#just read the words ‘faded just another into part of the background noise’

[ro-is-struggling]

Safer In His Arms || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Since you were little you always dreamed of meeting a noble and brave knight, falling in love and marrying him to rule your kingdom together until the end of your days. But as you looked around at the men that had come to the banquet to ask for your hand in marriage, it was clear that those dreams were nothing more than a fantasy. Or at least that's what you thought until fate crossed your path with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher, with his hard expression and cold stare, was the last person anyone would describe as warm or chivalrous. But not you. From the moment you met him, you saw nothing but kindness in his eyes. And when he managed to rescue you from the hands of bandits, you knew that maybe there was still some hope that your fantasy could come true —just maybe not in the way you had always imagined. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of sexual assault (nothing happens but if it’s triggering for you I wouldn’t read it), protective!geralt, SMUT MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, loss of virginity (not accurate this is just porn!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 13500 (not even sorry)

Notes: I don't know why I keep giving every princess I write a sad/tragic story, sorry about that. Also this ended up being way more smutty than I anticipated, sorry about that too (not really). It was supposed to be a fun little hurt/comfort fic about Geralt saving the reader but it developed a mind of its own and ended up being another excuse to write more smut. I tried to make the smut a bit more fluffy than normal since it's supposed to be the reader's first time, but I didn't want it to be too fluffy given that they technically barely know each other, so there's no actual love between them (if that makes sense?). So, sorry if it's a bit all over the place!

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The cold breeze of the summer night hit your skin the moment you set foot outside, reminding you that you should have taken a coat. While the days tended to be hot this time of year, once the sun set over the horizon a cool breeze embraced the entire kingdom, courtesy of the ocean forces that surrounded the borders of the land. It was quite peaceful. On a quiet night you loved to sit in the courtyard listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and smelling the scent of the salty water that was carried by the winds and mingled with the sweet perfume of the garden flowers. It seemed to always bring peace to your troubled mind, and that was exactly what you needed right now.

You could still hear the noise coming from inside the castle, though it was slowly getting lost in the sound of the sea. The laughter, the chatter, the joyful music, it all faded into the background as you plopped down on one of the seats in the courtyard, allowing yourself a moment to take a deep breath and let the beauty of your kingdom impart some of the wisdom you so desperately needed. All the guests were there for you —to talk and dance with you, to make unattainable but romantic promises in exchange for your hand in marriage— and yet all you wanted to do was disappear. You were tired of the politics, the diplomacy, tired of feeling the pressure of having to decide the future of your life and your kingdom in one night. The choice of a husband was very important to your parents, to your people and it should be to you too, but all you wanted was for the day to be over.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one feeling overwhelmed in there." A deep voice startled you. 

Looking up you were met with a tall man leaning against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the covered section of the courtyard. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles showing through the fabric of his clothes. His white hair hid part of his face, though you could still make out his hard expression and defined jaw. But what caught your attention the most was not the size of his muscles or the fact that the clothes he was wearing seemed too elegant for someone like him. No, what caught your attention the most were the amber eyes that watched you, admiring you from a distance, hiding behind a few rebellious strands of hair. You had never seen such beautiful eyes before. They were piercing, and yet there was a softness in them. Like the sun on a summer afternoon, they shone with an intensity that would have blinded anyone. But you were mesmerized by them, unable to look away. 

"Though I must admit I did not expect to find you here, your highness, given that you are the center of the party."

"I needed some fresh air." You managed to say, forcing yourself to look away from his eyes. "I lost count of the number of men I danced with tonight...I just needed a break."

"That bad, huh?" His lips curved upward slightly, giving his hard expression a softer look. "I suppose if any of them had made a good impression at least you would remember their name."

"It wouldn't matter anyways. My parents have a very strong opinion about the one I should choose." You let out a bitter chuckle. "This banquet is just a formality, a contingency plan.... Give everyone a false sense of hope so they won't attack us for feeling left out."

"I'm sure you still have some sort of control over the whole thing. You're the one getting married after all."

"Since when does a woman's opinion matter when there's wealth and power involved? I'm just a pawn in their political game." Your gaze dropped, focusing on the embroidered details of your dress to avoid facing the intense gaze of the man in front of you. "When I was a girl I used to dream of growing up, meeting a brave and honorable prince and falling in love with him... now I know that feelings come after marriage, if they come at all."

Geralt watched you walk arround the courtyard, your fingers tracing the petals of the flowers that decorated the place without paying much attention to your movements. You had a blank stare and a sad expression adorned your delicate face. He was not a big lover of royalty —he didn't care about politics and didn't like the arrogant tone with which most of them used to speak—, but you were different. When he looked at you he didn't see a spoiled, arrogant princess or a manipulative political figure capable of anything to get their way. He only saw a sad and disillusioned young woman, confused about her future and the responsibility that fell on her shoulders. 

Geralt felt bad for you and had an inexplicable urge to hug you, though he restrained himself. He opted to move closer to you, just took a couple of steps forward and he was already able to breathe in the scent of your perfume. His nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by the sweet scent emanating from your skin and hair. It was special, a blend of jasmine, vanilla and a hint of sea water. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before and he was sure that your scent would linger in his memory for a long time.

"It is still your life." He spoke behind your back and you turned to look at him. He seemed much bigger now that he was closer to you. His figure towered over you imposingly, yet his eyes were soft. "You can always take back your control over it." Your lips curved upward slightly and Geralt thought the smile suited you much better than the grimace of sadness. 

You appreciated his effort to improve your mood. He was a complete stranger who had no reason to listen to your complaints about a life that many considered privileged. And though his words were simple, they accomplished their purpose. You felt so helpless and trapped that you were unable to see that things didn't end there. Yes, you were forced to marry someone you did not love for the sake of your kingdom, but that was not the same as giving up your life, your control and power over it. There was still hope.

"Thank you..." you trailed off, realizing at that moment that you had opened yourself so sincerely to a man whose name you didn't even know. 

But before he could introduce himself, a voice in the distance interrupted you, answering for him.

"Geralt! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. You are supposed to protect me, you know."

Geralt let out an irritated sigh as the man you recognized as one of the many musicians hired by your parents to play at the banquet approached you. You had to stifle a chuckle as you realized that rather than escaping the noise of the party, he had come there to get a break from his friend's vibrant and cheerful personality. They were an odd pair, but you had no doubt that there had to be trust between them from the way the bard addresses him.

“I’ve been doing the impossible to hide from Lord Kaius for ages! What the hell were you doing out her–” The artist's complaints were cut short when his eyes finally rested on your figure. "Your highness." He gave a subtle bow, the tone of his voice changing to a lower, more subtle one from one second to the next.

"I'm afraid it's my fault. I was preoccupying your friend with the problems that afflict my mind on this fine evening and he was too kind to interrupt me. He was a great help, but you can take him back now. You clearly need him more than I do."

"Won't you come inside, your highness? You wouldn't want to miss your own party." The bard asked and you smiled at him. 

"In a moment. I'd like to enjoy the peace and fresh air for a while longer."

Geralt didn't know why, but his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd of people dancing and eating like there was no tomorrow. After Jaskier dragged him back to the banquet hall —and after saving him from the fury of the man whose daughter had lost her innocence in the hands of the bard—, he kept his eyes on the big dark wooden doors, waiting to see you enter. But the minutes passed and there was no sign of you anywhere. He hadn't seen you come through the door and he couldn't find you in the crowd of people or see you at the royal table sitting next to your parents. You had disappeared and some people were beginning to notice.

For a moment, Geralt wondered if perhaps his words had encouraged certain behaviors in you. Maybe your way of taking control of your life was to run away from there, leaving your parents, your suitors and your responsibilities behind and start from scratch. He was wondering if perhaps he should go out to look for you, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a man running towards the king and queen waving a paper in his raised right hand.

"The princess has been kidnapped." He announced loudly, causing the entire room to fall into a deep silence. 

The musicians stopped playing, the people dancing stood motionless in the middle of the room and the queen almost fainted at that very moment. There was a collective sigh and then nothing. Pure silence while the king read the note that had been left behind by the bandits, establishing a payment for the recovery of the princess.

However, the silence did not last long. It was a room full of princes, knights and lords who were there to win the heart of the princess —or at least, the political interest of her parents— so chaos was bound to break out at a time like that. Lord Einar, the one who had found the note in the courtyard, was the first to offer his services to save the princess. His bravery set off a chain reaction of man after man appearing before the king to justify why they were the best suited for the task and not their competitors. And as they fought among themselves, Geralt decided to take matters into his own hands. 

He finally felt comfortable as he inspected the courtyard and its surroundings for some sort of clue as to your whereabouts. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle he felt as if he actually had something to do there. Banquets and politics weren't his thing, but tracking down and hunting evil was. And while his area of expertise was monsters, he was willing to make an exception —anything to find an excuse to get him out of the political mess unfolding in the banquet hall.

His senses enhanced by the mutation allowed Geralt to follow the path that your scent had left in the air. He only had to take a couple of deep breaths and he immediately caught the fragrance of jasmine and vanilla that he had smelled on your skin. It stood out above any other scent near him, almost as if he had you in front of him once again. All he had to do was follow it to the outskirts of the castle, where his tracking skills allowed him to form a clearer picture of the situation.

They were heading north, away from the ocean and into the forest. The four pairs of footprints in the dirt indicated the presence of three heavy men who were accompanied by a fourth subject that was not so pleased to be there. The footprints were more shallow and imperfect. They belonged to a person of smaller build who was being dragged by those men. Geralt found no blood on the path, so he felt optimistic. You were conscious and had no serious wounds that would leave traces of your blood on the road, so there was a high chance that he would arrive in time to save you.

Following the path became a little more complicated the deeper he went into the woods, but fortunately for him the vegetation was not so lush and the bandits had not hidden very far away. Soon he was able to hear their angry mutterings in the distance. The night wind carried your sobs with it and Geralt followed them as if it were a map straight to your whereabouts. 

You were being held captive in what appeared to be abandoned land. There was a dirty old shack and behind it, in the distance, Geralt could make out a barn that he had no doubt was in the same condition. A dim light was escaping through the half-open wooden door, so he knew that was where he had to go. 

Two of the bandits scattered around the property to control the perimeter while one remained inside with you. Geralt was able to slip past them unseen with ease. Clearly, they were not men of great intellect and wisdom. Only a fool would kidnap a princess on the one night she was surrounded by strong and capable noble knights looking to prove themselves to her. Although glancing around, he was the only one there, so perhaps the bandits had a point.

Geralt was very careful with his movements, seeking to stay in the shadows as long as possible to assess the situation. He knew he could take out those men without breaking a sweat, even if they attacked him all three at once. But he had to consider that you were in the middle and any mistake he made could end badly for you. So he took his time, stealing a glimpse of the barn through the cracked door. His vision was limited by the odd angle from which he was forced to observe the scene, as well as the dim light that illuminated the room. Geralt was considering going in with his sword held high and end it all, when a sudden movement forced him to retreat so as not to be found.

Still, he got to see the way the man was mistreating you, pushing you violently against a pile of hay while you cried and begged for your life. And he got to hear the string of degenerate words he spat at you, enjoying the fear in your voice as you struggled to keep your distance from him. It made Geralt angry. Very angry.

The next sequence of actions happened so quickly that it was hard for you to process it. Although, to be honest, your mind wasn't quite there either. A part of you was completely missing, preparing to face the worst. When your captor lunged at you, effectively imprisoning you against the hay and almost completely restricting your movements, your mind transported you to another place. You could still hear his voice in the distance, smell his unpleasant odor and feel his weight on your body, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt water. Your body was still struggling to break free and tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but your mind was preparing to face the horror you knew was coming.

"You can cry all you want, no one is coming to save you." The man clicked his tongue, an evil smile forming on his lips. "A castle full of people and not a single man in sight, what a shame! But don't worry, princess, the time has come for you to know what a real man is." He moved his hands to the buttons of his pants, his leering gaze roaming over your body. You felt like screaming, crying and vomiting all at the same time, but you remained immobile, not knowing how to react. You simply closed your eyes, concentrating on the images of the sea you loved so much, waiting for the moment to pass.

But instead of feeling the weight of your captor's body on you again, you felt the splatter of warm liquid on your skin. Droplets rolled down your cheeks, mixing with your tears, and streams fell on your clothes. When you opened your eyes you found the sharp point of a sword poking out of your captor's pierced stomach. It was his blood that drenched your body, his blood that stained your clothes. It poured down on you from the wound in his stomach and from the cut in his throat that prevented him from producing more than broken cries as he drowned in his own blood.

It took you a few seconds to understand what was happening. Your confused mind, on high alert for new dangers, was not able to comprehend that the death of your captor was something positive for you. You only saw blood in quantities you had never seen before and could not help but scream as you watched in horror as the sword disappeared inside the bandit's body —splashing a few more drops of blood on its way out.

In the blink of an eye, the dying body of your captor was removed from above you and was replaced by a hand that pressed over your mouth to silence you. You struggled against it, your own hands snapping out of their state of shock to clutch at the arm of the new danger in an attempt to separate it from you. But then your eyes focused on the man leaning over you, the one who had saved you and who was desperately asking you to keep quiet.

A surge of calm ran through your body as you made contact with those golden eyes that intrigued you so much. You knew then that you were no longer in danger for Geralt had come to your rescue. Your heart was still beating almost inhumanly fast, pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and your breathing was still rapid, but you were able to calm your whimpers of protest under his hand. You stopped fighting him, trusting that you would be safe under his care.

"There are more-" You tried to warn him as he removed his hand from your mouth, but Geralt shushed you.

"I know, they're outside. That's why I need you to stay quiet and hide while I deal with them. Can you do that, your highness?" You nodded slowly, letting Geralt lead you to the back of the barn. He settled you behind a pile of hay that was large enough to hide your crouched figure, asking you to stay there until he came back for you, no matter what you heard outside.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" you panicked as he took a step away from you. Your hand flew to his arm, clinging to his clothes in an attempt to keep him from leaving. You knew what he had to do, but the thought of being alone again terrified you.

"Everything will be fine." Geralt tried to calm you, his voice a soft whisper. "I promise I will come back for you." 

He gave you a moment before trying to leave once again, waiting for you to let go of his arm willingly rather than forcibly push you away. Geralt knew you were terrified and needed support, and he was more than willing to give it, but first he had to take care of the bandits that were still on the loose. And it would not be wise to fight them while you were present. It would only distress you further and put you in unnecessary danger. So, with a slight nod, he left you in the barn once more, disappearing into the night to finish what he had started.

You curled up in your place, listening to the distant sounds of the fight as you let another wave of tears roll down your cheeks. The smell of blood and dirt surrounded you. You were covered in it —in dirt, from being pushed back and forth around the place; in your captor's sweat, after he threw his body over yours; and in his blood, thanks to Geralt's fierce but effective attack. It made you want to vomit. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and your mind was slowly beginning to understand the great danger you were in and how lucky you were that Geralt showed up when he did.

“Princess?” 

His voice brought you back to reality. He was kneeling beside you, looking at you with concern in those beautiful yellow eyes. The skin on his face was stained with a few drops of blood, as you imagined yours to be, but that did not lessen the softness of his expression. You threw yourself into his arms without a second thought, hiding your face in his neck as you sobbed in relief to know that the danger was over.

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm here, it's going to be okay." Geralt muttered against your hair, pulling you into his arms hoping that would be enough to help ease your nerves. 

He held you against his body for as long as you needed him to, stroking your back with his hand in a slow, delicate way to inspire some sense of calm in you. He didn't move for a moment, not even when your sobs began to fade and your breathing became regular. No, Geralt waited for you to make the first move, breaking away from him when you were ready to do so. 

"It's all right. You're fine. Just breathe with me. In...and out...in...and out. All right." 

You let the soft but deep tone of his voice slowly wash away the paralyzing fear and nerves that plagued you. You focused on the warmth of his body and the way his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe. You mimicked the rhythm of his breathing, letting him slowly guide you back to normal. 

When you opened your eyes again the world around you was no longer spinning. Your vision was still a little blurry from the tears, but you could make out perfectly the yellow eyes, bright as the summer sun, watching you carefully.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a small smile. "Did they hurt you?" You shook your head. Most of the blood on you at that moment wasn't yours, thankfully. Beyond a couple of bruises on your wrists from the bindings, and a split lip from a slap, you weren't injured. Your head hurt and you had twisted your ankle in an attempt to escape but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Who were they?" You asked in a shaky voice as you tried to stand up. You winced in pain as you put weight on your injured foot, but Geralt caught you in his arms before you lost your balance.

"Trust me, you're not going to like the answer to that."

A collective sigh was heard as you and Geralt entered the war room, where the king and queen were coordinating a rescue party with some soldiers and half of the suitors present at the banquet. It was a sigh of surprise rather than relief. It was clear that no one expected to see you there, much less with the disheveled appearance you had. 

Your mother was the first to react, running up to you with tears in her eyes. Although she couldn't bring herself to hug you, the blood that stained your ball gown was still fresh, so she settled for holding your cheeks in her hands while repeating over and over again how happy she was that you were safe. Your father reacted by sending the guards to arrest Geralt as his worried mind believed that the witcher somehow had something to do with your kidnapping. You had to stand between them, taking your savior's hand in yours to make your position clear. 

"What you imply is ridiculous! He saved me, father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." you stated firmly, keeping your head held high and holding back tears in your eyes. 

"He very well could still be behind all this. He's a witcher who wasn't officially invited to the festivities and conveniently vanished in the middle of the night without a word. No one can attest to him but that bard..."

"No offense, your majesty, but I just felt as though the situation was not being treated with the necessary urgency." Geralt interjected, speaking in a calm and slightly defiant tone. "I knew for a fact that she couldn't be far away and that time was of the essence, but everyone at that feast seemed more interested in proving themselves worthy of glory and respect than saving your daughter's life. I just did what had to be done."

"How dare you speak that way about these noble men, witcher! Any one of them would be more than willing to give his life for my daughter!"

"He is right, father. If you want to find a culprit, you should direct your gaze to Lord Einar."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. But his gaze was focused on you, staring at you with a fury you didn't know if the others were able to detect. He took a step forward and you tightened your grip on Geralt's hand, instinctively seeking his support. He stuck to your side, silently letting you know that he was ready to come between him and you if necessary —though he seriously doubted that Einar would be stupid enough to try to hurt you in front of the king.

"This is absurd!" Lord Einar complained with exaggerated outrage. "I will not allow myself to be disrespected in this way! I was invited to this feast to formalize my interest in the princess, which is greater than that of anyone in this room, if I may add. Have you forgotten that it was I who noticed the princess's strange disappearance? If I had not gone out to look for her, perhaps the news of her disappearance would have come too late. And may I remind you, your majesty, that it was I who first offered my services to bring her back safe and sound."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Geralt spoke through gritted teeth. "To pay some coins to a bunch of desperate bastards to take her so that you could rescue her and thus win her and the king's heart."

"I will not allow this... thing to disrespect me like this!"

"Your scent was on their clothes. Your name was the last thing they uttered before I slit their throats. You knew you didn't stand a chance with her, so you found a way to force your name to the top of the list."

Intimidated by Geralt's cold, hard stare, Lord Einar turned to look at the king. "These are nothing more than baseless accusations made by someone who clearly wants to distract us from his own guilt and involvement." he said, keeping his head held high as he lied through his teeth. "I beg you, my king, to consider punishment for this insolent witcher."

"Is this proof enough for you?" you snapped, tossing an object on the table. 

After the bandits were dead, Geralt had searched their bodies for some kind of proof that their words were true. That's how he had found a ring in the pocket of one of them that clearly didn't belong to them. It was made of a fine metal and in the center, engraved in gold, was the seal of a noble family: the Blakesley family.

The ring rolled against the dark wood, exposing Lord Einar's lies with each flick of the ring before the gaze of all present. There was nothing he could say to avoid the punishment that was coming, so when your father gave the order and the guards took him by force, he decided to take his rage out on you. His voice echoed through the corridors as he was escorted to the dungeon, shouting a string of insults at you. He questioned your honor and your ability as a ruler, claiming that he only wanted to marry you to ensure that the kingdom would not perish when your father died. 

Those were nothing more than the words of an unstable man who was filled with spite, angered by your rejection. You knew it meant nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel humiliated as he shouted all those things in front of so many people. Your eyes filled with tears and you clung to Geralt almost instinctively, hiding your face in his neck so no one would see you cry. He wrapped his arms around you, ignoring the very unfriendly looks that several of the men in the room gave him. 

Your mother ordered the room to be emptied, realizing that the crowd was doing nothing to help your condition. The last thing you needed at that moment was to feel watched and judged by a bunch of people, so she personally closed the doors behind the last guard to leave the room.

"You should take a long bath, my love. I'll send someone to prepare the tub and clean clothes for you. That will certainly make you feel better." Your mother spoke in a soft voice, placing a hand on your back. "And you, witcher, are more than welcome to stay tonight. I'll have a room prepared for you and bring you some clean clothes. We can talk more in the morning."

You gave your mother a smile as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, trying to convince her that you were fine. She knew you weren't, but she also knew you well enough not to push you at that moment. So she left the room without adding anything else, leaving you alone with Geralt once again.

"Thank you... for everything." Your voice broke the silence, your eyes traveling from the door to Geralt's face. "I just realized I didn't thank you yet." 

"You don't have to." He didn't need to hear it from your mouth, he could see in your eyes how grateful you were. Your expression hadn't changed much since he had found you, even though you tried hard to hide it, there were still traces of fear and distress in your eyes.

"Of course I have to! You have saved me from a terrible fate, not only at the hands of those bandits, but also at the hands of that... man." There were other words with which you would have liked to describe him, but you decided it was not appropriate for you to utter them. He didn't even deserve that from you. "I'm glad you were dragged here... I don't know what would have become of me without you tonight, Geralt."

The room fell silent as you looked into each other's eyes. You lost yourself in the amber that surrounded his pupils —which seemed to be more dilated, although it could well be an effect of the light, you thought—, trying to discover the secrets hidden in his eyes. Geralt was not easy to read, no matter how hard you tried, you had no idea of the things that could be going through his head at that moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that calmed you. When he looked back at you, there was a softness in them that invited you to continue to admire them forever. It was a connection unlike anything you had ever felt before. It piqued your curiosity and some other things you didn't quite know how to explain. 

Your hand was still intertwined with Geralt's and you weren't entirely sure for how long. Although you weren't complaining, you found the warmth of his skin against yours extremely comforting. It made you feel less alone, less vulnerable. You trusted him with your life, you knew that as long as he was around nothing bad could happen to you. And boy did you need that at that moment. You were still quite affected by everything that had happened and the idea of being alone terrified you. You needed company, but not just anyone. You needed his company.

"Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?" you broke the silence, clearing your throat to make sure your voice sounded firm. "My foot still hurts a little and I wouldn't want to fall down the stairs."

It was a foolish excuse. You knew it. Geralt knew it. The twisted foot you got while struggling with your captors was not a cause for concern. It hurt a little, yes, but you could still walk normally. All you wanted was an excuse not to be separated from Geralt and luckily for you, he played along. He allowed you to take his arm for stability and walked with you to your quarters. You appreciated his proximity, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against yours as his warmth enveloped you. But unfortunately it only seemed to aggravate his absence when he pulled away from you, willing to leave you alone so you could rest.

Your hand closed around his arm almost as an unwilling reflex. Your body craved his closeness. Your mind needed his company to be at ease. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't let Geralt leave. Not tonight at least. His eyes lingered on your hand, admiring how small it appeared when compared to his arm, before he looked up into your eyes, searching your expression for an explanation.

"Stay, please." Your voice was almost a whisper. Your eyes had trouble making eye contact with him for the first time since you had met. Geralt knew then that you were embarrassed of uttering those words. "I need you. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure?" He said after a few seconds of silence, his expression firm but gentle. You nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes as you released his arm from your grip. Geralt sighed and finally crossed the threshold of the door, closing it behind him. 

Geralt allowed you to guide him across the room to a door that hid a large private bathtub on the other side. It was already filled with water and salts, ready for you to use it. Everything smelled of you, of that delicious combination of jasmine and vanilla that Geralt found so special. It was intoxicating, like he was breathing in your scent straight from the source. 

"Would you mind helping me with the lace?" Your voice brought him back to reality. Geralt watched as you turned around, gathering your hair over one of your shoulders to expose your back to him so he could unfasten your dress. He knew it was inappropriate and that he was probably breaking some rule —not to mention, taking advantage of the king's hospitality—, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not when you were offering yourself to him like that.

Geralt's hands caressed your back first, his fingers slowly tracing a path from your shoulders to where the lacing of your dress ended. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as you felt him slowly loosen your dress. You could feel his imposing figure towering over you. He was so close that you could hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating from his body. You liked the proximity, probably more than you should.

When Geralt finished his work and your dress began to slide down your shoulders, you knew you should have been embarrassed. You were used to being naked in front of servants, but they were always women you trusted, handmaidens who had taken care of you since you were little and helped you dress or bathe. You had never been so exposed in front of a man before and you should definitely feel ashamed, but you were not. You simply let the dress fall to your feet and stepped into the tub as if there was no man present.

The water was warm and the tub was deep enough to hide your modesty if you sat in the right position. The dim candlelight also helped, though ultimately you really didn't mind feeling Geralt's gaze on your body.

"Join me, please. The water's nice and there's room enough for both of us."

Your curious eyes unashamedly traced the muscles of his arms and torso as he revealed himself to you. You noticed the scars that marked his skin, some smaller and some larger, and you couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them were. Geralt was an exceptional man, unlike anyone you had ever met in your life. He was so rigid and reserved, and yet he had shown nothing but kindness and gentleness in your presence. He was a mystery and you wanted nothing more than to discover what he hid behind those beautiful amber eyes.

Out of respect —and some embarrassment—, you looked away as his hands undid the buttons of his pants. You focused your attention on the jasmine petals floating in the water, feeling your cheeks grow warm as a small voice in your head encouraged you to look up. 

Geralt settled next to you in the tub, avoiding being too close or sitting in front of you so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious in his presence. However, you needed his closeness, so you shortened the distance as much as you could, pressing your arm against his. When he didn't complain, you went a step further and rested your head on his shoulder. Geralt stood still for a moment, debating once again whether his actions were appropriate, but in the end he relaxed. 

He put his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him. A smile formed on your lips as you adjusted yourself in the new position, hiding your face in his neck. Geralt's fingers traced soft lines on the skin of your arm, a caress that both relaxed and excited you. That kind of intimacy was something new to you. Feeling his naked skin against yours, inhaling that musky scent mixed with something you couldn't describe as anything but his own essence, feeling the soft caresses of his calloused fingers, everything made you feel a certain way inside. You didn't have the exact words to describe it. It was like a flame, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and exciting. Ultimately, you didn't care about being able to put a name to what you felt. You just wanted to stay close to Geralt for as long as you were allowed.

Without even realizing it, your hand traveled up to his chest, your curious fingers tracing the jagged lines that marked his skin. You used the scars as a map to his body, letting them guide your path as you explored his chest with your touch. And as your fingers moved, you imagined the heroic stories behind each one, wondering what kind of monsters had inflicted them and if there were any that were human-made.

"I wonder how many princesses you've saved to end up like this." You broke the silence, your voice soft as you got lost in thought. It was mostly a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity hidden in it. 

"Surprisingly, less than you're probably imagining."

You didn't quite know why, but hearing Geralt say that put a smile on your lips. It made you feel special, in a way. He hadn't been hired to save you —technically he hadn't even been invited to the party—, he had no obligation to you or your family, and yet he had risked his life to help you. There was something in you that awakened in him his noblest instincts.

"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone." You laughed, looking up at him from your position on his shoulder. You could admire his profile, his sharp jawline and the way his lips curved upward slightly as he let out a huff.

"Often delicate young women like you find my methods to be too... grotesque. They don't see me as being much different from the monsters I kill." Geralt spoke honestly, remembering the horrified expressions on the faces of the maidens he had sought to save from danger in his past, when he had little experience as a witcher. He was young and naive at the time and believed he could use his skills for more than just hunting monsters. After all, evil came in all shapes and sizes, even in humans. It didn't take him long to understand that humans didn't see a knight of noble spirit when he intervened in such situations, only a mutant designed to kill.

You noticed his thoughtful expression, his eyes looking straight ahead as if his mind was transporting him to another place. You wondered what kind of memories he might have swirling around in his head at that moment, outraged to think that someone could treat him badly after he saved their life. You admitted that he had quite an imposing figure and that his expression wasn't very friendly most of the time, but you still couldn't understand how anyone could be afraid of him. Even before he saved you —when he was just a stranger who took the time to listen to your problems— you saw nothing threatening in him. His beautiful yellow eyes inspired nothing but trust in you from the first moment you made contact with them.

“Then they were all fools." You sat up straight, one hand resting on Geralt's cheek to force him to look at you. "I don't understand how anyone could look at you and see danger in you. Even covered in blood, all I see is... safety and comfort." You gave him a small smile as your finger carefully wiped a small spot of blood from his cheek.

"Or maybe you're being naively nice."

Geralt took a cloth that rested on the edge of the tub and dipped it in the warm water. Then one of his hands cupped your chin, tilting your face slightly so he could get a better look at you in the candlelight. The flames danced in the air, creating shadows on your delicate skin. But even in the dim light he could still see the splashes of blood that stained your beautiful face. They made such a contrast that it was impossible to ignore them. The implication of such a violent act had no place on the delicate face of a princess like you. He hated to see the scratch on your lip, the dirt on your cheeks, the dried blood on your skin. You should not have been subjected to such horrors and he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the evidence from your body. So Geralt took the trouble to wipe the blood away, carefully running the wet cloth over your skin until it was all gone.

You remained silent as he worked on you, completely immobile while you watched him closely. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, but his expression was gentle. His hands moved delicately over your skin, as if he was afraid of breaking you if he wasn't careful. You could barely feel the cloth brushing against your cheek from how slow and gentle Geralt was being. But his fingers... his fingers were another story.

They were warm against your skin, caressing every little spot the cloth passed through to soothe any possible irritation the fabric might arouse. They awakened a tingling sensation as they traveled down your face. When they reached your neck, you knew that Geralt could feel the accelerated pulsing of your heart against his fingertips. It was impossible that he couldn't when you could hear the beating in your ears yourself. His hands felt so big against your neck. If he wanted to hurt you, he could probably do it with just one hand. That should have scared you, considering he was a man you barely knew, but it didn't. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you, not when he caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbones with such gentleness.

"Maybe I'm naive," you broke the silence, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. "But I honestly don't think a mutant designed to kill, as you say, would go to the trouble of caring for me the way you are doing."

Geralt's eyes looked up at you, that intriguing yellow you loved so much capturing you in a transe. They were calling you, daring you to dive into the ocean of honey and mystery that was his gaze. And you obeyed without the slightest resistance, letting your heart take the reins of your body. You leaned towards him, slowly. His hands were still on your neck, but he didn't use them to stop you. On the contrary, he leaned towards you too and when your lips finally collided, he used his grip on your jaw to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started slow, a quick brush of your lips as you finally let yourselves indulge in your deepest desires. But as you became more comfortable in each other's arms, the kiss intensified. You let Geralt guide you, knowing that he would undoubtedly have more experience than you. You surrendered to his lips and the caresses of his tongue, giving yourself to him completely as you struggled to keep up with him. 

That wasn't your first kiss, however, it was the first kiss that felt like this, so... intense, passionate. You barely remembered the boy who had given you your first kiss, but you knew you would remember Geralt for the rest of your life. You didn't know how he did it, but the simple touch of his lips and the strokes of his fingers on your skin turned you to mush between his hands. You had never felt anything like it before and you didn't want to stop. But despite your protests, Geralt suddenly pulled away from you.

"What are you doing?" He didn't sound annoyed or confused, more concerned. 

"I'm taking control of my life." You leaned into him once more and Geralt accepted your kiss, his desperate lips demonstrating his true intentions. He let his desires consume him for a moment before regaining control over his body and pulling away from you again.

"Are you sure?" It wasn't that he wanted to stop, but the voice of morality in the back of his mind compelled him to make sure you wanted the same. He needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage of you, that you weren't throwing yourself into his arms as a result of your vulnerable state after the attack.

"For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of meeting a noble prince who would protect me from danger. We would fall in love and live a long and happy life together after our marriage. Now I know that is impossible. I cannot choose who I marry. I cannot choose to marry for love. There's nothing I can do to change it, that's just the way things work." You paused, your hands reaching for Geralt's to entwine your fingers. "But I can still choose who to give myself to, body and soul, for the first time... and you're the closest thing I have to that fantasy."

There was a sadness in your eyes that made Geralt feel bad for you. He didn't know you very well, but he knew you deserved better than a future you didn't want. The inability to choose your own path in life was something that seemed to affect you greatly, and if he was able to bring you some peace he was willing to do so. But the tub full of dirty water was not the place for it, much less considering it would be your first experience of something like that. 

"Speak freely." You said after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "If you don't want to be with me because you don't like me I'll understand. But please don't turn me down just because you think you're guarding my honor or something. I want this... I want you."

Those last words seemed to do the trick, because Geralt's lips joined yours once again. Only this time the kiss was different, much slower and more sensual, though just as desperate. His lips moved in time with yours, tongues intertwined in a sinful dance as Geralt allowed his hands to slowly explore your body. His fingers ignited flames on your skin in their path, pleasure and anticipation building inside you. 

The water in the tub swirled violently as Geralt lifted you into his arms, moving you to sit on his lap as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his shoulders for support, feeling his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your hips. But it didn't hurt, at least not in a bad way. It was a pleasant ache that made you feel alive. Just like his kisses, which trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. 

Geralt's kisses continued their way down and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his when his lips closed over your nipple. You pushed your chest into him instinctively, giving yourself to him as one of your hands got lost in his hair. Pure pleasure traveled through your veins as his tongue played with your breasts, giving attention to one before moving on to the other. He held you tightly against his body, one strong arm stretched across your back while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his growing erection. 

You both moaned as your cunt made contact with his cock. The sensation you felt when the tip brushed against your little bundle of nerves was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pleasure was much more intense, much more raw. You could feel it spreading through your body and into your bones. So, naturally, you sought it again, creating a rhythm that had you panting in no time. 

You were forced to stop when Geralt suddenly stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your moan of pleasure turned into a cry of surprise, the water in the tub moving violently, flooding the room as he moved towards the exit. You clung to his shoulders, afraid of falling, as you asked him what he was doing.

"We can't do it here. It has to be done properly, in a bed where you’ll be comfortable, and not in a bathtub full of filthy water."

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you understood the meaning of his words. Once again, Geralt was looking after you, worrying about you and your well-being more than any other man in your life had ever done. He wanted to make things right, to make sure that your first sexual encounter was a positive experience. And while he wasn't exactly the man you had imagined doing it with, he was quite close to it. Every thing he said, every gesture he made to you, made you feel more confident in your decision.

Geralt carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before continuing his assault on your body. He kissed you again and, as you let his tongue explore your mouth, you couldn't help but think how much bigger he felt now that he was leaning over you. He had one arm on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn't crush you with his weight. One of his toned legs rested in between yours, keeping you open and exposed to him. You were essentially trapped under his body, completely at his mercy, and you liked it.

The pleasure building up inside you was starting to feel too overwhelming. As much as you enjoyed Geralt's wet kisses, you needed more. You needed relief. So you pushed your hips into him once more, seeking that intoxicating pleasure you'd felt in the bathtub. Your wet pussy slid easily up his thigh and a wave of pleasure coursed through your body. 

"Fuck!" Geralt moaned as he felt your wetness trickling down his leg. You looked so sensual moving your hips against him with adoring desperation, struggling to find some relief. The little moans that fell from your lips in between ragged breaths drove him crazy, making it difficult for him to control his instincts. He had to be gentle with you, it was your first time and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pin you down and fuck you until your legs shook.

"Tell me, princess, have you ever touched yourself?" Geralt spoke against your skin as his lips continued their path of wet kisses down your body. "Perhaps when you were alone at night, hidden in the darkness of your chambers."

It took you a few seconds to process Geralt's words, your mind distracted with the way his kisses slowly trailed down your chest, barely pausing on your breasts before continuing to travel down. It made your body tremble with anticipation, wondering what he was up to. He was watching you from his position on your abdomen, lips barely pulling away from your skin so he could observe your face more comfortably, waiting for an answer. The color of his eyes had darkened, the yellow glowing like the flames of the candles that lit the room. There was hunger in them. Geralt was looking at you like a wolf at its prey. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, managing to answer him with a simple negative shake of your head. 

"So you don't know what real pleasure feels like, huh?" You weren't sure if it was a question for you, but you shook your head again anyway. You felt Geralt's lips curving into a smile against the sensitive skin of your lower belly and a shiver ran down your spine when you heard his next words. "I'm going to change that."

Despite the firmness in his voice, Geralt was slow and gentle with each movement he made next. He was careful to position himself between your legs, pushing them open and revealing your most secret part to his hungry gaze. He noticed almost immediately the way you tensed with embarrassment, feeling vulnerable, so he was quick to spread sweet kisses on your right thigh, while gently caressing the skin of your left. He could smell the scent of your arousal with every breath he took. It was intoxicating, the sweet nectar he had been waiting to taste all this time. But first he had to make sure you were comfortable. He was there to pleasure you, nothing mattered if you didn't enjoy it.

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be ashamed, you're beautiful." He spoke against your skin, his voice a raspy, sensual, whisper. "I have to get you ready for my cock, all right? This will feel so good, I promise. But if it doesn't, I want you to tell me, can you do that?" You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. "I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Geralt, I will."

"Good."

Geralt gave you a few seconds to relax before diving into your cunt, spreading wet kisses down your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to the place where you needed him most. When his tongue finally made contact with the sweet nectar trickling down your folds, he let out a sound that vibrated in his chest with force. All hint of self-control disappeared then, buried under the primal desire that the taste of your arousal awakened in him.

He ate you like a starving man, his tongue exploring your most intimate place with expert skill. Your hips jolted as his lips closed over your small bundle of nerves, your whole body convulsing as you felt pleasure like you had never felt before. It was so intense it was almost too much. It scared you in a way, as it felt like your own body didn't respond to you —like it didn't belong to you. It belonged to Geralt now, and only responded to the stimulation he gave your body.  You were torn between the need to pull away from his entrancing lips —which were no doubt uttering some spell to claim ownership of your innocence— and your body's carnal desire to surrender to his clever tricks in order to continue to feel such pure pleasure.

"Does it feel good, princess?" Geralt spoke between your legs, his warm breath crashing against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine. 

"Yes! So good... please don't stop." You didn't recognize your own voice as you spoke. It sounded raspy from all the moaning, and there was a hint of desperation you'd never heard in yourself before. It wasn't the first time you had begged someone for something you wanted, but it was the first time you actually meant it.

"I won't, I promise. I'm here to make you feel good." Geralt assured between slow, long licks, focusing his attention on your clit before continuing. "But if you're going to take my cock, I'll need to stretch your tight hole." You tensed again and once more he used his strategy of stroking and kissing your thighs to calm you down. You knew that penetration was an important part of the whole thing and you were ready to face it, but still, the unknown scared you a little. "I'm going to insert a finger inside you, is that all right my sweet? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it will feel great afterwards. But first I have to know that you still want this."

"Yes, Geralt, I want this. I trust you, please." You gave him a shy smile, looking at him with complete admiration. He saw the desire in your eyes, mixed with anticipation and a hint of fear. But you were confident in your decision, so he continued.

"Relax, I'm going to take care of you." He murmured against your skin, his kisses slowly moving closer to your wet cunt. "Just focus on the pleasure."

Geralt's voice echoed in your mind, your body obeying his commands as if he had cast a spell over you that left you with no other choice. You focused on the fire burning inside you, on the skillful way he flicked his tongue against your abused bundle of nerves and on the knot in your stomach that tightened with each passing second. You tried not to tense up as you felt Geralt's finger press against your entrance, biting your lip and taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. His tongue was doing a good job of distracting you, but you could still feel the slightly painful drag of his finger inside you. 

"You're doing so well for me." Geralt complimented you, keeping his finger still inside you to give you time to get used to the new sensation. You couldn't hide how much it pleased you to hear those words, because your walls clenched around his finger, revealing your deepest desires. Geralt grunted against your pussy, fantasizing about how good your tight hole would feel around his cock. 

It took you a moment to get used to the strange sensation of his intrusion. It wasn't painful exactly, mostly uncomfortable since your walls weren't used to stretching like that. But eventually the discomfort faded into pleasure, bringing new sensations as he slowly began to move his finger inside you. 

Your moans became uncontrollable, increasing in volume with each of Geralt's caresses. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would have worried about the possibility of being overheard by some servant or guard walking down the corridor. You knew it might potentially ruin your reputation, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the way Geralt's long, thick finger stretched you, making you feel full in the most pleasurable way possible. 

"Geralt I-" You tried to speak, but the air caught in your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach becoming incredibly tight, threatening to snap.

"I know, my sweet, I know." Geralt interrupted you as he noticed your trouble forming coherent sentences. He could sense you were getting close to relief in the way your walls tightened around his finger, your juices dripping down your legs and soaking his hand. "Just let yourself go. I've got you."

Geralt added another finger inside you, stretching your walls even further. He was careful, his movements slow and precise as he both prepared you for his cock and brought you closer to the edge. His mouth focused on your clit, his lips closing around your sensitive pearl as his fingers explored your insides, reaching that spongy place deep inside you and rubbing it until your whole body shuddered with your orgasm.

It felt like your insides exploded, the tension that had been building in your core suddenly snapping as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your mind went blank, eyes rolling back as Geralt did his best to hold back the violent spasms of your muscles. 

And then your body fell limp on the sheets. You could barely hear the world around you over your racing heartbeat that throbbed in your ears. You knew Geralt was muttering things against your skin as he kissed his way back up, but your mind was too lost in the pleasure to make sense of his words. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your body desperate for oxygen as it struggled to regain control.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a soft smile as you opened your eyes, his face slowly coming into focus on your clouded vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! That was..." you paused, searching for the words to describe it. Although explaining your feelings proved to be more difficult than you expected. You were convinced that there were no words in any language you knew to describe what he had made you feel. So you let out an airy laugh, hiding your face in his neck and spreading small kisses over his skin.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" Geralt asked you, pulling away from you a little so he could look into your eyes. You kissed him back, tasting the sweet flavor of your arousal on his tongue. It was strangely erotic for you to feel your own essence on him, like a mark that, though temporary, showed to whom his lips belonged. It sent a rush of desire and confidence through your body, igniting the fire inside you once more.

The pressure of his cock was nothing like his fingers. While the stretching sensation was not completely foreign to you, Geralt's cock was much longer and thicker than his fingers so it hurt a lot more when he began to push it into you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva helped his member slide more easily through your walls, but you still couldn't hold back the whine of pain, which vibrated against Geralt's lips. 

"It's all right... you're all right. Just a little more." He crooned as he rested his forehead against yours. His fingers caressed the skin of your hip, giving you comfort as you clung to his shoulders. "You're doing so good for me, my sweet." His voice was soft, but erratic, laced with the clear pleasure that sliding so torturously slow inside your tight walls brought him. 

Geralt remained immobile once he bottomed out, spreading kisses all over your face and neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. It was the hardest task he had ever had to do in his life. Facing any monster was easier than staying still when your warm, wet walls wrapped around him so well. He was desperate to move, pull out of you almost completely only to slam back in, thrusting his hips against yours as he pinned you against the bed. But it was your first time, so he had to be gentle with you. You weren't ready for that kind of rough loving, so Geralt pushed his dark desires aside and waited for you to give him the signal to move. 

After a while, your moans of discomfort turned into whimpers of protest, not from pain, but from the growing fire inside you that wasn't being tended to. You experimentally moved your hips against Geralt's, just to see what it would feel like. It was a small movement, but it was enough to push his cock deeper inside you, sparking a pleasurable tingling sensation that spread throughout your body. So you did it again, moving with more confidence this time. And again, only this time, Geralt met you halfway, grinding his hips against yours.

Your walls tightened around his cock and the growl that escaped his lips was so deep and primal that it almost pushed you over the edge once more. Something about knowing that you were the cause of those moans, that your body, your pussy, your caresses, were responsible for such reactions was so arousing. Knowing that even though you were inexperienced you were able to elicit such pleasure in him made you feel more comfortable and confident. You were turning his world upside down as much as he was turning yours.

"You look so beautiful like this." Geralt said as he slightly increased the rhythm of his hips. "So small and fragile underneath me, eyes filled with lust as you try your best to take me in your tight hole." 

You moaned into his mouth, desperately searching his lips for something to keep you grounded as pleasure took over your body and mind. Your cunt clenched at his words, finding the mix of softness and roughness in his action incredibly arousing. His hips moved against yours in a consistent and deep, yet slow and sensual rhythm. His calloused fingers roamed over your body, caressing you in such a subtle way that it gave you goosebumps. His filthy words perfectly balanced flattery and roughness, awakening feelings you didn't know you had. It was all a dangerous, overwhelming mix, slowly getting to you close to the edge.

"Does it feel good? Do you like feeling me deep inside you?" You could only moan incoherently in response, hiding your face in the crook of Geralt's neck as your nails dug into his back. "I like it too. You feel so good wrapped around me, my perfect princess."

"Yes, I'm yours! I'm all yours, please..." You begged, for what, you weren't sure. But that didn't really matter, you just wanted Geralt to do whatever he wanted with you. You knew there was no future in your relationship, but this was no time to think about tomorrow. At that moment you were giving yourself body and soul to him, allowing him permission to use and explore your body as he wished.

"Yes you are, but not just for tonight." Geralt moaned in your ear, his voice a deep hoarse whisper. He sucked a mark just below your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive area playfully before continuing to speak. "You will always remember this night and think of me when your future husband takes you to bed on your wedding night. He's not going to compare to me... to how good I'm making you feel. But that's fine, because at least you had a chance to know what it feels like to be adored like you truly deserve, my princess."

"Fuck, Geralt! I'm-" Your warning was interrupted by a moan as you felt him sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck at the same time he pushed his member incredibly deep inside you.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. It's alright, just let go for me, my sweet. I want to feel you as you come undone on my cock." 

His hand traveled south, calloused fingers pressing against your abused bundle of nerves, drawing circles over it. The way your pussy clenched around his cock made it hard to focus, his own orgasm approaching with alarming speed. But he kept a steady rhythm, his hips moving in a slow, sensual way to make sure his cock brushed that special place inside you without causing you any pain.

"That's it, keep making those pretty notices for me. You're doing so good for me, my beautiful, perfect, princess. Just let go, I've got you. You're safe with me, just let go."

It was the softness in his husky voice that finally pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Geralt's name was the last thing you uttered before the world around you disappeared behind the waves of pleasure. It was a pathetic whimper, a plea for mercy as you felt frightened by the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Geralt was sure he had never heard a more sensual melody. The way you had uttered his name just before the pleasure exploded inside you was something he was never going to forget.

"That's it, my sweet. You did such a good job for me." He complimented you, slowing down the rhythm of his hips to give you time to recover. "You're alright. I'm here, I've got you. Just breathe... that's it." 

Geralt's voice helped you refocus on the real world, his sweet kisses slowly lifting the fog that clouded your mind. You could still feel him inside you, his cock throbbing desperate for relief. The shallow thrusts weren't enough and you needed to feel him falling apart inside you. You needed to know what it felt like to have a man —and especially him— come inside you. And you knew it was safe with him since witchers were incapable of fathering children as a result of their mutations.

"Geralt, please... I want to feel you." You managed to say between gasps, locking your legs around his hips to keep him in place, pressed inside you. He let out a deep growl as he understood the meaning behind your words, his eyes darkening with lust. You were definitely going to be the death of him.

"Of course, my sweet, how could I deny you anything?" He murmurs against your lips, slowly increasing the rhythm of his hips. "You want to feel my seed deep inside you, is that it? You want me to fill you up, leave a part of me inside you so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

His words alone were enough to ignite that flame inside you again. Your body was tired, but still screamed for more. Geralt's thrusts became erratic with each passing second, desperate to reach his own relief. And in the search for his pleasure he was taking you with him to a new limit. 

"I will give it to you, my princess. I will give you all of me. I could never deny you anything, my sweet, beautiful girl."

His sweet words contrasted with the harshness of his movements, hips crashing against yours in desperate thrusts. He was getting closer to his relief and he could feel in the way your cunt clenched around his cock that you were too. His thumb focused on your clit once more, one, two, three strokes accompanied by his thrusts and you were crying his name again. But he didn't get to enjoy much of the way you tightened around him, because he came seconds later, shooting his load deep inside you.

Geralt collapsed on top of you, his body crushing you against the bed as you both tried to catch your breath. But even though he was much bigger than you, it wasn't an uncomfortable position. The weight of his body felt comforting against yours. You liked the way he hid his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your sweaty skin. It gave you the opportunity to stroke his back and run your fingers through his hair. It felt intimate, in a completely different way than the sex you'd just had. 

You whined in protest as he rolled to the side, feeling the mixture of your arousal and his sliding down your legs now that his cock had left you. It was a strange sensation to feel empty without him inside you. You didn't know such a feeling was possible, for you that used to be normal, the only way to feel. But now that you had had Geralt buried deep inside you, that you had felt his seed filling you to the brim, you would always be aware of that strange emptiness between your legs.

"How are you feeling?" you heard him say and you struggled to open your eyes, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He was standing at the foot of the bed, a cloth in his hand, and you wondered when he had moved from your side without you noticing.

"Great! That was... great." You mumbled, still unable to find an adequate word to describe how good he had made you feel.

Geralt gave you a small smile before lowering his face to your legs, placing small kisses on your skin as he moved closer and closer to your center. "Open up for me, my princess. I need to clean you." 

You reluctantly complied, feeling much more exposed and vulnerable now that the deed was done. However, he was gentle with you, moving carefully as he cleaned you so as not to irritate your sensitive, abused cunt. And when he was done, he kissed his way down your face, caressing your skin with his lips, culminating his journey in your mouth.

"What about you?" you tried to sound casual as you spoke, though you failed miserably. "Was it... good for you too?" You immediately regretted your choice of words, worrying that you had ruined the moment.

"I thought I had been quite clear if not with my words, with my actions at least." Geralt let out an airy laugh and you followed suit, feeling a little more relieved. 

Then the room fell into silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one, but a peaceful one. You got lost in Geralt's eyes, admiring the yellow glow that was much softer now, though just as captivating. The candlelight reflected in them in a special way, highlighting their unique beauty. You could stare at them for hours if it weren't for the tiredness that was slowly beginning to take hold of you. 

You didn't realize you had closed your eyes until you felt Geralt move beside you. You stopped feeling the weight of his body on the bed, so you opened your eyes immediately. Your hand flew to his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. "Please don't go," you begged as you saw that he had sat up in bed. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Geralt smiled, the corners of his lip curving slightly upward as he reached out with his free arm to grab the blanket that had been left forgotten at the foot of the bed. His eyes lowered to your hand and his expression turned hard as he noticed the ligature marks on your skin. He hated to know the horrible treatment that someone as delicate and beautiful as you had to go through at the hands of those bandits. Even though he had rescued you before something even worse happened to you, as he looked at the marks on your wrists he feared he had not been quick enough.

Noticing the change in his expression, your eyes followed Geralt's gaze with curiosity. You felt embarrassed when you realized what he was looking at with such intensity and released his grip on his arm, seeking to hide your injured wrist. But he didn't let you. Geralt intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. His eyes didn't break contact with you as he scattered delicate kisses over the irritated area of your wrist, showing you that you had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

"I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to, my princess. I'm here to serve you tonight." Geralt said as he lay down next to you once again, covering you both with the blanket.

You took advantage of his words and his desire to please you by curling up against him, resting your head on his chest. Geralt wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you even tighter against his body as he let his fingers trace invisible patterns on your skin. It was extremely relaxing, his gentle touch and the warmth of his body enveloping you was exactly what your tired mind needed to rest. All the fear, the terrifying memories of your attackers and the feeling of danger completely disappeared as he held you in his arms. 

"Good, because I feel safer when I'm in your arms." You mumbled as you closed your eyes, feeling sleep slowly overcome you.

It was hard to say goodbye to Geralt when the time came for him to leave. He had only stayed at the castle for a couple of days at your father's insistence, but that had been more than enough for you to grow fond of him. He was not a very talkative person, but that only made your conversations more interesting. He was intriguing, a closed book that only opened with the pronunciation of the right words. You had fun unraveling some of his history, hearing about his adventures and the monsters he had faced. He was definitely the most interesting man you had ever met - far more interesting and noble than most of the men who were competing for your hand in marriage. And now you had to see him go.

You always knew that your days were numbered, that Geralt would eventually leave and you would have to go back to reality. You thought you could do it, enjoy his company and the illusion of freedom you had created with him and then say goodbye as if nothing happened, but you would be lying if you said you weren't a little sad about his departure. Especially because you didn't know if you would ever see him again. Maybe on your wedding day, if you invited Jaskier to play at the festivities he would bring him as security again. Or perhaps, if the kingdom was haunted by some evil creature he would find his way back to you. But nothing was certain and that made you feel quite sad.

"I guess this is our goodbye." You watched Geralt settle his horse's saddle, tucking away his swords and clutching his bag as he prepared to leave. You tried to hide the grimace of sadness that wanted to form on your face, but the disappointment in your voice betrayed you. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Geralt stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes. You could have sworn you saw a glint of sadness in the golden fire of his irises, though it disappeared as he blinked. "It'll probably be a while, yeah." He sighed. "But nothing is set in stone. Maybe the search for a job will bring me back down these roads."

You smiled. Even moments before he left, he was still making an effort to make you feel good. "I'd like that." You took a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand in yours to feel his skin against yours one last time. "The gates of this castle will always be open to you, Geralt of Rivia. And as long as I am alive, you will always find safe passage through these lands."

"Thank you, your highness. It is an honor." He bowed slightly even though he knew it was not necessary. Formalities had been forgotten between you since your night together. Then, he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips caressed your skin gently, planting a soft kiss of farewell. "Until we meet again."

You held back the urge you had to taste the flavor of his lips one last time, knowing that there were too many eyes around you that would deem such behavior inappropriate. And perhaps they were right, after all, a respectable maiden like you, in search of a husband to marry and rule with, could not be seen kissing anybody. You knew you would probably regret it for the rest of your life —especially if Geralt never stopped by again—, but it was the right thing to do. Your days of freedom were over, now you had to resume your responsibilities as a princess and that meant holding back the urge you had to run after Geralt, get on his horse and let him take you wherever he wanted. So you just watched him leave, seeing how his figure became smaller and smaller on the horizon while you wished with all your soul that fate would cross your path again.

[lovscb97]

railway (b.cc.) ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TRACK 001: part of the step out series

synopsis: you didn’t mean to get tied up with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but sometimes all you can do is hold on tight for the rough ride ahead of you, even if it means going against all the pre-written rules of friendship.

tags: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader, angst, forbidden romance, mutually toxic relationship, morally grey characters, chan and reader are both kind of awful, mention of other idols (rest of stray kids, stayc, enhypen, etc), oc as chan's ex-girlfriend (aeri), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, use of nicknames (baby, darling, etc), very brief pussy slapping, possessiveness, mild dacryphilia, car sex, fingering, sir kink, squirting, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (bitch, slut, etc), dirty talk, very brief mention of strength kink, mirror sex, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking, slight overstimulation, etc

theme board: www.pin.1003 / song link: prod:b.cc

wc: 7.85k

add. notes: welcome 2 the first course >:] i've offered my insights n analysis on railway alr but delving into the meaning of the song n creating a whole fic based off of it was very intriguing for me esp cus i don't usually write based off of music i listen to. i knew i wanted smth wrong to put out but i don't like infidelity n the usual story on toxic situations is tough to pull of so i decided to go down the more 'scandalous' route of sorts n make chan ur best friend's ex instead :3 there's a pinterest board i made for all these fics which for this one u can find linked above to grasp the aesthetics of it n i'd recommend reading this while listening to railway ofc. as always plz make sure u watch out for the tags n dni if ur a minor. also sidenote but aeri (the oc) is not meant to be seen as giselle from aespa but rather i just used that name bcs it's pretty lol just thought i'd lyk that. either way i hope u all enjoy! 

. . .

19:23 PM from: dni!!! Wyd? 

you swallow thickly at the sight of the text which lights up your screen, eyes zeroed in on the simple three letters which still hold thousands of words worth of meaning in themselves when combined. if it weren’t for the rubber case at the back, you reckon you would’ve dropped your phone with how instantly sweaty your palms become upon having received the message. the way you’re staring at your app, maybe even enough to bore holes into the words displayed back at you, doesn't go unnoticed either, and you barely manage to pocket the device as quick as you'd pulled it out just in time as your best friend approaches you. 

“everything okay? you look kinda pale.” aeri frowns once she’s in front of you, voice laced with concern so sweet that it almost makes bile rise up your throat as you attempt to lean back against jake’s kitchen counter to stabilise yourself. she doesn’t seem to buy the eventual shaky nodding of your head that you offer after realising she’d just asked you something that required an answer, but even if she wants to probe you further, she doesn’t, deciding to immerse you in conversation about something your other friends had told her; another one of her gossip sessions with yoon and jungwon, you presume.

her storytelling fades into background noise at some point, for you can’t ignore the heavy weight of the object tucked away in the back of your skirt pocket, still incessantly burning and buzzing with notifications you know you shouldn’t pay half a mind to. you’re well aware that they’re all most likely from the same person; the one individual you shouldn’t and have no right to indulge and mix with to this day; whose bedsheets you’ve found yourself tangled up in late at night alongside dirty noises slipping past both your lips; the very man who remains as sin personified in the storyline of your current life, and honestly might stay that way for as long as you live.

or in other words, aeri’s ex-boyfriend, chan.

your best friend met chan in her final year of university, bumping into him on chance encounter outside her lecture hall and exchanging textbooks by accident. chan had been all smiles when she’d invited him to lunch as an apology for the mix up, often tagging along with her after that until soon enough, they grew close enough and began seeing each other romantically. he seemed to treat her well for the most part, and you were happy for aeri that she’d found a good man worth her time and effort in the world. she’d drag you with her on their outings one too many times, and you’d gotten to know him from those instances, finding him to be a decent match for her.

unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the spark between them started dwindling. you’re not sure what exactly happened, only able to recall bits and pieces from what aeri had told you mid-sob on your calls about her previous lover slowly becoming distant nearing the final stages of their relationship, so you’ve always just thought it was a mutual decision to cut ties for the betterment of each other. according to her vividly detailed breakdowns though, chan had been the one to suggest calling it off first, and everything came to a screeching halt three years down the line with much screaming and tears from her side. to an extent, their split did shake up things a little between all your mutual friends, but it also didn’t fully stop everybody from engaging with each other. all this brings you to your current situation— waiting in jake’s apartment for the rest of your friends to arrive for a random party he’d decided to plan on a whim.

“yo, guys!” speak of the devil, you think, tugging yourself out of your thoughts as you turn your body to let jake’s figure come into view. he beams at you like a big puppy, his hair flopping in a way that loosely resembles dog ears, and you remember after a split second that that’s just how your friend is referred to as in your group; the resident golden retriever. he parades up to you and aeri as one too, his vibrant smile lighting up the atmosphere in a way that you can’t stop relief from flooding your system at his presence.

“how are my favourite girls doing this fine evening?” he smirks, his usual flirting the same as always, causing aeri to roll her eyes as you chuckle. “har har up yours, sim.” she sticks her tongue out, prompting jake to do the same as he ruffles her hair, to which she shrieks. “oh, by the way,” jake perks up as if he’s just thought of something, completely ignoring your best friend smacking him on the arm lightly over his actions. “y/n, would you be so kind as to get the pack of beer from my car?” he pleads, doe eyes twinkling under the light of the room. 

you’re about to groan in protest, not wanting to go back out in the cold and freeze your ass off for a measly few cans of alcohol, but the front door swinging open accompanied by the all too familiar voice you’ve grown acquainted to fills the air, making your stomach drop— chan. chan is here. suddenly, you’re not too opposed to getting far away, and you quickly nod your head rapidly in agreement, not bothering to wait for the way jake lights up at you accepting his proposal before snatching the keys from his hold and darting towards the lift. 

chan’s jaw tightens at this. he barely manages to catch a glimpse of you from how you rush out past him, not even able to take in your outfit or face in the dashing haze you leave in. he points his thumb to where you had exited, bluffing something about helping you when jake responds how you’d gone out to grab the load of drinks he’d been too lazy to heave upstairs himself. nobody makes any work to question him when he turns on his heel to catch the elevator himself, thinking nothing of his usual gentleman-like behaviour.

nobody except for a pair of eyes lingering on his disappearing frame that neither one of the visitors in the house manages to grasp onto.

meanwhile, you quickly find yourself in the outdoor parking lot of jake’s building, hugging your shivering body tightly in an effort to warm yourself up against the chilling wind that blows past the trees. the sky has basically turned dark by now, but the streetlamps hanging overhead on the sides of the pavement serve as enough illumination to carry out your task. your breath comes out in heavy smoke to the point you can see it, and you try your best to spot your friend’s car as soon as possible, cheering internally when you manage to do so. after having jogged on over to it, you enter the key into the trunk lock with trembling fingers, twisting it until that same latch you’ve grown used to feeling with your own vehicle opens and makes way for you to push up the boot lid. 

you’re about to hook underneath to manoeuvre it open, that is, until a sudden cold hand tugs on the bare skin of your arm, making you jump out of your own flesh. you open your mouth to yell out loud, ready to alert your friends a few floors upstairs that someone is trying to kidnap you potentially when that same hand clamps over it. only when your vision stabilises in your dimly lit surroundings do you recognise chan in front of you, and you feel your shoulders physically drop as you put down your defences, glaring at him when he removes himself.

“why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? i—“

“are you avoiding me?”

his question comes out gruff and annoyed, causing you to blink at the way he’s glowering at you in suspicion. his arms are crossed against his chest, hiding the black button-up you’ve seen him wearing and committed to memory one too many times from how it clings perfectly onto his chiselled shoulders and biceps. it makes you gulp, but you attempt to hide your affected reaction anyways, delivering a scoff in his direction which only makes chan grit his teeth at your attitude. “so what if i am? you know damn well either way without needing me to spell it out for you.” you bite back, moving to turn around when he catches you by the elbow, leaving you to scowl at him.

“what’s gotten into you? just a few days ago, we were fine, yet now you’re ignoring my texts?” he narrows his eyes, holding you in place so you can’t budge away from him. you let out a faint tch at his words, more so at your own susceptibility to succumb to his advances, but chan tongues the side of his cheek after assuming you’re just being blatantly disrespectful towards him. his voice drops to a lower, seductive tone as he speaks up again. “need me to remind you again? you came over last saturday and humped my thigh before squirting on my tong— hmph!“ 

“god, yes, i fucking remember, okay?” you exclaim in a whisper after having slapped a hand over his mouth this time, eyes darting around frantically to make sure no one heard that. “could you be any more louder? jesus christ.” chan peels you off of him shortly afterwards, his expression souring at the way you address him. something about the anger in his features makes your own rise, and you feel any or all remorse you'd experienced prior to seeing him in person today vanish, replaced with a bubbling hatred of sorts.

you and chan began your weird affiliation with one another around two months ago, exactly a few days after he and your best friend broke up. to this day, you don’t know why he made a move on you, much less why you yourself reciprocated it. sure, you’d always found him objectively attractive when he and aeri were together, and while he may be your exact match of an ideal type to a tee, you would never think to act on the growing tension you experienced for him, especially when he was in a long term commitment with the closest person in the world to you. 

it all happened in the most random of occurrences too. you still remember meeting him the night you were out at the convenience store to run errands, catching him hunched over a table in a hoodie and messy hair with two bottles of soju in front. he’d flashed you a polite smile and offered to drink together, which realistically, you should’ve declined. you should’ve turned the other way in disgust and walked out on him to tell your best friend what he’d attempted to do, regardless of whether that would’ve led to something or not. instead, you found yourself in his bed that day, moaning his name as he ravished you under the moonlight streaming through his curtains in your combined drunken craze.

the next morning had been full of hiccuped cries, chan cradling you in his arms despite the scalding touch of his hold gnashing against you and leaving metaphorical imprints that you would never be able to scrub off. each time he soothed you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair, you felt the waves of guilt wash over harsher than the last. he continued to reassure you throughout anyways, telling you it’d be okay and that no one would have to know. blindly, you’d believed him, promising yourself and him to never act on either of your arbitrary lust by not letting go of your inhibitions.

that was the first lie you told yourself. 

“y’know, i’m really not a fan of this whole backtalk towards me.” chan criticises, and you laugh bitterly after picking up on his audible disappointment as it hits your ears. “see? there it is again. maybe i’ve gotta teach you some manners, hm?” his tone is sultry once more, leaving you fighting the urge to flush under his gaze. you ultimately lose though, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face with the way he snickers at your cheeks reddening crimson. instead, you try retain the little dignity you have left as you push against his chest, scanning your parameters with paranoia when he steps closer to you.

“we can’t.” you mumble, clearly slipping. chan’s only response to that is a breathless huff, warm against your face as you peer up at him through your lashes, finally getting a good look at him. he’s wearing his signature hoop earrings today, hair brushed down so his bangs fall over his forehead. the collar of that same dress shirt he’s got on is popped despite a few buttons being undone, leaving the styling choice to highlight his collarbone. that same milky skin you’ve ghosted your nails over multiple times hides underneath the black fabric, leaving you to shiver at the memories of it. it also doesn’t help that the way he towers you is sending your mind reeling into submission way too easily, and you only manage to shake out of it when his fingers trail down to wrap around your wrist, allowing you to feel the cold metal of a ring you recognise all too well press into your joint—

the same half of a promise ring you’d helped him pick out for aeri a year ago.

the realisation that he’s still wearing it hits, and combined with the once again forming shame in the back of your head, it all makes you want to shove him away in favour of storming out of here to tell your best friend everything once and for all. a part of you can sense undue jealousy simmering inside at the fact that he’s still got a piece of her with him too, something you know you have no right to feel, but you try ignore it to your best ability. “chan, we can’t.” you repeat with a hitch in your breath, more so for yourself than him. and yet, you don’t even believe your own words, finding the less rational and weak side of you surrendering to the temptation chan tantalises in you; it overshadows whatever morality you have left.

“d’you really want me to stop?” he breathes out, body sagging far too close into yours for it to be friendly, although you suppose none of your interactions since starting this scandalous relationship have ever been that. his fingers, the very same ones bearing the ring on them, move to wrap around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and lock eyes with him. goosebumps prick your skin when you catch sight of the way his gaze is hooded, orbs swirling with black desire he’s begun to reserve only for you in these coming weeks. “because, if you want me to stop, i will.” chan points out. “say the word and i’ll turn around. out of sight, out of mind.” he makes a statement out of it by retracting his hand from you, but the very distinct whine you let out is all the confirmation he needs to press his mouth to yours.

kissing chan always feels like playing with fire. it scorches, and singes, and sears, reducing you to a burnt crisp, yet you can’t help but yearn for the flame he ignites in you. even the way he’s clutching onto you now, pressing forward with a fervour only you bring out in him, has his lips moulding against your cherry stained ones despite not fitting as perfectly as you’d want them to. the two of you are by no means a compatible match for each other; neither of you has made a single good decision ever since you began indulging in whatever you’ve got going on, but you also can’t help but crave the scandalous nature of everything. you’re truly a despicable pair, you think.

“get in the car.” chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts when he pulls away. he doesn’t even give you time to think when he walks over and opens the door, gesturing inside to the warm confines of the backseat. ideally, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but alas, you’ve never been one to listen to yourself, instead finding your legs scrambling and following suit to shuffle into jake’s vehicle before the weight of your actions even sinks in. chan’s hot on your trail too, and before you can even get comfortable in the cramped space, he’s returning to making out with you, fingers roaming greedily around the expanse of your skin. 

“t-they’ll know we’re gone.” you stutter, moving your face out of his reach to try and stop chan’s movements when it finally dawns on you that your friends had sent you out on an errand you’d taken far too long to complete by now. chan’s only response is to grunt though, tugging you back in for another smouldering kiss that knocks the wind out of your lungs. his hands grasp, pinch, and squeeze whatever part of you they can, until he’s finally decided that he’s had enough foreplay, opting to cage you underneath him and hike up the tight, red dress that’s adorning your body for today’s occasion. “i’ll be quick. i always am.” he winks, and you’re too far gone now to understand that he’s responding to your previous comment, a fact that only makes him chuckle.

“wore this to tease me, yeah?” chan clicks his tongue at the way he has to practically peel off the bottom half of your clothing, the snug fit of the fabric around your curves leaving nothing to the imagination as he bites his lip. he debates whether he’s glad you chose this outfit to show off for him, or if that pisses him off because it means everybody gets an eyeful of your figure; he decides on the latter. “wanted to slut yourself out for my attention? all you had to do was ask, baby.” you shake your head with a whimper, and he raises an eyebrow at your reaction. “d-didn’t.. didn’t wear it for you.” you manage to breathe out, which proves to be the wrong answer because next thing you know, his hand is coming down to smack your clothed core.

you yelp at the sting of his actions, teary eyes blinking up at him in a way that makes chan’s boxers tighten. he’s so close to losing his composure, but he holds back for your sake, not wanting to let you see his cool slip. “is that so? i guess you’re just a dirty girl then.” he sneers, yanking down your soaked panties in one swift motion, leaving you to gasp as the cool air hits your sticky folds.

chan wastes not even one second, knobby digits dragging through the wetness he’s not surprised to find whatsoever. he spreads it over your clit, getting you messier than you already are, especially from the way you appear to leak even more arousal from his movements. he touches you until you’re twitching under his hold, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape you, which seems to be a fact he doesn’t approve of from the way he pinches your nub between his fingers; you cry out softly from the rush of stimulation it shoots through you. “eyes on me.” chan growls, sliding his hand down to circle your oozing hole before he’s abruptly shoving two fingers inside.

“fuck.” you moan this time, loud and clear. this seems to satisfy him, seeing as he rewards you with a steady pump of his digits thrusting into your heat. his speed in fingering you increases quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you open, the sloppy sounds of your juices slicking up his fingers and echoing in the stuffy space of jake’s car. you’re probably staining the leather of the seats, but neither you nor chan seem to care about that right now, not when he’s knuckle deep inside your wet cunt and you’re making such pretty noises all for him.

“just filthy, aren’t ya? getting finger fucked in the back of your friends car. i bet your dumb little brain can’t even understand what i’m saying right now.” chan mocks, his tone laced with a level of condescension that only makes you buck your hips up to chase his movements. you know he’s completely right too, because the way he’s thrusting his digits inside you, stroking your warm walls with the tips of them has you seeing stars to the point you can’t even respond back something snarky in return. “all you’re good for is being a nasty toy for sir’s use, hm?” you barely even register his question, only remembering you need to answer him when he pulls his wet hand away to smack you once more, this time over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“y-yes, sir. only a toy for you. jus’ you.” you mindlessly slur out, and chan groans at that. not even a moment passes before he’s sinking his fingers back inside you, curling them up to massage that rough spot which always has you clenching down on him. his expression twists to a smug one when you jerk forward instantly. bingo, he thinks. “that’s that spot there, yeah? the one that has you losing yourself on me?” he coos, but his voice drips with a smidge of venom you can’t quite fixate on just yet. instead, you nod dumbly, spasming around him as you try grind upwards to chase the rising sensation of your climax. 

chan leans into your frame, one hand splayed flat onto jake’s backseat above your head to maintain his balance whilst his body hovers over you. by now, your eyes are clenched shut, but he can’t even find it in him to get mad at you over that, not when you’re dribbling down his wrist and mewling so pretty under the glow of the night as he works you towards your orgasm. “c’mon, baby. cum f’me. wanna see you cum so pretty for sir.” he encourages, jaw locked with concentration. 

it only takes about one or two flicks of his expertly trained thumb pressing on your puffy clit, combined with the pads of his fingers hitting your g-spot with terrifying accuracy, before you’re shuddering through your climax. a small, clear stream of liquid sprays out the sides of where he’s got you plugged up, and he pulls his hand away in favour of rubbing you over to coax out the last remnants of your high. your quivering body thrashes when he tries to draw out the remaining few droplets again, weakly bringing your arm up to push him away gently when the shocks of overstimulation begin to take over. chan dips down to place one, final kiss on your lips, smooching down to your chin as a way to say you did well. his actions make you heart beat out of your chest, but you don’t say anything about the domesticity of them. 

you wonder if he ever treated aeri like this after having been intimate with her.

“go in first. i’ll clean up the car.” chan clears his throat after a short while, not daring to make eye contact with you as he quietly pulls your underwear back up your legs. you watch in silence while he sits up, looking for a rag to fix the mess you two made when that same awkward air you’ve gotten used to facing with him enters the atmosphere, leaving you to try and ignore how it tugs at the strings of your soul as you give a curt nod. “don’t forget the beer.” you remind him before swinging the door open to step outside, finding yourself back in the nipping cold of the winter night.

you try and stand on your wobbly legs to straighten out the creases of your dress, paying no mind to the way your skin echoes with the ghost of chan’s previous touch. behind you, you can hear him rolling down the windows to let the musky smell of sex out of jake’s backseat, and you almost dare to sneak a glance back until deciding against it, knowing it’ll just hurt more. instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, opening them to land on the small balcony of your friend’s apartment where the rest of your group seems to have already gathered from the silhouettes you can see through the foggy glass. your conscience feels heavy with the weight of the knowledge that aeri is up there too, but you brush it off, just like all the other times you have.

i didn’t do anything wrong, you tell yourself, i’m still in the clear. that’s the second lie you’ve tried to believe in these last two months. a long sigh escapes your lips at that realisation, but you bite it down when making your way back inside the building, choosing to rack your brain on what shitty excuse you’ll have to provide this time for being gone so long.

. . .

to your surprise, nobody bothers to question why either you or chan disappeared, simply whisking you back in conversation about unrelated topics when you walk in through the door a few minutes before him. as per usual, your heart still feels heavy when you watch aeri laugh at something heeseung and sieun are arguing over, but you cover it up by letting out a noise of amusement yourself, hoping it throws off any suspicion that might be directed your way. you don’t bother turning your head upon hearing jake’s delight at the sight of chan entering his apartment with the very much requested pack of beer too, deciding to force a smile at whatever point heeseung is busy making over looking back no matter how much your body itches to do so.

it’s even worse how from the corner of your eye, you can see aeri shifting uncomfortably on her feet at her ex-boyfriend’s second arrival, her expression dropping in the slightest so as to not draw attention to herself, but it’s still enough for you to notice. it only makes the weight of your actions dawn on you further, and you can’t help but let your mind wander as to what she’d say if she knew what truly went on behind closed doors. despite your best efforts to bury those thoughts beneath you though, you know there’s nothing you can do to make amends to the problems you’ve created yourself. after all, you’ve got to reap what you sow.

the party continues to kick in on full swing after that, with you and aeri both doing your best to keep your distances from chan for all too different reasons. it doesn’t help that you can feel someone’s stare raking across your figure throughout the duration of the evening, and when you finally do decide to sneak a glance in that direction with expectations of finding chan ogling you over, you’re met with a different answer—

for it isn’t you he’s busy looking at, but rather your best friend that’s been glued to your side since the beginning of the night. 

he averts his gaze as quick as he’d cast it when you catch him, seamlessly blending back in discussion with whatever nonsense changbin is rambling about this time, acting like he hadn’t just been getting an eyeful of his ex-girlfriend moments prior. you also don’t miss how he fiddles with the old ring that adorns his right hand, long fingers twisting it around the middle digit in a way that’s reminiscent of his past behaviour, or at least based on what you’d often find him doing back then. 

his actions spark a memory deep from the confines of your brain, one you wish you hadn’t remembered as the vision of chan asking you to help pick out promise rings for him and aeri crosses your mind. it was raining heavily that day, but he’d insisted that the two of you go out in secret anyways so he could buy his then girlfriend a token of his love and appreciation. he’d claimed you knew her taste the best and could therefore help in selecting a better possible gift for their upcoming anniversary than he ever could. 

you’d hesitantly agreed, and although you weren’t sure how it would all play out, you later found yourself sharing an umbrella and visiting various jewellery stores to point out all the designs you knew your closest friend would adore. chan had settled soon on a matching pair for the two of them, beaming in your direction with a bright smile that left you weak in the knees despite however much you tried to hide it. a few days later, aeri excitedly showed off her own silver band to you, buzzing about how he’d chosen the perfect present that she couldn’t wait to replace with a real one in their future; you couldn’t help then but think if he ever told her it was all your idea instead of his.

“hey, can you hold my phone?” your best friend’s voice cuts through your inner replay, and you blink in a daze to find her facing you, expression innocent. “hyunjin asked to play beer pong, and i don’t have any pockets to put it away in safely.” she explains at your confused face, but all you can do is nod as you robotically outstretch your arm to take it off of her. unfortunately or fortunately, that’s when you notice it—

the same matching ring on her hand.

aeri doesn’t pay you any attention when she drops off her device into your awaiting palm, not even realising you’re zeroed in on the jewellery that decorates her left hand with a fire burning in your eyes that you’re both ignorant of. you don’t stop gaping even when felix shakes your shoulder, asking you what you’re so fixated on before leaving you be under the impression that you’re probably just drunk out of your head. meanwhile, you’re still frozen in place, everything around you seeming to slow down.

why is chan wearing a ring he bought for his ex-girlfriend two years ago to a party he knows she’s going to be at? no, why does said ex-girlfriend also have her matching pair of the ring on her hand at a party she too is aware he’s going to be present for? much less, why are either of them hung up on each other to the point they’re carrying around reminders of their past relationship with one another? you know the answer to all these questions, but you don’t wish to sit and delve into them in fear you might throw up at the conclusion they’ll give you. instead, all you can do is squeeze the can of seltzer you’d spiked in your hand dangerously tight out of unwanted emotion, enough for some of the liquid inside to spill out. you can’t be bothered to care about it though, just like how you can’t be bothered to care about how anybody in their right mind could probably see you gawking at chan right now.

you watch as he cracks up at a joke seungmin makes, his head falling back in a fit of laughter you’ve been a happy witness or recipient of multiple times, yet this time it fills you with emotion that you don’t wish to identify in fear it’d mean something more than what you’re capable of confronting right now. even so, you can’t stop the train of questions invading your thoughts at the view in front of you. did he laugh like that with aeri? smile so wide with her? couldn’t help the joy that spread across due to her presence? maybe that’s why he came today, because he couldn’t take his mind off of her, especially seeing as he was wearing a symbol of their time spent before right now. 

but, what does that say about you in this picture? were you just a scapegoat to escape all those feelings for him? had you been one this entire time, only deluding yourself into thinking what you both had translated into a situation deeper and could potentially progress into one even more had things happened under different circumstances? the more you think, the more you feel nauseous, and you can’t stop yourself from diverting your gaze to where your best friend is, observing her concentrated face as she attempts to aim a ping pong ball into one of the lined up solo cups. your eyes involuntarily flicker to the ring on her finger once more, its evident shimmer reflecting in the light causing you to clutch your drink tighter. 

you’re not a jealous person by any means. you know your boundaries, hence you know chan isn’t yours. he isn’t an object you can own, and neither are you to him. that was the unspoken agreement you both nodded on when you got into this entire ordeal— you’re both free to see other people openly in front of aeri as long as it’s not each other, because the latter you manage in secret despite the shame that surges in you two upon doing so. it doesn’t matter if you wish to stake your claim on him, to see the marks you leave on him evident on his skin the next morning for him to show off other girls who think they stand a chance at him taking them to bed. it doesn’t matter how much your heart aches when you wake up to the blanket strewn aside from his absence, the sheets long gone cold to indicate that he’d left hours ago. it doesn’t matter how much you wish to cling onto his arm in public and profess your.. feelings for him in front of everyone else.

it simply doesn’t matter, it never did. chan’s never been yours, and he never will be anytime soon.

20:51 PM from: Myself meet me at the upstairs bathroom in five

you punch in the message before you can even think, watching it turn from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. the three dots next to chan’s side of texts appear, indicating that he’s typing, but you choose to lock your device rather than waiting like a dog to see him reply. instead, your feet lead you to your designated location, taking one step at a time leisurely as opposed to in a rush so as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself. right as you reach the door handle, your phone pings with a familiar ringtone.

20:52 PM from: dni!!! Reacted with “👍🏻” to your message

you sigh. tonight was going to be a long night.

. . .

skin slapping. heavy panting. low grunting. 

that’s all you can hear from where you’re splayed across the sink in the small confines of jake’s bathroom, aside from the occasional thumping of music booming from downstairs. if you strain your ear enough, you’ll be able to make out the lyrics to the cliche song that’s come up on shuffle, but you honestly lack the mentality to care about that right now, especially considering the way chan has your legs pushed apart in favour of drilling his length into you. each thrust is rapid and fervent in nature, seeming to knock the wind out of your lungs to the point you don’t even realise how loud you’re being until his hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth. “be fucking quiet.” he sneers, leaving you to drool everywhere. the only reaction he spares when you try muffle out an apology is a sickening smirk at that too. 

“needed this, didn’t you, slut? always need to be filled with some cock like a bitch in heat.” chan chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that sends shivers crawling up your spine. he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers, and you can’t stop the garbling of spit choking past your lips from the way his thickness nestles deep inside you. each heavy drag of his dick against your rough walls leaves you clenching and attempting to buck your hips forward, but you can’t even manage that with the grip he has on your waist. the mere idea that all chan really needs to restrain you is the simple strength of his one hand sends your mind reeling, so much so that you don’t even realise he’s speaking to you until the hand that was previously in your mouth pulls out to slap light and wet against your cheek.

“i asked you a question, whore.” chan growls, the sound resonating warm within your stomach despite the mean undertone to it as his movements still. you blink up at him in confusion at this point, doe eyes brimming with tears that threaten to spill from the loss of pleasure in a way that has chan damn near finishing. it doesn’t help that he’s buried to the hilt currently, hissing painfully at how you squeeze down on him in involuntary instinct. for a split second, you swear you see the ridges on his face soften, and the manner in which he looms over you feels filled with more comfort than intimidation, but that smidge of emotion vanishes as soon as it arrives. “i said,” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “do you wanna get caught?” you rapidly shake your head no at that, and chan cocks his head to the side.

“oh, really?” he muses, nails sliding over to dig into the supple flesh of your thigh, making you whine out loud. “‘cause with the way you’re making so much noise like that, i’d have assumed the opposite.” with a click of his tongue, his actions resume. luckily, all that escapes you is a loud gasp this time, an anxious clamp of your palm over your mouth barely covering up the rest of your lewdity. you wish so desperately to refute, to plead him in favour of slowing down and having some mercy, but the sensation of his bulbous cockhead slamming roughly into that one spot only sends stars in your vision and prevents your previous desires. 

your body jerks in chan’s hold even more when his same hand still lubed with your saliva finds it way between where you’re connected, leaving you to suppress a pathetic whimper that longs to bubble out of your throat as he presses the tips of his fingers to your swollen clit. his touch is harsh, filled with an overwhelming need to make you burst at the seams, but the fear that lingers in the back of your head refuses to let you fall apart so easily, not when aeri is barely a flight of stairs from your vicinity. chan decides he isn’t fond of the silence you’re giving him though, pulling out with a quiet mumble for you to get down and face the mirror. he sheaths himself back in just as quickly, setting an unforgiving pace from the seemingly more accessible position, and this time, you really can’t stop the long drawn out moan that escapes you. 

“j-just like that, yeah, baby? all those filthy noises are just for me, aren’t they?” he sounds more delirious this time, presumably drunk off the essence of this situation from the possessive gibberish he’s spouting, just like he always does in the heat of the moment. unfortunately for you, you’re no better than him, nodding furiously in agreement as you babble high-pitched and breathy. “so good, sir! s-so, so fucking good, feels so good! wan’ cum f’you, p-please. ‘m a good girl, please lemme cum, please, please, please.” small stutters spew out of you mid-sentence, but neither of you can be bothered by them, too wrapped up in the throes of all-consuming passion and contempt even to register what’s being said. 

“such a nasty, nasty girl.. getting fucked by your best friend’s ex. don’t you feel a-any shame?” chan groans almost wearily in midst of his lust-filled haze, eyes catching yours from the reflection of the mirror that’s displaying you getting absolutely wrecked right now. the sight of you so fucked up and in bliss, no coherent thought visible by the looks of your dazed expression and tongue halfway lolling out— it all has him burning with hot, rampant hunger. hunger for you, hunger to claim you. “look at yourself.” he rasps, fingers clutching at your chin to force you into meeting where he is. “look how dirty you are, fuck. what would she say about you wrapped so warm and snug around my cock? hm? think we should— ah. think we should call her in and find out?” 

the tears that were brewing in your waterline are streaming down your face by now, horrifically mimicking the disgusting manner in your wetness seeping and dripping down chan’s balls. you feel awful. downright terrible and tainted, forever branded by the searing touch of chan’s skin grazing against yours because that’s what you are, that’s what you have been for the past two months. down from the night you let him lead you into his sheets, following the countless occasions you found yourself returning there, and finally falling to now, your underwear strewn across the tiles of jake’s bathroom as you spread your legs for the same man who broke your best friend’s heart; the same man who you’ve let into yours after very consciously disregarding the repercussions of your actions. 

you’re truly a loathsome piece of work.

“think she’d like to watch me fill this pussy up? watch me shoot my load deep inside you over and over again until i’m sure it’s taken?” chan mutters, hot breath fanning against your sweaty neck. “maybe i should breed this stupid cunt full of my seed and send you back out there with it spilling past your legs. that way, every time you sit down, you’ll feel it inside you.” the mental image of his release lodged in your walls as you’re surrounded by all your friends, surrounded by the one person you’ve both been hiding from, all of them oblivious to the way he’s staked his claim on you except for the shared knowledge between you two and you two only— it has you quivering to the point you physically keen in his hold. chan, however, just laughs sadistically at your reaction. 

“you’ll feel it as a reminder of me, yeah? a reminder that you’re just as terrible as me. coming to me to get this slutty cunt stuffed even though you know you shouldn’t.” he continues to whisper. “after all, it takes two to tango, darling.” chan makes it a point to tilt his hips up in an effort to ensure his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with precise force, all the while breathlessly uttering more sickening words in your ear in hopes of fulfilling your need for relief. 

surely enough, the combination of his cock shoving itself past your opening and his guilt-inducing remarks that only make you sob harder work you up to the point of no return. all it really takes after that is one touch of his thumb to your pulsating nub to eventually have you seizing up in no time, your pussy messily tightening and gushing as your high crashes over you in large waves of ecstasy. it seems to trigger him too, because by the time you even realise you’re there, chan’s twitching and leaking spurts of thick cum inside you. there’s so much of it that it trickles past where he’s got you plugged up, and you barely comprehend yourself pushing a hand near your oozing hole to catch it on your fingertips. 

you both come to slowly, ragged breathing that fills the air growing quieter to pair with the musk of the room. chan’s gaze is still trained on you through the mirror, unreadable just like always whenever you’ve made the same mistake again, but you take the opportunity in this instance specifically to raise the hand that’s collected his seed in it to your mouth, proceeding to lick up the droplets of his excess release. even though you don’t catch his stare in the reflection, you can still feel it burning holes through your head, a fact that only leaves goosebumps rising over your skin. it’s only when you pull your hand away once more to catch the last of his remaining cum that he decides to finally interject, grabbing your palm in his coarse one with hooded eyes. they’re blown out when he tugs your back flush into his chest, the impact leaving his length pushing deeper inside, and they’re blown out when his fingers wrap around your neck to give it a slight squeeze, the little loss of oxygen making your mind spin.

“you think that’s funny? teasing me even after i just fucked you? after i left my mark on you and made sure you know that you’re mine?” chan murmurs, lips sultrily ghosting the shell of your ear. you want to fixate on what he’d addressed you as, let it marinate in your thoughts and brood over it for the next weeks to come even if it was just an absentminded slip of the mouth, but your focus is interrupted by the moving of his hips against yours picking up once more. the previously repeated actions send his dick driving into you again, breaching your cervix and pressing deliciously into every nook and cranny in a way that has you nearly losing your footing, but chan is quicker to hold you up with his free hand. “w-wait, ‘m still sensitive.” you manage to tremble out at a particularly well-placed graze of his cock, but chan doesn’t seem to care, grinding into you even more eagerly at your admission to the point you struggle to keep the sounds spilling out you at bay.

there’s a resounding knock on the door all of a sudden, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest twist in uneasiness. some part of you feels wary and on edge, and you would assume chan’s movements would halt at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, ignoring your frantic attempts to make him do so by holding you in place instead as he begins to pick up the pace. “s-stop, we’ll get caught.” you heave out upon the noise of skin slapping rising in volume. you do your best to stand your ground, to avoid the gradual closing of your eyes and the mushy fog of your brain clouding over in euphoria, but it’s to no avail. you’re about to let go of your inhibitions completely, to forget about what had just happened and throw caution into the wind in order to lose yourself in the moment, until—

“y/n, i know you’re in there with chris.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

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[08luvmailz]

★ ﾟ๑ CONSOLE ME , AND THEN I'LL LEAVE WITHOUT A TRACE ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you after a year of leaving you behind ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ third part ／ I'd do anything just for me to see you again ──⠀ angst / no comfort , set on ep1 of s2 , sieun's pov ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ the first part was supposed to be just a oneshot, i have no place to make this whatsoever but since many requested and i have a plot, i decided to make it. hope you all enjoy, kindly read the first one to have more background of what happened.

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

At first, I never really cared for her. She was just a classmate — someone I talked to during group work, someone who laughed a little too brightly, who asked too many questions.

I would see her in class, voice too loud for the hour, laughter spilling like sunlight on polished floors. I saw her in hallways, always walking ahead or brushing past — never too far, never too close. I didn’t mind her. She was just… ordinary. Just another face in a sea of faces, nothing to remember. At least, that’s what I told myself.

And then I started noticing her more often — not intentionally, not all at once. Just… little things. The way some girls whispered behind her back, voices sharp with envy or something close to cruelty. “I don’t care,” I told myself as I slipped my earphones in, letting the music drown out the world. But as soon as I wrote down words in my notebook, my thoughts strayed — not to formulas or sentences, but to her.

I barely knew her, and still, I thought… she didn’t deserve that. I didn’t care, I told myself again. But somehow, she stayed in my mind longer than she should have.

And then I saw her go quiet. I didn’t think much of it — she was just a classmate, nothing more. But slowly, people began to drift away from her like she carried some invisible weight they didn’t want to hold. I told myself I didn’t care. Still, there were moments I’d catch myself looking — really looking.

She’d lower her head, pretending to sleep, but her shoulders would tremble ever so slightly. She must’ve been crying. I didn’t ask. I didn’t move. I didn’t care… or at least, that’s what I kept saying. But sympathy crept in like a whisper, and I hated that part of me that noticed — because she was still just a classmate. Nothing more.

Then, for a while, I stopped looking at her. She faded back into the noise — just a normal classmate again.

I went on with my routine: sleep, eat, study. Eat, study, sleep. On and on like clockwork.

But somewhere in between the silence, I started to hear her voice again — light, bright, almost chirpy, like birds in spring. She was talking to someone… Suno? No — Suho, I think. I didn’t care enough to know. But I noticed something. Her smile — it was different. Wider. Softer. Maybe that was her real smile. Maybe that’s how she looked when someone made her feel seen.

I glanced at her talking to him, her smile — it was pretty. But before I could even let the thought settle, I quickly averted my gaze, focusing back on the formulas I was scribbling in my notebook. Still, my mind kept crawling back to her, like an ant drawn to a sugary fruit, helpless to resist. She's pretty, I thought. But she's just my classmate. Just that. Nothing more.

And then she noticed — caught me staring. Our eyes met, and for a split second, I forgot how to breathe. She smiled. Soft, like it meant nothing at all, like it was the easiest thing in the world. I looked away. Maybe she thought I was a creep. Maybe she was smiling at someone behind me. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Because the truth was, her smile made my chest ache in a way I didn’t understand, and I didn’t know what to do with that.

But for a moment, I felt like I was dreaming, like the world around me was moving too fast. Everything blurred — her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke, the sound of her voice — it all tangled together, slipping through my fingers like water. I couldn’t quite grasp it, but I couldn’t look away either. It was as if I was standing on the edge, watching something beautiful unfold, yet too scared to step forward.

The table I used to sit at during lunch, it was just me, my food, and my book.

It was peaceful, and I was determined to study, to block out the noise of everything else. But in the blink of an eye, there were three people sitting there. I didn’t mind it one bit. Is this what it felt like? I hadn’t felt this in ages — the warmth of people around me, sharing the same table, eating the same food, chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was simple, something I had forgotten in a while. But, this is what i needed — what i wanted.

Her annoyance, Suho’s bland jokes, Beomseok’s laughter — it was a rhythm, a melody he never imagined he’d be part of, yet here he was. The moments were so simple, but in their simplicity, they held a weight he couldn't explain. Just the four of them, laughing, teasing, existing together — and he cherished it.

It was the kind of warmth that crept into his chest, quiet and steady, something he never knew he craved until it was there. The noise, the chatter, the feeling of belonging — it was everything he hadn’t realized he needed.

But then, with every sunny day, there was a shadow that stretched long and unyielding. A darkness that he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried. It was the kind of dark that clung to him, tightening its grip until he could barely breathe.

It was a nightmare, relentless and suffocating, one that twisted and turned with every breath he took. No matter how much he wanted to wake up, no matter how much he fought against it — he never did.

And then, it all crumbled. I remember the last time I saw her, the last time I felt her.

She stood there, in front of Suho’s bed, her arms wrapping around me in a way that made the world pause. I could feel the warmth of her embrace, like a sanctuary, something I had forgotten existed. It was the kind of warmth I didn’t deserve. Her presence pulled me in, and for a moment, I tried to block everything else out — the guilt, the fear, the suffocating weight of it all. But no matter how hard I tried, it crept in like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of my mind. It was my fault. I couldn’t escape it.

We stayed there together, outside Suho’s room, for hours. Her hand in mine, her fingers steady and warm, grounding me. Her hand on my shoulder, her touch gentle, like she was trying to tell me everything would be okay.

My head rested on top of hers, just for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did I. There was nothing left to say, not when everything was falling apart. But all I could feel was the warmth of her, a fleeting comfort that only made the gnawing guilt inside me worse.

And then, she had to leave. Her parents came, pulling her away from me, from this moment. The last thing I saw was her mouthing the words, “It’s going to be okay,” but I couldn’t bring myself to believe her. Not then. Not now.

After that, everything was a blur. Like the world spun faster than I could keep up with. I tried to focus, tried to do what I was supposed to do, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. I transferred schools, thinking it would make everything easier, as if running away from the memories would somehow fix me. But it didn’t.

Every day felt like I was sinking deeper into a pit I couldn’t escape. My mind kept returning to her, to the way she felt in my arms, to the sound of her voice, to the warmth she gave me that I didn’t deserve. I shut it all out, but I couldn’t shut her out. She lingered in the back of my thoughts like a constant ache.

But deep down, he knew. He didn’t want to talk to her—not because he didn’t care, but because he was afraid of what his words would mean. Afraid of what it would do to her, to them. So he kept ignoring her, pretending it was for the best. He found comfort in the silence, but it gnawed at him.

One day, she reached out again. At first, I thought maybe this time would be different. Maybe I could reply, tell her the truth, apologize. But the guilt slammed into him all over again. Every message, every word she’d sent, was like a reminder of how I’d failed her. Of how I pushed her away when she needed me the most.

I started looking for excuses, for reasons not to reach out, even when I saw her messages pop up on my screen. At first, I thought maybe I could talk to her, tell her what had happened, apologize. But every time I saw her name, the guilt was there, suffocating me. It was easier to ignore her, to let the silence between us stretch on, to convince myself that this was what was best for her.

I told myself it was for the better. But, it hurts so much. I need her.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Every message she sent, every question she asked, it felt like a weight pressing against my chest. I wanted to reply, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face her like this, not when I was falling apart. Not when I had ruined everything.

Every time he saw her name pop up on his screen, he felt like his chest would collapse in on itself. He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to ignore her, pretend she wasn’t still trying to reach him, trying to hold on to the past that he couldn’t fix. But the messages were endless. 9 p.m., 11:30 p.m., 2:14 a.m., morning. She was always there, always waiting. And every time, it hurt.

So I did what I thought was easiest — I put her on spam. I tried to forget her, tried to convince myself that ignoring her was the right thing to do. But every night, as I lay awake, I found myself scrolling through our old messages, through the photos we shared, through the times when things were easier. And it hurt, more than anything.

His heart heavy with every word, the bickers they had. Even if he was the dry texter. He remembered the way she asked him for help with problems, the way they’d share laughs, the late-night hangouts just the two of them. Back then, everything had felt simple. Pure. But now, looking at her name on the screen, it felt like a reminder of everything he’d lost.

He cried when he saw them. The hours of unanswered messages. His phone screen became a constant reminder of the fact that he couldn’t be the person she needed. He couldn’t give her the closure, the healing, the peace she deserved. And he hated himself for it.

She told me that she would always be there for me, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me.

I cried, more times than I could count. I cried because I missed her. I cried because I knew I’d never be the person she deserved. I cried because of the nightmares. And I cried because I was too weak to make it right.

"I ignore her. She’ll hate me. That’s good. She deserves peace after this," he told himself. But it didn’t make it hurt any less. The more he tried to convince himself it was for the best, the more the ache in his chest grew. He didn’t want her to hate him. He didn’t want her to leave him behind.

But he couldn’t stop the spiral. He wanted her to move on, to live her life without him, without the weight of their shared past.

But how could he ask her to do that, when he couldn’t even let go himself?

And then he heard her voice. At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or another dream he couldn’t escape. But then he stepped outside, and there she was. He froze. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, each beat painfully distinct. He didn’t even run. He just stood there, staring at her—at the tired figure standing in front of him.

She looked different, somehow. Her jacket slipped off her shoulder, the bags in her hands clinking softly with each step. And was that... a flower in one of the bags? The urge to reach out, to hold her, almost overwhelmed him. His body screamed for it, but his mind... his mind couldn’t allow it. Not yet.

Then his mother's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. "Is she your friend? You didn’t tell me she was coming?" And just like that, it all came crashing back. The promises he'd broken. The ignoring. The leaving. The silence. Guilt wrapped around him tighter, and for a moment, it was suffocating.

Without thinking, the words slipped from his mouth. "I don’t have any friends. I don’t know her."

The words were like daggers. His voice was steady, cold even, but his gaze... his gaze was locked onto hers. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to say it. But somehow, it came out.

And when he looked at her—really looked at her—he saw the hurt in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped slightly, as if the world had just grown heavier. She looked so small. So vulnerable. And he had done that to her. He had pushed her away when she needed him most.

He did it. But, it hurts. It really does.

She turned, slowly, as if she was trying to give him one last chance. But she didn’t say anything. She just... left. And he stood there, paralyzed, as the door clicked shut behind her. He could feel the emptiness in the air, the crushing weight of everything he had just destroyed. He wanted to call out, to run after her, to tell her it was a mistake. That he didn’t mean it. But his body wouldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the very guilt he had been carrying for so long.

His mother said something, but he didn’t hear her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All he could feel was the cold air around him, the deep ache in his chest, the echo of the words he wished he could take back.

He didn’t move. He just turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last, each one feeling like shards of glass beneath his feet. He told his mother that he needed to study. But every step on the hallway seemed too long. The silence too thick. He wanted to scream, to disappear, to escape from everything he had done.

But he couldn’t. All he could do was retreat into his room, lock the door behind him, and bury himself in the darkness. His bed was the only place that felt familiar, but even then, sleep was out of reach. He tossed and turned, restless and tormented by the image of her walking away, and the sound of her voice fading as the distance between them grew.

And somewhere in the quiet, he realized—he had already lost her.

And when he finally lay on his bed, it all came rushing back.

The warmth.

The first time their eyes met, the way her smile made everything feel brighter, even in the quietest moments.

He remembered how she would come up to him, randomly, asking questions—always wanting to learn, to understand. And he would answer her, speaking the words she needed.

She’d sit beside him, always so eager to learn, and he thought she found him boring, especially after her endless questions turned into silence. She became quiet, and that, too, felt like a shift he didn’t know how to navigate.

Then came that one time when she wanted him to explain something in English, and as he did, she blurted out, “You should speak more. Your voice is like marshmallow.”

Her smile made his heart stutter. He felt like he was on clouds, his chest light but his stomach tightening in a way he couldn’t explain. He had to break eye contact, focusing on his book to hide the heat rushing to his cheeks, but the sentence he was trying to read? He couldn’t focus. It felt wrong. It wasn’t like him.

The candies she would give him. “Mint is good for focus. Suho told me.”

The way they’d share food, her small, quiet gestures always speaking louder than words. And the lunches. She’d sit next to him, and it was always just the two of them—until Suho showed up, and Beomseok too. His table, once empty, was now filled with them, and he didn’t know if he should be thankful or terrified. They were there, and he couldn’t push them away.

Then there were the rainy days. The shared umbrella, too small for the both of them, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her getting sick. So he tilted it toward her, just a little closer, not thinking twice about the consequences.

He almost got a call the next day for missing school, but he hadn’t cared. He just wanted her to be okay.

It was all slipping away now. His hands gripped the sheets as memories tangled with regret. The tears started, hot and heavy, before he even realized they were there. He didn’t know when the sobs came, but they were there now, uncontrollable, as he lay in the dim light, overwhelmed by everything he had lost.

He glanced at his phone. The time was 7 pm and he glanced at the lock screen. It was her. Her smiling face, hair loose, the one she’d stolen from him when she’d gotten her hands on his phone. She’d set it as his lock screen, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and he hadn’t minded.

In fact, he’d never wanted to change it. Not until now.

His hand shook as he unlocked it, staring at her face for one last time. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

Without thinking, he deleted the lock screen. The image of her was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, empty blue display.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling as the heavy silence of his room pressed against him. His phone, now locked with a cold, indifferent blue display, sat on his nightstand. It felt like a physical weight in the room, an anchor to a past he desperately wanted to sever. Yet, in the hollow of his chest, something long forgotten ached—something that belonged only to her. The memories would rise like unwelcome ghosts, flickering at the edges of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push them back.

He hadn’t meant for it to come to this. The distance, the silence—it was supposed to be the easy way out, wasn’t it? She didn’t need him in her life anymore. She deserved better, a future without someone like him, someone who couldn’t even manage to keep the people closest to him safe. He clenched his fists, the ache in his chest flaring like an open wound. I don’t deserve her, not after everything I’ve done.

I’m sorry, he thought, his chest tightening. I’m so sorry.

But he never said it to her face.

A year has passed.

Sieun didn’t keep track anymore. He only counted time in therapy sessions, pills swallowed, hours spent pretending to sleep. But that day, he found himself outside Suho’s hospital room again—his usual spot on the bench across the door, his head bowed, hands clenched. The log sheet was new. He scanned it out of habit. Her name wasn’t there.

She must have stopped coming.

A dull ache settled in his chest. It was for the best, he told himself. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?

But fate is cruel when it chooses to be kind.

Because just as he finally sat down, the door creaked open.

There she was.

She stepped out of Suho’s room like a memory peeling itself off the wall. Still in that uniform—their old school uniform. Her skirt a little longer than the standard, her cardigan slightly oversized, she dyed her hair the way she wanted and asked the three of them if she would look good on a light brown look. He remembered the way beomseok and him nodded but then suho contradicted that she would looked like she's wearing a wig— a kick on his face was the answer for that.

She looked the same but older. The same but distant. The same but not his.

Their eyes met.

And for the first time in months, he felt like he could breathe.

But it was a cruel kind of breath, the kind you choke on.

Time slipped.

And suddenly he felt like he was in junior high all over again.

Instantly, he remembered the very first time he saw her.

He had been standing outside the teachers’ faculty room, arms full of worksheets the teacher asked him to return. But his grip faltered, and the stack scattered like brittle leaves onto the cold floor.

He’d dropped to his knees, flustered, reaching for the pages scattered like fallen leaves. Shoes passed him, careless, stepping on some of the sheets — he didn’t care.

Not until the door creaked open. He flinched at the sound, and when he looked up, there she was. Standing still. Her eyes found him, wide and startled, not with pity, but something gentler — concern.

She knelt down without a word, her small hands brushing against his as she helped gather the pages. Strawberry clips in her hair, low pigtails framing her face. She didn’t smile, not yet. But her presence was enough to make him forget the hallway noise, the sting of embarrassment, the weight in his chest.

She was really pretty.

He didn’t know her name back then. But her kindness made his chest ache in a way he didn’t yet understand.

She handed me the worksheets with a soft smile and tilted her head, “You okay, Sieun? Do you want me to help you carry some?” Her voice was light, almost teasing.

I blinked at her, confused for a second — how did she know my name? But then I saw her eyes flicker down to my name tag, and I felt stupid for even questioning it.

Still, for some reason, my mind blanked. I felt like I was turning dumb, just standing there with my hands full and my thoughts even fuller.

But just as I was about to say something — anything — a voice from down the hallway called her name. One of her friends, waving her over. She glanced back at me with that same bright smile and gave a small wave, “Watch your step, Sieun-ah!” she said, lighthearted and cheerful, before running off.

I stood there for a moment, frozen in place, clutching the stack of papers like an idiot. I didn’t move. Not yet. I just... stood there, feeling the echo of her smile linger a little too long in my chest.

But that was then.

Now, the girl from that memory stared at him like he was a ghost.

Her face was blank. No smile. No worry. No softness.

Just a tired look—like seeing him drained her.

She pulled her headphones on without a word.

And walked passed right pass him.

Not a glance back.

He didn’t call after her. Didn’t move. Just sat there, hollowed out, trying not to show how badly it cracked him open.

Right, he thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in his throat. As he looked down at his phone, that he was messaging Suho.

As he typed the words. "I just saw Dokja, She's really pretty with her brown hair. But, we don't talk anymore."

"She’s not my 'friend' anymore."

And there he remained.

Alone in the hallway.

Just him.

And the past they once shared—now sealed behind Suho’s door, like a memory too fragile to touch.

♡ note ───── Come on, don't leave mе, it can't be that easy, babe. If you believe me, I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city, excited to see your face. Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, would upload the parallel version.

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy

[cinnamanz]

# MAMMA MIA — chapter thirty-one!

there’s always been one rule in the group: don’t bring up y/n. no one really knows why, but it’s clear sophia would rather leave her ex-best friend in the past. once inseparable, their friendship dissolved after a summer camp that no one talks about, and y/n vanished, moving god-knows-where without so much as a goodbye. some say it was a fight. others say it was something more. only sophia knows the truth—or maybe not even she does. now, as the third year at dream academy begins, sophia is blindsided by y/n's unexpected return. gone is the familiar, easygoing childhood bestfriend she remembers. in her place is someone sharper, colder, and—unfortunately for sophia—hotter than ever. (who gave her the permission to look so fine?)

wc: 813 (pls read it)

PARTY ON YOU

3am.

your phone buzzes against the nightstand like it’s mad at you. it’s 3 am., and you’re two minutes away from ignoring it until you catch the name—yunjin. great, a drunk call. again.

you answer with a groggy, “what?”

“y/n,” she practically yells over the music in the background. “please. come get sophia.”

you sit up. “what happened?”

“she’s wasted,” yunjin says, dragging out the word like it physically hurts her. “two drinks. two! and now she’s dancing on the coffee table and i don’t—”

you’re already pulling a hoodie over your head. “text me the address.”

you hated parties. too many bodies crammed into too little space, everyone sticky with sweat and trying too hard to forget whatever they're running from. the smell of spilled beer, the throb of music that isn't even that good, people you don’t know getting too close, too loud. it's never been your thing.

but it’s sophia.

so you're in your car, driving too fast, jaw clenched and music low because any louder and your thoughts would swallow you whole. you're annoyed. you're tired. you're dreading this. you don’t want to go.

and still—you go.

you shoulder through the front door of a house that reeks of cheap alcohol and regret. the bass inside is shaking the floor. bodies are packed wall to wall, swaying under lights that flicker like they’ve given up. a group is singing off-key in the kitchen, someone’s crying on the stairs, and there’s a random guy passed out in a bathtub full of ice.

you hate it here.

but your eyes keep scanning, searching—until they land on her.

sophia.

dead center of the living room, where the crowd parts just enough to let her move. hair wild, cheeks flushed, the mess of strobe lights dancing across her skin like a kaleidoscope. she's laughing so freely, like nothing in the world could touch her. no distance. no history. no heartbreak you’ve unknowingly caused her.

and in a way—it does.

for a moment, the whole house fades. the sound dulls. the lights slow.

you're not here anymore.

you're back in your childhood bedroom. the abba playlist is skipping from years of overuse. sophia’s jumping on your bed, a glittery pink hairbrush in one hand, screaming mamma mia! at the top of her lungs. you’re laughing, trying to sing along between breaths, the two of you spinning until you fall into a tangled heap of limbs and joy.

but that was another life.

now, you’re just someone who’s been watching her from afar. someone who doesn’t get invited to those kinds of moments anymore. rightfully so.

and yet, you’re here. you still came.

your body moves before your brain can catch up. you push through the dancers, the sweat, the noise, until you’re standing just in front of her. you reach out and curl your fingers around her wrist.

she stumbles slightly, eyes blinking open, and when she looks at you—really looks at you—the air stills.

the memories flood back—first in a trickle, then like a storm. scraped knees and sidewalk chalk. sleepovers that stretched until sunrise. secrets whispered under shared blankets. the soft hum of safety, of knowing and being known. even through the haze of alcohol and pulsing lights, something cuts through it—you.

not the version of you that came back all sharp edges and unreadable stares, but you. not the stranger she’s had to relearn in glimpses.

but you.

the you who held her hand when thunder made her flinch. the you who made sure she ate when she was too distracted to remember. who knew her favorite snacks without asking. who memorized all her tells—nervous habits, guilty smiles, the exact moment she was about to cry.

the you who said she sang better than abba themselves, even when she was off-key to make you laugh—not that she'd ever tell you. you who smiled like the sun. who laughed like it was a secret only meant for her.

and for a breathless, blinking second, she sees that girl again. and wonders if maybe—just maybe—you never left.

you see her soften.

your voice, low and steady, breaks the moment. “let’s go home.”

and as she nods, still swaying slightly, her hand tightening around yours—the music floods back in like a wave. but in your head, it’s still just that same chant, looping over and over, a soft, aching echo:

“party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you.”

masterlist ✮⋆｡˚📽️ next

gnarly revived me back to lyfe🔥🔥🔥🔥❤️❤️❤️❤️‼️‼️‼️‼️💯💯💯💯💯 I HAVE EXAM NEXT WEEK ND THE WEEK AFTER END ME bare w me guys😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏

@zindoriyo @goofymickeyr @saysirhc @kathleenmikaelson @soobnotfound @jjjaliyah @iisayfa @magixpracticality @phamapple @sed7ction @1luvkarina @linnnsworld @hotluvlet @bauzer @saranglasses @kkoga @chaesitonmyface @arihiu @peanutbutterlover05 @kristalag @bulgik @meiyaes @solentient @yuzeemin @reey0w @vrtualstar @justtluvrr @fruityg0rl @cyberbonesworld @haerinkisser @lafortezalover @cassiespoiler @skz-xii @ninguitar @kimminjswife @yeetaberry127 @p1hbrook @hazel-tanthamore22 @caitlynglazer @minjvers @tormaa1 @nwjnsloona @itzkatflixs @namojoon @falling-intoo-deep @waitsobs @blushmimi @cindergorge TAGLIST CLOSED

[emilys-bangs]

thankful you don't send someone to kill me | e.p

Tags: bau!reader, london!emily, angst, exes who STILL haven't gotten over each other, phone calls, pregnant!emily, brief mentions of blood, reader has trouble sleeping, implied previous insomnia, they still want each other bad

Summary: History repeats itself; when you call, Emily answers.

Word count: 1.7k

Part one

The TV blurs in Emily’s vision. Her eyelids are heavy, lashes skimming her cheeks, but another kick to the ribs swiftly dissolves any hopes of sleep. She groans quietly into the couch cushion, her palm smoothing over the curve of her stomach.

“Go to sleep, kid,” she mutters, feeling her daughter flutter under her skin. It’s all but fruitless by now; weak, watery light filters in through the curtains, dawn slowly creeping across the living room floor and chasing away the likelihood of going back to sleep. Emily rubs between her brows, stamping down on the urge to cry.

Nothing is easy when you’re 30 weeks pregnant. Not walking or sleeping or, hell, just being upright. She’s constantly tired, constantly aching, constantly on the verge of falling apart at the seams. Her skin is bone dry in the midst of summer, lips cracking and peeling if they’re not perpetually lathered in Vaseline, but the hormones are probably the worst of it. Wild and out of control, they bubble to the surface faster than she can blink, tears blurring her vision over nonsense, anger sparking in her blood at the slightest inconvenience. Mark flounders around her, desperate to have her in one piece; Emily is very nearly the same, slowly losing her patience with both him and herself, longing for the moment when she’d finally have her daughter in her arms.

But that moment isn’t coming along any time soon.

Emily nuzzles her face into the space between the couch cushions in an attempt to block out the light. Some shuteye has to do some good, even if by this point it’s probable it’ll tire her out more somehow. Her baby begins to still again, and Emily closes her eyes, relishing in the yet unbroken peace of the morning. 

She barely counts ten seconds before her phone buzzes with a call. 

The vibrations travel through the cushions and force her eyes open again. Her phone doesn’t even ring twice; it goes still mid-ring, the screen dying to a flat black. 

She’s going to kill Clyde.

Emily grabs her phone, scowling at the screen until her brain catches up, the letters on the screen joining together to form a name, and then endless ashy memories.

You.

Her breath hitches. She blinks and reads the name again, dragging her thumbnail over the screen. Its shape is so familiar, sloping letters joining sweetly to make up years of faded bliss, months of ever-present agony. There’s no way you’d call. Not after the last time, when she ground your heart to pieces beneath her heel, heard it crack in your voice and in her own chest. No, you wouldn’t call—she made sure of that.

Unless you’re in trouble.

The thought makes her chest tight. Emily doesn’t hesitate, pressing call and bringing the phone to her ear, hardly hearing the long rings through the roar of blood in her veins. 

Beep. Beep. 

She mentally calculates the time difference. Almost 2 am, if you’re in DC. Emily gnaws on her lip, automatically smoothing over a kick to her spleen.

Beep. Bee—

The line clicks. It’s silent, both of you holding your breath. Movement buzzes in the background, faint white noise; it doesn’t bend beneath your voice as you stay quiet. Waiting.

Emily cracks first.

“Y/N.” Her tongue almost weeps at the feeling of your name on it. “Are you—are you okay?” It’s embarrassing, the way her voice cracks, but she doesn’t even hear it. “It’s late. Are you home? Is everything—?”

“I’m fine.” Your voice is faded. Toneless. Emily exhales at the sound of it, her ears ringing. “Sorry. I, uh—I didn’t mean to call.” 

It stings, a barely healed cut slicing open again, but what did she expect? Of course you didn’t. 

But, she thinks deliriously. 

But you still called.

“My finger slipped.” You say, effectively deflating the balloon of hope in her chest before it can grow. “Sorry.” 

Emily swallows. Her baby kicks and she rubs over the ache, feeling the imprint of an elbow as the silence stretches and thickens and starts to taper off neatly into a goodbye. 

The thought sends a strange panic racing through her. She grabs the silence, snaps it in her hands, and lets her voice echo down the line. 

“Why are you awake?” 

But she knows why. Your mind races too restlessly too often. It wasn’t always that she could help; sometimes she just sat with you on the couch as muted reruns flashed on the TV, doing nothing but keeping you company and raking her fingers through your hair. 

Her hand twitches. She clenches her fingers into a fist, bringing them up to the torn skin on her bottom lip.

“Don’t know. Just one of those nights, I guess.” You speak slowly. The tired rasp in your voice is familiar, haunting; she wishes she could smooth it away. “We’re in New York.” You volunteer.

Emily peels a dry patch of skin from her lip, blood wetting her nail. She pretends it’s the sting that burns her eyes, makes them drown in salt.

“You’ll have to be up early.” She rasps needlessly, thinking of Hotch’s disfavor for tardiness. “Try to close your eyes, love.”

She bites down on her tongue, blood coating her teeth, but it’s too late. A sardonic sound huffs from your mouth, a phantom burst of air caressing her ear. “Solid advice, Emily. I hadn’t thought of that.” The bite of your tone claws into her flesh, drawing streams of blood down her limbs. Her tears join the mix, swirling down in the wake of your bitterness and her crumbling resolve.

Seconds clump together, and this time, she’s too scared to break the silence, afraid she’ll say something stupid. Confess that she’s not too sure she hasn’t made a mistake. Fucked up her life, and yours, and Mark’s. Beg you to take her back, away from her stiflingly kind fiancé who handles her with kid gloves, too unsettled by a version of her that isn’t fully composed. 

But no, she already pushed you away, didn’t she? She doesn’t get to go back. She won’t.

Emily’s heart trips in your silence. Do you hate her already? You must. Sometimes she thinks she hates you, but she’s pathetically weak where you’re involved. She can’t hear your name in someone else’s mouth. Can’t bear to think about you for more than a few minutes without her mouth going sour, cheeks puckering as she wonders if it’s possible you could’ve moved on, found someone better. She’s tender all over on the inside, bruised and sensitive, entirely composed of the fresh, delicate skin hidden beneath a scab.

Emily glances at her phone, making sure the call is still running. Your name is trapped in her mouth, her cheeks cool with sticky tears as she soothes her daughter’s restlessness and waits for whatever it is you’ll unleash on her. 

It takes an age before you speak. When you do, your voice is quieter. “It must be—what time is it over there?”

“Almost seven.” She croaks.

”God, that’s early. Sorry I woke you up.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” She blurts out.

“Everything okay?” She hears the concern bleed into your voice. It chokes her, your lovely fingers digging into her throat and cutting off the flow of air to her lungs.

“Everything’s fine.” Her voice shakes. “It’s not—uh. Not nightmares or anything.” 

She can’t get herself to say it. Say, I can’t sleep because my baby’s keeping me up. She’s using me as a punching bag, and I can’t tell you about it because I don’t get to. Because I signed up for it and you didn’t. Her tongue is numb around the words, frozen in a way she never used to be with you.

Briefly, Emily hates the both of you. Hates herself for being ashamed to mention her unborn child that she’d torn her heart to get, hates you for making her hesitate.

Your silence tells her you understand. You were always a smart one, easily catching on to her wit and matching it with your own. Now you clear your throat. “Can’t be easy sleeping now. Seven months, huh?”

Her heart flutters.

“Just over,” she mumbles, looking down at her stomach. It gently warps the material of her tank top. “30 weeks.” Her voice wobbles. A warm tear drops on the crest of her bump and bleeds through the cotton, staining it dark. 

God, she’s thought of this. Dreamed of it. Calling you, hearing your voice even though she’s the last person to deserve it. She doesn’t even deserve to hear it tinny and flat through the speakers of her phone, through the buds of her earphones, trying to get close to the real thing—feeling it beat faintly in her ears—without stripping away more of her dignity.

It didn’t work. Nothing ever did.

Emily wipes her damp cheeks, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Um, how are you? How’ve you been?”

“Let’s not do this, Emily.” You murmur. You suddenly sound years older, worn down and thready. She closes her eyes.

“Are you eating?” Are you walking around with missing fragments of a heart like she is? “Is Serg?”

“The damn cat’s always eating.” You huff, something like a laugh. It pinches at her chest. “He misses you.” You say, quieter.

“He loves you.” Emily’s throat is numb with the taste of tears.

Your breath hitches in her ear. 

“I have to go.”

“Wait.” She whispers. “No, wait, please, I…”

I miss you. I still love you. I think I fucked up, but I’m not too sure I didn’t.

“Hey. Don’t…” You trail off, heaving in a breath, “Don’t cry, Em. You’re—you’re happy, aren’t you?”

She digs a heel into her eye. “I’m not.” She sniffs, her words ringing entirely hollow. “Not crying, it’s just—the baby. She’s kicking.”

Your stillness is palpable. “She, huh?” You say, your voice straining. “Picked out a name yet?”

What is she doing?

“You don’t have to do this. God, I’m sorry, I’ll just—take care of yourself, okay? Please.”

“I should be the one telling you that.”

Emily touches her stomach. Her daughter doesn’t rise to her touch, finally stilling. “I will if you will.” She rasps, rubbing circles on her skin.

A beat. Then, softly, “I’ll try.”

That’s all she can ask for. Maybe, Emily thinks as the call disconnects, even that is too much.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

All That Lingers PT5

jake seresin x fem!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

no heartbreak (i think)

One Week Later

Balboa Naval Medical Center

9:12 AM

The sun filtered through the half-open blinds, soft and gold, dancing faintly across the white sheets tucked around Y/N’s legs. Her hospital room was quiet save for the slow, rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor. It had become background noise, oddly comforting.

Her fractured ankle was propped up with a foam wedge, her ribs still wrapped beneath the thin cotton gown. Bruises bloomed across her skin in soft shades of yellow and fading purple. Her head still ached in waves—small ones now, manageable. The concussion had begun to ease, the fog in her mind lifting more each day.

Jake sat in the corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. He was reading something on his phone, but not really reading. Every couple minutes, his eyes would flick to her face. Just checking.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” she said softly, voice still hoarse.

He looked up, startled, then smiled—tired and sweet. “I didn’t come here to be judged.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You live here now?”

He chuckled. “Basically. The nurses gave me a nickname. ‘The cowboy with the sad eyes.’”

She laughed, but it was cut short by a wince. Her hand curled over her ribs, breath catching. Jake was up in a second, sitting beside her again, careful, gentle.

“I’m okay,” she breathed. “Just laughed too hard.”

He didn’t answer—just watched her, that crease between his brows deepening. He looked like he wanted to hold her but was too scared to cause her pain.

She touched his hand. “Jake…”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The sun rose a little higher. A nurse came in. Vitals were taken. Jake helped her eat some scrambled eggs, which were terrible, and she teased him for stealing the orange juice off her tray. It felt…normal. Not good, not yet. But not terrible.

And then—everything changed.

It started with a flutter. A sharp, stinging pain behind her eyes.

She blinked. “Jake…”

He looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“I…my head…” Her words were slurred. Her hand trembled. “I feel—” her face twisted in pain—“wrong. Something’s…wrong.”

The monitor beeped faster.

Jake stood immediately. “Nurse?!” His voice was loud, cracking. “Nurse! Something’s wrong—”

Y/N’s body jerked suddenly—just a twitch, but wrong. All wrong.

The room exploded into movement.

Nurses rushed in. The heart monitor screamed. Someone yelled for a crash cart. A code was called. Jake was pulled back—out of the way, out of reach—his hands reaching for her even as someone held him back.

“What’s happening?” he shouted. “What the hell is happening?!”

“Sir, please step outside—”

“Tell me what’s going on—is she seizing? Is it her head?”

But no one answered him.

He stood in the hallway, fists clenched, the sound of alarms echoing behind the closed door. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t do anything.

A doctor ran in. Another nurse. Words filtered through the door, muffled but clear enough to sting:

“Suspected embolism. Possibly cerebral. Get neurosurgery now.”

“She needs to go up—page Dr. Ramos—”

“Prep OR 3 for emergency craniotomy—”

Jake’s knees nearly gave out. He leaned against the wall, hands in his hair, trying to breathe.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was healing. She was smiling. She had just made a stupid joke about hospital food. She had just touched his hand.

And now she might not make it.

————

11:47 AM

Balboa Naval Medical Center — Surgery Waiting Area

Jake sat with his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The waiting room was quiet in that cruel, artificial way hospitals always were—muted lighting, soft beeping in the distance, the faint hum of machines and sterile air.

His leg bounced. Uncontrollably. He’d tried to stop it, but it kept going, like his body couldn’t handle the stillness. He kept looking at the double doors she’d been taken through. The ones that hadn’t opened in over an hour.

She had been fine.

She was healing. She was teasing him. He had fed her hospital eggs and kissed the inside of her wrist when the nurse wasn’t looking. And now… now her brain was bleeding, and they were cutting into her skull to save her life.

He bent forward, elbows on his knees, breathing through his teeth.

He could still hear the monitor flatlining. Still see her eyes fluttering. Still hear her voice when she’d whispered, “I feel wrong.”

A nurse walked by and gave him a soft smile. He couldn’t smile back. Couldn’t even blink. He thought if he did—if he moved, or let himself feel it—it would all come crashing down.

Jake had never felt so useless.

He was a fighter pilot. He could fly into storms, take on a SAM site, drop missiles with pinpoint precision. But here? Here he was nothing but a man in a chair, waiting for news he couldn’t bear to hear.

“Please don’t take her too,” he whispered to no one. “Please. You already took him. Don’t take her too.”

⸻

Meanwhile — Operating Room Three

Unconscious — Between Worlds

Y/N didn’t feel pain.

She felt…warmth.

A soft breeze. The scent of kettle corn and sunscreen. The faintest laughter carried by the wind.

She opened her eyes and blinked into sunlight.

She was standing on a boardwalk. A real, old-school, sea-worn boardwalk. Children ran past her with balloons. Waves crashed gently in the distance. Somewhere nearby, music played from a carousel.

And standing just a few feet ahead of her—hands in the pockets of his jeans, head slightly tilted—was Bob.

He looked like he did when she first met him: clean-shaven, glasses slightly crooked, eyes so blue it made her chest ache. He wore a faded Top Gun t-shirt and his old sneakers. And when he saw her, his smile bloomed like the sunrise.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

She blinked. “Bob?”

He nodded once, his hands open, inviting.

She walked into his arms without thinking. He smelled like soap and sunshine. Like safety. Like home. He wrapped her up tight, kissing her temple the way he used to when she was too tired to stand.

“I missed you,” she whispered, clinging to him. “I missed you so much.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I missed you too.”

————

1:14 PM

Jake stood in the hallway now, because he couldn’t sit anymore. He’d paced a trench in the tile, shoes squeaking faintly with every turn. He didn’t know how many laps he’d made. Twenty? A hundred?

The surgeon still hadn’t come out.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to punch something, to throw a chair, to beg God on his knees if it meant she’d live.

Instead, he stopped and pressed his forehead to the cold wall and whispered, “Don’t take her. Don’t leave me alone again.”

———

Y/N and Bob were sitting on a bench, sharing a funnel cake. Powdered sugar clung to his nose, and she laughed as she wiped it away.

“You’re such a dork,” she said.

“I’m your dork,” he grinned.

They’d ridden the bumper cars. The Ferris wheel. He’d won her a stuffed bear from a rigged game booth, and she pretended to be unimpressed even as she held it close.

The sky overhead was the color of memory—soft gold, pale blue. Timeless.

But now, as they sat, a hush fell over the air.

Bob turned to her, his expression shifting.

“I loved today,” he said softly.

She swallowed. “Me too.”

“I wanted to give you something good. Something sweet. You deserve that.”

She looked at him—really looked at him—and her heart cracked.

“You’re not staying.”

He shook his head. “No.”

Her eyes brimmed. “Why? Why can’t I stay?”

He reached up, cupped her cheek. His touch was warm, so real it hurt. “Because it’s not your time. It wasn’t last week, and it isn’t now.”

“But Bob—”

“You have so much more ahead of you. Robert needs you. Jake needs you.”

He smiled gently. “And you love him, even if you’re not ready to say it yet.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I don’t want to say goodbye again.”

“I know,” he whispered, forehead to hers. “But you’ll carry me. You already are.”

The sun began to dip toward the horizon.

Bob kissed her. Once. Deeply. With everything that was ever unsaid between them.

“I’ll see you again, my love,” he whispered. “But not today.”

And then—

⸻

Operating Room

2:02 PM

“BP stabilizing.”

“Pressure dropping.”

“She’s breathing on her own.”

“Okay—okay. Let’s close.”

⸻

Recovery Room

4:15 PM

Jake stood when the surgeon walked in.

“She’s alive,” the doctor said, peeling off his cap. “It was close, but we got it. She’s stable now.”

Jake’s legs buckled. He sank into the chair, his hands shaking, a sound breaking from his throat that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Can I see her?” he asked.

“She’s in recovery now, but yes. In a little while.”

Jake nodded, pressing his palms to his face. “Thank you. Thank you.”

But when he looked up—eyes red, chest still heaving—he whispered to the empty room:

“Thank you, Bob.”

——

Recovery Room, 6:41 PM

Soft rain tapping against the window

The lights were low. Monitors hummed and beeped in a steady rhythm beside the bed. Y/N was still under anesthesia, her head wrapped gently in white gauze, an oxygen cannula resting beneath her nose.

Her face was pale, her lips dry. But she was alive.

Jake sat beside her, his knees drawn up close, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the bed, not quite touching hers. He hadn’t moved in over an hour.

He just kept watching her.

Sometimes, his eyes would drop to her pulse. He’d count it. Just to make sure it was still there.

And then—quietly, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear—he started to talk.

“I didn’t think I’d lose you too.”

His voice cracked on the word lose.

“I—God, I thought you were okay. You were getting better. You were teasing me about the eggs, and then I blinked, and you were seizing, and they were pulling me out of the room, and I just—”

He stopped. Swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t breathe,” he said.

His fingers brushed against her hand now—just barely. Testing. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch.

“I’ve seen bad days. Combat. Crashes. You know how many times I’ve watched planes go down in my head before I fall asleep?” He shook his head. “But this was different. This wasn’t supposed to happen to you.”

He exhaled slowly, eyes on the soft rise and fall of her chest.

“I keep thinking—if Bob were here… what would he say to me right now?”

Jake gave a small, broken smile. “He’d probably punch me for falling in love with you.”

A long silence followed.

Then, softer: “But I think he’d also understand.”

He reached for her hand then, really held it. Carefully, like it was something sacred. Like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“You’re everything I never let myself want. And I would’ve waited forever, Y/N. I still will. If you wake up and never want to see me again, I’ll deal with it. But if you’ll have me—if there’s any part of you that still has room for someone else… I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make this world easier for you to live in.”

His voice cracked again.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

Rain tapped against the window. Her heart monitor beeped slow and steady. The room was silent except for that.

Jake sat with her hand cradled in both of his, his forehead eventually pressing to the back of her fingers.

And still—he waited.

———

Balboa Naval Medical Center

Recovery Room, 3:17 AM

The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of a monitor and the faint silver-blue light of the moon through the window. Jake hadn’t moved in hours.

His hoodie was rumpled from where he’d leaned forward and rested his head briefly against the side of her bed, but he never truly slept. Every time her vitals shifted—every beep, every twitch of her fingers—he stirred. His eyes would snap open. His pulse would spike.

The fear didn’t fade. Not even with time.

Every breath she took felt like a miracle he didn’t deserve.

At some point during the night, he whispered her name just to hear it. Just to fill the silence with something that belonged to her.

“Y/N.”

She didn’t answer.

But her hand—still in his—shifted, ever so slightly.

Jake didn’t let go.

⸻

6:43 AM

The Next Morning

The sun rose soft and hazy through the coastal fog, washing the hospital room in pale gold and gray. A nurse came and went, adjusting the IV, checking her chart. Jake barely acknowledged her. His eyes never left Y/N’s face.

And then—finally—

She stirred.

Her eyelashes fluttered. Her lips parted. She took a deeper breath, her throat tight and dry, and her brow furrowed like she was waking from the deepest sleep of her life.

Jake stood so fast the chair skidded back behind him.

“Hey—hey,” he breathed. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her eyes opened.

Slowly, carefully, like it took effort.

They landed on him.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t try to sit up. Her gaze wandered first—to the IV, to the light, to the quiet hum of machines—and then back to him.

And she saw it.

The wreckage in his eyes. The red-rimmed grief. The fear he hadn’t been able to shake for a week. The love—undeniable now—so heavy in his chest he didn’t even try to hide it.

Y/N swallowed thickly. Her voice was rough, barely audible.

“…Hi.”

Jake let out a broken laugh, a sound of pure, staggering relief. He nodded, eyes closing for a second as he clutched her hand like it was the only real thing in the world.

“Hi,” he whispered back. “God, you scared the hell out of me.”

She gave the smallest smile. Barely there. But it reached her eyes, just a little.

He reached for the cup of water with the straw and brought it to her lips. She sipped slowly, and when she was done, she leaned her head slightly toward him—not quite resting on his arm, but close.

There were so many things he wanted to say.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

And she didn’t mention Bob. Didn’t mention the sunlit boardwalk or the Ferris wheel. The taste of funnel cake. The kiss. The goodbye.

That was hers. A memory folded quietly in the deepest part of her soul.

Instead, she whispered, “You stayed.”

Jake’s voice was soft. “Always.”

———

He pushes the door open slowly and steps inside first, his hand gently on her back as she limps forward on her crutches. She hasn’t said a word since they pulled into the driveway. She’s pale. Exhausted. Every breath looks like it takes work.

But her eyes are scanning. Searching.

She stops just past the doorway.

The sunlight spills in through the front windows, casting long shadows on the floor. The house is clean—too clean. The way someone makes it when they’re trying not to cry. Flowers in a vase on the coffee table. A casserole dish covered in foil on the counter. Notes from the Daggers stuck to the fridge in all different handwritings:

We love you.

Call when you’re ready.

Robert’s an angel. But holy hell, he’s fast. – Fanboy

Jake helps her get settled on the couch, then disappears briefly down the hall.

She hears a soft rustle.

A door opening.

And then—

The sound she’s been aching for:

“Mama?”

A tiny voice. Muffled. Confused. Curious.

Her breath catches in her throat.

And then there he is.

Baby Robert.

Still in his little footie pajamas, curls messy, eyes wide as the hallway light hits his face. He looks just like Bob in that moment—same shape of the mouth, same quiet soul in his stare. His fingers are wrapped around Jake’s as he toddles into the living room.

“Is that Mama?” Jake whispers, crouching beside him.

The boy nods slowly, uncertain. His face crumples before it lights up.

“Mama!”

Y/N’s vision blurs instantly.

She’s already crying when Jake gently lets go of Robert’s hand and the little boy runs forward—arms outstretched, legs still clumsy—and crashes into her as gently as a two-year-old can.

She drops the crutches without thinking. Pain spikes through her side, but she doesn’t care. She pulls him into her lap, arms trembling around him, breath hitching as he clutches her shirt and babbles against her chest.

“Mama home. Mama got boo-boo?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to touch her bandaged ankle. Then her temple. Then her ribs.

“Yeah, baby,” she chokes out. “Mama got a boo-boo. But I’m okay now.”

He kisses her forehead the way Bob used to kiss hers—quick and soft and serious.

She sobs.

Jake turns away, gives her the moment. His jaw clenches as he wipes at his eyes.

———

Jake offers to help her down the hall, crutches under one arm, his hand steady on her waist as she limps toward the nursery.

The door is slightly ajar.

There’s a smell of fresh sawdust and paint—faint, but warm.

She opens the door slowly. And then… just stops.

Inside, a tiny handmade plane bed.

Wooden. Deep blue, with small yellow wings and silver-painted propellers at the front. Sturdy. Soft corners. Built with care. Built with love.

Robert’s name is painted across the tail in white, blocky letters:

Lt. Floyd, Jr.

She stares at it like she might collapse.

Jake clears his throat softly behind her. “Bradshaw built it. Said he needed to do something with his hands while you were… while we were waiting.”

Her lips tremble. Her fingers reach out and touch the wingtip.

The mattress inside is small, made up with little star sheets and a stuffed dog tucked near the pillow. A folded note rests on the headboard in Rooster’s scrawl:

Your daddy would’ve wanted you to fly.

So we made you a cockpit.

Sleep well, kid.

– Uncle B

Her knees nearly give out.

Jake catches her without a word. Just pulls her into his arms—careful of her ribs, her ankle, her healing head—and holds her as the silence breaks into quiet, aching sobs.

She doesn’t say anything about Bob.

Doesn’t say what she saw.

Doesn’t speak of the Ferris wheel, or the cotton candy, or the kiss goodbye.

But she looks down at that tiny plane bed, and her fingers tighten in Jake’s hoodie, and in her heart she whispers—

He would’ve loved it.

———

Y/N stirs awake to the sound of nothing.

Not the beeping of machines.

Not the soft shuffling of nurses.

Not the buzz of hallway fluorescents or plastic curtains or whispered voices outside her door.

Just silence. The kind that feels wrong.

She opens her eyes in the dark, breath catching. For a moment, her brain forgets where she is. She grips the bedsheets, heart racing—

And then she remembers.

She’s home.

Alive.

But not whole.

The clock reads 2:43 AM.

She pushes the covers back slowly, hissing as her ribs protest the movement. Her ankle throbs dully in the boot, but she doesn’t care. She slips the crutches under her arms with practiced ease and limps quietly down the hallway.

It’s instinct—mother’s instinct, maybe.

The nursery door is cracked open.

Light spills through the gap. A soft yellow glow from the dim nightlight shaped like a little moon. And voices—no, not voices. Just one.

She leans into the doorway.

And there he is.

Jake.

Sitting on the floor beside the plane bed. Back against the wall. Legs drawn up. One arm slung across his knees, the other resting lightly on the edge of the bed—his fingers brushing against the soft star-print blanket where Robert sleeps curled in a little ball.

Jake doesn’t see her.

He’s talking to the toddler in a voice barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid of waking him. Or maybe like he wants him to hear it in his dreams.

“Your mom’s stronger than anybody I’ve ever known,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. “She doesn’t even know it. But she is.”

Y/N stands frozen, one hand bracing the doorframe.

Jake’s eyes don’t move from Robert’s tiny body. He swallows.

“You’re gonna grow up and hear stories about your dad—how smart he was. How good. How he could fly like no one else. But I need you to know this too, kid—your mom? She saved herself. She came back.”

He laughs under his breath—barely.

“She scares the hell out of me. In the best way.”

Robert stirs a little in his sleep but doesn’t wake.

Jake runs a hand through his hair. Then rests his head back against the wall and stares up at the ceiling like he’s praying to someone who doesn’t answer.

“I don’t know what she needs from me,” he says quietly. “But I’ll be here. No matter what. However long it takes.”

His voice breaks—just slightly.

Y/N presses her hand to her mouth.

Not because she’s crying—though she is.

But because something in her hurts.

Because she didn’t know he said things like that.

Not when he thought she wasn’t listening.

She backs away silently, her heart thudding, her throat raw.

She doesn’t want to interrupt. Doesn’t want to make it real.

She returns to bed. Slowly. Carefully.

And lies awake the rest of the night with her fingers curled around the memory of his voice and the echo of his promise.

————

(5 month timeskip)

She’s dreaming.

But it doesn’t feel like a dream—not right away.

It feels like memory. Like going home.

She’s back in their little kitchen.

The old one-bedroom apartment in San Diego—before Virginia, before the pregnancy, before everything got so complicated.

There’s light coming through the window—soft morning gold. The smell of coffee. Vanilla. The faint hum of music from the radio on the counter.

And Bob.

Standing at the stove in a pair of old sweatpants and a Top Gun t-shirt, glasses slipping down his nose, hair sticking up like it always did when he first woke up. He’s humming. Off-key. Badly. And smiling like the world never touched him.

He turns when he hears her footsteps.

“There she is,” he says, lighting up. “Birthday girl.”

She blinks. Her heart skips.

Bob walks toward her, wraps his arms around her waist, pulls her in gently—like he always did, even when he was half-asleep and still a little clumsy. He kisses her cheek, then her jaw, then just rests his forehead against hers.

“I was trying to make pancakes,” he says, deadpan. “It’s going about as well as you’d expect.”

She laughs—light, real, young. The kind she hasn’t heard come out of her own mouth in years.

“Do I have to pretend to like them?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “I’m making them into Mickey Mouse shapes, so act impressed.”

The kitchen smells like burnt batter and strawberries. There’s a tiny candle stuck into the top of the stack he made for her—bent, lopsided, but flickering. He lifts the plate like it’s sacred.

“Make a wish.”

She hesitates.

He grins. “Better be a good one.”

So she closes her eyes.

Takes a breath.

And makes the wish she’d make every year after this one:

Let me have this forever.

She opens her eyes again. He’s watching her—soft, steady, in love.

He leans in, whispers, “Happy birthday, baby.”

And kisses her like the world’s still safe.

She wants to stay. Just one more second. One more heartbeat.

But the light starts to fade.

The radio hum crackles.

The pancakes go cold.

His face begins to blur—like a photograph left out in the sun too long.

And just before it all disappears, he touches her hand.

“Be happy today,” he says gently. “You deserve it.”

She chokes back a sob.

“Bob—”

But he’s already gone.

⸻

She wakes up with tears on her cheeks.

The early morning light spills through the window. The bed is warm. There’s a soft sound from the baby monitor—Robert murmuring in his sleep. She reaches for it automatically.

The other side of the bed is empty. Jake must be up already.

She presses her fingers to her eyes.

Takes a breath.

Whispers to the ceiling:

“I miss you. I’ll always miss you.”

But then she sits up.

Touches the ring box on the nightstand.

Looks toward the hallway, where laughter will come again soon.

And whispers—

“I’ll still try to be happy today.”

——

She hears them before she sees them.

Laughter. Hammering. A “No, no, no—Bradshaw, that’s not how wind chimes work!” followed by a very loud crash and Robert’s delighted squeal.

Y/N stands in the kitchen barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, wrapped in the soft sweater Jake gave her two birthdays ago—the one she barely took off that first week after Bob died. She presses her hand to the edge of the counter and breathes in slow.

There’s fresh coffee brewing.

Her ankle aches a little from the cold.

Her scar throbs beneath the neckline of her shirt.

But she’s upright.

She’s breathing.

And she’s turning the knob of the back door before her brain even catches up to her body.

She steps out onto the porch.

And stops.

Because her yard—the one that once held Bob’s car, Bob’s boots, Bob’s hands planting those jasmine vines along the fence—is filled with life.

People. Movement. Color.

Phoenix is stringing lights across the patio with Mickey and Fanboy’s help—arguing with both of them about bulb spacing and symmetry. Mav and Hondo are dragging a long folding table closer to the shade. There are paper lanterns hanging from the tree limbs like floating wishes.

And Jake—

Jake is crouched down by the flower beds. Fixing something. His t-shirt stretched across his back, ballcap turned backwards, hands covered in dirt from replanting the marigolds she used to love but forgot about until now.

He doesn’t notice her yet.

But Robert does.

He’s running across the grass in a tiny bomber jacket, arms outstretched like wings. “MAMA! MAMA LOOK!” He’s shouting at full volume. “UNCLE ROOSTER MADE MY BED INTO AN AIRPLANE!”

Y/N laughs—shaky but real—and steps down into the grass, her hand brushing the porch rail for balance.

She watches Robert barrel into Rooster’s legs, giggling, as Jake finally turns around and spots her.

He freezes for half a second. Then straightens, brushing his hands off on his jeans as he walks toward her—slow, almost cautious.

“Morning, birthday girl.”

She smiles. It hurts and it doesn’t.

“You did all this?”

He shrugs, looking around.

“Phoenix threatened violence if I didn’t let her handle the lights. Rooster’s on kid duty. I’m just supervising.”

Her eyes sweep across the lawn again—balloons, a folding photo board with memories of Robert, a little cooler filled with juice boxes. There’s even a navy blue tablecloth with small planes embroidered on the corners. Homemade. Bob’s mom’s touch.

And then her eyes land on Jake again.

And for a second—just a second—she wants to cry.

Because this house was once filled with one kind of love.

And somehow, it’s being filled again with another.

She steps closer. “It’s beautiful.”

Jake smiles, softer now. “You haven’t even seen the cake yet.”

She reaches for his hand. Not because she needs help walking.

But because today… she just wants to feel held.

He threads his fingers through hers. Grounds her.

“Big day,” he says quietly.

She nods. “Yeah.”

Jake studies her face. “You okay?”

She hesitates. Then leans her head lightly against his shoulder.

“I dreamed of Bob last night,” she murmurs.

His body doesn’t stiffen. He doesn’t pull away.

He just… holds her hand tighter.

“I’m glad,” he whispers. “He’d want you to have a good day.”

She nods against him.

And when she looks back out over the yard—at the mess and the joy and the mismatched folding chairs and the people who saved her—

She finally believes it.

———

Jake has never been more stressed in his entire life.

And that includes the time his engine flamed out mid-air at Mach 1.3.

“No, no, no—the grill can’t go there,” he snaps, pointing like it’s a battlefield strategy. “Robert plays in that spot. If he trips over the propane line, I’m gonna have to fight a raccoon for father of the year.”

Fanboy blinks. “There are… a lot of assumptions in that sentence.”

“Move it to the left.” Jake turns sharply. “Your left, Mickey. Jesus.”

Mickey drags the grill two feet to the side. “This feels personal.”

Jake doesn’t respond. He’s already halfway across the lawn, zeroing in on the drink station.

“Who the hell put the lemonade next to the speaker?” he barks. “That’s a wasp buffet, are you trying to ruin my life?”

Phoenix tosses a handful of napkins at him. “Calm down, bridezilla.”

Jake spins around. “I am not—”

“Deep breaths,” she interrupts, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him away from the cluster of chairs. “Come here. Sit down. Stop terrorizing the crew.”

“I am not terrorizing—”

She shoves a juice box into his hand.

“Drink this and shut up for five minutes.”

Jake exhales, leans back in one of the folding chairs with the air of a man aging in real time. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“It already is,” Phoenix says gently. “She’s here. We’re here. That’s all she’s gonna remember.”

Rooster strolls past, arms full of paper plates, grinning like a man who knows he’s about to get in trouble.

“Bet you five bucks he faints before she even says yes.”

Jake glares. “I hope you trip over a juice pouch.”

“I already did.” Rooster winks. “Recovered flawlessly.”

⸻

Meanwhile…

Y/N sits on a picnic blanket under the oak tree, watching Robert try to catch bubbles that Fanboy is blowing with a plastic wand. Her heart is full and aching at once. It always is, now.

The sun’s starting to dip low enough that the lights strung above the patio start to glow. Soft yellows. Warm whites. The same kind of light that once spilled into her kitchen when Bob made pancakes.

She presses a hand to the ground beside her. Breathes.

She still hears Bob’s voice in her head sometimes.

But today it’s quieter.

Today, he feels a little farther away—and that’s okay.

He’s still with her.

And so is Jake.

⸻

Golden Hour

Jake changes into a clean shirt. Blue. The one Y/N once said made his eyes look like a storm about to break. He paces behind the tool shed like a caged animal until Phoenix slaps a ring box into his hand.

“Go,” she says firmly. “Before you combust.”

He walks back toward the group—heart in his throat—and sees her.

She’s glowing. Hair a little messy from the breeze. Laugh lines catching the light. Robert clinging to her arm, sticky with juice and joy.

Jake swallows.

God, she’s beautiful.

He claps his hands together. “Alright. Time for speeches.”

Rooster groans. “Oh no.”

“Yes,” Jake grins nervously. “You can’t stop me.”

Everyone quiets. Hondo grabs a phone to film. Mav raises an eyebrow.

Jake turns to Y/N, and suddenly the words don’t come easily. He just sees her. Every version of her. Laughing in the hospital bed. Crying over old photos. Singing to Robert when she thought no one was listening. Holding him without knowing she was saving him.

“I, uh…” Jake clears his throat. “I had this whole thing planned. Like a real speech. With, like, quotes and everything. But…”

He looks down at the box in his hand. Then back at her.

“But all I can think about is the first time I ever saw you smile again. After he died. It was small. Barely there. You were holding Robert, and he spit up all over you, and you just… laughed. And I remember thinking, God, she’s gonna make it.”

Tears well in her eyes.

Jake steps closer. Kneels down.

“I never wanted to take his place. I just wanted to make sure you had the space to keep living. To feel safe again. And if you’ll let me… I want to be the one who gets to hold your hand through all the nexts. Not to replace your past. Just to help you carry it.”

He opens the box. Inside is a ring simple and elegant—with a single small sapphire next to the diamond. Sky and sea. Jake and Bob.

“Will you marry me?”

The world holds its breath.

Y/N blinks. Her hand flies to her mouth. Then she nods—once, twice, then throws her arms around him like she’ll never let go again.

“Yes,” she whispers against his neck. “Yes, yes, yes.”

The yard erupts. Cheers. Applause. Phoenix yelling “Called it!” Fanboy sniffling way too hard.

But Jake only sees her. Only hears her voice. Only feels her heartbeat against his.

And then—

A small tug on his shirt.

Robert.

Sticky fingers. Wide eyes.

“…Are you my dad now?”

Jake freezes.

Looks down.

Looks at Y/N—who meets his gaze with a softness that could level him. She nods, tears slipping down her cheeks, hand finding her son’s shoulder.

Jake crouches.

“Yeah, buddy,” he says, voice thick. “Yeah, I am.”

Robert beams and hugs him like a hurricane.

And Jake—Jake has never felt more whole in his entire life.

———

Later That Night

The Porch

The lights are still glowing over the yard. A few paper lanterns sway in the warm wind. The grass is littered with crumpled napkins and half-deflated balloons, and Robert’s little bomber jacket is hanging on the porch rail to dry.

Y/N sits on the porch swing barefoot, her engagement ring catching the soft light every time she shifts. She turns it slowly between her fingers, heart still full to the brim with disbelief.

Jake steps outside holding two mugs—hot cocoa with marshmallows, because that’s what they used to drink during hard nights. He hands one to her and sinks into the swing beside her.

It creaks softly beneath them.

The same swing she once sat on with Bob.

She leans into Jake’s shoulder without thinking.

He lets her.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he says quietly.

She smiles into her mug. “You’re the only person I’d say yes to.”

His hand brushes over hers.

“I kept thinking all day that something would go wrong,” he admits. “Like, maybe the grill would explode. Or the ring would get lost. Or you’d look at me and remember everything you had before and just… change your mind.”

She tilts her head. “Jake.”

He exhales. “I know. I just… I know I’m not him. And I never will be. But I also know that I love you. So much. And I love Robert. And I love this life, even when it hurts.”

She’s quiet for a second. Then turns to face him more fully.

“You’re not trying to be him. You never have. You just… you love us the way you do. And that’s what makes it real.”

Jake looks at her, eyes glassy. “Do you think… do you think it’ll ever stop hurting? Missing him?”

Y/N thinks about the dream. The birthday she relived. The scent of Bob’s cologne still folded into the old sweatshirt in her closet.

“No,” she says softly. “But I think that’s okay. Because it’s not supposed to go away. It’s just supposed to get quieter.”

Jake nods. Pulls her closer.

They sit in silence for a moment.

Then he whispers, “What kind of wedding do you want?”

She huffs a soft laugh. “The kind where you actually let someone else plan it and don’t yell about the grill placement.”

He groans. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Never.”

They laugh—really laugh—and Jake brushes his lips over her temple.

“I want it to feel like us,” she says after a while. “Whatever that means.”

Jake wraps an arm around her waist. “I think it means Robert as ring bearer. Phoenix crying harder than you. Rooster singing something off-key.”

“And us,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “Making it all the way to the other side of this thing. Still together. Still choosing each other.”

He looks at her like he’s looking at the rest of his life.

Because he is.

“I’ll choose you every single day,” Jake says, without hesitation.

And the porch creaks beneath them, and the stars blink quietly above, and the wind smells like marigolds and home.

———

(another incredibly long timeskip because I can)

Wedding Morning

The Bridal Room

The sunlight coming through the window is soft and golden, casting dappled shadows on the floorboards. The room smells like jasmine and face powder, and there’s a calm sort of hush—like the world is holding its breath.

Y/N sits in front of the vanity, hair curled and pinned halfway up. Her wedding dress hangs near the door, delicate and weightless, like it might float away if she so much as looked at it too hard. Her hands are folded in her lap.

Phoenix is behind her, carefully securing the last hairpin.

“You okay?” she asks gently.

Y/N nods.

And then doesn’t.

Phoenix meets her eyes in the mirror. “Talk to me.”

Y/N swallows hard. Her voice is thin. “It should be Bob.”

There’s no bitterness in it—just truth. Just grief that’s settled into the marrow of her. A quiet kind of missing that never quite goes away, no matter how much time passes.

“I keep thinking about our last morning together,” she whispers. “He made me pancakes. I was still half-asleep. And now I’m about to walk down the aisle and marry someone else, and… and I just—”

Her voice breaks.

Phoenix kneels beside her, hand over hers.

“Hey,” she says softly. “He would want this. You know he would. He loved you more than anything, and he’d want you to find love again. To be taken care of. To be happy.”

Y/N doesn’t speak—just lets the tears fall silently, her thumb brushing over the edge of her ring finger where a sapphire now lives beside a diamond.

Phoenix presses her forehead gently against hers.

“You’re not leaving him behind,” she says. “You’re carrying him with you. Into something new.”

And Y/N nods, even though it still hurts. Because it always will. But there’s something comforting in the weight of Phoenix’s words.

Bob would want this.

Bob would want Jake.

⸻

Elsewhere – The Groom’s Room

Jake is pacing. Again.

He’s in full dress whites. His jacket is perfect, collar crisp, shoes shined within an inch of their lives—but his hands are shaking. And he can’t seem to stop tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

Rooster lounges in the corner, watching him with the kind of casual amusement only a best man can get away with.

“You’re gonna wear a hole through the carpet, Seresin.”

Jake stops. Runs a hand through his hair.

“I shouldn’t be the one marrying her,” he blurts out. “It should be Bob. God, Rooster, he was her everything. I’m just the guy who came after.”

Rooster straightens.

“Jake—”

“I mean it,” Jake goes on, eyes wide, breath catching. “I’m so in love with her it hurts, but I can’t stop thinking about how if Bob were still here, I wouldn’t even—” He breaks off. “I feel like I’m stealing something that doesn’t belong to me.”

Rooster stands. Crosses the room slowly. And then, without a word, he grips Jake’s shoulder and looks him dead in the eye.

“Bob would’ve chosen you,” he says.

Jake blinks. “What?”

“In a million lifetimes,” Rooster says, voice low and certain. “If he had to choose someone to look after her, to raise Robert, to love them the way they deserve—he would’ve picked you. Every single time.”

Jake doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s too busy trying to breathe around the lump in his throat.

Rooster gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re not replacing him. You’re honoring him. You know that.”

Jake nods, finally. Roughly. Swallows the guilt and lets something steadier settle in its place.

Love.

Grief.

Hope.

All tangled up. All at once.

——

The chairs are full. The breeze carries the scent of wildflowers and freshly cut grass. Everyone’s in place—the Dagger Squad in dress uniforms, Jake standing tall at the altar, trying not to fidget as his eyes scan the path for her. Robert, in his tiny suit with a tiny ring pillow, is waiting near the steps with Phoenix, clutching the rings like they’re treasure.

And just behind the house, hidden from view, Y/N stands in her dress—heart pounding.

The dress is perfect. Her hair is soft and pinned up. The veil flutters lightly in the wind.

But her eyes are fixed on the grass.

She can hear the music starting.

She doesn’t move.

Maverick steps up beside her in his uniform. He clears his throat gently.

“You okay?”

She doesn’t look up. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Mav gives a slow nod, like he understands that too well.

“I thought this would feel easier,” she says. “I thought… I thought I’d feel ready. But it still hurts. Bob should’ve been here. And I never had a dad to walk me down the aisle, and now—”

She stops. Shaky.

Maverick places a steadying hand on her arm.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. “You’ve been through more than most people ever will. And you’re still standing. Still loving. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She nods.

“I know I’m not your dad,” he adds. “But I want you to know that if he were here, he’d be proud of the woman you’ve become. And Bob—” his voice catches for a moment, but he recovers— “Bob would be proud, too. Of you. Of Robert. Of Jake.”

She bites her bottom lip.

Maverick offers his arm, soft and sure.

“Let me walk you into the next part of your life.”

Y/N breathes in slowly. The ache doesn’t leave, but something warm settles beside it. Gratitude. Love.

She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Let’s go.”

They turn the corner as the music swells.

Jake sees her. And everything else disappears.

———

The sun hangs low now, gold and heavy in the sky, washing everything in warmth. The arch is wrapped in white flowers. The wind rustles through the grass. The jets in the distance are lined up, waiting.

Jake holds her hands in front of everyone they love. His thumbs brush over her knuckles. His voice is soft, but steady.

Jake’s Vows

“I used to think love was something that had to be earned. That it came with conditions, with rules. That you had to be perfect to deserve it.

But then I met you.

And you… you showed me that love is quiet. That it waits when you need time. That it holds space for grief. That it doesn’t flinch when life breaks you in half.

You and Robert… you saved me from a life I thought I was supposed to have. You gave me a family, and a home, and a reason to be better than I was.

I don’t want perfect. I want us.

I want the long nights. The hard days. The healing. The laughter. The way you say my name when I forget how to breathe.

I promise to be there. Always.

Even when the world doesn’t make sense. Even when we don’t have the words.

I’ll show up. I’ll hold your hand. I’ll love you in the quiet and in the storm.”

He pauses, blinking back tears.

“You’re my forever, Y/N. And I’m so damn lucky you let me in.”

⸻

Y/N exhales shakily, and Jake squeezes her hand.

She lifts her gaze to his—soft, shimmering. Her voice trembles, but she speaks anyway.

Y/N’s Vows

“I didn’t expect you, Jake.

I didn’t expect to open my heart again. I didn’t expect someone who would stay when I was breaking. Who would see every shattered piece and still say, ‘I want all of it.’

But you did.

You never asked me to forget my past. You just helped me carry it.

You held me through grief. You made Robert laugh again. You loved us with no conditions, no hesitation, no fear.

And I know there’s someone up there… watching this moment.

And I know—deep in my soul—that he’s proud.

That he sees how much you love us. That he’s smiling because he knows we’re okay. That we’re loved. That we’re safe.

Jake, you are not my second choice. You are my second chance.

And I promise to choose you. In every lifetime. Through every storm. For every tomorrow.

Thank you for loving me through the dark.

Now let’s go build the light.”

⸻

There’s barely a dry eye in the crowd. Phoenix swipes a tear. Rooster clears his throat. Mav holds Robert close.

The officiant takes a breath.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Jake doesn’t hesitate—he pulls her in gently, reverently, and kisses her like the whole world is watching.

Because they are.

And just as their lips meet—

ROAR.

Four jets streak across the sky in perfect formation, thunder cracking above them in a flyover salute.

Everyone looks up.

Y/N doesn’t.

She keeps her eyes closed. A soft tear slipping down her cheek.

Because for just a second,

it felt like Bob was flying right over her.

Right where he belonged.

———

Honeymoon – Somewhere Secluded

Private Beach House – Evening

The ocean hums in the distance, waves crashing gently against the shore. The air is warm with salt and the scent of sun-warmed wood. Inside the small, private bungalow, the only lights come from flickering candles and the pale glow of the moon spilling through gauzy curtains.

Y/N stands at the open balcony door in a long, thin robe, barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders. She can hear Jake moving behind her—rustling with something, maybe lighting the last candle, maybe pouring the wine.

She turns just as he steps into view, shirtless, barefoot, hair tousled from the shower, his dog tags resting against his chest.

He stops when he sees her.

His eyes soften first—then heat.

“Jesus,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She smiles, slow and sure now that it’s just them. “You’ve survived worse.”

Jake crosses the room in three long strides. One hand finds her hip, the other comes up to gently cradle her jaw. He doesn’t kiss her right away—just rests his forehead against hers.

“We really did it,” he whispers.

“We did.”

“You’re mine now.”

She breathes, “I’ve always been yours.”

That’s when he kisses her.

It starts slow—like he wants to memorize it, like he wants to make up for every night they ever fell asleep apart. His hands slide up her sides, under the robe, fingertips brushing bare skin. She exhales a shaky breath when it falls from her shoulders.

Jake doesn’t rush. He touches like he’s grateful. Like he’s reverent.

The bed is behind them, but they don’t even make it that far at first—he presses her gently against the glass balcony door, kissing down her neck, her shoulder, everywhere his hands have already touched.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, voice hoarse, breath hot against her skin.

“You,” she says. “Just you.”

His mouth finds hers again, deeper now, hungrier. She pulls him in like she’s wanted him for years—because she has. Not just the comfort. Not just the safety. But him.

Every inch of skin, every sound, every whispered promise—it’s all him.

When they do finally make it to the bed, tangled in sheets and each other, it’s not hurried. It’s not wild. It’s everything. A slow, aching kind of love that says:

I know all of you. I still want all of you. I’m never leaving.

After, Jake holds her close, fingers tracing lazy lines over her back.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

She doesn’t answer at first. She just presses her face into his chest, soaking in the sound of the waves and the heartbeat beneath her ear.

Then softly, sleepily—

“I know. And I love you, too.”

He kisses her hair and closes his eyes.

For the first time in a long time,

everything is right.

———

Honeymoon – Day Two

Private Beach House – Morning

The sun filters in through sheer curtains, spilling golden light across tangled sheets and bare skin. Outside, the ocean sighs against the sand. Inside, it’s quiet—except for the slow hum of waves and the soft, satisfied breathing of two people who’ve barely come up for air.

Jake wakes first.

He props himself up on one elbow and just watches her for a moment. Hair messy, her leg thrown over his, sheet low on her back. She’s still asleep, but there’s the smallest smile playing at her lips—like she already knows how the day will go.

Jake grins.

He leans down and presses a kiss to her shoulder. Then another, trailing slowly down her spine.

She shifts, groaning softly. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re surprised by this?” he murmurs, brushing his lips over her lower back.

Y/N laughs, sleepy but teasing. “I thought I married a gentleman.”

He pulls the sheet off her completely. “You married a pilot, sweetheart. We don’t do anything halfway.”

Before she can answer, he flips her over gently, pinning her beneath him with a wicked smirk.

“You’ve been asleep for almost four hours,” he says dramatically. “Neglect. I’m practically starved.”

“Jake—” she laughs, breath catching as his mouth lands on her collarbone, his hands slipping lower.

“You remember what you said last night?” he murmurs against her skin. “That you wanted me?”

Her breath stutters. “Yes.”

He lifts his head, eyes dark and full of heat. “Then tell me again.”

She does—whispered, needy, tangled in his name.

⸻

Later…

They’re sprawled on the outdoor lounge chair, barely dressed, sharing a plate of fruit Jake couldn’t finish feeding her because she got distracted kissing the juice off his fingers.

He’s behind her, arms around her waist, fingers lazily circling over her bare stomach.

“You know,” she says, grinning, “at this rate, we’re going to have to ship the bed home with us. We’ve claimed it.”

Jake snorts. “Claimed? Baby, that bed’s traumatized.”

She giggles and twists to face him. “And the couch. The balcony. The shower. Twice.”

“You forgot the kitchen counter.”

“You pulled me onto the kitchen counter!”

Jake kisses her nose. “Zero regrets.”

She settles back into his chest. He presses his mouth to the top of her head.

They stay like that for a long time—wrapped in sun and sea breeze, hands laced together, not saying much.

Eventually, Jake speaks. “Let’s never come home.”

She smiles, soft and full. “We’d miss Robert.”

“…Damn. He’s the only one who could make me leave this bed.”

They laugh together. Then settle into the kind of silence that comes only when you’re finally, completely at peace.

———

Honeymoon – Final Night

Private Beach House – Bedroom

The sun has long since dipped below the ocean. The waves whisper through the open windows. The air is warm and sweet, scented with sea salt and the faint drift of coconut oil from her skin.

Y/N stands by the bed in one of Jake’s old t-shirts, too soft and worn-in to ever be truly clean again, and yet it’s never looked better.

Jake’s sitting up, bare-chested, legs outstretched and hair a tousled mess. He watches her like he can’t believe he gets one more night—one more forever.

“You gonna come to bed,” he asks, voice low and playful, “or just stand there making me fall in love with you all over again?”

She bites back a smile and climbs onto the mattress, straddling his lap slowly, settling herself against him like it’s instinct.

Jake wraps his arms around her waist. One hand slides beneath the shirt, palm resting against the soft warmth of her back.

“Last night,” she whispers.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Feels like the first.”

Jake lifts his hand to brush her hair behind her ear. “Still nervous?”

She leans in until her forehead touches his. “Only because I love you so much it kind of scares me.”

His hands tighten at her waist. “Then we’re both terrified.”

Their kiss is slow. Not urgent. Not rushed. It’s the kind of kiss that deepens naturally—mouths moving in sync, breaths stolen and shared.

Y/N’s fingers curl in Jake’s hair as he eases her backward, the shirt slipping higher. He kisses her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder like he’s blessing every part of her.

It’s different tonight.

Slower. Deeper. Quieter.

There’s no wild laughter. No teasing remarks. Just two souls holding each other in the dark, moving together like waves—like prayer.

Jake’s forehead stays pressed to hers the entire time. Eyes locked. His hands never stop moving—gentle over her ribs, across her hip, over the scar that still aches on rainy days.

He tells her he loves her over and over again.

She says it back with her breath, her hands, the way she pulls him closer and whispers his name like a secret she only just realized she’s allowed to keep.

When it’s over, they don’t untangle. He holds her against his chest, one arm tucked protectively around her, the other tracing circles on her thigh.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

Y/N just nods and presses a kiss to his heartbeat.

“I feel… safe.”

Jake closes his eyes. “You are.”

And in the silence that follows, nothing hurts. Nothing is missing.

It’s just them—finally home in each other.

———

One Week Later

Early Morning – At Home

The first thing she hears is giggling. Then the unmistakable sound of tiny feet thudding against the mattress.

“Mommy! Wake uuuuup!”

Y/N groans, squinting her eyes open just in time for Robert to bounce down beside her with a dramatic thump and a burst of laughter.

He climbs on top of her, curls wild, pajamas wrinkled, full of chaotic two-year-old joy. “It’s pancake day!”

“Is it?” she mumbles, smiling despite how exhausted she feels. “Who said?”

“Daddy!”

Y/N turns her head just slightly—and through the cracked bedroom door, she catches the faintest notes of a country song humming from the kitchen, the rhythmic scrape of a spatula against a pan.

Jake’s cooking.

“Okay, okay,” she laughs softly, brushing Robert’s hair back. “Let’s go eat what Daddy’s making.”

She lifts herself out of bed, slower than usual. A strange heaviness clings to her limbs. The moment she’s fully upright, a wave of nausea tightens across her stomach.

Weird.

Robert grabs her hand and pulls her toward the kitchen. “He made Mickey pancakes!”

The smell hits her before she turns the corner. Butter. Syrup. Warm, sweet batter sizzling on the stove.

And then—

Her stomach twists hard.

“Oh—”

She covers her mouth and bolts for the hallway bathroom.

Jake doesn’t even have time to turn around before he hears it: the door swinging shut, the sound of her retching.

“Babe?” he calls out, eyes wide. He lowers the heat on the stove and runs after her.

⸻

Bathroom – Moments Later

The door’s ajar. She’s sitting on the cool tile floor in an oversized sleep shirt, one hand braced against the wall, the other gripping the edge of the sink.

Jake crouches beside her, worry etched all over his face. “Hey—hey, you okay?”

She nods, but she’s pale, clammy, trying to breathe through the aftershocks.

“I don’t know,” she says weakly. “I smelled the pancakes and… it just hit me.”

Jake frowns. “You sick?”

“I don’t think so. I felt fine yesterday. It just… came out of nowhere.”

He gently brushes her hair back and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. “No fever.”

Robert toddles up behind them in the hallway, holding his toy plane upside down. “Mommy throwed up?”

Jake reaches back blindly and ruffles his hair. “She’s okay, bud. Go finish your juice—Daddy’ll be right there.”

Robert toddles off obediently, mumbling to himself about airplane wings.

Jake turns back to her. “Do you want to go back to bed? I’ll bring you tea.”

“No,” she says, still catching her breath. “I think I just need a minute.”

Jake studies her carefully, one hand rubbing soothing circles into her thigh. “You sure you’re not pregnant?”

She looks up sharply, heart thudding.

His eyes widen. “Wait—wait, that wasn’t me being funny—was it?”

She doesn’t answer. Just sits there, stunned.

Jake leans in, voice softer now. “Babe?”

“I… don’t know.”

They stare at each other in a moment suspended in stillness, between fear and hope, the possibility hanging there like a question neither of them thought they’d ever ask again.

———

Later That Morning

Bathroom – Just Past 10 a.m.

Y/N is sitting on the closed toilet lid, her knees pulled to her chest, an unopened water bottle cradled in her lap.

Jake bursts back through the front door not five minutes after leaving—keys jingling, plastic pharmacy bag in one hand, panic barely masked in his expression.

“I got four,” he says breathlessly, kneeling down in front of her. “Didn’t know which one was best so… you know. Variety.”

She lets out a weak laugh and nods. “Okay.”

He kisses her forehead before setting the tests on the counter. “You sure you wanna take all of them?”

“I’d rather be sure.”

Jake doesn’t argue. Just squeezes her hand, then steps out and closes the door behind him.

⸻

Fifteen Minutes Later

All four tests are lined up in front of her.

Clearblue. First Response. Two digital, two analog.

All four read positive.

Jake is crouched beside her again, silent at first, just… stunned. He looks at her, at the tests, then back at her again.

“You’re pregnant,” he says quietly, like the words are too big for the air.

She’s crying—silent tears falling one after the other, no sobbing, just the quiet unraveling of everything inside her. She presses a trembling hand to her stomach.

Jake doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t rush it.

He just leans forward, rests his forehead gently against hers, and lets his own tears fall.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, voice raw. “I want the baby. I do. Robert needs a sibling, and I want to give him that… but Jake, I’m scared.”

Jake cups her face in his hands. “Hey. Look at me.”

She does—barely.

“We’ll do this together,” he says, voice firm but soft. “Every appointment. Every sleepless night. Every single part of it. I’m right here. I want to be here.”

She sniffles. “This one… this one is really yours.”

Jake nods, eyes shimmering. “And I’ll love them just as much as I love Robert. I promise you, this baby’s already got my whole damn heart.”

He kisses her then—long and full of tears, full of shaking hope.

Knock knock.

“Mommy?” Robert’s little voice cuts through the moment from the hallway. “Can I watch Paw Patrol now?”

Y/N lets out a choked laugh, wiping her eyes.

“Yeah, baby. Just a minute.”

“Okay! But hurry, Chase is gonna do the flying!”

Jake presses another kiss to her temple and helps her to her feet. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go watch Paw Patrol… as a family of four.”

[grapejuicebrat]

tumblr girls

The London streets hummed with the usual rhythm — footsteps tapping against cobblestones, distant chatter spilling from café windows, the occasional honk of a taxi slicing through the air. Harry Styles was tucked beneath the brim of a worn-out hat, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, moving at a slow, deliberate pace. Today, he wanted nothing more than to blend into the background, to feel like just another face in the crowd.

But then, like a quiet ripple that unsettled the calm pond, she appeared.

She wasn’t the usual kind of fan. No screaming, no frantic waving or phone cameras thrust forward like shields. She walked calmly, almost hesitantly, her eyes catching his with an easy, disarming smile. Her hair was loosely pulled back, a few strands dancing in the breeze, and her clothes were simple but effortlessly cool — the kind of look that might have come straight out of a Tumblr aesthetic board, if he were to peg it.

Harry stopped mid-step, caught off guard by how different she was from the usual encounters. She didn’t pull out her phone. She didn’t ask for an autograph. She just said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Harry echoed, his voice softer than usual. He felt a strange flutter in his chest, an unfamiliar mix of curiosity and warmth.

“I don’t want a photo or anything,” she said quickly, as if reading his surprise. “I just wanted to say hello. You seem like someone who’d appreciate that.”

Harry smiled — a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Most people want a photo first,” he admitted, “or maybe a selfie that looks like a thousand others.”

She shrugged, a subtle laugh in her eyes. “I get it. But sometimes, it’s nice to just talk. To be polite without the pressure.”

He nodded, the honesty settling between them like an easy rhythm. “You remind me of that song — Tumblr girls, right? The ones who don’t chase the spotlight but have their own light.”

Her smile deepened. “Exactly. It’s about authenticity. About being present without the noise.”

For a moment, the world around them faded. The cars, the chatter, even the city’s endless rush slowed to a hush. It was just the two of them, two people meeting not as a celebrity and a fan, but as strangers sharing a quiet moment in a loud world.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked, genuinely curious now.

“(Y/N),” she replied softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“(Y/N),” he repeated, savoring how the name felt on his tongue. “I’m glad you stopped.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright and sincere. “Me too. It’s refreshing to be seen, not just stared at.”

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and easy. “You’ve got a way with words. I’m a bit jealous.”

“You’re lucky,” she said with a wink. “Most people don’t get to be both famous and real.”

He shook his head with a grin. “Famous isn’t always real, but moments like this are.”

They stood there a while longer, trading stories about music, life, and the little things that get lost in the flash of cameras. She told him about her love for poetry and vintage bookstores; he shared stories of sleepless nights writing songs that never made it to the album.

When it was time to part, Harry felt a strange reluctance, as if leaving this unexpected connection behind was a loss.

“Maybe next time, we can grab a coffee,” he said, surprising himself.

She smiled, her eyes shining with a quiet promise. “I’d like that.”

As she walked away, blending back into the city’s pulse, Harry stayed still for a moment longer, the echo of her politeness and presence lingering in the air. In a world where moments were often reduced to snapshots and likes, this one felt like something more — something real.

And maybe, he thought, that was the kind of story worth writing a song about.

Days slipped by, each one blurring into the next with the relentless pace of Harry’s world. Studio sessions, interviews, rehearsals — the usual whirlwind that left little room for quiet moments. But through it all, the memory of that afternoon with (Y/N) lingered, like a song’s gentle refrain echoing in the back of his mind.

He found himself replaying their conversation, her calm presence cutting through the noise in a way no one else had. There was something about her — the way she saw him not as a celebrity, but as a person; the way she didn’t need a photo or a signature to make the moment real.

So when he heard of a small, tucked-away café not far from where they’d met, a place she had mentioned in passing, he decided to take a chance. Maybe it was reckless, maybe it was just the pull of curiosity, but Harry wanted to see her again.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as he stepped inside, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around him like a familiar hug. It was cozy — mismatched chairs, shelves lined with dog-eared books, art adorning the walls that looked like they’d been collected over years. The kind of place where time slowed down and conversations mattered.

There she was, sitting by the window, a steaming cup cradled in her hands, eyes lost in a well-worn paperback. Her hair had come loose from its tie, falling in gentle waves around her face. When she looked up and saw him, her smile was instant — warm and real, just like before.

“Harry,” she said softly, standing up as he approached. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

He grinned, feeling the familiar flutter in his chest. “Neither was I. But something about this place made me want to try.”

They settled into a corner booth, the world outside fading as they talked without the pressure of cameras or crowds. He learned that (Y/N) worked at a local bookstore, her days spent surrounded by stories she loved, and that she wrote poetry in the quiet moments stolen between shifts. She listened with genuine interest as Harry shared the stories behind some of his songs — the late nights, the doubts, the sparks of inspiration.

“You know,” he said, leaning back, “it’s rare to find someone who doesn’t want something from me — not a photo, not a story to tell. Just a moment.”

She smiled, her eyes reflecting the soft light of the café. “Maybe because most people forget how to just be. It’s easier to chase a moment than to live one.”

For hours, they talked — about music and books, about the small things that make life feel full. There was no rush, no expectation, just two people sharing space and stories. Harry found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t in a long time, drawn to her quiet strength and the way she made the world feel less complicated.

As the sun dipped below the rooftops and the café’s warm glow spilled onto the street, Harry realized something had shifted. This wasn’t just a chance meeting anymore. It was the start of something real.

Before they parted, (Y/N) reached across the table, her hand brushing his. “Thank you for coming,” she said, voice soft but steady.

Harry squeezed her hand gently. “Thank you for reminding me what it feels like to just be.”

They stepped out into the cool evening, the city alive around them but somehow quieter, more intimate. And as they walked side by side, neither needing to say much, Harry knew he’d found something rare — a connection that didn’t need to be captured in a photo, because it was already alive in the moments they shared.

Sometimes, the best stories don’t fit on a screen. Sometimes, they live in the spaces between words, in the pauses, in the quiet hellos.

And this was only the beginning.

[dabaotogo]

Wretch

yan! jing yuan x reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: yan! jy infantilizing tendencies, implied forced marriage, jy gets a little weird in a not so metaphorical mouth inspection paragraph, a little bit of predator/prey dynamic at the end, reader is implied to have done something morally questionable

age gap, but both jy and reader are long life species and it's treated as a no big deal in universe. i rewrote this so that this part was right at that start instead. it's never brought up again so you could click on 'read more' and start from underneath there

minors and ageless blogs do not interact with my post. i do check and i do block

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You share an age difference of only twenty nine years.

It's hardly a scandalous number to raise a fuss over, not when the two of you are part of the long-life species that make up the majority of the Xianzhou. Now, if he were older than you by over a hundred years and a bit; depending on when you first met, then that would rightfully garner him some comments or two regarding your relationship. People may even go so far and call him a cradle snatcher. But when you have lived for this long, you might as well have been born a year or two after him.

Yet with the way Jing Yuan often adopts such a fond tone when speaking to you, cooing and ah-ing as if all you'd ever been to him were a little scrappy stray. Pinching your cheek gently when you start to get a little nippy with him. You would have thought he was ahead of you by another three hundred years or so with the way he smothers your face with kisses, even with you resisting through pushes and shoves against his chest.

"Are we ready to come home now, my love?"

It's infantilizing; how he addresses the question.

For as long as you can remember, Jing Yuan has never once raised his voice. You think it's ironic that the man would rather end his own life than to ever behave such a brutish manner against you. You doubt there has ever been a time where he has truly lost his temper with dealing with your 'antics'.

He maybe disappointed at times; other times he may express the occasional hurt feeling. And at the very worst, he may voice his quiet disapproval beforehand, even while knowing his words will fall on deaf ears.

(He may let go of many things with a lazy smile: be it the murmur of cruel words intent on slicing deep into his heart, or the poisonous hate-filled stare you often send his way—

But — he will grab you by the scruff of your own neck should you decide to treat your own life so carelessly against his own soft warning.)

Yet even so, despite it all. Despite everything—

You think this is the furthest you've ever managed to get away from him.

This might be your best record so far.

(It might even be your last.)

You're not really sure yet.

You've been a little more difficult to chase down this time. A little harder to pinpoint. Opting to hide in the outskirts of the Fanghu Fleet. A barely populated village hardly anyone has heard of.

Perhaps it is because it has been quite some time since your last attempt that you have really given Jing Yuan a run for his money.

Honestly if anyone here is to blame, it's Jing Yuan. The fault lies with him: he should have known better that this begrudging truce — the fragile kind of peace — would not have lasted forever.

Still, you suppose you might have overreacted a little. When the whispers concerning the topic of his approaching retirement started to make their way around the Luofu.

The feeling had been unpleasant. As if a thousand insects were crawling up your spine. The noises of the chirping birds slowly fading to the background, only to be replaced by a terrible ringing noise.

You were never quite sure just how long you stood there. Facing the garden wall while the sun burned your back. Watering canister frozen in place, tilted downwards.

There had only been the cold sound of trickling water to fill the stillness.

Drowning the potted flower as the water overflowed, spilling over and onto your shoes.

The very thought of it alone. The few moments. Scraps of peace momentary. Where you could truly be alone when he was called away to meetings. To talks and paperwork he couldn't weasel his way out of tending to with his usual array of excuses.

To be easily taken away just like that.

(Just like everything else.)

"I've missed you quite dearly." Jing Yuan hums, then sighs. The usual tilt of his head, and another soft, smitten smile stuck permanently to his face once more.

"These long months really have been quite lonely without you by my side."

The man is fond of this habit. Pretending to be a harmless house cat; domesticated and of innocent intentions. When really, he was nothing but a hungry, starving lion. Intent on stalking his prey.

You see it in his eyes. The glint of his teeth catching the light. A lovesick fool he has always been even after five hundred years.

It was never a matter of whether if he would find you—

but more of a matter of when he would find you.

"Have you been well?" Jing Yuan continues, "I trust that you have been looking after yourself, hm?"

Jing Yuan never brings his men along as aide. He believes he alone is enough to coax (drag) you in coming back home with him, and he does not believe his men should have to spend their time in intervening in his own marriage strife's.

You would return home in a foul mood if he had. You don't exactly like seeing your former comrades. People who you once trained with. Fought alongside with. Giving him the silent treatment that would last a minimum of half a year — at best. It's a number that can easily be waved off by a long-life species.

But Jing Yuan is the sort of man who could not bear the wrath behind his spouse's silent treatment for even one second.

Even an incorrigible scoundrel who finds joy in pawing for reactions know when to tread carefully.

"One more game." Your words are calm. Levelled.

If you must pass the time in the gardens surrounded by his plants and the birds that adore his presence and be forced to entertain his games of star chess, then it is only fair that he indulges in your demands as well.

"One more." You insist, "And then we can go home."

The adoration in his eyes is clear for anyone to see; and in those golden eyes, constantly droopy with indolence; you can never do anything wrong in his eyes.

You could steal his card and spend his money away on extravagant shopping trips that would leave anyone to baulk at the mile long receipts of luxurious high-end clothing you'd buy and Jing Yuan would not bat an eye. After all, he has more money than he knows what to even do with it. He may be cheeky about it though, casting an faux-innocent suggestion to try your haul in front of him however.

You could destroy all his furniture to come home to, ripping the wallpaper to shreds. A debris of countless expensive antiques thrown against the wall and Jing Yuan would wave away the mess. The style of his interior was starting to become a little outdated anyways if you were to ask him, and he needed the excuse to replace the decoration. You do have an eye on these sort of things.

You could shout and scream at him. Cursing him with a foul mouth that would leave even the most hardened soldier cringe at your selection of words. Hurling insult after insult until your face went red from the exertion and your lungs burned, and your throat grew sore, until you grew quiet and weak, and Jing Yuan would swoop in then. Descending on you. Swaddling you. It feels better after letting it all out, doesn't it? Jing Yuan never likes it whenever you bottle up all your feelings. When you hide the truth from him. It doesn't do any good for your health.

You could even fake your death. Find a body. Have it be unrecognizable that it'd be impossible to identify correctly. Whether it was your doing or not, Jing Yuan would have covered it up already once he sees through the ruse. A single missing civilian and no one would raise a brow.

A missing General's spouse however? And people would be up in arms.

Regardless Jing Yuan will wait until the two of you are home before he is to gently pry the truth out of your mouth. He is a little hurt that you would do such an extreme thing to get away from him.

Still he will force you to be seated in lap, as he feeds you extravagant treats in between the moments of his learning. You will answer every question he has for you no matter how long it will take, long fingers slipping inside the caverns of your mouth as he searches around the cavern. It would be best not to get unruly, his fingers may just accidentally slip deeper than intended, now what would he do if you were to choke, hm? If you behave, it will be over quickly. But he will still voice his disapproval with the click of his tongue either way. It is inevitable. After all, it is unsanitary to be exposed to a corpse for long periods of time. Who knows what sort of diseases you could have potentially caught?

Jing Yuan holds his chin in deep thought.

"I suppose there is time for one more game."

He tilts his head once more, "The usual game, dear?" He asks, despite knowing already.

"What else?" You say.

"Very well. Would thirty minutes suffice?"

"An hour."

"Thirty, dear."

"Forty Five."

He sighs. The sound hardly has any bite to it. "Alright, forty five it is—"

You've already taken off past him. A clumsy stumble midway. Scrambling to the thick of the trees. Hoping to lose him in the forest surrounding the village.

"You spoil me, Jing Yuan. You really do." You shout over your shoulder. Making the mistake to look into his eyes.

Steadfast. Calm. Confident.

"It is simply what you deserve, my love."

He hummed.

"But do make the most of your time." He then said, and suddenly there is the cold fear inside your veins, that you've made a mistake and scared little side of you no longer wants to play this game. You could get cold feet, forfeit now and drag your pathetic side back to him. All you have to do is sniffle a little, rub your eyes and tell him you're sorry for making him come all this way to take you home and he'll be all over you in an instant.

There are other games you could play.

"Because once I start searching, I don't plan on stopping until I find you again."

You run a little faster.

Even if you know you'll lose.

[castiwls]

gulity as sin? - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'Without ever touchin' his skin. How can I be guilty as sin?'

Requested;@lailawinchesterr & anon

Notes;i love dean and i love this song so I fear I got a bit carried away🫢 also lowkey maybe the spiciest thing I've written here

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

The sound of the motel room door clicking shut pulled your attention from the article you’d been slowly reading. “Hey.” Dean nodded before placing a bag down on the small table. “They didn’t have much but I managed to get enough for the next few days.” he sat down on the edge of the bed reaching for the remote as you hummed quietly in response. 

After a moment you returned your attention to the article on your laptop the quiet hum of the TV fading into the background. Dean mindlessly flipped through channels for a while before letting out a sigh of defeat and placing the remote down. Turning to face you a small smile grew on his lips. Your brows were furrowed in concentration as you stared at your screen. 

He watched you for a moment, his hands itching to reach out and touch you. Your relationship over the last few months was something you weren't sure how to describe. Whenever you were alone he was almost always all over you. It wasn’t often you were both alone for a long period of time before he was pulling you away from whatever you were doing with only a few words.

However, when you were in public he acted as if nothing had ever happened. Yet you’d noticed the looks he’d send over men at bars. The way he would shift slightly closer, placing a hand on your thigh almost in a silent act of claiming what he saw as his.

The thought alone left you feeling giddy. It left you with the type of excitement you’d get over your high school crush brushing against you in the corridor. The small glimmer of hope that maybe whatever was happening behind closed doors wasn’t just in your head.

But a small part of your brain kept nagging that you were imagining it. That you were simply making this up in your head and that his actions meant nothing and he was simply protecting you from drunken men. He didn’t see you in that way. 

So why did he seem so different when it was just you both?

Kicking off his shoes Dean quietly turned around to sit fully on the bed. Too engrossed in your laptop your failed to notice the way his hand slowly moved a few inches until it made contact with your outstretched leg.

A small noise of surprise escaped you at the touch and you finally looked away from your laptop. Dean didn’t say anything as he silently drew shapes with his finger on your leg.

Your laptop now forgotten you stared down at him, your breath caught in your throat as you felt his hand slowly move up your leg. Quietly you pushed your laptop away causing him to finally look up from his hand.

His expression was unreadable as he watched you for a moment before he made his way up the bed towards you. This was far from the first time you’d been in this situation with him and part of you knew you should walk away now.

Stop him before he managed to pull you under his spell again. No matter how many times you and Dean did this song and dance it always played out the same. 

Your breath hitched as he placed an arm besides your head, the other now on your thigh. He leaned in slightly causing you to slowly slip down the bed until you felt your head hit the firm pillows of the motel.

His hand slipped down from the headboard to beside your head as he quietly leaned over you. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was quiet as he moved one of his legs over your body, nudging your own apart with his foot. 

His leg landed in between yours allowing him to lie parallel to you, His nose brushing your’s for a moment. “Dean…” His name was a whisper on your lips as you stared up at him. A million thoughts ran through your head as you felt one of his hands gently brush down your body.

He shushed you quietly placing a small kiss on your jaw before placing another on your cheek. Moments like this fed that small glimmer of hope that whatever this was between you two was real.

The feeling of his lips on your face reminded you that he was real. That this wasn’t in your head. “Stop thinking so hard.” His lips brushed your ear as he leaned up slightly. “I can practically see the cogs turning in your head.” He shook his head fondly before smiling. 

“You know you can turn your brain off sometimes right?” He leaned slightly closer his smile slowly slipping into a smirk. “How do you suggest I do that?” You whispered feeling butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

His eyes fell to your lips for a moment before he met your gaze again. “It’s not something you can do.” You frowned in slight confusion, ready to snap back at him. Your retort seemed to die on your lips as he whispered. “But I can.” Before pressing his lips to yours.

It was almost like your world exploded as he became the centre of your universe. His lips moulded perfectly against yours as one of your hands slipped onto his shoulder.

The world seemed to cease to exist around you as your mind caught up with your actions. He’d never kissed you before. Sure you’d been close before but never this close.

After a long moment, he pulled back placing his forehead against yours. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was leaning in again and stealing it from you.

You weren’t entirely sure what this meant for you both but you did know it meant one thing. You were completely and utterly in love.

[bouncybongfairy]

All Around Me

Void Stiles x Fem Reader

Summary: After having a bit too much fun at a friend's birthday party, you go home and wind down with a bath and a Teen Wolf marathon. You start reading a steamy fanfic about Void Stiles, which causes you to have an acid-induced trip about hooking up with him.

Word Count: 2.5k+

(!This is a smut fanfic, proceed with caution!)

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It took you a couple of times to put the key in the door but you got there eventually. You were coming home from your friend’s birthday. It was almost 3am and you were cross-faded, starving and your heels were killing your feet. After dropping your purse on the kitchen island you started drunkenly wrestling the heels off your feet. The fridge was your next stop, pulling out leftover whatever and sticking it in the microwave. As you waited you pulled your food out of the microwave and headed to your bedroom. It was kind of nice having the entire house to yourself. Your parents were gone, visiting your aunt who’d just given birth. You sat on your mother’s bed and started shoving the leftovers into your mouth. The nightstand starts vibrating, prompting you to check your phone. 

Heyy, glad ur home safe <3 just reminding u we dropped acid like 30 mins before u ubered home just be careful! (we should have listened to Ashley when she said no more lmao)

You completely forgot about that, at first it made your heart drop but then you realized you would probably be asleep before the effects really kicked in. Your parent’s room was so luxurious and you always looked forward to stealing it when they left. The buzz from being drunk was still there but wasn’t as intense as before. You ran the warm water and started filling the bathtub, it was huge and made you feel so fancy. Bring your hand above the bath, you feel the steam coming off the water. The feeling of washing the makeup off your face was euphoric. It was like the hot water was loosening all your joints and muscles. You kept one of your hands dry to be able to hit your pen and change the music coming from the speaker. After enjoying the bath for a while, you got out and wrapped a towel around yourself. Out of nowhere, your heart starts racing. At first you thought it was from being in the steamy bathroom. You fought through it and did your nightly routine. By the time you made it to your room, you were rolling. You turned on Teen Wolf as background noise, the silence was starting to feel too heavy on your ears. You changed into a big tshirt but didn’t have much mental focus for anything else. 

You looked at the T.V and watched Void Stiles take the screen. You began to cry thinking about how sad this part of the plot was. The tears were flooding and you were feeling high off emotion. You pulled out your phone and started to read Void Stiles fanfics. The combination of hearing him through the TV and reading about him was making you feel a combination of scared and excitement. You weren’t really sure if you fell asleep or dissociated but you scared yourself awake. Your eyes immediately flew to what looked like a figure standing in the doorway. It scared the shit out of you, making you jolt and sit up. Your chest was rising and falling at an alarming rate. Its head tilted to the side in an ominous way. Part of you thought you were still drunk and high and that you were hallucinating this appreciation. You threw one of the pillows at it and when the figure turned his head to look at where it landed you gasped and began crying. 

“Why are you acting scared?” the man's voice asked. Your hand flew over your mouth and you brought your knees to your chest. 

He began walking closer, slowly yet confidently. When he stepped closer, he stopped where the moonlight was coming in from the window. It was Void Stile, part of you felt relief because you figured this had to be a dream. Another part of you was even more freaked out because what the fuck is happening. His skin was pale and had dark red bags underneath his eyes. His hair was disheveled, sticking up and out in several ways. Wearing all black which made him look so much more intimidating. He was walking closer but still had his head tilted to the side. At this point, he was sitting at the foot of the bed, staring you down. 

“I asked why are you acting so scared?” he asked again. 

“Because you’re scaring me,” you choked out, barely having the ability to form words. It was like your entire body was submerged in ice water, paralyzing you and taking your breath away. 

“Oh no, I know you don’t believe that. You were just reading about me. Imagining me doing unspeakable things to you. So again, why are you scared?” he asked again but in a rhetorical way. He stood up so fast that you flinched, he walked over to your desk and picked up the framed picture of your boyfriend. 

“Is this your little boyfriend?” he asked while full-on laughing, you could reply verbally and instead shook your head yes. 

“Why are you with him if he’s not satisfying you?” he asked. 

“He can sat-” you were interrupted by Void grabbing you by the jaw, not painfully but forcefully. 

“Why do you keep lying?” he growled. 

“H-how would you know if..” you couldn’t even finish your sentence because you were full-on sobbing. 

“Do you know what the four things the human brain naturally craves?” he asked. As you shook your head no, he brought his hands up and wiped the tears off your face with his thumb, then licked the tear off his finger.

“Food, water, sleep and sex. Somewhere in the deepest part of your mind, you’re craving sexual gratification that the little boys in your life clearly can’t give you. I mean, why else would you have manifested me? Searched for the most ravid and lascivious versions of me on the internet to gratify your needs? They’re scared to cross a line but that’s what’s different about them to me. I can’t be satisfied until I’ve crossed it,” he was now standing again, towering over you. He was so close that his torso almost touched your nose. You squinted your eyes and turn away without moving your body.

Your ears were burning and you were starting to feel faint. Part of you felt like you couldn’t hear everything he was saying because your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears. He walked over to your dresser, opened the second drawer and grabbed the unopened bottle of Everclear that you were saving for a party coming up. He then walked over to your purse and pulled out a joint, without missing a beat he then walked over to a pair of jeans on the ground and pulled out a lighter. The fact that he knew exactly where everything was truly shook you to your core. You were becoming paranoid, convinced that he could hear your thoughts. He came back on the bed and lit the joint, blowing the smoke right in your face. 

“You need to relax, take a drag,” he said, extending his arm and offering the joint. You tried to speak, even though you weren’t quite sure what to say. It was like your mouth physically couldn’t let the words out. He angrily ripped the blanket off your body and threw it across the room with such force it made a thump sound when hitting the wall. 

“Do you really want me to forcibly blow the smoke into your mouth? I wouldn’t be surprised but you can just ask,” he said mocking yet angrily. When you reached out to grab it your arms and hands were shaking so badly that you were struggling to get a hold of it. 

“You know..” he started as he sat down and brought the joint to your lips because your hands were too shaky to do so for yourself, “your fear is different than other people, there’s a purity to it, almost like an innocence. So much so that  I can almost taste its sweetness on my tongue. The havoc and panic that is radiating off your body because part of you knows that I’ll have you but is so confused and scared by my presence,” he said, taking a swig out of the bottle.

He wedged himself between your back and the headboard of the bed. His legs were long, when they were bent his knees were significantly higher than yours. At this point you felt completely drained, still scared but it was like the adrenaline high was coming down a bit. You pulled at one of the strings on the ripped part of his jeans and took the joint from his hand. At this point, you were high enough to convince yourself this was some weird dream because you fell asleep crossfaded. You looked up at the T.V and saw void Stiles, in the scene when he stabbed Scott. You looked back so that you could face him, almost like you were checking if he was still there. His eyes were black, similar to how they looked on stuffed animals. The bags under his eyes were so red that they looked like they might hurt when touched. He was just staring at you, smirking with his head tilted. You leaned back and melded your back to his front, as you did this he slid his hands up your bare thighs. His lips were now pressed against the back of your ear, your pulse quickened when you felt his steady breathing against your skin. The hands on his skin were rough from biting at his nail beds. His breath was slow and steady, you tried to match his pace with his but couldn’t slow your heart rate down. He moved his hands to your arms, running his fingertips from your shoulders to your hands. That was when you realized you’d been subconsciously gripping the towel that you fell asleep in. Unexpectedly he grabbed your wrists and ripped them away from your body causing your towel to fall. At first, you tried to fight against his grip but then realized you didn’t really want to. You moved your hands up slowly until they were at the sides of his head. Running your fingers through his hair gently and cautiously. He let go of your wrists and moved his hands to the sides of your hips. He pulled you against him causing your bare ass to rub against his erection under his jeans. He pressed his lips against your shoulder and let out a groan. He swiftly slides out from behind you and props himself up with his shoulders on top of you. Now on your back, you used your feet trying to push his jeans off. He dropped his head a bit on your shoulder so hard it took your breath away. You gasped and squirmed in pain and in reaction Void pressed his hips into you, keeping you from squirming away. 

“How are you ever gonna explain this to whatever the fuck this C stands for,” he said referring to the necklace you had around your neck. He tightens the grip on it and rips it off your neck, crushing it and letting the mangled piece of metal fall to the ground. This caused a change in the atmosphere, it was like the snap of the chain symbolized the breaking of your self-control. He sat up and pulled his pants and boxers down, they were barely past his thighs when you grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him to you. Connecting your lips for the first time, the kiss was more rough than sloppy. His shaft was now pressed against your clit, moving his hips back and forth against you as the kiss deepened. You moaned into his mouth and rocked your hips up to meet his bucks. He moves his elbows so that they are right next to your ears. His fingers running through your hair and gripping onto the strands tightly. He pulled his hips back and thrust himself into you, he moaned and dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. He kept himself still while you fully engulfed him in your heat. Continuously tightening and loosening the grip he had on the fists full of your hair. You were in pure pleasure, purposely tightening and loosening your walls, admiring the feeling of fullness. You knew he was into it because his head was still buried in your shoulder. His mouth open and his bottom lip pressed against your skin as he groaned and growled, a bit of saliva dripping onto your chest. Becoming impatient, you start trusting your hips upward. He jerks his head up so that you’re looking at each other face to face. 

“Your eyes are so glossed over, enjoying yourself I see,” he growled as he began rocking his hips back and forth. 

“Holy fucking shit,” you moaned out going to tilt your head back but being stopped by the grip he had on your hair. 

“Oh no, I wanna see your face. I like watching the raw reactions you have to me,” he snarled as he sped up. Your core felt like it was on fire, burning in a way you’d never felt before. You raked your fingernails down his back, digging in as hard as you can. Instead of wincing like most guys did, he moaned while smirking slightly. He was pounding into you so hard that his hip bones were starting to pierce you with every thrust. The burning feeling inside your stomach was building to a level, your blood felt like fire in the best possible way as you began to cum. 

“You have no idea how fucking good it feels to have you spasming around my cock,” he said swiving his hips in circles as he pressed himself as deep as he could into you, 

“Fuck I can’t get any closer,” he said while bucking and cumming into you. He was grunting and moaning to your neck, catching his breath for a second or two before continuing. As he started his thrusts up again you started to feel how sensitive you were. After you both had orgasmed there was a slickness that allowed Void to move faster and deeper into you. He took one of your nipples into his mouth and circled his tongue around the peak before biting down. 

“Void I’m- it feels so ahh- sensitive,” you said, running your fingers through his hair and bringing him closer but he pulled away so that he was sitting up on his knees. You moaned as he pulled his length out and started massaging your clit with his tip. 

“Should I stop? I mean if you’re too sensitive then maybe I shouldn’t make you cum again. Maybe feeling my cock pulse inside you while your wall spasm around me will be too much for you,” he said repeatedly sticking his tip in and out of your slit. You reacted by wrapping your legs around his waist and trying to bring him closer to you which made him chuckle. 

“Yeah that’s what I fucking thought,” he said dropping back on top of you and started furiously pounding away at you. You were yelping from pleasure after every thrust, pulling on his hair tightly. You were biting down on your lip so hard that you began to taste blood. When Void noticed, he grabbed you by the jaw and kissed you deeply while maintaining the same pace. Groaning and grunting into your mouth, you could tell he was getting close because his thrusts were becoming more sporadic and sloppy. You could no longer hold your second orgasm back and arched your back while practically screaming. Seeing you in complete ecstasy and submission caused Void to cum, the look in his eyes was feral and completely mesmerized you. It made you feel powerful to see him so tired and drained because of you. He pulled out and laid next to you, propping his head up with his elbow. A couple tears ran down your face simply because of how overstimulating the second orgasm was. He used his finger to wipe away the tears and gave you a kiss on each eyelid. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” you whispered, already half asleep.

“Rest now,” and as quickly as he said it, your eyes shot open to your fully lit bedroom. The room looked completely undisturbed which caused you to shoot up. You ran over to your dresser and started throwing the underwear everywhere. When you pulled out the still-sealed bottle of Everclear, you knew it must have been a dream. You sat on your bed and took a minute to think about how real and vivid the entire ordeal felt. After grabbing your pen from your purse, you plop down on your bed to check your socials. As you bring the pen to your lips, it drops out of your hand. You sigh in frustration and go to grab the pen from the ground without looking but end up feeling some type of necklace against your fingertips. When you take a better look at it and realize it’s the crushed necklace from last night.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ a table for two, and sunflowers too

sometimes, healing isn’t a grand gesture—it’s sunflowers from a soft-spoken boy who believes in second chances.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park sunghoon x reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — sad to fluff, generally gn reader, sunghoon x reader, finding love after a breakup, silent boy sunghoon, healing bit by bit, blind date, slighty love at first sight, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — kinda wrote this first as implied male reader, but i didn't really put any male pronouns HAHA, was listening to winner takes it all and read several prompts, plus the music felt really gutwrenching and so thanks for that, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 0.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ updated unsorted masterlist coming soon — here's the legacy one!

The world had faded into a monotonous gray since the breakup.

You moved through your days like a ghost, burdened by the stress of work, the fatigue of insomnia, and the empty coffee cups piling up on your bedroom desk—each one a relic of a life you no longer recognized.

The split hadn’t merely ended a relationship; it had erased the version of yourself that once believed in good things.

You couldn't believe that you fell for someone who made you lower your expectations. Was this what love had to be? A constant struggle to compensate for another's flaws? It was a harsh realization, yet you didn’t want to blame the other person. You never wanted to taint their memory in your mind, but the pain lingered like a shadow that wouldn’t leave.

Friends tiptoed around your grief, their pitying glances a constant reminder that you were now the "sad friend," the one who wore melancholy like a second skin.

You felt utterly ... pathetic.

Flopping over your large bed, you heard the light buzz of your phone. Flipping it open amid the dimly lit room, you saw a message from your overly enthusiastic friend.

"Got you a date! Tomorrow. 5 PM. 7th Street Cafe. He’s sweet. Take the chance!”

You lingered, casting a heavy gaze on your screen, your finger hovering above the delete button. Yet a part of you—one that craved to feel anything again—won this time.

Hope, irritation, curiosity—these emotions bubbled to the surface, and you hesitantly decided to accept the invitation.

Maybe this time ... maybe you were ready again.

˚ ⋆ . ˚ . ★ ⋆ .

The noise of the city blurred into the background of your mind as you walked mindlessly through a sea of pedestrians, each person living life as it was intended.

Approaching the cozy café, nestled just beyond the street sign, you paused for a moment. Taking a small breath, your feet unwittingly dragged you toward the entrance of the establishment.

Inside, the café was warm, a comforting contrast to the melancholic grays outside that dripped with the fresh kiss of rainfall. You lingered at your spot, only hearing your heart throbbing in your ears.

What are you even doing here? A last-minute thought crawled into your mind. In this moment of doubt, you realized you’d forgotten how to be someone worth meeting.

And then you saw him.

A tall guy sat near the cafe window, an old sketchbook open in front of him, fingers smudged with charcoal.

He wasn’t striking in the way that demanded attention; he was … soft. Welcoming, with a sense of just the right gentleness in your eyes.

He wore an almost fluffy comfy white sweater, his hair tousled as if he’d run a hand through it to get a quick fix moments ago.

His eyes were downcast as he scribbled, but when he finally glanced up and saw you, his smile unfurled like the break of dawn.

“Hi,” he said, standing too quickly and nearly knocking over his mug. A warm, unguarded laugh escaped him. “H-Hi! I… brought these.”

From beneath the table, he revealed a bouquet of sunflowers, their bold, golden petals contrasting sharply with the muted café and your frayed sweater, somehow defying the storm that brewed in your chest.

"For you ..." He offered with a shy smile.

“F-flowers on the first date, huh?” you croaked, your throat tight.

“Yeah,” he replied, rubbing his neck, suddenly shy. “People say bringing flowers on the first date is overrated and boring, but I disagree."

Unknowingly, a smile crept onto your lips.

He was gentle, yet there was an air of confidence about him — he genuinely wanted to make a connection.

“Sunflowers are stubborn, you know? They grow even in bad soil. Kinda… kinda like people, I guess.”

˚ ⋆ . ˚ . ★ ⋆ .

"And that's how they saw you?" You spoke, coming in as enthusiatic as you could.

"Yeah!" He spoke, his tone as giddy as his story. "Park Sunghoon. My name, written all over the screen!"

"Ugh ... to have such silly friends, am I right?" He nodded, agreeing with you.

You talked. Or rather, he talked — about his close friends, his fascination with charcoal art, his obsession with indie films, and his silly dog who had it out for his houseplants.

You listened, startled by how his voice anchored you, how the flowers in your lap seemed to radiate warmth into your bones. His enthusiasm made you forget that this was your first date together.

He felt like an old song playing softly on the radio, a familiar breeze you were willing to feel on your skin.

When silence fell, it wasn’t heavy. He tilted his head, studying you. “You’re allowed to not be okay, you know? But… I’m glad you came.”

Something cracked then — not a collapse, but a thaw.

You laughed, shaky but real.

He reached for his sketchbook, tearing a page from it — a beautifully drawn bouquet of sunflowers, folded into fourths and placed under your palm.

“Keep this."

"Hmm?"

"It's ... proof I’m not a total stranger anymore.”

You smiled, seeing him talk to you so openly.

In your trance, you never noticed how the sunset tore through the windows, illuminating the room with a golden glow.

The rain had finally stopped, and the sun was setting on the distant horizon, casting a warm light over everything.

˚ ⋆ . ˚ . ★ ⋆ .

The night ended with a stroll under the streetlights, the bouquet cradled in your arms, its vibrant colors a stark contrast to the shadows of your past.

You didn’t kiss, didn’t make promises. But when you got home, you placed the sunflowers in a vase, their faces turned toward the window where the moonlight peeked through.

For the first time in months, you dreamed of something other than what had been lost.

For the first time, you looked forward to what was yet to come.

EN—D

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — like i said, was really inspired by those tiktoks and prompts about breakups, then having some ideas about finding new love after what seems to be a dump of sadness and gloom. personally experienced that too but, life goes on! if you ever feel sad, just know that there are people around you. let them know and they'll help you out. you've got help, even if you feel like you don't. stay strong!

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

[rmytears]

HOW NOT TO KEEP A RELATIONSHIP SECRET. calex one-shot.

SUMMARY: Casey's day takes an unexpected turn when SVU’s newest detective develops a crush on Alex and, for some reason, asks her for help. Determined to keep their relationship a secret, Casey tries to deflect… only to somehow end up giving him accidental dating advice.

The 16th precinct hummed with its characteristic chaos—a symphony of ringing phones, heated debates over case files, and the persistent whir of an overworked coffee maker that hadn't been properly cleaned since the Obama administration. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt coffee, a scent that had become as much a part of the building as the worn linoleum floors and the flickering fluorescent lights that cast everything in an unflattering pallor.

Casey Novak sat at her desk, surrounded by towering stacks of discovery materials that threatened to topple at any moment. Her reading glasses were perched precariously on the edge of her nose, and her auburn hair was twisted into a messy bun that had gradually migrated sideways throughout the morning. She was only half-listening to the ongoing debate between Fin and Olivia about lunch options—Fin advocating for the new Thai place around the corner, while Olivia stubbornly defended her usual deli sandwich.

"I'm telling you," Fin insisted, gesturing with a case file, "they've got these dumplings that'll change your life."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "The last time you said that about food, I couldn't taste anything for three days."

Casey smiled to herself, letting their familiar bickering fade into background noise as she focused on the affidavit in front of her. The words were starting to blur together—something about chain of custody that she'd read four times without really absorbing—when a shadow fell across her desk.

Detective Ryan Callahan stood there, all six feet of earnest awkwardness, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous teenager at his first school dance. He was new to SVU, barely six months on the job, with the kind of fresh-faced enthusiasm that hadn't yet been tempered by the harsh realities of their work. In the field, he was surprisingly competent—good instincts, quick on his feet, and genuinely empathetic with victims. But socially... well, that was another matter entirely.

His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it—a nervous habit Casey had noticed during particularly stressful cases. Today, his tie was slightly askew, and there was a coffee stain on his otherwise pristine white shirt. He had the look of someone who had spent considerable time rehearsing what he was about to say, only to forget every word the moment he opened his mouth.

Casey raised an eyebrow, setting down her pen. "Callahan, what's up?"

He cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck. "Uh, so, I had a question."

She waited, watching as he fidgeted with his badge, clipping and unclipping it from his belt. The silence stretched between them like taffy, growing more awkward by the second.

Finally, he scratched the back of his neck—another nervous tell—and said, "About Alex."

Casey blinked, her heart doing a complicated gymnastics routine in her chest. "Alex?"

"Yeah." He shuffled closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I mean, I figured since you two spend a lot of time together, you'd know... if she's, you know, seeing anyone."

Casey felt her world tilt sideways. Oh, this was bad.

Very, very bad.

Callahan, completely oblivious to the internal crisis he had just triggered, pressed on with the determination of someone walking straight off a cliff. "I just—I don't know. She's incredible. Smart, sharp, kind of terrifying but, like, in a hot way? Not that you need me to tell you that, obviously, you know her better than I do. Which is why I was hoping you'd, uh, help me out here."

Casey's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, performing an impressive impression of a fish out of water. "Help you out?" she repeated, her voice hitting a pitch she hadn't reached since high school choir.

He nodded, eyes bright with hope. "You think she'd go for a guy like me?"

Casey, who had built her career on her ability to think quickly under pressure, who had stared down serial killers and sociopaths without breaking a sweat, who had once delivered an entire closing argument with a sprained ankle and didn't miss a beat, suddenly found herself completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

Because here she was, sitting at her desk on a Tuesday morning, being asked for dating advice about her girlfriend by a man who had no idea he was essentially asking for tips on how to seduce someone who was very much taken.

By her.

The irony was almost poetic.

Swallowing hard, she forced what she hoped was a professional smile but probably looked more like a grimace. "Listen, Callahan, if you're interested in Alex, maybe you should ask her yourself." The words tasted like betrayal in her mouth, but what else could she say?

Callahan's face fell slightly. "Yeah, but I don't want to come on too strong. I figured you might have, like, some insight? Maybe you could, I don't know..." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice further, "put in a good word?"

Casey let out a sound that could only be described as a strangled cough, drawing curious glances from nearby desks. Her mind raced through possible responses, each more absurd than the last. She could tell him the truth—but no, they'd agreed to keep their relationship private, at least for now. She could make up some reason why he shouldn't pursue Alex—but that felt dishonest, and besides, what reason could she give that wouldn't raise more questions?

"I—uh—I'm not really—"

"Just a little nudge," he pressed, his enthusiasm growing in inverse proportion to her comfort level. "Like, what does she like? Coffee? Flowers? Should I be, you know, mysterious and aloof? Or direct? I've been reading this dating advice blog, and it says women like confidence, but also vulnerability, but also strength, but also sensitivity..." He trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

Casey stared at him, her brain screaming in at least three different languages. This was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, except she wasn't just watching—she was somehow both the conductor and the person tied to the tracks.

And yet, instead of shutting it down, instead of making an excuse and escaping with what little dignity she had left, she found herself muttering, "She likes espresso. No sugar."

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she'd made a terrible mistake. Callahan's face lit up like Times Square at Christmas.

"See? That's helpful! Anything else?"

Casey internally cursed herself in all the languages she knew, and a few she didn't.

Two days later, Casey was seriously reconsidering her career choices. Maybe she should've become a tax attorney. Or a librarian. Or literally anything that wouldn't have led to her current predicament, watching her girlfriend's unwitting suitor execute what had to be the most painfully earnest courtship attempt in NYPD history.

The precinct had become a stage for Callahan's increasingly elaborate gestures. Every time Alex entered the building—her sharp heels clicking against the floor, her presence commanding attention without effort—there he was, materializing like a well-meaning ghost with perfectly timed offerings.

"Just happened to grab an extra espresso," he'd say, placing the steaming cup on her desk with the careful precision of someone handling evidence. The coffee was always from that expensive place three blocks over, the one with the pretentious baristas and lines out the door. Casey knew for a fact he'd started getting there twenty minutes early just to beat the morning rush.

Alex, for her part, had progressed through a fascinating spectrum of reactions. At first, it was just a slightly quirked eyebrow, the barest hint of confusion crossing her otherwise composed features. Then came the studying—those piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly whenever Callahan appeared, like she was processing evidence in a particularly puzzling case.

The coffee was just the beginning. Suddenly, Callahan was everywhere. Holding doors open with an eager "After you, Counselor." Casually mentioning cases he knew she'd won—"That Martinez cross-examination? Legendary stuff." He'd even started wearing better suits, though his ties remained perpetually crooked in a way that made Casey's fingers itch to fix them.

And then there was the day he'd watched Alex verbally demolish defense attorney Trevor Langan in court. Casey had been there too, ostensibly to observe the trial, but really because Alex in court was a sight to behold. The way she moved, the precise timing of her questions, the subtle shift in her voice when she went in for the kill—it was like watching a master artist at work.

Callahan had been sitting next to Casey, presumably there to learn trial techniques. But halfway through Alex's cross-examination, Casey heard him whisper, "Holy shit," with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences.

After court, he'd caught up with Alex in the hallway. "That was incredible," he'd gushed. "The way you cornered him on the timeline inconsistencies? And then that thing with the phone records? Pure genius."

Alex had paused, tilted her head slightly, and given Casey a look that clearly said, 'We need to talk.'

Because that's when it clicked. The coffee. The compliments. The way Callahan's eyes followed Alex around the precinct like a lovesick puppy. And most damningly, the fact that he seemed to know exactly how Alex liked her coffee.

There was only one person who could have told him that.

The look Alex gave Casey in that moment promised a conversation that would be neither brief nor comfortable.

"You are going to explain to me," Alex said later that day, her voice carrying that dangerous calm that made hardened criminals confess on the stand, "why my girlfriend is helping a man flirt with me."

They were in Alex's office, where the late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the polished desk. The door had clicked shut with a finality that made Casey's stomach drop.

Casey, perched against the desk, tried for casual. "Okay, first of all, not my fault."

Alex arched an eyebrow, a gesture that could have been patented for its ability to convey volumes of skepticism without a single word.

"No?"

Casey groaned, running a hand through her hair. "He asked me if you were single! What was I supposed to say?"

Alex folded her arms, her blazer—charcoal grey today, impeccably tailored—shifting with the movement. "You could have said 'no.' That's generally how people answer that question when they are, in fact, not single."

The sarcasm in her voice could have stripped paint.

Casey flinched. "Okay, yeah, fair, but he caught me off guard, and I didn't want to, you know..." She gestured vaguely. "Out us."

Alex inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose—a rare display of exasperation from someone who usually maintained perfect composure. "And your next brilliant move was... what? Coaching him?"

"I didn't coach him," Casey protested, though her voice lacked conviction. "I just—he wouldn't drop it, and I panicked, and now he's bringing you coffee, and—" She threw up her hands in surrender. "Look, I didn't think it would work!"

Alex let out a laugh that held absolutely no humor. "Well, it did. And now I have a detective attempting to woo me with caffeine and admiration for my cross-examinations." She stepped closer, her heels silent on the carpeted floor. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain professional authority when someone looks at you like you've hung the moon every time you object to hearsay?"

Casey winced. "... He did say that thing about the Martinez case, huh?"

Alex leveled her with a look that could have melted steel. "Yes. He did. In fact, he's apparently been studying my old cases. This morning, he quoted my closing argument from the Wilson trial. Word for word."

A beat of silence filled the office.

Then, Alex took another step forward. Then another. Her movements were deliberate, predatory, like a cat cornering its prey. Casey found herself pressing back against the desk, suddenly very aware of how the temperature in the room seemed to have risen several degrees.

"So, tell me," Alex murmured, close enough now that Casey could smell her perfume—something expensive and subtle that made coherent thought increasingly difficult. "How exactly were you planning to resolve this, Counselor?"

The way Alex said 'Counselor' should have been illegal in at least three states.

Casey cleared her throat, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "I figured eventually he'd... move on?"

Alex's lips curved into something that was not quite a smile but promised all sorts of interesting consequences. "Mm. I have a better idea."

Before Casey could process what was happening, Alex's hand had slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, pulling her in for a kiss that was definitely not appropriate for office hours. It was slow, deliberate, thorough—the kind of kiss that made Casey forget every legal precedent she'd ever memorized.

When Alex finally pulled back, Casey's brain had officially gone offline. Her lips tingled, and she was pretty sure she'd forgotten how to form sentences in English.

"I—" Casey started, then promptly lost whatever she was going to say when she caught the look in Alex's eyes.

Alex smirked, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Let's see if Callahan still has questions after that."

And with that, Alex turned and opened the office door.

Straight into what appeared to be half the SVU squad.

Olivia, Fin, and Elliot stood there, wearing expressions that ranged from surprised (Olivia) to amused (Fin) to mildly uncomfortable but supportive (Elliot).

Olivia blinked. "Oh."

Fin's grin could have powered half of Manhattan. "Damn. Thought you two were just bad at flirting. Turns out you were just sneaky."

Elliot shook his head, though there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Honestly? We should've seen it coming. Nobody spends that much time 'reviewing case files' after hours."

And because the universe wasn't done with them yet, Callahan chose that exact moment to walk by. He stopped, coffee cup in hand—probably another perfectly prepared espresso—and took in the scene. His eyes moved from Alex's slightly smudged lipstick to Casey's thoroughly kissed expression, and understanding dawned on his face with almost audible clarity.

"Well," he muttered, "that explains... a lot." He paused, then added with a weak laugh, "Like why you knew her coffee order."

Casey groaned, burying her face in her hands. Alex, somehow still maintaining her composure despite everything, simply adjusted her blazer with precise movements.

"Well," Olivia drawled, her grin growing wider by the second, "this is fun."

"I hate all of you," Casey mumbled through her fingers.

Alex, fighting what looked suspiciously like genuine amusement, reached over and laced their fingers together.

"Too late now, darling," she murmured, squeezing Casey's hand. "Might as well own it."

And as Casey looked at the team's smug, knowing faces—Olivia's warmth, Fin's mischief, Elliot's awkward acceptance, and even Callahan's embarrassed but genuine smile—she realized there was no winning this.

But maybe, she thought as Alex's thumb traced small circles on her hand, winning wasn't the point.

At least she had Alex.

And really good espresso.

Two weeks later, Callahan left a peace offering on both their desks: gift cards to that expensive coffee place he'd been frequenting. The note attached read: "Sorry for the awkward. But in my defense, your girlfriend is terrifying in court. - RC"

Alex kept the note pinned to her bulletin board, right next to the conviction record that had so impressed him.

And if anyone noticed that Casey started wearing her ties a little crooked, or that Alex's lipstick needed touching up more often after their "case review meetings," well...

Some things were better left unsaid.

Even in a building full of detectives.

[yunholic-jongholic]

Bound to the Bosses [Part 6] | C.JH x Reader x J.YH

SUMMARY | At the age of 20, you surrendered your freedom to a former mafia gang in exchange for a secure life and all your needs met. You pledged your existence to two of the members, Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho, who managed the leading underground strip club and took you under their wing. They both permit you to perform on weekend nights, but once the lights go out and the workday ends, you belong solely to both of them.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader x Yunho

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | Soft Dom!Jongho, Soft Dom!Yunho, Strip Club Setting, NSFW, SMUT, ANGST, Explicit Content, Teasing (Slight), Fingering, Breast Play, Makeup Sex, Oral Sex (Reader Receiving), Begging, Orgasm, Squirting, Foreplay, Threesome, Weapon/Gun Use, Raiding, Mentions of Death, Injuries, Aggressive Fighting, Cursing (Sorry If I missed some.)

WORD COUNT | 5.2k

AUTHOR NOTE | Jongho and Yunho are both soft Dom's this chapter BUT THERE IS ANGST IN THIS CHAPTER AS A HUGEEEE WARNING. PLEASE READ CONTENT WARNINGS!!

TAG LIST | @mingisleftnipple @yusalterego @galaxycatdrawz

•

The past few days had been a blur.

You had done everything to avoid Jongho and Yunho—changing your schedule, staying locked in your room, slipping out before they could notice.

You couldn’t face them.

Not after what you had heard.

Not after realizing the truth.

And yet, even with the distance, the pain still lingered, weighing down on you like a constant reminder that you were nothing more than an object to them. A distraction.

Now, standing in the grocery store, staring blankly at shelves of food, you felt hollow.

You had used your weekly allowance to buy what you needed, but your stomach churned at the thought of eating.

You felt weak, but you knew you had to at least try.

With a sigh, you grabbed a few things and placed them in your basket. Each movement felt mechanical, like you were just going through the motions.

The noise of the store faded into the background; your thoughts still stuck in the past few days.

Did they even notice you were gone?

Did they even care?

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing those thoughts away. It didn’t matter anymore.

You just had to keep moving forward.

You moved quietly, setting your grocery bags down in your room before slipping back into the hallway.

Your heart pounded as you crept toward the railing, listening in on the conversation happening downstairs.

"Have you talked to Y/N recently?"

Jongho’s sigh was audible, the sound carrying through the open space. You peeked slightly, watching as he lifted a glass to his lips, taking a slow sip.

"No," Yunho muttered, his voice unusually dull. He sat slumped over the table, his head resting against it like the weight of something heavy was pressing down on him. "I think she’s avoiding us..."

You bit your lip, fingers tightening around the wooden railing.

So they had noticed.

A small part of you wanted to feel relieved, like maybe they actually cared—but you shoved that thought down just as quickly as it came.

Caring would have meant not apologizing for their emotions.

Caring would have meant fighting for you, not dismissing you as a weakness.

Your stomach twisted as you listened to the silence between them.

You should walk away.

You should stop listening.

But you couldn’t.

You needed to know if they even regretted what they said.

Your entire body went rigid.

"I need her so badly now..." Yunho groaned, shifting in his seat.

Your fingers curled into a fist, annoyance bubbling up in your chest. Was that all you were to him? Just something to use whenever he wanted?

You clenched your jaw, exhaling sharply. "That's all you ever want from me..." you muttered under your breath, unable to hold it in.

The words were barely above a whisper, but Jongho jolted up at the sound, his head snapping toward Yunho before turning away to make another drink.

"Did you upset her last time you saw her?" he asked, his tone sharper now, less teasing.

Yunho groaned, rubbing his temple. "No. I don’t remember. I was drunk, Jongho." His voice was slurred slightly, exhausted, careless. "I might’ve said something stupid like I cared about her."

The floor beneath you felt like it disappeared.

Your legs went weak.

Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping onto the railing for support as those words cut through you like a blade.

"Something stupid... like I cared about her."

Your stomach dropped.

Jongho let out a long sigh, lifting the bottle to his lips. "You’re stupid. We both are."

He took a long sip, shaking his head.

Yunho laughed, but it was humorless, bitter. "Trust me, you won’t find your happiness at the bottom of a bottle." His words slurred as he shifted again, groaning. "I tried that a few days ago, and it just gave me the worst headache of my life."

You barely heard him.

Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You had wanted them to regret what they said.

But hearing Yunho call his own feelings for you stupid—as if the very thought of caring about you was a mistake—hurt more than you could have ever imagined.

You should’ve walked away sooner.

You lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to push down everything you had just heard. But it clung to you, wrapped around your chest like a weight, making it hard to breathe.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Your body stiffened.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping, praying it was anyone but them.

"Come in," you called out, voice barely above a whisper, your throat tight.

The door creaked open, and the moment you saw who stepped inside—

A frustrated growl escaped your lips.

Of course.

Of course it was them.

Yunho and Jongho stood there, their expressions unreadable, but you refused to meet their eyes. Instead, you let out an irritated sigh, grabbing your pillow and immediately pulling it over your face.

You weren’t ready for this.

Not now.

Not when the pain was still so fresh.

The air in the room was tense, heavy with something neither of them had the words for yet.

But you didn’t care.

Because right now, all you felt was disappointment.

The bed dipped slightly as both Yunho and Jongho sat down beside you. You could feel their presence, the heat of their bodies close, but you refused to acknowledge them.

"What’s wrong?" Jongho asked first, his voice quieter than usual.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, your words muffled but firm. "I don’t want to talk."

You hoped they would take the hint and leave.

But, of course, they didn’t.

Instead, Yunho’s patience wore out first.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the pillow away from your face, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes locked onto yours, frustration flickering beneath the surface.

"No, really. What is the matter with you recently?" he pressed.

You stared at him, anger bubbling up inside you all over again.

Was he seriously asking that?

Was he really pretending like nothing had happened?

Like you hadn’t heard every word he said?

Your hands clenched into fists as you sat up, your glare sharp enough to cut through them both.

"I’m not telling you," you snapped, your voice laced with resentment. "Now get out of my room."

Yunho’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t move. Jongho, beside him, sighed, running a hand through his hair, but his eyes never left you.

They weren’t going to leave.

Not until they got answers.

But you weren’t in the mood to give them any.

You sat up abruptly, frustration boiling over as you shoved at them, trying to push them off your bed.

"I am serious! Get out!"

Jongho reacted immediately, his hands grabbing your wrists before you could push again. His grip was firm, but not rough—just enough to stop you.

"And we are too," he sighed, his voice low but steady. "This isn’t like you, Y/N."

You froze for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in.

They weren’t just here to push your buttons.

They knew something was wrong.

You exhaled sharply, the fight momentarily draining from your body as you let yourself sit back down, your wrists still loosely in Jongho’s grip.

The room was silent now, thick with tension as they watched you closely.

Finally, you muttered, voice barely above a whisper—

"Fine."

But when you looked at them, your eyes held nothing but bitterness.

"I just don’t understand why you both pretend to care about me."

The second the words left your lips, everything changed.

Jongho’s grip loosened. Yunho’s body tensed.

They stared at you in silence. Then, at each other.

You could see the realization hit them—see the way their expressions flickered with something unreadable.

But they didn’t deny it.

They didn’t rush to prove you wrong.

And that silence?

That hurt more than any answer they could’ve given you.

Yunho sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze.

"We do care about you... we just don’t want the others to see us showing weakness." His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant—and Yunho was never hesitant.

His fingers twitched against his knee, a rare sign of nervousness. He coughed, clearly embarrassed that he was even admitting this much.

Jongho let out a breath, shaking his head. "We just try to hide it, so we don’t get our asses beaten by Hongjoong… or Seonghwa."

You stared at them.

They weren’t smirking. They weren’t teasing.

They were being genuine.

For once, they weren���t trying to control you, or push you away, or pretend that their possessiveness was just a game.

They cared.

And that terrified them.

You could see it—the way Yunho was shifting uncomfortably, the way Jongho was avoiding your direct gaze, both of them embarrassed for even letting you know.

Because to them, caring about you did make them weak.

And that?

That made your heart ache.

You swallowed hard, your voice softer now. "So… everything Hongjoong said… you don’t actually believe it?"

Jongho clenched his jaw. Yunho’s fingers curled into a fist.

"No," Yunho said first, firm this time. "We don’t."

Jongho nodded. "We’re just stupid enough to pretend we do."

You exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift from your chest.

They weren’t perfect.

They were flawed, and reckless, and scared—but at least now, they weren’t hiding from you.

And that?

That was enough for now.

The air in the room shifted—no longer tense with frustration, but something softer.

Yunho’s hand traced slowly up your thigh, his fingers warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you. Your heart pounded in your chest, your cheeks heating up at the sudden tenderness in his touch.

"You both aren’t just saying this to make me believe it… you’re not bullshitting me, right?" you huffed out, needing to be sure.

Jongho and Yunho both shook their heads, their expressions completely serious.

"No," Jongho murmured.

"Not at all," Yunho added, his voice lower, more certain this time.

You barely had time to process their words before Yunho leaned down, pressing his lips against your thigh in soft, featherlight kisses. His touch was gentle, nothing like his usual roughness—this was something else.

At the same time, you felt Jongho’s hands slide under your shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin. Then—his lips found your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin.

There was no urgency.

No fight for dominance.

Just them—taking their time, showing you something that felt like more than just possessiveness.

For the first time, it wasn’t about control.

It was about you.

About proving to you—without words—that they meant it.

And maybe, just maybe, you were finally starting to believe them.

A moan escaped your lips as you felt Yunho trace his finger over your clothed cunt, he rubbed in a small circular motion. You gripped onto the sheets and Jongho softly grabbed your hands for you to hold onto. Yunho finally went to take the rest of your clothes off as he went back down and rubbed two fingers against you. You felt something bubble in your lower stomach and kept moaning softly.

Jongho moved with careful intent, easing you onto your back, his strong presence hovering over you. His eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, were soft now, filled with something far more intimate than the usual possessiveness he carried.

You gazed up at him, slightly out of breath, your heart pounding in ways that had nothing to do with fear or uncertainty.

Jongho leaned down, pressing his lips against your chest, his kisses slow, deliberate, meaningful. Each touch was filled with something unsaid, something he didn’t know how to put into words.

You exhaled softly, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, tangling in the dark strands as he moved with patience, taking his time.

While Jongho was kissing your chest, Yunho pushed 2 fingers inside, swirling and thrusting them in and out of you. You let out a loud moan.

Maybe they weren’t perfect. Maybe they didn’t always know how to express it.

But in this moment, in the way they held you, in the way they chose to be careful with you.

You soon felt Yunho take his two fingers out and immediately his face hovered over you. You felt the bubble in your stomach grow more as he swiped his tongue between your folds. You immediately gasped and dug your nails into Jongho. Jongho on the other hand started kissing your breasts softly,

You couldn't take it; they were both devouring you while you were just completely helpless melting away.

"Please..." You cry out feeling Yunho enter two fingers inside along as he continued. Jongho's tongue swiftly swirled over your nipple as he playfully nipped it.

A quiet huff left your lips, your fingers tangling deeper into Jongho’s hair, completely lost in the moment. His movements were slow, deliberate—thoughtful in a way that made your chest tighten.

For once, you weren’t overthinking. You weren’t questioning. You were just feeling.

But then—

"Aww, you’re giving Jongho more attention than me…" Yunho’s voice cut through the air, his teasing laced with fake pouting.

You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head slightly toward him. Of course, Yunho wouldn’t let you forget about him for too long.

"Aren’t I usually the needy one…?" you murmured, shifting slightly underneath them, your body responding instinctively to their presence.

Jongho chuckled against your skin, his breath warm as his lips lingered.

Yunho smirked, "Yeah, but I want attention from you too."

His voice dipped slightly, his playful tone melting into something deeper—something wanting.

Yunho kept thrusting his two fingers in and out of you and you felt his tongue flick against your clit. You let out a loud moan, placing one hand over Yunho's hair tangling your fingers in. He groaned against your cunt as he kept going, getting rougher now.

"Oh my god!" You cry out, Jongho keeps you down as he continues to nibble and kiss on your breasts. You cry out begging both of them to stop.

"Please! I feel like I am gonna explode!" You cry out digging your nails into their hair messing it up. They continue and soon Yunho pulls his face away as he finally penetrates his fingers one last time, tipping you over the edge and you actually ended up squirting.

You heavily breath, legs trembling and notice just try to catch your breath. Yunho smirks as he pulls his fingers out and Jongho lets go.

"Look at you... You made a complete mess... I've never seen her enjoy it that much..." Yunho smirks. You whimper at the sensitive feeling. Jongho smirks caressing your body making you shiver more.

"That was so hot..." Yunho groaned.

Yunho let out a deep huff, stretching his neck as he leaned back slightly, his usual smirk softening.

You tried to respond, to say something, but your voice barely came out. You were spent; your body too heavy, too lost in the moment to form proper words.

A quiet hum was all you managed; your breath uneven as you tried to steady yourself.

Jongho noticed first, his gaze flickering to you, taking in the exhaustion settling over you.

"She can’t even talk," he mused, amusement clear in his tone as he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

Yunho chuckled, shaking his head. "That’s a first."

You glared at them weakly, but it had no effect—not when you could barely move.

Your face flushed hot as their teasing words and commanding touches sent shivers racing down your spine. You could feel your body responding despite the nagging embarrassment; every inch of your skin seemed to light up under their attention.

"Do you think you can do another round with us sweetheart?"Jongho’s teasing tone mingled with a hint of satisfaction as he shifted his position, his hands still lingering near your body.

Meanwhile, Yunho’s voice, low and raspy, resonated in your ears as he held your arms high above your head. His eyes, dark and intent, searched yours for any sign of resistance—even as you trembled with a mix of shyness and undeniable arousal.

"Don't hide from us now..." Yunho murmured, his tone soft yet insistent.

The words, combined with the gentle pressure of his hand pinning your arms, sent a warm, delicious heat through you. Despite your inner turmoil and the fear of being used, a part of you—fragile yet yearning—could not help but respond.

Caught between their playful dominance and your own conflicted desire, you felt your heart pound. Every touch, every teasing glance from both Jongho and Yunho was a reminder of how vulnerable and exposed you were, yet it also stirred a deep, almost primal longing inside you.

Your body betrayed you as you let out a soft, involuntary sigh. The contrast between the roughness of their grips and the tenderness of their touches blurred together in a haze of sensation. Even as your mind screamed to retreat, your body craved the continuation of their attention.

In that charged moment, you realized that even though you felt shy and conflicted, the intensity of their caresses and the raw power of their presence made it impossible to turn away completely. Their words, their touches, their very insistence on claiming you stirred something deep within—something that both terrified and aroused you in equal measure.

"I don’t think I can… I feel extremely sensitive…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your breath uneven.

Yunho’s grip on your wrists loosened, and you felt relief for a moment—until your hands instinctively traveled up his neck, wrapping around him. Holding him closer.

Yunho exhaled against your lips, his breath warm, teasing.

"You say that now… but you’re pulling me closer," he murmured, his voice low, laced with amusement.

Before you could even process what was happening, your lips crashed into his.

It was hungry, filled with unspoken emotions, with everything you couldn’t say.

Yunho’s hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your skin, anchoring you against him as the kiss deepened.

Jongho, watching from the side, let out a quiet hum, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "Tch… so needy for each other."

But his voice didn’t hold jealousy. It held satisfaction.

As if he liked seeing you like this—losing yourself completely in Yunho, in them.

The moment stretched on, filled with nothing but heated breaths and tangled touches, your heart pounding as you let yourself sink into their presence.

Yunho finally pulled away, exhaling as he did. You huffed out and immediately started removing his clothes off of him.

"I thought you said you were too tired." Yunho shifted above you helping you remove his clothes.

"Fuck you." You hiss.

Yunho smirked against your lips, clearly enjoying your sudden boldness—until you attacked his lips again, claiming him in a way that sent his control spiraling.

Before he could regain dominance, you moved—jumping onto his lap and pushing him down onto the bed. His back hit the mattress, his hands instinctively gripping your waist.

"Aaaand... you let your guard down, Yunho."

Jongho’s voice carried a teasing edge, a quiet chuckle following his words as he watched from the side. His amusement was evident, but there was also something darker lurking beneath it—something intrigued.

You smirked, pulling away from Yunho’s lips, relishing in the fact that for once, you had the upper hand.

But that victory didn’t last long.

"I am not letting her win…" Yunho growled, his grip tightening around your waist.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his fingers dug in, holding you firmly in place.

The pressure sent a shiver down your spine, heat crawling up your neck as you whimpered involuntarily.

Jongho hummed, watching the interaction closely, his eyes flickering between the two of you. "Careful, Yunho… you might break her if you keep holding on like that."

Yunho didn’t let up, his smirk deepening. "She can handle it."

The atmosphere shifted in an instant.

The loud crack of gunshots shattered the heated moment, ripping you all from the haze of emotions and desire.

Your breath hitched as you froze, your body instinctively tensing. Yunho and Jongho did the same, their postures snapping into high alert.

Your heart pounded as you immediately crawled to the window, yanking a blanket over yourself as you peered outside. The streets below were chaotic figures moving in the dark, flashes of gunfire illuminating the night.

Jongho didn’t hesitate.

Without a word, he shot up from the bed, his body moving before his mind even caught up. His instincts kicked in, his muscles tense as he grabbed his clothes in one swift motion and stormed toward the door.

"Stay here," he muttered, his voice firm—but you knew he wasn’t expecting you to listen.

Then he was gone, disappearing down the stairs in seconds.

Yunho was right beside you, his hand gripping the windowsill as his eyes scanned the streets below, his brows furrowed in a rare display of genuine worry.

You swallowed hard, your fingers clutching the blanket as you watched the scene unfold. This wasn’t just some random fight.

Something was wrong.

Yunho let out a sharp breath before throwing on his clothes, moving quickly and efficiently. He barely spared you a glance before he stood up.

"Lock the door," he ordered, his tone serious.

You didn’t respond.

You just watched as he, too, disappeared out the door, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room—heart pounding, uncertainty creeping in.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched the chaos unfold below.

San and Mingi were cornered—four armed men closing in on them, their postures tense, their expressions unreadable in the dim streetlights. The glint of their weapons sent a chill down your spine.

Then—

Yunho and Jongho burst onto the scene.

They moved fast, guns raised, the moment shifting in an instant. The flicker of muzzle flashes cut through the night, the sound of gunfire cracking through the air.

Your grip on the windowsill tightened.

The panic building in your chest became unbearable.

Then—

More footsteps.

Loud, rushed.

Someone—no, multiple people—were running down the hallway outside your door.

You turned sharply, your breathing uneven.

That had to be the rest of the group. Seonghwa. Hongjoong. Yeosang. Wooyoung.

They were all mobilizing.

Your stomach twisted.

This wasn’t just some random fight. This was serious.

Your instincts screamed at you to stay put, to lock the door, to let them handle it.

But every nerve in your body rejected that idea.

Because they were out there.

Fighting.

Risking everything.

And no matter how much you tried to tell yourself you weren’t part of this world—

You were.

Your fingers curled into fists as you stood up, adrenaline racing through you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the pistol, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Outside, the battle raged on. The dim lighting and shifting shadows made it impossible to tell who was on the ground, who had been hit.

You swallowed hard, a pit of dread forming in your stomach.

Please don’t be Jongho.

Please don’t be Yunho.

Please don’t let it be any of them.

The distant crack of gunfire jolted you back to reality. You had no time to hesitate.

With one sharp breath, you unlocked the window and pushed it open, the cool night air rushing over your skin.

Your hands steadied as you raised the pistol, locking onto one of the enemy figures who was still firing relentlessly at your group.

Your finger hovered over the trigger.

You had never done this before—never really been in the middle of a fight.

But this wasn’t just any fight.

This was your family.

The men who had—despite everything—protected you, fought for you, cared for you in ways you didn’t even understand yet.

And right now, they were in danger.

Without another thought, you pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, loud and sharp, cutting through the night.

The man you aimed at stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden hit. He staggered, and for a split second, the battle shifted as the attention turned to you.

Then—

"Y/N?! What the fuck are you doing?!"

Yunho’s voice cut through the chaos, laced with shock and fury.

Your breath hitched as you finally met his gaze—his expression unreadable, torn between relief and pure rage.

But before you could answer—

Another shot whizzed past your ear, slamming into the wooden window frame.

And suddenly, the reality of what you’d just done hit you like a freight train.

Your breath hitched as you heard the heavy thud of boots stomping through the hallway.

Everyone was outside.

So who the hell was inside?

Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, panic setting in as you turned toward the door.

But the moment you reached for the handle—

A shadow loomed in front of you.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes widened, locking onto the figure standing just a few feet away.

A man, dressed in dark clothing, gripping a giant rifle in his hands.

His stance was firm, his face unreadable under the dim light—but the way he tilted his head, sizing you up, sent an icy chill down your spine.

Your body moved before your mind could process.

You slammed the door shut—

Click! You locked it, pressing your back against it, your chest heaving.

The deafening bang of a gunshot rang through the room, the bullet slamming into your doorknob with a sharp clang.

Your body jerked back instinctively, a yelp escaping your lips as you stumbled toward the bed. The door shook, splintering slightly from the impact, and you knew—they were coming in.

Your mind was spiraling—you had nowhere to go, no time to escape.

Then—

"NO!"

The roar of Yunho’s voice made your heart lurch.

Through the chaos outside, you caught a glimpse of him—his figure bolting toward the house, his gun raised, determination burning in his eyes.

"YUNHO! GET BACK HERE AND HELP US!"

Hongjoong’s furious voice snapped from outside, but Yunho didn’t so much as flinch.

He ignored the command, his focus singular.

You.

You could hear his footsteps thundering up the stairs, each step growing louder, faster—

Then—

Gunfire erupted in the hallway.

Your breath hitched as you pressed your back against the wall, gripping your pistol tightly, your fingers trembling.

Yunho’s bullets tore through the air, each shot sharp, precise, relentless. The man hunting you returned fire, the sounds of their fight filling the space just outside your door.

Your chest tightened.

Yunho was fighting for you.

And you knew—if he lost, you were next.

The deafening bangs of gunfire ripped through your door, splintering wood flying across the room.

You couldn’t move.

Your body trembled as you gripped the pistol tightly, but instead of using it, you curled beneath the blankets, hiding, hoping, praying.

Then—

A thud.

A heavy drop to the floor outside.

Silence.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding so violently it hurt. Your fingers clenched around the pistol; your knuckles white.

Please, please, please let Yunho be safe...

Then—

Click.

The doorknob turned.

You held your breath, pressing your body further into the mattress, every muscle in your body stiff with fear.

The door creaked open.

Then—light flooded the room.

Your eyes snapped open, blinking at the sudden brightness.

And there he was.

Yunho.

He rushed toward you, his eyes wild, scanning you frantically. His gun was still in his hand, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, a small cut on his cheek from the fight, but he was alive.

"Y/N—are you okay?!"

His voice was urgent, desperate. He was in front of you in seconds, gripping your arms, his touch grounding you.

You were still shaking.

You couldn’t speak.

All you could do was nod, barely able to process that he was here—that you were both alive.

Yunho’s grip on your hand was gentle, but his urgency was undeniable.

He didn’t say anything at first—just pulled you up from the bed, his fingers curling protectively around yours as he led you down the hall.

Your legs felt weak, trembling with every step, but you followed him without hesitation.

He led you straight to Hongjoong’s office, heading toward the large storage closet at the back of the room.

"Hide here."

Yunho’s voice was firm, but there was something softer beneath it—something that sounded almost like pleading.

"Stay in here until I come back. Don’t come out. No matter what."

You swallowed hard, still gripping onto him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yunho, I—"

"Please."

That single word made your breath hitch.

For once, you listened.

You slipped inside, curling into the corner of the small space as Yunho closed the door, leaving you alone in the dark.

Your entire body trembled as you listened to his footsteps fade away—back into the chaos.

And then—

More gunshots.

Your hands clamped over your ears, your breath coming in short gasps. Every crack of a bullet sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

You didn’t know who was winning.

Did Yunho make it outside in time?

Was Jongho okay?

Was anyone even still alive?

You curled into yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, your pistol still gripped tightly in your hands.

Then finally Silence.

The gunfire stopped.

They had retreated. Or they were all dead.

You sat there, waiting, your breath shallow.

Waiting for someone to come find you.

Waiting to hear who had survived.

Your grip on the pistol tightened as you listened carefully, your breath still shallow from the fear.

But then—familiar voices.

Not enemies.

Not intruders.

The members.

Without thinking, you burst out of the closet, stumbling slightly as your legs struggled to regain their strength. Your mind was still foggy from the adrenaline, but you immediately caught onto their conversation.

Someone was injured.

You rushed into the hallway, your heart pounding as your eyes landed on the scene.

San and Mingi were holding up Jongho, his body slumped between them, blood staining his clothes.

Your breath hitched.

His face was tense, his breathing ragged, but he was awake. Still conscious.

They were taking him to his room, moving quickly, muttering about getting medical supplies.

You wanted to follow them. To make sure he was okay.

But before you could move, a sharp shove against your shoulder made you stumble back.

Hongjoong.

His glare was cutting, sharp with frustration and something else—something unreadable.

Without a word, he grabbed Yunho’s arm and practically dragged him toward his office.

The door slammed shut behind them.

You stood there, frozen, torn between two decisions.

You could go to Jongho, make sure he wasn’t bleeding out, make sure he was safe.

Or you could go to Hongjoong’s office, listen in, make sure Yunho wasn’t getting punished for coming after you instead of fighting outside.

You saw everyone else go to their rooms, but you ended up staying and listening to Hongjoong and Yunho... Hoping it wouldn't end too badly...

•

A/N: Hope yall enjoyed! :) I had to edit this myself since Editor has been sick with flu </3

[winchesterwild78]

Unspoken Words pt 8

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, other characters

Warnings: Angst, Accusation of Cheating, Childbirth, SMUT!, fluff

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This one is about a single mother with a nonverbal autistic daughter who loves Supernatural. The reader is going to a Supernatural Convention with her daughter and things unfold from there. The daughter character is near and dear to my heart. I have someone very close to me who is nonverbal, but he’s such an amazing kid. 

*Last chapter. Features a time jump or two. * This chapter got a bit long, sorry not sorry.

This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Jensen is single in this story. 

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

*8th Month of Pregnancy*

Standing at the mirror I placed my hand on my belly. I couldn’t believe I was just over 8 months pregnant. 

Lily was getting more excited about the babies. She was talking more and was helping me with the nursery. 

Jensen had been working and gone filming a lot. He’d missed a few appointments but I understood. At the last ultrasound appointment they were going to tell me the genders but I asked them to wait. 

My heart ached for Jensen to come home. I knew his job was important and I was so proud of him. I just missed him. 

It was late at night and Lily was in bed. I had changed and glanced at myself in the mirror again. 

I could feel the little kicks and flutters in my stomach, it made me smile. A pang of sadness filled my heart. 

Chalking it up to the hormones I tried to push the thoughts away. I know Jensen loves me, Lily and our children, but I couldn’t help but feel alone and unwanted. 

When Jensen would get home he’d be exhausted and focused on other things. He hadn’t touched me in about a month. My heart ached for his touch. I didn’t say anything to him because I didn’t want to add more stress to him. 

Sarah encouraged me to talk to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

I took out my phone and sent him a text. 

Me: Hey baby. Just wanted to tell you I miss you and can’t wait until you’re home. You’re still coming home in a few days, right? 

I watched the bubbles appear and disappear several times before it stopped. No reply came in. My message was shown read. 

Maybe he’s on set and glanced at his phone. He’ll message me when he can. 

I sat on the couch and turned on the television for some background noise and honestly to try to pull me out of my head. 

I dozed off around 1am and didn’t hear my phone go off. I slept for a few hours, waking up around 5:30am I glanced at my phone and saw a message notification from Jensen. 

A smile crept across my face, but quickly faded when I read the text. 

Jensen: Thank you for tonight. I needed to blow off some steam. You looked beautiful. 

I swallowed hard and my heart pounded in my chest. I felt sick. Who was this message meant for?! Who did he go out with? 

I opened Instagram and saw a ton of new pictures Jensen was tagged in. He was out at some bar with the cast of his latest project and there was a female co-worker hanging on him. He had a huge smile on his face. She was gorgeous. Young, skinny, and very beautiful. The total opposite of me. The kind of woman Jensen previously had on his arm. 

My heart broke. What was I going to do? How can I raise three children on my own? I’ve been a fucking fool to think he would stay with me. I sobbed. 

Not knowing what to do I followed the pictures back to the original post and it was from her account. 

The original post talked about how lucky she felt to be welcomed to this crew and how much she admired Jensen and his kindness on and off the set. The next part made me want to vomit “Thanks Jens for an incredible night. You definitely know how to make a girl feel special. 🫶🏻❤️” 

I took a screenshot and sent it to Sarah. She said she’d be right over. 

I sobbed harder. My heart felt like it was breaking in my chest. 

Sarah showed up about 15 minutes later and wrapped me in her arms. “Shh, sweetie. I’m sure there’s an explanation for this. Jensen loves you so much. He’s loyal to you.” 

Sarah held me as I cried. “Y/N, think about the babies. You’ve got to calm down. This isn’t good for them.” 

“No, what’s not good for them is their father cheating on their mother with a fucking child!” Sarah had sent Steve a text and told him what happened before she came over. He said he’d call Jensen and get to the bottom of it. 

Sarah’s phone went off and it was a text from Steve. 

Steve: No answer yet. I’ll keep trying. How’s she doing?

Sarah: She’s devastated. I’m really worried about her and the babies. God I hope he didn’t cheat on her. 

Steve: I’ve known Jensen for decades, he’s really not that kind of guy. I promise. 

Sarah: I hope he’s not. 

“Y/N, come on sweetie take a deep breath.” 

I took a breath in and let it out. Then I felt a sharp pain shoot through me. Sarah made me lay down and brought me some water. “You have to relax honey. This isn’t good for the babies.” 

I nodded and tried to relax. My phone went off with a message notification. Sarah wouldn’t let me check it. 

Jensen: Hey baby. Yeah. I’ll be home in a few days as long as filming runs smoothly. I love you and miss you too. 

Sarah read the message and was pissed. He completely ignored the message he sent in the middle of the night. So Sarah sent a reply back. 

Me: Jensen, this is Sarah. You might want to make sure you know who you’re texting before you send it. Y/N saw the text you meant to send some other woman and I’m here picking up the pieces. I swear to god if you’re cheating on her I’m going to cut off your balls! “You had a great time and you needed to blow off some steam and she was beautiful?!” Who the fuck sends another woman a message like that?

Jensen read the message from Sarah and scrolled up. He ran his fingers through his hair “Fuck! I’m so fucking stupid!” 

I was laying on the couch and had Sarah help me up so I could use the bathroom. I sat down and then I saw blood. My heart started racing. When I stood up my water broke. 

“Sarah, come quick!” Sarah ran to my side, seeing the blood and where my water broke she took my hand. “Okay, this is fine. Let me call Steve and see if he can come over for Lily so I can take you to the hospital. 

“Sarah, I need Jensen. He should be here. Please call him.” 

She nodded, helped me change and called Jensen. 

Jensen saw my name pop up on his phone. He took a steady breath and answered it. “Hey baby. I know we need to talk.” 

“Jensen, this is Sarah. You need to get home. Y/N’s in labor. You caused her to go into labor. Please leave your girlfriend there and get to the hospital.” Sarah’s voice dripped with anger and venom. 

“Sarah, I don’t have, you know what, forget it. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please tell her I’m on my way and I love her.” 

“Sure you do.” Then Sarah hung up. 

I looked at Sarah, “He said he’s on his way and he loves you.” She scoffed. 

“Sarah, please.” She sighed, “I’m sorry. It just pisses me off. You’re carrying his children and you’ve given up everything to be with him and this is how he repays you?” 

“Sarah, please stop. He has a right to explain.” Another pain shot through my body. Steve had arrived and Sarah and I were on our way to the hospital. 

I sent Jensen a text. 

Me: Jens I’m so scared. Please get home safe and quickly. 

Jensen: I’m boarding a flight now. I’m so sorry baby. I swear I didn’t cheat on you. I love you and our family. 

Me: I hope not. I love you too. I don’t want to have these babies without you. 

Jensen: I’m trying to get there as fast as I can. 

Me: I know. We do have a lot to talk about, but first we need to focus on these babies. 

I put my phone down as a contraction hit. Sarah pulled up to the Emergency Department and ran inside. She came back out with a nurse and wheelchair. 

Helping me out of the car they wheeled me in. 

I was immediately taken to labor and delivery and hooked up to the monitor. 

My contractions were close, but not unbearable. I kept looking at the door hoping Jensen would walk in at any moment. 

Sarah stood by my bed and held my hand during the contractions. 

The doctor came in and checked me and said the babies seemed okay for now but we would keep monitoring them for any signs of distress. If there was any distress I’d have to have a c-section. I nodded in understanding. 

A few hours later the contractions were closer and I was getting more worried Jensen wouldn’t make it. 

The doctor came in and checked me, “Okay, it looks like you’re ready to have these babies. Are you ready?” 

Tears started to fall, “No, it’s too early and Jensen isn’t here. Sarah, he should be here.” 

She held my hand, “I know sweetie. He’s on his way. I’m right here.” 

The doctor assured me once the babies were born they would be assessed quickly for any complications. 

It was time to push and the doctor and nurses got me ready. Jensen still wasn’t there and my heart broke more. 

“Sarah, does he really love me?” She wiped the tears away, “Oh Y/N I’m sure he does. He will be here soon.” 

As if on cue Jensen walked in the door. Bag in hand and sunglasses and hat on top of his head. 

He dropped his stuff and ran to my side, “Hey baby. I’m here.” He took my hand and kissed the top of my head. He looked at Sarah and then at the doctor. “How’s she doing? How’s the babies?” 

The doctor explained to Jensen it was early, but the babies would be assessed and taken to the NICU if necessary. 

Jensen nodded and kissed my head again. “I’m so sorry baby. We’ve got this. Come on baby, let’s meet our babies.” 

I nodded and took his hand in mine. 

About thirty minutes later the first baby was delivered. A healthy baby boy. The nurse took him to be assessed while I rested between deliveries. 

Jensen wiped my forehead and fed me ice chips. He took a picture of the baby for me. “Jens, he’s beautiful. Thank you.” He kissed my lips, “God I love you so much, sweetheart. What do you say we deliver our next baby?” 

The second baby moved into position and I was ready to deliver. I was exhausted but ready to meet my other baby. A few minutes of pushing, a tiny cry filled the room. I looked over and saw little legs and feet kicking wildly. I chuckled. Jensen walked over and took a picture. 

“Is the baby okay?” I asked Jensen. He smiled, “She’s perfect. Real fighter like her mama.” 

Tears filled my eyes, “We have a boy and a girl?” He kissed me, “Yeah we do baby. They are perfect.” 

Sarah gave me a hug and kissed my head, “You did great sweetie. I’m gonna call Steve and let him know.” I nodded and thanked her. 

As she walked out of the room Jensen followed her. 

“Hey, Sarah. Wait up please.” Sarah turned and looked at Jensen. He could tell she was pissed. 

“What Jensen?” “I just wanted to tell you thank you for taking care of her and making sure our babies were safe.” 

She stepped closer to him and poked his chest, “You don’t have to thank me. She’s like a sister to me. She wouldn’t have gone into labor if it wasn’t for your cheating ass.” 

“Sarah, I’m not cheating on her. I never have and never would. I love her. It’s not an excuse but I got drunk. I went out with the cast and we got drunk. The text was meant for someone else, but it’s not what you think. She was arguing with her boyfriend and some woman at the bar told her she looked like a cheap hooker, then kissed her boyfriend. She was devastated. I’ve known her for years, she’s like a sister to me. I can call her right now to clear all this up. Look, I know I fucked up and if there is anything wrong with my children I know it’s my fault, but I need you to believe me. I love Y/N and I have since the moment I met her.” 

Sarah stood shocked. She saw the pain in Jensen’s eyes and she couldn’t stop feeling he was telling her the truth. 

Sarah took a deep breath and touched his arm, “Jensen, go to her side. Tell her everything you told me. She loves you and I know you love her. You might have to call that friend, but if you truly mean it and love Y/N then you fight for her.” 

He nodded and they hugged. Sarah walked away to call Steve and Jensen returned to my side. 

I was being transferred to a private room. Jensen came in the room with his bag and set it in a chair. I was laying in the bed and looked over at him. 

He smiled softly “Hey baby. How are you feeling?” “I’m okay. Sore, but okay. I’m glad you made it. Have you heard anything about the babies?” 

He shook his head no, “No, but I can go find out if you want me to.” 

I reached out my hand, “No, I think we should talk first.” He looked down solemnly, “Yeah. I think so too.” 

Silence filled the room. Neither of us knew what to say or how to start the conversation. The weight of it all hung heavy in the air. 

Jensen sat beside me and took a deep breath, “Baby I swear I have never nor would I ever cheat on you. The text was meant for my friend, Leah, but it’s not what you think. We all went out last night to celebrate wrap. Leah was there with her boyfriend and they started fighting. Some woman at the bar said she looked like a hooker and then kissed Leah’s boyfriend. She was devastated. I’ve known her for years, she’s like a sister to me. I just wanted to let her know she looked beautiful. I swear I didn’t mean it any other way. I love you and I’d never do anything to jeopardize what we have. I know I screwed up and you going into labor early is my fault. If there is anything wrong with our children that’s on me.” 

Tears filled his eyes. I didn’t know what to say. 

I lifted my hand to his face and gently touched him. “Jens, it’s not your fault our babies came early. I should have trusted you and not gotten as upset as I did. I just let my brain run wild. I thought you didn’t want me anymore. You hadn’t touched me in a month and I was afraid you weren’t attracted to me anymore. I’m sorry Jensen. I should have talked to you about what was bothering me.” 

“What?! How could I not be attracted to you? Look at you. You’re beautiful and sexy as hell. Your beautiful body made and carried all three of our babies. I could never thank you enough for that. I was afraid I’d hurt you having sex with you. The last time we had sex you were in pain for a few days. I didn’t want to hurt you again. I’m so sorry baby. I should have been honest with you.” 

He leaned down, cupped my face and his lips ghosted mine. He stopped and didn’t move. 

“Is this okay?” I nodded and he crashed his lips to mine. The kiss was full of need and regret. When he pulled away we looked into each other’s eyes, “I love you, Y/N, so much.” “I love you too, Jensen.” 

About an hour later the doctor came in and gave us an update on the twins. They both passed their tests, but would be required to stay in the NICU for at least a week to get their lungs strong enough. She said we could go see them when I felt up to it. 

I looked over at Jensen and he smirked, “She’s ready now, doc.” The doctor chuckled, “Okay, we’ll be careful and call the nurse before you get up.” We nodded and called the nurse. 

She helped me up and we went to see the babies. We saw our son first. The nurse had me sit in the rocking chair and she put him on my chest. He was smaller than Lily was, but he looked good. He cooed and looked up at me. 

I gasped softly, he had the most beautiful green eyes I’d seen since looking into Jensen’s. 

The nurse smiled, “So do you two have a name picked out yet?” I looked at her and then Jensen, “Yeah his name is Michael Alan and her name is Josephine Marie.” 

The nurse smiled, “Beautiful.” She looked at Jensen and said, “While mom is holding him do you want to hold your little girl?” Jensen smiled and nodded. 

He sat in the rocking chair near her crib and the nurse handed the baby to Jensen. 

He looked down at his little girl and smiled. She looked just like Lily, but she had his green eyes. He looked over at me and smiled. “She’s beautiful. She looks like her big sister.” 

I reached my hand out and held his, “We made some beautiful babies. Didn’t we?” “Yeah we did. Thank you baby. Thank you for our beautiful little family.” 

We held the twins for a while and switched. I looked over at Jensen holding our son and I saw the pride on his face. My little girl fell asleep in my arms. I watched her sleep and she reminded me so much of Lily it made my heart full. 

We put the babies down to sleep and Jensen helped me back to the room. Sarah and Steve were bringing Lily to see me and the babies. 

Lily came in and climbed on the bed. She looked at my stomach and put her hand on it, “Babies?” “Mommy had the babies. You have a baby brother and sister.” She looked at me and then Jensen. “See babies” she said looked at Jensen. 

“Well they are in a special room because they were born early, but you can see them through the window.” Jensen said and she nodded. 

“Hey, I’ll take her. You rest” Jensen said as he leaned down and kissed my head. 

He scooped her up and started to carry her out. Steve went with them. 

When they left Sarah looked at me. “What?” I asked. “Did you two work it out?” I nodded, “Yeah. He told me what happened.” “Do you believe him?” I shook my head yes. 

“Okay, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You deserve to be loved.” 

I touched her arm, “I know, and I am. He loves me and I trust him. We even talked about why we hadn’t had sex.” 

“And? What was the reason?” 

“The last time we had sex I hurt for a few days after. He was worried he’d hurt me again so he didn’t pursue it with me.”

“Was that true? Did you get hurt?”

“Yeah. I was in some pain afterwards. It wasn’t his fault, but yeah. I understand his hesitation.” 

She hugged me, “Okay. Well I still meant what I said to him if he hurts you.” We both laughed, “I know. You’re mean that way.” 

*Time Jump 3 Months* 

“Jensen, can you grab Michael and dry him off and bring me Josie?” 

Jensen came into the bathroom and we switched off the twins for bath time. 

They were now 3 months old and growing. Jensen and I were a great team with them and Lily. 

Jensen still made time to play with Lily and she even helped feed the babies. She would help get diapers and wipes, but never changed a diaper. 

When we first brought the twins home, Lily had a hard time adjusting. She clung to Jensen for about a month. Anytime he left the house she went with him. I was worried she felt pushed to the side, but Jensen was great at helping her feel loved and cared for. 

After bath time we fed the twins and put them down for bed. Lily had her bath and we read to her and put her to bed. 

Jensen and I had some quiet time for the first time in a while. We usually had one kid awake or we were both so exhausted we fell asleep. Sometimes in our clothes. 

Tonight, however, we were both wide awake. 

He sat beside me on the couch and leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Hey beautiful, why don’t you go take a shower or bath and relax. If one of the kids wakes up I’ll take care of them. You can relax.” 

I looked over at him. I wanted him, I needed him. It had been months. Between the pregnancy and birth we hadn’t had sex and I really wanted to feel him again. 

I straddled his hips and leaned down kissing his lips. His hands grabbed my hips and pulled me close. “Jens, take me to our room.” 

He leaned back and looked in my eyes, “Are you sure?” 

I kissed him. Pouring all my love, need and desire into it. “Yes”. 

He lifted me up and carried me to our room. I tried to protest, “Jensen, put me down. I weigh too much.” 

“No you don’t, you’re perfect.” 

He carried me to our room, closed the door with his foot and laid me on the bed. 

He leaned down, his strong arms on either side of me. He smiled and kissed my lips softly. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I smiled, “Yeah, I’ve been told that a few times.” 

Jensen chuckled and kissed me again. His hand slid down my body and to the hem of my shirt. 

I bit my lower lip and my breath hitched. I could feel my desire course through my body. Jensen’s hand slipped under my shirt and to my breasts. He gently cupped them and I arched my back, moaning his name. 

He pulled my shirt over my head. Jensen began licking and sucking each nipple. My fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to me. 

He smirked against my skin as his hot breath caused goosebumps to erupt all over me. 

Jensen slid his hands down to my waistband and past my panties. He felt how soaked I was and without warning slid his fingers past my folds and into my waiting pussy. 

I gasped loudly as he hooked his fingers up. His thumb rubbing my sensitive clit. “Oh God, right there, Jensen. Fuck!” 

He stopped and I whined. “Jens, why did you stop?” He leaned up and pulled my pants and panties down in one pull, “Had to get better access.” He chuckled. 

Jensen continued and pushed me closer to my release. I felt heat and arousal fill my body. It had been so long since we touched each other I wanted it to last. My body was responding to Jensen. 

The familiar coil tightened in my stomach. “Jens, I’m close.” He leaned forward, lips ghosting my ear, “I know baby. Let go for me. Cum on my fingers. Let me feel you.” 

The coil snapped and I was cumming hard. My back arched off the bed and I soaked Jensen’s hand. My legs trembled as my body convulsed through my orgasm. 

By the time I was done I was panting and could feel my arousal running down my ass. Jensen stood up and I saw his rock hard cock through his sweatpants. 

I licked my lips and pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. My breath hitched as he removed his clothes. He smirked, “See something you like, sweetheart?” 

I nodded and smiled, “Yes, I do.” Jensen climbed back on the bed and used his legs to push my legs apart. 

I laid looking up at him and saw the love in his eyes. My heart fluttered in my chest. 

Jensen pumped his length a  few times and looked down at me. I nodded and Jensen’s pink head slid past my lips and slowly sunk inside me. 

I gasped and he moaned as he pushed in. Jensen stilled himself as he bottomed out. 

“Fuck! I forgot how tight you were. Damn baby, even after three babies you fit perfectly around me.” He kissed my lips as he started to move his hips. 

Jensen moved his hips slowly, pulling his length in and out of me slowly. His hands and lips trailing over my body. Our moans and pants filled the air. 

I placed my hands on his biceps as his hips snapped into mine. 

“Baby, I want you on top. I want to see your beautiful body.” 

Jensen pulled out and laid on his back, I climbed on top of him and used one hand to steady myself while I used the other to guide him in me. 

I sank down on his hard cock with a whimper and pulled a deep moan from his lips. 

His hands gripped my hips as I rocked back and forth. Jensen snapped his hips up and pushed his cock deeper inside me. I grabbed the headboard and I continued rocking my hips faster. 

“Mmm, yes baby. Just like that. God, you feel so good. Fucking me so good.” I moved faster as I felt my second release building. 

Jensen’s hips moved faster moving up as I moved down. Our bodies were working together, chasing our release. 

Jensen grabbed my body and flipped me on my back, his hips slamming into me faster. My legs resting on his shoulders as my hands found his chest. I was close again. My fingers slipped between us and I started rubbing my clit, chasing my second release. 

My release hit hard and I moaned his name like a prayer. My walls clenched around his length and pulled his orgasm out too. He came with a grunt and his release coated my walls. Filling me with his seed. 

He leaned down and kissed my lips as he softened inside me. “I love you, Jensen.” “I love you too, Y/N. This was perfect.” I smiled and nodded. 

Jensen pulled out and kissed my lips. He got up, went to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and came back to the bed to clean us both up. 

Tossing the washcloth to the side he crawled back in bed with me. Offering me his arm, I curled up to his side and laid my head on his chest. 

My fingers drawing circles on his chest. “Jensen, thank you for tonight. It’s been too long and it was amazing.” He tilted my head up and placed a soft kiss on my lips, “Yeah it was. Thank you for tonight. I didn’t hurt you did I?” “No, baby. You were perfect.” 

The two of us drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. Finally reconnecting and falling more in love. 

*Time Jump 3 months* 

The twins were 6 months old and my birthday was in a few days. Sarah had planned a spa day for us and I was excited. Jensen was staying with the kids, and Steve was coming over too. 

Jensen and Steve were cooking dinner and my instruction from Jensen was to relax. 

Sarah came and got me and we headed to the spa. We got facials, full body wraps, manicures and pedicures. By the time we got back to the house it was close to dinner time. 

Walking in the house it smelled amazing. Jensen was standing at the stove when I walked into the kitchen. 

“Hey sweetheart, how was the spa?” I walked up to him and kissed him, “It was amazing, thank you. This smells amazing by the way.” “It’ll be ready soon. You go sit and relax. The twins are napping and Lily is playing with Steve. 

I nodded and walked into the living room where I found Sarah and Steve whispering. “What are you two talking about?” “Uh, nothing.” Sarah giggled. “Okay, whatever. Well just don’t have sex where the kids can see it.” Sarah turned red. 

A few minutes later Jensen was telling us dinner was ready. We all sat down at the table and ate. Jensen brought out a small birthday cake, candles and all. 

They sang Happy Birthday and Jensen told me to make a wish. I smiled, “But I have everything I could ever want right here.” I kissed him and then blew out the candles. 

We enjoyed some cake and ice cream. Later after Sarah and Steve left and the kids were in bed, Jensen and I went to sit on the back porch. 

We sat on the swing under a blanket and listened to the crickets and looked up at the stars. 

“So, are you sure there’s nothing you would wish for?” Jensen asked with a smile. “Jensen, I have you, our three babies and this beautiful life. I have everything I could ever need.” 

He smiled and nodded. “I have everything I could ever need too, well almost everything.” I looked at him confused, “What else could you need?” 

Jensen stood and dropped to his knee, “I’ve loved you since the minute I saw you at that convention. You and Lily came into my life when I least expected it. You’ve given me so much, a home filled with love, three beautiful children, and a companion for life. It would be my absolute honor if you would agree to become my wife. I love you, Y/N, and I can’t think of anything else I want more than that. Will you marry me?”

I gasped softly as he opened the ring box. I threw my arms around him and kissed him, “Yes! Yes I’ll marry you!” He kissed me and slipped the ring on my finger, “Perfect fit.” I looked at it and nodded. 

About a month after the engagement Lily started to retreat into herself again. I began to get worried about her. I wasn’t sure if it was because the twins were getting older and required more attention or if it was the engagement. 

I talked to Jensen to see if he could help with her, he went to her room to talk to her. When he came back I saw tears in his eyes. 

“Jens, is she okay?” He shook his head no. “She thinks she’s not family because she doesn’t have the same last name.” 

I sighed, “Oh no. Why didn’t I see it? I’m going to be an Ackles, and the babies are. She’ll be the only one who isn’t.” 

Jensen took my hand in his, “Hey, this isn’t on you. It’s natural for kids to feel this way. I did find this in her room, that’s how I knew what was bothering her.” 

He handed me a picture she had drawn, it was all of us and she wrote “Ackles” on the top. “Jens, is she asking what I think she is?” “I think so. So what do you say? How would you feel if I adopted her, made it official?”

“You’d adopt her?” “Of course I would. I love her like my own. I’d love nothing more than to adopt her. She’s already my daughter, let’s make it official.” 

I smiled and nodded, “Let’s go tell her.” 

We walked into Lily’s room. She was playing on the floor and Jensen picked her up and sat her between us on the bed. 

“Lily honey, we wanted to talk to you.” She looked at me and then back at Jensen. “We were talking and wanted to ask you how you would feel if daddy adopted you. You would be an Ackles for real. What do you think?”

She looked up at Jensen and then back at me and squealed. 

She leaped in Jensen’s lap and threw her arms around his neck, “Daddy, my daddy.” He chuckled, “Yes, Lily girl. I’m your daddy forever.” He looked over at me, “I think that’s a yes.” I nodded, “I think so too.” 

Lily climbed out of Jensen’s lap and ran to her closet. She pulled out her suitcase and Jensen and I looked at each other confused. Lily opened it and dumped the bag out. We saw some clothes, her stuffies and pictures of her with the twins and the family picture we had taken. 

“Lily honey, what’s all this?” Jensen bent down to help her pick up the stuff. “Lily, no go now.” I was confused then it hit me, She wanted to leave. I sat on the floor beside her and pulled her in my lap, “Lily baby, you will always be our baby girl. It doesn’t matter what your last name is or how many babies I have. You will always be my first baby and we will always love you so much.”

She put her arms around my neck and held me tight. “Love you mama.” “I love you too, Lily girl. So much.” Jensen pulled both of us in his arms, “And I love my girls so much.” 

Sitting on the floor with Jensen and Lily I reflected on the past few months of my life. From taking a chance and going to a convention with Lily, meeting the love of my life and having his children, to being engaged to him and he accepting my sweet girl, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and I couldn’t ask for more.

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[say-al0e]

Body Electric

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Steve has never lived in a home full of noise but he likes to think he'd enjoy spending the rest of his life in one. (AKA Steve Harrington is soft and proposes.) | Ft. Anon Request: "Is that my shirt?" + "We should get married." "Funny." "I'm not joking." (Listen, when I took the requests, I intended to stick to them, even if it's been like two years.) Warnings: Mentions of the Upside Down, some anxiety. Nothing too graphic or heavy. Pairing: Steve x fem!Reader (I think it might actually be GN!Reader) Word Count: 2.7k

Faint sounds of life - rain pattering against the windows, falling in sheets; a car starting in the parking lot; music, pouring from a neighbor’s stereo and bleeding through the thin walls; a laugh track, the theme tune to some primetime television show from the apartment next door - never left much room for silence in the small apartment Steve shared with you.

If you listened, waited a few moments with bated breath, you could hear the sounds of a dozen lives being lived without ever leaving the comfort of your own home. It was strange, especially for him, as he’d spent much of his life living in silence.

There were stretches of his memory, days at a time he could recount passing without hearing even the faintest sound of life from another being. Now, nearly every moment was filled with some kind of sound; the noise of neighbors, the noise of the city, the noise of you.

It was new, completely and utterly foreign, but in no way unwelcome.

Steve noticed it before you did. You grew up in a house full of noise; parents who cut on the radio first thing in the morning, just to hear the news, and siblings whose vocabulary lacked the word quiet. He found it harder to allow it all to fade into the background and still startled at the occasional slamming door. Whereas you adjusted quickly, Steve still heard every minute noise just as clearly as he had that first night.

A small part of him - that same part that hoped he never got used to the giddy feeling that still bubbled in the pit of his stomach every time you smiled at him, eyes glittering with a soft fondness he’d never tire of - hoped he would never adjust.

In addition to the noise of your neighbors, the world carrying on around you, Steve could clearly hear you.

The quiet humming in the morning as you dressed for class or work, usually some tune that only existed in your head; the clink of dishes as you made coffee for the both of you, his just the way he’d always liked; the sound of your voice, echoing over the shower as you danced in the bathroom; your soft breathing, quiet hums of content with each plot twist; the rustle of paper, pages flipping as you spent your night reading.

Steve was able to hear each sound you made, no matter how quiet, and reveled in the noise.

Every moment that he spent with you, in the small apartment surrounded by a dozen other lives, was one he was grateful for. And though the television played low in the background, volume never raising much higher out of respect for your neighbors - something he’d never had to consider before, something that secretly made him smile - he couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to watch. There’d been a reason he wanted it on, but you were more interesting, anyway.

He rested with his head on your lap, cradled by the plush of your thighs, and watched as you flipped through the yellowed pages of a book you’d picked up earlier in the week. He couldn’t read the title - it was upside down and the spine was cracked, the perks of choosing well-loved secondhand books - but you were enamored and that was enough for him. It would soon be added to the little shelf in the corner of the living room, already overflowing with titles you devoured steadily, but the realization only made him smile as your lips pursed in concentration.

There were moments Steve hated interrupting, blissful seconds where the weight of the world no longer rested on your shoulders. Others, however, he just couldn’t help himself. As happy as he was for you both to exist in your own worlds, there were moments he was desperate to recapture your attention and remind yourself that you were his.

As such, he felt little guilt as he shifted and turned his full attention to you.

Soft fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, rubbed at the worn cotton idly, and Steve’s warm brown eyes met yours when you spared him a moment of attention. “Is that my shirt?”

“Our shirt.” Steve laughed, easily amused by the same reply you’d been giving him for years, any time he pointed out you wearing his clothes. “I think I’m allowed to wear it. We both graduated from Hawkins High,” you reminded him - as if he needed it. He regularly regretted not meeting you sooner, not paying attention to you when you both roamed the halls of Hawkins High.

Either way, he was glad that he managed to find his way to you in the end.

“Sure,” he agreed easily, happily. “But you could wear your own. I saw another gym shirt in the dresser. What’re you reading?”

“Not as soft as yours,” you reasoned, as if it made perfect sense. And who was he to argue? He would’ve happily given up his shirts if it meant seeing you like this - soft, relaxed, content. Before he could even consider mentioning that, making the moment sappy, you hummed. “I Sing the Body Electric!. It’s a bunch of short stories,” you explained, dropping one hand to card through his hair, tough light as you worked your fingers through the freshly washed strands. “There’s one, the same title as the book, that was a Twilight Zone episode. I think you’d like it.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled. He’d never much cared for science fiction, despite your love for it, and always felt a little left out when you and Eddie began your deep dives into the meaning of episodes. He’d never managed to make it all the way through an episode and was skeptical as he asked, “What makes you think that?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “it’s just nice. It’s about a family. After the mom dies, they build this robot grandma. The daughter hates her, hates everyone because she thinks her mom left her, and refuses to love her. Then, the grandma saves her. It seems like she’s dead but she comes back and the little girl realizes she can’t leave her so she starts loving again.”

“Nice?” Steve tipped his head to get a better look at you, brows furrowed. “Jesus, babe, that sounds kind of awful. Like, horror movie stuff.” His face scrunched as he attempted to think, considering the few horror movies he’d seen and managed to retain. “Oh, like that one with the guy who puts people in his basement,” he exclaimed.

“There’s a bunch of horror movies where a guy puts people in his basement.” When Steve raised his brows, you rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “Point made,” you conceded. “But, still. It’s a bad description, maybe. It’s, like,” you paused for a moment, thumb marking your place in the book as you considered. “You go through a lot of shit and build up these walls because you’ve been hurt. Then someone comes in, goes through it all with you, and starts to chip away at the walls. Then, they get hurt and you start to realize what they mean to you. And when they come back to you, it makes you realize that you don’t want to deal with life without them. It’s, like, poetic, or something.”

“Poetic,” Steve mumbled, agreeable. His entire body warmed at the sentiment, even as he teasingly asked, “Are you reading into it?”

“I could be.” Your fingers continued to card through his hair, touch gentle as his gaze grew softer. “We’ve been through a lot of shit together, Harrington,” you reminded him, though there was no need. He remembered every moment vividly. “You didn’t believe in love anymore and I didn’t like you very much until you saved me from becoming demodog food. Guess it’s nice to think that even with all the shit we went through, something good came of it.”

Steve knew that nostalgia wan’t the right word, not when considering the hell Hawkins put you through. But he fond himself grateful for it, just the same. When he considered his life, where he might be if he’d never stumbled upon scenes out of his worst nightmares, he wondered if he’d have the life loved so much without the hell you both went through.

As much as you teased him for being a secret romantic, he liked to think he would. In any universe, in any timeline, he liked to think he would’ve found you. Eventually, anyway.

That was a declaration he’d made before, under the cover of darkness after a nightmare or two, and he knew you felt the same. He also knew that the moment wasn’t right, not when you were looking down with a soft smile reserved just for him.

So, instead of declaring that you were the best thing he’d ever been lucky enough to find, he softly urged, “Read to me.”

Despite your rumination on why he’d enjoy the book, you knew Steve. Science fiction wasn’t his favorite and he’d likely be out in a matter of moments. He could see the surprise, your brows winging up, as you asked, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he encouraged as he brushed his fingers over your exposed thigh. “There’s nothing good on,” he teased, though you both knew he’d settled onto the couch with the intention of watching something or other. “Might as well.”

Whatever it was he’d planned on watching was completely lost, entirely out of mind - and he knew he’d only remember what it was when someone inevitably asked him what he thought of it. There wasn’t a single moment of hesitation as he turned off the television, plunging the apartment into the only sort of quiet you could get, and glanced up at you expectantly.

As you’d done a hundred times before, you picked a page and started to read. The story itself was never very important. Steve was used to being dropped into the middle of your favorite books, just because he wanted to hear your voice. 

There were nights where you read him Tolkien, Bradbury, Orwell, and a plethora of others he could never name. There was science fiction and fantasy, romance and mystery, fiction and non. He’d heard at least a portion of nearly every book on the shelf because on the nights when there was nothing on, when the anxiety you both learned to live with settled a little too heavy on his chest, when he just wanted to be selfish and drown himself in your attention, you read to him. Your voice filled the apartment, soft and warm as you read from another short story.

Steve tried to pay attention to the words. He wanted to be able to discuss it with you, to have the kinds of conversations you had with Robin or with Eddie about symbolism and meaning, but he found his attention drifting.

It wasn’t that he had no interest. Though he couldn’t discuss relevant social themes in The Twilight Zone or which horror franchise was better, he wanted nothing more than to hear your opinion on the matter. He’d never read Bradbury on his own but usually found himself enthralled when you read it to him. 

All he wanted was to live in that moment forever. To lie there, in the safety and comfort of your shared apartment with your voice washing over him; he was certain that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

The thought had plagued him for month - years, really, as he’d known you were the one the moment you followed him into the depths of hell to protect a ragtag group of children - but marriage was always a fantasy. The moment hadn’t been right. He’d rehearsed the speech a dozen times, pictured what the ring might look like, where he might take you to pop the question.

It was almost agonizing, wondering when the perfect moment might strike, when you would both be ready to step into the future. But he realized that there was nothing technically “perfect” in your lives. From the moment you met, life was chaos and that was part of the appeal.

There would never be a perfect moment but he knew that nothing would feel as right as that moment, lying on the couch, with your fingers tangled in his hair as you lounged in his stolen gym shirt.

Without allowing himself to think too hard, he hummed, “We should get married.”

The words were spoken casually, as if he were commenting on the weather or the story you were reading to him. It was easy, completely concealed the heavy thud of his heart and the overwhelming noise blaring in his mind - the little voice yelling that he should’ve waited, he should’ve made it perfect. 

For a brief moment, your fingers stilled in his hair. It wasn’t the first time Steve broached the subject, however, it was the first time he phrased it that way. Like he was looking for an answer, a reply, a decision.

Then, you continued carding through the soft strands as you hummed. “Funny.”

“I’m not joking.” He lifted a hand, carefully removed yours from his hair, before he sat up and turned to face you. The look on your face was nearly unreadable, though Steve had spent years practicing. He could see a slight apprehension - not at the idea; he knew you would marry him in a heartbeat, that you’d happily spend the rest of your life with him - and a hint of glimmering excitement, though it was overshadowed by an emotion he couldn’t place. Still, he carried on. “I’ve thought about it for a long time.”

“Steve.” The sigh of his name was soft, breathless, and in it he could detect the emotion that darkened your eyes. It was nerves, a residual unease - fear that life was going to well, anything more might leave you both scrambling from long-gone monsters once more.

“I know,” he assured you, voice just as soft as your own - mindful, of your feelings and of the privacy you no longer had. This was a moment for you, to be shared only between the inhabitants of the small apartment, and he was careful to keep quiet as he shifted closer and reached for your hand. “It’s weird,” he began, smiling as he met your eyes. “Some days, I wake up and I wait a few minutes, just to be sure I’m not still in Hawkins. I’m afraid that the last few years have been a dream, that I’m going to get a call any minute that the kids found something completely insane and we’re going to be running for our lives again. But I’m not. It’s over. We’re here and it’s totally scary, thinking that we could be happy, but we could. We could elope,” he offered, smile growing a touch wider when you exhaled and squeezed his hand tight.

“You don’t want a big wedding?” You’d never talked details, only agreed under the cover of soft moonlight that you wanted to be married, that your futures were thoroughly intertwined. “Wear a fancy tux, eat stupidly expensive cake, dance all night?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t really care about any of that,” he admitted. “The important thing is that it’s us. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I’ve known that for a long time. We could go to the courthouse,” he offered, grinning when you laughed. “Robin and Eddie are in this building, the kids have been begging for an excuse to come visit. Us and them, that’s all that matters, right?”

The ragtag family the pair of you had created, a lifelong bond built on a difficult experience, was, indeed, all you needed. Neither of you wanted much more than to spend the rest of your lives together, to be happy and content and enjoy the life you built, so you nodded.

“Yeah,” you agreed, smile mirroring his own as you squeezed his hand. “You’re right. Let’s get married.”

Years ago, neither of you could’ve imagined your future with any degree of accuracy. Living in a small apartment, far from Hawkins and surrounded by the noise of life carrying on, was not something either of you expected. Even less expected was falling in love with one another.

But now that you’d made it, a proposal sealed with a soft kiss and a giddy excitement to look for rings the very next day - after making the call to rally the troops - neither of you could imagine a more perfect future.

________________________________________________________

Author's Note: I almost got stuck in an elevator today. As someone afraid of elevators, it was pretty terrifying. 0/10, do not recommend.

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[hyptrance1]

Temporary Dumb Jock Induction

So I suppose I am making another induction. Probably one more up my alley, at least in my interests as of late. What can I say, lots of dumb jocks are DMing me and I need to capitalize on the current interest. So the premise of the induction is to give you a post hypnotic suggestion to act like a stereotypical dumb jock for 30 minutes after going under to this induction. So not a lot of thoughts in your head, a lot of bro-ish language, and wanting to flex, show off, and grow your muscles. Additionally, You’ll leave a comment about being a dumb jock if you do go under. Pretty simple stuff. If the post hypnotic suggestion doesn’t interest you or you dont want it to happen please don’t read it. Additionally, if you aren’t able to be a dumb jock for that time then also don’t read it or wait until you’re able to. And with that pretty straightforward address let’s begin. 

Let’s begin by just letting yourself get comfortable. Find a nice spot to settle into. Allow yourself to have your arms, legs, and every other part of your body settle into the place that they will be sinking into soon enough. Give yourself time to feel the parts of your body, your muscles, to slow down and stay where they are as you begin focus on reading this. And with reading this, allow your mind to focus on just the words in front of you, taking the time to go from one word to the next so that each sinks into your head. With this way of focusing and reading, your mind should shift, allowing for all other distractions to float away into the background. Every little noise becoming muted, every small breeze not being registered, allowing it all to fade into the background as you focus on these words in front of you, one after another as you continue to read. 

Now let’s focus on those muscles of yours, since as a soon to be jock that will be the only thing that you care about anyways. With each word you read I want you to imagine that a little jolt of pleasure  filling your muscles. Just a tingling of pleasure as each drop of pleasure from the words drips down into your muscles, filling up your body. Allow yourself a moment to take in how the pleasure flows from your head once you read a word, down into the muscle of its choice. You might be feeling the pleasure drip down into your pecs, or your biceps, your abs, or even your glutes. But when the jolt finally hits your muscles it’s electric, just awakening that muscle while also relaxing it. Causing this growing feeling of contentment and happiness filling your mind as your body is being rained on by the pleasure of my words. 

And while your body is being bombarded by pleasure, allow your mind to begin dropping thoughts. Its to hard to focus on thinking when my words bring you so much pleasure anyways. Cause what were you thinking about? Can you hold onto a thought? You may remember thinking something but then you read another word and another jolt of pleasure flows into your muscle and doesn’t that just take you out of your head and focus on how good those muscles feel now. But again, trying to think, to remember a thought, yet thinking is to hard, and what would you even have to think about while you’re focusing on the words in front of you and your body is feeling this good. Fuck, another word just filling your head, dripping pleasure down into your muscles as your thoughts poof out of existence. You? Thoughts? That doesn’t sound right. Jocks dont need to think, they need to focus on their muscles. 

And you will be focusing on your muscles, while the rest of your mind poofs its thoughts out of existence. Let your thoughts disappear more and more till they’re completely gone as I count down from 10. 

10

Your thoughts leaving faster now

9

The pleasure in your muscles feeling so good

8

Just a shower filling your body with jolts of comfort

7

You can’t think with this feeling, can you

6

But wait

5

Jocks dont think

4

And you’re a jock

3

Such a jock

Look at you focused on your muscles

2

No thoughts in that head

1

Totally empty headed

0 

And nicely hypnotized. Feeling great as your brain just lets that rain of pleasure fill it as well as your muscles. And at this point you know that you’re under, happy that you’re under. But not for long, because soon enough you’ll be back awake, and as the post hypnotic suggestion stated, you’ll feel like a normal dumb jock. Which you know how a dumb jock acts, behaves, talks. You know how they speak, you know how focused on their muscles they are. So when you wake up, and only for 30 minutes after coming out of trance, you’ll feel like the dumb jock of your dreams. 

Once those 30 minutes are done though, you’ll return to normal, feeling nice and relaxed as your thoughts return to you and the dumb jock suggestion leaves you totally. You will subconsciously know that the time has passed, and will return to normal once 30 minutes has passed. 

Lastly, once you’re awake, you will comment “It’s dumb jock time”. Feel that post hypnotic suggestion sinking in and…

1

Thoughts returning to you

2

Waking up

And 3

Wide awake

Wide wide awake. 

So surprise surprise, a new induction. Hope you enjoy and let me know how you like it.