm not—"

"you're everything," you interrupted, holding him tighter. "you're the kindest person i know, the most dedicated, the most loving. you inspire everyone around you to be better, including me. you are so, so special, izuku."

you held him as he cried, running your fingers through his hair and whispering soft reassurances. it was several minutes before he calmed down enough to pull back and look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but shining with love.

"i love you," he said, voice hoarse from crying. "i love you so much it hurts sometimes, in the best way possible."

"i love you too," you replied, cupping his face in your hands. "more than you'll ever know."

izuku leaned forward and kissed you then, soft and sweet and full of emotion. when you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours.

"this is the best birthday i've ever had," he whispered.

"it's not over yet," you pointed out with a smile. "we still have the rest of the evening."

"what else could there possibly be? you've already given me everything."

"well," you said, settling back into his arms, "i was thinking we could look through the album again, and you could tell me your favorite memories from each photo. and then maybe we could watch that hero documentary you've been wanting to see. and tomorrow, we could start working on new memories to add to the next album."

izuku's smile was radiant as he nodded eagerly. "i would love that. all of it."

as you settled together on the couch, the photo album open between you, izuku couldn't help but think about how different his life had turned out from what he'd imagined as a young boy. he'd dreamed of being a hero, of saving people and making a difference. and while he'd achieved those dreams, what he hadn't expected was this – the quiet, domestic happiness of being loved completely and unconditionally.

"thank you," he said softly as you turned back to the first page of the album. "for all of this, for everything. for choosing me."

"thank you for letting me choose you," you replied, pressing a kiss to his temple. "and for choosing me back, every single day."

as the evening wore on, you went through the album photo by photo, izuku sharing memories and stories, laughing and crying in equal measure. the fairy lights twinkled around you, the remnants of birthday cake still on the coffee table, and your cat curled up on the armchair nearby.

it was a perfect moment – not because it was grand or dramatic, but because it was real. it was your life, your love, your collection of shared moments that had built into something beautiful and lasting.

and as izuku looked at the photos of your life together, he knew that his birthday wish had already come true. he had more time, more moments, more life to share with you. he had everything he'd ever wanted, wrapped up in the gentle smile of the person who'd chosen to love him.

"happy birthday to me," he whispered, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.

"happy birthday, my love," you whispered back, and in that moment, everything was perfect.

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites @bakugouswaif [OPEN]

⌗ mutuals: @haikyuubby @va-3 @tulippanes @luvseraphh @miss-indigen0us @cupkiki @par4disee [OPEN]

✦ REQUESTS ARE OPEN! ✦

© KENZDOLLS 2025 . do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.

[wonysugar]

cw : bondage, bdsm dynamics, impact play

oh boy. oh boy oh BOY what the hell.😭i’m actually kinda losing it she’s looking sooo good for this era? i’m so incredibly geeked yall omggg….. #DRENCHED!

you being with your girlfriend for a very long time now has helped in making… kinkier conversations easier to have. aeri would always be super chill with everything anyway so talking about your sex life was never really uncomfortable, it felt like any other normal discussion. despite that, you never once got to the true marrow of the bone. was it because you were embarrassed? maybe. were you scared she was gonna shame you for it despite having no history of doing so? …maybe!

was your fear kind of irrational? yknow what, yeah maybe.

no but truly, how on earth are you supposed to bring up bondage to your kind-of super vanilla significant other? she maybe looks rough on the outside but she has always been gentle, both fortunately AND unfortunately, because that’s what you two believed would be satisfactory for both parties involved. and yeah, it’s always been way more than plain satisfactory, but you wanted her to… yknow, tug at you more in bed. quite literally! plus, she was always going on and on about not wanting to hurt you, which would be even more endearing and adorable if you weren’t such a huge slut for pain. especially if it’s your gorgeous girlfriend inflicting it on you.

alas, you’d always pushed away the idea of telling her such a thing. she can’t know that, that would complicate things. maybe she’d push herself to do things she doesn’t necessarily feel like doing just to please you. which is totally an aeri thing to do, by the way. that being said, you kept quiet on that part of you, embracing the fact that it will most likely just stay buried in the deep depths of your desires for another few years.

the universe had other plans for you though, apparently.

as it turns out, you had left your google account logged into aeri’s laptop since the last time you went over to her house. one thing about you, you never use incognito mode, ever. you always figured it would be unnecessary since you quite literally live alone! which is exactly why you could already imagine the type of stuff your girlfriend saw when she told you about it.

of course, she wouldn’t let that go. mentioning it every other time you two spoke, poking fun at you as you hid your face in your hands. a whole week of teasing felt like torture… until she showed up at your door unprompted with a backpack full of stuff. stuff you would never imagine being bdsm equipment.

your heart would’ve felt like it dropped to your stomach upon the sight, but you would quickly figure out that your heart could, in fact, drop lower than that once she started ordering you around.

‘strip.’

‘make it quick.’

‘go to the bedroom.’

‘get on your knees.’

granted, a little rough around the edges considering she was very much not used to this kind of thing, but still incredibly hot nonetheless. hell, if anything, the innocent and incessant giggling you two were doing just contributed to getting you more and more excited, anticipation eating at the both of you. it was nice seeing your girlfriend give a chance to something you’re into and seeing her actually enjoy it.

as the hours went on, she was basically a natural. sure, it was still somewhat awkward and endearing, but she definitely had a knack for this kind of stuff. no matter how good her acting would get, however, her nature would never stop showing through her actions. she insisted you come up with a safe word, since she ‘saw that people did that upon researching’, she’d often double check with you to make sure she didn’t tie the rope around your wrists too tight, other times you’d notice her immediately caressing the spot she’d leave a big fat red mark on with the riding crop she held, she’d praise you for every little thing, cooing and claiming that you’re taking it so well for her.

if you’d ask her about it now, she’d probably affirm that her favorite part was the ��actually fucking part’ since she finally got to do what both of you had been dying for. she definitely had made you beg for it beforehand, having found a new liking to your submission and desperacy. holding a collar and controlling your every move may have sounded concerning in theory, but it was a totally different pair of sleeves in practice, apparently!

“you wanna eat this pussy, baby?” she’d ask, tugging and toying at the collar and smiling at the immediate eager response she’d get from you, on your knees under her. ‘yes, i do’ you’d eagerly say, but that wasn’t enough for her. she wanted to push you to the depths of your comfort zone, she wanted to see how desperate and shameless you could get.

“i’m afraid you’re gonna have to sound a bit more enthusiastic than that. be a big girl and show me you want it.” as she’s lazily slapping your cheek ughhhdjdkfmd i’m incredibly ill and upset mane whatever.

when it comes to the strap action, it’d feel like heaven to you! just like it usually does, except this time you’re being spanked and choked by aeri’s tugging of the collar around your neck all whilst being edged, before, of course, getting overstimulated to your core. your bedroom filled with nothing but the sounds of impact, your loud ass moans and whines, aeri’s praise and the simultaneous sound of her dildo going in and out your drenched cunt, motion repetitive yet with a varying speed.

so basically aeri wouldn’t need much convincing from you to do that again some other time LMFAOAO

[pagesfromthevoid]

State of Grace | r.a. | 2

Rhett Abbott x teacher!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Alcohol, Rhett almost starts a fight

Author’s Note: This isn’t gonna be a long series but it’s gonna be fun. I got some good shit goin in my brain

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Coffee?

The bar was louder than she expected. Not rowdy, exactly –just lively in the way small-town places got on a Friday night, with familiar laughter floating over the clink of beer bottles and the low hum of country music crackling through old speakers. The air smelled like wood polish and stale beer, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d willingly gone anywhere without a clear purpose.

And yet, here she is. Sitting across from Rhett Abbott of all people, watching the way the light plays off the edge of his jaw when he smiles at something she said.

“So you agreed to be the sponsor of a rodeo club but you’ve never been to a rodeo?”

She grins sheepishly, sipping her cider with a shrug. “It’s not really…my thing, I guess.”

“Why the hell did you agree then?” Rhett laughs, leaning his elbows on the table across from her. 

“I have a soft spot for the kids,” she admits, setting her drink down on the table. “And a bad habit of not saying no.”

“We’ll have to work on that,” he teases, and her breath catches when he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Let me get you another one,” he offers, tapping her bottle and standing up. 

For a moment, she simply watches as he walks away, weaving through the crowd with a slightly awkward presence that…doesn't quite match the reputation he’s earned. She wonders if she’s making a mistake –sitting here, letting herself get charmed by someone she’s been warned about more times than she can count. But the longer she watches him, the harder it is to make sense of all those rumors. They don’t feel true. Not tonight.

Maybe he is trouble. But if he is, he hides it well –behind slow smiles and the way he listens when she talks, really listens. He’s been nothing but a gentleman all night. Thoughtful. Careful, even. And maybe that’s the trick. Maybe that’s what makes him dangerous.

Rhett’s charming, sure –but it’s a quiet, steady kind of charm, wrapped up in that rough cowboy exterior. She’s willing to bet the whole rugged “bad ass bullrider” thing is what pulls the women in, but it’s that unexpected sweetness –the soft-spoken jokes, the way he meets her eyes and then looks away like he’s not used to being looked at too long –that seals the deal. Don’t get her started on his eyes either. There’s something unreadable in them. Something sad. She wonders how many women have been swept off their feet by those alone.

God knows she’s about to be.

Rhett returns with two bottles in hand, balancing them carefully as he weaves through the crowd. When he slides one in front of her, he doesn’t say anything right away –just sits down and rubs the back of his neck like he isn’t sure what to do with his hands now.

She smiles, fingers curling around the chilled glass. “Thanks.”

He nods, then takes a sip of his own drink, eyes flicking up to meet hers for the briefest second before darting away again. “Didn’t know which kind you liked. Just got the same.”

“That’s fine,” she says, her grin tugging wider. “You’re one for one so far.”

A hint of pink creeps onto his cheeks and he ducks his head with a chuckle. “Guess I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

“You’re not doing too bad,” she teases, but softly. Not to embarrass him –just to see what he'd do with it.

He looks up at that, and something in his eyes hits her –something that doesn’t quite match the rest of him. They’re softer than they have any right to be, ringed with something quiet and worn-down. Sad, maybe. Lonely. She suddenly can’t remember what exactly people had warned her about.

He clears his throat and leaned forward just slightly, like he wants to say something more but doesn’t quite know how. “Y’know, the boys talk about you a lot. Say you’re their favorite teacher, and how you try so hard for’em. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk as much about school outside of school as they do.”

“Oh –well I –,” she stammers, tracing the rim of her bottle. She’s not sure what to say to that honestly; but it feels good to hear. “I just…want to do my best for them, I suppose.”

“That’s not it,” he says quickly, then looks vaguely horrified with himself for interrupting. “I mean –I just think it’s…good. That they like you so much. Shows you care about’em.”

The words land heavier than she expects, not just because of what he’s saying, but because of the way he says it –like he knows exactly what it’s like not to have someone care. 

“I…really do, you know? I know I’ve only been here a couple years, but the kids grow on you fast, and I just want to give them every chance to succeed. Some of them –,” her throat tightens, and she swallows it back. “Some of them just need someone to believe in them.”

“Wish I had a teacher like you when I was in school.” His voice is low –lower than before –and rough at the edges, like it’s not something he meant to admit out loud. Like it slipped out in a moment where his guard forgot to hold. “Probably would’ve done me wonders,” he adds, with a small, almost apologetic smile.

And that’s the moment. That’s when she sees it, clear as day –the crack in the wall he’s got up, the soft place he doesn’t show anyone. Not the flirt. Not the troublemaker or the bullrider. Just a boy who needed someone to care and maybe never quite got it.

He isn’t trying to charm her.

He isn’t trying anything, really.

He’s just…trying.

And she likes him more for that. Not because he’s perfect –not even close –but because he’s honest, even when it hurts. Because he’s showing her a version of himself that maybe no one else bothers to look for.

She shifts her hand on the table, closer to his, and catches his eye. “I think you turned out alright, Rhett.”

He lets out a quiet huff, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude. “That’s debatable.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just sit there, watching each other across the scratched wood of the table, the chatter of the bar fading into something softer around them. Her heart thuds a little too loud in her chest, and she wonders if he can hear it.

“You’re not what I expected,” she says before she can stop herself.

He blinks, confused. “Is that a good thing?”

“I think so,” she reassures, and she means it.

He gives her a small, lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes –but maybe that’s okay. Maybe the real smile will come later, when he trusts her enough to give it.

“Good,” he says quietly. “’Cause I’ve been trying real hard not to screw this up.”

Her chest tightens, and she looks at her drink with a sheepish smile and a blush that’s burning her cheeks.

It isn’t the line itself. It’s the way he said it –honest. Almost apologetic. Like he doesn’t expect anything good to last, but can’t help but hope for it anyway. Maybe that’s the real trouble with Rhett Abbott –not that he’s reckless or wild or too full of himself. But that he’s spent so long pretending not to care, most folks stopped looking close enough to see that he does.

“Well hell must have frozen over,” a voice calls from the other side of the bar, interrupting whatever she and Rhett were sharing. When she looks up, she makes a face as Luke Tillerson makes his way over to their table. “Wabang’s teacher of the year is actually out and about on a Friday night.”

“Hello, Luke,” she sighs, leaning back in her seat. Rhett mutters something into his beer, but she doesn’t catch it. “It’s…nice to see you too.” Lie.

If anyone is actually trouble, it’s Luke Tillerson. In the two years she’s lived in Wabang, he’s been nothing if not relentless in his attempts to get her to go out with him, but something about him makes her skin crawl and sets her teeth on edge. He’s not trouble in the fun kind of way; he’s trouble in the way that feels actually dangerous. And she really doesn’t like how he talks to people –especially her. 

“What brings you out and about tonight?” He asks, leaning on the table with a slimy grin on his face.

“I’m just having a drink with a friend,” she offers as explanation, nodding towards Rhett, who looks more than annoyed that Luke is so close to them.

“Oh, darlin’,” Luke drawls and doesn’t even try to mask his disdain. “You think he’s got anything to offer you? Can’t even get off his daddy’s ranch.”

“Tillerson –,” Rhett starts, pushing up from the table suddenly.

“Don’t you work on your daddy’s ranch, Luke? How are you any different?” She interrupts, but she’s sliding out of her seat and picking up their drinks in the process. “Table is all yours. We’ll find somewhere else.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Luke argues, standing up too and trying to block her way. His hand is wrapped around her wrist, and she tries to pull back, but he doesn’t let up. “I’ve been askin’ you out for months now and you really wanna spend your night with him?”

“I’d rather spend the night with rattle snakes than go out with you, honestly,” she snaps back, trying to pry her wrist away from him. 

“Let’er go, Tillerson,” Rhett warns, stepping between the two of them now. 

His voice is low –measured –but there’s nothing calm about the way he says it. His body has gone still in that dangerous way, like a storm just before it breaks. And suddenly, she gets it. This is what they mean when they say Rhett Abbott is trouble.

It’s not the flirting or the broken rules or the crooked smirk he throws around town. It’s this –this quiet, coiled tension beneath his skin. The way his jaw ticks, the way his shoulders square like he’s ready to break something if he has to. There’s heat in his eyes –not wild exactly, but sharp and cold and deadly serious.

He looks like someone who’s been taught not to swing first –but who absolutely will if you give him a reason. And for a second, she isn’t sure what’s more startling: the fear on Luke’s face, or the fact that she doesn’t feel afraid at all.

Even Luke seems to recognize the line he’s about to cross. He releases her wrist and steps back with his hands up, trying to look harmless.

“You wanna waste your time, you go ahead,” he says, pointing at her. “I don’t mind pickin’ up Abbott’s pieces.”

“You son of a bitch –,” Rhett snaps, surging forward and grabbing Luke by the collar. The sheer force of it knocks a table over and chairs scatter, causing the other patrons to stop and look over. She’s still clutching their drinks, frozen in the moment and unsure of how to handle any of this.

“Get the hell outta my bar with that shit!” The bartender yells, but Rhett is dropping Luke, who lands on the floor with a thud and a curse. 

“Ain’t fuckin’ worth it,” Rhett mutters. Luke storms out of the bar without another word to them, and she finally moves from her spot, looking up at Rhett in surprise. “I’m sorry, I –,”

“You really are trouble, aren’t you?” She asks, holding his beer out to him. 

“I…,” He swallows hard, staring down at the beer that she’s offering him. Then slowly, he reaches out and takes it, fingers brushing against hers and lingering for longer than they should. Then he nods once. “I can be, yeah.”

“We’ll have to work on that.”

———

Taglist: @its-just-me-rin @lilyed777 @pearlstiare @scarletmika

[fromiftowhen]

hey i saw your anon post about abbot and mel headcanons, do you have any for fluffy kingdon?

like proposal & wedding day vibes?

Oh, I absolutely do!!! Here are just a few fluffy Kingdon headcanons, specifically about their proposal/engagement/wedding day.

Frank knows he loves Mel fourteen minutes into their second date, when Tanner FaceTimes him crying about a lost stuffed animal and Mel not only insists he answer but then spends twenty minutes of their dinner date helping Frank find a replacement on eBay.

(That's a lie. He realizes he loves her, and maybe has for awhile, five days before he asks her out, when she tells him no one else could have saved the patient they were working on together and then repeats herself very clearly, "no one else could have," when he scoffs. It's not true, because she did the actual saving, but he's not sure anyone else has ever believed in him like Mel does.)

He knows he wants to marry her during their first argument, if you can call it that, which is about whether or not Frank can say he's read a book that he actually just listened to an in-depth podcast about. The answer is no, even he can admit that, but the ferocity that Mel levels at him, like it's an insult to the book itself, is so sexy he actually forgets his half-assed argument. He wants to not even actually argue with her for the rest of his life.

He knows Mel doesn't like surprises in her personal life. And an engagement is a pretty damn big one. So he plans to bring the idea up slowly, which is unusual for him. But she beats him to it, late one night while they're getting ready for bed after a long, hectic shift. "My patient today, he's been married for 53 years. He and his wife were so sweet together." "That's really nice," he tells her, carefully. "It is. I think I'd like that, being known so well for so long," she whispers.

He takes Santos ring shopping with him. He picked Abby's ring out alone, because it was the height of COVID and she was ridiculously pregnant, and she always not-so-secretly disliked it. Santos and Mel are close enough that he knows she knows Mel, but Santos also still dislikes him juuust enough to tell him the god's honest truth. The salesperson asks if the ring is for Santos, and she fakes puking on the glass case, and then tells him that none of the rings are Mel. He'd think it was just to annoy the salesperson, but she's right. None of the rings at any of the stores are right.

He can't find the right ring or figure out the right way to propose with a nonexistent ring, which honestly, with anyone else, would feel like a huge flashing field of red flags to him. But then... Mel's halfway into her scrubs on a Thursday morning, calling out "don't forget to take your vitamins!" to Becca in the kitchen, as she ties her scrub pants, and excitedly telling him about this paper that Abbot asked her to coauthor, and it's just such a normal, happy morning and he thinks, fuck, I want 53 years of mornings just like this, and it just comes out. "I want to marry you," he says, and it's not a question, it's just a statement of utter fact, and it takes her a full fourteen seconds to stop what she's doing and stare at him. "I... well, okay. It's Thursday... Are you asking me to marry you while I'm half-naked on a Thursday?" "I didn't technically ask," he laughs. "But yeah. Do you want me to ask when you have your top on?" She shakes her head and his heart sinks, but then she's kissing him, kissing him, kissing him in a way she never has half-dressed on a Thursday morning, and when she finally pulls back, they're both teary-eyed and laughing. (He never actually asks. She never actually says yes. They don't need formalities like that. He doesn't need to ask a question she's already silently answered a thousand times. Forever is forever no matter when or how it starts.)

He does kinda feel bad about the ring though, but it just takes one quiet conversation later that night to figure it out. "I don't want you to spend money on a fancy ring. I wouldn't wear it at work anyway. But my mom... she left me her engagement ring from my dad" — he reluctantly lets her up and watches her sift through a small jewelry box on her dresser. "This," she says, crawling back next to him in bed, a small solitaire on a simple gold band between her fingers. "This is all I need." It's the first ring he's ever seen that so clearly embodies Mel. He takes it from her and slides it on her left ring finger, and yeah, that's all he needs too.

"I don't want to wait a year to marry you. Things happen, I don't want to wait at all," she tells him a few weeks later, after a particularly emotional shift from hell. "I just want you, and Becca, and the kids, I don't want a big ceremony. We can have dinner at that Japanese place you like in Shadyside, the one with the nice patio? We can invite everyone to celebrate with us there." He doesn't need any convincing.

They get married at the courthouse, which is a step above his first wedding, held over Zoom, and absolutely perfect. Mel wears an off-white jumpsuit and Frank lets Tanner pick out his tie and Becca wears a cardigan their mom knitted for her years ago, which he's pretty sure makes Mel cry harder than anything else that day. Millie refuses to toss the few flower petals they give her, which honestly probably just saves them some cleanup time, and then proceeds to hug Mel's leg all through their vows. It's messy and quick and Mel smiles into a laugh as he tries not to cry, and it's all absolutely fucking perfect. (They don't write their own vows. He thinks he could, and could spend hours reciting them, there are a thousand things he wants to promise her. But he waits, and whispers them in the dark, closer to a prayer than he's ever felt, more praise than promise against her skin. He repeats them every night until they're memorized actions, silent words they both know by heart.)

Mel's something old is her mom's ring, sized just right for her ring, sitting next to her something new, a delicate gold wedding band that she'll occasionally wear to work. Her something borrowed is a gold hair comb, its twin in Becca's hair, that she tells him their grandmother used to wear on special occasions. Her something blue is secret, she tells him a few days before the wedding. It takes him about five minutes into their make-shift honeymoon, aka a kid and sister free night alone before a leisurely day off, to learn that it's a matching bra and panty set (the first lingerie she's spent more than $30 on in her life, she tells him seriously) in a pale ice blue. It's only her pride in her purchase and a whisp of manners that keeps him from ripping it off her.

I think I could write fifty more of these just about their wedding day alone, but I'll stop here before this turns into more than it should be.

[losermuse]

Mother Loves All: Veil and Sin

The Confessor’s communion.

CW: 18+ (mdni), cult leader!reader, priest/follower!zayne, power imbalance, cunnilingus, fingering, mutual masturbation, PIV, mating press, blindfolding, sensory deprivation WC: 2.2k

AN: read Mother Loves All, But She Chooses Few first to get zayne and reader's dynamic but can be read as standalone if you’re horny enough lol. This is also a late bday gift for my wife @harlotistic who is absolutely obsessed with zayne especially priest!zayne (even tho he's barely a priest here tbh). I hope I did him justice <3

It begins in the candlelit hush of your private chamber. Zayne kneels before you—head bowed, shoulders trembling, linen gloves folded carefully in his lap.

He has come to confess.

“Mother…” his voice breaks, low and hoarse, thick with guilt and longing. “I’ve sinned again. My thoughts… they’re unclean. Of you.”

You do not answer at first. Instead, you rise—robes whispering across the floor—and slowly unwind your veil: that soft, midnight-blue cloth the others are forbidden even to touch.

You move behind him. Your fingertips brush along the curve of his jaw—he shivers, exhales like it’s prayer itself—and then you slip the veil over his eyes, knotting it gently at the back of his head.

“Do you trust me, my quiet one?”

“Yes, Mother. Always.”

Now, he cannot see.

All that’s left to him is your nearness: the rustle of fabric, the hush of your breath, the scent of warm skin and temple incense curling around him like smoke.

“Crawl forward,” you murmur, your voice a low chant and velvety layered over steel. “And confess. Speak every unholy thought you’ve buried.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. The linen gloves fall from his hands, forgotten. Palms meet the floor—rough, worn wood scraping tender skin—as he crawls toward the warmth of your presence.

His confession spills out, voice raw and trembling: how alone in his cell late at night, your face wouldn’t leave his mind; how he imagined your thighs closing around him, the warmth of your skin, the taste he could almost remember; and how the shame of it all burned like penance—yet the desire burned hotter still, consuming every prayer he tried to offer in its place.

With each word, his breath grows ragged. When at last he reaches you, he presses his cheek to your lap, nestling against the soft folds of your robe. He can smell the faint perfume of sacred oils, feel the gentle rise and fall of your breathing.

Your hand slides into his hair, slow and sure, fingertips combing through sweat-damp strands—neither harsh nor hesitant, but claiming.

“And now, my lamb… what is it you truly want?” Your voice lowers, softer than prayer, sharper than truth.

“To be cleansed, Mother,” he whispers, each syllable breaking. “To be yours.”

A low hum of approval slips from your lips, and it’s all the permission he needs.

Fingers trembling, he lifts the hem of your robe, breath catching as bare skin greets his touch. His palms slide up your thighs, reverent, hungry, as though each inch were sacred ground he’s dared to trespass.

You curl your fingers into his hair, guiding him closer—until his mouth hovers just above your cunt.

“Go ahead,” you breathe, soft as sin.

Zayne exhales a shaky moan, the sound raw and desperate, before his tongue presses against you through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Goddess forgive him—this was his sin come true.

He drags his tongue upward, slow and wet, soaking the cloth with devotion so fierce it feels closer to prayer than lust. The blindfold makes it worse—or holier.

He can taste and feel, but he cannot see. It leaves him raw, trembling in darkness, as though your body itself were the only scripture he must learn by touch alone.

“May I, Mother?” he breathes, voice cracking at the edges.

Instead of words, your hand curls into his hair, gripping just firmly enough to guide, to command—and you tilt his head back so your warmth brushes his lips, a silent benediction.

He understands. Always.

Fingers shaking, he slides your underwear down, his breath ragged as the damp fabric slips over your thighs. He swallows once—like a man before the altar—and then lowers his mouth to you fully.

Zayne devours you.

Tongue stroking slowly at first, tasting every soft fold, every tremor. Then faster, greedier, lips parting as he drags his tongue up and down your slick pussy. His fingers slide between your thighs, sinking into you as though claiming sacred ground—and when he finds your puffy, swollen clit, he flicks it gently, then circles it, learning the rhythm that makes your breath hitch.

Blind and desperate, he moans against you, prayer and hunger twisting together until neither can be told apart.

Your hand tightens in his hair, guiding him exactly where you want, and Zayne obeys—body trembling, soul laid bare—because to him, this isn’t just sin.

It’s salvation.

And when your soft moans spill out—low at first, then breaking into something rawer—when you arch your back against the carved wooden chair, thighs tightening around his head, it’s music to his ears.

Each sound you give him feels like absolution—like every stain on his soul is being washed clean in your heat and your voice.

“Don’t stop, my lamb,” you gasp, breath trembling. “More… I want more of you.”

Your words break him open even further.

Zayne groans against your slickness, fingers curling deeper inside you, tongue lapping greedily, blindly—desperate to please, to prove himself worthy. Your moans tighten around his heart like a vice, and the sound of you arching, breaking under his mouth feels holier than prayer.

Between breathless kisses against your cunt, his voice trembles out:

“Do you want more of me, Mother?” he pants, mouth still slick with you. 

“Please… just command it to me—and I shall deliver it.”

Your hand tightens in his hair, pulling his blindfolded face closer until your heat is all he can taste, all he can breathe.

“Then show me,” you whisper, voice low and dangerous. 

“Show me what is your biggest sin.”

And somewhere deep inside, his biggest sin—the one he’s never dared to confess fully—rises, raw and trembling: the thought of burying himself inside you, of hearing you moan not just from his tongue, but from his cock, from the weight of his body pressing yours open.

His tongue falters for a heartbeat at the thought—but then he obeys, worship turning shameless: he moans against you, hips grinding the air, fingers fucking into you harder, rougher, as though chasing that unspeakable desire.

And when he feels your thighs tense, your breath catching, your body trembling closer to release, something protective rises in him, as fierce as desire itself.

Still blindfolded, he shifts, muscles coiling, and lifts you carefully into his arms, cradling you bridal-style against his chest. Though he cannot see, he knows every step, every corner of your private sanctuary. Slowly and reverently, he carries you to your bed, the hem of your robe brushing his skin.

He lays you down on the silken sheets, your body sinking into softness, and only then do your eyes open fully to him, sharp with power and play.

“Cruel, my lamb,” you murmur, voice edged with mock disappointment. “To deny me my pleasure when I was so close.”

His breath hitches, shame and devotion twisting together.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispers, voice raw as an open wound. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you. Tell me what you desire… and it will be yours.”

As you look up at him—blindfolded, trembling, desperate—your quiet lamb becomes something darker, more fevered, ready to prove that his greatest sin is wanting all of you… and still believing it might make him holy.

“Keep the blindfold on,” you murmur. “I want to see all of you, lamb—but you will not see me.”

His breath stutters, chest heaving, but he obeys without question.

“Touch yourself,” you command softly, almost sweetly.  “And confess to me again… every unholy thought.”

Zayne’s hand slides shakily down to his cock, fingers wrapping around it, the motion uncertain at first, then tightening as the shame burns through him, making him harder still.

“Tell me, my lamb,” you coax, your voice dripping honeyed poison.

“What do you think of, late at night, when no one sees?”

His confession tumbles out, ragged, breathless.

“You, Mother… always you. Your thighs around my head… your voice breaking when you come… sometimes—” his voice breaks, hips jerking into his palm, “sometimes I imagine showing the guys how to worship you properly. Making them watch until they understand… until they love you like I do.”

Your lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile, and as he speaks, you slowly slip your robe from your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your hips. Your fingers slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over hardened nipples, the sight of your own devotion reflected in his trembling form.

His voice cracks again, tears slipping beneath the blindfold.

“I know it’s wicked… I know it’s wrong—but I want to show them, Mother. I want them to see how holy you are when you fall apart.”

All the while, your fingers tease and tug at your breasts, breath growing heavy, your gaze fixed on the trembling lamb kneeling before you—lost in confession, lust, and worship.

“And what would you show them, my lamb?” you coax, voice low and curling around him like smoke.  “Tell me…teach me your wickedness.”

Zayne’s voice breaks, a raw confession spilling out, each word trembling on the edge of shame and devotion, “I’d show them how to worship you on their knees…how to use their mouths until you can’t speak…how to fuck you until the only word left on your tongue is my name…until you remember nothing but me inside you…”

Your breath quickens, chest rising and falling as your fingers slip lower, teasing your swollen clit. The heat in your belly twists into something near-painful, fed by his trembling confessions and raw need.

“Then come here,” you rasp. “Show me, my lamb. Show me that wickedness.”

He hesitates—just for a heartbeat—then obeys, blindfolded, crawling forward by sound alone until he’s between your thighs again, where he belongs. Your robe spills open around you like a parted veil, and his shaking hands find your waist, reverent, hungry, desperate to sin.

“Mother…” he breathes, voice hoarse and wrecked, “please…”

“Take me, my quiet one,” you whisper, nails scraping gently along his jaw. “Make this sin yours.”

With a choked moan, he presses forward, the head of his cock brushing your slick cunt. He shudders, hips twitching, and then he’s inside you, slow and desperate as though worshipping every inch.

“Mother…Mother…” he babbles against your shoulder, the word falling from his lips like a prayer turned plea.

His thrust starts shaky–each a confession, a surrender–but soon his need overtakes the fear, and he fucks you harder, blindfold still in place, devotion dripping from every trembling breath.

“You feel so holy,” he gasps, forehead pressed to your neck. “Please…let me stay inside you…let me be yours..”

And all the while, your nails dig into his back, breath catching with every thrust. His voice cracks around your title again and again, each moaned “Mother” laced with ruin and worship-like.

“Good little lamb,” you manage to whisper, voice ragged. “Give me everything…let me see your ruin.”

With a shudder that tears through him, something inside Zayne snaps–every gentle restraint, every trembling reverence scorched away by fevered need. For someone once so soft, so holy in his devotion, he turns near feral: strong arms wrapping around your thighs, pushing your knees up until they nearly press to your chest.

He folds you beneath, pressing you into the sheets, body trembling but relentless until you’re held open, vulnerable, claimed entirely in a desperate, worshipful mating press.

“Forgive me, Mother,” he pants against your skin, voice cracking with shame and hunger. “I can’t…I can’t stop…I need—please, let me—”

His blindfolded eyes can’t see the way your lips part, the quickening of your breath, or the warmth that blooms beneath your skin—but he feels it: the arch of your back, the tremor in your body, the gasp that slips free as he thrusts deeper, harder, losing the careful gentleness that once defined him.

Every stroke now is rough, unrestrained, hips snapping against yours as his breath spills ragged pleas and broken prayers.

“Mother…Mother….please….let me fill you…let me be yours…your lamb…your ruin…” 

Your breath catches, pleasure blooming hot and low. 

“Yes,” you whisper, threading your fingers into his sweat-damp hair. “Do it, my lamb…show me your devotion…show me everything.”

His body jolts as if struck by something divine, thrusts growing desperate, his shame burning away until all that’s left is raw, unholy want.

“Mother—”  he gasps, voice cracking on the word as he finally gives in.

With a trembling groan, he buries himself fully, his cum spilling inside you, offering everything he is, everything he shouldn’t want to give. Your cunt tightens around him, breath coming shallow as he last thrusts slowly, hips pressing flush as though he might crawl deeper into your very bones if you’d only let him.

You cradle his sweat-damp face in your palms, feeling the wild, unsteady beat of his pulse beneath your thumbs.

“Good lamb,” you breathe. “All of you…every ruinous thought… belongs to me.”

His chest heaves against yours, body still trembling, blindfold hiding the wetness in his lashes, but even sightless, you know he has never looked at you more clearly than he does now.

You press your forehead to his, your voice a hush of mercy and claim all at once.

“No sins cling to you now, my lamb. There is only your devotion.”

[andy-15-07]

Hiiii can you do another Joaquin fic where the reader has a terrible bf who makes her feel bad and every achievement she has gets brushed away and whenever she goes to the gym, her bf tells her to not go

Maybe the bf is a little abusive and Joaquin sees all the red flag and how low and weak the reader feels so he decides its enough and helps her get back up and get her away from him

(Dont write if you're not up for it)

Out of the Shadows

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1277 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fingers tracing the faint bruise along your upper arm. It’s not the worst mark you’ve had , not by a long shot , but tonight it seems louder than the rest.

In the other room, your boyfriend’s voice drifts through the half-open door, sharp and dismissive as always.

“I told you not to go. But you never fucking listen.”

You swallow hard, pressing a damp cloth to the bruise. “It’s just the gym, it’s not,”

“Shut up.” You flinch at the tone, at how small you feel when he speaks like that.

The argument loops in your head as you stand there , about how you’re wasting time, how you think you’re “better than him” when you talk about your job or the new position your manager hinted at. Every good thing you touch somehow turns sour when you bring it home.

So you do what you always do: you stay quiet, you let it slide, you pretend it’s normal.

You don’t even remember how you first met Joaquin Torres , probably at the base gym, where you started going late at night just so your boyfriend wouldn’t notice. Joaquin had been on the treadmill next to you, all bright smiles and an easy “Hey, you new here?” that made your guard slip for half a second.

Now he’s the only reason you even bother showing up. You go when you know he’ll be there , when you know you won’t be alone.

Tonight, you sit on a bench, trying to tie your shoelaces with trembling hands. Joaquin spots you the second he walks in, fresh from a late patrol, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey, superstar,” he calls, jogging over. His grin fades when he sees your face. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You force a smile. “Nothing. I’m good.”

He crouches in front of you, his eyes flicking to the bruise peeking out from under your sleeve. “Bullshit. Let me see.”

You tug the sleeve down. “It’s fine, Torres.”

His jaw tightens. You can tell he’s trying to stay calm for your sake. “Don’t call me Torres like I’m some stranger. Come on , what happened?”

You look down at your shoes. “I… I shouldn’t have come tonight. He’s gonna be mad.”

“Who?” he presses. You know he knows. You’ve never given him the full truth, but he’s not stupid.

“My boyfriend. He says it’s a waste of time. Says I should be home.”

Joaquin blows out a slow breath. “And what do you want?”

Your eyes sting. “I want to be here.”

He nods, like that settles it. “Then you’re here. And you’re safe here. Okay?”

You nod, trying to believe it.

You try to lift, but your head’s somewhere else. Joaquin hovers, spotting you like always, but tonight he keeps glancing at your arm, at the tired slump of your shoulders.

“Hey,” he says gently, after you fail your third rep. “You wanna talk instead?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, Joaquin.”

He sets the weights down for you. “You know that’s not true. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The words crack something inside you. “I’m so tired,” you whisper. “I’m so tired of feeling like nothing I do matters. I got a promotion last month and he just laughed , said it won’t last. That I’m not ‘that good.’”

Joaquin’s eyes darken. “You’re better than good.”

You sniff, pressing the back of your hand to your eyes. “I feel weak all the time. I feel… I don’t know. Small.”

He moves closer, lowering his voice so no one else can hear. “Hey, look at me.”

You do. You always do.

“You’re not weak. You’ve been carrying his bullshit on your back for too long , anyone would get tired. But you’re still here. You’re still you.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his thumb, gentle, careful not to flinch when you do.

“I hate that you see me like this,” you whisper.

“I hate that he makes you feel like this.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but holds it in. Instead, he says softly, “I’m gonna take you home, okay? Not his home. Yours, or wherever you feel safe. He doesn’t get to keep you like this anymore.”

Your heart jumps. “What? Joaquin, I,”

He squeezes your hand. “No more bruises. No more excuses for him. Please.”

You let him drive you to your sister’s tiny apartment across town. She’s out of town for work, but she left you the key months ago , “Just in case, okay?” she’d said when she slipped it into your pocket.

You sit on the edge of her bed, hands curled in your lap. Joaquin paces a little, like he’s afraid if he stops moving he’ll explode.

“Are you scared to go back there tonight?” he asks finally.

You nod. “He’ll… he’ll know I’m gone. He’ll be angry.”

“I’ll stay,” Joaquin says instantly. “If that’s okay. Just for tonight. Or… for as long as you need.”

Your eyes widen. “You don’t have to,”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupts gently. “I do, because you’ve got no one else looking out for you right now, and that’s not right. And I’m here. I want to be here.”

Something inside you buckles. “Why?” you whisper.

His eyes soften. “Because I see you. The real you. The one who shows up even when she’s hurting. The one who lifts more than anyone in that gym when she lets herself try. The one who laughs at my stupid jokes even when she’s exhausted.”

Your lip trembles. “I don’t know how to start over, Joaquin.”

“You don’t have to know tonight. Tonight you just rest. Tomorrow… we’ll figure it out. One thing at a time.”

You sniff again, laughing weakly. “You’re too good to me.”

He crouches in front of you like he did at the gym, hands warm on your knees. “I’m just giving you what you deserve. That’s all.”

You don’t sleep much. You doze off for an hour, wake up in the dark to find him sitting on the floor next to the couch you’re curled up on. His head is tipped back against the wall, eyes closed, but the second you shift he’s awake.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah.” You hesitate. “Can you… stay closer?”

He nods, slipping up onto the couch behind you. His arm settles lightly over your side, warm and careful. You press your back into him and for the first time in forever, you feel… safe.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of burnt toast. You stumble into the kitchen to find Joaquin fighting your sister’s ancient toaster, swearing under his breath.

“Good morning,” you croak.

He whips around, sheepish. “Hey. I was trying to be helpful. I think I’m losing this battle.”

You laugh , a real one this time. He stares at you like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

You lean against the counter, arms folded. “What now?”

He smiles, crossing the tiny kitchen to stand in front of you. “Now, you let me help. We get your stuff. We block his number. We talk to Sam if we have to , you know he’ll have your back. And you come back to the gym with me. When you want. For you.”

Your voice is small, but steady. “And you’ll be there?”

His grin softens into something warm and certain. “Always.”

You exhale, feeling the weight begin to lift , not all at once, but enough that you can breathe. Enough that you can believe him when he says it: always.

[hobiologist]

sugar you’re so high | kim taehyung

summary: in which taehyung, love drunk and obsessed, finally pops the question.

pairing: taehyung x (f) reader; taehyung x (f) oc

genre: fluff (an overwhelming amount) with a smut scene

rating: mature 18+, mdni

warnings: oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, dry humping, coming in pants

word count: 3k

Taehyung immersed himself inside of the bubble filled tub, allowing his restless thoughts and sore muscles to relax for the first time that day.

Truthfully, stress was rare for Taehyung — a usually bold and upbeat man who always had a smile on his face. Of course he was human; he had days where work could be tiresome or life concerns threatened to weigh him down. But not only were his fellow bandmates always there for him — his girlfriend of 2 years stood beside him as well. And he couldn’t have been more grateful.

“You’re quiet, honey.”

His large brown eyes turned to the woman he called his, her frame seated on a folded blanket next to the bathtub at his request. The idea was for him to indulge himself in the bath she had prepared for him after he called from dance practice stating how tired he was.

It was suppose to be some alone time for him to unwind — but 2 minutes in he was practically begging her to join him. She mentioned having just showered but still obliged him by sitting next the tub, running her hands through his hair.

The thing about the rarely-stressed Taehyung was that he would never attempt to hide it. That reigned true for every area of his life. If he was upset, he didn’t mind crying. If he was hungry, he didn’t mind eating until he was full and then some. And he didn’t mind expressing exhaustion when he was.

She appreciated that about him; she marveled at the fact that he didn’t attempt to hide an inch of himself from her. It was one of the first things about him that had captivated her.

Her fingertips continued to massage his scalp lightly, his body subconsciously slipping neck deep into the water as bliss consumed him.

He had a habit of melting under her touch in a way that always made her blush, leaving her a bit prideful of the power that she held over him.

More than anything, she was delighted to see him so at peace.

“I want you to relax and clear your mind. If I talk to you, that requires you thinking. Relax, T.”

At the sound of her sweet voice and the feel of her gentle strokes, Taehyung complied.

His lips pressed warm, soft kisses along the woman’s arm as she continued to stroke his hair.

Somehow the action was reminiscent of the relationship they both shared. It was delicate, passionate and calming, burning with desire, yet soft as cotton. The touches, the kisses, the gazes; they both overflowed with love and admiration for one another, assuring both of a love that would never expire.

It had been two years, after all. Two years of dating and dealing with constant separations due to Taehyung’s obligations as one of the biggest musical artist in the world.

But somehow, the passion hadn’t gone cold.

There was a genuine peace and comfort they felt in the presence of one another. An unbreakable bond that had survived a world tour, random last minute separations for company trips and long distance video calls that were sometimes only a few minutes long.

They had survived it all and they couldn’t have been more grateful.

In the tub Taehyung had fallen asleep about 10 minutes post the woman’s caresses, her taking the opportunity to shampoo his hair for him.

Their love was the definition of selfless.

After a while she pondered on whether she should wake him or not, finding herself thinking about his perfect, sun-kissed skin becoming wrinkled under the weight of water.

The idea made her nose scrunch and a small laugh slip from her lips so much so that she chose to wake him.

On her knees she leaned over the tub and ran her dry thumb over his cheek, staring at the sleeping man with eyes full of love.

Overcome with adoration, she leaned forward, kissing his pouty lips slightly. Eyelashes batting softly against his cheeks he slowly began to awaken. Seeing her flustered face hiding a smile as she looked back at him, he beamed at her, heart overcome with love in its purest form.

He was so appreciative of the way she cared for him.

He smelled the strong scent of shampoo on his hair as he began to rise from the tub, meaning she had washed his hair while he was asleep. As he rinsed himself off with the shower head, he pondered whether or not he would ever get used to the fondness they ignited in one another.

In his heart, he prayed that they’d never stray from the practice of loving one another in the most serene way they knew how.

He allowed the water to drain once he was done, taking the cotton towel she held out for him with ease.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, baby.” He breathed, drying his hair partially with the towel before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. She giggled gently into the kiss as small drops of water fell on her shoulder.

“Thankfully you’ll never have to know.”

In a matter of minutes she was seated on the bathroom counter, Taehyung captured in-between her legs with a face full of shaving cream.

“You always do this better than I can.”

His eyes were heavy with love as she gently dragged the razor across his face, mind full of the woman he planned on spending the rest of his days with.

Helping him shave had become a habit when Taehyung was far too tired, or when he just didn’t quite feel like it. When he shaved himself, the process was quick, simple, efficient; when the razor was in her hands, her gentleness extended the session for nearly 10 minutes longer than he was use to but she never noticed. And he didn’t mind.

“I’m a bit of a perfectionist.”

He cupped her thighs with his large hands as she slowly parted her lips in concentration, not daring to meet his eyes that hadn’t stopped staring at her.

He refused to look anywhere else or even grab his phone as he watched her facial expressions in adoration.

Within 20 minutes Taehyung was freshly shaven and dressed in his favorite silk pajamas, clinging to the king bed as he awaited her arrival from winding down the house for the night.

It wasn’t long before she arrived in the shared bedroom, body clad with an tshirt of Taehyung’s and a cute scarf wrapped around her head.

Though he watched her get into bed nearly every night these days, it had been a while since she had worn one of his shirts. It made his heart beat a little faster, endeared at the sight.

Seeing her in his clothes briefly gave him a thought of what a combination of the both of them might look like.

Maybe his stunning brown eyes, her perfect nose and plump cheeks.

He knew it was something that he wanted — eventually at least. Yet, the steps he had to take to get to that point were…nerve racking to him.

“Taehyung, why aren’t you asleep?”

The use of his full name drew Taehyung completely away from his sleepy daze, his large brown eyes watching her lift the comforter and slide into the bed beside him.

She laid for all of two seconds before his body rolled to her side of the mattress, completely engulfing her in his arms.

“You know I have trouble sleeping when you’re not in bed yet.” His tired voice hummed into her neck, running a tingle through the woman’s body.

“Plus, I never got a chance to thank you for taking care of me tonight. You think I’m letting that go unnoticed?” Taehyung’s warm lips that were pressed against her neck began to lay warm kisses along her collarbone.

“I love you. An unbelievable amount. You’re so good to me.”

He breathed his words as he continued to press kisses along her jawline, feeling the way she exhaled in bliss at his touch.

“You’re my world.”

His fingers slipped under the large tshirt in search of her hips, gently stroking the flesh with his fingertips. Once he made contact she released a quick breath, goosebumps covering her skin.

“I love you too, Taehyung. I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?” He smirked as he lifted the shirt higher, pressing kisses to her hips and earning an immediate shudder from the woman above, her eyes closing as his kisses spread across her stomach.

She knew what he was asking for.

She saw it in the way his eyes looked up at her, half lidded and covered in a lust that made her nearly combust at the sight.

He was breathtaking in his own right but he was exceptionally beautiful like this — laid between her legs, honey skin flushed with lust, practically begging to taste her on his tongue.

“Anything baby.”

He hummed in satisfaction, a devious but kind smile on his face and he pressed kisses to her wet clit, earning an immediate whimper from her.

“Moaning already? That was just one little kiss, baby.“

He pressed another kiss, this time to her folds, earning another whimper from above. He smiled as he slowly began to dip his tongue into the folds, warm arousal wet on his tongue immediately.

He moaned at the taste, bringing one of his gentle fingers to her entrance.

There was an art form in the way Taehyung tasted her; it was her favorite thing, watching him devour her so wholly — as if she was his last meal.

He always found himself so focused on her pleasure that he often got carried away; so carried away that he hardly ever noticed the way he would begin to grind his hips back and forth, his dick solid and aching, precum beginning to slip through the front of his silk pajama pants.

It drove her insane, watching him so caught up in her; so drunk off the way she tasted.

By now he was 3 fingers deep, lips sucking gently on her clit as she nearly cried from pleasure.

She wanted to tease him; tell him how filthy he looked fucking himself off the taste of her. But she was cumming around his fingers with a cry of pleasure long before she could, his name leaving her lips as she tugged on his hair.

The slight pull of his strands was all it took before he was pulling away from her wet folds, burying his face into her thigh with a groan as he desperately released himself into his pants. He gripped her thighs to steady himself as he slowly rocked back and forth, riding out his high as she continued to tug lightly on his hair.

Pure ecstasy.

When the next day rolled around, the woman wasn’t awake until half past ten.

Even once she woke, she didn’t allow herself to move too soon, tired body nearly engraved into the comforter after the night before.

She only opened her eyes when she sensed the coolness to her side. The chilly sheets indicated to her that no one had inhabited them for a while.

“Taehyung?”

The woman’s voice, heavy with sleep, was as loud as she could spare, finally lifting her tired body away from her sheets. As her senses began to come-to, the familiar aroma of pancakes began to fill her nose.

She quickly concluded that Taehyung must be cooking.

With a hum of understanding she dragged herself to the bathroom to freshen up before heading downstairs to see her beloved boyfriend.

The man she loved most in the world.

It wasn’t until she had grabbed her toothbrush from its handle and opened the cap that she had noticed the ring on her finger.

In all its glory, the beautiful 4-carat diamond shined, heavy on her hand in a way she couldn’t believe she didn’t notice as soon as she awakened.

With the water still running the woman nearly dropped her toothbrush in the sink, staring at the ring until she felt her mouth grow dry.

She would have never brought anything like it for herself. It was far too expensive and extravagant to be one of the few casual rings she owned. She was positive that Taehyung had never purchased any rings for her; they weren’t her usual jewelry staple and he knew that. Her mind raced as she shook her head in confusion.

Once she got her bearings she turned off the running water and nearly marched down the small set of stairs, heart racing in anticipation and search of answers.

She turned the thin corner to walk into the kitchen, eyes finding a sleepy Taehyung beaming fondly at her. Immediately he peaked his head from behind the bouquet of white roses he held close to his chest.

Her mouth was slightly agape as he handed her the flowers, her hands shaking and palms clammy.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Fondly Taehyung smiled, staring at her shocked expression and trying to gauge her thoughts.

Not trusting her shaking voice, the woman proceeded to simply lift her hand, turning it towards her boyfriend in search of an explanation. Taehyung kissed her forehead as he took her the ring-clad hand into his, smile never leaving his lips.

The way his brown eyes danced around the diamond made the woman’s stomach flip, watching him study it closely as if he had never seen it before.

In all honesty, he was admiring the way it looked on her finger — just right.

“It’s a beautiful, ring, don’t you think? It reminded me so much of you.”

He had envisioned it for the entirety of their relationship — a diamond of his choice being placed on her finger as a small symbol of the life commitment he wanted to make to her.

And after months of talking to Namjoon and Hoseok, who were happily married to their respective wives, he knew he was ready to take the biggest step he could in this life.

He had been beyond nervous.

Taehyung had awaken at 5 in the morning to rehearse his written lines for his proposal. Yet, the more he stared at the ring and the woman he loved that stood before him with cutest look of confusion on her face, the less he remembered his perfectly prepared speech.

With a heart full of love and a mind full of memories, Taehyung quickly got down on a single knee in the middle of the kitchen, holding his girlfriend’s shaking hand in his own.

That was when the tears really began to flow.

The pair began crying as their eyes met, taking a second to embrace this moment; standing in the weight of what it meant.

“Goodness, baby, don’t make me cry yet!”

Taehyung chuckled as he held her hand more tightly, wiping his tears with his free hand. The woman above him gave a small chuckle as she tried her best to stop breaking down, wanting to give him a chance to speak what had been on his heart for far too long.

Tearfully, he stared into her large eyes that awaited him, trying to calm his heart so he could speak from it with sincerity.

“In the two years that I’ve known you, you’ve shown me that love is an action, rather than an emotion. I’ve watch you continuously love me and care for me; embrace the people i love as if they’re your own. You’ve truly shown me what love is and made me feel an unbreakable attachment to you. I’ve fallen in love with your smile, your hugs, your touch; the way you comfort me. The way you never turn your back on me.”

He released a breath but kept his genuine eyes glued to her, watching her put a shaking hand to her mouth as tears continued to fall.

“I knew I loved you when I couldn’t stand to be away from you for too long; when I was on tour and I’d rush to the hotel so I could call you. Ever since I met you I haven’t envisioned a life that doesn’t have you by my side. It’s all I want. You’re flawless, hardworking, determined, lovely, beautiful — serene in all that you do; loving me in spite of my faults and flaws. I want to spend every day I have on this earth with you, being the man of your dreams and loving you with every inch of me — if you’d have me. Will you marry me?”

By now, tears nearly made the woman incoherent. The pure surprise of it all made her tremble, but Taehyung’s actual words were what brought her to her sobbing state.

Taehyung gripped her hand more tightly and kissed it gently, almost as if to playfully remind her that he was waiting for a response.

No matter how obvious she made her answer by her actions, his heart still shook with anticipation.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Taehyung. Yes, yes, yes!” A beaming smile poked through the her cries, tearstained cheeks rising to form a smile that rivaled his own.

Taehyung jumped to his feet hurriedly, immediately cupping the sides of the woman’s face with his large hands as he pressed his lips onto hers.

The kiss was slow and gentle, their lips moving in unison that lingered with a new found hunger. Adrenaline rushed through their veins as they held one another, continuing to share tearful kisses.

As they pulled apart briefly for air, the pair stared at her hand that rested just over his heart.

Their eyes fixated on the diamond ring before meeting one another’s gaze, glossy eyes filled with love and warmth.

This was the start of a new chapter — their first step towards forever.

“You continue to make me the happiest man alive. I can’t wait to call you mine forever.”

[sweetdarlingfic2]

Tears dry

Cw: smut

There was a small jazz bar tucked away in the heart of the your city it had low light and quiet longing leaked from it. A rotating crowd of lonely singles and jazz enthusiasts alike who nursed their drinks in the shadows, losing themselves in the lull of brass and bass. It was the kind of place that felt like it existed out of time, where heartache hung in the air like perfume and strangers looked at each other like maybe, just maybe, someone could make the ache go away.

Your friends had suggested it to you, after a brutal breakup that left you feeling hollow and raw. You hadn’t wanted to go, you hadn’t thought you were ready, but something in you needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere smoky, warm, and soft around the edges.

So you dressed yourself up in your most daring formal dress. Satin hugged the curve of your waist, and your lipstick was a shade too bold for how small you felt inside. Your nerves prickled the entire way there, a cocktail of fear and self doubt bubbling in your chest. You hadn’t been looked at in a while you hadn’t wanted to be. Now, every glance felt like it might shatter you.

When you stepped inside, the scent of old wood, smoke, and something bittersweet wrapped around you. Music swelled through the space slow and sensual each note thick with memory and melancholy. Lust, regret, and longing clung to the air like humidity.

You made your way to the back, weaving through tables already filled with couples and soon to be lovers. You settled into a small table in the corner. Half shadowed, half watching. Just how you liked it.

The band was mesmerizing, each member lost in the music like they were trying to bleed something out. You’d only been there ten minutes when a waitress appeared beside you, tray in hand, voice low and honey smooth.

“Evening, miss. Here’s your drink,” she said, placing a tall, pink tropical looking cocktail in front of you.

You blinked. “Oh… I didn’t order anything. I think you’ve got the wrong table.”

A light flickered behind her eyes as she remembered something, leaning in just slightly. “Right sorry, my mistake. It’s from the gentleman at the bar.”

You followed her gesture. And there he was.

A man sat alone near the far end of the bar broad shoulders, salt and pepper beard, sharp jawline softened only by the warm amber glow of the whiskey in his hand. A cigar burned slowly between his fingers, the smoke curling around him like it knew better than to drift too far. His gaze was fixed on the band, you could only see his side profile but he was already so handsome.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor.

“He’s a regular,” the waitress whispered with a sly grin. “Never seen him send a drink to anyone before. Ever. And trust me, I’d know.”

You let out a surprised snort, ducking your head with a self deprecating smile. “I appreciate you saying that, but I’m not sure that’s really… true. I’m not exactly anyone worth buying a drink for.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, tasting sour on your tongue. That old ache the one that told you were too much and not enough, all at once flared in your chest.

The waitress paused, something softer flickering in her expression. She gave you a knowing look, like she’d heard that tone before. Like maybe she’d used it herself once.

“Well,” she said, straightening up and flashing a cheeky little smile, “he seems to disagree.”

And with that she walked away, leaving you alone with a drink you hadn’t ordered and a dreams of a stranger’s to lovers scenario that danced around your mind.

You looked back at him, this time he was looking at you.

His expression was soft, unreadable in that way only men with haunted eyes could manage. Storm gray irises met yours across the haze of jazz and cigarette smoke. There was something timeless about him like he didn’t belong to this decade, or maybe any decade at all. A man out of place, out of time, and yet somehow… exactly where he was supposed to be.

He didn’t smile. Just watched you with a kind of steady patience that made your throat tighten. It seemed like he was waiting for something. Or maybe just making sure you didn’t flinch. And You didn’t, Not right away, at least.

After another moment just long enough to make your heart flutter stupidly, he stood. Leaving his empty glass at the bar, he did however take the ashtray with him, cigar still smoldering between his fingers. His walk was slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. It was like he’d already made up his mind about you.

When he reached your table, he sat down heavily in the chair beside you close enough that you could smell his cologne.

“Hey, birdie,” he said, voice thick and low, wrapped in an accent you couldn’t quite place. English, maybe? But rougher.

Your heart did something you didn’t like. Or maybe you liked it too much.

“I’m Price. John Price. But you can just call me John.” He took a slow drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Hello,” you replied, a little breathless. Timid. The word caught on your lips like it didn’t belong to you. You fumbled a hand in the air, as if that might smooth things over. “I—I’m Y/N. Sorry, I’m a little scatterbrained tonight.”

John’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. Not quite a smile, but close. “It’s alright, lovie,” he said, voice soft like gravel over velvet. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard. You probably think it’s a bit strange, a random bloke sending you a drink from across the room.”

You giggled, more than a little nervous but feeling warmer now. “No, no it’s fine. Really. I thought it was sweet.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his chair as if he were settling in for the night. “Truth be told, I didn’t even pick it. That waitress she picked it for me. Said you looked like the kind of girl who needed something pink, hard and dangerous or something like that.”

You smiled, cheeks flushing. “Well, she wasn’t wrong.”

Then, a beat of silence. Not awkward just heavy with something unspoken.

You shifted slightly in your chair, fingers brushing the condensation on your glass. Your voice came out steadier this time. “When I said it was sweet… I wasn’t talking about the drink.”

He looked at you As if you’d said something important.

“I meant the gesture.”

For the first time, he smiled. Not wide, not cocky. Just a quiet curl at the corner of his mouth. Like something inside him eased, just a little.

“Well then,” he said softly, eyes flicking to your lips and back again, “I’m glad it landed with the right person.”

And just like that, the rest of the bar melted away. The music, the crowd, the aching loneliness that had driven you here in the first place it all faded into something quieter. Something warmer.

The two of you talked about nothing but somehow everything all at once. His voice had that lulling cadence, it rough at the edges, like it had weathered too many nights like this and still came back for more. You spoke, Cautiously at first, but then more easily. He didn’t pry. Just listened in that rare, undivided way that made you feel seen, not studied.

The cigar smoke curled lazily around the two of you, and every time your thoughts began to drift back to your heartbreak, to your ex, to the ache you hadn’t quite shaken it pulled you right back. Back to him. Back to the warmth of his presence and the weight of his eyes on you.

Time blurred, jazz bleeding through the room like honey. Then, at some point that felt far too soon, the waitress reappeared. The same one who had delivered your drink. She approached your table with a small, apologetic smile.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said gently. “But we’re closing up for the night.”

Sadness bloomed in your chest before you could stop it, irrational and immediate. You didn’t want to leave him. Not yet. Maybe not at all. And, by the look in his eyes, he didn’t want to leave you either.

The two of you stood, reluctant, and stepped out into the quiet night. The air was cooler now, a soft breeze rolling down the street, carrying the scent of damp pavement and city silence. You held onto his arm without really thinking, your fingers curling around the firm shape of his bicep. His body was warm under your touch grounding, steady, real.

He glanced down at you with a look that was half concern, half something softer.

“Do you want me to walk you home, love?” he asked, voice low and careful. “I don’t want you out on the streets alone.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to say yes but because you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“I… I don’t want to go home,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. A little color bloomed in your cheeks. “I want to spend more time with you.”

A quiet grin pulled at his lips, his brow lifting just slightly.

“Oh, do you now?” he murmured, teasing without being cruel. You looked up at him and nodded, almost shy.

His grin widened just enough to soften the lines in his face. “Well then,” he said, eyes gleaming under the streetlight, “how do you feel about coming back to mine?”

There was something so easy in the way he asked no pressure, no expectation. Just an open door in the dark.

How could you say no?

The two of you fell into step with ease, the conversation continuing as you walked through the sleeping city. The night was thick with meaning now each joke, each glance laced with something unspoken. The way he said your name, the way your fingers brushed his arm when you laughed it all built on itself. A slow burn turning into something harder to ignore.

His voice was a problem. Low, gruff, steady he didn’t even have to try. Every offhand comment, every teasing murmur made you clench with want. And if he noticed the way your breath hitched when he called you “love,” he didn’t mention it. But he did lean in a little closer after.

By the time you reached his building, the tension had thickened into something electric. He opened the door for you with a small gesture, hand resting gently at your waist as he guided you into the elevator. That touch alone sent sparks ricocheting down your spine. Then, as the doors slid shut and the two of you were sealed in silence, his hand drifted lower to the small of your back.

You tried to keep still. Tried to breathe. You failed on both counts.

When he unlocked the door to his apartment, the world behind you seemed to vanish entirely. The second it clicked shut, the energy between you snapped taut, and without a second thought, you closed the space between you.

You reached for him arms around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hairs at his nape as you kissed him hard, your lips meeting his like they’d been aching to for hours. His moustache scratched softly at your skin, your mind spun. He responded immediately, eagerly, hands finding your waist again, strong and sure, pulling you flush against him like he’d been imagining it too.

Your mouths parted only to gasp, to breathe each other in, then collided again, mouths desperate, sweet and so alive. He walked you through the apartment without breaking contact, hands roaming, touch reverent but aching with restraint. Every brush of his fingers made your skin hum, every exhale between kisses made your chest burn.

By the time the two of you reached the bedroom, it wasn’t about loneliness anymore. It wasn’t even about heartbreak. It was about this, this moment, this electricity, this need to feel something real again. Something that reminded you that you were still here. Still wanted. Still whole.

The two of you finally reached the bedroom, breathless and laughing between kisses that had turned sloppy. He guided you down onto the bed not all the way, just enough to have you half lying across the mattress, your legs from the knees down still dangling over the edge. Somewhere along the journey from the front door to the bed, your heels had been kicked off one left in the hallway, the other who knows where, his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, hanging unevenly off his shoulders. His tie was loose, thanks to your wandering hands, and your fingers had left creases in the fabric like whispers of need.

He’d gotten the top of your dress unzipped, his hands surprisingly careful even in his haste, and the silky skirt had been pushed up over your hips as he explored every inch of exposed skin, it made your head spin. His shoes were long gone, abandoned somewhere between kisses and muttered curses of want.

Now, hovering over you, he finally pulled back. His chest was rising and falling hard, mouth covered in smudged lipstick, hair messed beyond repair. You were both panting like the air between you wasn’t enough to breathe.

Then, without a word, he reached for his tie and yanked it off with a low groan, letting it fall to the floor as he shrugged the rest of his shirt from his shoulders. Muscles rippled with the movement, scars and tattoos catching in the soft light. He looked dangerous like this. Bare chested, flushed, eyes fixed entirely on you. Hungry.

He sat you up gently, hands large and warm at your waist, and eased your dress down the rest of the way. It pooled at your hips, then hit the floor.

For a second, he just stood there. Staring. His gaze raked over you, lingering on the lace of your bra, the rise and fall of your chest, and the dark wet patch blooming at the center of your panties. His jaw tensed, breath catching slightly as his eyes darkened. He was straining hard against his jeans, the outline of him unmistakable. He looked equal parts awed and desperate.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough, low, reverent. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

the way he said it like you were something sacred and ruinous all at once sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through your core.

He climbed back over you, reclaiming your mouth with another desperate kiss hard, open, and hungry. Your hands roamed each other’s bodies like you’d both forgotten where you ended and the other began. His fingers found the clasp of your bra at the same moment yours reached the button on his pants, fumbling just slightly before slipping over the waistband of his boxers. The second your hand brushed over him, he groaned a low, guttural sound torn straight from his throat.

In one swift motion, he unhooked your bra and tossed it somewhere into the darkness of his room, not caring where it landed. His mouth left yours to trail down your neck, hot and deliberate, before finding your breasts. He licked, kissed, sucked, and nipped at your skin until it burned, until you were arching into him, gasping, whining his name like a prayer you couldn’t stop repeating. Every soft moan, every breathless plea that fell from your lips only pushed him further. You could feel the way he trembled above you, could see the dark spot spreading in his underwear where he was leaking, aching.

he still wasn’t done.

He moved down your body with maddening slowness, settling between your thighs. His hands gripped your hips as he kissed and bit at the soft skin there, his scruff dragging across your sensitive flesh, leaving you over stimulated and squirming beneath him. It was too much, the teasing, the heat, the way he was taking his time like he had all night to worship you.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“John,” you gasped, voice high and breaking, “p-please I need something more.”

He smirked against the inside of your thigh, the warmth of his breath sending another jolt through you. “You sure, my love?” he murmured, though the answer was written all over your face, in your voice, in the way your legs trembled.

“Yes,” you practically cried, breathless and wrecked. “Please yes.”

And as if he’d heard your desperate, broken plea like it was a prayer whispered straight into his bones, he finally peeled your panties down your thighs. The fabric stuck slightly, damp and clinging, before he let it fall to the floor, forgotten.

Then he leaned in.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t tease. Just pressed the flat of his tongue directly to your aching core, licking a bold, slow stripe from bottom to top. You let out a loud, choked moan, your hips jolting helplessly against his mouth. The heat of him. The weight of his tongue. It sent you crazy.

John groaned into you, the sound vibrating against your clit, deep and guttural. The sensation ricocheted through your whole body like an electric current, your hands flying to his hair and gripping tight. You weren’t even aware of how loud you were until you heard yourself scream his name a long, broken sob of need that echoed off the bedroom walls.

He didn’t relent. He devoured you like a man starved, mouth and tongue working you open with maddening precision. It didn’t take long before you were a writhing mess beneath him hips trembling, thighs twitching, fingers fisted in his hair like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. Words failed you. All that escaped were ragged gasps, sharp cries, and splintered moans that barely resembled language at all.

You tried to tell him it was too much that you couldn’t take another second of it but your voice cracked and broke apart, nothing more than fragmented whimpers and breathless pleas.

Still, he knew. Of course he did.

He finally lifted his head, pulling away with a slow, wet drag of his tongue. His lips were slick, swollen and stained with you, his beard soaked and glistening. His eyes were dark and hooded, pupils blown wide, the kind of look that made your chest cave in around your heart.

“Fuckin’ tasted brilliant, Bonnie,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked. His accent was thicker now, slurred by lust, heavy with praise.

You collapsed back against the mattress, utterly ruined, your chest rising and falling like you’d just run for miles.

“John,” you gasped, voice catching in your throat. You looked up at him with glassy eyes, completely undone. “Please. I need you I… I need you in me. Please.”

The last word broke off in a sob, but he was already moving, already reaching down.

“I need you too,” he said, low and rough, like it hurt to admit. His hands went to the waistband of his boxers, and in one smooth motion, he pushed them down and kicked them away, leaving him completely bare in the low light.

And what you saw made your breath hitch again.

He was hard achingly, beautifully hard and the sight of him like that, flushed and ready for you, made your mouth fall open in shock and desperate anticipation.

He reached for you again, slow and deliberate, the way a man reaches for something he’s about to treasure.

John gripped your waist and pulled you firmly toward the edge of the mattress, his strength unyielding but his touch still reverent. Your legs hooked instinctively over his broad shoulders, the backs of your thighs pressing to the hard muscle there as he shifted forward, lining himself up. He slid the head of his cock through your slick folds, dragging it deliberately across your aching clit before pausing.

Then, slowly, he pressed inside.

The stretch was intense. Your breath caught in your throat, sharp, broken moans spilling past your lips as he filled you inch by inch. He groaned deep and guttural as he bottomed out, the sound like it had been dragged from somewhere low in his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, burying his face in the crook of your knee for just a moment, like he needed to collect himself. “You feel… fuck, you feel perfect.”

Your hands clamped down over your mouth, trying to muffle the cries rising in your throat, but he didn’t let that slide for long.

“No,” he growled softly, He reached forward and took one of your wrists, prying your hand away from your face. “No, sweethart I want to hear your pretty voice.”

You obeyed.

The second your hand dropped, a strangled moan escaped your lips, and that seemed to light something in him. He started moving slow, deep strokes that had you trembling, your whole body shuddering beneath each deliberate thrust. Not violent, not rushed just sensual. Measured. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of him, like he wanted to brand himself into.

He leaned over you slightly, shifting the angle, and with one particularly deep roll of his hips, he brushed that devastating spot deep inside you.

You gasped loud and broken and your legs fell from his shoulders, knees bent and spread wide on either side of him. He moved with you, never breaking rhythm, pressing forward until you were almost in the middle of the mattress and he was above you again, pushing you deeper into the sheets with each perfect, slow stroke.

Your hand reached up blindly, fingers finding the rough edge of his jaw, then his cheek. He leaned down into your touch, and you pulled him into another kiss.

This one was different.

Not desperate, not frantic. Just soft. Slow. Intimate.

His hips moved in time with the kiss deep, controlled thrusts that had you gasping into his mouth. The sounds you made mingled with his quiet moans, his breath shuddering against your lips. The build was steady, relentless, that knot in your stomach tightening, threatening to snap.

You clung to him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other braced against his shoulder as the tension coiled tighter and tighter. You whimpered his name, and he moaned back into your mouth,

“C’mon, love,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, sharp and all consuming. Your body arched into his, nails digging into his back as you cried out his name, completely undone. He didn’t stop. He kept moving through it, working you through every trembling pulse of pleasure.

He lasted only a few more strokes before he groaned deep, pulled out quickly, and finished on your stomach with a strangled curse and your name on his lips. His hand gripped your hip tight, grounding himself as he spilled across your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You lay there, hearts racing, lungs struggling to catch up with your bodies. His hand slid over your thigh in slow, absent minded strokes, grounding both of you in the silence.

Eventually, he pulled himself away with a groan. he disappeared into a foreign part or the apartment, returning with a warm, damp towel and an old, worn pyjama top that was unmistakably his. He cleaned you up gently, like you were something fragile and precious. Not a word passed between you, but he looked at you like he was still trying to memorise you. He helped you sit up, he slipped it over your head, and smoothed the fabric down with a soft touch to your hips. It smelled like him like cedarwood, smoke, and comfort, it made you melt.

Again he stepped away for just a second to pull on a clean pair of boxers, and when he returned, he peeled back the blankets and sat down on the edge of the bed.

But he didn’t slip under them. Not yet.

He waited.

He watched you with that same quiet patience the kind that had first pulled you in at the bar. And when you reached for the blanket yourself and crawled in beside him, his whole body softened.

He slipped beneath the covers and pulled you in without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you, tucking your body against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

No words. No questions.

Just steady breath, the warmth of skin on skin, and the lingering pulse of something real blooming between your ribs.

The ache was gone.

Hope you enjoyed 😽

[itsreigns]

Would you do a fic about rooster hearing all about his parents and their romance and finally finding his true love after years of loneliness?

only if you want of course

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Fluffy fluff. That’s it.

Bradley heard about his dad’s adventures more times than he could count. How awesome he was, how well he sang, how he could always put a smile on everyone’s face, how good of a friend he was… All about his complex, nurturing self. Especially, how much he is missed.

Just like his mom, who always fought tooth and nail so he could be whatever he longed for. Even if it meant working hard to be at the same job that took the love of her life away. 

He missed them so much. He barely recalled his dad, he was so young when they lost him, but he felt him everyday in his bones, in what he is. 

His mom loved his dad dearly and despite all things. She loved him even with her heart broken by his death, left alone with a young kid to provide for. She kept on loving him until her heart stopped beating as well. He hopes they’re happy and reunited in Heaven, that’s something that helps him get through their loss. 

Bradley only wishes to feel and live a love like his parents’ had. 

That’s why when he first lays eyes on (Y/N), he freezes. He never felt that fluttering in his stomach, that hotness in his cheeks, that stomping off his chest before. What is this?

She’s helping a small girl on the beach, she had cut her foot on something, he didn’t understand what. He did figure out that she’s a nurse though. It was quite obvious because she actually said the words “I am a nurse” to the young girl, making Bradley mentally facepalm himself.

She’s so beautiful. He feels like his heart is about to jump off his chest. 

“Do you - Can I help?” He stutters, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Hmm… Uh, yeah. Can you carry her to the bar, so I can check her wound and clean it?” She replies, softly blushing once she actually takes notice of the man towering over her. 

Bradley lowers himself to pick up the girl, as the nurse told the parents her plan. “Don’t worry, I got you. I’m Bradley, but you can call me Rooster.” He says sweetly to the girl, easing off her worries. “What’s your name?”

“Anne.” The little girl says. “You’re cute, Brad.”

Bradley blushes and smiles softly at Anne, blushing harder once he notices the nurse grins, watching the interaction. “I’m (Y/N).” 

“I’m Bradley, but-”

“I can call you Rooster. I heard.” She replies shyly, with a million dollar smile.

Is this what love at first sight feels?

(A/N): Please, let me know what you think. I’ve been on a 3+ years hiatus from writing, so this is just a short blurb. I missed writing! Leave comments, constructive criticism, or more ideas or even if you another part, in my inbox. I’ll definitely appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this fic. 💜

[bazowieezooweewa]

About Ragatha's comment during the Stargazing adventure and her apology later on....

Folks, call it an epiphany, a shitty interpretation, an already known fact I'm late to the party in realizing, or just a flat-out result of overthinking mixed with procrastination (SO should be writing rn), but I just realized something.

So shut up and sit down, Imma about to drop a long-winded, analytical doozy (also I HAVE RECEIPTS FOR THIS)

So remember during the Stargazing adventure when Pomni asked if Jax had any actual friends and Raggy pulls THIS lovely lil number?

That leads to her backtracking and Jax reacting negatively.

Later on during the softball adventure, she apologized, clearly referencing what happened during Stargazing.

...And that led to a very interesting reaction from Jax.

Now, many people have interpreted all of this (particularly the stargazing dialogue) to mean many different things, but for the sake of time haha THIS IS ALREADY LONGER THAN I MEANT FOR IT TO BE WHAT IS TIME, I'll summarize it into the two most popular interpretations I've personally seen:

1. Ragatha was referring to something else entirely when saying "not anymore" and Jax misinterpreted her words, leading to her backtracking and a negative reaction from him (my initial take on it as well)

OR

2. Ragatha was directly referencing Ribbit and was maliciously making it clear to Pomni that Jax is alone now.

While to a certain extent both are valid interpretations, I now believe both are inherently false yet true with certain aspects based on context and the knowledge of the characters' personalities, reactions, and backstories.

#1 seems accurate because most of us can agree that Ragatha isn't malicious, even towards Asshole Jax (more on that in a minute). As far as her words during the Stargazing adventure, I liked what a post said: it seems Ragatha wasn't speaking about Ribbit at all when replying to Pomni's question. Her "not anymore" could be taken as her saying "Jax was at one time nice, but now he's an asshole- thus distancing himself from everyone." This could explain why Jax seemed to have taken her words incorrectly and, upon seeing his sour reaction, why Ragatha tried to backtrack, saying "I wasn't talking about (Ribbit)-" before cutting herself off.

But the kicker?

Look at her later apology again.

Not "for my words coming out wrong earlier and you thinking I meant something else". Not even a follow-up of "this is what I meant" after her apology.

No. She was apologizing "for bringing up that thing earlier."

To me, there is no misinterpreting that.

Her apology was indeed, in fact, for bringing up that thing (Ribbit/his death/no longer being around, etc etc) earlier.

Meaning her words weren't misinterpreted by Jax during the Stargazing adventure after all.

Right after she said what she did the the Stargazing adventure, Jax's face said he knew EXACTLY what Ragatha was referring to by her words and was TICKED about it: she was directly speaking of Ribbit when saying "not anymore"...

BUT that doesn't make the #2 Interpretation inherently correct, either imo. Nor does it mean she meant what she said in a "'haha his only friend is dead" kind of way.

Again, Ragatha isn't malicious. She can lash out, be short with others, and say stupid stuff (more on that later), but being flat-out cruel just isn't in her nature. She's proven that, even towards Jax. (I.E: in episode 2 near the end, she sought to comfort him when he was disappointed in how the adventure ended.)

If that wasn't enough, there is this scene in Stargazing right after Raggy's screwup.

Jax never once called her malicious, even vaguely to keep Pomni in the dark about Ribbit- nor did he rant about how Ragatha was cruel sometimes, all of which would've been a perfect opportunity to do so; Jax doesn't seem shy about speaking his mind about others. He never even argued when Pomni said Ragatha was nice to everyone (which included him). He just voiced his understandable annoyance with her along with other things (more on all that later).

Add in this line:

If Jax truly believed Ragatha's intentions were cruel or malicious just before in the Stargazing adventure, harming him in doing so, why would he be encouraging her to be that way? Saying it'd be funny if she was?

Further, look at Raggy's later apology again. Why would she apologize during the softball game for being cruel earlier when Jax was just then pushing her buttons? He wasn't looking for any sincere "I'm sorry" for the incident during Stargazing. In fact, it looked like he'd completely moved on from it- which I highly doubt he would've done if he realized she had meant to hurt him by her words, let alone going back to almost automatically just taunting and irritating her again (broken record here but more on ALL that later).

Clearly, Jax had shrugged off what she had said...

"But clearly Jax WAS initially hurt and angered by Ragatha applied words about Ribbit!" You might say. Yes, he was. And he had the right to be.

But that doesn't automatically mean Ragatha intended him to feel that way.

And that's where knowing Ragatha and her nature/backstory is so important here.

Ragtaha has proven to be a MASSIVE open-mouth-insert-foot kind of person (I.E: Snapping at Pomni during the softball game, her dialogue during the Pilot when seeing abstracted Kaufmo, her infodumping at the bar scene...the list goes on). Although at times it comes out as snippy, she often doesn't mean things in a cruel way, but in a 'this is what's on my mind and I have no filter' way. That doesn't make her premeditatively cruel; it makes her incredibly impulsive.

She is ALSO shown to be a people pleaser, to not want to deal with heavy subjects, to avoid stepping on any toes (even Jax's) at all cost, to backtrack when she thinks or realizes she's said something that someone else doesn't agree with or that's made them feel upset or uncomfortable, AND to redirect herself when she's uncomfortable or upset about something. (I have receipts for this all here, just too lazy to go and find them all lmao)

So taken ALLL of this into account, what do I think happened during Stargazing?

Simply this:

When Pomni asked if Jax had any friends, the very first thing that popped in Ragatha's head was Ribbit. Jax's abstracted friend. Which wasn't cruel. It was truth. In fact...it's a shame Ribbit is gone now; maybe because he was the only one who could tolerate Jax being such an asshole. And now that he's gone, it means when it comes to friends, Jax doesn't have any...

And that's why his face was like this.

That's not a "ooh this bitch right here is making fun of me losing Ribbit" kind of look.

Because even though she was referring to Ribbit, Jax didn't take it in a cruel way.

His face said "is she really going to start mentioning Ribbit in front of Pomni?" "She's really going to go there?" "This bitch better can it before I go more postal than the UPS."

"Why in the living hell is she daring to bring this up?"

And Ragatha only caught she'd accidentally did bring it up by Jax giving her a death glare...

...Leading her to try and backtrack to make it look like she didn't actually mean what she said when in reality she did. Telling on herself, essentially (something she's ALSO been guilty of).

Seeing she wasnt getting anywhere, in true Ragatha fashion, she panicked and abandoned ship, distracting herself from being embarrassed or at the idea she hurt someone else.

This understandably miffed Jax. Quickly after, when speaking to Pomni, he voiced his tired annoynace with Ragatha,

showed his irritation with her blatant insincerity,

and expressed how frustrating it is that her words are often empty. Without real meaning behind them.

Afterwards, though, in true Jax fashion, he let it go and brushed it away as if nothing had happened. He went back to being his Classic Asshole self again, especially to Raggy.

Flash forward to the apology at the soft ball game. Now this is where it gets interesting to me.

Of course, Jax here more than likely thought she would follow this up with "for yelling at you just now" , hence his stupid smirk when she began. Again, when he asked for an apology from her here, it was just to get under her skin; he wasn't actually looking for any type of a serious 'I'm sorry'. Let alone one that had any real meaning behind it- given Raggy is insincere and empty in half her words, anyways.

And in all actuality, Ragatha could've easily just taken that route. Just opted to give him an empty, insincere apology for snapping at him and moved on.

But she didn't.

Albeit begrudgingly, Raggy had chewed over what had happened earlier...

And was moved to do the exact opposite of what Jax figured she would do.

Sure, she gave an apology- but one that actually counted.

Not a vauge "for what happened earlier during the stargazing adventure". Not a dry "for opening my fat mouth eariler and accidentally ticking you off then".

No.

"For bringing up that thing earlier."

Direct enough that Jax exactly knew what she meant- but dignifying him enough to be vauge so Pomni still didn't have a fucking clue other than collecting it was about the Stargazing incident.

Because even though it truly was innocent, although it was never her intent, Ragatha was sorry for hurting him. For opening her mouth and allowing something that cut him deep to slip out...

"For. bringing. up. that. thing. earlier."

Perhaps for the first time since he'd know her, Ragatha's words were sincere.

Full of meaning.

Not so empty this time around.

And that shit hit him. Hard.

[gcddcsscs]

mary welcomed the thick loads of cum on her face. she felt them on her cheeks, on her lips and then on her breasts. it was so perfect and she loved that he was now possessing her. showing her who was the master in bed and who was the whore. she felt his cock on her mouth, sucked it gently to clean the last drops of his cum and swallow it gently.

feeling his finger on her cheek, mary looked at her king and sucked his finger tenderly while her hands gently wiped the rest of his cum. she cleaned her fingers as well, licked all she could get before wiping her face as well. she would definitely need to wash her face with a cloth and warm water.

however, for now, the woman let herself fall back on the bed and relaxed on the pillows. she was exhausted, loved worshiping august's cock and loved giving hi all of herself. her smile grew tender as he promised that the next time, he would bend her over in the council chambers and make her scream loudly.

"i am looking forward to that day.." she whispered, eager to show her king that she would be willing to do anything for him.

as he felt her dripping, mary looked at him in the eyes and whispered: "i believe my king shall do as he pleases to give his queen her own pleasure." she lied comfortably in the bed, her legs wide opened as she just relaxed. "no matter what, his queen will be thankful to have him loving her and desiring her."

it was true: mary never thought she would be admired by a man, let alone by a king. when she first met august, she genuinely thought he was a priest. now, a part of her wondered: had he spotted her before? pretended to wander villages as a priest to find his next servant? her smile grew and whispered.

"as long as you'll have me, i shall be pleased."

August groaned deeply, his cock throbbing between the soft warmth of her breasts. Her words ignited something primal within him, a possessive hunger that clouded his thoughts and made his blood rush hot through his veins. The image she painted—her swollen with his child while he still claimed her—nearly pushed him over the edge.

"Everywhere," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "I'll have you in every corner of this kingdom."

He thrust harder between her breasts, watching her face flush with arousal. The sight of her—so proper in court yet here, whispering such filthy promises—made his control slip further. Her green eyes begged him, wide and desperate, and he knew he couldn't deny either of them any longer.

"You want to be marked by your king?" August's rhythm became erratic, his breathing harsh. "Then take it all."

He pulled back, one hand gripping his cock while the other tangled in her hair, holding her face steady. The first pulse of his release splashed across her cheek, the second across her parted lips, more and more of his seed marking her neck, her breasts. August watched, transfixed, as his seed marked her exactly as she'd begged for—white streaks painting her flushed skin.

"Look at you," he panted, still working himself through the aftershocks of pleasure. "My filthy queen."

He held his cock on her tongue, letting her taste him and take the rest, and the sight nearly made him hard again instantly. August's chest heaved as he looked down at her, his claim evident on her skin. The power of it, the sheer possessiveness, made him feel almost dizzy.

"Next time," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead, careful not to disturb his handiwork, "I'll bend you over in the council chambers. Let them all hear how their queen screams for her king."

He traced a finger through the wetness on her cheek, then pressed it to her lips and made her suck it clean, his spent cock twitched with renewed interest.

"But for now," he whispered, his hand already sliding down between her legs to find her dripping, "I think my queen deserves her own pleasure - but how to reward her?"

[limeekak]

Let's talk about Soren.

Of all the scenes in The Dragon Prince, I think this is the one that hurts the most.

Soren stares at the castle being burned down and people being hurt and killed as he realizes that he couldn't defeat that dragon and save his home. He looks for Viren as a last salvation. He offers his heart as salvation, for good, to save people's lives.

Viren already knew that he had become a good person, but here, he sees who his son is. That was Soren.

Did that inspire Viren's heart to sacrifice himself? What really happened when he decided to do it for Katolis? Did they hug? Did they cry? Did they ask each other for forgiveness? How did Soren react when he realized he would lose his father again?

He stares at his hands in fear, looking at something he had been so terrified of in the past. It would hurt people, but this time, everyone would be saved, but in return, he would lose his father.

Guilt is present in him so many times. He cries in Callum's arms saying that he couldn't do anything to prevent it, but how could he prevent such an attack? He's all dirty and bloody, he's done everything to try and save everyone, and in the end, he's still lost his father and his home, and he ignored him so many times when he was in prison in the castle.

He wonders if Viren was really proud of him, but he'll never have the answer. He'll never have the answer as to why Lissa really left. He thinks she abandoned him for no reason, probably having forgotten when he was sick and/or manipulated by his father into thinking she was a bad person and that it was his fault.

How horrible did he feel trying to make his father love him and feel proud of him? He almost killed two children for that! He lived and grew up on their side. He hurt people and an innocent dragon for it! He was stupid with Callum all his childhood out of jealousy. In the end, his father said in front of him that he wouldn't have cared if he had died in the accident! How is he going to look in the mirror and feel worthy of everything he has now?

Now he's alone and keeps a picture of his family in his armor. Perhaps to feel closer to what they once were, wishing to return to the past, when everything seemed simpler.

Sure, his friends have become his family, but how long has it been since he felt his mother's arms around him? his father's love? his sister's company and smile?

He misses his family. He just wanted them back.

Soren is strong, and he's the type who always tries to keep a smile on his face and be confident, but does he really think he's a good person? He always seems to have trouble facing up to it, as if it were a blur. How strange is it to receive affection when he's been neglected all his life?

We see Claudia wondering if his “new friends” were taking advantage of him. Were they really his friends and did they care about him? Why was it so hard for him to believe that people were really nice to him and weren't manipulating him all the time? Maybe if he hadn't gone through all that it would have been easier

We see Corvus trying to help him with this. It's not shown during the show, but we can assume that he's clearly been helping Soren with these personal issues just by seeing his proud face when he tries to accept Terry's nice words, even when they don't seem true to him.

He tries to convince himself that he really is a good person.

I also find it interesting the difference in reaction between him and Corvus when Runaan starts begging Ezran for forgiveness. Corvus doesn't know how it must feel because he's never really been on that side, but Soren has. He recognizes the guilt, he recognizes the pain, and he recognizes Runaan's feelings. He was a traitor once too, trying to do the right thing.

He also finds this similarity in Terry, but this time, he worries about his sister's safety, because even after everything, he still cares and loves her.

Slowly, he realized that he wasn't alone, and he had people to confide in and open his heart to. They all taught him in some way that he deserved everything. And even through the pain, he would get up and be strong, because that's Soren, that's his heart. He would always try to keep everyone safe and smiling, even if it cost him a little.

[ghostofskywalker]

Anthony Bridgerton's Guide to Accidentally Falling In Love - 9

Anthony Bridgerton/Fem!Reader

Words: 2,118

Summary: Anthony Bridgerton thought it was clear that he does not intend to marry at this point, but still he is plagued by hopeful young ladies (and their mothers) who hope to change his mind. So when he meets a widowed Countess who is burdened by the ton's unkind gossip wherever she walks, the two of them realize that maybe they could be of help when it came to each other's problems.

Series Masterlist • Anthony Bridgerton Masterlist

Dearest Gentle Reader, 

It is hard to believe that we are so close to the season’s end, as it seems only yesterday the hopeful debutantes were presented to her majesty and this year’s incomparable was named. And speaking of the season’s brightest jewel, Miss Henrietta Colborne has certainly done very well for herself, as her engagement to the Duke of Hartford was announced less than a week ago. The two make a fine pair, and it can safely be said that all of society is looking forward to their upcoming wedding. 

In other news, it seems as though another titled gentleman may soon be wed himself. The Viscount Anthony Bridgerton’s relationship with Countess Y/N Everleigh has grown even more since the last time their names made an appearance in my column, with Lady Everleigh reportedly behind some of the planning and preparation of the thrilling ball that recently took place at the Bridgerton’s home. Many apologies to those still hoping they could earn the Viscount’s favor for either themselves or their daughters, as that dream may truly be a lost cause. While no joyous announcement has yet been made, it is this author’s prediction that one will be present soon. If the look on Lord Bridgerton’s face when the two danced last night is any indication, we will not be left waiting for long. 

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

Having emotions was incredibly inconvenient, Anthony thought to himself as he sat down at the table for breakfast the morning after the ball. This ruse had achieved more than he initially thought possible and was now running its course towards a natural and amicable end. It made sense that things should end now, when the opportunity so perfectly presented itself. He should have been nothing but content with its results. 

But of course, his feelings had to get in the way. 

“I noticed you disappeared for a while last night,” Benedict said quietly as he raised his eyebrows at his brother a few times in quick succession. “Did you and Y/N sneak away for some alone time?” 

“It’s not like that,” Anthony hissed, hoping that no one else at the table had heard his brother’s comment. He was trying his hardest not to think about last night, something that would be very difficult if you became the table’s topic of conversation. 

“Really? I don’t think you have to worry as much about her honor, seeing as she’s been married once already.” 

Anthony huffed. “I can assure you that nothing untoward happened between us. I do not care if she has already been married, she does not deserve to be hidden away and treated like a mistress.” 

“You’ve been courting for some time now,” Benedict responded. “Shouldn’t you be thinking about the next steps?” 

Now he was annoyed. Benedict had no true insight into the situation, he had no right to be speaking to him about the future as if Anthony hadn’t already considered what being wed to you would be like. As if he already knew that wasn’t what was going to happen, and it wasn’t killing him little by little. “Shouldn’t you be off painting something no one will ever see?” 

A look of confusion briefly crossed Benedict’s face at the intensity of his brother’s quiet outburst, but it was wiped away almost immediately as a steely glare took its place. “Clearly you woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he muttered as he got up and left the room, and Anthony almost felt bad for snapping the way he did. “I’ll leave you to your brooding.” 

***

Throwing himself into his work was the easiest distraction, and the one he believed to be the least objectionable. He continued to call on you, albeit with slightly less frequency than the past few weeks, but the rest of his days were spent holed up in his study, balancing ledgers, pouring over paperwork, and doing whatever else was required of him to manage the estate. 

It was both a blessing and a curse that you didn’t seem to realize anything was amiss, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you. The purchase of your countryside home was not yet finalized, and he often found himself wishing that it would fall through, forcing you to remain in London for at least the foreseeable future. They were selfish thoughts, he knew that, just like he knew that you were not moving so far away that he could not visit on occasion if he wished (though you would be moving farther away than both Aubrey Hall and Clyvedon). However, it seemed that his heart was refusing to listen to reason. And since you hadn’t told anyone else of your plans to leave, he was forced to suffer in silence.

Days passed, and Anthony stopped eating dinner with the rest of his family and began to indulge in drink more often, having his meals brought to his study (often alongside a bottle of liquor. This night was no different, as the bottle of brandy on his desk was now empty, and he could barely see over the stack of papers piled high on his desk. He initially believed this night would pass like all the others, but his plans of solitude were dashed the moment he pulled a second bottle from one of the drawers and poured more of the amber liquid into his glass. The door slowly creaked open as he looked up with a glare, surprised to see Simon and Daphne on the other side. 

“What are you doing here?” Anthony groaned, taking a swig of his drink as they stepped through the doorway. At this point the burn in his throat felt like an old friend, but he still grimaced. 

“If you had graced the rest of the home with your presence, you would know that we were here for dinner,” Daphne responded. 

“Your mother wrote and asked if we would join the family this evening,” Simon said, looking at Anthony with a knowing expression on his face. “And I’m starting to wonder if she had an ulterior motive. You look terrible.” 

“I’m busy,” Anthony responded sharply. “If you’re waiting for your carriage to arrive, please do it elsewhere.” 

Simon strode over to his desk and picked up the bottle of liquor before shooting a glance back at his wife. “Busy doing what? And don’t say paperwork, because to me it looks like you’re trying to drown your feelings.” 

Anthony’s head snapped up. “I don’t have feelings.” 

Daphne snorted. “Are you sure? Even a blind man could tell something is bothering you. We’ve been in this room for less than a minute and we noticed.” 

Usually, he would not stand for this line of questioning. He’d insist that he was fine and implore that he be left alone, where he would inevitably spiral further into a prison of self-designed melancholy. However, this time his liquor loosened lips betrayed his mind, and he let his head fall against the wood of his desk as his instincts took over. “She’s going to leave London. For good.”

Simon and Daphne nodded, both of them well aware who was being referred to here. “Did you call off your courtship?” his sister asked, her expression sympathetic. 

Anthony shook his head, not wanting to admit to the scheme he’d been embroiled in over the past few weeks.

”That is not too bad then,” Daphne continued, her voice taking a more joyful tone. “The two of you can discuss your plans and-”

“There is nothing to discuss.”

“Anthony, I don’t think it fair that your opinions remain unvoiced,” Simon responded. “Especially if you and Lady Everleigh are still courting.”

Daphne nodded and opened her mouth to respond, but Anthony beat her to it. Once again, the alcohol in his system had betrayed every instinct in his brain, and he snapped. “There was never a courtship to call off, not a real one,” he said, the words bitter as they left his mouth. “You both think you understand my situation, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. I am not Y/N’s intended, her future is her own, and if she wants to disappear to the countryside there’s not a damn thing I can do about it but sit here and pretend it’s not killing me inside.” 

Silence. The three of them stared at each other for an extended period of time as Daphne and Simon contemplated the truth of Anthony’s situation. After what felt like an eternity, it was Daphne that spoke first. “What are you talking about?” 

“It was all an act,” he said softly, reaching for the glass on his desk to take another sip. “I did not enjoy being hounded at every turn by mothers and their daughters, and her name was being dragged through the mud by all of society. We decided together to try and do something to stop that.” 

As the truth finally found its way into the open, Anthony expected Daphne to be angry, to scold and lecture him about using trickery and lies to avoid even considering marriage, to dodge the earnest efforts of their mother to find someone that makes her son happy. Maybe she would be sad, since Lady Everleigh was a good friend, and she might have been excited to see her join the family. But out of all the responses he had considered as a possibility to his admittance, laughter was certainly not one of them. 

It wasn’t joyful, the sound that came from his sister’s mouth, but it was laughter nonetheless. This was evidence of a woman finally lost to madness, Anthony thought, only confirmed when she looked him directly in the eye with an expression that sent a shiver down his spine. “You’re a fool, Anthony Bridgerton.”

“I’m not refuting it,” he responded. “But would you care to explain your reasoning?” 

“Our marriage began the very same way,” Simon said, the barest hints of a smile on his face as he pulled the bottle of liquor from Anthony’s reach. “A facade, to keep me from being the center of attention and ensure that Daphne received the notice she deserved. But as much as I tried to ignore and avoid it, I fell in love.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed. He was unaware of this aspect of his sister’s love story, but it was not his biggest concern at the moment. “Our situations are nothing alike,” he muttered. “My sister loved you in return.” 

The latter part of his statement was spoken in something of a strangled tone, and he was sure both of them could read every single emotion on his face. There was no hiding his feelings now, not after all the liquor he consumed, and the best he could hope for was that his sister would not spill his secrets to the rest of the family the moment she exited his study. 

At his admission, Daphne offered a kind smile. “You love her?” 

“I thought at first that it was just friendship,” Anthony responded. “But it soon became undeniable that my care for her was something stronger, despite the fact that it was one-sided.”

“Do you know for certain?” Simon asked. “That Lady Everleigh’s feelings do not match your own?”

“Does it matter? She’s leaving.” 

Daphne spoke next. “It is very much a possibility that Y/N is feeling the very same things you do now, but keeping quiet about it because she thinks you do not wish to marry.”

“It’s not that I never wished to marry,” Anthony responded. “I simply did not feel ready at the beginning of the season.”

“What changed your mind?” 

He paused for a moment before speaking. “She said that I would one day find someone I never wanted to spend a waking moment without, and in my head I couldn’t imagine living my life with anyone else.”

Daphne smiled, no doubt thrilled that he came to the conclusion she had been aware of for weeks now. “Does she know that?”

Anthony shook his head. 

“Then I don’t believe you have as little sway in her decision to leave as you might think,” she said softly. “But you can’t do anything about it if you’re holed up in here for the rest of your life.” 

There was a knock on the door right as Daphne finished speaking, a footman informing the Duke and Duchess that their carriage was waiting in front of the estate, and the two were gone barely seconds later.

Anthony sighed as he poured himself yet another glass from the bottle on his desk, his mind a tangled mess of hope and worry. He had a lot to think about.

- end of part nine -

series taglist: @maricciardo @imafangirlofeverything @allthegirlsdreamed @captainsophiestark @chrissisheadisinclouds @anxiousgoldengirl @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @sky0401 @fallout-girl219 @ifilwtmfc @jackierose902109 @mysticwitchcraftco @galactict3a @pedrosexual @preciousbabypeter @wkhannah

[sanniesfavoriteprincess]

nervous - wooyoung.

pairing : bsf!wooyoung x y/n

synopsis : love isn't an easy thing to forget, especially when it's your best friend. and every move he makes just seem to make things worse.

genre : angst, romance,

warnings : suggestive, angst (but nothing major)

word count : 9.8k

_ _ _

I had been waiting for this night. Every cell in my body buzzed with anticipation as I slipped into my dress, the fabric tightening to my form as I zipped up the back.

It was a simple dress– nothing eye catchy, but enough to make me feel good about myself. Enough for me to stop to look at myself twice in the mirror.

I hope he’ll do the same, too.

Immediately I banished the thought with a shake of my head and quickly replaced the image of the man in my head with another one. The one I was really going for tonight.

Picking up my phone, I quickly hit the facetime button  and set the camera up against the vanity as I waited for her to pick up.

“Yo, are you- holy shit.”

Ryujin’s sudden cut off had me smiling to myself for a second before I positioned myself properly in front of her. “Good?” I asked. My voice teetered on the edge as I waited for her approval, because what was a girl without her best friend’s validation?

“Man, if you weren’t going on a date tonight, I’d ask if I could rail the living hell out of you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is going to want to do the same.”  On the other side, I watched as Ryujin got up from her couch and headed into her kitchen. “You’re excited, I presume.”

“Nervous,” I corrected. “Extremely fucking nervous.”

“Just remember he’s a man,” Ryujin said nonchalantly as she stuffed what looked to be a piece of bread in her mouth. “That should help.”

Sighing, I glanced at myself in the mirror again. My lipstick hadn’t smudged yet, but I still lifted my finger to wipe the bottom of my lip as if it had. “That’s exactly why I’m nervous, Ryu. He’s a man. When’s the last time I’ve gone on a date with a man?”

“Um…literally every time you hang out with Wooyoung?”

It’s not fun watching blood rush into your face at the mention of your friend’s name, you know. Unhealthy and damaging.

“We don’t go on dates, we hang out. There’s a difference.” Picking up the phone, I decide I’ve stalled for long enough. No thoughts of Wooyoung were stopping me again. Not this time.

“Right. Whatever you say, babygirl. I still think this date is a waste of a pretty dress and a pretty night, but I fully support you either way. Just stay safe, alright?”  “Always,” I say as I head into my own kitchen. Though my apartment was small, the kitchen took up the majority of it, combining both a small breakfast nook and the entrance into the living room comfortably.

“Besides. Yujin likes me. We both know it. And don’t you always say I should get with someone who likes me rather than someone I like?” I place my phone on the countertop as I fill up a glass of water and bring it to my lips.

“Ah, so we’re admitting we do like Woo, then? Took you long enough.”  As much as I loved Ryujin, sometimes I really wanted to smack her in the face.

“No,” I choose to say and sip my water instead. “I’m going on a date with Yujin and it’s going to be fun and I will enjoy myself to the fullest extent, and that’s that. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Right, right, right. Well, have fun, babygirl. I gotta pick up my brother from class, but keep me updated, ok?”

Grabbing my phone, I nod and smile as Ryujin blows a kiss through the phone. “Bye, hon,” I say before clicking the end button.

And there I was again. Standing in the same kitchen that held too many memories, alone.

Tonight will change that.

That was the one thought that had me tugging on my heels and moving through the door.

“So…you’re an only child?”

The question pulled me out of my thoughts, and with a tight smile, I shook my head. “No,” I reminded him. “I have a younger brother.”

Like I have told you three times already in class.

Maybe the myth was true; pretty people were brainless, and Yujin seemed to be a testament to that.

But of course, as Wooyoung’s image flashed through my head, I banished it immediately. Wooyoung is different.

“Ahh, right. Of course. You don’t seem like an older sister, though.” Picking up my drink, I sip it and raise a brow. “Why is that?” I asked with as much politeness as I could muster.

Leaning over the table, Yujin smiled, shrugging. The candle on the table cast shadows across his face, and while he looked like an angel, I couldn’t find it in me to feel an ounce of attraction for him. “Perhaps it's your mischief. You’re goofier than what I imagine for an oldest sibling.”

It took an extreme amount of dedication to not lean back in disgust. Instead, I plastered on a smile as if it was the funniest sentence I’ve ever heard. “That’s…sweet.”

How do you even reply to that??

Thankfully, our waiter appeared with his hands full of food and placed it on the table between us. It effectively created a gap that I was instantly thankful for.

“This looks good,” I say as I glance at the array of varieties in front of us. Yujin had ordered for us before I had even gotten there (which was slightly appalling) but I was never picky with my food so I had decided not to mention it.

“Doesn’t it? I told you this place has the best food in the city. No one seems to believe me, though– not until I bring them here.” Smiling, I place some of the lasagna into my own plate and nod. “Most people are like that. They don’t believe things until they see it. It’s human nature, I suppose.”

Yujin follows my movements and grabs a heaping amount of lasagna and salad. For a moment, I expect him to tell me to get some salad, too; with the experiences I’ve had in the past, I wouldn’t put it past him. But instead, he simply notices me eyeing him and smiles widely, like he’d been caught doing something mischievous. “Sorry– I’ve been hungry as shit all day. I promise I’ll save some for you, though.”

Another small laugh bubbles out of me as I shake my head and dismiss his words. “That’s not what I was looking at, you idiot. Eat as much as you want, I don’t care. I was just…lost in thought.”

A comfortable silence blankets us as we eat. Yujin cracks a joke here and there, some to which I cringe and others to which I laugh. He was a jokester– something I knew from class, but it was still surprising to see it so up close.

Maybe I could get used to this, I think to myself a little while later. After all, Yujin wasn’t bad. He said some offhanded things sometimes and had an awkward way of storytelling, sure, but he wasn’t cruel or evil. He was just a boy.

So I let myself fall into the moment. I tune into his words more, watch with wide eyes as he tells tales of times that make no sense and laugh when the moment arrives. I do my best to not overthink, to banish every thought of comparison with the boy in front of me and the boy in the back of my head.

And it works. It’s working, I think to myself a few times.

It really was working.

Until it wasn’t.

It was maybe an hour into the date, or two? I wasn’t sure– I’d lost track of time a while ago. I’d felt the tingle crawl up my spine, of course. I always did. But I had shelved that thought away immediately, entirely focused on Yujin’s words and the smile on my face.

It wasn’t until I felt a familiar brush against my shoulder did I look up. The cologne I had gotten so used to– sharp and clean, like alcohol and a winter's night –enveloped me like a warm hug and it took everything in me to not sniff it out like a dog.

“y/n?”

My back straightened instantly.

Fuck my instincts for being right.

Yujin’s eyes moved first in front of me, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Glancing at the man beside me, he smiled brightly.

It took me a moment before I turned my head. My eyes were quick, though– I caught sight of him before I could calm myself.

“Wooyoung.” His name was a call. A prayer.

And all I was trying to do was leave my sins behind.

He looked like a walking dream. His hair, darker than the night sky and oh-so-soft, had been styled messily like he’d just climbed out of bed. I wouldn’t put it past him if that was exactly what he had done either.

He had black shirt on, all the buttons undone to showcase that devastating tank top I had told him to throw away. The clothes hung on his shoulders like he was a mannequin, yet somehow he carried them with a confidence I wasn’t sure where he got from.

And every single piece of his jewelry were things I had gifted him.

Fuck him for keeping them all.

“Well, this is a surprise.” A smile painted his face as he glanced at his friends that had filed behind him. I recognized all of them– of course, because how couldn’t I? After all, they had become mine too.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, letting no emotion into my voice. I could only hope my eyes wouldn’t betray me.

“It’s a restaurant. Take a guess,” came his witty answer. His own eyes glanced between me and my date, trying to figure out the situation. He always did that: assess before attack was what he called when I had asked the first time. “What are you doing here?”

Sighing softly, I glanced back down at Yujin, who was still smiling like an idiot. “Yujin, meet Wooyoung. My friend. Wooyoung, meet Yujin. My date.”

It was Yujin who stood up with an outstretched hand. “I know you,” he said. “You pick up y/n from class every day.”

I heard a few boys snicker behind Wooyoung, and I shot them a look, knowing who the culprits were immediately.

“That’s me.” Shaking his hand politely, Wooyoung settled back into his place beside me without bothering to continue the conversation. Instead, he turned to me again. “You didn’t tell me you had a date.”

“You didn’t ask,” came my answer before I could think.

An unrecognizable flash went through Wooyoung’s eyes before he nodded. He dug his hands into his pockets then and motioned at his friends. “Don’t wanna interrupt, then. We have shit to talk about, anyway.”

Leaning to glance past him, I waved at Seonghwa, who was already looking my way. “Like what? Didn’t you just get out of practice?”

“No practice today– we’re just hanging out. Mingi had been dying to come here, so…I was actually planning on bringing you next time if I liked it.”

My eyes clicked to his immediately, dropping Seonghwa’s faster than a ball on fire.

Stop saying things like that.

“I guess I beat you to it.”

Yujin’s voice cut through like glass. It was a reminder that he was still there, and I coughed before looking away from Wooyoung’s face.

“Yeah. I guess you did.”

Even as his hand came out of his pocket to fix a stray hair on my forehead, my gaze stayed glued to the lasagna in front of me. It was cold now, and looked a thousand times less appetizing than it had moments before.

What the fuck am I doing?

“Have fun, princess,” were Wooyoung’s last words before he sauntered away, the parade of boys behind him following. They all greeted me in their own ways as they passed– San with a ruffle to my head, Jongho with a playful punch, Hongjoong with a wave. But none of their moments stuck. They never did, not like Wooyoung.

“I always thought you guys had a thing, not gonna lie.” Yujin’s sentence had me looking up in shock, an immediate rebuttal on my lips. He wasn’t finished, though, his own gaze on his food now. “Everyone did; that’s why I was so hesitant to ask you out.”

“Oh.”

I knew we were close. Closer than most, really. I knew I saw Wooyoung more than I did Ryujin, and I knew I texted him every waking second if I wasn’t with him. But even as I was actively trying to move on, how was he there, making his presence known like a goddamn celebrity?

And just before I could reply, my phone flashed with his contact name– a text.

woo: let me know if you need an out

woo: i’m here if you need me

I knew he was. He always would be.

But would he be there if I wanted him?

I couldn’t track time anymore. The rest of the date was calm, just the way it had been. Yujin did his best. I could tell– the way he was moving his hands faster now, like he was trying to keep my attention the way you would with a child. And he was sweet. He was so so sweet, a bubbly little guy with intentions that I could see. None of it was evil, either. He was just trying.

And it wasn’t enough, because it wasn’t him.

I didn’t bother looking for Wooyoung as I left that night. I was certain he was watching me, anyway. I would never say no if he was to follow. But tonight, I needed space. Clarity that I wasn’t sure I could reach.

Climbing into my car, I clicked the call button before I could think.

“Hey, babygirl! How’d it go-”

“Wooyoung’s here.”

A beat of silence before Ryujin’s voice echoed around me. “What?!”

“He was here. At- at the restaurant.”

“Jesus fuck,” Ryujin breathed. “He knows how to fuck with you, doesn’t he?”

Placing my forehead against the steering wheel, I nodded. “Tell me about it. It’s like he wants to get in my head.”

I recount the rest of the night to her– Yujin’s antics, the appearance of our entire friend group, and the sudden longing I had felt at that moment. The drive home was practically brutal, too. Rain had begun to patter against the windshield softly, causing even the softest acceleration of the car to feel like a skid.

My couch called my name as I tossed my handbag onto the coffee table. I didn’t even bother changing out of my dress– the only thing I was focused on was Ryujin’s steady voice on my phone and the gloomy night.

“How can I think of someone else when Wooyoung is just…there?” The question hangs between us, cutting off whatever Ryujin was saying. I’d dug the sentence straight out of my heart and laid it bare for my best friend– there was no use in hiding something like that anymore, anyway. “I didn’t even text him back, but all I can think about is him. Yujin was right there, and all I could think about was him. I felt like such a bitch.”

“You’re not a bitch for being in love. Yujin’s an idiot for not clocking that shit the moment he saw you guys.”

I laughed humorlessly. “I think he did,” I said, thinking about his expression and continuation of the night after that moment. “It was like he started trying harder for me. And a few years ago– hell, a few months ago that would have made me blush. But now?”

“You don’t have space in your heart anymore for someone like that.”

“For anyone,” I correct. “And that is going to break me.”

A few more minutes pass, banter going back between Ryujin and I like it always did. Her comforting words could only do so much, anyway. It was her insults that made everything seem a little more normal.

But again, like gravity, I watched as the front door knob began to jingle and the familiar cursing of Wooyoung’s voice passed through the barrier. Still dressed in the same outfit as before, he stepped through the small doorway, shaking himself like a wet dog as I cut the phone with Ryujin and sat up.

“I need to take your key away,” I said. “You never even tell me when you’re coming over.”

“Home doesn’t need an invite,” he answers casually as he steps out of his shoes. “Besides. I assumed you needed to wind down for a little, so I waited downstairs until now.”

The image of Wooyoung sitting in his car aimlessly flashed through my head, and I sighed, standing up to grab the bags from his hands. “Thanks, genius.”

“You’re always welcome.” Grinning like an idiot, he almost passed by me before turning around, giving me a quick once over. “Damn. You really dressed up for this date, huh?”

“It’s a date. Of course I did.”

“You never dress up for me,” he says, turning away and heading straight into the kitchen. A jab, enough to have me sighing again. “You don’t take me on dates,” I counter back, following him. “And I see you every single goddamn day. This was my first date with Yujin.”

“I didn’t know you liked him,” he said casually as he opened the fridge door, and I hopped onto my countertop, swinging my legs off the edge as I watched him raid my house like it was his.

“I don’t,” I say after a missed beat. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I didn’t peg you for that kind of girl.” Grabbing a glass from one of the cabinets (since when did I own that glass, anyway?), he poured himself some milk before popping it into the microwave and turning around to face me. I raised an eyebrow at his statement then. “What kind of girl?”

“The kind of girl to go around.” I knew that wasn’t what Wooyoung meant, but the comment still hurt. And of course, as his friend, it was my responsibility to make that known.

“I’m not. And that was mean, Woo. You know me better than anyone.”

A moment stretched between us before his guarded eyes softened, and he nodded. “Sorry. I’m just surprised.” Leaning back against the counter, he looked up and closed his eyes, exhaling softly. “I don’t think Yujin’s the one, anyway.”

I peeled my eyes away from his form and turned my head away. It wasn’t just that Wooyoung could read me like a book. It was that somehow, he was the only man in the entire world that I had come across that made it look so easy to be smart and pretty, to be kind and handsome. And I hated him for it.

“How would you know? We had a good time.” It was like I suddenly craved something sweet in my mouth, so I carefully slipped off of the countertop, grabbing the carton of apple juice Wooyoung had restocked recently. “Grab me a glass, please.”

Opening his eyes, he did as I asked with a shrug. “I know guys. And I know you. You could do better. Yujin’s sweet and all, but he’s boring. You need someone who’ll keep you on your toes, y/n.”

Like you? I asked myself.

Pouring myself the juice, I chose to sit on top of the dining table this time, watching as Wooyoung grabbed his milk from the microwave and pulled up a chair in front of me.

“I don’t know, Woo,” I said after a moment. Sipping from my glass, I placed it beside me, barely registering how Wooyoung pushed it back the moment I did so that it wouldn’t fall off the edge. “I’m sick of being lonely.”

“You’re not, though,” he said, looking up at me. “You have Ryujin, and you have me. You have the guys, too. What else do you need?”

I need someone to love. Someone who loves me. The way I do you.

I only sigh in response. For a few moments, we sit in silence like that. His eyes stay on me, bouncing between the silk of my dress and my eyes. I do my best not to look down, either, but god dammit it was so hard when he looked like that. When he looked at me like that. Why the fuck was he so pretty?

“How was your dinner?” I ask, switching the topic. I could tell Wooyoung felt it, too– my need to let things sit for a little, to not touch the things he was trying to. So with a sigh, he began to detail his own night.

Slowly, we shifted from the kitchen back into the living room. I felt no urge to pick up my phone, and I had no sense of time as I listened to him ramble on and on. Though he looked scary (a frat boy is what I call him, which of course he hates), he told stories like he was a little kid. It was part of the reason I’d fallen so hard for him.

My attention stayed locked until my phone began buzzing on the coffee table, though. At the first ring I ignored it, but when even Wooyoung’s attention was pulled towards it, I was forced to lean down and check the caller ID.

“Oh. It’s Yujin.” Glancing up from the screen, I monitor Wooyoung’s expression for a moment. “Should I pick up?”

Shrugging, he looked towards the blank TV screen. “Your choice. Might make the night more interesting.”

“You meddling ass,” I said with a smile as I picked up the call. I didn’t miss the way he threw a smile my way, either.

“y/n?”

“Hi, Yujin,” I answered politely. Wooyoung leaned back into the couch beside me, crossing his arms and his eyes unfocused as he listened to our conversation. The air suddenly felt electric, and I adjusted myself in my seat, all of a sudden too aware of my feet in his lap. The position was what we always found ourselves in, so why did it suddenly feel so new?

“Sorry, I know it’s pretty late, but I assumed a call would be better than a text. Did you get home safe?” Smiling at the kindness, I nodded, to which Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

“I did, yes. Thank you, Yujin.” “Yeah, of course. And I just wanted to say…thank you for tonight. I had fun.”

There it was. I had fun too— there was a reason I had agreed to go on the date, after all. Yujin was a good guy if anything. And that’s what made the whole predicament that much worse.

Glancing at Wooyoung (who was still eyeing the phone like he wanted to burn it, mind you), I replied, “Me too, Yujin. Thank you for making it a wonderful night.”

His voice echoed on the other side after a second of silence. “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to do it again? And you don’t have to say yes— I kind of get your situation. With, you know, you-know-who. It’s obvious. But if you are willing to give me a chance, I will make sure to never hurt you. I’ll make your time worth it.”

It was like the world came to a stop. Perhaps it was all of the religious trauma I was put through as a child, but in that second I had prayed to every god I could think of that Yujin wouldn’t say Wooyoung’s name. It worked.

Before I could answer, though, Yujin continued, “You don’t have to answer now, by the way. I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend or anything yet. Just…a couple dates. Take your time, alright? And text or call me back whenever. I’ll be waiting.”

I’ll be here if you need me.

Saying a soft good night to each other, we cut the call a mere moment later. My heart was racing like it had never before, because at the end if the day, I just been asked out. Not new but still surprising.

I could feel Wooyoung's judging gaze beside me. Setting my phone down in my lap, I look at him, waiting for him to say something.

“He’s forward.”

“Wonderful observation, sherlock.”

It takes him a moment, but he finally lets up, dropping his hands and running one through his hair. “And he’s interested.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Well, yes. I’d presume so given the fact that he took me out tonight.” Slowly, Wooyoung’s hands came to my ankles, massaging them absentmindedly as he held a full conversation with himself in his head.

Again. I hadn’t told him my ankles had been killing me since I’d worn those barely fitting heels, yet somehow, he just gravitated towards my problems like he was the solution. It pissed me off sometimes.

“What are you thinking about?” My voice was nothing more than a whisper as he switched to work on my other ankle. The rain outside had grown in tempo now, but my heart felt calmer than it had all day. I could die like this, I thought. Unwinding with Wooyoung after a long day. There was something so domestic about him here, in my space claiming it like it was his. How could I fathom ruining a friendship like ours?

“You,” he said.

“A lot of people seem to be doing that lately,” I said with a laugh. “I guess I'm everywhere right now.”

“You’re easy to think about. Warm.”

What the hell did he even mean by that?

For a moment, I just stared at him. His side profile was one of the first things I’d noticed about him, actually. It was etched out of marble. Plump lips, a greek nose, and eyes so sharp they could cut through ice. I was lucky to be their subject so often.

I don’t know what overtook me. Being physically affectionate was our norm, but still, in that moment I felt too far from him. So, pulling my legs out of his grasp, I crawled across the couch and placed my head on his chest, wrapping his arm around myself and letting my legs rest where I’d been previously sitting. “I don’t know what the hell you meant by that, but that’s very sweet, Woo. You should stop saying things like that.”

“Why?” He asked, even quieter as he tightened his hold against me for a brief second.

It was late. It was late, and even though I hadn’t washed my makeup off or even taken my dress off, I was drowsy and comfortable. That’s the excuse I told myself the next morning for the words I said that night.

“It makes it easier to fall in love with you.”

I don’t remember much after that. I fell asleep to Wooyoung’s heartbeat and the rain. Yujins words were long gone in my head, and unfortunately, so was the feeling of my unrequited love. It was hard to drown in it when Wooyoung made it feel like he felt it too every second of every day, you know?

“Let’s get drunk. Please.”

Both Ryujin and Wooyoung shared a look at my plea. We were seated at my favorite coffee shop, all of us dressed comfortably but for entirely different occasions. I’d quite literally gotten out of bed and driven here, while Wooyoung had seemingly skipped dance practice at my call (to which San blew up my phone) and Ryujin had just gotten back from work.

“It’s Thursday night, hon,” Ryujin reminded me with a knowing look. “You sure that’s the best idea?”

“I mean, I’m down.” Wooyoung’s words had me smiling immediately, and Ryujin scowling at the obvious difference in their answers. “Seriously? Do neither of you have anything to do tomorrow?”

Sitting back in the booth, I picked up my drink and shook my head. “Nope. I don’t work until Saturday, and I know Wooyoung is free, too. And your ass doesn’t have class until 4 pm.”

“I still have to make it to my 4 pm class.” The resignation in Ryujins voice was clear, though, and Wooyoung and I shared a smile as I went for my cup again. “Alright then. My place at 8?”

“I’ll bring food,” Wooyoung piped up. “Something to make sure none of us throws up.”

I decided to ignore the pointed look sent my way.

“Alright, then,” I grinned.  “Let’s get fucked UP!”

I hadn’t expected anyone to be right on time– after all, my friends were notorious for following their own clocks inside their heads. So even as my own ticked closer to 8 pm, I didn’t bother getting out of the shower, instead turning up my music and singing along as I stepped out and began drying my hair. Slathering on the last of my expensive lotion (for what reason? I was staying home anyway), I finally slipped into a pair of shorts and the loosest off-the-shoulder shirt I could find before stepping out of the fogged up bathroom.

The sight that greeted me in my own kitchen was nothing short of terrifying. Wooyoung sat at the dining table, another takeout box full of food and a Taco Bell bag sitting in front of him as he scrolled on his phone and laughed to himself. His car keys sat beside them and I rolled my eyes at the familiar twinkle of my spare key.

“Didn’t know the party started without me,” I said as I reached for the Taco Bell bag. “And I’m actually taking your key away today. No more showing up unannounced.”

Looking up from his phone, Wooyoung simply grinned and slapped my outstretched hand away. “No you’re not. And no Taco Bell until you’re tipsy. You know you’ll want it then.”

“Bitch,” I muttered to myself and rubbed my hand dramatically. “That’s abuse.”

“Yeah, and you’re into it.”

Cursing under my breath again, I turned away and walked past him towards the fridge. I kept all my alcohol in the cabinet above it for safekeeping. And if you’re asking from who, it’s from myself. The only times I can reach it is when I bring out my broken two-step ladder or when Wooyoung is there.

Obviously, the latter option was available. I never had to ask. I simply decided it was best to stand in front of the fridge and stare at the cabinet until I felt Wooyoung approach behind me, moving me just enough so that he could reach around and above the fridge.

He’d done this hundreds of times before. Thousands, even. Invaded my home, my space, and made it seem like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was meant to be.

And in that moment, as the familiarity of his cologne wrapped around me as he stretched and pulled out my favorite bottle of wine that he’d bought, my chest stuttered as if it had remembered something I refused to say out loud.

“Two should be enough for now, right?” Wooyoung said beside me, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare I was feeling. “We can grab the other bottles later once Ryu gets here, too. And then– earth to y/n?”

Waving his hand in front of my face, he frowned as I continued to stare at him, his words going through one ear and out the other.

Why did I keep doing this to myself? Falling for him over and over again like this?

And as he grabbed my face with one hand, squishing my cheeks and moving it around like he was attempting to diagnose me with something, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to grab his stupidly perfect face and kiss the grin off of it.

But of course, I was a woman who practiced restraint. So I instead chose to slap his hand away and grab the bottles from his hand before marching out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Help me set up,” was all I said, and of course Wooyoung followed.

He always did.

We worked in silence. At some point, he’d turned on some stupid music from his phone, and it played in the background as we brought out heaps of blankets that I kept in my storage closet and draped them across the living room floor. Turning the big light off, we took turns turning on my array of smaller lamps, giggling when one of them took too long to blink to life.

It was another thirty minutes before Ryujin knocked on the front door. At that point, Wooyoung and I were already a shot and a glass into our cove of alcohol, and I skipped towards the front door, a goofy grin on my face.

“Hey, babygi– man, y’all started drinking without me?” Ryujin pushed past me and padded into the dimly lit room with an annoyed expression. “You guys suck.”

“Your fault for being late,” Wooyoung replied with a smile. I plopped back down to my place beside him, and Ryujin camped out in front of us, grabbing one of the many plushies I had brought out from hiding for the night.

“Whatever. Pour me a shot.” I did as she said, and both Wooyoung and I waited until she was caught up to our level of tipsy before starting any games (which was relatively easy– Ryujin was our group lightweight, afterall).

“Truth or Dare,” Wooyoung says first. “I love that stupid game.”

“We know,” came Ryujin and mine’s unanimous answer.

With a stupid grin, he glanced between the two of us for a moment before settling his eyes on Ryujin. “Truth or dare?” He asked.

Sighing, Ryujin shrugged. “Truth, I guess.”

“Hm…what’s the biggest ick a guy has given you in bed?” I scowl at that and slap Wooyoung’s shoulder. “You don’t ask a girl those kinds of questions, you dumbass!”

Wincing away dramatically, Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be a wuss– the question wasn’t even for you, anyway.”

Ryujin cut our bickering within a moment and took a swig from her glass before answering. “Easy. I was ass-up on bed and the guy asked me not to fart before going in. He finished in 45 seconds.”

Silence.

And then, laughter rolled around the room like a train as Wooyoung and I tumbled over each other, holding our stomachs and the alcohol in our throats. “He- he what?” Wooyoung said, stumbling over his words. It took me a minute to recover, and even then I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face. “Jesus fuck,” I say with another giggle (undeniably alcohol induced). “You never told me this.”

“You never asked,” was all she said as she sipped again. Wiping a tear, Wooyoung now turned to me, that familiar mischievous spark in his eyes. “Your turn, y/n.”

“Fuuuuuck.” I poured myself some more of the strawberry margarita we had unearthed before digging my back into the couch, settling myself in before the obvious bombardment. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I said immediately. “I’m gonna play this shit safe with you, Jung Wooyoung.” His grin grew devilish as Ryujin let out a mocking laugh. “Wooyoung and safe shouldn’t even be in the same sentence,” she pointed out.

Ignoring her, Wooyoung turned his body to face me fully before asking.

“What’s something you’ve done that would ruin your good girl rep?”

I cocked a brow. “Excuse me? My what?”

“That’s a good one,” Ryujin muttered in front of us as she watched the exchange while I scoffed. “I don’t have a good girl rep– the fuck, Wooyoung?”

Shrugging, he brought his own cup to his lips as he kept his eyes on me just above the rim. “Obviously you do. It’s a well crafted image– you don’t do hookups, you rarely party no matter how much you love it, and you never skip work even when you’re sick. If that’s not the making of a good girl rep, then what is?”

I blink. Fuck. He was right. It wasn’t something that I did on purpose, but it was just the way I lived my life– the way I was used to living my life. Anything other than that and I felt like a horrible person, so why wouldn’t I? But I had never realized that it translated to a ‘good girl’ reputation. Not in the way Wooyoung put it, at least.

“You weirdo,” I muttered as I scrambled my thoughts. Was there anything I had done to reverse that? To put a stain in that, at the very least?

For a moment, I sat there lost in my thoughts. What the hell could I possibly-

Oh.

Oh.

And of course, the only thing that came to mind had his name written all over it.

Well. That would be risky as fuck. But it would be the easiest answer, wouldn’t it?

Sighing, I pour myself another heavy shot and throw it back as the pair watch, wincing at the biting taste on my tongue before sighing.

“I pretend I love people I can’t so that I can escape the ones I do,” I say, smiling like it was a joke and shrugging when Ryujin launches her eyes from the blankets on the floor to me instead.

For a moment, silence covers us again– different from the one just moments before after Ryu’s answer. Deeper, like I had cut through the moment with a knife.

Or maybe that was just me. I’m just overthinking it, I told myself. Which means I had to underthink, which obviously meant I had to overdrink.

“Another shot, please,” I said, ignoring Wooyoung’s gaze burning holes into my cheek.

Ryujin slowly pours me one, an unrecognizable look on her face. I didn’t want to know what it was – pity? Sympathy, perhaps? Either way, I didn’t care. I was going to enjoy the night, no matter how much it took to do that.

“Bye, liver,” I whispered to myself as the alcohol burned down my throat.

It was Ryujin that finally broke the silence with a cough. “Your good girl rep is still intact, y/n,” she said with a short chuckle. “And you look like you’re three seconds away from alcohol poisoning. How many shots did you guys have before I came?”

Finally looking away from me, Wooyoung frowned. “One together. Maybe she took more- I don’t know.”

I knew how tipsy I was getting. That’s the thing– no matter how drunk you were, your mind convinces you that you’re actually sober and alive.

I was waiting for Wooyoung to laugh, I realized after a moment. He always did, moments of Ryujin or I started. It was a habit for the sound of him to dull my senses. But instead, he stayed quiet, and Ryujin simply sighed before moving on like she knew I’d regret my words in the morning.

“Your turn then, Woo. Truth or dare?” Turning to her, Wooyoung bit his lip for a moment before answering. “Let’s get through a round of truth, then. Since that’s what you guys did.”

She hummed for a moment as I watched from my spot between them. “Something easy, then.”

I knew Ryujin. Her eyes said everything she didn’t. I hated thinking about it, but we had always been closer, having known one another for years before Wooyoung came into the scene. And I knew how much she hated him for how he made me feel. Didn’t matter how much she loved him as a friend– she simply hated him as the guy I was in love with.

So I knew whatever she was about to do now, she was going to make it hurt.

“Out of all your friends, who’s someone you could never fall out of love with– if you were in love with them?”

Ah, fuck. This bitch.

A small giggle bubbles up in my throat, and turning to Wooyoung, (who was beet red- why was he so red? Did he drink more?) I point at his face and laugh. “This idiot is about to say San, isn’t he?”

He doesn’t look my way. He doesn’t even bother. Instead, he sits there for a moment, almost dumbstruck and certainly sending daggers towards Ryujin with his eyes.

“I know he’s been into San for ages- their chemistry is insane!” Giggling again, I drop myself onto the ground, the alcohol taking me over now as I laugh. Why was I laughing? What the fuck was so funny about something like this?

“Y/n.”

And in a moment, the warmth in my body flushed away and left behind a burning, stinging cold.

His voice cut like glass, my apartment all of a sudden unrecognizable as I sat back up. I had heard his voice, right? It wasn’t just a figment of my imagination?

Turning to Ryujin, I hiccuped once before asking, “Did he just say my name?”

Ryujin didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. And nobody said anything.

Not until my phone rang.

Yujin’s name flashed across my screen and the sober part of my brain cursed itself for placing it face up in between us three.

“Shit– I forgot about him,” I muttered to myself. The alcohol in me had me voicing any and all thoughts in my head without a filter, and with a sigh, I reached for my phone, nothing else in my head. “I wonder what he wants.”

Neither Wooyoung or Ryujin moved as I picked the phone up and placed it on my knee, sitting back down in my old position. “Hi,” I said, the word slightly slurred.

“Y/n? Everything ok?”

Another hiccup as I nodded. “Y-Yeah, of course. What’s wrong– no, what’s up?”

“Are you drunk?” The bluntness of the question combined with what seemed to be worry in his voice had me giggling again, and I shook my head.

“No…why would you say that?” “Because that’s what you sound like, love. I was just calling to check in on you, but if it’s a bad time I’ll call tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok,” I said. “Thank you, Yujin.”

“Of course. Get some rest, y/n. Good night.”

I hung up.

Silence again. No music this time, no game. Just Wooyoung. Just Ryujin. Just me.

And the pounding in my head that had nothing to do with alcohol.

Ryujin simply sighed after a moment. “I thought this game was supposed to be fun,” she said softly. “Why am I stuck babysitting you two now?”

“I’m sober,” Wooyoung responded. “She’s the one that’s drunk off her rockers.”

I pretended to miss the empathetic look my best friend gave me and opted to get lost in my phone instead.

After a few moments, Ryujin inhaled deeply before getting up from her place and glancing between the two of us. “You two– you guys are fucking hopeless. I’m going home.”

I snapped my head up at that (which I shouldn’t have done– the world became too blurry too quick) and frowned. “Y-hiccup-you just got here, though.”

Kneeling down in front of me, she swiped away some stray hairs on my forehead and smiled. “I’m not drinking too much tonight, baby. You get to bed, ok? And send Wooyoung home– god knows what state you’re going to wake up in tomorrow.”

I nod, her soft touch comforting in ways I could never imagine. I loved my best friend more than words could say, and I could only hope she knew that.

And then it was just Wooyoung and I.

The air was charged— it always was when it was just us two. But I was oblivious to it now, because that’s what alcohol did, too.

“You said my name,” I said after a few minutes, breaking the silence for the hundredth time that day. “You said—”

“I know what I said.”

For the first time that night, I turned to Wooyoung looking at me.

Really looking at me.

Like it was the first time he’d seen me, and he couldn’t decide who I was.

The moment is supposed to break when someone gets up and leaves, but as he unfolded his legs and padded into the kitchen, it was like a gravity he took with him that I couldn’t help following. We followed our routine like we always did; he cleaned out his dishes as well as any left in the sink, and I stood behind him, watching every muscle in his back move and wondering where things went wrong.

There was a voice in my head. Maybe it was Yujin’s, telling me give him a chance. Maybe it was Ryujin’s, asking me if this is something I would regret in the morning.

But every part of me only wanted one thing, and who was I to deny something I needed?

So, carefully, pushing myself off the edge of the dining table, I wrapped my arms around Wooyoung’s waist and stepped into his bubble. My  arms wrapped around him like a present as he stilled under my touch.

“Y/n, I-”

“I just need a minute. Please.”

The world went quiet. It wasn’t long, and it wasn’t abnormal. After all, both Wooyoung and I were incredibly affectionate people. But this felt different in ways I couldn’t describe, and I don’t think I wanted to, either.

If I let go first, maybe this wouldn’t feel like a confession.

I dropped my arms and turned around. My bedroom was so close. I needed a sanctuary now, to step away from somebody that was that for me. In my head, I knew I was going to call Yujin back tonight, and tell him I wanted to see him tomorrow. I would kiss him and pretend I was in love until it happened.

But god, Wooyoung knew how to mess with my plans.

Before I could go far enough, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me back, my stumble caught in his hands as he brought me back into his orbit. I had barely a moment before it was him enveloping me now, his heart loud against my back and throttling through my shirt.

“Don’t leave.”

He never had to ask.

There was no music now. The alcohol did nothing to bury my nerves, did nothing to douse my senses in imagination or hallucination. He felt too real against me, and it was dangerous.

“What are you doing, Woo?” I asked before I could think. “What are we doing?”

Instead of answering, he simply tightened his arms around my waist, pulling me closer and burying his face into the crook of my neck. “I don’t know,” he breathed. His voice was muffled and tickled my skin.

I could’ve pulled away. I could’ve questioned him, I could’ve kicked him out and told him to forget about the night.

But I stayed put. Like I always did.

“Don’t call Yujin back,” came his words. “Don’t– don’t see him again.”

“You can’t tell me that now,” I said softly, staring at the Taco Bell bag in front of me. A reminder that he knew me better than anybody else.

“Why?”

“Because…I may not remember it tomorrow. And you won’t, too.”

“You barely drank,” I said softly. “Do you want to forget?”

The quiet taunted me.

And then.

“I’m afraid you will want to.”

Neither of us spoke. His arms, warm around me like a sanctuary, loosened ever so slightly like he was giving me a way out. But how was I supposed to? How did he expect me to escape him when his gravity was the only thing keeping me alive? How was I supposed to tell him that even as I sat across from another man, he was always in my heart and showed up in ways that messed with my head?

I didn’t think I could. Not in one moment and not in one sentence, surely. It would take years before I could ever truly allow myself to let him understand how much of me he took, but I was tired of carrying that weight alone. And when he was holding me together like this, he was the only person I ever wanted to share it with.

I turned in his grasp, breath caught in my throat as I watched his eyes widened a fraction at the sudden closeness in our stature. His hands were on my waist now like they’d been there a thousand times before, and hell if I didn’t try to keep them there forever.

“Jung Wooyoung,” I started, placing my hands on his chest and finding his heart beating under my palm, “I could never forget you. You are my best friend, and for a while that’s all I wanted you to be. But then you started stealing parts of me– taking things I never gave you, owning everything that belonged to me without bothering to ask, and I can never find it in me to hate you for it.”

“You are the reason that I cannot stand being alone anymore. You annoy me so bad, and you piss me off when you use my key, and you infuriate me when you tell me I’m perfect. But god– that’s what I love you for.” I felt his hand tighten on my waist as I spoke, but I couldn’t stop now. Not when the look in his eyes felt too real, and when the alcohol kicked the words I kept to myself out of my system. If I fucked everything up tonight, at least I had that to blame.

“I’m sorry if this ruins things. I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted, or if it disgusts you, but it’s who I am and what I feel. And no matter what anybody says– I can’t change it. I’m in love with you, Wooyoung, and if you kissed me tonight, there’s no way in hell that I’d ever–”

All I could feel was the thudding of my heart and the soft press of Wooyoung’s lips against mine. My voice had been loud in a way that I hadn’t recognized until now, the sudden silence in the kitchen foreign to my ears as I felt all of him at once.

Was this real? Was this actually happening?

I didn’t have time to question it, though. Not when Wooyoung was deepening the kiss, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip for entrance.

For a moment, we stood there, him pressed against the counter with his hands anywhere he could get them as he chased after my lips. When I pulled away for air, he followed almost instinctively, and god was that feeling addictive.

That look on his face when I opened my eyes would be the only drug I needed from now on.

“You- you can’t just kiss me like that,” I breathed. “You’re insane.”

“You can’t just say you love me like that,” Wooyoung countered, his eyes half-lidded and that familiar mischievous smile on his face. “You’re insane.”

“Fuck,” I muttered after a moment of silence. “Holy shit. Oh my god.”

Tilting his head, Wooyoung raised a brow. He looked beautiful. I mean, I’ve always known that. He was too perfect to exist. But there was something about the way the low lighting from the bulb played with the features on his face, creating a shadow along his jawline and highlighting that stupid mole on his lip…I couldn’t believe he was real.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asked, his gaze dropping to my lips again as I blinked. “Where’d you go?”

“I just…I can’t believe this is real. Did you actually kiss me? Am I hallucinating?” I couldn’t focus on one thing on his face. His eyes, his nose, his cheeks, even his fucking eyebrows; everything needed equal attention, and I felt like I had to give it in that moment.

And then, before I could think, Wooyoung was capturing my lips again, lazy as he slotted his against mine and brushed his tongue along the seam. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Take a guess. Does this feel fake?”

His breath fanned across my mouth and I shook my head. “No.”

It was soft. The way his left hand traveled up my body and held my jaw, caressing it as his eyes connected with mine felt too vulnerable. A part of me– the part that was so used to pretending and walking away –told me that this was a dream, that it was wrong. But there he was, a standing reminder that perhaps what was happening was correct. Maybe Ryujin had been right all along.

“Do you…really love me?” Wooyoung’s question shattered my thoughts, and I frowned, tilting into his palm and gripping his shirt near his collarbone. “Do I look like a liar to you?”

“No, but– I need to know you mean it, y/n. Because then I can say it back, too.”

There was no hesitation in my voice this time. None in my actions, either. I simply lifted myself onto my toes and began to kiss him anywhere I could possibly reach; his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, that stupid mole that I had been dying to give some love to. And with each peck, I told him ‘I love you’. I meant it with every cell in my body and every beat in my heart, and I didn’t know how else to convey it.

It was like he broke within my hands. Within moments his hands returned to my waist and hoisted me up, turning me around and placing me on the counter like I was a child. “What the fuck-”

And then he crashed into me again. This time, he devoured. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought I was his last meal. The way he opened up to me, parting my legs and wrapping them around his torso as he pulled me in impossibly close was unreal.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispered as his lips traveled down my jaw. “I have been since the moment I saw you.”

A soft sound escaped me as he bit against the sensitive spot between my jaw and ear, and I tightened my legs around him, pulling him close. My arms made their home around his neck and his hair tickled my skin in a way I hadn’t imagined.

Pulling away, he returned to my lips again, working against me as I dug my nails into his hair. “Everytime you met someone new,” he breathed, pulling away and pushing back like a game, “I wanted to kill them with my bare fucking hands. Kiss you senseless every time you looked away just to remind you how much I needed you.”

A gasp escaped me as his growing bulge hit my center, my shorts doing almost nothing to stop the feeling. “Holy-”

“You are everything to me, and fuck if I don’t make you mine.”

And then, like water, he pulled away again, this time taking a step back and away from my arms.

“But not like this. not yet.”

The sudden distance had the cold biting my skin, pulling a shudder from within me as I closed my legs. “Wh- what?”

Stepping back until his legs hit the dining table, he leaned back and pushed the hair out of his face, looking up and dragging a hand down his face. “Holy fuck. You’re so addictive.”

A blush climbed up high on my cheeks and I watched as he calmed himself down for a moment. “You stopped.”

“If I didn’t, y/n, I would’ve never.”

“But I want you now,” I countered, a frown tugging on my lips as his gaze moved back to me. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched. He looked at me like he was memorizing this version of me– messy, needy, raw– finally his. It was an exhilarating feeling, and I didn’t want it to end.

“I know, sweetheart. So have I. But you’re still drunk,” he said, his voice soft. That sentence, unfortunately, only strengthened my desire. “No, I’m not.”

Reaching me again, he connected our lips one more time and pulled away. I watched as he licked his slowly with a glint in his eyes. “Yes, you are.”

“I can taste it.”

A blush rose up so high on my cheeks that I was afraid I would catch on fire. I slapped his shoulder in an attempt to hide it, but he catches my arm and smiles again, a cocky look on his face that had me overheating. “I love you, y/n.”

I don’t think I could ever get used to hearing that.

And I would certainly never get used to saying it.

But I always will.

“I love you too.”

end.

_ _ _

authors note: first upload!! YAYY i hope u guys like it <3 definitely not my best work but i enjoyed writing this (even tho it took wayyy too long)

[agustdsluv]

🎮 PRESS START | 🕹️ PART 2. LEVEL UP

summary | Y/N thought she had Jungkook figured out—cocky, competitive, incapable of handling second place. But between all of eye contact , stolen sips of boba, and tension thick enough to break a Joy-Con, she starts to realize something’s changed. The game isn’t just academic anymore. And neither of them are playing fair. Let the next level begin.

“with me you leveled up, yea it’s true”

Inspired by Katseye’s “GAMEBOY

paring | jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings | college au, rivals to lovers, slow burn, flirty tension, comedy, emotional pining, accidental touching, flirty banter, a lot of flirting and l mean ALOTTTTT, teasing, gaming rivalry, they’re obsessed with each other, the tension omgggggg, jungkook is just head over heels it’s actually insane, it’s finally here 🤭

word count | 1.2K

notes: I had so much fun writing this chapter

SERIES M.LIST | MAIN M.LIST

🕹️ Part 2 – “Level Up”

Y/N had cleaned her apartment three separate times.

Not because Jungkook cared about cleanliness—please, this was the guy who spilled ramen broth on his jeans and still finished the meal like a champ—but because cleaning gave her something to do.

She wasn’t nervous.

Okay, maybe a little.

This wasn’t their first time hanging out. They’d worked on projects together, walked home after class, sat way too close on shared benches. But this was different.

This was alone, no school excuses. Just her. Just him.

Just whatever game they were playing—flirting disguised as friendship, teasing that hit a little too hard.

She glanced at the time: 7:54 p.m.

Perfect. Not too early to look desperate. Not too late to look like she was trying.

And then came the knock.

She opened the door to find Jungkook standing there in a black crewneck, sweats, and a look that probably killed a few girls on campus that day. His hair was messy in that “I tried but not really” kind of way. A single silver ring glinted on his index finger.

And in his hand?

Boba.

He held it up with a smug grin. “Figured I’d bring it now. Y’know, before you lose.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Confidence. Hot.”

He followed her in, eyes scanning the space—clean, cozy, candles lit, two controllers on the coffee table.

“So,” he said, dropping onto the couch like he owned it. “What’s the game?”

She smirked. “Mario Kart.”

He blinked. “Oh. You’re serious about embarrassing yourself.”

“You talk big for someone who’s never beaten me in anything.”

“I beat you in that film debate last week.”

“That was sympathy. I didn’t want you to cry in front of everyone.”

He narrowed his eyes, grinning. “You’re evil.”

She leaned in, handing him a controller. “Press start, Jeon.”

Race 1: Coconut Mall.

Y/N won. Barely.

“Beginner’s luck,” Jungkook muttered, jaw tight, already queuing up the next race. He wasn’t smiling.

She was.

He hated that.

“You always this bitter after taking second place?” she teased.

“I wasn’t second. I was—”

“Behind me,” she finished.

His grip on the controller tightened.

Race 2: Moo Moo Meadows.

He beat her by 0.3 seconds.

They both screamed.

“You bumped me into a cow!” she shouted.

“It’s called strategy,” he said, wide-eyed, like he hadn’t just leaned so close their knees touched.

“You sabotaged me.”

“You drifted wide. Not my fault.”

“You elbowed me mid-jump.”

He shrugged—infuriatingly smug. “Get your stats up.”

She was going to kill him. Or kiss him. She hadn’t decided.

By Race 4, there were shoulder bumps during tight turns, side-eyes that lasted too long, and at least one instance of Y/N grabbing his drink and taking a victorious sip like she owned him and the cup.

“You’re cheating,” he muttered.

“Not my fault you suck at corners,” she replied, swiping the boba straw with zero remorse.

“Give that back—”

“Come get it.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth. Then her hand. Then the fact that their thighs were now fully pressed together.

He didn’t move away.

Neither did she.

And then came Rainbow Road.

Jungkook hated Rainbow Road.

She picked it on purpose.

“You’re actually trying to kill me,” he muttered, jaw clenched.

“It’s called bonding.”

He glanced sideways. “You’re dangerous.”

She smiled. “You’re losing.”

That did it.

He clenched his jaw, rolled his shoulders like he was about to throw hands instead of shells.

“Are you flirting or fighting right now?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at her. Their knees were still touching.

And for a moment—just a second too long—the game noise faded, the bright chaos of Rainbow Road, the fake crowd noises in the background… all of it faded out.

Like the real match wasn’t on the screen anymore.

Like they were both finally realizing something they’d been dodging for months.

Then Y/N nudged his elbow mid-jump.

“HEY—”

He plummeted off the track with a comical scream.

She gasped. “Oops.”

“You did that on purpose!”

“Prove it,” she said, deadpan.

“You’re the worst.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Not even close.”

But he was already smiling. A wild, boyish grin. She swore her heart skipped.

“You are so going down,” he growled.

She just leaned back, controller in hand, victorious gleam in her eyes. “You wish.”

He won.

She stared at the screen in disbelief.

“No way. No way. That was pure luck.”

He grinned, turning to face her fully. “I beat you.”

“I’m filing a formal complaint.”

“Confess.”

“What?”

“Loser confesses their darkest secret,” he reminded, voice low.

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not a real rule.”

“It is now.”

Y/N hesitated. Her heart was doing that thing—stupid, traitorous, fast.

She leaned back slightly, lips twitching. “Okay. Fine.”

He waited, eyebrows raised, gaze pinned to her face like he was ready for the punchline.

She stared at him. Dead serious.

“I like the way you look when you’re mad.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

“I like when you talk with your hands,” she added. “And when you try to act like you’re not into me.”

He blinked.

She smiled. “Your turn.”

He didn’t say anything for a second.

Then, quietly: “That’s cheating.”

“No. That’s honesty. You scared, Jeon?”

His voice dropped. “You keep pushing my buttons.”

Y/N tilted her head. “That’s the whole point.”

There was something different in the silence that followed.

The game menu was still on the screen. The candle flickered between them. She could feel his knee pressed against hers, warm and still.

And then, he leaned in.

No warning. No smirk. Just his hand on her cheek and his mouth catching hers mid-breath.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. Not at first.

It was months—years—of teasing and tension and almosts crashing together all at once.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, steady, firm. She kissed him back like she meant it—because she did.

He tasted like brown sugar milk tea and something unspoken. Like all the things they’d never said. All the games they played to avoid this exact moment.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, his forehead rested lightly against hers.

“Cheater,” he whispered.

“You kissed me.”

“You dared me.”

She laughed softly. “And you liked it.”

His smile turned slow. Dangerous. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You gonna let me?”

He kissed her again—slower this time.

And for once, neither of them felt like they had to win.