#might not directly answer but i will read and take it to heart

[tcoaal]

a fundamental key aspect of examining literature is the author's intention, and everything we do with that intent: be it accepting it or rejecting it. it is among the most important tasks of the reader: when you do a critical analysis, especially so.

i am a very, very, very firm believer the "Word of God" is secondary to what is presented in the actual text. it is most important to examine what has been said or done in the text and it's implications directly, that is my personal belief as a reader. however, i believe that the author's intent is not something that should be ignored.

Nemlei is very clear, for example, that the idea of the siblings acting the way they are due to a neurodivergence or mental illness is not the right way to think. this is observable in the text.

Andrew and Ashley didn't become murderous incestious cannibals because they were born the right way or crazy or some stupid shit like that. they are the products of a society and world that has completely and absolutely failed them at every opportunity.

the coffin does not exist because they were naturally destined for it.

i've always thought, from the moment i played it, this is it. this is the moment Ashley Graves became a Tar Soul. i think it was the last chance Renee had to say "Holy shit, I'm a fucking terrible mother." and try to help her. and when Andrew, a child himself, fell asleep (not something he should blamed for) as Ashley tried to share her pain. the moment a Tar Soul hatched.

so that leads into the second half. about accepting or rejecting the author's intent.

the final room in Shots and Such is haunting. there's so much you can easily miss. the bathroom, Ashley's last safe space, being destroyed in a rampage by Andrew. the fucking table. the one time they had sex Andrew in his right mind enjoyed, Ashley only able to enjoy it as she was so drunk she could not be "herself" and breaking down afterwards. even small things like Andrew not taking out the garbage and Ashley preferring to let it affect their living space than help him out. everything in that small apartment from hell: everything must be viewed together as the whole, as the sum of all it's parts.

there is a clear intention of the author in those so easily missable scenes. the mutual love and hatred between them, with hatred greater than love. the dysfunction and normalization of violence into just another day.

Andrew having raped Ashley and probably not even processing it was rape is just another dime in the dozen incident in that little hellhole. hell, maybe that was the night he knocked up Ashley.

we can interpret this scene in different ways, even though i think the author's intention is pretty clear. Ashley could not consent. she lost all control, they had sex, and Andrew can't piece together what went wrong. the one night they actually "made love" which is clearly an opinion he and only he has.

... and you know, we have to accept author's might not have the same morality as us. the same opinions.

"If two people get super drunk, and have sex, who's at fault?" and some people might not have answers we like. an author might even write an opinion we vehemently disagree with from the bottom of our heart.

and it is our duty as readers to discern and interpret their works. i truly, sincerely believe this. i believe from the bottom of my heart the author's intention has become clear in shots and such.

"No one asks when she kicks you out for the night, or which stairs she fell down this time. It's all business as usual."

the normalization of both abuse and despair.

to the point even this becomes just another tidbit of that hell.

hate the idea that an abuse victim can become an abuser all you want. i think it is clear what it is Nemlei has tried to convey. hate it, reject it, love it, accept it, or ignore it. disagree or agree with me. i personally have read this and have arrived at my conclusion based on the text given to me, and analysis of the dialogue in this scene as well.

Nemlei is not writing for us. she makes that clear.

and it is up to us if we want to accept or reject that.

[whyohwhydoris]

This is a fascinating question to me, because I have always read Buffy x Spike as queer. I tend to read them as a Bi x Bi relationship, specifically.

I would first point out that, if you accept both the comics and Angel (the show) as canon, then both Buffy and Spike are canonically not-straight. In Angel, Spike directly says that he and Angel have never been intimate "except that one time". In the comics, Buffy has a short relationship with a woman.

Outside of the extended canon, within Buffy itself, both characters are somewhat strongly alluded to being queer.

Buffy:

Famously, Buffy and Faith are strongly implied to be more than friends. Faith makes a heart on a window when looking at Buffy and calls Buffy "girlfriend", Buffy describes hanging out with Faith as a date. Later, Spike is paralleled with Faith on several occasions as well. This is particularly notable because Spike is specifically Buffy's romantic partner while being actively paralleled with Faith. Faith also has behaviours which are consistent with a former lover in future encounters, including charged awkwardness. And finally, Faith takes control of and has sex in Buffy's body. A common refrain among queer individuals can be "do I want to be with them or be them" which points to the interplay of attraction to and expression of the gender with which you identify, and implies the potential for attraction to Buffy which in turn makes their relationship in season 3 seem more strongly allegorical. Notably, Faith-as-Buffy approaches Spike but mockingly dismisses having sex with him "Because it's wrong" - something which someone who is openly queer might mock someone who is closeted for expressing.

Spike:

Similarly, Spike is frequently presented in gender non-conforming ways, makes statements about masculinity, and engages with men in sexually coded ways. He paints his nails, dyes and styles his hair, is specific about food preparation, watches romantic soaps, and pays attention to celebrity relationships - all things which were decidedly feminine coded in the late 90s/early 2000s (and frankly, still coded that way today). He wears a women's coat. In his first fight with Buffy, when she suggests dropping the weapons, he jokingly says they make him feel "manly" before dropping his. And we know, without question, that Spike has turned men - an act with strong sexual undertones.

Spike is also the recipient of sexually charged comments from Xander ("compact, yet well muscled"), in Season 7 Spike and Xander share a look when someone asks if anyone in the group hasn't slept together, and finally in season 7 Buffy suggests oiling up Angel and Spike and letting them wrestle. While these are jokes, they also make Spike a subject of same-sex sexual implications which illuminates the way the character is presented. (Interestingly, Xander is often implied to have attraction to men as well, dating back to when Larry comes out of the closet to Xander)

Meta-Narrative:

But, there is another layer, which is magic. The magical happenings in Buffy are often presented as an allegory for sex and sexuality.

The violence of vamparism and the requirement for - and presentation as - intimacy during siring is not incidental. Darla was a sex worker, Angel and Spike are directly said to be rapacious as vampires, Drusilla is taking holy orders - including celibacy - before she is tortured and turned. When Spike is turned, the scene is shot intimately and in the immediate aftermath of his rejection by Halfrek/Cecily at a moment of emotional and intimate vulnerability which Drusilla directly exploits. Later, we see that violence and sex are directly intertwined when Drusilla and Spike are intimate after he kills his first slayer - a facet paralleled by Faith's statement that slaying makes her horny and the attendant suggestion that Buffy might feel the same way through her non-answer and her later engagement in slaying-after-sex while she is with Riley.

Outside of vamparism, Xander is frequently sexually/romantically paired with supernatural beings and Willow and Tara are famously queer, with their growing intimacy initially being displayed through their mutual practice of magic. That practice of magic is intensified as a metaphor in Once More With Feeling where Tara floats while singing "you make me com-plete" as it is implied that Willow is performing cunnilingus. Additionally, Willow's use of magic to blank Tara's memory of a fight before that act is an allegory for intimate-partner violence, with Tara later pointedly using language of "violation" about the memory alteration.

Along a similar line, magic often encourages sensuality and intimacy. In Band Candy Giles and Joyce have sex multiple times under the influence of magical chocolate. In Something Blue, Willow's will-be-done spell results in Spike and Buffy being physically intimate with each other (though without sex), Bad Beer suggests briefly (to set up a joke) that Buffy might have had group-sex with a group of four guys before denying it (while it is denied, I'd might argue that jokes are used a number of times in Buffy to present implied readings without making them canon), while Where the Wild Things Are has Riley and Buffy get possessed by a spirit of repressed sexual urges, and Halloween has Willow wearing an very sexy outfit which attracts Oz's attention while Buffy chooses a dress she thinks will make her attractive to Angel and Spike plays up the damsel in distress aspect while menacing her with sexually predatory undertones.

And beyond allegory, magical characters are presented as queer or sexually adventurous or non-conforming.

Giles is (I feel) implied to be bisexual through his budding romance with Jenny and his prior magical involvement with Ethan Rayne - a magical intimacy which is later paralleled by Willow and Tara. Jenny herself is presented as outgoing and sexually self-affirmed, and is a practitioner of magic. Willow is canonically Lesbian and a practitioner. Angel, Darla, Drusilla, and Spike are all at least implied to be non-straight. And Anya is actively sexually outgoing and is a former demon. In each case, sexual self-affirmation is tied with this supernaturality. And in Giles' specific case, he steps back from his younger Ripper days and becomes a more heteronormative individual while also practicing less magic.

*im not asking if you think spike or buffy themselves are bi or whatever, i'm asking if you think their RELATIONSHIP (or whatever you'd call it) is queer in some way

asking because i've been thinking about it a lot

[solargeist]

would it b weird to ask for art criticism, i'm curious... i'm nosy....... i need an outsiders eye with no filter to guide my way........ grade my paperrrrr..........

[heyimkana]

Come Home to Me (2/2)

Read Part 1 | Read it on AO3

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut, hurt/comfort

Summary: Your husband notices how worried you are about him going on another raid, so he stays for a bit longer to convince you that no matter what happens in the future, he will come home to you.

Word Count: 8K (I wrote too many banters I'm so sorry)

Content Warnings: Semi-public sex, swearing

“Beru, take my daughter inside. I need to be with my wife. Alone.” 

The sudden solemnity that befell your husband’s face and the way his voice, low and heavy, resonated in the air around you smeared goosebumps upon your skin. His tone carried a breath of possessiveness, imbuing life to the slumbering butterflies within your stomach.

“Certainly, my liege,” came the shadow soldier’s immediate response. Shortly after he performed a deep bow, Beru walked into the house with your daughter held tight in his arms, closing the front door behind him to offer you the freedom to speak what your heart truly felt—except you couldn’t. You were scared for a thousand different reasons.

The sun had sunk low enough below the horizon for the darkness to gather, a stroke of purple hue tinging the vast orange sky, ready to wrap the stars with its velvety quilt. Jinwoo might appear nearly transcendent under the evening sun, but nothing embraced him better than the night’s cloak, a fitting companion to a man who carried the undead within his steps. Standing before him in this quietude, you felt like you slowly returned to your old self. Abashed, nervous, losing your tongue in front of a man so handsome, he made your heart ache.

Jinwoo turned to you, his face unreadable, guarded, but there was undoubtedly a gleam of concern residing in his deep blue eyes. He took a stride toward you, his movement soundless against the marbled floor of your porch, the same way death approached those who wished to harm the only person he could call home. “What is it?” he began in a voice so soft, it was almost zephyr-like. His lean fingers circled your wrist like a bracelet, cool to the touch. “You’ve never looked this perturbed before. Did something happen?”

“No,” your answer—your lie—came almost instantly, flawless to anyone’s ears. “Nothing happened.” Behind your clamped teeth, your mind endlessly screamed the words your tongue was itching to say, a desperate plea you tried to veil with everything you had.

Don’t go, Jinwoo, please, just this one time. I have a terrible feeling about this, and I know I can’t prove to you why, but it’s eating me alive. I feel it stronger today, this fear of losing you, of losing the other half of me. I know you want me to bid my farewell with a smile the way I always do, and I’m trying my best to do it even now, but there’s only so much I can keep to myself. I don’t want to say goodbye to my husband, not knowing if it will be the last time I can see his face. So, please… Please stay… Don’t leave me. Don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Although these thoughts remained unspoken, in Jinwoo’s eyes, they manifested vividly on your face. But he wished to hear them directly, to see them flow past your lips, so he could capture each sentence and turn them into words of comfort. 

“Sweetheart,” he repeated, his voice tender yet authoritative at the same time. “Don’t make me leave you like this. Don’t make me worry about you more than I already do. Tell me. Tell me so I can help.”

He’s right, you thought. Keeping this from him will only make him worry. He can’t afford to get distracted, not now. But when you still kept your lips pressed tight, trying to collect the words, his two fingers framed your chin, leaving you with no choice but to meet his scrutinizing stare. 

He seemed upset. No, more than that, he looked… angry.

The air seemed to shimmer around him as his emotions slowly climbed to the surface, his gaze darkening as his desire to protect you gripped him like a vice. “Did someone hurt you?” Jinwoo questioned you, his voice a deep rumble, crossing through the nearly infinitesimal space between your lips and his like an impending storm. 

You fidgeted. “N-no—”

He tilted your face higher, not letting you break free from his gaze. “I would be able to tell in a heartbeat if someone laid a hand on you, but if there was something that I didn’t know, some clues that I missed, someone who made you feel even slightly unsafe.” His eyes began to gleam; the shadows beneath his feet trembled in fear in the presence of his restrained rage. “I want their names. Now.”

You gulped. This side of him never failed to make shivers crawl down your spine. Jinwoo had always been so gentle and loving with you that it was easy to forget just how vicious and merciless he could be when his protectiveness over you took form. Your husband had killed for your sake before, more than you could possibly count, and he’d take another hundred lives within a blink of your eyes should you ask him to. 

As you released your shuddering breath, you twined your fingers around his wrist. “No.” You tilted your head to the side just enough for your lips to press a soothing kiss against the blue and red rivers of veins under his pasty skin. “It’s not like that. No threats, nothing. I’m safe.”

Relief washed over him, albeit only faintly. “What is it, then?”

You tarried, trying to mince your phrases as best as you could. “I know you can handle anything,” you only began, yet your voice was already cracking with emotions. “I know that, and I believe in your strength. But I saw you, Jinwoo, just like everybody else. I saw the way your enemy stabbed your heart and tore open your chest. You survived. By some miracle, you did. But the sight of it… It haunts me."

You took a breath before you continued. "I find it impossible to sleep at night when you’re not next to me. My mind keeps drifting back to you no matter what I do, wondering if you were fighting for your life again, trapped in a battle you couldn’t win. Sometimes I look at you and…” You laid your hand above his beating heart, your fingers tracing over it as your eyes grew vacant. “I remember the way the beast’s claws pierced through your chest, right here, all five of them. Your body may have healed, and there are no traces of those wounds left on your skin, not even a scar, but… I can still see them. I’m still scared of them. And I can’t help but think… What if it happens again? What if your luck runs out this time?”

Jinwoo continued to stay mute, listening to you intently as if you were the only voice in the universe. He only reacted once quivers ran through your fingertips, seizing your hand and pressing it harder against his chest, as if to remind you that beneath those translucent scars, his heart still remained the same—still alive, beating, racing, because of you, only for you.

You curled your fingers, still couldn’t wash away the dread. “I know you can’t change who you are,” you continued, your voice laced with tears. “And I know you have no other options but to do your duty, which is why I always try my best not to stop you from leaving. But today, for some reason, I feel anxious. It almost feels the same as how I felt on the day I almost lost you. It’s probably nothing, but… Right now, it’s suffocating me.”

The tension was palpable between you, leaving you to ponder whether you had spoken too much. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser for you not to speak at all. You blinked back your tears, wiping the ones that already crossed the edges with the heel of your palm. You felt mortified for baring your feelings out in the open, for being so theatrical about it. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being so dramatic, aren’t I?” You forced out a laugh; the desire to flee the scene was almost too tempting to refuse. It didn’t help that he hadn’t spoken a word, leaving you shrouded by your own perception of his feelings. Have you upset him? Troubled him? Or maybe even hurt him in some way? Just the thought of it brought more fresh tears to emerge in your eyes. 

“I—” You cast your face to the side. “I should go check on our baby—”

Your husband caught you by your wrist, stopping you before you could escape, his touch firm but far from painful. His eyes were hidden underneath the curtain of his raven strands, but the way he pressed his lips so tautly together, enough for them to grow white, clearly indicated how much he took your words seriously.

“I’m scared, too.” 

His confession, spoken barely above a whisper, left you stunned. Out of all the things you thought he’d say at this moment, that was never one of them.

You pivoted around to face him. “Jin… woo..?”

It took him a moment to compose his words as if he lacked the bravery to come clean, to showcase his vulnerability. It was as if he had spent an eternity trying to keep these words all to himself, fighting back all the intentions to reveal this frail side of him to you, afraid of how you’d react, if he’d sadden you with it.

“I’m terrified, Sweetheart,” he repeated, quiet, almost breathlessly. “Not of death, but leaving you.” The lines of his face were strained, filled with consternation. “I know how it feels to lose those important to me. No matter how strong I get, no matter how hard I try, I still can’t protect everyone. I’ve lost my friends in battles. I’ve lost my father. And I nearly lost my mother and my sister, too. I know exactly how it feels, and it haunts me every day more than you could imagine.” 

His face twisted in sadness, almost in agony at the recollection of the precious lives that slipped through his hands, but that amount of pain felt small in comparison to how he felt when he added, “But you…” His fingertips trailed an invisible path down your cheek. “You and our daughter… You’re beyond that. You’re not just my family; you’re fragments of me. The hardest part of my mission is never about dealing with my enemies. It’s this moment right here, right now, bidding you goodbye and watching you smile back at me with your heart breaking in your eyes, thinking that you’d never get to see me again. You’re constantly on my mind, Sweetheart, every second of every day. And I always worry that something will happen to you while I’m gone. That you won’t be here to meet me at the door when I come home. That I’d be too late, and I wouldn’t be able to find you, to save you, even if I searched the whole world for you.” 

His throat felt parched, his voice so close to shattering. “With my power, no matter where you are, no matter how far you are from me, I can run back to you the moment I sense danger around you, but it will take me a second, and a second could change everything. You saw what happened with Jinah, didn’t you? I managed to save her right on time, but if I had arrived only a second later, I would’ve lost her. And if I… If you were in the same position… And I was a second too late on my way back to you… If I lost you forever…” He took one last step toward you, and he crumbled, his body sinking forward, his head falling to your shoulder. “I wouldn’t know how to live my life anymore…” A shaky breath escaped him. “Not without you…”

The amount of fear that radiated through his body was almost appalling. It was hard to believe someone so strong could tremble like this at the thought of losing you.

Jinwoo lifted his head, gathering your face in his hands, his eyes carrying the weight of a broken man. “I know it’s hard for you to watch me leave…” He pressed your foreheads together, his eyes closed in the sliver of bliss from being so close to you, but his eyebrows remained furrowed, tense from the pain and the horror of being separated from the other half of his soul. “And I will never make light of your feelings, but you also need to know just how unbearable it is for me to walk away from you…” 

You squeezed your teeth together behind your lips, your vision blurred by your tears. You could only offer a shaky nod in response, afraid you’d be sobbing if you let a word slip out of you.

“It tears me apart just to kiss you goodbye, Sweetheart.” He returned the small distance between you, gently brushing your tears away with his thumb. “Every single time I leave, it’s like cutting off a piece of me, and you don’t know how much, just how much I want to stay and be with you right now—to spend every second of my life with you, so I can stop you from looking at me with those eyes. So I can put your heart at ease.” He lifted your face just enough to meet your crystalline eyes. “Don’t ever think I want to choose my duty over you. You are always, always, the most important thing in my life.”

It was the first time you saw him so fragile, so exposed, and you could feel just how much your presence in his life affected him. You were his weakness, his only weakness. 

You quickly collected yourself, desperate to assure him. “I know…” Speaking in your softest voice, you reached out to touch him, to cup his cheek, to do anything you could to soothe him even when you, yourself, were so close to breaking. “I know how much you care about me—about us—and I’m happy, Jinwoo. You don’t know how glad I am to have a husband like you. So strong” —you brushed a featherlight kiss on his cheek—“yet, so kind”—on his jawline—“and so, so gentle.” You planted the last one on his lips, as soft and tender as how you whispered his name. “And yes, of course, I understand how hard it is for you. This is why I didn’t want to say anything at first. I didn’t want to make you feel this way. I didn’t want to make you worry more than you already did. And I’m…” You caressed his cheekbone with your thumb. “I’m sorry for speaking my thoughts out loud just now. I shouldn’t have said anything, at least not now when you’re about to leave.”

He let out a sigh under your comforting touch, almost yearning. Covering your hand with his own, he sank his face further into your palm like a child leaning to his mother’s touch. “No, don’t be sorry,” he shook his head, his lids shutting at the feeling of your warmth seeping into his pores. “I’m glad you could be honest with me. Thank you. I can breathe easy now, knowing that you’re safe.”

When he stared down at you, your smile for him was the softest, the sweetest it had ever been. It reminded him almost of his mother’s, the way it carried so much love, affection, adoration, and, most importantly, appreciation. As someone who held nearly limitless power, the constant efforts he made to save the world were never overlooked. Still, more often than not, people chose not to express their gratitude, saying he was merely doing his job as an S-Rank Hunter, taking everything he did for granted. You had seen just how cruel the public voice could be when they spoke ill of him, not long after the Jeju Raid ended.

Hunter Min Byung-Gu’s life could’ve been saved if Sung Jinwoo had appeared sooner! Yeah, where the hell was he anyway? Why didn’t he join the raid from the start? Was he scared? Hey, hey, I heard he refused to join the raid at first. Does he not realize his responsibility as an S-Rank Hunter? Embarrassing, right? S-Rank Hunters are supposed to be selfless heroes! Sung Jinwoo is not one of them!

Your husband never let these derisions get to him, but they got to you. It pained you, angered you to see these words spreading online like wildfire, but you couldn’t do much to change their opinions, and even if you could, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jinwoo never cared about them. He cared about you, about what you think of him, and fortunately for him, you were always there to appreciate every little thing he did. He didn’t have to save the world to impress you. You were already grateful for his presence, even just by seeing him plant a little kiss on your daughter’s head. 

“Thank you, Jinwoo,” you softly said, “for making the world a better place for me and our daughter to live in. But more than that, thank you for all the efforts you made as my husband and as the father of our child. For making time for us even when you were losing sleep, drained after all the raids. I’m sure your baby is grateful, too, for all the tea parties you had with her.”

He laughed a little, still carrying a hint of melancholy. “She can be quite demanding sometimes.”

“Yes, she can, but you’re always patient with her, and I adore you for that.” You stroked his cheek. “You’re a hero to us in more ways than one. You’re everything we want you—need you to be, and for that, I’ll always be grateful to you.”

His jaws clasped together like a floodgate, preventing his emotions from bursting beyond control. He nodded once, a bit bashful but visibly delighted by your lines. With a quiet giggle, you kissed the tip of his nose. “What, getting shy now?”

He responded with a chuckle, pretty roses blooming in his cheeks. “No, I’m just happy. You always know what to say to lift the weight off my shoulders. And I wish I could say something to ease your mind, too, but…” He broke away from your touch, returning your gaze. “I don’t know what the future holds for me. I can lie to you and tell you that nothing could harm me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. So, all I can offer you right now is my promise.” He brought your hand closer to his face, his lips engraving the words directly to the bumps of your knuckles. “I promise that I will do anything, everything within my power, to come home to you.”

Your heart still splintered, but it wasn’t nearly as agonizing anymore. Perhaps it was all due to his vow. Or maybe you’ve learned how to withstand the pain, to welcome it as a part of you, knowing it was something you couldn’t chase away, something that would only be repeated in the future. “Jinwoo—”

A pair of soft lips captured your own, your face held, your words stolen. The sudden kiss was chaste, almost innocent, just pure romance beneath the bitterness of a farewell. Jinwoo pulled away but only barely, the tip of his nose still grazing your cheek. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his warm breath, sweet and intoxicating, fanning your lips. “I love you so much, Sweetheart, more than I could bear.”

You looked up at him, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. “I love you, too.” 

Another kiss, another soft touch from a man you’d sworn to love unconditionally. But the gentleness of your colliding lips, the innocence of it, could never last long, always replaced by something more arduous. A hint of his longing for you, his craving, showed in the way he molded your lips beneath his, and within seconds, his kiss turned deep, controlling, consuming. His arm slithered around your waist, pressing your body close against him, tight enough for you to wonder if you could just melt into him, be a part of him. Perhaps then, you could be wherever he was. A world where you don’t have to bid him goodbye… Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

His breathing turned uneven by the time he ended the kiss, enthralled and far from satisfied. And just like him, you couldn’t do much but stare at the shape of his pretty mouth in your haze.

“You asked me if I’d let the world burn for you.” His voice turned raspy, hoarse with need, his eyes watching the way his thumb glided over your slicked lips. He pressed down on your bottom one, and you parted your mouth in response, an act so natural, it made his gaze heavy with lust. “I’d do it,” he said, stealing your breath with it. “I’d watch the world burn to the ground just to be with you for a second longer. All you need to do is say the words.”

Your eyes turned round, your heart thrashing inside your ribcages. You could see the conviction in his eyes, giving you as much joy as the fear that dawned upon you. 

The safety of the world did not lie in Sung Jinwoo’s hands. It was in yours. 

Your ardent love, intense and overflowing, rushed to your hands, crumpling the front of his coat as you brought him back to you for another taste of his lips. You pulled your husband down to you, to where he belonged, to where he should stay, your mouth meeting his in a searing kiss. You were the gravity that pulled him in, the spark of fire to reignite the flames within him. And you wanted to kiss him forever, to have his hands on your body, to be close enough for you to—

Jinwoo suddenly stiffened in your arms, breaking off the kiss so abruptly that it left your mind reeling for a second. A frown sketched over the lines in his forehead, irritation glinting in his eyes. 

Your heart plummeted, unsure of what you did wrong. “W-what is it?”

“Nothing,” he sighed exasperatedly, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I just heard Igris talking in my ear, reminding me of my schedule. What time is it now?” He lifted his wrist, glancing at the silver watch. “Damn it.” He clicked his tongue; his vexation doubled. “I guess I really have to go.” But his eyes, like always, found their way home to you, and he took you in once more, this breathtaking view of you with your face flushed, your lips all red and bruised and glistening with his spit. “And it’s probably better if I leave now before I get, umm…” He noticeably swallowed, trying to rein in the desire to take you here against the wall. “Carried away.”

With flames kissing your cheeks, you tossed your stare to the floor. “Y-You’re right. Sorry.”

“‘Sorry?’” Jinwoo tittered, the sound soft and wonderful in your ears. Lifting your face by the chin, he tilted his head slightly to the side, adoring you. “It was my pleasure, Sweetheart.”

His smirk, his voice… He seemed so effortlessly sexy when he said it that it turned you sheepish. You removed yourself from him. “S-so, umm… When will you be back again exactly?”

“Six days from now. A week, maybe.”

Your shoulders sagged. He could’ve said six years, and it would probably sound just as torturous. “Okay…”

“Come on, baby,” he smiled softly despite his heart breaking just the same. “Don’t be like this.” He rubbed his knuckles against your cheek before he poked you lightly with his finger, making you giggle from it. “I’ll make it up to you once I get home, okay? Anything you want me to do—anything at all—I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

His previously impish smile fully morphed into a devilish grin. “Anything.”

“Hopefully, it’s not something sexual,” you narrowed your eyes playfully at him.

“Hopefully, it is.” His chuckles didn't last long, followed shortly by a heavy sigh. “Can I hug my wife one last time?”

You stilled, your breath caught in your throat. “It’s not the last time.” 

He blinked before he understood his mistake, sadness coating the soft bow of his lips once he did. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.” He spread his arms wide, waiting for you to return to his warmth with the softest smile on his face. “I mean, can I hug you one more time before I go? And touch you endlessly once I get home?”

Contentment suffused you at once, and you answered him by carving the shape of your smile against his lips, your fingers coiled against the front of his coat. You made sure to keep your kiss light, not wanting to repeat the same mistake of drowning in desire. You weren’t sure you could escape it should it happen again. But even so, when you parted from him, you couldn’t deny the tension between you. Like magnets, you were drawn together. Just the slightest brush of your skin meeting his could turn it into a force beyond your control.

You tried to distract him—or rather, yourself. “H-hey, you said Igris talked to you before. Does that mean he… saw what we were doing?” This was the first time it happened, as Jinwoo had always been careful in the past not to let his shadow soldiers witness your intimate acts. Whenever you two were together, your husband would always command his army to shut down all their senses for a moment, to give you the privacy you needed. You weren’t sure why Igris could see you now, but the thought horrified you. “I’ve always been awkward with him because he doesn’t talk much and seems so… noble. If he saw us kissing like that, I… I don’t think I could face him again. Especially after…” You kept on rambling, driven out of shame, submerged at the thought of seeing the dark knight again after he witnessed everything that happened between you and his master.

Unbeknownst to you, Jinwoo’s eyes darkened, completely lost in the view. Seeing you like this, standing so small and fidgety before him, looking so flustered that you couldn’t handle meeting his eyes when you spoke—

God, I want to ruin her. 

I want to make her all mine again. 

His nails scraped against his palm as he tried to find restraint, his throat burning with the desire to claim you, to taste you, to drink everything you give him. You were asking him a question, weren’t you? Something about Igris. Fuck, he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t pay attention to any of the lines you said, watching how your mouth shaped the words but not registering them. Your voice was a whisper in his ear, easily drowned by the filthy thoughts that grew even more vehemently with each second passing by.

“Honey?”

At your call, he averted his gaze. One more second looking at you, and he would’ve succumbed to his needs. “Hmm?”

“I asked you if Igris saw us.”

“Huh? Oh, right. Yes, they saw it.”

“Wait—They?”

“Yeah, the entire army, basically.” Though he wanted to seem apologetic, his grin betrayed him. “I was too absorbed with you that I forgot to tell them to close their eyes.”

You gaped, colors draining fast from your face. “Jinwoo! ”

He laughed quietly at your reaction, catching the little punches you threw to his chest.  “Baby, relax. So what if they saw us kissing? You’re my love.”

Your stomach somersaulted at the word he chose. He could’ve just said my wife instead of my love. It would've been easier for your heart. “Well, I don’t want them to see that…” Another pout, another wild urge he had to chase away before he bruised your lips with his own. You exhaled. For some reason, you felt exhausted. “Though it’s… sweet how Igris tried to keep you from running late. That should’ve been my job. Did he just pop up, tell you to go, and then disappear again?” The vision of it looked funny in your head because surely, he must’ve been embarrassed seeing us like that, right?

“Actually, he told me to stay.” Your husband wound his arms around your waist, drawing you closer before he rested them on your curves. “He said that I should just send him there and let him take care of the gate for me. So I can be here with my queen.”

“‘Your queen?”’ You repeated, couldn’t help but feel amused even though you were touched by how caring the dark knight was to your family.

Scarlet tinged his cheek. “His words, not mine.”

“I see. So, I’m not your queen, then?”

The shade deepened as he tossed his face to the side. “Of”—he cleared his throat, his voice reducing to a mumble—“Of course, you are.”

You giggled, and your husband softened into another smile, staring at you affectionately. He seemed glad that you’d rediscovered the strength to throw a jest or two. 

“Well, as much as I don’t wish for my king to go,” you dawdled with your words, building expectations as you glided one hand up his chest. You could feel the ridges of his lean, taut muscles underneath his shirt. A wave of desire pooled inside your stomach, threatening to resurface if you weren’t being careful. “The world needs him. Even if I keep you to myself now, you’re bound to leave for another mission sooner or later. I’ve come to realize that…” You paused to gain control of your emotions, your hands fixing his collar in your attempt to seek distraction. “The best way to deal with this is by getting myself used to it. Get used to this feeling that you leave me when you kiss me goodbye. I have to teach myself to be patient, as it will only be a matter of time before my husband returns. I think that’s what I have to do,” you smiled at him, shy amidst the mischievousness that you previously displayed. “As your queen.”

His heart thawed at your lines, cradling you close enough by the shoulders to bury his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, memorizing it so he could recall this sense of peace you gave him when he was miles away from you. Even without words, you could tell just how proud he was of you. “Thank you,” he murmured against your temple. He kept you this way for a moment, his nose nuzzling against your strands until he remembered how time would never be merciful to him. “I really have to go, baby…”

“I know…”

But when he pulled away, he couldn’t find the strength to detach his gaze from you, caught in a conflict between his feelings and his responsibility. “I’ll be…”—he traced your cheek, his gaze falling to your lips—“back soon, okay…?”

You nibbled at the corner of your lip, causing him to nearly groan at the sight. You didn’t mean to entice him; you were just nervous under his hooded gaze, your body brimming with anticipation. You knew he wanted another kiss, another touch, and you wanted thousands of them, but— “Okay…”

Jinwoo moved closer, as close as he could be, his face hovering merely a few inches from yours. Nothing but desire resided in his eyes, his voice low and husky when he spoke, “Don’t miss me too much…”

It was like the air crackled between you, invisible hands drawing you together. Your fingers twined a little tighter around the front of his coat, itching to tug him down and erase the millimeters of space separating your lips. “I’ll try…” You replied with shivers in your breath, and in a moment of weakness, your gaze cascaded to his lips.

And seeing that, he snapped.

All shadows. Leave us. Now.

“Jin—mmph!” You were pushed back against the wall, your body lifted to your toes, and your lips devoured. He couldn’t do it. Whatever battle he was fighting inside, he lost it the moment he realized you wanted him just the same, and he didn’t care. You were still his prize to claim, your taste was his to consume, your warmth was his to take, and he drowned in you almost instantly, his fingers possessively grabbing your face, leaving you with no choice but to accept his kiss, to accept whatever it was he planned to give you. 

Without wasting a second, he wedged his knee between your legs, parting them open and having his thigh pressed firmly against your core. You gasped against his mouth, your body clinging onto him, shuddering at the thrilling sensation. “J-Jinwoo—”

“I know,” he replied shortly, almost in a growl, breathless against your mouth. “I need you, too, so just—” He pressed your body tight against him, his lips placed upon yours again with such urgency as if being separated from you for merely a second deprived him of all the oxygen he needed.

The last thread of restraint in your head forced you to place your hands on his chest. Despite your aching need to rub yourself against his thigh, you voiced your thoughts aloud between lustful kisses. “Wait—we shouldn’t—mmph—”

With a grunt, he removed your hands from him, pinning them against the wall as he ceaselessly devoured your mouth. He kept you that way, trapped and caged within his hold. “Y-you have to go,” you managed to whimper out, your body tensing as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down your throat.

Jinwoo finally broke away, his face flushed, painted over with nothing but ardor. “Want me to stop?”

Your heart thrashed wildly inside your chest. The huskiness in his voice, the way his breathing turned heavy at the sight of you—what women would say no?

“Come here.” You pulled him back to you, begged him for another kiss, a wish that he was so eager to comply. Struggling to match his pace, you found yourself clawing at the back of his trench coat, one of your legs hooking around his thigh as he pushed your dress up to your stomach, revealing more soft skin and supple flesh for him to grip and sink his nails into. He grunted against your neck, a string of expletives among sinful praises, and you shut your eyes, head thrown back at the thrill of having him act so needy, so desperate for you. 

You couldn’t care about anything, not anymore, but your memory recalled the sour look he made when he checked on his watch a moment ago. How much time do we have until he really needs to go? “Jinwoo—ah—” You felt his teeth grinding not so gently against your skin, marking you as if he wanted to leave something for you to remember him by, to ache for in your wake. “W-what time should you be leaving—”

His fingers circled your throat, holding you dominantly in his grip. “Ten minutes ago. Open your mouth.”

He deepened the kiss as soon as you parted your lips for him, moaning at the burst of your taste on his tongue. You welcomed his taste with a gasp, your hands now crawling up his nape, his hair, making a nest out of his strands the same way he made a mess out of you. His tongue delved inside, begging for a sliver of your sweetness, but you wanted to give him everything, and you did, your tongue sliding against his own, kissing him as if this was your last time to remember just how amazing he felt against you, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, body to body. All the fear you had over his departure, all the love you held for him, they dissolved into one, into this burning ache that permeated your core, the need to have him close.

And God, you wanted more, wanted him so badly, it felt like torture.

“Fuck,” Jinwoo groaned, followed quickly by a low moan of your name. He was really trying to hold back, to only settle down for a kiss or two, but— “Why do you have to be so goddamn irresistible all the time?”

He was suffering just the same, one hand slamming against the door to maintain his distance, to keep him away from crushing you, from becoming one with you. It balled into a fist, evidence of what was left of his self-control; his fingers clenched so tightly that it painted his knuckles white and his palm crimson. His other arm snaked around your waist as his mouth sucked bruises on your collarbone, his nails clawing against the fabric of your dress, eager to tear it apart right then, right there. Rough, sinful noises continued to stream past his lips as you brought your lower half even closer to him, the sound low and deep; it was almost primal. 

“Ngh, baby, please—” He pleaded with his eyebrows sewn together, his jaw slackening at the sensation of you pushing your hips back, grinding on him. You could feel just how hard he was beneath his pants, the contour of his cock nudging deliciously against your clothed heat. It excited you, your heart swelling in satisfaction at how fast you could turn the most powerful man in the world into a desperate lover with only a few touches. Only you had this power over him, and he made sure to worship you for it.

His body reacted instinctively, rocking his hips against yours, quickly taking over control. Somewhere in the labyrinth of your mind, a voice reminded you to stop, he’s already late as it is, and you can’t do this here, not outside, not for everyone’s eyes to see, but when Jinwoo caught your earlobe between his teeth, his voice dangerous and guttural when he said, “God, Sweetheart, you don’t know how much I want to be inside you right now,” all you could think was—

Yes, please.

You smashed your lips against his, your fingers tugging hard at the roots of his hair, robbing another shameless moan out of him. He welcomed your burning passion, reciprocating it by doubling the intensity. None of you gave a damn where you were or what time it was; none of it mattered, not anymore. You just needed him, and he needed you. Not just want. Need.

Jinwoo unclasped his belt with one hand while keeping hold of your face with the other; his movements rushed, lacking the usual grace that he normally exuded. You were sure he didn’t mean to tear your lingerie apart, but even if he did, it would’ve only added more fuel to the shimmering flames inside you. Now that your bottom half was bare and exposed, he took himself out of his confinement, holding his length in one hand, his tongue gliding over his bottom lip as he rubbed his tip against your protruding clit.

You shivered, your hips swaying on their own, begging him to just ram it inside. “Jinwoo, please.”

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he growled, lifting your body higher on the wall, making you hold on to nothing but him to fight back gravity. “Arms around my neck,” he commanded, his mouth hot against your jawline. His coat slid off his shoulders as he positioned himself over your entrance, pooling around his elbows.

But then, Jinwoo slowed down amidst the heat of your passion, just for a moment. Even as his desire consumed him from within, your consent remained a top priority. He needed to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you or, worse, doing anything you didn’t want him to. Your husband took a second to look at you, wanting you to give your permission out loud even when all his heightened senses and perceptions had found their answer a while ago. “Can I have you?”

Your reply came in the shape of you carding your fingers through his locks again, your mouth colliding with his as you spread your legs a little wider. “Yes,” you breathed out. “I need you, please—oh!” 

You felt him pushing himself inside the second your plea left your mouth, stretching all of your walls at once. 

“Ah, fuck,” Jinwoo groaned deep and loud, slamming one hand against the wall, the vein in his neck popping from beneath his pale skin. His reaction was almost as if he’d never experienced such pleasure before, his body trembling at the feeling of your heat tightening around him, so drenched inside that you could take him—his everything—all in one go. “God, you feel so good.” He locked your lips together again, moaning at the feeling of being shrouded by your warmth. He moved his hips tentatively to ensure your comfort, but he surrendered immediately after the first try. “Sorry, Sweetheart, I don’t think I can—ngh—hold back—” 

He began to move, his teeth nibbling on the skin of your shoulder to contain his grunts, his hips thrusting fast and rough, sliding himself in and out of you in the desperation of a heated beast seeking a release. Just like him, you were feeling it much more than anything you’d ever done with him. Maybe it was the place, the sensation of doing something so indecent, so out in the open. Maybe it was because you were both trying so desperately to comfort yourselves, to forget your upcoming separation, even only for a moment. Or maybe it was simply because you loved him so ardently, the same way he did about you. 

Now that the sun had sunk entirely below the horizon, the night was nearly pitch black. No stars were in sight, as if they grew too shy to witness something so obscene. Detecting the darkness around you, the lights around the house switched on automatically, illuminating the entryway and the lush garden around you with a warm, romantic glow. The magical view of the scenery usually brought a sense of serenity to your heart, but no, not that night. Not when you were stuck in a very compromising position with your husband. The worst one of all was the three pendant lights shining brightly above you, dangling from your high ceilings, exposing the way your bodies rocked together in rapid, rhythmless motions for the whole world to see.

You couldn’t help but be distracted by them, your body tensing. If anyone were passing by, with the way your husband had you pinned against the wall, your heels digging to the small of his back, your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, they would discover you in a heartbeat. 

“J-Jinwoo—wait—the lights—”

With his lips sucking hard bruises on your neck, Jinwoo lifted one hand in the air and clenched his fingers into a fist. All the lightbulbs shattered at once, their sounds piercing the air, stealing a surprised yelp out of you, which he silenced immediately with his mouth. The same invisible force shielded you from the pieces of glass raining down from the ceiling, leaving your heart rattling in your chest but your skin uninjured.

You were embraced by the darkness again, though it was never as thick as you would love it to be. The silver moonlight still bathed your skin, and the golden shine of the bollard lights surrounding your garden remained bright enough for you to discern your husband’s features, but at least, you no longer felt like you were standing under the spotlight. You still couldn’t entirely chase your anxiety away, however, and noticing that, Jinwoo captured your face, his fingers pressed firmly on each side of your jaw.

"Focus on me,” he said, palm plastered against the front of your throat. Although pain was absent from his touch, his hold on you was firm, controlling, his voice commanding. “I don’t want you to think about anything else. Keep your eyes on me. Focus on how I’m making you feel right now.” 

And it felt good. He made you feel so damn good that by the time he plunged himself deep into you again, you found yourself crying out against his mouth, clutching onto him like a lifeline. Jinwoo was just as deep in rapture as you were, unintentionally ripping the top buttons of your dress in his desperation to taste more of your skin. He was beyond aggressive, unrestrained, and impatient, and God, you loved it. You couldn’t remember the last time he was like this, and the feelings brought you quickly to ecstasy. 

You were close, your pleasure building up faster than it ever did. “Jinwoo, I’m—”

“I know,” he moaned against your shoulder, his teeth just one pressure away from sinking into your flesh. “I’m close too, angel, just a little bit… ngh… more…”

He quickened his pace, taking his cock completely out of you only to drive himself back to the hilt, each thrust hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. You fell over the edge with your lips parted in a silent moan, your nails scraping against the back of his shirt, your legs shaking, tautening around him as you reached cloud nine.

The sensation of your walls closing in around his cock was almost too much to bear, but he needed that one single push, just one sweet moan from you in the shape of his name, to make him grasp that vigorous wave of euphoria. “Sweetheart, please—”

Knowing exactly what he was begging for, you embraced him closely by the neck, gripped his soft locks beneath your fingers, and whispered the words he’d been dying to hear right against his mouth.

“I love you, Jinwoo.” 

He shuddered, his skin breaking into goosebumps, and he finished inside you with a deep, gravelly groan erupting from the back of his throat. His hips stuttered, slowing down but not yet stopping until he finished spilling everything inside. His breaths came out raggedly, hot against your neck. His left hand was still glued to the wall beside your head. 

As your tremors began to dissipate, your husband carefully placed you back on your feet, holding you close until you could stand on your own. Your legs felt like jelly beneath your weight, your strength leaving you after experiencing what might be one of the most mind-blowing orgasms you’d ever had.

“That was… intense,” Jinwoo tittered breathlessly, his hair all tousled, his face the prettiest shade of pink. It mesmerized you just how stunning he looked like this, and it satisfied you more than anything to know that you would always be the one—the only one—who could see this side of him, who could bring this side of him into view. Little did you know he was thinking the same thing about you. The way you stood there, gazing up at him with your starry eyes slightly watery from your orgasm, your dress torn and crumpled, your skin marked and claimed. He could easily go for another round—or three—if you let him.

“You okay?” He asked as he swatted the stray strands out of your eyes, helping you with your dress before he fixed his own attire. You nodded a bit drunkenly, and he let out another chuckle before planting a soft kiss on your temple. “I’m sorry for ruining your dress.”

“And my panties,” you added, snatching the torn fabric away from your heel. You stared flatly at it, your tone monotonous when you said, “Unbelievable. This is the third time, Jinwoo. Three times you’ve done this to me."

He was embarrassed by it. So cute. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not sorry,” you teased him with a poke on his cheek. “Buy me another one? The dress, I mean. I don’t trust you with my lingerie after what you bought me last time.”

He laughed softly at the memory. “I’ll buy you the prettiest one. Promise.” Brushing a light kiss on your temple, he spoke his worry once more. “How are you feeling? Did I hurt you?” 

The genuine concern in his tone caused your joy to unfold. In all honesty, yes, he did, but every pain was welcomed—no, every pain was desired, and you wished you could have more. More consuming kisses that left your lips swollen. More love bites on your neck that would last until he returned home. More bruises on your hips and thighs from how hard he was holding you. It felt nice to be dominated, to be owned, to be so wanted by your husband that he lost control of himself, of his mind. 

“What?” Jinwoo raised a brow, looking at you funny. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Nothing,” you replied with a sheepish smile, stroking his cheek. But with him looking at you with such confusion in his eyes, you felt like you owed him the truth. “I just realized you never fucked me this way before, and it scares me just how much I enjoyed it.”

He blushed at your words, so fervently that you wondered if this was the same man who had just mounted you like a beast in heat a moment ago. But then he laughed, the sound so delicate and pretty in your ears. “I was going to apologize for being carried away, but…” He bent his head down, bringing himself to your eye level as a smirk crept up his lips. “If that’s what you’re into, then I have so much more in store for you.”

You swallowed, your skin tingling with excitement at the thought. “W-we can try that after you get home. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“Shit, you’re right.” As unbelievable as it was, he had truly forgotten about it. Jinwoo hastily rummaged through his pocket for his car key, racing against time. “Okay, I’ll be leaving now.” He kissed you quickly, almost making you stumble from how fast he was grabbing your face. “Goodbye, love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Jinwoo, wait,” you giggled, tugging him back by his arm. “You got my lipstick all over you.” You rubbed your thumb over his lips, trying to wipe off the red stain. “And your hair’s mess. Do you have a comb with you?”

“It’s all right, I love it like this.” He tossed you a boyish smile. “It feels like I’m carrying a part of you with me, like some kind of proof that reminds me of what we just did.” He then continued in a whisper, his smirk grazing your earlobe. “The same way you’re carrying a part of me… inside you.”

You grew mortified, all due to his words and the feeling of his essence seeping out of you. You could feel it trickling down your thigh before you squeezed your legs together, face aflame. “Leave. Now.” You whirled his body around, shoving him forward. “And tell your shadow soldiers to help me change the lights. I can’t believe you used your skill for that.”

He tossed you a grin over his shoulder. “Gotta make the best use of what I have, Sweetheart.” 

“I don’t think Igris would be happy to know that you’re using Ruler's Hand for sex.”

“Oh, baby, trust me, if I were planning to use Ruler’s Hand for sex, bursting lightbulbs would be at the bottom of the list.” His smirk carried the promise of something lewd, something naughty. “And also, if I’m happy, all my soldiers are happy, Igris included. And I’m definitely happy right now, all thanks to my sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you snorted despite heat filling your cheeks. “Now go before Jinho kills you.” 

He chortled softly, “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You watched him stride away with your hands on your hips, sighing despite the way your lips curved up in amusement. You were going to miss these little banters you have. Some parts of you still refused to let him go, but when Jinwoo rolled down his window, giving you one last smile with one hand on the steering wheel, all you could say was, “Come home to me, darling.”

“I will, baby.”

And as he drove into the night, disappearing from your sight and leaving your heart lamenting in your chest, you knew you had no choice but to put your faith in him. This wouldn’t be the last time you see him. It would never be. Jinwoo would make sure of that.

Because if he had to watch the world burn for it, for you, then so be it. 

Heaven or hell, Gods or the Devils, I’ll destroy them all.

As long as I can come home to you, Sweetheart, nothing else matters. ***

[mariasont]

What if the team has slowly been finding out that Spencer has a girlfriend, so one day while on a case they basically play 20 questions trying to figure her out. However, Spencer is struggling to answer because he’s dating reader and she works with the BAU. (sorry if that isn’t broad enough, I just wanted more of the secret relationship trope)

Dimple Deductions - S.R

summary: when morgan & jj notice spencer reid acting suspiciously happy, they do what they do best — profile him. unfortunately, spencer's biggest tell is your dimples pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: fluff, secret relationship, reader has dimples, morgan & jj being shit stirrers wc: 1.4k

Watching Spencer read feels vaguely inappropriate. His fingers ghost over the page before settling, skimming the text like he's absorbing it through sheer proximity. His lips part, just slightly, like he's tasting the words, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing it down, taking it apart, making it his. The cabin light catches in his hair, making his curls glow like some kind of bookish deity.

It's distracting, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the unconscious flick of his lashes as his mind devours information faster than you can process a single thought.

He's mesmerizing in a way that feels almost unjust, a spectacle of intellect wrapped in a body far too beautiful for reason.

You don't even realize you're staring until he speaks.

"I will pay you to stop talking."

It's not aimed at you, Morgan and JJ are doing what they do best, picking apart his every move, but the sound of his voice breaks through you like a snapped thread, severing whatever trance you'd fallen into.

Morgan whistles, all amusement. "Now, why would you be so eager to change the subject, pretty boy?"

Spencer finally looks up, dragging his gaze upward with the slow resignation of a man who knows resistance is futile. He sighs, shaking his head.

"Because I value my peace?"

JJ grins, practically giddy now. "Too bad. We don't."

Your magazine is just a forgotten accessory now, lying stiff and ignored on your lap. Pulling your eyes from Spencer feels unnatural, but somehow, you manage.

You turn at last to JJ and Morgan, who are, without question, enjoying this way too much.

"What exactly are you guys talking about?" you ask, flipping the magazine with indifference, as if that somehow proves you'd been deeply invested in its pages and not making heart-eyes at Spencer.

JJ's eyes gleam with unfiltered delight. "Oh, just that Spencer here has been acting different lately."

"Suspiciously different," Morgan corrects, side-eyeing Spencer. "Relaxed. Preoccupied. Dare I say... a little too happy?"

"So, let me get this straight, you're bullying him for being in a good mood?" You cross your arms, biting your lip to keep from laughing, while Spencer looked genuinely offended.

Morgan stretches his arms behind his head, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're observing."

Spencer, who returns his gaze to his book, doesn't even flinch. "It's harassment."

"Wait. Wait." JJ points at Spencer, squinting. "Are you seeing someone?"

You tell yourself to be cool. Unbothered. Just another face in the crowd, a neutral bystander in this totally-not-terrifying conversation. You even try to breathe like you're not on high alert, but your body immediately mutinies, shoulders locking up, throat tightening, nerves snapping taut like piano wire. 

A single stupid, microscopic flinch that must, on some subconscious profiler level, set off JJ's internal alarm bells. Because she looks at you.

It's quick, so quick you almost miss it, but you feel it like a pinprick of static against your skin. A flick of her eyes, a fleeting brush of attention, there and then gone. 

Just as swiftly, she's back on Spencer.

Across from you, Spencer freezes for half a second. It's subtle enough that if you weren't staring at him, directly, shamelessly, obsessively, you might have missed it entirely.

Instead, you watch as he carefully schools his expression, turns a page, as if it matters, as if you couldn't see the calculations running in that big, brilliant brain, trying to find the most efficient escape route. 

And then, with a levelness that would be impressive if it weren't so obviously practiced, he finally says, "I don't see how that's relevant."

Morgan's smile is positively wolfish. The kind of smile that spells out, he smells blood in the water. "Oh, so that's a yes."

You watch Spencer. Closely. Nothing. Just that calm, emotionally bankrupt expression as he lifts his gaze, eyes so flat, so opaque, they may as well be made of glass.

"That's an assumption."

But Morgan isn't buying it. And then, he leans in. Hands clasped. You already know where this is going.

"Alright. First question. Is she blonde?"

"I am not doing this," Spencer says flatly.

"So... not blonde."

JJ taps her fingers against the table. "Brunette, then?"

Spencer exhales through his nose, all restrained patience, all carefully manufactured impassiveness. If you didn't know better, you'd think he still wasn't affected by the topic of conversation.

But you do know better.

He does this thing, barely a tell, not noticeable to an unloved eye, where his jaw tenses just slightly, the muscle feathering like a tremor beneath his skin. It's the same thing he does when you're being particularly difficult, when you're testing him, teasing him, saying something so unserious that he refuses to dignify it with anything more than this.

"This is ridiculous."

"You being weird about it is way more suspicious than just answering." Morgan shrugs.

Spencer clamps his mouth shut so hard, it's a miracle his teeth don't crack.

"Freckles?"

Spencer just presses two fingers to his temple like the headache they are causing him has officially become chronic. "This is — as I have said — harassment."

Morgan smirks. "Dimples?"

It stops Spencer mid-motion, like a misfire.

His fingers twitch, pull away from his temple, then hesitate midair, caught between freezing and fixing whatever just broke his expression. His mouth presses into a firm, flat line, but not before he falters, just once, lips parting like a reflexive inhale of shock he didn't mean to take.

JJ practically convulses, hands flying to her mouth as she gasps. "Oh my god, she has dimples!"

"See that? That was a pause, man. You're cooked."

Spencer snaps his book shut, the sound sharp, final, entirely too loud. 

His gaze cuts to you, like maybe he's checking to see if you're as deeply mortified as he is, and then he's back on Morgan and JJ.

"Even if, she hypothetically — had dimples, that means absolutely nothing," he starts, too fast, too precise, like he's clinging to logic as a life raft. "Dimples are present in roughly 20-30% of the population. That is millions of people. Trying to deduce someone's identity from that alone is not only statistically absurd, but frankly, beneath you."

Morgan and JJ exchange a look, one of those wordless, holy shit did he just say that? looks.

"So there is someone's identity to deduce?" 

A pause. A smirk.

"And she has dimples?"

They had kept going. Of course they had. 

More questions, each one shot off like a bullet with no time to dodge. What's her favorite colors? Does she drink coffee or tea? Dogs or cats? Landmine. Landmine. Landmine.

What does she do for work?

That last one had been dangerously close to blowing your cover.

Spencer had paused. Just long enough for you to panic. Long enough for your reflexes to kick in (literally), and you'd kicked him, hard enough in the shin under the table to snap him out of it. He'd blinked once, then shrugged, as casual as ever. 

Something intellectually stimulating, he'd said.

Which was, technically, not a lie. 

And Morgan and JJ had finally, finally let up after a while, though not before making sure Spencer left with at least three lingering smirks, two unsubtle eyebrow raises, and one last dig at his mysteriously happy mood.

It had been exhausting, but that was a tomorrow problem, because now you were home. 

Spencer's couch was too big for him but just right for you, and at some point, you had stopped being separate from him altogether, folded yourself into every available space he had left vacant, legs draped over his, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheeks smushed against his chest. 

It wasn't cuddling so much as absorbing him, your entire body molding to his like a particularly determined barnacle.

"You really almost sold us out there," you murmur, basically burrowed into his sweater. Your face is half-hidden, mostly because you are simply too tired to function, but also because he deserves to be shamed for this.

"The dimples, Spencer? Really?"

Spencer sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers brushing over your spine. "I can’t help it. I really like your dimples."

You squint up at him. "Yeah, I noticed."

Spencer's lips twitch, just the faintest pull at the corners, like he's not entirely willing to let it happen. "They're cute."

His thumb presses into the hollow of your cheek, just barely, just enough to test it. Like he's confirming that, yes, it's real, it exists, and it belongs to him now.

Before you can roll your eyes and tell him to stop being ridiculous, he leans in.

And kisses it.

Like he's stamping his approval.

You let out a slow, lazy sigh as he pulls back, stretching out against him. "You really need to work on your poker face."

Spencer hums. "You think so?"

"I know so," you tease, shifting just enough to get a good look at him. "I mean, if I had been interrogated like that, I wouldn't have cracked."

His brows lift. "Oh really?"

"Not even a little."

You should have seen it coming, the way his fingers tighten at your waist, the way something sharp and knowing flickers behind those honey-brown eyes, but you don't.

Not until you're flat on your back with the couch swallowing you whole and Spencer braced over you, grinning in pure satisfaction.

"Oh?" His voice is smooth, as he leans in just a little closer, close enough that the warmth of his breath kisses your skin. “So if I decided to test that theory — ask you a few things — you wouldn’t crack?”

Your stomach flips.

"...That's not what I meant."

Spencer's laughter is soft but wicked, full of certainty, full of amusement at your expense. His fingers trace absentminded shapes against your hip, a contrast to the sharp intent in his voice.

"Mm. Too bad." His voice dips lower. "Because I already know you would."

Your part your lips to argue, but no sound comes out.

"See?" he murmurs, brushing his lips over your jaw. "Cracking already."

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[tikitakatia]

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"Getting Caught In The Rain"

WC: 3.8k

Summary: Alexia’s trying again, but it only makes you realize that it’s been a long time since you felt like you were seen and understood.

Pt. 1

Alexia didn’t say anything when she got home. Just dropped her bag by the door, kicked her shoes off with the practiced heaviness of someone trying not to wake anyone up. Even though it was 5:42 p.m. and the hallway light was still on. You were in the kitchen, pretending to read, pretending to care about the last email from work, pretending you weren’t holding your breath for her footsteps.

She walked past you without a word, without eye contact, and you thought, same old story. The sting had dulled by now, like pressing on a bruise out of habit.

Until you heard her voice.

“You, uh… you moved the plant.”

You blinked at the book in your lap. Took a slow breath.

“Yeah.”

“It looks good there,” she added. You could hear the words straining. Trying to sound casual. Normal. Like conversation was still a thing that lived in this house.

You didn’t answer.

“I was thinking,” she tried again, stepping further into the room.

“Maybe we could get a new one for the windowsill? Something low-maintenance. Like… a cactus or whatever.”

A cactus.

You turned the page. “We already have one.”

“Oh,” she said, and you didn’t even need to look to know she was scratching the back of her neck. “Right.”

Silence stretched long and thin.

You looked up. She wasn’t looking at you, not directly, just sort of gesturing toward the counter with a weirdly shy motion.

“I saw this at the airport. Thought you might want it.”

That made your eyes flick up.

She stepped forward, sheepish. Like she didn’t quite know how to be here anymore. She held out a small paper bag, wrinkled from travel.

“It’s dumb. I just saw it and… yeah.”

You took it carefully, like it was a bomb that was about to explode in your face. Inside it was a snow globe.

Small. A little cheap. Inside, a tiny, glitter-dusted coastline and a red kayak.

You stared at it for a beat, then another, your fingers going loose around the base. It was the same coastline you’d kayaked on together four summers ago, the time she got sunburned and made you stop every ten minutes to reapply SPF like a paranoid grandma. The one trip you still couldn’t think about without smiling, even if everything after it had unraveled.

“I remembered it made you laugh,” she said, voice so quiet you almost missed it. “That trip.”

You ran your thumb over the plastic base. “You remember that?”

Alexia shrugged. “I think about it more than you’d think.”

Your chest twisted. Not in pain. Not relief either. Something more complicated, and heavy and unsure.

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t hand it back. And that was maybe the biggest thing you’d done all week.

That night, you left it on the kitchen counter. You didn’t know why. Maybe so she’d see you hadn’t ignored it. Maybe so you’d believe it was real.

And in the morning, she was gone again. Off to training. But there was a small plate waiting on the counter. French toast, your favorite marmalade, a halved orange with the rind scored for easy peeling. A mug of coffee with a splash of milk, and whipped cream in the shape of a heart like she used to do.

And a note, scribbled in her hurried handwriting:

Hope today’s kind to you, take care.

— A.

You stared at it for a long time.

Then sat down and ate the toast.

She was in Bilbao this time. Another away game. Another cold bed, another text that never came. The trinket still sat on the shelf, the whipped cream heart a fading memory. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel. Grateful? Guilty? Hopeful?

So instead, you opened Chattr.

[go4goald2]: Important question: would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses.

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s 11pm and this is how you start???

[go4goald2]: You say that like it’s not the most vital debate of our generation

[lostinthecrowd]: I’d take the duck. 1v1. Eye contact. No mercy.

[go4goald2]: Bold. Disrespectful to the mini horses. But bold.

You laughed into your blanket, curled up on your side like a kid at a sleepover.

[lostinthecrowd]: They have tiny hooves. I’m not getting stomped to death by a barbie pony.

[go4goald2]: Tiny hooves, BIG ambition. Don’t underestimate ponies. They´re evil.

[lostinthecrowd]: I feel like there's a story behind this. Also can’t believe this is how I’m spending my night.

[go4goald2]: I can. And it’s perfect. Admit it.

You grinned. Tucked your phone closer like it was a secret you wanted to protect.

The conversation spiraled into weird snack combos, irrational childhood fears (yours: mascots, theirs: escalators), and an intense five-minute tangent on the politics of sock-and-sandal combos.

Your cheeks actually hurt from smiling. And somewhere between their rant about pineapple pizza and your confession that you once tried to cook pasta in a kettle, something softened inside you.

You typed, slower now:

[lostinthecrowd]: My partner did something nice for me today. Out of nowhere.

[go4goald2]: Whoa, plot twist. What kind of nice?

[lostinthecrowd]: Just… a small gift. Not flashy. Thoughtful.

[go4goald2]: You’re being suspiciously vague and I’m incredibly nosy. Spill.

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s tied to a memory. Something small, but really specific to us. A moment we shared years ago.

[go4goald2]: Okay wow. That kind of gift hits like a freight train.

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah, it really did. Caught me completely off guard, I didn’t know how to react.

[go4goald2]: Because it reminded you what it used to feel like to be known?

[lostinthecrowd]: Exactly that. Like someone woke a part of me I forgot was still there.

[go4goald2]: Do you think it was intentional? Like… a real attempt?

[lostinthecrowd]: I want to think so, but then it just made everything feel more fragile.

[go4goald2]: It’s weird how one small thing can make your whole chest ache.

[lostinthecrowd]: It made me remember how much I miss her, or who she used to be. Or maybe who I used to be when we were still okay.

[go4goald2]: You still deserve those moments even if they’re rare. Even if they confuse the hell out of you.

[go4goald2]: And for what it’s worth… I'm really glad you told me.

You let your phone rest against your chest, pulse kicking up a little. It felt too good. Too soft. Too dangerous.

Because it wasn’t just that they cared. It was that they cared in real-time. Gave you space to unravel and didn’t shy away when the threads got messy.

Your lips tilted into a smile. Tiny, involuntary, like a reflex from some version of you that hadn’t been used in months.

Alexia hadn’t texted once. Not even after the match. Not even a “night.”

But this stranger had stayed up with you.

Held space for you.

Made you feel like a person instead of a ghost someone used to love.

And that flutter came back. Not a rush, just a flicker. A warmth that settled behind your ribs like the beginning of something.

You didn’t push it away.

But god, the guilt that followed.

You weren’t doing anything wrong. You told yourself that. Over and over.

But the truth was, your smile hadn’t looked like this in months.

And your wife hadn’t been the one to cause it.

You didn’t expect anything when you unlocked the door. Maybe a quiet hallway. The faint hum of the fridge. Your own footsteps echoing against the tile. It had become a rhythm now. Come home, drop your bag, exist in silence. You had stopped hoping to be greeted. Stopped wondering what mood she’d be in.

So when the smell hit you: sharp, burnt and unmistakably wrong, it made you pause mid-step. There was a bitter tang in the air, like overcooked garlic and something else. Something sour. A hint of lemon buried under the scent of a meal gone wrong.

You followed it to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.

Alexia was standing in the middle of it, barefoot, her hoodie sleeves rolled up, her hair pulled back in that messy twist she only did when she was stressed. There was a pan smoking on the stove. A cutting board covered in unevenly chopped herbs. The sink was full of pots. And her face, her face looked wrecked in the most human way.

She glanced up when she saw you, startled. “Shit. You’re home early.”

You weren’t.

You said nothing.

“I was trying to…” she gestured vaguely to the chaos around her.

“Dinner.”

You stepped further in. Looked at the pan. Something once resembling chicken was stuck to the bottom, blackened and curling at the edges like it was trying to leave the scene of the crime.

“It’s your favorite,” she added quickly. “That lemon-herb thing. The one I used to make after we went to the farmer’s market on Saturdays. Remember?”

You did. Back when the kitchen smelled like warm citrus and clean herbs, when she’d dance barefoot to whatever song was playing, bump your hip and kiss your neck while the chicken rested. That version of the dish smelled like comfort. This one smelled like frustration and something sour unraveling.

“Something went wrong with the sauce,” she mumbled. “Or maybe I forgot how to… I don’t know. I was trying.”

And god, she looked so small at that moment. Not physically, Alexia was never small, but emotionally. She looked like a little kid caught drawing on the walls, holding out sticky fingers and hoping it still counted for effort. It knocked something loose in your chest.

Your heart didn’t break. It cracked. Just a little.

You stepped in. Reached past her and turned off the burner before the fire alarm could make things worse.

“We can save it,” you said quietly, even though you knew it wasn’t true.

She stayed where she was, arms hanging a little helplessly at her sides while you opened the fridge and scanned for solutions. There was a half-used tub of ricotta, a jar of pesto, and some leftover stock. You pulled them out without speaking. It was easier this way, fixing things with your hands and not your voice.

“I thought it might be nice if you didn’t have to cook tonight,” she said softly, somewhere behind you. “You’ve been working so much, and I wanted to do something.”

You kept your back to her. “You could’ve just asked me to cook with you.”

“I didn’t want to make you do more work.”

“I don’t want to feel like a guest in my own kitchen.”

There was a long pause. Then the quiet sound of her setting down a spoon.

You poured a little cream into the pan, scraping at the burnt edges while the sauce hissed and fought you. You could feel her watching you closely and carefully. Like if she stared hard enough, she’d understand how to fix it all.

She moved to stand beside you. Too close. Her arm brushed yours lightly, and you flinched. Not because you were scared. Just because you weren’t used to being touched anymore. Not by her. Not kindly. Not like this.

She froze. You saw it from the corner of your eye. Her shoulders tensed. The guilt bloomed across her face. But you didn’t say anything. And she didn’t try again.

Instead, she grabbed plates and set the table while you boiled pasta and tried to coax the ruined sauce into something edible. It wasn’t good. But it was something.

By the time you sat down, the steam had mostly settled. She watched you take a bite, searching your face for any kind of reaction. You chewed. Swallowed. Didn’t make a face.

“It’s fine,” you said.

And she smiled, almost like that was a win.

Not a real smile. But something tired and tentative. Something that said thank you for not hating me tonight.

The two of you sat in that dim kitchen, eating a salvaged dinner that tasted like memory and ash. And for a moment you could almost remember what it was like to share a life that didn’t feel so quiet.

Even if you didn’t trust it just yet.

You didn’t go to bed after dinner.

Alexia did though. She didn’t say it directly, but you saw the way her shoulders slumped after the dishes were done, the way her fingers lingered awkwardly near your elbow like she might touch you and thought better of it. She murmured something like “I’m gonna lie down”, then disappeared down the hall with slow footsteps and a closed door that didn’t quite latch.

You couldn’t follow her. You weren’t ready to share a space that intimate. Not yet. Maybe not ever again.

So instead, you took a half-full bottle of wine from the fridge, grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the couch, and slipped outside. The balcony used to be your favorite spot together. Just two chairs, some tangled fairy lights strung along the railing, the soft hum of the city below. You used to sit out there for hours, her legs tangled with yours, music playing low from your phone while she pointed out constellations she made up on the spot. There was always laughter. Always warmth. That soft, lived-in kind of love.

Now it was just cold metal and silence. One chair is empty. The lights were still up but never turned on. Like the memory of joy had been boxed up and left to fade in the wind.

You curled into the blanket, set the wine between your knees, and stared out at the city that didn’t notice you anymore. This was your nest now. Quiet. Still. Full of grief that didn’t ask for attention, just stayed perched and waiting.

And then, like muscle memory, you opened Chattr.

There was already a message waiting.

[go4goald2]: I tried tonight. Made an effort and still fucked it up.

You exhaled, soft and surprised. A strange flutter of recognition sparked in your chest.

[lostinthecrowd]: That’s more than a lot of people do.

[go4goald2]: Doesn’t feel like enough.

[lostinthecrowd]: What happened?

[go4goald2]: I wanted to do something good, something small. I thought it would matter, but all I did was remind her how long it’s been since I got it right.

You rested your chin on your knee, letting the blanket shift around your shoulders. The night air was cool against your skin.

[lostinthecrowd]: The effort counts even if it’s awkward and late.

[go4goald2]: I don’t know. Sometimes I think it just makes things worse. Like I pop back up trying to play house and she’s already rewritten her life without me in it.

You hesitated before responding.

[lostinthecrowd]: What made you pull away in the first place?

The reply didn’t come fast. A full minute passed. Then two. You thought maybe they’d closed the app.

But then the typing bubble appeared.

[go4goald2]: I got busy. I know it's not an excuse, but it started with wanting to give her everything and to make things easier. Pay the bills, say yes to every work gig and be someone she could be proud of.

[go4goald2]: But then it became… noise. So many meetings, late nights planning the next steps at work, connecting with investors and people wanting things from me all the time. Every time I came home, I felt like a shell. But she was still there, always waiting patiently. I didn’t know how to face her.

[go4goald2]: So I stopped showing up. Told myself I'd come back when I was less tired and more present. But I kept putting it off until it became normal to be gone.

You swallowed hard. Something about the rhythm of it, and the way they said “be someone she could be proud of” twisted in your chest.

[go4goald2]: And now I don't know how to come back. Not without her seeing everything I let fall apart.

[go4goald2]: I'm ashamed.

You stared at the screen.

Because how do you comfort someone whose regret sounds so familiar it might as well live in your house?

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s not too late, not if you mean it. Not if you’re willing to rebuild instead of rewind.

Another pause.

[go4goald2]: What if she doesn’t believe me anymore? What if I waited too long?

[lostinthecrowd]: Then show up anyway, consistency is louder than promises.

A breeze caught your hair, lifting it off your forehead. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, breathing through the weight in your ribs.

[go4goald2]: I want her to know I see her. Really see her. Not just when she’s upset, not just when she’s slipping away, but every day.

You didn’t respond right away.

Your thumbs hovered, useless, the words sitting heavy on your screen.

There was something about the way they phrased it, quiet and earnest. Like they meant it, even if they didn’t know how to say it out loud to the right person yet.

You sipped your wine and stared out over the city. The lights blurred softly against the dark, the breeze tugging gently at the frayed edges of the blanket in your lap.

You used to be seen like that. Or maybe you just liked to think you were.

You put your phone down for a second, face tipped to the sky, letting the silence settle where something like comfort should’ve been.

And when the tears came, they weren’t loud. Just slow. Private. The kind that don’t ask to be noticed. The kind you wipe away quickly, just in case someone walks out and asks if you’re okay.

But no one did.

The effort started showing up in little things.

Alexia folding the laundry before you got to it. Running to the store to pick up oat milk without being asked. Saying “Want to watch something?” instead of disappearing into the bedroom with her headphones and going on a call with her agent. She didn’t get it all right, she brought home the wrong brand of oat milk, folded the sheets inside out, and picked a movie you’d already seen twice. But she was trying. God, was she trying.

It wasn’t the kind of effort that made your heart swell. It made it ache. Because it felt like watching someone fumble through a routine they used to know by heart and now had to relearn from scratch.

On Wednesday night, she came home with takeout from that noodle place near your old apartment. The one you used to walk to in the middle of summer, sweaty and stupidly in love. She placed the bags on the counter like a peace offering and said, “Thought we could eat together tonight?”

You nodded. She brightened like it mattered.

She talked through most of dinner. Nothing serious. Just training, the new physio, the girl on the team who always forgot her cleats. You let her talk. Let her fill the space. She was trying to be light. Normal. Like maybe if she kept talking, she could talk you back into caring.

And for a second, you let her believe it was working.

After dinner, she hovered. You were rinsing dishes and she leaned against the counter, fingers tapping nervously against the edge. You knew that look. That “I want to say something but I’m scared of the words” look.

“I’ve been thinking…” she started, voice quiet. “About us. About how I’ve-”

Her phone buzzed. Loud. Jarring.

You saw the hesitation. The flicker of conflict.

But she answered it.

“Yeah?” she said, already walking toward the hallway. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got a minute.”

And just like that, the moment shattered.

You turned back to the sink, slowly rinsed out the last bowl. The water ran too hot, but you didn’t adjust it.

She didn’t come back in. You heard the bedroom door click closed a few minutes later.

The next night, she showed up with your favorite wine. The one you used to save for anniversaries or good news. She held it up like a trophy. “Got this on the way home. Figured we could split it and hang out a bit.”

You stared at the label. Something in your chest twisted.

“I can’t drink,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I’m on antibiotics.”

She blinked, thrown. “Oh. Since when?”

You shrugged. “Couple days. I’ve been sick.”

“Oh,” she said again.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. Just set the bottle down and muttered something about putting it away for later.

You stood there for a moment after she walked off. Letting the silence settle over your shoulders like a too-heavy coat.

She hadn’t noticed.

You’d been in bed for two days. Tired, congested, barely eating. And she hadn’t noticed.

Not until you said it out loud.

Still. You weren’t made of stone.

There were moments where her effort chipped at something soft. The way she offered you tea that night without you asking. How she turned off the hallway light so it wouldn’t bother you when you tried to nap. How she lingered a little longer at the door when she left for training, like she wanted to say something.

But the thing that hurt most was how she still couldn’t say the one thing that mattered: I miss you.

She tried everything else. But not that.

Later, once the house had gone quiet and the wine sat untouched in the cabinet, you curled up on the couch with a blanket and opened Chattr.

[lostinthecrowd]: You ever feel like someone’s knocking, but it’s on the wrong door?

[go4goald2]: Jesus, yeah. All the time.

[go4goald2]: Weird coincidence… I always feel like I'm on the other side of that.

You smiled. A small one. Just for yourself. Sad. Quiet. The kind that doesn’t touch your mouth, only your chest.

[lostinthecrowd]: Someone brought me something today. Something they thought I'd love, but they didn’t realize I couldn't have it.

[go4goald2]: Ouch. That's… rough.

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah, it’s like they remembered the old version of me. Not who I am now.

[go4goald2]: I get that. It's like when someone keeps reaching for the person they think you are, and you’re standing there, changed, wondering if they’ll ever notice.

[lostinthecrowd]: Exactly.

[go4goald2]: They probably meant well, doesn’t make it hurt less though.

[lostinthecrowd]: No. It doesn’t.

There was a beat of silence. Only the glow of your phone, the buzz of the city outside the balcony, and the heaviness in your chest that had nowhere else to go.

[go4goald2]: I think I want to want them again but I don't know if that’s the same thing as actually wanting them.

[lostinthecrowd]: I think that’s the loneliest kind of love.

The typing bubble appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.

[go4goald2]: What are you doing right now?

[lostinthecrowd]: Talking to you. Not sleeping. Being dramatic. The usual.

[go4goald2]: Good. Stay.

And so you did. Talking about nothing and everything. How certain smells always bring you back to childhood. How you hate the sound of ticking clocks. How lately, someone’s been trying to come back to you and you want to believe it matters. You really do. But there’s a part of you that keeps wondering if effort can still mean something after the silence has settled in too deep.

You didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. But you did. And they didn’t mind.

Alexia was down the hall. Lights off. Door closed.

You were somewhere else entirely.

Pt. 3

[earthtooz]

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[vivalarevolution]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓑𝓮𝓷𝓮 𝓖𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓽

Request: „Lady Margot is sent to Giedi Prime to seduce Feyd Rautha, yet na-Baron doesn't give in to temptation, showing how much he loves his wife and how far his obsession with her truly goes.‟

A/N: Request from @hskskdk , the request itself was slightly rephrased by myself but the context remained the same. Nevertheless, I hope you will all like it and you'll enjoy reading it.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes might happen.

Work contains smut , minors do not interact.

The Bene Gesserit was a female order constituting one of the most important pillars of the Empire. They were devious , cold and remarkably exalted. They struck fear as much as they did awe.

Yet in the eyes of young na-Baron, they were nothing more than witches manipulating the weak minds of even weaker men.

But that changed. She changed it.

She was one of them. She was just as manipulative, just as devious. Yet one look from her was enough to make Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen bend to her will.

She became his wife, his lover, his goddess. He was willing to kill for her, to cause suffering to those who were against her.

When lady Margot Fenring tried to break him the same way , make him hers , she failed. Because she wasn't her. She never could've been.

And with her failure came the raw rage of her sister.

-First you enter my house uninvited and then you have the audacity to try seduce my husband when my eyes are not focused on him- she said in a cold and harsh tone , looking at the older woman.

-I am not obliged to explain my actions to you Y/n - she replied, looking directly into the eyes of her younger sister -Because you know that the actions of our order have a greater purpose.

-And yet here you are - na-Baroness remarked.

-I'm here because you failed my dear sister - Lady Fenring said , her face still remained stoned and unmoved- In the place of the male heir there are three daughters. To have one child like that is a mistake but to have three is an insult.

Feyd Rautha's wife looked at her with composure , but her blood was boiling like wildfire , ready to burn everything in its path.

-Bene Gesserit needed me to give birth to a son. But my husband wanted daughters - Y/n proclaimed , walking slowly towards the blonde-haired woman - I gave them to him and I plan to give him as many daughters as he wants because it is my husband who has control over me. Only him.

-Even if this is what you allow yourself to believe , don't you think that eventually the need for a male offspring will occur? - she asked her - Feyd Rautha is still a man , a man who is the heir of the Harkonnen House. His love for you will fade away.

-His love for me is dangerous - Y/n declared - But it is not dangerous for me. It is dangerous for others - she whispered , standing in front of her sister - He is ready to kill for me , he is ready to destroy everything my heart desire - she confessed, looking into her blue eyes - He has already done it…and he will do it again, all it takes is a mere word from my lips. His love will not fade away…it will only grow.

-Are you threatening me? - asked Lady Fenring , looking closely into the eyes of the na-Baroness.

-I warning you - she answered, measuring her with a disdainful look - I suggest you go to your chambers dear sister. Do not continue to tempt the creatures in the shadows who are watching you.

Her words were not commanding, but their hidden meaning made the woman walk away, leaving Y/n Harkonnen with her husband, who had been watching her in the darkness since the beginning of the conversation, following her like a hunter follows his prey.

-Do you wish me to kill her , my darling? - he asked , approaching her slowly , watching her intensely.

-You cannot - she replied , closing her eyes when his large palms rested on her body.

-She disrespected you , she insulted your children and tried to seduce your husband - he whispered , kissing her neck -You have every right to kill her. I will do it for you , just say the word my beloved- he said , capturing her face so she would leveled gazes with him.

She looked at the male for a long time , having a silent discussion with him, but no matter how much she tried to deny it ,her decision was made long ago , even before her husband had spoken.

-I want the life to escape from her eyes - she demanded - But I want her to wait, I want her mind to be filled with nothing but the awareness that she won't live to see the next morning - she said, sliding her hand along na-Baron's torso - And I want her to hear exactly how great your love for me is and what she can never have - she whispered sensually into his mouth - I want you to make love to me - she announced quietly, kissing his pale, full lips.

Feyd pulled her into his arms. His possessive grip left marks on her that she never wanted to get rid of.

He took her to their chambers. His hungry mouth could not refrain from tasting her soft flesh , marking it with blue marks. The woman in response tilted her head , exposing her neck , so that his teeth and tongue could have fuller access to her. He attacked the exposed patch of her skin almost immediately, relishing in the taste of his beloved , trapped in his embrace.

His wife allowed herself to close her eyes , giving herself over to the arms of pleasure. His kisses made everything inside her cease to exist , only raw hunger remained.

When the man moved away from her body , and her back met the cool satin sheets , her gaze rested on him , and her brow furrowed.

She wanted him close , she needed him close.

Grabbing his neck with her hand, she pulled him towards her , bringing their lips together again. Their tongues moved in a passionate dance , as their teeth rubbed against each other , and saliva lazily ran down their jaws.

His hands destroyed the clothes between them , as his teeth marked each new piece of her skin with his teeth . Her legs wrapped around his waist , feeling his thick, veiny shaft rubbing against her wet and trembling womanhood , and as he entered her , assaulting her insides , she drove her long nails into him ,scratching them across his pale back , leaving an angry red trail behind.

Feyd bit down hard on her neck , savoring her sweet blood. In response , she grabbed his hand, bringing it closer to her throat , needing to feel more of the pain which mixed so deliciously with pleasure. And the man immediately knew what the woman wanted from him.

He squeezed the skin of her neck , restraining the access of air to her lungs , smiling sinisterly as he felt her body tighten , and her climax approaching drastically fast. Her eyes rolled back , and the image before her became blurry as her body was flooded with rough pleasure , that only her husband could give. Moaning loudly ,she felt his hot cum fill her , running lazily down her thighs , staining them black.

Na-Baron kissed the red , soft lips of his lover , tasting her with extraordinary tenderness as well as possessiveness.

-My knives are yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my riches, all these belong to you - he vowed to her ear , kissing its lobe - You have bewitched my body and soul and there is no one who can take me away from you.

The woman smiled gently , stroking his jaw with her fingertips.

-I believe you my husband - she stated , looking deeply into his blue eyes.

-Rest now my wife- he muttered at the hollow of her neck where he placed a single kiss - Rest because when you wake up I will make sure that you leave the chambers with another daughter under your heart.

She obediently followed his command , allowing sleep to envelop her exhausted body. And when she finally awoke , she was met with the sight of her husband.

He was covered in blood , kneeling in front of her lying figure , holding in his hands the head of Lady Margot Fenring.

[meracyn]

⁀➷ cherish !

synopsis shuichi fits right in as a perfect boyfriend—well, aside from his inexperience and shyness, that is. warnings none author’s notes I JUST WANNA BE PART OF YOUR SYMPHONY 🐬🐬🐬‼️‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥 / sorry guys i tried to be professional but i always end up doing jokes..

a total gentleman; respects your privacy and space, won’t be all over you, startle you or anything— just tell him you want to be alone for a while and shuichi won’t press further

shy though, shuichi is like those boyfriends who do their best to treat their partner the way they deserve but are somewhat clumsy too

like he would pull a chair for you, open and close the car doors, but if you’re both about to enter a mall for example, shuichi would push a pull door and pull one that says push.. its out of his nervousness though please comfort this guy he needs it

helps you with your homework if you ask, even if you meant it as a joke shuichi would take it seriously and go over to where you are, begin reading + explain the best he can

the type to not give you the answers directly...he wants you to try and do it yourself but will give you hints/examples of his for you to have an idea of knowing what to do

insecure, has a lot to do with his trauma. shuichi feels inferior you could say, feels as if he isn’t enough and weak, doesn’t voice it out loud though, worries you might think less of him if he talks about it

gets embarrassed easily when it comes to physical contact, even a slight brushing of your hands already has this boy blushing and heart pounding against his chest

the longer you two date, shuichi will get more comfortable. in terms of holding hands, cuddling, kissing too; in the start there will just be small pecks here and there at times, has a habit of hiding his face under his hat after a kiss

when shuichi is anxious, holding hands or just placing your hand above his calms him down a lot, if you give him a kiss it will make him snap out of it, especially if you do it out of nowhere

dating shuichi means being around kaito and kaede constantly, but not to a point where it’s suffocating and you both never have a moment alone, the two are aware of it so it’s more like some hangouts on most days while others are just you and shuichi chilling together

probably researches about stuff like ‘how to be a good boyfriend’ and asks his friends about it—mostly to kaito—who tells him things such as, “you gotta be more manly!” or “if you want to have a lasting relationship you need to work on those muscles, i’ll be your leader”

gives you gifts, could be a bouquet of your favorite flowers to a book/game you wanted or a snack you like, shuichi doesn’t want you to think he’s bad at expressing his love for you so he spends time reading about relationships if he has free time and you aren’t near him

kinda dry with his texts...but not in a bad way, shuichi is still learning after all so he will still be clueless at times

by dry, i mean like “BABYYYYY LOOK AT THIS LMAOOO ITS SO FUNNY AHAHAHAJ” – you

“lol” – him 😭

it’s okay though he’s still trying his best to be a good boyfriend

is so in love with you <3

[bontentrio]

ATEEZ GETTING OUT OF THE FRIENDZONE

wooyoung x gn reader + jongho x gn reader (separated)

this is a continuation of ateez stuck in the friendzone ! read that part so this makes sense.

tw: veeery dramatic, i actually cringed a bit at some parts but hey! it's fun and cute.

a/n: i might be back *evil laughs* sorry for disappearing! i hit writers block right after writing wooyoung's part :( then got my heart broken but that's a story for another day lol enjoy!

masterlist

WOOYOUNG

your silence annoyed him more than it should. ever since that night two days ago, you’ve been avoiding wooyoung. and it was pissing him off.

“i didn’t know you had a boyfriend” the man said, glancing back at you. “he’s actually my best-“ you started saying but wooyoung interrupted you.

“boyfriend, yes. i think you should leave” .

like what was so wrong about that?! he shoo’ed him away, he was probably a creep anyway!

“that’s for me to decide wooyoung! i didn’t call for help, you shouldn’t have intervened” you had argued with him, as you walked away with arms crossed against your chest.

“i saw it in his eyes, trust me i know what i’m talking about” wooyoung answered, following you outside the venue. you turned around, anger evident on your face. “oh so you’re a mind reader now?” you asked as you called for an uber, deciding it was enough for the night.

“what are you doing? hongjoong is our driver” he said, attempting to grab your phone. luckily for you, you were quicker. “you mean your driver, wooyoung, plus i can’t stand you right now so i’m going home. you crossed the line, once again”

with your back facing him, you finished typing your address and waited for an uber to pick up your request. after a few minutes you started shivering from cold, since you were a bit underdressed for the late night weather. wooyoung, who had been unusually quiet since that last part of the argument, noticed how your hands had started rubbing your arms in a poor attempt to warm yourself up. he sighed, taking off his jacket and putting it on your body.

“why did you do that?” you asked, not looking at him but accepting the jacket anyways, pulling it closer.

“you were cold” wooyoung said, as a matter of fact. you huffed, rolling your eyes. “not this, i mean what happened inside. be honest”

“because i like you” he admitted, quietly, as if it was a sin to reveal such secret. in a way, it was, or at least that’s how he felt about it: you are someone so precious to him that he was almost scared to ruin it all.

“i said be honest wooyoung!” you said in a loud tone of voice, bringing outlooker’s focus on you. you fake coughed, but looked back at him “for once, i’m asking you to be honest with me. no tricks, no lies. be my best friend for once”

wooyoung stared at you, as he pretended like that didn’t just stab a dagger into his heart. he clicked his tongue and looked away “i don’t know” he muttered, loud enough for only you to hear.

he chose to go against your wishes, because maybe that’s what you needed to hear. and he much rather lie and play pretend than to lose you completely.

———

two days had passed since that night, and you went completely silent on him. wooyoung attempted to pretend like nothing happened, and texted you multiple times about random things, but you didn’t even open his chat. so he tried calling you instead, but to no avail: it went directly to your voicemail.

it’s not like he could blame or call you dramatic for your reaction. i mean, it wasn’t the first time he drove someone away from you. actually, it had happened multiple times, and at first they had been unconscious, not fully aware of his own feelings but disliking the way they touched or flirted with you. his reasoning at the time was that they were “weird”, looked like “creeps” or simply too ugly for you, and that you deserved someone better. he was masking his feelings with the argument of being an overprotective best friend, and he only realized that a couple of times later when his friends pointed it out.

he also noticed that he stopped overly flirting with everyone that crossed his path, unless there were cameras nearby. he had an idol facade to keep, sadly. but besides that, he stopped seeing other people, started flirting less and became solely focused on you. his best friend became a priority in such an unconscious way, that once he realized how he felt he couldn’t go back in his tracks. he was already too deeply in love with you.

yet you failed to notice.

and it killed him.

specially when you went out and some random people approached you. each time a strong feeling of jealousy would bubble up inside him, only to erupt into his interventions. he needed to drive you away, you were his and his only. even if you didn’t know that yet.

wooyoung felt like he did cross a line this time though. he’s done this many times in the past, but somehow you never stayed mad for too long, always realizing he was right or simply believing he was being overprotective. but never ignored him for too long, specially not for days.

“wooyoung, look here please” the photographer said, pulling him out of his thoughts. he looked at where the man was pointing and posed. maybe i should apprach them differently? he thought, losing his focus again. the photographer sighed, dropping his camera as he announced everyone to take five.

“normally these things go very swiftly for you and i’m the one having trouble to stay serious” he heard yeosang say. wooyoung hummed in response. “i’m thinking about y/n” he admitted, earning a a teasing grin from his best friend. “when are you not?”

“yeah but they haven’t spoken to me in two days, i think i took it too far this time. i even confessed and they didn’t believe me” wooyoung said, kneeling down. “well you do joke around a lot” yeosang pointed out, before wooyoung looked at him with an annoyed expression. “i’m joking wooyoung, maybe try talking to them in person? about the seriousness of your feelings i mean”

wooyoung meditated his options: there weren’t many to pick from. it was either wait until the anger passed by, but risk a bigger explosion later on (he didn’t plan to stop boycotting other people’s advances on you) or else confess the real reason behind his actions. both options equally bad in his opinion, since both held the slight risk of losing you forever. you could be pissed off in a irremediably way, or you could reject and push him away.

yeosang has always been a great friend, never giving unsolicited advice unless he genuinely saw his friends conflicted, like right now. “think of it the other way” he started saying, making wooyoung look up to him from his kneeled position. “how would you liked to be approached if the roles were reversed?” yeosang asked.

wooyoung stayed silent for a few minutes, thinking. then, he smiled.

“okay everyone, back to your positions, let’s end this shoot!” he photographer exclaimed, returning to his position with camera in his hands.

———

slam!

the loud bang of the door in front of his face startled him, making step back instinctively. after the photoshoot, he went straight to your apartment with a set mindset. he rang the door bell and even knocked on on the door repeatedly, making you yell in annoyance “coming!” from inside. once you opened the door, your eyes interlocked. you looked tired and your hair was a mess, it was clear you haven’t gone out since that night. before he could react, you had slammed the door in his face before exclaiming “go away wooyoung!”

so he started doing what he knew best: to annoy you. he banged and banged on the door as he simultaneously rang the door bell insistently.

“y/n open up! we need to talk” he exclaimed. unbeknownst to him, on the other side of the door, you wanted to bang your head against the wall, while hoping your neighbors weren’t home.

“go away wooyoung!” you yelled, putting the lock on. after a few more minutes of complete madness, the ringing and banging stopped, making you sigh in relief. maybe he finally gave up and decided to leave.

it’s not like you didn’t want to talk to him ever again, you were just angry and needed time to cool off. he should learn from his mistakes and-

clink clink clink

swoosh

“like i said, we need to talk” you heard wooyoung say from behind you. you quickly turned around, only to see hin standing by the door of your bedroom, wide window opened behind him.

“are you insane?!” you exclaimed, sprinting past him to your window. “i could call the police you know?”

“you wouldn’t, i’m your best friend still” he pointed out, sitting on your bed like he didn’t just climb through god knows what things outside your building and break into your home. “plus you weren’t opening up the door like a normal person, so i had to take drastic measures because i really really want to talk to you about something”

“jung wooyoung you are unbelievable” you said, shutting the window and locking it. “if someone doesn’t open the door, you should leave you know? like a normal person”

“yeah yeah anyways i’m here now so can you tell me why exactly have you been so distant and pissy?” he asked.

way to approach the subject stupid, he thought to himself after his poor choosing of words. you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms against your chest.

“so you think i’m overreacting after what? the thousandth time you boycotted me?” you asked, venom in your voice. “or i’m overreacting because i wasn’t given a good reason for those actions? let me tell you, ‘i don’t know’ isn’t a good reasoning by the way”

you sat down next to him on the bed, but somehow he felt like you were miles away. it’s like you set up an invisible wall between you two, and it was both pissing him off and making him anxious.

“am i so unlikeable that you have to intevene to save me from future pain?” you asked, in a low voice while facing the floor. he heard you though, and before his mind could process the words, his body turned to yours as he held both of your hands.

“no!” he exclaimed, looking deeply into your eyes. “you’re perfect”

“then why? don’t i deserve to be happy with someone?” you asked once again, feeling the tears creep into your eyes.

“there’s nothing i want more than to see you happy y/n but-“ he started saying, but stopped himself, looking down to your hands intertwined. it felt nice, comforting, like your hand was made to be held by his. “but what?” you pushed.

“i want to see you happy, but i want to be the reason of that happiness” he whispered. you looked at him, confused. “you make me plenty happy woo, i just-“ you started saying, but he cut you off: “you want to love and be loved back, i know. you want romance, passion, i know that as well. you want the romantic kind of happiness, yet you fail to notice that it has been here for years now. i’m here, i love you and probably way more than other random person at a shitty bar! i’m here in front of you, open your eyes” he begged.

“wooyoung don’t say things like that-“ you started saying, shaking your head and attempting to remove your hands from his. but he held you tighter.

“i’m not lying y/n, and i’m not playing tricks either, not when there’s so much to risk here. i wasn’t lying two days ago, and i’m not lying now. is it too hard to understand that your best friend is in love with you?” he asked.

you stared at him, trying to decipher his honesty. he looked desperate, yet his gaze was soft, almost pleading. you noticed that his hands were slightly shaking and that he was biting the inner side of his cheek, an usual habit of his that you noticed a while ago, that tended to appear in moments of anxiety.

he wasn’t lying.

“so you’ve been driving everyone away because-“ you started saying, but once again, he impatiently interrupted you.

“because i’m desperately and foolishly in love with you and i can’t handle it when other people take your attention from me” he concluded.

you stayed in silence, trying to process everything he had just said. his hold weakened with each second, and he started overthinking. did he just fuck everything up? was he about to lose you?

"you don't have to give me an answer, you know? i just thought you deserved the truth behind my actions. at least that's what i would have wanted to know if i was in your place" he said, feeling his voice about to break. he let go of your hands and stood up, making his way to the door while he felt his heart slowly breaking apart piece by piece. but it was okay, at least you knew now. who knows? maybe this was the start of finally moving on.

he felt your hand grab his arm, making him stop and turn around. you had stood up, silent tears falling from your eyes now. honestly, it was a sight wooyoung wished to delete from his mind. your hand went up to his neck as you walked closer to him, uncertainty filling all your senses.

“i think you deserve honesty from me as well” you started saying “i don’t know how to feel about this, about you. at least not yet. you’ve always been there for me, like an extension of myself. you always seem to know what i want or need before i am conscious myself about it, so what if-“

you bit your lip as you stared at him, more tears falling from your eyes. your hand was now holding his cheek, and it took everything in him to not lean into your touch.

“what if i’m unaware of my own feelings?” you asked, barely in a whisper. if he wasn’t standing so close, he probably would have missed it.

“as much as i would love that, a part of me thinks that maybe you’re just saying that to not hurt me, or maybe because you’re lonely” he argued. he refused to force you into something that you may not even want, just to preserve the friendship.

but you shook your head.

“i’m not lonely, i never was actually. you’ve always been there, that’s why i’m willing to try” you said, bringing his face closer to yours.

“you know how i want to be loved, now teach me how to love you back” you whispered, now barely inches from him.

he nodded slightly, before his lips touched yours for the first time.

and it felt right for both sides.

JONGHO

jongho’s mind has been spiraling since that afternoon. maybe he was being too obvious with his feelings? i mean, he didn't recall telling anyone about his secret, so if his friends noticed, what if you also did? what if you were just playing along because not only you did not like him back but also didn't want to risk the friendship? what if-

"jongho? are you okay?" you asked, interrupting his thoughts. jongho blinked rapidly and faked a smile, before nodding "yeah i was just thinking of all the things i have to do in the following days", he said, playing with a little spoon to busy himself. you two had met for coffee at a new place near his company, but you had not left his mind since that afternoon five days ago.

"anything i can help you with?" you asked, concern evident in your face. jongho felt like if you asked him to commit a crime, any crime at all, he would simply oblige, only becuase he considered you an angel sent from heaven just for him. and as any angel, you were forbidden.

"no, no don't worry about it" he said, "it's just some schedules and then i should clean the house a bit, it's my turn this week".

your face lit up at the last bit, and grabbed both of his hands excitedly, nearly dropping the spoon that he was still holding. "well i don't know about the first part, but i can definitely help you clean the house!"

"i'm not going to make you clean a mess made by three grown men! i wouldn't even force my worst enemy to do it" he said, chuckling and earning a giggle from you as well. "you're not forcing me actually, i'm offering! plus i won't be able to see you much if you're packed with schedules, so consider it as quality time with your best friend" you argued.

jongho thought for a moment, then sighed in defeat. how could he say no to you? specially when you're giving him your adorable puppy dog eyes. he never considered himself a saint, but also he was no devil.

---

"again, i'm so sorry for the mess, lately we've been arriving late and tired from schedules so we just leave things anywhere" jongho apologized, letting you in his apartment. to be honest, he did try to clean as much as he could before you arrived, but there was still much left to do. but, at least, it didn't look like an actual dumpster anymore.

"it's fine jong, i did volunteer to help" you said, leaving your bag and jacket on a chair nearby. jongho watched as you fixed your hair so it didn't get in the way, and as you lifted your arms, your shirt went up a little bit. it wasn't much for you to realize that a little skin was showing, but it was enough for jongho to lose his breath for a minute. "so where are we starting first?" you asked, hands now resting on your waist.

"the living room? you can start picking up the pieces of clothing and stuff laying around, while i dust and then clean the floor" he said, trying to sound as composed and normal as usual.

and with that, cleaning day started. as you were picking up shirts, jackets and socks, you two talked about what you've been up to the last few days. you were both busy with your own responsibilities, which left little time to text, so you were determined to take this time to the fullest to catch up with jongho. as he was telling you about the preparations for the european tour, you squatted down to pick up a sock from under the sofa. your friend was very focused in his task to dust the shelves as he talked, but as soon as he turned back to you, all coherent trail of thoughts died. he couldn't help but stare at your butt, and he mentally slapped himself over it. "i'm definitely going to hell" he thought to himself.

"so wooyoung... what?" you asked, sitting back down on the floor once you reached the sock. jongho quickly regained his composture, clearing his throat in the process. "he's going to write something down for each show, it can be a request for a member or simply something he wants to say" he answered, returning to the shelves and cabinets.

the next hour went on smoothly, and as the sun was starting to set and the moon was coming up, you were both almost done with the living room. at some point he suggested listening to music, which lead to the current scenario: you stealing the broom from his hands to use as microphone as you dramatically sang the song playing. jongho was laughing loudly as well, trying to steal his broom back with one hand as the other attempted to playfully tickle your side. the view was rather cute, actually, you two looked like- "you look like newlyweds" wooyoung said from the entrance, earning a not so subtle kick on the side from hongjoong, who was standing next to him.

you both flinched at the sudden intrusion, completely forgetting about the possibility of others interrupting your special little moment. jongho, personally, felt like he could kill wooyoung for his choosing of words.

"jealous?" you asked jokingly, as you untangled yourself from jongho and went back to the couch to keep on folding clothes.

"actually, a little bit" wooyoung started saying, mischief evident in his face as he smirked at the youngest member. jongho felt the terror in his veins. "you know it's amazing that you both found time to be so domestic, so cozy, so-"

"i think it's your turn to cook wooyoung" hongjoong interrupted, earning a sigh in relief from jongho. in return, wooyoung lifted up his arms dramatically, pretending he didn't do anything at all and disappeared to the kitchen. "now lovebirds, if you excuse me i'll be helping wooyoung" the leader said, emphizising on the word "lovebirds" as a manner to tease jongho as well.

once you were back alone, silence filled the room. it wasn't awkward per say, but sometimes saying nothing meant more than actual words. only the soft music played in the background, and that was enough for jongho's mind to spiral.

"i'm sorry about-" jongho started saying, but you interrupted, shaking your head "no, no it's fine! it's just them being them, right?" you said as a matter of fact. but jongho wasn't satisfied with that answer: "yes, but i feel like they crossed a line with their teasing and i'm sorry"

jongho wasn't sure how to feel. on the one hand, he knew he was being a tad bit dramatic, since your face didn't show any signs of discomfort. but also, he was terrified of ruining the irreplaceable bond you two had built. he feared that such small silly comments would turn into something bigger that might chase you away. a heavy sigh left your lips, interrupting jongho's trail of thoughts.

you looked up at him from your place on the couch, and smiled softly. your smile really was his favorite view, not a single landscape or starry sky could compare to it. you patted the spot next to you, suggesting him to sit down. his legs felt heavy all of a sudden, but he obliged anyways.

"they always tease us and it never affected you before, why now all of a sudden?" you asked, taking his hand on yours. jongho felt a chill run down his spine, and the words got caught up on his throat.

once again, sometimes silence is louder than words. he realized when your smile dropped, as you let go of his hand slowly. "jongho?" you asked, trying to get an answer from him.

but what could he say to you? it's getting to me because i love you more than a friend, but i'm terrified of you rejecting me and running away? he's an honest man, but not stupid.

so he shook his head no, averting your eyes "i'm fine, i just don't want you to feel uncomfortable" he managed to say.

after a few moments of silence, he looked up at you, and the view nearly killed him: you looked... sad, disappointed even. he had seen that look on your face countless times throughout the many years of friendship, it mostly appeared due to scumbags that broke your heart. so, why now?

"is the thought of dating me" you started saying, before your voice broke into a whisper: "...embarrassing?"

before he could react or think of a smart way to handle the situation, you stood up, and smiled. but it wasn't the same smile he worshipped, the one that lit up his life daily, it was rather different. it was fake, and one he never thought would be directed to him.

"forget i said anything, anyways! everything is pretty much cleaned up, so i'm gonna go now since you're probably tired from your busy day" you said, picking up your jacket and purse. "i'll see you soon!"

and with that, you left his sight. everything happened so quickly he was having trouble processing the information, but it wasn't until he heard the main door closing that he realized something: he was so busy trying to hide his own feelings that he completely dismissed yours. instead of assuring you, he stayed silent, allowing your mind to spiral into god knows what direction, convincing yourself that you were embarrassing him. what a ridiculous thought! if only you knew how much you occupy his thoughts on the daily, how much he wants to show you off and kiss you whenever he feels like it. if only you knew how hard he had fallen in love, you would never overthink or doubt him again.

then, he realized something else: he was still sitting in silence, too busy with his own thoughts, while you were on your way home still thinking ridiculous things. and that was the main issue: silence. you always came to rescue him whenever his friends teased him, while he panicked thinking about what you might be thinking. you were always quick to answer, while he kept his thoughts to himself. his mind, plagued with what ifs, overtook him and forced him to think that you're better off without knowing the truth. but what if it's not confessing what leads to the friendship's demise, but the silence instead?

his legs that felt heavy just moments ago, suddenly felt lighter, as he sprinted towards the main door without a second thought. he heard hongjoong's voice asking where he was going, but paid it no mind as he shut the door close: there were more important things at hand.

---

the early night was chilly, and you mentally thanked yourself for being wise enough to bring a jacket despite the warm afternoon weather. although, you were hoping it wouldn't be necessary if you had stayed over at jongho's.

jongho.

your best friend.

you shook your head at the thought, and quickly wiped off a tear that silently fell down your face. "i am so dramatic" you thought to yourself, wanting to laugh at your own misery but not being able to. truth is, you were feeling disappointed and sad, because your best friend, and the man you loved, was still blind to his own feelings. honestly, you had liked him for a long while now, but it wasn't until recently that you noticed the difference in interactions between you two and the rest. you noticed the lingering touches, the stares, the way he would run to you at 3 am only if you asked him to. you knew it all, you felt it all. and you tried to reciprocate it as much as you could, just so he could notice. but to no avail, it seemed like he still viewed you as his best friend, nothing more, nothing less. so before throwing away the towel forever, you decided to try one last time.

but again, it was all for nothing. maybe you deluded yourself, maybe it was all some sort of sick fantasy your mind created just because you desperately wanted jongho to love you back. maybe he really was embarrassed by the thought of being in a relationship with you. what a fool, what a lovesick fool.

as you felt more tears rolling down your face you mentally cursed yourself for the dramatics. "i feel like i'm in a kdrama" you thought, but you knew that the ending is far different from a tv show. in the end, this is real life, and your real best friend doesn't feel the same. so now all that is left to do is curl up in bed and cry until all tears dried, then you would appear again and pretend like nothing happened. and finally, you will move on. maybe.

"y/n!" you suddenly heard someone yell from behind you, interrupting your thoughts. you turned around, confused, and saw something you never expected to: jongho running towards you.

"what are you-" you asked once he reached you. jongho was out of breath, but immediately managed to shut you up the second he put his hands on your shoulders, keeping you still as well.

"i haven't been honest with you" he said, catching his breath finally. he noticed the faint tears on your face, and he wanted to punch himself for not being quicker, despite running at his max speed.

"jong it's okay, really" you tried assuring him, as you quickly wiped away the tears on your face, trying very hard to stop them from falling again. but if jongho running towards you wasn't enough of a shock, what he did next definitely was: he grabbed your face, and gently wiped them away himself.

"it's not" jongho said, still cradling your face. "i want to answer your question with honesty, and i want you to listen closely: the thought of dating you is not embarrassing, in fact-" he started saying but then stayed silent.

you stared at him, trying to figure out where he was going with his phrase, but you quickly noticed uncertainty in his face, almost like he was scared of something. before you could open your mouth to reassure him, he continued: "in fact, there is nothing i want more".

it was barely a whisper, but it was loud enough for you to hear and make your legs wobbly. you suddenly thanked the heavens that you were still holding each other.

jongho cleared his throat, and his hand moved to fix a strand of hair behind your ear as his face softed. "what i mean to say is, i love you. more than a friend actually, and i'm sorry for letting my fears get in the way of honesty. i understand if you don't feel the same way, you can just give me a few weeks or months to get over it but please don't stop being my best-"

and what happened next, shocked the both of you: you stood on your tippy toes and kissed him. and it felt right, it felt perfect. and most important of all, it was corresponded.

it was in that moment when jongho realized that you were his favorite everything everything. favorite person, singer, cook. favorite confidant, partner in crime. to him, you were an open book, his favorite book. but now you were also his favorite person to kiss, and most importantly, his favorite person to love, but now not in silence nor in secret.

[kaiyunsim]

dangerous —

pairing : neighbor!taesan x gn!reader

genre : fluff

summary : what do you do when you get a text from your neighbor in the middle of the night asking to head outside? answer it. who knows what’s to come? no one. but one thing is for sure. it’s not going to be a normal night

a/n : this is the last one guys !! hope u enjoyed 19.99 :)) very fun to write and lots of love to everyone reading <3

queueing : dangerous - boynextdoor, say - keshi, flamin hot lemon - jaehyun, rendez-vouz - baekhyun

[19.99 masterlist]

— wc : 3.8k — not proof read —

you’re brushing your teeth when the first pebble hits the window.

at first, you think it’s nothing. probably just the wind or a tree branch or a cat being annoying again. but then it happens again. a sharper sound this time. too precise. and you freeze with your toothbrush halfway to the sink.

you shuffle to your window and peer out into the dark.

han taesan is standing in your yard.

no. more accurately, han taesan is standing just outside your yard, leaning casually against the fence like he owns the street, like he didn’t just pelt your window with two small rocks. his hoodie is up, shadowing his face, but the flashlight in his hand flicks on and off twice. deliberate. like a signal.

you blink. and then blink again.

because han taesan is the neighbor you’ve always kept a healthy distance from. he’s the reason the neighborhood group chat has three different emergency threads. he’s the kid who climbed onto the school's four-story roof last year just because someone dared him. he’s always getting written up. always being talked about. always loud, always laughing.

but tonight, he’s quiet. tonight, he’s looking directly at you.

you don’t move. he shifts slightly, then pulls something out from behind his back.

a sign. well, it's a napkin, but it works as a sign. he holds it up, and in bold, messy marker it reads:

come with me. just for a bit.

your heart skips.

you’re not the type to sneak out. not the type to say yes to things like this. you’re the “text me when you get there” kind. the “curfew means curfew” kind. your phone is already in your hand, screen glowing with the drafted text you were going to send to your mom about finishing homework and heading to bed early.

you look back out the window. taesan grins and pulls out another napkin where he starts scribbling onto it once again.

you’ll regret it if you don’t.

the grin gets to you more than it should. it’s not cocky. it’s a little hopeful. a little excited. like he’s waiting to share something no one else gets to see. like he picked you.

you sigh. your thumb hovers over the text message. you think about deleting it. you think about shutting the window. you think about how weird tomorrow might feel if you go. and like a ghost possesed you to be different tonight, you delete the draft and throw on a hoodie.

you leave the light on to make it look like you’re still in your room. your heart is pounding in your throat. this is ridiculous. this is so dumb. you’re halfway down the stairs before you even realize you're moving.

you make sure to take out the batteries from the door alarm and open it but the front door creaks. you wince. freeze.

nothing.

you slip outside and shut it again, as slowly and silently as possible. the porch light is off. the night is cold and still and too quiet. every crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers feels like a siren.

taesan is already walking backward, waving you toward the end of the street.

you jog to catch up.

“you actually came,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“you threw rocks at my window,” you whisper back, still out of breath.

“and you came,” he says, like that’s proof of something. “i’m impressed.”

you roll your eyes. “what is this, exactly?”

taesan shrugs, flashing the flashlight briefly at your feet. “just something i want to show you. it’ll be worth it.”

“is this the part where you reveal you’ve been hiding a stolen motorcycle in your garage?”

he grins wider. “nah. that’s next week.”

you laugh before you mean to, and he catches it. his gaze lingers on you for half a second longer than it should. you pretend not to notice.

the neighborhood looks different at night. each house is a sleeping giant. windows glowing softly. no cars. no noise. just the two of you, cutting across sidewalks and hopping fences like fugitives.

“we’re gonna get arrested,” you mutter.

“technically,” he says, “we’re just walking.”

you glance over at him. “most people walk on the sidewalk.”

“most people are boring.”

you duck as a red dot from a camera catches your gaze. taesan hisses a laugh and grabs your wrist, yanking you behind the nearest hedge.

you land too close together, knees bumping, breath tangled.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

the light eventually shuts off.

“okay,” you whisper, barely audible. “maybe this is kinda fun.”

“told you,” he says. “but it gets better.”

“what is this place, taesan?”

he looks at you, serious for a moment. “it’s where i go when the rest of this place feels too small.”

you stare at him.

he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “that sounded cooler in my head.”

you nod slowly. “nah. it was kind of cool.”

he perks up again. “yeah?”

“don’t push it.”

you keep walking, this time side by side.

the thrill is still there, tingling just beneath your skin, but there’s something warmer now too. a weird quiet comfort in the way your steps sync. in the way taesan hums softly when there’s no conversation. in the way he sometimes looks at you like he can’t believe you’re still here.

“so,” you say after a while, “do you do this often?”

“sneak out? yeah.”

“no, convince innocent bystanders to join your criminal antics?”

“not really,” he says. “you’re kind of a first.”

you glance at him.

he doesn’t look back.

instead, he points ahead to a chain-link fence.

“almost there,” he says.

you don’t know where there is yet, but you know one thing for sure: you’re not turning back.

not yet.

you’re halfway across a playground you didn’t know still existed when taesan suddenly veers left, hopping a low fence like it’s muscle memory.

you follow, breathing harder now, adrenaline buzzing under your skin in a way that makes you feel alive and reckless and a little bit stupid.

“we’re really far from my house,” you say.

“you mean our house,” he corrects, turning around with a crooked grin. “we’re neighbors, remember?”

“yeah,” you mutter. “this feels like the kind of bonding experience that ends with a demon being summoned.”

he laughs, loud and bright in the empty dark. it echoes between the old school buildings as you both duck into a narrow path between chain-link fences.

“you always this dramatic?” he asks.

“you always this mysterious?” you shoot back.

he considers this. “i try not to be. people make assumptions when you stop explaining yourself.”

“so you just stopped explaining?”

“i got tired,” he says, voice quieter now. “and my friends moved away. it’s easier not to miss them if i don’t talk about them.”

you glance at him. there’s something different in the way he walks now. slower. not just because the path narrows, but because he’s remembering.

“this the part where you tell me about your tragic backstory?” you ask, teasing, but softer.

he snorts. “nah. just… there used to be five of us. every friday night. we’d sneak out, go exploring, steal snacks from the convenience store if we were brave enough. we called it ‘operation getaway.’”

you raise a brow. “wow. that’s so dramatic.”

he nudges you with his shoulder. “shut up.”

“i’m just saying,” you grin, “sounds kind of adorable. were you, like, the fearless leader?”

“duh,” he says, then adds quickly, “i mean—no. maybe. i don’t know.”

“taesan,” you drawl. “are you sentimental?”

he stumbles over a crack in the pavement.

“what? no,” he says too fast. “no way.”

“you totally are.”

“i’m not.”

“this is your secret memory lane. you’re taking me to your old hangout spot. you’re sharing stories about your childhood gang—”

“okay shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

you’re laughing when he shoves you lightly, and he’s laughing too, except it sounds more like relief. like he’s glad you didn’t run at the first sign of something real.

you climb up a slanted dumpster and hop down the other side, landing next to him in a hidden alley you didn’t even know existed. it smells like asphalt and wild mint.

“how do you know all these weird paths?” you ask, brushing your hands on your hoodie.

“been running through them since i was twelve,” he says, glancing around. “they don’t teach this stuff in school.”

you pause, realizing you’ve been walking for a while now, and not once have you felt lost.

“now, where are we going?” you ask.

he smiles. “you’ll see.”

you roll your eyes. “vague. mysterious. definitely suspicious.”

“all the best things are,” he says.

you keep walking, but something changes.

at first it’s small, a flicker in your peripheral vision. a low hum. the kind of noise you don’t notice until it’s been going on for too long.

you glance behind you.

a car. old. paint chipped. headlights off. moving way too slow for a place with no stop signs.

you squint. taesan hasn’t noticed yet. he’s ahead of you, already halfway through a shortcut behind someone’s backyard. but when the car creeps past again, this time from the other side of the block, you speak up.

“hey… that car’s weird.”

he stops mid-step. turns. his eyes scan the street, sharp now, calculating.

“which one?”

you point. it’s gone again.

his jaw tightens. not dramatically. just enough that you notice.

“it’s probably nothing,” he says, voice level. “somebody getting lost.”

but he’s looking around more now. less joking. more alert.

you don’t ask questions. not yet. you just fall in step beside him again, a little closer this time. and when you reach a side street with no streetlights, he reaches out and takes your hand.

just like that.

no big deal.

except your fingers are burning where they touch.

“shortcut,” he says, tugging you into the dark between two buildings. “we’ll cut through here.”

you don’t argue.

your shoes scuff against broken pavement, and his flashlight flicks on, just long enough to catch your footing. it smells like rain and something else, dust maybe. you can hear your own heartbeat louder than your steps.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, still holding your hand.

you nod, even though he’s not looking.

“yeah.”

you’re more than okay. you’re terrified, and excited, and fully aware that you’re wandering through alleys with a boy you barely know but somehow trust anyway.

and then, as you turn the corner, he stops. you almost run into him. he’s staring up at a narrow fire escape tucked between two brick walls.

“this is it,” he says.

you follow his gaze. “what is?”

he grins. “our rooftop,” he says. “c’mon. don’t wimp out on me now.”

you eye the ladder. it looks… less than safe.

“you first,” you mutter.

he’s already climbing.

you wait until he’s halfway up before starting after him, hands trembling with cold and adrenaline.

when you reach the top, breathless and heart pounding, he’s standing there—arms spread like he’s welcoming you into a secret universe.

and what you see takes your breath away.

city lights stretch in every direction. soft, glowing. like someone shook glitter over the world and let it settle in the cracks. the wind brushes your face. it’s quiet up here. peaceful. far away from everything.

“taesan…” you say, voice small.

he glances over. “told you it’d be worth it.”

you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing until your back hits the cool rooftop, and the stars spin a little above your head.

“oh my god,” you gasp, laughing between breaths. “we almost died on that ladder.”

taesan collapses next to you with a dramatic sigh. “worth it.”

you turn your head. he’s grinning again, eyes squinting up at the sky, hoodie bunched at his elbows. you’re close enough that your arms touch, and the heat from his skin is louder than the wind.

“so,” you say after a beat, “this is your big secret spot.”

he hums. “yep.”

“it’s actually kind of... amazing.”

“you sound surprised.”

“well,” you grin, “i was expecting like, a junkyard. or maybe a haunted gas station.”

“jeez, you just hate me i guess,” he deadpans.

you nudge his shoulder. he doesn’t nudge back.

instead, he says, quieter now, “i thought you weren’t gonna come.”

you glance at him.

his eyes are still on the sky, but his voice dips, softer around the edges. “i had the sign ready and everything. would’ve felt dumb just standing down there.”

your chest squeezes. “so you planned that?” you ask, raising a brow.

he side-eyes you. “no.”

“taesan.”

“okay maybe.”

you laugh, and he smiles like he can’t help it. there’s something different about this version of him. less troublemaker, more boy with too much heart and nowhere to put it.

you sit up, the city stretching behind him like a dream, and for a second, just a second, you wonder what would happen if you leaned in.

he’s looking at you.

you’re looking back.

his hand brushes yours, light as static.

you close your eyes, move closer

and then—

“oh hell no.”

you both jolt upright.

from the opposite side of the rooftop, two shadows emerge, both climbing over the edge like it’s their usual entrance.

taesan groans. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“bro,” the short one says, stepping into the light, “you knew we were coming tonight.”

“i forgot!”

the second boy, a much taller, with round cheeks and wide eyes, waves cheerfully, like he hasn’t just interrupted the moment of the century.

“hi!” he says brightly, to you. “you’re not part of the usual rooftop squad.”

“not yet,” you mumble.

“don’t be nice,” taesan grumbles, standing. “you just ruined the vibe.”

“you ruined the vibe by being early,” the short one fires back. “we had a whole timing plan!”

taesan sighs like this is a very old argument.

“y/n,” he gestures between them, “this is riwoo, angry, dramatic, and woonhak, baby of the group.”

woonhak beams and does a little wave again.

you can’t help it, you whisper to taesan, “he is the cutest.”

taesan just groans louder. “don’t encourage him.”

woonhak plops down like this is his house and you’re the guest. “you guys bring snacks?”

“do i look unprepared?” taesan mutters, already pulling a bag of chips, two rice cakes, and a bottle of melon soda from his backpack like some kind of urban picnic magician.

riwoo raises his eyebrows. “you brought donuts? for them?”

“shut up,” taesan says, tossing the pack across the rooftop. “you can have half.”

“i want a rice cake,” woonhak chirps.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” taesan says, handing it over.

you watch all this unfold. three boys on a rooftop at midnight, bickering over snacks and spots on the concrete, and suddenly, the night feels warmer. this is the side of taesan no one gets to see. the one who keeps old traditions alive. the one who remembers to bring enough snacks for everyone. the one who laughs like he means it.

you end up sitting between woonhak and riwoo, passing the soda back and forth as stories start to spill out. ones about rooftops and ruined bikes and the time taesan broke a pipe trying to slide down it like in a movie.

“he landed in someone’s pool,” riwoo says, deadpan.

“i was aiming for it!” taesan insists.

“you broke your arm.”

“yeah, after the pool part. technically still a win.”

you’re laughing too hard to respond. your face hurts from smiling.

taesan glances at you, eyes crinkled. there’s something in his gaze you can’t place, soft and searching, like he’s trying to memorize the sound of your laugh.

you look away, heart thudding louder than before.

somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. a train hums. the city never really sleeps. but for once, it feels like the world’s paused just for you.

you tilt your head back. above, stars scatter across the sky like glitter spilled on black velvet. below, you can see the town, tiny houses, sleepy streets, the faint glow of your porch light still on.

you think about curfews. about rules. about how this night wasn’t supposed to happen. and then you think about how glad you are that it did.

the sky is turning that pale, impossible blue, like someone pressed pause on the night right before it gave up.

you walk slower now, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, the rooftops and alleyways behind you, your house still just out of sight.

it’s not the kind of slow that comes from being tired. it’s the kind of slow that says please don’t end yet.

taesan’s quiet too. not in a bad way. just thoughtful. he kicks a pebble down the sidewalk, his hand close to yours but not quite touching. you want to say something. you don’t know what.

instead, he says, “you ever stay out this late before?”

you shake your head. “never.”

he looks over. “so… i was your first time?”

you scoff, elbowing him. “don’t make it weird.”

he laughs, but it’s soft. tired. fond.

you turn onto your street and the quiet shifts. not peaceful anymore. heavier. because from here, you can see it.

your porch light is on.

and the light inside the living room, off when you left, is now glowing faintly behind the curtains.

your heart drops to your knees.

“shit,” you whisper.

taesan stops next to you. he sees it too.

you both just stand there for a second, frozen like deer in someone else’s headlights.

“okay,” he says finally, breath visible in the morning chill. “don’t freak out. could just be uhh—like, someone got up to pee. lights got left on.”

“yeah,” you say. “totally. because my family just loves wasting electricity.”

you take another step. then another. your yard is a war zone of betrayal. every twig looks louder. every shadow feels like an accusation.

taesan nudges your fingers with his. not quite a hold. just a reminder he’s there.

“don’t worry,” he says, too gently. “if you get caught… i’ll take the blame.”

you blink at him.

“taesan.”

“i mean it.”

“that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard,” you whisper, but you’re smiling. kind of. it’s tight. terrified.

you reach the edge of your driveway and crouch instinctively. like you’re in a spy movie. or about to commit a very boring felony.

taesan follows your lead, ducking behind your mom’s flowerbed.

“okay,” you mutter. “plan?”

“i distract. you sneak in. climb up that janky trellis like you’re in mission impossible. easy.”

“you do realize i’ll owe you for life if this works.”

he shrugs. “worth it.”

you glance toward the house.

the window to your room is slightly cracked open, just like you left it when the nights got too warm. but that means you didn’t close it. which means someone might’ve noticed. might’ve gone to check.

your throat is dry.

“i’ll go first,” you whisper. “if it looks bad… run.”

he frowns.

“i’m serious,” you add. “don’t make this worse than it is. just—run.”

he hesitates. but nods.

you creep across the yard. one foot. then the other. the grass is damp. your hoodie feels too loud. everything is glass and you’re walking with a hammer. you reach the side of the house. make it to the window. fingers wrap around the wood. you glance back—

taesan’s crouched low, watching you. he gives a tiny thumbs-up.

you roll your eyes and start to climb. it’s harder than it looks. the wood creaks. your foot slips once. but you make it, window ledge, fingertips, finally swinging one leg over—

and then it happens.

the creak.

that one stupid floorboard by your desk. you always forget. it always betrays you.

your heart stops.

you freeze, mid-step. barely breathing.

down the hallway, something moves.

a shadow.

a person.

you hiss—“go!”—at the window, barely loud enough, but taesan hears.

he’s already moving. but he doesn’t run. he hesitates. stares up at you one last time. something flickers in his eyes. regret, apology, maybe just goodbye. and then he bolts.

vanishes behind the neighbor’s hedges like he was never there. you’re alone now. and the shadow’s getting closer.

—

the house is too quiet after the storm.

you’re still standing in the hallway when the words settle in the air like dust:

“you’re grounded for a month.”

you don’t argue. you just nod. what would you even say?

the silence that follows is somehow worse. the kind where you can feel someone’s disappointment before they even say it. like static in your bones.

you mumble something like “okay,” something like “goodnight,” and shut your door behind you.

your room is dark except for the bluish light bleeding through the window. you can’t bring yourself to turn on the lamp. the adrenaline’s gone now, but your heart is still racing like it doesn’t know the night’s over.

you’re not even sure what you’re feeling.

regret?

not exactly.

fear?

kind of.

mostly it’s just… him.

taesan.

his hand brushing yours. his laugh on the rooftop. the way he ran when you told him to, but didn’t want to.

you sit on the edge of your bed and realize your fingers are clenched around something.

it’s a note, on another one of those stupid napkins. you forgot he gave it to you, folded into your palm like a secret before you climbed the trellis.

it’s crumpled now, smudged from your grip, but you unfold it anyway.

his handwriting is messy. like him.

“if we get caught, blame me. but if it’s fun, you have to admit i was right.”

you close your eyes. you don’t even hear your phone buzz until the second time. you dive for it.

taesan: did you make it?

you bite your lip. thumbs hover over the screen.

you: define “make it.”

you wait. your heart is loud again.

taesan: define “regret.”

you almost laugh. almost cry. your fingers tremble as you type, curling under the covers like the walls can’t hear you.

you: i don’t.

a pause. then the three dots again.

taesan: knew it.

you roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re trying not to smile. you don’t know what this is. you just know it matters.

—

it’s past midnight when you hear it.

click.

soft. quiet. outside your window. you pause your music and sit up. it’s nothing. probably. a squirrel. the wind. you peek through the blinds anyway. and there he is.

taesan.

hoodie up. hair messy. standing at the edge of your yard like a dare you forgot to take. he sees you and holds something up.

a napkin.

scribbled in sharpie, crooked but clear:

“worth it?”

you stare at him, press your forehead against the cold glass, and nod.

taesan’s grin splits across his face. cocky. blinding. he doesn’t stay.

just throws you a wink and disappears again. back into the dark, like a secret the night let slip for just a second.

you crawl back into bed and keep the napkin. fold it. press it into your notebook. write the date in the corner.

because later, when you’re older and the world feels a little less magic, you’ll want to remember this:

the rooftop.

the laughter.

the near-kiss.

the sprint through shadows.

the moment your heart cracked open at the worst possible time.

you got caught. but you also chose it. and that kind of feeling?

that’s worth everything.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tysm for reading :>

series taglist : @somber-reads @saritahwang

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver @solkver @lov3lyaaru @tanghuyuj

[mediumgayitalian]

“Don’t worry, Kayla. I got him.”

It’s the first thing that registers in a long time. It’s also the only thing that registers a split second before a hand grips his collar and he is dragged, bodily, out of the infirmary, bumping down the stairs like luggage.

“Is that all I am to you?” Will asks, bereft. “Luggage?”

“You’re losing your mind again,” Nico says. “Intervention time.”

“I am — just fine, thank you kindly! I was in the middle of sorting the medicine cabinet by colour and vibe. Let me go.”

“There’s something wrong with you. Mentally.”

“How rude.”

Nico snorts, but does not relinquish his hold. Will gives up squirming and sighs, allowing himself to be dragged.

It’s kind of nice, he supposes. Nico is careful to avoid most of the rocks and the sky is kind of pretty from this angle. Ideally he’d be, like, walking, but dragged along is alright. It’s better than last time. The whole princess carry thing was humiliating and if someone does that to him again he’s channeling the power of the sun and exploding himself and everyone around him.

“That is not an actual power that you have, William.”

“Shows what you know.”

“I’m gonna start calling you Hiroshima.”

“Go for it. Guess who’ll look like the insane one in that scenario?”

Nico laughs, because he thinks Will is funny, even though he will not admit it. Will knows so because that’s how he bagged the camp’s baddest bitch. Twas most certainly not his swordfighting skills or poetry, that is for certain.

(Not that it had stopped him from trying. Honestly, Nico may have agreed to go out with him for the sole intent of stopping the poetry.)

(But he’s stuck now, so there.)

“Here.” Nico deposits him unceremoniously on the floor. Will lands with an exaggerated oof. “Eat something or I’m stuffing you into an onager and launching you to Mars.” He glances up at the sky. “The planet, not the deity.”

“Figured,” Will wheezes, rubbing his shoulder blades. Why must he always land painfully. Why is he punished merely for existing. “What’s this?”

Nico, refusing to answer verbally, spreads his arms. Will uses his working eyeballs to determine ‘this’ is a soft blanket that is 100% stolen directly from the Aphrodite cabin, spread carefully over the grass of the nicest clearing in the woods. ‘This’ is a picnic basket full of what Will assumes is Twizzlers, if Nico loves him.

“Tis not,” Nico promises. “I brought you vegetables and whole grains and all the other bullshit you harp about me eating, you massive hypocrite.”

‘This’, Will notices, ignoring him, is a folded letter with his name on it and a portable radio playing the nearest country station.

Next time you overwork yourself I’m knocking you unconscious and chaining you to your bed for three days, reads the note. Make better choices, you dickbrain.

“Charming,” Will says. He presses the letter to his chest and pretends to swoon. Nico lets him fall and bang his skull on the ground, but Will internalizes the pain and commits to the bit like a real man. “My very own Romeo, taking care of me so well. Oh, my heart, my heart.”

“You are the most annoying person alive.”

“And yet you’re obsessed with me.”

Nico cracks a smile. “Yes,” he admits. “Not quite sure how that one happened.”

Nico looks at him with dark brown eyes and slightly raised brows and it is charming, genuinely, and Will goes a little pink, admittedly, because his smile is crooked and teasing and there is something handsome and a little tiny bit mean about it and maybe Will likes that. A little. And maybe Nico knows that and snickers and mutters get over here, airhead and tugs him until his head is in his lap and sticks his hands in his tangled hair and yeah, Will likes it a little. A lot.

“You know, you’re kind of an alright person,” Will says.

“That was almost a compliment.”

“Mhm. I might even like you.”

“Shocking.”

Will grins. Nico rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss him, biting the tip of his nose on the way down, and there is a coil in Will’s belly and it feels a little like heat and a little like warmth. A little like someone taking care of him.

“I threatened the camp,” Nico says conversationally. “We have the next three point seventeen hours to ourselves, lest I sacrifice three teenagers to Thanatos.”

“Sensible.”

“I thought so.”

“Anyone told you you’re kinda hot when you’re a little evil?”

“Yeah. I hear it a lot, actually.”

“Good, good. Glad you’re aware.”

They look at each other for one point two seconds and burst out laughing, and it is stupid, and it is quiet, and it is a bubble growing and growing in the pit of Will’s chest.

He breathes. He leans a little farther into Nico’s lap, and smile. He grips their hands together.

It’s kinda nice to be got.

———

based on this drawing by @skysmadness

[so-i-did-this-thing]

been thinking of investing in a bass pro shop hat to simultaneously get gendered correctly and avoid being clocked as trans... I live in a pretty conservative rural area so I figure if I dress like the local cis guys they'll think I'm one of them and act accordingly.

The only issue is I'm pre everything so my voice sounds like shit. If I talk they'll either clock me or assume I'm a kid but I can just not talk unless needed, right?

Do you think this is a good idea?

In this moment in history, we need a mix of visible and invisible trans people. There are many different roles to play when fighting fascism and not all are on the front lines.

I am in a support role right now, so am pretty stealth currently. And maybe that's what you need to ask yourself -- is anyone directly depending on you and how does that influence your plans?

It's also hard to answer your question because I don't know your experiences trying to pass in public, and if your current presentation to an outsider reads as "cis female" or "some kind of queer".

With all the kindness in my heart -- don't confuse gender euphoria with the ability to pass. Get some second opinions on your cishet cosplay. Take photos at unflattering angles, from the back and sides. I'm still unsettled at how my silhouette at certain angles clocks me.

You also need to decide if there is a point where you're safer off presenting as female. What you would do if you ever reach that point and what the consequences would be.

If this will be your first time presenting as male in public, you might want to wait a bit while the current chaos of the new admin settles. Things are highly unpredictable right now.

If you do attempt to pass like this, stay out of bathrooms and try to go out only during the day, ideally with cis friends. Drive safely. Avoid doing things that require showing your ID. You want to be invisible and be mistaken for a teenager.

If you get clocked, it's very likely you'll be taken for a lesbian, as so many transphobes still forget trans men exist. Which still may not lend you much safety if they're homophobic. Rehearse how you would respond in a confrontation.

It's always a risk, trying to pass in hostile areas. Because the retribution could be even worse once transphobes learn they have been "deceived".

It has to be your call. But put a lot of thought into it and practice where it's safest.

Good luck and take care.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

body piercer!joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, modern au, no outbreak au

word count: 4.7k

summary: you finally go and get your nipples pierced.

warnings: reader has tattoos & has flat/small nipples which is the only physical description in this fic, nipple play, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, joel miller with a tongue piercing, lots of teasing, sexual tension, tattoo kink??? joel is really into them

a/n: this fic literally wouldn't exist if not for @swiftispunk's fic flesh and metal after reading it and screaming about it (and also reading articles about it) this fic was born, enjoy xx

special thanks to @johnwatsn for the beta! 💞

It’s late. The faint buzz of the neon sign is loud in your ears, taunting, mocking you for just staring inside instead of going in. Your face is illuminated with a red hue, the words BODY PIERCING burning into your irises. And despite the tacky neon sign, the inside looks quite clean. You would know, you’ve been stalking their Instagram page for a while now. 

There’s no one inside and you’re contemplating whether or not you should just get on with it. The idea of getting your nipples pierced had been a vague thought until recently. You desperately needed a change, you wanted something new and exciting. You wanted to feel sexy again. Your ex had certainly done a decent amount of damage to your self-esteem and that, plus your already low view of yourself, did not help your brain to see the good of you. 

So many things could go wrong, you’ve read multiple articles about it. Your body might reject the piercing, it might leave a scar, irritate it. . . 

G Suddenly, a brisk burst of frigid air gently caresses your cheeks, causing you to instinctively step back. Your gaze swiftly shifts from the interior of the shop to the door, where you notice that someone has just opened it, allowing the chilly air from the air conditioning inside to spill out.

Joel Miller, the shop's number one body piercer. Your cheeks burn, your pulse quickens, the sound of it flooding your ears. He’s tall and broad, his brown eyes staring at you with utter amusement. As you continue to just blatantly stare at him, he cocks his head to the side with a crooked smile. 

“I’m closin’ in half an hour, sweetheart. If you’re thinkin’ of comin’ in, I’d do it now.” 

“O–Oh,” you swallow thickly. “I can come back tomorrow if you’re closing up, sorry to bother you.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his smile falling, “Well, I didn’t quite say that, now, did I?” Come on in, darlin’. Tell me what you need.” 

Tell him what you need—your heart beats in your throat, the lazy drawl of his words going directly between your legs. You mentally curse at yourself. How touch-starved are you? He’s just being polite. You’re the customer, it would’ve been weird if he just shooed you away. 

Joel takes a step to the side, silently granting permission for you to enter. You stroll past him, making your way inside without uttering a word. The air conditioning is a blessing on your sweat-soaked skin. Even though you don’t have to, you briefly look at your surroundings. Just like your research had entailed, the shop was squeaky clean. 

“So,” Joel clears his throat. “What can I do you for, sweetheart?” 

Some part of you wishes that he could just understand without you having to form the words. You lick the back of your teeth, suddenly it’s very hard to breathe. 

“I. . . wanted to get my nipples pierced—if that’s okay?” 

“Of course, it is,” he smiles, much softer compared to his crooked smirk from before. “I’m Joel by the way,” he extends his hand and you take it with a sigh of relief, you feel much lighter now— 

“I know.” 

Your eyes go wide, both your hands stopping mid-shake. Joel’s amused glance is back again, his smile stretching into a grin, “You know?” 

“I mean—well, I did research before I came here,” you answer quickly, aggressively almost, and release his hand. His grin only wides, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. “So that’s how I know your name.” 

“Aren’t you the cautious one,” he turns on his heel and points towards the back. “If you’re set on what you want we can just head inside, I can explain the rest there.” 

“Sure.” 

Just as you both take a step you remember what you initially wanted to ask before going through with it and stop. Joel senses your lack of movement, turning around, you notice the furrow between his brow. “I actually wanted to ask something before we went on with it.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

Oh god, this is embarrassing, “So. . . my nipples are. . .flat—or is it more proper to call it small? I don’t know. Would that be an issue?” 

The glimmer in his eyes returns full force, his expression of worry melting away, “I’ve never met a nipple I couldn’t pierce,” he teases. “So no need to worry that pretty head of yours.” 

“Do you sweet talk with all your clients?” you ask, your lips twitching into a smile. You don’t know what it is, but you feel comfortable with him. Maybe it’s because you’ve been stalking his shop for so long. Either way, it’s a nice feeling. 

“Only with the ones that know my name before I meet them.” His eyes gradually move up and down your body, eating you up. His tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. You notice the faint shimmer that belongs to a silver tongue piercing. “And the ones that’ve been starin’ into my shop for least an hour.” 

Joel takes a step closer and you feel your breath dissipating from your lungs. Dark, charcoal eyes sweep across your face. Your heartbeat is like a fearful hummingbird, hitting the bone cage in rapid succession. You swallow. By some miracle, you hold his gaze. 

“You ready to go, little rabbit?” 

All the tension drains from your bones and you burst out laughing, “Rabbit?” you giggle, your amusement only growing when you see his wide smile. “What the hell?” 

“There’s that pretty smile,” he hums, pulling back. Joel stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Now that you’re relaxed we can get to business. We can stop whenever, so don’t feel pressured when you’re in the chair. You can just leave.” 

You nod along as you follow him inside. You’re relieved when you see that it’s a spacious room with bright lighting that doesn’t irritate your eyes. 

“First things first, let's pick out the piercing.” Joel walks towards one of the small glass cases and pulls out one of the drawers. Your excitement builds as he presents them to you. “Any ticklin’ your fancy?” 

The light above gleams against the glass, there are so many and for a split second, you want them all. You never thought you would be labeling piercings as pretty. Looking them over, you decide you definitely want barbells instead of hoops. Now the question is which barbell one do you want? 

“So many,” you mutter, eyes scanning over them again and again. You see one that says ‘cum here’ on each heart-shaped barbell. There’s a couple of them that say different things; kiss here, bite me, lick me— a shudder rolls down your spine. Your mind instantly fills with indecent thoughts, most of them staring at the man still patiently holding the glass case. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

You bet he has the most skillful tongue—

“Oh, that one!” you exclaim suddenly, pointing at one in the shape of a heart. It’s decorated in shimmering rhinestones, the metal gold. When he inserts it, the heart would be framing your nipple. “It’s so cute.” 

“You like shiny things, huh?” he smiles. “You gotta good eye, it’ll look good on you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, “Thanks.” 

“Now lay on the bed, darlin’.” 

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the piercing bed. You’re about to lay on it before he stops you with a raised hand. “Take off your top.” 

“Most guys buy me dinner first.” 

“Har har very funny,” he rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, which in return makes you lightheaded. The expression is like a drug and you want to see more of it. More and more and more. “Besides, if you have a flat nipple I’m gonna need to stimulate it.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Joel is unaware of your blundering, he arranges the fresh, disposable drape and sterile forceps, placing it on the small portable workstation, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I can use the suction device too,” he answers nonchalantly. You watch breathlessly as he pulls on his black rubber gloves and finally turns to you. He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s your top still on?” 

“I—I just wasn’t aware nipple play was involved.” 

“You do realize where you’re gettin’ pierced right?” his lips twitch up. “You’re not drunk, are you sweetheart?” 

“Very funny,” you answer, mimicking his tone from before. “But anyway, okay, I guess I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“Understandable,” you point towards the endless draws. “Want me to get the suction device?” 

“God, no,” you let out a low chuckle. “Your fingers are just fine.” 

“Never had any complaints before.” 

Your stomach jumps, arousal caressing your skin similar to a summer breeze. The darkness in his eyes is back, his gaze intense and nerve-wracking. 

“Will it hurt?” you mumble. 

“I ain’t gonna lie so yeah, it will.” 

“How much?” 

“Depends, really.” 

Your shoulders drop. 

“Mine didn’t hurt that bad, to be honest, but my pain tolerance is quite high,” he mutters to himself rather than to you. He follows up with another sentence, probably something to soothe your worry but your brain is locked on to something very specific he just said. 

“You have nipple piercings?” you ask incredulously. “Really?” 

“I do, though it was more of a bet kind of situation. My brother loooves causing me trouble,” he sighs and crosses his arms over the expanse of his chest. “But joke’s on him because I liked how they looked so I kept them.” 

“Can. . . Can I see?” 

“You gonna be a good girl and keep still when I pierce you?” Joel teases. You nod furiously, lips pressed tightly together. “A’right then.” He curls his fingers into the hem of his shirt and lifts it. Your eyes are glued to his chest—his entire torso. You see the way a soft trail of draw hair starts from his bellybutton and disappears under his jeans, you see the soft swell of his stomach, the muscle—your eyes move up, you finally see his nipples, pierced, just like he said, with silver barbells. You lean closer, your ass at the very edge of the piercing bed. 

Joel suddenly drops his shirt, hiding away, he shrugs, “Nothin’ fancy, but still, I like’em,” saying that, he takes a seat on his chair and sways a bit thanks to the wheels underneath.

“Do—” you lick the back of your teeth. “Do they make it more sensitive?” 

His smirk makes your heart skip a beat, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he points to your shirt. “Now off.” 

Without a word, you peel off your shirt and unhook your bra. Joel’s eyes widen momentarily, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare torso. You’re confused for a moment. Surely, in his line of work, he’s seen many tits before— 

Then you realize he’s staring at your tattoos. 

You don’t have many, though you guess compared to others you do have many. Joel’s gaze lingers on your chest piece, two hands reaching towards each other with the sun and moon in between, decorating the dip between your breasts without going too deep. The blood rush of your body fills your ears, and your lips part with a gasp, his eyes instantly snap to your lips. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. 

“Didn’t know you were tattooed, darlin’.” 

“You like tattoos?” you ask, your voice hoarse and barely there. “I have more on my back.” 

You swear his pupils dilate, “I’d love to see them after. If you’ll let me.” 

“Sure,” you answer with a weak smile. “I don’t see a reason not to.” 

He wheels closer, eyes dropping to your breasts. You look away. Your cheeks feel unreasonably warm despite the air conditioning running. Goosebumps blossom over every patch of skin. His mouth is too close, the warmth of his breath fans your chest, a pleasant tingle echoing over your breasts. 

You’ve always felt a bit awkward about your nipples. They always seemed silly compared to your breast size, especially when you started seeing other nipples. 

“I’m gonna touch you now,” he says softly, dragging you away from your thoughts. “I’m gonna massage it a bit to work it out, a’right?” 

You nod and hold your breath simultaneously. He does your right nipple first. Just like he said, he massages the flesh closest to your nipple, easing it out. It feels good, undeniably so. The pads of his fingers work delicately. Deep down you wish he didn’t have to wear the gloves. Your body aches for his heat, his bare touch on your naked skin. Joel pinches a bit hard and you flinch, he mumbles an apology. You don’t have it in you to tell him that it didn’t actually hurt, rather, it felt good. 

Soft whimpers threaten to escape your lips so you bite into the bottom one, hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing with deep inhales. His thumb swipes over your, now hard, nipple. “There we go,” he says. 

You don’t open your eyes. Pain blossoms from the flesh of your lips, you feel them starting to swell. 

“Hey,” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face, then you feel his thumb easing out your lips from between your teeth. “You’re gonna hurt yourself like that. Are you okay?” 

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re just turned on? That this has been the most action you’ve had in months? 

“I’m okay,” you answer. His brows furrow in disbelief and you can’t really blame him. You let out a long sigh. “I’m fine, I promise. I just got a little worked up.” 

“Worked up?” His smile is back and in response, you want to bury your head in the sand. “What d’you mean?” 

His hand slides to your waist, squeezing it gently. You stick your bottom lip out. “You know what I mean.” 

“Hmmm, maybe,” his voice drips with cruel teasing, his thumb begins to draw lazy circles around your skin. You think he’s going to say something else but his gaze once again drops to your chest. “Looks like it disappeared, gonna need to work it out again.” 

You expect his fingers—maybe for him to pinch a bit harder this time. 

What you don’t expect, however, is his burning mouth on your cold skin. 

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, your body instinctively arching towards him. He groans as a response, taking more of you into his mouth. His tongue flicks your peaked nipple. You feel his teeth nipping the tender flesh and you gasp once more, a sharp moan rattling in your throat. 

His eyes look up at you, momentarily he parts away, his lips are swollen, spit glistening at his lips, “This okay?” 

“Yes.” 

And he continues to devour you. 

Your fingers bite into the leather bed, he laps at the pebbled flesh, purposefully rubs the tongue piercing into it. The sudden hardness of metal makes you jump and then melt into it, he repeats the movement of his tongue again and again, swirling it until your thighs start to shake. His hands briefly move to your tattoo, thick fingers dancing along the ink. 

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, directing his attention to your other nipple. He flicks at it first then closes his lips around it. Your underwear is sticky with slick, your legs in constant motion to relieve some of the tension from your throbbing clit. He cups your mound, presses his fingers into your clothed slit. “Be patient, I’m gettin’ there.” He sucks on your nipple and teases the other with his fingers, pinching and pulling them. 

“Won’t be able to do this when we pierce them,” he growls, teeth sinking into your nipple, he flicks his tongue over it. “And you better not let anyone else touch’em too.” 

Your head falls back with a groan. He flicks his tongue again when you grind into his palm, the friction not enough to quench your need for him. You grip his shoulder, urging him to move back. He does. You immediately feel guilty at the worry crossing his eyes. 

You grip his shirt, slightly sliding it up his stomach, “Can I see how sensitive you are?” 

A brush of color spreads from his neck to his cheeks. You smile. Red looks good on him. 

He stands up, the chair wheeling away. Joel is quick to discard his shirt and you’re glad that the piercing bed makes it so that you’re in perfect tasting range. You spread your legs wider as he comes closer, taking his place between them. His skin touches your own, his warmth overwhelming yet welcomed. 

You kiss his neck first. Then his collar bone, you suck on his skin, teasing the sensitive flesh with your teeth. He shudders. Slowly you make your way down, your thumbs push at the pierced nipples and he moans behind gritted teeth. Smiling sweetly at him, you swirl your tongue around one, playing with the other. Your tongue moves over the bead of the piercing, you tilt it which in return twists the nipple. Another tremble overwhelms him, his body curling around you even further. The outline of his cock is prominent through his jeans, his body impulsively grinding against your stomach. You moan at the hardness, and he moans at the pressure. 

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he rasps, hips jerking. “But let’s take care of you now, I bet your panties are soaked, darlin’.” 

Fuck, it is. 

Joel drags his lips down your cheek, he kisses your neck slowly, the metal on his tongue forcing a shudder up your spine and making you curious about how it’ll feel on your cunt. 

“Want to eat you out from behind, sweetheart, wanna see those tattoos.” 

His hands are a constant on your skin as you hop off the bed and bend over, he helps you with your jeans, reaching around and unbuttoning it for you. The fabric suddenly feels too tight on your skin and you need to get rid of it—now. 

The harsh fabric pools at your ankles and you kick them away. His fingers play with the elastic of your underwear, pulling and twisting. The heft of him rubs between the crease, thick cock straining against his zipper. You expect him to take off his jeans too. Your piercer is full of surprises, though, and instead of doing the predictable thing, he continues to roll his hips whilst tracing the pads of his fingers over tattoos. 

“Fuck, they’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he mumbles. His touch is ticklish, yet arousing at the same time. More slick gathers at the fabric. You’re desperate for his touch. By the movement of his fingers you guess which of them he’s stroking. First, it’s the fox that stretches over your spine, beams of sun framing its face. Then it’s the smoke-like lines that are closer to your shoulder and the other one near your hip. Joel can’t seem to get enough of it. His palms are flat against inky skin, trying to feel the thought of you while you got them. 

You gasp at the touch of soft lips and soft tongue. He licks a slow line up your spine, tracing over the fox and sunlight. By pure instinct you bend over further, your breasts completely pressed against the leather. You’ve never been more glad to have tattoos in your goddamn life—he’s worshipping them, the figures that adorn your skin. 

His velvet tongue is replaced by sharp teeth, your back arches, ass pressing further into his clothed cock. Joel trembles and follows your eager movements with another tender bite. 

“I love them,” he mouths over the inky smoke near your shoulder. “I love feeling you, touching you. I could just do this for hours. You feel amazin’ against my skin, my sweet little rabbit.” 

This time you don’t laugh at the absurd nickname. His name drips from your damp lips like honey, sweet to say and sticking to your tongue. 

His hand dips between your legs and his mouth moves down to your ass, he kisses the plump flesh as two fingers stroke you from over the fabric of your underwear. His groan reverberates on your skin, teeth skimming the flesh, “Fuck, you actually are soaked,” Joel hums and slips them under, gathering you around his fingers. “All this for me?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, raising your hips. “P-Please—”

Joel shushes you, “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he gets down to his knees and as he does, a small grunt leaves his lips. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

“Just fine,” he kisses your pussy and you’re instantly melting towards his mouth, a groan ripping from your throat. “A sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.” 

Joel doesn’t give you the chance to reply or offer to change positions, he slides your panties to the side, licking into you hungrily. You shudder and your upper body jolts, forming the perfect arch. He presses deeper. Licking and teasing your clit with the tip. He cups both sides of your ass and gives them a gentle smack. Your eyes roll at the mild pain, your slick coating his lips, tongue, and chin. The rough hairs of his beard chafe your skin, only adding to the pleasure. 

“Taste so good, beautiful,” Smack. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, make you come until there’s a goddamn puddle on the floor.” 

“Oh god—” you choke on air, a moan locking in your throat the same time you’re trying to gasp for air. His words and the swirl of his tongue are downright sinful. He flattens his tongue and parts your folds with the soft muscle, teasing your entrance. 

Joel pulls you back against him, his lips teaching your clit, your jaw drops, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you and tightening your nipples. It’s filthy, that’s all you can think. If someone walked through those doors right this instant, they would see his face between your cheeks, drinking from you like a man dying of thirst. 

Your head drops, mouth flooding with saliva, you roll your hips; begging, asking for more. He gives it to you. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, his mouth leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your ass. 

“Gonna come for me?” he asks, voice full of gravel. “Come on, give it to me, let me see how your pussy throbs, sweetheart.” 

He curls his fingers and you imagine him smirking as he breaks you apart. You cry out his name, your entire body shuddering as if lightning struck it, “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. . .” He continues to thrust his fingers in and out, you feel yourself dripping, imagine yourself making a puddle just like he asked for. “Give it to me, honey. You’re fuckin’ beautiful, look at you. . .” 

Joel spreads you with his fingers and delves back into you, he draws circles around your clit, his jaw constantly moving with every lick. He doesn’t stop until he’s coaxing another orgasm out of you—your head fills with bliss, your body lifeless. 

When he’s done feasting, he slowly gets up with his hands sliding to your back. He leans down to pepper more kisses onto your tattoos, your skin tingling and singing at the contact. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, lips sucking at your neck. “Then let’s get those pretty nipples pierced.” 

“W—What about you?” you ask breathlessly. 

Joel helps you sit back up on the bed, you part your legs so he can come closer, he accepts the invitation with a wide smile, “I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ more of each other, sweetheart. You can make it up to me then.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your lips part. 

You have a strong feeling that he’s right. 

With gloved hands, Joel carefully opens a sterile needle package. You watch with rapt attention as he takes out the fresh needle, inspecting it. Your body is still thrumming with pleasure, your head still swimming in a daze. All you can hear is his breathing.

He had already walked you through everything while preparing for the procedure. No touching, no swimming. You had to clean them softly in the shower and that was meant to be the only source of water your nipples touch for a while. If there was any irritation or marks, you were to reach out immediately. 

Honestly, you found it cute that he’d gotten so serious all of a sudden. It was nice to see him so professional too, so competent. 

He comes closer and your body seizes. You hold your breath. With a sudden need to distract yourself, your eyes linger on to the walls. Your brows furrow in surprise when you notice the tattoo designs. You thought this was only a piercing shop. 

“You do tattoos too?” you ask nervously. 

“My brother does,” he answers. “He works the tattoo side of the business and I do the piercings.” 

“It’s nice that it’s in the family. . .” 

“Sweetheart, I know what you’re doin’. You’ll be fine I promise.” 

“Okay. I trust you mister man-I-just-met.” 

He grins, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it ten minutes ago.” 

“Touché.” 

Joel prompts you to lay on the piercing table, he approaches you with a reassuring smile on his face. You can feel your heart racing as you nervously anticipate the pain of getting your nipples pierced, you imagine the worst, your heart beating in tune with your fear. 

He carefully cleans the area around your nipples and marks the spot where the piercing will go. He double-checks the placement with you to ensure you're happy with it. You give a slight nod, still feeling a bit apprehensive.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs. “It’ll only hurt for a second.” 

With steady hands, Joel takes the needle. You feel a sharp pinch as it punctures through your skin, but the pain dissipates quickly. You let out a small whimper, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just a bit more,” he comforts you and you nod with a long exhale. 

After the needle is through, he quickly follows it with the jewelry, securing it in place. You watch in awe as he attaches the beautiful barbells to your nipples, the adrenaline and endorphins making the pain feel less than it is.

Once the piercings are in place, Joel gently cleans the blood before you can get a look.

“Aaand done, tell me what you think.” 

You’re surprised that he has a mirror in hand when you sit back up. Your gaze finds your reflection and an instant smile spreads across your face. 

“You like’em?” he asks, his tone shy. 

“Like them?” you gasp. “I love them! Thank you!” 

“Oh that’s a relief,” he leans back into the chair, slightly rolling away with a relieved smile. “No matter how many times I do it, I still get nervous.” 

“I definitely love them,” you say, you get up to wear your shirt but end up wincing at the sharp pain. You look at Joel between squinted eyes. “When did you say the pain would stop again?” 

“It’s gonna take a while,” he answers with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t know how much your nipples touch stuff until you get’em pierced.” 

“Well, at least they look good.” 

He shoots you a wink, “They sure do, little rabbit.” 

“That nickname is still ridiculous.” 

“Should I remind you that the last time I used it you came on my tongue?” 

“Nope no reminder needed,” you put your shirt back on, smiling. “I’m still going through the aftershocks.” 

“Good,” he stands with you, hands on your waist, he pulls you as close as he can without your nipples touching his chest. “So, you wanna go out?” Joel’s gaze drops to your chest and he licks his lips, “Gotta make sure you’re takin’ care of them properly.” 

“My hero.” 

[koiiiji]

windbreaker characters & their possible love trope (part 2)

warnings : smut part with wooin but i tried to make it more sensual then sexy, prob fluffiest stuff i ever wrote, as usual it might be ooc, not proofed read on your own risk!!)🧣💞🦢

thank you all guys for 287 followers!!(i wrote when it was 260!!) i hope my works makes your day a lil bit better and set some mood. i really appreciate all likes, reposts and especially!! comments and replies, in love with @sugardollie-907 @hjunsjoy @cozyunderworld @dialoguestetatet and wildylisa but idk why i can’t tag((( and so so many other people who comment (but i swear this holy five lives rent free in my comment section and it such a blessing🙏🏻)

thank you to every-everyone who supporting me, my works, it’s so gratifying to come here and see all notifications about your feedbacks!! also want to say thanks to all wb authors who ever posted and posting!! another source of motivation and inspiration🫵🏻😌💋💯🎀

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

vinny - a friend’s sister. you were definetely dom's or jay's sister, and vinny was so annoyed by you in the first place. not because of your personality or you annoyed him directly, but you were that "genious" in your sport, and vinny unitentionally compared you to jay jo, who were gifted with talent from birth. he was angry or annoyed to the point of goosebumps, he didn't even understand exactly what he was feeling, but he understood that this was a very strong storm of emotions and he was fixated on you. honestly? when your brother watches your competitions or casually tells about your successes, Vinny records it in his memory and will congratulate you later(dom as an older brother will 100% hype you up, fight me. he would show his phone to hummingbird crew with tearing puppy eyes “look, my lil gremlin winning those competition of hers”🥹🥹)Vinny would rather die by biting his neck than admit his feelings to someone, so it happens accidentally, maybe your chat went further than congratulating each other on winning competitions or your calls to him to find out where your brother is hanging around today. but because you were tired after the competition, you fell asleep leaving the chat open and not responding to his messages, leaving him on read. not to say that Vinny was offended by you, he just snapped at you for 3 days in a row, refusing to respond to messages. you had to take the situation into your own hands and hold his hand after another training and talk. “ta hell you want?” he said, frowning down at you. “just to talk and clearly” - you explained the situation to him and told him why you didn't answer, but since Vinny didn't know how to apologize and he had certain trust issues, it turned into another skirmish. it was evening and it was unnoticeable how the clouds thickened and the rain began to fall, but it didn't seem to bother two of you much because you were standing and yelling at each other for a reason you both didn't understand. Vinny's patience had always been zero, but now it seemed as if he was on the verge of reaching another stage of rabies. while you were shouting at him that you didn't understand why he started this quarrel at all, he just exhaled irritably and unknowingly blurted out “FUCK! because i was worried about you!!” as the argument reached its peak, Vinny's frustration peaked, his heart pounding with a mixture of anger and apprehension. yet, amidst the chaos of their exchange, a surge of emotion overcame him, compelling him to act on the impulse he'd long suppressed. with a sudden surge of courage, Vinny closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. eyes met, mirroring the intensity of emotions, as Vinny leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. the rain continued to fall, its gentle rhythm enveloping both of you in a cocoon of intimacy as you melted into each other's embrace. Vinny’s body pressed to yours, rain-soaked and trembling, as the warmth of the spring evening mingled with the cool touch of the rain. in that moment, amidst the soft glow of the night lights and the soothing patter of raindrops, time seemed to stand still. the world around you faded into obscurity, leaving only the two bodies locked in a passionate embrace. as your lips parted, a sense of relief washed over, breaths mingling with the cool night air as you savored the sweetness of the moment. in the gentle caress of the rain and the warmth of each other's touch, you found solace, knowing that despite the storm raging around two of you, they were anchored in the calm of their love. as you kissed beneath the spring evening sky, a sense of peace washed over them, the tension of their argument melting away with each tender caress. In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the gentle embrace of the rain and the comforting glow of city lights, they found solace in each other's arms, their love renewed and strengthened by the storm they weathered together.

wooin - fake relationship. he commited it in the first place. since his work wasn’t permanent and he was constantly on the move, hanging here and there, Wooin thought it would be nice to have something permanent in his life. he needed excuse to tell his family why he can’t visit them on weekends - his girlfriend doesn’t feel well. them asking him all this “start a family” questions? sorry, y/n isn’t ready yet. some unforeseen situations? oh, y/n can be his trusted person. something didn't go according to plan? he can rely on y/n, if it isn’t something too difficult or dangerous. as a substitute he will gift you something, or will took you somewhere, thanking you for being his backup. genuinely it wasn’t something like friends with benefits, no, you two clearly share a bond, but it was something on the edge, as everybody thought you were dating. and in fact all this acts, you being his backup, him giving you small gifts, taking you on dates, sharing a bed - it all feels more like a relationship. but you never had this conversation, after another hot sex you could fall asleep together, for sure, but in the morning one of you definitely woke up in an empty bed. of course, it also happened that you woke up together, but in the morning Wooin was simply unbearable, and more often it ended with too caustic jokes. and it was always on the edge, you weren't in a relationship, you weren't friends, you weren't strangers, you were all together at once. at some point, it started to get exhausting. you noticed it first, but Wooin started talking about it first... well not actually talk, but mutter in the crook of your neck… today’s sex was different, the encounter was filled with a blend of sensuality and intensity, both of you asserting your desires while maintaining a balance of power. you bite each other, when it feels like too much, but immediately kissing and licking bite place, each of you tried to get leading role while another didn’t let it happen. today, Wooin's approach was different - not sloppy, fast and erratically, but slower, more deliberate, his touch gentle yet his thrusts firm. you were suffocating in his arms, and it seemed to him that he was drowning in the smell of your hair, your moans, how you trembled slightly from his hands on your chest, hips and neck. Wooin burrowed his nose deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily and sniffing your scent. it was intoxicating, that feeling when you were next to him, when his hands slid over your body, your soft sobs, how the emotions on your pretty face changed depending on his pace. now, with his whole body pressed against you from behind, one hand holding your hip, and the other between your head and the pillow, his palm rested on your collarbones. while he was slowly sinking into you, and you were smiling and almost purring with pleasure, he caught himself thinking that he liked your smile. he likes to spend time with you, he likes to use an excuse in front of his parents and call you his girlfriend. his. Wooin liked the idea of you being his. he liked you. along with these thoughts, his pace increased, now he was digging his fingers into your thigh, and the other hand slid to your breast, squeezing it a little harder. you were both lost in your pleasure as you moaned louder and louder, he pressed his nose harder into your neck, whispering something that you couldn't make out. at one moment, he lifted his head, biting your earlobe, and pulling it slightly towards him, in a burst of emotion, he whispered "i like you"*

kwon - stranger to lovers/soulmetes - for the first time it seemed like someone corsed you. you moved to new flat in different district of Seul and now it was time to transport your stuff from old flat. everything started when you recieved message from a men who drove the car with your stuff, saying that he is stuck on a street because there are some stupid cycling competition and usual road is closed. amazing, you already were so stressed and here some cycling competition, but thankfully in the evening you finally recieved your stuff, mostly some boxes, small and big. when you were about to pick another heavy box you felt that it seemed strangely light. when you rise your eyes you saw a young man around your age. you thanked him for helping and he turned out to be almost your neighbor, one floor above and to the left of your neighbor's wall. next time you saw Kwon Hyeok in evelator…and you two were stuck there…for 3 hours…you were about to meet with your friends and, as you learned later, he was about to pick something to eat in nearest market. week later you met him in random cafe, where you decided to have a dinner alone, the owner of the cafe came up to you, saying that all the seats are occupied, but since you are alone, there was an empty place, behind the bar, just next to a guy your age (the old man grinned and has obviously already married you two in his head) so when you sat down carefully and apologized for the intrusion, you recognized that it was Kwon. you ordered your food and few drinks, and had a nice time together. and after a month of such unexpected encounters, you began to suspect 2 things - either fate brings you together, or he is a stalker. thankfully when you ran into each other again in the same cafe and drank a lot more this time, you admitted that you suspected him, and he, in turn, thought the same - that you were weird stalker girl who followed him around, and in that evening you laughed together from many things. when it was time to leave he understood that you were so drunk that you couldn’t even stand straight, so he took you by the elbow, hugged you with his free hand a little bit higher than your waist and led you home. along the way, of course, you mumbled something about how you like one handsome boy and he seemed like not paying attention to you and probably not even interested and why you're still alone…and then, under the soft glow of streetlights, amidst the hushed whispers of the night, it happened. in a moment that felt both inevitable and surreal, your lips met in a tender kiss, sealing the bond that had been silently growing between you. in that stolen moment, amid the chaos of the city, you found solace in each other's arms, knowing that fate had finally brought you together as more than just strangers in passing.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

* i’m sorry, i don’t really know how to finish this part with wooin, as it already feels too ooc, it was more self inserted, like i was inspired by my latest situationship, bc i was in fucking same situation(it didn’t end well) , and it’s still kinda my roman empire, so i leave space for your imagination… if u don’t mind of course…🥹

[stevesgother]

Savior Complex - S.H

Paring - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 1.9k

Warnings - Blood. Mention of vomit. Partial nudity. Let me know if I missed anything!

Authors note - This is my first fic...ever. Constructive criticism always welcome but pls be nice. Takes place directly after the events of S3. Hurt/comfort, angst, acknowledging Steve’s trauma bc damn.

Summary: ANGST, hurt/comfort, happy ending but not a lot of resolution, friends to ? lovers? idk its up to you!

Inspired by my favorite poem of all time, that has always reminded me a little bit of Steve.

“In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch”

The air inside Steve’s car was heavy with tension and the thick July heat.

You sat parked in his driveway, the rest of The Party having dispersed to their own homes; their parents waiting for them with open arms and misty eyes. 

Not you. 

And Certainly not Steve Harrington.

You and Steve weren’t what you would call “close”. Until now, that is. Shared trauma tends to have that effect. He knew you had a tumultuous relationship with your parents, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize his parents weren’t in the picture. Barely in Indiana, let alone spending anything close to quality time with their only son.

The idea of spending the last few hours of this nightmarishly long day in his big, empty house was sounding lovelier by the minute. On the grounds that it ‘wasn’t safe to be alone right now’. You didn’t read too much into it; he was right, after all. Part of you wonders if he just didn’t want to be alone. Sluggish, and noticeably more bloodied than you, Steve made his way to the front door with you in tow. His house was silent; eerily so. Everything pristine and well manicured, as if no one lived there at all. 

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, and a bathroom down the hall, to the right. Towels in the cabinet next to the shower.” He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. You try not to feel like you’re burdening him, blaming his avoidance on the exhaustion and not the unwelcome presence of you in his home.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He finally meets your gaze. The shiner he sports on his left eye is still swollen, but less so. The front of his sailor suit you once thought so endearing, is now stained with blood and vomit.

“You’re bleeding.” You say quietly. “You have -” you wince, “- open wounds on your face Steve. Probably a concussion too and that’s if we’re being modest.”

He wears a tight-lipped expression you can’t quite read. You can tell he’s frustrated, and his exhaustion is bone deep. It nags at your heart. Maybe that’s why you don’t just drop it when he answers you.

“Not my first rodeo, I’ll be fine just-” He pauses, “go shower, and get some rest. God knows this shit won’t just be over come tomorrow.”

You take a tentative step forward. “Please just…just let me help. I can disinfect the cuts around your eye. I was a girl scout! Though in hindsight I realize how useless that sounds and-” you’re rambling now; nervous.

“Stop.” You’re taken aback slightly by his tone, you haven’t known Steve to act hostile. Not in a long time. “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not ‘pity’ Steve! Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might want to help you?” You take a step forward from where you stand a few feet from him. You reach up to touch his forehead with the hope of better assessing his injuries.

‘Enough!” He swats your hand away, “God, I should’ve never offered for you to stay here. You think you’re some type of savior, but you’re not.”

His words feel like a knife to the chest. You knew what he was trying to do, you knew he didn’t really mean the things he said. Not when he’s like this. For the first time since you arrived tonight, you thought of how many times he’s had to come back to this empty, soulless house all alone. Damaged, emotionally and physically. Wounds he’s had to patch alone. No gentle caress of another’s hands. Just the stinging of antiseptic in his nostrils, and the heaviness of everyone he’s ever loved abandoning him.

“You don’t mean that.” You say, shaking your head in a disbelieving way.

He laughs, humorless, “Yes I do. I really, really do.” A bitter sharpness to his words. It burns like liquor washing down your throat. “Go.” 

“No!” Now you’re the one raising your voice. “Being stubborn is for when someone is haggling you at a flea market. Not when someone is trying to love you.”

Love. You realize what you’ve said a beat too late, but you stand defiant despite it. You do love Steve. This fact, collecting cobwebs in the back of your brain for months, being spat out onto the floor in front of you both is what compels you to what you do next.

Steve, who was previously standing with this index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, is now staring at you like a deer in headlights. Before either of you can blink, you’re closing the gap between the two of you, sure of yourself. You wrap him in a suffocating embrace and he struggles against your grip.

“Stop! Please I don’t need you-” He all but shouts. Still, you sense a dent in the armor.  A crack in the wall he’s spent so long building to keep you out; to keep everyone out.

Eventually, he stops struggling. His knees give out from underneath him as the trauma and the pain and the events of today catch up to him. But not just today; a year ago when his girlfriend broke his heart at Tina’s stupid party. When Michael Harrington cut him off on the grounds of him being a disgrace to the family name. Everything flooding back to him all at once. Everything he’s spent his youth avoiding.

You sink to the ground with him, still holding him tight. He stops making an effort to hide his sobs, but instead clings to you like you’re the only tangible thing keeping him here. You sit beside him, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and your free hand cradling his head to his chest so he can hear your heartbeat. A heart that finally beats for him.

“I know.” You soothe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” The hair you’re gently stroking, which is usually so voluminous and perfectly styled, is now dampened with blood and sweat.

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, “I'm so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not sorry.” 

He cries harder at that. Shoulders shaking and breath shallow, he looks at you. You cradle his sweet, bruised face in your hands. You think, like a pomegranate, Steve Harrington is beautiful, and worth the mess. Wiping his tears with your thumbs and careful to avoid the cuts and swelling that decorate his face, you give him a smile. Shy, but earnest.

“Can you take me to bed?” He asks you, eyes bleary.

–

Neither of you speak as you turn on the faucet and watch the porcelain tub fill with scalding hot water; still not hot enough to wash away the memories this day has tainted you both with forever. Tentatively, you lift your shirt over your head, and slip your shorts down your scraped legs, revealing your mismatched bra and underwear. A pang of guilt washes over you when you look down and realize Steve took the brunt of the Russian soldiers. He was the bravest and most selfless person you had ever met.

You give him a look that asks “is this okay?” as your fingertips brush the cotton of his ruined Scoops uniform. You aren’t sure what the boundaries are anymore. Momentarily Steve worries this will irreparably change things between you two. He nods anyway. You lift the shirt over his head, catching a glimpse at the real extent of his injuries. His ribs were badly bruised, and he had clotting cuts all over his abdomen. Something swirls in your stomach at the sight of his chest hair. You wish the circumstances of this moment were different.

He pulls his own pants and socks down with a hiss, eyes screwed shut, leaving you both in just your undergarments. He steps into the tub and slowly sinks beneath the hot water. You step in behind him, and he looks over his shoulder at you, a look of confusion contorting his features. You don’t bother to explain, for the fear that speaking would break the trance you both seemingly were under. You had built a space here for each other, one you didn’t want to leave just yet.

Sitting behind him now, you wrap your arms around his chest and pull him flush to you. You rest your chin in the space between his shoulder and his neck, and close your eyes. You can feel how he tries to match his breathing to yours; slow and rhythmic.

You reach up to the hanging shelf on the wall above your head, and grab the cedar and sandalwood body wash. The second you open the bottle, your senses are flooded with him. Only in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever get to smell his scent in any way other than passing. A slight brush of shoulders in the hallway; a friendly hug when you’d gotten back from a month long vacation.

With a dollop of body wash on a washcloth you found on the edge of the tub, you gently start to scrub the blood and grime off his freckled skin. Like this, you can see every birthmark, every scar, the way the hair at the nape of his neck curls up around his ears in the damp bathroom air.

Steve rests his calloused hand on your knee and squeezes. A silent reassurance that what you’re doing is okay, that he’s okay, that he’s here. Everything feels overwhelmingly intimate as your hands explore his body. You lather his thick, brown locks with the shampoo you found next to the soap. With a heavy sigh, Steve allows his head to fall back into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t tell you, but this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit in the tub together, but at some point he turns to face you, cupping your jaw in his larger hand. The look he gives you is so tender, you think you might cry. His caramel eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your eyes, so fast you would’ve missed it if your senses weren’t dialed up to 11.

With the delicacy of someone touching a flower petal, he closes the gap and presses his cut lips to your soft ones. Hesitant at first, giving you the option to pull away. He fears he may have misread the moment when you separate from him, a look in your eyes that he can’t read. His worry dissipates as you take his face into both of your hands and kiss him deep and slow. You only break when the air feels too stiff to continue, the water droplets accumulating in the air and Steve's kiss making it difficult to catch your breath. His hands slide from where they were grasping your hair, and down to your neck where they stay.

“I love you, too.”