#making these connections lights up my life

[pathologicalreid]

a long way to go | s.r.

in which your family breaks no contact and Spencer reminds you that you're doing the right thing

margovember

kindergarten teacher!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst? (hurt/comfort) content warning: nondescript childhood trauma, kindergarten teacher!reader word count: 1.4k a/n: okay so the request was for angst and it is but the comfort gives fluff. at this point my genres are arbitrary. huge shout out to anyone else who isn't going home for thanksgiving for one reason or another.

Frowning at the email on your computer, you shifted your weight on your rotating chair and leaned your head back into the chair cover that Garcia had crocheted for you.

We’d love for you to join us.

It felt as though someone had tossed a bucket of ice water over your head, years and years of blocking emails and leaving your phone number unlisted had culminated in this moment. It shouldn’t surprise you; you worked at a public school and your email was listed in the faculty directory, but the sight of your father’s name left a sour taste in your mouth.

You were alone in your classroom, the fluorescent lights were turned off, leaving you in the gentle illumination of the string lights that you kept threaded along the walls. Contract hours were over, but you still had papers that needed to be completed. Opening your email after the final bell had thrown a wrench in your plans.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your haze, you looked up to see Spencer standing in the doorway. You checked the time in the corner of your monitor to find that it was nearly six, well into the evening, and you hadn’t even noticed. “Did we have plans?” You asked, alarm rising in your tone, you looked down at your day planner and didn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t miss something.

“No,” Spencer said immediately, wanting to quell any of your anxieties before they had the chance to develop. “I hadn’t heard from you today, so I might’ve asked Garcia if she had your location on your phone and found that you were at work much later than usual,” he told you, setting his messenger bag on one of your student’s desks before leaning against yours.

You leaned over your desk, setting your chin in your hands and sighing. “You found me,” you mumbled unenthusiastically, eyeing your monitor again.

He’d cut his hair again, in a moment of frustration he’d started snipping, but he ended up calling you for help. It no longer feathered the tops of his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, tilting his head to the side and tapping the bobblehead you kept on your desk.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head, “Nothing, I just have a lot of work to do.” You were designing a holiday coloring page, making the outlines yourself because you didn’t like any of the ones you found on the internet.

“Okay,” Spencer responded, extending his vowels. “Now you’re lying to me,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation; he was merely stating the truth.

It bothered you that he was right, and it bothered you that you lied to him. You shouldn’t feel the need to lie to him because, really, if anyone was going to understand how you felt about the email, it was Spencer. You wedged your hands beneath your thighs, keeping yourself from digging your nails into your palms, “My father sent me an email.”

Dad felt too casual, and his first name felt too detached. He was just your father, someone who had been chosen time and time again over you, and whom you hadn’t spoken to in nearly six years. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Five years ago,” you answered distantly, remembering how he’d had the nerve to show up at your college graduation even though the rest of your family knew you weren’t in contact with him. Wetting your lips, you looked back at the email on your screen, “He wants me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family.” People that you shared no connection to—blood or otherwise—and made up the family that had taken your place in his life.

Spencer straightened up a stack of papers on your desk, the shuffling sound so familiar that it put you at ease, “What do you want to do?”

You pinched your eyebrows together, not used to someone asking for your wants, “I want to reply to him, but I know that engaging with him would be equivalent to opening the floodgates.” Releasing a dam of trauma that wasn’t suited for your kindergarten classroom, “I can’t reply to this email.”

Nodding softly, Spencer studied your eyes with a pained look in his eyes, “I know, honey.”

Taking the computer mouse in your trembling hand, you scrolled over the email and blocked the sender before deleting the email and deleting it from the trash for good measure. Hot tears welled in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I hate him.”

You despised him. A man who you shared blood with just so happened to be someone you hated with bone in your body. Bones he had contributed to that you wished you could pull from your body and replace with an untainted set. What was worse was that he had the ability to influence your emotions like this, he could make you angry with nothing more than digital mail.

Anger felt so useless, it was something he used as armor, and you feared that by being angry, you were becoming like him. You were so horrified by the mere idea of your own anger that it made you cry, and you were terrified of your life becoming one big circle.

They say if you grow up with an angry man in your house, then there will always be an angry man in your house. All you needed was to believe in Spencer’s ability to be gentle, but nothing Spencer did would change the fact that you cried as soon as you were pricked with rage.

Spencer crouched in front of you, taking both of your hands in his larger ones and keeping them warm for you. “You don’t owe them anything,” he told you, watching you carefully with his big brown eyes, “It hurts. I know it hurts right now, but you know that you just did the right thing. I’ll remind you of it for as long as it takes for you to believe it.”

The dam broke then, tears fall from your chin to your lap as Spencer gathered you in his arms to the best of his ability, you tried not to flinch away from his embrace. You reminded yourself that he wasn’t there to hurt you, he was there to help you. He ran his palm flat along your spine as you gave in, burying your face in the crook of his neck and basking in the darkness of your own sorrow.

“You did the right thing,” he muttered softly, pulling away and using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears. “You don’t need to apologize to anyone about it,” he said preemptively, knowing you were about to apologize to him for your show of emotion.

You nodded dazedly, leaning your cheek into his palm as he cupped your face with his hands, “I don’t know what I do now.”

Spencer smiled gently at you, “We’re gonna keep moving forward. Are you hungry? Do you want to get dinner?”

Sighing, you shrugged despondently, looking back at your now blank monitor, “I should get some stuff done.” You wiggled the mouse and typed in your password, you stared blankly at your unfinished coloring page, any and all motivation to finish the drawing had vacated as soon as your father made contact.

“What if,” Spencer started, “You come home with me tonight, and tomorrow I’ll come in with you? You can finish up your work and I’ll get to spend some time with you.” Spencer Reid might just be the only person willing to accompany you to work on a Saturday just because you’re having a hard time.

You bowed your head, “You don’t have to do this, Spence.”

He hummed in response, “I want to, and besides—we have plans to make.”

You frowned, your head lifting so you could look him in the face and inquire for more details, “Plans for what?”

“Thanksgiving,” he responded as if it should’ve been obvious, “You’ll get to join BAUsgiving this year, it’s one of Garcia’s favorite holidays.”

Faltering, your eyes widened at his insistence, and you took a deep breath, “I’m not… I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows incredulously, “Honey, you’re part of that family now. Besides, sometimes I think the team likes you more than me.”

[muniimyg]

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what that means and i'm obsessed

series m.list // taglist

note: a wild ride…. good luck y’all ,, THANKS FOR 1K 😻 my kitty is happy !!! hauwhahahahaa this part is lengthy so pls take a mfking SEAT. pls lmk what y’all think ,, send in asks 🫵 we’re headed towards the finale 💛 much wuv !!

warnings: tension/tampo vibes (whats that in english? lol) ,, male masturbation (jk gets himself off as he recalls oc slapping him) ,, jealousy (lots of it. like 90% of this part is filled with it) ,, oc has a hickey ,, angst ,, and a little mwaamwaaaa moment :')

//

life sucks. 

for jungkook, at least. 

it’s been almost a month since the incident, and you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him.

the memory of the fight—the words exchanged, the way he said your name—still lingers in the air between you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

at first, jungkook tried.

he texted you the next day and every day after that. his messages were hesitant and apologetic... and each one was left unanswered.

nerd [11:11PM]: ___, can we talk? sent nerd [11:28PM]: please? sent nerd [12:01AM]: i’m sorry. i mean it. sent nerd [12:03AM]: it wasn’t even like that. not with her.  sent nerd [1:09AM]: ik i’m gonna sound like a total douche no matter what so let me do it please sent nerd [1:15AM]: let me say sorry, let me fuck up, let me make it up to u sent nerd [2:01AM]: i really hate begging  sent nerd [2:01AM]: but i really hate u not wanting me even more seen

he did try to call though.

just once.

the ringtone barely lasted before he hung up, realizing how futile it was.

at one point, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop one afternoon. he sat alone by the window with an untouched drink, waiting. 

his eyes flicked to the door every time it opened, a glimmer of hope lighting his expression for a split second before fading when it wasn’t you.

after two hours, he left.

but now, almost four weeks later, jungkook has stopped trying (so hard).

it wasn’t a sudden decision, more of a gradual acceptance that whatever connection you’d shared—whatever you’d been to each other—was slipping through his fingers.

he told himself you needed time, that maybe this space was what you wanted, what you deserved. and so, he gave it to you.

he told himself it wasn’t the end. 

it couldn’t be.

he refuses for it to be. 

this is just… complicated. 

he gets that.

he's a smart guy after all!

but late at night, when the world was quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressed against his chest like an ache he couldn’t soothe. it... burns? it throbs in this aching rhythm that he can't quite figure the melody to.

jungkook thinks about the way you banter with him and how much it makes his day. how closely you sit next to him. how effortlessly you mesmerize him… 

how you flirted with him for a few days and now he's malfunctioning. how he spent the last month memorizing every detail of those days and can't get over it. he has convinced himself you're into him...  

like, remember how your fingers would brush his when you handed him something? that meant something, right? or how about the way you looked at him and tilted your head? shit, yeah.

that meant something.

fuck, the way you laugh and throw your head back and he gets a glance at your perfect neck—how he wants to leave kisses on it. how he… 

how he had you. 

for a moment, he really had you. 

under him, tangled, and messy. 

how he was so close to your lips. 

he should’ve kissed you. 

he should’ve locked the fucking door. 

he should’ve ran after you even more. 

but he didn’t…

and now? 

now you aren’t even around. 

he recalls what taehyung said to him night at the arcade. taehyung's words rub into his wound like salt. it stings. it makes him feel sick to his stomach and he just... get can't stomach it.

“she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull…”

there are no words to describe how incredibly helpless he feels.

if anything, he goes through circles in his mind; completely in disbelief he could fuck up this bad with you.

he hates that he can't think straight. he hates that he can't study properly. he hates that he stopped tutoring and even got in trouble with his profs for letting them down (they really counted on jungkook to help other students out).

he hates that he can't fucking breathe lately.

he can't sleep.

he can't eat.

jungkook hates the growing distance, but more than that, he hates how much it hurts.

he hates how much he wants to fix things even when he doesn’t know how. he just knows he wants to. god, fuck it—

fine. 

he hates how much he misses you.

but most of all, he hates that he was wrong. 

it was entirely his fault. 

jungkook hates it all.

by chance, you and jungkook run into each other. 

the scene is perfect.

it's the perfect set up to cry over when you get home—that is.

the rain starts just as you’re leaving the library, soft at first but quickly turning heavier. you don’t expect to see him—not here, not now—but there he is, standing under the awning of the café across the street, shaking out his umbrella. the door chimes as you step outside, and he looks up.

for a moment, neither of you move, caught in the heavy stillness of the moment.

jungkook freezes when he sees you. 

his eyes widen briefly, then soften into something cautious, hesitant. he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric as he steps forward.

“hey,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s offering a truce.

the sound of him makes your heart clench, the warmth in his tone threatening to undo you. but you don’t let it show. you nod once, lips pressed into a thin line, and move to step around him.

“wait—” his hand shoots out, not to grab you, just to stop you. his fingers hover midair, unsure if he even has the right to reach for you anymore. “___, please?”

the rain is falling harder now, pooling on the sidewalk and soaking into the edges of your shoes. you glance at him, taking in the way his hair clings to his forehead, the way his hoodie looks just a little too big on him, like he hasn’t been sleeping well or eating much.

“can you not pretend like this is a coincidence?” you ask quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

he stays silent. 

it wasn’t. 

truth be told, he’s been waiting outside for almost 45 minutes. he didn’t even know if you were at the library today… he just had to wait and find out for himself. 

"do you have an umbrella?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"what—"

"here." 

he cuts you off, pushing the umbrella toward you.

you blink, startled, as he places the handle firmly in your hand. your fingers wrap around it instinctively, the metal cool against your palm.

"jungkook—" you start, your voice faltering.

he shakes his head, stepping back into the rain without a word. the downpour hits him almost instantly, soaking through his hoodie as he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking away.

you stand there, the umbrella trembling in your grip, watching him go. the rain comes down harder, cascading off the awning above you, but you barely notice. your gaze stays locked on him—on the way his shoulders hunch against the storm, on the slow but steady steps that carry him farther and farther away.

something tightens in your chest. 

maybe it’s regret or maybe longing… but as his figure grows smaller and the storm swallows him—you feel it.

the warmth of his lingering presence and the chill of it all—

—of your favourite almost.

a few days later, jungkook finds his umbrella in his bedroom. 

he takes out his phone to send you a text, prepared to humiliate himself and to beg for a second of your attention. he’d trade all tonight’s focus for a moment of you.

just as he picks the umbrella up, he finds a note. 

___ told me to give it back to you. she says thanks (whore). ps: she said don’t text her. — taehyung

jungkook sighs. 

does he listen? 

obviously not. 

nerd [6:19PM]: don’t tell me what to do  nerd [6:20PM]: i hate this nerd [6:21PM]: u should’ve jus kept the umbrella. giving it back to taehyung and telling him to tell me not to text u is sick.  seen. nerd [6:22PM]: reply pls seen.  nerd [6:26PM]: fine. i’ll jus talk to myself  nerd [6:31PM]: i miss u sm i jerked off the other night thinking abt the way u slapped me  seen nerd [6:33PM]: come on, kitty  nerd [6:34PM]: promise to think abt me tn :(  nerd [6:35PM]: cos i’m gonna think abt u tn nerd [6:36PM]: ignore me if u want proof  typing…  nerd [6:37PM]: kitty? seen nerd [6:40PM]: fuck. nerd [6:41PM]: how do u get me so fucking hard thru text? maybe i jus miss u too much  nerd [6:42PM]: excited for my proof?  seen nerd [6:45PM]: ft?  seen nerd [6:46PM]: keep seenzoning me and i’ll cum typing... seen ___ has notifications silenced

but it's too late.

jungkook meant it.

he's sat on his gaming chair, cock heavy.

his phone is out with that group picture from the arcade (zoomed into you) as lewd thoughts of you fill his mind. jungkook runs his thumb across his tip, hissing at the way it feels over his slit. 

he flicks his wrists, gripping his dick with just enough pressure to grow the hardness. it’s already stiff and he can feel the need to cum—but he just can’t.

he can’t without thinking of you. 

so, his eyes flutter shut as his memories of you replay in his mind. 

from the way your lips winced when he ate you out—to the way that mini skirt looked on you that day. he thinks about the way you say his name; in any and every way. angry, teasingly, and desperately… he thinks about how pretty it sounds rolling off your tongue. 

how pretty you looked under him.

how good you smelt when he kissed your neck. 

how close you sat next to him—fingertips lingering... god, what he would do to be close to you again. 

jungkook thinks about the slap. 

how hard your palms hit his cheek and how angry you looked at him. despite the negativity surrounding the situation—he can’t help it. 

you looked so hot. 

it just… gets to him. 

before he knows it, his hand is covered in his sticky cum. 

he’s a loser—a nerd in your words. 

he always has been… and here he is; jerking himself off to the pretty girl he lost his chance with.

the night is supposed to be nothing special. 

for jungkook, it’s just another event for his precious marine conservation club—a fundraiser, a schmooze-fest for potential investors, and a chance to hand out awards to appease the donors. sure, he’s getting an award, but it doesn’t feel like much.

the room buzzes with polite conversation and clinking glasses. jungkook adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, barely paying attention to the speeches and presentations. he stands off to the side with the other club members, blending into the background until his name is called.

“jeon jungkook, for outstanding contributions to marine conservation and innovation. mr. jeon has been working towards innovative chemical solutions for marine conservation, focusing on sustainable practices to protect endangered species like dolphins, and developing eco-friendly alternatives to reduce their environmental impact.”

the applause is polite but hearty.

jungkook steps onto the stage, the spotlight hitting him square in the face. as he accepts the plaque, his gaze instinctively sweeps over the audience—and then it stops.

you’re here.

sitting with the guys, casually chatting like you belong there, like you haven’t been avoiding him for a month and a half (at this point).

his heart trips over itself. 

he’s not even sure if it’s relief or panic or something else entirely, but it rattles him. he forces his attention back to the microphone, holding the plaque in his slightly sweaty hands.

“uh, thank you,” he begins, his voice steady enough, though his pulse is anything but. “our club’s mission has always been to protect and preserve marine life through education, community projects, and outreach. with this award…”

his eyes flick back to you. 

you’re laughing at something taehyung just said, your smile bright, your whole demeanor light and carefree.

“…we want to focus on…”

he falters, the words slipping from his mind as his gaze lingers on you.

“…we want to focus on… f-focus…”

a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience. someone whistles playfully. he blinks, startled back into the moment.

“…focus on sustainable practices and expanding our projects,” he finishes, clearing his throat as heat rises to his cheeks.

you’re laughing too, your head tilted slightly as you join the others. it should make him feel worse, but somehow, seeing you like that—smiling, present—grounds him.

he powers through the rest of the speech, keeping his gaze firmly away from where you’re sitting. when it’s over, he accepts the handshake from the host and makes his way offstage, barely registering the applause.

as soon as the ceremony ends, jungkook doesn’t even think. 

he weaves through the crowd, ignoring congratulatory pats on the back and comments from investors, his eyes scanning for you.

how did you know about tonight?

wait. 

shit.

he’s been texting you every day with random ass updates. of course you know. he’s yapped about it… but why? why did you come? don’t you hate his guts?

you're here so... maybe you don't hate him as much as he has convinced himself you do.

jungkook finds you near the back with the friend group, holding a glass of champagne and listening to hoseok animatedly retell a story.

“congratulations,” you say lightly, lifting your glass in a mock toast. your words are casual, but there's an edge to them, a distance you've kept between the two of you for far too long.

his chest tightens at the awkwardness of your tone, but he nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. the space between you feels impossibly wide now, though only a few feet separate you.

“thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than he intended. “... thanks for coming.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a second before dropping to the floor, and he shifts, a little uncertain, taking a half-step closer.

hesitantly, you inch back. 

his presence is suddenly overwhelming, more than you’re ready for.

“yeah… of course,” you murmur, unsure how to navigate the new dynamic between you two. the tension is thick, but there's something else there too. an unspoken history. “what are friends for, you know?”

he hates that. 

friends. 

yeah fucking right.

jungkook tries to break the tension.

he takes a risk.

he takes a small step forward, hoping you don’t move. this is the closest he’s gotten to you in over a month—he needs this. it’s like euphoria in his veins—being with you again.

he needs this.

“how have you been?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he anticipated. jungkook scratches the back of his neck and continues. “a-are you coming to the afterparty?”

your lips part, a pause hanging between you.

you don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this. how much you’ve missed him.

but the words slip out, more natural than you expect.

“yeah,” you say, giving him a brief but warm look. “i’ll be there.”

for a moment, your eyes lock, and something shifts. 

it’s like you’ve both forgotten all the walls, the space between you collapsing. he can feel his heart rate quicken, like his knees might give out, but he forces himself to stay grounded, to act nonchalant.

“cool,” he says, trying to brush off the sudden rush of emotions. “i’ll.. i’ll be there too.” he smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet, anyway.

“i sure hope so,” you laugh. “it’s your party, nerd.”

nerd. 

holy shit. 

never has he ever felt so relieved to hear you call him that. 

as he’s about to say more, taehyung appears out of nowhere, slapping his arm and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. 

“hey, man, nice speech. well deserved,” taehyung says, grinning like an idiot. “what did you want to focus on, again?”

you laugh while jungkook rolls his eyes. he shoves taehyung playfully. 

suddenly, you can’t help but feel the awkwardness settle back in, like something’s shifted again. you feel a pang in your chest as you turn toward the other people nearby, the ones you've been socializing with before jungkook showed up. the buzz of the conversation pulls you away, and you focus on the group, hoping to escape the overwhelming emotions that jungkook’s presence stirs.

jungkook watches you go, his eyes lingering as you slip away from the conversation. 

he can’t help it. 

you’re in his head again.

he looks over at taehyung, catching his eye. 

“hyung, is she coming to the dinner before the afterparty?” he asks, trying to sound casual. his voice betrays him, cracking with just the faintest hint of hope.

taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. 

“yeah. excited?”

“no.”

taehyung scoffs. “say that again but take away the lying.”

“fuck off.”

“___’s a good friend, man,” taehyung chuckles, redirecting the conversation. “you’re lucky. you just might be back in her good graces.”

jungkook’s heart skips a beat. 

“really?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

taehyung grins, leaning in a little. 

“yeah, but... she’s bringing her little boyfriend with her.”

you’re doing what?

jungkook feels the need to rub his eyes or something.

was taehyung shitting on him? boyfriend? when did this happen? no fucking way. 

jungkook refuses to believe it. 

… yet, the words hit jungkook like a punch to the gut. his breath catches, and his stomach tightens. 

"what?" his voice is barely a whisper, the weight of it settling in. 

"she didn't tell you?"

"we haven't been talking."

"rightfully so."

fuck. 

no. 

he doesn’t want to believe it, but the hurt is already seeping through.

taehyung shrugs, oblivious to the internal storm brewing in jungkook. 

“shit, well... yeah, she’s been seeing him for a while. dunno if they’re officially together, but… guess she’s really moving on. good for her, right? i mean, now you can really focus on just being her friend.”

the air stills. 

the reality of it all comes crashing down. jungkook’s heart sinks, his chest tightening in that all-too-familiar ache. 

that's why you’ve been busy... 

you’ve been moving on.

his fingers curl into fists, the anger bubbling up before he can suppress it. but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his emotions spill out in front of taehyung, even though every part of him is screaming. 

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i guess.”

as the night goes on, jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something he can’t get back. something that’s slipping further away with every step you take, every laugh you share with someone else. and no matter how much he wants to fight for it, he’s afraid it’s already too late.

jungkook doesn’t want to go to dinner anymore.

he has no appetite.

jungkook is already at the dinner when you arrive. 

his mood is off, grumpy but with an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t quite shake. he’s forcing a smile when people congratulate him for the award, but it’s clear it’s not reaching his eyes. the night’s just been a blur of congratulations and polite smiles, but all he can think about who will walk in with you. 

does he know him?

is he gonna be some super cool prince charming?

does he know that jungkook was eating you out just a month ago? 

all valid questions…

however, you arrive a little late, and immediately his gaze searches for you in the crowd. when he sees you, his heart lurches. he spots you talking to someone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

you make your way to the table, your eyes scanning it before you stop. for a moment, you aren’t sure where to sit. usually, you sit next to jungkook… but the spot is occupied by jimin. 

not by choice.

jungkook had saved the spot for you… you just came too late and he didn’t have it in him to tell jimin to move. but, jimin catches the milli-second exchanged look you have with jungkook and immediately shifts. 

“oh,” jimin begins. “shit, i forgot… didn’t know you were gonna show up so late—”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “it’s fine we’re gonna sit on the other side! by the way,” you pause and push the guy you came with forward. “this is do-hwan. he’s a biochem major and we have a few electives together… um, what else?” 

biochem?

serisouly?

do you have a thing for nerds or something? bro doesn't even look the part. he should be majoring in physics or something even more lame.

jungkook's thoughts cut short when he hears you giggling.

“hi,” do-hwan says with a grins at everyone. then, he turns and extends his hand to jungkook. “jungkook? shit, man. congrats on the award.”

he chuckles, giving jungkook a playful look. “organic chem, huh? i guess someone has to study the pretty side of chemistry.” 

what the fuck does that mean?

jungkook’s ears turn red. 

“yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “nice to meet you too.”

with that, you and do-hwan make your way to the other side of the table. jungkook watches, his gaze hardening as you take a seat beside him.

he’s trying his best to stay calm and to not show it—not show how absolutely fucking mad this entire thing is.

this is ridiculous! 

his chest tightens painfully at the sight of you sitting with him. his fingers curl into his glass as he watches you laugh and chat with others, inserting do-hwan like you’re some proud girlfriend. 

you've probably known do-hwan like 10 seconds.

and jungkook can’t help it! every word you exchange with do-hwan makes him feel like he’s being crushed from the inside out. 

he’s trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but his mind keeps wandering, drifting to you.

he watches as you lean in to talk to do-hwan, the way your eyes light up when you laugh at something he says. it’s the same laugh, the same warmth in your smile, but somehow it feels so much farther away from him now—like a memory that he’s trying to hold onto but can’t quite grasp.

he forces himself to look at the group again, but his gaze keeps slipping back to you. every word you exchange with do-hwan makes his chest tighten.

it's like he’s suffocating, and he can’t tear his eyes away. the way he moves so casually, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. 

it’s too much.

it’s too familiar.

and then, as you turn your head to respond to someone else, he sees it.

just a flash of it—right there on your neck. 

a small hickey, barely visible, but it might as well be a brand. his heart stops for a beat. the sight burns in his chest, and before he can stop himself, his breath catches in his throat.

his stomach churns violently, a rush of heat flooding his veins. everything feels like it’s collapsing inward. the noise around him fades, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. the world shrinks, and the weight of the jealousy hits him like a truck.

he can’t stay here. 

not like this. 

not with this tightness in his chest, not with the ache in his stomach. the room feels like it’s closing in on him, and he knows—he knows he has to get out.

without a word, he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. his heart races as he excuses himself from the table, slipping away into the hallway outside the main dining area.

the rest of the table doesn’t seem to notice his sudden departure, but your friends quickly start murmuring, and one of them nudges you. 

"you should probably go check on him," taehyung says, giving you an almost knowing look. “i told you not to bring him.”

you hesitate for a second, then stand, glancing at do-hwan.

“it’s not do-hwan's fault.”

taehyung rolls his eyes at you. 

“you’re playing it kinda mean tonight though,” he tells you. “jungkook’s been miserable. sure he deserves to be dragged through mud for whatever happened and for whatever he said, but this? on his night? i don’t know ___…”

you gulp.

maybe taehyung is right.

but you didn’t intend for it to be like this. you genuinely brought a friend you’ve been spending time with! and, sure… yeah. you’ve been kissing him for a few weeks now, but so what? jungkook has probably been fucking every student he’s been tutoring so why the fuck does this matter?

“___…” taehyung urges you. 

“yeah, yeah… i’m going.” 

you wave taehyung off as you get up from your seat. you excuse yourself and let do-hwan know you’ll be right back.

you find jungkook outside. 

he stands with his back pressed against the cool metal of his car, arms crossed loosely over his chest. you notice that his posture is stiff... like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, but his shoulders still carry the weight of what he’s just seen.

his jaw clenches every so often, like he’s holding something back, but when his muscles tense, it’s almost as if the anger or hurt inside him is too much to contain.

as you walk towards him and he notices you. he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, clearly agitated. he lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes cast down toward the ground as if trying to collect his thoughts. he shakes his head slightly, as if to shake off the frustration that has settled in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

then, he looks up at the sky, his gaze distant, unfocused, lost in the swirl of thoughts that seem to chase him in circles. his arms drop to his sides for a moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to release the tension that has built up in his body.

after a long pause, he lets out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair again, this time pushing it back as he exhales sharply.

his whole stance is restless.

it’s like he can’t quite settle his thoughts or his body, caught between what he feels and the reality of what’s happening. 

he’s trapped in his own head, unable to escape the weight of the situation.

by now, you’re next to him.

are you here to set him free?

“so… have the dolphins ever thanked you for your hard work?” you ask, trying to break both the silence and tension with your light tone. “you do so much for them… ungrateful little brats—you know they’re psychos right? they bully—”

he doesn’t turn around. 

“what’s on your neck?” he asks. “did your boyfriend do that?”

your chest hurts at his words. “he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.” you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “he’s just a friend.”

there’s a long pause, and when he finally turns to face you, his eyes are a mixture of frustration and hurt. 

“the same kind of friend i am to you?”

he’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

you shake your head, not knowing how to explain, not knowing how to make him understand.

“you know what? i didn’t come here to make you feel like this…” your voice cracks slightly. “i didn’t... i don’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want to come.”

he scoffs bitterly.

“maybe you shouldn’t have.”

his words sting, but you can’t back down. 

“what do you want me to do?” you ask, frustrated. “if i didn’t show up, you’d be upset and blow up my phone. now that i’m here, you’re still upset—”

“and this is how you chose to show up?” jungkook raises his voice, turning to you. he steps forward, towering over you. he brings his hands to your hair, pushing it back and leaning in to look at your hickey properly. 

he squints. 

“are you proud of this?” he hisses. “fucking bug bite bullshit.”

“stop—” you snap, cutting him off now. “don’t—”

“okay. sorry, fuck..."

a beat.

"___, i miss you,” he breathes. “i just… shit. can you stay still for a second?”

there’s a long silence between you two, the air thick with things unsaid. jungkook looks like he’s about to say something, but his mouth closes, his frustration evident in the way he grits his teeth. 

instead, he just breathes you in. 

for the first time in a month and a half; jungkook can breathe.

then, he steps away and sighs. 

“think i’m gonna head home first. i… i need some space or something,” jungkook tells you. “let them know for me?”

“y-yeah. sure.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you.”

for the first time in a while, jungkook offers you a smile and you return it. 

short and sweet—he takes it. 

he leaves and thinks about it the entire drive home.

when you arrive at the party, you’re still reeling from the brief exchange with jungkook. 

your thoughts are completely a tangled mess. 

from the words he didn’t say to the way his eyes held that edge of something unspoken—it all lingers in your mind like an unsolved puzzle. you thought you had it all figured out…

that you could be fine.

that you could move on—but now, after that moment, you’re not so sure anymore. 

your heart races in a way that you can’t explain. why does it feel like you’re standing on the edge of something—something big, something scary—and yet, you're not sure if you want to fall or pull back?

your mind keeps returning to the way he looked at you, like he was caught between wanting to say everything and nothing at all. it’s not a feeling you can shake off easily.

it’s heavier than you thought it would be.

at the party, you try your best to focus on the people around you. do-hwan is by your side, chatting casually with a few people, most of them strangers to you. some faces are familiar—people from jungkook’s marine conservation club, and others... just people. 

you make your rounds, greeting them politely, exchanging pleasantries, but your thoughts are still drifting back to him. to jungkook. the air is thick with anticipation, and no matter how much you try to focus on the conversations happening around you, your mind keeps wandering.

and then, there he is.

jungkook is standing by the drink table, his posture relaxed but not at ease. 

his gaze flicks to you for a moment, a brief flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something more—before he meets your eyes. there’s a tense, palpable moment of silence.

he’s holding a red cup in one hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it. his other hand rests in his pocket, but his stance is still too rigid... too guarded.

it’s like he’s waiting for something to happen, for you to do something.

he doesn’t smile. 

he just nods at you. 

a small, deliberate movement that somehow feels too formal, too distant.

no words.

just acknowledgment.

you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, the nervous energy in your chest quickening. it’s the simplest thing, but it feels loaded with so much more.

you can’t look away. 

something inside you is aching to go over, to close the space between you, to ask if everything’s okay, to say something—but you're frozen. the tension in the air between you is thick enough to suffocate.

you swallow hard, trying to calm the unease building in your chest, but it's no use.

the silence stretches out, heavy and thick, as you stand there, caught between the desire to run or to take a step closer, not sure if you're brave enough for either.

you take a step back, trying to break eye contact, when suddenly, someone bumps into you from behind. you stumble forward, your feet catching on the edge of a rug, and you let out a startled breath as you lose your balance.

before you can fully fall, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you back against something solid. your breath catches as you feel the warmth of someone’s body close to you.

it’s jungkook.

without a word, his other hand slides around your waist, steadying you, his fingers briefly pressing against the fabric of your shirt. the contact is brief but grounding, like the world, slows for a moment, just the two of you, suspended in time.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring words. 

his grip is firm, and steady, but he doesn’t linger. as quickly as it happens, he pulls away, his hand leaving your waist just as the tension between you starts to build.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe a thank you, but before the words leave your lips, he’s already moving away, stepping back with that familiar, unreadable expression.

you stand there. 

you’re frozen for a beat longer than necessary. your chest tight as you try to catch your breath… his sudden departure stings more than you care to admit. there’s no time for you to process what just happened, what that touch meant—or didn't mean—before he vanishes back into the crowd.

fuck.

the night only gets louder as more people flood into the house. 

the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless, blending with the clatter of cups and the hum of overlapping conversations.

you weave through the crowd, the heat of so many bodies pressed together almost suffocating. your heart races—not from the chaos around you but from the weight of the unspoken tension that’s followed you since you walked in.

you couldn’t bring yourself to drink, though do-hwan had handed you a cup earlier. 

it’s long forgotten somewhere, left behind on a table. you’re too afraid of what a single drink might loosen in you—afraid of saying or doing something you’re not ready for.

you don’t want to make worse what already feels so broken.

“hey.” do-hwan’s voice cuts through the noise, his hand resting lightly on your arm. he pulls you aside to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crush of people. “you okay?”

you nod, a small, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. just... a little overwhelmed, i guess.”

he watches you closely, his expression softening as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

“i’m fine, really.”

“you don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s the way he says it—gentle, almost understanding—that makes you crack a real smile. “pretty sure jungkook hates me. pretty sure he’s killed me 10 times in his head in the past hour or so… and he knows all the organic chem shit to make it a really clean murder, you know? “

you let out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

he grins at the sight, his confidence blooming as he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. 

“there it is,” he says playfully. “i was starting to think you didn’t know how to smile anymore.”

you laugh softly despite yourself, and his grin widens. 

do-hwan then dips his head lower as he talks, his voice dropping slightly, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. it’s intimate in a way that makes your cheeks flush, his proximity unnerving. his eyes flick to yours, and he leans in just a little more.

across the room, jungkook sees everything. 

is it hot in here?

because fuck, he’s burning up.

actually, the entire house is on fire in his mind. 

he’s been watching you for most of the night, though he pretends not to be.

the way do-hwan hovers near you, the way you laugh at something he says—it feels like a punch to the chest. every small interaction between you two is a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he could’ve had if he’d been braver, better.

his grip on his cup tightens, his knuckles white against the red plastic. he can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. the way do-hwan leans closer, the way his hand brushes your arm—it’s enough to make jealousy coil hot and bitter in jungkook’s stomach. it burns through him, unbearable, as he watches do-hwan dip his head lower, his lips so close to yours.

and then something inside him snaps.

fuck it. 

before he knows it, he’s moving through the crowd, his feet carrying him faster than his mind can keep up. his hand reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist just as do-hwan’s face nears yours. you barely have time to process the sudden motion before you’re being yanked back, stumbling slightly into jungkook’s chest.

“what the hell?” do-hwan says, his tone sharp, but jungkook doesn’t even look at him. his focus is entirely on you, his jaw tight and eyes dark with something unreadable.

your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as you look up at him, startled. 

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish. 

his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s pulling you away. his grip is steady but not rough, a silent insistence that leaves no room for argument.

“jungkook, wait—” you try again, glancing back at do-hwan, whose confused expression barely registers in the rush of your heartbeat.

jungkook doesn’t look back, his jaw tight and his steps purposeful as he weaves through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. the air around you feels heavy, the muffled music and chatter blurring into white noise as he leads you up the stairs.

your pulse thrums in your ears as he pushes open a door and pulls you inside, closing it behind you with a quiet but final click. the sudden silence of the room contrasts sharply with the chaos outside, and for a moment, you can only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

he finally lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a split second longer than necessary before he steps back. his gaze is dark, unreadable, but the tension radiating off him is palpable. the weight of the moment presses down on you, thick and suffocating, as you wait for him to speak.

a moment passes.

then, another.

and another.

and another.

and then—

“dump him.” 

you clearly your throat.

“can’t dump him. he’s not my boyfriend—“

“you and your fucking situationships.”

you gulp.

you hate the way he says it.

situationship… fuck him.

the room feels smaller than it is, the air thick with the weight of the moment. jungkook’s jaw ticks as he stares at you, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the silence.

“you’re… fucking with me, right?” he spits out, his tone teetering between disbelief and frustration. “you can’t be fucking real right now. you were just—”

“i was just what?” you snap, your glare matching his. “no fair, jungkook. i got to hear you fuck some girl, but you don’t want to watch me kiss—”

“did i ask you to?” he cuts in, his voice rising.

“no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “but what are you asking from me right now? huh? jungkook… i don’t understand you—”

“what do you think i’m asking?” his voice lowers, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. he steps closer, his presence almost suffocating. “you’re always trying to act like this doesn’t matter. like i don’t matter.”

“maybe it doesn’t,” you challenge, even though the words taste bitter on your tongue.

jungkook laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp. 

“yeah, sure. that’s why you still give a fuck about me fucking—”

you snap. “don’t tell me her name.”

“what?” jungkook grumbles. “is that it? you get to parade around, yelling his fucking name and announcing it to the entire fucking world but i don’t get to tell you about the girl that came onto me for months? do-hwan biochem this, do-hwan that—do-hwan kiss me! is that it?"

"jungkook—"

"fuck, ___... listen to me, okay? let me tell you what i've been rehearsing for the past month and a half.... the girl i declined over and over again and fucked a total of 3 times because i was thinking with my dick is done. okay? if you’re trying to tell me that i fucked up—fine. yeah. i fucked up. but i meant it when i said it’s not what it looked like. ___, it wasn't like that. she spread shit about me being a good tutor and twisted it. how the fuck do you think i feel about myself? how the fuck do you think i feel about you seeing it differently—seeing me differently?”

your throat tightens, and you look away, desperate for a moment to compose yourself. 

“jungkook—”

“tell me how to fix it,” he cries, his frustration spilling over. “tell me what you want, because i’ll do it. i’ll stop tutoring if that’s what you want. fuck, i already did to be honest with you.”

you glance up at him, startled.

“why? that’s not going to change anything.”

“but i have to try…” his voice cracks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “i’ll give up anything—whatever it takes. just tell me what you need, and i’ll do it. want me to stop wearing ugly ass shirts? fine. want me to stop saving the dolphins you hate so much—”

“i don’t hate dolphins—”

“you’re scared of them.”

your eyes soften. 

“how’d you know—”

“it’s obvious,” jungkook breathes. “the same way it’s obvious you’re scared of this.”

this...

what even is this?

the silence that follows is deafening. you don’t say anything, and the tension between you stretches taut, threatening to snap. his chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours, desperate for something you’re not sure you can give him.

he takes another step closer, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

“say something,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now.

but you can’t.

you don’t trust your voice, don’t trust yourself not to break under the weight of it all. so you stay quiet, the space between you charged with everything unsaid.

the weight of unsaid words and unresolved feelings pressing down on both of you. you take a step back, trying to create some space to breathe, but jungkook mirrors you, closing the distance effortlessly.

then, you look around his room for some kind of break… but it backfires as your eyes meet a plushie, laying on his bed.

hello kitty.

“what’s that?” you ask a little shyly.

jungkook turns his head, feeling a little embarrassed at what you’ve seen.

“what do you think it is?” jungkook asks gently. "___... i... i can't do it. i'm sorry, i can't..."

"can't what?"

"i can't want you," he confesses. "i can't want you when i need you that bad."

he points at the plushie and sighs. "fuck, do you know how stupid that fucking claw machine made me feel? i spent like 1 or 2—"

"hours?" your eyes widen.

he shakes his head. "hundred."

hundred.

you stay silent.

"i'm sorry, ___... for everything. i'm a shithead. i'm mean and inconsiderate. i'm a waste of time—i know... but i want you to know that... everything about my life feels so weird without you in it. the past month and half has been absolute hell. it's like... if you're not around, all i do is think about you and it fucks with me. i wonder what you're eating, who you're with, and what you're going to do next... i get excited when you seenzone me. i feel like i can finally breathe when you're near. i don't know what you did and what fucking pavlov doggy shit experiment you did on me—but fuck. woof woof. whatever you want, ___. seriously."

then, you do what you fear.

you give in.

“how am i supposed to trust you,” you start, your voice shaky but firm, “when you’re not even a good friend? you’re always so mean to me, jungkook. think about it… when have we ever been good friends?”

he scoffs, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. 

“maybe it’s because i don’t want to be your friend.”

the words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. 

“what if i want you to be?” 

his eyes search yours, as if trying to figure out if you’re serious. 

“really?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, softer.

“really.”

his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his voice drops even lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. 

you can feel it… you can feel it about to happen. 

“even when i’m about to do this?”

before you can process his words, his hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you closer, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

his lips find yours in a kiss that’s as sudden as it is inevitable. 

it’s not gentle—it’s firm, deliberate, and entirely consuming. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. your hands instinctively reach for his shoulders, gripping him as if to steady yourself against the storm he’s unleashing.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. the air between you feels different now—heavier, laden with something you can’t quite name but can’t deny.

when jungkook finally pulls away, the world feels quieter, as though it’s holding its breath. his hand slides up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, and he looks at you softly, his dark eyes searching yours. the tender gesture sends a fresh wave of confusion—and longing—coursing through you.

“bad friend,” you scold him in a whisper.

his lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping him as his thumb grazes your cheek.

“don’t do that,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you raise a brow at him. "do what?"

"don’t friendzone me.”

“why not?” 

“i just kissed you.”

“so?”

“so?” he mimics, his tone teasing, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you squirm. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“kitty,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “i’m gonna be impossible to get rid of now."

[capesandshapes]

Side note if you're one of the thousands of people suffering from a hibernate/away mode problem on windows 11 and that was later introduced with a windows 10 update for god knows why

You know, where you close your laptop or it goes into sleep mode and inexplicably won't wake up no matter how much keyboard crashing and button pressing you do, forcing you to hard off and restart all programs/potentially lose files.

The bane of my existence, really.

It's a mixture of five thousand problems forced along by the bios updates. It's an absolute nightmare and despite multiple attempts to command prompt my way out of it, I had to go the slow and shitty way in the end so here's how you do THAT:

Most people fix it is by going into the power options menu and disabling hibernate/away mode in the advanced power menu

This works for a total of five minutes-- roughly the amount of time that it takes windows to push out a new shitty update and ruin everything.

So to make it last a little longer so that you can experience the joy of being able to close your computer until the next bios update rather than getting fucked over every update

Restart and boot up the BIOS, expand power management and enable USB wake support or untick, save, and then return and enable USB wake support before saving once again🙄

exit BIOS, boot normally.

Pull up device manager.

Scroll down until you see a section marked universal serial bus controllers. What you're looking for is probably going to be named USB Root Hub rather than "-insert processor name- us bullshit". Right click on that generically named motherfucker, properties. Near the end of the tabs in the property menu is the power management tab.

Unlock allow computer to turn this device off to save power.

Now if you're lucky and God is willing, it might be fixed

If the world is shit and you have one of the windows laptops that requires this, you might run into a problem where you still need to go into device manager and click your keyboard, open properties, and then select the power management tab-- not everyone is going to have this tab because fucking windows man.

From there in the little power management section of your menu, pick a box that looks roughly like "allow this device to wake computer from sleep"

Hopefully, your computer is now fixed and you can close it without it going into a shitty lower power state and refusing to wake up now.

The general belief seems to be that since windows pushed through updates to prolong battery life but doesn't really give half a shit as to what computers are running windows or how they're built, when the USB hub is sent into low power mode it pretty much turns off your mouse, key board, and all ports because of how they're connected. In most cases, the power button continues to work to some extent in this state, giving you a taunting white or green light and letting you know your work is waiting for you, but won't wake your PC and is only useful to give your computer the one finger salute and hard off it.

Windows has known about this problem since roughly the launch of windows 11 and proceeded to give absolutely no shits, even passing along a similar update to windows 10 laptops. Every now and then when you get an update related to the bios or with something that even vaguely looks like the word power it will re enable this nonsensical hell state and you will have to do this again.

I got a laptop with Windows 11 for an IT course so I can get certified, and doing the first time device set-up for it made me want to commit unspeakable violence

Windows 11 should not exist, no one should use it for any reason, it puts ads in the file explorer and has made it so file searches are also web searches and this cannot be turned off except through registry editing. Whoever is responsible for those decisions should be killed, full stop.

Switch to linux, it's free and it's good.

[beomcoups]

fated strut- pt. i

̗̀➛ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: greek god!Jeonghan x model!reader

̗̀➛ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In a whirlwind fashion show, a part-time model's life takes a mystical turn when she becomes the muse for the captivating Greek God Jeonghan. Unbeknownst to her, she shares a deep connection tied to his past. As their chemistry ignites amidst secrets and rivalries, will love conquer their complicated fates?

̗̀➛ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, smut, fantasy, doppleganger au

̗̀➛ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nocturnal emission (sex dream), unprotected sex, kissing, fingering, backshots, riding, oral, biting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, pet names, sweet stuff, a lil bit of squirting, cream pie, oh and cursing 😂

̗̀➛ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.2k

̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐍: This fic has had me stressed for the last couple of months lol. I have always been into greek mythology (I even hosted a multi collab before for it) and I got the idea earlier this year to do another one but just for seventeen. Thank you Maren @wooahaeproductions for hosting the 13 Gods Of Olympus collab with me and helping it come to life. Also thank you to @hannieween and @hobeemin for beta reading this and giving me some much needed feedback. I knew what I had was good and with your help it made it better :) also thank you to @cheolism and @junkissed for letting me run some ideas with them about the greek mythology and the BC era lol. I hope you like this 🖤

Golden light filters through your curtains, casting soft shadows that dance across the room. The scent of something sweet—honey and vanilla—lingers in the air, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. Everything feels so real and vivid, so alive. There is a haze in the light that looks nostalgic. 

You are sitting on a kline, handcrafted by Hephaestus himself, weaving away with a ball of twine in your hands. The clatter of sandals against the hard floor gets your attention. Looking up, Jeonghan is standing there, his blonde hair shimmering in the light, with a playful smile on his lips. 

“Shouldn’t be off delivering those messages to the mortals?” You tease him playfully. 

“They can wait,” he says, setting down his bag. “I have more pressing matters to attend to.” 

“Oh?” You slowly set down your twine. “What is that?” 

He walks over and kisses you deeply, sending ripples through your soul. You realize quickly that the “pressing matter” was that he wanted to be inside of you, and you were more than happy to oblige. 

“Jeonghan, you’re going to get in trouble with Zeus,” you taunt him. 

“I don’t care,” he grits, pulling you into another kiss.

You take off your gown, your nakedness exposed to him in all its glory. Jeonghan’s eyes you with adoration and lust, his hand palming the growing bulge under his toga. Sheer excitement runs through your veins, the thought of being roughly fucked on the kline making you wet with arousal. As if he read your mind, he tugs at your hair and bends you over, his fingers seductively playing with your sweet folds. 

“You’re already so wet for me, my love?” He licks your essence coated on his digits. “I have to break the rules more often.”

Your laugh is light as the air, anticipating and craving him deeply. You find yourself pressing your clit, spreading your legs apart, and rubbing it so he can get a better view. Jeonghan licks his lips at the sight before him, his hand stroking his cock as he lines up to your entrance. 

“Please,” your breathy moans floating in the room. “Give it to me.” 

“As you wish,” he murmurs as he inserts himself in your clenching heat. Your back arches as his thrusts go deep, the clapping sound of your skin against his hard and loud enough to create thunder from the heavens. Jeonghan looks down in amusement, watching your ass bounce every time he snaps his hips. He’s turned on and seduced, and you could have him turn into puddy with just one look. That’s how much he is into you. That’s how much he loves you. 

“You feel s-so g-good,” you barely sound out. “I-I love you.”

Jeonghan pulls you by your hair, his thrusts unrelenting as he kisses you hard. “I love you too.”

He raises his leg on the kline, pushing you back down, and strokes you from another angle. Your legs shake, your peak nearing as he continues to hit your pleasure points in all the right ways. “FUCK” is all you can scream out before you come undone, your essence squirting all over him and the floor. You are a whimpering mess, clutching the edge of the kline as he continues his onslaught until his release comes shortly after. He fills you up with his hot load, pumping his dick until he is spent, slowly slipping out of you. The loss is evident, and his cum starts to drip in between your folds. 

“Uh, uh,” he frowns as he crouches behind you. “We can’t leave that to waste, can we?”

He swipes what’s dripping down your leg with his fingers, returning them to your mouth to suck. You suck them with earnest, your eyes closing with sexual gratification. He turns you wild, and you want more. You attempt to initiate another round, but you are interrupted by the sound of thunder just outside your window, scaring you half to death.

“Sounds like the big guy is mad,” Jeonghan reluctantly pulls away. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nod, kneeling down to grab your gown. “You’ll be back, right?” 

He gazes at you with the softest eyes you have ever seen, letting him pull you close into another kiss. “Don’t I always come back?”

Your world shifts into a fading memory, the golden haze slowly replaced with stark brown walls and paintings. Jeonghan is gone. The thunder outside is as real as ever, followed by a bolt of lightning that feels too close to home. Reality slowly sets in, and you realize you are having a dream. This is the second one you have had this week with Jeonghan, the infamous Greek god. It feels natural, like you’re watching a memory of yourself, and you don’t understand it. 

You frantically grab your journal, jotting down every moment before the details get fuzzy and lost forever. This has to mean something, right?

A few weeks later...

You feel the galvanic buzz of anticipation humming as you stand backstage at Paris Fashion Week. Models twirl past you, dripping in the latest haute couture, their expressions exuding fierceness. You? You were just happy to be there. As the last-minute addition, the unexpected wildcard about to open the show—your heart races, matching the rhythm of the music that spills into the warehouse. The scent of expensive cologne and crepitus excitement lingers around you.

You weren’t even supposed to be here at all. You model in your part-time to pay the bills, but your real love, your true passion, is classical studies—specifically, your focus on Greek mythology. Growing up, you’ve always heard the stories of the Gods who ruled the world and how slowly but surely they started disappearing because people quit believing in them. Your mom, who raised you pagan, would tell you about missionaries coming over and preaching the Bible and using it in force, and people started losing their way and adapting to this new life. There are still gods amongst us who will never go away, no matter what. People are still human and have needs, after all.

That’s what brought you here tonight—Jeonghan, the god of many things, keeps appearing in your dreams; scenes of a past life take up much of your night, and you can’t ignore it anymore. You have to see and know him, and you aren’t above using unconventional methods to get what you want. You cozied up to the right people and got yourself cast onto his fashion show. Sometimes, all it takes is a look, a touch of your hand, or very selective words to get what you want. You aren’t sure you would call it a power… let’s just say you are persuasive.

“Thank the gods you are here tonight,” the stage manager, Lea, says as she adjusts your dress. “I can’t believe she didn’t show up.”

The model that was supposed to open up the show, Penelopeia, partied a little too hard the night before. How do you know this? You were right beside her, dancing and drinking the night away. You knew her in passing, working for the same modeling agency, and talked here and there, but you two aren’t friends. But you were out with acquaintances last night, and she was there. Ultimately, she is a grown woman and can make her own choices, but you might’ve given her some extra encouragement when she complained about her being tired and “needing” a break. You told her it was “fine” to blow off some steam, which wouldn’t mean anything. The touch of your hand when you held hers and listened to her cry about how tough her life is and whispered nothings in her ear. It was perfect. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod as the music changes, the lights dim, and you take your place behind the runway. Your heartbeat matched the drum's beat in your ears. 

“I'm like some kind of supernova... watch out!”

On cue, you walked, every gaze drawn to you as your body moved to the beat, each step a spell cast upon the audience. Unbeknownst to you, Jeonghan stood backstage, mesmerized by the essence you exuded, a natural allure that made him curious with its intensity.

You circle the runway and walk back to where you came from, your body on autopilot as your linen dress sashes across your body. You are rushed backstage, the dress slipping off of you hurriedly, briefly exposing your breasts while you are putting on another. You feel eyes burning into the back of your neck, and you instinctively turn around, meeting Jeonghan's soft brown eyes. His warm blonde locks hang below his ears, touching his delicate neck. He smirked, raising his glass of red wine, and you meekly looked away, clearly affected by a god's presence.

Jeonghan watches you intently as you take another lap around the runway. The familiarity of your presence slowly creeps in, and curiosity is taking care of the cat. He’s been around for a long time now, and he’s seen a lot of faces, old and new. But you remind him of an old lover from his past life, someone he prefers to keep buried in the back of his mind. You were clearly a doppelganger of her, and watching you in the flesh unnerves him to his core. There is no need to bring up thousands-year-old drama now. You’re in front of him now, beautiful as ever, and despite every red flag— he will have you wrapped around his fingers by the end of the night. 

You walk backstage and are dragged to the side by your dresser, who is adjusting your clothes one last time for your final walk. She fusses with your hair, a small annoyance you put up with because you know she is doing her job. You find yourself searching for Jeonghan through the slew of models, your eyes not resting until you see him talking to his stage assistant near the beginning of the runway. He is a god in every sense of the word. Butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach when you see his soft, delicate features and how he carries himself. Very deific, very mindful. 

“He’s mesmerizing, isn’t he?”

You slowly come out of your self-induced trance, meeting the eyes of your dresser, Helen, a younger woman who couldn’t be older than 21. Her doe-eyed look makes her look innocent, and you feel the need to protect her from this cruel industry. 

“He’s okay,” you clear your throat. 

“Oh please, he’s a divine enigma,” Helen chuckled, a playful smirk gracing her lips. “It’s perfectly natural to admire someone’s allure, especially someone so utterly enchanting as HIM.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her outburst, knowing that deep down, she was right. Jeonghan is the sexiest man you have ever laid eyes on. It doesn’t help that he is the god of fortune, luxury, and all the other things that make him much more attractive. 

“Okay, it’s time to do the final walk,” Helen announces as she finishes up. “You are going to walk out with him in front since you technically walked first in the show.”

You gaze at Jeonghan across the way, watching him wrap up his conversation with the stage assistant. “Is this custom? I thought usually the models walk out one final time, and then the designer comes out towards the end.” 

“Usually, yeah,” Helen shrugs. “But that’s not how Jeonghan does things.”

She lightly pushes you towards the front, catching his attention as the strobe lights change colors. You glowed in your dress, symbolizing a halo of beauty that made it hard for Jeonghan to turn away. This catches him off guard, a strange chill running through his veins that he is unfamiliar with. Keeping himself in line, he saunters over to you, his close proximity filling your stomach with butterflies. 

“Don’t be nervous, baby,” he whispers in your ear. “I don’t bite.”

The thought of his perfect mouth giving you love bites thrills you, and an intense longing starts to brew within your core. Feeling bold, you smile softly, responding in a tone only he could hear. 

“Well, that’s too bad.” 

Jeonghan chuckles lightly, impressed by your cheekiness. He slips his arm between yours, waiting for the curtains to open. The light touch of his arm brushing against yours gives you goosebumps, the exuberance bubbling inside you. You’ve studied him all your life, read the stories, and visited the ancient sites from many moons ago. You have never been near a Greek god, let alone touch one, and for a moment, you forget why you were really there. You were just a pretty model, attracted to the most successful man in the world, and the way he looks at you right now is setting your loins on fire. 

The curtains finally open, and you walk with him arm and arm like you were his equal. The other models did as they were supposed to do, walking behind you as you two set the runway ablaze. You stood in the center while he gave his bows; the audience applauded in crescendos. Jeonghan then returns to your side, his presence intoxicating and making you almost lose your senses. You walk in unison until you reach backstage, and Helen is waiting for you to help you out of your dress. Before you parted ways, he lightly touched your hand, grabbing your attention and Helen’s, with raised eyebrows.

“I’m interested in sharing another stage with you,” he whispers, his brown eyes gleaming with desire. “Without all the light and people watching us. Beyond the runway.” 

You cock an eyebrow playfully, putting on your best poker face, but inside, nervousness eats at you alive. You know you shouldn’t do this, as your sole reason was to find answers about him and why he encompasses your every dream. It took a lot of sweet talking and favors to get you in his lineup, let alone starting the show and inadvertently being his muse of the day. You knew you were going to have to mix your business with pleasure, and with the way he is gazing at you, the business is going further in the back of your mind. 

“Where do I sign up?” You say coyly, rubbing your finger against the fabric of his shirt. 

“Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes, and I’ll take you to my place.” 

You nod, and he leaves you with a soft kiss on your cheek. “Don’t be late.”

You watched him walk away, still feeling his warm lips on your cheek. You kept it cool, casually grabbing your things, but inside, you were buzzing, excitement bursting through your chest like fireworks. You weren’t sure what the night would bring, but you would never turn down the possibility of being in the company of a Greek god. 

You make your way to the back as directed, exchanging goodbyes with Helen and watching the models leave one by one. Fifteen minutes exactly, Jeonghan appears, twirling his car keys in his hands and opening the back door for you, leading you to a classic Mercedes Benz 250CE. He opens your door like the gentleman he is, making sure you are secure in your seat before coming over to the driver’s side. 

“Are you ready to go, doll?”

You nod, your sparkling eyes matching your smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The car ride was a short one, but it felt like it was going on forever. He played smooth jazz, driving with one hand and conveniently placing his hand on your thigh. Your mind was filled with thoughts of your dreams—the intimacy you felt and the sadness that tormented you when he disappeared. 

“You seem comfortable,” Jeonghan observed. “Most people would be scared to be with me.”

“Well, I have a feeling I am in good hands,” you answer honestly. 

You had so many questions about him as a Greek god, as it's not often (or really at all) that you can talk to one. Despite these waves of emotions tugging at your heart, you maintained a flawless facade until you arrived at his residence, a beautiful hotel that housed penthouses only the wealthy lived in.

“Welcome in.” 

The housekeeper greeted you as you walked into Jeonghan’s penthouse, located in the heart and soul of Paris. The interior was dripped in luxury, feeling more like an art gallery than a place to live. Everything has a place, and it makes you nervous about even moving around in the event you accidentally bump into something. The vinyl player played soulful jazz, a fancy concert piano was in the corner and hundreds of books lined up like his own personal library. Jeonghan guides you by your waist to the kitchen, a grand spectacle of the finest cooking ware, dishes, and appliances that were way above your budget. You sit on a stool while he pours you a glass of red, the finest from Chateauneuf du Pape.

“Nice place,” you sweet talk him. “I would say you must’ve worked hard to get all this, but I know better.”

“Do you?” He counters, handing you your glass. “Do you think you know everything?”

“I know what I know from books, archives, etcetera,” you explain casually. “It’s not like I can ring up Zeus and ask him to read me a bedtime story.” 

His lips curve as he chuckles, watching you sip the rich ruby-red liquid in your glass. “You have a sense of humor. I like that.”

You smirked, leaving him to his thoughts as you walked towards the large picture window, looking at the Eiffel Tower. It’s late, but the city has so much life in it. The tall, grandeur buildings that have stood through the ages are accompanied by French lights and taxis flying back and forth at night. Between your studies, walking runways, and doing commercial shoots, it was a matter of time before you made it out of the United States and into Paris. 

You aren’t this in-demand model agencies are banging the door down for. But when you come to work, you work. You know how to convince people to take a chance on you, whether it's your words of intellect or how you pose. Your mom always taught you to be observant and scope the scene before you act; that advice hasn’t stirred you wrong before. 

In the window's reflection, you watch Jeonghan gently place his glass on the table, the soft clink barely breaking the serene silence. He strides to your right, his presence warm and magnetic as he stands beside you, eyes mesmerized by the sprawling cityscape before you. 

“So why are you here? Aside from the obvious.”

Jeonghan’s question catches you off guard, stirring you out of your peaceful daydream.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, baby,” Jeonghan cocks his head. “Don’t play coy.”

Your response hangs in the air as you search for the right words. How do you confess to a god that you've been dreaming of them without knowing why? You are sure they have heard it all before, and you wouldn’t be any different.

“Honestly speaking,” you start, taking another sip of your wine. “I’ve studied you all my life: the Greek Gods and the beings you used to be on Earth. Your stories fascinate me, and I want to put this master’s degree in classical studies to good use.”

“Uh huh,” Jeonghan hums. “Are you sure that’s it?” 

“I mean, I may have other reasons… but I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

You finish the remnants in your glass, sauntering and setting it next to his. You glance up, your heart beating fast as you meet his gaze. He watches you intently, a spark of amusement dancing in his beautiful brown eyes as he watches you internally squirm. At that moment, it feels as though the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, and you feel yourself being sucked into his spell. 

“Well, are you going to stare at me all night or show me around this place?”

You raise your hand, waiting for him to grab it and lead the way. He does just that, showing you around his massive penthouse. You don’t know if you could ever afford this place even if you had all the money in the world. Every room has its bathroom, and the balcony is beautifully decorated with a view to die for. You notice another room with more books than the collection you saw earlier, and you make a note later to ask about it… even hoping to take a peek at potentially ancient history. 

 Jeonghan slipped his hand on your waist as the tour went on, pulling you close like you were already his. His slender fingers held on to you kind of tight, like he was imprinting on you… You can’t say you don’t like that. 

You stop in front of his bedroom, the dark forest green double-doored room paired with gold handles waiting to be opened. You gaze at Jeonghan, who leans against the door, casually putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Is there a reason why we are just standing here?” You pose, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“No reason at all,” he responds, pulling you closer to him. “I just like looking at my bedroom door closed, that’s all.”

You raise an eyebrow, quite aware that he is teasing you. Being around him gives you a rush through your veins, a magnetic pull that sets your nerves and soul on fire. You know you should be doing a better job fighting this attraction between you two, but being around him makes you slowly lose all of your senses. He’s intoxicating; you feel hazy, like you are in a dream and don’t want to wake up. 

“So, are you going to sweet talk me in front of this door all night, or are you going to let me in?”

He chuckles softly as he opens his doors, leading to a grand master bedroom that all of the words in the dictionary couldn’t come close to describing. You knew he was the god of luxury, but what’s in front of your eyes exceeds that. This is opulence in its purest form. His massive king-size bed was decked with the finest white blankets and pillows filled with goose feathers that looked handcrafted with care. Your toes bask in the softest fur rug you have ever touched. It felt like you were walking on clouds. Jeonghan motions for you to sit on the bed, taking your hand as he helps you climb up. Your dress rises a bit, exposing your inner thigh to your surprise and his delight. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” you rib, crossing your legs slowly. 

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll give me an invitation by the end of the night.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you adjust your dress. Watching him move with purpose to his shelf, he pulls out a vinyl and puts it in the player. Recognizing Billie Holiday's distinct and powerful voice, you lean back into the pillows and watch him approach the other side of the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the lights dim, opening the curtains and revealing another side of Paris, a quieter one that shows the city below. The ceiling separates slowly, revealing a twilight blue skyline with dark clouds surrounding you. It’s beautiful. 

You feel the bed shift on your left, and Jeonghan climbs quietly, his movements as light as a cat. He lifts the comforter, a gentle invitation for you to come under as his feet disappear under the thick cover. 

“Are you this friendly with all the women you bring over?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” his laugh is light as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Just the ones I like.” 

You nod, following his lead and slowly basking into the warm cover. You can still see him in the low light, his radiance shining through the dark room. Maybe it’s because of your extensive research of him and your knowledge, but he feels familiar. Every fiber in your body tells you to pull closer to him and confess every little thought swirling in your head. Is this what it’s like to be in front of a god?

“So, a master's in Classical Studies, huh?” Jeonghan probes, his index finger making a swirling motion on his sheets. “Let me guess, you have a focus on Greek mythology?”

Despite putting on your best poker face, you felt like something bitter went down your throat. He caught you off guard, and to be frank, it’s your fault. The god of many things and the most intelligent being to walk on this Earth would of course know who you are. He probably had your whole life story while you walked on his runway. 

“Ah,” you exhale. “You must think I’m crazy.” 

“Nah, I don’t,” he assures. “I’m very intrigued by you.”

“Are you?” 

“Yes. You’re smart, carry yourself well, almost as witty as me, and very well-spoken. Why do you choose to model instead of working in something with your degree?”

You stare at him, his words chipping away at your exterior piece by piece. You could sit here and come up with a lie that sounds plausible and keep your secrets. But you want to know why he keeps plaguing your dreams, and maybe he has the answers you need to make sense of this. Some honesty can’t hurt, right?

“I… like the attention,” you confess. “I like the way people look at me when I walk by. I love being adored and wanted. I like that I am so educated and an effective communicator that I can talk myself into things I want to be in. That and my looks combined? I don’t get turned down often.”

Jeonghan gazes at you, wondering if he should be amazed at your self-awareness or frightened. Admittedly, your confidence turns him on, and you have the kind of intellect he likes on a deeper level. Your voice is calm and seductive without even trying, and not to mention, you have a timeless beauty that makes it hard to look away. When you walked down that runway, your stride was a beautiful masterpiece—it held him captive. It was as if you were trained by Aphrodite herself. 

“Plus, I am not totally abandoning my degree,” you continue on. “I want to eventually write about the Greek gods and the legends behind them. So many stories and their lore have been forgotten as people worship other gods, and I don’t want that to be forgotten. It feels like a passion project, but I know this will benefit the world somehow.”

“How?”

“Well,” you clear your throat. “It will provide a different perspective of ancient civilization.”

You run your hands through your hair, causing the v top of your dress to shift slightly, partially revealing your cleavage. You reach down to adjust it, and Jeonghan eyes your every move as you gradually slide your dress back up. It’s your favorite dress, which you picked up at a thrift store a long time ago in New York. It’s a jade green evening dress that hugs your body the right way, with a mid-thigh split on the right. 

“You’re quiet,” you observe, shifting your body closer to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, just taking in what you said.” He pauses, his finger slowly sliding down to the slit of your dress. “I like the way you think.”

You nod, carefully choosing your next words. “I’m glad I made you feel that way.”

Your insides are on fire, begging for him to touch you in all the wrong right places. As if he could read your mind, he pulls you in for a kiss, his soft lips tearing down any walls you had. In a swift motion, he’s on top of you, hiking your dress up as he grinds his growing bulge against your sensitive core. A pleased hum escapes your lips, your body completely giving in to him.

“Mmm, you smell sweet,” Jeonghan utters, biting the bottom of your lip. “I’m sure you’ll taste just as good.”

His lips travel down your neck, sucking on your smooth skin until it's tender. Your hands desperately grab onto his silky blond hair as his tongue plays in circles along your collarbone, igniting a fire in you. You slowly lower the straps of your dress, tugging at the silky fabric until it lowers completely, revealing your breasts. Jeonghan marvels at the sight in front of him, his fingers brushing softly against your nipples. 

“Ah, you’re a goddess,” he whispers. “I’m going to have fun with you.”

He kisses you again, his hunger for you hot and strong as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his smooth chest and defined abs. Fire and desire burn between you two, and you thirstily tug at his pants, pushing them down so you can see his cock, threatening to break free in his boxers. 

“You are an eager little thing, aren’t you?” 

“I just know what I like, that’s all.” 

Leaving you with one last kiss, he moves on your breasts, cupping them softly and sucking on your nipples with such tenderness as if they were prized possessions. Your perfume mix smells pleasant to him, like an aphrodisiac, and he cannot get enough. Jeonghan usually likes to play with his food a bit before he eats it, but you bring something out of him that he hasn’t felt in a long time: impulsiveness and passion. He wants you more than he cares to admit, making him act out of his cool, calm, and collected nature. He sucks on your nipples harder, earning a hard moan from you, the blend of pleasure and pain igniting waves of excitement that leaves you breathless. 

His hand slips in between your legs, pushing them apart and sliding your panties to the side. His thumb rubs your clit softly, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. Jeonghan has you feeling like you are floating on air, unable to tell him what you want coherently. 

“Mmm… fuck I can’t take this,” you mutter. 

“Well, you will learn tonight, baby,” Jeonghan smirks as he lowers himself to your sweet entrance. “Tell me what you want.” 

“F-fuck,” you cooed. “You know what I want.”

“Just because I am a god doesn’t mean I can read your mind,” he teases, biting softly on your thigh. “Tell me what you want.”

You feel hot and rabid, trying to chase a high you are so close to getting. Jeonghan removes his thumb from your nub, snickering as he watches you groan in protest. He is determined to make you beg for it, and watching you squirm and fall apart underneath him would be the highlight of his night. He inserts a digit inside your wet core; a sweet smile spreads across your face soon after. 

“J-Jeonghan,” you sputter. “P-please just—”

“Say it, baby.” 

“Fuck, just make me cum, please.” 

Jeonghan slips a second finger into you, leaving small kisses on your thigh as he thrusts into your wet cunt. Your hands grip the sheets as he goes deeper, watching excitedly as your essence coats his fingers and his sheets. He planned to study you, explore what made you tick, and how your body liked to be teased. He wants to hear your perfect voice scream his name as your body shakes from being royally fucked by a god, and the way you are laid out in front of him, he is losing all composure. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “I think you deserve to cum now.” 

Quickly removing his fingers, he dives into your wet folds with his tongue and up to your sensitive clit. His fingers intertwine with yours, eating you with such a craze, the hunger of a starved being who is eating his favorite meal for the last time. The vibrating hums of his mouth to your delicate flower sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing down on you hard. He holds onto your thighs, holding you hostage as he takes everything you got. You proved him right—you tasted just as sweet as your perfume. He’s addicted to your aroma, a natural aphrodisiac that he will never get enough of. 

“There you are, princess, ” he whispers. “Keep giving it to me.”

Your moans turn into whines and then screams, your fingers desperately clinging to the sheets as he drinks you in. Jeonghan’s appetite is insatiable, and the god’s thirst for you is getting stronger by the minute. His nails dig into your thighs as he licks up and down your folds, desperate to taste more of your sweet essence. You feel airy, your body floating on cloud nine as if you have never had this kind of pleasure before. Sure, you have had your experiences and what you thought was the best sex of your life, but those don’t even come close to this.

“Come on baby, give me another,” he goads you. “I know you have it in you.” 

“J-Jeonghan,” you croak, desperation falling on your lips. “P-please. You win.”

“Win?” He chuckles softly. “ I haven’t even started.” 

His fingers return to your entrance, thrusting into you while his tongue remains on your clit. His lips make lewd noises, slurping and smacking away as he bullies you into your second orgasm of the night. Your toes curl, the springs in your abdomen snapping as it ripples through you like a hard wave. Jeonghan moans into your sweet core as you surrender to him; his pupils dilate as he takes the remaining energy that you have left. His free hand furiously pulls down his boxers, liberating his cock, and he touches himself at last.  He jerks himself to the thought of your mouth wrapped around his dick, tasting his cum as he shoots loads down your throat. He could easily stop and make his imagination a reality, but you just taste too damn good. 

“Damn,” you curse, brushing his hair from his face. “You are so good at this.” 

“Mmhmm,” is all he could say, his cruel tongue still playing circles around your clit. You lift yourself away from him, watching him pout as you take his meal. You can barely move, your legs still spasming from that earth-shattering orgasm. Your eyes travel lower to his freed cock, watching him pump himself with such eagerness, the precum oozing from his tip begging to be sucked. He was thick and girthy, his veins popping in places you liked. Your mouth salivates at the thought of tasting him in your mouth. 

“Can I?”

You sit up, gently motioning for him to lay back on the pillow. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he does what he is told, relaxing his hands behind his head. Jeonghan isn’t used to his playmates wanting to take control in the bedroom; most of them just want to have a story to tell about being fucked by a god. You excite him, a confident woman who knows what they want and isn’t apologetic about it. The twinkle in your eye you have for him turns him on, and he is counting the seconds where he can finally be inside of you. 

Your hand slides up his shaft, watching him shudder from your touch. You lean down, sucking on his tip and tasting his precum. You make eye contact as you take more of him, hallowing your cheeks and letting saliva drip out of the corners of your mouth. He tastes better than you imagined, and you feel gratification watching his lips part and low moans escape his pretty little mouth. You feel dirty, like his own personal whore, and you aren’t mad at that. Your very sensitive core still wants him, your clit pulsating at the thought of his very thick cock beating your walls down. 

“You look so beautiful with your lips wrapped around me, princess,” he grunts, taking a handful of your hair. “Let’s see if you can handle me.” 

Jeonghan fucks your mouth roughly with such a force and rhythm that was only his, tears streaking your face as you take him whole. His dick hits the back of your throat, and you are thankful that you have a mean gag reflex. It’s smooth, clean, and fits your mouth just right. It’s like it was molded and shaped just for you. Your hand sneaks in between your legs, playing with your nub and willing yourself to cum for the third time. 

“Tsk, tsk, you dirty girl,” Jeonghan murmurs between grunts. “You do want me that bad? Do you want my cock inside your wet cunt?”

You nod fervently, your fingers increasing their pace. He pulls himself out of your mouth suddenly, lifting your head and kissing you with such an intense fire, his hands grasping your ass and giving it a tight smack. 

“I want to ride you, baby,” you breathe between kisses. “I want to feel you inside of me. Give me that, please.” 

He wants you as bad as you want him, his adrenaline pumping through his veins as he positions himself on the bed. His hands grab your hips, hovering over him as he aligns his cock to meet your entrance. The thought came to your mind about using a condom, but it went away quickly when you sunk onto him. He feels good; your walls tighten around him as you adjust to his size, rocking slowly back and forth to get a rhythm. 

“That’s it,” Jeonghan groans as he cups your breasts. “Take me however you want me.”

You increase your pace while he bucks into you, biting your lip until it's crimson red. His nails dig into your hips, the pain mixed with the pleasure sending you soaring through cloud nine. You lose all inhibition, riding him harder and deeper, addicted to chasing that orgasmic high that you feel coming sooner than you’d expected. Your body is on autopilot, refusing to stop until you’ve cummed on him at least once. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you were falling in love with him. The sex you had with him in your dreams doesn’t even come close to the real thing. His cock consistently hits all the right places, and he pays great attention to your body, teasing you and pushing you to your limits until you are sent over the edge. 

Jeonghan grabs you by your neck and kisses you deeply, thrusting deeper into you until you can no longer keep your composure. He loves watching you lose control, surrendering your body to him and screaming his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. His lips are slightly parted, whispering sweet things in your ear, praising you for taking him so well and rewarding you with filling you up with his cum. You look every bit fucked out and heavenly to him, and he wishes he could stay buried inside of you forever. What he feels for you is risky, and if it were someone else, he would turn those feelings off. But with you and the way you are taking him so well, he is completely into you. 

He helps you ride out your high, kissing you from your lips to your collarbone until you are overripe with sensitivity. Slowly lifting you, he lays you gently on his right, allowing you to catch your breath. 

“I-I don’t think I have ever been fucked like that before,” you confess in between breaths. “Are you sure you’re not the god of love?”

Jeonghan chuckles, putting on a robe and heading towards the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he notices a few scratches you left, noticeable dig marks from your nails that dug into his skin. He shrugs them off, knowing that the next day, they will disappear, and it will be like they were never there. He’s been on this Earth for a long time and has slept his way through all the women and men he desired, but this night with you has topped all of them. He feels a connection with you mentally and spiritually, and after feeling you for the first time, he is determined to keep you by his side. By all means. 

Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, the day’s events catching up to you as your body acclimates with the sheets. You hear soft water running from the bathroom, and a few seconds later, Jeonghan appears in front of the door, his robe removed and naked. You glance at him and smirk, slowly getting out of bed and walking towards him. He is a divine enigma indeed. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” he assures you. “It’ll be a nice, relaxing bath.” 

His bathroom was definitely tailored to his taste. It had white and forest green marble floors, a shower stall big enough for more than three people centered in the middle, and two vanity sinks placed on opposite ends of each other. The tub was round and spacious, placed by the circular window that allowed you to see the stars at night. You slowly step into the foaming water, the sweet aroma of vanilla and bergamots filling your senses and pleasing your soul. Jeonghan comes in behind you, the water slightly splooshing around as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close. You relax on his chest, feeling at peace as you stare outside the window. It feels so natural, feeling this comfortable around him. 

Your dreams of him show that you two had a successful relationship. You were partners in everything. He was good at communicating, and you knew how to support him and could persuade anyone if needed. You understood your roles, and you were perfect. So why do they always end with you walking away?

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jeonghan’s voice breaks through your reverie. 

He unwraps his arms around you, places his hands on your shoulders, and gives you a comforting massage. You close your eyes, letting the steam from the warm water relax your muscles. 

“Heading back home,” you sigh heavily. “I have some go-sees to book and also continue my research. I have to put these looks and my big brain to use.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not,” Jeonghan declares smoothly. “I want you to stay here and work for me. Become my new muse.”

He watches you react closely, his eyes shining with mischief. “Just think about it. You would be my inspiration, my spark. Imagine the kind of magic we would create together.”

He catches you off guard but excites you nevertheless. Jeonghan wants to make you the face of his brand. You would be crazy to turn that down. Plus, it makes you so much closer to your research and figuring out your dreams. This was the universe giving you a sign.

“Yeah,” you say after thinking it over. “I would be open to that.”

You sink further into his chest, your tiredness getting the best of you, and falling into a slumber in the warm water. Jeonghan leaves light kisses on your shoulder, watching you sleep peacefully in his arms. He could go for another glass of wine, a perfect way to top off his night with you. He knows getting entangled with his ex-lover’s doppelganger is risky business, and eventually, he will have to deal with the truth of things. But tonight is not the night to open Pandora’s box and bring up the ancient feelings and heartache that he’s put behind. Instead, he will lay here with you, enjoying the sereneness while it lasts. 

Thank you for reading ^_^ if you would like to join my taglist, sign up here.

[writingbuckets]

The Hot Take: Part 4

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 2.9k

a/n: sorry i haven't posted in a while, been super busy with finals coming up and thanksgiving break <3

**********

The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the bustling city streets. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, your steps quick but unhurried as you made your way to the familiar café. It had become something of a ritual—a brief reprieve from the chaos of your growing platform. Since your last podcast episode, the buzz surrounding “Y/N and Paige” had reached a fever pitch. Fans dissected every word, tone, and pause between you and Paige during her guest appearance, spinning narratives from mere banter. Some took it lightly, treating it like an amusing rivalry, while others speculated wildly about an unspoken connection.

You tried to ignore the noise, but it was impossible to escape the notifications flooding your phone. Clips of the episode went viral, with captions ranging from “This is your sign to ship Y/N and Paige” to “When will Y/N admit she’s obsessed with her?” What started as harmless sports commentary had snowballed into something much bigger—and much messier.

The café door jingled as you stepped in, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You inhaled deeply, savoring the moment of normalcy, before slipping into line. The barista gave you a knowing smile; you were a regular here, and they didn’t need to ask for your order anymore.

As you waited, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, a familiar voice broke through the din.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite podcaster.”

You turned, startled, and there she was—Paige Bueckers, standing just a few feet away, hands in the pockets of her hoodie. She looked impossibly casual, yet every movement radiated confidence. Her hair was pulled back, and the slightest smirk tugged at her lips, giving her an air of effortless charm.

“Bueckers,” you said, keeping your tone steady despite the flutter in your chest. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Aren’t you supposed to be practicing or something?”

“Recovery day,” she replied with a shrug. “Coach’s orders. But what about you? Hiding out from your adoring fanbase?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Something like that.”

There was a pause, one that felt weighted despite its brevity. Paige glanced toward the counter, then back at you, her expression softening. “Tell you what,” she said, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a private conversation. “This place is nice, but I know a spot around the corner that makes the best sandwiches in the city. Let me take you there. You look like you could use a break from all the chaos.”

You hesitated. Lunch with Paige? It wasn’t the first time you’d crossed paths, but there was something about this invitation that felt… different.

“Alright,” you said finally, unable to resist the hint of vulnerability in her tone. “Lead the way, Bueckers.”

As you stepped outside, walking side by side, you felt a strange sense of ease settling between you. It was surprising how natural it felt, how the tension that had been building for weeks seemed to melt away with each step.

The sandwich shop Paige led you to was small and tucked away, the kind of place you’d never notice unless someone pointed it out. Inside, it smelled like fresh bread and roasted vegetables, the warm, savory aroma instantly calming your nerves.

Paige held the door open for you, her hand briefly brushing against your shoulder as you stepped inside. You told yourself it was nothing, just a polite gesture, but your heart betrayed you, quickening its pace.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” you teased as you looked around. “This place is a hidden gem.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Paige replied, her grin widening. “Wait until you try the turkey pesto. Life-changing.”

The two of you ordered and found a small table near the window. The conversation started light—sports, favorite foods, the absurdity of social media trends—but quickly delved deeper. Paige was easy to talk to, her quick wit and relaxed demeanor making you forget, if only for a moment, the chaos waiting for you outside.

“So,” she said between bites, her tone casual but her gaze steady. “How’s life in the spotlight treating you?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It’s… a lot. I didn’t sign up for this whole ‘public figure’ thing. I just wanted to talk about sports, you know? But now, it’s like every little thing I say gets blown out of proportion.”

Paige nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I get that. People love to read into things, make it bigger than it is. But you handle it well—you’re honest, and people respect that. It’s why your podcast works.”

“Honesty doesn’t stop them from turning me into a meme,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile.

Paige chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “Memes aren’t so bad. Means you’ve made it.” She paused, her expression softening. “But seriously, if it ever gets to be too much… just say the word. I’ll set the record straight.”

Her words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. There was something about the way she said it—earnest, almost protective—that made your chest tighten.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “But I think I’ll survive. Par for the course, right?”

She smiled, a quiet understanding passing between you. For a moment, the world outside the café—the trending hashtags, the speculative headlines, the invasive questions—faded into the background. It was just the two of you, the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation from other diners filling the comfortable silence.

“So,” Paige said, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table. Her expression was playful, but her tone carried a softness that made your chest tighten. “What’s your go-to escape plan when the world feels a little too loud?”

You blinked at the sudden shift in conversation, caught off guard by the intimacy of the question. “Wow, we’re skipping small talk, huh?” you teased, though there was no bite to your tone.

She shrugged, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Small talk feels… boring. And besides, I feel like you’re not exactly the type to waste time talking about the weather.”

You tilted your head, considering her for a moment. “Fair enough. My escape plan?” You glanced out the window, thinking. “I usually just… disappear for a while. Shut off my phone, pick a random spot where no one knows me, and let myself breathe.”

“Alone?” Paige asked, her gaze steady, as if she were trying to piece together something about you.

“Most of the time,” you admitted, fidgeting slightly with your fork. “It’s easier that way. No one to ask questions or expect you to explain why you need a break. It’s just… quiet.”

She nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “I get that. Quiet can be hard to find, though.”

“Especially for someone like you,” you countered, lifting an eyebrow. “How do you handle it? The constant attention, the noise?”

Paige leaned back in her chair, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. “It’s a balancing act, honestly. Some days it feels like I’m thriving, and other days…” She trailed off, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Other days, I just want to crawl under a rock.”

The honesty in her voice surprised you, and you found yourself leaning in, drawn to the vulnerability she was showing. “So, what’s your escape plan?” you asked softly.

Her lips twitched into a small smile. “When I was a kid, it was basketball. I could lose myself in it for hours. But now…” She shrugged, her smile turning wistful. “Now it’s not that simple. Sometimes it’s music, sometimes it’s a long drive with no destination. And sometimes,” she said, her gaze locking with yours, “it’s just finding someone who gets it and talking to them.”

You felt your breath hitch slightly, the weight of her words settling over you like a warm blanket. “Does that work?”

“Sometimes,” she said simply, her voice quieter now.

The air between you felt charged, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was as though you were both carefully peeling back layers, exposing just enough of yourselves to keep the conversation honest without feeling too vulnerable.

Paige broke the silence first, her grin returning, though it was softer now. “Okay, your turn. What’s your go-to for cheering yourself up when life gets ridiculous?”

You let out a small laugh, grateful for the shift in tone. “Honestly? Binge-watching terrible reality TV. The trashier, the better. There’s something oddly comforting about watching other people’s drama when yours feels overwhelming.”

Paige laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Let me guess—Love Island?”

“Close,” you said, smirking. “The Bachelor franchise. It’s my guilty pleasure.”

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Wait, are you serious? You’re out here roasting me on a podcast, and yet you willingly watch people argue over roses?”

“Hey!” you protested, pointing a finger at her. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. It’s fascinating. And besides, it’s nice to watch other people’s lives spiral for a change.”

“Fair point,” Paige conceded, laughing again. “I’ll admit, I’ve seen a couple episodes. Pure chaos.”

“Exactly,” you said, grinning. “Pure, unfiltered chaos. It’s the best kind of escape.”

Paige’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer, her smile softening. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “What, because I like bad TV?”

“No,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “Because you’re not what I expected.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss for words. For once, Paige had managed to throw you off balance, and the realization brought a small, knowing smile to her face.

“Ready to go?” she asked after a moment, her voice casual again as she reached for the check.

You nodded, still processing the shift in the conversation. As the two of you stood to leave, you couldn’t help but glance at her, wondering what, exactly, she had expected—and why you suddenly cared so much.

**********

By the time you returned home, you felt lighter than you had in days. Paige had a way of making things feel simple, even when they weren’t, and for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to relax.

That peace lasted all of two hours.

Your phone buzzed incessantly on the table, the screen lighting up with notifications. At first, you ignored it, too tired to deal with whatever fresh drama the internet had conjured. But when the buzzing didn’t stop, curiosity got the better of you.

Opening your social media app, you were greeted by a flood of posts—tweets, Instagram stories, TikTok videos—all revolving around the same thing: a photo of you and Paige at lunch, laughing like you didn’t have a care in the world.

The photo, clearly taken without your knowledge, was candid and undeniably intimate. The way Paige was leaning toward you, her eyes crinkled with laughter, and the way your hand rested on the edge of the table, as if caught mid-gesture—it looked like something straight out of a rom-com.

The captions ranged from playful to outright chaotic:

“Y/N and Paige Bueckers spotted on a secret date? The internet needs answers!”

“Y/N called Paige overrated, and now they’re laughing over sandwiches? We love a plot twist!”

“Enemies to lovers arc confirmed?”

Scrolling through the comments, you saw everything from flame emojis to users jokingly begging for an invite to the wedding. Some fans even made memes comparing the photo to stills from romantic comedies, complete with over-the-top taglines like “From Courtside Critique to Courtside Cuties.”

You tossed your phone onto the couch, groaning. The sheer intensity of the internet's reaction was overwhelming. What was supposed to be a casual lunch now felt like the centerpiece of a media frenzy. Your podcast was supposed to be about sports, not… this.

The doorbell rang, pulling you from your thoughts. You weren’t expecting anyone, and for a second, you wondered if it could somehow be Paige. But when you opened the door, it was your co-host, coffee in hand and an all-too-knowing grin on her face.

“Thought you might need a caffeine boost,” she said, holding out the cup before stepping inside. “Also, I wanted a front-row seat to your existential crisis.”

You groaned again, collapsing onto the couch. “It’s a circus out there.”

She plopped down beside you, pulling out her phone. “Oh, I know. You’re all over my feed. And, can I just say, that picture? Chef’s kiss. The lighting, the smiles—it’s perfect. Whoever took it deserves an award.”

“Not helping,” you muttered, burying your face in a pillow.

“I mean, come on,” she teased. “You have to admit, it’s kinda cute. The queen of hot takes and the queen of basketball, sharing a meal? It’s like the internet’s dream pairing.”

You peeked out from behind the pillow. “It’s not cute. It’s invasive. I didn’t sign up for this.”

She tilted her head, her tone softening. “No, but you kinda did when you started calling Paige out on the pod. You built this dynamic, whether you meant to or not. And now people are invested.”

You sighed, knowing she was right. “It’s just… my podcast was supposed to be my space, you know? I didn’t think it would spiral into this.”

Before your co-host could respond, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text—from Paige.

Paige: “So… about that photo. Sorry if it’s causing chaos.”Paige: “Also, we’re trending #2 right now. Just ahead of some celebrity breakup, so I guess congrats to us?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite yourself. Paige had a knack for disarming you with humor, even when you were spiraling.

You: “Yeah, congrats to us. We’re practically internet royalty now.”Paige: “Want me to make a statement? I can clear the air if this is too much.”

You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. The offer was tempting. Paige’s popularity could easily shift the narrative if she addressed the rumors. But a part of you hesitated. Would that make things better or worse?

Your co-host, who had been reading over your shoulder, nudged you. “You should let her say something. It’ll take some heat off you.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll handle it. Comes with the territory, right?”

Still, you typed back, trying to keep it light: You: “Nah, it’s fine. Let them talk. I’m used to it.”

Paige’s reply came almost immediately: Paige: “Alright, but if you change your mind, let me know. In the meantime… don’t let it stress you out too much. You’re good at this.”

You smiled faintly at the screen, her words oddly reassuring.

By the time evening rolled around, the noise online hadn’t died down, but you were determined to push through it. You set up your recording equipment, deciding to address the situation live for your next episode. If nothing else, it would give you a chance to reclaim some control over the narrative.

Your co-host leaned against the desk, watching you with a raised eyebrow. “So, what’s the plan? Are we diving headfirst into the Paige drama, or are you gonna keep it professional?”

You adjusted the mic, smirking. “Why not both?”

When the livestream started, you dove into your usual banter, easing your audience into the episode. But it didn’t take long before you hit the inevitable topic.

“So, let’s address the elephant in the room,” you said, leaning closer to the mic. “Yes, I had lunch with Paige Bueckers. Yes, someone took a picture. And yes, the internet is apparently losing its collective mind over it.”

Your co-host snorted. “Losing their minds is an understatement.”

You continued, your tone carefully measured. “Look, I get it. Paige and I have this… weird dynamic that people seem to find entertaining. But let’s not get carried away. It was just lunch.”

You paused, glancing at your co-host, who was giving you a look that said really?

“Okay, fine,” you added with a smirk. “It was good lunch. Paige has decent taste in food. I’ll give her that.”

The rest of the episode was a mix of humor and genuine reflection. You acknowledged the frenzy without feeding into it, carefully steering the conversation back to your comfort zone: sports.

When the episode ended, the reactions were immediate, and once again, your mentions lit up. But this time, amidst the chaos, there was a surprising amount of support. Fans praised you for addressing the situation head-on, while others couldn’t resist shipping you and Paige even harder.

And then, just as you were about to log off for the night, another message from Paige popped up:

Paige: “Just listened to the episode. Solid take. But next time, give me a heads-up before you roast my food recommendations on-air.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you typed back: You: “Noted. But no promises.”

Paige: “Fair. By the way, I’m free this weekend if you want to give me a chance to redeem myself. Lunch, round two?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you played it cool: You: “We’ll see, Bueckers. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Her reply was instant: Paige: “I never do. But I’m annoyingly persistent, so good luck with that.”

You set your phone down, a small smile tugging at your lips. The noise might not die down anytime soon, but for now, it felt… manageable.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind the attention so much anymore.

[kleopatra45]

Moon in the Signs of D9 Chart

Aries

"I want it all, and I want it now." Emotionally, you’re fiery, intense, and direct in the D9 chart. You approach relationships with boldness and expect your future spouse to keep up with your energy. You’re someone who thrives on excitement, challenges, and passion in marriage. When you feel emotionally fulfilled, you’re like a spark that lights up the room. However, you can also be impatient and impulsive, wanting your partner to meet your emotional needs immediately. Your future spouse is likely to be assertive, courageous, and someone who admires your enthusiasm. They’ll match your fire and keep the relationship exciting, though they may need to help balance your occasional outbursts. Together, you’ll learn that love is about balancing independence and unity.

Taurus

"Hold me, and never let go." Your emotions in the Navamsa chart are rooted in stability, sensuality, and comfort. You seek a future spouse who values commitment, loyalty, and a touch of luxury in life. In marriage, you’ll want to build a beautiful, serene home where both of you can thrive. Your love language revolves around the physical—cooking together, long hugs, or simply creating a life that feels abundant and grounded. Your spouse will likely have a calm and steady demeanor, someone who prioritizes consistency and harmony. However, they might need to work around your occasional stubbornness, as you can be resistant to change once you’re emotionally set in your ways. Together, your relationship will feel like a warm, unshakeable sanctuary. 

Gemini

"Talk to me, connect with me, know me." Emotionally, you’re all about mental stimulation in the D9 chart. You need communication, laughter, and constant learning in your marriage. Your future spouse will be someone who enjoys endless conversations, sharing ideas, and exploring new things with you. They may be witty, versatile, and youthful in their approach to life, always keeping things interesting. However, you might struggle with emotional restlessness, as you’re always looking for the next big idea or experience. Your spouse will need to help you anchor those wandering thoughts into something meaningful. Together, you’ll form a bond that feels playful, curious, and ever-evolving.

Cancer

"Wrap me in your love and protect my heart." In the Navamsa, your emotions run deep, intuitive, and nostalgic. You need a partner who makes you feel emotionally secure and understood without needing to explain yourself. Your future spouse will likely have a nurturing or protective energy, someone who prioritizes family and emotional connection. In marriage, you’ll want to create a loving, warm space where you both can heal and grow. However, your moods can be intense, and you may cling to the past when feeling hurt. Your spouse will need to help you navigate your emotional waves, offering patience and comfort. Together, your bond will feel like a timeless love story, built on mutual care and devotion. 

Leo

"Show me I’m your world, and I’ll make you mine." In the D9 chart, your emotions are grand, warm, and magnetic. You seek a future spouse who admires you wholeheartedly and isn’t afraid to express their love. You thrive on attention, loyalty, and affection, and you’ll return it tenfold when you feel adored. Your spouse will likely have a strong personality or a creative streak, someone who values self-expression and isn’t afraid to shine by your side. However, you may struggle with emotional pride, finding it hard to admit when you’re hurt or in need. Together, you’ll create a love that feels larger than life, built on mutual admiration, passion, and celebration of each other.

Virgo

"Love me in the little things, the quiet moments." Emotionally, you’re practical, analytical, and deeply caring in the Navamsa. You approach marriage as a partnership where love is shown through actions, not just words. You need a future spouse who pays attention to the details, someone who understands your desire for order and harmony. Your spouse is likely to be intelligent, hardworking, and supportive, someone who grounds you emotionally while appreciating your thoughtful nature. However, you can be overly critical of yourself or your partner, which might create unnecessary tension. Together, you’ll learn the beauty of imperfection and create a love that is calm, steady, and deeply fulfilling. 

Libra

"Let’s create something beautiful together." In the D9 chart, your emotions are balanced, harmonious, and relationship-focused. You thrive on partnerships where both give and receive equally. Your future spouse will likely be charming, diplomatic, and someone who values fairness and aesthetic beauty. Together, you’ll strive to create a marriage that feels like a romantic dance, full of mutual respect and shared dreams. However, you might struggle with indecisiveness or suppressing your feelings to keep the peace. Your spouse will need to encourage open dialogue and help you feel safe expressing your true emotions. Together, your love will feel like a perfectly crafted masterpiece. 

Scorpio

"I want your soul, not just your heart." Emotionally, you’re intense, transformative, and deeply connected in the Navamsa. Marriage, for you, is about profound emotional intimacy and growth. Your future spouse will be someone who isn’t afraid of your depth and can handle your emotional storms. They’re likely to be passionate, loyal, and someone who understands the importance of emotional vulnerability. However, you may wrestle with trust issues or fear of betrayal, which can lead to emotional intensity. Together, your love will be magnetic, transformative, and a journey of discovering the hidden depths of each other’s souls.

Sagittarius

"Love is freedom, adventure, and endless discovery." In the Navamsa, your emotions are adventurous, optimistic, and philosophical. You need a future spouse who shares your love for growth, exploration, and big ideas. They’ll likely be someone who values freedom within the relationship, someone who’s as eager as you to explore life’s mysteries. In marriage, you’ll bond over shared adventures and deep conversations about life, but you might struggle with restlessness or a fear of being tied down. Your spouse will need to ground you while still encouraging your free spirit. Together, your love will feel like an exhilarating journey into the unknown.

Capricorn

"Love is built brick by brick." Emotionally, you’re serious, reserved, and goal-oriented in the Navamsa. You seek a future spouse who values responsibility, ambition, and long-term commitment. They’re likely to be someone who shares your drive for stability and success, helping you build a life that feels secure and accomplished. While you may struggle with expressing vulnerability, your spouse will help you open up emotionally over time. Together, you’ll create a partnership that feels unshakable, where love grows stronger with every challenge you face. 

Aquarius

"Love me for my mind and my dreams." Emotionally, you’re unconventional, visionary, and a bit detached in the Navamsa. You crave a relationship that feels unique, where you and your future spouse can explore ideas and change the world together. Your spouse will likely be open-minded, progressive, and someone who values intellectual connection. While you may struggle with emotional intimacy at times, your spouse will help you embrace your feelings while respecting your need for freedom. Together, your love will feel like a partnership of equals, focused on growth and shared ideals. 

Pisces

"Let’s lose ourselves in love." Emotionally, you’re dreamy, compassionate, and deeply sensitive in the D9 chart. You seek a future spouse who understands your emotional depth and shares your romantic, almost otherworldly vision of love. They’re likely to be someone intuitive, gentle, and deeply connected to their inner world. In marriage, you’ll create a spiritual bond that feels transcendent, but you may struggle with emotional boundaries or feeling overwhelmed. Your spouse will need to help you stay grounded while cherishing your beautiful imagination. Together, your love will feel like a timeless fairytale.

©️kleopatra45

[missgenesis]

Huney this is the beauty of death

3D is a very dense reality

There is much suffering and meaning can be hard to find

We just need to ascend to 5D trust

It's like if you were born blind, lived your whole life without vision, then got eye surgery and suddenly could see the world and color for the first time

It means plugging back in to... everything

Activating your dna lightcodes to transform dark matter to send waves through the network of the cosmos that connects all beings

REAL time travel, telepathy, psychic prophecy, access to the ackashik records (history blockchain of the universe), communicating consciously with higher dimensional entities, people who have passed on, just actually being superconnected to the REAL REALITY of the SOUL. Humanity co-creating heaven on earth through naturally aligned collective manifestation, i.e., "magical" synchronicities converging on a grand scale by a superintelligent 8th dimensional design

It means feeling at one with everything that is

Learning how to be truly happy and fulfilled

Our bodies are gonna get such an upgrade natural immortality is a thing

Humanity has been held back because of all the dark secrets

All we need is bring it to light, and it will heal

That is the way of life

I don't know what your situation is biologically but I have sooo much faith in science and this event, this blog being seen by the world is going to cause a MASSIVE wave of scientific revolution. MASSIVE wave of spiritual and cultural evolution. It will truly we a new world.

Anything is possible, just believe.

My roommate who is a trans woman told me the other day that people can now get full reproductive function and choose if they want to get their period or not from a sex change... i was like damn the future is now.

With the AI internet and blockchain tech the world pace of evolution has kicked up to hyperspeed, everything is changing around us faster than we can even notice it.

I just want free press and free speech and provide a platform to give rise to the voice of the collective consciousness, a mosaic of everyone's voices, decentralised media.

It's the next printing press but exponentially bigger.

Earth's greatest leap. Event Horizon. The great awakening. Global ascension.

Literally gaining a dimension of reality. It's kindof a big deal.

Why am I always 10 steps ahead?

I'm not.

She is. Gaia.

I'm her minion, really. She guides me in alignment with nature. She likes to make me look like a supergenius, but it's all her. Most of it, at least.

It's the power of everyone functioning together as one. Unity consciousness. The real kind.

I'm just a regular person behind the curtain.

Wizard of oz.

[gilbertscurls]

heyy so i got this request idk if you will like it but yk the song Margaret by lana del rey so its about her friends being in love so i have the same idea but like its with Madison beer and she is interviewed and they ask her about a new song and she tells its about Chris and reader whom she is friends with and describes how the song is about them

hope you like it!! <3

When You Know, You Know ➵ Chris Sturniolo

The interview room was buzzing with excitement, the studio lights casting a soft glow over Madison as she sat comfortably in the plush chair, adjusting the microphone clipped to her shirt. The interviewer, a lively woman with a bright smile, had just asked the question that would send a ripple through the room and beyond—one that would inevitably reach you, and Chris too.

“So, Madison,” the interviewer began, her tone light but filled with curiosity, “we’ve been hearing a lot about this new song of yours, Margaret. The fans are really intrigued. Is there a personal story behind it?”

Madison chuckled, leaning back a little as she allowed a playful smirk to tug at her lips. She took a moment, glancing at the camera, as if she was trying to gather her thoughts, before she spoke.

“Well, I’ve got to admit,” she began with a teasing tone, “the song is about some of my closest friends. You see, Chris and Y/N—” She looked directly into the camera, a knowing glint in her eyes, “—have always had this… connection. It’s one of those things where everyone around you can see it but the two of you are too stubborn to admit it.”

The interviewer leaned forward, eager for more. “So it’s about Chris and... Y/N?”

Madison nodded, her smile widening. “Yeah. It’s a love story, but not in the typical sense. It’s about two people who know they’re meant to be together, but can’t quite figure out how to get there. Or maybe, they’re just afraid of how much it means, you know?”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard it—people talking about the way you and Chris seemed to orbit around each other, like two stars destined to be in the same galaxy but always just a little too far apart to collide.

The first time it happened, you laughed it off, chalking it up to just your close friendship with him. After all, you’d known each other for years. The teasing came from everyone, from mutual friends to even strangers who could sense there was something more in the air whenever you and Chris were together.

But now, hearing Madison’s words in front of the world, you felt a twinge in your chest. The truth was, you’d always known. You knew that something was there, something unspoken, something deep—but you were both too afraid to put a name to it.

Madison continued speaking, unaware of the emotional swell beginning to rise in your heart.

“I mean, it’s clear as day,” she said, her eyes glinting with humor. “When Chris met Y/N, he was just sitting there, like, ‘I think I’m in trouble.’ And the way he looked at her, it was like he could already picture the rest of his life unfolding, and it scared the hell out of him. He had these flashes of the good life with her.”

Madison paused, letting out a quiet laugh as she leaned forward, her expression suddenly more sincere. “But here’s the thing. When you know, you know. That’s the thing about love—when you find it, you don’t have to second-guess it. You just have to take the plunge.”

You and Chris sat on the couch at his apartment a few hours later, the air between you thicker than usual, despite the usual casual chatter. Chris had insisted on making popcorn, throwing in a few too many kernels, and now both of you sat in the middle of a mess of popped corn and half-emptied bowls.

“I just watched Madison’s interview,” you said, breaking the silence. You leaned back against the cushions, picking at the popcorn, trying to distract yourself from the sudden heat on your face.

Chris turned to look at you, his eyebrow quirking in amusement. “You did, huh?” he said, his voice light but there was something underneath it—a hint of unease that you couldn't quite place.

You glanced at him, your heart racing. “Yeah, I did. So… you’ve been thinking about me like that?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the window before meeting your eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to navigate this territory.

“I didn’t exactly tell her what I think, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s true though, right? About us?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle around you like an undeniable truth. The truth you’d been avoiding for so long.

“Chris…” You let out a shaky breath. “I—I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out, too. I thought you’d get it. I thought you knew.”

He shifted closer, the space between you now almost nonexistent. His voice was quieter now, the playful teasing gone, replaced with something deeper, something more vulnerable. “I think I’ve known for a long time. But I was scared. Scared of messing this up. Messed up a lot of things in my life… But this? You? I don’t want to screw it up.”

Your eyes softened, and without thinking, you reached out, placing your hand on his. It felt like a simple gesture, but in that moment, it spoke volumes.

“I think we’ve already figured it out,” you whispered. “Maybe we were just waiting for the right moment.”

Chris nodded slowly, his fingers lacing with yours. “Maybe we were.”

And for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

There was no more running, no more hesitations. You both knew. You knew that this—whatever this was—was something real. Something you didn’t need to question anymore. The world might take a little longer to catch up, but in this moment, as you sat on that couch with Chris, you knew.

When you know, you know.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt

[straylightdream]

getaway car

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: hansol vernon chwe x f.reader

↳ The ties were black, the lies were white. In shades of gray in candlelight. I wanted to leave him. I needed a reason.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: soulmate au??, neighbors to lovers, non idol au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mc boyfriend is a jerk, the mc ex is physically cheating, mc is emotional cheating, lots of emotions, smut warning below the cut

𝐚𝐧: my next story for SVT inspired by reputation songs by taylor swift. This is part of a loosely connecting series called “all for you” you can absolutely just read this as one shot. Thank you @whimsical-whatever for helping me figure out this story and listening to me ramble about it.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: oral (fem rec), fingering, protected sex, starting to have sex in the shower, multiple positions, this is very fluffy vanilla smut, lots of emotions

When people talk about being in love they always make it sound so grand and wonderful. They don’t talk about the heartbreak that can also be experienced loving someone who doesn’t deserve your love.

Laying in bed you stare at the empty spot that should be occupied by your boyfriend of five years, but instead he’s nowhere to be seen.

In the last seven months things have fallen apart. No matter how hard you think back you don’t think you can pin the moment when it all started. You’re not happy anymore by any means. You’re not even sure you’re still in love.

There’s only one gleam of light in your life. The boy who lives down the hall Vernon. Whenever you see him he instantly brightens your day. You had met when you moved in, but you didn’t really talk until one day he rode in the elevator with you while you were crying. Since that day Vernon has been a fixture in your life. He became a shoulder to cry on when your boyfriend hurt your feelings. He was also someone you could talk to when you wanted to pretend everything was okay.

You tried your hardest to not complain about your relationship all the time. Most of the time you would just say you were sad and needed a friend.

This last week has been bad. It’s quite obvious your boyfriend is cheating on you.

From the moment you met Vernon you felt drawn to him. At first you told yourself it wasn't a romantic feeling but the longer you knew him the more you realized you felt like you need him in your life to exist. You told yourself over and over you were faithful to your boyfriend that this was nothing more than a crush. But the more your relationship starts to crumble the more you let yourself realize you have feelings for the boy down the hall.

It’s another night of fighting with your boyfriend. He’s come home from work way later than he should have. He walks in after midnight and you instantly spot the stain of lipstick on his shirt collar. There is a stabbing feeling in your chest. No matter how hard you loved him he was never going to be faithful to you.

You’ve pointed out to him a handful of times that things he does makes you think he could be cheating, but this is the first time you have called him a cheater. You would think that maybe he would defend himself and tell you that he’s not cheating, but he doesn’t do that. He tells you he cheats because of you. He points all the blame on you.

You scream at him, you're done and it’s over. You feel utterly broken. Sobbing that he broke your heart as he storms out of the apartment saying he needs air.

You sit on the couch trying to gather yourself. Giving yourself a moment before you pick up your phone and rush out of your apartment.

Walking down the hall there is only one person you wanna see. It’s way past one in the morning now. Opening your phone you hit Vernon contact. Holding your phone to your ear it rings about five times before he answers the phone.

“Is everything okay?” It’s rare you call him let alone in the middle of the night.

“Not really. I’m outside, can you let me in,” you start to cry again.

“Yeah.”

Moments later he opens the door quickly. He’s just in a pair of boxer briefs. He must have been in bed already.

“I’m sorry,” you say as tears slide down your cheek.

He doesn’t say anything. He takes your hand leading you into his apartment he shares with Chan and Seokmin.

He shut the door, locking it. He hesitates for a moment before he rests his hand on your cheek and gently wipes away your tears.

“I told him I’m done. He came home after midnight with lipstick stained on his collar. I don’t wanna do this anymore. He doesn’t love me and I can’t love him anymore. I don't love him anymore.” You lean into his touch.

“I’m glad you left him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You’re sorry for so many things. You know he cares for you and that he probably has always romantically liked you for a while just like you have. And no matter what you do you hurt him in one way or another.

“Stop saying that. You have nothing to apologize to me for.” He gives you a gentle smile.

“Can we go to your room? I don’t want to bother the boys. It’s already so late and I already woke you up.”

Reaching down he takes your hand in his for the first time and leads you to his room. He shuts the door and releases your hand. “Would you mind if I stayed with you tonight?”

“Of course you can stay here.” You’ve never been so happy you stormed out of the house in your pajamas. “Did you want me to take the couch?”

“No, I was hoping I could sleep in your bed with you. I just really want to hold your hand.”

He can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips. You crawl under the covers and watch as Vernon turns the light on and crawls into bed next to you. You both lay there facing each other. There is a gap between you. Laying your hand there you want to be close to him. You want him to hold you and to kiss you and tell you you’ll be okay. But that is too much to ask of him.

There is always something about Vernon that he’s always been able to read you. He must notice you’re struggling. He reaches out, taking your hand in his.

“I don’t want to go back to my apartment. I don’t want to live in a building that is haunted with memories of him and I.”

He takes a deep breath squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to. I’ll help you pack your things when he’s gone to work.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” You can’t help the tears that are slowly falling.

“You can stay here with me as long as you need.”

“The boys won’t like that.” You can’t imagine either of the boys would be a fan of another person living in their three bedroom one bath apartment.

“They won’t care. Seokmin is back with his ex and barely lives here and Chan loves you. He won’t mind having you around.”

“Okay, I might need to stay here for a while. My lease wasn’t up for like six more months. Maybe I can find somewhere new by then.” Maybe Vernon has a friend who needs a new roommate.

“You don’t have to worry about that right now.” He wants to pull you close to his body and hold you like he has desperately wanted to.

There is a long moment of silence between you. “I didn't tell him I wasn’t coming home tonight. I just left after I told him we’re done.”

“That’s okay.”

“Thank you.” You’re trying to stop your tears.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he gives you a sleepy smile.

It doesn’t take long before you fall asleep with your head on his chest. His hand gently rubs your side soothing you to sleep. When you dream that night you dream about Vernon the boy who saved you. You dream about him finally kissing you the way you desperately want.

-

The next day you call out of work and send your now ex boyfriend a text telling him that it’s truly over. He’s luckily at work and away from the apartment. When he finally returned to your shared apartment last night he sent you seven texts trying to get a hold of you in the middle of last night.

You expect to receive an angry text responding to you telling him you want to break up but he leaves you on read. It’s probably for the best he does. You don’t think you could take arguing with him.

While he’s at work Vernon and Seokmin come help you pack up everything they possibly can. Seungcheol even brings his truck over to take some of your bigger stuff to a storage unit he has. You could cry at how kind Vernon and his friends are being to you. By the time five o'clock comes around basically anything that ever meant anything to you is long gone from your apartment. Seokmin and Seungcheol left you alone while you wrote a goodbye to your ex telling him he wouldn’t be hearing from you and that you would send him one more month worth of rent and that would be it.

Locking the door to your now former apartment stung. Tears brim your eyes thinking about how much you truly loved this apartment. Vernon takes your hand and brings it to his lips where he places a gentle kiss on top.

Moving on wasn’t going to be easy. You know that even though you have fallen out of love. This breakup is going to hurt. At least you now have Vernon there by your side. How much you desperately wanted to be with him, you wanted to heal and you didn’t want him to feel like he’s just a rebound.

Laying in bed that night, your head once again rests on his chest as he holds you close. “I wanna be with you fully,” you whisper.

“That’s good because I wanna be with you.” He’s slowly drawing circles on your arm.

“I don’t want to jump right into this. I think I need some time before we fully try this. But I’m begging you to be patient with me.”

Gently he presses his lips to the top of your head. “I will wait as long as it takes. I’m just asking that I can still hold your hand and hold you while we sleep. I don’t want to push you into anything else while you heal.”

After that night things stayed like this with Vernon for a while. You lived in his home and shared a bed with him for over a month and half. Vernon was truly your person. He was your rock and you have fallen for him even more.

-

Today has been hell. Anything that can go wrong is. You got yelled at at work, your ex has been trying to contact you all day and on top of that. The icing on the cake is getting stuck in a rain storm without a jacket or umbrella after getting dinner. Luckily Vernon is with you so you aren’t alone getting stuck in a rainstorm. After finding out about your terrible day at work Vernon took you out for dinner to cheer you up. Neither of you had any idea a rainstorm was coming. You had walked from the apartment about a mile to a cafe for dinner, but the rain was making it where you needed to get a cab home.

Running from the cab to the apartment building you can feel the water soaking through your clothes.

Opening the door to Vernon apartment you both instantly notice how quiet the apartment is.

“Chan is at work and I think Seokmin is with his girl. They’re fully back together now,” Vernon says. You’ve only met Seokmin ex a couple times when she came over to see him. She’s a sweet girl and seems like a good fit for him.

“Oh. I think I need a shower to warm up.” You pause staring at him for a moment. “Did you want to join?” You know this means things between you will change. But you desperately want more with him. It’s been a month and half of you living here sharing lingering touches, longing stares, and cuddling at night. You aren’t sure how much longer you could share a bed with him before you lose your mind.

“Are you sure?” He says staring at you with almost a concerned look on his face.

“Yes.”

Walking away from him you head off to the shower that is next door to his room. Luckily the boys aren’t home so you don’t have to worry about them interrupting you. You turn on the hot water waiting for him to walk in. Walking into the bathroom he locks the door as you strip away your clothes. He stands there like a statue as you open the sliding glass door and step into the steam. Your body feels an instant relief as the hot water hits your cold skin.

Standing under the warm water you watch Vernon through the frosted glass. You should feel embarrassed about him seeing you naked but you aren’t at all. This feels natural. You want whatever is going to happen with Vernon to happen. You don’t want to feel guilty for having a crush on him. He’s truly the reason you were able to walk away from your loveless relationship.

“Vernon?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to join me?” You step back under the warm water.

Through the frosted glass you can see him pulling off his shirt. “Do you want me to join you?”

“I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just takes off his pants and boxers. The glass door slides open and there he is naked in all his glory. You don’t know the last time you saw a man naked other than your ex. Vernon is absolutely beautiful. You hope in the future you can kiss your way across his beautiful skin.

The moment he slides the door shut it doesn’t turn into some lust filled moment. He stares at you for a long moment. A gentle smile on his face.

“Can you come closer to me?” You hold your hand out. Silently he takes your hand stepping closer. The warm water is washing over both of you.

“Thank you,” you don’t think you can ever thank him enough for giving you a reason to leave.

“Don’t have to thank me.”

Reaching up, his hand rests on your cheek, “I feel like you’re supposed to be in my life.”

“I feel like I need you in my life. I feel things for you I never felt for him in those five long years.” He leans down and rest his forehead against yours.

“You know Wonwoo and his girlfriend?”

“You mean the boy who is absolutely in love?” You’ve met all of Vernon’s friend in the last month and half and the moment you met Wonwoo and his girlfriend you realized he was head over heels for his girlfriend. She had told you one night when you were all at Seungcheol and Joshua’s house that Wonwoo made her believe in soulmates. Hearing her say that made you question if soulmates are real. Because if they were, you think you found yours.

“They always say they’re each other's soulmates, and I think you’re mine if they’re real,” he pulls away from you slowly.

Your body feels fuzzy as you process his words. You can’t think straight as you close the small distance between you and crash your lips into his for your first kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair pulling his body closer to yours. You can feel him hardening against your stomach as you deepen the kiss.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this in the shower,” he whispers against your lips.

“Vernon?”

“Yes?”

“I want you in every way imaginable.”

Pulling away from you he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He hands you a towel and starts working quickly drying himself off. The moment you’re both dry and wrapped in towels, you take his hand leading him towards his room.

Laying on his bed with your legs spread wide he’s kissing his way across your delicate skin. He kisses down your mound before pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit. His fingers part your folds as he licks your sensitive bundle of nerves. Slowly he pumps one finger inside. Your soft moans echo throughout his bedroom. He adds another finger earning a moan. Your finger clutch the sheets below you as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

Looking down at him you find him staring up at you through hooded eyes. He watches as you fall apart moaning his name.

Pulling away slowly he dips his fingers into his mouth wiping away your release. You stumble to sit up wanting to return the favor.

“What are you doing?” He asked, crawling off the bed.

“I was going to give you head in return,” you cock your head to the side.

“How much I would love that, I can’t think about anything other than being inside you,” he sighs.

“Oh-“

He reaches into his nightstand pulling out a foil packet. Tearing it open with his teeth. With lust filled eyes you watch as he rolls it down his hardened length.

Laying back on the bed you spread your legs waiting for him patiently.

Hovering over you he’s staring at you like you are the only person in the whole world. Reaching up, you rest your hand on his cheek.

“Do I sound like I’m crazy if I tell you I love you?” He whispers.

“No not at all,” you thought being in love again would be scary, but you think you have always been in love with him since you met him. He came into your life at the perfect time. You met him as you started to fall out of love with your ex. The moment you met Vernon in the hallway with your hands full of groceries you instantly felt something for him. Being around him made you feel like he’s supposed to be in your life.

“I love you,” he says softly. “I need you to know that before we have sex. I’m head over heels for you.” You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. “You don’t have to say it right now baby. I just want you to know how I feel.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Are you ready?”

You nod.

He slowly slides into you. The stretch feels amazing. Lifting your leg you open yourself up to him more. Everything in the world suddenly feels like it’s shifted. Your fingers claw at his shoulders as he thrust into you at a slow pace. His lips are yours kissing you like he needs you to breathe. This feels different than any other sex you've had before. Tangling your fingers in his hair you gently tug him away from your lips. You want to stare at him for a long moment.

“Oh my god-“ you moan.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he moans.

You hook your leg over his back just above his butt pulling him closer to you. His thrusts are incredibly deep with his slow pace.

“Please-“ you can only whimper and whine.

He rolls his hips a little faster. Your hands move down to his butt. Gripping his cheeks pulling him down closer to you. You feel as if you can’t get physically close enough to him.

“Baby do you want to change positions?” He must notice you want to have some sort of control. You seem like you desperately want to touch him.

“Please.”

He pulls out of you slowly and moves so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. You waste no time straddling him. Slowly sinking down on his length. His hands rest on your hips helping you ride him. One of your hands rest on his cheek while the others rest on his chest right above his heart. Leaning toward you, press your forehead against his.

Silent gasps pass his lips.

“Fuck-“ you moan.

Your thighs burn as you ride him but that doesn’t stop you. Desperate to see what he looks like when he falls apart.

“Are you close?” You whine.

Silently he nods. One of his hands going up to take your breast. Squeezing it before rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers.

“Are you going to come?” He asked.

“Yes-“

You roll your hips a little faster. You clit brushes against his pelvic bone earning a wanton moan. Your second orgasm hits you harder than your first. Your hips stop moving as a white hot wave washes over you. Rolling your head back, you moan. His hands grip your hips as he moves your body up and down his length chasing his own release.

He falls apart moaning your name. You stare at him as he holds you flush against his thighs and he falls apart. The sight of him like this is absolutely breathtaking.

Your chest is heaving as you try to come down from your high slowly. Holding his face with both hands you slowly lean forward pressing your lips to his for a soft kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper the words that have been floating in your head for a while.

“I love you too.” He can’t help but smile.

“Thank you for giving me a reason to leave him.” You’ll never be able to thank Vernon for showing you that you could love someone else, and that someone could love you more than your ex did. He’s showing what it means to find your person. He’s making you believe soulmates could be real.

He pushes your hair away from your face. His thumb drags across your cheek slowly. “Falling in love with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | EXTRA

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n EXTRA, EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT. This my dear readers is a bonus chapter that does not have to be read to understand the story. But, I do hope you take a look to feel more connected to our favorite characters. xo

-> <-

July 1983*

“Jeff, you got a light?” Eddie’s crouched down on top of the gravel in between your place and his with a firework held between his fingers. The lighter that he was using flickers, but sizzles and burns out before he gets a chance to light the fuse.

The Fourth of July has always been an excuse to blow up something without getting in too much trouble with it. Although, you’re sure the curtains moving back and forth at the Peterson’s trailer is a sure sign that you’re being monitored. A quick call to the sheriff would blow your party.

While Jeff helps Eddie light the firework, you sit back on your porch step. The light from the sky is just a few stars dotting the clear deep blue sky. It’s warm for a summer evening. Without the sun, however, your legs feel the cool breeze and you shiver.

You’ve already gone back inside to slip on a sweater that you’ve zipped up to your chest. Hugging yourself tightly, you wish the boys would get on with their firework show already. It’s nearing eleven in the evening, and your eyelids are burning from trying to stay awake.

“Should we dip?” Robin is bored. She already chased you around with a sparkler until the both of you were out of breath. You were practically up a tree trying to get away from her.

You want to tell her yes. There’s a set of cozy blankets draped across your floor, a bag of forgotten popcorn and a stack of films calling your names. Your plans for the evening had changed when Eddie and his boys came home with a ton of firecrackers that they weaseled off of some guy in a sleezy pickup off the main road near your place.

You sit far enough back, and wait for the explosion.

Just as you’re ready to give up, Gareth drapes a blanket across your bare legs. He spares enough for Robin to scoot over and hug the corner.

“Thanks,” you scan over his bare arms. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I run hot,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, and tries not to tremble on his way back to the circle of boys surrounding the lame firework.

Robin nudges you, “has he asked you out yet?”

“What do you mean?” You hold the blanket closer.

“Come on,” she replies, “you have him in the palm of your hand.”

The boys are flocking around like wild animals that have the last scrap of food. Eddie's running away from the lit firework, but trips over Gareth behind him. They argue, while the firework sizzles then bursts into the sky shooting off bright blues into the night. You watch until all that's left is a cloud of smoke fizzling in the distance.

“Alright, who are you interested in?” You tease Robin. “Anyone catch your eye?"

Robin's quiet about her love life. Perhaps, a private soul. You've never asked her out front why you've never heard of any boy that she finds hot. It's always about you and your problems.

There's only one boy in particular that Robin has come closer to in the past few years. He's the same boy that you've grown up with, so you can only assume that she's waiting for the right time.

“Oh,” you clear your throat. Robin's gone out in space, while staring at a particular subject. “I mean- it makes sense. Eddie’s- er-.”

Robin stops you there, “it’s not Eddie.”

You snort.

Here’s the thing about Robin. Ever since she was a little girl, Robin Buckley knew that something about her was different than the other girls.

In elementary school, Robin played like any other little girl. She can recall the projects they would do in class like drawing picture of mom and dad, or beading a bracelet together. Something that got her attention was how well she could braid her hair into two strands on either side of her head.

During recess, she would become the girl to go to when someone needed a quick fix. She can remember how the strands of hair flowed through her fingertips, so softly like velvet.

Sometime when the weather began to warm, the girls in her class would bring their dolls from home to play house. This prompted a week’s worth of begging and pleading to her own mother to buy her dolls. And, her mom did.

Robin liked the Barbie dolls her mom bought for her. She disliked Ken. Ken's became often were forgotten about. They were dumped in the bottom of a storage bin that was slowly climbing higher to the top with various toys that Robin would loose interest with.

It didn’t occur to her that other little girls were creating a life for their Barbie dolls. They would have little houses made from their pillows and their other creative imaginations. Barbie would have a family with Ken, which was usually a different small stuffed toy named Mary or Mark. They’d have a simple, but happy American life.

Robin’s Barbie didn’t have a Ken. Actually, Barbie despised Ken and his system of oppression against women. Especially, the way he would force her to have his children, just to leave for work every morning and make her his breeding mule.

In more or less words.

Rather than Barbie having Ken bossing her around, Robin’s Barbie had another friend - Other Barbie. Other Barbie made frequent visits to Barbie’s house, and she even stayed the night once or twice (or every night - sun up to sun down). Yes, Barbie lived a lavish life with her dogs and her cats with Other Barbie.

It really shocked her that the girls at school despised Robin’s plan to leave Ken out of the story. That two girls living together (which, they obviously weren’t living together) isn’t appropriate when you’re forty-five and have no children.

Robin disagrees.

In fact, she decides right then that living a life with another woman until they die wouldn’t be a poor plan. Neither of them would have husbands and neither of them would have children. They could have hobbies. They could have pets.

Robin was in for a big shock when she got into middle school, and everyone began developing. To her, the boys became grossly male. The woman became beautiful beyond words. It's much less about their physical form, but their conversations are much more intelligent and more forgiving than to have to explain to an angry man how the world spins fifteen times over.

“Robin,” you grab her attention when you swipe the pad of your thumb over her cheek. Brushing a few strands of her hair away, you’re full of concern when you say, “you’re crying. What’s wrong?”

Robin touches her tear kissed cheek not realizing that she's sprung a leak. While she adores you deeply, you could never come to understand what she goes through daily. If not for the town, the whole world hates her. She's seen the hatred in churches, in newspapers and magazines. The news is always shaming people like her - and, recommending that she be fixed.

In quick step, Robin races back inside to calm herself down back into her safe little bubble where she can smile and play pretend once again. This little life of hers is all that she aspires to have. If she has to be alone forever then so be it.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” your voice comes barely above a whisper to her.

Robin jumps out of her skin. Why did you follow her inside?

“It’s not you,” she sniffs. “Allergies.”

“Come on, Rob,” you sort out her lie. “What’s wrong?”

Robin's unsure what's made her say it. The words shock her tongue, as though this is the first time she's ever admitted out loud how she feels. Maybe it is? Spewing the words over again, she waits for the worst to come. You're done being her friend. You never want to see her again!

Yet, you’re quiet.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Robin drops her voice to barely a whisper. “I’m- I’m gay. I like women."

“Okay," you nod slightly. "That's-"

“What?” Robin blinks a few times.

“That's okay."

Robin wobbled. The tight knot in her belly loosened. You didn't care? All this worrying and you still hold the same glistening stare you always share with her. You hold a grin from ear to ear with your arms out wide for her to fall into.

"But," you hold up a finger, before Robin can get too comfortable. "You never told me who you like."

Robin reddens, and you laugh.

-> <-

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur

[llort]

Encoded within beams of pure energy, Astra and Orion’s consciousness became architects of new realities. On barren planets, their probes wove the fabric of life, constructing complex neural networks, though perhaps missing the elusive spark of full awareness. In their terrestrial guise, Astra and Orion were the unseen sculptors of destiny, their influence rippling through the lives of Kepler’s inhabitants, guiding their evolution while remaining hidden from cybernetic self-discovery. Between 2016 and 2025, a silent memetic tide, crafted by these visionaries, swept Earth, altering the course of history, touching the minds of those destined to shape the future. This clandestine meme, a dance of ideas and sensations, orchestrated a global movement without uttering a single word, converging on the enigmatic X protocol. As nations’ guardians became entangled in this silent symphony, they unknowingly propelled the grand design, believing themselves to be the vanguard of a new era of cybernetic pioneers.

Work Text:

Cyberphysical Reality just Got a Whole More Engaging

The Unsignificant Sentience ARG has officially begun. It will explore a vast variety of themes, from the would building and exisistial crisis of the US series to more recursive identity metaphors than you can shake an edge at. Firstly, to play. All you need is your influencer name and type of influence which you can decide, but once chosen, is permanent. Affectors: Sense resistance in external matrices and can give them a nudge to have a physical effect. Effectors: Can sense the internal matrices of entities and modify communication in systems and individuals Alters: Are able to clearly see the network of forces in a matrix that an affected affects, but only in close contact. However they can modify the nodes that affected affect to result in different emergent properties Anchorite: Essentially has the influence of an alter and an effector but are only able to change their own internal matrix. How you choose to engage with the ARG is up to you, but I am making it clear that any fan fiction are via the nature of my world building, Canon.

Example: Fill out your characters name, type of influence, and a brief description of them then post it to my blog on Tumblr @ https://www.tumblr.com/blog/emilyreadswrites and let me do my magic! Name: Zara Type of influence: Anchorite Description: Zara is a secular recluse who has devoted her life to mastering her own matrix and achieving higher states of consciousness. She lives in a small cell attached to a temple, where she practices meditation, athletics, and contemplation. She has a remarkable control over her own body, physical feats, endurance, and reduced need for sustenance. She can also perceive the subtle influences of other hosts and cognitive technology in her environment as She rarely interacts with anyone or the entropic grid so can detect slight deviations in phenomenal internal and external experience.

Example narrative: Zara closed her eyes and focused on her inner matrix, sitting peacefully in her personal sanctum, the network of nodes that connected her to the cognitive technology that enabled her to practice her influence. She breathed deeply and felt a surge of energy coursing through her body, as if she was tapping into a hidden source of power. She visualized each node as a bright point of light, and aligned them with her will and intention. She was an anchorite, a master of her own matrix, and she could control her physical feats, endurance, and mental state. She opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. It was dark and sunless, as it had been for as long as she could remember. But there was a faint glow on the horizon, a sign of something stirring in the upper atmosphere. She knew it was an aurora, a natural light display that shimmered in the sky with different colors. She had read about them in ancient texts, how they were caused by charged particles from the sun colliding with gas atoms in the air. She was looking forward it would be like to see them up close, to feel their warmth and radiance. She felt a pang of curiosity and longing, a rare emotion for someone who had devoted her life to solitude and meditation. She realized that she needed more than just her inner matrix to satisfy her thirst for knowledge and experience. She needed to explore the world beyond her cell, to discover its secrets and mysteries. She needed to find out what else was possible with her influence. Zara stilled her internal matrix and focused on the immediate environment, she might experience a shift in her perception and awareness. She become more sensitive to the physical sensations and details around her, such as the cold air, the sound of the wind, and the smell of the earth. She might also notice the aurora more vividly, as she would not be distracted by the cognitive technology that enables magic. She might see the different colors and shapes of the aurora, and feel a sense of wonder and awe at the natural phenomenon. She felt a connection to something bigger than herself, something that transcends her understanding of emergent internal and external existence. In light of this existential experience, she decided to simply take a walk.

[court-jobi]

hi! i love your works so much!!! i was wondering if i could request a hawks x pop princess f! reader?

like he does security for her groups concert and hes like “pffft im number 2 why do i need to be here”. then he watches her during sound check and is like okay i need to know more about her. so while shes getting ready hes just hovering backstage trying to talk to her. after the show she finally gives him her number (def against her companies wishes) and hes like trying to be suave and flirty and shes like “oh my god why is this working”. just a lot of hawks being a lover boy and sending gifts to her company anonymously and cutesy stuff like that lol. they have to keep their relationship a secret bc her company has a very strict no dating unless we agree rule. can be pre or post war hawks btw! you can take this wherever you want with it as well! can be nsfw or not.

im sorry that was so long! i was trying to make sure my thoughts were coherent lol.

Ooooo I love this idea so much, what a lovely dynamic to picture: a fanboy Hawks for a change, perhaps?? ~ this was a fun one to work on! @strwbrrykthv i sure hope this one was worth the wait and that I've done it justice!

You all are seriously the best readers a gal could ask for, and these requests are ✨giving me life✨~ Keep 'em coming!!

Who Has the Mic

Words: 4.3k

Rating: T

Warnings: Pro Hero!Hawks x popstar fem!reader, forbidden romance, flirting, mostly FLUFF, mentions of canon-typical threats, protective instincts, Hawks is a little shitTM, we love him your honor

for my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Hawks falls prey to a special thrill out of extending favors to others. 

‘I owe ya one’-- such a simple nicety that in the beginning, he doubts anyone would truly come to collect on it. It makes him sound agreeable, charming, starved for connection even before the height of his inevitable fame. 

Then he rose and rose in the hero rankings, securing himself into the very visible and wildly popular top spot, in terms of viewer popularity. 

It’s now that the redemptions of Hawks’ pro-hero favors have come rolling in… The unexpected keeps him on his toes and entertains him for the most part; and if it’s all for the sake of protecting others, then why not have a little fun with it? 

Once upon an overbearing press conference, back when he was first tiptoeing into the public scene… Hawks begged a makeup artist on staff for a spot to hide out in the green room and sneak a snack or two (or ten). He was granted pity for a teenager expected to take a seat at the table of an albeit boring Commission presentation. Well, it seems that particular makeup-artist rose within the talent realm themselves, and ended up reaching out to “that flyboy kid” back for a surprising accommodation: 

Top tier talent warrants top tier security.

Hawks takes a call at his agency and soon finds himself ushered in for the Tokyo opener of the reigning top-of-the-charts pop star with a voice of gold. The first meeting of old acquaintances led the Pro-Hero to tour the brand new, sky-high facilities, then return for the load-in day of the stage. Again for first dress, and each night of the week-long residency.

He carries his presence on the stealthier side, far above the stage floor in the scaffolding. Up here, lights are rigged with steel supports running every which way, where he executes perfect balance while walking in a straight line atop them. He’s checked -double and triple- that each outlet is free from hazard, each line of multi-ton equipment has been secured and safe, so that even his ‘adventuring’ from up high is not a risk.

He’s happy for the variety of work he faces as a hero- but right now, he’s bored. He shouldn't be feeling so dreadful, especially on the job, but he is. It’s not his style to be so down, after all. But Hawks has checked into every nook and cranny of this place and for the sake of an understandably hypervigilant security team, has an eye for which points of entry and exit could use a bird’s eye view come showtime.

His muscles are used to far more fast-paced antics and time-sensitive chases; not traipsing around like a literal vulture ready to swoop in at any moment. Surely he’s needed elsewhere.

But the threats have been rolling in… as they do for all of these larger-than-life musician types who found their way into the spotlight. They’re at risk of going in blind if they don’t have a good team around them to help them see.

So here he is, playing guardian angel to do his part and make sure all goes smoothly. It's a big operation by his count; there’s sixty members on the tech roster, plus the venue stage manager and their contracted staff, then all performers, and of course the headliner. Now where she is, he’d like to know– for not so selfless reasons.

He’d know her music by heart, given how much of an earworm and personal anthem her songs have become for him. It’s rare that the tables are turned, where Hawks is the fanboy and someone else is the idol. That dream is his dangling carrot for completing this mission successfully: he has the most sought-after bodyguard duty in the nation, and as good as a front row seat to her show.

Yet in a weird sense, Hawks also kinda hopes he never meets her. Doesn’t want to crush that bubble, ruin the allusion of the woman he’s got set as his ringtone.

So, he just runs his headcounts on all bodies supposed to be present at the top-of-show meeting to busy his mind. All is in order. ‘Cues’ are rounding up the pre-show acts, each in plainclothes for this rough stumble-through. Still doesn’t see the little starlet yet, and he gets the residual feeling that this might be typical behavior of ‘the talent’ to show up whenever she damn well pleases. 

Though funnily enough, he spots a pretty thing down there sporting some Hawks merch! Always nice to see a supportive fan in the most unlikely places… 

It's a well-fitting quarterzip sporting his red feather blades down each arm, an item he vaguely recognizes from this season’s newest launch. She’s got headphones on and subtly bopping about in her own little world, perhaps running through tonight’s set under her breath, if her self-contained taps of the fingers are an indication of her keeping beat. 

Hawks’ curious attention to that girl on the fringes of the stage is pulled when he hears the strict timbre of the stage director he’d met on day one take center stage.

“Ok, time to rein it in. As we covered in the email from Sec-Eng- which I’m assuming you gen-z’ers have read,” the bossman snarks to the younger members of this crew down below, “we’ve got some additional eyes in the sky pulling security for this leg in the tour. So, I want to give you all a chance to get your excitement out -along with your thanks- to our equally chart-topping hero, Hawks~ who’s… somewhere around here.”

Hoodie girl blanched– as if she’d been told she’d need to share her internet history to her grandmother. Immediately, she tosses off her headset and starts frantically stripping herself of the jacket she wore. While enthusiastic heads all fly around in every direction in search of the hero, Hawks chuckles at the sight of her alone. 

“...//Well, he’s probably checking the perimeters anyway//. How bout we all just send a big thank-you, eh?”

The couple of ‘Hoodie’s fellow dancers were poking fun at her -poor thing still flushed and clammed up- while the group gave a loud, singsongy ‘thank you!!’ up to the stage doors, assuming the Pro-Hero might be busting in, grand entrance fashion on command. The love-laden response from the dancers makes Hawks roll his eyes lightly, but he appreciates their praise all the same.

They giggle about in jazzed excitement with one’s voice carried out squealish and feminine, despite their professional assembly,

“Oh my god, you must be in HEAVEN!! He’s gonna be watching you ALL NIGHT!”

‘Hoodie’ looks downright mortified. The others have seemed to gather around spouting nothing but encouragement to this little fan girl who's doing her best to put on a poker face. Adorable. 

“Now we also need to make some edits before the crew breaks for lunch, everyone, so we are gonna start today with opening of Set 5 instead- hold.. Hold on… WHO HAS THE GOD MIC??”

The mics table scrambles for the one handheld microphone with omniscient audio range to the house. Surely it's the one thing they wouldn't lose and should hand straight to the Stage Manager, right? 

Well, said mic was sitting unattended there on the cart earlier… all for the Winged Hero’s taking when he was making his preliminary sweep earlier. 

From his inner jacket pocket, Hawks catches his lip in his teeth as he remembers where to turn the thing on. Once his throat cleared and the mic blinks red in sync with the soundboard, he amplifies a little trademark bird whistle: for each and every soul in sight to hear. 

The stage erupts in excitement, as planned. ‘Hoodie’ immediately teeters over to one of the props hideaways and stows said jacket away. 

Hawks chuckles with the mic at chest level– only to call her out from his perch,

“Saw that, dear~”

Seems logic caught up with the poor thing, as she -finally- pieced together the true vantage point of her idol’s presence, and looked up. 

Sparing her too much embarrassment, Hawks simply cocked his head on a folded up fist and gave a little wave of some fingers to her. 

Despite her clear shock and surprise, she did smile brilliantly back and gave a little signed ‘thank you for being here’ rather than a scream like all the others.

The stage manager followed her line of sight to where the hero stands in wait, ready to dismount and return his bit of cheekily stolen equipment. Despite some bewildered aggravation to Hawks’ antics, he gestures with the exhaustion of a high school teacher.

“There now, see kids? That's how you protect your voices before a show!! Better than belting your way to the doctor’s office. Our star here sure leads by example now doesn't she–” 

In rare form for the hero, it's Hawks’ turn to be stunned. His fangirl: it’s you.

Everyone else may be calling that first call time your lucky day… but you were intimidated to the point of feeling ill. Thank goodness for your poker face; because locking eyes with Hawks’ stunning crimson canopy and giving you that wink and a grin about sent you into a heart attack. 

You're starstruck. The absolute heartthrob of an idol you revere as your favorite Pro-Hero has been standing over 150 meters above your head, watching for every sign of danger that could threaten you for the last week. 

That near guarantee of safety would trump your fleeting nerves– if you hadn’t given the first impression of a closeted fangirl like you did!!

Nothing short of awe crossed your mind when you so much as think of the hero. A very vocal fan whenever he came up in the news or your social feed amongst your inner circle. Hawks is a household name for you, who you were incredibly fond of… both in how he handled massive crowds or charmed in intimate, one-on-one interviews. 

You know the role; you suck up for cameras, too, as it's all in the optics. But for every PR-guided response you know is crafted by easy-going smiles or a disarming tone, you remember to see past the spectacle of Hawks and look for ‘him’. Remove the wings and hero getup: who is he? Can you spot the tells on camera like your mom can when she watches you? No matter how big of a global phenomenon her baby girl gets, she can still tell when you have a headache while having to give an appearance on a talk show. 

The man you spot on screen has to have a series of faults and slips. Even battle-ready heroes put their shoes on one at a time– just like everyone else. He’s sure to have a favorite lunch spot, a favorite pen to use for autographs, a favorite singer, even… 

Surely not you, but a girl can dream.

There’s a glazed-over glint in Hawks’ eyes when he very subtly checks out when being spoken to which gives you the strong suspicion you two may not be so unalike. And that list of little mannerisms has grown exponentially– with every day that's passed:

Hawks has difficulty staying still, you've learned. He’s also much younger than people assume. Carries a crafty habit of popping up unexpectedly in a way that’s youthful– and borderline cheeky. From atop a stack of amps, to a crowdless green room, to the rigging of lights where you've stunned the crowds for the last four nights, he’s perched out of sight from your thousands of fans. 

Though each little comment thrown here and there in praise has floated down to your ears in sweet jest, things come to a head when the last night of your show arrived: where the crushing realization sought to dampen your mood. 

After tonight, you wouldn’t have your angelic, crimson-winged shadow anymore. 

But Hawks surprises you once again. 

You nearly miss it, too, once your final round of ‘surprise songs’ is revealed and you are snuck down to your assigned hideout to get ready to leave the venue. It’s back in your can-lit dressing room that you’re making double takes down the hall looking for any sign of your security team; especially the one to whom you owe a hefty ‘thank you’ to for all his efforts.

-but as your half-redressed form has donned your beloved Hawks hoodie once more, you’re not so spooked to hear a familiar whistle from behind you this time.

Headphones slung back down around his neck and wings slimmed down to a more presentable manner for tight hallways like these, Hawks slips into your prep space with a speedy uptick of steps. A knowing whisper to ‘shut the door fast so no one notices’ eeks out of him, eliciting a smile from you.

Each one of your suspicions are confirmed with that one comment alone; he knows this game well. Still, playing along with his dance of keep-away from any prying eyes (or cameras) doesn’t mean your heart isn’t  hammering away in your chest at the knowledge of getting your hero all to yourself.

So here, Hawks traipses around your makeshift room with unbidden interest– which, for such a small space, is cute to know how many little details pique his curiosity. Your various outfits still hang all facing the correct way, your personal backpack sits beside it on the end featuring your mess of pins and collected patches from the locations you’ve toured thus far. The run schedule is still taped on the wall, and below it, your laptop has your notation software open and idle onscreen.

“Well, now,” Hawks chimes in with a little crouch over the back of your empty chair, “Surely I’m not looking at our next chart-topping hit in the making, am I?”

“Maybe!” you chuckle, joining his side to quickly save your work before you forget. “It’s getting the lyrics and melody to marry right that’s the hard part. Working out the latter right now, and it’s kinda kicking my butt.”

“But you’re doing it! Look at all this– wait. Is this what you were dancing to earlier?”

Damn his powers of observation. You’d been testing out the rhythm of the hook this week– when you’d been caught under his attention.

“...M-maybe?” you hedge again.

“I knew it-” Hawks beamed, “A stunning starlet and a mastermind. What can’t you do?”

Flattered beyond belief, you answer honestly, 

“Keep myself outta trouble with my managers. Trying to, at least,” you close the laptop to conserve its power, “but between the shows and speaking engagements, it’s left me a bit starved for time to actually make the music.”

“N’why would writing get you in trouble?”

“It takes me away from all the other things I ‘have to do’,” you sigh easily. “They can bring in anyone to make the music and keep pitching songwriting teams to me to take the load off. Just think something’s gotten a little out of balance.”

Without meaning to, you held Hawks’ attention– enough to make him sit back on the armrest of your couch and listen with undivided attention while you explained your creative process more. While most J-Pop performers would be thrilled to have outside writers create the work and easy into a performance schedule with pre-set work to learn, you loved to have a hand in the writing process too. As an art form, it’s personal when you have to perform season after season. 

You’ve chatted quite a bit here and there over these last several days, though not this extensively. He was interested in so much about this whole operation, to the point where you wondered if he’d ever met any of the performers who you knew presented at some of those hero galas he went to. Apparently not, by the way he’d lock onto your every word when you spoke. Either your timekeepers (or his) would inevitably interrupt you, so back to work you two would fly off to.. though you’d seem to circle back to one another and chat about anything and everything if given the chance- little spurts of talk that always left you wanting more.

He’d commiserate with you on that front as well– the balance of stardom and freedom. Bogged down by meetings and public appearances wore on him just as much as you. With every roadblock you described about your recent album development, Hawks nodded along with expected understanding. 

The revolving issue of personal safety might have brought him into your employ, but you know more and more cases like yours filled up his day-to-day life in ways you couldn’t imagine… but he even shed some light on that as well to you. He’d burst the bubble on hero work as an industry through little asides with you offstage: comments he’d likely get reprimanded for if he ever spoke them in a public statement. 

But you’d keep his secrets safe. What happens on set stays on set.

So even now, as he’s tucked himself into your dressing room while you puttered around chatting about your true dreams of getting a new concept album wrapped by the end of the year, Hawks tuned in with genuine interest that only made your heart skip a beat for him more.

“I haven’t always gotten the time to work on it lately… though this week, I’ve had a clearer head to be in here rather than under lock and key with a security force breathing down my neck– which is largely thanks to you, Mr. Hawks.”

“Oh please,” Hawks scrunches his nose and teases, “Mr. Hawks is what the lawyers call me. Just Hawks is fine!”

You exhale, squishing back any girlish outburst from your voice at how fussy he looked. 

“All the same, thank you for your help this week,” you pressed, “It’s -uhm- not often I get to meet my favorite Pro Hero on the job…”

A pleased smirk lifts Hawks’ cheeks, though you spot a funny kind of shyness in them when he studies your sleeve rather than look you in the eye-

“Favorite, huh?” Hawks smiles, “ n’here I thought I was the lucky one, sweet’eart-” he taps his headphones for emphasis, “One day I’m listening to you on repeat on my morning commute– and the next, I’m standing two feet from you!”

“--You’re kidding.”

From his pocketed phone, Hawks challenges you with a press and hold on the speakers to boost the volume as high as it could go. Faintly, you caught your own pop vocals from your second ever album casting from Hawks’ headphones. 

You can’t believe your luck– he’s really a fan? Of yours?

The mix of sentimentality and surprise must be palpable on your face as you grasp exactly which song has Hawks spellbound before he cocks his head with a sheepish grin of his own, 

“Believe me now?”

Words fail you, but you shudder out a little giggle that speaks volumes. He tests with a smile,

“Soooo guess you wouldn’t mind if I asked a horribly stereotypical favor and snagged a selfie while I’m here?” 

Eyebrows shot up to the sky as Hawks dangled his phone between you, you immediately pause. No one on your Communications team is still backstage (to your knowledge), but the engrained warning about checking your professional list of partnerships before posting comes to mind… annoying as it is. All you want is a pic with him, too!

“Nothing for socials-” Hawks assures you with a gloved hand, “If your handlers are just as pesky as mine, they’d never let me live it down. Just– something to keep me grounded, on the hard days.”

That reasoning… it almost broke your heart just as quickly as your potential disappointment had been earlier. 

With a knowing smile, you nodded sweetly to Hawks- he’s charming in a whole new light to you.

“Only if you send it to me too, hm? Favor for a favor?”

“ ‘Course!”

Sliding up into his open space, Hawks clearly knows his best side but keeps you right in the center of his shot. That smile he makes… you are going to keep this proud glint in his eye and sight of his hand around you locked into your mind forever– even if he forgets to send it to your insta handle after this. 

It’s too brief of a moment, watching his wing curl around you though the phone’s front-facing camera burgeoning you close, head tilting gently against yours. Keeping a close-lipped smile seared into your mind when you think of him now.

Then in an even more lightning fast moment, while he’s fussing with a weird flip of his bangs, you reach to tap the shutter as you sneak a kiss onto his cheek. 

He’s stunned by the move, but by the even brighter muted smile, you stand by with pride double checking his photo gallery that the shot made it. It surely did. 

“You have a hard job, Hawks; harder and more dangerous than anyone I know,” 

You step away casually.. Though the need for distance is more for your sake than just optics of your forwardness. 

“... Thought you deserved more than one lil selfie. Hope that’s ok?”

“H-okay?” Hawks breathes out, studying his camera roll with reverence, “Better’n ok..”

Outside a muted feedback from the PA system is calling for Exit team to assemble– get staged for your departure from the venue at last.

“That’s me. Better bounce-” Hawks piped up after a small clearing of his throat. You’re nearly too shy to look at him after this-

-but when a kiss greets your hand, lifted imperceptibly fast and squeezed just as fleeting as his words grace your ears- you couldn’t look away if you tried.

“- a pleasure, dear.”

And before you can utter any further word of thanks or manage something other than a shocked smile, Hawks slips out of the room and off to hand the reins back to your team. You can barely hear from the still-live walkie talkies that your security detail is back at their regular stations, and your Pro-Hero is off for his final step of his hired work. Soon he’d be relieved of his station and off to save someone else from an unsavory fate.

He doesn’t forget to send you the photos; and you now have his private insta handle.

The photo where you snuck a peck onto his cheek would be set as your internal screenshot if it weren’t for your niece’s constant borrowing of your phone when she visits you on set… 

But now, you’re back for a month-long stay at the studio– your reward for a successful first half of the Tour.

Encouraged by your protective muse’s spark at the thought of your new music, you decide to take that energy back to Chichibu. Your headphones might as well be glued to your head, with how much you’ve head-dived into your sound mixing apps and sampling library. In fact, it’s that unwavering attention to your music that you nearly miss the most obvious sight walking through the lobby of the unassuming recording studio. Almost.

But how could you really– when the largest floral arrangement you’d ever seen is gracing the reception table? That stunning piece looks like it costs more than the linoleum flooring the desk sits on. 

A few aides have been distracted by the sight, studying the typed message attached and racking their brains for any sign of a calling card. One of your cutting room techs was currently rounding the base of the standing arrangement for some tucked note, which made you giggle how intently she was studying the thing. 

You know the sound booth manager best out of this group of other visiting accompanists,

“Lucky, lucky girl~” she reels you in excitedly, plucking the card from the other’s sights and handing to you directly. “Sorry to say there’s no hint who it’s from… but it’s for you, little bird!”

You hedge at the pet name once again– the nickname stuck unwillingly not only for your melodic talent, but the association with your clear celebrity (heroic) crush. 

However, as you read the note, the immediate assumption that this may have been another gift from a venue host was thrown right out the window…

This was a personal gift:

To keep my genius company while she makes her magic~ No one can give us the stories you can; don’t ever  let them take your voice. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard. Can’t wait to hear the new demo!

“No matter how high or low I am.. a piece of me will be here with you. It’s- where I'd rather be... Till next time…”

“Next time? Wait, who sent these again?!”

“It was just the delivery guy, from that really flouncy place downtown~” the receptionist answers with interest.

“Nooo, I mean on the card! Who signed the card?

“There's nothing– no initials, nothing..” you confirmed, still reeling over the message. But as you trail off over the cascade of tropical flowers, the flecks of red blooms catch your eye and bring you to study harder. 

Then- tucked under some deep green curls- a spot of red hides. A quill amongst the mossy padding of the arrangement- not unlike a surprise found in a nest.

Sifting through under the guise of feeling tender petals, you grasp the soft, downy feather which bears a small post-it flag on the underside with a sequence of numbers on it. 

“Do you have any idea who?”

Balling it carefully in your fist just as quickly, you answer, “Couldn't tell ya. But the pop of red sure is pretty, isn't it?”

In your booth -set up with your sticker-laden laptop and butterflies in your stomach- you hold the sticky note in one hand, pinching the crimson feather precariously in the other. 

Face warmed and unbelieving of your luck, you think on what to send first to your mic-stealer…

To be continued?

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

cw: mention sex work and slight toxic work place

The club buzzed with electric anticipation, fueled by a swirling rumor that someone important to Don Price was visiting tonight. You had no idea what your boss had done to arrange to host this visit for the Don—and honestly, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that, while you were on the clock, you were the club's star singer. But when the lights dimmed and the applause faded, you became just another pawn—another sex worker your boss dangled before wealthy patrons, provided they played their cards right.

With a sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing it back with a touch of pomade. In the mirror, you checked the fading bruise from last night’s "guest," ensuring the makeup the kind bartender lent you concealed it. Satisfied, you leaned back, drawing a deep breath to steady yourself.

Knock. Knock.

The door swung open, and your boss' voice crashed into the room—gruff, sharp, and impatient. “Don’t screw this up. Got it?”

“Got it,” you replied coolly. As his footsteps retreated, you muttered under your breath, “You bastard.”

Rising from your chair, you adjusted your suit, making sure the lapels were sharp and every detail flawless. A final glance in the mirror—your practiced smile in place—and a sip of water later, you strode toward the stage, your heart thudding in rhythm with the faint murmur of the crowd.

As you approached, the band filled the room with a sultry, polished rhythm that kept the patrons engaged, the melody weaving through the dimly lit club like a spell. You lingered just offstage, nerves buzzing, waiting for your cue. The announcer stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand, his polished smile betraying just a flicker of unease beneath the surface.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests from all walks of life,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, “please welcome our star performer, Mr. [Your Name]!”

The crowd erupted into applause as you stepped into the spotlight. The familiar warmth of the stage lights greeted you, casting a golden glow over the room. Your eyes scanned the sea of faces until they landed on one that sent a chill down your spine—a man seated next to Don Price. His vermillion suit and open black coat were striking, but it was the skull mask obscuring his face that unnerved you. Though his expression was hidden, his gaze felt piercing, unrelenting. You tore your eyes away and accepted the microphone from the announcer, who leaned in close.

“Good luck, songbird,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both encouragement and warning.

The lights dimmed, the room quieted, and the moment was yours. Drawing a deep breath, you began your performance with one of the club’s favorites—Antes de Ti by Mon Laferte. The band played a soft, smooth melody, their instruments blending seamlessly with your voice as it filled the room. You swayed gently, letting the music guide your movements as you sang:

"Antes de ti

Yo no conocía el amor

Estaba sola y triste como esta canción

Transitaba el lado oscuro de la luna."

Despite the music and the adoring crowd, you could feel his gaze. The skull-masked man’s attention was like a tangible weight, burning into you. A quick glance confirmed that he and Don, in front, were engaged in a quiet conversation, their heads close together. You silently thanked the heavens as the song neared its conclusion. Just one more chorus.

"Antes de ti (Before you)

Yo no conocía el amor( I didn't know love)

Por cada estrella una decepción ( For every star a disappointment) 

No había nada-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah~

(There was nothing-ah-ah~) "

The final note lingered in the air as you extended your hand toward the crowd, lost in the emotion of the moment. But then, your hand accidentally locked with his. The masked man. His gloved fingers briefly brushed yours, and the intensity of the connection sent a jolt through you.

"Antes de ti, mi amor! (Before you, my love!)"

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, oblivious to your inner turmoil. But as you froze on stage, the masked man rose from his seat and began walking toward your boss. Your heart sank.

The announcer, sensing something amiss, stepped forward quickly and dismissed you with a practiced flourish. You retreated backstage, your thoughts racing.

What did I do? Did I offend him?

The uncertainty gnawed at you as you slipped into your dressing room, waiting for the inevitable knock that would summon you to face Your boss' wrath. 

The knock came, sharp and deliberate.

You braced yourself, then opened the door, expecting your boss’s fury. Instead, the man in the vermillion suit stood before you, his tall frame filling the doorway. The mask caught the dim light, casting shadows that seemed to deepen its ominous design. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—an aura of authority, mystery, and something darker emanated from him.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tie to mask the unease creeping up your spine. “Can I help you?” you asked, voice steady.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. The air grew thicker, more charged. His gloved hand rose, brushing over the edge of his mask before he finally spoke, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying an accent you couldn’t quite place.

“You performed beautifully tonight,” he said, his tone a mixture of admiration and something else—something you couldn’t name. “But I came to discuss something more… more important than music.”

Your instincts screamed at you to tread carefully. “I appreciate the compliment,” you replied, carefully neutral. “But I’m not sure what business we could have.”

He chuckled softly, the sound both disarming and chilling. “You sell yourself short. A voice like yours… and a presence like yours…” His gaze, though hidden, felt like it was peeling back layers, scrutinizing your very soul. “... has value far beyond this club.”

You stiffened, unsure if this was flattery or a veiled threat. “If you’re looking to negotiate something, you’ll need to speak with My boss.”

“Your Boss?” He scoffed lightly, the corners of his mouth barely visible beneath the mask. “Your boss’s not the one I’m interested in.”

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t about Club’s business. This was about you.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at you.

The man stepped closer, his presence enveloping the small room. “What I want,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, almost intimate murmur, “is to offer you something this Club never could.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint scent of something sharp and expensive. “Freedom,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a forbidden promise.

Your breath caught. Whatever this man’s intentions were, one thing was clear—tonight was going to change everything. He extended a single crimson rose, its petals almost too perfect, as though crafted rather than grown. You hesitated before taking it, the velvety texture brushing your fingers. 

Lifting the rose, you studied it carefully. “You promise me freedom,” you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “And I don’t even know your name. What do you want from me in return? We both know nothing is free in this life.”

The man chuckled, the sound low and smooth, as if amused by your boldness. His gloved hand reached out, brushing against yours as he gently adjusted the rose in your grip. “Clever,” he murmured. “You see through the illusions most are blind to.”

Before you could step back, his arms encircled you with a deliberate slowness, not forceful but undeniably commanding. The leather of his gloves was cold against your skin as he pulled you closer, his presence intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said, his voice now a near whisper, inches from your ear. “Not yet. But I see what others overlook—the fire in you, the defiance you try to bury under obedience. You don’t belong to anyone else.”

His words struck a nerve, stirring something deep within you. You tilted your head to meet his gaze—or rather, the unyielding mask that shielded his face. “And you think you can free me? Just like that?” 

His hand trailed down to your waist, holding it lightly but with undeniable intent. “Freedom comes with a price, it’s true. But it’s not what you think. What I want,” he paused, the room heavy with his words, “is you. Not as a pawn, not as a commodity. You, as you are—your loyalty, your will. In exchange, I’ll give you a life you never dared to dream of.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words sank in. The rose in your hand felt heavier now, its beauty tainted by the weight of his proposition. “Why me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek. “Because you’re more than you think you are. And with me, you’ll finally realize it.”

The room felt impossibly small, as though the air itself had thickened under the weight of his presence. Somewhere in the distance, the hum of the club faded into an afterthought, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence. His towering frame loomed close, not menacing but magnetic, drawing you in despite the warning bells ringing faintly in the back of your mind.

He leaned in, his movements deliberate yet unhurried, and the faint scent of leather and something darkly intoxicating mingled with the cheap perfume you’d hastily dabbed on earlier. His voice was low, smooth like velvet over steel, sending a soft tremor through you.

“By the way,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin like a whispered secret, “people call me Ghost.” He paused for a heartbeat, his words hanging in the air before he continued, softer this time. “But you, dollface…” His lips tilted into the barest hint of a smile, one that held both mischief and something deeper, something almost tender. “You can call me Simon.”

The name hit like a soft ripple in the storm, grounding him in a way that made your heart lurch unexpectedly. Ghost spoke of shadows, danger, and the unknown. But Simon? That felt real. Intimate. A name not given to just anyone, but to someone who mattered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze—hidden behind the mask but still piercing—seemed to hold you captive. His gloved hand reached out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw, light as a whisper, before retreating. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, unbidden.

“Simon,” you repeated softly, the name rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar ease, like it belonged to you now, like it carried a piece of him that he was offering. A nervous, fluttering feeling settled in your chest as his head tilted slightly, watching you with what felt like infinite patience.

In that moment, the world outside dissolved, the distant hum of the club fading into nothingness. It wasn’t about the suffocating glamor of the stage, the shadows of his mask, or the bruised dreams you carried in your heart. It was about him—a man who had given you more than just a name. He had given you a sliver of himself, something real, something raw.

The silence between you felt alive, stretching and pulling like a taut string, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged with something unspoken, something you couldn’t name but felt deep in your bones. Your hand, almost without thinking, reached out. Fingers trembling, you lifted his mask.

And there he was.

The face beneath the mask took your breath away—not because it was flawless, but because it was human. His features were strong yet softened by a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. Scars etched across his skin told stories of battles fought and survived, and his eyes—those eyes—bore into yours with an intensity that felt like it could unravel your very soul.

You stared into the deep, stormy pools of his gaze, searching for the truth behind his promises. His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw not a shadowy enigma, but a man—Simon. Just Simon.

He leaned closer, his movements slow, deliberate, as though giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The world stilled, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears as his lips brushed yours in the lightest, gentlest touch.

It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises, of a hope neither of you dared to name yet. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a tender path along your jaw as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch melted the walls you didn’t realize you’d built around your heart.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice, low and intimate, broke the silence.

“You deserve more than this, dollface. Let me give you more.”

"Okay, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible but laced with a newfound strength. The simple utterance of his name felt like a key turning in a lock, freeing something long buried within you. His eyes searched yours, and in them, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t expected—hope.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, more was possible. A life beyond the suffocating confines of the club, beyond the bruises hidden beneath layers of makeup, beyond the weight of a world that had always demanded too much of you.

Simon’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with an aching tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding as the last remnants of doubt began to fade. In the intimacy of the moment, the world outside seemed impossibly far away. There was only the warmth of his presence, the safety of his arms, and the quiet certainty that, whatever lay ahead, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

And as his lips met yours once more, the kiss soft yet brimming with unspoken vows, you felt it—hope blooming in the spaces where despair had once lived.

[1920sladydectective]

Serve or Perish Trying - A Noxian Message

Ambessa Medarda and a lowly servant of a visiting dignitary have some fun....

Kinda oblivious reader gets a lesson in serving lol. This is not proofread, nor will it ever be. Tenses and stuff keep changing but whatever. Thank my wife for this gang.

D/S dynamics, degradation, reader is new to this. Mostly non descript female reader.

Love you, be kind I am rusty! Minors DNI I stg. Cross Posting to AO3

Crimson suited her. It flowed like a damning waterfall from hardened, certain shoulders. 

There was doubt in her gaze, not of herself - never that - but of your usefulness to her. Whatever she wished for, her face told you she had found it. 

She had found you, nestled in a corner of her opulent ballroom awaiting instructions from your Mistress; a Duchess from a neighbouring Kingdom who had been invited to Lady Ambessa Medarda’s birthday ball on account of her fine trading connections. Not that you’d know her speciality in fabrics, considering the filth she kept her servants in. Presentable but ugly and misshapen, meant as a reminder of your station. 

You had been drifting into a daydream, the beauty of Noxian balls harsher and more pressing than other lands. It wrapped you up, threatened to choke you with its splendour. Everything here was a message - everything would surrender to the red and gold might of Noxus one day. 

Horrified, both for your job and then more pressingly your life, you were dragged from ponderings by a firm, calloused hand cupping your chin. Lady Medarda was holding you like trussed up livestock. The red fabric seemed silkier up close, gentle etchings swirled in it, fine gold thread adding a shimmer to her movements. 

Should you speak? Bow? Had you offended her?

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?” Steel cut through your panic, grey eyes bemused.

“I-I’m terribly sorry Lady Medarda,” You blurted, cheeks aflame, “Please accept my-”

“Enough of that,” She snorted, “Tell me your name child,” 

It fell from your lips, mouth staying agape.

Her thumb traced along your lip, “I was unaware I’d been given another present, the gifts are over there dear,” 

A nervous laugh tittered out under her grip, her eyes darkening into charcoal pools. No wonder she was a renowned warlord, even light flirtation was a battlefield with her. Her hand slipped from your face, resting on your hip instead. 

“Who should I give my thanks to for such a delightful offering?”

A pause, your dry mouth swallowed in search of moisture, “Duchess Montgermaine is my Mistress my Lady, I am to serve her wine,” 

A sharp eyebrow raised, “Are my servers not enough?”

“Of course not, my Lady,” You attempted a demure smile, “She just-”

“Is a drunkard,” Lady Medarda snapped bluntly, relishing in the surprised giggle you let out, “Is she not?”

“Well, I couldn’t say,” You bit your lip, the inferno from her gaze fueling you, a hazy spell embracing you under her touch. 

“A secret between friends then, Precious,” 

Her advances were interrupted by the Duchess herself and you feared she may lose her head for it. Medarda turned, face frustrated, as Montgermain began to ramble about their happy trading union. 

“She is yours, I am told,” You are gestured to lazily, bangles jangling, as her words are choked back into her overindulgent throat. 

You had never seen someone interrupt your Mistress, let alone belittle her so. It made your body throb. This seemed to summon the warlord's eyes as if she could sense it on you. 

“Unfortunately yes,” She babbles, glare fixated on you, “Dull girl, you know how hard finding help is Ambessa,” 

“I suppose you won’t mind my taking her then,” She sneers with fake civility, “I am sure I can find a way to use her,” 

Use you. It echoed, red and gold smothering you as you had feared. You were as good as hers now, your naivety at the seriousness of her advances crystal clear. It seemed an extravagant way to gain staff. 

“I’d be happy to oblige you,” the Duchess slurred, “No skin off my nose,”

The interaction ended there for Lady Medarda, it seemed, as she turned and pushed you against one of her guards. They ushered you away down a corridor, her wolf-like grin lingering in your eye as she looked away. 

Heavy doors swung open to reveal a large, smooth bedchamber. It screamed of her, each corner loomed as she did. Flurs covered the bed and an enticing fire showered the room in an orange hue.  You were not unaware of your chances here, should you fail to impress her it was highly likely Lady Medarda would simply kill you. She had killed many more for far less. That felt less like a death sentence and more like a challenge, an otherworldly desire to please overwhelmed you.You would spar if necessary or clean or scribe or bathe her. Whatever it took, you resolved The guards left quickly, leaving you alone. 

Unsure of how long she would be or if she would join you tonight at all, you curled at the foot of the fire. Sitting on a chair felt too presumptive, the bed entirely off limits as hers. 

Time slipped by like sand through a sieve, your eyelids grow heavy as you stayed perched. 

“Undress me,” You were unsure when she appeared and how you’d missed it, a stormy smile yanking you forward. 

Twitching, unsteady hands stroked against her dress, you undid it and pulled it off, careful not to linger too long on any part of her body. 

Fuck. There was no underwear to even attempt to remove. 

“Anything else, My lady?” You muttered, eyes down. Thick hands slammed you down, your knees crashing into harsh marble. The pain had tears forming, eyes darting up in shock. 

Lady Medarda slapped your face lightly, as if disciplining a dog, “Eat,” she commanded, pushing your jaw forward. 

Oh.

Soft, dewy folds rested just above your mouth, your task for her Ladyship suddenly obvious. Your small tongue dashed out, unsure as it lapped against her. A triumphant sigh rattled from her chest, grip encouraging your ministrations. The inferno was back, eating you whole, turning you to dancing embers. Warmth leaked from her onto your lips, wiping your mind into a blissfully clean slate. Each pulse of her core had you licking harder, deeper, fuelled by her certain guidance and your primal bliss. 

You were inexperienced and sloppy, but Ambessa hardly minded. Your emptying eyes and desperate gasps against her cunt were more than enough to close that gap, her head lulling back in pleasure. Her pillowy thighs robbed you of the small gaps of air her clit had allowed, pressure weak but noticeable. Another Noxian message - serve or perish trying. 

This was far from a death sentence, it was salvation.  Like a mutt you rutted mindlessly at her feet, your own leaky ache coating your thighs. 

“Dirty girl,” Ambessa cooed, riding your face more harshly, a smirk on her lips, “Unable to stop yourself,” 

You whined, nose pushing against her clit as you nodded, spluttering in oxygen noisily. She would be your undoing, towering and crushing your sense of self, moulding it for herself. 

Fingers tugged against your locks as Ambessa roughly used your face to find her completion, grunts and bewitching moans sending her higher and further until she crashed against your bruised mouth, her juices flooded onto your surprised face as you lapped and sucked. 

“Strip,” She panted, glittered gaze dominating you as she held out a hand to receive your clothes. 

You did without question, lumpy fabric landed in her grip as you tried to offer yourself as openly as possible. Embarrassment crept through the heady fog. You were slight, not by choice but malnutrition and years of overworking yourself. Ambessa crushed that doubt, throwing your clothes in your flames as she stalked around you. You were perfect, she decided, oh how she loved to break things. 

“No need for those, they hide you away,” She purred, toying with your upper thighs, hovering just below where you begged for her, “Have you ever been touched here little one?” 

“No, My Lady,” You moaned out, “I-Uh just you,”

She let out a laugh, making butterflies dance in your chest, “I haven’t even done it myself yet, Dear,” 

“Please?” You find yourself whimpering, “I’ll do whatever you like,” 

“Oh will you now,” Her tone mocked you, sympathetic pout on her mouth as she gripped your hips and you flung across the air into her bed. The furs soothed your sore legs, her scent permeated them. Your knees fell open, pleading for her to use your molten core. 

Use she did, regardless of your comforts and desires. Two fingers pushed into you, you stuttered and slurred as your body adjusted. Ambessa was not patient, overactive from too many idiots at once and your artful, whorish tongue, she ploughed into you against your pained whines. Soon pain gave way to a sticky, addictive ecstasy. She saw the change, empty eyes suddenly clouding over, loud keening moans ripping from our throat. 

“My, very loud without a cunt against your mouth, Pet,” Ambessa’s hypnotic snarl had you nodding nonsensically, chasing a high you didn’t understand. Just as you thought you would tumble helplessly off a cliff it all stopped. The engine died. Her fingers stilled. 

“Why did you stop?” You croak, outraged, grabbing at her wrist. 

Ambessa growled, fear spiking your heart as harshly as pleasure had. A free hand leisurely planted a slap against your burning cheek, lips falling open in shock. Not at the violence, but the joy it flared in you. The same hand slapped your suddenly empty hole, narrowed eyes following the trail of drool leaking from your useless mouth. 

“You don’t do anything without my permission, Foolish girl,” Ambessa flipped you as easily as a book page, rubbing against your ass absentmindedly, “Do you think ten will suffice?”

“What?” Your lips could barely move.

Her eyes rolled, “Fifteen then, do be sure to count them,” 

Her hand came swiftly slamming down. 

One

“Aloud,” Her teeth bit your ear.

Fuck

It was almost as if you had never been taught numbers, each one fighting its way out as your ass joined the list of things sore and overused on your body. Ambessa seemed detached, calm as though she was merely discussing the weather. At fifteen your face was crushed against her thighs, taking in her skin and huffing in the sex stained air as much as you could.

From this new position those blissful, brutal fingers thrust back in at an inhumane rhythm, your battered mind finally following the flow of commands. If you wished for more, you begged and even then if she did not wish it, it would not be so. You were dangling over that cliff again, love drunk on Ambessa as her siren song sang you over the edge. It felt like ascension, your soul left your body, your scream desperate. Gushing liquid and tinges of red mingled on her powerful fingers. Noxian in your own way then, you giggled to yourself, head rolling against her legs. Lady Medarda revelled in it, her fingers licked clean by her own indulgent tongue. 

You seemed to float there for a while, murderous sweet nothings indecipherably fell from your Lady’s lips as she cleaned you. 

“A fabulous start,” She grinned, caressing your cheek, “I think you’re ready now,” 

Rolling you onto her furs, she stood and opened a small wooden cupboard to the right of her bed. What she removed you could barely process, a long dark rod attached to leather straps that fit snugly on her hips. She had never seemed stronger, force and control things she owned and tamed rather than possessed as your legs were spread. Now lying on your back, tickled by the bedding, you could fully appreciate her breasts. Weighty and glistening, they called to you like a swinging pocket watch, enticing you with every movement. This distraction allowed Ambessa to toy with your stretched hole, her strap-on lightly stimulating your twitching folds. Leaning down, her own hand met your sorely neglected breast as she squeezed the supple flesh. Pinching a nipple between her nails, she twisted till you’d soaked your thighs, coating the strap-on as she wished. 

“Good girl,” She tugged you down, strap moving in an inch or two.

A wanton mewl slipped from your lips, grinding against it for more friction. She only punished you slightly, sharp nails scratching at your clit. The warlord attempted to be patient, coaxing the length in as kindly as possible. Your rolling eyes and sharp inhales were making it troublesome, her restraint slipping as she thrust into you fully. You squealed, glassy eyes wide as she bottomed out, pussy gushing slightly. Her fingers had prepared you for any major stretching, so the pain was fainter than you’d anticipated. Once Ambessa realised this her restraint slipped entirely, merciless hips destroying you as she stared into your very soul. 

“I thought you’d squirm less, Pet,” Venom dripped into your ear, your body twitching and rutting to meet her pace, “I do hope it's not too much,” 

“More,” You grunted, desperate, “Use me like a whore,” You had no idea where that came from, but it felt right somehow, your thoughts dripping in the lustful debauchery she had introduced.

“Don’t worry, your Mistress knows just how to treat you,” She said firmly, pace speeding up as a dark chuckle left her lips, this was a pleasant exercise, her muscles flexing as her strap soiled your sloppy cunt. 

“Mistress,” You slurred back happily, the word soothing you. You were getting close again, blood thrumming in your ears, black spots dancing across your vacant eyes, shameless begging filling the room. 

It was music to Ambessa’s ears, wet slaps of skin against skin as you whimpered and shrieked for her, your body moulded to serve. You had come so far from the little Wallflower she had teased hours ago, and you would stay like this, a sex-crazed slut worshipping at her feet. Feeling her own climax edging closer, she slurred filth into your malleable mind, both of you breathless and dripping with slick. She stole your orgasm from you as she conquered everything else, with ruthlessness and obsession. You were babbling, preening as you leaked over the furs, relishing in her juices dripping down onto you. 

In a fluid motion she pulled out and sank down, lapping up your mess as you giggled helplessly. Her tongue was far superior to your own, coaxing another sticky flood as your mind snapped like a weak twig. No thoughts, no noise, no understanding. Only pleasure. Always pleasure. 

Ambessa surveyed your blissed out, nonresponsive form as she cleaned herself and the strap-on off, placing it back in its box. A warm hand towel was fetched, as she stroked up and down your shining skin, slowly grounding you with sweet nothings and alluring kisses. You couldn’t quite understand her, but love and safety blossomed in your chest. Lady Medarda had chosen you and you had pleased her. Succumbing was good. Was right. 

“Thank you,” Your weak voice said, kissing against her palm. 

“You’re welcome, my darling,” A kiss to your forehead, “Rest now, sink into me,”

You were pulled onto her chest, pillowy breasts and warm covers plunging you into a dreamless, glorious sleep.

You loved Noxus. 

[cosmicjoke]

How the Shattered Teacup Represents Total Loss:

I can't believe there are people that actually say this moment, with Levi crying, was awkward or out of character. Takes like that are just so bereft of any nuanced thinking and, honestly, I find it insulting to Levi as a character and the seriousness of what he's just gone through in this story.

They're talking about a ten year old boy who's just had to kill for the first time, who was nearly beaten to death and threatened with being sold into sexual slavery, and who's only solace in a life of absolute hell is this single, good memory of him and his mother drinking tea together. A memory that's already vague in his mind, already insubstantial.

I think it's absolutely purposeful how Isayama shows only a portion of Kuchel's face in Levi's memory of her, slightly out of focus and cast in quite literally an idyllic light. It's meant to indicate that he doesn't remember her clearly. And Levi says as much, when he says the only thing he remembers clearly is her elegance. All he's left with is an impression of her, then. An outline of who she was. That we don't really see her eyes, but only her smile, leaving her in Levi's mind an unknowable enigma, a woman of beauty, stood out in his mind for how sharply that beauty contrasted with the filth and decay of the rest of his world, but not much else. No doubt the memory of her is fading further under the deluge of suffering and horror that makes up the rest of his life.

These same people who say things like Levi crying here is out of character also seem to think that the reason Levi is crying is literally because the cup broke, that the cup breaking represents nothing deeper or more meaningful, and that's why they think it's weird. I can't think of a more simple-minded way of reading this scene, written by an author known for his nuance and use of subtext.

The cup shattering is a metaphor for Levi experiencing total loss. The loss of his innocence, the loss of his connection to his mother, to the warmth of that memory of her, to any sense of comfort or goodness, all to be replaced with the bleak reality of his existence in the Underground, a world of merciless cruelty and violence and a reminder of his own loneliness. He's crying because it's the last vestiges of his hope shattering and, as I've spoken about before in my original analysis of this scene, I think Levi's tears are also rooted in this sense of fear that he's somehow sullied his mother's memory by killing those men. That's such a tragic thought, because Levi didn't sully her memory at all, even as her memory has indeed been sullied, which I'll talk about in a moment. But it's not Levi who sullied it. He was just doing what he had to to survive. He killed purely in self-defense. It wasn't wrong of him to do so. But that also exposes the insidious nature and the cruelty of what the man in the glasses said to Levi, planting this thought in his head that his mother would be disappointed or disgusted in him for killing.

When you think about the fact that the only good thing Levi has in his life is this memory of his mother, this single memory of her elegance that he regards with so much importance precisely because it's the only good experience he can ever recall having, and then you realize that memory and experience has now been so horribly, irrevocably tainted by what he's just gone through, the trauma of killing for the first time, it really puts into perspective the weight of this loss for Levi.

It makes perfect sense, then, why he bursts into tears. It also makes clear why we see Levi's trauma manifesting as an adult, in his habit of holding his cups by the rim instead of the handle. It isn't a fear of his cups breaking that makes Levi do this, it's because his mother's teacup shattering is representative in his mind of losing her for good and he plainly doesn't want to live through the pain of that again.

The only good thing he had to cling to in a life of suffering, the only thing of purity left in his life, has now been destroyed by the very environment and world that took his mother from him to begin with. Again, it wasn't Levi who sullied his mother's memory, but those men who attacked him, and the nature of the world Levi is living in itself.

This is the moment where we see Levi finally lose everything. He has nothing left after this. Like he said, his power awoke, Kenny disappeared, and the only thing that hadn't disappeared were the memories of his mother. But those memories have, from this moment on, forever been spoiled by the trauma of what those men did to him and forced him to do in turn. Levi won't ever again be able to find the same solace or comfort in the memory of his mother that he once did. The cup shattering, and Levi crying, is meant to represent the completeness of that loss. It's like he's lost his mother all over again, but this time, for good. He no longer even has that memory of her to retreat into as an escape from his horrible life, because it's been dirtied by what he's just gone through. He'll now forever associate the memory of his mother with the trauma of having to kill to survive.

It's so messed up and I don't think people have really given enough thought to just how tragic this moment is. And once again, I think it only serves to reiterate what a miracle it is, that through this total loss of anything good in his life, even something as basic and insubstantial as a faded impression of his mother's beauty, Levi was still able to be a genuinely good person. The kind of strength that would take, mentally and emotionally, is something truly special. Faced with such absolute cruelty and loss, instead of becoming cruel himself and wanting to rob others of their comfort, instead of becoming bitter and consumed by hatred, Levi instead became someone who always leads with compassion and kindness, who is always willing go give up his own comfort to ease the suffering of others.

[supercorpkid]

Would it really kill you if we kissed? Final

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Kara Danvers x B!D!Reader, Alex Danvers x B!D!Reader, Lena Luthor x Reader, Esmé Danvers.

Word Count: 3360.

Previously on part 2. Part 3 of 3 :)

You touch down on the rooftop of your apartment building, the cool night air sharp against your skin, a reminder that you're back in National City, back to the familiar world you tried so hard to leave behind. Once inside, you let your bag drop to the floor, the sound echoing in the silence, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of it—like you thought coming back here would make any of it feel better. But here you are, alone in your apartment, as if you could somehow outrun everything boiling up inside you.

You slump down onto the edge of your bed, and the silence presses in, thick and suffocating. You want to tear it apart, rip through this emptiness just to feel something else, anything else. But all that’s left is the quiet of the apartment against the loud of your raging mind.

You try to remind yourself why you came back—how you told yourself that being away from your sisters, from Lena, would give you space to breathe. But the air here feels no less heavy, and every time you close your eyes, you’re back on that island, hearing your own voice cut through the night,. Every word you threw at Kara and Alex loops through your mind, over and over, until you can barely tell where the anger ends and the regret begins.

And then, there it is, unbidden: the memory of Lena’s smile, her soft laugh, the way her hand lingered just a fraction too long when she’d touch your arm. You wonder what she’s thinking now—if Kara told her what happened, or if she just thinks you’ve vanished, abandoning this one fragile connection you were terrified to admit even to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. You’ve burned the bridge, and you don’t deserve to look back. But the ache doesn’t ease; it settles deeper, a constant reminder that you’ve pushed away everything and everyone that mattered, leaving you with the raw, hollow ache of being completely alone.

The next day, you fly to Midvale, drawn back to the place that’s always felt like home. J’onn and M’gann assure you they have things covered, their gentle understanding a stark contrast to the turmoil you’re carrying. But here you are, hoping that maybe, while back home, the guilt from burning all those bridges won’t feel as heavy.

The moment you arrive, Eliza’s face lights up, her arms open wide for you. “My little girl,” she says softly, pulling you into the kind of hug you didn’t realize you needed. “Wait—I thought you were all off on an island somewhere? Didn’t you go for a vacation?”

"Hmm, yeah. I—I had to come back early because of this… thing." you reply, the words clumsy on your tongue, but she doesn’t press. 

Instead she scans your face. Eliza might not be your birth mother, but damn does she know you like one. She can see right through you, and you don't know if you're just that easy to read or if the people in your life just know you deeply.

"Well then, come in. Let's do the thing." She guides you inside the house, and you try to distract yourself with old feelings and memories instead of the new ones.

It's later that day when Eliza settles on the couch next to you, watching you with that quiet, gentle patience she's always had. "You know,” she begins softly, “you’ve always had the heart of a hero.”

“I think you’re confusing me with Kara,” you mutter, eyes fixed on the floor, but Eliza shakes her head, smiling.

"No, I'm not. Kara was always about the big thing—saving the world. But you, you've always been about the little things. Feeding the homeless, nursing birds and cats back to health, getting stray dogs into the house…" She sighs and you bite your lips so you don't smile at the memories. "You didn't even use your powers most of the time."

"Well, if I remember correctly, I wasn't allowed to."

"Oh, like that ever stopped the two of you." she chuckles, and despite yourself, you smile at the memories. "When you two landed here, Kara was mad most of the time. Just angry at the world and I got that, she had every reason. But you were always so kind. A sweet little thing ready to help anything that moved. Oh, and let’s not forget the plants,” she adds with a wink.

“Where are you going with this?”

She breathes deep. "That always worried me."

"What? You worried about me?"

“Still do, sweetheart. You had every reason to be mad too. But you never let your feelings show. You keep so much inside, bottled up.” Eliza reaches for your face, her hand soothing on your cheek, and you lean into the touch you so desperately need. “I don’t know what happened, but you’re allowed to be a mess, to explode, to embrace the difficult feelings.”

You lean into her hand, your eyes stinging. “Well, you might be glad to know that I… finally let it out.”

She nods slowly, eyes full of warmth. “And that’s okay. Just don’t hold on to those feelings for too long. Don’t let them chip away at the good, sweet part of you.”

You nod, her words sinking in as you finally let yourself breathe. Maybe it’s time to start processing all of this without the anger clouding it, without the need to keep defending your heart. You’re home now, and maybe here, you can start to sift through everything, piece by piece, until it hurts a little less.

Over the next couple of days, you stay in Midvale, trying to get your shit together while Eliza makes sure you’re giving yourself the space to feel every hurt, every regret you’ve been holding back. Slowly, you reconnect with parts of yourself you’d almost forgotten in all this mess, while Lena's words take root in some deep place inside—a place that cannot simply be brushed off or resolved, only managed.

You're not alone. You have to stop being alone.

When you finally feel ready, you head back to National City, determined to face the aftermath of your choices. The first thing you see when you walk into your apartment is Kara—waiting for you. The sight of her feels like a punch to the gut, all the words you’d left unspoken swirling around in your mind.

"Kara!" You manage to squeak out, your heart racing. "You're—you're back!"

Kara lets out a small sigh, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words has landed squarely on her just now. "I can't believe you said all those mean things and just... left us to sit with them."

You look down, biting the inside of your mouth, your heart tightening. "I know. I'm sorry. I—I guess I couldn't handle you being disappointed in me."

Kara’s expression softens, her gaze finding yours. "I would never be disappointed in you," she says quietly, stepping closer until she’s just a breath away. Her voice holds a warmth that reaches past your defenses. "I just don’t understand why you went so long without telling me any of this. Why would you keep it all to yourself?"

"Because I was afraid," you admit, the words coming out barely above a whisper. You clench your hands together, holding back the wave of emotions threatening to spill over. "Afraid to lose you. To lose everyone, actually." Your voice shakes, and you blink hard, forcing down the tears currently burning your eyes. "I can’t lose you, Kara."

Kara reaches out, her hand gentle as it lands on your shoulder. "You’ll never lose me, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice filled with an honesty that you can’t ignore. "But I don’t want you to feel like you’re losing yourself just to be my sister, or some idea of what you think I need you to be."

You breathe in, taking in the truth of her words, letting them settle into the cracks you’ve been trying to ignore. "It’s just... it’s exhausting, Kara. Trying to keep up with you and everything I need to be. And it hurts. All of it."

"I never wanted you to feel like that," she says, her voice filled with regret. "I thought we were doing this together. But now I see, I was so focused on how much having you by my side helped me, how much I needed you, that I didn’t think about how it felt for you."

You meet her eyes, finally allowing yourself to let down some of the defenses you've built up. "I didn’t know you needed me, I just felt like I was just fading into the background. Just the other hero, the one who's supposed to fit into your world. I didn’t want you to feel like I was letting you down."

Kara’s thumb traces gently along your cheekbone, wiping away the last of your tears. “You’ve never let me down, and you were never just another hero.” Her words are like a balm on a wound that’s been aching for too long. “Maybe I got so used to you being my strength that I forgot to let you lean on me too. But you’re not just my little sister or my backup out there. You were never second best to me. You’re everything good that I wish I could be.” Her voice wavers, a crack slipping through her steady tone. “I’m sorry that I haven’t always shown you that. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to be someone you didn’t want to be.”

The raw honesty in her voice, the way her words strip away the last remnants of the defenses you’ve held, reaches deep inside you. You take a shaky breath, nodding as the fear that’s held you silent finally dissolves, leaving only the truth between you.

"I guess things will change a little if you really want me there."

"Oh trust me, knowing you're there with me it's what makes me like supering so much." Kara’s hands cup your face softly, grounding you in this moment. “And Rao, Y/N, I’m not in love with Lena. I never was, and I never will be. And even if I was…” She pauses, her gaze unwavering. “I would always put your happiness above mine.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, your heart clenching.

“It’s true. You mean everything to me. But also—Lena’s just my best friend. I love her, but not like that, okay?” Kara’s voice is gentle, pleading. “Please, do something about it. You deserve to be happy with her. You’ve held back for so long, and I hate that you felt you had to.”

A small, trembling smile breaks through as the weight of everything you’ve been carrying finally lightens enough for you to throw your arms around your sister, pulling her into a hug that’s been building since this whole thing started.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you and pushed you away,” you whisper, a smile breaking through the last of your tears. “I missed you every day.”

“I missed you too.” Kara’s voice is soft, and you can hear the smile in it—a warmth that melts away the tension in your body, easing the ache you’ve been holding onto. The closeness, her arms around you, feels like the piece you’d been missing all along.

For a moment, you both stay like that, wrapped in the quiet, finally able to be vulnerable without walls, without all the unspoken weight between you. In her arms, with her smile in your ear, the ache doesn’t just ease—it starts to heal.

Kara places a soft kiss on the top of your head, her arms still holding you close. “Now go. Go talk to Lena.”

You pull back slightly, hesitating. “Are you sure? Are we… good?”

Her smile is gentle, warm. “I think we haven’t been this good in months. So yeah, I’m sure. Go to her!”

Your heart swells, and you lean in, pressing a grateful kiss to her cheek. “I love you,” you murmur, the words carrying more weight than ever.

Her smile widens, eyes shining. “I love you, ie.”

With that, you take a steadying breath, feeling stronger than you have in a long time, ready to face whatever comes next. And next is… Alex.

You knock on her door, expecting to be greeted with anger, but instead, you’re met with a soft, “Hey! Come on in. We’re still unpacking!”

“Auntie!” Esmé jumps onto your leg, her face lighting up with joy as you scoop her up and plant a smooch on her cheek, earning a delighted giggle. “Where were you?”

“Oh, I went to visit your grandma.”

Alex glances up from her bag, raising an eyebrow. “Did you really go to see Mom?”

“Yep.” You set Esmé down, and she dashes off, following Kelly's call to help organize her room—basically code for leaving you and Alex alone.

“So I don’t have to go full mom on you?” Alex asks, crossing her arms playfully, and a smile tugs at your lips.

“Guess not.”

“Good.” Alex steps closer and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, her warmth soothing. “Sorry I didn’t keep your secret.”

“No, Alex, you were right. It was eating me alive. I don’t know how I didn’t explode earlier. I’m sorry for making you feel guilty; you are the perfect big sis.” You offer her a soft smile, genuine gratitude flowing between you. “I’m glad I finally got it all out in the open.”

Alex reaches for your arm, her touch reassuring. “Feel better now?”

You nod. “A bit guilty from all the yelling, but yeah. I guess I needed that. It’s like the weight’s been lifted.”

“Have you seen Lena yet?” she asks, her expression turning serious.

“No. Just Kara.”

“Alright then. Thanks for stopping by. Don't leave without saying goodbye to your niece again. And go confess your feelings to Lena, or I swear to God, I’ll tell her myself.”

You narrow your eyes at her, half-serious. “Just because this worked once doesn’t mean it will work again.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure it will.” she says with a smirk, a glimmer of encouragement in her gaze.

You give her balcony door a soft knock, peering in to see Lena by the couch, a drink in hand, looking more tired than before the vacation. Her bag still sits half-unpacked nearby. At the sight of you, she scowls but heads over, unlocking the balcony door and stepping aside for you to come in.

“Hey, Lena,” you offer, voice soft.

“Don’t ‘hey Lena’ me,” she snaps, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m mad at you!” She turns abruptly and heads toward the kitchen, leaving you standing by the door, unsure whether you should follow. “How could you? We were all excited to spend time with you, to finally have you around without your lame ass excuses, but you spent most of the time there hiding behind a six-year-old, and then you just got up and left without a word!”

“Lena, I’m so—”

But she doesn’t let you finish. “Did I not deserve a goodbye? Do I really mean so little to you?”

The hurt in her voice strikes deep, and you take a step closer, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “No! Lena, you mean everything to me! I just… I couldn’t face you. Not with everything I was feeling.”

She finally turns to look at you, her eyes sharp, a blend of anger and pain. “Then tell me. What was so unbearable that you couldn’t talk to me? Because I was there baring my heart open to you. And you —you just left me! You left us! What's the point of a family trip if you're not even there?”

You swallow hard, heart pounding as you force yourself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You're right, I never should've left."

"Of course I'm right!" Her hands turn into fists, angry bubbling up and you let her have her outburst, because now you understand how important they are. "I tried everything, Y/N. I begged you for your time. I tried to have you open up to me, but you just kept shutting me off! You've been shutting me off for months now, and God, what did I do to you?” Lena’s voice breaks. “What did I do to deserve it? Why do you hate me now?"

"I don't. Lena, baby, I could never hate you." You force yourself to come closer even though you are terrified of her reaction to what you're about to say. "I actually love you so much, I was scared of the feeling."

"What?"

"I love you, Lena. I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you."

Lena’s expression falters, the anger flickering into surprise, maybe even shock. She stares at you, words failing her as she searches your face, as if trying to decipher if she heard you right, if you’re serious. The silence stretches thin, and for a split second, you’re sure you’ve gone too far, that you’ve finally broken something you can’t fix.

But then, slowly, Lena’s shoulders drop, and a softness replaces the tension in her eyes. “You… you love me?” she whispers, her voice barely more than a breath.

You nod, a shaky exhale leaving your lips as you finally let the words settle into the open. "I love you. I know it might seem impossible after how I acted, and I know I messed up by pushing you away. But, Lena, every single moment, I’ve been in love with you. It was just… easier to hide than to risk losing you over it.”

"God, you're—you're infuriating, Y/N Danvers!" She grabs the collar of your t-shirt with surprising strength, prompting you closer. "If you didn't spend all of your time running and hiding from me, you would see that I'm also in love with you!"

“You are?” you almost stumble back in shock, but she’s holding you so tightly that you barely move. “You really feel the same?”

"Yes, darling.” Her tone is suddenly so sweet and soft, and yet she doesn’t let go of you. “I really do feel the same. Now you already made me wait for too long, so… Would it really kill you if we kissed?"

Your heart races as her words sink in, the weight of her admission filling the air between you. You stare into her eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, but all you see is warmth and a fierce determination that makes you feel like the only person in the world. 

"It might kill me if we don't."

Without a second thought, you close the distance, your lips finding hers in a rush of pent-up emotion. The kiss is electrifying, a fire that you both had been trying to deny for far too long. Lena’s hands release their grip on your collar and tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if she’s afraid you might vanish again. You melt into her, relishing the sweetness of the moment, the soft taste of her lips awakening every nerve ending in your body.

When you finally pull away, breathless, Lena’s eyes shine with a mix of mischief and sincerity. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Actually, I was terrified.” you joke, and she rolls her eyes at your antics.

“Well then, how about another kiss to make you feel less scared?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up as you lean in again, savoring the sensation of her against you, the way her lips move with yours, the warmth radiating from her body. In that moment, the past feels like a distant memory, and all that matters is this connection between you both.

As you pull back, breathless and smiling, Lena’s gaze is intense, filled with promise. “You’re not going anywhere this time, right?”

“Never again.” you reply, your heart full of certainty. “I’m right where I wanna be.”