#its just going to be a few words and done

[thegamingcatmom]

@groovestrawberry Thank you so much for your words. They mean a lot. Especially because I'm prone to taking stuff way too seriously, so I really appreciate the reminder to just chill tf out. 😅❤️

Right so, onto your questions!

1) the last sentence you wrote

"It didn’t take long for your heart to pick up its frantic rhythm once more, terror seizing you anew at the horrible realization that, who…whatever was chasing you, it had been close enough for you to feel it."

Wrote that only yesterday. 💪

6) the word that appears the most in your current draft

(This is Chapter 4 btw.)

17) talk about your writing and editing process

Oh boy, what to say. Where to start.

I mean, I tend to take things a bit too seriously, as mentioned before. Which means I'll sometimes go over a sentence or paragraph until it no longer makes sense to me, lol. I know it's probably fine as is and ppl are gonna enjoy it anyway, so this is a habit of mine I'm working on. Also because, in my experience, whatever your brain comes up with after you first get your thoughts on paper, it most likely won't be as good as what you first came up with, so you end up going back to the OG anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, editing ain't fun, but it must be done because I'm really not happy with some of the stuff my old self has come up with. 🙃

As for the writing: This goes hand in hand with editing, actually. First things first though: Music. Most important. If I have a song I can vibe to and it fits the mood and all, then it's going rather smoothly. But, even then, I'm by no means a "fast" writer. Even when vibing, I'm still hyper focused on not making mistakes and especially using the correct tense (something I find surprisingly difficult when you're actually focused on it, lol). So, just like with editing, I'll read over a section a few hundred times before I proceed. I know some say it's more important to just get that first draft done and correct any mistakes after but, honestly? When a chapter is done, I wanna post it, not spend another few hours/days/weeks editing stuff. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, writing and editing is more or less the same for me because it happens simultanously. Or it will, once I'm done with editing TBRH (The Bumpy Road Home) and things go back to "normal." 😅

What else to say...hm, I guess a few other "quirks" of mine when writing are:

Writing out a piece of dialogue and putting it somewhere on the page to use later because I just know that if I don't do that, whatever I come up with instead (because my ass forgot half of what I originally came up with) won't be as slapping. OG always wins and all. 😉

Pausing to take a breather because I get so immersed in the scene, I actually need a moment to process it. (I read somewhere that someone referred to it as "zoomies." This was more in the sense of reading a fic and coming across a section so damn good, you need a moment to process it. But, sometimes, this is very much the case for writers too. 🫠)

Looking up images, videos etc. of the ppl or things I'm writing about. For Chapter 4 of TBRH, the Denali house was my trusty companion. Just chilling in the background (aka: another tab), lol.

Starting on another scene even though I haven't finished the current one because I just need to know what happens next. (Yes, I'm aware I'm the writer.)

Well, that's all I can come up with for the moment. I'm sure there's more and maybe I'll post it at some point. ✌️

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Thanks a lot for your questions and your lovely words! 💋

✍️ more fic writer asks!

reblog & your followers can send asks with the questions they’d like you to answer!

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first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

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[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 14

ch 15 is done so y'all can have ch 14, these are getting longer and longer- If I somehow end up passing 4k words I'll have to break these into pt1 and pt2 🥲

Also- y'all can not rip Jason's finger tattoos saying "jailbird" from me, ever.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 14 >>next(TBC)

Your hands were shaking as Slade led you to one of the many bathrooms in the building, but despite everything, you were proud of yourself. You didn’t cry, that was good enough in your book. “You were fast with that throw. Not many get a hit on the man, as clumsy as he fakes being.” His voice only seemed to make you angrier.

You took a deep breath, exhaling softly. He hasn’t done anything to you, yet at least. You’re not angry at him- is what you had to repeat to yourself before answering. “I wish it was a knife.” Your face twitched at that. “That- was a very emotionally fueled answer- please don’t hold it against me.” Willson was more amused by the answer than scared or worried.

“You won’t be the first, and you won’t be the last.” The man took his handkerchief and dampened it, leaning against the marble sink as he handed it to you, and you thanked him while taking it. “I’ll hold you up to paying for the cleanup, by the way. I love this suit. Now- why did you really want to talk?”

“Straight to the point I see.” At his smile, you just shrug. “Never was one for pull and push games.” Perhaps it was your hormones, or just how much you’ve repressed your emotions for other human beings due to hurt, but his laugh made your cheeks flush. You were putting a pin on that feeling, for now just dismissing it as anger at the male species.

“I just want to talk, get to know you better.” He went to the modern toilet and took out its wall panel, pulling out a briefcase. “You’ve made quite the name for yourself. Among terrible people.” Slade opens the briefcase once it is on the marble top, revealing his gear and a clean pair of clothes. “So, you want to assassinate me?”

“Assassination is for world leaders, my dear.” The shit-eating grin definitely made you think whatever you were feeling was anger. “But you’re not far off. We have similar enemies.” You took the clean shirt he handed to you, took the wet wipes straight from the case, and went straight for the room divider, Slade turning his back to you. “So- what, you want me to help you and when push comes to shove, you’ll help me?” He could hear the doubt, the sarcasm, and the distrust. But he just smiled. “Yes.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Luthor just kept on looking at you for a few seconds as you lay face down on his emperor-sized bed. “Is that his shirt?” He got a muffled yes in response. “He hid a briefcase in your wall and gave me the spare, said he’ll come back with the clean suit… I so think he wanted to kill you or steal something you have here.” Lex just hummed at that, tapping his foot. “And?” You groaned. “Where do I even begin?”

“Well, you could start from the beginning?” Lex said while getting up and grabbing a set of pajamas and tossing them on your back. You sigh and place your head on your hand, turning your body sideways so you can look at him. “I have parental issues and a part of me finds his stupid eye-patch so hot.” You cackled maniacally as Luthor’s face soured. “Ok. How about we skip forward a bit?” He almost begged.

“Alright- wait-…” You take a closer look at the pajamas. “These are my size.” Your eyes meet his as he confirms with no shame on his mug. “Are you not going to ask why?” Sighing you just get up and move towards his bathroom. “You either want a kid or a wife and I’m not mentally sound enough right now for either one. And I’m sleeping with mom- I so do not believe you didn’t put cameras in my room, you weirdo.”

“I’m a paranoid billionaire genius. I have cameras in every room.” It was his turn to laugh like a maniac as he heard you call him a weirdo again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

With everyone out of the manor, it was finally time for Alfred to clean the whole bloody place. These moments were rare, and while Master Bruce insisted on him taking a break, he wasn’t a man to stay in one place for long without work.

He began from the ground up, the cave, the yard. The ground floor and the first level came and went, on the second level he may have gotten distracted by the new books Bruce got for Jason, and by the time the man of the house got back, Alfred was halfway done with the third floor.

Opening yet another door, his eyes immediately critiqued the dust, barely processing the objects before beginning to clean, starting with a little framed photo and the nightstand. It took him two looks before he registered what the picture depicted- a little girl at her kindergarten graduation event. He doesn’t remember Miss Cassandra this young, Master Bruce must have-

No… Cassandra never went to kindergarten. Alfred drops the cloth he was wiping off the dust with, head snapping around the room- Paintings, so many paintings,  drawing supplies. Medals, diplomas- the more of them he wiped with his gloved hand the more the man trembled, heart beating against his ribcage, the same way it did on the active battlefield- where were you?

A child- a whole child- no. He saw you- yes. In the garden, yelling at Bruce- that-… that was six years ago. Six years ago. Six bloody years ago. Somewhere in his panicked frenzy, a hopeful part of him just thought that maybe you changed rooms, yes, that’s why he began screaming your name like a madman, bursting through the rooms he hadn’t yet opened, screaming as he went down the staircase, rechecking rooms, scaring the kids that were in the manor.

Damian frowned at Cassandra and Tim. “Has Pennyworth lost it?” The girl didn’t even pay him any mind as she simply followed the elder. “No, he-… Where is she?” Tim tried to respond but the distraction got to him- he can’t remember the last time he saw you. Damian had no other choice but to follow as well.

Even though the old man used the stairs he was the first to enter the batcave, the kids following in the elevator. “-she’s missing-“ was what they caught, seeing the picture frame Alfred ran around with now clenched in Bruce’s hands.

“No.” Cassandra said softly, confusion clear on her face. “In London.” Alfred looked at the man as he tried to hide his fury. “You sent the young miss to London without even telling me?” Bruce immediately said a firm no, turning to Cassandra to ask how she even knew of that. “Is anyone going to inform me about who we are talking about?!”

Damian had enough, he didn’t like still being left in the dark about things that seemed this important. Tim repeated your name like it was obvious, but Alfred felt the world crash on his head. “Yes. So you all keep on saying, is that code for something?” The old man needed to sit down. They’ve never talked about her. They’ve never told him about her.

Tim was too tired to realize what Alfred did. He just called the boy rude, how could he not remember his other big sis. And it was the wrong thing to do. “I have another sister, and you didn’t tell me? Nobody did?!” The youngest boy snapped at his father before turning to look at everyone else.

Bruce- he was taking hit after hit tonight. He couldn’t come up with an argument to Slade, and he sure as hell couldn’t defend himself against Damian. The last time he remembered seeing you was when he ruined your garden. He slumped down in his chair, clutching the picture of your sad chubby face and the pitying look of the teacher, unable to take his eyes from it.

Where was he? He… He can’t defend himself. How could he? He didn’t even realize you were missing. How much has he missed? How many events and achievements has he ignored or brushed off? Did you leave that night, was that the last drop? He ignored his arguing kids, ignored how devastated Alfred looked… Jason said he was missing a bird. Bruce closes the open files on The Sorceress. “Tim, inform Dick and the others. Oracle. Call Red Hood. Now.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lois sighed and turned to face her husband who was fully awake. “Ok, come on, confess.” Clark didn’t even flinch, not until she shook his shoulder. He side-eyed her before turning to also face her, sure that Jon was deeply asleep. “What I’m about to tell you should stay just between us.”

“The Sorceress is adopted, her dad is Bruce.” Lois raised a brow but before she could ask for more Clark continued. “I heard her brother and Lex inform the Immortal about it. The boy mentioned that, and I quote, the bastard didn’t pay attention to her for years and now has the gall to show up and act like he doesn’t know her. Lex was sure of the fact that Bruce didn’t even know that she had run away, to begin with, let alone how the kid he barely spent time with looked like anymore”

Lois took a while to soak in the information. “That’s…” She lies back on her back, staring at the ceiling like her husband once was. “If it’s true- it’s a new low for him. I'll look into it.” She looks at Clark. “Don’t let Jon hear that, he’ll-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and that’s what my dad said.” Jon, who was still in his pajamas, huffing from how fast he flew and talked, told Damian once they were in the security of the youngest Wayne’s room. The other boy just nodded. “Thank you for informing me, Jon. Make sure you do not repeat this to anyone else.”

“You should go back before your parents realize you’re missing.” Damian opened the window for the other teen. “Are you sure? Because if you’re not okay-“ Damian shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine, I’ll take care of this and give the information to someone who will be able to confirm what Superman heard."

The young super took a while before leaving, but the fear of his parents finding him gone was bigger. Damian on the other hand was already penning a letter. If the family kept such important information from him, he could too.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your day was- tiring. You may have overdone it a bit, studying for finals, the anxiety of giving your artwork in for the diploma, helping with clean up, training, helping Titan clean spaces for more housing- by the time you were done you were exhausted.

When the explosion went off, you didn’t even flinch, the text message from Mark saying “dnt wor abt it” was good enough for you. So, you just continued buying your little snacks and energy drinks for tomorrow and went on your way, floating as you simply couldn’t be bothered with walking.

If you were, perhaps, not as tired as you were, you would have been a little bit more concerned about the swarm of reporters or paparazzi, you couldn’t even try to figure it out. “Madame Sorceress! What is your relationship to Mr. Wayne?” and “Hey! Hey, over here! How do you know Bruce Wayne?!” and a lot of similar questions you couldn’t be bothered to answer. “Sorceress! Why do you have beef with Mr. Wayne?”

Now that stopped your movement. You slowly turned towards the person who asked, squinting at the redhead. “You want that in chronological or alphabetical order?” That seemed to trigger more questions and yelling, but your attention was on your ringing phone. “Sorry folk, I have to take this.” Sluggishly, you flew higher than they could be able to pick up with any listening device and answered. “Sup’ Red-“

Your brows furrowed. “Now they found out?... How much?” Jason just snorted. “B tried to interrogate me and when that didn’t work out, Alfred tried to tug at my emotions. Right under their nose and they’re still not seeing it.” You snort. “You’re creating yourself trouble. Just tell them, not like they can do anything now.” Jason knew, but this- the phone number, the texting, and silly pics, was something the other bats didn’t have access to. It was something only he had, that he didn't have to share with the others. He wants it to stay that way. “Nah, let them stew in it.” Jason snickered. “Whatever, Jailbird. Good night.” You roll your eyes, laughing when he yells that you weren’t supposed to know that.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger

A tiny little micro sneak peak of chapter 15 because I feel kind:

Jason was having a terrible week, starting with Ms. “I wouldn’t have been as forgiving if you didn’t die and came back kinder to me” Wayne- well- Grayson? He doesn’t know anymore- he’s close enough to just forging papers that say you’re his biological little sister just to fuck with Bruce.

[synvil]

How Could I Forget? // Rafe Cameron

a/n : happy valentine's day <3 i hope you all have a wonderful valentines day, whether its by your lonesome, with gals or with your partner !

synopsis : You're starting to think Rafe won't ask you to be his valentine, much to your dismay, but he proves you wrong.

Valentine's Day.

The past few days leading up were pretty lonely nights, Rafe was always out on business or running errands and when he would make it home, you’d already be asleep or he’d be exhausted.

Even on days off, he tends to be preoccupied and it was hard to spend much time with him. But being the understanding girlfriend you were, you couldn’t really be upset at him. Rafe was hardworking, efficient and you had no choice but to let it go.

But with this being such a romantic holiday, you were really hoping he would be free and you could spend the day together.

Especially having Rafe ask you to be his valentine.

It’s stupid. You know it is. Yet something about the effort of still having your partner ask you to be their valentine despite already being together, is so romantic and cute and you just want to experience it.

Exiting the bathroom, you ruffle your wet hair with a towel after taking a hot shower, and exhale gently.

“Hey, babe,” As you reach the kitchen, Rafe strolls over and presses a kiss to your forehead, before walking back to the fridge. “Hey.” You smile and greet him back as you step towards the island and watch him. “Are you busy today?” You ask, tilting your head with a hum as you tap your fingers against the countertop, feeling your chest ache with excitement to spend time with him.

“Yeah, I have to run some errands and talk to Barry about some things.”

Immediately the sinking feeling pulls into your chest and you do your best to hide the disappointment lacing your eyes. "Oh.. You can't just take a day off to spend time together today?"

Rafe turns from the fridge after pulling out milk to put into his rather large tumbler mug of coffee. You notice he's been drinking a lot more coffee lately, on top of being so exhausted the last couple nights. He shares a half-apologetic smile as he pours in the dairy into the cup. "Sorry, it's important. But hey, Sarah and Kie said they were going to take you out today. Why don't you spend some time with them?" He secures the lid on both containers before setting the milk back into the fridge.

Your shoulders slump as your lips curl into a faint frown and you nod meekly in understanding. "I guess.."

Rafe notices the dejected expression over your face and purses his lips. He leans over the counter from across from you and tucks a strand of your wet hair behind your ear before cupping your chin to look up at him.

"Don't be sad, baby, I'll be done before you even realize."

Still, your eyes didn't meet his and he moves to cup your cheek. "I'll drive you to meet them before I go, okay?"

Managing to muster a small smile, you just exhale and stand up. "I'll go get ready then." You mumble and Rafe frowns, watching you excuse yourself to the bedroom. He exhales quietly, reaching into his wallet and pulling out his card before going over to the rack by the door where your purse hung.

He tucks his black card into your purse pocket and then pockets his wallet again before going back to his coffee to drink. “Hopefully that’ll cheer her up for a bit.”

“Be safe. I love you, angel.”

You sigh softly as you recall Rafe’s last words before he dropped you off.

Hearing your sigh, Sarah leans forward from her seat. “What’s up with the sad sigh?” She tilts her head and you blink, before frowning slightly. “Hey, did the guys do anything for you girls today?” You can’t help but ask out of curiosity, feeling the pang in your heart.

The two were surprised to hear the question and Sarah seems to understand what the problem was, and instead offering a sympathetic smile your way. “Yeah, tonight John B is taking me out to the beach to look at the stars and a picnic on the sand.”

Kie nods along, adding her own input. “JJ and I are chilling at his place with romantic comedies and snacks.” she shares and you purse your lip.

“but they did specifically ask you to be their valentine, right?”

Kie and Sarah share a glance before nodding a bit hesitantly. “Did Rafe not ask you yet?” Kie furrows her brows and you force your eyes down at your half eaten red velvet cupcake in dejection. “I barely even spent any time with him the last couple days. He’s been busy.”

Sarah can’t help but feel sorry for you, averting her eyes away from you as she reaches for your hand to hold. “I’m sure he’s planning something tonight. Don’t worry, okay?”

Kie scrunches her nose at the thought of Rafe. “Maybe. But let me know if he doesn’t, then i’ll whoop his ass.” Kie clenches her fist and you can’t help but chuckle, nodding at them. “We’ll see.”

After a few minutes, you decide to pay for your snacks, waiting until the topic moved on.

Excusing yourself, you slowly stand up and head to the counter of the small cafe you were in and decide to pay, reaching into your purse for your card.

“?”

Your brows furrow when you pull out a loose card outside of your wallet and recognize the black card to be Rafe’s. Your eyes widen in surprise before a faint smile laces your lips and you tap the card against the machine to pay before heading back.

As you wait for their conversation to finish, you grin at the girls and flash the card towards them. “Ready to go ladies?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the sight and she beams. “Rafe’s card?”

“Yep. He must’ve snuck it into my purse.” You laugh a bit and Kie smirks. “Well, it’s our card now.”

The three of you share giggles. “Now let’s go shopping, and get you girls some cute outfits.”

“You’re getting one too.” Sarah winks as the two immediately stand and pull you to your feet.

“Wha-? But i’m not doing anything—“

“doesn’t matter!” Kie grins as they drag you over to the nearest store.

“Have fun tonight ladies!”

Sarah and Kie blow a kiss your way as you wave to them. “Happy Valentine’s babe!” Sarah winks as she calls out from the car. “You have fun too, sexy!”

An awkward smile builds on your face as you look at her in confusion, but she’s already driving away before you could inquire.

You shrug it off before heading to the front steps of the house and enter, dusting off your new red a-line silk dress that ended at your knees, that Sarah and Kie insisted you buy.

Even though you had a better time than you originally thought, you still couldn’t help the sadness that builds when you remember you didn’t have much waiting at home for you.

Sighing, you shut the door behind you and kick off your heels before stepping into the living room, surprised to see Rafe home.

“Hey, welcome home baby. How was your time with the girls?” Rafe immediately stands from the couch and you chew on your inner cheek and shrug weakly. “Fine.. I didn’t even know you were home.”

Rafe smiles as he looks at your new dress. “You look stunning baby. I see my card was put to good use.” He teases as he walks over to you and goes to wrap his arms behind your waist as he kisses your cheek. “Yeah.. thanks.”

He notices your quietness and distant behavior and furrows his brows. “Baby?”

Hearing him call you, you pout and look away, feeling all the emotions of sadness and disappointment from earlier returning in a rush. Rafe was home but he wasn’t texting you at all and if he’s been home, why did he send you away when you could’ve spent the time together?

“oh? is something wrong, sweetheart?”

Letting the pout grow further on your lips, you wipe your stray tears that began to brim your eyes and shake your head. “It’s nothing.. I just want to go to bed.”

Rafe stops you and spins you to face him, his hands on your shoulders. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You finally look into his eyes and sniffle. “You’re such a jerk.” You harshly spat, taking him aback. “What—?”

“The least you could’ve done was say ‘Happy Valentines Day’ to me or something today. You didn’t ask me to be your valentine, or to spend time with me or got me a gift. You gave me your card by sneaking it into my purse instead of handing it to me, and i had to buy my own gift with it! And the past couple days we hardly even spent any time together because you’re always so busy with Barry and your business..”

You couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks or from your words from spilling out your emotions but you were overwhelmed.

Rafe is stunned into silence for a moment, feeling his heart ached when he hears you explain. After another minute though, he speaks again.

“…I didn’t know this was such a big deal to you, angel.”

“Of course it is.. it’s a romantic holiday and you forgot.” You huff and Rafe lets his lips curl into a small smile as he reaches up to wipe your tears.

“Come here.”

He reaches down for your hand and intertwines your fingers with his and pulls you into his bedroom.

“I’m sorry for not giving you proper attention lately.” He whispers and pecks your temple before letting you open the door.

And the sight makes you gasp.

Every inch of the room, it’s completely covered in rose petals, pink and red balloons and as well as a bed covered in various gifts and snacks, such as charcuterie and chocolate covered strawberries for you, and a small board spelling out, “be my valentine?”

“How could I forget, baby?” Rafe murmurs as he watches your reaction with a soft smile and brings your hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it.

You’re speechless, unable to say anything as you stare at it all. The bed covered in gifts were from various stores you’ve been looking at recently, but you never had the chance to talk to Rafe about buying any of it.

“I… how did—“

Rafe exhales heavily as he looks over at the presents. “I had to talk to Sarah for hours and talk to the owners of these companies and stuff to get the right gifts and the best ones. I figured Sarah would know best about what you’ve been wanting.. And then I had to order all these rose petals and—“

You let out a small laugh, unable to do much else as you listened to him explain the reasoning for his distance the last few days. You’ll have to make a mental note to thank Sarah later.

“Wow.. i.. thank you, Rafe.. I’m sorry I..”

Rafe interrupts you with a soft kiss on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too, angel.” You wrap your arms around his neck and smile, as his hands place themselves at your hips. “And I mean it, you look absolutely beautiful in this dress.”

"And since I neglected you today.." Rafe grins as he kicks the door shut behind him and pulls you to his chest by the waist.

"Why don't I spend this weekend making it up to you, yeah?"

a/n : agh this shouldn’t have taken this long, i’m sorry. i’m still recovering and going through a lot but please enjoy this! unedited.

[hanbinics]

!boxer matt isn't good at grand, romantic gestures but...

he does want to do something special for !sunshine reader on valentines day.

he wakes up early, which isn’t outside of his typical routine, and decides he isn’t wasting any time today. as soon as he’s done slipping into some sweatpants and a worn hoodie, he’s pressing a quiet kiss to the top of your head before heading out into the bite of the winter morning to pick up your favorite pastries that you always gush about but rarely ever get just because you don’t wake up early enough to actually go get them. he makes sure to leave them on the counter before heading for the gym, leaving you to wake up to the treat with a small note sitting on top of the box—figured these were better than chocolates for breakfast. happy valentine’s day.

but the real plan for the cash-grab holiday he usually loathes is what he has waiting for you once you return to his apartment for the night. matt makes sure to pick up takeout from your favorite restaurant since he hates crowded places, sets out some candles (begrudgingly, after you once mentioned how much you love “a little ambience” or whatever the hell that means), and put on one of those old, romantic comedies you’re always gushing about with those stupid, beautiful starry eyes of yours. he doesn’t get the appeal of romantic comedies or vintage films, but he likes watching you watch them. the way your eyes light up, the way you laugh at the corny dialogue—that’s worth it to him.

and of course, you love it. he’s pretty sure you’d love anything he did for you, but it still makes his chest feel warm and annoyingly fuzzy—or maybe that’s just because of the anxiety coursing through him at the thought of his next surprise.

he’s been holding onto it for weeks now with no real intention of ever showing it to you, of ever giving it to you. but with the holiday rolling around and this unfamiliar desire to do something really special for it, he’d caved.

you can tell matt is nervous when he hands the gift over, his lips pressed into a firm line almost as if he’s upset about the whole thing despite knowing he isn’t. still, it makes you feel a little guilty and apprehensive as you tilt your head to the side slightly and offer him a reassuring smile.

“matt, you know you don’t have to...” but the words die in your throat when you watch your boyfriend shake his head.

“nah, jus’... take it. and don’t make it a big deal, yeah?” he breathes out, but other than that, he doesn’t say much else.

you try to suppress a small, amused smile before nodding your head in agreement, your gaze shifting down to the small, beat-up notebook resting in your hands. you’re not sure what exactly to expect when you open it up, but almost immediately your heart starts pounding in your chest. inside, the notebook is filled with rough sketches and scribbled notes. it’s not neat or polished, but it’s him, and you hold it gingerly as you take in its contents.

matt watches you with anxiety coursing through his body. he knows exactly what’s in that notebook: you. there are sketches of you, some detailed, some just quick doodles of you laughing, sleeping, stretching in his hoodie. and then there are notes about things you’ve said—little moments that have made him smile, things you probably don’t even remember saying. and then finally, and probably what he’s most fearful of, are a few messy, unfinished poems. he’s not a poet and he’s well aware of that, but he thinks the intent of them comes across well enough. sometimes he just doesn’t know how else to put into words what you mean to him.

he watches as you flip through it in silence, eyes wide, fingers tracing the pages like they’re fragile. when you finally look up at him, he’s already avoiding eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck like he regrets giving it to you.

“jus’ figured you should know how i see you,” he mumbles just to break the silence if nothing else, his own heart pounding wildly in his chest.

when you finally speak, your voice wobbles. “matt... this is—”

“yeah, yeah, it’s dumb. y'don’t have to—” he starts to grumble, but to his surprise, you’re damn near tackling him. full-on, arms wrapped around his neck, knocking him back on the couch, tackles him. you’re kissing his face, his jaw, his lips, and laughing through teary eyes.

“you are the sweetest person alive, you absolute liar.”

matt groans, rolling his eyes while insisting on how fuckin’ dramatic you are, but his arms tighten around you anyway. and when you insist that this is the best valentines day you’ve ever had, that no one’s ever done something like this for you before, he just buries his face in your neck like he can hide the fact that you’re his favorite valentine too—and that maybe he could learn to like this holiday if more are spent with you.

©hanbinics

divider credit; @jiyascepter

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - First "I Love You"s

Happy Valentines Day, all~ I wanted to make a special post for today. So here are short stories about the first time you exchanged I love you with Lucifer, Vox, and Alastor

CASUAL REMINDER: What was supposed to be the Angel Dust part in this post got too long because I have no self control. Its now its own story >>over yonder<<

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; allusions to heartbreak, cheating, abuse, just lots of past bad stuff; but its all in the past, this content is fluff and feels; Lucifer has a panic attack in his part cause he needs therapy Cavity content and brainrot below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Lucifer ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Lucifer knew the words. Of course he did. After all, he was a married man. Obviously. But… They seemed to carry so much more weight now then they ever did before. Ever since Lilith left. Now they felt much more like a burden then something to celebrate. Perhaps he was idealistic, if not naïve before. But just the thought of love had made him giddy. It always held the promise of endless laughter, dancing under stars, and countless ever afters.

But now? Now, thinking of love scared him. It made his heart clench and the cold weight of dread harden in his chest. Lucifer’s mind would always go to that horrible moment when he realized Lilith was gone. That she wasn't coming back. Now, love just seemed like a promise of pain. A promise to leave in the end.

However, if there is one thing Lucifer can reliably do, its ignore a problem. Its his special talent to be able to simply not register any smoke or embers until its an all-engulfing, burning blaze.

With how close the two of you were getting, Lucifer should have seen the signs. He should have noticed the warmth that stained his face, the excitement that burned in his stomach to the point of making him sick, as well as the pure sense of comfort and affection that welled up in his chest. He should have done alot of things. But instead, every thought, every notion Lucifer got that there is more, that there is something beautiful blossoming between you two is thrown to the wayside. Buried deep, to be dealt with later.

Until it can’t be dealt with later. Until it bursts out in a way only Lucifer can manage to do; on complete accident.

Neither of you remember how the conversation started, or honestly, the majority of what was said. You were folding what felt like endless paper crafts for Charlie. All while Lucifer rambled to you about his latest duck related project. He fiddled and spun one of said ducks in his hands, using it as a fidget toy while he spoke. Lucifer did… attempt to help you when he found you. But you correctly assessed that he would be much more of a detriment then an asset with his mind so focused elsewhere. So here you two were; him passionately talking your ear off while you did the delicate work he couldn’t.

When it happened, it was sudden. Lucifer had just bounced up to leave when the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them; “That sounds great! I love you, Duckie~”

Just like that, it was like a live bomb had been dropped between you two. Time itself seemed to stop and both of you remained completely still. Lucifer’s heart pounded; blood rushing so fast it was deafening. His hands trembled. He could already feel overwhelmed tears pricking at his eyes and fogging up his vision. He could feel his lungs burning for air while he fought to keep his breathing steady. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide in his room and cry. He wanted to turn to you and try and explain and beg you not to leave him…

But instead Lucifer just stood there. Frozen. Paralyzed in fear that he had just broken whatever you two had going. That he had ruined his only chance at a fresh start like he ruins everything else-

“Do you mean that?”

Your gentle words broke through Lucifer’s rapid spiral and put a harsh stop to any further thoughts in his head. He simply blinked dumbly a few times. A subconscious attempt to get rid of the excess wetness in his eyes. “W-w-what?”

“Do you…” Lucifer could hear the trembling in your soft voice. The hesitance in your breathe as you held it for a moment to try and gather yourself before finishing, “…really love me?”

At that, Lucifer finally found it in himself to turn around and look at you. In your eyes he saw the exact same fear that he had. Fear of the future. Fear of pain. Fear of the inevitable.

For the first time in forever, Lucifer felt understood. For the first time, Lucifer felt that something for him might turn out okay after all.

“Yes. I love you so much.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Vox ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Vox had certainly thought about the words. He had said them to you in his head countless times. But he had yet to work up the courage to actually say them to you outloud. Everytime Vox was sure it was going to happen, they would always end up catching in his throat. Then his thoughts would start racing, his fans suddenly whirring trying to keep him from overheating, and the words would end up dying before he could get his shit together.

What if he was moving too fast? The last thing he wanted to do was jump the gun. Especially when it came to you. What if he says it too soon, coming off desperate and scaring you off? Or worse, what if he got the timing wrong? What if those words, those ever important words, came out at the worst possible moment? Vox was well aware that his own lightness and euphoria could be blinding him to your mental state. What if he was reading the entire situation wrong?

What if… you just didn’t feel the same?

That was the notion that ended it. Ended any attempt or thoughts Vox possibly had of confessing. Vox was pretty sure he couldn't handle another heartbreak. Another rejection. So he kept the words to himself and settled for whatever it was you had now. Your current “relationship” was better then the possible alternative. So he would settle. Vox told himself he was okay with whatever scraps he got like he always did.

You had gracelessly fallen asleep on Vox one evening; the movie marathon he had coaxed you into losing the battle with your sleep deprived self. When Vox noticed your body relax against him as you fell asleep, he couldn't help but chuckle lovingly. It was cute and… sweet that you trusted him like this. Enough to fall asleep on him like something out of a stupid teen romance.

Vox hummed to himself and playfully rolled his eyes, shifting around so you could sleep more comfortably on his chest. He held you close, his claws gently petting you and his heart beating a little too loudly in his own head for his liking. Despite how much he complained, in whatever poor attempts he did to keep up his bravado, Vox would be lying if he said he didn’t love moments like this. Moments where you two were just something from a stupid romance.

Vox continued his humming, but now with more purpose. It was as if he was trying to sooth you. To lull you into a deeper sleep. He gently pressed his screen against the top of your head in a makeshift kiss. The words escaped his mouth before he could consciously register them; a gentle “I love you.” It just felt… right in that moment. For once, he wasn't panicking internally or overheating with dread at your possible response. Everything was calm. Quiet. Besides, it wasn't like you were even awake to hear him anyway…

“…I love you too.”

Vox immediately went silent and every muscle in his body tensed. He wasn't fully sure he heard you right at first. That is, if he didn't outright hallucinate it. Your words were groggy, partially slurred; clearly having responded to him in your sleep.

But did that fact really matter? You had said it to him. You said the words back. So you must have loved him on some level, right? Vox could feel himself trembling as his grip on you tightened protectively, as if you were at threat of being taken away from him in that very moment. As if you might just slip away through his fingers like a gust of wind. Vox pulls your sleeping form ever closer, curling around you, desperate to be as close as he can possibly be.

He swears from that moment on, that he is never going to let you go.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Alastor had… honestly never really thought about those words. Or even what best describes his own feelings for you for that matter. He simply acknowledged that, yes, he did feel some sort of… “affection” towards you. So “affection” was what he called it. It didn’t matter what it actually was. You seemed to return it. You let him express his feelings how he wished. Things between you two seemed to be going swell. So… was there really a need to name it?

Alastor certainly didn't think so. Perhaps it was just in his roots to not give something like that a name. A name acknowledges it. Gives it shape. Gives it power. A name makes something tangible. Turns the ethereal into something to be wielded. Either for, or against you. But that was the risk you accepted when you played with fire. That its flame could scorch you and leave you just as charred as those you hoped to use it against.

It was early. Dreadfully early. But Alastor was wide awake and in the Hotel kitchen preparing the residential breakfast. Already singing and humming to himself like it wasn't too early for even the birds. Your footsteps were weighted with sleep as you meandered your way towards the kitchen. Alastor’s only acknowledgment of you was the flick of his ears when you stomped particularly loud.

You lethargically pulled out one of the dining chairs, unintentionally dragging one of its legs against the floor and making a horrid squeal. Most people would have been terrified at the sight of the radio demon visibly recoiling at the sound; his ears flattening back as he shot you a look over his shoulder. But you were not most people.

Instead, you settled yourself. Your head leaning sleepily against your arms on the table while the radio demon simply stared, motionless at you.

“Dear.” Alastor only spoke when you started staring back. Unabashedly meeting his unwavering eyes with your own. His voice crackled with static. “You-are aware of how early it is, aren't you?”

You gave an affirming hum. “Are you?”

Alastor visibly retracted himself, slowly turning back to his work despite his ears remaining pinned back. He… didn’t actually have a response for that. You both knew he had no business being here at this hour. Especially since his only reason for being the Hotel’s chef at all was some misplaced sense of culinary pride.

So Alastor resigned himself and silently continued. Slowly relaxing once again into his normal rhythm as you watched from the table. Your eyes tracing his every movement like he was a show in and of himself. Looking at him like he was a work of art.

“Al?”

Alastor simply made an acknowledging sound at your inquiry. Letting you know that he had heard you, but most of his attention was still on preparing the Hotel’s breakfast.

“I love you.”

It wasn't a groundbreaking declaration. Something yelled in a moment of despair and desperation as if the earth itself was being ripped out from under you. The ground certainly wasn't breaking apart at your words now. No. This was just a simple acknowledgment. A voicing of fact.

Perhaps that reverence was what gave Alastor pause. Made him actually consider the notion.

Love. Was that what this was? Was that this tightness, this need he had deep in his chest? Was that the name of this longing, this warmth he felt whenever you were too wonderfully close or pulled away too far? Was this… fondness, this comfort he had in moments like these… what love was?

“Alastor?”

He didnt notice he had slowly stopped what he was doing. So lost in thought that he had ceased all motion. Alastor looked back at you and affectionately chuckled when he saw the concerned look in your eyes. He found himself with a genuine smile for once. Not the usual grin that he plastered on, the one that could easily find itself more on the side of a snarl then a grin. But a real smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m fine, Love. Just thinking is all.”

If this was what love was, then he could certainly learn to live with it.

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AN: Happy Valentines day everyone! I hope ya'll find real love and happiness while I'm over here gargling my fictional men (˵˘ ³˘˵) (Also tag which type of love/way of saying 'I love you' you are; I'm Luci ◉〰◉)

LINKS AND FURTHER READING ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

My Masterlist for my Other Work: >>HERE<<

The Angel Dust Section: >>HERE<<

AO3 Archive Link: >>HERE<<

Ngl, Vox's section was inspired by the strange like... silent agreement that alot of people have that Vox definitely tells you he loves you while your sleeping. Ive noticed a bunch of people have him do that in their fics and its just funny to me that so many people have come to the same conclusion.

One such fic is this adorable little drabble over >>HERE<< by @voxisdaddy

There is a super cute post about trying (and failing) to cook for Alastor and Lucifer and them having to step in to help you by @alastor-x-reader-stories over >>HERE<<

ALSO HAVE THIS STUUUPIDDD-- fic that I actually almost had a panic attack over because I couldn't find it and I thought it got deleted-ANYWAY. Its by @girlboypersonthingy and its a wonderful fic about Lucifer desperately pining over the reader and I reread it ALOT its over >>HERE<<

[urperfectcinnamonroll07]

Valentines

requested?: no pairing(s): Simon 'Ghost' Riley x afab!reader genre: fluff, smut warning(s): unprotected sex (not promoting this, wrap it please), soft sex, reader being a hopeless romantic, ghost not knowing what to do whatsoever on valentines, kinda oc reader (only for favourite animal, if you dont like it you can change it), oral (f recieving), face sitting, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, not proofread (and is so fucking rushed, im sorry) summary: 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵��𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦... word count: 1.9k a/n: happy valentines everyone! spending it alone yet again, but its okay because we have a whole ass ghost fic with soft sex and valentines. hope everyone has a lovely day wherever you are, even the single people and the people with partners (i am not the latter). i also promise that i am almost done the alex volkov and happy go lucky reader fic, so it should be out over the weekend, i js wanted to give you a valentines special as i did last year (my first ever fic i think), either way, it is almost done! remember to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! (honestly, i apologise in advance because this was so rushed so ya'll could have a valentines special out on valentines, so i am so sorry ya'll if this is shit) -Cilla

simon never got the point of valentines. it was just people in love celebrating their love and showing it through overly expensive flowers and chocolate, what was the point when people showed they loved each other every day? maybe it was the way he was brought up, or maybe it was the fact he had just never found the right person to celebrate with, or maybe he wasn’t built that way.

well, that’s what he thought, until you. you made your way into his life, all flowery and bubbly, but most of all, ever-loving. you loved almost everything. animals, nature, sweet treats. but most importantly, you loved him.

honestly, you hadn’t been together for long. you had started dating a few days after valentines the year before when johnny had managed to get him a blind date with someone who he thought simon would like. your date was a few months before valentines, but you didn’t decide you had liked each other until a few days after valentines.

simon didn’t not like you, he just thought you were too good for him and a girl like you should date someone who wasn’t like him, someone who hadn’t seen the harsh terrors of the world and someone who wouldn’t wake up from night terrors almost every night. but you didn’t care about all that and fought for him, going on date after date until the two of you eventually became romantic partners.

so, you had both never celebrated valentines together and simon honestly didn’t know what you wanted. he knew your favourite animal was an otter, so he got you an otter teddy to add to your collection, but other than that, he didn’t know. you had insisted you didn’t want anything or much, but he wanted to spoil you the way you deserved.

he had been on deployment for a few months prior to valentines, and he was coming back the day before. that was how he had managed to get you a teddy. he was sure you would love it. as soon as he got home, he hid it somewhere he knew you wouldn’t find it (up a height). and spent the day with you (and inside of you), catching up with what he missed while he was gone.

you both went to bed together later that night after watching a sappy romance movie which simon had complained the whole time (you were sure he truly loved it) before you went off to bed and he was inside of you once again. once you had fallen asleep that night, he had managed to book you both a table at your favourite restaurant before letting you curl against him and went to sleep as well.

he woke up first the following morning, immediately untangling himself from you to go and retrieve the things he had gotten you. it wasn’t much, but it was quite expensive, which he knew you would yell at him for, but he didn’t care. he wanted to spoil his girl.

“happy valentines, lovie” he smiled when you woke up. you sat up immediately, wiping the sleep from your eyes and smiling. he hugged you as you hugged him back.

when you both pulled away, he pulled the otter teddy from behind his back, your eyes went wide and your face broke out into an even wider smile.

“oh my god, si, thank you so much, i love him!” you took him from him softly and held him up to your chest which was still bare from the night before. “i think i’m gonna name him olly”

simon smiled at you. it was something he had always admired about you, how you always managed to stay positive even when the world had turned to shit. simon was stiff as you hugged him again. you could tell it was somewhat awkward for him as he had never celebrated valentines before, so he didn’t really know what to do.

he also pulled out a small ring, and you got him a new watch as well as a chain with the both of your initials on.

you were both in bed afterwards, sharing soft yet very intimate kisses. his hands were all over you while yours were resting on his shoulders.

they were soft and small until the kisses started to get more deep and passionate. you shifted so you were straddling his thighs. you were both still naked from the previous night, so you didn’t have to do much. you whimpered softly into his mouth as you grinded down on him.

you could feel him beginning to harden beneath you as you continued to grind down on him, your slick beginning to coat his thighs. he pushes you away.

“I want you to sit on my face” he says bluntly, his eyes lidded and full of lust. you bite your lip softly.

you were insecure enough to not want to crush him, but then again you had also done it before, so you knew it wouldn’t be that bad. you moved up the bed until you were straddling his face.

he grabbed your thighs and pulled you all the way down. his mouth latched to your clit, sucking and licking as he licked a stripe up your folds, shoving his tongue inside of your hole. you moaned and whimpered softly as he did so, gripping onto his hair as he did so.

he licked and slurped you for all you’re worth, making you moan and whimper. you ground down against his face, wanting as much friction as he could give you. you threw your head back as he did so. simon held your thighs down against his face so you wouldn’t move away, sensing you were getting close.

“oh god, si- m’ gonna come” you moan out, continuing to grind against his face as he kept slurping your cunt up as though it was his last meal, eventually adding a couple fingers and curling them inside of you, making you moan harder and louder. yeah, you were definitely going to come now.

“mhm” he grunts against your pussy, sending vibrations that made you jolt. “come for me then” he mumbles against your cunt, the vibrations were making you go absolutely feral, making you feel more sensitive by the second.

it only took a few more sucks and curls inside of you before your juices were splattered all over his face, simon wasn’t complaining as he just slurped everything up as though his life depended on it. he continued to ride you out what felt like your longest-lasting orgasm ever.

he moved you down his body so you were back sitting on his lap, he wiped your juices from his chin, a shit-eating grin on his face as he did so. you watched too intently as he did so. you clenched around nothing, your ovaries feeling like they were about to explode with how horny you felt at that moment in time.

he smirks and props himself up on his elbows.

“gonna need you to ride me now, lovie” he says, it sounded condescending, and from your previous position over his face, your thighs wouldn’t last long before they gave out. he must be a mind reader at this point, because he then added “oh don’t worry, lovie, i’ll help you”

it was almost subconscious in the way his hands moved to your hips to lift you onto his hardened cock. the tip was red and already leaking pre-cum. he was always massive, no matter how many times the two of you had sex, you would always need a few seconds to adjust to his size. as he slowly lowered you onto him, you had to bite your tongue to stop you making a guttural sound.

it took you a few seconds to adjust to his size, bearing in mind you had last had sex less than 24 hours ago, and began moving your hips slightly. it started off with just rolling your hips on hip, rolling them in soft circles to get yourself going at first, but then you began to bounce softly.

simon’s hands stayed on your hips the whole time, helping you bounce on his cock. simon was never usually a vocal person in bed, but he always loved when you rode him with him helping you, so that’s the only point in which he would become vocal. he was letting out the occasional grunt and groan as he bounced you.

it was beginning to be him doing all the work, you doing nothing and letting him lift and slam your hips back down on hip. his pelvis was getting soaked with your juices as your cunt squelched with his large cock. it was full trying to accommodate his full length.

you were beginning to get tired and simon knew this as you were putting less and less effort into bouncing on his cock. he began to start moving his hips upwards to meet yours when they were going down, making him hit a whole new place inside of you, making you yelp at first.

you then started to moan louder as his length was hitting that sweet spot inside of you over and over, making your cunt squelch louder as well as your moans that reciprocated the volume of your pussy.

he had a smirk on his face the entire time, but his smirk got wider when he decided to reach a hand down to play with your puffy and overstimulated clit, making you jolt and whimper. you were getting closer and closer with each passing moment and you knew at some point you were going to come, you could feel it and simon could feel his orgasm coming on.

he continued to meet your downward thrusts with his upwards ones, making you make sounds you didn’t know you could ever make.

the rubbing on your clit and simon’s cock repeatedly hitting that oh-so sweet spot inside of you was too much. the knot was forming in your stomach and it was tightening fast.

“it’s okay lovie, let go, come for me” simon says, it sounds strained and you could tell he was close too by the way he looked down at where the two of you met then threw his head back. “fuck, you’re so gorgeous” he says with his head back before looking at you with his hooded eyes.

that was all it took for you to come completely undone for him. letting your hips come down one more time before throwing your head back and clamping so hard down on him that he could have sworn you resembled a vice, but he didn’t mind because that was what made him come too, spilling his white-hot cum all over your velvety walls.

you came down from your highs not long later, panting and reaching for each other’s embrace.

simon picked you up with him still inside of you and only pulled out when you reached the bathroom. he sat you down on the toilet, leaving for you to for you to do your business then helping you wash your hands before running a bath for the both of you.

“i got us a table at that place you like” he says softly as he helps you get into the bath first before climbing in behind you. you smiled and thanked him, saying he was perfect. you leaned your head back against him, on his chest.

maybe simon didn’t mind the overly expensive flowers and chocolate if it meant he got to see the love of his life happy.

[glassrowboat]

Letters For You

Valentine’s Day letters from Anaxa, Aventurine, Gallagher, Jing Yuan, Phainon, Ratio, Reca, Sampo, Sunday

Wrote these for my online friends, so I hope you all have a lovely Valentine’s. Love you all, xoxo

Anaxa

My fellow scholar,

I won't lie and pretend as if I wouldn't rather be spending my time doing something actually worthwhile like studying, but whenever I finally bring myself to put pen to paper in my hectic schedule I find myself unable to use my quill for its intended purpose. I bought it for note taking and truly wished to use it for that purpose, only for me to find myself unable to focus on the words before me as I am stuck thinking of you.

You see, these were originally meant to be notes, so excuse the scribbling at the top. It's all mindless drivel and half-baked theories I'm certain you're already planning to jump at. Your curious mind never rests, just like mine. Which is why I'm so loath to admit that even us scholars need a break.

With that in mind, I ask that you find me at our usual spot to enjoy the current festivities. I'm sure once we're done, it will leave us both refreshed and ready to return to work.

In best regards,

Anaxagoras

Aventurine

Dearest friend,

I already know what you're going to say about the gifts I have left for you. “It's too much or you should save your money on something else, Aven.” To the point I can almost hear the words ringing in my ear in that scolding tone of yours. It's just as bad as the higher ups scolding me for breaking the cornerstone and yet I can't help but want to spoil you.

But I'll be nice. Just this once.

Instead of dinner at another fancy restaurant you'll roll your eyes at, let's just get takeout from your favorite place and we can play dress up with all the clothes I got us. And yes some are for me, too. I'm sure if you dig around a bit you'll find a particular lacy item you and I can both agree has its merits.

Until tonight,

Aventurine

P.S. No overtime. I promise.

Gallagher

Babe,

I'm sure you've already figured out the bag of candy is for you. I even wrapped it up with a neat bow and everything for ya, so I hope you like it. If you want, we can even try making a drink out of a few of them like we did with the cotton candy vodka. Remember that? It was interesting, that's for sure.

We can even have what's left after dinner tonight. I'm cooking. Just for you, too. I was thinking of Clockie Pizza with all those toppings you like, and we could have it at the lounge? I'm sure Dreamjolt Hostelry will have open seats even on Valentine’s Day, knowing how dead the place usually is. I'll even dress up if you want me to. Though it might just be best to put myself in your or Sioban care to choose an outfit. Either way, I'm trusting you here, so don't let me down.

Your man,

Gallagher

Jing Yuan

My darling,

It's a beautiful day out, don't you think? The sky is clear and bright blue, the wind is just right, and the sun as artificial as it might be is perfect for dozing under its shining rays. I even found a record to play a song I remember from days long past. The only thing missing on this perfect day is you. And my work to be done, too.

I take it you're wrapped in endless stacks of paperwork just as I am, aren't you? Even after all the time, they managed to keep you this week. I'm merely lucky I'll have you all to myself once the day ends. The weekend will be ours to enjoy the garden, eat good food, play with our adorable little lion, and each other.

While we may not get Valentine’s Day together between your work and mine, I am happy to make sure we still get to enjoy being together. Besides, choosing only one day to love you when I would rather do so every day for every year you're willing to share with me is far more appealing than showing you appreciation only on special occasions.

Yours,

Jing Yuan

Phainon

My favorite shopkeeper,

Time really does flash by in an instant, huh? It feels like only yesterday that I came to The Holy City with the weight of the prophecy, both bearing a heavy weight on and lifting my shoulders all at once. Back then, I was ready to face the world as a Chrysos Heir alongside the others of golden blood without daring to think anything could stop me. I was going to be the one who takes Nikador's Coreflame, and I'll be the demigod of Strife. It will be a title I wear with honor.

And that is still my intention, mind you, but I've found something else that fills me with just as much conviction as being a hero to the masses. Do I even have to say what it is? It's you.

Ever since we first ran into each other at your shop and you were giving me a side eye (yes, I saw that) at all the questions I was asking about your collection of antiques I knew I would be willing to take a moment to step away from the duty I have sworn to uphold to simply be with you.

So I guess what I'm asking is: will you be my valentine?

Your hero,

Phainon

Ratio

My dear,

Today has already been full of one headache after the next from students deeming fit to load my desk with gifts to dealing with Aventurine texting me about how many roses is “too much.” At this point, all I want to do is go home and fall into your embrace.

Still, I have tests to grade. And from what I've seen of them, it's looking like some of them have finally learned how to pick up a thing or two after I started to use the method you suggested last time. As loath as I am to admit, I never would have thought to have my student role play as great mathematicians from the past to keep them engaged. It worked.

You truly astound me. Always finding new ways to show that creative thinking plays a part in being knowledgeable as well. You put the term genius to shame, my dear.

Sincerely,

Veritas Ratio

Reca

My love interest,

I have met countless actresses and actors who have been praised as if they were Aeons themselves. Looks, skills, the way the camera is naturally drawn to them, why you could name it all! Yet they all pale in comparison to you, my snookums.

No shot is truly complete without your radiance, without your smile, or without just the thought of you lingering in the back of my mind and changing how I see each scene laid out before me. You have changed how I view romance, entirely flipping the genre on its head for me to make something entirely new and unique. You inspired me in a way I never would have thought possible despite all the stories of star-crossed lovers I know. You have simply made me, for lack of a better word, more.

The only thing I could possibly regret about you is not meeting you sooner.

So allow me to make up for all the time we have had apart, my honey bee, by coming to a play with me as my valentine.

Your charming director,

Reca

P.S. I have entrusted the Assistant Director to be in your care today while I am away. She shall take care of you in my stead while I am away, my valentine.

Sampo

Boss,

It's me, your good old buddy, your pal, your bestest guy, Sampo! Now, now, before you go and throw this letter in the trash or worse yet, set my poor heartfelt words on fire, hear me out. I only have the purest intentions for you today, and that is on my honest word as a businessman.

It is Valentine’s Day, after all, and I can't have such a profitable holiday be soured for my favorite customer. That would just hurt my coin purse. So to ensure that doesn't come to pass, I took it upon myself to give you a gift as a show of gratitude for all you've done for me these past few years.

I'm sure you've noticed them by now.

Now, I hope you like the roses I left for you. They have a bit of an extra boom to them if you know what I mean. Just not the bomb kind. Though you do always manage to blow my heart away so who knows, maybe it is.

Your number one guy,

Sampo

P.S. Okay you can light the letter on fire now just know that if you do I'll be left with nothing to do but drink at the bar until I'm crying my eyes out all by my lonesome. Orrrrr…you could join me. I would never complain about getting some time in your delightful company.

Sunday

My dove,

This is my first Valentine’s Day away from Penacony, let alone on the Astral Express with a lover I can call my own.

I find myself still adjusting to the sudden change. There's no one watching my every move and expecting utter perfection from me now but me. I still find myself checking my clothes, assuring my feathers are neat, and shining my halo to the point that it shines in the light of the stars surrounding us. They remind me of just how vast this galaxy truly is. How my past choices were a flicker of a flame to everyone else, but to me, it was my last ditch effort at saving a dying light.

Everything is different now.

I find myself mourning.

Only for you to walk in the room and wash each thought away like the oncoming tide to a cluttered shore just with your gaze and a twitch of your lips. It's like I'm hit with a revelation again: that things do in fact get better.

So please, keep smiling as you always do, my valentine.

All the best,

Sunday

[maraudersilver]

My Valentine (James Potter x Fem!Reader)

James Potter x Fem!Reader

wc: +3,4K

cw: fluff, mentions of sex (no smut), corniness.

Summary: When the reader leaves her workplace in a fuss of a certain Friday, Sirius Black offers to give her a ride without mentioned James’ Valentine plans.

Back at Hogwarts, Fridays felt renewing, a sense of freedom etched into the nippy breeze of the castle’s gardens as the students roamed around the many secret passages. Some snogging, others finishing the last details of a party, some hanging out with friends, and very few stuck at the library to study whatever subject was making their life miserable.

You loved it. Every single moment of your life in Hogwarts was ingrained in fond memories in your mind. It didn’t matter the O.W.L.S or the N.E.W.T.s, if you had the chance, you would do everything all over again.

However, once in real life, adulting through many different jobs and a rent to pay, Fridays had become an excuse to loaf on the couch and rethink all of your decisions up until then. You would still go for a couple jars with your friends and boyfriend from time to time, yet the lack of energy and the built up tiredness of an endless week always left you drained. 

That’s why when Sirius Black presented himself at your workplace on a Friday, you almost snarled at him. It had been a hideous day. Everything that could go wrong went wrong and you didn’t have time to eat anything during your break, not that you had had a break anyway. Alas, you just wanted to arrive home and rot in your couch while you debated whether life was worth it or not. 

“Nice to see you, too.” Sirius rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest while he leaned on his bike.

“What are you doing here?” you asked tiredly, trundling towards the handsome man.

“Thought you’d need some fresh air.” He shrugged his shoulders, his characteristic crooked smile making its way onto his face.

You shook your head, sighing tiredly. “What I need is to make my way to bedfordshire.”

“Fun, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you.”

Sirius just chuckled, which made your skin crawl. In any other situation, you would have been thrilled to see your friend. However, you weren’t in the mood for his unabashed teasing. 

“Claws in, princess. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride,” Sirius said, pointing to his bike with his head. Although, an old couple that was strolling just next to him snapped their heads in alarm and scandal at his words. 

“Well done, Black. Scaring our elders,” you grumbled, your eyes drifting from the staggering couple back to the dishy man before you, who had grabbed a helmet for you. Somewhat miffed, you put on the helmet he was offering you before mounting the bike, your chest pressed to his back. There was no point in fighting Sirius, too wayward to accept a ‘no’ for an answer. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Don’t spoil the surprise.” Sirius grabbed the handlebars and a clamorous snore started the bike.

“Is James there or some- AHH!” 

You gripped Sirius’ waist as tightly as you could as he accelerated the bike, turning it invisible before lifting it onto the air. It didn’t matter how many times you had ridden with him, your stomach still churned funnily. 

Your surroundings were blurred, the only neat thing being Sirius’ covered in leather back. What you supposed were trees and roofs passed before the corners of your eyes in undefined shapes and uncoloured forms. Time lost its purpose, hidden in the haze of your mind after you stopped counting the seconds it took the bike to land. You considered begging Sirius to stop, yet your voice was stuck in the knot that had formed on your throat to thwart your breakfast from spilling all over London. 

After your self-perceived eternity, Sirius lowered the bike to the nearest road. It took everything in you to not splatter all over the asphalt, your head dizzy and limbs numb. If you had any strength left, you were to be chained in Azkaban for the murder of the Black family heir. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” Sirius cackled, hoisting you by the waist after a misled step. “James gonna think you’re hammered. Aren’t you overkilling ‘t a bit?”

“You’re-” you took a deep breath, gasping at the lack of oxygen in your system. “You’re t-the fucking w-worst.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Sirius howled in laughter again, placing one of his arms around your waist to saunter who-knows-where.

You gave him a pointed look. “I’ll fu-cking kill y-you.”

“I’m so scared,” he mocked.

It took you a little while to get your head back on its place, Sirius never letting go of you. Your eyes drifted to the foliage that encompassed the horizon, the peaks of the trees impending over the mystical lake. Everything was colourful, tones pink and orange as the sun hid behind the ivy-like bushes at the far point of your sight. You wished James was there to witness it with you.

All the stress and back pain was left behind, only solemnity and enchantment on your countenance. You could feel Sirius’ heavy stare on you, still forcing you to keep walking over the softened grass. By the feeling of it, it had rained the day before.

“This isn’t London,” you observed dumbly, cheeks warm when Sirius scoffed.

“No way, Sherlock.”

“Where are we?” your gaze chased the many details composing the picture of the valley, searching for the man you actually wanted to be with.

“Always so eager.” Sirius' voice was laced with mocked flirting, finally stopping before a wooden cottage that somehow you had missed in your first inspection.

“Is this where you murder me and they never find my body?”

Sirius laughed mirthlessly. “Hilarious. C’mon, go in.”

You had already climbed a couple of stairs but, at his words, you pinched your brows and looked back at him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ve been suggesting your boyfriend a threesome for donkey’s years, but I don’t think today’s the day, hot stuff.”

You ignored his unabashed confession, although your belly flipped against your will, and rolled your eyes. “Is James there, then?”

Sirius placed his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, and he blew a couple of rebellious dark tufts away from where they had fallen before his sculptured face. The wind was waving his hair like a wave tide, so smooth you ached to twist your fingers on it. You had to seriously consider the threesome offer with James. “That’s for you to discover. I was just your ride, not your confidant,” Sirius offered you a cheshire smirk. “Although, maybe another time, you could ride my d-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go in. Thanks, Sirius!” you bursted out, and the last thing you heard before closing the door behind you was his melodic laugh. 

You sighed in relief, you were sure you wouldn’t have survived any more teasing, any less before his scrutinized stare. Suddenly, the smell of just-baked muffins hit your nostrils, and your mouth watered involuntarily like a pavlovian experiment. 

Following its trail, you paddled around the wooden floors, any survival instinct forgotten in the back of your mind, the only thing present was the need to taste those goods. You missed the hanging t-shirt from the door next to the kitchen, and the scattered shoes all over the flatweave rug in the living room. 

Cooking on the stove was the burly, naked back of your very much dishy boyfriend. Now in the kitchen, the pleasant smell of the sweets mixed with the salty one of whatever he was stewing. You observed the muscles of his back, contracting at his every move, and if your mouth was already watering, now you were drooling like a horndog. The light of the sun drew patterns in his body, illuminating his tanned skin in orange hues, like liquid gold. And the grey sweatpants hang lowly on his hips; your head was light and not from the motorbike ride exactly. 

Sensing your burning stare, James turned around and his mouth stretched in a saccharine smile, so bright it overshadowed the sunset painting the sky outside the window. His eyes wrinkled by the corners, irises gleaming at the sight of you. Your heart fluttered, and the butterflies in your stomach flew violently. It didn’t matter how many times you had witnessed this sight, it always made your knees wobble. 

In a fussy, you pranced towards his awaiting arms, opened just for you. “My darling,” he said, voice laced in honey, brushing his head on your hair, sniffling lightly much to your embarrassment and amusement. “Did you have a good ride? I know how Sirius can be.”

You hummed, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and soaking on his natural scent: warm, sandalwood, cologne. You roamed your hands absentmindedly over his back, feeling him up but feigning innocence at his snort. “Hectic,” James snickered, reverberating in his chest against your own. “He’s a prick. But it wasn’t that bad. Not if I get to have you like this.”

“Aww, aren’t you a sweetheart,” James cooed, his palms caressing up and down your back softly. “Or a perv, if your hands have any say in this.”

“You just had to ruin the moment,” you groaned, and James laughed again, kissing the top of your head in apology.

“You can feel me up as much as you want, my love. My body’s yours.” 

You wanted to groan again, he was so corny your cheeks must be scorching against his shoulder and neck, yet the tingling of your fingertips and the drumming beating of your heart proved you wrong. 

Pulling your head away from your hidden haven, albeit reluctantly, you looked up at him again. James had this thing where his eyes alone showed the very deep of his soul even behind his glasses, and the caring light pouring out of his irises had your head turning and whirling. Damn, you were very much in love with him.

“Where are we?” you asked once your hazed mind walked out of the fog enough to realize you still didn’t know the place, and you scouted your surroundings once more.

James’ eyes followed your motion and his smile stretched even more if it was even possible. “I may or may not have rented this cottage for a romantic weekend.”

Your heart did a flip, and you were sure you were looking back at James with as much passion and adoration as he was. If he didn’t know by now how besotted you were, the proof laid before him. “James,” you said, voice soft and whispery, conveying what words could not say.

“I take it that you like it.” His grin grew impossibly wide. He leaned down, about to kiss your lips, but the squelching sound coming from behind him made him gasp and drop you from his warm hold, much to your sorrow. “Sorry, my love, this is why I couldn’t go get you myself. I wanted to cook you a nice dinner,” he giggled nervously.

Upon his sudden sheepishness, you cooed and hugged him from behind, your arms surrounding his waist and palms pressed against his toned abs. “That’s so considerate, Jamie.” You kissed his shoulder blade, goosebumps forming on his skin much to your delight, and then you placed your head against the spot you had just shown love to. “What are you cooking?”

“Surprise!” 

“James, I can smell the muffins,” you deadpanned.

You could imagine the childish pout forming on his lips, and you got confirmation when he spoke again, tone muffled by his pursed lips. “Then I’ll give you another dessert.”

You snorted, nuzzling your cheek against his soft back. “Oh, yeah? You’ll have time to bake another dessert?”

“No need to elaborate it much, darling. You sitting on my face is my favourite meal after all.”

Your cheeks were ablaze, a pulsing heat setting between your legs. Undeterred by your timid countenance, he snickered, turning around to hoist you from your waist and sit you on the counter, positioning himself between your legs.

The bespectacled man roamed his honeyed eyes all over your body, gnawing at his lower lip menacingly. “You know.” His finger teased the collar of your working shirt, fiddling with the first button, and you felt yourself gulping. “Maybe we could skip dinner after all. I’m hungry for something else,” he drawled, sounding drunk in the lust emanating from his body.

You considered it, though there was not much to ponder about. Your hot, sexy boyfriend was offering you an evening of fun and who were you to refuse? Just when you were about to agree, half lidded eyes focused on his pretty face, your stomach rumbled, the sound almighty in comparison to the quiet tranquility of the cottage. James blinked twice, looking bemused, until comprehension hit him like a gunshot and he beamed, face brightening in streams of laughter so ablaze you felt like the sun was setting you on fire.

Much to your embarrassment, James nuzzled his nose against yours, all previous promise of pleasure forgotten in his teasing gaze. “At least my efforts won’t go to waste,” he snickered, pecking your lips in ample adoration, a wide smile still stretching his mouth. His askew, curly hair tickled your forehead, sending you into a fit of giggles. “You set the table while I finish this up?” he asked, voice sugarcoated. 

You nodded, bounding down from the counter with his help. You scouted around the kitchen in search of plates, serviettes, cutlery and wine glasses, quite lost in the new environment with a very different setting compared to your own kitchen. After opening the fifth, marbled cabinet, you finally found the round plates James had asked you for, and little by little you set the table under the humming tune your boyfriend was entrancing you with, his low voice drumming violently in your chest. 

Considering it finished, you went back to James shirtless form, who was plating an enticing beef stew, covered in what seemed to be blackberry compote. What surprised you the most was the lack of magic use in the whole process. James had really outdone himself.

“All done?” you asked, placing a comforting hand on his right bicep, hoping he didn’t see through your act of touching for the sake of touching.

“Uh-ha.” His tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth, teeth gently biting down in concentration. “Finished! C´mon, sit down, I’ll bring the food.” You opened your mouth to complain, but he lifted a single finger against your lips, smiling menacingly at you. “Nah-ah-ah, love. Let me pamper you, yeah? For me?” They should really carry out a study of how fast this man went from unabashed to puppy -stag?- eyes, a throbbing pout drawn on his gorgeous facade that melted you from inside out. When you sighed in defeat, his characteristic smile made its way back to his lips. “Atta girl.”

Warmth bursted from the pit of your stomach, flowing like a fluent river to the rest of your body. If he continued like that, dinner wouldn’t be what you sucked into your mouth the following minutes. 

With a slight stumble, you made your way to the table by the dinning room. Now that you had time, you took the chance to observe in thoroughness the cottage you had entered without paying much attention to it. The walls were composed of rounded, dark wood, giving path to pointed and high, wooden ceilings, from where simple and rustic lamps hung and lighted the room in dim brightness. They reminded you of James, always so warm and dazzling. The hearth by the couch thawed out the chilling atmosphere from the outside world, gleaming cozily and drawing patterns on the cushion of the sofa, back to the wall in front of it. 

Then, James jigged down the corridor with two plates in hand, placing them leisurely on yours and James seats, him sitting in front of you. With a flicker of his wand, two red candles appeared on the table, and the lamps turned off, the room only lit by the romantic fire of the red wax. 

“Wow.” To say you were gobsmacked would be an understatement, and you suppressed a smile at the contrast of the elegant dinner against your still very shirtless man. “What’s all the romance for? I mean, I’m not complaining,” you quickly said, raising your hands and signaling at nothing in particular. “But why today?”

James chuckled, hiding behind one of his hands much to your disappointment. His smile should be hung on all the walls of a museum. “Can’t a man spoil his Valentine rotten?” The flickering light of the candles reflected on his glasses, giving his teasing stare a more mischievous contenance. 

You blinked, taken off guard. Valentine? It couldn’t be Valentine’s Day already, could it? Your brain worked in rumination, scavenging for the date on the calendar. That week you had two meetings, a report to deliver, grocery shopping on Wednesday… Oh. There was a pink, huge circle around the 14th on the calendar in your kitchen, marked by you, which only made the matter worse. How could you have forgotten it?

At your decimated expression, James chuckled again, the legs of his chair lugging against the wooden floor. “Aww, c’mere, lovey.”

Without much thought, you pranced towards his open arms. James took your hands and sat you in his lap, staring down at you with so much love your breath stuck in your lungs. Unable to do much more at the moment, your mind hazy and body numb, you passed your arms around his shoulders and pecked his cheek repeatedly. His chest reverberated in giggles much to your pleasure. “Happy Valentines, Jamie,” you murmured against his mouth, lazily kissing him. He hummed in appreciation, returning the kiss with the same loiter. 

His glasses pressed uncomfortably against your cheek, though you didn’t mind. There was nothing in the world you loved more than him, and his lips were enticing enough to fight the slight pricking of his metal frames. 

Your fingers intertwined with his curls, while the other hand caressed mildly the nape of his neck. His hands, however, were roaming your body like a starved man, proving so when he deepened the kiss, tilting his head more to the right. Your breathings were erratic, his tongue asking for permission, and you opened your mouth willingly. Both your tongues danced in your mouth, his exploring the warmth of yours as if he had never been graced entrance before. It was wet, passionate and so overwhelming.

Pulling away slightly, James looked at you with half-lidded eyes, a string of saliva still connecting you both. His glasses were lopsided from the make out session, and his dark curls askew, giving him a lovesick countenance. “Let’s do something,” he purred, and your heat pulsed. “We’ll finish dinner; then we take a romantic, warm bath to the candlelights; and then you let me eat you for dessert. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” you sighed breathlessly, kissing him urgently once more. Your left hand caressed the three-day stubble growing in his cheeks and jaw, and his hands squeezed your hips.

A daunting feeling crested from your stomach to your chest, settling on your heart. James was yours. The realization of it, even if you had known for years, only increased the tide of love ripples turning into waves crashing against your feelings. “I love you, James.” It was sincere, and the jaunty smile James gifted you, eyes filled with adoration, was proof of the sentiment.

“I love you, too, my love.”

It was a magical night, to say the least. James fulfilled his promise and you ended up witnessing sunset in his arms, your bodies naked against each other, only covered by a thin blanket while the sun rose in technicolour lights brushing the cristaline water by the lake. 

The rest of the weekend was spent undertaking water activities such as paddling in a boat, swimming and splashing, and making love by the shore in the solitude and romance of the woods. 

By the time you had to leave the cottage and go back home, long forgotten was the awful day at work and the stress of mundane life. All you had in your mind and heart was James and your love for him. Although, deep inside you had a fishbone stabbed for having forgotten Valentine’s Day. However, James didn’t seem to mind as he walked you into the warmth of your shared haven, his arm lazily propped over your shoulder in a protective stand. 

Late at night, both of you cuddled up on the sofa, a book left behind in your lap. It was then that your conversation with Sirius that Friday afternoon came back to you. James turned in alarm at your gasp, raising his brows in expectation.

“Can we have a threesome with Sirius?”

James’ mouth hung half-open, his brows now narrowing in confusion. “What!?”

[angelltheninth]

Could I request Neuvillette whimpering when his lover unlocks his praise kink? Man's was a soft Dom until she started softly praising his skills in bed.

I'm someone who thrives on praise too so I totally get wanting this. I would praise the hell out of Neuvillette.

Pairing: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, doggie style, whimpering, praise kink, Neuvillette's powers

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Honestly though, tell me I'm doing a good job and I'm yours. For a limited amount of time it takes me register that praise. But for those few seconds I'm yours.

Loves to fuck you from behind, not because he can be rough but because he really likes kissing across your back and your shoulders, where he then bites down with his teeth

Teases your clit a lot, and really a lot, to the point where you feel like you're gonna come if he so much as touches it

But then he stops suddenly because he can't let you finish before he's ready

He hasn't deemed it right for you to finish just yet, and what he says goes

Usually he holds onto you while you're having sex, one arm wrapped around you, or even his tail sneaking around your leg

More of a fan of praising you then degrading you

His movements are never sloppy when he's he's about to come, his composure perfect, his thrusts deep, his long cock never fully leaving your quivering pussy

But as soon as you tell him good good it feels that he's taking you from behind while also managing to be such a gentle lover you feel his tail coil tighter

He tells you thank you, his voice a little more higher pitched

As soon as he bottoms out and you moan his name while telling him how you want him to creampie you so he can use his tongue to eat it out afterwards he lets out another sound, a higher pitched whimper

Doesn't want you to hear him whimpering so he distracts you by reaching between your legs and rubbing your clit between his fingers

He needs you to make more noises than he is

That plan was doomed to fail the moment you heard that first whimper from him

Realizing that the normally stoic, well-composed, stern man fucking you can actually whimper like that wasn't something you were ready to let go of

Not easily

He knows he's in trouble when you look back at him, a grin on your face, a chuckle leaving your lips before you praise his talented fingers, praise the way he's constantly keeping your clit stimulated by quickly rubbing his index finger over it with its whole length

Or how he's making your cunt absolutely drool all over his cock, slick sticking to your thighs and his balls every time he pulls out

You're telling him how nice it feels when his huge cock bottoms out and you feel it twitch while still in your pussy

Neuvillette is a mess, and further spiraling with every word you tell him

At first you don't even notice that it began raining outside

Since it began raining faster and faster you guess that he's getting close, you don't even have to guess because at this point you know that when he wants to creampie you, it absolutely pours outside

The sound of rain does nothing to dampen the whimpers next to your ear

If you tell him you want his cum painting your pussy and he's done

But what happens in the bedroom has to stay in the bedroom, you can never tell a soul that he likes being praised to the degree he can't stop shaking and whimpering and clinging onto you because he can't stop coming inside of you

[ihavethedreamies]

Love Release | Felix [NSFW]

Felix Lee/Lee Yongbok - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.9k

Pairing: Noble! Felix x Handmaiden! AFAB! Reader

Genre: Historical AU!, Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Pet Names (My love/love), Grinding/Humping (I don't know the right term...), First Times (Both), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…)

Summary: You had been training ever since you were a little girl to grow up and serve the crown prince and later the king. Because of that, you grew up with the prince as well. Though, the one that always had caught your eye, was the prince's best friend.

Author's Note: This one is very soft and fluffy compared to the other ones in this series. I got most of my "information"/inspiration from the drama The Red Sleeve with Lee Junho, so if it's not exactly right it's because I based this more off of a K-Drama than research.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use. Just an FYI, there are a lot more in this one than some of my others, so I would recommend looking over the list first, or this post.

-> Series Hub <-

-> Bang Chan's <-

-> Lee Know's <-

-> Changbin's <-

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Your family isn’t poor by any means, but they aren’t nobility either. Your father and mother own a very successful tea shop frequented by the young adult children of the nobles and therefore afford your family a rather comfortable life. However, you know little of it. You are the youngest of five girls, and your eldest sister is an esteemed member of the royal court ladies. Your parents received payments from the palace in compensation for your sister going to serve there, the funds allowing them to open the shop that has made them so well off. Despite her entering to work as a seamstress, she rose in the ranks past her initial status due to an unofficial friendship with the princess.

One year, the year you turned five, the palace was struggling to find new girls to train for the royal court due to a sickness that had swept through Hanyang and the surrounding areas. The sickness was much harder for young girls to fight off than boys, and unfortunately many girls died. You were spared from the illness, though your sister but two years older than you sadly passed. Due to the struggling search, your sister returned home as a still training nain, serving under a sanggung that served the queen. Out of the three of us younger sisters, only you were of the proper age to be entered into the palace to train. So, you were quickly sent off to live in the palace, to train for years in order to serve the crown prince who was around the same age as you. Of course, your parents received more payment in return. This tended to be done since they would never receive a dowry for their daughters, palace maidens are forbidden to marry.

You and the girls in your friend group stood out from the rest, the red fabric at the ends of your sleeves clearly designating you all as future gungnyeo to the crown prince, and eventually the king. Before you were separated into your future departments however, all the girls were treated equal, whether they were there to be royal servants, embroiders or seamstresses, cleaners or cooks, healers or musicians. When you were assigned the department for the inner royal court, you became a trainee jimil nain and suddenly you were of a higher status. Still at a measly 10th grade ranking, you were higher than your friends who were assigned to begin their true duties in sewing and cleaning. You started off as an assistant to a sangjeong, a nasty woman who doled out punishments left and right and you tried your hardest to stay on her good side, only getting a few whacks on the hand. While you were eventually given more or less a promotion, it was a very boring job in a way because you had a very specific duty. As part of your job, you would more or less escort the girls who worked in the naesojubang, leading them and the food they prepared to the crown prince’s quarters. The scent of the much fancier and rich food often made your mouth water, but you could never partake. However, there was a saving grace…maybe two. The prince is gorgeous. Even as a young teenager, everyone could see how handsome he would grow to be. Though, you could only see him through sneaking glances, you dare not look at his face when anyone could see. You aren’t supposed to. The one you could however look at was the second saving grace. Prince Chan had a just as attractive best friend, a younger boy by the name of Yongbok. Yongbok was the son of one of the ministers and was essentially assigned to be one of Chan’s friends as a little boy, but their friendship stuck through. He you could look at, and look you did. There was constant talks and arguments over whether Prince Chan or Lord Yongbok was more attractive. The girls who spoke and admired the beauty and sweetness of Lord Yongbok counted you amongst them. Many girls though preferred the casual strength and confident demeanor of the prince, and this led to many a debate over meals and duties. Nearly every day when you brought the girls to serve Prince Chan his midday meal, you would cast glances at Yongbok who sat to the left of the prince. You would sit by the door, waiting for the prince and his friend to finish eating so you could have the girls come and get rid of the dishes and you would escort them out before they went on their own way. That was…about all you ever did for the better part of two years.

When you were given more duties, you were assigned to be a messenger. Your previous station was one of the least physically strenuous jobs, and then you were given one of the most. The first month or so of your duties, your legs constantly burned, and your feet hurt. Not only did you have to scurry about the palace, from the prince’s quarters, to the throne hall, and then back, and then to the queen’s quarters and then back, it was exhausting. Every time you left the crown prince’s palace with a message from said prince, you hated having to go all the way to his grandmother’s quarts with a small message. It was easiest if you had to go deliver a message to the throne hall since it was the closest. You dreaded however having to go to his mother’s, the hall that housed his parents is not only beautiful, but extremely revered. You feared even bumping into something and knocking it over. Plus, his mother was…intimidating. Somehow even more so than the king. While she wasn’t mean or cruel, she seemed very tense. There was however a nasty woman who despised the queen. That particular concubine and the queen would glare at each other near constantly, and if for some reason they were even in the same room, you worried entering lest you be struck by the lightning between their gazes. Sometimes though, you were grateful for your job, because there were times you had to deliver messages from Prince Chan to his best friend. Lord Yongbok often lingered around the palace when the prince was studying since, even though he was also educated well, he didn’t need it to the same level. You even would sometimes pray for the prince to wish to summon his friend, because then you could directly interact with the nobleman. Every week he grew more gorgeous, and his suddenly deep voice drew many of Prince Chan’s admirers over into his camp.

One time, Yongbok was meandering through the palace grounds, standing on a bridge, looking down into the water at the brightly colored fish swimming below. It was almost like the scene that would be copied down to parchment as a work of art. His gorgeous features combined with the serene scene was worthy of that of royalty despite his lower status. You clutched the letter to you so tight, seeing him bringing you such joy that you worried the paper within the fabric envelope would crinkle. No matter, it wasn’t important, just details for a future excursion the prince had planned.

“Lord Yongbok…” You bow at the waist when you finally gain the nerve to approach. You stand back up straight, breath nearly stolen by his warm smile.

“Ah, Miss (Y/N). What has our lord prince sent this time, hm~?” His voice nearly rumbles through you like thunder, and you have to fight back a shiver. You bow and hand him the envelope with both hands and he takes it from you, opening the blue fabric to read over the parchment. He hums and folds the paper up and stows it inside his blue danryeong. While he looked good in everything, you found the uniform outfit many of his status wore to ill-suit him, and much preferred his casual clothing he more often wore.

“Tell me, when is your next day off?”

“In a fortnight, milord.”

“Hm… I assume you plan to see your family?”

“No, actually. I do not have a plan for that day, my family plans to be on holiday in Ming.”

“I see… Would you be opposed if I accompanied you out?”

You feel your face heat to a bright red, heart racing out of control. You look at him with wide eyes, stammering to answer, still trying to process that he asked you such a thing.

“Y-you would…want to?”

“I would~” He smiles, making your heart race even more-so.

“T-then, yes, I would like that~”

~θωθ~

Your day off came, and you were trembling with nervous excitement as you dressed in your only non-uniform hanbok. Standing at the gate leading out of the palace grounds, you clutch your pass that allows you to leave. You wonder if after your final ceremony if you’d ever get to leave, so you wanted to take the chance to get out as much as possible while still in training.

“Miss (Y/N).” You hear a very distinct voice call your name and you perk up, not able to fight back a smile when you see Yongbok just on the other side of the open gate. You step up to the guards standing on each side and he looks over your engraved pass to make sure it’s legit and then he hands it back and lets you out. You tuck it away in an interior pocket of your jeogori, for if you lost it, you would not be able to get back in.

“Do have something planned, milord?” You ask, not able to look directly at him. He’s too close and too beautiful.

“Yes, there’s somewhere I want to take you, if you’re willing.” He smiles, so purely, and your heart melts further. It’s refreshing to see him in normal clothing rather than his danryeong, his gat suits him much more than his samo, the dark brown beads of the strap for the hat make his eyes pop.

“O-Of course, milord.”

“We’re not in the palace anymore, (Y/N), just call me Yongbok~”

“A-are you sure?”

“Of course~” He huffs a small laugh then starts to walk toward the direction opposite the market and you jog to catch up to him. You had figured you two would walk the market and look at the goods and trinkets sold there, but he wasn’t going that way. He leads you to the edge of the walled district and you halt at the gate before you can follow him out.

“Is something wrong?”

“Is it alright…for me to leave the seong-jung?”

“Why wouldn’t it be. You have a pass to leave the palace grounds, that’s all you need.”

“A-alright.”

You only ever go to the seongjeosimni to see your family, and you typically are escorted straight there, but now, you actually have the chance to be…free. Free to do whatever you wish and wherever you go. You hold your breath as you step over the threshold, almost like you were going through a portal to another realm. Of course, there is no change to how you feel, but it feels different somehow. You continue to walk with him, staying a step behind as is proper. Soon, you arrive at the bank of the stream, no one else around but you two, and you gain the courage to stand right next to him. You both overlook the water in silence for a short time, just admiring the scenery.

“How did you come to be a trainee of the gungnyeo?” He asks suddenly and his soft but deep voice startles you out of your thoughts.

“Well, my sister is a jimil nain and she recommended me when there was the low rate of girls coming in from the sweeping illness ten years ago.”

“I see…”

“Why did you wish to know?”

“Is your father of the jungin then?”

“Yes…” Why was he asking?

“I wondered if you were not…”

“You wondered if I was sold to the palace?”

“Yes.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Good.”

“May I ask why you wish to know?”

“I was curious of your family, that’s all.” He left it at that. When you looked back out to the water, you felt your face heat, wondering why he wished to know. After that, he brought you to a quaint little tea shop and you listened as he told you various tales of his shenanigans with the crown prince when they were younger. As the sun started to set, he escorted you back to the gates of the palace grounds and you show the guard your pass before heading in. You hesitate in the threshold of the gate and look back at Yongbok. He smiles warmly and you decide that it’s one of the best days of your so far mundane life.

~υ3υ~

When you turned 18, talks of that year’s coming of age ceremony were once again milling about. That year though, you actually cared to be interested, since you would be participating. But times were not so great, the King was in poor health, and many worried his days were numbered. If that was the case, the 21-year-old crown prince would become king and therefore the gungnyeo under him would also become of a higher status. In the year prior you had become one of the palace ladies who helped prepare and manage the prince’s duties or roles in many formal events. As a handmaiden to the prince, you were granted many opportunities to be close to Lord Yongbok, but you unfortunately were never in a position where you could interact with him at said events. Being more busy yourself, he was often embroiled in his studies and was taking all manner of exams, trying to establish his place among the nobility. You overhead Prince Chan and him half-heartedly joking of them being old and grey, with Yongbok serving as the right or left state minister. That would take a long time of service for Yongbok to reach the status to be worthy of that position.

When the fateful day came that the king passed, you were suddenly thrust into a whirlwind of events you had to prepare for and work during. Not only were there the funerary and memorial services for the king, there was also the coronation events for the now King as well as his wedding to the now Queen. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to be the crown princess as the two were only engaged to marry when the previous king died. Chan was given a new name when he was coronated, but he still preferred to be called by his birthname by Lord Yongbok when it was just them. With the ascension of Chan to the highest station of Joseon, you expected to be officially graduated as a jimil nain. But that didn’t come. When the trainee nain were informed of their new positions, you were curiously left out. It was jarring for not just you, but your friends as well. You thought you had done a very good job up until then, your higher duties of greater import than the others your age due to your excelling performance. Rumors began swirling of what it could mean, and many assumed that you had become more intimate with the now King in a personal manner. While it wasn’t horribly common, it wasn’t unheard of for a king to choose a court maiden to be favored, and to even take her as a concubine. But you knew that wasn’t the case. The more believable rumor was…that you would be released. You didn’t even think that possible unless a grave crime was committed, or if a girl fell ill…

~

You were pondering this one afternoon, sitting near a pond inside the palace grounds, tossing random stones into the water. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down, feeling upset and angry. Was there some reason that the now King did not wish you to be in his service anymore? You thought he had a rather favorable opinion of you…

“You seem distraught.” A deep voice startles you out of your thoughts and you look up in surprise to see Lord Yongbok. It had been a great while since you two had a moment of even partial privacy, let alone just the two of you.

“I apologize…” You stand to bow, and he waves you off to calm down.

“There’s no one around, don’t worry about it… What’s bothering you?”

“I don’t wish to trouble you-“

“Trouble me, please.” He smiles softly and you blush, but hum in thought.

“I am the only one among the other girls of my department to not be informed of her new station…”

“Really?”

“Yes… Despite my service under the crown prince, it seems I will not continue into the service of the King…” you look up at him, wanting to ask a question, but are unsure if it was proper.

“You wish to ask me if I know why?” You smile bashfully, nodding in answer.

“Have you ever known a gungnyeo that ended up released of her service?”

Your heart fell at his question. Was it true? Was a rumor about you that not even you knew the truth of really…true? He could see your face fall and he tries to smile, reassuringly, taking a step closer.

“Please don’t worry. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Do you know why…am I truly being released?”

“You are. And…I do know why. I hope…you will not be upset with me.”

“With you? Why would I be?”

“It seems your release is because of me.” He hums, looking over the water and your eyes flit all over his face, trying to read it.

“Have I…upset you in some way?”

“Oh, no, not…” He sighs, “I wished this to be good news for you…”

“What? What’s happening?”

“I made a request of the King…Something I have never done in all our years of friendship. And he granted me this request.”

Your heart begins to race as he smiles warmly at you, a small blush dusting his cheeks as well.

“You…?”

“I requested that you be released… Because if you weren’t, I would not be able to court you to be my wife.”

“Y-your…wife?”

“Yes.”

“I-I…I thought if a gungnyeo was released…she still could not marry?”

“That’s just for droughts, and other calamities. This is an extremely special circumstance. One that might not be possible if you officially graduate to a true nain. As a trainee however, the rules are more lenient.”

“You did something so…so bold for…me?” You feel tears pricking your eyes, both truly honored and beyond ecstatic. Despite the lessening opportunities you had to be around Lord Yongbok, you had fallen for him. And it seemed, he you.

“I already met with your father, actually.”

“You…did?”

“Yes. Paid the dowry and everything…” He holds his hand out to you, and you shakily place your hand in his, a tear escaping your eye.

“I assumed you’d say yes…”

“Of course I’d say yes~”

~(◕‿◕✿)~

The next month is an absolute whirlwind for you, each upcoming moment causing more nervous excitement than the last. After Chan is crowned King, and the rest of the girls that were training have gone through their coming-of-age ceremonies, you’re formally released from service. Right after, you’re moved into a new house on the estate grounds of Yongbok’s family, staying there for a few days alone until the wedding. What makes you the most nervous of all is waiting in the middle of your new bedchamber in nothing but your white marital sokchima, pacing. Yongbok is getting cleaned up after you had and you can’t stand or sit still, face a seemingly permanent red. You startle when the door opens and your heart stops, then races into a tizzy when you see him. His hair’s down, even going a bit past his shoulders, long and so purely black it’s like flowing ink.

“O-Oh…” You sigh in amazement; you’ve married a heavenly being, you’re sure. He smiles and your floored even further, how is he so perfect?

“My wife~” He comes to you, cupping your jaw in both his hands, thumbs gently rubbing over your cheeks. Your own hands go to his wrists, holding his hands to your face, your eyes skating all over his beautiful features.

“Y-Yes?” He chuckles and you blush further, swallowing hard.

“Tell me if I need to slow down…” He says as he leans in, lips hovering over yours. When you don’t say anything, just gape at him, he gently kisses you. You have kissed before, but only briefly, and he steals your breath as he deepens the kiss. His deep rumbling groan shudders through you like thunder and you can’t help but moan into the kiss, trying your best to kiss him back well. When his tongue slips into your mouth, you whimper again, tongue sliding against his. It was an odd sensation but by no means unwelcome, and he somehow even tastes good. Pulling back, a small strand of saliva connects your lips still and he hums with a soft smirk.

“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” He smiles as he asks.

“Probably not as long as me…” You admit, still holding his wrists to make sure his hands don’t leave your face. You whine softly in disappointment when he moves his hands, and he huffs a small laugh. You let go of his wrists and then you nearly squeak when he lifts you easily up into his arms, carrying you over to the raised yo bed. Gently, like you’re fragile, he lays you down and leans over you. His fingers fiddle with the tie of your sokchima, looking up at you in silent question. You nod, and he slowly pulls on the goreum to undo it. You sit up so he can help you get it fully off and you blush furiously as you lay back down under him, completely bare. You hear him swallow hard, a low hum coming from him and you boldly reach up for the tie of his marital jeogori. He helps you then get his garment off and your mouth literally waters when you see him. Your shy fingers gently reach to run over the defined ridges of his torso, and they quickly get brave. You sit up, in awe as you feel his bare skin, the muscles of his stomach twitching under your soft fingers. He huffs another laugh, letting you explore him for a few seconds. He watches you carefully for your reaction, your fingers creeping lower and lower till the reach the ties of his sokbaji. Your eyes widen a bit when you find he’s already getting hard and you immediately flush.

“Nervous?” Yongbok asks softly. You nod, not able to lie.

“It’s okay, my love.” He leans down and kisses your upper cheek, “just lay back and I’ll start.” You do so and you swallow hard, waiting to watch him take his pants off but he doesn’t. His hands meet your bare skin, and you can’t help but gasp a soft moan as his hands land on your waist, thumbs rubbing the soft skin of your stomach. As soon as your eyes meet, he’s leaning down to kiss you, rougher this time. His tongue sneaks into your mouth and you whine a bit as his hands sneak lower till they’re gripping your hips. Slowly, his hands go lower, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake till they end their journey at your thighs. Your fingers weave into his soft hair as he guides your legs up to wrap around his waist. You’re nervous at first to do anything more than loop them loosely around his middle, but when his hands sneak back up to palm your breasts, your legs tighten, hips twitching. He pulls back from the kiss with a low groan, grinding back against you, hardening fully.

“(Y/N)…careful, love.”

“Sorry…” You whisper, not very sorry actually. Even just the slight friction - even with the fabric of his pants between- of his cock against your cunt feels amazing.

“Sure you are~” He grins, nuzzling his nose against your ear, his voice lowering to a rough timbre, “You’re already so wet.” You blush at his words despite knowing how true they are.

“Why don’t we try something?”

“What?” He answers your question by rolling his hips, his cock pressing into your folds. You gasp softly at this, and he lets your legs down and before you can protest, he undoes the tie of his sokbaji and gets them off, leaving him just as naked as you. You swallow hard, eyes focusing on his cock…

“W-won’t it hurt?”

“That’s why I’m going to get you ready okay?”

“Okay…”

“Just trust me, I won’t go in till you’re ready.”

“Okay…I trust you, Yongbok~” He kisses the tip of your nose making you giggle. He guides your legs back around him and you both moan softly when his dick slides through your slick folds, no longer impeded by the fabric of his bottoms.

“Oh, you’re so warm~” He huffs a small laugh, and you gasp again when he moves his hips, the length of his cock running through your cunt, slicking over your clit.

“Feel good, love~?

“Yes…” You whimper; a bit shocked at just how good it feels.

“Have you even ever touched yourself here?”

“N-no.” Your hips twitch up, goosebumps raising with each thrust of his hips. He moves faster, soft but low grunts leaving his pretty lips as he admires the sheen coating his cock from your wet folds. The more he moves, the better it feels, your little clit feeling like it’s on fire.

“Y-Yongbok, s-something-“

“Just let it happen, love.” He kisses your forehead as he keeps moving, able to feel your core clenching around nothing as he strokes his dick through your pussy. You gasp again, then lose your breath, back arching when he presses harder, moving faster. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over you again and again, the overwhelming pleasure making your head swim. When you come down, you look up at him. He’s biting his lip as he’s adjusting to press the head of his cock against your entrance. At the right spot, he reaches up and weaves his fingers through yours, holding your hands up by your head, his lips hovering over yours.

“Just grip my hands tight if it hurts, love.” His lips seal over yours as he starts to press in. The stretch burns, like nothing you’ve ever felt before, but it’s also different than pain. It somehow hurts and feels amazing at the same time, and you swear you can’t catch your breath fully the deeper he gets. You grips his hands tight, but not overly so, trying to focus on kissing him. Finally, after what seems like hours, he bottoms out, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. Yongbok pulls back from the kiss, tongue swiping over his lip to break the trail of saliva connecting your mouths.

“Does it hurt?”

“S-some, but not…it’s not bad…” He looks down to where your bodies are connected, groaning out a rumble as he sees your slick folds stretching to accommodate his fat cock. You’re so much hotter, wetter, and tighter than his hand could ever be and he’s already struggling to stay calm.

“T-tell me when I can move, but I’m not sure how long I can wait…” He’s breathing a bit harder, eyes clenched shut, brow furrowed, trying to remain in control.

“S-start slow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please.” You nod and he pulls back maybe an inch before going slowly back in. The searing burn remains, but it hurts less. He feels your gummy walls clench him, pulsing around him to the beat of your heart.

“M-more.” You nod again and he pulls back further, but goes in just as slow. He keeps this up till he pulls nearly all the way out before slowly burying back into your core. You’re breathing harder as well, trying to figure out if you’re still hurting at all, but only feeling better than you ever have before.

“Y-Yongbok, more, please-“

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, please need more~” He hums, picking up speed and your back arches, head thrown back as he starts to batter the head of his cock against your back wall, your tummy feeling on fire. Your fingers tighten around his, but he can feel your cunt spasming around him, your face all the way down to your chest flushing. One of his hands leaves yours, and you take your free one to wrap around his neck, keeping him close. His free hand finds its way to your hip, and he lifts you up more, changing the angle of how he’s fucking into you. Your breath immediately leaves you and another orgasm slams into you as he gives short but deep thrusts, the head of his dick perfectly thudding into your weak spot. He grunts, gritting his teeth as your gummy walls tighten into a slick vice and he wants so bad to hold back, but he can’t. He groans out and you whimper as you feel rope after rope of his hot cum pumping into you. As you both catch your breaths, and you can feel his cock softening, you cup his jaw in your hands. His eyes meet yours and he gives you the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“I love you so much~”

“I love you too~”

Hanyang - historical name for Seoul nain - assistant court ladies sanggung - manage the palace and the royal family gungyeo - "Lady Officer of the Court" they were royal hand maidens or court ladies jimil nain - waited on the King and/or Queen and their family sangjeong - they managed and oversaw conduct, work and punishment of the Gungnyeo naesojubang - Gungnyeo department for preparing meals danryeong - "round-collar robe", often worn by noblemen and members of the council, ministries, or other officials. Ming - during the time of the Ming dynasty of China, they referred to the country as Ming hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. jeogori - the top/shirt part of a hanbok gat - this is the hat that noblemen would wear, more specifically the ones that were black and made of mesh. samo - hats worn by government officials seong-jung - area inside the fortress walls of Hanyang seongjeosimni - area outside the fortress walls of Hanyang jungin - Upper Middle Class citizens sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like undergarment yo - Korean floor mattress goreum - the ties that fastened a top of a hanbok sokbaji - pants-like undergarment, mostly worn by women under their chima

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[ldydeath]

We Were Never Meant To Be | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You and Jiyong have grown apart and there's nothing that either of you can do or say to fix it.

Warnings: Angst, but that's it.

Author's Note: I'm not even going to lie, this made me sad to write. I'm sorry in advance.

It had been happening slowly over the last few months. You’d both felt each other slipping away from each other. At first you’d clung to each other desperate for it to go away. You weren’t ready for it to be over but it was happening. There was nobody to blame for it, you’d grown apart naturally over time. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t force yourself to stay in love. Neither could he.

“I’ve just got one more box and then I’ll be gone.” Jiyong wasn’t supposed to be home today, but as was life, his plans had changed and he’d been helping you load up your car all morning. Somehow having him here had made it more real.

Not that it hadn’t been real while you’d moved through the house collecting your years of clutter and clothing earlier that week. You’d tried your best to keep it together as you packed everything neatly away. Jiyong had given you space while you grieved the loss of this relationship, as you said bye to his cats that had become partly yours over the years. Your heart was shattering and you could tell by looking at him that his was too. 

His jaw tensed, swallowing all the words he wanted to say as he watched you head over to the last box. He didn’t want you to go, but he knew he hadn’t done enough to keep you here and if he wasn’t his best self for you there was no point in fighting it anymore. Instead of begging you to stay he just nodded his head, his hands finding their way to his pockets so you wouldn’t see them balling into fists. 

Nothing worth keeping ever stayed with Jiyong. Not his friends, not you. Sure, he had his career but it didn’t mean anything without you. What was he supposed to do now without you? What had he done to convince you his world didn’t revolve around you? Why couldn’t he fix it? Why wouldn’t you stay with him? He knew he wasn’t supposed to be here today but the truth was he couldn’t focus on anything but you and maybe if he saw it through he’d be able to let you go.

He watched as you took the last box out of his house and the realization hit that you were really leaving him. He sat down on the couch, burying his head in his hands. He knew he should pull himself together, it wasn’t fair to you to see him this way. You didn’t want him anymore and he’d respect it, but he was human too.

“Ji?” He sat up at the sound of your voice and watched as you made your way over to him. “Are you ok?” 

“No.” You moved to sit down next to him, tilting his head towards you. There was so much pain written all over his face and you looked down, letting go of him. You knew this wasn’t easy for him, it wasn’t easy for you, either. But you couldn’t stay, you weren’t even sure when it had broken or why you couldn’t fix it. You just knew it was too far gone now to keep trying. 

You’d both been hurting for months, refusing to admit that you were putting too much pressure on each other to be better. You had always agreed that you would do right by each other and when the fighting started and never eased you both had agreed that it had run its course. 

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head refusing to let you continue and glanced up at you. 

“I’m the one that’s sorry. Is there really nothing I can do to fix this?” His eyes pleaded with you. You shook your head and stood up. You couldn’t have this conversation, not again. 

“I wish there was something, but there’s not one singular thing and I know you know that. I’m always going to love you, Jiyong, but this isn’t working anymore.”

“I know. I’m always going to love you too.” his voice was small as he spoke and you let out a sigh as he stood up. “I’ll walk you out.” You nodded and followed him to the door.

You paused and turned back around, looking at the place you’d called home for several years now, a singular tear rolled down your cheek and you wiped it away quickly before saying a silent goodbye to your home. You knew leaving Jiyong was going to be hard, you just hadn’t been expecting it to be this hard. For so long he’d been the only person you could’ve ever imagined your life with. Maybe you still did. Maybe in some alternate universe the two of you were sitting down for dinner, laughing at some dumb thing that happened that day and your relationship was thriving.

You desperately wanted to live in that timeline suddenly envious of a fake version of you who was finding a way to make your relationship work. Jiyong cleared his throat behind you and you closed your eyes for a second, composing yourself before you followed him out of the house. You both stood awkwardly at your car for what seemed like hours. In reality, it had only been a few seconds. He blinked before stepping closer to wrap his arms around you.

You allowed yourself to get lost in his arms, sinking into him as his arms tightened around you. If he had it his way he wouldn’t let you go, he’d just guide you back in the house and show you how much he loved you. But that wasn’t what you wanted and as his grip loosened on you, you opened your eyes and offered him a tight smile. 

“Take care of yourself, Jiyong. Don’t get so lost in your work. The fans are important, but you’re more important.” He nodded as you turned towards your car.

“You were the most important.” It came out as a whisper and you pretended you didn’t hear him as you slid into your car. He closed the door behind you and you offered him a small wave as he turned away to walk inside the house.

Maybe you could give him one final thing on your way out. You rolled down your window and stuck your head out. “Ji?” You called and he turned around. “Feel free to write about this.” You teased and he rolled his eyes, a smile appearing on his face as he nodded. It felt good to see him smile one last time before you started up your car and drove away.

You may not have been able to make it work, but maybe now you’d be able to be his muse. Maybe that would just have to be enough for the both of you.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

[mortallydeepestobservation]

The holiday pretense -4-

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air. Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend. But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: Explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: characters are very clumsy. Blood, mentions of blood and bandages. slight angst. Smut warnings: (finally), kissing, hickeys, marking, non penetrative sex act, pet names. Namjoon is a big boy Word count: Chapter 4- 23k Author's note: guys! it's done! they (almost) did it! This chapter is essentially the reason this story exists. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never read a pretend-dating or fake-relationship story where the reader feels guilty about lying, or where she  to the parents. This was fun. I’m really happy with how it came out tbh. And just for the record, y'all need to thank @callmenoona25 , because I was very willing to blue ball you, but she convinced me otherwise. So yeah. We are just one chapter out from seeing this story to completion!! I almost can’t believe it. happy v-day y'all✨💕 part 1: here, part 2: here , part 3: here , part 4: reading Tag list: @uniquetravelerone @sexytholland @codeinebelle @annyeongbitch @rpwprpwprpwprw @goldietigers294 @amarawayne  @oneshallsmile @ktownshizzle @jimineepaboya

Namjoon had his flaws; he was the first to admit it. Although he wouldn’t necessarily say that the meticulous way he liked to organized his closet was one of them.

That wasn’t a flaw—it was a quirk.

And you had your quirks too! Like your collection of pink pots that needed their own cabinet, and your insistence on a very specific way of stacking Tupperware—both perfectly reasonable in your eyes.

And for the most part, these quirks rarely clashed—he didn’t care about cooking or what colour skillet his food was made in, and you rarely had any reason to go through his closet (except to steal his clothes). But every so often, they would.  And when they did, they drove you both up the wall. Namjoon had a particularly bad habit of forgetting to check pockets before throwing clothes in the wash. More than a few pair of AirPods had met their untimely demise due to his own forgetfulness. Worse, though, were the tissues. Those tiny paper pieces would disintegrate in the wash, and would compromise the entire load. That was the one that really got to you.

And it wasn’t like he’d do that intentionally; it was simply Namjoon being Namjoon. He’d always start off doing the laundry with the best intentions—carefully separating colours from whites, ensuring delicates got the right temperature. But somewhere in the process, his mind would wander (as it often did) to a work issue or book he’d been reading. By the time he remembered to check the pockets, it was usually too late.

But you weren’t without your own faults. Like your refusal to put the sponge back in its designated holder—a choice that made absolutely no sense to him, because it was right there! And yet, every time, you left it sitting in the sink, soaking wet, slowly dissolving into a slimy mess. Namjoon hated a soggy sponge more than almost anything, and yet you kept deliberately inviting one into your home.

And then there was your compulsive need to clean the kitchen immediately after cooking. To Namjoon, this was the ultimate buzzkill, mostly because he was hungry and he’d always wait for you to finish, so you could eat together.

It wasn’t like you were trying to be difficult—just as Namjoon didn’t intend to obliterate every tissue he left in his pocket. You simply had your own rhythm, your own way of doing things.

The sponge thing, though? That was a hill he couldn’t understand why you choose to die on.

Still, quirks and frustrations aside, you both understood the bigger picture. And though he may never admit it, after years of living together, he almost found it endearing— how these quibbles have become woven into the fabric of your relationship. If a disintegrated tissue or a soggy sponge was the worst thing between you, he’d gladly take it.

He’d still keep you as his roommate, pink cookware fetish and all.

“Joonie, think you can hand me that cup?”

You appeared beside him, barefoot, wearing one of his oversized sweaters that practically swallowed you whole, your eyes glued to your phone as you read something.

Namjoon let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he grabbed the cup from the drying rack. “You know, for someone so obsessed with doing the dishes right away, you sure leave a lot lying around.”

“That’s your part of the agreement.” You replied smoothly, not even glancing up at first. But then your eyes flickered to meet his, a playful spark in them. “If I wash the dishes, you put away the dishes. Fair’s fair”

He handed you the cup, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Convenient how you always remember that part of the agreement when it benefits you. I’m the one who always ends up doing both—washing and putting away.”

You leaned against him as you filled the cup with water, your body brushing his in that effortless, unconscious way that never failed to send his mind spiralling. “That’s called teamwork, Namjoonie.” You teased, giggling softly as you fluttered those pretty eyes at him.

Namjoon exhaled softly, trying to steady his racing thoughts. It was always like this—the smallest of gestures from you could unravel him completely. You, in his sweater, standing so close that he could smell the faint scent of your shampoo, acting like it was nothing, but to him, it was everything.

His gaze lingered on you, drawn to the way the sweater slipped slightly off your shoulder, the easy confidence in your movements, and the way you made standing this close feel so natural. And in that moment, Namjoon felt the weight of everything he’d been holding back, everything he’d tried to convince himself was enough.

But it wasn’t. It could never be.

He couldn’t keep pretending this was just casual, that it didn’t mean something more. He couldn’t keep pretending he wasn’t in love with you.

“Teamwork, huh?” he said softly, his smile deepening.

Before you could respond, his hands moved, settling on your waist. His touch was gentle but sure, pulling you closer with a quiet confidence that made your breath hitch.

“Namjoon-”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but you didn’t get the chance to finish. He leaned in, closing the space between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both hesitant and certain—like a question he already knew the answer to.

Warm and unhurried, your lips moved together, his grip on your waist steady, as though he wanted to make sure you didn’t pull away too soon.

The sensation of his lips against yours was electric, sending a wave of heat through him, but it was the overwhelming rush of emotion—the need to hold onto you, to make you feel what he couldn’t put into words—that sent his heart racing.

You were so warm in his grasp, your skin so soft in his hands, he couldn’t help but lose himself in the moment. In you.  His thumbs brushed against your sides, tracing lazy, delicate circles as if to memorize the feel of you pressed against him.

Your fingers dig themselves in his t-shirt, clinging to the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you in the surreal haze of the moment.

Namjoon tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding up from your waist to rest gently on your lower back, pulling you impossibly close. Every movement was intentional, like he wanted to carve this moment into his memory— the warmth of your skin, the taste of your lips, the way you always fit against him like two pieces of the same puzzle.

When the need for air finally forced you both to break apart, he didn’t pull away entirely. Instead, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours, your breaths mingling in the charged silence, each exhale louder than the last.

But then, as if the spell had broken, reality—or something like it—came crashing down.

“Fuck.” The word escaped you like a gasp, and you pushed hard against his chest, tearing yourself out of his grasp “God, Namjoon! Why would you do that?”

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face, followed by hurt. He let his hands fall to his sides, taking a half-step back. “Wait-what? I...I thought—Do you not…like me?”

“Like you?” you interrupted, your voice sharp, though it trembled slightly. “My god, Namjoon, no! We’re roommates. Just friends! That’s it. That’s all it’s ever been!” 

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Namjoon felt the ground slip out from under him. The warmth of your skin was gone, the illusion shattered, and all that was left was a painful, confusing silence. He stepped back as though your words had physically struck him, his face pale and stricken. “I- I didn’t mean to-”

“You didn’t mean to what?” you interrupted, your voice trembling with fury and something he couldn’t name. “God, I knew moving in with a guy would be a mistake. I should’ve seen this coming. Typical man—constantly horny. God forbid you get drunk or you’ll just grab the nearest woman you see.”

“Drunk and horny—” He stopped short, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. “You really think that’s the kind of man I am?”

“I thought you were different!” Tears began slipping from your eyes as you instinctively stepped farther away from him, as though trying to put as much distance as possible between the two of you.

You looked at him like he’d violated something sacred, something irreplaceable. “I thought you were my friend,” you said, your voice trembling, angry tears spilling freely across your cheeks. “How could you do this?”

“I…” He hesitated, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the sharp exhale that followed. The words lodged in his throat, tangled in the knot of regret tightening in his chest. Why did he let this happen? The weight of his own stupidity pressed down on him, each passing second making it harder to breathe. Why couldn’t he have just kept his distance? Stay in his lane?

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You swallowed, hating the sting behind your eyes, hating that you even cared enough to be this angry. “Yeah, well. You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t do this anymore.” The words tumble out before you can stop them, your voice raw, cracking at the edges. “I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. Like I’m fine. I hate this—I hate feeling like I’m walking on glass around you.”

Namjoon stiffens, his face carefully neutral, but you see it— that flicker of something. Something vulnerable. Something guilty. “I know I messed up,” he says, voice low. “I know I-”

“You don’t know anything,” you cut him off, your breath uneven. “If you did, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place. You wouldn’t have asked me to lie to your mother.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. What was there to say?

“I hate lying to her! You know I’m terrible at lying, Namjoon! And I think lying is immoral! I should’ve known something like this would happen the second you asked me to lie for you!” Your voice wavered, an overwhelming mixture of anger, hurt, and frustration bubbling over. You threw your hands up, as if the motion could somehow shake off the suffocating weight of it all.

“I never should’ve agreed to spend Christmas with you!” you continued, tears slipping unchecked down your cheeks, your voice cracking completely. “I should’ve known this was just... just a convenient excuse for you to try to get in my pants!”

“Wait, what? No! That’s not-” He took a step forward, reaching out, but you recoiled, cutting him off before he could finish.

 “I should’ve known better.”

Namjoon’s chest tightened, his breathing shallow as he tried to process the words spilling from your lips. Every syllable was a punch to the gut, each one driving home just how badly he’d miscalculated.

The silence hung heavy between you, broken only by the uneven rise and fall of your breaths.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, needed to say something, but nothing came out. His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw tightening.

“I-I can’t stay with you like this.” Your arms wrapped around yourself as if that could shield yourself from the overwhelming emotion threatening to swallow you whole.

“What?” his voice cracked, the single word escaping before he could stop it.

“I can’t live with you knowing you have these feelings for me. It’s too much,” you said, taking another step, as though putting space between you would make it easier to breathe. “I don’t know what to do with it. With you,”

The edges of the room seemed to blur, to darken as he could only focus on your words, on the space between you that seemed to grow with each passing second.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The reality of what you were saying hit him like a cold slap.

He had thought that maybe—just maybe—you felt the same. That there was something there, beneath the surface. But now it was clear that he had misunderstood. That his feelings had come out at the wrong time.

 And the last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable. To make you feel like this was something you needed to run away from.

“I... I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” His voice faltered as he stepped toward you, but you pulled away. That hurt more than he expected, but he couldn’t blame you. “I was selfish. I got carried away,” he said quietly, shame creeping into his tone. “I never meant to hurt you.”

 “Well, you did,” you shot back, your voice breaking. “You ruined everything. Damn it!” You bit out the words before you could stop them, frustration and hurt thick in your voice.

The sharpness made both of you flinch, but you couldn’t help it.

The rawness of everything—the kiss, the confusion, the way things had been turned upside down—was too much for you to process.

Namjoon stood frozen, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, as if the weight of your pain had rooted him in place. A sinking feeling spread through his chest, the urge to fix this burning beneath his skin. He wanted to make things right. To erase the hurt he’d caused. The weight he forced you to carry by putting you in this position—to lie to his family, to be stuck in a confined space with him, to—

But it was too late.

The damage had been done.

 “I never wanted to make you feel this way. I just-” He stopped, unable to explain himself. “I’m sorry.”

 The words felt useless. Hollow.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head as frustration threatened to boil over. “You think you can just act on whatever you feel, without any consideration for me?” Your voice cracked, your face still streaked with the emotions you couldn’t hold back “I’m not some—some game for you to play, Namjoon. You can’t just kiss me and expect things to go back to normal.”

He had no defense.

 No way to explain how he’d gotten so caught up in the moment that he’d forgotten everything that had made your relationship comfortable. Safe. Easy.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, the words sounding weak even to his own ears…

His sharp gasp tore through the silence of the night, and Namjoon’s eyes snapped open. His chest heaved as he sat up, drenched in a cold sweat, remnants of the dream still lingering like a throbbing pain in his mind. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he tried to make sense of where he was, his hands trembling as he ran them through his dishevelled hair.

The room was dark, quiet, save for the soft rustle of the sheets beneath him and your soft breathing at the other end of the bed. His body still felt the residual tension from the nightmare, the sting of your words echoing in his mind.

Namjoon glanced toward your sleeping form, curled up at the edge of the bed. The soft rise and fall of your shoulders should’ve been calming, but instead, it magnified the tightness in his chest. You were so close, yet the weight of everything that’s happened made you feel impossibly far away.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the feeling, the dread that came with the idea of having ruined everything. The dream had felt so real—your voice, the hurt in your eyes, the way you pulled away, making it clear that the line between friendship and something more was something he’d crossed without meaning to.

“God...” he muttered to himself, running a hand down his face, still trying to calm his racing thoughts. Why did he kiss you on the balcony?

He shifted his weight to the side of the bed, sitting on the edge with his elbows on his knees. He felt a rush of frustration—anger at himself for letting it happen, for letting his feelings get in the way of your friendship.

He could blame the alcohol, sure. That fleeting moment of warmth and lowered inhibitions, the way it made everything feel a little easier, a little less complicated. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the real reason.

The truth was, he’d been hanging on by a thread, barely clinging onto his composure around you. As if his mind was a battlefield, constantly tormenting him with thoughts of you—your eyes, your laugh, the way you moved. You weren’t just in his thoughts; you’d taken over his dreams too, pulling him into vivid, all-consuming fantasies. Like that dream from last morning—

That unbearable summer heatstroke, the salacious sight of you reading on the couch, wearing just your white tank top and those impossibly skimpy pyjama shorts. The way your legs were casually crossed, the soft glow of the light catching on your skin, making every detail seem more intimate than it should have been. Like the fact that you’ve forgone wearing a bra, a faint sheen of perspiration across your skin from the heat of the day. A few beads of sweat have gathered, one of which trickled down the valley between your breasts just as he walked into the living room.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, the most adorable of pouts tugging on your bottom lip as you purred, “Namjoonie, I’m so hot.” Before abandoning your book and reaching for the hem of the tank top, slowly peeling it off your body…

He couldn’t shake the image, couldn’t forget the way his body reacted to it—how could he when he woke up with his dick slotted between your ass cheeks?— his mind spiralling into a frenzy of things he’d do to you (starting with licking every single inch of your skin).

He was walking on the knife’s edge. His heart going insane each time you looked at him, with each one of your actions he couldn’t distinguish. Why were you so adamant to drive him insane this week?

Was it punishment for putting you through this? For asking you to lie to his family?

Namjoon dragged his hands through his hair again, gripping it tightly as if the pressure might somehow reset his brain.

The memory of your lips on his neck—the soft teasing warmth, that had set every nerve alight as you marked him—had been haunting him ever since. He hadn’t been able to focus, to think straight, and every glance you spared him seemed to pull him further into the abyss.

He wasn’t supposed to want this, to want you. You were his closest friend, the one person who understood him in ways no one else did. The thought of losing that—of losing you—was enough to make his stomach churn. He’d have to move out. Hell, he’d have to leave the city entirely, because there wasn’t a single corner of Seoul that didn’t remind him of you.

But the kiss. Good god, the kiss.

He exhaled sharply, his head dropping into his hands. He felt ridiculous, pathetic even. He was supposed to be your safe place. Not the guy who couldn’t look at you without his thoughts turning traitorous, who kissed you on impulse and ruined everything.

When he’d whispered, “I really want to kiss you right now,” it wasn’t some calculated confession. It had spilled out like a dam breaking, a thought he’d been suppressing for far too long, finally escaping in the fragile quiet of the moment. It wasn’t bravery. It was recklessness, plain and simple.

And yet, even as he said it, he knew it was wrong. Knew it was selfish. Knew it would change everything. But the weight of holding back for so long had crushed his better judgment. Maybe that’s why his brain latched onto the “drunk and horny” accusation…

He had almost stopped. Almost pulled away when your eyes widened, when your expression shifted between surprise and something he couldn’t quite understand. That tiny moment should’ve been enough to stop him, to make him pull back and apologize. But no—like the fool he was, he’d pressed forward anyway, brushing his lips to yours in a soft, hesitant kiss, trembling with unspoken words. It had quickly unravelled, turning into something deeper, something he’d wanted for far longer than he cared to admit.

Your lips had been warm, soft, and devastatingly familiar. For a fleeting second, he thought he felt you lean into it, but the way you stiffened almost immediately afterward made his heart sink.

He replayed the moment he hesitated in his mind, that split second where he could have done the right thing and pulled away. But he didn’t. He’d kissed you, his hands on your waist, his body leaning into yours as if it were the right thing to do.

When he felt you stiffen, panic had taken over. His brain did what it always did when faced with something unbearable: it tried to smooth things over. He apologized. The words blurted out before you could speak, before you could call him a pervert or recoil in disgust. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he’d said, his voice trembling with the weight of his shame.

And then you said the words that crushed him even more than silence could have. “Neither did I.”

But now? The distance between you felt like an unscalable chasm, an impossible void filled with every unsaid word and unspoken emotion.

Afterward, your interactions had been painfully formal, reduced to stiff, clipped sentences that lacked all the warmth they’d once held. He could still hear the careful neutrality in your tone when you’d said, “I’ll call an Uber.” The words had felt like a cold, deliberate wall being built between you, each syllable like a brick, laid on mortar.

That tone, that indifference—it cut deeper than any outburst ever could. He would have preferred you screaming at him, lashing out, even telling him to get out of your life. At least then, he could convince himself you cared enough to be angry. But this? The curt detachment? It told him everything he needed to know.

He’d ruined it. Whatever it had been…

He had wanted to say something, to apologize, to explain himself—but he was afraid of making things worse. So, he just nodded, his throat tight as he avoided your gaze, and let the moment slip away.

The ride back had been a haze. The uneasy silence between you so loud it felt suffocating. He’d glanced at you once or twice, hoping to catch a glimpse of emotion on your face, but you’d given him nothing. Your eyes remained fixed on the blur of passing streetlights and houses.

The walk through the house had been no better. The only sound rising between you was the soft shuffle of footsteps as you both went through the motions.

When you finally climbed into bed, it took everything in him not to break the silence. He lay stiffly on his side, staring at the ceiling, his mind looping through every single mistake he’d made. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything. Asking you to lie to his family when he knew how much you hated dishonesty. Putting you in this impossible situation, where you had no escape and no easy way to confront him. And God, his embarrassing morning wood—he cringed just thinking about it. He couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable that must have made you.

And then, like the selfish idiot he was, he let his feelings spill over without a single thought to how you’d feel about it. He’d convinced himself there was something there, something mutual. The teasing, the hickeys, the way you’d snuggled against him at Hoseok’s—he’d let his stupid heart twist those moments into meaning more than they did. He wanted to believe that you felt the same, that the line between friends and something more had begun to blur.

But now? Lying there in the condemning silence, every moment he’d misread felt like a glaring, neon sign of his own foolishness.

The bed, once a place where your easy companionship felt natural and comforting, now felt like an insurmountable void between you.

He wanted to roll over, to face you and apologize—really apologize this time. Not with a fumbling, half-baked excuse, but with the raw truth of how much he hated himself for putting you in this position. But he couldn’t. He was paralyzed by the weight of his mistakes, by the fear that even looking at you might push you further away.

So instead, he stared at the ceiling, biting back every word he wanted to say. And in the silence, the ache in his chest grew heavier.

“Goodnight,” he’d finally managed to say, his voice tight and unfamiliar to his own ears. He didn’t mean for it to come out so formal, so detached, but his voice betrayed him.

The faint rustle of the duvet broke the stillness, a soft sound that felt far louder in the oppressive silence of the bedroom. He heard you shift, felt the subtle pull on the blanket as you turned away from him. The tension hung in the air, thick and crushing, like a force pressing down on him.

You curled up at the very edge of the bed, your back resolutely to him, as if the distance already between you wasn’t enough. You made yourself small, retreating further and further until the invisible wall between you felt truly impenetrable.

Namjoon exhaled, running a hand down his face before reaching for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, too bright in the darkness, making him blink against the glare. It was early—too early to be awake, too late to fix anything.  

The small sliver of light from his phone cast a fleeting shadow across the room, and his gaze flickered towards your unmoving form. Curled up on your side, the covers pulled high over your shoulders. You hadn’t moved in hours.

His thumb hovered over the screen of his phone, caught between the urge to scroll mindlessly to distract himself and the unbearable need to confront the mess he’d made. But neither option felt like relief, and the light dimmed as the screen timed out, plunging the room back into darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

For the first time in years, he wasn’t sure where he stood with you at all…

Namjoon leaned forward, pressing the hills of his palms against his face. He was at a loss, unable to find the right direction, the correct course of action to bridge the gap he created. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let his mind run rampant while lying next to you.

So, with one last desperate grasp at sanity, he got up, moving slowly, deliberately, careful not to disturb you. He reached for a hoody draped over the chair, slipped it on, and padded toward the door. The cold morning air outside might do him some good— clear his head and offer him the clarity he couldn’t seem to find in the stagnant darkness of the house.

And the driveway could use some shovelling, he decided absently, even though it was barely past 6 a.m. The absurdity of it didn’t matter.

What mattered was the escape, however temporary.

Namjoon took a deep breath, feeling the crisp air sting his skin as he stepped into the driveway, his boots crunching against the snow. He ran the shovel through the fresh layer, the rhythmic scrape against the pavement doing little to soothe the turmoil in his chest. But at least it gave him something to focus on, a mindless task that allowed him to shut out thoughts clawing at the edges of his mind.

And the music blaring in his earphones added to that sense of a mindless routine, the heavy beats and steady rhythm filling his head as he shovelled, drowning out the restlessness coiling in his heart.

He fully lost himself in the work. But just as he was reaching the end of the driveway, a snowball hit him squarely in the back of the head. He froze, blinking in surprise before turning around to face the source of the sudden assault.

The sun had risen, its soft, pale glow spilling over the horizon and reflecting off the untouched blanket of white snow that covered the garden.

There, standing in the doorway, was his mother. She was wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, her messy hair sticking out in all directions. Specks of snow clung to her fingers, and she gave him an incredulous look.

Namjoon blinked at her, still stunned by the unexpected hit. The snowball had left a cold, wet spot on the back of his neck, sending a shiver through him as he just stood there, unsure whether to laugh or get frustrated.  But seeing his mother’s dishevelled appearance—bedhead in full force, and her robe draped over her shoulders—somehow broke the tension.

“Are you serious?” she asked, hands on her hips. Her voice was a mix of amused and concern, as though she was both scolding him and silently asking why he was outside in the freezing cold.

Namjoon let out a strained laugh, wiping the snow from his neck, before flicking it back in her direction.  “I couldn’t sleep.” He tried his best to give her a genuine sheepish grin, but his mom was undeterred.

“So, you decided to shovel snow?” she replied, her eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged, still clutching the shovel in his hands as though it could provide some sort of explanation. “I think I might go for a run too.”

Both her eyebrows shot up at that, giving him that unmistakable mom-look that had a way of making him rethink all his life choices. Namjoon shifted under her gaze, feeling the weight as she studied him with a kind of pointed confusion that made him feel like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew.

“You’re something else, you know that?” she finally said, crossing her arms against the chill but making no move to retreat back inside. A faint smile tugged at her lips, as if she couldn’t help but be entertained by the sight of her grown-ass son standing in the driveway at the crack of dawn, bundled up and clutching a snow shovel like it was a life raft.

He chuckled softly, a little embarrassed but grateful for the way she managed to disarm the weight of his thoughts without even trying. “Yeah, well...it seemed productive.”

She shook her head, the smile lingering as she turned to go back inside. “Don’t catch a cold,” she called over her shoulder. “And don’t wake up the neighbours with whatever midlife crisis you’ve got going on.”

Namjoon let out a huff of laughter, watching as the door closed behind her. He stood there for a moment longer, the quiet of the early morning settling around him again. The sting of the snowball was long gone, but the brief interaction had lightened something in him, if only slightly.

With a sigh, he pulled his gloves tighter and gave the driveway one last glance before deciding it was good enough. Without another thought, he took off running.

His muscles protested the sudden movement, but he pushed through, settling into a steady rhythm. His breath curled into the crisp morning air, vanishing as quickly as it came. The streets were quiet, untouched by the rush of the day, the only sounds accompanying him the soft crunch of his footsteps and the distant chirp of birds waking with the sun. He welcomed the familiar burn in his legs, the sharp bite of cold air in his lungs—anything to drown out the thoughts he couldn’t shake.

By the time he slowed to a stop, the morning had fully settled in. The sun stretched higher in the sky, casting a golden glow over the snow-dusted streets, turning the quiet neighbourhood into something almost peaceful.

His breath visible in the icy air as his chest rose and fell from the exertion. His muscles ached in the most satisfying way, a reminder of how long it had been since he’d pushed himself this hard— let alone in the biting cold. He glanced down at his soaked shoes and the streaks of snow clinging to his sweatpants, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the fatigue.

He could feel the steady pulse in his legs, the burn in his lungs from the crisp air. Bending over, hands on his knees, he worked on steadying his breathing as the faint sting of the cold nipped at his flushed cheeks. The sharp contrast between the warmth radiating from his body and the chill of the winter morning was invigorating, leaving him feeling alive in a way that only moments like this could.

The steady rhythm of his feet pounding against the snow-covered paths had given his mind some semblance of peace. Not clarity, exactly, but at least it dulled the sharp edges of his thoughts. For a little while, he could focus on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, on the rhythm of his body moving, the comforting burn in his muscles.

Namjoon straightened, stretching his arms overhead and twisting slightly to work out the stiffness in his back. His jacket was damp from the effort, and he could feel the chill starting to seep in now that he’d stopped moving. It was time to head back inside.

As he turned towards the house, his steps slowed, the weight of everything creeping back in. The brief distraction was over, and the reality of everything he’d left unresolved loomed once again. Still, he didn’t regret the time spent out here—at least he felt a little more grounded now.

By the time he reached the door, his stomach growled, reminding him that he’d skipped breakfast. Maybe food would be the next distraction. After a hot shower, though.

He shed his winter coat by the door, shaking off the lingering chill, and made his way through the still quiet house. Namjoon pushed the bedroom door open quietly, his steps light as he walked in.

He tugged at the hem of his shirt and hoodie, peeling them off over his head with a relieved sigh. The fabric clung to his skin from the exertion of his run, damp with sweat. He balled them up and tossed them into the laundry basket, running a hand through his messy hair as he exhaled, still catching his breath.

He was halfway to the dresser when the faint rustle of sheets behind him made him pause. His steps slowed, and he glanced over his shoulder, watching just as you stirred.

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, as if searching for the source of the noise. But when they settled on him, they lingered, and the room seemed to pause in that moment.

The sunlight pouring through the window caught his face, and Namjoon squinted, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the brightness.

His back and shoulders were framed by the warm morning light, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, almost rhythmic. The sheen of sweat that clung to his skin caught in the soft rays, and you found yourself grateful for his momentary blindness, because you couldn’t stop gawking at him.

In that fleeing moment, he thought he caught the faintest sounds—a soft, barely-there gasp—that seemed to come from you.

Namjoon faltered, still hovering near the dresser as he noticed your gaze fixed on him. His heart stuttered in his chest; the weight of your nondescript stare sending a jolt of nervous energy through him. His pulse raced as he struggled to find his composure. “Oh,” he muttered, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He cleared his throat, trying to mask the tension in his voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your lips parting slightly as though you were at a loss for words. But then you blinked, snapping out of whatever daze had momentarily claimed you, quickly turning away from him.

“It’s fine,” you grumbled.

Namjoon grabbed a clean shirt from the dresser, his movements slower now, his fingers lingering on the fabric as he watched your subtle shift under the blankets. Your response was quiet, but the way you quickly turned away sent a ripple of unease coursing through him. It was subtle, but he couldn’t ignore the way your actions made the weight in his chest feel that much heavier.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked tentatively, his voice soft.

You didn’t reply immediately, your back still to him as you adjusted the duvet slightly. “Yeah,” you said after a beat, though your tone was flat, leaving him unsure if it was the truth or just an automatic answer.

Namjoon nodded to himself, even though you couldn’t see it, and rubbed the back of his neck. The earlier clarity he’d found outside was already beginning to slip away.

“I’m going to shower,” he murmured, more for something to say than anything else, before stepping toward the bathroom door.

As he left the room, he cast one last glance at your still form, the lump in his throat tightening. ~~~

Stationed at the kitchen counter, your hands moved almost mechanically, the steady rhythm of the knife slicing through fresh vegetables, meats, and herbs filling the space. Mrs. Kim’s calm instructions flowed around you like a gentle stream, her voice clear and measured. Yet, with every absentminded nod you gave, her words seemed to fade further into the background, muffled beneath the weight of your own thoughts.

Namjoon was avoiding you.

 That much was clear. The way he had slipped out before you even woke up, his movements quick and his words barely a whisper when you caught him sneaking like some kind of thief in his own room, lingered in your mind like an unfinished sentence. The weird silence that followed all throughout breakfast...

Before you could sink deeper into those thoughts, Mrs. Kim’s voice cut through the haze again. “Add these to the broth, and then stir,” she said, handing you a bowl of neatly diced vegetables.

Her calm authority kept the kitchen in motion, leaving no room for hesitation or reflection. The bustling activity—the clatter of pots, the simmering sounds from the stove, the soft hum of her instructions—forced you to push the turmoil swirling inside you to the sidelines.

She had recruited you first thing in the morning knowing exactly how to keep you busy without you even having to ask for it.

 When you stepped into the kitchen, you were almost startled to see your usual cup of coffee waiting on the counter. It was a small, familiar gesture, one that might have warmed your heart on any other day, but now, it felt almost mechanical—like a habit performed without thought—Namjoon’s routine, his efforts to provide comfort, almost like a performance to fill a gap that no longer made sense.

You wondered if it was for your benefit, or his.

 But you never got a chance to dwell on it.

The Christmas dinner at the Kim’s house, you learned, was no small feat. Instead, everyone was involved in preparations, making sure every little aspect was perfect. Namjoon and his dad could be heard debating the placement of the dining table in the living room, their voices rising and falling in an easy, familiar rhythm.

Minhi, ever the perfectionist, hovered nearby, offering her unsolicited but animated advice on everything—the placement of napkins, the fold of the tablecloth, the angle of the silverware. Her critique earning a few exasperated groans from Namjoon, which were inevitably followed by indulgent chuckles from their father. The sound carried easily into the kitchen, where you worked alongside Jackson and Mrs. Kim, dutifully preparing dinner.

The air was fragrant with the aroma of roasted vegetables, savoury meats, and the citrusy tang of freshly chopped herbs. Mrs. Kim moved with the grace of a seasoned host, effortlessly orchestrating each task as though it were second nature. Jackson, eager to prove himself useful, chopped scallions with meticulous concentration under her watchful eye—though his attention would often wander to Minhi through the doorway, occasionally even catcalling her which in turn earned a delighted laugh from her and Mrs. Kim.

“Jackson, be a dear and go to the basement with Namjoon to fetch the wine,” Mrs. Kim instructed, her voice steady but decisive. She didn’t look up from the simmering pot, her hands moving expertly between stirring the broth and adding in seasoning.

Jackson nodded, a playful grin already tugging at his lips. He made his way to the living room, announcing their new task but paused by Minhi’s side long enough to deliver a quick pinch to her side, just as she was about to launch into another critique of Namjoon’s napkin-folding technique.

That unexpected pinch caused an exaggerated shriek to escape from Minhi. Her laughter bubbling up and spilling into the room, bright and unrestrained. The kind that invited everyone nearby to join in.

But it didn’t reach you. You were still caught up in your own little world.  You remained rooted at the counter, wearing that same look of muted control that was starting to wear you out by now.

A movement in the doorway caught your attention. Namjoon was walking past with Jackson, his broad back disappearing down the hall. His laughter rang out, light and carefree, as if he didn’t have a worry in the world. He was responding to something his dad said, dimples flashing in that familiar way that used to make your heart race.

But you noticed what no one else seemed to see. The stiffness in his shoulders, the faint tension in his jaw. His laughter, though warm, didn’t quite touch his eyes. It was so subtle, so carefully masked, but you knew him too well to miss it.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? Knowing him too well. Caring too much. Having feelings for Namjoon was already difficult—but this? This was unbearable.

You quickly turned away.

The knife in your hand trembled slightly as you refocused on the task in front of you, trying to steady your thoughts as much as your movements. The crisp scent of parsley filled the air as you began mincing, each chop echoing against the cutting board.

You told yourself to concentrate. To stay present. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind kept slipping back to him—to that moment.

You could still feel the warmth of his lips against yours. The way it made something bloom in your chest, a sensation so overwhelming it left you lightheaded. You’d clutched at his sweater, your fingers moving on their own, desperate to hold onto something real, something that felt like it belonged to the both of you.

For a fleeting second, it was perfect. Your heart soared, a dizzying rush of hope filling you, so sharp and intoxicating it almost hurt. It was reciprocated. It was mutual.

But then it all came crashing down. Hard.

The memory of his reaction was a jagged edge, replaying on loop in your mind, cutting through the warmth of that moment and leaving nothing but raw ache behind. His hesitation, the way he’d pulled back so quickly, mumbling an apology before you could even process what had happened. It was as though he couldn’t distance himself fast enough, couldn’t stand the weight of what he’d done—or what it might have meant.

Had it been a mistake for him? A fleeting moment of weakness he regretted the second it happened? Because that’s what it felt like. And yet, in the seconds before he’d pulled away, it had felt like something else entirely….

He was tentative, almost shy, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want this. Then he kissed you like he meant it, like he’d been holding back for so long that he couldn’t stop himself.

But, of course, reality had a cruel way of snapping back. And when it did, it came in the form of his stumbling regret…

“I really want to kiss you right now”

The jerk. Asshole. Playboy!

If only any of those words actually described him…

You pressed the blade harder against the parsley, your movements growing more erratic. You hated that you cared so much. Hated that you were dissecting every microsecond of that kiss when he was probably fine. He was just being considerate and offering you the space you needed.

 Namjoon was laughing with his family, fetching wine, stealing cookies when his mother wasn’t looking, acting like nothing had happened—like you hadn’t happened.

But then again, there was that stiffness in his shoulders, the slight tension in his voice that you couldn’t ignore. It was as if he was trying to act normal, trying to match the energy of the room, but there was something holding him back.

Or maybe you were just imagining it… Maybe you were projecting your own confusion onto him, searching for cracks that didn’t exist because you wanted—needed—to believe that he felt it too. That the kiss wasn’t just a fleeting mistake.

The tightness in your chest refused to ease, no matter how much you told yourself to let it go. Namjoon was Namjoon—kind, selfless, and maddeningly perfect. And you? You were just someone he kissed and immediately regretted.

A sharp sting snapped you out of your thoughts. You gasped, jerking your hand back as a thick line of red bloomed on your fingertip. The knife clattered against the counter, drawing Mrs. Kim’s attention.

“Oh, sweetheart! Are you alright?” She asked, her voice laced with concern as she moved toward you.

“Yeah, nicked myself.” you said quickly, wrapping your other hand around the cut to stop the bleeding. The sudden rush of embarrassment at your clumsiness burned hotter than the sting of the cut itself.

“Let me see,” she insisted, reaching for your hand, but before she could, Namjoon’s voice came from the doorway, startling you.

You hadn’t even noticed him return to the kitchen, but there he was, bottles of wine in his hand, his gaze snapping to you the moment he stepped inside.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing!” The words came too fast, too sharp—too defensive. You pulled your hand back just as he stepped closer.

He barely hesitated, already setting the bottles down on the cutting board, reaching for you without a second thought.

But the thought of his touch made your chest constrict, panic rising like a tide, swallowing all the air between you. “I’ve got it!”

The space between you felt charged, too fragile, too dangerous. You couldn’t let him touch you. Not now. Not when your emotions were so precariously balanced on the edge of reason.

“Let me see,” he insisted, softer this time, but unyielding

You shook your head, stepping back from him, only to bump against the counter, keeping your hands close to your chest.

The panic bubbling under your skin left no room for restraint, no space for softness. It all came out, raw and unfiltered, as you practically cried—

“I said I’ve got it, Namjoon!”

His hands dropped to his side, his brows knitting together in silent concern. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t argue—and somehow, that made it all worse.

The silence that followed wrapped around you like a vice, all of it pressing down until your chest felt like it might actually collapse, your breath impossibly shallow.

Then it hit you—you’d raised your voice at him. The weight of it settled in you, heavy and foreboding, like thundercloud ready to break over you.

Namjoon’s gaze lingered, steady and searching, as though he was waiting for something—an explanation, a sign that you were okay, anything to bridge the distance suddenly between you. But you couldn’t give him either. You couldn’t even meet his eyes.

You sighed, stealing a glance at Mrs. Kim’s concerned expression before forcing your emotions down. You had to fix this—fast. Before things spiraled even further. Before your cover completely fell apart.

“Just-” you began, forcing yourself to look at Namjoon, “Let’s go upstairs so I can wash this properly.”

Namjoon hesitated for half a second before nodding. Without a word, he gathered the bottles from the counter and set them aside, his movements slower now—more deliberate, like he was afraid of setting you off again.

Mrs. Kim’s concerned gaze flickered between the two of you, her lips pressing together as if debating whether to intervene. But then she sighed, offering a small, hesitant smile. “Alright, sweetheart, just let Namjoon take care of you, okay? And be careful with that hand.”

You forced a nod, ignoring the way your throat felt too tight, the way your stomach twisted in protest as you turned toward the stairs.

Namjoon followed without a word.

When you reached your room, you stepped inside first, making a beeline for the small bathroom attached to it. You could hear Namjoon close the door behind him.

God damn it all.

The air stung the exposed wound, sharp and unforgiving, once you unwrapped your hand from around it, staining the sink with red.

 It was deeper than you’d thought—maybe not enough for stitches, but definitely not a scrape you could just ignore.

Blood still trickled steadily from the it, pulsing in rhythm with your racing heartbeat, like a painful reminder of your very severed composure

You bit your lip as you fumbled with the faucet, your uninjured hand trembling slightly, until it slipped. The sting of it accidentally hitting the open wound drew a sharp hiss from your lips, tears springing to your eyes—not just from the pain, but from the frustration of everything piling on top of you all at once. Damn him.

“Fuck. Ouch”

Namjoon was there in an instant, turning the faucet on for you.

“Are you okay?” His voice was softer now, careful, but the concern was still there, threading through the syllables like a quiet insistence.

You exhaled sharply, forcing your shoulders to stay squared even as your hands shook. “Yeah,” you muttered, pushing your hand under the jet of water. “Fine.”

“You’re not.”

His certainty grated against your raw nerves. You clenched your jaw, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you finally turned to face him. He was close. Closer than you’d realized. His gaze flickered down to your hand, the steady trickle of blood dark against your skin, and something in his expression shifted—tightened.

He brushed past you in that quiet, unassuming way that always threw you off balance. He reached up, opening the cabinet above the sink, pulling out the small white box with the familiar red cross on top.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, reaching for it, but before your fingers could graze the plastic, Namjoon pulled it back, holding it just out of your reach.

“Namjoon,” you warned.

His lips twitched, but there was no real amusement in it—just something unbearably patient, unbearably Namjoon.

“Let me,” he said simply.

You wanted to argue. You wanted to grab the kit from his hands and insist you could do it yourself, that you didn’t need him to fuss over you. But your hand was still bleeding, still trembling slightly, and the weight of everything pressing down on you made it feel like just one more battle you didn’t have the energy to fight.

Namjoon didn’t move, didn’t push. He simply waited, holding the med kit like an unspoken offer. His patience was maddening, his presence steady in a way that made your resistance feel flimsy.

With a sigh, you finally relented, dropping your gaze. “Fine.”

His lips pressed together like he was holding back a smile—not of victory, but of relief. He gestured for you to sit on the closed toilet lid as he crouched in front of you, setting the kit down between you.

“This might sting,” he murmured, taking your hand in his.

You braced yourself, but the first touch still made you flinch, a sharp inhale slipping past your lips. His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly—not enough to restrain, just enough to steady.

Blood still welled at the edges of the cut, glistening under the harsh bathroom light. You forced yourself to look away, focusing instead on the way Namjoon moved—careful, deliberate, as if he understood that this was more than just about the physical injury in front of him.

“Sorry,” he said softly when he dabbed antiseptic onto the cut, his voice softer than you expected, filled with regret.

His fingers brushed against your palm as he worked, his warmth seeping into your skin, and for a second, it felt like he was holding more of you than just your hand. The realization unsettled you.

But it wasn’t just about the cut. It was about everything you’ve been trying to ignore.

The sting made you flinch, but you didn’t pull away this time. His gaze flickered to yours for a moment, and you saw the quiet storm in his eyes—the concern, the worry, the frustration. You couldn’t look away, though you wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely audible as he reached into the kit. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” His fingers brushed against yours again as he retrieved the bandages, before moving to the underside, his thumb gently rubbing your knuckles.

You swallowed hard, “You don’t have to apologize,” you said, the words shivering under the weight of emotions you didn’t know how to voice—like just how much that kiss has shattered that fragile balance you’d worked so hard to maintain. How his reaction afterwards hurt you in ways you weren’t sure you could fully understand, not yet at least.

 How his apology now only made it that much harder to keep your guard up now.

The words felt like they were tearing out of you, raw and jagged, and you couldn’t quite grasp them fully as they left your lips. But as they floated between you, a terse silence settled, still thick with the unsaid.

You could feel his gaze on you, his presence so near that his breath brushed against your skin—a subtle, charged whisper of warmth. It filled every corner of the room, like a quiet storm.

“I still feel like I do,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if the tension between you was a chasm or a bridge. You didn’t know what to say. How could you, when his confession stirred up a hundred conflicting emotions? The relief mixed with the dread, the hope tainted by the doubt. You wanted to reach for him, to make it all clearer, but the uncertainty in his gaze reminded you how fragile everything between you was right now.

“I...” You started, but the words caught, the vulnerability of the moment threatening to consume you whole.

He squeezed your hand gently, as if sensing the battle inside you, and then he lowered his voice. “I’m not asking for anything from you right now, I just-” He stopped himself, his thumb brushing over your skin as if to steady both of you, as if saying more than words could right now.

You stayed silent, biting at the inside of your cheek as you fought to keep your tears from spilling over.

But his voice, soft yet tinged with doubt, pulled you back to him.

“I want to make sure we’re okay. I care a lot about you. And I can’t stand the idea of you hating me because of a mistake.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, pressing against everything you were trying so hard to hold together.

Hating him?

If only it were that simple. If only you could have been angry enough to make this easier.

But it wasn’t anger twisting your insides—it was something softer and far more complicated, more fragile. The kind of thing that didn’t fit neatly into words, that made your heart ache in ways you weren’t sure how to soothe. Because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t forget the way he looked at you before he kissed you. And you couldn’t ignore the way he looked at you now, like he was waiting for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.

You exhaled slowly, dropping your gaze to where his fingers still held yours. You could feel the tension—gentle, but firm, like he was afraid of pushing too hard, but even more afraid of letting go.

So he did think it was just a mistake…

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I don’t hate you, Namjoon.”

His grip tightened, just for a second, like those words alone had loosened something in him. But the relief in his expression was brief, quickly replaced by uncertainty.

“I just…” You swallowed; the words felt like cotton in your throat. “It’s not you. It’s just—everything. A bunch of things piling up all at once, and I-”

Your voice faltered, frustration prickling at the edges of your control. You didn’t know how to explain it, how to make him understand the chaos in your head when you barely understood it yourself.

 “I’m sorry I raised my voice at you.”

“It’s okay. I’m a big boy.”

A short, breathy laugh escaped you before you could stop it—small, barely there, but real. And Namjoon caught it, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but didn’t dare.

The awkwardness between you didn’t break, not fully, but it shifted, softened just enough to let you breathe like yourself around him.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “I don’t know why I’m like this right now.”

Namjoon tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Like what?”

You made a vague, frustrated gesture with your injured hand, immediately regretting it when the sharp sting of the cut shot through your palm.

Namjoon moved before you could react, reaching for you instinctively, just enough to steady you.

“Like this,” you murmured, finally answering. “Like everything is just… too much.”

“Maybe because it is.”

Your throat tightened. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that—not something so simple, so understanding.

And damn him, because that was somehow worse.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smirk you didn’t quite feel. “You always this wise?”

Namjoon huffed, shaking his head. “No. I just know you.”

That undid you more than anything else.

Because you knew he meant it.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come along with me this week. I know how uncomfortable this whole thing must have been for you.” His gaze locked with yours, and there was something raw and sincere in his eyes that made your heart skip. You found yourself wondering exactly what discomfort he meant—the list of things that had made you uneasy was long. But after a moment of hesitation, you went with the one you knew was safest to say out loud.

“I hate lying to your mom.”

“I know.” Namjoon let out a soft chuckle, but there was something strained beneath it, something that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s going to be heartbroken when I tell her we broke up.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “She adores you.”

“She adores you,” he corrected, his gaze steady on yours.

Your stomach twisted, your heart doing something complicated in your chest. This was the problem—this was always the problem. The way Namjoon said things, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you weren’t just someone he was pretending with. Like you were something more.

But you weren’t.

You inhaled sharply, trying to shake the feeling off. “She’s going to be devastated,” you said, forcing lightness into your voice. “You’ll be the villain in her eyes.”

Namjoon nodded solemnly. “I’ll take the fall.”

It was so easy, this back and forth. So easy to pretend none of this mattered, that your heart wasn’t lodged in your throat, that his hand still holding yours wasn’t making it harder to think straight. The moment stretched, as he focused on the injury again, carefully bandaging it. The silence wasn’t quite comfortable, but it wasn’t as overwhelming now either. It was a delicate balance, the same one you’d been maintaining all week, the same one you always found yourselves teetering on the edge of.

Namjoon was still watching you, still waiting, but for what, you weren’t sure.

 For you to crack a joke? For you to take this moment and push it into something lighter, something easy?

That was what you always did.

So, you did it again.

“You better break the news gently,” you said, arching a brow. “She might actually disown you.”

Namjoon exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“Oh, really?”

“She sends me links to apartments near her house, like, once a month. I think she was trying to slowly break me down to the idea of an arranged marriage.”

You grinned despite yourself. “That’s impressive.”

“She’s relentless.”

 You chuckled, imagining Namjoon’s mom with that kind of mission, plotting with all the subtlety of a military strategist.

“I’ll help you chose the engagement rings.”

Namjoon snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “I think that might be the last thing I need right now.” He sighed dramatically, though you could tell it was more out of affection than frustration. “At this point, I’m just waiting for her to start dropping hints about grandkids.” He cut himself off, realizing the direction the conversation was heading, and awkwardly cleared his throat.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the sink. “Grandkids, huh? So, you’ve thought about it.”

Namjoon froze, his hands still hovering near your wound like he wasn’t sure whether to keep bandaging or retreat. His gaze flickered back to yours, and for a second, there was a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability? —something you didn’t expect to see.

 “Of course, I thought about it.”

You tilted your head slightly, his words just hanging there in the small space between you.

“Yeah? What does ‘thinking about it’ look like for you?”

“Two kids. Maybe three if my wife’s up for it.”

You felt a strange tightness in your chest at his words, a soft ache that you quickly pushed aside. “Two kids? That sounds pretty... traditional,” you said, trying to keep your voice light.

Namjoon’s smile was faint, like he was walking a line between sharing and holding back. “Yeah, I guess so. I always figured, you know, the usual—boy and a girl, maybe a dog.” He chuckled quietly, but there was something a little distant in his tone now, like the vision he was describing didn’t quite line up with where he was standing at that moment.

You studied him for a moment, watching the way his gaze flickered away from yours, focusing on anything but you as he started rummaging through the first aid kit. It was like he had just shared a piece of his future with you, but it didn’t fit with the here and now. And that left a strange knot in your stomach.

“Sounds nice,” you murmured, not sure how to follow that up. Your heart was doing its complicated thing again—twisting, pulling. But you couldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when it just started to feel like maybe there is still a chance to fix this mess between you.

Namjoon cleared his throat and finished securing the bandage, his touch almost absent now, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Yeah, maybe. But… you know, it’s hard to imagine all that when things are, uh, a little uncertain right now.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure exactly what he meant by it. The uncertainty could apply to a lot of things—his life, his future, your relationship. But for some reason, it stung a little when it felt like he was referencing you as part of that uncertainty.

“I think I’d like a cat.”

Namjoon’s brow lifted, clearly amused by the abrupt shift “A cat?”

“Yeah, two kids and a cat.” You hesitated, then added, “And the husband, of course.”

Namjoon’s lips curved upward into a full, genuine smile, a flicker of light breaking through the tension. “Two kids, a cat, and a husband?” His voice was teasing, but there was something light there too.

You shrugged, trying to match his tone, even though the ache in your chest remained. “It’s a solid plan,” you said, attempting to sound casual. “Maybe a dog too. If the kids beg enough.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and you felt a bit of that old comfort returning. Strange, though—the way your heart still fluttered when he smiled, despite everything.

“I think I could get on board with that.”

His hands dropped on either side of you, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the conversation end.

The warmth of his words lingered, but so did that quiet, nagging unease. He was playing along, keeping things light.

“We might need a bigger apartment tho…”

His words hung in the air between you, lighthearted just on the surface. You knew Namjoon well enough to recognize when he was joking and when he was saying something without really saying it.

And this?

This felt like a little bit of both.

You swallowed, forcing a smile. “Oh? So now we need a bigger apartment?”

Namjoon blinked, as if realizing what he’d just said. A flicker of something—panic? amusement? —crossed his face, but he recovered quickly, offering you an easy grin. “Well, yeah. Two kids, a cat, and a dog? You’re gonna need space.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m gonna need space?”

He smirked, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was trying to play something off. “I mean… unless you think the husband would want to live there too.”

Your heart did that stupid twisting thing again, a tangled mess of what ifs and almosts. Because the way he said it, so effortlessly, like it was something that could just… be—it made you wonder.

For a split second, you let yourself picture it. A bigger apartment. A cat curled up on the couch. Laughter filling the rooms. Maybe even Namjoon, barefoot in the kitchen, making coffee before the kids woke up…

And just as quickly, you pushed the thought away. You weren’t sure your relationship will ever be the same after this week, let alone if you could afford to imagine a future that might never exist.

So, you did what you always did. You deflected.

You forced a smirk, arching a brow at him. “You make it sound like I’m actually considering you as an option.”

Namjoon placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. Brutal.”

You shrugged. “I just think whoever my future husband is… he’s gonna need to be okay with the cat being the favourite.”

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head. “Noted. Cat comes first. Husband, second.”

You grinned. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

The conversation should have ended there. Easy. Playful. Like always.

 But Namjoon hesitated, his hands lingering on either side of you for just a second too long before he pulled away.

And then, softly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it at all—

“Maybe he wouldn’t mind being second.”

Your breath caught. But before you could say anything, before you could even begin to process what he meant—he was already standing, already moving away, leaving you alone with the ache in your chest and the same unanswered question hanging between you.

“I’m gonna try and explain to my mom what that little scene in the kitchen meant before she gets any wild ideas,” he said, running a hand through his hair. His tone was light, but you caught the hesitation in his steps, the way he lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded normal. “Good luck with that.”

Namjoon turned back to look at you, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah… I think I’ll need it.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet bathroom, the weight of his words still pressing down on you.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind being second.

Your fingers brushed absently over the fresh bandage on your hand, but all you could feel was the ghost of his touch, the warmth he’d left behind.

What the hell were you supposed to do with that?

~~~

As the evening wore on, the air between you and Namjoon slowly settled into something quiet, something less fragile. That burden that had pressed so heavily against your ribs all morning didn’t fully disappear, but it did loosen its grip just enough to let you breathe and get back into your role.

The tension that had once felt suffocating now ebbed at the edges, softened by the warmth of the flickering Christmas lights and the steady hum of familiar voices carrying over across the table.

The room glowed with the soft shimmer of Christmas lights, their golden hues reflecting off polished countertops and the delicate ornaments hanging from the tree. The scent of cinnamon and citrus curled through the air, mixing with the faint, nostalgic melody of holiday music drifting from the speakers.

There was something undeniably nostalgic about it all—the rhythmic motions of setting the table, the occasional bursts of laughter from across the room, the way the season wrapped itself around you like a well-worn comfortable blanket.

The ache in your chest remained, lingering just beneath the surface, but it no longer felt so all-consuming.

By the time dinner was served, the table was a stunning display of Minhi’s careful arrangements— a vibrant spread of tender, savoury meats, perfectly seasoned vegetables, and bowls of rich, colourful side dishes. The warm aroma filled the room, creating an inviting atmosphere, drawing everyone closer together.

Despite everything, you felt yourself settling into the moment, lulled by the quiet clink of silverware and the soft murmur of conversation. There was a warmth here, a sense of belonging woven into the shared meal, and you let yourself lean into it.

Every so often, your gaze drifted to Namjoon, seated beside you. The space between you still felt… uncertain. But it wasn’t as heavy now. He didn’t speak to you much, yet there was something different in the way he simply existed next to you—steady, present, like a tide softly pulling you in.

What surprised you most were the quiet gestures he offered without hesitation. The way he refilled your wine glass before you even noticed it was low. How he made sure your plate never emptied. The absentminded way he adjusted your chair when you shifted, as if it were second nature.

Set against the warmth of his family, these small, unspoken acts were unexpectedly grounding. A quiet reminder that, despite everything, he still wanted you to be comfortable. He still wanted you here. Maybe by the time you got home, things could even return to some version of normal.

You weren’t sure yet, but the idea no longer felt so impossible. It felt like something within reach.

Christmas, with all its quiet reassurances and unspoken meanings, had given you both a moment to breathe. To let it go, even if just for tonight.

After dessert, the night began to wind down. The table was cleared, dishes stacked neatly by the sink, but no one seemed eager to leave the cosy warmth that settled over the house. The tree glowed with soft fairy lights, the fireplace murmured quietly in the background, and the air was still rich with the sugary scent of baked goods.

Jackson, ever the romantic, had presented Minhi an utterly atrocious but hilariously heartfelt gift— A pair of bobbleheads styled to look like them, complete with exaggerated features and tiny versions of their favourite outfits.

Hers had her signature hairstyle and an exaggerated wink, while his sported his usual grin and an outfit that looked suspiciously like the one he was wearing.

“Now we can nod in agreement even when we’re bickering!” he declared, earning a genuine laughter from Mr. and Mrs. Kim.

Minhi gasped dramatically, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my god, Jackson,” she groaned, though the laughter shaking her shoulders betrayed her amusement. “Where do you even find these things?”

“I have my sources,” Jackson replied smugly, arms crossed as he stood proudly by his choice. “Only the best for you, babe,” he added, with a mock bow.

“Every year, it’s something new,” Namjoon muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

Reaching for his mug, his fingers brushed yours. It wasn’t intentional—just a small, almost unnoticed touch—but it sent a gentle ripple through you regardless.

Your eyes lifted to his, and he caught your gaze. Leaning in just slightly, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Last year, he got her personalised socks with his face on them.”

Your laugh came soft and unexpected, spilling out before you could stop it. “Because he likes being stepped on?” you whispered back, your eyes sparkling with humour.

Namjoon smirked, his expression playful, “How’d you know?”

 The shared moment felt light and easy, a pocket of warmth that made you laugh genuinely for the first time all evening. It wasn’t forced or hesitant but natural, like slipping back into an old rhythm.

Namjoon’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, his smile softening into something quieter, almost fond.

“I got you something too.” He said, his voice low enough not to carry over the lively chatter around the room.

“You did?”

He nodded, glancing toward the small pile of gifts near the Christmas tree. “It’s nothing huge. Just something I thought you’d like. I can give it to you now if-”

“Wait,” you interrupted quickly, “You already know I got you the book, but let me grab it for you—I’ll be right back” A soft smile tugged at your lips as you hurried off to your room.

Stepping into the quiet space, you let out a small breath, your heart fluttering in a way that felt a little too telling. You rummaged through your suitcase, retrieving the carefully wrapped gift and adjusting the red bow atop the green paper until it was just right.

Taking a moment to steady yourself, you ran a hand through your hair before heading back to the living room. The second you returned, clutching the gift close to your chest, Namjoon’s gaze immediately found yours. His expression was calm, but there was a quiet anticipation in his eyes.

“Got it,” you said softly, holding it out toward him.

His lips quirked into a small smile as he reached for it. In return, he handed you his own gift, wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with a pink silken ribbon.

“Now it’s a proper exchange,” he said, his tone light but carrying something more than just casual words.

Glancing down at the gift in your hands, you chuckled when you noticed the little marker doodle next to your name—a quick, playful sketch of a Christmas tree, leaning awkwardly to the side under the weight of a star that looked too big for it.

“Did you do this?” you asked, looking up at him, a playful smile forming on your lips.

Namjoon shrugged, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. “Maybe.”

 His casual teasing made you laugh softly as you carefully untied the ribbon, your fingers grazing the silky fabric as you peeled back the wrapping paper.

And then—you stopped.

The same book you’d gotten him was staring right back at you.

You blinked; your eyes locked on the familiar cover. The exact same book—the one you’d chosen with such care and anticipation—was now in your hands, wrapped just as carefully as you’d wrapped his.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to Namjoon, your mouth slightly agape.

“When we stopped at the bookstore and you told me you got it for me, I almost lost it.” He admitted with a chuckle, easily peeling back the paper from his own copy. “I’ve been trying to hide this in the apartment since it came out.”

He smiled, but as his eyes dropped to cover of the book, something shifted “But the thing is, I got yours signed-”

He paused when he lifted the cover and saw the delicate signature on the first page, resting neatly next to his name.  His fingers hovered over the autograph, a mix of surprise and disbelief flickering across his face. He looked up at you, his expression softening as the realization settled in.

“Wait, this is ridiculous.” He whispered, half laughing, half stunned.

You nodded slowly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the strange twist in your chest. “I thought it’d be a nice touch— God, I spent hours just waiting to get it signed.”

“Same here,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess we both have good taste.”

“You’re telling me,” You huffed, still amused. “We could’ve at least gone together, saved ourselves some trouble.”

“Did you two just get each other the exact same thing?” Minhi’s voice cracked with disbelief—clearly astonished—reminding you both that, yes, there were people around watching.

You and Namjoon exchanged a glance, both still holding identical copies of book in your hands. The absurdity of it all made it impossible not to laugh.

“God you’re disgusting.” Jackson chimed in—like he wasn’t the one who’d bought his girlfriend bobbleheads.

Namjoon chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly, clearly relishing in the banter. “Yeah. We did.”

From across the room, Mrs. Kim, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, it looks like you two are perfectly matched,” she teased. “Maybe next time you’ll coordinate your outfits as well.”

Mr. Kim, sitting beside her, chuckled and sent a playful wink your way. “Or maybe matching pyjamas?” he suggested, prompting a round of laughter from the group.

Namjoon tilted his head, considering it. “Now that I think about it... matching pajamas could be a vibe,” he mused, throwing you a teasing glance. “We could totally pull it off.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, biting back a laugh. “You’re pushing it.”

Mrs. Kim grinned, clearly enjoying the lighthearted moment. “This is what makes these dinners so special,” she said warmly, leaning into her husband. “Seeing all of you so comfortable with each other.”

Mr. Kim nodded, his lips curving into a fond smile. “It’s these little moments that really count.” His gaze softened as he looked at his wife.

Your eyes met Namjoon’s for a brief moment, like there was an unspoken understanding between you.

Despite everything that had unfolded this week, something inside you resolved. Maybe things didn’t need to be perfect right now. And with time, perhaps you’d find you way back to something resembling normal—whatever that was. For now, this was enough.

“Matching pyjamas it is, then,” you said, breaking the silence.

Namjoon chuckled; his smile genuine.

“Deal.”

As the evening continued, the conversations flowed effortlessly. The soft hum of festive music filled the room, mingling with the quiet laughter of those around you. The glow of candles on the mantle cast dancing shadows across the walls, wrapping the space in a homey warmth.

And for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things between you weren’t as uncertain as they seemed.

~~~

“Mrs. Kim, do you have any dishwashing gloves?” you asked, your hands reaching into a drawer. You didn’t want to risk getting your bandages wet right after Namjoon changed them.

With most of the family retreating to their rooms, you lingered behind, offering to help Mrs. Kim tidy the kitchen. It was a quiet, unspoken way of showing your gratitude for her warmth and hospitality, a small gesture to give back after everything she’d done. Besides, it gave you a chance to clear your mind in the soothing rhythm of cleaning plates and wiping counters.

A form of therapy—you told yourself—just you, the soft hum of the kitchen, and the slow settling of your thoughts.

There was a quiet sense of contentment washing over you, as if the whirlwind of the past few days was finally starting to wane. The trip was nearing its end, and despite the chaos, the awkwardness, and the emotional ups and downs, you’d managed to weather it all. Somehow, with some-god’s grace, you made it through, and that was enough to leave a faint, unexpected warmth in your chest.

“Oh dear, don’t bother with the dishes.” Mrs. Kim said softly, glancing at you over the fridge door where she carefully stacked the leftovers. Her tone gentle, almost pleading, as if she wanted to spare you the trouble. “We’ll take care of them tomorrow.”

You smiled, shaking your head lightly. “I can’t, sorry. It’ll bother me if I don’t.” A light chuckle slipped from your lips as you rummaged through the drawer, triumphantly pulling out a pair of green latex gloves. You pulled them on with a snap, feeling a little silly.

Mrs. Kim smiled at your insistence, moved by the gesture. “You’re so thoughtful,” she said sweetly. “But really, you don’t have to.”

With a soft smile, you picked up a dish from the counter and ran it under the warm water. “Honestly, I don’t mind,” you said, glancing at her. “It’s nice to have something simple to do right now.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

The sound of running water filled the space between you, while Mrs. Kim moved around the kitchen, cleaning and organizing the days messes.

 The evening had settled into a comforting cadence—the soft clink of dishes, the low hum of the refrigerator, and the occasional crackle of the fire still glowing faintly in the next room. Everything felt simple, peaceful.

For a while, the two of you worked in silence, the comfortable kind that spoke volumes without the need for filler words.

After a while, Mrs. Kim paused, setting the dish towel down as she looked at you, her expression thoughtful. “You know,” she said with a soft smile, “I’ve been meaning to sit down and chat with you all week, but Namjoon seemed determined to keep you all to himself.”

You froze mid-rinse, caught off-guard by the shift in her tone. lancing up, you caught the warmth in her eyes, and just like that, the familiar knot in your stomach came back full force. Your grip on the plate reflexively tightened, the ceramic cool against your gloved palm, as you forced yourself to smile politely

“I’m really glad you were able to spend the holidays with us,” she continued, unaware of the shift in your composure. “You make my son so very happy.”

The words hit you like an arrow to the chest, guilt rising right where it struck.

The worst thing was that Namjoon wasn’t there to protect you from yourself. It was just his mother. Her gentle warmth, and the mounting weight of your guilt. The truth of your relationship, —or the lack of—loomed large in your mind, suffocating in its quiet dishonesty.

“You know, I knew from the moment I met you that you two would make a good pair.”

Your body stiffened, her words hanging in the air like an unspoken threat. Despite the warmth in her gaze, kind and sincere, it only deepened the tension coiling in your chest. The sounds of the kitchen, the faint hum of music still coming from the living room—everything else faded, drowned out by the relentless echo of her words in your mind.

A lump formed in your throat, and your grip on the plate tightened as your hands began to shake. The walls seemed to shrink around you, the space too small to hold the enormity of the lie hanging between you.

Her voice, so earnest and trusting, repeated in your mind, each syllable weighted with an affection you didn’t feel worthy of. For a moment, you parted your lips, desperate to respond— to explain, to confess—but the words wouldn’t come. What could you possibly say? That everything she believed about you and her son was a carefully constructed illusion? That this trip had pushed your flimsy connection to its breaking point? That you and Namjoon hadn’t even kissed before this—and when you finally had, it only tangled things further, making you ache for something real, something freely given? But that he didn’t feel the same?

The truth felt like a tsunami too massive and chaotic to contain, too devastating to release. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between holding back the wave and allowing it to crash down, obliterating everything in its path.

And all you could do was hold on to the plate in your hands, as if it could somehow keep you afloat through it all.

“I think it’s in the way you two-”

But the strain of the day—the strain of everything—became too much to withstand. The fragile hold you’d kept on your emotions shattered, splintering off like glass under pressure. The raw ache you’d buried deep inside surged to the surface, breaking through the thin veneer of composure you’d clung to so desperately as you tried to listen to her.

You blinked quickly, a futile effort to stop as tears began to pool in your eyes. But once a single drop escaped, sliding hot and unchecked down your cheek, another followed, and another, until the flood was unstoppable.

Your trembling lips pressed tightly together to stifle the sobs threatening to spill out, but your shoulders shook, and the quiet tremors of your body betrayed you. The stillness of the kitchen amplified the sound of your shallow, uneven breaths, the weight of everything pressing down all at once.

Mrs. Kim turned sharply at the sound, her expression shifting to concern in an instant, her hands stilling as she looked at you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” She murmured, stepping closer, her voice filled with a motherly warmth that broke you even further. “What’s wrong?” Her cold hands rested gently on your arms, rubbing them affectionately.

And in that moment, you realized there was no turning back.

Mrs. Kim’s voice was tender, laced with genuine worry that only made your heart hurt more. Her hands on your arms felt steadying, but they were also a stark reminder of the fact that you were breaking down.  You tried to speak, to form any explanation, but all that escaped was a shaky breath. The silence between you stretched, and you knew you couldn’t hide behind it much longer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. You weren’t even sure what you were apologizing for yet—everything, perhaps, or maybe just for breaking down in front of her. “I didn’t mean to... ruin this moment.”

Mrs. Kim frowned, her brow creasing with concern, but her voice was as gentle as ever. “Ruin it? Sweetheart, no. What’s this all about?” She gave your arms a reassuring squeeze. “You can talk to me.”

Her kindness was unbearable, and for a moment, you debated whether you could hold back the truth just a little longer. But you knew deep down that this wasn’t something you could keep running from. Not here, not with her looking at you like that, so full of empathy.

“I...” You hesitated, your voice cracking. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Mrs. Kim stepped back slightly, her hands still hovering near yours as if to reassure you she was listening. “Go on,” she urged gently.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. “Namjoon and I... we-” The words were so heavy; it felt like they might crush you if you said them out loud. “We’re not... what you think.”

Her expression didn’t falter, but there was a brief flicker of confusion in her eyes. She waited, patient but curious, as you tried to gather your courage.

“What do you mean?” she urged softly once you faltered.

“We’re not... a couple,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The truth was out, raw and exposed, and you braced yourself for her reaction. “This whole thing—it was never real. We just... pretended.”

For the first time, Mrs. Kim’s expression shifted—her eyes widened slightly, but her hands tighten around your arms. She stared at you for a moment, processing your confession, before she took a small step back.

“You pretended?” She repeated, her voice quiet but heavy with meaning on your guilt-ridden mind. “Why would you do that?”

You looked down, unable to hold her gaze any longer. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far,” you said, your voice breaking. “It started as... as a way to avoid questions. To keep things simple. But then everything spiralled, and now-” You stopped, feeling the tears threaten to spill again. “Now, I don’t know how to fix it.”

Mrs. Kim was silent for a long moment, her gaze thoughtful but unreadable. When she finally spoke, her tone was soft, though there was an edge of disappointment there that made your chest ache. “So, this... this whole time, it was all just for show?”

You nodded.

She exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together before stepping forward again. “I wish you’d told me sooner,” she said, her voice quieter now, but still kind. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but... I can see how much this is weighing on you.”

You looked up at her, surprised by her understanding. “You’re not... mad?”

“Oh, my sweetheart, you are way worse at lying than you think you are.” She squeezed your arms again, this time rubbing her thumbs across your skin as if to bring some feeling back into them.

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I’ve had a few suspicions,” Mrs. Kim admitted. “A mother knows, even when her son thinks he’s being clever. But I didn’t push because I thought... well, I thought maybe you two just needed time to figure it out.”

Her words landed softly, but they still carried weight, making your breath hitch. You felt an odd mix of relief and embarrassment—relief that she wasn’t completely blindsided, and embarrassment that you haven’t been as convincing as you’d thought.

“You knew?” you asked, your voice still weak from crying.

Her chuckle was lightly, a sound that was warm but reluctant. “I had my concerns. But I could also see the effort you were making, and I thought maybe it wasn’t my place to pry.”

Her hold lingered on your arms, steady and reassuring. “What I didn’t know,” she continued, her tone softening even further, “was how much it was eating you up inside. Sweetheart, this isn’t healthy—for either of you.”

You bit your lip, her understanding cutting through the storm of emotions inside you. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, blinking a few tears away. “I didn’t want to deceive anyone. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Mrs. Kim reached up, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with a fondness that made you want to break down again. “I know that,” she said firmly. “And I believe you. But this is not just about me.”

You look up at her, a flicker of confusion crossing your face as you tried to process her words

Mrs. Kim’s hand rested gently on your cheeks for a moment, her touch offering a soothing presence. “It’s not just about me,” she repeated, her voice calm but filled with an unexpected tenderness. “It’s about you. And Namjoon.”

Her words hanging between you like a burden, and your heart tighten once more. “Me and Namjoon?” you echoed, unsure if she truly meant what you thought she meant.

Mrs. Kim nodded, her eyes locking onto yours with quiet understanding. “Yes, you and my oblivious son.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as the implication in her words finally settled into place. Maybe, it was the relief of saying everything out loud that washed over you, breaking through the layers of doubt you’ve been carrying.

 It was that relief, perhaps, that loosened the tight grip you’d kept on your emotions for so long.

“But I don’t know if he feels the same,” you admitted, your voice trembling, defences faltering as the words came out. It didn’t even matter that, in saying them, you were all but confessing your own feelings for him. “What if he doesn’t feel that way about me? What if I ruin everything we have?” You glanced away, ashamed of the vulnerability that laced every word, but unable to stop the thoughts from spilling over.

Mrs. Kim’s expression softened further. Her eyes brimming with compassion “Trust me, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, your thoughts a tangled mess of fear and doubt.

She smiled gently, her hand still resting on your cheeks. “You’re not imagining it. Trust me. I’ve seen this before—this shyness, this obliviousness to feelings. It’s from his father. That man was just as clueless when it came to my feelings for him.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her sudden pivot. “Really?” you asked, a faint laugh slipping through despite the swirl of emotions inside you.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, rolling of her eyes playfully. “I had to practically spell it out for him before he realized how I felt. But once he did...” Her smile softened, nostalgia flickering in her gaze. “Once he did, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind—or mine.”

You bit your lip, the warmth of her story sparking a flicker of hope inside you, but the lingering concerns still clouded your thoughts. “But what if Namjoon’s not like that?” you murmured, your gaze falling to the floor. “I’m scared to say anything and risk ruining the friendship we have.”

Mrs. Kim tilted her head slightly, her expression growing more thoughtful. “Y/N,” she said gently, “Do you know what I noticed about you the first time we met?”

You hesitated, unsure of what she was about to say. “What?” you asked quietly

“I saw the way you looked at him,” she said simply. “It wasn’t just friendship. It was something deeper. Something you probably didn’t even realized yourself yet. And that whole time, he was looking at you the same way. He’s not just your friend. He’s your person.”

Her words hit like a wave, striking a chord in you that you haven’t been ready to confront. Your breath caught, your heart pounding. “You really think so?” you whispered, your voice trembling with equal parts hope and fear.

Mrs. Kim nodded with certainty, her eyes kind and unwavering. “I do. And I’m not the only one who sees it.” She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. “I remember Namjoon’s ex—she was a lovely girl, but things always felt… easy to look past. But with you? The way he watches you, listens to you—like he’s waiting for something only you can give him. That’s different. That’s something real.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but this time they weren’t just from uncertainty. A flicker of hope mingled with the raw emotion coursing through you.

“What if I’m wrong?” Your words were soft, almost drowned by the silence around you.

Mrs. Kim’s hand rested gently on your arm, a quiet reassurance. “You won’t know unless you talk to him,” she said, her tone gentle but resolute.  “I won’t tell you it’s easy—putting your heart on the line never is. But if you let fear make the choice for you, you might walk away from something really special. And I don’t think he wants that. I don’t think you do either.” She paused, her eyes searching yours, her voice soft but certain— “He loves you.”

Her words settled over you like a warm embrace. It was still terrifying, the thought of baring your soul to Namjoon, but Mrs. Kim’s unwavering confidence— in you, in him—felt like a light guiding you through the uncertainty.

“Go talk to him,” she urged softly, reaching up to cup your cheeks in a gentle squeeze. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’ll be glad you did.”

“I-I will. When-”

“No! Go now!” she insisted with a gentle but determined push, her eyes sparkling.

With resolve that felt both fragile and real, you nodded, inhaling deeply as if to steady the maelstrom inside you. As you peeled off your gloves, a sniffle escaped before you could stop it. You wiped at your eyes, letting out a shaky laugh—half exasperation, half-relief.

Mrs. Kim’s hand gave your arm one final, reassuring squeeze, her warmth lingering even as you turned away.

And then, before doubt could creep back in, you hurried upstairs to the bedroom.

 The door slammed behind you and the echo resounded in the quiet stillness of the room. Namjoon’s head snapped up from the book in his hands, his wide eyes startled by your sudden arrival.

He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the warm golden light from the lamp next to him casting soft shadows across his face. He had that look of fuzzy contentment he always wore when he was reading—a serene expression you wanted to lock away and hold tight to protect forever. But right now, your own emotions were too unruly to appreciate it fully.

“Do you love me?”

The words burst out of you before you had the chance to reel them back in, your voice shaky and raw as adrenaline still coursed through you. You were a whirlwind—your heart thundered in your chest as you stood there, tears prickling at the edges of your eyes, the weight of the conversation you’d just had pressing heavily on your shoulders. You didn’t even try to give him context first. You didn’t prepare either of you for the leap you were about to take. Instead, you jumped.

Namjoon blinked at you, his lips parting, eyes flitting across your face as he tried to process the question. For a long moment, he looked utterly confused, but then, as if the air between you shifted, something soft and vulnerable lit up in his face. His book tumbled from his hands, forgotten entirely, as he straightened up.

“What…?” he began, tentative and breathless, but you didn’t give him a chance to run, to overthink, to temper his feelings behind those gentle walls he so often built. You had to know. There could be no half-truths now.

“Do you love me?” you repeated, your voice louder this time, more forceful, as every fibre of your being felt like it was burning alive, unravelling at the seams with desperation for an answer. For clarity. For him.

His lips quivered, caught somewhere between anxiety and trust, his gaze searching yours before his answer came in a breathless whisper that shattered you on the spot.

“Yes. Of course, I love you.” The intensity you saw there—the vulnerability, the unmistakable fear —it completely broke the barrier.

Before he could say another word, you surged forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was desperate, unrestrained, a collision of all the emotions you’d kept bottled up for too long. You slotted your lips against his, connecting in a way that felt as necessary as breathing. The world tilted. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you from unravelling.

Namjoon froze for half a second; you could practically feel the surprise radiate from him. But then, like a lightning strike, his arms were around you, pulling you closer. Close enough that no space for doubt could exist between you. He kissed you back with a fervour that sent a tidal wave of warmth from your head to your toes. His lips moved against yours as though he’d unlocked a secret of his own emotions, pouring them all out into this single moment.

 This confession without words.

Finally, when your lungs screamed for air, you pulled back just slightly, your foreheads resting together, breaths mingling. You could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly against yours.

“What’s gotten into you?” he whispered, his voice so quiet, as if to speak too loudly might shatter the fragile bubble wrapping itself around you both. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone in the gentlest of touches, wiping away the tears that had managed to escape.

You drew in a trembling breath, your lips grazing his as you whispered, “I… I told your mother everything.”

He froze solid, just like that, and the warmth in his expression flickered with confusion. “What?” he asked, his voice just as soft but now edged with trepidation.

“I told her,” You repeated, your voice steadier this time, though your heart was racing. You pressed another kiss to his lips, unable to fully pull away. “I told her we were pretending. That we’re not really together. How you—how you asked me to lie to her and everyone else.” Your fingers remained clutched in his shirt; your mouth lingering on his, unwilling to part for more than a few seconds at a time.

Namjoon stilled for a fraction of a second, processing your words between the kisses you couldn’t seem to stop. Then his grip on you tightened, as if afraid this was a dream he would wake up from any minute. The hesitation in his posture melted, replaced by something stronger, fiercer—something that matched the irregular rhythm of your own heart.

“Hold on,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice breathless and uneven, “I can’t think straight when you kiss me.”

The vulnerability in that small confession sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help the big, silly grin that broke across your face.

“Why’d you tell her?” he asked, his voice softer now, his forehead resting against yours.

You let out a shaky laugh, your eyes dropping to his swollen lips, already wanting to kiss him again. “I didn’t mean to,” you admitted, the words spilling out quickly. “She was so nice to me, and with everything that’s happened—I just couldn’t hold it in. I started crying, and it all came out.”

Namjoon exhaled deeply and, with obvious difficulty, pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze softened, the concern there unmistakable. “What did she say? Is that why you’re crying?”

A watery sniffle escaped you as you tried to explain. “She said you’re oblivious,” Each syllable ghosted over his lips, the space between you nearly nonexistent. You wanted to kiss him again. “And that you get it from your dad.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, but you didn’t stop. “She said she already knew,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, your chest tightening as your fingers traced the warm skin of his neck. “And…” You hesitated, your eyes searching his. “She said you love me.”

You were so close, his breath mingled with yours, the space between you barely more than a whisper.

Namjoon stilled, his breath catching. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but then something like awe swept over his face, softening every feature. His eyes searched yours, looking for doubt, for hesitation—anything that might suggest you didn’t mean it. But when he found nothing but truth staring back at him, he let out a shaky exhale, his lips parting as though he was about to speak.

He didn’t. Instead, his hands cupped your face, and his lips met yours again, but this time the kiss was slower, deeper, and achingly tender. Gone was the urgency, replaced by something raw and honest. This kiss wasn’t about desperation or pretending—it was about him showing you, with everything he had, exactly how he felt.

This was Namjoon, completely unguarded. And as his lips moved against yours, as his hands cradled you like you were the most precious thing in the world, you felt like it.  

His breath fanned across your skin as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding your face like he wasn’t ready to let go. His thumbs brushed along your cheekbones, slow and reverent, as if memorizing every inch of you.

Neither of you spoke right away. The silence between you wasn’t empty— it was filled with the weight of the past few days, the tangled emotions, the hesitation and longing, all melted into the space between your breaths.

Namjoon swallowed hard.

“I thought I ruined everything when I kissed you.” His voice was raw, unsteady, his hands moving with quiet desperation—grazing your jaw, your neck, brushing your hair away from your face like he needed to see all of you.

You exhaled sharply a mix of exasperation and relief. “I was so sure you regretted it,” you admitted, your fingers restless as they traced along his skin, unable to stop moving, needing to feel him. “God, Namjoon, how could you just shut down like that?”

He swallowed, his gaze flickering with something vulnerable, something hesitant. “I thought you hated me.” The words came quiet but heavy. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I convinced myself that I pushed you away—that I ruined any chance I had of being with you for real.”

 Your breath hitched at the vulnerability that poured out of him. His dark eyes shimmered in the soft golden light of the room; the weight of his emotions etched across his perfect, devastating face.

“Namjoon…” His name quivered on your tongue as the tears came back to your eyes. But it wasn’t sadness that overwhelmed you—it was relief. Relief that the unspoken feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long had finally found a voice. Relief that you weren’t alone in this freefall of emotions.

Namjoon’s hands still cradled your face, his thumbs brushing circles along your cheekbones like he could soothe all the hurt away. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in an act so tender that it sent another wave of tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I regret…” He hesitated, his hands angled your face carefully, “I regret not telling you sooner. Not being brave enough to—God, Y/N, I’ve loved you since forever, but I was always so scared. Scared that you’d pull away, that-”

But you never heard the end of it, because your lips were on his again, stopping him mid-sentence, sealing all those remaining words between you. Namjoon’s hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if he was trying to make up for all the lost time. The intensity of it all sent a spark through your chest, and when your breath caught, he deepened the kiss, his tongue moving against yours, the world outside completely fading away.

Each movement, each touch was a promise—of feelings so long buried, that suddenly burst to the surface. Everything melted away in that kiss. It was everything and nothing at once, a moment that felt like it could stretch on forever.

Each touch, every breath shared between kisses, sent shivers racing up and down your spine. His lips trailed away from yours for only a moment, long enough to press kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, always returning to your mouth again like you were magnetic. You lost yourself in him completely, in the way his thumb was curling just beneath the collar of your shirt, in the way he tilted his head for a deeper angle and the soft sound he made in the back of his throat when you pulled his lip between your teeth.

His touch, his scent, the way his hands moved with purpose yet a tenderness that was overwhelming—every sensation was overwhelming in the best way possible.

The kiss deepened once more, as if the air itself couldn’t fill the space between you, and all the words you’d both kept locked away for so long were exchanged in every press of your lips.

Namjoon’s hands moved to over your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer, and before you could realize, he turned you two around—your back pressing against the soft mattress of the bed. The sudden movement took you by surprise, but you didn’t protest. If anything, the new proximity only made your pulse quicken, the heat between you both intensifying as he leaned over you, his body hovering just above yours. His breath came in soft, uneven gasps, each one warm against your skin, as if the space between you both was no longer enough. His hands, once resting at your shoulders, now explored lower, tracing the curve of your waist before settling at the small of your back, drawing you closer with a gentle yet undeniable urgency, his hips slotting against yours.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself sink into the sensation of his hands on you, the warmth of his touch setting your skin ablaze. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, slipping beneath your sweater and gradually pushing it higher, sending a shiver down your spine. Instinctively, you arched into him—craving more, needing more.

Namjoon’s lips brushed against your forehead, his voice barely a whisper as he said your name.

“Hmm?” you murmured.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Say it back.”

His voice was low, a mix of vulnerability and quiet demand, a plea you just couldn’t ignore.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and your heart swelled with certainty. You reached up, cupping his face gently, your voice steady as you said,

“I love you, Namjoon. I love you too.”

Namjoon’s gaze never left yours, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of desire and tenderness. His lips parted slightly as though to speak, but instead, he closed the distance between you two, kissing you again. His kiss was the perfect answer.

Your fingers knotted in his hair, pulling him closer, and you returned his kisses with equal fervour. A feverish dance, tongues entwined in a desperate attempt to satiate the hunger that gnawed at your very souls.

You ran your hands up the sides of his body, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, memorizing the contours of him as if you could pull all of him into you. Namjoon groaned softly at the sensation, his hands tightening their hold on you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling yours in a caress that left you breathless.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, pressing over the marks already blooming on your neck, each press searing, sending sparks of need racing through your veins.

He nipped and sucked at your sensitive skin, leaving a few new hickeys as he made his way down to your collarbone. You gasped, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as you arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him. The heat between you was palpable, a living, breathing thing that threatened to consume you both.

As if sensing your need, Namjoon leaned back down, capturing your mouth back in a heated kiss. His lips moving against yours, coaxing you open, and you wilfully let him in. You always let him. His tongue slid against yours, stroking, tasting, and you whimpered, clutching onto him.

He swallowed the sound, one hand sliding down your thigh, hooking behind your knee. He dragged your leg over his hip, pressing your core right against his straining erection, and you gasped, breaking the kiss.

 “God, I want you,” he groaned, rocking against you, his hands stroking up your sides to cup your breasts. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “I’ve imagined this a thousand times, but nothing compares to the real thing.”

 “I want you too,” you confessed. “God, so much” Your breath hitched as his lips found the curve of your throat, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing the spot with a slow kiss. Heat coiled in your stomach, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, as if you could fuse yourself to him completely. “I need you, Namjoon.”

But just as his hands moved to the button of your jeans, your senses caught up with you. You suddenly became acutely aware of everything—the fact that this was real, no more unrequited feelings, no more hiding. But just as glaring was the truth that his mother was down the hall. The realization hit you like a cold wave, shaking you, and a wave of panic surged through your chest.

“But baby, there is no way I’m fucking you at your parents’ house,” you said, your voice a soft reprimand, edged with your own personal frustration.

Namjoon groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he breathed in your scent. “You’re killing me,” he murmured.

You chuckled, the sound warm and breathless, threading your fingers through his hair as he groaned against your shoulder. “I’m saving you from potential lifelong humiliation,” you teased, nudging his cheek with your nose.

Namjoon exhaled heavily, his lips grazing your collarbone one last time before he pulled back, flopping onto his back beside you with a frustrated sigh. “You’re right,” he admitted begrudgingly, rubbing a hand down his face. “But damn it woman … you make it really hard to think rationally.”

You turned on your side, propping yourself up on one elbow as you gazed down at him, taking in the way his chest rose and fell, the way his lips were still kiss-swollen and impossibly tempting, the way his eyes—dark and filled with something deeper than just lust—stayed locked on you.

A slow smile curled at your lips as you leaned down, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I promise, when the time is right…” Your fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns on his chest, just beneath the fabric of his shirt. “I won’t make you wait a second longer.”

Namjoon groaned again, rolling over to bury his face in the crook of your neck as you giggled. “You’re really going to make me suffer, aren’t you?” he muttered against your skin, kissing it softly after.

You grinned, letting your fingers comb gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Just let me hold you a little longer.”

Namjoon’s voice was a low, almost pleading whisper as he adjusted, shifting until he was holding you tighter, his arms enveloping you in a warmth that made everything else fade away. That made all the waiting and suffering feel like it was worth it.

 That made you start to question your own rule—because you’ve just told this man there would be no sex tonight and yet there wasn’t a single trace of frustration or regret on his face. Just quiet devotion, steady and sure, like holding you was enough.

 His hand splayed across your back, pressing you firmly against him. You melted into his embrace, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It was a comfort, a steady rhythm that calmed the fervour between you. His fingers lightly traced circles on your back, soothing you with every movement.

A small smile tugged at your lips as your fingers idly traced patterns over his skin. “Are you always this romantic?” you murmured, your voice laced with amusement.

Namjoon chuckled, his chest vibrating against yours “I’ve had years to practice patience with you,” he said, his tone filled with fondness, before he took on that familiar teasing expression. “And when we get home,” he leaned in close to your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he whispered, “I’m fucking you against every single flat surface we find.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your heart racing at the challenge in his tone. His expression was playful yet intense, that familiar mischievous spark lighting up his features, making those dimples seem like anything but innocent.

“You better watch yourself, Mr. Kim,” you said, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “I’ve been known to bite back.”

Namjoon’s grin widened as his hands sliding down your hips, fingers pressing into your skin before giving them a firm squeeze. In one fluid motion, he pulled you up slightly, adjusting your position—just enough for you to feel the hard imprint of his cock against you.

 “I’m counting on it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a brief but heated kiss.

“Namjoon…”

His name left your lips in a breathy whisper, and Namjoon’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly, his fingers pressing into your hips like he was grounding himself—or maybe like he was trying to keep himself from losing all control.

“Yeah?” he prompted, his voice lower now, rougher, his lips hovering just over yours.

You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you looked up at him, taking in the way his pupils had blown wide, the way his chest moved with each heavy breath, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, like he was trying to steady himself—like he was barely holding on. You had always known Namjoon was dangerous in a hundred different ways, but this? The way he looked at you.

This was something else entirely.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you slid your hands up his chest, resting them over his racing heartbeat. “I think you might be a little obsessed with me,” you teased, arching a brow.

Namjoon exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he let out a low chuckle. “You’re just now figuring that out?” he mused, his thumb stroking absentminded circles against your skin. Then, his expression shifted, something softer blooming beneath the heat in his gaze. “You have no idea.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity in his tone, at the weight of his words, and suddenly, the teasing faded from your mind entirely. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw as you murmured, “Tell me,” the words barely audible, even to your own ears. “Tell me what you want.”

Namjoon’s eyes darkened, his pupils blown so wide that for a moment, they hid the hazel entirely.

“I want to feel every inch of you” he murmured, his voice rough. “I want to taste you, touch you, tease you. I want feel you trembling in my hands.” You shivered, despite the warmth of his embrace, a small gasp escaping your lips at his words.

His smile was immediate—wicked and knowing—as his hand slid under your shirt, fingers tracing your spine with deliberate slowness, sending sparks dancing beneath your skin.

“You want that, don’t you?” His voice was nothing more than a low, sinful whisper that completely ruined your panties.

 “Want me to take you apart, baby girl?”

The words settled deep in your core, a slow burn spreading through your veins, igniting something primal. Your fingers curled against his jaw, your breath hitching as his hand continued its slow, torturous exploration beneath your shirt, carefully tracing the outline of your bra.

“Say it,” he teased, his lips brushing against yours, teasing but never quite closing the distance. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Namjoon…” you breathed, but he was quick to assure you.

“I’ll behave. Don’t you worry.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, heat pooling low in your stomach as you swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want it.”

His responding groan was deep, guttural, vibrating through your entire body as his grip on you tightened. In one smooth motion, he rolled, pinning you beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his thigh sliding between yours.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw, past the sensitive spot below your ear, down the column of your throat. “Now let me make you feel good.”

“Namjoon!” you tried, but you heard him hush you before his tongue flicked over your pulse point, his teeth scraping lightly before he sucked, drawing a soft whimper from your lips. His hand slid higher, pushing your shirt up, exposing more of your skin to the cool air as his lips followed the path his fingers had blazed.

“Namjoon-” His name was half a gasp, half a plea, your hands flying to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if it was the only thing anchoring you.

“Hold that thought,” he murmured, suddenly pulling back. The warmth of his body vanished as he sat up, pushing himself off the bed.

You blinked up at him, dazed and breathless. For a second, you thought he was walking away, and your protest was already forming—until you saw him stride toward the door.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

Then you heard it. The soft click of the door’s lock sliding into place.

“Really?”

He smirked, sliding a knee back onto the mattress, his hands gripping your ankles and slowly dragging you toward him. “I’m not taking any chances,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement and something deeper.

The heat in his gaze was enough to make your breath hitch, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little more. “And here I thought you had some self-control”

Namjoon’s hands slid up your legs, his fingers kneading into your thighs as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your lips. “Baby,” he rasped, tilting his head slightly. “I locked that door because I have self-control. Otherwise, you’d already be a mess underneath me.”

“Joonie,” you groan, the bright red blush burning your face as you cover your face with your arms.

Namjoon chuckled softly at the sight of you hiding behind your arms, his hands gently pulling them away to reveal the rosy flush spreading across your cheeks. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as his breath stirred the hairs on your neck.

“Tell me, how set are you on that rule of yours?” His voice was low, a teasing growl that sent a hot shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the rapid beat of your heart. His proximity was intoxicating, and despite the rules you’d set, the temptation to surrender to him was almost overwhelming.

You met his gaze, eyes filled with a mix of defiance and desire. “I… I meant it,” you murmured, your voice a little shaky despite your attempt at sounding firm. “I’m not fucking you tonight.”

Namjoon’s lips quirked into a smile, though it was anything but innocent. “I know that.” His fingers danced along your skin, barely touching, just enough to make you ache for more. “But I can touch you right?” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear again.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were unsure of what to say, before:

“We have to be quiet.”

Namjoon’s smile grew, but there was a sharpness to it now, a hint of challenge. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, “Easy.”

His hand moved lower, fingertips skimming over your waist, leaving goosebumps in their wake, his touch light yet electrifying. The contrast between his playful demeanour and the raw desire in his eyes made your pulse race.

You bit your lip, trying to hold onto your resolve, but the temptation of his touch, his proximity, was slowly unravelling you. “You’re making this harder,” you managed, though it was more of a breathless confession than a statement of resistance.

Namjoon’s eyes flicked up to yours, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to send heat pooling in your belly. “I haven’t even started yet,” he murmured, his breath hot against your lips. “But I’ll make sure you’re quiet.”

You shivered at his words, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. His proximity, the heat of his breath on your skin, and the way his hands were moving lower, this time unbuttoning your jeans, had you teetering on the edge.

“Namjoon...” you whispered, voice shaky, but his fingers moved to the zipper, steady and sure, making it impossible to think clearly.

“Shh…” he hushed you softly. “I’ve got you.”

The simple reassurance sent a rush of heat through your chest, your heart pounding in your ears.

With practiced ease, his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your abdomen. You let out a gasp, your eyes fluttering closed as you savored the sensation. Namjoon’s hands moved lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your pants. He squeezed gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You have such a nice ass,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

A quick giggle escapes your lips, your eyes meeting his. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, your voice just as low and breathless. He grinned, his fingers moving to the hem of your pants. With slow, deliberate movements, he began to slide them down your legs, revealing the thin fabric of your lacy underwear underneath.

 You felt a rush of embarrassment at the sight of your arousal seeping through the fabric, but Namjoon didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying it. His fingers deliberately pushing your thighs apart once your jeans were discarded off somewhere behind him, taking his time to admire you.

“Did I ever tell you you’re beautiful?” You tried to respond, but it came out as a gasp as his fingers slid higher, teasing the lacy edge of your panties. He didn’t push them down, just tracing the material, letting you feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric. Your fingers curled into the sheets, trying to anchor yourself in the sensation, but your body was reacting on its own, pushing further against him

His fingers moved, testing, teasing, until you’re squirming under him. “Namjoon,” you whine, your hands fisting in the sheets.

But he just smirks, “So impatient,” he teases, his hands sliding further up, brushing over your wet core through the fabric, his fingers catching over your clit and making you gasp breathlessly.

“I’ve barely started and you’re already desperate for me.” His words send a pulse of heat through you and you bite your lip hard, fighting back a moan. He chuckles, his fingers pushing against your entrance as if he wasn’t testing your patience already.

 “Shh, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire, mock-hushing you before pushing your panties aside, his fingers sliding through the slick heat gathering there. “Fuck. You’re so wet for me already,” the hot exhale of his breath making you clench around nothing.

 He dragged his fingertips through your wetness, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch that had you writhing beneath him again.

“Please...” Your fingers scrabbled uselessly at his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and dragging him closer. “Namjoon, my love...”

He silenced your plea with a searing kiss, tongue delving past your lips as he finally breached you with one long finger. Your moan swallowed by his mouth, hips lifting to take him deeper. The stretch was exquisite, pleasure spiking through you at the curl of his finger, quickly finding that spot inside that made you see stars.

Namjoon swallowed each and every needy sound spilling from your lips, his mouth devouring yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. He pushed another finger in, fucking you slowly, maddeningly, the wet squelch of your arousal obscene and too loud in the quiet room, mixing perfectly with your muffled moans.

You were lost to sensation, a writhing mess beneath his ministrations. Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders, his hair, any resolve you could find. He held you down with his weight, drinking down every whimper and gasp his fingers drew from you. His rhythm perfect, each push making you feel lightheaded, the pads of his fingers brushing against that spongey spot, making your keen in pleasure.

Your nails raked down his back at the same moment his thumb found your clit, and you sob into his mouth, orgasm cresting hard and fast, the most delightful buzz settling at the base of your spine. Namjoon smothered your cries, taking everything, you gave him, fingers never ceasing their relentless rhythm. His thumb was a steady pressure on your clit, drawing out your climax until you were boneless and shiver beneath him, your whole body convulsing.

Only then did he pull back, lips red and slick with saliva, a knowing smirk playing over them as he took in your dazed, sated expression. “I knew you’d be a good girl for me,” he purred, fingers still toying with your over-sensitive flesh, drawing out a weak whimper from you

“Nam- A-Ahm...” you groan, thighs snapping shut around his hand, trapping it in place. His amused chuckle vibrated against your skin.

As your breathing slowly evened out, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Think you can let go of my hand now?”

You were a flushed, trembling mess, your eyes still hazy as you gave a small, stubborn shake of your head. “Mmm… no.”

Namjoon huffed a quiet laugh, his free hand brushing your hair back from your face. “And why not?”

“You’ll tease me again.”

His grin was all mischief. “Smart girl.”

Namjoon’s grin didn’t waver as he shifted slightly, his trapped hand flexing against your thigh. “And yet,” he mused, voice low and knowing, “you’re still holding me there. Almost like… you want me to keep teasing you.”

You pouted, pressing your legs together even tighter, as if that would stop him, just a second before you forced yourself to let go. “Give me 5 minutes.”

“Isn’t that the guy’s line?”

You groaned, turning your face into the pillow to hide your growing smile. “Shut up,” you mumbled, your voice muffled but still laced with lingering pleasure.

Namjoon chuckled, clearly pleased with himself, and you could feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on you. He shifted effortlessly, hover over you, his free hand smoothing over your thigh in slow, absentminded strokes, a quiet reminder he wasn’t done with you. Or maybe, just maybe, he was as desperate as you were. Despite the tension building between you both, he still focused entirely on you—your needs—even though you hadn’t given him any release yet. It was as if his sole concern was your pleasure.

Still, he wore a look that told you he would willingly let you ruin him, and then thank you afterwards.

You peek your head up, meeting his heated gaze through hooded eyes, a mischievous glint in your expression. A teasing smile tugs at your kiss-bruised lips. “Take your shirt off,” you purr, voice low and sultry.

Namjoon’s smirk deepens at the unexpectedly bold request, and the look in his eyes suggests he’s more than willing to comply. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, “Bossy.” His voice was thick with amusement, but there was no hesitation in his movements.

He sat back, lifting his arms to pull the fabric over his head with smooth, practiced ease. The moment his shirt hit the floor, you couldn’t help but take in the way the muscles in his chest and arms shifted as he moved. The sight of him, bare and exposed in front of you, sent a wave of heat coursing through your body, pooling between your thighs.

You swallowed, your breath catching at the intensity of his gaze as he leaned back over you, his hands now skimming over your body, tracing the outline of your form. “Better?” he asked, his voice low, each word thick with a mix of flirtatious edge and raw, aching need.

You bit your lip, feeling the pulse of your desire as you nod slowly. “Much better.” Your hands tentatively explore the newly exposed skin of his chest, mapping the hard planes and dips of muscle. A surge of gratitude washes over you as you realize the band-aid Namjoon had chosen for your cut now allows you to glide your fingertips over his heated skin without restraint.

Namjoon watches you through half-lidded eyes, his lips parting on a soft exhale as your fingertips brush over a sensitive spot. He catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, voice rough with want.

“I haven’t even started yet.” You tease, trailing your fingers down his chest to his stomach, following the defined V of his muscles down to the waistband of his sweatpants, where your fingers hook in the elastic. Namjoon’s sharp inhale was more than enough encouragement. You trace the waistband of his pajama pants, feeling him shift under your touch, before dipping your hand beneath the fabric to wrap your fingers around his length. Suddenly feeling even more grateful that it wasn’t your dominant hand that had been injured today.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Fuck is right. Damn it. You were totally on track—he was massive.

He was hot, silk over flame, and so very big in your hand. You stroked him base to tip, more to size him up, but instead marveling at the way he stirred against your palm.

Namjoon groaned, head falling back against the pillow, hips canting forward. “Oh baby”

You shivered at the guttural sound, circling your hand around him, almost getting your fingers to meet.

His cock twitched in your hold, a drop of precum welling at the head. You thumb the slit, smearing his precum down his length, before pulling your hand up to spit on it.

“God, you’ll kill me.”

You met his gaze through your lashes, quickly returning to your task, pumping him with slow, teasing strokes. Your free hand came up to cup his heavy balls, rolling them in your palm.

He cursed under his breath, hips rocking into your grip.

Namjoon’s hands fisted in the sheets on either side of you, breathy groans spilling from his lips as he softly guided your ministrations, showing you how he liked to be touched. Namjoon’s eyes stay locked on yours, even as they glaze over with pleasure. One of his hands finds your hip, gripping tightly as he guides your movements. “Don’t stop,” he pleads, voice strangled. “I’m close.”

You doubled your efforts, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, giving his length a squeeze, before running your thumb over his head, teasing the slit.  

Namjoon is practically panting now, his face etched with strain as he chases his release.

“Come on,” you whisper, your other hand joining the first, one hand around the base, the other cupping his heavy balls. “Let go. I want to feel you.” He barely has a chance to register your words before he’s coming with a low groan, his head burying in your neck and biting hard against your shoulder to try and keep quiet, which in turn makes you gasp. Still, you stroke him through it, milking every last drop until he’s a boneless, sated mess, his full weight crushing you.  “Fuck, babe,” he praises breathlessly, shooting you a lazy, satisfied smile. “You’re amazing.” He tugs you up, capturing your lips in a languid kiss. You melt into him, your hand still wrapped around his spent cock, enjoying the little aftershocks that continue to make him twitch.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you murmur against his lips, feeling your heart swell.

Because despite the pleasure, the heat, this—this moment right here, of feeling utterly connected—that’s what you craved.

Namjoon pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft. “I love you,” he admits quietly, like it’s just a simple fact. Like you both haven’t been fighting it for year.

You know your eyes are shining, but you don’t care. “I love you too.” And then he’s kissing you again, and you let him sweep you up in the feeling, in the moment. because right now, right here, tangled in his arms and the sheets of his childhood bedroom is exactly where you’re meant to be.

After a few lazy minutes, Namjoon shifts, prompting you to release him. You bring your fingers to your mouth, languidly licking them clean as a low moan escapes you, savouring the salty essence of him that explodes across your tongue.

“Fuck. Love, don’t do that. You’ll get me hard again.” He chuckles breathlessly, dropping light kisses across your face. “As much as I want to go for round two, I think we both could use a shower first”

Namjoon slides out of bed, extending his hand toward you with a playful grin. “Come with me? I’ll even wash your back.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him sceptically. “That shower is tiny, and in case you didn’t know, you’re huge.”

Namjoon laughs, clearly unfazed by your complaints. “I’ll make it work,” he says with a wink, his grin widening. He gave your hand a gentle tug, urging you to follow. “Besides, I’m pretty good at fitting into tight spaces.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “You’re impossible.”

He smirks, pulling you up gently by the hand. “Come on, let me prove you wrong. Besides, I think we both could use a little water to cool down.” His voice softens, a hint of seriousness underlying the playful tone.

You give in, following him with a small sigh, knowing very well that that you willingly played right into his plan.

[thebigbadbatswife]

I Don't Know How It Gets Better Than This

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader Stay Like This Forever Masterlist

Warnings - 18+ ONLY, Explicit sexual content, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Multiple orgasms, Porn with feelings, Elements of Soft Dom!Bruce Wayne and praise kink, Established relationship, Older man/Younger woman, Age Gap, Tooth-rotting fluff, Humour, Valentine's Day

Summary - Bruce surprises you the best Valentine’s Day you’ve ever had.

A/N - A day late, but it's here! As promised! Also, as with all fics within this 'verse, this is a complete stand alone and doesn't require any thing else to be read to be enjoyed <3

Word Count - 4.7k

You frown as you get into the back of the car that’s waiting for you, just outside of the airport. Your eyes are glued to the bright screen of your phone as you fumble with the seatbelt. 

It’s been ten hours since your last text to Bruce and he hasn’t even read it yet. 

Is he upset with you? It’s your first Valentines as a couple and you haven’t been able to spend the day together because work has kept you away. It’s a couple hours from midnight now and you have only just got back to Gotham. 

Should you call him? Not replying to your text is very out of character of Bruce. Even when he’s been upset in the past, he’s always been upfront about it with you about it. For him to suddenly change… 

Something else is going on, so you decide that you are going to give him a call. The line doesn’t even ring. Instead you’re sent directly to his voicemail. 

Now you are starting to get worried about him.

“Everything alright, Miss…?” your driver, Tom, asks you. He’s been your driver for the longest time and he’s one of the few people that you know you can trust. 

“Bruce hasn’t replied to my text and his phone went straight to voicemail,” you reply.

“Shall I drive you to Wayne Manor instead?” 

You shake your head as you scroll through your contact list. “No, my apartment is fine. I’m going to call Alfred. He might know what’s going on.”

“Of course.” 

You bring your phone back up to your ear as the line rings. Unconsciously, your leg starts to bounce as you wait for an answer. After the third ring, someone picks up the phone.

“Hello?” Alfred’s voice comes over the phone.

“Alfred! Thank goodness, I’m so sorry. I know it’s really late. I just. Bruce, he isn’t answering my texts and his phone went straight to voicemail.”

“Master Bruce left the Manor a few hours ago. Oh my, it would seem that he’s left his phone here.”

You laugh softly, relief rushing through you. “Of course he has. Okay, that’s good to know. Get him to call me when you see him next?” 

“I will see that he does. Have a good night Miss…” 

“Goodnight Alfred.”

You set your phone into your lap and sigh. He’s not upset with you, like you had been panicking about. He just forgot about his phone. Though it isn’t like him to be so absentminded. You remember him mentioning being concerned about a killer by the name of Calendar Man, but Alfred hadn’t mentioned Bruce going out tonight in his cape and cowl. And you’re sure that he would have. 

What was he doing tonight?

As the car drives through the streets of Gotham, you find your gaze focusing on the rooftops. Ever since you figured out what it is that your boyfriend does at night, you find your focus often drawn above you. Wondering if you’ll catch a glimpse of him. 

The drive from the airport to your apartment isn’t super long, thankfully. Before you know it, you’re climbing out of the car, accepting your bag from Tom and thanking him and making your way up to your apartment.

When you open the door to your apartment the first thing that you notice is the rose petals on the floor. The next thing you notice is all of the candles, casting a golden glow over your home. 

The biggest smile that you’ve ever had makes its way onto your face as you take in the sight of what Bruce has done. It’s no wonder to you now why he forgot about his phone. He was busy setting all of this up for you. 

You shut the door behind you, making sure to lock and chain it, and set your bag down onto the floor, alongside your suitcase.

Following the rose petals, they lead you to the dining room. The table is set. There’s a single flower vase with a red rose sitting inside of it and two empty wine glasses, waiting to be filled. The bottle of wine that sits next to them looks like it might have some dust on it, but it’s hard to tell in the candlelight. 

In the centre of it all, standing there and waiting for you, is Bruce. Looking like the picture of perfection. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says as he approaches you. His hand comes to rest on your hip as he pulls you toward him, which you protest against.

“Don’t! I need a shower; I’m all gross from the plane,” you complain as you push against him.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t care. I want to kiss my girl.” 

You give in and let him pull you flush against his body. He kisses you in that soft and sweet way that always sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach as your heart skips. You grip his suit jacket as you kiss him back. Your tongue gently prods at his bottom lip, seeking more from him, which Bruce gladly gives you. 

You pull away first, your smile immediately returning.  “You didn’t have to do all this, baby,” you say softly.

“Of course I did. You deserve to have a nice Valentines,” he replies. 

His words shouldn’t hit like they do, but you can feel yourself getting choked up. You haven’t had a great track record when it comes to past relationships. Something that Bruce keeps doing his best to make up for. Hiding your face away from him, you halfheartedly shove against his chest again.

“Stop, you’re going to make me cry.”

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, hugging you tightly. “So long as they’re happy tears. That’s all I’m going to accept tonight.”

You laugh and you look up at him. Now he’s looking at you in that way that sends your heart haywire, warmth blooming in your chest. His thumb swipes away a tear that’s slowly making its way down your cheek.

“Dinner still needs a little bit longer, so why don’t you go and take that shower?”

“Okay.” 

He gives you one more kiss, drawing a soft noise from you before he finally lets you go. You pause when you reach the doorway and look back at him. There is one thing that has been nagging at you ever since you walked through the door and saw the petals.

“How’d you know that I would be back in time?” 

He shrugs. “Because I’m Batman.”

You shake your head and laugh. “That’s the answer you’re really going for?”

“It hasn’t failed me yet. Now, go, shower! Or dinner will be ready and cold before you get out.”

“Alright, alright! I’m going!” 

The hot water feels great as it cascades over your body. After the long day that you’ve had, it’s very much needed. A part of you almost expects Bruce to join you, but you’re not disappointed when he doesn’t. You’d prefer that he keeps his eyes on dinner and not burn your apartment down because he’s busy having sex with you.

Besides, you’re sure that there will be plenty of that after dinner. 

You switch the water off and wrap a towel around your body. When you enter your bedroom, you find a dress laid out on your bed, waiting for you. It’s in your favourite colour and there’s a matching set of heels, sitting in an opened shoe box. As well as that there’s a couple of velvet jewellery cases. 

He didn’t. 

You pick up the smaller case and open it. Inside are a pair of diamond and sapphire earrings. You’re already sure that, in the bigger case, is a matching necklace. 

Even though you’ve told him he doesn’t have to, Bruce does love to buy you gifts. Though, if this is what he’s buying you for Valentine’s Day, you can’t imagine what he might do for your birthday.

Once you’re dry and dressed, you look at yourself in the mirror. Your makeup doesn’t do your outfit justice. It’s simpler than what you would have normally done, but you don’t have the time right now. 

A delicious scent is wafting into your bedroom, from the kitchen, and it’s making your stomach growl. 

If Bruce notices your toned down makeup, he doesn’t say a thing as you re-enter the dining room. His eyes take in the sight of you as he swallows thickly. Honestly, you’re convinced you could walk in wearing a burlap sack and he would still look at you the exact same way.

He gets up from his seat and walks over to you again.

“Look at you. Absolutely beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to buy me all of this.”

“I know, but you deserve to be spoiled. And I will take every chance I get to do exactly that.” 

The moment is completely ruined by your stomach as it growls. Bruce chuckles and starts to lead you toward the table.

“Come on, I made your favourite.”

Once you’ve taken a seat, he pushes your chair in before taking his own seat. Your table isn’t huge like the one back at Wayne Manor. So you’re not miles from each other as he sits opposite of you. In fact, his knee presses against your own. 

The food looks amazing. The smell alone making your mouth watering as your stomach growls again. You tuck in immediately. Just as the first bite passes your lips, a moan leaves you. 

It tastes incredible. Of course, you expect nothing less from Bruce. He’s an excellent cook, when he has the time to dedicate to it. That being one of the things you learned early on, after the first night you had spent together.

The conversation between you two consists of Bruce asking about your day. Which you enthusiastically tell him about your new castmates and the script and how, for the first time in a long time, you’re actually excited about acting again. While you ask him about his biggest worry that he had mention, to which he tells you that Julian Day was caught earlier by the police. And both Arkham and Blackgate are quiet so there’s no worry about the Bat Signal pulling him away.��

He’s all yours.

When dinner’s finished, and you’ve got a couple of glasses of wine in your system, you decide to skip desert. Right now, all you want is Bruce.

From the dining room, you and Bruce move to the living room. Where he’s settled on the sofa with you straddling his lap as you make out. His tongue slides across your own, exploring every inch of your mouth. Meanwhile his hands remain high up on your waist, making no move to feel you up like you want him to.

It makes no sense to you considering that you can feel how hard he is. Even the smallest shift from you has him twitching in his pants. You decide to take things into your own hands.

From where your arms are wrapped around his neck, you slide a hand down his front, headed straight for his pants. Just before your finger tips come into contact with his belt, his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Am I not moving fast enough for you, princess?” he asks. The nickname sends a shiver down your spine, your body remembering all the things he’s done with you, and to you, after using it. 

You shake your head. “Not even close, babe.”

“I don’t want to rush things. Besides, I love kissing you and I haven’t been able to do it enough these last few weeks.” 

His words are sweet, making your cheeks heat up and warmth bloom throughout your body that isn’t due to the alcohol in your veins or your growing arousal. You kiss his jawline, following it toward his ear.

“There are other parts of me you can kiss, you know,” you whisper. 

“All in good time, sweet girl.”

Bruce directs your face back toward him so that he can resume kissing you. The hand that had hold of your wrist is now on the back of your back, keeping you right where he wants you. Meanwhile, the hand that’s on your waist starts to move away.

His hand slides down your side, coming down to rest on your thigh. Which he squeezes gently. As his tongue reenters your mouth, Bruce’s fingers slide beneath your dress, trailing up the inside of your thigh. All of your focus is now on his hand. The feeling of his calloused finger tips against your soft, smooth skin sends goosebumps erupting across your skin. 

The closer he gets to where you want him most, the more you start to ache with need. Just before he reaches your panties, he starts to move away again, trailing his fingers back toward your knee.

You whine against his lips, frustration starting to build up inside of you. He was so close! So close to finally giving you what you wanted! Why’d he stop? Bruce simply smirks as he continues to run his fingers up and down your leg.

“You’re very needy tonight, princess,” he coos. “I’d better fix that, huh?”

“Please,” you whine.

Bruce shushes you softly. His fingers trail back up your legs, dragging them slowly along the inside of your leg. 

His touch remains featherlight, but your body still jolts when he finally pushes his fingers against your panties. Right where your clitoris is. Gently, he starts to rub you through the soaked fabric.

Even the lightest touch feels amazing, pleasure already thrumming through you. Your lips part as a breathy moan of his name leaves you.

“No wonder you’re so needy. You’re absolutely soaked, sweetheart.”

“It’s your fault,” you tell him. “You make me like this.”

He hums and nods in agreement. “I had better look after you then, hmmm?”

“Please.”

You expect him to either slide your panties to the side or rip them off of you completely, but he does neither. Instead he keeps touching you through them. The only thing he changes is that he starts to use his thumb instead of his fingers.

He kisses you again as he rubs circles against your clit, swallowing your moans. His free hand comes up from your waist and upwards to cup and grope your breasts through your dress. 

You roll your hips, chasing after your pleasure that’s building up way faster than you thought that it would. But it’s really no wonder with how well Bruce knows your body. Knowing exactly how to touch you, both the pressure and speed needed to get you to your climax.

“Fuck,” you gasp. There’s no doubt in your mind that, with how quickly you’re approaching your end, that it’s feeding his ego. 

“You going to be a good girl and come for me?” he asks. He applies some more pressure, his rubbing becoming more insistent. 

Your breath is now coming out in short puffs as you can feel the tension coiling inside of you more and more. You’re so close. So fucking close, if he just keeps touching you like that… 

Your fingers grip his suit jacket like it’s your lifeline as your body shakes. Bruce talks you through it. His words filled with encouragement and praise as your orgasm rocks through you. 

Just as it starts to become way too much for you, he pulls his hand away. Your forehead comes to rest against his shoulder, your body still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. He rubs your leg. Pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck and cheek, as you come down. 

“Always such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” 

You make a soft noise of agreement as your eyes close for a moment. Enjoying the feeling of the random patterns being traced and his lips on your skin. 

As your breathing calms down, you turn your head and capture his lips with your own again. At the same time, your hand trails back down his body. Following the exact same path as earlier.

He doesn’t stop you this time. You press your hand against the tent in his pants. A low groan leaves Bruce as you touch him. The sound making your pussy clench around nothing, sending another wave of arousal through you. 

Fuck, you need him inside of you.

“I think we should move this to the bedroom,” you suggest, pulling away. 

His eyes are dark, that steely blue of his iris a thin line against his pupil. While there is a light blush across his cheeks, which stands out a fair bit against his pale skin. 

“Definitely.”

Once he’s made sure your grip on him is secure, he stands up, bringing you with him. As he carries you toward the bedroom, you press kisses to his jaw and neck. Even going as far as to gently bite and suck on his neck, leaving behind a few lovebites in your wake. 

They’re in a rather visible spot, unless he wears a turtleneck. He, honestly, might just end up covering it up with the same makeup he uses to cover up the worst of the bruises he earns each night as Batman. Deep down, you hope that he doesn’t. You want him to show them off. Remind everyone that he’s all yours. 

Though, with how the media continues talking about you both, they likely don’t need it.

When you get to the bedroom, he sets you down. His hand quickly locates the zipper for your dress and, very slowly, he starts to pull it down. The action surprises you. You had expected him to rip it from you like he’s done to every other dress that he’s previously bought you. Bruce chuckles. 

“I love the way this dress looks on you far too much to ruin it just yet,” he says.

“Oh, I see. So I only get to keep dresses based on how you feel about them?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Do you want me to ruin it?”

“No! I’m just in mourning over the other ones.”

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they shine with amusement. He kisses the tip of your nose. “I will buy a replacement for each one I’ve ruined, okay? Now, come on.”

With your dress fully unzipped, he eases it off of your shoulders and lets it fall into a pile on the floor, around your feet. He helps you step out of it and pushes you back toward the bed.

“Lay down,” he instructs you. 

You dutifully follow his order, settling down onto the bed. As you get comfortable, Bruce strips himself of his suit jacket and shirt. You drag your eyes down his body. Appreciating how well toned his body is. The scars that litter his body add to his sexiness.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases you. 

“Only fair considering you keep ogling my boobs,” you reply. The entire time he’s been undressing his top half, his eyes have kept glancing over, landing on your chest more often than not. Not that you mind. You like it when he’s ogling your body. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t have some fun. 

“Well, I know your name now.”

His reply makes you shake your head as it prompts the memory of the night you first met him. Your dress had been completely scandalous that night, yet he had not looked at your chest once; claiming that doing so would be rude since he didn’t even know your name.

You cross your arms over your boobs, hiding them from his view, pretending to be annoyed with him. 

“That’s it. No more boobs for you.” 

Bruce chuckles as he shakes his head. He comes over to the bed and climbs onto the bed, draping his body over yours as he settles between your legs. He nuzzles his face against your neck. His kisses turn into light bites as he trails them down your skin. 

He nibbles at your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine and making it really hard to keep your act up. When he reaches where your arms are still crossed against your chest, he kisses along the length of one of your forearms before pulling away. 

Supporting himself with one hand, he uses the other to gently pry your arms apart. You don’t do anything to fight him on it, letting him open your arms and reveal your breasts to him again.

“There you are.”

He litters your chest with kisses and lovebites. Starting at the top of one and trailing his way to the underside. His bites turn into licks as he gets closer to your nipple. Bruce swirls his tongue around the hardened bud before finally taking it into his mouth and starts to suck. 

You arch your back into his touch, a short gasp, bordering on a moan, leaving you. Like the tentative boyfriend that he is, he doesn’t neglect your other breast, using his free hand to squeeze and play with it. He lavishes your chest in affection. Kissing, biting and licking his way to the other. Where he repeats his actions. 

“Bruce,” you moan softly as you run your fingers through his hair, messing it up. You shift your hips beneath him, grinding against his cock. Your actions draw a deep groan from him and he rocks his hips into yours. Letting you know that two can play at that game.

He only stops so that he can trail his kisses down your body, past your naval and toward your truly soaked panties. He presses a firm kiss to your clit through the fabric, making you sharply inhale. Bruce doesn’t stop there. Instead he kisses and bites the inside of both of your thighs.

You love the sight of him between your legs. Whether it’s him eating you out or kissing where your thighs are most sensitive. His hair messy and pupils blown wide. Even better if his chin and mouth is shiny with your slick. It’s one of the best sights in the world to you. You wouldn’t mind keeping him there forever.

Deft fingers undo the buckles of your heels before sliding them off of your feet and letting them fall to the floor with a thud. As soon as they’re gone, your panties quickly follow as Bruce rips the fabric, as if it’s paper, and gets rid of them. You don’t care. Anything is good as long as it gets him inside of you faster. The longer that he draws this out, the more desperate that you are starting to become.

The ache between your legs is becoming unbearable as your clitoris throbs, begging for more attention from him. You want, no, you need him inside of you. You need to feel him stretching you open as he fills you up, making you feel impossible full.

“Brucie?” you call softly. He looks up at you from where he’s been drinking in the sight of the mess that your arousal and earlier orgasm have made of you. 

“Yes, princess?” 

“I need to feel you inside of me. Please? Please, fuck me?” 

You don’t even need to beg him for it. The way that he’s looking at you and how hard his cock feels against you. He was likely about to make a move to finally start fucking you to begin with. You just begged before he could make that move. 

With a speed that would be impressive if he wasn’t Batman, Bruce removes the rest of his clothing. He drapes his body back over yours, lining himself up with your entrance. 

There was a time when you used to be nervous about his size; he’s the biggest you’ve ever had after all. Now though? Now you wrap a leg around his waist and pull him down for another kiss as he starts to slowly slide into you.

You’re so wet that he easily enters you, bottoming out immediately. He feels absolutely amazing. Stretching your pussy and filling you up exactly the way that you want him to. Your head falls backwards, onto the pillow, as you moan.

“That feels better, doesn’t it, princess?” he coos softly. He’s stilled, letting you adjust to his size, like he always does. 

“Yes,” you reply, along with a nod. It really does. It’s insane how good he makes you feel.

As soon as you give him the go ahead to move, he does. Slowly he pulls out of you, leaving only the tip inside, before pushing back in. Each time he makes sure he’s hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you, drawing more moans from you.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Let me hear you,” he murmurs. He’s back to nuzzling and kissing your neck and jaw.

You could stay here, in this moment, forever. Your  bodies tangled up together, joined as one. Bruce slowly fucking you as his fingers played with your clit. 

Tonight has been something like you might read in some romance novel or see in some movie. At the same time they all paled in comparison. The real thing always being better.

Bringing your hands to his shoulders and push lightly. If Bruce didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t, but he follows your lead. Flipping your positions so that you are now on top. 

A deep groan leaves him as you start to bounce on his cock, your hands flat against his chest to support yourself. His hands are on your thighs, stroking them with his thumbs as he watches you ride him.

“Look at you. You look absolutely amazing sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained as he speaks. Much like earlier, his eyes are trained on your boobs, which bounce with each roll of your hips, along with the jewels around your neck. “You always look so good riding my cock.”

You laugh softly, which quickly turns into a moan. You can feel yourself getting close again. Your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his cock while the coil inside of you grows tighter and tighter. Bruce is getting close as well. While before he was holding back his moans, wanting to hear you instead, he’s growing more vocal as he starts to thrust up into you.

His thumb returns to your clit, sending you tumbling over the edge. You cry his name as your pussy clamps down onto him. Bruce falls over that edge with you, the way your squeezing him making it impossible for him not to, and he comes deep inside of you.

Boneless and spent, it’s easy for him to get you to lay on his chest. Both of you panting hard and becoming the only sound that can now be heard in the bedroom.

The feeling of him running random patterns against your back and the steady beating of his heart in your ear, soothes you. Almost sending you straight to sleep. It is rather late at night and you were previously on a long flight. You’re tired.

Before you can, you pull away from Bruce, muttering that you need the bathroom when he goes to stop you.

While you're in there, you make sure to remove your makeup and the expensive jewels he bought you, settling them back into their cases.

When you’ve finished up and re-enter the bedroom you come back to Bruce waiting for you with a glass of water and a slice of the cheesecake that had originally been for desert.

Grateful, you accept the glass and take a sip, before settling onto his lap like he wants you to. Bruce offers you a bite of the cheesecake which, again, you accept, groaning at the rich taste of it.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks you, as if the answer isn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“Tonight was perfect, Bruce. Thank you.”

“Anything for my girl,” he tells you. The kiss is soft and sweet; you smile into it. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

There really aren’t enough words in the world for you to describe or tell him how much you love him. Something tells you that it’s the same for him as well.

The cheesecake slice is shared between the two of you. He continues to feed you each bite. Once the plate is empty, he sets it down the nightstand. Bruce moves you both down the bed, getting you settled against his chest and pulls the covers up over you both.

You snuggle against him, your focus returning to his heartbeat as you let your eyes close this time and fall fast asleep, in the arms of your lover.

You don’t know how life can get much better than this.

[janicho88]

Know When To Let Go Part 1

Pairing- Dean, x Female!Reader. 

Word count- 3,889

Warnings- A lot of ANGST, Dean is a bit of jerk, fighting,

Summary- You almost lost Dean to a heart attack, now after one phone call there is another threat from the past that could come between you two.

A/N-I know this isn't one of my ongoing series, but this has been in my drafts for years. The first 2 parts are a rewrite of the Route 66 episode. I'm trying to get back into writing, I promise. It's been so long since I've posted, I'm not even sure what to use for a taglist so I'm going off the last Forever tag list. If you would like to be removed let me know. Not Beta'd, all mistakes are mine

Sitting in the back of Baby, you think back on this last week, it was one of the worst of your life.  During the last hunt Dean had been electrocuted which led to him having a heart attack.  Doctors didn’t give him much time, you and Sam worked like crazy looking for some way to save him.  Finally, Sam found a faith healer, which turned into another case on its own.  Now, Dean was in the motel room saying goodbye to the chick he met on this job.  Sam was kind enough to bring her back to talk to Dean.  No, you weren’t jealous at all, but does he seriously have to meet a girl in every town you stop in?

Your parents had been hunters and would drop you off at Bobby’s, which is where you met Sam and Dean as kids. Dean was a year older, and had taken you under his wing.  When you were twelve, your parents never made it back from a hunt.  You lived with Bobby until you turned 18, then you started hunting with the Winchester instead of researching at Bobby’s. Sam was like a little brother to you, even if he shot up taller than all of you.  Dean was your best friend and as you grew up, he was the man who stole your heart.  You never saw him sharing those feelings so you kept them bottled up.  This left you standing by and watching, the constant hookups and flirting breaking your heart a little more each time.  Sam has known since you were kids there was something between you and Dean, and often pushes you to tell his brother.  You could never bring yourself to do it, and in turn, lose Dean altogether.  

You were there for Dean through everything, the rough hunts, Sam leaving for Stanford, fights with his dad, then John disappearing a few months ago which led to picking up Sam who then lost Jess.  You couldn’t imagine what losing Dean last week would have done to you.  When he was in the hospital, you came close to telling him how you felt when he was holding you next to him in the tiny hospital bed.  The two of you had gotten fairly close over the last case, but once again someone else had caught his eye. 

The three of you stop at a gas station when Dean gets a phone call and walks off.  Sam is standing next to the car looking over a map to plan your route to Pennsylvania, where your next case is. Dean starts heading back to the car putting his phone away.  

“I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east of here.  We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought,” Sam calls out.

Dean looks out over the car before turning to the two of you, “Problem is, we’re not going to Pennsylvania”

You and Sam look at each other before looking at Dean.  “Where are we going then?” You ask.

“I got a call from an, uh, old friend.  Her father was killed last night, thinks it might be our kind of thing.”

“What? Who’s the friend?” Sam wanted to know.

“Listen, trust me on this, she never woulda called, never, if she didn’t need us.”

There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, “who is the friend Dean?” He just ignores you and hops in the car.

As you were driving Sam again tries to get Dean to tell him who the old friend is.  You are headed to Mississippi, which gives you a pretty good idea of who this friend is and you are livid. 

Dean finally says the name you are dreading, Cassie.  You had been traveling with Dean when he met her in Ohio, and they had gone out for a few weeks.  You didn’t like her then and you really didn’t like her the night Dean came back to the hotel drunk and heartbroken because she ended things.  She was a stuck up snob, she absolutely crushed Dean. 

“She actually had the nerve to call you and ask for help?” you exclaim. Unfeaking believable, and apparently Dean is still pretending he can’t hear you.

“You never mentioned her before,” Sam is telling Dean.

“Really?” When Sam just looks at him Dean continues, “ Yeah, we went out.”

“Like more than one night?  You actually dated somebody?”

“What are you not getting here?  Dad, Y/N, and I were working a job in Ohio, she was in college.  

We went out for a couple of weeks.”

“What happened between you guys?”

“Drop it Sam,”  you really didn’t want to dig up this part of the past.

“Was there more going on?” The dense man kept pushing.

“Yeah, they went out. She was a bitch, they broke up, it broke his heart, and I had to fix her mess.”

“Knock it off, Y/N.  That was years ago, and in the past.”  Now he acknowledges you, just to  defend her.  He couldn’t still have feelings for her could he?

“Okay.  So I’m sorry about her dad, but why would she call you if he was in a car accident?  Not really our kinda thing?” It took Sam a minute, “wait, does she know what we do?”  Dean didn’t answer staring ahead. “Dude, you didn’t?”

“He actually told the bitch what we really do, Sam.”

“Watch it Y/N.” Dean gives you a glare through the rearview mirror, and you give one right back.   

Sam looks at you curiously. You aren’t usually one for hate unless they deserve it. 

“Wait. You told her. You told her our secret! Our big family number one rule, we do what we do and we shut up about it.  I never said a word about it to Jess for over a year and a half, instead I lied to her. But you tell some girl you only knew a few weeks, everything.”  Dean still didn’t answer, just looking straight ahead.  “Dean!” 

“Yeah, looks like.”  He just pushed down on the accelerator ignoring Sam’s bitchface.

“Witch, didn’t deserve to know anything,”  you muttered under your breath.  Judging by the glare Dean sends back he still heard you.

There isn’t much talking between any of you after that. You arrive in town and Dean parks near the newspaper building and quickly exits the car.  Guess she told him where she works.  

Walking inside you see three people arguing and unfortunately recognize one of them as Cassie. One of the men leaves and the other walks away when Cassie turns to face the three of you, giving Dean a grin and calling out his name. Dean gives her a small grin.  Why is she so happy? She's the one who dumped him.  Oh she just made you fuming mad. 

“Hey Cassie.” She doesn’t say anything and they just stare at each other before Dean continues.  “This is my brother Sam, and you remember Y/N.”  

You would be pretty shocked if she didn’t remember you.  After calming Dean down and he finally passed out that night, you went to her apartment and bitched her out. Which is probably why she smiled at Sam and ignored you.

“I’m sorry bout your dad,” Dean started.

“Yeah, Me too,” she answers.

 Well, she does talk.  This staring is driving you nuts.  “You called Cassie, apparently you think you need our help.”

“I didn’t know you would still be around.” She quickly glances at you before going back to Dean, “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“Well, I don’t desert the people I care about.”

Dean glares at you as everyone leaves the building and walks back to the Impala to follow her to her mother’s house.  When she gets in her car Dean grabs your arm stopping you.  “That’s enough out of you! You don’t have to be such a bitch, you know.”

He climbs behind the wheel of Baby, and you roll your eyes before sliding in yourself. 

Cassie brings out tea when you arrive, she settles down close to Dean. She tells you all how her mother has been in bad shape, so she was staying at the house with her.  She has been very nervous lately and worried about her husband.  When Dean asks why, Cassie mentions her dad had been scared and seeing things, like an awful-looking black truck following him.  Sam interrupts to ask who the driver was, but apparently her dad never mentioned one.  The truck was always appearing and disappearing.  Her father’s car had been dented in the accident, and it looks like something big. 

You’ve been watching Dean, and have to hide a laugh when he is giving his tea a weird look before quickly putting it aside on the table. You turn your attention back to what Cassie is saying.  The sooner you solve this, the sooner you can leave this town. 

“Dad sold cars, and was always driving a new one. There wasn’t a scratch on it before the accident.  It was raining hard that night, and mud was everywhere.  There was one distinct set of muddy tracks which led from dad’s car to the edge where he went over.”  She paused trying to gain control of her emotions, “only his tracks.”

“The first accident, he was a friend of your father’s?” Dean asks her.

“Yes, Clayton Soames, they were best friends, and owned the dealership together.  Same thing, a dent, no tracks, and the cops said he lost control too.”

Dean wants to know if she has any thoughts on why the two men would have been targets, but she doesn’t. Then Sam asks her if she thought it was the vanishing truck her dad saw.

“When you say it out loud like that, listen, I’m a bit skeptical about this… ghost stuff… or whatever it is you guys do.”

“Skeptical?  If I remember right you said I was nuts.”

“If you don’t believe it, why did you bother calling Cassie?”  You cut in after Dean.  Getting another glare from the man. 

“That was back then, I just can’t explain what happened so I called you.” Her and Dean are back to staring at each other, I just might be sick you think. 

“Excuse us a second,”  Dean gets up and grabs your arm, pulling you out of your seat across from him and to the corner of the room.  “If you aren’t actually going to be any help you can leave, and go wait in the car.”

Before you can reply, Cassie’s mom walks in and she gets up to talk to her.  Dean walks away leaving you standing alone.  She introduces Dean as a friend from college and Sam as his sibling, you get nothing.  Sam sees you hurry outside trying to hide the tears in your eyes, he knows Dean’s behavior has to be getting to you.  Excusing himself he follows you outside.

“Sam, you are always telling me I need to be honest with Dean about my feelings.  This is why I can’t, he’ll choose some chick who hurt him over me, the person who has been there for him for over 15 years.”  Dean comes out and you turn away from him quickly.

“I don’t understand what your problem is, but that was unnecessary,” he snaps at you. 

The three of you head back to the motel shortly.  It is a quiet ride back, you and Dean aren’t speaking to one another, and Sam doesn’t want to get either of you going. Usually, you share a bed with Dean, but that isn’t going to happen tonight.  At least the room has a couch, as bad as it looks it is still better than the floor.

Early the next morning Dean’s phone rang waking you up from the little sleep you had gotten.  It’s Cassie, apparently someone else died during the night, same way as the others.  Dean is hurrying both you and Sam to get ready and out the door. When you arrive at the scene Cassie is talking to one of the men from yesterday.  Dean is quick to walk over, you and Sam following behind. 

“Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy’s car, see if it was pushed?”

The man looked at Dean then back to Cassie, “Who is this?”

“Dean and Sam Winchester, and… his friend Y/N, they’re family friends.  This is Mayor Harold Todd.”

“There is one set of tracks, just one. Nothing points to foul play here.”

“Mayor, the police, officials, everyone is taking their cues from you, if you are indifferent about this then..”

“Indifferent!” He interrupts her

“Mayor, would you close the road if the victims were white?”

“Are you suggesting I’m racist Cassie, I’m the last person you should talk to like that.”

When Cassie tries to find out why, he just tells her to ask her mother and walks away. 

From there Dean drives you all back to the motel room to change into fed clothes.  While in the bathroom getting ready you can hear the boys talking, well Sam at least trying to get information from Dean about Cassie

. 

“I��ll say this for her, she’s fearless,” Sam starts, Dean just humming.  “I bet she kicked your ass a few times.  It’s interesting you guys never look at each other at the same time.  You look when she isn’t and she checks you out when you aren’t.  It’s an interesting observation you know, in an observationally interesting way.”

Just shut-up about her Sam, you think to yourself. “You think we might have more pressing issues here?” Dean finally responds.

“Hey, if I’m hitting a nerve.”

“Y/N, hurry up we’re leaving, let’s go,” Dean yells for you.

You leave for the docks to talk to a few guys who are friends of the victims, Cassie has mentioned they would be there having lunch.

“Excuse me.  Are you Ron Stubbins?”  You asked, reaching the two men first. When he nods, Dean takes over talking.

“You were friends with Jimmy Anderson?”

“Who wants to know?” Ron counters.

“We’re with Mr. Anderson’s insurance company, got to dot the I’s and cross some T’s.”

“We were just wondering if the deceased had mentioned any unusual experiences recently?” Sam cut in.

The men are looking at the three of you funny so you step in, “Well visions, hallucinations.  It’s part of a medical examination kind of thing.  This is all standard.”

“It takes three of you to come down?  What company did you say you were with?”

“I’m new, these guys are training me.”

“All National Mutual,” Dean cut in.  “Can you tell me, did he ever mention seeing a truck? A big black truck?”

“What the hell are you all talking about?  You even speaking English?” Ron asks.

“Son this truck, is it a big scary monster looking thing?”  The man with Ron cut in.

“Yeah, actually, I think so.”  Dean answers him.  The man just nods.  “What about it?”

“I’ve heard of a truck like that,” he finally answers.. 

That gets Sam’s attention, “You have, Where?”

“Not a where, but a when, son. Back in the ‘60’s there was a string of deaths.  Black men.  Story goes they disappeared in a big, nasty, black truck.”

“Did they ever catch the guy?” Dean wants to know.

“No, never found him.  Hell, not sure if they even really looked.  See there was a time, this town wasn’t too friendly to all its citizens.” 

“Thank you for your time,” you tell the men as the three of you turn to walk back to the Impala.  

The guys start talking while you follow behind. 

“This truck,” Dean starts.

“Keeps coming up doesn't it?” Sam fills in.

“You know, I was thinking.  You heard of the flying dutchman?” Dean asks his brother.

“That ghost ship?  It was infused with the captain’s evil spirit, and basically part of him.”

“What if this is like the same thing here? You know, a phantom truck, an extension of some bastard’s ghost, that is re-enacting past crimes?”

“Could be, the victims have all been black men.”

“It’s more than that, everything seems to be connected to Cassie and her family.”

“It’s all, all about Cassie,” you mutter under your breath, but apparently not low enough again.

“What is your deal?” Dean turns to you, “you have been a nag ever since I told you we were coming here!  All these stupid little comments.  What the hell is your problem?”

“You really have to ask me what my problem is?  You are so blinded by what you once felt for her.  I was there with you Dean, when things ended, I know how much she hurt you.  I absolutely hate her, and so did you before yesterday.”

“She hurt me, me, not you.  I never asked for you to help me, it’s not up to you how I handle this.  My life doesn’t concern you, stay out of it!  Grow up Y/N, I’m sick and tired of your attitude.”

“Maybe it’s just time I did get out of it.  If I’m gone then I can’t interfere in your life anymore.”

“Maybe that would be a great idea.  I’m over the way you’ve been lately.”

“Fine, after this case, I’m out of your hair.”

“Best thing you’ve said all case.”

“Alright guys, let’s just calm down,” Sam tries to intervene before it blows up, turning to Dean,  “you go work that angle with Cassie and her family, talk to her”

“Yeah, I will.”  Dean throws a glare your way when he answers.

“You might also wanna mention that other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The unfinished business between you two. Dean, what is going on between you?”

You can’t listen so you walk away to calm yourself down.

“Maybe, we were a bit more involved than I said before.” Sam just stares at him.  “Okay so a lot more. I told her our secret, what’s out there and what we do.  I shouldn’t have.”

“Come on man, everyone needs to open up to someone at some point.”

“No, I don’t.  It was stupid of me to get that close. Just look how it ended.”

“Is that what’s wrong with Y/N?  How bad this thing ended with you and Cassie?”

“I don’t know what the hell her problem is, but she needs to get over it fast.”

“Did you love her?”

“Y/N? She’s my best friend, dude I can’t.”

“I meant Cassie, but good to know your mind goes there first.”

“No, didn’t. I’m leaving.”

“You did love her, and you dumped her.”  Sam watches Dean for a minute, “Wait, she dumped you?”

Dean walked over to the Impala’s door, “Just get in the car, get in the car.”

“What about Y/N?”  Sam asks, getting in and looking around for you.

“She can walk back, maybe it will cool her down.”

You walked around the corner trying to calm yourself down and keep the tears at bay.   When you are turning to go back you see the Impala speed by.  They seriously left you here?  Dean really did want you gone. Looking down, you are glad you didn’t grab the heeled shoes, at least this pair wasn't awful for walking. 

You turn back around and start the thirty minute walk to the motel.  This time you can’t stop the tears from falling.  You have loved Dean for years, and been his best friend even longer.  You want to be there for Dean. You were best friends, wasn’t that how it was supposed to be?  If you  are honest with yourself, you would know it was more than that, he was it for you.  It was clear lately, you're not the one for him.  Apparently you mean nothing to him.  Years ago, when he was hurt by Cassie, he changed and didn’t let anyone, even you get as close as he used to.  Maybe you should get your own room tonight, and start adjusting to being on your own.  This case couldn’t wrap up fast enough for you to get out of this town. 

You arrive back at the motel and the Impala is nowhere to be seen.  Either they aren’t back yet, or Dean dropped Sam off and went to her.  Heading to the room you plan to grab your things and get another room.  Opening the door you think you are alone, until Sam walks out of the bathroom. 

“Y/N, I’m glad you’re back, I’m sorry Dean left without you.”

“Don’t worry about it Sam, he obviously isn’t.

”

“What is going on with you two?”

“I think we have just had enough of each other.”

“It’s more than that.”

You let out a sigh before turning to sit on the bed.  “Dean doesn’t think straight around Cassie, he never has.  I don’t want to see him hurt again, because I know she will.  He changed the minute he got her call.”

“When are you going to tell my brother you are in love with him?”

“I’m not Sam, I told you last night, he doesn’t share those feelings.  Hell, he wants me gone, out of his life, and maybe that isn’t a bad idea.”

“What are you saying?”

“Our friendship is barely hanging on by a thread, I’m not going to cut that final one by telling him how I feel.  He wouldn’t wait for this case to even be over before he made me leave.  It’s clear I’ve overstayed my welcome with you two.”  

“No, you haven’t.  I think we all just need a break after this.  You and Dean aren’t thinking straight right now.”

“I’m going to grab another room. I don’t think we need the three of us in one tonight.”

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“It would be better if...”

“No,” Sam cuts you off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, but Dean is with Cassie, we need to figure out how this relates back to her family. I don’t know when he’ll even get back tonight, so don’t worry about another room. Everything will be back to normal in a day or two.”

“Sam, I’m leaving when this case is over.  I need to be on my own for a bit.  You will always be my not so little, little brother, but I can’t stay around him anymore.

Y/N, come on.  It’s just a fight, you guys will be fine in a few days.

“I’m going to hit the shower.”  You don’t want him to try and talk you out of this decision.  

Walking into the bathroom you quickly turn on the water so Sam won’t hear you cry.  After 18 years of friendship this is where you finally part ways from the man who has been there for you since he was 8 years old. Dean doesn’t want you around and you can’t keep watching him sleep with all those other women.  The knife in your chest twists a little more every time.  Getting out of the shower you get ready for bed, sleeping on the couch again because you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep in the bed that smells like Dean, even if it would be the last time.  You know Sam is asleep and you don’t fight the tears that surface once again.

Part 2-coming soon

Thank you for reading!

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[soldiersgirl]

i’m new to jensen and all his fandoms

but idc ❤️

GIVE ME a one-shot where solider boy is a stalker and one fine day, he takes you, knowing very little about how you wanted him too <3

HERES THE INSPO u revolved my reblog LMAO

YES MA'AM 🫡 and also welcome to the jackles lovers club <3 (i hope this was to ur liking).

summary — he wanted you. you needed him.

cw — reader x soldier boy. stalking mentions, yearning!soldier boy, hints at unhealthy relationship, fluff (kinda).

word count — 757 words

soldier boy watched you for weeks and it feels like he finally knows every little thing about you. the way you like your coffee sweet, the way you constantly push away your bangs whilst readjusting your bag, the way you constantly nibble on your bottom lip, the way your headphones are always blasting your current obsession and how you're always singing along without realising.

thank god for those headphones. they kept you so preoccupied, so cooped up in your little dream world that you never noticed him; looming over you, wishing to know all your little thoughts, desires, wants and wishes.

was he your favourite supe? did you dream of him, like he did you? would you love him, like he unequivocally did you? would you accept him or push him away like the others had done? maybe you would be the one to finally see him for who he really is. a fool plagued by you and desperate for your attention.

for years, centuries, women had chased him, but now everything was turned on its head and what for? all for you. ben never thought a non-supe could catch his eyes quite like you did. he noticed you always sitting across the flatiron building (a.k.a the boys hq) in the cute café that was nestled amongst the urban towers. every morning, you sat in the same place, ordered the same coffee and pastry and typed away for what felt like hours.

he'd watch you from the boys office, from the roof when he went to smoke his daily joint and out front when he'd wish the boys goodnight before walking the same, tiring route home. he hadn't meant to stalk you. never. but somehow, he found himself walking your route home, just a few steps behind you with his hood up and wired headphones playing his favourites, as his trained eyes never left you as he remained unseen until he finally couldn't deny himself any longer.

leaving the café at 5:00 pm on the dot like usual, you threw your thick scarf over your shoulder, pulled on your trustworthy headphones and pressed play. the new york winter was harsh and as the wind howled and whipped around you, you sought refuge in a desolate alleyway to escape the worst of the brewing storm. ben couldn't believe his luck. finally, he could have you all to himself.

but this was planned. you knew ben had been watching you. you had noticed. and you definitely didn't mind.

"are you finally going to talk to me?" you pull off your headphones and turn to the supe, frozen and in reaching distance of you. despite the strength of the winds, you can hear your quickened heartbeat and his low panting.

"so, you've noticed." he pulls off his hood and stands tall in front of you, allowing you the chance to finally admire him. your eyes dance over his hardened features, his soft crows-eyes framing his eyes and his infamous smirk already planted across his lush lips. "what are you gonna do abou' it, sweetheart? hm?" he hums and takes a small step forward, testing the waters.

"i've... been waiting for you." you mirror him and step forward. what he didn't know was that all those hours you spent in the café was only to get a glimpse of him. you had daydreamed about him for years and somehow, by what you believe was destiny, soldier boy had been found alive and you weren't going to deny destiny.

you reach your hand out and let your fingertips graze against his and before you can blink, he pushes you up against the nearest wall, trapping you between his toned arms. your bag and headphones fall from your grasp and land with a thump onto the damp alley-way floor. he shamelessly scans your face for any hint of fear, but finds none. you gaze upon him like a wounded animal would their captor, filled with unspoken trust and hope.

"i've been waiting for this." you sigh.

"didn't your mother tell you not to trust strangers?" he scoffs in return as he delicately twirls your hair around his fingers.

"strangers? i've known you my whole life, ben. i was made for you." your light voice whispers.

ben knew then and there that he couldn't possibly deny that truth. he hastily picked up your discarded items, held you tightly against his strong frame, showing you the softness he was never offered. he was a soldier and his sole objective was now to care for you in the world of war, injustice and false gods.

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @doeinlace @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[3lliesan]

"Move."

Time.

Yuu didn't have much time.

They realized this after the Dwaf's Mines, the running, the fight, and the trip back from Crowley's office. Ever since that black ink sunk beneath their skin, there was no way to stop it from slowly killing them even faster unless they somehow found a way to release it.

Even before all of that, Yuu knew that their 'heart' was weak. Not having as much strength as when 'she' lived.

Yuu was almost fine with just being invisible. A passing wind, that a few would notice, and forget just as quickly when they're gone. That would leave less pain and bitter tastes...

...

But...

That feeling.

The running with a purpose to achieve something.

The trust in each of their hearts to continue living.

Going against the odds even if things seemed hopeless.

The victory.

A glimpse of any color will do. Just as it did back then.

drip. drip. drip

ba-dump. ba-dump.

There were drums in Yuu's ears right now. No. Heartbeats. Everyone was doing their best to keep themselves alive and find ways to do damage to the Blot creature behind the bloody red queen, and a close friend of one of the people involved.

[Doodle Suit] can only hold out for so long, about half the people fighting were only first-year students, and that incompetent excuse of a headmage was probably too busy to hurry up and get reinforcements to arrive.

Though, most importantly..

"...fuck--!"

Yuu was currently having a problem of their own right now.

Riddle's spear pierced their arm, pinning it to the ground.

And it took a lot of effort for them not to scream.

It stung more than any ordinary arrow. Like a parasite, it was eating away at their limb. Flesh dying black the more time passes. The ones that noticed wanted to help, shouting out in concern, but unable to do much since they needed to focus on fighting for their lives, with Yuu, the one leading the whole thing down.

Is this really it? This was how I'm going to die? What can I even do if Trey uses his unique magic? I doubt it'd lessen enough damage for anything to be done. Am I going to see the fight til' the end at least..?

Sounds went back and forth like a broken record. Yuu tried to block out the entire world with the sound of their heartbeat.

bam. bam. bam. bam.

bam. bam. bam. bam..

Is there really nothing that can be done? Come on, think! Anything!

---

"There's ghosts in the mines?!"

"You've got to be kidding-"

---

"What, you a chicken or something?"

"Who are you calling a chicken, huh?!"

"idiots- do you want to live through this or not?!"

---

"Here's the plan..."

---

"I don't know how we're still alive! Hah- haha!"

"... Bahaha-"

---

--

-

"Oi, Yuu- or should I call you prefect now~?"

"Say that again and I'll show you a demonstration with the word, defenestration." Yuu retorted without hesitation. It was still too early in the morning, they hadn't had coffee in two days, and being addressed formally never failed to weird them out.

"...You look like a pretty guy, but you're freaking scary, you know that?" Now what is that supposed to mean?

Ace sighed, making himself right at home on the previously dusty sofa. "Anyway, as I was saying. I've been wanting to ask this for a while."

"What's up with that sword? You've been keeping that thing with you since the entrance ceremony, and it's not even in good condition."

Ah, right. You've been bringing that broken blade around in its sheath. Now that both Ace and Deuce know that it's only half a sword, that makes it seem even stranger.

"What, is it a family relic? Ya trying to look cool or something?"

"That's.. uh..."

... Well, it's not like Yuu could say anything about it being the one thing tied to their past or something. The atmosphere would turn weird.

---

.

.

.

Yuu's eyes locked right at the unsheathed red blade, in its usual purplish glow during battle. Ever since Yuu figured out how to convert blot to magic power in small amounts, they thought that they'd never need to use the same weapon again from the previous world.

tick. tock.

They pushed their body up with their left arm the best they could, ignoring the pain from the other side.

tick. tock.

Their vision getting blurry, crawled with any remaining strength they had.

drip. drip.

There was no time to have any fantasies of an miracle to appear, nor was there any time to drown in the despair of the current reality.

. . .

. . .

The muscles were begging to stop. The fight was still ongoing. Sounds of running, dodging, clashing, and casting was heard.

There were also an air of anxiety, tense, unnerving feeling in the air.

Along with fatigue.

...

Oh, right.

I'm tired.

Taking a small nap should be fine, right?-

No, I would definitely pass out, or worse..

Give up.. then what would all that be for..?

Why am I... even trying...

----+----

"W-We did it?"

There was a moment of silence as the three tried to process what had just happened.. If the dead monster on the ground was an indication of anything.

"We won..."

"Hooray!"

"We did it!!!"

...

what is it?

Was it because we won? We survived it together? Was it the thrill?

As Yuu started having strange thoughts, they stared at their friends for a while, broken weapons loosely held, still dazed... but not from the same thing as the two boys, too happy to notice how uncharacteristic it was.

Yuu couldn't pinpoint it in a few simple words to brush it off as something cliche. No matter how many literary works they could find to somehow find a way to describe it, it wouldn't feel right...

And for the first time. Yuu wasn't sure if they wanted to figure it out whether it was a good or bad thing.

...

'I want more of it.'

----+----

"...Damnit!"

Reaching out to the purplish hue, so close yet so far, nameless continued ignoring the pitch black crawling up their skin.

drip. drip.

"Just a little... more..!"

Crawling up the neck, pulse dimming bit by bit, soon syncing with the booming of the chest.

drip. drip.

"Move."

A glimpse was all that was needed. Even if You became one with the abyss. A single strand of color in a monochrome plane was enough.

So.

Drip. Tap.

"Move, damnit!"

As soon as Yuu clenched the weapon...

-BOOM!

"...Eh? The attacks..."

"They're all dissolving and gathering towards one place...?!"

So I may or may have not decided to dump any ideas here as practice until I get back on ao3 since something is better than nothing... haha- Yea, this is brain vomit. Please do the same whenever you read what I make THANK YOU! :DDDD

(P.S: Could you tell that this is one of the few times I'm describing atmosphere and feelings? It's so complicated. And I'm going cry :'D)

@twisted-drawritings @karmicpunishment @mellosdrawings