#it's not as if i had been subtle about it

[zeltqz]

PICS & VIDEOS — caleb

✈︎ content warning | references hidden waves memory (sick caleb), phone sex, i made tara a freak cuz why not, simone hates caleb lol, suggestive texts, lingerie photos, caleb sends a dp, reader sends her wet fingers lol, no actual sex yet, just phone sex, sexually frustrated reader, caleb whimpers cuz i want him to, colonel caleb era, caleb abuses emoticons lol i love him ✈︎ synopsis | you are getting sick and tired of caleb always pulling away from potential kisses. frustrated, you take it up with your friends who give you advice on how to get him to fold. send him pics.

“I’m telling you Tara, he literally won’t make the first move. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

Tara rubbed her chin. “Hm. And you’re sure he likes you?”

Beside you, Simone scoffed. “Unfortunately yes. It’s obvious.”

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to address her one-sided beef with Caleb. “Yes, Tara.”

“How is it obvious? I only met him once.”

“And you couldn’t see how obvious it was?” Simone added, genuinely surprised Tara missed the obvious clues. “He wouldn’t stop staring at her like all day. The whole time we ate, he was just staring at her. Not even subtle too. I would’ve thought you two kissed by now, or at the very least fucked.” Simone looked at you now. “Seriously, why don’t you just make the first move?”

“I dunno?! It’s weird…and as much as I dream about just grabbing his face and kissing him, in the moment I just chicken out…”

Tara hummed, stroking her chin again. “I see. I see. And you know for certain he likes you? Besides the staring, and all.”

You nodded. “Yeah.” You looked down at the table, at the fries sitting on your tray, reminiscing about the last time you were in Skyhaven. 

Caleb had caught a cold from standing in the rain for too long, and the two of you were on awkward terms after an argument. He didn’t want you to see him while sick but eventually relented and let you inside his room. You checked his temperature and he was burning up, so you didn’t want to take your hands off his face, caressing his red cheeks, embracing his warmth. You sang for him, and he leaned in, and you just knew it’d finally be the moment you kissed. You even closed your eyes shut, waiting to feel his lips against yours, but he pulled himself away and turned to the side. Obviously you were frustrated, no denying that, and you were about to just leave his room before he pulled you in for a hug. Though you didn’t kiss, the hug was more intimate than you’d imagined. Every time Caleb was sick, even in the past, he rarely let you see him in that state. To see him so weak and vulnerable, unable to stop coughing, his red cheeks and ears. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to just be with him.

You were unaware of how long you were just staring off into space as you recalled the memory from a few weeks ago. Tara and Simone share a look with each other. 

“Um, hello?” Simone waved in front of your face. You blinked yourself back to reality and looked between the both of them. Simone got a good look at your face and clicked her tongue. “You’re so whipped.”

“I’m not!”

Tara cheered. “Wait, were you thinking about him?!” She questioned, and your face flushed even harder. You looked away, and she cheered even louder. “Tell me what you were thinking about!”

Simone, who’d rather die than admit she was curious, rested her elbow on the table, cheek in palm as she turned to look at you, waiting for the explanation.

You sighed and told them the story in extreme detail about your last encounter with Caleb in Skyhaven. Though it started on bad terms, the two of you had been even closer than before. You text every single day whenever he can respond, and when he’s unable to come to the phone, you always spam him with funny videos, and emojis. And he responds to every single one of them. You two fall asleep on the phone almost every night, if he doesn’t come home too late from work, and wake up to see either him still dead asleep, or the call being cut, but he always follows it up with:

Sorry for hanging up, i had to head to work ;-; ill text you as soon as i come back :D 

You hadn’t spoken to him in the last few days though, as he was leading a team to explore the Deepspace Tunnel and would be out of service for at least 5 days. It’s only day 3 and you’ve been missing him so much, it’s crazy. He’s what you think of when you fall asleep, and wake up. You’re not even safe from him in your dreams.

“I’ve got a question,” Tara says, raising her hand up.

“Proceed.” You gesture for her to continue.

She leaned in across the table, cupping her hand around her mouth. “Can I be the maid of honour at your wedding?”

“TARA!” you exclaim. Simone nearly snorts her milkshake up her nose at your reaction. The two of them start laughing and you chuckle a bit yourself. They continue talking and you whip out your phone to open your messages with Caleb, eying the message you sent him this morning.

08:44 I just woke upppp. I’m heading to lunch with some friends today!!! I’ll send you some photos you can salvate over once u get back

You swipe to the camera and snap a photo of your half eaten burger with fries, sending it in chat with a yummy emoji.

13:33 Bet u wish this was u huhhhhhhhhhhh

You throw the fact he has to be on a strict diet in his face, adding a few random emojis before turning off your phone. 

“She was texting him just now,” Simone’s voice startled you. 

“No I wasn’t.”

���Look at that grin on your face.”

You quickly drop the smile you didn’t know existed off your face. “I’m not grinning!”

“You so are!” Simone cackled, leaning into your personal space, eyeing your phone. “Show me what you said.”

“It’s not much,” you say, turning your phone back on. “Just send him a picture of my food.”

Simone looked at the one sided replies, how you’ve been spamming him with messages for the last three days and he hasn’t been online since. She raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, is he ghosting you?”

“What? No.” You take your phone back and hand it to Tara who was struggling to see from the other side of the table. “He’s just on a mission right now. Five days long. I always spam him with he’s unavailable. He says I can tell him whatever is on my mind.”

“Mm-hm,” Simone hummed.

“You know what would be so crazy?” Tara said, scrolling through your messages. 

“What?” you and Simone say in unison.

“If you sent him nudes.”

You nearly choked on air, Simone’s eyes widening at the words coming out of Tara’s mouth. 

“It’s always the innocent looking ones, huh.”

Tara giggled. Meanwhile you were still in a state of shock. 

“Um??? Isn’t that a bit far?”

“Well, no,” Tara defended. “Think about it. You two are basically dating already, just haven’t made it official. And you said you want him to make the first move right? How will he know if its okay to do or not if he doesn’t know you are just as into him as he’s into you? And since you don’t wanna kiss him first, show him you’re into him at least with a few picturesssssss.”

On the surface she wasn’t wrong, you couldn’t deny that. Growing up, Caleb had seen your body before, it wasn’t unusual. Beach days where you were mainly in bikinis, heatwaves where you were wearing mainly shorts and crop tops. He’d even walked in on you changing a few times, and vice versa. It wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t vaguely seen before. But the thought of actually doing it make a knot form in your stomach. But it also made arousal pool between your legs at the thought of him seeing you in a different light.

Maybe this would be the transition you both needed to take your relationship to a different level.

You finally spoke after a while of contemplation. “I mean, sure. But I’ve never taken any before. I don’t even own sexy clothes.”

Simone waved you off. “It’s not that hard. Men are so easy to please. I got you.” She finished her milkshake in a few sucks and set the empty cup down on the table. “Come on, let’s go shopping.”

“Shopping?” you questioned.

Tara squealed. “Shopping, yes!” She quickly got up from her seat and dragged you out of yours. 

Tara and Simone led you out of the food court  and into Victoria’s Secret a few floors down. The three of you spent the next two hours picking different outfits, ranging from two piece sets, to one pieces, bralettes and panties. You ended up spending more than you thought you would’ve but it was all worth it. 

You took them back to your house and the photoshoot began. Was it awkward at first? Yes. You barely wore tight fitted, revealing outfits, especially ones as sexual as this. But after a few test photos, your body loosened up and you gradually became more confident. 

“Press your boobs together,” Tara shouted from behind the camera. You were laying flat on your back, your head hanging off the bed as you stared into the camera. 

“This position looks silly,” you comment. 

“You look smoking hot though!!”

Simone moves behind Tara and bends down to peek at the camera. She wrinkled her nose. “I agree. It looks a bit silly.”

You sat up, sighing. “Thank you.”

“Okay wait, what about sucking a finger into your mouth? Would Caleb be into that? Ooh! Or arching your back on the bed?” The longer you spent with Tara today, you realised she’s not as innocent as she looks. She really is the mastermind behind the operation. From picking out each lingerie set, to looking up seductive posts on Pinterest to make you copy. 

“Are the ones we took now not enough?” you asked, muscles and back aching from bending over and twisting your body in such unnecessary positions. 

“If you’re this tired after some nudes, how are you gonna get the stamina to get fucked hard by Caleb?” Tara retorted. 

“I—”

Simone grabbed the phone and began scrolling through the photos. She picked out one she really liked and turned the phone to you. “This is the one you should send.”

It wasn’t any of the over the top poses Tara suggested. It was plain and simple but it got the job done. You were laying flat on the bed, holding the camera up in the form of a selfie, and biting your fingernail. The camera covered everything from your lips, down to your mid thigh, covered in fishnets from the lingerie.  

“This one? Really?” you asked as you examined the photo. You weren’t denying you looked hot in it, but doubts were starting to fill your mind. What if he thinks you’re being desperate? Or if he thinks it’s distasteful to expose yourself like this for no reason. Though you know Caleb would never think of you that way, your brain can’t help but convince you otherwise. 

“Or or maybe I should just delete them,” you request in a panic as Tara and Simone go through all the photos to see if there’s any better ones. 

Upon hearing your request, Tara nearly breaks her neck with how quickly she looked up. “ExCUZE ME?! Delete them?! For what???! Why!”

“Because! What if he doesn’t like them? Or thinks I’m…desperate?” You scratch your arm, looking down at your thighs. 

Simone’s nose twitched. “Then I’ll beat his ass.”

Tara added. “Well, it’ll suck if he does. But with how you described him, I don’t think he’d look at you that way. And if he does, you can always just say “oops meant to send to someone else” to save face. OH! We can even do the prank where we dress up as a boy and take photos to make him jealous!”

Hearing that, Simone smirked. “I’ll happily do that for you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No you’re right. Caleb wouldn’t do that. He’s never as much belittled me or even insulted me before in my life. I genuinely cant think of a negative think he’s said to me.”

“Soooooooo what’s the holdup?” Tara commented. 

You shrugged. “I’ll send it. I just need time to process before I do it.” They both deadpanned you and you continued, feeling the urge to defend yourself. “You guys won’t understand! I’ve known him for over a decade! Almost 14 years! This kinda stuff you don’t send to someone like that without at least thinking it through.”

“You’re right,” they both hesitantly agreed. 

You don’t end up sending Caleb the picture that night. Or the night after that. The day he’s supposed to return from his mission, you’re in bed, scrolling back through your messages. With no fault of yours, you had gone months without contact with him, assuming he was dead and all, but now you can barely even handle a few days. 

His profile displayed a green dot beside his name and you sat up quickly, eyes darting all over your messages and seeing the “Read” Message pop up on each one. 

He responds to each of them one by one, and your smile can’t stop growing as you see him reach the final message, the one about the burger. 

Now you’re just showing off >:( 

Anyway I’m back safe and sound from my mission did ya miss me ;)

yes so much

You responded without missing more than a second. 

Oh didn’t expect you respond that quickly you MUSTVE missed me that bad huh

How much did u miss me? 

You could tell him straight up. Tell him about how you read his messages everyday, thought about him almost every second for the last five days. Or you could just show him. 

You opened your camera roll and picked out the photo. Your thumb trembled over the send button before finally pressing down on it. Your stomach dropped as you saw it send in chat officially. It was too late now. 

Caleb read it and stayed quiet. Thirty seconds passed and he didn’t respond and you felt like you wanted to throw up. Your thumbs were already typing out Tara’s excuse: oh sorry! I meant to send that to someone else 

And before you could press send, Caleb responded. 

Is that for me?

You swallowed. If you said yes, and he hated it, then your excuse wouldn’t work anymore. You decided to risk it all and simply respond truthfully. 

Yes. Is it…bad?

Caleb takes longer to respond than usual and less than thirty seconds later a picture sends in chat. His cock stands tall in frame, precum leaking out from the tip. His hand has a firm grin around the base off it, the tip a reddish hue in comparison to its natural pink colour.

Your breathing stopped as you stared at it. This was Caleb’s dick. You were fucking staring at his dick. 

You swiped out of the picture and sent a 😧😯😮😲 combination. The two of you often communicated through emojis and you weren’t sure how to respond with words. 

Caleb sent crying emojis. 

Did you like it?

Yes? You’ve been hiding that the whole time? 

Says you. I knew your body was gorgeous but fuck. 

You fought the urge to kick your feet together, curling into a ball on your side as you tried to not let his words get to you. Clearing your throat, you refocus yourself and send another message. 

Sooooo what now 🧍‍♀️

I dunno 🧍

You get ready to type a response before he double texts. 

Do you wanna call?

You never thought you’d see the day you’d actually be nervous answering a call from Caleb before. 

Yes

You barely had time to let the message marinate before Caleb started calling. Readying yourself, you pressed the phone up to your ear and swiped. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he responded, taking a deep breath. “Is it just me or is this sorta awkward now.”

“No it’s definitely awkward,” you joked, laughing under your breath. 

“I mean, I can always blame you for it.”

“What?” You almost shrieked and broke your back with how quick you sat up from your bed. “How is this my fault?!”

“Nobody asked you to send me that sexy photo out of nowhere,” he joked, tone light despite his words. You didn’t take anything to heart however. 

“Yeah, well be grateful. Otherwise you would’ve died without seeing a girl in lingerie before.”

“How do you know I haven’t seen that before?”

“Because I know you, Caleb.” You said each word slowly. “Or at least I hope you haven’t.” You paused, voice softening ever so slightly. “Have you?”

“I was joking around. Of course I hadn’t. I am assuming though you’d never seen another guys dick before?”

“Well obviously I have. Like in movies and stuff. But not in person.”

“What kind of movies were you watching?” he questioned, suspiciously. 

“You know! Just movies! Shut up,” you whined, ignoring his obnoxious laughter. “Anyway, dudes sent me unsolicited pics in college all the time. I’ve seen dicks before. They weren’t like yours though.” The words spilled from your mouth without even realising you said it. 

“Oh? What’s the difference between mine and theirs?”

You didn’t realise the interest in his tone with how distracted you were, eyes closed and picturing the sight of Caleb’s dick in the black fog of your mind. You could always go back and look at the photo, but you wanted to burn the sight in your memory first. 

“Yours was bigger. And for once, looking at a dick didn’t make me wanna throw up. Theirs were so…ew. Like it was never hard, which is so fucking offensive. If you’re gonna send me that shit unsolicited by the way, at least sprout a hard on or something. Fucking hell.”

Caleb laughed. “You should’ve seen how quick your picture got me hard. It’s not normal.” His voice dropped a little and you inhaled sharply. 

“R—really?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, sounding slightly out of breath, his breathing ragged. 

“What did you like about it?” you questioned, shifting down onto your back on the bed. 

“Everything. Fuck. You—why are you so hot?” His voice betrayed him at that moment. He let out a soft moan and you could hear wet sounds in the background if you listened close enough. 

Your hand trailed down your stomach, entering your panties and softly rubbing your clit. “W—what else?” 

“Your skin. Looks so soft—mm—and your lips around your finger? Holy fuck.” His filter was long gone now, freely speaking his mind about your body. Your thighs clenched together. 

“Do you wish they were wrapped around something else?”

“God yes,” he sounded so whiny, his hand moving faster up and down his aching cock. “You don’t know how much I love your lips.” He says your name and for a moment you freeze up. 

It’s not often he says your name, and you’ve been so used to just hearing him address you as Pipsqueak. Hearing your name roll off his tongue so easily, and with how whiny he sounds right now, you couldn’t help but insert a finger into yourself. 

Your legs twitched as you began pumping your finger in and out, back arching off the bed and an involuntary moan left your throat. “Caleb—”

“Yes, princess? What is it?”

“I wanna see you so bad right now—mm—fuck.” You gasped as you curled your fingers inside you, shoving them as deep as you could. “I need you.”

“I need you more. Shit. I’m gonna cum soon,” he announced, squeezing the tip of his cock whenever his hand reached it. 

“It’s hard to make myself come,”  you whined. You were never able to successfully have an orgasm on your own and it was frustrating. You wanted nothing more than to experience it first hand right now with Caleb. 

“I’ll help you. Shit. I can teach you. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Next time I see you, I promise.”

“Please,” your voice barely reached the mic. 

“Fuck!” he let out a loud moan as he came, heavy pants slowly turning to whimpers as his cock milked him dry. He couldn’t control his breathing for at least thirty seconds and you just listened to him pant until he caught himself. 

Letting out one more shaky exhale, he tried to swallow but his throat was dry. “Fuck my throat hurts.”

You laughed and pulled your fingers out. Unable to reach an orgasm, you frowned. But the promise he left earlier gave you hope. 

“Go drink some water dummy.” You looked down at your fingers, glistening with your slick and contemplated. “Wait Caleb.”

“Hm?”

“Check chat.”

You put the phone on speaker and opened the chat camera, taking a photo of your wet index and middle finger, a string of slick connecting them both. You captioned it:

Drink me instead

Feeling more bold, you sent it without even batting an eye. You could hear the exact moment Caleb processed your message with his sharp inhale.  You heard the sound of screenshots being taken, once, twice, then three times. 

“Okay okay damn chill out,” you said while laughing, Caleb joining in. 

“What does it taste like?” he asked, utterly curious. 

“Come find out,” you responded, voice just as sultry as your words. 

“Don’t tempt me. I’ll come over right now.”

“Wait now?” You glanced at the clock, the time reading almost 2 am. “You have work in the morning don’t you?”

“So what? I have bigger priorities right now.”

On one hand it would be so wrong for the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel to miss work over some pussy, but on the other hand, you hated the goddamn fleet. 

“Well what are you waiting for?”

authors note: can i just say i literally love this man with everything in me like WTF???? HES SO CUTE AND HOT AND I JUST WANNA SQQUEEZE HIS FACE

he brought me out of my writers slump😩🙇🏽‍♀️

[tqlepatia]

Months have gone by since the breakup, yet ex!sevika can’t seem to shake the thoughts of you. It’s as if you haunt her, lingering in the back of her mind no matter what she does. She tries to drown you out—doubling the shimmer, drinking while hoping to forget yours or her own name, to vanish the memories into a haze of intoxication.

Desperate for a distraction, she seeks out girls who resemble at least a little of you, chasing a fleeting illusion of what you both once had. But even in those intimate moments, you can imagine her frustration when your name slips from her lips, a whispered ghost that reminds her of the connection that both of you once shared.

No matter how much she tries to escape, the truth is undeniable: you're the one she can't forget, the memory that continues to echo through her life, refusing to let her move on.

She feels a deep ache in her chest, a yearning that goes beyond the physicality of their time together. It's not just the thrill of their encounters that she longs for; it's the quiet moments that followed—the soft sounds of their breathing mingling, the way they would share gentle laughter or simply lie in comfortable silence, lost in each other’s presence. Those fleeting seconds felt like eternity, a sanctuary from the chaos outside. She misses the intimacy of those moments, the warmth of their connection, and the sense of peace that wrapped around them, more than anything else.

As she stood before the heavy, ornate door of the brothel, a mixture of trepidation and resolve swirled within her. The dim light from an old lantern flickered, casting shadows that danced on the weathered wooden planks beneath her feet. She could hear the distant laughter and muffled conversations spilling out into the corridor, a stark contrast to the solitude she felt. Taking a deep breath to steady her.

“Is she available?” That’s all she utters to Babette, her voice dripping with impatience, while casting a piercing, judgmental gaze in direction to the woman that she's talking to. Her expression conveys unspoken accusations, a clear indication that she’s aware of your obligations. You have a contract with her—a commitment that defines your professional life. She being the only client you are bound to serve, the pressure intensifies, and the tension in the room thickens, underscoring the delicate balance of your responsibilities.

Babbete's lips curled into a fleeting smirk, a chill permeating the air around her, as if the temperature dropped with the shift in her demeanor. "She’s busy now, Sevika," she remarked, her voice dripping with a subtle aloofness that hinted at a concealed amusement at the unfolding situation. "With the Sheriff of Piltover, Grayson," she continued, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "I gave her a reprieve from that ridiculous contract. And honestly, Sevika, you’ve been with a different girl every night. Why can’t she have her fun? It’s absurd!" Babette says still with that smirk to sevika, who is more than speechless

And again, sevika chose another girl that at least has a little thing common with you; nose, eyes, mouth, body. Anything. she does not care anymore if moan your name while her strap is deep inside another girl's interior, she don't care I'd she's being rough with that girl, it's not you after all, she don't care about anything, she doesn't know anything

The only thing she is sure of is that she's going to go crazy without you; she needs you like she needs air.

[pavi-kinnie]

Some of y'all need to master the art of just not giving a fuck or or ignoring something when someone is trying to clearly sell an item or belief to you for their own gain.

Great example for my fellow Tiktok folk: You see an undisclosed Bloom or Poppi ad, you swipe away, don't listen to what they are doing. If they are willing to (illegally) trying to subliminally suggest to you that you NEED to drink Bloom or Poppi, they are willing to try and subtly sell you on anything. Regardless of what they say out loud, the messaging is clear, that clearly you NEED to drink this thing or you aren't being healthy or etc. They are already willing to try and suggest that to you, so they will undoubtedly suggest anything else to you. Makeup companies, shitty Temu products, whatever it is, you don't need it, they are trying to make a quick buck off of you.

Start looking at the people (particularly influencers) that you follow on Tiktok and start observing their content. Is there a pattern? Do there always seem to be a can of Poppi or Bloom just casually in the background, no matter the setting? Do they show off cheap Temu/Shein products constantly to the camera, especially with emphasis? Do they constantly mention the brand of mascara or lashes, especially in a video that isn't related to makeup products? Then that influencer is subliminally trying to suggest to you that these products are "cool", that you need these products or you'll look like an idiot in front of others. Keep scrolling past them and ignore their content. They've likely been paid a pretty penny to shill these products to you, and you don't need them.

Remember the whole Youtube Makeup community Morphe drama years ago, when consumers of Youtube Makeup tutorials and artists got mad because the content creators were shilling out Morphe products? The whole scandal was that Morphe paid a pretty penny to many popular makeup artists to promote as many Morphe products as possible to their audience, despite their actual opinions. They could've thought the products were shit, but they sold them to their audience cause they got paid to, and when consumers found out, they were pissed. What we are seeing with influencers now, especially on Tiktok, is the same exact thing, but more subliminally. And it's working. They've learned that they can get away with shilling products to their audience that they probably don't even like, because as long as they are subtle about it, most people don't notice and fall for the hidden ads without realizing that it was an ad. Don't let them get away with it. But what you want because you actually WANT the item, not because companies are trying to subtly trick you into buying the product.

Sorry for the ranting but I had to get that out there.

companies make billions from you thinking you're ugly btw. only ugly thing is their bottom line. log out of tiktok right now.

[deadsetobsessions]

“Did you know that shrimps…”

Tim leaned in, poorly hidden eagerness splayed across his face. A clue that Danny and Phantom were dating?

“Are super delicious?” Danny mumbled, ducking his head to hide his impish grin. Tim exhaled, disappointed, and leaned back to observe. Danny currently had his arm elbow deep in Jason’s chest, the older man grimacing at the weird feeling of being phased through.

“You done?”

“Almost. This is a multiple session kind of thing though, since the corrupted ectoplasm's not only in your body, it's actively trying to fuse with your DNA. Like, a really fucked up virus with virtually no cure."

"No cure?!" Dick's panic was only barely suppressed. "But I thought you said you could help with that?"

"Yeah, I mean, how do you cure death? Everything has to end eventually." Danny said practically, before drawing a bit more tainted ectoplasm out. He stealthily replaced it with a cleaner source, a shot of ecto-dejecto he had absorbed as Phantom but didn't assimilate. "But don't worry, you're not dying again yet. You'll just become even more liminal."

"More?"

"Yeah. You were, by definition, a liminal. Now you'll just have more access to the traits- more in tune with your emotions, night vision, and a minor ability to manipulate ecto."

"I'm sorry, can we circle back on the fact that pit water is trying to fuse with my DNA?" Jason stressed. Danny took his hand out, treatment complete, and dusted them off.

"You don't have to worry about that either, since you've got a magic immune system in the form of... swords?" Danny’s brows furrowed, his senses making sense of the shape of magic.

"The All-Blades are cutting off pit water access." Jason sounded done. Exasperated at where he was in life... but really not all too surprised.

"...Sure?" Danny shrugged. The halfa has seen weirder shit than magic swords.

"Wait, you have magic?!" Dick reached over to grasp Jason's shoulder to shake him. Jason knocked his hands off, scowl becoming more prominent.

"Yeah, picked it up a while ago."

"And you didn't tell us?!"

In lieu of an answer, Jason summoned the All Blades and stabbed Dick, who yelped before realizing they just phased through him.

"Oh, you should use those more. They're purifying the ecto at a smaller quantity, but some is still better than none, right?" Danny said, pleasantly surprised. He ignored Dick’s outraged spluttering. “How interesting.”

Tim gathered his open jaw just to cheekily ask, "So, Jason's a magical girl? Usagi?"

Jason raised the one of the blades threateningly at Tim, who remained unfazed after watching them slide through Dick’s shoulder without leaving a trace of damage.

Danny laughed, "Hah! Nah, more like Madoka? If those are All-Blades, he’s supposed to kill evil with them…”

"Fuck off." Jason grumbled. Dick poked at the sword going through his shoulder in fascination. "Stop that."

"My baby brother is magical and he didn't tell meeeeeee!" Wailed Dick, flopping over Jason’s back like dead weight, hand clutched to his imaginary pearls as he swooned. Jason groaned, dismissing the blades to shove Dick off of him.

"Oh my god, this is why."

“Wait, have you tried stabbing Joker with them? If anyone’s pure evil, it’ll be that guy, right? No, but you’re a civilian… so you might get hurt,” Danny mumbled, huffing a grin as Jason gained a thoughtful look. Guess Danny knows what Red Hood’s gonna try next.

Tim ignored his dumbass brothers, finally done with the subtle tactics. Plus, he has to cut Danny off before he gives Jason any more bright ideas.

“You know, there’s been a rumor going around,” he started, only to get cut off by team Phantom’s impeccable timing. Danny’s open laptop rang with the blaring tones of a group call. The two idiots in the back stopped squabbling with each other, quieting down with interest.

“Oops, gimme a second.” Danny hurried to click the join call button, connecting to the video call. “Hello?”

“Hey, babe!” Tucker said brightly. In the background, Tucker could see Jason mouthing “babe?” to Tim, who shrugged. Dick’s face flashed into something intense before slipping back to its normal harmless facade.

“Sup, loverboy?” Sam chimed in, looking smug. “How’s my favorite boyfriend doing?”

Danny, leader of the gaslight gatekeep girlboss brainwave, naturally slipped into the banter. “Are you saying that ‘cause Tucker ate beef jerky in front of you?”

“Worse. He snuck a tourist t-shirt into my closet. My parents had a fit when they came to visit.”

“I said I was sorry, babe!” Tucker continued, looking actually regretful. Ah, this was something he actually did, as a prank.

“Whatever. Who’s the peanut gallery behind you, loverboy?” Sam buffed her nails, clearly in the middle of reapplying her signature nail polish.

Danny grinned. “Aweeee, is that the color shifting polish I got you? So you do love me!”

“We’re dating.”

If they hadn’t gotten the hint now, Danny would have to rescind their whole world’s best detectives titles.

“That’s our Sam, Danny. Prickly like a hedgehog but allll squishy on the inside.” Tucker snickered. “Seriously though, introduce us.”

Danny backed away from the camera. “This is Jason, Tim, and Dick. Guys, meet my wonderful boyfriend and girlfriend, Tucker and Sam.”

“Hi,” the three vigilantes chorused, looking awkward. Dick broke out of the atmosphere pretty quickly, used to controlling the mood.

“I’m Dick!”

“I’m sure,” drawled Sam. “Nice to meet you, even if we’ve met before.”

“You have?” Tucker and Danny asked.

“Yeah, at the galas. I doubt you’ll remember me.” Sam grimaced. “I was the miserable one in the pink frills.”

“Sam Mason?” Tim asked.

“Yep.”

The boys winced. “Rough.” Jason sympathized.

“Oh, yeah. Danny, how goes wooing Phantom?” Sam asked loudly, looking like she'd rather be discussing anything but the frilled monstrosity that haunted her nightmares.

“Oh, good! I think he’s warming up to me!”

“Ugh, babe, you fabulous fuck, why are you so charming? Why Phantom?” Tucker complained. Danny grinned.

“Come on, nerd, even you have to admit he’s hot.” Sam drawled, looking entertained.

“And majorly cool,” Danny chimed in, with a grin. Wow, Sam must really want Dr. Isley’s number. That, or she’s having a blast fucking with the peanut gallery. Their eyes were bouncing back and forth between Danny and the screen like they were at a tennis match. Or both. It's probably both.

“It’s so not cool to date one of my exes.” Tucker whined. “Plus, you know what he’s like.”

“What’s he like?” Dick asked, leaning in.

“Yeah, Danny won’t tell us anything,” Tim followed up seamlessly.

“Phantom? Hot. So. Hot. Super romantic too.”

"And an emotional mess. You'd never believe what-"

"Okay, seriously, it was one time!" He broke Tucker's system once, and he never let it go. Danny never got a break around here.

"Wait, if you liked him so much, why'd you break up with him?" Jason asked Sam. In Danny's peripherals, he could see Dick updating a group chat. It was going, as they say, swimmingly.

"Obviously I liked Danny more. But having all of them isn't too bad of an idea." Sam leaned back, looking as powerful as she normally does.

"But did it have to be Phantom?" Tucker sulked impressively. Then his eyes finally wandered to Tim. "Oh my god, Tim Drake. Danny, why don't you woo him?! Hey, Mr. Drake, are you interested in dating Danny? He brings terrible puns, smoking looks, and makes killer dinners. All you have to do in exchange is let me pick your brains."

Damn it, Danny knew Tucker was going to pull something like this.

"Uh-huh?" Tim flushed as his brothers cackled at his expense. "Sure..? Wait, what- I mean-"

"Sorry, Timsy. You're gonna have to fight Phantom for my hand. Considering you have no combat experience and Phantom's undead... rough, man."

"Danny, if you don't date him, I will," Tucker solemnly swore.

"Hey, get your grubby paws away from my little brother!" Dick tried to sternly warn them, effect broken by his own intermittent giggles.

"Yeah, you want to date him, you gotta go through the gauntlet." Jason said, muffling Tim's flustered protests with an arm.

"Challenge accepted." Danny paused. "Wait, did I just sign up to be Tim's boyfriend? Shit, Phantom's gonna kill me."

——

Danny texted a series of numbers to Sam. She left him on read.

Ah, maybe he shouldn't have introduced a budding ecoterrorist to a veteran one, but too late now!

——

If you notice any inconsistencies, no u don’t.

It’s been a while since I’ve written for this series though so… yk. Danny, verbally sealing himself into the trap while being chaotic. In character, me thinks.

[leighsartworks216]

Kiss Me

Sylus x fem!Reader

I need to go back to bed ough

Warnings: fluff, light angst, drunkenness, drinking, crying, cuddling, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues

Word Count: 975

Main Masterlist

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AO3

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Sylus holds a wine glass in one hand, holding it to the side as you climb onto his lap. Legs on either side of his, body arched to align with his, face ducked down to stay close to his; you truly are a sight to behold.

"Kiss me," you demand. Your hands trace his jaw, feeling his skin, the warmth underneath it.

He grins softly. It's not quite a smirk, though it holds that same smug amusement. His hand holds your hip respectfully. Fingers tug down the hem of your dress to keep you decent.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetie."

You frown. "Why not?"

Oh, you sweet thing. Your eyes keep flickering about his face, lingering on his lips, his eyes, his lips again. He takes his sweet time sipping from his glass. A slight tint of red stains his lips, licked away by his tongue. He can see the way your eyes glaze over as you stare.

"You're drunk," he reminds you. "You almost polished off my nice, expensive wine. Did you forget?"

The wine wasn't important. It was expensive, aged to perfection, sitting on the rack waiting for the best occasion - and you had him refill your glass before he even finished his.

He doesn't envy the headache you'll have come morning.

Your thumbs run along the flat of his cheeks, stroking back to his sideburns, before you slip your hands around his neck and into his hair. You scratch so sweetly at his scalp. He should stop it, stop you from so effortlessly turning him into putty under your attention. But he doesn't.

You brush your nose against his. Your breath carries the subtle notes of the wine with it. "'M not that drunk. And you're pretty... Kiss me, please."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Something dark flashes across his eyes. A fleeting shadow. If it were not his lap you were in right now, how quickly would anyone else give in to you, with you so demanding and beautiful? "Because you're drunk," he insists again, softly.

You huff in annoyance. "Is that the only reason you're gonna give me? Told you already, I'm not that drunk."

"It's the fact you've been drinking at all, sweetie." You roll your eyes, turning your head away at the rejection. He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, drawing your attention back to him. "I want you to be completely sober for our first kiss. Is that such a bad thing?"

You blink at him dumbly for a moment. "First kiss?"

"Mhm."

A beat, and then those gorgeous lips are curling into a wicked little grin. "'First' implies that there'd be more."

He releases your chin to brush loose strands of hair from your face. "And I want you to be sober enough to remember every single one."

"But if we kissed now..." You lean into his touch like a cat, rubbing your cheek against his hand before he can pull it away. "... we could have another first kiss later."

He chuckles. "You really want this, don't you, kitten?"

You whine with a nod. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you draw yourself into him, resting your head on his shoulder and nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt.

"Sometimes it feels hard to love you," you admit in a whisper. "You have everything. And I have nothing. Nothing to give you to- to make it worthwhile. Cuz that's what you deserve."

His heart aches. He sets his glass aside to hug you in return. Your words become slurred as you continue speaking, slow and messy. But genuine. He wishes he had the will to silence you now, to hear it all when you're of sound mind. But he's weak to this truth and the desire to hear it at your most vulnerable.

"But I want to... I want to love you so bad. And I do. So much... But I have nothing. The only thing I can give you is..." You wave a hand limply at your body. "This mess."

You sigh, hiding your face in his warm neck. He leans his head on yours. You sniffle quietly.

"Would kissing me make you happy?"

He squeezes his arms tighter around you. Readjusts so you're sitting more comfortably across his lap instead of straddling him. He even grabs a blanket with his Evol to wrap it around your shoulders, tucking the corners in so you're protected from the cold in your little black dress that drives him wild.

"Being near you makes me happy," he answers. "Seeing you, hearing you, talking with you - everything about you makes me happy. I don't need your body to be happy. You don't need to throw yourself at me to love me."

You sniffle again. Hot droplets of water fall to his skin. Your voice shakes. "But would kissing me make you happy?"

"When you're sober," he begins slowly, carefully, "and I kiss you for the first time, I'll be the happiest man in the universe."

"Really?"

He gently pulls you from his neck. You've got tears already staining your cheeks. Makeup running, lip trembling. You're so beautiful.

He leans in. Your breath hitches in your throat, though he can't tell if it's from excitement or to fight back another sob. His lips brush your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, squeezing out tears that gather on his lips. They linger there for several seconds, before he finally pulls away. His hand comes up to hold your other cheek, wiping away the evidence of your overwhelming emotions.

"If you can remember that, you can cash it in for the real deal," he says, teasing and light, but with the weight of genuine care and concern. "Alright?"

You nod. "Alright."

He draws you back into him. "Now get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @leiakitty @loliesaregreat

[sometimesanalice]

I just loved getting to read your thoughts! It’s always so fun to see the things that stand out the most to people!

More for you!

Ok, so I try something new. Kinda like a life comment while reading, let's see how it goes.— thank you for taking the time to write your thoughts out and share with me!!

Sweetie the effort is great, but that's why you google the places you go to. I feel so bad for reader though. A warning would have been nice. Hopefully, at least her date is appreciating the effort...— bless her!! The one time she decided to throw cation into the wind, it boomeranged and hit her right back in her face! I tried to fold in ways that showed how she was usually a planner, but trying something new (like the way she was stressed about not knowing the drinks menu and what to order). And then juxtapose how out of place she felt under the circumstances at the beginning, compared to the end with Bradley and how much more at ease she is because of him making her feel that way.

Bradley the cavalry comes to the rescue. At least the Valentine's day is getting a little better. Ok, I correct myself. It's getting a hell of a lot better. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.” Really Mr. Bradshaw? You wanna make me melt in my seat or what?— that man is all gas no brake!! There’s nothing subtle about him in the least! And it makes for so much fun! 🤭🤭🤭

“Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.” Oh please. You are a 20/10.— cheeky boy!!

Ok. He gets her a ring on date one. If that's not the most romantic thing ever I don't know what is.— I’d be in an absolute FULL SWOON

“I take it you know, Malibu Ken?” The way I burst out into laughter at this perfect description of Hangman... even my dog gave me the side-eye for disturbing her sleep. Also, the annoying younger brother energy I am getting from this is priceless.— Hangman is a MENACE! Like let the man flirt with a pretty girl! 😂 he definitely deserved his new moniker!

I am so proud of reader for grilling Hangman with such grace. You go girl.— she was such a queen! She was like, I’ll just show you how it’s done 💅🏻

Also, that move with the dating app. Good god Rooster is just such a romantic and I'm living for it. I loved every second of their banter and the amount of times I've sat here awwing or kicking my feet while I giggle might be a bit alarming but I loved every second of it. This was such a wonderful read and I sure as hell will come back to this one quite often. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.— ahhh!! Oh that makes me so happy you liked this!! That dating app bit was a last minute burst of inspo and I’m so glad that I decided to include it because I love just the extra mile he went with that! 🤭

GIF by muvana

To you, for writing this masterpiece and to cute paper rings and milkshakes with two straws— 🥂🥂🥂

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

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[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

standing in the light of your halo, i got my angel now

summary: dating after harry surprising you at your show gave you the final push you needed, you two go public and quickly find out you weren’t as subtle as you thought. later, a wild lando appears.

vicious speaks: we’re finally here!! this is nothing but pure fluff for these babies 💗

series masterlist

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yourusername has added to their stories

replies

oscarpiastri y’all are so cute it makes me sick

⤷ yourusername you love us

oscarpiastri unfortunately 😕

fan1 day 56893 of asking ya’ll to post a selfie together

fan2 flower boyyy 💐

yourbff we love to see you being treated the way you deserve!!

ynharrysthird MY LOVES

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harrystyles has added to their stories

replies

fan1 ohhh to be on a beach paint date with yn

fan2 don’t be shy, post a pic of you kissing

alexandrasaintmleux 💓🥹💓

fan3 you being active and posting personal pics is still something i’m not used to 😵‍💫

fan4 you in your bf era is such a serve

ynharrysthird i’m being soooo normal about this i promise (lie)

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liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles, and others

yourusername first vday with u 🌷

tagged harrystyles

view all comments

harrystyles first of many 💗

⤷ yourusername 💕

⤷ fan1 I CAN’T HANDLE ALL THIS CUTENESS

fan2 *pretends to be shocked*

⤷ fan3 we definitely had no idea you guys were together

⤷ fan4 yeah this is such a surprise

⤷ harrystyles alright 😂

⤷ lilymhe clocked 😭

yourbff 💞💞💞 ♥︎ by author

mclaren our favorite couple 🥰

⤷ yourusername our favorite admin 💘

⤷ fan5 admin making it known yn’s still a mclaren girlie

⤷ mclaren always!

⤷ yourusername it’s a for life thing!!

⤷ fan6 stop, yn saying being a mclaren girlie is a for life thing is gonna make me cry 🥹

annetwist so cute! 💓

⤷ yourusername 🥰

⤷ ynharrysthird gem being in the likes and anne being in the comments is so personal to me 🥹

fan7 ADOPT ME

carlossainz55 he’s making everyone else look like bad boyfriends

⤷ carlossainz55 not me, though

⤷ yourbff lmao nice save

⤷ carlossainz55 love you, querida

ynharrysthird HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY 💕

⤷ yourusername HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY 🫶🏼

⤷ ynharrysthird OHMYGOD

⤷ fan8 how ya doing, buddy?

⤷ ynharrysthird NOT WELL

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oscarpiastri has added to their stories

replies

fan1 thank u oscar for providing us with adorable ynharry content

yourusername omg i completely forgot you were here!!

⤷ oscarpiastri i could tell

⤷ yourusername 😭

f1 understandable, they’re really cute

fan2 going from you saying lando didn’t deserve yn last year, to you posting a pic of her and harry being all lovey dovey, oh we have never been more up!!

fan3 does this post you mean you officially give them your blessing?

fan4 this ain’t it

carlossainz55 you will be missed, amigo 😔💔

fan5 aren’t you supposed to be landos bsf 🤨

ynharrysthird when i’m in a biggest ynharry supporter competition and oscar piastri is my opponent

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765,430 likes

landoupdates lando liked this tweet.

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fan1 dkfjgjd even you sound done with his shit 😭

⤷ landoupdates he doesn’t move for so long and once he does, it’s just to stir up old drama 😵‍💫 imagine how tired i am.

fan2 he needs to get over it, it’s been a year and HE’S THE ONE WHO CHEATED.

fan3 going this hard for lando is crazy, he isn’t gonna fuck you!

fan4 “that girl and her boyfriend” is crazy when it’s literally yn and harry styles

fan5 lando LOSER 🫵😂

fan6 the ratio has me crying

⤷ fan7 quotes are beating their ass 😭

fan8 he’s so desperate for attention, it’s sad

fan9 nah they’re right, oscar was a snake for that

fan10 lando you fumbled, move on bro

fan11 his audacity is astounding

francisca.cgomes she did NOT try to ruin landos life wtf HE tried to ruin his OWN life when he thought he could cheat without getting caught instead of making up his damn mind about who he wanted to be with

liked by lilymhe, yourbff, itsaria, alexandrasaintmleux, gemmastyles

fan13 all the wags, aria, and gemma coming to yns defense oh lando it’s so over for you

fan14 yeah lando’s definitely the problem

ynharrysthird mf GET A LIFE and leave these people alone lando

fan13 lando is currently in the “find out” phase of “fuck around and find out”

oscarpiastri if he were a real man he’d contact me instead of being a little bitch and liking tweets

⤷ fan14 WHOA

⤷ fan15 THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGG

⤷ fan16 🕯️manifesting there’ll be cameras around if they throw hands 🕯️

⤷ fan17 i’ve got $100 on oscar winning

⤷ ynharrysthird i’ve got $200

⤷ carlossainz i’ve got $1000

⤷ fan18 your ass is always at the scene of the crime 😭

⤷ fan19 he’s just here to look pretty and be messy

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harrystyles yourusername met our third today

tagged ynharrysthird

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fan1 the caption fkgjfjdjdhs

ynharrysthird it was so lovely to meet you 💕 thank you again for taking time out of your day to have a conversation with me 🥰 ♥︎ by author

fan2 OMGGGG

yourusername WITHOUT ME?!?! just fell to my knees in a walmart

⤷ ynharrysthird omg 😭

⤷ yourusername i’ll meet you next time dw <3

⤷ fan3 WHEN IS IT MY TURN

yourbff omg the legend, the icon, the moment™️

⤷ ynharrysthird QUEEN

fan4 she’s been ur #1 supporter since day 1, this was def deserved

maxverstappen1 insane caption

fan5 lmao he’s so unbothered

⤷ fan6 he said “lando who?” 😭

fan7 ynharrysthird how does it feel to live my dream?

⤷ ynharrysthird pretty good, i’m not gonna lie

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liked by yourusername, carlossainz and others

yourbff lately 🤍

view all comments

carlossainz55 😘

⤷ yourbff 💋

fan1 just casually reminding us she’s dating one of ferrari’s hottest racers

yourusername missing you already 🥺

⤷ yourbff same ❤️‍🩹

fan2 not to be that person but the only other pic that’s in black & white is the one of yn…perhaps hinting at a paddock return?

⤷ fan3 omg DO NOT get my hopes up

⤷ fan4 God i hope so, i miss her race day looks

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taglist: @pansexualdarling @mx13sworld @willowpains @nebarious @daemyratwst @hi26loveie @angelluv16 @ggaslyp1 @kikiki81 @eugene-emt-roe @nichmeddar @callsignwidow @harryssunflower17 @lomlolivia @isinpfortvdmen @yourlocalstilinski-valdez @hshp98 @l0nelyhe4rts-club @roc-haze @this-is-tiny-mia @harryzcherry @theekyliepage @maudie-duan

[minswriting]

MEDICINE - SPENCER REID X READER

About: The team goes out for drinks after a successful case and Spencer already knows that he’s going to end up taking you home.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, public handjob, public fingering (f), finger sucking, post!prison spencer, smallest mention of hand kink, brief bisexual spencer mention, reader gets fingered in the back of a taxi, spencer gets a handjob in the bar, oral (f), drunk sex, briefest mention of throwing up (doesn’t even happen, just a passing comment), rough sex, guys this is really just dirty porn. if i missed any warnings, just lmk!

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: Hey guys! This fic is based off of Medicine by Harry Styles. The lyrics are out of order because they’re meant to go with the story lol. Please comment and reblog with your thoughts!

I'm here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Treat you like a gentleman

Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline

I think I'm gonna stick with it

It was a warm spring night as the team had just returned from a very successful case in Kansas City, Missouri. A case that had involved children being kidnapped had ended with all of the kids being alive and well, returned to their parents unharmed. Seeing the happy faces on the families’ faces was heartwarming and gave the team a sense of fulfillment with their positions, a consensus that not everything is always so traumatic.

When they had landed back in Quantico, the drive back to the Bureau was filled with chatter and laughter as everyone relished in their triumph. You and Spencer were sitting next to one another, thighs grazing as you both paid attention to what Luke and Tara were talking about.

“We should celebrate with a couple of drinks,” Tara exclaimed loudly enough for the rest of the team to hear.

“Oh, that sounds like so much fun,” JJ practically groaned in excitement, leaning her head back. “I haven’t had a night out in ages and the boys are at my mother’s for the weekend while Will is down in New Orleans.”

“We most certainly have to invite Penelope as soon as we arrive at the Bureau,” Emily said from the passenger seat, grinning through the rearview mirror. “What about you two in the back?” Emily asked, looking at you and Spencer.

Spencer gave you a subtle glance with a quirked eyebrow. An unspoken question as to whether you were going to go out or not. If you did, Spencer already knew that he would because you were very persuasive.

You were unsure of how this whole thing started. One day, after Spencer had gotten back from prison, the two of you were alone in the bullpen, and then the next moment you were in the elevator as Spencer fingered you so fast that you had cum in what felt like a record amount of time. That night ended with you in Spencer’s bed as he pounded you into oblivion.

Perhaps it had been a long time in the making. The glances you two shared, the way Spencer always looked at you as though you were an art piece that was to be admired, the way Spencer’s intelligence never failed to make you clench your thighs. Flirtatious comments passed as just comments about the cases.

“I’m down,” You said, smiling at Emily.

And that’s how Spencer knew he was spending his night with you.

If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive

You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it

The bar atmosphere was loud and chaotic with crappy pop music playing over the speakers and drunk people watching the latest baseball game on the television. It wreaked of alcohol, as bars usually do, and sweat with the random people that were dancing to the shitty music drunkenly. Penelope had pulled Luke to the dance floor, dancing stupidly to “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga with JJ following behind. Rossi was playing pool with Matt while Tara and Emily played Darts. Which left you all alone with Spencer in a booth that was in a quiet corner of the bar.

You were sipping some fruity cocktail that Penelope had made you order, exclaiming that it would taste delicious. She was right, of course, but you weren’t going to allow her the satisfaction of knowing that. Spencer had a beer in front of him though it was untouched. He didn’t like to drink much.

“I’m surprised you came out with us,” You said, putting your glass down as you glanced at Spencer. There was an unspoken tension between the two of you. One that told you that you were certainly going home with him tonight. You always do.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders, finally picking up the beer. He slowly brought the glass up to his lips, taking a small sip before grimacing. “Oh, that tastes so bad,” he cringed, putting the glass back down. He licked his lips, still grimacing.

“Now why did you order a beer when you literally hate them?” You asked, laughing as you took another sip of your drink.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Because Luke told me this brand tastes good and I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt,” He sighed, pushing the glass away.

“Luke also doesn’t have taste when it comes to alcoholic beverages so I’m not entirely sure why you trusted him this time,” You giggled. You held your glass out for Spencer to try. “Here, try this. It tastes much better.”

Spencer looked at the glass in your hands as you held it up to Spencer’s face. He hesitated momentarily before putting his lips on your straw and taking a tentative sip of the cocktail. “That is pretty good,” he said after swallowing, nodding. “Did you know that the Daiquiri is one of the first iconic fruity cocktails as we know them today? It was invented around 1898. But it could be theorized that there were earlier versions of these cocktails.” Spencer rambled, using his hands as he spoke.

You couldn’t help the smile on your lips as you watched Spencer with interest. The way his voice sounded and how his face, which had become hardened from the trauma of prison, relaxed and looked more like himself again, and how excited he got talking about these facts, it never failed to make you swell with both lust and admiration for the genius.

As Spencer went on about alcohol, you ordered him the same drink as yourself. And the two of you enjoyed a nice conversation while drinking. It was always so easy with him, talking about anything and everything under the sun.

You both were on your third drink when you began feeling more flirty. While you guys were away on the case, you and Spencer hadn’t had any time to spend together in your hotel rooms. So of course, you were craving him. You were always craving Spencer.

I had a few, got drunk on you and now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of how you tasted

You put your hand on Spencer’s thigh as he rambled to you about the different types of alcohol and where they derived from. It was an action that Spencer certainly didn’t miss but he didn’t question it either as he continued his sentence. Your hand stayed there for a few moments before slowly moving upward, inching towards his cock. And when you began palming him through his trousers, Spencer stopped speaking entirely, looking at you. “What are you doing?” He hissed out, unable to help the way his cock was immediately hardening under your light touch.

“Relax,” you murmured before looking around, ensuring no one was near you guys. And luckily, no one was. You moved your hand to Spencer’s zipper, unzipping it enough to slip your hand to palm him through his briefs. “No one is paying attention to us,” you said while smirking at Spencer.

Spencer sighed, looking around before looking at you. He should’ve known you were going to pull something like this with the way you’ve been looking at him all night. And in his tipsy and horny mind, he just sits back in the booth, allowing you to work your magic.

You slid your hand under his briefs, grabbing Spencer’s cock. You were careful not to pull it out, wanting to ensure that you could quickly pull away just in case. You began stroking him slowly.

Spencer tried his best to keep his face neutral and to not let any noises escape, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you. But it was hard when your hand always felt so much better wrapped around his cock than his own. He glanced around at the busy bar, grateful that everyone was so caught up in their own thing to notice he had your hand in his pants. “This is so risky,” he said shakily, swallowing as he looked at you.

You hummed in acknowledgment, nodding your head. You were close to him but to the people around it would look as though you were just flirting with one another. Underneath the table, however, was a completely different story. “And yet, you love it,” You giggled, moving your pace a bit faster as your thumb swiped Spencer’s tip.

Spencer gasped as he tried not to buck his hips into your hand. He bit his lip, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he opened them again. “You’re such a menace,” He rasped out, trying to appear as though he had his composure.

“I know,” You beamed, still moving your hand underneath the table. You leaned in to whisper into Spencer’s ear. “Just imagine what you can do to me tonight,” You whispered. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to my body.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, looking at you with a heated expression. It didn’t take long until he felt himself getting close, the way your hand was moving and your thumb swiping the tip, the thrill of the fact that this was happening in public, and the alcohol messing with his breath certainly added to the feeling. And you could tell Spencer was close with the way his cock stiffened in your hand.

“Atta boy,” You whispered into his ear. “You like this so much,” You cooed, keeping up the appearance that this was nothing more than a flirtatious interaction.

And that was all it took before Spencer was biting his lip so hard that he swore he drew blood as he came in his briefs, coating your hand and the fabric with his cum. You stroked him through his orgasm before removing your hand. You grabbed a napkin off of the table and wiped your hand, pulling away from Spencer in the process.

“Well that was certainly fun,” You exclaimed before taking another sip of your drink.

Spencer looked at you with a dazed expression for a few seconds before clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. “I suppose,” He said hoarsely before reaching for his own drink and sipping it.

The last time Spencer had gotten a handjob in public was when he met up with Ethan after school one day and they gave each other handjobs behind the bleachers at the football field. It was like his only sexual experience for the longest time.

Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes

Tingle running through my bones

The boys and the girls are in

I mess around with them

And I'm okay with it

You and Spencer had two more drinks before he whispered into your ear. “Let’s get out of here,” his breath hot against the shell of your ear. You were both thoroughly buzzed, making the situation even hotter.

You nodded your head, giggling at Spencer as your cheeks were warm from the heat of the alcohol. He was the same way, a smirk lying on his lips as he looked at you with reddened cheeks. He had taken off his sweater, holding it in his arms. Without bothering to say goodnight to the rest of the team, you and Spencer left the bar, stumbling as you guys were laughing and hanging onto one another. Nothing was particularly funny but you were both intoxicated which was a rarity for the two of you and of course, you were going to relish it.

You and Spencer managed to call down a cab, getting into the back of it as Spencer told the driver the address. The two of you were sitting next to one another in the back of the cab pretty close, whispering and giggling. Spencer draped the sweater over your lap, a seemingly innocent gesture if it weren’t for what he whispered into your ear. “You know, two can play at this game,” He whispered.

“What game?” You whispered back, glancing at the taxi driver, who was paying no mind to you, before looking back at Spencer.

He simply raised his eyebrows at you, that familiar smirk on his lips that he’s held for the past hour or so. “You think you can just do what you did to me in the bar without any repercussions, sweetheart?” He asked as he put his hand underneath the sweater on your lap, his fingers moved underneath your skirt to rest on your thigh.

Your eyes widened with realization as his hands touched your skin. You couldn’t deny your arousal at the idea, knowing that when you mess with Spencer, he will mess with you back. The only thing separating you and the taxi driver was a partition between the seats that was opened just a crack. “H-here?” You stuttered quietly, suddenly losing the confidence that you had earlier in the night.

Spencer nodded his head, looking at you with a teasing but also heated expression. His fingers inched up your thigh, causing you to instinctively open your legs as you looked at Spencer. Your lips were parted and your cheeks flushed from the heat. You knew you guys shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t have even given Spencer a handjob in the middle of a bar. Perhaps it was the alcohol, the buzz making your brain fuzzy. Or perhaps it was just because of Spencer. You two always drove one another crazy.

Who cared about logic and reason when the sex was always so intense and amazing?

The two of you were quiet, not wanting to alert the taxi driver as Spencer kept your legs covered with his sweater. He moved his fingers to your pussy, feeling how wet you were through your underwear, making you bite your lip. He simply leaned in to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear. “You’re practically soaking,” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded your head, not trusting yourself to whisper back. Spencer kept himself close to you, inching his fingers to move the fabric of your panties to the side. He used his pointer finger to touch your slit, spreading around the wetness. The feeling caused you to audibly gasp, making your eyes widen.

The taxi driver heard the gasp and looked at the two of you through the rearview mirror. “Is everything alright?” He asked, voice gruff.

Spencer spoke for the two of you, coming up with a lie that could satisfy the driver. “She had too much to drink so she’s feeling a bit queasy,” He said smoothly.

“Please don’t throw up in my cab,” The driver responded before looking back at the road.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Spencer reassured before looking back at you. His finger dipped between your folds and into your hole with much ease, causing you to bite your lip even harder. You tried not to make any other noises, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Spencer watched the way you reacted, the way your body tensed at his touch. He slowly moved his finger in and out of you, trying not to go too fast as he didn’t want the sound of your slick to alert the taxi driver.

You were trying your hardest not to make any noise. It was always hard though. Spencer’s fingers were so long and always knew how to hit the right places even if he wasn’t trying. He knew how to finger you into a whining mess and with your intoxicated brain, it was even harder to control yourself.

Spencer added a second finger, keeping that slow but pleasurable rhythm. You were indeed soaking as Spencer had mentioned earlier. Your breathing was shaky as you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s wrist to hold onto something. You moved yourself a bit to rest your head on Spencer’s shoulder. The sudden curl of Spencer’s fingers, hitting your g-spot dead on, made you let out the tiniest of whimpers, muffled by his shirt, luckily enough.

And just as you felt that heat building inside of you, the taxi came to a stop right outside Spencer’s building, causing Spencer to pull away from you. “Thank you,” he said to the driver, grabbing a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket with his clean hand and handing it to the man before you both exited the car.

And as the taxi driver scurried off, Spencer looked around and then at you, that same smirk from earlier on his lips. “I didn’t get to see you fall apart, how sad,” he said with a mock pout on his lips. He brought the fingers still coated with your juices to your lips, an unspoken demand for you to suck.

You, being the wonderful person you were, obeyed without any hesitation, wrapping your lips around the digits and lapping your tongue as you tasted yourself. You looked at Spencer with doe eyes, appearing to be all innocent when you were anything but.

I’m here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Rest it on my fingertips

And up to your mouth, I’m feelin it out

I’m feelin it now

You felt like a whore, standing in the middle of the street with Spencer’s fingers in your mouth. Part of you was grateful that it was an ungodly hour and most normal people were asleep, meaning no one was in the street. Spencer watched as you sucked on his fingers. You were truly a sight to behold.

“Naughty girl,” he murmured, his other hand coming up to caress your cheek softly. To say he was addicted to you would be an understatement. Since that first day, the two of you slept together, he was hooked. Hell, he was hooked even before then. The countless nights he spent jerking himself off as he thought about fucking you would be embarrassing if you were to ever find out.

And now that Spencer has had you? He’s never letting go.

The two of you stumbled into the apartment building, holding onto one another. On the elevator, after pressing the buttons, Spencer began attacking your lips with his, kissing you so messily and hungrily, with both hands on your cheeks. It was the first kiss of the night, one that held all the pent-up emotions the two of you had been feeling. You kissed Spencer with the same veracity, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. Spencer gently nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to part them as he used his tongue to explore your mouth.

The two of you moved in sync, making out with one another. You could taste the alcohol that coated Spencer’s mouth just as he could taste it on you as well, the tastes blending. Spencer’s hands left your cheeks, moving down to your hips to pull you closer to him. You could feel his bulge pressing into you, causing you to clench your thighs. You two were lost in one another, dizzy from the alcohol and the endorphins being released.

If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive

You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it

We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh

La-la-da-da, da

We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh

La-la-da-da, da

The elevator dinging brought you both back to reality as Spencer pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily. The look in his eyes showed need and want, your expression mirroring his as you looked back at him. Smiles crept onto your faces as you looked at one another. And when the elevator doors opened, Spencer simply grabbed your hand, the two of you stumbling and giggling as you made your way to his apartment down the hall.

Upon reaching his apartment door, Spence let go of your hand to grab his keys from his pocket, fumbling around with them until he grabbed the right one and put it into the keyhole. He opened the door, allowing you to step in first and Spencer followed suit. He closed the door behind himself, placing his keys in the bowl next to his door.

You placed your bag down along with the sweater of Spencer’s that you were still holding before turning towards him. And without giving him any chance to make the first move, you kissed him roughly, wanting to just consume him and be consumed by him. Spencer laughed against your lips, slightly taken aback by your actions but it certainly wasn’t unwelcomed. He kissed you just as roughly, his hands going to your hips once more.

Spencer took control of the kiss, his lips dominating yours as he gained control. As the two of you moved in sync, Spencer began gently pushing you around the apartment. However, he underestimated his coordination when he accidentally made you bump into his bookshelf, causing a few books to fall and for you to pull away. “Whoops,” you shrugged before kissing Spencer again.

The walk to the bedroom was an adventurous one, to say the least. The two of you had bumped into the table, the couch, and a vase fell onto the floor that Spencer will have to worry about in his hungover state in the morning. And when you eventually got into the bedroom, well, Spencer was more a bit grateful as he knew nothing would be in the way from the door to the bed.

As soon as you entered the bedroom, Spencer moved his hands to the hem of your shirt, pulling away from the kiss to take it off of you, throwing the material somewhere in the room. Underneath your shirt, you were wearing a sage green lace bra that Spencer adored on you so much. “You’re so beautiful,” Spencer spoke huskily, licking his lips. “You know how much I adore this on you.”

“I figured I’d likely end up at yours tonight somehow,” You smiled smugly at Spencer’s reaction.

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment before reaching to the buttons of his shirt and unbuttoning them. He tosses the shirt somewhere around the room before moving his attention back to you. He leaned in to kiss your jawline, making his way down your neck as his fingers messed with the zipper of your skirt. He fumbled with the zipper for a moment as he licked your pulse point, nipping at it slightly, and causing you to gasp. He undid the zipper, allowing the skirt to fall to the floor.

You tilted your head to the side, giving Spencer more access to your neck as he kissed, nipped, and sucked, leaving marks along your skin. Your breathing was uneven with how turned on you were. You reached down to Spencer’s pants, palming his cock through the material and causing him to groan against your skin. He pulled away from your neck, grabbing your hand. “None of that,” he gently reprimanded. “Go sit on the bed for me.”

You frowned for just a moment but obliged, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress. Spencer followed you, immediately dropping to his knees in front of you and that’s how you knew you were in for an exquisite treat. Although, this was a treat that you indulged in very, very frequently.

Spencer didn’t speak as his fingers moved to the waistband of your panties, pulling them off of you and putting them into his pant pocket. You quirked an eyebrow at Spencer who, in return, gave you a cheeky grin. He placed his hands on your knees, spreading your legs for you to show your glistening cunt. His mouth instantly watered at the sight in front of him. “Fuck, you’re so incredibly wet,” He groaned, licking his lips with anticipation.

“Been wet all night,” You breathed out, watching Spencer with a heated expression in your eyes. “Need it so bad, Spence.”

“I know, baby, you’re going to get it, don’t worry,” was all Spencer said before he dived right in, licking a stripe against your cunt.

You moaned, lying your back on the mattress as Spencer worked his magic against your cunt. His tongue began running laps, taking in all of your juices. When you and Spencer first began this sort of friends with benefits situation, you didn’t know just how much Spencer loved eating your cunt. You figured he did it simply to make you feel good. But then, afterwards, when you saw that blissful and dazed look in his eyes, you knew he loved it just as much as you did, thrived on it even. If Spencer could spend the rest of his life between your thighs, you were sure he would die a happy man.

Spencer moved his arms to wrap around your thighs, pulling your cunt closer to his face. He began to practically make out with it, his lips playing with your clit and sucking on it. When Spencer ate pussy, he ATE pussy. The usual calm and collected man would eat you out like he had never had a proper meal in his life, making sure to bask in your juices. He was messy with it in the best possible way.

You reached your hand to intertwine your fingers into his brown curls, tugging at his hair as you moaned loudly. Your head was thrown back in pleasure, your other hand going to your chest and massaging the flesh. “Feels so good,” you whined.

Spencer moaned, sending vibrations against your pussy and causing you to jolt from the pleasure. His tongue dipped into your hole as his nose rubbed against your clit. He shook his head, burying it deeper into your cunt. You felt that familiar heat building inside of you, the one you had begun to feel earlier in the taxi but it had been ripped away from you so quickly. This time, however, it wasn’t going to be ripped away from you.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned, moving your hips against Spencer’s face. “So close, please don’t stop!”

And he didn’t. Spencer continued to eat you out, slurping, sucking, licking your cunt. Part of him wished he was underneath you, letting you use his face until you were satisfied, covering him in your juices. But this was great too as he got to control just how much of your pussy he got to breathe in. Spencer sucked your clit, sending you over the edge as you arched your back and clamped your thighs shut, squeezing Spencer’s face in the process as you moaned his name in that sexy way that never failed to make his cock throb. God, he needed to fuck you.

When you relaxed, breathing heavily as you opened your eyes to look at Spencer, he pulled away, licking his lips in the process. His face was absolutely glistening with your juices and his eyes were blown out. He was the embodiment of pussy drunk.

I had a few, got drunk on you and now I’m wasted

Spencer stood up, wiping his chin with his hand before moving to unzip his pants. His movements were rushed as he fumbled around to get them off. “Need you so bad,” he said, kicking his pants to the side before taking his cum-stained briefs off. His cock sprung out of the briefs, making him let out a small groan of relief. It was so red, angry from the lack of attention. Which is funny because he literally came just a few hours ago.

You looked at Spencer, biting your lip as you looked at his cock. Eight inches and not too girthy but he knew exactly how to use it. He always made you feel so good with his cock. Your pussy throbbed at the thought, ready to get railed by Spencer. It’s all you’ve been wanting the past few days.

You didn’t say anything as Spencer grabbed your legs, pulling you closer to him. He rested your legs on his shoulders before grabbing his cock, guiding it to your entrance. He didn’t bother to tease himself like he usually did by rubbing his cock up and down your cunt. The two of you were still woozy from the alcohol, that and the hormones, it was going to be quite a ride.

Spencer looked down at you, taking in your beauty as you looked up at him. It was a moment of softness between the two of you as you just gazed at one another. A tenderness that was rare. And just as quick as it had come, it was just as quickly removed as Spencer slammed his cock inside of you without warning, causing you to let out a loud gasp. He didn’t stop until he was fully in, only then did he allow you time to adjust.

It took you a few minutes to adjust to Spencer. He wasn’t always rough with you but you knew tonight that you both needed it. And after the pain subsided, you began squirming, unable to help yourself. You were needy and just wanted Spencer to fuck you.

“Why are you already squirming?” Spencer asked as he raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk on his lips. “Haven’t even started,” he said as he held onto your legs.

You let out a small whine. “Want you to move,” you said, a small pout gracing your lips.

Spencer hummed in acknowledgement. He didn’t give you a chance to say anything else when he pulled his hips back and then slammed back into you, pressing his cock deep inside of you.

You let out a choked moan, instantly gripping the sheets below you. Spencer moved his hips like that a few more times, his pace tantalizingly slow, before gradually picking up the pace. “S-so good,” you whimpered.

Spencer was never one to shy away from making noises. He moaned as his cock moved inside of you, feeling your walls around him. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned as he slammed his hips into you.

The sounds that escaped you sounded pornographic as Spencer moved inside of you. His cock was hitting your g-spot dead on. His thrusts were hard and rhythmic, exactly how you loved it. Spencer moved your legs, bending them towards your chest and holding them there as he thrusted into you more deeply. The change of angle makes your moans more high-pitched.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin as Spencer’s bed creaked from the roughness of his thrusts. The slick of your cunt was also heard as Spencer’s cock drilled into you. He began to pick up the pace. “You feel so good, baby, oh my god,” Spencer moaned, looking down at you.

You were truly a sight to behold. Your tits bounced with every thrust, your hair sprawled out on the mattress, your face was contorted with pleasure. Your whines and moans were truly like music to his ears. Spencer knew he wouldn’t last long at all, especially with the way your cunt was gripping his cock. He reached down, using his fingers to rub your clit.

“I-oh fuck!” You whimpered, throwing your head back in pleasure. “Spencer!”

“That’s it, princess,” Spencer let out a whine of own, relishing in the pleasure. “Gonna cum for me?”

You nodded your head pathetically as you looked up at the handsome genius. His curls were sticking to his forehead as he pounded into you. The feeling of his cock inside of you and fingers rubbing your clit was enough to have you feeling close again. “So close, Spence,” you moaned.

“Me too, baby, me too.” Spencer breathed out.

With a few more thrusts and rubs of your clit, you were moaning Spencer’s name so loudly as your back arched and head was thrown back, your cunt clamping around Spencer’s cock. That was all it took for Spencer to bury himself deep inside of you, cumming with a loud moan as he filled you with his seed.

And when you both were finished, Spencer pulled out before lying down on the bed next to you and taking you into his arms. You were both dazed and dizzy from all the different feelings. You both were also breathing heavily, coming down from the intense sensations. You snuggled into Spencer, unable to help the tiny giggle that escaped your lips which Spencer also returned.

When Spencer awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache, he was ready to just get up and take a bunch of acetaminophen to make it go away. But the feeling of having you in his arms made the thought dissipate when he could just spend the day sleeping next to you instead. Because you were the only medicine he really needed.

If you go out tonight, I’m going out tonight ‘cause I know you’re persuasive

[scoupsakakitty]

hii can you do a 14th member where reader and members are on a variety show and the mcs are showing blatent disrespect because she's a girl? and they start making her uncomfortable (eg. inappropriate touching/jokes)

thank you so much! lovee your blog :]

Respect is Non-Negotiable | Seventeen x 14thMember | angst, fluff

tw: inappropriate touching

The set of Weekly Idol was bright, loud, and buzzing with energy. Seventeen had done countless variety show appearances, and usually, they were filled with laughter and fun. But today felt… different.

Y/N sat between The8 and one of the MCs, smiling as the conversation flowed. The members were introducing their new album, joking around, and playing games like they always did. Everything was going smoothly until the tone of the questions shifted.

“Y/N, you must have it easy, being the only girl in Seventeen,” one of the MCs said with a smirk, leaning slightly toward her.

She let out a polite chuckle, already wary of where this was going. “Not really, we all share the workload.”

“Oh, come on,” the MC insisted, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I bet the guys spoil you all the time, right?”

Y/N stiffened. It wasn’t the first time she had been put on the spot about being the only female member, but the touch—however brief—felt unnecessary and uncomfortable. She subtly shifted her shoulder away from his hand, trying not to make a scene.

Seungkwan, ever quick-witted, attempted to shift the topic. “Y/N actually works the hardest! She—”

But the MC cut him off. “But isn’t it tough being around so many men? No boyfriend yet?” His tone was playful, but the question itself was invasive. Before Y/N could answer, he tapped her knee lightly.

She froze for a split second, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. Her smile, which had been genuine moments before, was now forced. She glanced toward the members instinctively, hoping someone else had noticed. The atmosphere felt heavier now.

She shifted slightly, moving closer to The8, her body language screaming discomfort. The moment her arm brushed his, he turned his head slightly, eyes flickering down to her expression.

Minghao didn’t miss a thing. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the way she curled her hands into her lap, the slight downturn of her lips. His jaw tightened, and though he remained outwardly calm, his mind was already made up.

The other members had noticed, too. Joshua’s smile had all but disappeared, Wonwoo had stopped his subtle rocking, and Jeonghan, who usually played along with variety antics, was staring at the MC with a gaze so sharp it could cut glass.

Then came a soft but pointed interruption.

Rrrhm.

S.Coups cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. His voice was calm but laced with something unmistakable. “I think it’s better if we all keep our hands to ourselves, don’t you?”

The room fell silent for a moment. The MC blinked, chuckling awkwardly, but the tension was thick enough to slice through.

Seventeen was not laughing.

Jeonghan’s gaze didn’t waver. Wonwoo looked like he was ready to set something on fire. Seungkwan crossed his arms tightly, lips pressed into a thin line.

And The8?

He didn’t speak. He simply stood up.

Y/N blinked up at him as he turned slightly toward her, voice low but firm. “Let’s switch seats.”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. The second she moved to the newly vacated seat, The8 sat down between her and the MC. It was a casual action on the surface, but the message was clear.

Not her. Not today. Not ever.

As soon as she settled, The8 casually removed his jacket and placed it over her lap—a quiet but clear statement of protection. He didn’t say anything else, but the weight of his presence was enough.

When the break ended and filming resumed, the energy of the room had shifted. The MCs continued their script, but the usual easy-going banter was strained. None of the members had let it go unnoticed, and their protective presence lingered around Y/N like an invisible shield.

For the rest of the shoot, The8 barely left her side, his sharp eyes daring anyone to try again. And they didn’t.

[simonbrain]

Could you possibly write some more deer!hybrid stuff? I loved the first one :3

of course 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

true to his word, simon keeps you with him at home. it's a bit awkward given that he doesn't really speak to you other than a gruff keep still while checking on your injuries, but once you accept the fact that you're making conversation with a brick wall most of the time, you're just happy to be there with him. his cabin's pretty cosy, the bed much warmer and more comfortable than the pile of leaves you occupy. the food's not bad either, although you did refuse to eat the meat he had placed on the table the first couple of nights. you preferred your greens, fruits, and nuts, but you begrudgingly gave in when he cooked up some fish for you.

even when you're all healed up, he doesn't explicitly tell you to get out, and you take full advantage of that. wearing his clothes, slumbering in the sweet little garden he has at the back, curling up against him at night. he may grunt and act annoyed whenever you drape yourself on top of him and snooze away, but the arm wrapped tight around your body says otherwise.

however, that's where he draws the line at touching you, and you're beginning to get a little restless. you thought feeling his hand rub up and down your back would've been enough to soothe the heat prickling all over your skin; the soft pats on your head and gentle strokes on your excited little tail should have satisfied your need for affection.

yet here you are, face hidden in the crook of his neck as you rock against the thick thigh between your legs. you just can't help yourself, can't quell the urge to get on all fours and present. he's just right there, so big and warm, encompassing you from all sides; it's impossible to escape his heady, musky scent. maybe you should feel embarrassed about being so desperate, but he's ignored so many of your subtle signs. it's impossible to play coy when you're sprawled out on top of him like this.

simon swirls his glass, the taste of bourbon and want heavy on his tongue. such a pretty sight you make, his favourite headache shamelessly whimpering and getting herself off on top of him. when you whine for something more, something better, he only shushes you and places a supportive hand on your lower back, urging you to carry on. this is for him, doe; after all that shit he's put up with, he's earned the right to play with you.

[writeriguess]

Kiribaku having kids (twins boy & girl) they start kindergarten and into the year they notice the kids are sadder when they come home they’re more quiet and in a certain day kiribaku and reader (secret girlfriend) are out on a date while the kids are at school and they get a call they need picked up asap cause something’s wrong so they all three go not thinking about it and the kids meet her Sav’s a few months go by and the kids finally say the issue was not having a mommy but now they have one

A Missing Piece

Kirishima and Bakugou had always known they wanted kids. It had been a long journey—filled with paperwork, home visits, and nervous waiting—but when they finally brought home their twins, Ren and Aiko, it was like their lives truly began.

They tackled fatherhood like they tackled everything else: with passion, dedication, and an unshakable love for their children. They weren’t perfect, but they always made sure Ren and Aiko knew they were safe, cherished, and cared for.

So when the twins started kindergarten, it was a huge milestone—not just for them, but for their dads.

The first few weeks were amazing. Every afternoon, the kids would come home brimming with stories, bouncing with excitement as they recounted every detail of their day. Bakugou and Kirishima would listen intently, grinning at their enthusiasm, feeling a sense of relief that their kids were adjusting so well.

But slowly, things started to change.

It was subtle at first. The twins weren’t as chatty when they got home. Their excitement dimmed, their energy lowered. They weren’t causing trouble like usual, weren’t filling the house with their infectious laughter.

Kirishima noticed it first, his sharp observation skills picking up on their quiet moods. He tried to bring it up to Bakugou, but at first, his husband brushed it off.

“They’re kids. They’ll have bad days.”

But then bad days turned into bad weeks.

And when Aiko, their usually fiery and opinionated daughter, pushed away her plate at dinner one night without saying a word, even Bakugou knew something was wrong.

That night, after tucking the twins into bed, Kirishima leaned against the kitchen counter with a deep frown. “Something’s up, man. They’re different.”

Bakugou exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… I see it too.”

“We should talk to them.”

“Tch. Like they’ll tell us anything,” Bakugou muttered, but the frustration in his voice wasn’t directed at the kids. He just hated feeling powerless.

They decided to give it a little more time, hoping the kids would open up when they were ready.

But weeks passed, and things didn’t improve.

Then the call came.

It was supposed to be a rare, peaceful day off.

Kirishima and Bakugou were on a date—something they hadn’t done in way too long. Between hero work and parenting, moments alone were hard to come by.

They were walking through the city with you—Bakugou’s secret girlfriend.

He hadn’t told the twins about you yet, not because he was ashamed, but because introducing someone into their lives was a big step. He and Kirishima had agreed that when the time was right, when things felt solid, they’d take that next step.

Right now, though, all three of you were enjoying a carefree day. You laughed at Bakugou’s usual grumbling and leaned into Kirishima’s easy warmth. It was comfortable, effortless.

And then Bakugou’s phone rang.

“Mr. Bakugou, we need you to come pick up Ren and Aiko immediately.”

His entire body tensed. “What? What happened?”

“They’re very upset. We think it’s best you come in.”

Kirishima and Bakugou didn’t waste a second. The date was forgotten as they rushed to the school, you tagging along without hesitation.

When they arrived, the twins were sitting together in a small, quiet room, curled into each other like two halves of the same soul. Their tiny hands were clenched, eyes downcast.

It hurt.

Kirishima stepped forward first, crouching beside them. “Hey, little ones.” His voice was soft, careful. “What’s going on?”

Ren sniffled but didn’t speak. Aiko peeked up at them, then hesitated when her eyes landed on you.

You stayed quiet, offering a small smile, not wanting to overwhelm them.

“They’re not talking much,” the teacher explained gently. “But we think something has been bothering them for a while. It might be best if they tell you.”

Bakugou crouched beside Kirishima, his red eyes soft with concern. “Come on, brats. Tell us what’s wrong.”

It took a moment, but then, in a tiny voice, Aiko whispered, “The other kids said it’s weird that we don’t have a mommy.”

Silence.

Kirishima and Bakugou exchanged a glance.

“They… what?” Bakugou’s voice was dangerously low, but Kirishima nudged him gently to keep him in check.

Ren wiped his nose on his sleeve. “They laughed at us when we said we have two dads.” His lower lip trembled. “They said all families are supposed to have a mommy and a daddy. And that maybe… maybe our mommy left ‘cause she didn’t love us.”

Kirishima felt something in his chest crack. He pulled the twins into a hug without hesitation. “Hey, don’t listen to that, okay? That’s not true. You are so, so loved.”

Aiko clutched at his shirt. “But we don’t have a mommy…”

A beat of silence passed.

And then Ren glanced at you again.

“But… do we now?”

You froze.

The question hung in the air like an unspoken wish.

Bakugou and Kirishima both looked at you, their expressions unreadable. It was a moment they hadn’t planned for, hadn’t expected—but maybe, just maybe, the kids had seen something they hadn’t fully realized yet.

Your heart clenched as you met the hopeful, tear-filled eyes of the twins.

You knelt in front of them, keeping your voice warm but careful. “Families come in all shapes, you know. But if… if you’d like, I’d love to be a part of yours.”

Ren hiccupped. “You would?”

Aiko’s eyes were wide.

You smiled, holding out your arms, giving them the choice.

It only took a second before they crashed into you, burying themselves in your warmth.

Kirishima swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. Bakugou turned away, rubbing at his face with a grumble, but his shaking shoulders gave him away.

The twins held onto you like a missing puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

“Yeah,” you whispered against their hair, holding them tight. “You do now.”

And just like that, their family became whole.

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.” 

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes. 

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list. 

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.” 

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you. 

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.  

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?” 

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.  

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you. 

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.” 

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel. 

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand. 

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol 

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

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[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for Nina

Request: streamer!Reader has a game going and their monster bf (dealer's choice!) comes in without paying attention/doesn't care/etc. solely to pay you back for some teasing earlier that morning?

A/N: Couldn’t hold myself back from the joke that there’s a troll under the… desk. Lol. Enjoy!

Under the desk

Troll x fem!reader || oral sex, teasing, edging, orgasm denial (lowkey)

You feel a hot caress against the outside of your leg and you jerk up, kicking your feet and covering your mouth so your chuckle is not heard over the mic. You look down to see your boyfriend there, kneeling under the desk and looking as cute and adorable as ever. You arch an eyebrow at him, happy that your camera is turned off right now because you don’t want people noticing something is happening.

He puts a finger over his lips, a clear sign that he wants you to be quiet. He takes his phone out of his pocket and sends you a quick text. It reads “don’t make a sound, I think it’s time for you to pay”. You look down at him, excusing yourself on the mic for a second.

“Excuse me for a second, I need to let my cat out of the room,” you lie. There’s a flood of messages on your chat, many people asking for you to show the cat, some others telling you it’s okay… But you are already looking at your boyfriend under the desk. “Pay for what? I didn’t do anything to you!” You try not to sound too offended, but you fail. You are offended.

“First: you kicked me two seconds ago,” he tells you, his mouth frowning on a cute blueish pout.

You chuckle caressing the side of his face. “Aww, poor troll, did your human girlfriend hurt you?” You use your most condescending and teasing tone, laughing harder when he growls.

“That’s a second offense there, girlfriend.” His tone is borderline dark, and you have to press your thighs together to avoid whimpering. Fuck, he knows exactly what that tone does to you.

“You didn’t explain what I did!” You tell him when he grabs both of your ankles, parting your legs slowly.

He stops, looking up at you with a smirk and dark eyes. “You walked around the house with those tiny shorts tempting me as I was at a meeting, now is my turn to tease you.”

You are shocked by his words, what does he mean? He gifted you those shorts! “What? I was wearing your gift!” You know he’s not buying your lie, a green eyebrow arched as he smirks. You did put on those shorts on to tease him as he was in a video-call with his boss. And you might have moved your ass a bit more than necessary in front of him as you passed. Guess you aren’t as subtle as you thought.

“Turn on the mic, and don’t let your followers know what is happening under the desk. If you are good I’ll even let you come…” You shiver at his promise, knowing fully well what he’s capable off. He’d played with you countless times, and some of those, when you had been particularly bratty, he’d edged you until you were crying. (You loved when that happened.)

“But I…” You try to argue again, not really putting any effort behind it. Your pussy is already wet just thinking about him playing with you under the desk as nobody notices. It scratches a part of your exhibitionism kink you didn’t know you had.

He grunts: “Now, darling.” And your whole body melts, your legs parting as you comply.

You turn the mic on and start talking about some stupid thing that happened when you went shopping a couple days ago, a naga almost running you over with a shopping cart. There’s laughter on your chat as you sort out the different things you need for your trip to the mine in the game.

He caresses your legs, softly inhaling against your skin and kissing every inch of skin he can, getting closer and closer to your center as you try not to sound breathless over the mic. People seem obvious to what’s happening under your desk, and you can feel your pulse accelerating by the idea of somebody realizing. You don’t want that… but the thought of it makes you want to moan.

His rough tongue hits your pussy suddenly, and you have to bite your lip hard not to let out a sound. Your character in the game moves to the side and the chat asks what’s happening. You let out a giggle, telling them you accidentally pinched your side with the chair and you can feel the huff of silent laughter against your most sensitive skin as your troll boyfriend laughs. The fucker…

He starts slow as you keep playing, talking about non-sense and trying to keep using your cheerful tone. His tongue feels divine against your hole, you can feel the gush of juices running down your pussy just to be caught by his dexterous tongue. You have to bite your lip a couple times to avoid letting out a loud moan.

Every time you stop talking, he stops his ministrations, and you have to hold back a whimper and a plea. You try to remain focused, but you know you are fucking it up, some low level monsters almost killing you as you fumble with the mouse to change from your pickaxe to your sword.

You move your hips against his face, trying to rub your clit with his nose and he nips at your labia, making you jump a little. A warning. You can’t take as much as you want, he’s the one in control… The reminder only makes you want to do it again, but he uses one of his hands to anchor you to the chair.

He pushes two big fingers inside of you, stretching you as he finger-fucks your welcoming pussy. You are praying to whoever is listening that the lewd sounds of your wet pussy aren’t being caught by your mic, but at that point you aren’t sure you even care.

You try to remain cheerful, but with each movement of his fingers in and out of you, you can feel your climax getting closer and closer, his rough tongue feels amazing against your clit and you are seconds away from coming.

He pinches the outside of your thigh, pushing you away from your impeding climax, and making you let out a low whine that has your face turning as red as a tomato as he stops his movements, looking up at you and someone in the chat lets out a thousand questions about what’s happening.

That happens at least ten more times. You don’t know how much time passes, you only know the feel of his tongue against your pussy and his fingers rubbing against your G-spot. With each second, you are more incoherent, and your movements are more sharp. Your brain is jelly as you keep talking, making every single noob mistake you can as he edges you, denying your orgasm every time you feel it coming.

You are desperate and trembling, your brain disconnected when you decide enough was enough. “Fuck,” you mumble, and then louder you say: “Sorry guys, an emergency came up, see you tomorrow!” You rush out as you close all windows on your computer and let out the longest and most lewd sound ever.

Your troll looks up at you with amusement in his eyes, his fingers curling inside of you as he rubs your G-spot over and over. Your eyes roll back into your head and you push your legs over his shoulders, grabbing his hair and pushing his head harder against your needy pussy.

“Please, please, please… I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be good. Let me come, please!” You know your words mean nothing, but when he pulls back a fraction just to say: “Come for me,” you are done.

Your hips rock against his face, and the second his tongue makes contact with your clit, you are coming all over his face, gushing juices all over and screaming at the top of your lungs. The orgasms with him are always incredible, but after all the teasing and edging, that one is earth-shattering.

He chuckles when you come down from your high, probably looking pathetic and sweaty. “I know you lied, darling, I know you won’t be good for me.” He cleans some of the mess you made with his hand, taking licking your juices off it as you pant.

“But you love when I’m bratty,” you let out in a whisper. You feel boneless, your whole body spent as he pushes back your chair and stands up between your legs. His hips are at face level now, and you are already salivating thinking about the possibilities.

“Yeah… I really do. Now… What are you going to do about this,” he points down at his very hard and very angry-looking blueish dick.

You smirk up at him, not getting up from the chair as you open your mouth and look at him from under your lashes. He smirks, grabbing your head with his big hand and feeding you his cock.

Yeah, you’d definitely would do it again if this is the punishment you get.

[healingpage]

vindicated (swear i'd never do it again) - choi yeonjun

ꕥ pairing: bf!yeonjun x afab!reader

ꕥ genres: smut, angst

ꕥ rating: 18+ mdni

ꕥ warning: dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, arguments, confrontations because they are adults, reader cries a lot, cheating (implied), make up sex, unprotected sex, oral (f.rec) multiple orgasm, fingering, riding

ꕥ wc: 6k

ꕥ a/n: i actually hate this... i've been gate keeping it since last year because of it but nevertheless enjoy

The noise of rain tapping on the windows corresponded with the racing beat of your heart. Weeks had passed since the previous arguments, yet the ensuing silence felt even more distressing. Yeonjun's brown coloured long trench coat still hung by the door, his cologne subtle yet persistent in the air—a harsh reminder of all that was left unsettled between you.

You sit on the floor of your shared apartment with legs crossed, browsing through the pages of a vintage photo album. Your eyes soften at the shiny pictures that seem like it quite narrates a tale of love that seems unstoppable for both of you. Yeonjun was smiling at a summer festival, his eyes almost closing as you guys were hit with warmth from the sun. You were right there by his side, kissing his cheek. Another picture captured you resting on his shoulder during a late-night train journey. At that time, your friends had playfully teased you about your inseparability, during your early stages of relationship, attached closely to each other’s hips all the time.

However, it seems that his love, you don't know, maybe it has faded as time passed. Like a withering flower that is waiting for a moment to shatter on earth, words that were once delivered with sweetness now carry a sharpness. Of course at first, the arguments began minor: late response to messages, any sorts of miscommunications that could have been resolved with an apology. Soon arrived the yelling disputes, doors being slammed, and evenings spent in different rooms. Yeonjun was always the avoidant type, rather than to sit together and talk he prefers to distance himself, stressing you out at the lack of communication.

As you are occupied with countless thoughts, you hear the door slowly being opened, causing you to look up abruptly. Yeonjun enters, his jet black hair evidently wet from the rain. He appears unchanged yet changed, his eyes bearing a heaviness that didn't exist previously. For a brief time, neither of you said anything. The atmosphere in the room was dense, laden with unspoken thoughts.

"You’re still around," Yeonjun eventually says, his tone distant.

"Now you don’t want me here? Where could I possibly go?" You coldly answer, hurt by the question, or his choice of words. Your hands quickly shutting the album and putting it down.

He moves a step closer, then two, then he is standing not even two steps away from you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "I was wondering if perhaps you… I'm not sure." His voice is toned down at the end, like he’s not sure what to say.

"Isn’t that what you do?" The resentment in your voice was unignorable, tugging at the string of his heart. "You are gone whenever situations become too tense, you always walk away."

Something flinches inside Yeonjun hearing that, but he refuses to look away. “And you always hold on too tight,” he counters back, his voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid if you let go even a little, everything will fall apart.”

“Because it will fall apart, Yeonjun!” Your voice goes up three tones higher, it even cracks, but you care less about that when you have tears welling up. “It already is. Can’t you see that?”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asks, his voice breaking as well. “I’ve tried to fix this. I’ve tried to be enough for you, but maybe… maybe we’re just not compatible.”

His words hang between, heavy and suffocating. It feels like he’s admitting defeat, like acknowledging the storm both of you trapped in will never clear. And God, does it hurt. The constant effort you make to understand him better, the lies he told to your face you turned blind eye into, the missed important dates.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whisper, your voice barely audible to him. “But even after everything, I can’t walk away. I… I love you, Yeonjun. Even when it hurts. Even when you hurt me, over and over. I can lose everything, but not you…”

Yeonjun’s shoulders droop, and for the first time in a long time, he looks guilty. He stares at your wet face, your disheveled form, your trembling hands. You never look so broken, his sweet darling, the apple of his eyes, his precious love appears like a broken piece of glass before him, it wrenches his heart thinking that it was from all his doings.

“I love you too,” he admits, his voice raw. You can feel his gaze soften a bit, eyes no longer angry. “But is love enough if all I do is hurting you?”

The question is like a stabbing knife to your heart. You both knew the answer, but neither has the courage to say it aloud. Silence fills the air once more, the rain pouring outside is like a brutal mirror to the storm inside your apartment.

Finally, Yeonjun closes the distance between you. He hesitantly kneels in front of you, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he says, every word that comes up from his mouth shakes. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Maybe we can’t fix it,” you replied, your tears spilling non stop now that he’s got his hands on you. It is obvious that his hand is cold from the freezing weather outside, yet it spreads warmth inside you as you lean further into his comforting, healing touch. “Maybe we just have to accept that we’re broken. But I’d rather be broken with you than whole without you. I don’t wanna give up on us, Jjunie.”

Yeonjun leans his forehead against yours as he hears the nickname, his own tears falling. You let him engulf you in his arms, arms brushing over each other giving you goosebumps on the realisation that you went on a week without him. His chest heaves up and down, relaxed heartbeat calming you down as you savour the moment.

“I am sorry, baby,” he is the first one to break the silence. You could not pinpoint whether he is sincere about it, but his eyes are telling you like you matter the most in his world. “I hurt you, didn't I? How’d you sleep this past week?” His voice laced with concern, tone so dulcet and sweet you feel like you are falling into a gush of sugar. Knowing you hardly fall asleep without him around, his mind floods with sorrowful guilt.

“Horrible, I missed you,” you come clean, him smiling so softly you would miss it if you weren't right in his hug.

“Poor baby, I missed her too,” he uses his usual baby tone to talk to you, stroking the back of your head while you find yourself closing your eyes at the comforting contact.

“Wanna cuddle?” He's asking so nicely, not even waiting for your answer as he lifts you up from the cold floor, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both to your shared room, your heart thumping as you feel butterflies all over again. The room hasn't changed since the last time you guys slept in the same bed and room, clean simple beige sheets that Yeonjun had changed after your last intercourse being where you land on.

He's taking off his jacket, the only thing that he wears on his upper body being the black sleeveless shirt that drives you crazy everytime you see those on him. Your eyes that are set on him trembles a bit, forcing you to let out a cough.

“It's January. You shall wear something more warm.”

“I could warm up being next to you,” he's quick with his witty answer, already jumping on the bed again, pulling you yet again into his embrace. His face is buried in your neck, lips dangerously wandering around your sensitive areas you breathe deeply as you bite back a moan.

“Jjunie, I thought we were only going to cuddle,” you interrupt, yet you find your hands tangling in his strands of hair, noticeably longer since the last time you held onto them.

“Aren’t we?” his lips latching on your skin by now, gently sucking on the flesh before he lets go, leaving a fresh mark of him on you, reclaiming his territory. He retreats for a while, lips part as he hears the small gasp that comes up as you notice the hickey. “So beautiful…”

As you remain captivated by his alluring move, seemingly innocent as he keeps making out first, then his hands start to roam not only over but now under your clothing a little. He strips your top off first, fondling at your tits.

“Tell me if you don’t want me,” he pauses, looking at your expression. Your doe eyes look at him, a bit glassy. His stomach churns at that, just a moment ago, you were yelling at him but now, under him you could not deny his contact with your body.

“Oh—” you moan out, feeling every inch of your body craving for his touch more and more, you could feel your underwear sticking onto your entrance by now, your arousal grows greedier. “Yeonjun.”

“Am right here, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Want you, need you, all of you, oh my god—” your words are cut at how he would make easy work of the tiny shorts that wrap you, he slips them off quickly, palming your ass before slipping off the lacy underwear too.

Then his shirt is off in a minute, before long you're staring at one spot on his chest, your voice that says his name shrieking. Yeonjun is confused at first, before he looks at the direction you are setting your eyes to. His eyes widen as you shove him away, your trembling hands pulling the comforter to cover your body.

“Was–was there someone else?” your voice comes up shaky, eyes glistening with tears that pools at your lower lid. Yeonjun is silenced, a lost look evident in his face. “Y/n…”

“Answer me!” Your tears are falling now, your heart crushed at how he’s not quick to reassure you, to deny your assumption, anything. The bruise mark on his chest, one that was not created by you. Sure, your relationship had been quite flimsy at times after a solid three years, but you never had a reason to doubt his love for you. Every time you argue, it was never about a third person. The third person has never come into the picture. “Did you sleep with her?!” you shout, Yeonjun flinches at the tone.

“Baby, I don’t–”

“Then, what the fuck is that on your neck?” you ask, squinting at a faint purplish mark near his collarbone. It was positioned enough to be hidden when he’s wearing a shirt, but now that it’s off, it’s so evident.

Yeonjun covers the hickey with his hand, the movements rushed and awkward. “Oh, this? It’s... nothing. Just a bruise from a fall,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“Let me see,” you say after a long silence, your tone firm but he can see the way your lips tremble. Yeonjun hesitates a little, but you reach out your hand, and he lets you inspect the spot. You feel your stomach turn as you lightly run your fingertips over it. You aren’t foolish, it was not just any bruise; it was distinctly shaped and coloured like a hickey.

Your heart drops as you feel the reality of the situation. “That has nothing to do with a fall. Be honest with me.”

Yeonjun’s face changes, and the room falls quiet for a brief period. Both of you, especially Yeonjun, feel anxious about the occasion.

He wobbles with "I... I can explain," but his words sounded unsure, and you feel that is an insincere answer. Like he’s hiding something.

Your head whirl with feelings of betrayal, rage, hurt, and disbelief. This has turned into the rifts in the trust you had established together, not simply about the mark. Your head feels heavy, turning down as you cry.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, y/n!” he’s also yelling now, frustration overcoming him. Guilt, sadness and anger mixed in as he breathed in, his own eyes wet. His heart breaks seeing your state, it’s not the first time he sees you crying but this time you look incredibly heartbroken, miserable and not just upset at him.

“Then, what, what would explain this, Yeonjun?” you are fully sobbing, words imprecise swallowed by your cry.

“I was just… at the club okay? I was drunk, I don’t even remember–”

“Fuck that!” you cut him off, your voice burst with fume. “Do you realize how this looks?! How does it feel to even think you might’ve cheated on me? You try to sleep with me when that mark hasn’t even disappeared?!”

“Baby,” he tries again, trying to get closer to you.

“Don’t baby me,” your voice cold as ice in line with the gaze you now give him. “I don’t know, I thought you would never do that to me. I would never find someone else as long as I’m your girlfriend, Yeonjun. So stupid of me to hold on to you, I should have left long ago, so I don’t feel this hurt, because now I love you so much—too much, it feels even more painful…” you confess, finding yourself laughing at the absurdness yet your tears keep on rolling non stop. “If you don’t like me anymore you could just tell me. I would pack my things myself so you don’t have to rub it in like this.” Sniffles exit your nose, the back of your hand become the temporary napkin as you rub your tears away.

His eyes softened as he reached for her hands, his touch warm but cautious. “Y/n, I’d never hurt you like that. I love you. Please believe me.”

You pull your hands back, turning away to hide the tears welling yet again in your eyes. But before you could retreat further, Yeonjun closes the gap between you both, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Y/n, look at me,” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re everything to me. I can’t stand the thought of you doubting that.”

You turn slowly, her tearful eyes meeting his. There is sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart falter, and along that, a little of expectation because you can still feel the love. It’s still there in his eyes, filled with it and warmth as he looks at you.

“Explain to me,” you say, trying to steady your voice but Yeonjun, knowing you through, could catch that you are still hoping for his denial, still hoping that it isn’t true what you see. With a regretful smile, he cups your face gently, brushing tears away, his fingers on you treating it as delicate as possible.

“Won’t you judge me?” he carefully asks, studying your expression as your brow rises in confusion.

“It depends,” you answer, short, simple and clear.

“Saturday,” he starts, “I was at Taehyun’s. I was stressed out about our fight, and then he persuaded me into going to the club. Relax a little. I had a drink, maybe two but I was so wasted, I don’t remember who was it, I don’t know her, it was a random girl there, I’m gonna be honest we make out a little, and she did this,” he pauses, touching the mark, before his gaze settles on you confidently this time, “Taehyun came up, and he dragged me out there, telling me all about it the next morning. He was meaning to tell you everything first, but I told him not to, because I want to settle things ourselves.”

“Why didn't you tell her you’re not single,” you complain, lips pouting as you contemplate the story, it seems believable but you don’t know for sure. “And why do you have to be so hot, people literally couldn't leave you alone.”

He softly laughs at that, before turning serious again. “I am sorry, pretty girl,” he apologizes, “I don’t know how to mend things that have already happened, I know I should’ve known how wasted I’d be and just head home.”

He then grabs your comforter covered waist, pulling your head to land on his chest, letting you wet it. Your sobbing grows louder first, hands reluctantly creeping up to touch his shoulders. “I am sorry, oh baby, you don’t know how sorry I am, it’s all my fault, should have stayed that night, just hold you close until you’re not upset at me.”

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness, tell me, gorgeous,” his voice is whiny now, almost pleading when your sniffles haven't stopped. The hand that is holding onto your back scatters random shapes on it.

“Then prove it,” you mumble, looking up to him again, your voice barely audible.

Yeonjun cups your face gently, you look very endearing with cheeks red, eyes swollen and lips pouting a bit, his thumbs brushing away the tears remaining on your cheeks. “I’ll spend my entire life proving it,” he says, the sound of his confession thick with emotion.

Your lips meet together in a tender kiss, one that starts slow but it quickly deepens as you could feel the desperation in his touch, the regret, the unspoken promise that he’d never betray your trust.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you back on the bed where you can place your head on the pillow comfortably. His hands roam your back as yours are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into a shared need for closeness, for reassurance, for reconciliation, for love.

Seconds later, he's immediately invading your personal space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. He has his face nestled in the crook of your neck, a heavy breath that tells you he's relieved and something familiar, something that you hunch as love.

“Jun—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of chapstick that you're familiar with, the one that he only uses during winter due to dryness. Desperate sounds leave both your mouths, you are whining while he's half groaning. His body pressed against yours, separated by the cover that hasn't left your body. When he finally pulls away from the passionate kiss, his eyes find yours, filled with affective and yearning.

“I missed you s’ much, princess, how did I survived a whole week without you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the collarbone with a cherish that signifies his worship on you.

“Would you allow me, princess, I want to make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with his big, puppy-like eyes, an expression so pitiful it’s admirable. The desperation behind them makes it difficult to say no. You aren't better, your whole body is craving for him.

“Touch me,” you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "Please," you breathe out, and he happily obliges, the cover is off the bed instantly.

Then his hands travel down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. The hand then kneads the meat of your ass, your breath hitches as he goes down on you, nails digging into his arms as you inhale deeply as if committing you to memorise his scent.

“My girl’s so pretty,” he slurs out, before he dives into your pussy, your hand goes flying to grab onto his hair as he splits you open through his tongue.

“Yeonjun!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. He says sorry, but his action doesn't match the word. “Has been so long since I munched on this.”

Your toes curl, eyes thrown back at the way he is switching between licking and sucking, almost like that's the whole purpose of his life. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He was right though, it has been a while, the pleasure is almost foreign to you.

“Are you still my girl?” he questions, sounding cocky like the usual Yeonjun you know. The sexy, intimidating confidence that has you weak in your knees every time. Your only response is a moan, causing his lips to turn into a smirk, “Of course you are, I‘m the only one that can get you this wet, baby. Correct?”

No longer able to give him a reply, he continues to work his mouth on you. His tongue is relentless, it is sucking onto your entrance, then it is swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. The pace is sloppy, uncoordinated, messy even sometimes, but it only serves to bring you higher to the excitement of it all. Each time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy pant in search of breath, feel the way his mouth lets out your name.

“Oh, Y’jun—” your mindlessly thrown words trail off into incoherent mumbles as you feel closer to the edge, bringing you the sensation. “So close, please.”

The urgency in your begging translates to him as an invitation to continue. The way your entire body is wound up so tense, unwittingly ready to snap. He moves his thumb finger to press on your clit, skilled enough to actually let another two of them be inserted in your pussy, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that dangerous spot that has you seeing stars.

“Shit, you just got way wetter, you have been craving me that much, huh,“ he chuckles against your thighs, and he's not completely wrong. The way he's re-arranging your inside, it's like he's trying to prove a point, to prove that as much as he needs you, you need him too.

"Wanna cum, please," you gasp out, and then he increases the intensity, your thighs shaking like crazy before it all stops as your liquid gushes out. Yeonjun is more than glad to pick up some of it, slurping them from his fingers. His sexy gaze and your quivering ones meet, silent praises and apologies heard from the way he's caressing your waist gently.

“You haven't come yet,” your sweet voice echoes in his ears. You are still the bundle of love for him, always thinking of his pleasure when you were just crying betrayed by his trust earlier. With agony, Yeonjun is shaking his head, presenting you with a small smile.

“No, it's okay princess. I should be fine, let's go to sleep, hmm? You are tired, I'll hold you,” he's denying you, aware of how relaxed your body is after having your orgasm, you must be so sexually frustrated the whole week. On top of that he knows how bad your sleep was affected due to your argument. Your eyes have been drowsy for a while now, yet you find strength to get up, straddling his lap.

“Love shall go both ways, as much as I mean the world to you, you mean the same to me. What you want from me, I want you the same way too.”

Your eyes staring at him, the honesty in it clear as crystal. Your hand that he is missing so much takes off his pants. The skin against his feels so soft, you are moving a bit behind to kneel before him.

“You really don't have to, princess,” he's saying again, hands caressing your hairline. You look up to him with round eyes, determined to mean what you said earlier. In a brief moment, you are presented with his hard-ons, the sight making you drooling. He's denying you once again with the look in his eyes, so you confidently reply, “I wanna do this.”

“Fuck," Yeonjun breathes out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He collects your hair in his fist gently, holding it as you swallow him whole. Your hands move to rest on his thighs, pretty acrylics pressing on it whenever another inch of him goes in.

The feeling of your mouth enveloping him has him pulsing in your throat, his lips part as lewd sounds of him moaning leaves. “You're doing so well for me, babe.”

You take the praise to relax your jaw, letting his tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the feeling, hurriedly tapping his thighs to let him know the cue. He tightens the grip he has on your hair as he starts to move your head on his length, forcing you to take more and more of him till your nose brushes against his pelvis.

He moves your head up and down, his thrust harsh as he makes you take his entire length then leaving only his tip before repeating the entire process, moaning out your name whenever his head brushes against your throat.

You know he is getting close—you could feel him pulsing in your mouth, as a layer of sweet coated his forehead despite the cold room, making him glow so charmingly. You inhale a deep breath, before sucking in your cheeks, humming his name around him, knowing it is exactly what it would take to throw him over the edge.

“I'm close, baby,” he pleads, inaudible chatters of moans follows after as you double your efforts, and as expected a few seconds later his release spreads through your throat as you continue to bob your head to swallow.

Yeonjun’s chest is heaving, his hair a disheveled mess as he leans his hand heavily against your head, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him. You guys stay silent for a while, eye contact with each other being the only sole communicator.

And when you place your legs on either side of him, both of his hands finding their home on your waist, your hole wet and slick enough, ready for him, he’s once again starstrucked, the feeling's overwhelming like you’re made just for him. He bites his lip when you slide down with a whiny mention of his name, you stay still for a moment, and he's all but resist as he needs the comfort of you being wrapped around him right now just bad.

Your eyes could not help but trail down to the mark from earlier, upsetting thoughts taking over you as you encounter the upsetting thoughts again. Your eyes tremble with tears as you hold onto Yeonjun’s shoulders, you begin to sob again, the sight making Yeonjun uneasy as he’s even more apologetic when you are so clearly hurt by the smallest mark, yet the biggest mistake he had made.

"You're mine, you got that?" you sniffle, your touch on him soft but it feels possessive enough to Yeonjun at that point of time.

"Of course, all yours baby, only yours," he breathes as you part your lips, looking down on his neckline. Your eyes briefly glance over the hickey painted over his chest and it leaves the feeling of your heart throbbing in your chest. Unshed tears sting at your eyes, the sound of incoherent sob immediately puts him to sit up against the headboard, holding you close to him.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t do this, let’s just—”

“No,” you decline immediately, hands clasping together at his shoulder trying to push him back to let you be in charge. You bite back a sob, “I want to do this. Want this off you,” you snivel, looking pitiful and so eager to get the mark to be hidden by your own, your lip finding its way to his skin, sucking on it before your teeth sink on the same exact spot that leaves Yeonjun wincing in pain. He’s staring at you deeply now, heart wrenched as droplets of tears roll down your cheek in frustration.

"I should’ve been better, should’ve tried harder, I'm gonna make things right, love, I swear," he's spurting all his emotion out, hands scrambling to make their way to your thighs and helping you to move.

“Swear I’d never do it again,” he adds, his pillow-y soft lip rasps across your sensitive neck as he plants gentle kisses all over it. The action is filled with reassurance, infatuation, and warmth. Quite literally soft and tender, far from the agony that had filled your heart only moments before.

“There, princess?” he's asking, his tip reaching your sensitive spot, your voice exceptionally high pitched when you reply to him a yes.

He's much more attentive tonight. Usually sex with him was rough, which you couldn’t complain about or dislike, but there is something adorable about him being so soft with you that always made this a lot more enjoyable than usual. His kisses and praises doubles, along with the occasional apologies, his promise to do better. Your mind goes out from while to while, unable to comprehend the actual sentence that he forms. You are just glad he's holding you, grounding you from blacking out.

“Let me show you my love,” he helps you on your back, his dick sliding out for a while, smiling softly when you make a fuss for it, “I know, it's okay, baby,” comes out his mouth as he thrust up into you, sucking at your neck to leave a few more love bites.

“Faster,” you whimper, dissatisfied at the slow pace.

“We'll get there, so impatient,” Yeonjun chuckles, his hand brushing against your arms to settle into your breast, fondling it. Your desperate moans filled the room, the pace slowly building up. Your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing it before it gets shoved away by Yeonjun instantly.

Before you could question his denial, he whispers a stern “I could do that,” as you relax to his touch, his skilled fingers working its magic. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer to your high.

He hums against your lips as you tighten around him when you reach your orgasm, peppering the softest kisses all around your face while his hands mapped out your precious body that he’s come to cherish so much. Someone as lovely, as flawless, and as serene as you is a blessing for a man like him, a man who is emotionally lacking and aloof. Your body shakes with the overstimulation, a small smile escapes as he slows the pace, tender and consistent thrust to relax you.

“You feel so good, baby.” His eyes trailing down your body to where you are connected, the base of his cock wraps with thick white rings of your arousal, and his mouth opens at the vicious sight. He watches closely for your expression every time he plunges forward; your hips moving to meet his, thrust for thrust despite your previous orgasm. “Pussy made for me, yeah? Missed me that much?”

Each harsh thrust makes your tits bounce and forces a moan out from you as a response. Yeonjun chuckles at your lack of words, the sight admirable for him. The pleasure on your part made it difficult for you to even make out his expression or words anymore, feeling like you are on cloud nine for a second and a second later you are back on ground.

“Gonna make it up to you, promise,” he’s mumbling in between his praise for you, left at his mercy as he draws various shapes on your clit to push you further in ecstasy, another orgasm creeping in as you hold onto his shoulder tight.

As you let go for him, the endless words of flattery along with assurance of the love he has for you acts as your company. He’s slowing down, waiting for you to come down from your high. As your breath and heartbeat falls into a stable rhythm again, he’s back to thrusting slowly, your breath hitches as you are flooded with oversensitivity, wincing at the intrusion.

“Shh… I’m sorry, just a little bit more, pretty,” his whisper sends relaxation, trusting him with everything as you nod, occasional whimpers leaving your mouth at the slight discomfort. You shift your entire focus on him as he reaches his release, eyebrows furrowed with a slightly opened mouth as you reach your hands out to touch him on the cheek. The contact subconsciously draws a moan from him, resting his forehead on yours.

“Baby,” he calls out, “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, nodding as you rub his cheek yet you say nothing. The silence is deafening, Yeonjun himself cringing as he pulls out from you slowly. None of you breaks the silence as he gets up first to clean himself, allowing you to take a small nap before being woken up by him, for the never forgotten aftercare.

“Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight? I wanna have you in my arms.” The question arises from him as he buttons your pyjamas for tonight. He takes in your cozy state, eyelashes fluttering as you look up to him. You rarely ever see his nervous state, he is a person that always exudes such kind of charisma, carrying himself with confidence, at least around you, yet he seems least intimidating, nervous and very cautious with that simple question.

He isn’t looking for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. What he’s asking for is something simple, intimate, and deeply human: the opportunity to lie beside you, to hold you, and maybe even to begin the slow process of rebuilding what was lost, piece by piece. For a moment, you let yourself believe that this time, it might be different. That he genuinely wants to start anew and make amends, not just relive the moments of the past.

“Of course, Jjunie. Hold me, and don’t let go.”

At your reply, Yeonjun nearly jumps, placing you snuggly in his hold, not missing the opportunity to land a kiss every each and a while on your forehead as you relax and allow yourself to doze off.

[matchalovertrait]

An intimate talk under the stars.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

[Once they arrived at the park, Dulce and Antonio changed into a fresh pair of clothes. Running around in skintight costumes all night was NOT comfortable! They wouldn’t recommend it.]

[They also took this time to catch their breath. The crisp air felt rejuvenating while they embraced the comfortable silence, taking in the crazy night they had. What an insane idea. But they did it. Together.]

[After a few minutes, Dulce cleared her throat.]

DULCE: ..Antonio. I want to say I appreciate you for doing this with me. I know it was ridiculous. You’ve already helped me a lot, and I can’t thank you enough for it.

[Antonio shifted with discomfort.]

ANTONIO: Don’t thank me just yet. We haven’t won the case.

DULCE: Many things could’ve gone wrong, though.

ANTONIO: Technically they did... but we got through them, right? And we got the notebook.

DULCE: We did!!

[Dulce took out her notebook and flipped through the pages in awe.]

DULCE: I wish I could see the look on Caruso’s face once he realizes the notebook is gone.

[The “security”, Caruso, and Isabela should be able to put two and two together. Dulce and Antonio knew that. However, Caruso and Isabela had no proof. The Operation Fox team covered their tracks, and Matthew was able to erase any surveillance camera footage once the power came back on.]

[She looked up at Antonio with a soft smile.]

ANTONIO: I’ll guard that notebook with my life when I take it for the ink dating in the morning.

DULCE: I almost didn’t take it when I was in his room because I felt bad... We’re kind of the same.

ANTONIO: What do you mean?

DULCE: Maybe his video about me was some weird karmic stuff for the Alto exposé video I made. Maybe Caruso is just me as a man and I deserve what I got.

ANTONIO: You’re mistaken. You’re a lot smarter than Caruso. In your video, you didn’t give any names and you were very vague. Quite impressive if you ask me. How old were you? About 16? 17?

DULCE: Around there.

ANTONIO: Second of all, you have more love in your heart. It’s that simple.

ANTONIO: Alright. Picture this: Alfonso Alto watches your video. He laughs but is secretly freaking out. What if people start suspecting his shady business? He contacts his legal team to try to stop you.

ANTONIO: They rewatch your video repeatedly in an attempt to find something to sue you for—which, by the way, only adds onto your view count—but, they have nothing. Absolutely nothing. He’s furious to have been outsmarted by a teen girl. Things lead to another and he’s in prison all because of one video.

[Dulce nodded. Antonio would know from experience.]

DULCE: Hm, yeah.

ANTONIO: Think about all the lives you probably saved too. Caruso can’t live up to that. That’s probably why he’s so vengeful.

DULCE: ..Speaking of which, what about you and Isabela? Is she a vengeful ex-girlfriend of yours?

[Antonio waved his hand in dismissal.]

ANTONIO: Absolutely not.

ANTONIO: Actually, she hates me because I turned her down.

DULCE: What??

ANTONIO: We used work closely as interns at the same firm. We had to. Along the way, she somehow developed feelings for me. When she asked me out, I declined. I explained to her that I’m dedicated to my work. I don’t have time or energy for love.

[Dulce’s heart dropped.]

ANTONIO: I thought she took it well. Then, she started screwing me over in subtle ways. She would provide me with incorrect deadlines or “forget” to tell me about important calls.

ANTONIO: I couldn’t say anything. Isabela was untouchable because her uncle was a senior attorney at the firm. When my internship ended and I looked for jobs, many places rejected me because I received a bad reputation.

DULCE: I’m sorry that happened to you. Isabela’s a witch for doing that.

ANTONIO: It all worked out. I’m fortunate that the firm I work at now took a chance on me. I get to do what I love. And that place has allowed me to meet some incredible people.

DULCE: ..Sometimes I think about possible alternate timelines. “What if I didn’t do that?” or “What if I had done this instead?” ..Maybe I would be in a more fortunate situation.. but maybe I wouldn’t have experienced the good things in this timeline.

ANTONIO: Like what?

[The two looked up at the starry night.]

DULCE: Like adopting Cosi! Caruso was the one who insisted we get a dog on that day, actually. Maybe someone else would’ve taken her.

DULCE: Okay, your turn to name something.

ANTONIO: Hm..... One time I broke my leg. If I didn’t have all that spare time to watch movies, maybe I wouldn’t have found out I like Star Wars. Your turn.

DULCE: I got lost in the city once. If I didn’t make a wrong turn, I wouldn’t have run into the person selling the refurbished iMac G3. I love it! Your turn.

[Suddenly, the two of them turned to face each other at the same time. They hadn’t realize the closing distance between them.]

ANTONIO: I..

DULCE: I think we should leave. Isabela and Caruso could be out looking for us right now.

ANTONIO: Yeah, and it’s getting late.

DULCE: Mhm.

ANTONIO: C’mon. Let’s get you home.

[aspenmissing]

ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴘᴛ 2

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 12217 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ/ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ/ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

VANDER

The Last Drop pulsed with life, thick with the scent of sweat, cheap spirits, and something burning in the back that smelled almost edible. The air was warm, heavy with voices—laughing, shouting, singing off-key. It was alive in a way Piltover had never been.

Y/N kept her hood up, letting the dim lighting and thick haze of the bar shield her. Even so, she felt eyes on her. Zaunites weren’t used to someone like her in a place like this. It wasn’t just the fabric of her cloak, stitched with precision by hands that had never known hard labour. It wasn’t even the outfit beneath, fine and delicate, a stark contrast to the grime-streaked floor.

It was the way she carried herself—like someone who had never belonged in the Undercity.

But she didn’t belong there, either.

Her fingers curled around the glass set in front of her, its surface cool against her palm. The amber liquid swirled under the lantern light, rich and deep. She had no intention of drinking it.

She just wanted to touch something real.

“Don’t see your kind ‘round here much.”

The voice was deep, roughened by time and too many cigarettes. She glanced up and found the source—a man leaning against the bar, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Broad shoulders. Thick arms. The kind of presence that made a man stand out in any room, even one as loud as this. He looked like he belonged here, a man shaped by the weight of something heavier than most could carry.

She had never met him before, but she knew of him. Everyone did. Vander—the man who kept Zaun standing, even when the rest of the world wanted to see it fall.

Y/N’s fingers tapped lightly against her glass. “And what kind is that?”

Vander’s gaze flickered over her, assessing. He wasn’t subtle about it. “Piltover girl.”

The words stung more than they should have. She wasn’t wrong to be here. She wanted to be here.

She wasn’t sure where else to go.

“I needed a drink,” she said, voice barely above the hum of the bar.

Vander huffed a quiet chuckle, wiping his hands on the cloth tucked into his belt. “That so?” He gestured to the untouched glass. “Not doin’ a great job of it.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Not sure where to start.”

“Depends what you’re runnin’ from.”

Her grip tightened around the glass.

He saw too much. Even without knowing her name, he had already pulled at the threads of truth beneath the silk and lace.

Vander nodded toward her hands. “You alright, love?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she sighed, shifting slightly on the stool. “You get a lot of runaways in here?”

“More than I’d like,” Vander admitted, resting an elbow on the counter. “Though most don’t look as well-fed as you.”

She let out a humourless laugh. “Guess I’m not very good at it.”

“Maybe not.” He considered her for a long moment. “But somethin’ tells me this ain’t your first time sneakin’ out.”

It wasn’t.

She had fled before—twice, to be exact. The first time, she hadn’t made it past the front gates before they caught her. The second, she had reached the docks. This time, she had made it all the way down to Zaun.

Progress.

But she had always known how this would end.

That’s why she didn’t flinch when the doors to the bar slammed open, or when the heavy boots of Piltover enforcers stomped across the floor.

She didn’t even turn around.

“Y/N L/N,” one of them called out sharply. “You’ve been ordered to return home.”

A few heads turned. A few shoulders tensed. But no one stepped in. Zaunites knew better than to get between Piltover and their problems.

She could feel Vander watching her, felt the weight of his presence at her side.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Took you longer than usual.”

One of the guards shifted uncomfortably. “Come quietly, and your father will—”

“I know the speech,” she interrupted, pushing back her hood. “I wrote half of it for him.”

Vander didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze sharpening. She glanced at him, offering a small, wry smile. “Told you I wasn’t good at this.”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening.

“You don’t have to go,” he said quietly.

She swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. Don’t make this harder.

“If I don’t, they’ll bring more,” she muttered. “And next time, they won’t ask nicely.”

Vander exhaled slowly, looking like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched as she reached for the glass in front of her, lifting it to her lips.

The liquor burned as it went down, sharp and punishing. But at least this was a choice she got to make. She set the empty glass down with a quiet clink, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned to the waiting guards.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

They stepped forward, their hands closing around her arms—not rough, not cruel, just final. Vander didn’t stop them. But he didn’t look away, either.

His gaze stayed on her, steady and unreadable, like he was committing this moment to memory. Like he was trying to figure out whether this was the last time he’d see her—or just the beginning of something neither of them could name.

Y/N exhaled slowly, forcing down the lump in her throat. Then, just as they reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time.

“See you later, Vander.”

=

The first time she came back, she barely made it through the door before the guards found her. The second time, she got a drink in before they dragged her away. By the third time, Vander already had a glass waiting by the time she sat down.

He didn’t even have to ask what she wanted. Just set the drink in front of her with that knowing look, his arms braced against the bar as he leaned in slightly.

“You’re gettin’ predictable, love.” His voice was warm, teasing.

Y/N huffed, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she wrapped her fingers around the glass. “I’d call it improving. Last time, I made it a whole hour.”

Vander chuckled, a quiet rumble deep in his chest. “And the time before that, forty-five minutes.” He tipped his chin toward the door, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Not much longer ‘til you make it a whole night.”

She grinned, taking a slow sip of her drink. The burn was sharp, but familiar now. A taste that had come to mean freedom. Even if only for a little while.

“That the gambler in you talkin’?” she asked, raising a brow.

Vander smirked, shifting his weight against the counter. “Just callin’ it how I see it.”

Something about the way he said it made warmth creep up her spine.

The first time they met, there had been caution in his eyes, suspicion. He had been wary, watching her like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But things had changed. Somewhere in the past few weeks, between the stolen moments and the drinks she never got to finish, something had shifted.

She wasn’t just some Piltover girl anymore.

She was his runaway.

Even the guards had stopped being rough when they came for her. By now, they had accepted their fate as much as she had—tired men chasing after a noble girl who refused to stay put.

“Lady Y/N,” one of them sighed, stepping up to her side. The exhaustion in his voice was almost comical. “Again?”

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Just let me finish my drink.”

The enforcer glanced at Vander, as if hoping for some kind of help.

Vander just shrugged, casual as ever. “She did just get here.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

The guard sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Five minutes.”

Y/N grinned, lifting her glass in a silent toast to Vander before taking another sip.

=

Months passed, and the game never changed. She ran. They found her. She ran again. But it wasn’t just a game anymore—it was a life, a second home carved out in the Undercity, slipping between the cracks of her rebellion.

Every time she made it to The Last Drop, Vander was waiting. Sometimes behind the bar, already setting down a drink before she pulled back her hood. Other times mid-conversation, nodding at her in quiet acknowledgment while others wisely chose not to question her presence.

She wasn’t just some Piltover girl anymore. She was theirs.

Powder saved her a seat, chattering about her inventions. Claggor taught her how to cheat at cards while Vi teased her mercilessly. Even Mylo, ever skeptical, had begrudgingly stopped acting surprised when she walked in. And Vander? Vander just watched. Never asked why she came back. Never pushed for answers she wasn’t ready to give. He just let her be.

Maybe that’s what made this so much harder.

She traced the rim of her glass, staring into the amber liquid. Tonight, the drink tasted different—bitter, heavy, like something had already been lost before she even spoke the words.

Vander was watching her, arms crossed, brow furrowed slightly. He had already picked up on it—of course he had. He always did.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “I talk too much?”

He smirked, but there was something softer beneath it. “A bit.”

She turned the glass in slow circles against the counter, focusing on the way the light caught the liquid inside. The warmth that settled in her chest had nothing to do with the alcohol. It was just him. Just the way he was there, solid and steady. For months, she had convinced herself she had time. That if she just kept slipping through the cracks, she could keep coming back. But Piltover had finally found a way to cage her.

She swallowed hard. “I can’t come back.”

Vander stilled. Not much, just enough. Just a shift in the way he stood, the way his fingers twitched slightly against his arm. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Didn’t demand an explanation.

She hated that about him. Hated that he made it easy. Hated that he never forced her to say things out loud, because now, she had no choice but to do it herself.

She tightened her grip around the glass, the words tasting like poison as she finally said them. “My father—he’s arranging a marriage.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “It’s been decided.”

Vander exhaled slowly, and for a long moment, he just stood there. Not surprised. Not angry. Just steady. Like he had known this was coming, even if she had refused to admit it to herself.

“When?” he asked quietly.

“A few weeks.”

A slow nod. Thoughtful. His eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “You gonna go through with it?”

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Not much of a choice, is there?”

“There’s always a choice.”

Y/N looked away, jaw tightening. “Not this time.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick.

She wished he would say something—anything. Tell her she was being foolish. Tell her she was right to go. Tell her not to go. But Vander wasn’t that kind of man. He wouldn’t give her an answer because he knew it wasn’t his to give.

She inhaled sharply, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Guess that’s the end of my little rebellion, huh?”

His lips quirked, but it wasn’t really a smile. “That what this was?”

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. “Maybe.”

Another silence. Longer this time. She could feel it slipping away. This. Them. Whatever it was. Whatever it could have been if she had just—

Her fingers clenched in her lap. “Say something.”

Vander’s jaw tightened. His fingers tapped idly against the counter, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

“You’ll be miserable.”

The words hit her like a punch to the ribs. She forced out a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to her own ears. “You don’t know that.”

Vander just looked at her. Didn’t need to say anything else. She dropped her gaze, swallowing hard. He was right.

Of course he was.

She wanted to tell him—wanted to say the things she had been biting back for months, to admit what she already knew deep down. That no matter how far she was taken, she would always find her way back to him.

But instead, she downed the rest of her drink, set the glass down with a quiet finality, and stood. Just like the first night they met, she turned toward the door. No guards would drag her away this time. She was walking out on her own. At the threshold, she hesitated—just for a second—before glancing over her shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time.

And she smiled.

“See you later, Vander.”

His expression didn’t change. He just nodded, slow and knowing. “Yeah,” he murmured.

The doors opened before she could push them herself. The enforcers were already there, standing just outside, waiting. But something was different this time.

They weren’t pulling her away. They weren’t dragging her from the bar like before. She was already leaving. And that, if anything, made it worse. For the first time, they almost looked sad. Not because they had to bring her back. But because they knew.

Because this time, she wasn’t coming back.

=

The morning of her wedding was quiet. Too quiet. No laughter, no clinking glasses, no whispered conversations drifting through the halls like they should have been. Even the enforcers outside her door weren’t speaking, their usual idle chatter replaced with silence. They knew. Everyone knew.

This wasn’t just a wedding. It was a sentence.

Y/N stood before the mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back at her. The dress was beautiful—perfect, her mother had said. Delicate lace, soft silk, every pearl and embroidered detail crafted with precision. Yet, all she saw was a cage. She looked like the woman her father had shaped her into—poised, polished, silent. A bride. A bargaining chip. A prisoner.

Her fingers curled into the fabric at her sides, nails pressing into the fine silk as if she could rip through it and break free. Every stolen night in Zaun, every unfinished drink at The Last Drop, every teasing smirk from Vander—it had all been borrowed time, a dream that had to end.

And now, here she was. Standing in a dress she never wanted. Walking a path she never chose.

The fight was over.

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing hard, forcing down the ache rising in her throat. This was it. This was—

Tap.

Her breath hitched.

A soft, deliberate tap against the glass.

Her eyes snapped open, heart hammering, pulse roaring in her ears. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she turned toward the window.

And there he was.

Vander.

Standing on the narrow balcony, broad shoulders barely fitting in the small space, his storm-coloured eyes locked onto hers. The morning light caught the silver streaks in his hair, but nothing softened the intensity of his gaze. He was calm, steady—dangerous in the way only certainty could be.

Her breath left her in a sharp exhale, disbelieving. “You—what the hell are you doing here?”

Vander smirked, slow and knowing, fingers still resting against the glass. “Came to steal a bride, what’s it look like?”

Her stomach twisted painfully, breath catching in her throat. She stared at him, at the sheer audacity of him standing there, calm as ever, as if this wasn’t completely insane. As if they weren’t in the heart of Piltover, with enforcers right outside her door, with her entire future hanging in the balance.

“You can’t just—” She shook her head, words failing. “Vander.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. “What? You gonna tell me you wanna go through with this?”

She swallowed hard, fingers tightening in the fabric of her gown.

He watched her carefully, voice softer when he spoke again. “You say the word, love, and I’ll walk away. But if you don’t wanna do this—if you don’t wanna marry this bastard—then come with me.”

A pause. A choice.

His voice dropped lower, quieter. “Ain’t no one gonna stop you this time.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. No one was coming to drag her away. No one was forcing her into anything. This time, it was up to her. She inhaled sharply, gripping the skirts of her dress.

And then, without another word

She ran

SILCO

The rain hit the cobblestone streets in rhythmic patters, coating Zaun in a silver sheen. It was late, past the time anyone decent should be out. But then again, you had never belonged to a world of decency.

The first time you ran away, it was not truly by choice. It was by design—by greed, by the hunger of parents who had spent their whole lives clawing for something better. They had seen their opportunity in you.

“He’s your chance,” they had said. A man from Piltover, polished and wealthy, who had looked at you like a prize rather than a person. “A life up there is better than anything you’ll ever get in this gutter.”

And for a while, you had believed them. Because what else was there? Zaun, with its decay and danger, had been your whole world. And Silco—Silco had been a part of it. A boy who had grown into a man alongside you, who had been there in every quiet moment, every stolen night. But he had no gold, no promise of a clean future.

Your parents wanted wealth. Stability. A way to claw their way out of Zaun’s grasp, even if it meant selling you to a man who could afford to take you with him.

And so you had gone.

Now, you were back. A ring on your finger. A ghost of a bruise on your wrist. And nowhere left to go but here.

Tomorrow, you would marry him.

Tonight, you needed to see Silco one last time.

The door to his office creaked as you stepped inside, water dripping from your clothes onto the floor. The familiar scent of whiskey and smoke greeted you, wrapping around you like a warning. He was behind his desk, as he always was, a half-empty glass resting in his hand. His gaze lifted slowly, trailing over you, and you braced for the impact of those sharp, knowing eyes.

“Y/N,” Silco drawled, voice as smooth as ever, but undercut with something unreadable. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the soaked fabric of your cloak. “I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

A beat of silence. Then, he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “Strange. I recall you once saying Piltover had everything you needed.”

The sting of his words wasn’t unexpected. You had left him behind once before, choosing another man, another life. One built on bright dreams and whispered vows. And yet, here you stood, back in the depths of the Undercity, a place you had tried so hard to forget.

His gaze flickered downward. His eye, sharp and unforgiving, lingered on your wrist, where the bruise—faint but unmistakable—peeked from beneath your sleeve.

His expression didn’t change. But something in the air did.

“Who?” The single word was quiet, but it carried the weight of a storm.

You exhaled sharply, tugging your sleeve down. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does.” Silco stood, his movements slow, measured. His gaze never left you as he came around the desk, stopping only when he was close enough for you to feel the warmth of him. “I assume he is the reason you’re here?”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say no, wanted to say you had come back for him, that you had realized too late where your heart had always belonged. But the words refused to come.

Instead, you whispered, “I made a mistake.”

Silco’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Then, just as quickly, his mask slipped back into place.

“Did you?” he murmured, reaching out, fingertips just barely grazing your chin, tilting it upward. His eye searched yours, waiting, measuring. “And now you’re here. With a ring that isn’t mine.”

Shame burned through you. “I didn’t come to ask for help.”

“No?” His voice was a blade now. “Then what did you come for?”

You swallowed. “To say goodbye.”

Silco stilled.

You forced yourself to keep speaking. “Tomorrow, I—” The words caught in your throat. “Tomorrow, I marry him.”

His expression didn’t change, but the silence that followed was unbearable.

Silco’s fingers ghosted over your wrist, his thumb brushing against the faint bruises with a gentleness that didn’t match the sharpness in his voice. “And this? Does he treat you well?”

The lie sat heavy on your tongue. But Silco had always seen through you.

“He’s not you,” you admitted.

Silco exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself.

“I thought I had to do it,” you continued, voice barely above a whisper. “My parents—they sold me to him. A means to an end.” You let out a bitter laugh. “They said love would come after wealth. But it never did.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out, might demand that you stay, might try to fight for you the way you had once wished he would.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped closer, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. “You still have a choice, Y/N.”

Tears burned behind your eyes. “No, I don’t.”

His hands came up then, framing your face, tilting your chin so that you had no choice but to look at him. “Then why are you here?”

Your breath hitched.

And then, finally—

“Because I love you.”

The moment your lips met his, the world outside ceased to exist.

It was all Silco—his hands, his touch, the heat of his body pressed against yours. The rough fabric of his vest beneath your fingers, the scent of smoke and whiskey filling your senses as his fingers tangled into your damp hair, pulling you deeper into him.

You had kissed him before—years ago, in secret, before everything had fallen apart. But this was different. There was no uncertainty now, no hesitation. This was desperation. This was finality.

His hands roamed over your body as though trying to memorize every inch of you before you slipped away from him again. And you let him, let yourself drown in the feeling of his touch, the way he held you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable.

His lips ghosted over yours between breaths, whispering against your skin. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes heavy with longing, with pain. “I had to.”

Silco’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a touch so reverent it made your chest ache. “You’re cruel, Y/N.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I know.”

His lips found yours again, deeper this time, more claiming. His other hand slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly, like he was trying to keep you tethered to him. His voice was lower, rougher when he spoke next.

“Tell me you don’t love him.”

You let out a shuddering breath, pressing your forehead against his. “I don’t love him.”

His fingers dug into your waist, possessive. “Say it again.”

You kissed him, pouring everything into it—every regret, every unsaid word, every stolen moment between you. “I don’t love him,” you murmured against his lips, again and again, until the words blurred between kisses, until the truth settled into your bones.

Silco pulled back just enough to study you, his single eye dark and searching. “And yet, you’re still going to marry him.”

Your heart clenched. “I have no choice.”

His grip on you tightened, but his voice was eerily calm. “There’s always a choice.”

You shook your head. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

For a moment, you thought he would fight you on it, that he would demand you stay. But instead, his expression shifted—something raw, something resigned.

“Then I’ll make sure he never touches you again.”

You inhaled sharply, your hands pressing against his chest. “No, Silco.”

His jaw clenched. “Why not?”

“Because I won’t be the reason you start a war,” you whispered. “I won’t let you burn Piltover to the ground for me.”

His gaze flickered with something dangerous. “I’d burn the whole world if it meant keeping you.”

Your breath caught. You knew he meant it. You had always known.

But that wasn’t why you came. You didn’t come for war, or for vengeance. You came for him.

So you reached for him again, pulling him down to kiss you, slow and deep, as if this could be enough, as if it could make up for everything.

His hands slid over your hips, gripping you tight as he guided you backward, until the backs of your knees hit the couch. You let yourself fall, pulling him down with you, letting him press you into the worn fabric as his mouth found your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm, his voice raw with possession. “You’ve always been mine.”

Tears burned behind your eyes as your fingers tangled in his hair. “Then take me. One last time.”

A growl rumbled low in his throat, his lips crashing against yours again as he pressed his body flush against yours. The weight of him, the warmth of him, the way his hands held you like he was terrified you would slip through his fingers—it was everything you had ever wanted.

And for one last night, you let yourself belong to him.

=

You woke before the sun rose, still wrapped in Silco’s arms. His breath was slow and steady against your shoulder, his body warm against yours beneath the thin sheets. A rare moment of peace.

For a fleeting second, you let yourself stay there. Listened to the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, felt the gentle weight of his arm draped over your waist. His grip had loosened in sleep, but not completely—like some part of him still feared you’d disappear the moment he let go.

And maybe he was right to.

A soft chill crept through the air, your bare skin prickling in response. It wasn’t until you shifted that you realized something heavy and warm was draped over both of you—his jacket.

At some point in the night, he must have pulled it over you, shielding you from the cold. The familiar scent of him clung to the fabric, a mixture of smoke, steel, and something undeniably him. You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the worn leather.

Silco wasn’t a man of grand gestures, of whispered affections. But this—this silent, protective act—meant more than any words ever could.

And it made leaving all the more unbearable.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, trying not to wake him. His fingers twitched in protest as your warmth left his side, but he didn’t stir. You sat at the edge of the couch, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself as you gazed at him.

Even in sleep, he was himself—sharp angles and quiet intensity, the scarred side of his face half-hidden against the pillow. You memorized him, let your eyes trace every detail like it was the last time you’d ever see him.

Because it was.

Your limbs ached, your skin bore the imprint of his touch, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Silco’s jacket was still around your shoulders when you stood, its weight like an anchor, like a promise that had come too late. You wanted to keep it. You wanted to keep a piece of him.

But that would be cruel.

So, with trembling hands, you slipped it from your shoulders and laid it carefully beside him. Your fingers ghosted over the lapel, over the familiar worn seams.

A part of you ached to wake him, to tell him you had changed your mind, to let him pull you back into the warmth of his arms and never let go.

But you had no right.

You made it to the door before his voice stopped you.

“Y/N.”

You turned, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him—half-illuminated by the faint glow of the lantern, hair tousled from sleep, the sheets pooling at his waist. His single eye locked onto yours, heavy with something you weren’t ready to face.

His voice was quiet, rough with sleep. “Stay.”

Your heart cracked. You wanted to. You wanted to so badly that it physically hurt. But you couldn’t. So instead, you gave him the only truth that mattered.

“I love you.”

Silco inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you. But he didn’t. He only watched as you turned and slipped out the door, disappearing into the fading darkness. His jacket lay abandoned beside him.

And when he finally reached for it, it was cold.

=

The church was suffocating, its silence heavier than the officiant’s words. Air pressed against your chest, thick with expectation, as you stood frozen at the altar, heart thundering beneath layers of silk and lace. Stained-glass windows painted fractured hues of gold and red onto the marble floors, casting you as an illusion on the verge of shattering. Piltover’s elite sat poised, gloved hands folded, their sharp gazes pinning you in place. Trained for this moment, conditioned to be the perfect bride—a symbol of unity, power, and wealth—you felt instead like a prisoner in a gilded cage.

Your fiancé—your husband-to-be—smiled, calm and certain, as if your fate had already been sealed. His fingers curled around yours, firm and unrelenting. But your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the murmured vows. You could still feel Silco—his hands, his lips, the ghost of his touch still clinging to your skin. The way he had whispered your name, the way he had told you you still had a choice.

And yet, here you were.

The officiant’s voice barely registered, his words blurring into nothing as your mind swam in an ocean of doubt.

"Do you, Y/N, take this man as your lawful husband?"

The words rang hollow.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly in your fiancé’s grasp. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your chest ached, a war raging inside you.

Say it. Say yes. Say something.

You couldn’t.

A cold sweat prickled at the back of your neck. The officiant was waiting. Your fiancé’s grip tightened just slightly, his smile unwavering, but his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—were anything but soft.

He knew. He knew you were hesitating. And then—

Boom!

The grand church doors burst open, crashing against the stone walls with a deafening bang. Gasps erupted from the pews, women clutching their pearls, men rising abruptly from their seats. The air turned electric with tension, fear rippling through the pristine congregation as booted footsteps echoed against the marble floor.

Zaunites.

The scent of smoke and gunpowder clung to them, an unmistakable stench of the Undercity—your city, the one you had tried to leave behind. They moved with practiced ease, fanning out through the church like a silent threat. Not reckless, not wild—intentional.

And in the centre of it all, flanked by his men, stood Silco.

The breath left your lungs.

He was still, a commanding force, his long coat billowing as he strode forward with the slow, measured steps of a man who knew he was untouchable. His mismatched eyes cut through the crowd, through the suffocating air of gold and wealth, and landed directly on you.

The church had never felt smaller.

His face was unreadable, but his anger was palpable. Not rage—control. A dangerous kind of fury, a silent promise.

He took you in, his gaze sweeping over your pristine wedding dress, the silk gloves on your hands, the delicate gold chain around your neck. Everything about you was wrapped in Piltover’s claim.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"Well," Silco drawled, voice smooth as ever, but undercut with something sharp. "Apologies for the interruption. But I believe the bride has some unfinished business."

The reaction was instant.

Your fiancé stiffened beside you, stepping forward as though to shield you from the man before him. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded, voice sharp with authority.

Silco barely spared him a glance. His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering. “I should be asking you that, considering you’re trying to wed a woman who doesn’t want you.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade.

Murmurs broke out among the guests. Shocked gasps, whispers of scandal, of impropriety. The officiant took a nervous step back, his hands trembling over his book.

The guards stationed at the doors exchanged uneasy glances, hesitating. Zaunites weren’t common in Piltover’s sacred halls, and none were foolish enough to test the man before them. Silco wasn’t just any Zaunite.

Your fiancé scoffed, turning his glare on you now. “This is ridiculous,” he spat. “Tell them, Y/N. Tell them you chose this. Tell them you want this.”

Silco tilted his head, watching you with unnerving patience. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Because this was your choice.

The weight of expectation pressed against you. Your parents, your fiancé, the glittering world of Piltover—everything that had been set out for you.

But then there was Silco. Waiting. Hoping. Loving you in a way no one else ever had. Your lips parted.

“I—”

Your fiancé squeezed your hands tighter. “Say it.”

You flinched. Silco noticed. His patience evaporated in an instant. His men raised their weapons as he took another step forward, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl.

"Let. Her. Go."

Your fiancé hesitated, but only for a moment before he yanked you toward him, an unmistakable warning in his grip. “She’s mine.”

That was the final mistake.

Silco moved in a blur.

A blade flashed in his hand as he grabbed your fiancé by the collar, yanking him forward with terrifying ease. The polished steel kissed his throat, forcing him to still.

The church fell silent once more.

Silco’s lips curled into something sharp, something deadly.

“She was never yours,” he murmured.

Your fiancé swallowed hard, his confidence flickering under the weight of Silco’s unwavering stare. “You wouldn’t,” he spat. “Not here. Not in Piltover.”

Silco’s smirk was razor-sharp. “Wouldn’t I?”

A tense beat passed.

And then—

"Silco."

Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it sliced through the thick air like a knife.

His grip on your fiancé tightened for a fraction of a second before, with a sharp tch, he released him, shoving the man backward with enough force that he stumbled.

Your breath trembled in your chest.

Silco turned to you then, stepping closer, his presence consuming. “Say the word,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost pleading. “Say the word and I’ll burn all of this to the ground.”

Your fiancé was still sputtering behind you, his voice distant, irrelevant.

But it didn’t matter.

None of it did.

Not the gasping nobles in the pews. Not the shocked officiant, clutching his ceremonial book like a shield. Not the weight of expectation that had been suffocating you for years.

Nothing mattered except the man standing before you.

The man who had come for you.

The man who had always been waiting for you.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, your hands trembling at your sides as your heart pounded against your ribs, caught between fear and something rawer, something inevitable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

Silco didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Only studied you with that unreadable gaze—like he was looking past the silk and jewels, past the gilded chains Piltover had wrapped around you, seeing only the girl he had always known.

The girl who belonged to him.

"And yet," he murmured, voice low, steady, certain, "here I am."

Slowly, deliberately, Silco lifted a hand.

His fingers curled beneath your chin, the calloused tips brushing against your skin with a featherlight touch. It wasn’t forceful. It wasn’t demanding. It was a question.

A challenge.

A choice.

For a moment, time stretched between you, an eternity wrapped in a single breath. The air felt thick, electric, as if the entire world teetered on the precipice of this moment. As if the very foundations of Piltover held still, waiting—watching—to see what you would do.

And then—

You chose.

You surged forward, closing the space between you in an instant. Your silk-gloved hands fisted into the front of his coat as you crashed your lips against his, pouring everything you had into him. Every ache, every regret, every moment of longing you had swallowed down in the name of duty—it was his now.

A scandalized gasp rippled through the pews, but the sound barely registered in your ears.

The world fell away, dissolving into nothing.

Silco caught you with a steady, unshakable grip, as if he had been waiting for this, expecting it, counting on it. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling you deeper, his other hand finding the small of your back and pressing you flush against him. There was no hesitation, no restraint—he kissed you with a hunger that set your veins on fire, a desperation that spoke of years lost, of a future he was willing to burn the world for.

And you let him.

You melted into him, into the taste of whiskey and smoke, into the warmth of him, into the rightness of it all.

You had spent years convincing yourself this feeling wasn’t real. That you had outgrown the girl who had once stolen away into the depths of Zaun to be by his side. But the truth was clearer now than it had ever been.

This was where you belonged.

When you finally broke apart, your chest was heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Silco didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t so much as breathe as he stared down at you, his single eye flickering with something dark and unreadable, something alive.

And then, with the kind of certainty that made your knees weak, he extended his hand—palm open, waiting.

"Let me take you away from this place." His voice was a whisper between you, a promise wrapped in smoke. "Back to where you always have belonged. Right beside me."

An invitation.

A vow.

You took it without hesitation. The moment your fingers slipped into his, the weight of everything disappeared.

Behind you, the church erupted into chaos. Women shrieked. Noblemen shouted in outrage. Your fiancé was yelling your name, his voice desperate, angry, humiliated all at once. Your mother’s sharp, disbelieving gasp cut through the clamour like a blade, her voice rising in a breathless, horrified whisper.

"What have you done?"

But you didn’t look back.

Not when you stepped down from the altar, silk dress trailing behind—a life never truly yours; not when you passed your parents’ stunned faces, their broken ambitions never meant for you; not when Silco led you through the grand doors, his men shielding you from the world you left behind; not when the cold air hit, Piltover fading into fog while Zaun’s smog called you home; not when Silco pulled you close, draping his coat around you, his lips a silent promise against your temple.

And for the first time in your life—

You knew, with certainty—

You had made the right choice.

MEL

You and Mel grew up together, bound by the expectations of your high-status families but tethered more deeply by the quiet understanding that neither of you quite belonged within those constraints. From the moment you met, she had been a steady presence—sharp-witted, observant, the only person who ever made you feel truly seen.

There had always been something effortless about your bond, an unspoken ease in the way you moved through each other's worlds. In the grand halls of the Medarda estate, where golden sconces bathed the marble floors in soft, flickering light, she was a force of nature—draped in silks, adorned in gold, commanding attention with the mere arch of an eyebrow. And yet, in the quiet of her private quarters, beneath the carved ceiling where the glow of candlelight softened the sharp edges of expectation, she was simply Mel.

You spent endless afternoons there, the scent of ink and aged parchment thick in the air as you played chess across an opulent mahogany table. The game was an excuse, really—an intellectual battleground where the real war was waged in words. Strategy and sacrifice. Power and defiance. She could read you too well, saw past your carefully maintained indifference.

It was inevitable that the conversation would return, time and time again, to the future.

“They’ll expect you to marry one day,” Mel mused one evening, turning a rook between her fingers, its polished surface gleaming in the lantern light. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but her gaze was calculating, golden eyes sweeping over the board, then to you.

You scoffed, flicking a pawn aside with deliberate carelessness. “Marriage is a gilded cage,” you muttered. “They talk about alliances, but really, it’s just another way to control us.”

Mel hummed in consideration, tilting her head slightly. “And you?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more pointed. “What will you do when they demand it of you?”

There was no hesitation. No second-guessing. “I’ll run.”

She laughed at that—a soft, breathy sound, edged with something like amusement but not quite. Her fingers hovered over the rook for a moment longer before placing it down with a decisive click. “You always say that,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Because I mean it.” You leaned forward, bracing your elbows against the table, eyes locked with hers. “I won’t let them decide my life for me.”

A flicker of something—doubt? Curiosity?—crossed her features. She studied you for a moment, a slow, deliberate assessment. Then, in a voice quieter than before, she asked, “And if you found someone worth staying for?”

The question stole your breath for half a second. Not because you hadn’t considered it before, but because of the way she asked it—soft, careful, as if the answer mattered more than she’d ever admit.

You hesitated, the pieces on the board suddenly feeling insignificant compared to the weight of her words. The candlelight caught the gold in her eyes, turning them molten, unreadable.

“Maybe,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter now. “But only if it’s my choice.”

Something in her expression shifted, but whatever it was, she kept it to herself. Instead, she reached for her queen, dragging it forward across the board with deliberate grace.

“Check,” she murmured, but there was no triumph in her voice—only something softer, something uncertain.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were still talking about chess at all.

=

Years passed, and what began as a quiet companionship deepened into something undeniable. The stolen glances, the lingering touches, the way Mel’s voice softened when she spoke your name—it had all woven into something more. Something unspoken, yet understood.

You had spent years convincing yourself that it didn’t need to be said aloud, that as long as she looked at you that way, as long as her hand lingered on yours for just a moment too long, you could be content. But love had a way of making itself known, carving its mark into every stolen second you spent together.

And then, in a single moment, your world shattered.

The letter came without warning, a summons to the grand hall of your family’s estate. You had barely stepped inside when you saw them—your parents, standing rigidly at the head of the long, polished table, their expressions carved from stone. A sealed letter rested between them, the wax crest unfamiliar, its meaning heavy with expectation.

Your father’s voice was devoid of warmth. "You are to be married."

The words struck like a physical blow.

"To a nobleman from the Southern Territories," he continued. "This union will solidify an alliance that has been years in the making. You leave in a fortnight."

The room seemed to tilt around you. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of your own breathing. Married. Sent away. Torn from Mel.

Your lips parted, but no words came. A thousand thoughts, a thousand refusals clawed their way to the surface, but all that escaped was a broken whisper.

"No."

Your mother exhaled sharply, her fingers pressing to her temple as if speaking to you was an exhausting effort. "You will do what is required of you, Y/N. This is not about love—it is about duty."

Love.

Mel.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "And what of my own will? My own happiness?"

Your father’s gaze was like steel, unyielding. "You are not a child, and this is not a fairytale. You will do as you are told."

The words slammed into you, suffocating, final. You felt the walls closing in, the weight of expectation pressing against your ribs until you could barely breathe.

But you would not break here.

You turned on your heel and fled before they could say another word, the heavy doors slamming shut behind you. Your feet carried you without thought, without hesitation, down the stone paths and through the winding streets until the towering gates of the Medarda estate loomed before you.

The guards barely had time to react before you pushed through, heart hammering as you rushed through the familiar halls, past the towering marble columns, past the velvet-draped corridors.

You found her in the gardens, where the air smelled of roses and the last golden rays of sunlight turned the sky into a watercolor of amber and violet. She was leaning against the stone railing, her silk robe pooling around her in the evening glow.

She turned the moment she saw you, her golden eyes sharpening with concern.

"What happened?"

The words came out in a rush, like a dam breaking. "They’re sending me away. To be married."

Mel stilled, every trace of ease vanishing from her expression. Her grip tightened around the marble ledge. "No. No, they can’t."

You let out a bitter laugh, though it was anything but humorous. "They can. And they will."

Mel’s hands found yours, her fingers strong but trembling, like she was willing herself to stay composed. "You told me you would run," she whispered, searching your face. "You told me you wouldn’t let them decide your life."

Tears burned at the edges of your vision. "I was a child. I didn’t know how ruthless they could be."

Mel exhaled sharply, her hands rising to cup your face, her thumbs brushing against your cheekbones with a tenderness that nearly undid you. "You were brave then," she said, her voice fierce, steady. "Be brave now. If we fight, if we stand together, we can find a way. You don’t have to do this alone."

Your lip trembled, and you leaned into her touch, your forehead resting against hers. "What if we lose?"

Mel’s breath ghosted against your lips as she whispered, "Then we lose together. But I will not let them take you without a fight."

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and Mel caught it with her thumb, her other hand still gripping yours as if she refused to let go.

And then, as if something inside her had finally shattered, she spoke the words you had longed to hear but never dared hope for.

"I love you," she whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a vow. "I have always loved you. And I will not stand by while they take you away from me."

The breath left your lungs. You had known, in the quiet spaces between moments, in the way she looked at you, in the way her fingers lingered at your wrist when no one was watching. But to hear it, to have it spoken into existence, was something else entirely.

Your hands tightened around hers. "Mel," you whispered, her name a prayer on your lips.

The wind stirred between you, rustling the leaves, carrying the weight of your choice on its back.

This was everything you wanted, everything you had feared you would never have. And yet, duty loomed like a shadow over your happiness, threatening to swallow it whole.

=

The fortnight passed in a blur of whispered plans and stolen moments, of desperate strategies and half-formed hopes.

Mel was relentless—poring over maps, calling in favors, speaking in hushed tones to the few people she trusted. Every night, as the world slept, you met beneath the veil of darkness, your hands intertwined as you planned your escape.

“We’ll leave before dawn,” she had told you just the night before, her voice unwavering, golden eyes blazing with determination. “I have everything arranged—a ship, safe passage. We’ll be gone before they even realize what’s happened.”

You had clung to those words, to the dream she painted, to the idea of a life beyond the cages that had been built for you.

But dreams are fragile things.

Before the sun had even begun to crest the horizon, you were torn from sleep by the rough grip of hands on your arms.

You fought, thrashing, kicking, nails clawing at the hands that held you, but there were too many—guards clad in your family’s colors, their grips unyielding as steel.

“No,” you gasped, struggling as they dragged you from your bed. “No, let me go!”

The silence of the estate swallowed your cries. No servants, no distant echoes of life—only the muffled shuffle of boots against marble and your own ragged breaths.

Panic clawed at your throat.

They had known. Somehow, they had known.

Your father stood at the foot of the grand staircase, his posture rigid, his expression carved from stone. Beside him, your mother lingered in the flickering glow of the lanterns, her face unreadable.

“This is for your own good,” she said simply, as if that made any of it better.

The doors swung open, and the cold morning air struck like a blade against your skin. Outside, a carriage stood waiting, its dark wood gleaming with frost, horses stamping impatiently against the cobblestone.

“No!” Your voice broke as you thrashed harder, as the guards lifted you off the ground and carried you toward the waiting prison on wheels. “Mel—!”

A cry of rage split the morning stillness.

And then she was there.

Mel.

A vision of fury and desperation, her silk robe billowing behind her as she sprinted from the Medarda estate, bare feet against stone, golden eyes alight with wild defiance.

“Let her go!” she shouted, her voice shaking with rage, her breath coming fast.

She ran toward you, hands outstretched, reaching— But then— A hand shot out, catching her by the wrist, wrenching her back.

Ambessa Medarda

She stood unmoving, her grip firm but deceptively gentle, a force of quiet control against her daughter’s frenzied struggle.

“Mel,” you choked, reaching for her even as the guards shoved you inside the carriage, even as the heavy doors slammed shut, sealing you away.

Mel fought. Fought like hell. She wrenched against her mother’s grasp, heels digging into the stone, her entire body twisting as she tried to tear herself free.

“Let me go!” she screamed, raw and broken, eyes locked onto yours through the small window of the carriage.

But her mother did not yield.

“Enough,” Ambessa said, her voice cool, measured, a quiet force of unshakable will. “This is how it must be.”

“No!” Mel’s voice cracked, her struggles frantic. “She belongs with me!”

The carriage lurched forward. You slammed your fists against the window, eyes burning, throat closing with unshed tears.

Outside, Mel twisted in her mother’s grip, a broken sound tearing from her lips as she reached for you—fingers outstretched, just shy of touching—

And then she was gone.

The estate blurred into the distance, the city shrinking behind you, the life you had known disappearing like a cruel mirage.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your hands trembling in your lap, your skin still burning from where she had touched you last. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But as you stared at the fading horizon, the ghost of her voice still ringing in your ears, you made a vow. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

Right?

=

The weight of the gown felt suffocating.

Layers of delicate silk and lace cascaded over your form, flowing like water but clinging like chains. Every stitch, every pearl embroidered into the bodice, felt like an extension of the prison you had been thrust into. The corset bit into your ribs, each breath a reminder that this was not yours to escape.

The veil, though sheer, felt more like a shroud, draping over you as you walked down the grand aisle of the cathedral.

The air was thick with incense and expectation. Nobles, dressed in their finest, filled the pews, their whispers barely concealed behind gloved hands and jeweled fans. Their curiosity was a vulture circling above you, feeding off the spectacle of your fate.

Overhead, chandeliers bathed everything in a golden glow, their light flickering against the polished marble floors, reflecting in the cold eyes of the man waiting for you at the altar.

Your fiancé.

He was handsome in the way noblemen were bred to be—sharp features, tall, expression as carefully measured as his perfectly tailored attire. His hands were clasped before him, unreadable. He was everything your parents wanted—noble, powerful, an impeccable chess piece in their grand game.

But he wasn’t Mel.

The thought made your stomach churn.

Each step felt heavier, like your feet were sinking into the marble itself, dragging you toward a life that did not belong to you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, suffocated by the weight of expectation.

And then—

Boom.

The massive doors at the end of the aisle slammed open.

Gasps filled the cathedral as heads snapped toward the entrance, murmurs breaking into full-blown panic as a figure strode inside.

Ambessa Medarda.

She moved like a storm, each step a rumble of distant thunder. Her boots echoed against the marble, broad shoulders squared, adorned in gleaming gold armor that caught the candlelight and made her look like something out of legend.

Her presence was suffocating. Absolute. Ambessa Medarda did not make entrances. She made declarations. And this?

This was a declaration of war.

Your breath caught, hands trembling against the bouquet you barely remembered holding.

“What is the meaning of this?” The groom’s father, a lord of the Southern Territories, stood abruptly, his face flushing with anger. “This is a sacred ceremony—”

Ambessa did not acknowledge him. Her gaze found yours first, heavy and assessing, as if confirming you were still whole. Then, without breaking stride, she pulled a parchment from her belt, unrolling it with deliberate care.

“This union,” she said, voice deep, unwavering, “is no longer valid.”

The room went silent.

Your fiancé’s father scoffed, stepping forward. “This is absurd. Who are you to—”

Ambessa’s gaze turned to him, and he froze mid-sentence.

Then, with the patience of someone who had expected resistance, Ambessa extended the parchment to your father.

His hand twitched before he took it, fingers stiff, almost reluctant, as though touching the document itself would burn him. The parchment unfurled with a soft crinkle, the ink catching the candlelight, and he scanned the words hurriedly, his breath hitching with each line his eyes devoured.

Your stomach tightened, an unseen hand twisting its fingers into your gut, pulling. Your father was not an easy man to shake, yet there it was—the shift in his expression, the flicker of disbelief swallowed by something graver.

His face paled.

“This—” The word barely left him, strangled and raw. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his knuckles whitening as his grip crushed the edges of the parchment. His gaze darted back and forth between the inked decree and Ambessa, desperate, searching— for an error, for an escape, for anything that would unravel this.

He found none.

Slowly, as though the weight of the words had turned him to stone, he lifted his head. His eyes locked onto Ambessa’s, burning with unspoken fury.

“You expect me to agree to this?” His voice wavered—not in uncertainty, but in something else, something sharp and disbelieving, yet edged with a helplessness he had not expected to feel.

Ambessa did not flinch. Did not move. Did not waver beneath the storm brewing in your father’s gaze. “This is not a request.”

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, suffocating in its silence.

Your father’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. You had seen him furious before—rage that scorched, that consumed. But now? Now, there was something else flickering beneath it, something heavier.

Resignation.

Your mother, seated in the front row, remained eerily still. A porcelain figure cast in cold detachment. She did not speak. She did not move. But there was something about the way she held herself, her fingers clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned ghostly white.

She would not stop this.

Ambessa stepped forward, the click of her boots against the marble floor reverberating through the vast cathedral. Her presence swallowed the space, swallowed the room, left no room for resistance.

“You will sign it,” she said, each word deliberate, measured. Unshakable. “Both of you.”

A cold dread pooled in your stomach, thick and heavy.

Your father turned slightly toward your mother, searching, perhaps, for defiance in her eyes. A shared outrage. A reason to fight. But she did not meet his gaze. The quill in Ambessa’s hand gleamed, its tip poised and waiting.

For the briefest of moments, hesitation cracked the air, stretching the silence into something unbearable. Your father’s fingers twitched at his sides, his breath uneven, shallow.

You wanted to move. To speak. To demand to know what this meant. But you already knew.

Slowly, with movements so precise they almost seemed unnatural, your father reached for the quill. The feather trembled in his grip before he pressed the tip to the parchment.

The ink bled into the page, dark and inescapable. His signature bloomed across the document—permanent. Final. Something inside you twisted.

Your mother followed without a word. The scratch of her quill against the parchment was the only sound in the cavernous cathedral, the weight of its finality heavier than steel. Then she set it down.

It was done.

A murmur rippled through the pews, the weight of realization settling over the gathered nobles like a suffocating fog. The shifting of silks, the hushed voices of those watching history reshape itself before their very eyes.

And then—

“What is the meaning of this?”

The groom’s father surged to his feet, the force of his movement sending the heavy fabric of his robes billowing around him. His voice thundered through the high arches, rattling the air with unrestrained fury. His face had darkened, eyes wild with disbelief, with indignation, with betrayal.

He turned sharply on your father, his rage palpable. “What have you done?” His voice was thick, taut with barely restrained outrage. And then, he turned on her.

Ambessa.

His disbelief twisted into something more dangerous, something venomous. “This arrangement was settled. Our families agreed.” He gestured sharply to the parchment still clutched in your father’s trembling hands. “What gives you the right to change it?”

Ambessa barely spared him a glance. “The fact that I can.” A single sentence, wielded with the weight of an empire behind it. Your breath hitched.

The nobleman’s lips curled, his nostrils flaring as he fought against the tide closing in around him. “This is outrageous—”

“She will not marry your son,” Ambessa interrupted, the words clean, absolute, carving through the tension like a blade. “She will marry my daughter.”

The hush that followed was deafening.

It slammed into you, left you adrift, unmoored. The weight of a thousand eyes pressed in from all sides, heavy, suffocating.

Your father’s grip on the parchment twitched, but he said nothing.

The groom’s father’s gaze swept across the room, searching, desperate, waiting for someone—anyone—to challenge this. Someone to fight.

But no one spoke.

And then, his gaze landed on you.

“You think you can just take her?” His voice was bitter, thick with incredulity, seething with unspent fury.

Ambessa Medarda did not flinch. She did not shrink beneath his anger, nor did she offer any hint of apology. She merely inclined her head slightly, expression unreadable, gaze as sharp as a blade.

“I did not take her,” she said smoothly. “She was given.”

A pause. A beat of silence so sharp it could cut. She flicked her gaze to your father. His silence was damning. You exhaled, the weight in your chest tightening like a vice.

Ambessa turned back to you. “Come.”

The moment stretched, thick with something unspoken. Your chest tightened. Your breath shuddered. Your mind raced, grasping at strings, desperate to catch up.

But fight for what?

A future you never wanted? A man who had never once truly looked at you? A life built on obligation, duty, sacrifice— for everyone but yourself?

Your fingers loosened.

The bouquet slipped from your hands, the delicate petals hitting the marble with a soft whisper, the sound swallowed instantly by the vastness of the cathedral.

A murmur of scandal rippled through the gathered nobles, whispers like a thousand tiny knives scraping against your skin.

But you did not falter. Lifting the heavy skirts of your gown, you stepped away from the altar. Gasps echoed through the cathedral, rippling outward like a tidal wave. But they no longer mattered.

You did not spare your fiancé a glance. You did not look at your parents. You only followed Ambessa—toward the life that had been stolen from you.

Toward the woman who was waiting for you.

=

The ride back was silent for a long time.

The weight of your wedding gown pooled around you, heavy and untouched. You barely felt it now. Your pulse had yet to settle, the echoes of the ceremony lingering in your mind like a dream you had just woken from.

Ambessa Medarda did not speak without purpose. She had made her move, disrupted a marriage that would have cemented political ties, and now sat as if nothing had happened at all.

Finally, she spoke.

“I still see love as weakness.”

You turned your head to look at her. She wasn’t looking at you, her gaze fixed on the window, her expression as unreadable as ever.

“I built everything I have because I was willing to make sacrifices,” she continued, voice steady, resolute. “I have never let emotions cloud my judgment. And I do not believe I ever will.” Then, for the first time, she looked at you. “But I know my daughter.”

The weight of those words settled deep in your chest. Ambessa studied you for a long moment, as if calculating, measuring something unseen. Then she exhaled, the faintest hint of frustration flickering across her face.

“And I know that if I had let this marriage happen, she would never forgive me.”

Your throat tightened. Mel.

This—this wasn’t for you. It was for her.

You swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “Did she…?” The question felt fragile, hesitant. “Did she ask you to do this?”

Ambessa’s lips twitched in the faintest semblance of amusement. “Mel does not ask for things. She fights for them.”

The ache in your chest grew sharper.

“She loves you,” Ambessa said simply, as if stating a fact rather than something profound. “Enough that she would have burned every bridge, toppled every alliance, if it meant getting you back.”

The breath left your lungs. Mel had fought for you. Even when you had been dragged away, when she had been held back, when all had seemed lost—she hadn’t stopped. Ambessa studied you once more before exhaling sharply, as if exhausted by the very concept of sentimentality.

“I may not agree with her,” she said, “but I will not stand in her way.”

The carriage rolled on, the weight of her words settling over you like a heavy cloak. And for the first time since you had been taken from her, you felt the stirrings of hope. Because if Mel had fought for you this hard—

Then you would fight just as hard to return to her.

=

The carriage ride had been long and silent, filled with words left unspoken, yet their weight hung between you and Ambessa like a sword balanced on a thread.

You had barely breathed as the Medarda estate loomed into view, its towering columns bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The world outside felt eerily unchanged, as if the past weeks of your suffering, of your loss, of your fight, had left no scar upon it.

But you had changed.

As the carriage rolled to a stop, Ambessa merely nodded toward the doors, her face unreadable beneath the dim light. “Go,” she said simply. “She is waiting.”

You hesitated only a moment before stepping out, the hem of your abandoned wedding gown catching against the stone. You lifted it, letting the torn fabric whisper against your hands as you made your way past the grand entrance, past the lavish halls, past the life you had once walked alongside Mel without knowing just how much it would come to mean to you.

You found her in the gardens.

She was sitting on the edge of the stone fountain, lost in thought, golden eyes tracing the petals of a single flower held delicately between her fingers.

The sight of her made your chest ache.

This was Mel—poised, sharp, a woman of power and grace—yet here, she looked softer, pensive, lost in a quiet world where war and duty did not exist.

You took a breath before stepping forward, the crunch of gravel beneath your heels breaking the silence.

She looked up.

Her golden eyes widened, flickering with something unreadable as she took in the sight of you—the ruined gown, the exhaustion lining your face, the raw emotion barely contained behind your gaze.

For a moment, she simply stared.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke.

“Y/N…?”

You swallowed hard, barely trusting yourself to speak. “It’s me.”

A sharp exhale left her lips, as if she had been holding her breath this entire time.

And then—

She moved first.

Mel closed the space between you in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into her warmth, holding you so tightly you almost forgot how to breathe. The scent of ink and jasmine enveloped you, grounding you, anchoring you in a way nothing else ever could.

You felt the tremor in her grip, the way her fingers pressed into your back, as if making sure you were real and not just some fragile dream that would slip through her grasp. Her breath was warm against your temple, uneven, like she was battling between disbelief and relief.

"You’re here,” she breathed, her voice barely holding together. “They let you go?”

You shook your head, pressing your face against her shoulder, allowing yourself to sink into her hold, to let the world outside this moment fade away. "Ambessa took me back."

Mel stilled. “My mother?”

You hesitated, then slowly pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Her golden eyes searched yours, flickering with disbelief, with questions she wasn’t sure how to voice.

“She ended the arrangement,” you told her softly, watching as shock and suspicion warred across her face. “She made sure I would never have to marry him.”

Mel blinked, searching your face for any sign of false hope, of uncertainty.

"But… why?" she whispered, more to herself than to you. "H-How?"

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves, holding on as if to steady yourself. "Because she made them sign a new arrangement."

Mel stiffened. Her hands, which had been gripping your arms so tightly, relaxed just slightly, enough for her to pull back and search your face. "A new arrangement?" she echoed, golden eyes flickering with wary disbelief.

You nodded, feeling your pulse hammering in your throat. "She dissolved the marriage to him. And in its place… she created another."

Mel stared at you, her breath hitching. "Y/N… what are you saying?"

Your lips parted, but the words felt too big, too impossible to speak aloud. "She arranged for us to be married, Mel."

The silence that followed was thick and unsteady, like the moment before a storm.

Mel blinked once. Then twice. Her fingers twitched against your skin as though her mind was struggling to catch up with what you had just said.

“She… she arranged for—” She cut herself off, exhaling sharply, taking a step back as if to clear her thoughts. She ran a hand over her face, golden eyes wide with something you had never quite seen before.

Disbelief. Hope. Something dangerously close to relief.

"You don’t have to," you rushed out quickly, because suddenly, doubt coiled inside you. "I don’t expect—this wasn’t my choice, and I know you never wanted—"

"Stop." Her voice was firm, steady despite the storm brewing behind her eyes. You fell silent, throat tight. Then, slowly, her hands found yours again, fingers threading through yours, grounding you, anchoring herself to you as much as you to her. “Say it again,” she said, softer this time, her voice almost fragile.

Your lips parted, a breathless whisper spilling forth. “She arranged for us to be married.”

Mel let out a sharp exhale, something breaking in her composure. "She actually did it," she murmured, almost to herself. "That stubborn, infuriating woman actually did it."

You swallowed, uncertain. "What does this mean for you?"

She studied you, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "It means…" She took a slow, careful breath. "It means she knows she could never stop me from choosing you. So instead, she made sure you would never be taken from me again."

A shaky breath escaped you, the weight of it all settling in your chest. "And do you—"

She cut you off before you could finish.

With a fierce, certain pull, she brought you into her arms once more, hands pressing into the small of your back, her face buried in the crook of your neck. "Yes."

The word was whispered against your skin, trembling but certain.

Yes.

Yes, she would take this arrangement. Yes, she would stand by it. Yes, she would have fought for you even if it had never been signed in ink. And then—

She pulled back just enough to look at you, golden eyes searching, dark lashes lowered as her gaze flickered to your lips.

You barely had time to take a breath before she kissed you.

Soft at first. Tentative, lingering—like she was memorizing the shape of you, like she was grounding herself in the reality of this moment. Then, all at once, something snapped.

The grip at your waist tightened, drawing you impossibly close. Her hands cradled your face, fingertips pressing into your skin as if she was afraid you might disappear if she let go.

You melted into her, hands tangling in the fabric of her sleeves, the scent of jasmine and ink filling your senses.

This was what you had fought for. This was what had nearly been stolen from you. And yet, here you were. Here you stayed.

As your lips parted, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night, neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

A soft breeze stirred through the garden, carrying the scent of roses and something else—something warmer, something knowing. And from a distance, standing just beyond the grand windows of the Medarda estate, Ambessa watched.

She did not move, did not interrupt.

Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, but for the briefest of moments, something flickered across her face. Something small. Something almost like satisfaction.

Then, with a slow, measured exhale, she turned on her heel and walked away. She had done her part.

The rest was yours.