#sorry if any of these have been done before

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Here"

Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of “father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

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[endiness]

Sorry to randomly go off on your reblog, person I am reblogging this from, but I am compelled to correct the disinformation campaigns surrounding the show, so: The OP is an alt-right account that made this post to incite people against Lauren and the show. The headline itself is a misleading, clickbait headline that was also meant to incite people against Lauren and the show. In the original article by Vulture, Lauren states that Henry was annoying because he was bugging her for the role before scripts had even been written yet — and even Henry Cavill himself admitted he was being annoying.

Henry Cavill also massively over-exaggerated how much of a fan he was of the franchise and how much he knew of it. He hadn't even read the books when he first sought out the role because he thought they were based off the video games, he only read the series once back in 2018 after Lauren told him about the books and that the video games were actually based off them, and he's really only played the third game — which he hasn't even played the DLC for.

By his own admission, he also didn't actually do any research or preparation for the role:

“I asked my agent to put me on the spot and wanted to meet Lauren as soon as possible. I didn’t even need to prepare specially for the role. Because I breathe, I experience this universe every day. I’ve already had many opportunities to think about this character when I was playing the game. My preparation was already done before the casting even began!”

(Just for comparison's sake: Joey Batey's read the books 3 times as of 2023 and Therica Wilson-Read tries to go back and reread the series before each season, she watches video essays on youtube to refresh her memory, and she's played the games — and both actors have had their co-stars come to them with questions about their characters and storylines and everything because of how knowledgeable they are about the series.)

Henry Cavill also started the whole narrative about how much he cares about the source material and adhering to it in the press for S2 to deflect from how he cut Geralt's lines in S1, making his characterization inaccurate to the books — which he also lied about by trying to act like Geralt was never originally written as being verbose when he was, he tried to blame Geralt's lack of dialogue on Yennefer and Ciri's prominence, and he tried to act like the lines he was cutting weren't even that important anyway so it didn't really matter that he was cutting them.

(He was also directly responsible for, or at least had a hand in, a lot of other deviations from the books. By his own admission, he didn't want to play Geralt and Jaskier as being as friendly as they are in the books. He didn't seem to understand Geralt or Yennefer's characters or their relationship as he cut a sex scene between them because he didn't think it'd be in character of them to have sex after reuniting even though it absolutely would've been. He nixed even the idea of Geralt and Triss just platonically finding comfort in each other even though that's what happens in the books. He didn't want to play Geralt struggling with fatherhood in any way in S2 or, really, with any character flaws and only positive character traits which led to the domino effect of the most controversial changes from the books in S2 such as Yennefer's betrayal, Eskel's death, and Voleth Meir being the big bad of the season.)

Henry Cavill also started that whole narrative about how important the source material is to him as if the source material and Lauren's vision of the show are some at odds with each other because he was mad that he was co-lead with two women and that the show focuses on women so much.

Also, granted, the following falls into speculation and rumor, but.

There is far more evidence to support the theory that he was fired for being sexist than there is for the idea that he was either fired for caring about the source material too much or he ragequit because of that — especially as he was responsible for many things that went against the books in the first place; he started the whole narrative about how important the books are to him to cover up that fact, make himself look better, and make Lauren, the writers, and the rest of the show look bad; he was mad about how prominent women are in the show even though women play key roles in the books; and S3, his last season, was the closest adaption of the books so far anyway.

Tells you everything you need to know about the people making these adaptations.

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of emotional control, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: hey guys, i'm a woman possessed. i've had so much motivation to write recently, so here is a quick one-shot. i'm sure this concept has been done before but i just couldn't stop thinking about touch starved bucky :( ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You never would’ve agreed to this mission had you known Barnes was going to be this squeamish. You’d seen the man slit throats without a sound, drop bodies with cold efficiency, and unload an entire chamber of bullets without so much as flinching. He hadn’t even blinked when aliens from outer-fucking-space rained hell upon Earth. But holding your hand? Letting his fingers brush your waist? Anything a devoted ‘husband’ ought to do? The super soldier looked like he’d rather swallow glass. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, for god’s sake.

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

You had to yank him away before anyone noticed the strained—Help me, I’m being held hostage by this incredibly attractive, incredibly capable woman who, might I add, is supposedly my wife—look on his face.

This gala, a weeklong jerkfest for the wealthy and villainous, was meant to be a stroll in the park. Your bread and butter, even if the Red Room had been... regrettable and against your consent, it had taught you an array of useful skills. Yet Barnes was ruining it, turning what should have been a simple infiltration into a goddamn babysitting job. The plan was airtight: pose as a glamorous Russian couple, collect incriminating evidence, and dip at the end of the week. Except Barnes wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. Instead of charming your way through the crowd, you were covering for his stiff, awkward pauses and the fact that he looked less like a besotted husband and more like a man being forced at gunpoint to stand beside you.

By some miracle, you managed to drag him away to one of the empty floors, a tucked-away space littered with stacks of unused tables and chairs. He was wound tight—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the dimly lit room like he was expecting death itself to emerge from the shadows. You didn’t bother with subtlety. Tearing the small recording device from between your tits, you fumbled with the button until the tiny red light blinked off. Whoever ended up reviewing the footage later wouldn’t need to hear the verbal onslaught you were about to unleash. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, keeping your voice low, though the sheer force of your frustration was enough to strip paint off the walls.

Barnes clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he refused to meet your eye. It reminded you of a scolded dog, all pouty and pathetic. You might’ve found it cute under different circumstances. “You’re making this incredibly fucking difficult.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal—”

“Because it’s our cover, Barnes.” you snapped, incredulous. “We’re supposed to be married, not some fucking timid virgin couple. PDA makes people uncomfortable; they look away, and we have less eye on us to, I don’t know—do our fucking job?”

Barnes looked down at his clenched fists, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The dangling diamond earrings you had hanging from each lobe tinkled slightly, and you ran a hand through your perfectly styled hair, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“You’re unbelievable. Fury should’ve just sent me alone—” you muttered, but the words barely left your lips before your eyes caught movement.

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

With haste, you tucked the small recording device back into your cleavage. Barnes noticed immediately, clocking your distress. His brows knit together, hand twitched toward the hidden knife tucked into his suit jacket.

“No.” You scolded. Catching his wrist, you guided it elsewhere—your hips. He stiffened instantly, making a noise of protest, but you kept him locked in place, pressing in until your chests brushed. Too close. Not close enough.

“Play along,” you murmured. “Kiss me. Now.”

“Wha—” His breath hitched, barely enough time to form a response before you rose onto your toes and sealed your mouth over his.

Barnes froze. Stiff beneath your touch, lips rigid like you’d just planted one on a slab of granite. He still tasted like toothpaste—spearmint—and the faint trace of his aftershave clung to his skin. If you’d been trying to salvage some believability, some small thread of natural chemistry, it was impossible now. It was like kissing a statue.

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

The passing group chuckled, one of them murmuring, amused, “Ah, young love.”

Maybe it was the murmured chuckles of the passing guests, or maybe Barnes had finally remembered how to act, because his grip on your hips suddenly tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with unexpected force. The silk pulled taut against your skin, trapping heat between you, and then—

A sound.

Low. Strangled. A rasping, utterly pathetic groan against your lips.

You barely had time to register it before something else stole your attention. In the tight press of your bodies, you felt it—hard, insistent, pressing against your pelvis.

Oh.

The realisation sent a flicker of shock through you, but you schooled your expression, keeping your face composed as you lingered just a second longer—just enough to ensure your audience was convinced. Then, finally, you pulled back.

Barnes didn’t move.

For a moment, he just stared, pupils wide and unfocused, a blissed-out haze dulling the sharp blue of his eyes. But then, like a lightning strike, awareness snapped back into him. Horror overtook his dazed expression, his breath hitching as he seemed to realise—

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

The medium grey of his suit pants betrayed him entirely, darkening at the crotch with an unmistakable wet patch.

You gaped, lips parting in stunned silence. No fucking way.

Barnes didn’t wait for a reaction. With the sheer force of a man fleeing for his life, he ripped himself from your grasp and marched away, stiff-backed and utterly silent, leaving you standing there, speechless.

—

It had been twenty minutes, and Barnes still hadn’t left the goddamn bathroom.

It had taken you all of thirty seconds to track him down, but the moment you found the door, it was locked. Of course it was. You twisted the handle, rattling it in frustration, then resorted to pounding your fist against the heavy wood—subtly, of course, but with enough force that he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“Barnes.” You hissed his name through gritted teeth, pressing closer to the door. Nothing. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. Absolute fucking silence.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as a pair of guests passed by, casting you a curious glance. Yeah, you knew exactly how this looked—lipstick smudged, breath uneven, standing outside a locked men’s bathroom like a woman scorned. You must’ve looked thoroughly debauched.

Your pulse hammered in your throat. This was insane. A simple, fake kiss had made him short-circuit so hard that he fucking came in his pants? Twenty minutes ago, he looked repulsed by the mere idea of touching you, and now he was hiding away like some panicked virgin?

You let out a long, slow groan, dropping your forehead against the door.

“Barnes,” you muttered, knocking again—your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Open the damn door.”

Silence.

You straightened, glaring at the wood as if you could will it into splintering apart.

“Barnes, I have been patient.” You gritted your teeth, knocking harder. “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I will break in.”

Silence.

Motherfucker.

"Alright, I’m coming in," you announced, your voice low but firm.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one was watching, before slipping a bobby pin from your hair. Years of practice made the process effortless; your fingers worked quickly, blindly, jamming the pin into the lock and feeling for the mechanism. A few precise twists, a satisfying click, and—

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

The words were halfway out of your mouth when you pushed the door open, but whatever half-hearted joke you'd meant to make withered before it even reached your tongue.

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

He sat hunched on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands, his entire body drawn in tight like he was trying to fold in on himself. His knee bounced erratically, the rapid motion almost violent in its rhythm. He had ripped off his suit pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, his bare thighs tense, twitching. His fingers dug into his hair, gripping at the strands like he wanted to rip them out, and when his bloodshot eyes flicked up to you—

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

Tears welled along his lash line, his chest rising and falling in uneven, barely contained pants. He looked like a man caught in a cage, seconds from tearing himself apart just to escape it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you before flipping the lock.

"Hey, Barnes…” Your voice was hesitant, softer than before.

He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hands trembling as he dragged them down his face.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, breaking on the words. "I don’t want you in—"

You moved before he could finish, lowering yourself to the cool bathroom tiles in front of him, as if making yourself smaller would make you any less intimidating.

"Hey," you murmured, tone careful but steady. "Look at me."

“No.” It came out sharp, like a whip, a defence mechanism honed over decades. His entire body went rigid, his breathing ragged.

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

Your voice was steady, firm without being harsh, each syllable carefully measured as you crept forward on the cold tile floor. The dress, the dirt—none of it mattered. It wasn’t your dress, anyway. Tony Stark could foot the bill for a replacement if this one got ruined, all this fancy wear was on his dime.

“In through the nose,” you instructed, voice softer now. “Out through the mouth.”

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

He sucked in a ragged breath, chest expanding beneath his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and then exhaled through parted lips. It was shaky, uneven, but it was something. You watched in silence, waiting. His limbs still trembled, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, but the worst of the violent, full-body tremors had eased.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Slowly, you inched forward, shifting across the tiles until you sat in front of his knees. His skin was warm, radiating heat even through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Barnes,” you hesitated, watching his face carefully. “Can I touch you?”

His whole body tensed.

“What?” His eyes darted up, sharp and startled, as if the very question had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Is it okay,” you rephrased, slower this time, gentler, “if I touch you?”

Barnes hesitated. His gaze flickered away, jaw clenching like he was at war with himself. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a small, stiff nod.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then, with slow, deliberate care, you reached out and cradled his face between your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

Not violently. Not like he was afraid of you. But enough that you felt it—felt the way his muscles coiled beneath your fingertips, the way his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. The cool metal of your fake wedding ring grazed his cheek, and his breath hitched, like he had just been burned.

“Keep breathing,” you reminded him, voice low and steady. “Nice and slow.”

Barnes obeyed, dragging in another breath, and you felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The hard lines of his face softened just slightly as he leaned into your touch, nuzzling—actually nuzzling—against your palms.

“There you go,” you murmured, your thumb stroking in slow circles over his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyelids flickered, resisting for a moment, but then those storm-blue eyes finally met yours. He looked exhausted. Frayed at the edges. But grounded, at least. Present.

“Tell me one thing you can smell right now.”

Barnes blinked. A hint of confusion crossed his face. “Smell?”

“Yes, smell.” You nodded, keeping your voice soft, coaxing. “Just one thing. Keep breathing and tell me.”

He hesitated but then took a deliberate inhale through his nose, his bouncing knee slowing. “I guess… whatever shitty fucking chemicals they use to clean this place.”

A quiet laugh left you, your thumb tracing a swirling pattern along his cheekbone. “Good. You’re doing good, Barnes. Now, tell me two things you can feel.”

His breathing had steadied, his inhales and exhales falling into rhythm with yours. For the first time since you’d walked in, he wasn’t shaking as badly.

“This suit jacket,” he muttered after a pause. His metal fingers twitched against the fabric at his arm. “It’s too fuckin’ tight. They always are with my arm—”

His breath stuttered, his body tensing again. Immediately, you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “Just breathe, remember? You’re doing so well. One more thing you can feel.”

Barnes swallowed thickly. His gaze flickered down, just briefly, before settling back on your face. 

“You,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I can feel you. Touching my face.”

“Good.” You nodded, thumb gliding over his cheek again. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, and for the first time, it wasn’t shaky. “It feels… it feels nice.”

Something in your chest clenched at the confession, but you pushed it aside. You smiled at him, soft and small, and kept going. “Now, three things you can see.”

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

“You,” he said, still quiet, still certain. His gaze lingered on your mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

"Two more," you breathed, keeping your voice calm and steady, resisting the urge to comment on why your lipstick was smudged in the first place. No need to remind him of that right now.

Barnes' gaze flickered across the small, dimly lit restroom. His body had almost fully relaxed now, his mind preoccupied with the task you'd given him.

"Uh…" He scanned the space, brows furrowing in concentration. "The awful wallpaper… and the sink, I guess?"

You nodded approvingly, finally withdrawing your hands as you eased back onto your knees. The cold tiles bit through the fabric of your dress, but you barely noticed.

"Well done," you murmured. "Now, how about we keep breathing and get you sorted, huh?"

At that, Barnes stiffened slightly. The panic that had been receding just moments ago flickered in his eyes again, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs.

You reached out, grounding him with a gentle touch to his knee. Your voice softened even further. "I’m going to turn around and face the door. I need you to clean yourself up—use the sink, use the soap."

His throat bobbed. "But my—my boxers, they’ll get all wet—"

"There’s a dryer on the wall, see it?" You tilted your head toward the small, dingy dryer meant for hands. "Use it to dry them. Then get dressed, and we’ll head back to the hotel early, okay? Order some shitty takeaway, watch bad TV. Just forget about all this for tonight. How does that sound?"

Barnes blinked as if thrown by the simplicity of the offer. His mouth parted, closed, then opened again, his voice small. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good." You flashed him a reassuring smile before pressing your palms against the sink, pushing yourself to your feet with a small wobble in your heels. "I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything. Keep breathing, alright? Everything’s okay."

Turning, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced the door, giving him the privacy he needed. You tried not to listen too closely. Tried not to glance at the mirror reflecting the scene behind you.

The rustle of clothing filled the quiet, then the tap sputtered to life. You leant your forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes as you focused on the steady stream of water, the faint squeak of the soap pump, and then the soft sloshing and scrubbing of fabric.

The sound of fabric wringing out echoed softly against the tiled walls, followed by the steady hum of the hand dryer sputtering to life. You kept your forehead against the door, listening as Barnes manoeuvred through the motions, drying his boxers first, then his suit pants. The wet fabric slapped lightly against the metal dryer as he held it up, shifting awkwardly as he worked.

You didn’t rush him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stayed where you were, giving him time.

Eventually, the rustling stopped. A sharp inhale, then the familiar slide of fabric as he pulled his clothes back on. The quiet click of a belt buckle being fastened. The creak of leather shoes shifting against tile.

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

He stood stiffly, suit now back in place, though the fabric still carried faint traces of dampness. His jacket was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to be noticeable. You took a slow step toward him, scanning him up and down with a careful eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just stood there, watching you warily, as if expecting a comment.

You didn’t give him one.

Instead, you reached up, grasping the edges of his tie. He stiffened but let you work, your fingers smoothing the silk fabric, tightening it properly against his collar. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips as you brushed against his throat, and though he remained still, you caught the way his breath hitched slightly at the contact.

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

You turned towards the mirror, angling yourself slightly to the side. Your reflection was a mess—lipstick smudged, hair slightly dishevelled. You sighed, wetting your thumb with your tongue before dabbing at the edges of the stain, then reached into your clutch to pull out a small tube of lipstick.

Barnes hadn’t moved.

You could feel him behind you, his body heat pressing against your back in the cramped space. His gaze was heavy, following your movements as you leaned closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the pigment to your lips. You didn’t look at him. You just smoothed the colour in place, pressed your lips together, then capped the tube and tucked it back into your bag.

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

There was a pause. A hesitation. His jaw clenched for half a second before he gave the smallest of nods. “…Yeah.”

You turned fully, flashing him a small, knowing smile before reaching for his arm. He didn’t resist when you looped yours through his, guiding him towards the door. With an easy tug, you led him forward, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. His arm remained tense beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go.

You glanced at him briefly, lips twitching into a small smirk. “C’mon, sergeant. Let’s get out of here.”

Barnes exhaled through his nose, shaking his head ever so slightly. But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, he followed without question, letting you steer him towards the exit, away from the crowded room—away from prying eyes.

—

A small, muffled whine stirred you from sleep. You blinked groggily, rolling onto your side as the cool sheets tangled around your legs. The plush hotel mattress dipped beneath you as you buried your face into the pillow, willing yourself back into slumber.

A low, panting groan cut through the silence, soft at first, then growing in volume. Your brows knit together, heart thrumming uneasily. Something about the sound was… strange. It wasn’t just a groan—it was strained, needy. Erotic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim red dot of the fire alarm and the faint reflection of the turned-off TV. You remained frozen for a few beats, your ears straining to catch the noise again. It came, louder this time—a choked whimper thick with desperation.

Was someone in the room? Adrenaline slammed into your veins as you rolled off the bed in one swift motion, bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. You had heard stories of creeps breaking into hotel rooms, preying on women while they slept. Had one made the mistake of picking yours?

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

Your hand darted to the bedside table, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife, its leather grip smooth beneath your palm. Not even yours, Barnes’—

Barnes.

Your breath caught as your gaze snapped towards the couch, knife slipping from your grip and landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

There, bathed in shadows, was the writhing mass of the super soldier. His blankets lay discarded on the floor as though he’d tossed them off in his sleep. The two of you had agreed to take turns—one in the bed, the other on the couch—to keep up appearances. A stupid arrangement, courtesy of Fury and Stark’s meddling.

You flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light spilt over the room, casting soft amber hues onto Barnes’ form. His face was twisted in torment, and his lips parted around quiet, breathless whimpers. Sweat clung to his skin, catching the glow of the lamp and highlighting the sharp lines of his body. His metal arm whirred faintly as he twitched, fingers flexing against the cushions.

Your stomach dropped when your eyes drifted lower. He was shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling erratically. The thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide the evidence of his dream—more than half-hard beneath the cotton. Was he really that big?

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You should’ve looked away, should’ve given him privacy. But then his hand twitched, drifting downward—

“Barnes.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the haze like a blade.

He jolted awake, body seizing as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he was utterly lost, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with confusion. Then his gaze landed on you—standing there in your thin nightgown, face unreadable.

His eyes flickered downward.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, panic flickering across his face as he yanked a pillow over his lap, shifting awkwardly as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. A string of curses left his lips, voice still wrecked with sleep.

You tilted your head, studying him. His expression wavered, part shame, part something else, something raw and vulnerable. You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers into your temples. There was a pattern here. A man whose body wasn’t his own, whose skin felt foreign, whose touch-starved existence had left him unravelling at the seams.

What in God's name was Fury thinking sending him on a mission like this—or did Fury not know? How could he not? That one-eyed bastard had a habit of knowing everything. Hell, he probably knew the colour of your underwear before you even picked it out for the day, the all-seeing prick.

“H.Y.D.R.A really did a number on you, didn’t they?” you muttered.

Bucky flinched. The words struck deep, sinking into something fragile beneath the surface. He didn’t say a word, just recoiled, fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he was scrambling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Barnes, we’re not doing this again. Let’s just talk—”

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the wooden barrier now separating you. Asshole. You knew you should’ve been more sympathetic. Should’ve handled it differently. But after a long, exhausting day, dealing with Bucky Barnes’ second puberty was not on your list of priorities.

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against the door; your voice quieter now. “I know how you’re feeling.”

Silence.

You could picture him inside, hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I understand what it’s like to be in a body that doesn’t feel like your own.”

A pause. No response.

“It must be hard,” you continued softly. “Not knowing who you are. Not recognising yourself anymore. And then... feeling things you don’t understand.”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to navigate that.” The silence that followed was heavier than before. You didn’t push, didn’t say anything else. Just rested your forehead against the doorframe, waiting. 

You had spent the better part of your life under the Red Room’s control, under Dreykov’s control. Every breath you took, every move you made, had been dictated by someone else. Orders given. Orders followed. It was all you had ever known. And then, one day, it was gone. Just like that.

You remembered the moment with eerie clarity: standing in the open air, staring out at the horizon, the sunset bleeding colour into a sky that suddenly felt too vast. The question had gnawed at you, quiet but insistent. What comes next? Who comes next? Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were beyond a weapon, beyond a machine engineered for death and seduction. Two decades of programming, of conditioning, of being nothing more than an asset to be wielded and discarded at will. And then, without warning, you were handed something you were told was freedom.

But what did freedom mean when you didn’t exist?

There were no real records of your birth, no true identity to reclaim. The Red Room had scrubbed that away long ago, erasing every trace of the girl you had once been. No family. No home. No belongings that weren’t issued to you by those who had owned you. And yet, you were expected to smile—to accept this newfound autonomy without question, to embrace the illusion of a life you had no blueprint for.

But how could you, when you weren’t sure if the body you inhabited was even your own?

So even if Barnes thought you were bluffing and just trying to relate for the sake of kindness, he was wrong. Because you understood.

Terrifyingly well.

The difference was that you had refused to let it consume you. You had forced those feelings into the farthest corners of your mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch you. Because if you let yourself linger on them for too long.

“Go back to sleep.” Bucky’s voice finally broke the silence, muffled through the bathroom door.

You sucked on your teeth, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I know the others give you crap about not dating, but you don’t have to let them pressure you,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “You don’t have to force yourself into a role that makes you uncomfortable. It takes time.”

“Back in the day..." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I used to be a real flirt.”

A humourless smirk ghosted across your lips. You could picture it, all smooth charm and effortless confidence. The kind of man who could wink at a girl across a dance floor and have her swooning in seconds. But that wasn’t the man behind this door. That man had been stripped away, piece by piece. 

“I just don’t know anymore,” he admitted, voice raw. Your chest tightened. You could almost hear him weighing his words, picking them apart, and deciding how much of himself he was willing to give away.

“When I was the Winter Soldier... they made me do things.”

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

“It’s all… fractured in my mind,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Scattered. Broken.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I understand that. More than anyone. The Red Room… they didn’t just use us for assassinations and espionage.”

There. You had said it. Pulled a piece of yourself from the grave and placed it between you.

For the first time, the door cracked open.

Bucky stood there, dishevelled and breathless, still only in his boxers. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the dim hotel light, while his metal arm twitched slightly at his side. His hair was a mess—damp and curling at the ends, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath, muscles taut beneath the weight of exhaustion.

“Why are you being kind to me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was rough, tinged with suspicion, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Because you’re hurting,” you said simply. “And obviously, you haven’t fully processed any of this.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without another word, he turned and stalked past you, out of the cramped bathroom and into the main space of the hotel room. You followed at a slower pace, arms crossed as you watched him sink onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his metal fingers tapping restless patterns against his flesh palm. His body had settled now, no longer betraying him with signs of arousal. That part of the moment had passed, but the turmoil in his head remained.

With a quiet sigh, you slid down to the floor, settling against the base of the bed across from him. Your legs stretched out in front of you, arms loose at your sides as you let the silence settle between you. 

“Have you spoken to Steve about this?” you asked after a moment, voice soft but firm. “Sam?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “God, no.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, fingers threading through his damp hair. “It’s just... awkward. I feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped to you, wary. “What?”

“I could teach you,” you repeated, voice steady. “How to make love. Fuck. How to gain control over your life again. You’re just sensitive; you need a bit of exposure therapy.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, jaw clenching. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the patterned carpet beneath you. “Do you know how many men I’ve fucked and not felt a thing?” you said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“I wasn’t just an assassin or a spy. Not like Natasha or Yelena. I was a swallow, Barnes. A honeytrap.” His expression flickered, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something, some hint of insincerity.

You swallowed, pushing forward. “It’s why Fury sent me on this mission with you. This is all I’ve ever known.”

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Fury knows what they did to you, and he still continues to—”

“I agreed to it,” you cut in, your tone clipped, controlled. “He just wanted our sham marriage to be believable. He wasn’t asking me to fuck you, just to perform. That’s what I do. Perform.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Look, I don’t know you,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “I don’t want your baggage, or for you to fuck me out of pity or... I don’t know, self-sabotage.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than you expected. You recoiled—actually flinched—before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the venom in it, the way he threw it at you like a blade meant to wound. And damn it, it did.

Bucky saw it, too. The way your shoulders stiffened, the flicker of something raw crossing your face before you forced it away. His breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching at his side, but he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften the blow. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, the damage was done.

Your expression hardened like cooling steel, every crack that had formed between you quickly sealing shut, any semblance of vulnerability buried beneath layers of carefully placed armour. It was instinct—second nature, really. You’d spent years perfecting the art of locking yourself away, of making sure no one could reach the parts of you that still bled. You’d built it, brick by fucking brick, until you were fully encased, isolated from anything that might harm you. 

Bucky wasn’t the first to speak to you like that. Wouldn’t be the last.

You swallowed down the sting, inhaled slow and deep through your nose, and then let it out in a steady breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, devoid of emotion, a perfect imitation of indifference. “It was just an offer.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You held his gaze for a second longer, searching for something, anything, that might suggest he regretted it. But Bucky just stared back, face unreadable, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turned away, stretching out on the couch with his back to you.

Fine. Message received.

—

The rest of the week had been nothing short of torturous. After the argument, the air between you and Bucky had turned to ice. The two of you barely spoke. Not outside of necessity, not outside of the roles you had to play. At the gala, he did what was required—he held you close, leant into your touch when needed, murmured sweet nothings in your ear to sell the lie. But you felt the restraint in him, the hesitance in the way he brushed a thumb over your knuckles, the barely-there tremors in his fingers when he smoothed a hand over your waist. It wasn’t as if he was walking on hot coals anymore, but there was still that same, underlying hesitation.

Back at the hotel, the silence stretched long and unbearable. Shower, eat, sleep—repeat. Conversations were reduced to one-word exchanges, curt and impersonal. At least by morning, this miserable charade would be over. You’d gathered the intel you needed at the gala, and in a few hours, you’d be free of this place. Free of this suffocating, awkward tension. Free from Bucky’s constant, looming presence. 

God, the man had a staring problem.

You had noticed it before, how he always seemed lost in thought, his gaze heavy with some unreachable burden. You had assumed it was just brooding, the kind of silent, empty-headed angst that men like him fell victim to. But now you realised—he wasn’t staring through you. He was staring at you.

You saw it when you dressed for the gala, slipping into silken dresses and heels, when you pinned your hair into elegant styles, when you traced the lines of your lips with lipstick, perfecting the illusion. You’d catch his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Once, he had been so caught up in his daze that he nearly left without putting on his suit jacket. You had to press it into his hands, dragging him out of whatever spell he was under. He had taken it stiffly, mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ but the heat in his face was unmistakable.

And now, as you sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose nightgown, the fabric riding high on your thighs, the same damn stare was drilling into the side of your face.

The TV flickered before you, an incoherent blur of colours and sound. You weren’t even sure it was in English. It didn’t matter. You weren’t watching it anyway. You were too focused on not focusing on Bucky, who stared at the side of your face like he intended to burn a hole through the flesh.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, running your thumb over your knee. The sheets were soft, the mattress more forgiving than the couch you’d been forced to sleep on last night. At least tonight was your turn back on the bed, though ideally, you’d be back in your own apartment by now, wrapped in high-thread-count luxury courtesy of Tony Stark’s absurd wealth.

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

Bucky was still staring at you. You couldn’t help it, annoyance, filthy and venomous came pouring out of your mouth before you could stop it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Bucky startled, his whole body tensing as if you had physically struck him.

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

“No. There’s obviously something you want to say.” You shifted on the bed, your frustration mounting. “Go on, spit it out.”

He hesitated, his jaw working like he was biting down on whatever words were lodged in his throat.

You didn’t let up. “You sure had a lot to say earlier in the week. What, do you want to dig the knife in further? You might as well just call me a whore while you’re at it—”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky cut over you, his head dipping. You paused, momentarily stunned. He was doing that thing again, where he looked like a scolded dog. Adorable, but not the fucking time.“I shouldn’t have said that, it was inconsiderate of me, especially after... after all you’ve done.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Barnes.” The words left your lips quieter this time, but still firm. 

“I snapped at you. And I shouldn’t have.” he admitted. His voice was low, restrained.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said, a little softer. “I haven’t exactly been… the kindest either.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay. Like it’s normal.” His voice was strained, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed in what he was asking.

You let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about this—”

“But you get it, right?” He looked at you now, something almost desperate in his gaze. “To not know… who or what you are? Sometimes I… I just want to be normal again.”

You frown deeply, weighing his words carefully. You understood his sentiment, but you knew it was futile. There had never been anything normal about your life—not anything you could remember, at least. The Red Room had seen to that. Your earliest memories were of drills, of ballet, of suffocating discipline, and of the erasure of self. Even now, you weren’t normal; you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for fucks sake, a woman barely pardoned of her crimes, existing in a liminal space. The world's governments couldn’t quite confirm you existed. You were a ghost, a fucking shadow of a person. 

“I don’t think people like us get to be normal,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully.

His expression twisted slightly, like he had already known that answer but had hoped for something different.

“But I think,” you continued, “it would serve you a world of good if you let people in. Steve… Sam. You don’t have to face this all alone—Natasha, Yelena, and I look to each other all the time to process it all and patch together the missing pieces. There’s no shame in it.”

Bucky’s face creased, his body drawing in on itself slightly. You moved before he could shrink further, slipping off the bed and kneeling before him. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, voice steady. “Just tell me... what is it you need right now?”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. He fidgeted, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if struggling to force out something that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue all week.

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes flickering to the floor before darting back to you. His voice was hesitant, low—like he was worried some invisible presence might have overheard. “Lessons. Lessons in… love-making. I want to be able to look at a girl without... you know. This fucking week has been torture seeing you—”

He cut himself off, warmth flooding to his cheeks. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it—light, amused, genuine.

Bucky stiffened, eyes widening slightly, horror flashing across his face as if he thought you were mocking him.

You shook your head quickly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.

“Of course,” you murmured, smiling. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

“Is this okay?” you asked softly as you swung your leg over, settling onto Bucky’s lap. The mattress dipped beneath you both, the quiet creak of the hotel bed the only sound between you for a moment. He sat beneath you, legs slightly spread, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You dug your knees into the bed on either side of his thighs, anchoring yourself against him.

His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Yes,” he murmured, though there was a noticeable tremor in his voice, like he was still convincing himself.

“Just breathe,” you encouraged, smoothing your hands over his broad shoulders. His muscles were tense beneath your fingertips, wound tight like coiled steel. He swallowed hard.

“What’s worrying you?” You asked gently. “Is there something I can do to make this more comfortable for you?”

Bucky shook his head, a shuddering breath leaving him as his hands finally found purchase on your hips. His grip was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you. “No,” he said, his voice rough. 

“This is great, I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together in frustration.

You tilted your head, studying him, before offering a reassuring smile. Your fingers kneaded into his shoulders in slow, soothing motions, attempting to melt away some of the tension knotted there. “Talk to me,” you coaxed.

His gaze flickered downward, shame creeping into his expression. “I just… don’t want to embarrass myself. Again.”

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, but you refused to let him linger in self-doubt. Instead, you leant in, your lips curling in a playful smile. 

“You’re cute when you say things like that,” you teased, running your tongue over your lower lip before continuing. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stay here, in this moment, with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he obeyed, focusing on the warmth of your body pressed against his. Slowly, his grip tightened on your hips, fingers kneading into the flesh more firmly this time. His thumbs traced cautious circles against the fabric of your clothing, testing. You let your hands drift from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Now,” you murmured, keeping your tone soft but steady, “if you get overwhelmed, or if you need to stop, what do you say?”

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

“Good,” you praised, smiling warmly. “And if you can’t speak? If the words won’t come?”

His fingers flexed on your hip before he squeezed in a deliberate rhythm—three distinct beats. You nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. 

“What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “If you want to stop?”

You demonstrated by tapping three times against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ll do the same thing,” you assured him. “Just like we discussed.”

For a moment, he just breathed. His lashes fluttered as he exhaled a slow, measured breath, his hands steadying against you. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’m… I’m ready. I think.”

You smiled, fingers tracing a soft, reassuring path along his jaw. 

“Okay. I thought we’d start with kissing, since you seem worried about it. Nice and simple, no pressure,” you murmured, your voice low and reassuring as your fingertips ghosted along his jawline. Bucky swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leaned into your palm without thinking, nuzzling it like a touch-starved thing. His blue eyes, dark as the ocean in a brewing storm, flickered with something hesitant, something fragile.

“I’m sure you kissed plenty of girls back in the day,” you teased, lips curling as you brushed your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Oh yeah,” he exhaled, the words dipped in self-deprecation, “until Steve became… well, the Steve he is now. None of the girls spared me a second glance after that.”

You let out a soft laugh, breathy and genuine, and felt the way his body tensed beneath you at the sensation. It was funny how a man who could tear through steel and strike terror into the hearts of the world’s deadliest enemies could turn so shy at something as simple as your laughter.

“You know…” he hesitated, voice quieter now. “You were my first kiss since… well, everything.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly. You tilted your head, gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, close enough now that you could feel the steady heat radiating from his skin. 

“Well,” you murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling your lips as you shifted closer, “now I’ll be your second too.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, a testing press of your lips against his, feather-light and coaxing. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath hitching as though he was bracing for impact. But when you didn’t pull away, when you lingered just a little longer, he melted into you—hesitant at first, but eager.

His hands, large and trembling slightly, hesitated at your waist before gripping your thighs as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you slip away. The warmth of his palms bled through the thin fabric of your nightgown, spreading across your skin like wildfire.

You deepened your kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips more firmly against his, and a quiet sound rumbled in his chest—halfway between a sigh and a groan. Encouraged, you shifted, rocking your hips, the new position pressing your bodies flush together.

Bucky tensed beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh instinctively as you settled against him. His own hips bucked in response, and you could already feel him growing hard against your inner thigh. He pulled back slightly, panting, his lips swollen.

“Am I doing… okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You smiled, smoothing a hand through his dark hair, tugging him gently forward again. 

“More than okay,” you whispered against his lips before capturing them once more.

This time, he kissed you back without hesitation. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring himself to you as he parted his lips, following your lead. You swept your tongue into his mouth, slow and purposeful, teasing along his lower lip before deepening it. A groan rumbled in his chest, muffled against your mouth.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the way his breath hitched and stuttered beneath you. Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel him—hard, straining, likely aching for more. His fingers dug into your skin, a bruising grip that only added to the heat blooming in your core.

You pulled away from his lips, shifting your attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, quick and erratic. He tipped his head back, surrendering himself to your touch, a quiet curse slipping from his mouth as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” you hummed against his skin, your voice warm and indulgent, laced with soft praise. His body trembled beneath you as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more of you. You rewarded him with a soft, breathy moan, letting him know just how much you enjoyed this too.

“I—” He tried to form words, but they crumbled before they left his lips.

The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. His hands clutched at you, grounding himself in the sensation, like the overwhelming pleasure was building too fast for him to control. His breath came in short, needy gasps, his hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke, his head tilting forward as his entire body tensed beneath you. A strangled moan escaped him, deep and wrecked, as he came undone. His grip on your hips tightened, his thighs trembling slightly beneath yours as his climax overtook him. His body fell back against the sheets, a soft exhale leaving his lips as the last waves of pleasure wracked through him.

You perched above him, still straddling his hips. For a moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and his lips parted as if he had more to say but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I didn’t mean to finish so early—” he started, his voice hoarse, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Leaning over, you flipped your hair to one side as your face hovered over his. You silenced him with a lingering kiss, slow and reassuring. He groaned softly into your mouth, still sensitive but already melting into the warmth of your lips. When you pulled away, his shoulders had loosened, the rigid tension gone from his body.

“You did so well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” 

You grinned, sliding off him and stretching languidly before settling back onto the bed. You exhaled, content. Bucky turned his head to look at you, still slightly frozen in place, as if unsure what to do next. His brows furrowed slightly. “What… what about you? Don’t you want to…?”

You snorted. “That doesn’t matter. This was about you, not me.”

He hesitated, clearly still unused to receiving something without feeling obligated to return it. “But I feel bad leaving you—”

“I’m fine, trust me.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you nestled into the warmth of his arm. “We have a long way to go before you need to be thinking about that.”

Bucky went quiet. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, unreadable.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he would say anything at all. But then, after a beat of silence, you felt him shift beside you. A hesitant hand—warm and slightly calloused—ghosted over your arm before settling on your waist, drawing you in closer.

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.

[zevrra]

[𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.⋆˚࿔]

synop: some drabbles, first kisses & how they’d go with my fav arcane men!

ft. gn!reader, jayce, viktor, & vander

a/n: should i flesh any of these out? >:3

(this is sfw but slightly suggestive w/ a lil angst)

𝐉𝐀𝐘𝐂𝐄

— is the type that once he gets a taste, he doesn’t want to stop.

his hazel eyes glance down at your lips and they linger for a long moment, full of want and need as he debates on kissing you; can see the gears turning inside his head. until jayce realizes he’s staring for a little longer than he should and breaks out in a little embarrassed smile, flashing his fangs and that cute little gap in his teeth. “sorry…” he apologizes, ripping his eyes back up to yours.

“it’s okay.” you whisper; as if you were any better than he was, staring at his tilted lips. craving and wanting him with so much tension, it could surely be cut with a knife.

jayce chuckles nervously under his breath but leans forward despite his hesitation, pushing aside any and all of his worries, as he presses his lips gently against yours. it’s a small, soft peck of a kiss; just enough for him to get a sweet taste of you. he leans back a little then, eyes hazy as if he’s become intoxicated with just one kiss. and before either of you can voice an opinion on your first kiss, jayce is eagerly moving on.

“one more.” he mutters, seeking your lips again. he plants a firm kiss against you this time. his breathing is quickly turning into wild rasps as he presses his lips again and again into yours. his hand are roaming along every inch of your body. fingers grasping at your thighs, digging gently into your skin, smoothing across your waist, tugging you into his own lap while his lips continue to find yours.

he whispers countless of pleas and begs of just “one more” between each kiss until they’re no longer just quick pecks and evolve into fuller, far more passionate kisses. one giant hand runs up your thigh again while his other moves to hook around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. “taste so good.” jayce whispers just as his tongue runs along your bottom lip.

“more.” he mutters across your reddening lips. “please need a little more…” he adds in a huff, waiting for you to give him the green light.

he’s got your head spinning in circles; breathless while your lips still tingle from his desperate make out. your face burns with a drunken blush from the kiss and you’re not entirely sure if you can find the right words to say, so instead you capture his lips now.

and it’s the only answer he needs before he’s desperately sweeping you back into a passionate make out session.

𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑

— is the type who kisses you by total accident one day and then flees.

it had just been you and viktor in the lab together for days on end. the two of you had worked through countless of formula errors, spent every sleepless night together, drank enough coffee that it could replace every ounce of water in your body; and yet you two enjoyed it more than anything. you laughed, brainstormed, and have come closer than you’ve ever had before.

it was…a little obvious that you liked viktor, well to your knowledge it was but not so much to viktor; or so it seemed.

“you’ve done it!” you exclaim, excitement creeping into your voice as you stand from your chair as vik does the same. you crowd over vik’s shoulder to get a better look at the smooth, luminous glass ball, eyes wide open as you stare at the stabilized hex crystal before you. “you’ve actually done it!”

“no,” vik speaks, ripping off his goggles as he stares up at you. “i could not have done this without you. you’ve contributed so much! we did it.” he adds before tossing his goggles off to the side. he quickly tries to gather any paperwork and journal entries the two of you had written in the last few days; eager to rush off and show his work to heimerdinger and the council. and he says little else, too excited to show off his breakthrough, pocketing the hex crystal as he hurries for the lab door.

in his flurry, he forgets a very important piece of paperwork. you grab it, turning towards the door to the lab where viktor had started heading off towards to, waving it in the air before vik can get too far. “viktor! you forgot something!”

vik stops just at the door and spins on his heel to come hurriedly back to you. but instead of taking the note and continuing on his journey to the council room, he’s instead closing the distance between you and him very quickly; quick enough you don’t have time to think, let alone react as vik is sweeping forward to press his lips fully into yours.

he kisses you then, passionate and full of just pure excitement for the things you two have managed to do. and the kiss is far more amazing than anything you could have imagined but it’s cut entirely too short when vik is suddenly realizing all too fast exactly what he’s done and breaking away. he backs up, damn near tripping over his own cane in his hurry, as he takes the paper right out of your hand. he mutters a goodbye and nothing else before he’s gone; just as quickly as he had kissed you.

you stand frozen, in humbled shock, debating if that had actually happened or not. but the warmth blooming across your lips and face is a dead giveaway that yes, it did in fact happen.

and you smile with the thought that this could be the start of something wonderful…and yet it’s only the start of viktor avoiding you at any cost.

𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

— is the type to be a little embarrassed because of his age but really he’s been holding back for too long.

“you don’t really want this, do ya? i’m practically an old man now.” vander laughs from behind his bar top. he sips on the cheap whiskey he’s been drinking the entire night, glancing at you over the rim.

everyone else from the bar had gone home for the night but you had decided to stick around for a little bit longer; just for this. for him. you swirl your drink around inside your cup, glancing between the moving liquid and vander’s handsome face. you had been dropping hints for, god knows how long, that you wanted him, and now that it was just the two of you…you were willing to push your luck a little to get exactly what you wanted.

“mmm i know.” you respond, taking a sip off your own alcohol of choice that night. “that’s what i like about you though.” you add with a smirk.

your response only makes him laugh again, shaking his head. he pushes his cup out of the way and off to the side, most likely empty and definitely forgotten for the rest of the night, as he settles his hands on the edge of his bar. “that so?” he asks with a grin.

you nod, mirroring his grin right back at him. if you were given the chance sooner, you would’ve dragged him out of the bar two and a half hours ago.

“what if this old man can’t keep up with you?”

now it was your turn to chuckle as you crawl up onto the bar, sliding across the wood surface until you’re sitting pretty right between his settled hands. you move your legs to dangle on the other side of the counter, closing the gap as much as you can. “guess you’re just going to have to find out, hmm?” you respond, running a hand down the front of his broad chest.

while he’s still a little hesitant, it doesn’t take anymore convincing as soon as the distance is closed. his gaze is hungry, always has been, as he settles his eyes onto your pretty face. he’s sucking in a deep breath when the last bit of his resolve vanishes. and it’s his turn to close the gap now as he captures your lips in one swift movement. he’s feverishly kissing you, deep and full of yearning. gripping the edge of the bar like his life depends on it, keeping himself upright and from what you can only assume is to hold himself back just a tiny bit; didn’t want to scare you off with just how badly he wanted you too.

vander grunts against your lips, reaching with a large hand to caress the side of your neck, deepening the kiss with a swirl of his tongue meshing into your own before he’s huffing a deep breath and breaking off the kiss. he pants against your slowly swelling lips, still keeping himself close but far enough away you’d have to chase after his lips if you wanted anymore.

“gonna ask again, you sure about this?” vander mutters. and you can see it in his gray eyes, the want and the need he holds for you and how he’s holding himself back, just in case you may have changed your mind.

but that was impossible. you wanted him and only him. you roll your eyes at his slightly concerned tone of voice before you slide your arms up to lock around his neck. “i’m more than sure. now shut up and fucking kiss me.”

[mischiefmaker615]

Eye for an Eye

Summary: Loki does not like the idea of you being around potential suitors and means to erase any form of interaction you had with them.

Rating: PG14

Note: this can have a potential trigger, be warned! it's a hint but nothing graphic. 

Loki shot up from his chair- sending it falling to the floor once you had finally returned to the library like you promised. He was quick to close the distance, his long stride barely allowing you to take a few steps more before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you close.

‘’what happens this time..’’ he whispered into your hair, feeling his body relax just a little bit now that you were in his arms but you could still feel the tension while his arms locked around your hair.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hating every bit of the memory you had to report but allowed the feeling of safety to consume your body once you felt the warmth and smell of Loki against you. ‘’he took my hand..’’ you whispered, your hands wrapped just as tightly around Loki while you felt him sharply inhale and speak slowly.

‘’what else?”

‘’that’s all.’’ you whispered, taking a deep breath.

‘’swear it?”

‘’I promise.’’

Loki’s body fully relaxed before he raised a hand to gently stroke your hair, placing a kiss on top of your head and felt your own body fully relax with his. ‘’alright darling, come on.’’ He said and took a slow step back, his hands taking their time leaving your sides before he stood tall before you and held out his hand.

You instantly took it and saw a gentle smile tug at his lips while he guided you to his side before you both began to walk hand in hand. After a moment, he even laced your fingers together while you both left the library and towards your usual spot- the gardens.

‘’Loki.. it’s a bit tight..’’ you gently reminded him, causing him to quickly glance down at your hands before he relaxed his grip on it, a sheepish smile flashing on his face before he looked ahead again.

‘’I’m sorry darling- it’s becoming a bit of a unconscious habit..’’

You gave a knowing nod before you fell back into enjoying the sights and warmth of the sun. it was always the perfect place to relax after your weekly stress event- the suitor trial.

Loki absolutely hated it. Once a week, you would meet with a potential suitor and spend a good portion of the day with them. It was stressful because it was unwanted- you wanted Loki. You both had grown up together and naturally had fallen in love. Yet your relationship had been kept a secret because you were to be betrothed to unite a realm, while Loki was not permitted to have distractions only with his title as prince.

Every suitor you had met, you had disliked. Even those who were actual decent, you knew who you wanted to truly be with. Screw your destiny! But it wasn’t easy when the whole fate of uniting a realm rested on your shoulders.. Loki was just as angry with this whole thing but knew the throne of Asgard also potentially rested on his shoulders. So, you both decided to meet in secret, normally the library but had to make haste to a more comforting location when you began to have panic attacks with your suitor’s unwanted touching.

It was never to serious, just strongly unwanted and something Loki very much had an issue with. They would normally have an arm around you, sometimes playing with a lock of your hair, placing a kiss upon your cheek or a hand on your thigh. After each suitor meeting, you would return to Loki with a report of what they had done, and he would bring it upon himself to spend a good portion of the day doing exactly what they had done to you.

Erase the memory with a good one. Loki ensured you felt his affections and his alone.

Today was no different and the suitor had latched his hand on yours. Thus, Loki’s iron grip never leaving yours while you felt yourself relax from the previous events this morning.

‘’I wish we didn’t have to live like this..’’ you sighed, your other hand gently brushing up against the flowers as you passed them.

‘’I wish your suitors weren’t left alive after you return to me.’’ Loki half mumbled while he brought your hand up and placed a protective kiss against your knuckles.

‘’perhaps a little harsh- you and I both know we have duties we must uphold-‘’

‘’touching someone that isn’t there’s yet is utterly unacceptable.’’ Loki said sharply, instantly softening his voice and brushing his thumb against your hand in his grip. ‘’..there must be another way to unite a realm..’’

‘’if you were king, I’m sure you’d be able to change those silly rules.’’ You smile at him, seeing how his lips tugged at the mere thought of having the throne- a dream he’s had since he was a child.

‘’instantly. And I’d have you at my side at all times, you’d may grow bored of me.’’ He teased, brushing his shoulder up against yours while you giggled.

‘’I haven’t grown bored yet, so I’m sure you’re in the clear from here on out’’ you smirked. ‘’unless you turn the whole palace green.’’

Loki raised a brow with a grin as he looked over at you. ‘’I thought you enjoy my colors.’’

‘’I do, but how else am I suppose to find you when you practically blend in with the walls at that point?” you laugh and lightly tug at his cape for reference- knowing Loki was notorious when it had come to hiding growing up.

‘’then don’t leave my side and you won’t have to worry with losing sight of me.’’ Loki winked.

‘’then I may get bored of you-‘’ you laugh and quickly squirm out of his grip to run ahead, glancing back before quickening your pace to find he was running after you.

‘’I’ll be sure there is nothing to be bored of Little Minx, you’ll be too busy’’ Loki threatened with a laugh before he caught you around the waist and picked you up easily with one arm.

You laughed and gripped his forearm while you kicked your legs in your dress. ‘’hope you never grow bored of me.’’

Loki scoffed and set you down, making you face him while his hands went to scoop up yours. ‘’never darling, never.’’

~

The suitors came and failed, sometimes you would use excuses that they were worse than they really were just to ensure your father indeed sent them away. The routine stayed the same and you would meet with Loki, sometimes staying in the library but only retreated to the gardens if you were having a bad day.

You had grown fond of Loki’s touch and your shyness would instantly melt away when the safe feeling would wash over you as soon as he was at your side. One day he would spend the whole time with a hand on your thigh- just as a suitor had. Other times he would caress your neck with his slender hands and his lips. Youd melt and flutter your eyes closed and would have to stop him from getting ahead of himself and going beyond what he was washing away.

At one point he would have to be asked to stare at your cleavage, just so you could have the mental image that he had been the one looking and not the ogling pig. It would affect the prince though, and you would often see the affect of your requests through his pants, instantly making your cheeks red but also with a sense of pride how that is how he saw you.

One evening, you hurried your steps to meet him, practically throwing the doors open while you caught your breath and he jumped to his feet with a start. Your cheeks had fresh tears running down them and he instantly was at your side, cupping your cheeks with his eyes piercing yours.

‘’what. Did. He. Do.’’ He asked slowly, more so demanding with a careful tone while your hands reached up to grip his wrists.

‘’it’s not that Loki..’’ you promised, knowing your maid would have done something if a suitor would have gone that far in a meeting.

Loki could tell that you were telling the truth and his sharp gaze lightened up ever so slightly but still held your face in his hands while he searched your eyes. ‘’what happened?”

You bit your bottom lip while you looked up at him. it was not your first, but it was something defiantly special taken from you. ‘’he kissed me-‘’

Loki instantly pressed his lips to yours, the force and suddenness of it having you back up into a book shelf with his body following and his hands still cupping your face. His eyes were closed, lips passionate with a hum leaving his throat. It was a rarity action, something you both rarely got the chance to do in fear of getting lost in passion and truly doing something you might get caught in.

To hell with it..

You kissed him back just as forcefully, your mind seeming to melt away thoughts and just fall into the realm of feeling while your hands moved to grip his shoulders. He only pulled up for air a few times, barely giving you enough time to adjust before his lips would brush up against yours and press into them lovingly and longingly- like it were both of your first times.

At one point you did need to breath and used a bit of force to pull against his chest before he pulled away. Your hands stayed on his chest while his hands moved to rest on your hips, catching his own breath while he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes never leaving your own.

‘’this can’t go on Y/N.. something needs to change..’’ he whispered.

You slowly closed your eyes, the lurching feeling in your chest coming back that threatened to spill out more tears. ‘’I don’t know how Loki.. it seems impossible…’’

There was a silence between you both, just holding each other while Loki kept his arms around you and his chin resting on top of your head. Your arms never dared leave him, wrapping tightly around his own waist while you pressed your cheek against his chest armor. You honestly wished the moment like this could freeze, how it could just be you both and nothing else.. no suitors.. no responsibilities.. just you two..

After a moment, Loki slowly pulls back enough to gently cup your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away any remaining tears while his gaze almost startles you.

‘’..i promise my love.. I’ll figure this out..’’

~

Your fingers gripped your dress tightly, almost white knuckling it while your nerves grew with each step towards the throne room. A guard and said your presence was being demanded in the throne room, and that could only mean one thing- a suitor had been chosen.

You would expect to see your father, alongside Odin to finalize uniting the two realms between yours and.. wherever this suitor resides in. would you have time to say goodbye? Was it to late to run? Or elope- no.. Loki might not want that.. there had been to much on his plate as it is, he seemed distracted lately whenever you did meet. At one point, the suitors had stopped all together or a solid two weeks and you weren’t sure why.. not that you would complain.

You rounded the corner finally that would lead you to the big doors- only to stop short so you wouldn’t run into the Warriors Three and Sif. ‘’sorry-‘’ you mumbled, giving a quick bow to the side while they barely seemed to notice and Lady Sif looking nothing but pissed as she followed the others.

They seemed to have left the throne room.. oh gods- what had happened??

Their cold shoulder reactions seemed to speed up your pace to the doors, not exactly knowing why but your body just seemed to act on it’s own. The guards gave a quick bow with their spears crossing over their chests briefly before they opened the doors for the throne room.

You took a deep breath, hesitating for only a moment before you slowly entered and kept your eyes low in respect. ‘’my king.. you requested my presence?” you asked carefully, holding your breath as you prepared yourself for the speech and your fate while you stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

‘’indeed I did darling.’’

You knew that voice as your eyes rounded and looked up with parted lips, taking a sharp breath while you looked up the stairs to see who was sitting on the throne.

Loki smiled proudly down at you, seeming to have expected your reaction while his golden horned helmet sat on his head, his full armor shinning and his cape spreading out at his sides. Gungnir stood proudly in his hand, using it as brief leverage to stand himself up while your eyes rose even more to stay on his.

He looked every inch a king, a proud one at that and your mind hadn’t even begun to question anything while his familiar smirk tugged at his lips and a sense of relaxation was upon his shoulders, like everything was as it should be in this very moment and somehow you could feel it too.

‘’I told you darling, I would find a way.’’

Your lips tried finding words, your heart racing while you blinked up at him and pressed a hand to your mouth while shock seemed to overcome you with the impossible sight before your eyes.

‘’Loki… what did you do?..”

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing

TAG LIST IS OPEN JUST LET ME KNOW FOR FUTURE WORK :D

[adieutristana]

ribbons and lace; jinx x fem!reader

first smut fic let's go... part 2 to pins and needles since it got a positive reception. if this sucks don't kill me

since writing this i will have a new section in my rules post specifically for nsfw. feel free to send in any nsfw requests, but please read through before doing so!

characters included; jinx

summary; jinx getting worked up after volunteering to be a dress form for her girlfriend. her girlfriend notices, and helps her.

tags/warnings; seamstress!reader, dom!reader, sub!jinx, foreplay, semi-public, fingering, dirty talk, sliiiiight degredation, squirting, crying, explicit consent, beginning of aftercare

men and minors dni.

she's flushed, and she swears she's okay, but you know better than that. you know that jinx has always been the last person to ask for and especially accept help. but what could have her in such a state? flushed, breathless, sweaty, even. you step forward to jinx's chair, brushing your lips against her forehead in an effort to gauge her temperature. that's the only other explanation you can think of at this moment.

another shiver runs down jinx's spine. yet, she feels completely normal. the way your girlfriend looks, you'd swear that she'd be burning up.

"come on, baby. talk to me. something's wrong."

you whisper, pulling your lips from jinx's forehead. the girl can't muster up a response to you, rather she won't. your face is mere centimeters from jinx's, close enough that you can feel her hot breath against your skin. her breathing is labored and her eyes have this look in them that you've seen before- several times.

oh. that's what this is about.

you let out a huff, before striding over to the clear door of your studio. flipping the sign so that it reads 'CLOSED,' and closing the dark curtains usually reserved for off-hours.

you walk back over to jinx, still sat ever so unceremoniously in one of your chairs. probably soaking the cushion as you observe her. you cross your arms over your chest, cocking your head to the side in a faux-annoyed manner.

"i have a deadline, jinx. i can't be doing things like this," you mutter, tutting as you slowly shake your head. her rosy eyes are blown wide, looking at you as if you're her lifeline. her one and only sanctuary, the only thing that can give her exactly what she needs.

"i know, i'm sorry- i just.." she breathes out, raspy voice barely above a whisper. "i need you, toots. please."

you let out a heavy sigh, bringing your forefinger and thumb to jinx's chin. you simply look for a moment, observing the sheen of jinx's skin, the slight furrow of dark brows, the way her plump lips press into a pout. you haven't done a damn thing, yet she's already this worked up.

"you're really this helpless?"

you mutter, though it's clear you're not looking for an answer. you claim your girlfriends lips in a hungry kiss, soft lips moving against her own. your tongue swipes along her bottom lip as a silent plea for entrance, and she immediately grants it to you. one hand comes to tangle in your hair, a desperate effort to press you closer to her as if your tongue isn't already inside her mouth. you'd laugh if you weren't so busy right now.

you swallow up soft whimpers, jinx's breathing labored and her sharp fingernails now digging into your scalp. you continue to explore her mouth with your tongue as both of your hands begin to run along jinx's bare, slim waist. you pull away with a gasp as one of your hands finds the hemline of jinx's leather top, your middle finger hooking underneath.

"you're sure this is what you want?"

you ask, your eyes boring into the girl's. she frantically nods, almost as if this is the most important question she's been asked in her life. maybe in this moment, it feels like that for her.

"yes, yes- i need it. please, please-"

she's cut off by the feeling of you quickly grabbing one of her perky tits beneath her top and squeezing, a sharp whine being drawn from the girl. ever so reactive, ever so sensitive. you run the pad of your thumb over her hardened nipple, your other hand working to quickly push up her shirt up above her tits. you almost swear that you can feel yourself salivate at the mere sight. this has always been one of your favorite features of your girlfriend.

"didn't take much to shut you up, huh?"

you murmur, still teasing the pert bud beneath your fingers. you're looming over her as if you're some malevolent presence, here to take your prey and do whatever you please with her. oh, how she wishes you would.

"mm, shut up," she manages to breathe out. "i'm just.. sensitive,"

"i know, baby."

you whisper, your free hand trailing back down her waist to make its way closer to your destination. you can feel her abs tensing beneath your touch as cold fingers run over her obliques, you can feel exactly where her hip bone juts out. goosebumps littered across the pale expanse of her stomach. pale blue clouds littered across her skin, each one its own separate masterpiece on the most beautiful canvas possible. it's a sight to behold- one you've seen times prior, yet one you know will never grow old.

"i've always loved your tits," you rumble, your hand coming back to her now-neglected breast. you pinch the erect nipple, rolling it between your fingers as jinx squeals and squirms.

"so small, so perky, so perfect, and just for me."

without another word, you drop to your knees in front of jinx's chair.

you're now eye-level with her knees. you'd been here just a few moments prior, pinning fabrics onto her and trying to get her to stop squirming so damn much. now it made sense, why she couldn't keep still. your hands braced on either knee, you gently coax them apart. jinx's chest is heaving, perky tits on full display as her breaths come in shorter and shorter. it's a good thing you pulled that curtain.

"dirty girl. i'm trying to do a job here," you chastise as your fingers fly to unfasten her belt, a quick and practiced movement. you pull it off of her, whilst your fingers hook into the waistband of her striped pants. "but you just couldn't wait. this client is gonna be pissed, you know. maybe you should go explain yourself to them. tell them why there was a hold-up."

the fabric is battered and torn from countless battles, cuts and holes strewn across the garment and the legs of her pants impossibly frayed. you'd offered more times than you could count to fix them, hell, even make new pants for her, but she'd always insisted on wearing these old things. said they had 'character.' you sigh, shaking your head as you pull the article from her ankles.

jinx is left nearly bare before you, save for a manipulated top and a pair of baby blue panties. your eyes dart beneath her thighs, directly towards the wet patch on her underwear. soaked through. good gods, she was insatiable. you let out a low chuckle while you moved up on your knees, bringing your dominant hand toward her pussy. pressing your middle finger down right over her clothed clit, eliciting a sharp cry from her.

"fuck!"

"come on. this wet already, and i haven't even touched you properly."

you tut, though you can't bring yourself to be truly angry. it's kind of endearing, how desperate she is. her body taut as each muscle coils with pure, unabashed need. fingers dancing along the edge of her panties, before swiftly pulling them down and off of her. you spread jinx's thighs just the slightest bit wider, then glance back up to jinx. her big eyes are still fixed on you, following your every move and whim. your fingernails drag along jinx's inner thigh. a tantalizing tease, remining jinx of what she wants, but she can't have. not yet, anyways.

"s-stop teasing," she whines, her voice low. you snicker lightly, before pressing your middle finger back over her needy clit. jinx's body nearly stutters with the sensation, the feeling of you rubbing slow, borderline torturous circles into her. her lips are already parted while she looks down at you, before you sink your middle finger into her.

"shiiiit," she breathes out, feeling the steady movement of your finger. slowly pumping in and out of her, stretching her ever so gently.

"you like that?" you whisper, adding your ring finger as well. there's a bit of resistance, though jinx is quickly able to accommodate to the new addition. lewd sounds of wet squelching fill your studio, jinx's increasingly loud moans bouncing off the walls like some perverted medley. your fingers begin to pound into jinx, drawing nearly pornographic noise from those beautiful parted lips.

"hnggh- oh! don't stop, right there-" she grunts, your fingers making contact with the spongy spot that always makes jinx see stars. you brace your free hand on her opposite thigh, grabbing both to hold her in place and ground her. a low laugh escapes you. nothing about this is amusing necessarily, but it's just too damn perfect.

"look at this pussy," you murmur, your voice a low husk. "swallowing me up. nice and wet f'me." watching your fingers disappear again and again into jinx's sopping hole, ever so eager. as if she was made to take you.

"ah, aaah- you- ngh!" the girl pauses, head falling backward. "you like it?"

"oh, i love it," you affirm, your fingers continuing their delirious assault on jinx. "i love this pussy so fuckin' much. you have no idea."

"mmph... show me, show me," she pleads, her voice a weak rasp. her tits are bouncing the slightest bit whilst you finger-fuck her, the pale skin of her neck exposed and her braids dragging on the ground beneath her. "show me how much you love it."

you don't need to be told twice. your thumb comes to press into jinx's throbbing clit, which forces a guttural moan from the depths of her chest. that shut her up. your fingers continue to pound in and out of jinx, going at break-neck speed. you might break your fingers for all you know, but you also can't be bothered to care at this point. jinx is taking everything you're giving her so well, her chest and face flushed pink as her breath comes to her in short pants. she's nearly shaking under your touch; exactly how you like her.

your fingers continue to curl inside her just right, your thumb playing with that pretty clit in the way you know drives jinx mad. she's starting to grind her hips down onto your hand, seeking any bit of extra friction that she can get. her abs and thigh muscles clench amidst the pleasure. maybe another time jinx would bite down on her bottom lip in an effort to stifle the noises, but not today. she's entirely unashamed.

"so damn loud, too." you remark, accentuated by another sharp thrust. "the whole of zaun is gonna hear you at this point. is that what you want, hm? want everyone to know i'm fucking their symbol?"

the words draw a high-pitched whine from jinx, though she doesn't seem to respond to them.

"hnng.." she grunts." i need- hmph,"

"you need...?" you urge, your voice barely audible over the wet sounds you're drawing from her cunt. you know what she needs, you can feel it in the way her gummy walls are clenching around your digits. the way her body is heaving, her chest in an interrupted rhythm of up, down, up down. she needs to cum is what she needs, but frankly, you want to draw this out a bit.

you know jinx's mind is growing fuzzy, that it's difficult for her to string together a coherent sentence, let alone say it right now. she'd gotten herself into this, really. getting so turned on by just a few innocent touches, when she had been the one to offer herself up as a dress form. her little whines and moans fill your ears, a rhythmic 'ah, ah, ah.'

and still, part of you can't help but take pity on her. head tossed back, blue bang partially sticking to her face while moans spill from her lips. she looks a damn mess, yet divine. curse jinx for being so beautiful, for being able to make you fold so easily.

"please," she cuts through. hot tears are beginning to well in her eyes, a testament to just how good you're making her feel. how desperately she needs this. "please, i need to-"

"shh," you interrupt, shifting on your knees to rise slightly. peppering light kisses on the expanse of jinx's neck. "cum for me, jinx."

jinx is teetering on the precipice of climax, so damn close. you continue your relentless rhythm, and it's as if a dam breaks. light pink liquid squirts onto your hand and forearm, a strangled cry of your name escaping jinx. she writhes in the chair, thrashing back and forth against your hand while her hips stutter, trying to ride out the high. her face falls forward, tears running down pale cheeks and dark mascara staining her under eyes.

she looks a damn wreck, but gods is she beautiful.

"shh, shh," you offer, sliding your soaked hand out of jinx's cunt. "i'm here."

taking to your feet, you gently scoop jinx into your arms and settle into her chair, situating jinx on your lap. her breathing is still shallow, coming to her in pants, but the lovestruck look in those half-lidded eyes is all of the reassurance that you need to prove your girlfriend is okay.

she almost immediately wraps her toned arms around your shoulders, pressing her cheek against your chest in an effort to anchor herself back to reality. your clean hand brushes her bang from her face, then brushes underneath an eye to wipe her tears as your lips brush against her forehead. a gentle reminder of your love, yet a stark contrast to how you were handling her just a moment ago.

"i'm sorry," she breathes out, voice weak. "i interrupted your work..."

you chuckle lowly, shaking your head. jinx isn't actually sorry, she never is about this kind of thing. maybe it's some effort to please you, but no matter.

"i don't mind. you were so good for me."

you whisper, before claiming her lips in a soft kiss. plump lips move against yours slow and steady.

"i love you."

"i love you too," you hum. "let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

[aclikeairconditioning]

Since I wrote one for reverse verse Edwin, here’s one for Charles. Takes place in Hell, though nothing’s too graphic (still, be warned.)

I had to go through the torture of rereading/viewing this comic to write this (it wasn’t torture at all, this is one of my favorite @technically-human comics. Charles is so precious, and I almost cried while writing this and looking into his face at the same time.)

I will also add @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are because I forgot you last time. I’m very sorry, that was rude of me, I know this is your au too.

When I got to the end I realized that I was ending similarly to the way I ended Edwin’s, so I leaned into that and used the same wording.

(Ps. @technically-human, you have no idea how much of a euphoric adrenaline high your response gave me last time. Thank you so much, and happy belated birthday!)

-

Charles tripped.

Apparently, 70 years of practice became null and void when interrupted by three decades of peace. Safety. Home.

Charles tripped, and was immediately caught up in the storm of people running by, most of whom didn’t pay any attention to the sixteen-year-old struggling to get back up, to keep going, to not get caught.

Charles couldn’t even blame them. He would have, had in the past, done the same.

That didn’t make him less scared.

That wouldn’t make it hurt less when The Conductor eventually caught up to him.

He did manage to get up, though (a minor miracle on its own.) As he prepared himself to run again, get out as fast as he could, try to make up for lost time, a flash of blue in the corner of his eye gave him barely a moment's notice before he was being grabbed from behind.

His first instinct was to fight. To shove off whoever, or whatever, had grabbed him. Punch and claw and fight to leave the other behind in the dust as he got as far away as possible.

He would have, too. He would have, had it not been for the slightly panicked call of, “Found you!” in his ear, spoken in a voice he knew better than his own.

“Edwin!” The name came out more of a gasp, than Charles would have liked. “What are you doing here?”

Because he was here. God, Edwin Payne (just, devout, brilliant, Edwin Payne,) was here. In Hell. The one place that Charles thought he could protect him from, despite the others’ insistence to protect him (and the others newly added to the ranks of the Dead Boy Detectives.)

Edwin, who he had always thought believed, if only a little bit, that Charles deserved the torment he had been sent to.

Edwin, who was here-

“Protecting you, as always.”

Oh.

Oh.

He was here, because he really believed that Charles needed protecting. Who wanted to protect him, despite the Hell forged demeanor, the unspeakable things he had done before they met.

He was here, in Hell, actively going against his God, mustering up a fragile smile for Charles’ benefit.

He was perfect.

He was everything.

He needed to know.

So Charles grasped Edwin by his shoulders, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he made the declaration that could change everything (just please don’t take him away from me.)

“I love you,” He all but sobbed, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth against all odds.

“What?” Edwin asked, taken aback. He blinked, eyes wide with shock. “Well, I- You know that- Me too, of course.”

Charles gave a short chuckle, shaking his head, because he didn’t get it. “That’s not what I meant, mate.”

He sniffed heavily before looking back up into Edwin’s eyes. “I love you. Like courting, sweethearts, holding hands in the park, love you.”

Edwin’s eyes had gotten larger, if that were even possible, panic taking over any kind of control he’d still had. Charles’ heart only sank a bit at that. He could have predicted how Edwin’s deeply moral sensibilities would take this sentiment.

“Charles, I can’t-”

But Charles wasn’t able to figure out what Edwin couldn’t as a burning hand closed over the back of his neck, ripping him away and towards the engine room.

He was taken away to his next death with the sound of Edwin calling his name behind him.

[writingangst]

Friendly Fire

Summary: The aftermath of Simon Riley's paranoia has left the reader with an inner battle of holding onto her anger or making room for forgiveness.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and torture, angst, cursing, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 1.3K

Part One

I wasn't planning on posting on this account except for that one off, but since a lot of people liked it, I'm down to give you guys more angst. So, enjoy. (Also, if you want to request anything be sure to message me.)

Whispers and lingering stares were a part of your day to day since you and Ghost got back from the extraction mission. The barracks were filled with theories, the team making assumptions to make sense of the bruising you wore like a collar around your neck. As if you were some damn dog, beaten into submission. You hated every second of being on display and serving as a symbol of what they thought had to have been insubordination.

She must’ve mouthed off to the Lieutenant.

Poor girl was probably put in her place. 

Because Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t do any wrong. Surely the woman must’ve misbehaved to deserve being put in a life-or-death situation by someone she trusted. You couldn’t calm the anger that stubbornly sat in your chest. You wanted to scream. You wanted him in the same position you were in. You wanted the fucking bruising to go away so everyone could stop talking about it, reducing you into a fucking victim.

You were a Goddamn soldier.

Ghost on the other hand had been quiet. Even more so than usual. You would catch his eyes roaming the patches of dark purple and blue he painted on your skin from time to time, turning away when he noticed you looking back at him, your expression stoic. You could sense the tension. The regret. The nasty gut feeling assumed to be guilt swallowing him whole. 

He’d never felt that way before.

It wasn’t a part of your lives. You got jobs done that would make any normal person weep for years. Trauma so consuming, veteran suicide rates were in increase and violent crimes committed by them going up as well. You had no room for guilt or regret. You were machines. It was in the job description, under the fine print. There wasn’t an option to dwell on things, it was either keep pushing or people could die in your line of work. 

Yet Ghost was stuck on that feeling.

And it was becoming harder to ignore. You saw the way his fingers twitched when you flinched from any sudden movement. The quietness that overtook the space when you stepped into any room he was in, like everything suddenly became too heavy to bear. You wanted to laugh from the bitterness of it all. This was the same man that had threatened your life. And for once, it seemed like the monster that made him who he was couldn’t hide behind the skull mask.

You couldn't decide which one was worse though. The silence or the moments you caught him struggling with himself and what he did. But the worst part. The thing that kept you up at night, tossing and turning in a bed that felt more like a grave… Was that you had started feeling sorry for him. For the way his dark eyes would catch yours when you least expected it, as if they were silently begging for forgiveness you didn’t know if you could offer him.

Maybe that was the worst part. There being a chance to be able to forgive, but never forget. Missing his touch and dreading it all the same. The way he tainted something both of you needed. Severing a conection both physical and emotional. Needing him and hating him. It was the same fight within yourself and it made you angry, until you began yearning again. Your own personal hell, a cage he viciously hand crafted to fit you.

I hate you, Ghost. 

It was a mantra. Maybe soon you would start to believe it.

But as night fell on the fourth night, the repetition wouldn’t preserve your sanity. The common area was eerily quiet, devoid of any operative in your wing. The faint hum of the overhead light was the only sound as you sat on the worn couch, eyes scanning the documents in your hands. They were sending you out again. A covert operation. Then, the bitter taste of reality hit you again as you saw his name typed out on the call sheet under personnel.

I hate you.

“I’m sorry.”

You jumped instictivley at the sound of his voice, your head jerking in his direction, slightly to your left, standing within the door frame. His words were clumsy, raw, but there was hesitation in his tone. Like he was scared. Scared of what he did, scared of what you thought of him now. The silence between you both stretched like a taut wire, brittle and poised to snap.

For a fleeting moment, something in your chest softened—a crack in the icy wall you’d built between the both of you. But it was brief. So brief. The softness evaporated almost as quickly as it came, replaced by the old familiar coil of tension in your gut. You straightened, pulling your walls back up.

“So, he speaks.”

“I didn’t want to push you,” he said, his gruff accent thick with something unspoken—uncertainty, regret? You weren’t sure anymore.

You laughed bitterly. “But choking me out is fine.”

Your words were sharp and unforgiving. A hard accusation that was meant to hit him in the chest. The tension was unbearable now, like the moment might snap any second. He didn’t move though, didn’t back down. But you saw it—his jaw tightening, his fists clenching at his sides, the way his eyes flickered to the ground. The frustration was there, the guilt too, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He was struggling, you could see it.

He hesitated. “I fucked up.”

Raw. Unpolished.

But you weren’t so forgiving.

“You think?” You spat back, your voice filled with sarcasm, every word laced with the bitterness you couldn’t shake.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to excuse any of it. I was a paranoid motherfucker and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

His words landed heavier than you expected. You almost wanted to let you anger slip. To take the edge off, to relax into the moment, maybe even believe him. But you couldn’t. You’d betrayed yourself by awarding him with your forgiveness. Your nostrils flared at the turmoil you felt in your chest, your fingers digging into the documents in your hands with a fierce grip as you attempted to counterfocus the tightness.

“I don’t know what to do to make this right,” he confessed, knowing his words weren’t right. And they never could be. They didn’t carry the weight of what he had done. “I rarely ever apologize. If ever.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “So that should make me feel special?”

“Hardly,” he stated, wincing at your sarcasm, the impact of your words sinking into him like a punch. “I’ve made an even bigger mess of this. I can’t fix it. I know I can’t. I just—” 

—miss you.

You could almost hear it in the rawness of his voice, in the way he faltered. The silence was heavier with the words he didn’t dare utter hanging there. And that just made the anger swell in your chest. The more he held back, the more it stung, the more it fed your fury. The air felt thick around you. Heavy. Your breath shallow, your chest tight, and every beat of your pulse was a reminder of everything he had done. Everything he hadn’t done.

“Yeah?” You locked your gaze with him, the intensity in your eyes unflinching, your voice colder than you thought you could manage. It was steady, but laced with an undeniable edge. “Well, I fucking hate you, Ghost.”

The words slipped out, more venomous than you intended, but they felt good to say. They felt earned. You could see it in his eyes—the flicker of hurt, the way his shoulders slumped a fraction, as though your words physically struck him. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t. Not anymore.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, but it was better than what had come before. At least now there was nothing left to say.

Nothing left to break.

[beef-brisket]

Charlie snuggled in next to Adam and tried to fall asleep, but she couldn't stop the tears that flowed from her eyes.

Adam: Char...? Oh, darling. Don't cry, you'll be okay.

Charlie smiled weakly at her mama as he slowly cupped her cheek.

Charlie: I-I'm not worried about me, mama.

Adam smiled, and he hated seeing his first baby so worried. She didn't deserve to be so worried.

Adam: You have nothing to worry about, Char. I promise.

Charlie: B-But, mama-.

Adam: No buts. Don't work yourself up, sweetheart. You're so special to me, don't- over do yourself, darling.

Charlie couldn't help but cry more. She felt how cold her mama's hand was. She felt him try to pull her close, so Charlie carefully nuzzled into Adam, trying to give him as much of her warmth as possible.

Charlie: D-Don't leave me, mama. I'm sorry- I'm sorry it's my fault.

Adam: Oh, Charlie. It's not your fault, nothing's your fault.

Charlie: I-I wasn't meant to be here- Dada, he would- have left. If it wasn't for me- you wouldn't have had to deal with T-Teddy-. I'm so sorry m-mama.

Adam held his daughter close, his tail wrapped weakly around her legs: No, love. None of this is your fault.

Charlie looked up at her mama as he raised her head up: You weren't planned, I had no idea you were possible, darling. But that morning, I woke up to you tucked into me, was the best day of my life. Seeing you- looking so small. So peaceful, is one of my favourite memories... have I ever told you how much your cried when you hatched?

Charlie chuckled: Dada mentioned it a few times.

Adam smiled: You drove him nuts. I-I left him the night before, after you were born. I had no idea you were even a thing, but because of you, you brought us together again, Char. And I wouldn't change anything. You saved me, sweetie. So many times. Just like your saving me now.

Charlie: B-But- y-you're... you're d-dy-dyi-.

Adam: Maybe. But don't think about that, darling. Just- s-stay with me, darling. Please.

Charlie: I-I'll stay, mama. Of course, I'll stay.

Smiling, Adam wrapped his arms slowly around Charlie, holding her close. His perfect daughter.

-

Lucifer: Through here.

Michael scrunched his nose up and looked around. He hasn't been in a swamp in a long time, but he remembers how much he hated it.

Michael: This place is disgusting... are you sure his kidney is worth taking? I thought humans could survive with one one...

Lucifer: Trust me, it's worth taking. And humans usually can... but that's usually when their organ hadn't been torn out of them.

Michael sighed: What has this guy done again?

Lucifer: Broke in, gave Adam some of his blood...

Michael rolled his eyes: Oh no, how dreadful. What a menace.

Lucifer: What's with the attitude?

Michael: Lucifer- do you have any idea how crazy you sound? You're going to steal a guys kidney because he broke in once and talked to Adam? The guys not stupid. He obviously didn't drink the blood.

Lucifer growled: You're point?

Michael: ...I've done worse than this Alastor. You're not going to steal one of my organs, are you?

Lucifer scoffed: You're my brother.

Michael: ...Not the point.

The two walked until they saw a small shack off in the distance, a warm light filtered throughout the windows, a delicious smell flowed from the chimney.

Michael: Hm... cozy.

Lucifer: Not for long.

Michael: Lucifer. Think about this. Please-.

Lucifer: Michael, if I do nothing, Adam will die!

Michael grabbed Lucifer's wrist as he moved towards the shack: Please, brother. He'll be fine, Adam... he's strong. Don't do this... this isn't right.

Lucifer: ...H-He'll die, Michael.

Michael sighed: ...Why didn't you take father's, if you had to. At least he's... cleaner.

Monster under the bed au where Lucifer is a monster and "terrorizing" Adam?

And by terrorizing, I mean fucking. Grossly. Disgustingly.

Complete monster porn.

Oh no, are my kinks coming out again? Oh well 😉

🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

Don't tease me with a hot au lol

Oh, what if Adam bought a new house and that's when it starts?

[adilqalbi]

What's True Love If Not Necromancy?

pairing: ramdevi

tagging: @rc-catalog

word count: 799

tw: light mentions of death

rating: g

summary: a different take on devi waking up for the first time in hertfordshire, finding ram and their conversation.

additional note: A SUPER LATE birthday present for the one and only JB/ @webanglikethat!! Jbaby you're one of the greatest people I have had the honour of knowing. i did my best here but forgive any mistakes. i hope you have an amazing year and whatever troubles you, i hope it goes away asap. i'll always love you (platonically)

Ram hadn't realised just how much he missed Devi until the night she showed up to his room, complaining of a headache. 

She had been unconscious for weeks, but the British physicians had seemingly done their best to help her recover from her injury. 

Now, here she was, sitting on Ram's bed, breathing deeply and massaging her temples. 

Ram sat on the floor at her feet, watching her, his palms resting on her knees, waiting patiently for her to break their silence. 

Finally: ‘’Where are we?’’ Her voice was a whisper, and Ram had to lean in to hear the question. 

He sighed. She didn’t know. Of course, she had been dead, roaming around in the afterlife probably, and now she was back but in a foreign place. 

‘’We are in Britain. Hertfordshire.’’

‘’Hertfordshire? How? This…doesn’t make sense.’’

‘’Shh, I know it doesn’t. I’ll explain everything, rakshasi.’’ Ram ran his hand through Devi’s messy hair, trying to calm her down. 

‘’Please, Ram. Just tell me. I was dead. Dead. What happened?’’

Ram bit his lip. There was no delaying this. She had to know. 

He sat down next to her on the bed, took her hand in his and began. 

‘’You did die. Dixit stabbed you. But, you killed him before your final breath. And, then you died.’’

Devi was silent. 

‘Ram continued: ‘’I figure you would be upset to know that the last time you breathed was in…Christian’s arms.’’ 

‘’By the gods. Dying in the arms of a foreigner.’’ 

‘’Yes, well, it’s okay though. We got you back very quickly.’’

Devi looked up at Ram. ‘’Yes, how did you manage that?’’

Ram rubbed his neck, nervous, ‘’There’s this ritual that can be done. It had never been successful before but it worked with you for some reason.’’

‘’A ritual?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’It had never worked before?’’

‘’No.’’

‘’But, here I am.’’

‘’Indeed.’’

Devi rolled her eyes. ‘’Of course, you would know a ritual. But wasn’t it too big a risk?’’

Ram looked at the bedroom floor, dark oak. He was silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. 

It was risky to have done the ritual. He could have made everything worse. But, he knew one thing was true, which would never change. 

‘’I wanted to do everything in my power to get you back. I don’t think I could live without you.’’

Ram looked directly into Devi’s eyes, ‘’Five years, Devi. Five years of stolen glances, and flirty jokes, and searching for each other in the crowd and yet not being able to talk openly. I’d already suffered for five years, without you by my side.’’ Ram stopped here, his voice failing him. 

Devi completed his thoughts: ‘’And after five years, once we just began taking steps towards…happiness…that’s when I was taken away from the world of the living. And you…’’

‘’Couldn’t bear it. Not for one minute.’’ 

Devi curled her lips inwards, not sure what to say to Ram’s sudden confession. 

‘’I’m sorry, maybe this was too much altogether.’’ Ram quieted down, mentally berating himself for not keeping his mouth shut. He was always so good at it, so what happened now?

The next thing he knew was that Devi was holding his hand tighter. ‘’No, Ram. It’s…I appreciate you so much. I love you dearly. It’s just that…I don’t know. I just wasn’t expecting it.’’

Ram raised his eyebrow, askance. 

‘’You were the one who said that what we have can’t be anything more than a secret.’’ Devi smirked, her old self coming back slowly as her mind got used to being alive again. ‘’What changed?’’

Ram looked at her again, her sparkling eyes, her smile. He thought back to how she laughed. 

‘’I want to make you laugh, I think. I want to do that for the rest of my life.’’ 

Devi blinked. She had expected a sarcastic joke, but this was serious. 

She smiled softly again, rubbing her thumb against Ram’s palm. 

‘’Ram…truly…I’d love to laugh with you forever. But-’’

‘’Oh god, there’s a but.’’ 

Devi, ironically laughed, ‘’Listen to me, you rakshasa. But now was not a good time to confess. I came back to life  half an hour ago. I’m pretty sure my body isn’t used to being alive currently. I think I need to sleep, actually. So, if you would please continue your tale of true love later on, I’d love to be able to sleep.’’

‘’True love? What do you mean true lov - wait!’’

It was no use. Devi was already under the covers with her eyes closed.

Under the covers. Sleeping. 

On Ram’s bed. 

In Hertfordshire. 

Where the maids liked to gossip. 

He looked at the empty side of the bed. He thought about it for perhaps one minute. Then he cuddled in right next to his true love.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Cater Diamond - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Courtyard]

Cater: Whew～ Today's Alchemy class was a real brain wiggler. What class do I got next… Hm?

Cater: Hey… Is that you Leona-kun? Woah, that's a surprise, are you just getting out of class too?

Leona: Shut your trap already… It's got nothing to do with you, Cater.

Cater: No, no, I just wanted to give you the drop on a bit of info. Do you know what tomorrow is?

Cater: You see, it's YA BOI CAY-KUN'S BIRTHDAY ♪

Leona: Oh. Good for you.

Cater: NO REACTION!? I mean, I guess I knew that was coming～

Cater: Shoulda known it wouldn't be easy to get a warm birthday greeting from ol' Leona-kun.

Leona: What nonsense are you spouting? I just did.

Cater: What, you mean when you said "good for you"? C'mon, you just threw that out there 'cause you had to～

Cater: If you're gonna say something, you gotta put more heart into it, not just toss me a few words here and there ♪

Leona: Your birthday's tomorrow, ain't it? I couldn't possibly be rude and wish you a happy birthday the day before all your fellow housemates have a chance to…

Leona: So, bye.

[Leona leaves]

Cater: There he goes again, spouting off whatever… Well, guess I should just consider myself lucky that we got to hold a convo and he didn't just ignore me.

Cater: Alrighty, then. Looks like my next class is Animal Linguistics. I got a feeling I'm gonna get called on today, so I should prep for it.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Hallway]

Cater: Woah, it's that delicious!? I wanna go right away… Oh, but I don't think I'll be able to until after next month.

Cater: Yeaaah, I did terrible on the last Magical History exam～ …Saaame, I wish those tests weren't basically one bit puzzle.

Cater: And also… Oh, we're already back to our rooms. Okay, night～

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Cater's Room]

Cater: …Whew, finally I'm back.

Cater: I wasn't able to check Magicam while I was in the shower, so I should do that now.

Cater: Oh, looks like some of my old posts are getting likes too. I'm glad people are still seeing what I posted ages ago.

Cater: There's a few comments, too… Ugh, this question is waaay too long.

Cater: Not to mention, half of what they're saying has nothing to do with their question, they're just gabbing on about themselves. Ugggh… It's gonna be a pain to respond…

Cater: But if I leave it for later, I'll want to reply even less～ Guess I should give 'em a response ASAP then.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Cater's Room]

Cater: "Except, that eye mask was a limited-time item, so if it's already sold out, sorry." …And, send. Was that all of them?

Cater: Whew～ I finally finished responding to everything. Guess now I can go check out everyone else's posts.

[phone pings]

Cater: Huh, who's post is this on trending right… Hey, it's that one guy! I can't believe they got a cat.

Cater: "Your cat looks so soft and suuuuper cute～! Can't wait for more pictures!"

[phone pings]

Cater: Ooh, I like the picture of this guitar. I wanna try customizing like this, too.

Cater: "I can't believe you did all this yourself! I'd love to see the play-by-play of how you made it next time."

[phone pings]

Cater: What else is there…? Oh, hey, I've heard of this Magicammer before. Looks like their video giving a tour of their room is hot right now.

Cater: Woah, that's hella cute! Both the floor and wallpaper are done up so meticulously. The entire room's been designed to mesh well with everything～!

Cater: The little trinkets they have scattered around their room are also all the rage right now, so they might be a good reference to keep in mind. I'll give them a follow.

Cater: Maaan, I wish I had a cute, pastel room like this. I bet they get tons of likes.

Cater: Oh, yeah. I kinda left it 'cause I didn't really have anything to say, but… Guess I could write a suggestion here.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Cater: It's been more or less smooth-sailing ever since I got a single room, so I didn't think I'd really have any complaints…

Cater: But this place is a bit too chic for the kinds of photos I want to post on Magicam. Maybe it's more accurate to say it's cute in an old-fashioned way?

Cater: The colors in the room are more on the darker side, which makes the videos come out too dark…

Cater: And it's a pain always having to lug out my photography equipment each time. I'll just write "I want more attractive walls and floors."

Cater: Honestly, I'd love to be able to do a room tour or a day-in-the-life routine video...

Cater: But I bet there'd be a ton of trouble I could get into when it comes to everyone's privacy if I'm shooting in and around the dorm, so that'd probably be impossible while I'm still attending school.

Cater: Mmkay, then… I'm already ready for bed, so I guess I'll just go to sleep early, ready to tackle the day tomorrow.

[fwumps into bed]

Cater: What time should I set my alarm for…? Oh, there's already a reply on my comment from earlier.

Cater: I should probably respond right away since they were also quick with it, huh… Hmm…

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Cater's Room]

[alarm rings]

Cater: Mmm… Mrrrnngh… Is it morning already…?

Cater: Yawn… What time did I even fall asleep last night?

Cater: I think I was replying to a comment I got wishing me a happy birthday right at midnight… Did I fall asleep in the middle of that?

Cater: Looks like a got a lot more comments after that, too. I need to respond… But before that, there's something else I need to do today.

Cater: Can't just laze about here! I need to go to the washroom and wash my face ASAP!

Cater: My face is washed, and I did my skin care routine… So, let's get started!

Cater: The photography lights are turned on, the reflector board is adjusted, and my phone is on the tripod…

Cater: The plushes in the background are… Good, they're settled nicely on the bed.

Cater: There's nothing in the shot that shouldn't be. Perf, time to start the video!

[phone pings]

Cater: Hey-o everyone, it's Cay-kun! Today, I'm going to show off some base makeup items that's been my go-to these days.

Cater: First up… Here's the UV primer that just came out on the first of this month! I know this has been all the rage lately.

Cater: I've been using this every day since I bought it the day it came out ♪

Cater: And you know what's the best thing about this primer…? It's got no reflective shine at all!

Cater: It's got a nice toning effect, and I think it works well with just a little bit of powder on days when you don't really need to spruce yourself up too much.

Cater: I've fallen in love with it, 'cause whenever I wanna take a pic on the fly, all I have to do is dab a little here and there with a tissue and it looks like I did myself up in proper makeup ♪

Cater: Aaand it rolls on so smoothly, too. I'll apply some now to show you what I mean, so keep your eyes on the screen!

[phone pings]

Cater: …Nice, video done.

Cater: I'll snap a few pictures in the afternoon during break and put together a comparison picture, then edit the video… I guess I'll be able to upload it the day after tomorrow.

Cater: I still have to think about some other stuff like the background music, but I should focus on finishing my makeup for now.

Cater: It's my birthday, so I think I'm leaning towards using some of my more cuter cosmetics… Oh, I know.

Cater: I found it! Here's the glitter eyeliner that I got as a part of that limited-edition holiday cosmetic set!

Cater: Both the package it came in and the glitter itself is waaaaay too cute. I'll draw the line with this, and snap a pic to see…

[snap!]

Cater: Nice, I can see the glitter glimmering around my eye. This'll give my birthday photos a little bit of a different feel from usual.

Cater: As for my hair… Eh, I guess it's going a little too far if I did something with that too. I'll just massage in a little bit of wax and just set it like usual…

Cater: Perf, looks good. Hmmm… I still have a bit of time, so I guess I'll reply to all the birthday comments I got earlier.

Cater: I still need to record a birthday video, and I bet there'll be a party, or at least a get-together with the Pop Music Club...

Cater: Eheheh, I can't wait. I think I'll have enough content to upload to Magicam for a while!

[Main Street]

[Cater chats with everyone]

Cater: Yaay, thanks everyone! …Hm?

Cater: Who's that I spy walking over there…? Oh, hey, it's Leona-kun!

Leona: Cater…! Tch, what'd I do to be this unlucky?

Cater: Ehhh, you really gonna act like that in front of the birthday boooy?

Cater: So, anywaaaay… Remember how you said yesterday that you couldn't possibly be rude and wish me well the day before my birthday?

Cater: Which meeeeeans… Since we've met the day oooooof…

Leona: Yeah, yeah, you don't gotta tell me twice. …......Happy birthday.

Cater: Ahahah, I really got you of all people to wish me a happy birthday! This is gonna be a great year!

Requested by @farfalla049.

[penvisions]

services requested {chapter four}

Pairing: Kept Man! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of your explosive interaction with Joel, you decide to get some space. He finds out in the middle of helping Ellie with something by the way of your mother bringing by a set of keys for him. Will he make it to the airport in time to tell you how sorry he is?

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, power dynamics, sexual undertones, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, light angst, mentions of infinitely (not joel or reader, mentions of past trauma, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, reader is depicted to have a manic anxiety attack, reader is terrified of flying, use of prescription drugs to sooth anxiety, airport rush scene bc come oooooon lol, masturbation (male), i think that's it!

A/N: so i'm moving forward with stuff to prepare for a hip surgery. it's been a long journey of just managing the pain and finally finding an answer to eradicating it. unfortunately, my insurance will not be covering the testing that determines if i'm a good candidate, so that will require me to pick up a few extra shifts. i've linked my kofi if anyone is feeling generous but there is no pressure or need to. dropping this and running to get back to school work, love y'all!

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The first deposit approval is staring you in the face. The payroll website that you use for your assistant and will be using for your own business once it’s all finalized and ready to operate is the only window open on your laptop.

Joel Miller – pending approval

It’s in bold since you haven’t pressed any buttons, any options. Because honestly? You’re at a loss as to what to do. You haven’t heard from the man since he all but berated you nearly a week ago. And the truth is that he had scared you when he did it. The way the whites of his eyes were visible in the faint light coming off of the streetlamps, the way he had raised his voice in almost a growl of frustration, the sheer size of him as he stalked into the house behind you.

Even if you knew, deep down in your very soul- he wouldn’t do anything to physically hurt you.

With a puff of your cheeks, you press a finger pad to the keyboard and press process deposit.

Sighing out your held breath, you move away from the laptop settled atop the desk and continue packing. Joel isn’t the only one going out of town, you reached out to a friend in California to go and work a guest spot at the independent shop they were opening. A break, a little breather to get out of a house all to yourself that you needed work done on to truly make the space yours.

You were too…everything right now to reach out to the man who you just paid to be in your services.

But you didn’t want to bother him, to agitate him, to make him feel any pressure about deciding what to do. Giving him the space and chance to make up his mind was both the polite and professional thing to do in this situation. That’s the comfort you told yourself in regards to your decision on how to handle the circumstances you found yourself in.

You’ve already taken his words and dissected them, going over them with your therapist. And she was right, he was reacting to the combination of outdated information and something from his own life. You want to forgive him, to move past it but it was going to take time, you know that. So you give him the space you know he needs, that you need to. As long as he apologizes, you know your heart will soften through the residual hurt and anger that you’ve already begun to work through.

Joel is staring at the dark screen of the new phone you sent. He’s plugged it in, the little charging symbol flashing at him before it disappears. He’s waiting now, for it to turn on. The code to synch up your schedule onto his calendar on a post it note alongside the password and username combination for him to long into the bank app to see the available funds on the work card you gave him with the contract. He hadn’t used it yet, feeling like he wasn’t worthy of the dollars and cents.

It hits him like a punch to the gut, when he see’s the bold words that spell out a phone call you’ve blocked off an entire hour for:

Case Attorney, parameters of protection. 2pm-3pm.

It’s nestled neatly among consultations and appointments that range from two hours to six hours, reminders to call and check supply orders and the status of the permits he’s already called after to secure timely dates. There are no dates blocked off, even if all there is listed on some appointments for nails, for hair, for everything and anything.

Busy. Always filling your time with something. And it all makes so much sense, if you’ve made a name for yourself, have the funds that you do.

He looks over at the blueprints for the house you finalized on, something you never mentioned until it was all set and done- inferring that this would be one the things he can handle for you in that initial meeting regarding the contract.

You were lonely, must be, he realizes it at the same time he feels it himself. He got so used to the daily conversations and interactions with you, the mundane tasks that didn’t feel so monotonous with you popping in and out of the house while they worked. Even just those first few days after the job was completed, you both continued to see each other. But now…

It’s been nearly a week since he’s seen you, more time since he’s interacted with you- like really, truly interacted with you. Since he yelled at you in your new home, demanded where your husband was and what role he would have in this agreement the two of you made. Joel likes to believe he’s got a level head atop his shoulders, but the truth is that he feels so all encompassing sometimes.

With Sarah, with Elle, with his brother- all three of them pull his heartstrings, strike the match of annoyance and anger, fuel his fierce protective side.

With a sigh, he pulls up your name in his messages. There is no previous thread, nothing transferred from his older phone due to the incapabilities of the new software. He isn’t sure how to reach out so he falls back on being professional. He settles with a summary of the good bones of your house, the suggested work being something he can more than aptly make a reality and then ends the message with a question for the best start date.

But you don’t respond, either busy or sleeping- he realizes the early hour and scolds himself. Of course you’re asleep, it’s only five in the morning. He sighs and looks out the window that his dresser is pushed up against. The sun is barely beginning to peak over the horizon, the sky a deep blue that a few stars shine in.

He startles when his phone beeps where he discarded it on the comforter.

A date, where the samples of what tile and paint you want will be left on the island in the kitchen for him. You’ll be busy with work most days, will probably miss him completely and he doesn’t think anything of it.

Until later that day when Ellie brings you up.

“Hey, I think I saw something about Grey going on a trip online.”

“What?” Joel does an amazing job of keeping his cool at the sudden news, the screwdriver in his hand drops and falls to the floor. Landing in the carpet with a dull thud before bouncing and hitting the top of his bare foot where he’s crouched down and fixing a loose shelf in one of Ellie’s bookcases. He hisses as it thunks, pain shooting across the muscles there and swelling immediately.

“It looks like she’s going to be a guest artist at a new place opening in LA.” Ellie says from where she’s cross legged in her desk chair, laptop open and displaying the piece of art she’s using as a reference for a project that’s due later in the week. She’s in one course this summer, going back to full time in the fall when that time of the year rolls around.

“She would’ve told me if she was going out of town.” At least he thinks you would, how else would he be able to begin working on the renovation of your home?

“I mean…are you sure about that with how things…?” Ellie hesitantly says, her brow furrowed in much the same way that Joel’s does, despite no direct blood relation.

“I…I would hope she would tell me, considering I have the blueprints for her house and the details of the renovation with a start date.” He picks the screwdriver back up and makes sure that his task is complete.

“Have you reached out?”

“…no.” He doesn’t turn to her, despite feeling her eyes on him from across the room.

“Well, there you go.”

“We leave in four days, there’s…”

A knock at the door has him whipping his head in that direction, completely blindsided by the direction of the conversation and someone calling upon him in the middle of the afternoon.

When he swings it open, your mother is standing there with a soft smile. She greets him, dangling a ring with three keys securely looped on it and announces that they’re for him.

“Grey left these for ya, said you’d need them to start on the job when you get back from Philly?” She pins him with a smirk, knowing she’s caught in the middle of something between the two of you. The higher pitch of your voice at the end of her sentence telling him that she’s looking for confirmation.

“Doin’ the reservations on her house.” He entertains her, though she probably already knows if she has the keys in her grip.

“Oh! That’s so lovely, you’ll do an amazing job just like you did with our house, I just know it.” She winks at him, offering the ring to him and plopping it in his palm when he holds it up. “Just make sure to lock the door back behind you and I’m sure she’s left a note of which lamp to leave on so the house doesn’t look empty at night.”

“Noticed she has a lot of late nights, I can definitely do that.” Joel feels his smile begin to melt the longer he realizes that your mother is talking so casually about the way he interacts with her daughter. How he’s watched you enough to notice certain mannerisms and routines.

Lydia stares at him over the threshold. Her sharp eyes finding the cracks in his demeanor, the effects of his harsh words, sleepless nights, and nose to the grind days. Joel’s heart beats steadily as she regards him, racketing up the longer the look lasts but especially when she gasps in the middle of her next sentence.

“She does normally, but- oh dear, she didn’t tell you?” The woman blinks and concerned wrinkles form in her brow and around her nose as she scrunches it in much the same way you do when you laugh.

“Tell me what?” Joel croaks, unable to dispel the anxiety and fear that bubbles up to fill his chest painfully. His breathing shallows as his mind works through all of the worst-case scenarios of you being in the hospital or something happening to you at the shop. His fingers tighten around the keys in his hand, the metal bites into the calluses from wielding tools his entire adult life.

“She’s gone to do a guest spot at a friend’s shop in LA for a few weeks. Manny is dropping her off right now, her flight leaves in a few hours.” Her announcement freezes time completely, Ellie was right. You were leaving without telling him. Running because he gave you a reason to.

“Shit.” He pockets the keys and shoves his feet into a pair of worn cowboy boots. Lydia moves aside quickly, avoiding him as he rushes past. His heart is pounding as he pictures you alone in the airport, swathed in one of the big, chunky cardigans that you favor. Shoving the keys into the ignition, the truck roars to life. Words from a past conversation echoing in his mind.

‘You look over at him and Joel feels his chest tighten as you smile sadly at him, lips barely lifting up.

“My parents are boarding.” He sees in the way you fiddle with your phone, fingers tapping long nails against the case, the way you focus completely on the screen. You’re nervous.

“Long flight, huh?” He set the roller in his grip down into the pan he’s poured a bit of paint in, making sure it’s not going to tip over before he wipes his hands on his stained jeans and gently pulls the phone from your grip. “Ain’t no use hyperfixatin’ on it. How long is the flight?”

“Something insane like fourteen hours. God, I couldn’t.”

“Not a fan of flyin?”

“Honestly? No, it turns me into a nervous wreck, I’d rather drive for three days to get somewhere than take a five hour flight.” You don’t meet his eyes, almost bashful at the admittance. But he watches you, sees the truth behind your words and he wants to pull you into a hug. But that would be a line, so he just reached out a hand to cup your shoulder as he moves around you, squeezing it in a quiet comfort.’

“Her flight takes off at gate 42A!” He waves a hand up through the open window to signal that he hears her shout, and his truck takes off down the street. “It’s a Delta flight!”

Ellie sidles up to Lydia with her arms crossed and a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, he’s got it baaaad.” Your mom says with a sweet laugh. Watching the way his taillights disappear around the street that runs perpendicular to the cul-de-sac.

“You have no idea.” Ellie shoves at her with an elbow, cackling at the way the woman scoffs in mock hurt and places a hand over her heart.

“Oh shut up, I didn’t even get you that hard.” She defends, shaking her head at the antics of her neighbor.

“Ellie, you little shit, I swear I shouldn’t invite you over for dinner. But I have a feeling your lovesick papa is gonna go as far as boarding a plane to fix whatever he did.” She tosses an arm over Ellie’s shoulders and tugs her close.

“Fuck, you’re right. He didn’t leave any money for food.” Her face falls and the words settle in.

“Alright, c’mon- I’ve got enchiladas comin’ out of the oven any minute now. Manny should be back soon too, she never lets us stay with her at the gate. She’s a tough cookie, that girl.”

“She really is,” Ellie makes sure to lock the door behind her and follows you mom across the street. “So what kinda enchiladas?”

Brakes screech as Joel comes to a harsh start in front of the valet stand. The logo for your airline hanging above the designated spot for pull overs and pickups. He jerks the gear shift into park, grabs a flannel from the back and shrugs it on as he rounds the front of the truck. He tosses the keys to the guy who looks up from his phone at the stand.

“Hello, sir, would you like long- or short-term parking today?” Joel pulls his wallet out from his back pocket and hands over his personal bank card. He’ll gladly pay anything out of pocket to mend the damage he’s done. He just wants to get to you before boarding begins. He got stuck in traffic, of course, making his little drive into an hour long deal that had his sighing heavily and hitting his fists to the steering wheel more times than he could count.

“Uh, whatever works. Short term shifts to longer after what- 24 hours?”

“That’s correct, sir.” The attendant tears off a receipt from a small printer, it’s got Joel’s name on it and the type of car he has. He’s ushering a quick thank you before rushing inside and going straight to the boards that show the departures. He whips his head back and forth, sweeping the area for arrows to direct him to the correct terminal that hosts your gate.

He’s just stepped onto the escalator to go up two floors when he spots a flash of sun glinting off of a watch. His chest tightens as he sees you standing out on the balcony for the floor he’s about to reach, putting out the butt of one cigarette and immediately move to light another. He can practically smell the smoke from it mixed with your perfume, and he takes a deep breath before an announcement calling for preboarding for your flight along with two others.

“Shit,” He mutters to himself as he gets to the top of the escalator. There’s a short line to go through security and they’re asking for boarding passes. He mentally steels himself, getting his wallet out and gritting his teeth as he approaches at the motion of the woman at the podium. He’s not the biggest fan of flying either, it’s always too cramped, too stuffy, it makes his anxiety bubble up. But you need him, more than he dislikes the very same thing as you do.

“Hi, I’d like to book a seat on the Los Angeles flight departing from gate 42A, ma’am.”

It’s been a shitty day, your morning client didn’t show up and the person who took the spot for a walk in wanted something too complicated for the time slot you had available. So you settled on a consultation instead. Anxiety steadily builds in your entire body, humming through you more efficiently than caffeine or the nutrient packed meal you had for lunch at your parents to keep you awake and moving. The bag you packed that morning sits beside you as you father drives you to the airport.

“No need to check the car in, when you’ve got me to help ya!”

“Dad, I really wouldn’t have minded. What if my return flight comes in super late or like really early?”

“Well, we ain’t workin’ too much these days, so shut up and drink your smoothie.”

“Well then.” You huff out a nervous laugh, the taste of peaches and passion fruit souring on your tongue as you take a big sip through the plastic straw.

“So,” He glances over at you as he signals to take the exit for the airport coming up in two miles. The highway is busy, right in the middle of the city. The word is drawn out, something riding the undercurrent of it and you look over at him with a raised brow.

“So?”

“Joel’s been a little distant since the remodel.”

“He’s busy, dad, running his own company and all.” You look back out the window, fingers trailing through the condensation on your plastic cup.

“Seems like he’s avoidin’ you, should you be over at ours.” And damn if your dad didn’t hit the nail on the head. You were both avoiding each other, too much brimming and needing to be dealt with but neither of you knowing how to begin to.

“No, we just…had a little miscommunication about the work he’s doing on my place.” A sliver of the truth is all you can offer, a little white lie.

“Hmm, okay. But don’t be too hard on him, he don’t have many people in his life ‘n he seems to have taken a liking to you.” Mulling over his words, you recall the way Joel once said that since his brother became so unreliable, he forfeited his only night out a week to go to the bar and decompress.

“Everything is okay, dad. I promise I’m not getting between you two. Invite him over if you wanna hang out with him.” Regret and guilt bubbles up, you truly didn’t mean to affect the way your parents and Joel interact. They were friends, all of them. You were simply the person who hired him as a handy man, the term kept man a little too close to the truth. But it lingers in the back of your mind. Joel is more than just a handy man, he’s someone who you talked to in the quiet moments and want to take care of.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if you did get between the two of us, never seem him look so…down. Maybe you could take him out to a nice dinner, don’t know when the last time anyone did something’ like that for him. He let’s your mom and me cook for him, sure, but it’s not the same. So stubborn on that front, but I’m sure you could convince him.”

You don’t exchange any more words as he pulls up to the drop off zone. With a kiss to your forehead and a crushing hug, he shoves you toward the entrance with a ‘now get outta here and go do your thing!’.

The nicotine was doing little to calm your nerves, you hated flying with passion.  It was one of the things you didn’t have the guts to handle, even if it was a normal part of life.

You put out the cigarette you just lit when you notice the tremors of your hand shaking it so much the ash rains down onto the concrete of the balcony. You walk as quickly as you can through the main throughfare you know your gate is off of. You’ve got the last boarding group, which gives you enough time to collect yourself. Your intensions of splashing water on your face and taking a few deep breaths completely derails when you see that the bathroom is empty and a sob lurches out of your chest. With shaking hands, you plop your duffel bag onto the wall that backs up to the entrance and lean back against it.

Your head is raised as you try to keep the tears at bay, but they leak out anyway, in hot streaks down your cheeks as you slide down the slick tile and thud heavily on your butt.

With a pounding heart, a heavy weight in your stomach and twitching nerves, you sit there in the bathroom and succumb to the tears. Public setting or not be damned.

The last time you were on a plane had been one of the clearest recollections of what hinted you toward what was going on with your now ex-husband. Someone who normally comforted you and got you through the few flights that had to be taken. The last time though…

‘Micah is staring at his phone as they call for boarding, your group the first due to first class. He said he wanted to treat you, make the ordeal a little easier since your nerves got the best of you. Letting out a deep breath, you go to reach for the strap of your duffel bag and sling it over a shoulder. The tickets are loaded individually on your phones, something that you didn’t think much about.

He’s so wrapped up in whatever is on the screen that he startles when you walk behind him and wrap your arms around his neck to whisper in his ear that they’re calling for your group.

“Jesus, Grey! Don’t be doing shit like that, seriously!” He’s up like a rocket, his phone screen locking. An apology falls from you, claiming you didn’t know he would react so badly. “It’s bad enough you turn into a literal child when it comes to flying, but it doesn’t mean you have to be all clingy and invade my personal space.”

All you can do is nod once, to let him know you hear him and acknowledge what he’s saying. Even if it hurts, even if it does nothing but rachet up the feeling of a balloon inflating impossibly large inside your chest, too big to fill into the small space and making the air in your lungs feel like a monumental task to breath in and out. He doesn’t reach for your hand or usher you ahead of him with a guiding hand on the small of your back. He almost makes it look as if the two of you aren’t even traveling together as he gets into the line, not bothering to wait for you while your boarding pass gets scanned and verified.

He's already seated in the row that will house you two for the next seven hours, a trip out to Philly for the next month. A bottle of water in his grip while he scrolls on his phone with that same concentration as before. And you hate the way that your heart mends a little when the plane begins to glide across the tarmac and Michah reaches over to tangle his fingers in your own.’

You’re so lost in your feelings and memories that you ignore the loud rush of stomping steps that burst into the bathroom. It’s probably just someone who got off of a flight or someone rushing before they board.  

“There you are,” You hear the sudden timbre of Joel’s southern drawl laced voice. Your head whips up to reveal your tear stained face slack in complete surprise.

“J-Joel? What- what are you doing here?” You roughly wipe the sleeve of your cardigan underneath an eye to dispel the wetness from your tears. His face softens from panicked to a sad smile as he kneels down in front of you and runs a hand over your mussed hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“You don’t like flyin’.” He cups the side of your face, thumb wiping the wetness there you didn’t manage to get yourself. You don’t flinch away from him as his eyes meet yours, even if a knot lodges itself in your throat.

“Well, yes, that’s correct but-“ You begin to shake your head, the last words he spoke to you hanging heavy in the air.

“Look, I know, okay? I know things are all out of sorts with us, but you…you needed someone and I’m here.” He’s unprepared for you to launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and your face burying into his chest. He lets out a little ‘oof’ as his butt makes contact with the tile but wraps his arms around your back all the same. The cherry of your perfume and the smoke from the cigarette fills his lungs and he feels like it’s the first full breath he’s taken since the past confrontation. His scent, spicy and woodsy overwhelms you as you embrace, doing much the same to you.

“You’re so stupid.” You whisper, lips brushing against the soft skin of his neck. The urge to bite into the tan expanse overtakes you and your lips purse at keeping the action securely in your mind.

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He’s completely serious, his voice barely a whisper in imitation of yours- not wanting to break the fragile moment. You can feel the guilt he carries in the firm way he holds you, in his very breath as you lean against him and move his chest as it rises and falls.

“You bought a flight to get through the line and into the terminal.”

“Guess that means we’re going to LA.”

“You leave for Philly in a few days.”

“Ellie is perfectly capable of flying out from here and I can always fly out from LA. I ain’t worried about that, I’m worried about you.” His confidence in the girl he raised obvious, pride in his tone as he realizes himself that she’s nearly grown as much as she will be.

“Shut up, you’re not real.”

“Real as you are, have a hard time believing it when you’re not around.”

“You can’t possibly be this flirty all the time, it’s not fair.”

“I’m gonna let you get away with sayin’ anything you want right now, cause you’re going through it.” He chuckles, his body shaking yours as he loses his composure at the things you have no filter for.

He’s pulling back slightly, his nose brushing your forehead and down your temple. Your breath hitches as you feel the jump in his heart beating in his chest, your eyes flashing up to meet his. Tension fills the bright room, bouncing off the tile and coursing through the air that almost sizzles between the very little space that separates your bodies. His hands are firm and wide on the whole of your back, fingers flexing as you glance down at his plus lips so- dizzyingly close.

The sound of someone entering the space and a shocked gasp as you jerking away from him suddenly, hands detangling from him as he moves slower to mirror your actions.

“Apologies, ma’am. Little pre-trip jitters is all.” Joel offers you a steady hand to stand, remaining on the floor until you’re back up on your feet, eyes trained on your boots. With a small grunt, he’s standing too and reaching for your bag as the woman scurries to one of the stalls and the lock clicks into place. The light music playing over the speakers pauses to announce the boarding for your flight and you two move together to exit the bathroom.

“It’s gonna be okay, I swear to you.” He’s pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, tickling you as his scruff brushes there. “Now let’s catch our flight.”

Joel watches quietly as you down two of the little shot bottles you purchased from the flight attendant the second she came around with the drink cart. He felt you reach for his hand the moment the plane began to taxi along the tarmac, your grip vice like as the aircraft built speed to take off. He tried not to clamp his hand around yours to give way his own discomfort at flying, wanting to ensure that you were tended to over himself. You were so tense still, your entire body rigid beside him.

He let you get him a bottle of water, though he had yet to crack the seal on it.

The window was closed, his body shieling you on the other side from the aisle, business class only holding two larger seats to a row. You had upgraded his seat and covered the cost so you two could be beside each other and he’s grateful, not even thinking of the original seat he may have gotten.

It’s well into the flight and he sees you bend down to dig into the duffel you insisted at having stored by your feet. The rattle of a pills in a translucent orange bottle draws his eyes from where he focused on cleaning the lenses of his thick framed glasses.

“These might make me a little sleepy, but, um, the rental car is through enterprise and the hotel is through a local place downtown.” He opens the water for you to down two pills, taking a sip before he twists the cap back on, shoulder warming as you lean against him, arm wrapped around his bicep and fingers tangling with his. It’s close, it’s contact, and he hopes you can’t hear the way his heart thuds in his chest as he pictures you doing so under less extreme circumstances. He worries he’s truly messed everything up, but you’re letting him be the support you need and that’s a big step in the right direction to mending what he almost burned down.

“I’ll make sure we get there safely, just worry about keeping calm. I got it, sweetheart.” The soft rumble of his voice sooths you, he knows as soon as your eyes drift shut and your breathing evens out.

Hours later, you begin to stir and feel marginally better. Everything is foggy through your sluggish mind, but you trust Joel to help you unbuckle from the seat as the plane finally comes to a stop after landing.

He does just as he promises, holding you securely to his side as you sleepily follow his guiding movements. The rental desk asks for the card on file and he’s leaning down and murmuring if he can dig it out of your bag slung over his shoulder. Your little hum of approval has him unzipping the side pocket before your voice reminds him that he needs to add himself down as a driver.

“Thank you, you and your wife enjoy your visit!”

The word slaps him in the face even as he tries to smile politely at the woman, turning away from the desk and guiding you over to the car. He secures you in the passenger seat before carefully placing your bag in the backseat.

“Sweetheart, what hotel did you book?” He watches as you pat yourself down, searching for something and then it clicks. Your phone. That’s in his own pocket, you pushed it into his hands back on the plane.

“I’ve got your phone here, Grey. I turned it on after we landed,” Joel hands it over and you blearily look down at the screen, little groans slipping past your lips as you sift through all the notifications to find what you were looking for. You turn it toward him and he sees the reservation, typing in the address listed in his own phone. He’ll text Ellie once everything is settled, more than the ‘landed safe’ he did as soon as the pilot turned off the fastened seatbelt sign.

As he turns the engine and maneuvers out of the parking lot and into the glittering city, he hears your phone ringing as it calls out.

“Hey momma, we made it.”

“Oh good! I assumed Joel managed to catch you, he rushed off so quickly.” Lydia’s voice chimes like tin through the line. “I’ve got Ellie over here, we’re playing monopoly and-“

“It’s late, let her go to bed.” You admonish and Joel smiles to himself at the concern you hold for his daughter thought you’ve yet to meet her.

“I’m fine! Glad you and dad are safe! Tell him he didn’t leave any food money!” Ellie’s loud voice causes you to pull the phone away from your ear and Joel smirks at the sight out of the corner of his eye.

“I think he heard ya, kid.” Your own sleepy smile softens the scene, making it more intimate in the close quarters of the cab. The rest of the call is at an appropriate volume and you assure her that you’ll make sure money gets sent over. As Joel signals to turn into the hotel entrance, you motion to the valet for him to stop at.

“Jus’ wanna sleep.” You mumble as you begin to disrobe, unaware of him freezing by the door as you do so. The skin you expose to him not even a thought as you hang your cardigan on the back of the chair at the desk and move to place your leggings there too. Your baggy shirt and underwear allowing for your legs to be on display, the ink that decorates them catching the low lights left on for those like you with late check ins. The snap of elastic as you unhook your bra is the last thing preventing you from laying down and you move toward the big bed to peel back the covers.

Slipping inside, you don’t even manage to get them over your body before you’re gone from the world and snoring softly.

Letting out the breath caught in his throat, Joel puts down the duffel bag and steps out of his cowboy boots before going into the bathroom. He hangs his head as his hands grip tight to the edge of the vanity in the large bathroom, a bathtub and glass panel shower filling the space. He dims the lights so they don’t sneak underneath the door, though he doubts you would stir at much right now.

He’s hard.

Arousal striking hot like a hook around his navel the second you began to take your clothes off and he feels like an old creep for the way his body chose to respond. You’re vulnerable, someone who trusts him to keep you safe. He wonders if he should go back down to the lobby and book himself a room, but…he doesn’t want to.

The shower doesn’t sputter to life as he turns the nob, it gently rains down instantly hot water and he groans as it runs over his exhausted muscles. He takes his time washing with the supplies already in the stall on a small alcove shelf. The same scent he recognizes from time spent with you, the hotel must’ve stocked your choice of products and he breaths in the comforting mix of lemon, cherry, and rose.

A hand drifts down to where he’s still hard between his legs, soap suds trailing down his body to envelop him completely in your scent and his breath sucks in the moment he wraps a wide palm around himself.

“Fuck.” He whispers, he’s really about to do this with you only one wall away. Fuck, he really is and it only takes him a few strokes before his orgasm blinds him, glittering stars of white clouding his vision as it buckles his knees and pulses out to paint the tiles. He’s panting heavily, the sensation almost too much as he pictures the way your legs looked, completely bare underneath your shirt. The little hint of your ass he got a good view of as you leaned over to pull the covers away from the bed.

The words of that particular clause in his contract float in his mind’s eye and he sucks in a deep breath. A decision on how to traverse that particular aspect of your relationship completely up to him. And god, does he want to keep up the casual and comforting touches, to feel the soft brush of your fingers against his own skin. But it’s okay, there’s time.

Damp and completely relaxed, Joel busies himself setting up the couch for him to sleep on with the extra blankets folded in the closet. He’s about to turn the light own by the side of the bed you aren’t occupying when he hears the hush of the sheets. Looking up, he sees you reaching out to him blindly.

“Come to bed, Joel.”

And damn, if he can’t argue with the soft timbre of your sleep voice and the pout of your lips as you lay in the big bed all alone. He looks over to where his shirt rests on the desk and walks over to shrug it back on before he slides underneath the covers beside you. The small huff of your breath as you doze back off and the gentle smile on your pretty lips eases him into a peaceful sleep.

You wake up to the sound of loud snoring, startling you where you’re curled up in the covers pulled up to your chin. Your eyes snap open as you take in a deep breath, the waking world shocking you as you spy tousled hair on the pillow beside you. Steaked with dark and light greys, but he’s the source of the sound that woke you.

Despite that, you bite down on your bottom lip as you take in the way he kept to his side of the large bed and slide out to go to the bathroom. The shower is amazing, the hot water rinsing away the last of the sleep that clings to you, a combination of the way you worked yourself up and the medication. You’re reaching to wash the conditioner from your hair when a soft knock sounds on the closed door.

“Hey, uh, I don’t mean to intrude, but nature calls.” Joel’s voice calls over the rush of water and you freeze.

“Oh, um, okay. The shower is clear, but it’s fogged up enough-“

“Ain’t gonna look, I promise.” And then the door is opening and Joel’s blurry figure can be seen through the mist. But you do. His hand is secure over his crotch and you realize he’s trying to cover the way his morning wood is tucked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. You quickly look away, arousal zinging through you as you do your best to ignore the sounds of him relieving himself.

He’s careful with flushing and washing his hands, not wanting to affect the temperature of your shower but it doesn’t even register as you do your best to avoid the weight his quick glance puts on your skin before he’s gone- just as quick as he appeared.

The rest of the morning is spent getting breakfast down in the restaurant, the conversation flowing easily as you both go over switching his flight for Philly to leave from LA instead of Austin. Money is sent over to Ellie and as you load up into the rental to hit up some shops for supplies you need to live out of the hotel room, Joel reaches for your hands and holds them gently.

“Hey,” He catches your eyes, the nerves he feels swelling up mirrored in your eyes.

“Joel, it’s okay, really. You- you didn’t know.” You try to pull your hands back and he lets you, curling them back to himself as he watches you switch your weight from one foot to the other.

“No, I didn’t. But I should’ve have come at you like that, it was…it was mighty unprofessional of me to do that. I was in the wrong and you didn’t deserve to catch the weight of how I responded to thinking you were married.” His words are genuine, carrying the guilt he feels over the way things unraveled and you exhale heavily.

“It…it wasn’t good, to hear those words come from you. Those accusations, but I understand how it might have looked, really. I just- Joel, I only ever wanted to help you, please trust me. My- the reason I moved my entire life is huge, and I was going to share it with you when I could find the courage.”

“You don’t have to, even now. I swear to you, your business and past is your own. I just want you to be okay, to be safe. That’s the most important thing.” You step up to him to carefully wrap your arms around his middle and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek despite the flutter in your chest and the slight shake to your hands.

“I’m okay, for the most part. But you’re…Joel, you’re amazing. You really didn’t have to alter your own plans to travel with me and to do everything you have since we left yesterday. I appreciate it, I appreciate you.” His own hands come up around your back to return the embrace, the causal touch lighting you up just as much as seeing him through the fogged up glass paneling of the shower this morning. He’s just so…handsome that it’s a little hard to reconcile that he’s here with you, that he’s feeling more like a friend and less like the man who you initially hired to help you out. The lines blurring the more time you spend with him, the attraction blooming and gaining a heated weight that’s harder and harder to shake from your body.

“I appreciate you too, sweetheart. It’s…it’s okay that I’ve been callin’ you that, right?” He suddenly looks bashful as you step back. And hope swells, that he might possibly feel the same effects as you do being in each other’s space. He’s asking more if everything is okay, you realize, not just the nickname he’s given you and you pause. He’s done so much the last few days, literally coming to your rescue as you fell apart in the very public bathroom of an airport terminal. He’s done more than enough to show how sorry he is and you don’t feel like his words were anything but an immediate reaction to something stemming from his own past. But you don’t push on that, just like he’s not pushing you now.

“Yes, of course.” You assure him, smiling softly as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s go get you some clothes for the next two days, yeah?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” The smile he gives you in return is disarming and you feel your stomach swoop.

“Okay, so I got the shuttle times for you, since you insisted. It’ll be here at-“ Your words trail off as you see him sitting on the large bed, his hands are in his lap though you note the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists atop his thighs. He looks a little startled at your sudden entrance, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

“Wanted to get you something, spent my own money on it. I hope you like it.” The scent of the bouquet on the desk that he approaches now fills the room in a pleasant way, mingling with the cologne he favors and your own perfume. A wonderful mixture of you both in the space you’ll be occupying for the next few weeks. Sadness flairs up when you realize it will fade as soon as he’s gone. “Tried to keep it a secret until I could surprise you with it.”

“What other secrets are you hiding, hmm, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is raspy, the display of the petals over the bed where a new cardigan in a fancy box sits partially open for you to see the soft muted green of the fabric. A gift, to make up for the things you’ve already decided to move past.

“Jus’ Joel, how many times do I gotta-“

“But I respect you, Mr. Miller. Don't you want me to show how highly I regard you?” The air in the room shifts as does the pitch of your voice.

“Just a workin' man, always have been, ain't nothin' special.” He’s not looking at you, pink tinging his ears and the base of his neck as he looks down at the jeans he’s originally rushed out of the house in.  

“Joel,” The sound of his name releases on a breathy sigh as you begin to saunter up to where he's leaning his backside on the desk, errant petals surround him, covers him in places he hadn't patted them away from. The rugged, worn denim hugging his frame, his plain, paint spotted t-shirt displaying the muscles he's built over the years of his life. He didn’t want to fly in the things purchased earlier that day, opting to keep them in the new bag he’s got to take with him on his trip. He's a tasty looking man, and no one else is around. You can't help the pulse of desire that lances underneath your skin, lighting you up in a way you hadn't felt in ages. the piercing gaze he pins you with even as you see the bob of a harsh swallow in his throat, the pursing of his lips as he tries to keep his calm the closer you get to him.

The air is thick, heady, tension crackling and making every other sound soft as you finally step into his space. Right in front of him, you have to look up slightly because of his height, his curls so soft underneath your exploring fingers as you reach out and pet them away from his face, the longer ones having fallen to frame his gorgeous face. You can see the moment his eyes dilate, darken as your tongue peeks out to lick over your bottom lip, the way your teeth sink into the plush give of it as you tangle fingers into his curls and the scratch of your nails on his scalp. A groan sounds deep in his chest, his own lips parting as it sits in the air between you. the sound spurring you on as you rest your other hand delicately on his chest, feeling the hardness of muscle there hidden beneath the thin fabric.

“I shouldn’t want to, I really shouldn’t with how things are and who your parents are.”

“Shouldn’t want to what?” Your heart thunders in your chest, his eyes trained on you with such intensity.

Hope swells, filling your chest where you can’t seem to get enough of the heavy air into your lungs.

“Shouldn’t wanna do this.” And then his hands are cradling the back of your head and the curve of your jaw as he leans down to press his lips firmly to yours.

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[gdinthehouseee]

Neon Secrets - Part 2: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after management scolding the two of you for sneaking out, you were both distancing yourselves from each other. so what happens when ji-yong finally lets his jealousy boil over after seeing another male idol get close with you?

word count: 6534

tags: angst to fluff; miscommunication, jealousy, alcohol consumption

ao3 link | part 1

Tension was thick in the stark white meeting room. You were sitting with your hands folded in your lap, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t quite process. Ji-yong sat beside you, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found, replaced by a deafening silence. Across from the both of you, a manager from YGE paced back and forth, his face a picture of frustration.

“Do you two have any idea how this looks?” The manager snapped, his voice tight with anger. “A viral video of you two sneaking out, running to a car like you're just out for a joyride? What on earth were you thinking?”

You felt the weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could you say? What could you even explain? Neither of you had meant for it to go viral; all you wanted was to get away for a few minutes—nothing more, nothing less. But clearly, you had misjudged how public your little escape would be.

Ji-yong finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost measured. “We didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just... spontaneous. We didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Their manager shot him a sharp, incredulous look. “Spontaneous or not, this is an image nightmare. You two are supposed to be setting an example, not acting like rebellious teenagers!”

“We didn’t even see anyone. How could we have known?” Ji-yong continued.

“That’s even worse!” The manager blew up, throwing his arms up in anger. Naturally, it made you flinch and Ji-yong noticed from the corner of his eye. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, you could feel your stomach knotting the longer you sat in the hard, wooden chair. You had never been the type to make waves or step outside the rules. The reality of what you had done was sinking in. In the same way you could feel yourself sinking under the weight of the manager’s gaze, but it wasn’t the manager’s disappointment that stung the most. It was the quiet tension coming from Ji-yong. He hadn’t said much else since he’d sat down.

As the manager continued to scold the both of you, the words blurred together in the background. All you could focus on was Ji-yong, who had become uncharacteristically silent. His jaw was clenched, his eyes lowered to the table. You had always known him to be confident, even cocky at times, but now? Now he seemed like a stranger. He was angry, maybe even disappointed in you.

When the manager finally stopped pacing and shot you both one last glare, he spoke in a more controlled tone. “This better not happen again. Lay low. The last thing we need is more negative attention. We’re on a tight schedule now, so you two better stay out of trouble.”

Ji-yong nodded stiffly, but didn’t say a word. The manager gave one last disappointed look before walking out of the room, leaving the two of you in suffocating silence.

The door clicked shut, and you just couldn’t bear it anymore. You glanced over at Ji-yong, expecting him to say something, but he just sat there, his face unreadable. You tried to meet his eyes, but he was looking anywhere but at you. This can’t be good.

Your chest tightened. This wasn’t just about the video anymore. This was about the distance between the two of you that had grown in the past few days—the distance neither of you could quite explain. He had always been so easy to talk to, so carefree, but now... he was silent, distant, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m... I’m sorry, Ji. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to get us into trouble.”

He didn’t respond, and that silence was louder than anything. Your heart sank, and a heavy, sickly feeling settled in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time you’d gotten into trouble, but this felt different. This wasn’t right: it felt like something was broken. 

Assuming he was mad at you, you pulled your hands back and looked away, feeling the need to distance yourself. You definitely didn’t want to make things worse, and if he was angry, it would be better to give him space.

Without saying another word, you stood up from your chair. “I think... I think I’ll go,” you mumbled, before turning and walking toward the door. You heard Ji-yong shift in his seat but didn’t wait to see if he was going to say anything.

You were already out the door before you had time to second-guess herself.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Ji-yong stayed rooted to his seat, his body frozen in place. The silence in the room was truly deafening now, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He had barely registered the manager’s words, too focused on the fact that you had distanced yourself from him—you had turned away without a second glance.

It was all his fault. He had wanted to say something, to speak up and tell the manager off for scolding you and making you flinch like that, but he couldn’t find the words. He was angry, yes, but not at you. It was never at you. He was angry at himself. Angry at the way he had let this situation spiral out of control, angry at how helpless he felt. He had been watching you from the corner of his eye, watching your shoulders tighten as the manager yelled at you, and it was eating him up inside.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even comfort you. He wanted to tell you how much he hated seeing you like this, how much it hurt him that you were apologizing for something that wasn’t even your fault. He wanted to reach out and say it didn’t matter what anyone else thought—he didn’t care about the viral video, the managers, or the consequences. All he cared about was you.

But he hadn’t said any of that. He hadn’t said a word. He had sat there in silence, fuming at the injustice of it all, and then watched you walk away.

Ji-yong ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table. The anger he felt was like a knot in his chest, a mix of frustration at himself and something else—something deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until now.

He was angry because he wanted nothing more than to tell you how he felt. How much he admired you, how much he cared for you, how he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. Every time he tried to open his mouth, the words caught in his throat. It felt too risky, too vulnerable. What if he ruined everything between the two of you? What if telling you how he really felt only pushed you away even more?

He exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He had wanted to keep things light, to pretend that everything was easy and carefree. But now... now he couldn’t deny it. There was something real between you two, something that had been building long before that night you snuck out together. And it was becoming impossible to ignore.

But he had waited too long. He had waited until the damage was done, until the silence between you had grown so thick that he didn’t know how to break it. Now, he was alone with his regrets, and all he could do was watch as the distance continued to widen. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you everything he had been holding back, but he couldn’t. He had already messed this up.

And maybe it was already too late.

The silence in your own room was suffocating. Staring at your phone, you sat on your bed, but your mind was elsewhere—lost in a whirlwind of guilt and uncertainty. Ever since that night, you had avoided Ji-yong, unable to shake the feeling that you had messed everything up.

You hadn’t seen him at all since that meeting, and honestly, it felt like the universe was conspiring to keep you apart. He hadn’t sought you out. And you? You couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Every time you thought about talking to him, the overwhelming fear of rejection crept in. What if he was angry with you? What if he didn’t want to talk at all? What if he never wanted to see you again?

The thought made your stomach twist, and you felt the familiar pang of regret.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, but you didn’t move to check it. Then, there was a soft knock at the door before it slowly opened, and Taeyang’s head peeked inside. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’ve been in here for a while. Everything okay?”

You didn’t have the words to respond right away. Your chest felt like it might close in on itself, and the thought of speaking to anyone about what was going on inside you felt too vulnerable for your liking. 

“I’m fine,” you said finally. Despite the way your voice was shaking, as if you weren’t just trying to convince him. 

Taeyang stepped inside and closed the door behind him, a slight frown on his face as he sat down next to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder as a casual, reassuring gesture. “You sure? You’re not really acting like yourself lately, and it’s hard to ignore. You’ve been avoiding everyone, especially Ji-yong.”

You bit her lip, looking away from him as your mind raced. The thought of Ji-yong made your heart ache, but there was something about it all that felt too complicated to resolve.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve messed everything up, Taeyang. Everyone here knows we both got in trouble with management, and I’m sure he’s upset with me for making him part of this mess.”

He sighed, a touch of frustration creeping into his tone. “You’re wrong, you know that? Ji-yong’s not angry at you. He’s just… he’s been trying to figure out how to deal with all this, just like you have.”

Unconvinced, you shook your head. “But he’s been avoiding me. I’m sure he regrets everything that happened. And now it’s like… everything is different. He probably doesn’t even like me anymore.”

There was a pause before Taeyang spoke again, softer this time. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t know that for sure. If you keep avoiding him, it’ll only make things worse. You have to talk to him, and you have to stop assuming everything’s falling apart before you even try.”

Just as you were about to respond, the door opened again, and a manager stepped inside, clipboard and various papers in hand.

“Ah, good, you’re in here,” she began. “I’ve got some news for you. You and the girls are scheduled for a variety show tomorrow. You’ll need to be ready for the filming in the morning. I’ll send someone to get you for makeup and wardrobe early, so don’t be late.”

The manager didn’t wait for a response, nodding at Taeyang before leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and for a long moment, the reader and Taeyang sat in silence.

“Good to know you’re not blacklisted from the media, I guess.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Tomorrow,” you murmured to yourself, still processing what the manager had said. Your thoughts were swirling, but ideas started to piece together in your mind like clockwork. 

You looked at Taeyang, seeming more uplifted now. “Okay, I think I know what I’m going to do.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “What’s that?”

“I’ll talk to Ji-yong after the variety show,” you said, your voice more confident than it had been in days. “I won’t run away from it anymore. But… I’ll do it after we’ve gotten through the show. Once everything settles down, I’ll find him, and we’ll talk. I won’t leave it hanging any longer.”

He gave you a small, approving smile. “I think that’s a good plan. Just don’t wait too long, okay? And don’t let fear keep you from talking to him. It’ll only make things harder if you keep avoiding it.”

“I won’t,” you promised, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “Thank you, Taeyang. I needed to hear that.”

He patted your shoulder again, standing up to leave. “I’m glad I could help. Remember, we’re all rooting for you. And, hey. Things are gonna go better than you might think.” He gave you a friendly wink and dipped out of the room. Was there something else he hadn’t shared with you on purpose? 

As the door clicked shut behind him, you sat for a moment, your heart still racing. Tomorrow, everything will change. You would face Ji-yong, have that conversation, and—hopefully—clear the air. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the first step.

And for the first time in days, you felt like you finally had control over something.

The next morning, you stood in front of your mirror, applying light makeup in a daze. Naturally, your mind kept drifting back to the night the video had gone viral—the way it spread like wildfire across social media, the comments, the hashtags, the endless reposts. Everywhere you looked, there it was: a short clip of you and Ji-yong running to the car, pure happiness in your eyes, the excitement of your shared secret clear on your faces. To the world, it was just an innocent moment of two idols sneaking out for a bit of fun. But to you, it was the beginning of something much deeper.

You had been trying to avoid looking at the video, but no matter where you turned, there it was—fan edits popping up on your feed, reposted by fans who were obsessed with the idea of you and Ji-yong together. The captions ranged from lighthearted teasing to fans sharing their hope for you to “find happiness with him,” all with colorful hearts and bright emojis filling the comments.

But it was hard to ignore how everything felt so different now. The more you scrolled through those edits, the more the weight of it all sank in. You could feel the eyes of the world on you. In every edit, Ji-yong looked so carefree, so happy—something you hadn’t seen in days. Meanwhile, you felt the typical tightness in your chest, the shame that you’d somehow ruined whatever was between the two of you. Every comment that supported this ship felt like a reminder of the mess you had made.

As the final edit appeared—a slowed-down clip of the moment with soft background music—you quickly closed your phone, fingers trembling. There was no denying it anymore. This was bigger than just you and Ji-yong. The world had their eyes on both of you now, and the weight of it was suffocating.

When the manager from last night reappeared in your room to collect you, the other members of your group behind her, you got up with a newfound determination and followed them down to the car, desperately trying to ignore the way the boys watched you leave.

You had thrown yourself into your work all day today, your heart racing as the clock ticked down the time until you were ready to finally talk to Ji-yong again. With full transparency and honesty. What’s the worst that could happen?

You had barely thought about the hot, new male idol that was sitting a little too close to you during the shoot. 

Later that night, the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV screen the only source of light. Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang were scattered across the couch and chairs, lazily flipping through channels as they waited for the variety show to start.

Ji-yong sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed as he stared at the television screen. When today’s episode had begun playing, Seunghyun, Taeyang, and Daesung were watching with amused expressions, while Ji-yong barely paid attention to anything but you.

There you were, sitting among your group members, your smile as bright as ever—but he could see it. The difference. The way it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you laughed at the host’s jokes but it seemed just a little too rehearsed.

“She looks so good,” Daesung commented casually, but his eyes flicked toward Ji-yong with curiosity. “Don’t you think?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond. He just tightened his jaw, gripping his own arm to keep himself still as the scene changed—only for his stomach to drop when the male idol group appeared on screen, taking their seats beside you.

He sat on the edge of the couch, his posture rigid, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. His gaze was fixed on the screen, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched whenever the camera cut to the reader on the show. The others noticed immediately, exchanging glances.

“Hey, Ji,” Seunghyun said, leaning back, trying to get his attention. “You okay?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond again. His eyes were still on the screen, but his lips pressed together in a thin line and barely blinking.

The camera zoomed in on you, showing a clip of you laughing with one of the male idols from the opposite group. The guy was leaning in a little too close, making you laugh with something he said.

Daesung noticed Ji-yong’s stiff posture, his eyes narrowing at the screen. He nudged Taeyang with his elbow. “Uh-oh. Someone’s jealous.”

Taeyang grinned but said nothing, watching as Ji-yong’s expression darkened.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow. “You know, he hasn’t said a word since the show started. Something’s up.”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, his gaze never leaving the screen.

“Uh-huh.” Seunghyun didn’t believe him for a second. “Are you sure about that?”

He opted to remain silent, even though his leg began bouncing with his anxiety truly kicking in, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the armrest.

On-screen, the man put his arm around your shoulder, and you smiled up at him in a way that made Ji-yong’s chest tighten.

Taeyang leaned forward, raising his voice a little. “You’re really gonna sit here and act like you don’t care?”

Ji-yong’s gaze flicked to him briefly before going back to the screen. “I don’t,” he said flatly. “It’s just a variety show.”

“You’ve been pretty quiet, man. What’s going on?” Seunghyun leaned forward.

Daesung chuckled softly. “Yeah, Ji, you’re looking like you might implode.”

Ji-yong clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as the male idol leaned even closer to the reader, his fingers brushing against her arm.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, though he couldn’t even convince himself of that.

Taeyang took a moment to observe his friend before glancing at the others. “You know, you could use a break. You’ve been watching this show and stewing in your thoughts all night.”

Ji-yong shot him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

Taeyang stood up, stretching his arms out. “Like Daesung just said, you’ve got that ‘about to blow up’ look, man. How about we head out for a bit? Get some air, clear your head?”

“I like that idea. You’re clearly not gonna calm down until you get this off your mind.” Seunghyun agreed.

Taeyang nodded, his expression turning more serious before he kept talking. “And once you’re not so wound up, we can help you sort things out, Ji. We’ll be here to back you up.”

He hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking back to the TV, where you were now smiling at the man, your hand resting on his arm. Ji-yong felt sick to his stomach.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off, but the way his friends were watching him, the concern in their eyes, made him finally sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang exchanged proud looks.

“Great,” Taeyang said, clapping his hands together. “Get your coat, Ji. Let’s get you out of this funk.”

Ji-yong stood, brushing off his jacket. As they left the room, his stomach churned again. But maybe, just maybe, getting out of his head for a bit was what he needed to figure out how to handle what was building up inside him. Finally, figure out how to break the silence between the two of you.

“We’ll help you with this situation when you’re ready, man. But you need to clear your mind first.” Seunghyun told him softly, he hated seeing his best friend so worked up over something that could have been easily fixed if it weren’t for his anxiety and the miscommunication that happened between the two of you. Ji-yong didn’t respond, but he appreciated it more than he let on.

Turns out, the club had been exactly what Ji-yong needed—at least, for a little while.

With the bass thrumming through his chest and a drink in his hand, he felt lighter than he had in days. The guys had been right—being out, laughing, and letting loose was enough to clear his mind, even if just temporarily. He wasn’t thinking about the variety show, the viral video, or the way you had been avoiding him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was just Ji-yong, out with his best friends, not weighed down by the mess in his head.

He laughed as Daesung dramatically butchered the lyrics to the song playing, and he clinked glasses with Seunghyun, who smirked over the rim of his drink. Even Taeyang, who had been keeping a careful eye on him all night, finally seemed satisfied that Ji-yong wasn’t sulking anymore. For a moment, everything felt fine.

And then, it didn’t.

The second he turned toward the entrance, his heart jumped.

You.

You had just walked in, looking effortlessly stunning, your eyes quickly scanning over the crowd as you and your group made your way inside. Ji-yong felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest, a natural reaction he could never seem to control when it came to you. But just as quickly as it came, that warmth turned cold.

Right beside you, close enough that your arms nearly brushed, was him. 

Ji-yong’s grip on his drink tightened as he watched the same male idol from the variety show lean in, saying something in your ear. You laughed—really laughed—like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

His night had just gone from the best he’d had in a while to completely ruined. Ji-yong’s stomach twisted. Up close, it was so much worse.

He could see everything now—the way the man leaned in just enough that your shoulders touched, the way he spoke to you with an easy confidence. But what made his heart sink the most was you. You weren’t brushing the guy off. You weren’t shifting away or rolling your eyes like you sometimes did when she was uninterested. You were smiling, laughing like you were actually enjoying his company. And for the first time, Ji-yong felt something ugly crawl up his spine. Was this what you wanted? Was this why you had been avoiding him? While he had been sitting around, overthinking, missing you, regretting every moment of silence between them, had you already moved on? His fingers curled into fists at his sides, an unfamiliar bitterness rising in his throat. He wanted to look away, wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop wishing that, just once, you would look up—look at him—and give him a sign that he hadn’t already lost you.

Taeyang must have noticed the shift because he sighed beside him. “Ji—”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, downing the rest of his drink. But even he didn’t believe that. For the first time since you had started avoiding each other, he wasn’t wondering whether you were upset over him. Now, he was wondering if maybe you weren’t upset at all. And he hated how much that possibility made his chest ache.

“You’ve been staring at her for the past ten minutes,” Seunghyun said, swirling the alcohol in his glass. “Not very subtle, Ji.”

Daesung let out a low whistle. “Look at that. She’s laughing. At his joke.” He nudged Taeyang with his elbow, giving each other knowing, wary looks before looking back at Ji-yong. “That’s gotta sting.”

Ji-yong tore his gaze away long enough to shoot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He exhaled sharply, downed another drink, and set his glass down with a clink. “You know what?” He pushed himself up from the booth. “I’m done with this.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly are you planning to do?”

Ji-yong ignored him, already striding towards you.

The moment he approached, the male idol’s gaze lifted, eyes widening in recognition. “Oh, wow—you’re G-Dragon.” Ji-yong barely had time to speak before the guy extended a hand, grinning. “I’m a huge fan. Your music’s been a big inspiration to me.”

You tensed beside him, clearly picking up on Ji-yong’s mood shift. Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just the fact that he was here—it was the way he looked. His usual sharp confidence was there, but beneath it, something was off. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unwavering and intense, but there was a slight unsteadiness in his steps, the telltale looseness in his posture that only came when he’d had too much to drink. Had he been drinking because of you? You hadn’t spoken to him in days, especially convincing yourself he was mad at you, that you had ruined things between the two of you. But now, standing under the flashing lights, you could feel the weight of his gaze like a burning imprint on your skin. He barely spared a glance at the idol beside her, his focus entirely on you, and for a second, the rest of the club faded into background noise. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Why was he looking at you like that? And why did it feel like, even in a crowded room, he was the only one who could make you feel like this?

After zoning out for a second, you noticed Ji-yong took the handshake, but his grip was too firm, his expression unreadable. “That’s nice,” he said coolly. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the guy. “But I think you’re getting a little too comfortable with what’s mine.”

The male idol blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“What?” You couldn’t help but blurt it out. 

But before you could say anything else, Ji-yong moved without thinking, casually draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough to make his point clear.

The male idol awkwardly glanced between you. “Uh—I’ll catch you later,” he mumbled before making a quick exit.

Ji-yong smirked, watching him leave. Good.

But when he turned back to you, your expression was far from pleased. You stepped out of his grasp. “What the hell was that?”

Ji-yong shrugged. “Just making sure he knows his place.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “His place? You don’t get to do that, Ji-yong. You don’t get to act like—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

“No, go on,” he said, tilting his head. “Act like what?”

Like you care. Like you still want me.

You huffed, clearly not willing to have this conversation here. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the exit.

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang had been watching the whole thing unfold from their booth, amusement clear on their faces.

“Well,” Taeyang said, raising his drink. “This just got interesting.”

“Should we follow?” Daesung asked.

Seunghyun smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

By the time you reached outside, the cool night air did little to calm the heat between Ji-yong and you. The moment you were alone, you turned to face him, arms crossed, frustration clear in your expression.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. “You have no right to get jealous over who I talk to.”

He scoffed. “Jealous? You think I’m jealous of him?”

“Weren’t you?” You challenged. “Because that’s sure what it looked like.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

Ji-yong stepped closer, his voice lower this time. “That I don’t like seeing you with him. That I hate the way he looks at you, the way you smile at him—like he actually has a chance.”

You froze. The words hung in the air between them, too heavy to ignore.

But he wasn’t done.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair as his frustration spilled over. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you act like I don’t exist, like what we had—what we have—doesn’t mean anything?” His voice wavered slightly, and for a second, he looked almost exhausted, like holding everything in had been weighing him down for too long. “I tried to stay away, I really did. I told myself that if you needed space, I’d give it to you. But then I see you with him, and it’s like—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. “It’s like I was stupid for ever thinking I could just let you go.”

Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step back. “Ji-yong, you’re drunk,” you said, shaking your head. “You don’t mean any of this.”

His expression hardened instantly. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice firm. “Don’t act like this is just the alcohol talking.”

You hesitated, forcing yourself to really look at him. He was tipsy, sure—you could tell from the way his movements were a little too loose, the way his emotions weren’t as carefully controlled as usual. But his eyes—his eyes were clear. Sharp with frustration, dark with something deeper. The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up.

He meant it. Every single word. And that terrified you. 

So why could you practically hear your heartbeat? Your heart fluttered at the possibility of finally getting him back. The truth was, there had never been anyone else. Not even for a second. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that keeping your distance from Ji-yong was the right thing to do, no matter how much you told yourself he was probably mad at you, that you had ruined things, it had never changed one simple fact—you were in love with him. You had been for longer than you were willing to admit, and nothing—not time, not silence, not even the presence of someone else—had ever come close to changing that. The male idol had been nothing more than a distraction, a way to pretend, just for a moment, that you weren’t still aching for Ji-yong. But standing here now, with him looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered, you knew there was no more running from it. There had never been another option. It had always been him.

Ji-yong could feel eyes on them. He glanced to the side and spotted the rest of the members from your respective groups watching from just outside the club entrance. Fantastic.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck it.”

Then, before you could react, he closed the distance between you.

An excited gasp echoed from the group behind them, followed by Daesung muttering, “Oh my god.”

Ji-yong didn’t care.

The moment your lips met, the rest of the world faded—the club music, the street noise, everything. It was just you. The way you tensed for half a second, like you couldn’t believe this was really happening, before you gave in, melting into him like you had been waiting for this all along. The way your breath hitched against his lips, your fingers instinctively gripping his jacket as if you were afraid he might slip away. 

His hands were steady, one cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as if memorizing the shape of you, the other settling at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips were warm, urgent but unhurried, like he wanted to take his time, like he had been starving for this but was determined to savor every second. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and the heat that shot through you made your knees weaken. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a confession, a plea, an apology, a promise all at once. And as your heart pounded against your ribs, matching the wild rhythm of his, you knew—there was no going back now.

When he finally pulled away, he searched your eyes, waiting for a reaction. You just stood there, lips parted, heartbeat hammering in your chest. Their groups stood frozen in shock, waiting for what would happen next.

Ji-yong swallowed hard. “Say something.”

Would you push him away? Would you yell at him? Would you—

Hands still gripping his jacket, you pulled him back in. 

The kiss lingers, but only for a moment longer than either of you intended. It feels like time slows down—neither of you rushing to pull away, as if savoring the shift in everything. Ji-yong's hand still rests at your waist, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. His other hand, however, seems unsure of where to go, hovering for a second before gently cupping your cheek.

You both pull away just slightly, your faces still close, and Ji-yong’s breath comes a little heavier than before. His eyes flicker to your lips, like he’s thinking about kissing you again, but he hesitates.

"Well," he says with a playful grin, "that was definitely not in the plan."

You can’t help but laugh, a little breathless, still trying to process everything. "Yeah, you don’t exactly follow instructions, do you?" You tease, giving him a playful shove on the chest.

He chuckles, taking a step back, but his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, it wasn’t just my fault. You were kissing me back, too,” he says, raising an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think we’re both in this mess together now.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You really know how to make everything sound like it’s my fault, don’t you?”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts here. You're the one who keeps pulling me in. What am I supposed to do, huh?”

“You could’ve, I don’t know, not kissed me like that,” you say with a smirk and your arms crossed, playing along.

“What can I say? I’m a man of action.” 

“Clearly.”

“But seriously though…” he began, taking on a more serious tone again. “I don’t think either of us can pretend like we don’t have something going on between us. Something real.” 

"I thought you were mad at me," you admit quietly, still unsure of how to process everything that's happened. “You’ve barely said anything to me since... well, since everything with management.”

His expression softens. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “I was never mad. I was just... confused. And scared. I didn't know how to deal with what I was feeling. And I didn't want to mess things up.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful side-eye. "And kissing me like that just helps the confusion, huh?"

Ji-yong smirks, but it’s playful, the tension between you both easing. “Hey, if I had known that’s how you’d react, I would’ve done it sooner.” He winks at you, his voice teasing again.

You laugh, finally feeling like things are normal again. The weight of this situation feels a little lighter now, the tension slipping away with every teasing word. “You’re such a troublemaker,” you say, shaking your head but still smiling.

“Guilty as charged,” he replies with a wink. Back to his usual confidence, it seems. “But I think you like it.”

You certainly can’t argue with that.

“So, uh… what now?” You chuckled a little nervously, unable to ignore the way your heart was still pounding.

His smile widens, but this time, there’s no teasing in it. Just sincerity. He takes a step forward, his presence commanding as he gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “Now… we figure this out, together,” he says softly, voice low. “No more running away.”

“Promise?” You held out your pinky, giving him a shy smile. 

“You’re adorable.” He laughed, before hooking his own pinky around yours. “Promise.” 

The two of you share another kiss, a quicker and lighter one this time, as if to solidify the promise. Your friends standing a little way from you almost forgot about until Taeyang piped up.

“Finally!” 

The others, who had been watching quietly, burst into laughter. Seung-hyun shakes his head. “Took you long enough. I was wondering if you two were ever going to stop pretending.”

“Right?” Daesung added, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve been dancing around each other for months, and all it took was a pinky promise?”

The two of you decide to join your group, hand in hand, and Ji-yong rolls his eyes but his smile betrays him. “You’re all just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Seung-hyun scoffs. “Nah, we’re just happy you two finally figured it out. Took you both long enough to stop being idiots.”

“Could’ve done this a lot sooner,” Taeyang teases, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We’d have saved you both a lot of trouble.”

You roll your eyes but can't suppress your smile. Ji-yong, now fully leaning into the teasing, shoots back, “Yeah, well, now that it’s done, are you guys finally done with your comments?”

“Of course not,” Daesung chimes in, laughing. “You two just gave us the best material for at least a week of teasing!”

One of the girls from your group chuckles and shakes her head. “I swear, the way you two acted around each other was like watching a soap opera. But I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened.”

Another girl smirks and adds, “We should’ve known. You two have been glaring at each other like you're ready to pounce for ages.”

You blush, feeling your face heat up. “We weren’t glaring…”

“You were,” the first girl teases with a playful grin. “And it was adorable.”

“Could’ve saved us the suspense if you’d just kissed sooner,” the third girl laughs, nudging you gently. “We’ve been waiting for that moment.”

Ji-yong laughs, a bit sheepish but still confident. “Guess I’ll just have to get used to it, huh?”

“I think we all will,” you respond, laughing as you nudge him back.

The guys continue to joke, but it’s clear that despite the teasing, the air around you both feels lighter. For the first time, you're not just surrounded by the laughter of your friends; you're wrapped up in a sense of belonging, of something real—and you're excited to see where it goes.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t

[mingi-s-dimples]

No Safe Haven - Jongho

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

pairing: military general!jongho x captured fem!spy

genre: army/military au, 18+, filth, enemies to lovers

summary: you never thought infiltrating in his base would get you utterly destroyed and ruined in his office.. but he made sure to make you scream his name.

wc: 5.4k

warnings: military au, enemies to lovers, mean dom!jongho, bratty!reader, lots of cursing, lots of marking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, wrist restraint, lots of talking back tehehe, fingering with a glove, fingering in general, three rounds in total, desk sex, lip biting, biting, possessiveness, unprotected sex (boo use protection irl) completely consensual, for sure forgot something &&& will edit later.

Author's Note: HELLOOOO GUYSSS it's been a while since I've posted a fic of my own, of my own idea 🫣. I've been super into military attire and stuff these days because for uni I'm going to choose the military general medicine part not the citizen one 🤞 and I got pleeentyyyy of ideas to write just about thinking of the uniforms - ups (I'm a whore for this man I'm so sorry-). Anyways it's pure filth- enjoyy 😋🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The battlefield had been bloody, ruthless. You had done everything you could to keep your cover intact, but in the end,

Jongho had caught you.

You had been sent to infiltrate his ranks, gather intel, and sabotage his forces from within. But the war general, known for his unshakable control and brutal tactics, saw through your deception from the very start. Now, you were his prisoner.

The heavy scent of leather, steel, and smoke filled the war tent where you knelt on the cold stone floor, arms bound behind your back. Your head remained high despite the tight ropes digging into your wrists, despite the oppressive weight of the man standing above you. Jongho hadn’t said a word yet, but his presence was enough to suffocate you.

Boots scraped against the floor as he circled you, slow and methodical, like a lion taking its time with a wounded prey. “I should have you executed,” he mused, voice deep, rich, unwavering. “That is the price of betrayal, after all.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Then do it.”

His lips curled at your defiance, a smirk that was both amused and completely in control. "No," he murmured, crouching to your level. "Death is a mercy you don’t deserve."

Your breath hitched as he reached out, gloved fingers tracing the side of your face in a touch that was far too gentle, too intimate for an enemy.

“You infiltrated my army,” Jongho continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Lied to me. Manipulated my men. And yet… look at you. Still trying to act strong.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to break under his gaze. But then, his grip shifted—fingers tightening around your chin, forcing your head back until your neck was bared to him. His next words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let’s see how long that fire lasts, little spy. Because make no mistake…" His lips brushed dangerously close to your ear. "I will enjoy watching you burn."

Your pulse was hammering, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Not when he looked at you like he already owned you.

He was too close—too much, too commanding, too intense. His breath fanned over your lips, his fingers still resting just under your chin, as if he were deciding whether to stroke or break.

You hated how easily he made you react. How his voice settled into your bones, how the weight of his gaze made your stomach tighten. So you did the only thing that made sense.

You spat in his face.

The moment the spit landed, a slow, dangerous silence settled between you.

Jongho didn’t move. Didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t react at all for a long, agonizing moment.

His head tilted as he slowly dragged his tongue across his teeth. His fingers flexed at his sides before he reached up and wiped the spit off his cheek with the back of his glove, watching you like a predator who had just decided to play with its food.

"You're fucking bold, aren't you?"

You barely had time to breathe before his hand shot out and wrapped around your throat.

Not crushing. Not yet. But firm, a warning.

His hand tightened around your throat, firm enough to keep you still, to remind you that he was the one in control here.

You should have been terrified. Any sane person would be. But you weren’t.

Not when his pupils were blown wide, Not when his breath came out ragged and heavy like he was barely holding himself back.

"You just don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?" his hand hovered in the air almost like he'd hit you, but he didn't. He backed off in a second.

Despite the way his dominance wrapped around you like a vice, despite the way his grip sent a heat spiraling through your core, you still smirked.

"You wanted to slap me," you murmured, your voice smooth, taunting. "But you didn’t."

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Something almost feral.

"You really don’t know who the fuck you’re talking to.”

And then—his grip flexed, not enough to choke, but enough to steal your breath for half a second.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to something dark and commanding.

"I should throw you to my men," he murmured, his breath scorching against your skin. "Let them deal with you, break you the way traitors deserve."

A shiver rocketed down your spine.

"But you won’t," you breathed. "Because I belong to you, don’t I?"

The words tasted dangerous, but they weren’t a surrender. They were a challenge.

Jongho stilled and chuckled.

"See, that’s the thing," he muttered. His grip on your throat loosened just enough for his thumb to press against your bottom lip. "You talk like you have a choice."

His thumb dragged down, pulling your lip slightly—teasing, testing, owning.

"You think you can keep fighting me?" he scoffed. "That you can keep pretending you’re not fucking shaking for me?"

Your lips parted to spit something back, but you never got the chance.

Because he kissed you. And fuck, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a war, a claim, a punishment.

His lips crashed onto yours, hot and demanding, swallowing your gasp as his fingers tangled in your hair. Then—he yanked your head back.

A sharp pull, just enough to make you arch into him, just enough to make you fucking feel it.

The kiss was messy, deep, raw. His tongue brushed against yours, then forced its way in, taking, stealing, consuming.

You hated how easily he made you respond. How your body melted into him despite the fire in your veins.

His teeth sank into your lower lip, sharp, punishing, enough to draw a gasp from deep in your throat.

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his dominance dripping from every touch, every movement.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath ragged. His fingers tightened in your hair, keeping you close, keeping you right where he wanted you. Then, just as suddenly, he ripped himself away.

Your chest heaved, your lips tingling, swollen, fucking ruined. His forehead pressed to yours, his breathing uneven, heavy.

"I’ve wanted to fucking ruin you since the moment I found out you infiltrated my base."

Your stomach flipped violently. Jongho’s voice was rough, pure gravel, pure torment.

"I should have had you killed." His lips brushed against your jaw, your cheek, your ear. His grip on your hip tightened, pulling you flush against him. "But I didn't."

Your breath came in short, quick bursts.

"Why?" you whispered, and you hated how breathless you sounded.

His smirk was pure sin. "Because I wanted to be the one to break you," he murmured. "Wanted to see you fall apart under me, wanted to hear you fucking beg."

Your nails dug into your palms, the last remnants of your resistance hanging by a thread.

He tilted his head, his nose barely brushing yours. "I hate how much I want you," he murmured. “And I fucking love it at the same time."

The air between you was scorching, suffocating, dangerous.

"Tell me, little spy," he murmured. His lips ghosted over yours, his words dripping in dominance.

"Are you still going to pretend you don’t want this?"

And for the first time… You didn’t have an answer.

The silence between you was thick, suffocating, stretched to its very limit.

Jongho was still so fucking close, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide, his entire body coiled like a predator ready to strike. Then—he snapped.

With a low, wrecked curse, he yanked you forward, his grip like iron around your wrist. Before you could react, he lifted you up effortlessly, manhandling you like you were nothing, your back colliding with the small desk in the room.

His body followed—towering, overwhelming, consuming. And then, he shoved you back.

One palm wrapped around your throat, the other sliding up your waist, fingers digging in, staking his claim as your spine hit the cold wall behind you.

Jongho’s breathing was wrecked, his expression nothing short of feral.

"You really fucking love pushing me, don’t you?" he muttered, his lips crashing onto yours before you had the chance to respond.

This kiss was pure fucking destruction.

Hot. Messy. Feral.

He wasn’t kissing you—he was taking you.

His tongue pushed in, deep and demanding, licking into your mouth like he had something to prove. Like he wanted to ruin the way you tasted.

He swallowed the gasp you let out when his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

"Fuck," he groaned against your lips, his hips pressing flush against yours, his grip tightening on your waist.

His thumb brushed up, pressing against your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

And god—his eyes.

Dark. Wild. Possessive.

"I swear to fucking god," he muttered, his voice low, dripping in dominance, "if you don’t tell me you want this, I’ll stop right now."

You licked your lips, still dazed, still burning from the way he kissed you.

He waited. Just a breath. Just a second. Then—you smirked.

"Stop?" you echoed, your voice syrupy sweet, teasing, testing. “You won’t."

Jongho’s jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard his teeth grind.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your flesh, grounding himself.

"You really wanna play this damn game, don’t you?" he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath scorching hot.

You tilted your head, batting your lashes. "I don’t know what you mean, General," you taunted. "I thought you were going to stop."

Something in him snapped at your words. "Fuck," he cursed, low and sharp and fucking wrecked.

Then, he kissed you again—harder, deeper, with even less patience.

His hand slid down from your throat, down your chest, gripping your waist, your thigh, spreading you open for him.

"Tell me you want this," he muttered, his lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, biting, sucking, leaving his mark.

His teeth scraped against your skin, his breath scorching hot against the bruises he left behind.

You inhaled sharply, every inch of you burning, every nerve alight with him.

Then, just to test him one last time, you murmured—so fucking soft, so fucking bratty—

"Make me."

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his hand tightening on your waist like he was seconds away from breaking you completely.

"Oh, you have no fucking idea what you just asked for.”

His lips were relentless. They left no space untouched, trailing down from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your throat—biting, sucking, marking. He wasn’t just kissing you. He was ruining you.

The first sharp bite to your neck ripped a whine from your lips, your head tilting back as pleasure and pain mingled in a dizzying haze.

And just as you sucked in another breath— His hand wrapped around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to remind you who the fuck was in control.

"Shut up," he muttered, his grip flexing, silencing the sound still stuck in your throat.

Your nails dug into the edge of the desk, knuckles white, body burning.

His other hand—hot, rough, possessive—slid up your waist, finding the torn fabric of your blouse.

Jongho exhaled sharply at the sight of your black lace bra, his breath coming out heavier, rougher, his restraint hanging by a fucking thread.

"God damn.." he muttered under his breath, his hands splaying over your ribs, thumbs brushing just under your breasts.

Then—his mouth was on you again.

His lips latched onto the swell of your chest, kissing, licking, then—Biting.

The first mark sent a jolt straight between your legs, a soft whimper slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Jongho groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your waist harder, his desperation slipping through the cracks.

His hat—that goddamn general’s cap he always wore like a crown—finally tumbled off, landing somewhere on the floor.

And god, that sight alone—his dark, tousled hair finally exposed, his head buried against your chest, his body pushing you further into the desk—It was almost too much.

And yet—you couldn’t resist pushing him further. You chuckled, low, teasing, amused by his sheer fucking desperation.

"You’re pathetic," you murmured, your voice dripping in mockery.

Jongho stilled and laughed.

Then, with zero warning, he sank his teeth into the curve of your breast. Not gentle. Not sweet. A punishment.

A small cry tore from your throat, but his hand tightened on your neck, keeping it trapped, keeping it his.

"You think this is funny, huh?" he muttered, his breath scorching against the bruises he left.

You grinned, breathless, wrecked, but still teasing.

"Yeah," you whispered, your lashes fluttering as you met his gaze.

Jongho exhaled sharply, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen, damp with you.

"God, you just don’t fucking stop," he muttered, his hands tightening on your waist, holding you in place.

"Then maybe," he continued, his lips trailing up your chest, your throat, back to your mouth,

“I should shut you up myself."

You licked your lips, still tasting him, still feeling the way his hands had claimed every inch of you.

And yet—he still hadn’t ruined you. Not completely. So you did what you did best. You pushed him further.

"You keep talking about ruining me," you murmured, tilting your head, voice syrupy sweet, taunting.

Jongho’s fingers twitched on your waist, his jaw clenching.

You smirked. "When are you actually gonna do it?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience snapping like a thin thread. Then—his hand was on your throat again. Tighter. Unyielding. His grip forced your head back against the wall, your body completely at his mercy.

"You wanna be ruined, huh?" he muttered, his voice low, dripping in danger.

You barely had time to breathe before he pushed forward, pressing his lips to your ear.

"You wanna be destroyed, hm?" he whispered, his voice a promise.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up.

Jongho felt it. He fucking felt it.

"Let's see.. I wanna make you beg," he muttered, his hand sliding lower, his grip on your throat loosening just enough to let you breathe.

His lips dragged down your jaw, back to your throat, biting, licking, marking you deeper.

"I wanna hear you scream my name," he continued, his words scorching hot against your skin.

You sucked in a breath, your nails digging into the edge of the desk as his hands traveled lower, claiming, consuming.

"I wanna make you cry, cry for my mercy" he whispered, his teeth grazing your pulse. “But you won't get any.”

A small sound—something between a moan and a gasp—slipped past your lips.

He groaned, wrecked at the sound of you.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"You really have no idea what you’ve done," he murmured, his gaze burning into yours.

"You really don’t fucking know how long I’ve waited for this."

His fingers dragged along your thigh, teasing, tormenting, pushing you closer to the edge without even touching you properly.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he whispered.

"You’re mine now."

His grip tightened on your jaw, his mouth hovering just above yours.

"And I’m gonna fucking destroy your pretty little pussy.”

He was looong gone.

The moment he yanked off his thick army jacket, revealing the sheer strength beneath—the broad chest, the cut muscles, the battle-worn scars beneath his black shirt—your breath caught in your throat.

And when he reached for your blouse, tearing it away to finally reveal the toned body that came with being a spy, his eyes darkened.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his gaze drinking you in, raw and hungry.

You should have been embarrassed. Should have felt exposed.

But instead? You liked it.

You liked the way his eyes devoured you whole. Liked the way his breath hitched as he took in every inch of you.

And god, his personality? That commanding, ruthless dominance?

It was everything you wanted. Everything you needed.

Maybe it was because of your career, the way you were trained to fight, to defy, to challenge the most dangerous of men.

Or maybe—you just liked men who knew how to fucking take.

Jongho’s fingers moved to your pants, unfastening them with zero hesitation. With one sharp tug, they were gone, pooling at your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

And that’s when he saw them.

The scars.

Faint. Barely there. Memories of fights, of battles you survived.

Jongho stilled. Not in hesitation. Not in pity. In pure, raw admiration. Then—he lowered himself. Dropped to his knees. And he pressed his lips to the first scar. Then another. And another. Each one kissed, licked, marked.

Your breath shuddered, your head tilting back against the wall, your thighs trembling beneath his hands.

You wanted to touch him.

Wanted to tangle your fingers in his thick, black hair, yank him closer, make him stay there forever. But you couldn’t. Your hands were still tied.

Jongho exhaled sharply against your skin, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"You’re fucking perfect," he muttered, his lips brushing over the inside of your leg, his voice deep, reverent, utterly wrecked.

Then—he lifted his head. And that look?

That ravenous, all-consuming, predatory stare?

It sent a violent shudder through your entire body.

Jongho didn't even bother taking off his gloves.

His breath was ragged, heavy, dripping in hunger as he pushed himself back up, towering over you again.

His gloved fingers—rough, calloused, strong—trailed from your breasts, grazing over your tight, sensitive skin, dragging lower, lower—

Until he reached the soaked fabric of your panties, barely covering what was his.

He exhaled sharply, his hot breath hitting your face as his lips brushed over yours, teasing, taunting.

"You’re dripping," he murmured, his voice a low, filthy rasp.

His fingers pressed against you, teasing the soaked material, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made your thighs tremble.

You whined, hips twitching.

"Mhm, you want it," he muttered, his tone dark, knowing, dripping in dominance.

He didn’t ask. He knew.

You glared at him, refusing to answer, refusing to give him what he wanted. So, he took it.

With one sharp, impatient tug, your panties were gone—ripped off like they were nothing.

And then—his fingers were on you. Bare, exposed, nowhere to hide.

A choked moan escaped your lips the second his fingers slid through your slick folds, gathering everything you were giving him.

Jongho let out a low, pleased sound, his jaw tightening.

"You’re fucking soaked," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he was losing control just from feeling how wrecked you already were.

And then—he pushed in.

One finger, thick, gloved, sliding into your cunt with ease, filling you up in ways that made your breath hitch.

You clenched around him instinctively, a sharp moan escaping before you could stop it.

Jongho cursed under his breath.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours as he shoved in another finger, stretching you open, preparing you.

He didn’t ease you in. Didn’t tease. Didn’t wait. He destroyed. His fingers pounded into you, rough, deep, deliberate. Thrusting. Stretching. Curling just right.

Every drag, every push, every pump had your legs trembling, your breath hitching, your body shaking.

You moaned again, louder, a desperate sound that only spurred him on.

"That’s it," he muttered, his lips grazing your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper.

"Let me hear you."

His free hand gripped your waist, holding you still as you writhed under his touch, helpless, wrecked, desperate for more.

He thrust his fingers harder, deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over and over until—

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body clenching, tightening, shattering.

Jongho groaned, watching as you came undone around his fingers.

"Good fucking girl," he murmured, his lips trailing down your jaw, over your pulse, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

And then—he yanked his fingers out, his gloved hand covered in your slick.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he brought them to your lips.

"Open."

Your breath hitched. But you did.

And the second your tongue met the taste of yourself on his fingers, Jongho groaned—deep, guttural, wrecked.

"Fuck," he muttered, his jaw clenching.

Then—his hands were on his belt. Unbuckling. Unzipping. Freeing himself.

"You took my fingers so fucking well," he murmured, his voice a promise, dark and deadly and drenched in filth.

"Now—"

He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the very edge of the desk, lining himself up against your still-twitching entrance.

"Let’s see how well you take my cock."

Jongho didn't waste a second. His hands went to his belt—quick, precise, impatient.

The metal clinked as he unfastened it, and then—his pants dropped, pooling at his ankles, leaving him in nothing but his tight black briefs.

Your breath hitched.You could already see it.

The outline. The size. The sheer thickness. And then—his briefs went next. Fuck. He was big. Thick, long, heavy, the tip leaking with proof of just how much he fucking wanted you. And the look on his face? Ravenous. Starved. Like he was going to eat you alive.

Then—his teeth clenched around his gloves.

One by one, he yanked them off with nothing but his fucking mouth, his sharp canines digging into the fabric, his jaw tightening.

The sight? Sinful. Dangerous. Absolutely lethal. And the second they were off—he grabbed you. Spread your thighs wide open, lined himself up, and—

Slid right the fuck in.

One, brutal, devastating thrust. Every inch. Every single inch, buried deep inside you.

Your back arched off the desk, a broken moan ripping from your lips as he filled you completely, stretching you wide, making you take him.

A deep, low, animalistic sound escaped his chest, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it was borderline bruising.

"Tight as fuck," he hissed, his jaw clenching as he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressing against the very deepest part of you.

You clenched around him—hard. Jongho cursed under his breath. And then, when his gaze flickered to your face—

When he saw the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips trembled, the way your eyes glazed over with unshed tears from the sheer stretch of him—

His expression darkened. And his cock fucking twitched inside you.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice husky, sinful, absolutely wrecked.

"You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?"

His thumb wiped away a stray tear that slipped down your cheek.

"Yeah," he murmured, his lips grazing yours, his fingers gripping your thighs.

"You will."

Then—he moved. And ruined you. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His thrusts were brutal. Animalistic. Completely unhinged.

Your body fucking bounced with every snap of his hips, every shove, every relentless drive of his cock inside you.

"Taking it so fucking well," he muttered, his jaw clenched, his nails digging into your skin.

Deep. So deep. So goddamn good.

Your moans turned to whimpers, your whimpers turned to broken cries.

His fingers tightened on your waist, his thrusts turning sharp, rough, pure devastation.

"That’s it," he muttered, his voice a low, dark rasp.

"Fucking take it."

And you did. Every inch. Every thrust. Every ounce of filthy, reckless, dominating pleasure he gave you. You loved it. Fucking loved it.

And Jongho?

He was going to make sure you never forgot it.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened—bruising, possessive, unrelenting.

His pace grew harder. Deeper. More powerful.

Each thrust sent you reeling, your body rocking with the sheer force of him, the desk beneath you creaking under the weight of it all.

Then—his hand slid to your back. A sharp tug. A forceful pull. He dragged you closer, forcing you to take him even deeper. A wrecked cry left your lips. You cursed. You whined. You moaned.

Low, deep, almost feral—his voice drenched in raw satisfaction.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his fingers digging into your skin, his breath warm against your ear.

"Every inch of me inside you, just how I’ve fucking wanted—"

His head fell forward, a growl vibrating in his chest. He was close.

And then—his next words sent a full-body shudder down your spine.

"Gonna fill you up, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice hoarse, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, desperate.

"Gonna fuckin’ ruin you."

And then—he did.

He buried himself deep, filling you up, holding you there, making you take everything he gave you.

You gasped, your body clenching around him, your mind spinning, your breath hitched—

But Jongho wasn’t done. Not even close.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. His fingers brushed up your spine—slow, teasing, dangerous.

Then, in one swift, powerful motion—he flipped you over.

You barely had time to gasp before he dragged you to the edge of the desk, forcing your chest against the cold wood.

And then—his hand wrapped around your face. A firm push.

Your cheek met the surface, your breath hitching as he leaned over you, his weight pressing into your back, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

"Not done with you," he murmured, his tone dangerously low.

"Not even fucking close."

Then— a yank.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to make your eyes meet his. And his gaze? Dark. Feral. Completely wrecked.

"Look at me," he muttered, his grip tightening, his breath ragged.

"Watch me while I fucking destroy you."

And then—he did exactly that.

Jongho’s grip on your hair tightened, forcing your gaze onto his. His hips snapped forward—ruthless, punishing, relentless. Harder. Deeper. Unyielding.

Every thrust was a claim, a vow, a promise to ruin you beyond repair.

The desk beneath you creaked, your body jolting with every devastating movement.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his voice dripping with dominance, his tone laced with pure, unfiltered possession.

"Feel how deep I am? How I’m making you take it?"

Your breath hitched, your body tightening, the coil in your stomach winding dangerously close to snapping.

Jongho noticed. Of course he did. He smirked—dark, knowing. And then—he stopped. Pulled out.

Your body screamed in protest, the pleasure that had built up to a near-breaking point now cruelly ripped away.

A strangled noise left your lips. "You—"

"You think you get to come?" Jongho cut you off, his hand gripping your hip, forcing you still beneath him.

"You think I’ll let you have it that easily?"

Then—he was inside you again. Filling you up in a single, brutal thrust, dragging you back to the edge— And stopping. Again.

"Fuck—" you gasped, your hands clenching into fists behind your back, your legs trembling.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Not until I hear you," he murmured, his grip tightening, his voice deep, wicked.

"You want to come, sweetheart?" His breath ghosted over your ear, his hips rolling into you with slow, deliberate torture.

"Then say my fucking name."

You swallowed hard, your pride fighting against the sheer desperation flooding your body.

You were so close, so ruined, so wrecked—

But you refused to give in. So he did it again. And again. Brought you to the peak—then ripped it away. Over. And over. And over. Until—

"Jongho!"

It tore from your throat, raw and desperate, a curse, a plea, a surrender all in one.

Only then did he give it to you.

Only then did he let you fall.

And when you did?

You shattered.

The pleasure crashed over you in violent waves, your body tightening, clenching, convulsing around him as he groaned through clenched teeth.

"That’s it," he murmured, his pace turning wild, ruthless.

"Take it. Fucking take it.”

And then—he followed.

Burying himself deep one more time, his grip bruising, his body wrecked as he spilled inside you—

Filling you. Claiming you. Destroying you.

And when the tremors faded, when your breath finally returned, when your body lay limp against the desk, utterly spent—

Jongho? He wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

His fingers slid to your chin, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze.

And his next words? A promise.

"You think I’m done with ruining you?"

His lips brushed yours, his voice dark, wrecked, hungry.

"You don’t even know the half of it.”

Jongho didn’t stop.

Didn’t let you breathe. Didn’t let you think.

Your body was still trembling, still wrecked from the last orgasm, but he wasn’t done with you.

His fingers pushed deep—so deep you nearly screamed.

"You feel that?" His voice was dark, rough, dripping with possession.

"You’re taking everything I give you, and I haven’t even ruined you completely yet."

His other hand grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see the hunger in his gaze.

Then—he shoved his fingers between your lips.

"Suck."

It wasn’t a request.

Your tongue flicked over them, hot, wet, sinful— and Jongho groaned, low and wrecked.

"That’s a good girl," he muttered, his fingers dragging over your tongue before pulling free with a wet pop.

"Now, let’s see how loud I can make you scream."

And then—he was inside you again. Hard. Deep. Devastating.

Your back arched, a moan breaking from your lips, but Jongho wasn’t satisfied with that. His fingers found your clit, pressing, rubbing, teasing— You jolted. Cursed.

"Too much?" he mocked, his pace turning brutal, his grip on your waist tightening.

"Too bad."

His thrusts were merciless, unrelenting, driving you higher, harder— Until the pleasure became unbearable.

Your body convulsed, tightening, clenching, shaking— And Jongho felt it.

"Give it to me," he ordered, his voice pure command, pure dominance, pure destruction. You finally shattered.

Your scream broke through the room, your body wrecked, trembling, convulsing around him—Jongho groaned, his own restraint snapping, his grip on you bruising, unyielding—

And then he followed.

Filling you to the brim this time, all over again, cum dripping from your cunt on the desk.

And when it was over—when you were nothing but a trembling mess beneath him—

Jongho leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

Jongho didn’t move for a long moment, his breath still ragged, his body still pressed against yours, the heat between you still unbearable.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice low, wrecked, commanding.

"I’ll untie you," he murmured, fingers dragging down your spine, teasing, taunting, possessive.

"But only if you swear yourself to me. To my side."

You inhaled sharply. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t just asking for loyalty—he was demanding it.

"Join me," he continued, his fingers tightening around your wrists, his touch still firm, still controlling. "Or I keep you here. Forever.”

The threat—or promise—sent a dangerous thrill down your spine. A smirk tugged at your lips despite the exhaustion in your limbs, the soreness in your body, the undeniable fact that he had completely, utterly wrecked you.

You tilted your head slightly, voice teasing, sultry, defiant.

"You know," you mused, deliberately slow, deliberately provoking,

"I was gonna retire from being a spy for them anyway."

Jongho stilled.

You grinned, eyes flashing as you added, "Guess you're stuck with me, General.”

Jongho still had that dark, commanding presence as he loomed over you, his grip firm, his body still radiating heat and power. His fingers traced over the marks he’d left on your skin, a silent reminder of what he’d just done to you.

But you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

Even wrecked, trembling, and utterly ruined, you still had your pride.

You smirked, tilting your head up slightly, feigning innocence.

"Didn’t you get enough of me, darling?" you teased, your voice dripping with mock sweetness, your eyes flashing with mischief despite the raw pleasure still lingering in your body.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, his voice a sinful whisper.

"Didn’t I ruin your pussy enough?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his tone dark and taunting.

"You’re teasing me because you want more, aren’t you?"

His fingers trailed down your spine, sending a shiver through your exhausted body, his presence still overwhelming, still utterly in control.

Your smirk didn’t waver. His didn’t either.

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[longwayaround]

"I'm sorry, I didn't — that wasn't... I'm not handling any of this very well, am I?" He let out a tired sigh. "I'm sorry, I am. I just wasn't sure what to do, that's all. I thought if I let things go back to the way they were, it might... I dunno. Make things harder for you."

Relief coursed through him when she said that she didn't want to be anywhere else. That... oh, he was still worried, he couldn't imagine how they would manage a baby in the TARDIS, but he was sure Rose would have thought about it, and if she still wanted to be there, then maybe they could figure it out.

Maybe he wouldn't have to say goodbye so soon.

"Alright. Alright, good." He let out a small, relieved laugh, and offered her a smile. "I do want you here, Rose. I promise. I just... need to know what to expect, that's all."

Which brought him to his part of this.

"I — John's probably told you this already. If he knew about the baby he'd have told you. Must have. Probably. Maybe not. I've never been very good at this, have I? Erm — what I'm trying to say, what I — I think you should know is that..." He paused, took a deep breath, and then continued. "I've done this before. I had children, grandchildren. And then they all died. In the Time War, they all died. It's just me now. There, that's — I just thought you should know. And I — I know it's different, I know the baby's not mine, and I'm not trying to overstep, I just — I thought. You should. Know."

"I am sure." Rose told him. "I don't need any of that." She looked at him. "I think I would be more upset if you distanced yourself from me. If I am being honest, when you made your excuse to take your stuff to your room, that made me upset. Because it felt like you couldn't get away quick enough." She added.

At the mention of the baby, she started to panic again, and her hand automatically went to the just about hidden bump under a baggy top she was wearing. "As far as I can see...and thats pretty far, I want to stay here. You are right, I can't know what will happen in the future, but I don't want to be anywhere else. As long as you want me here. And the baby."

[stormblessed95]

Hi!

Long time no see....

I did TRY to get this finished as soon as I could, but between the rollercoaster of 'Are You Sure?!', the hellscape that Jikook spaces (on Twitter/X and Tumblr) became (and honestly were already...), and trying to shorten everything down, it took a good while.

But I refuse to keep this past 2024, so here's an gift for the holidays (or maybe not considering the word count 🫥)!

I wanted to articulate exactly what my thoughts and concerns were, especially since this is a more serious topic regarding Jimin’s work and art, but I don’t think it came off that well before.

Hopefully I do better this time!

I’ve seen the many anons that were spamming your and other Jikookers’ inboxes the second WHO and MUSE released because “OMG Jimin said she/her!! He’s single and looking for a woman to love!” became the newest narrative.

While I do think it would be perfectly okay for him to want a female partner, it does make me slightly upset and sad, that people resorted to being homophobic and honestly misogynistic as a response. There is a way to discuss Jimin's potential romantic partners without being nasty to queer fans or possibly invalidating Jimin’s identity (especially since it is not likely that he’d ever fully come out (if he is queer/bi) in the way most people think nor want, given where he lives and his line of work).

Even the way people were talking about women was questionable. Going on about how it is outrageous for Jimin to deny himself the chance to be with a woman, have a biological family, and overall is wasting himself on Jungkook (if they are in a romantic relationship).

Making women out to be objects for men to use and only worth making/raising families, the homophobic rhetoric towards the longevity of queer relationships and same sex parents, as well as the blatant disrespect to Jungkook (that he’s “not enough” or “not right” for Jimin). If someone thinks that Jikook are nothing but platonic friends, that is perfectly fine. But to degrade their bond, as well as Jimin and Jungkook’s characters, is just unnecessarily cruel.

In regards to your response, I would love for nothing more than to say that it helped with my understanding of Jimin and MUSE, but I’m honestly not completely sure of that….

My first ask was sent right after the behind video for MUSE dropped, so before some of your posts that you linked about MUSE and WHO were posted (though I did read them again!).

Before I continue, I do want to make a few things clear:

I’m not stuck on any of my assumptions or thoughts being the “correct” way to interpret MUSE.

I’m not here to convince anyone that Jikook isn’t in a romantic relationship. I’m honestly really just confused.

I don’t need anyone to convince me that Jikook is still real.

I’m simply having a conversation and trying to process my thoughts and MUSE with someone that I trust and respect. Do I always agree with everything said? No, in fact disagreeing with others (Storm in this case) is how I tend to find out how I feel or think about a topic or situation.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about what exactly has been confusing me with MUSE, and I’ve narrowed it down to three main topics or questions: Is MUSE a conceptual album?, Is WHO how Jimin actually feels?, and What does this all mean for Jikook?

This is going to be long, I’m sorry in advance!

IS MUSE A CONCEPTUAL ALBUM?

Initial Thoughts

Since I’m used to Jimin’s recent work, FACE and his Photofolio, having lots of Jimin’s own inspirations and ideas tied into it, like Greek Mythology, German Poetry, Robert Mapplethorpe’s Imagery and Work, ect, with the title being MUSE, the idea that Jimin was going to vaguely write about his inspirations or muses (how Closer Than This is considered for ARMY) seemed likely to me.

Then as the track titles were revealed to be more romantic sounding, it felt like he may have used the concept of love to better articulate another deeper message. Or that he chose to write about a fictional love and focused more on vocal and production styles, in a similar way to what Jungkook did with Golden.

Post MMM

 While watching the MMM video for the first time, I was confused because Jimin had mentioned MUSE being more vague (or conceptual) than FACE but that WHO was his “feelings” after the previous tracks. Ultimately, I took that as him wanting to write about love but not having current personal experiences to pull from, so he decided to make up a fictional love story/crush, and then WHO comes at the end being like “actually that’s not true. i’m not in love, though i want to be.”

Then I saw this post:

https://www.tumblr.com/just-orbiting-you/756542511466643456/muse-is-a-concept-album?

I went back to watch MMM immediately, and was almost horrified at how I managed to miss or maybe interpret parts of Jimin and Namjoon’s conversation differently.

JM: I really tried to express all the emotions I felt at the time. “What do you talk about these days?” “How are things going?” Those were things Pdogg asked me about and I felt that it had been a while since I felt excited about something.

RM: Oh, over something.

JM: Yeah. We hadn’t been active as a team for a while either. I was working hard, I wanted to do well and was trying but it felt like it had been a long time since I was immersed in something or felt excited about something.

RM: So, since your life felt really bland, you expressed your different feelings through Muse?

JM: I tried to capture that in my album. I set my album like this, from tracks one through five, those emotions compared to having a crush and confessing my feelings.

RM: Having a crush is exciting.

JM: Exactly! So I share how I feel, then in track six which is the title track, I go, “no, that wasn’t really true”. “When will I feel excited about something again?”

RM: Then does it connect to Face in any way?

JM: Not really. It’s not that connected.

RM: Face was then?

JM: Those were my emotions then. Getting clarity, and this time it’s just vague.

With this in mind, as well as the fact that BOTH Jimin and Namjoon talked about Jimin’s work, singing, and idol identity more than anything to do with love, made the idea that search for love = search for his inspiration/excitement with his art more possible.

MUSE Behinds

Then the Behinds for Muse dropped….

Which led to my first ask:

https://stormblessed95.tumblr.com/post/758126579695190016/hi-ok-so-i-just-rewrote-everything-i-wanted-to

Looking back now, I don’t think I presented WHY I was so conflicted after that video that well in my initial ask.

JM: This album has a lot of cheerful songs. But I wanted to try a different approach for just the title track. There will be a lot of fun songs.

JM: It was harder to write the lyrics this time. I had to pretend to go through experiences I haven’t had before. I’ll explain it one by one in more detail later.

So I know a lot of people have been using the “pretend to go through experiences I haven’t had before” to explain the “looking for love” vibes of WHO, but my understanding of Jimin saying this was that it’s towards the first five tracks (where he sings about having a crush and falling in love). While both relate to it being a concept, it being about the rest of the album (the love part) does make it sound like he’s currently single.

JB (Jon): *interpreting Jimin’s ideas* I’d like to fall in love. I wanna, I’ll do what it takes to fall in love. I still don’t feel it, so what is my heart waiting for?

JM (Through the Translator): It’s just a bit sentimental, so it doesn’t get too intense like, “Where is she?” It doesn’t get too depressing.

JM: It’s not supposed to be sad or anything.

Translator: He’s not like, not too deep into it. He’s like “This is what I’m feeling right now”.

JM: It’s kind of embarrassing to explain emotions. It feels like someone found my diary.

Translator: Thank you for explaining everything so honestly.

JM: My ears are red. *touches ears*

I really do want to hear more of what Jimin told Jon directly about his (Jimin’s) vision for the song.

While Jimin still could be working through the idea of a concept about his inspiration, when he says “It feels like someone found my diary”, to me it really did sound more personal to him than expected.

Especially to be getting so embarrassed about it.

JM: I’ve poured all my emotions into this, so I was very embarrassed just now. Even though they just wanted to ask about the story I wanted to tell. It’s just, everyone…. *laughs*

JM: Everyone’s just living alone, right? That’s what it is.

Yes, technically he does LIVE ALONE or he could have been using the feeling of not having that excitement to being alone….

But I'm curious as to what he meant by “everyone’s just living alone, right?” within the context of WHO, MUSE, or even in general?

Producer: If the album is going to be all about expressing the process, we could just go all out conceptual.

Producer: I thought we could do a story with a specific concept, and I thought it’d be great if we chose a name for a band.

With SGMB, the confusion for me was more about them mentioning it being about “expressing the process” and being conceptual after I had thoughts about WHO being more personal.

Now I wonder if they meant the process of falling in love.

Response to Your Thoughts

I really liked your take on the title of MUSE and relating it to inspiration and the Muses of Greek Mythology. It fits in line with what we’ve seen from Jimin, as well as what I was initially expecting.

Like I said above, after going back and paying attention to what they were saying (I literally typed out the entire video to go over 💀), the search for his inspiration and a version of himself that he’s fully satisfied with seemed likely to be the concept of MUSE.

Rejecting WHO, because “he didn’t write it”, feels not only disrespectful, but stupid to do so. It’d be one thing if Jimin had clearly stated that he had no connection to the lyrics/story and just liked the song that was given to him (though this is still weird, because him liking the song and presenting it to fans is valid and important). But that’s not what happened.

Yes someone else wrote WHO, but we’re literally told AND shown that Jimin was involved when they wrote it. That Jimin himself explained what he wanted to express through the song. Along with his further involvement with the MV and the choreo.

If he is explaining his search for inspiration through the idea of romance, that is incredibly smart and endearing of him. It shows me how much his work and art matter to him. That he’s willing to work on bettering himself (even if I thought he was already amazing) to achieve even better results that he can truly be proud of.

While I can see where topics surrounding his sexuality can come into play with WHO, more so with the MV, I’m under the impression that Jimin has come to terms with any gender expression or sexuality issues he’s had a long while ago. But still, even if he is accepting of who he is, others (ARMY, South Korea, The World, ect) might not be.

I’m happy though that even while in this search (whether for inspiration, satisfaction, or love) that he’s still able to be happy and content with where he is at and who he is.

Producers’ and Jimin’s Thoughts

Hearing that MUSE was born after Jimin was so excited to work on music, especially considering the darker topics discussed in FACE, makes me so unbelievably happy. The songs ending up as upbeat and hopeful, even romantic, really does make sense in that context.

But I'm honestly more and more confused the more people talk about this album.

The producers say the album is about looking for some imaginary woman, while every song other than WHO is gender neutral. Even with WHO, we are shown a version that was gender neutral.

“He’s a Korean Idol. He’s going to be portrayed as straight!”

So why is Jimin not following that?

Most (if not all) of what I hear him talk about in relation to MUSE is gender neutral. I don’t have an issue with Jimin making love songs about women, but make it consistent with the rest of the album that THEY (Jimin and Producers) wrote then!

Is it Personal or Conceptual?

Yes…

It's true that conceptual doesn’t have to mean fake, but the question I’m often left with is “In what way is this album conceptual?” Is it his search for inspiration and excitement of his work through a romantic lens OR is it his search for his person through a made up love story?

The idea of most of the album being love songs about a made up relationship/crush just to be like “I’m actually single and alone!”, does frustrate me a little. Like he’s an Idol, it’s already assumed that he’s single.

“Please misunderstand”, Park Jimin, what does this mean??

At first I thought maybe he meant him being in a relationship, because the songs (up until WHO) read as him confessing to someone or telling ARMY about his partner. But WHO exists on the album… so that narrative is already clear.

So is he not LOOKING FOR A WOMAN? Or is he not SINGLE?

Is the album not about his LOVE LIFE but his work?

Because ANY of those would actually make more sense to misunderstand.

Why is he releasing this in the military? I’d understand if he was planning on revealing a partner, but based on what Jimin, the producers, and WHO are saying, he’s single. So is he announcing that he’s looking for love once he’s discharged? Then we go back to it being assumed that he is already single… and not going to lie, that is a little strange to announce? Why make an entire album for that?

Why is Closer Than This on the album? I’m desperately hoping it’s not some sick way of saying “At least I got ARMY”..... and then what is Letter for?

IS WHO HOW JIMIN ACTUALLY FEELS?

The Song

So the only song that Jimin doesn’t have writing credits on is supposed to be the one depicting his “true feelings”... Interesting.

According to the producers, the song was born out of Jimin having trouble relating to a love serenade they were trying to write initially, and thus ends up asking himself if he can ever really love someone. With the song apparently being about the reality of feeling lonely and melancholy, and asking yourself where the person for you is , it does make me think that he hasn’t been in a long term romantic relationship for years, if it’s directly about Jimin and not just the concept of the song.

“He’s an Idol, of course he’ll say he’s single and doesn’t know what love is!”

Ok, but why mention it at all?

I could maybe see Jimin not being out to his producers (or more so with his possible relationship with Jungkook), but it’s also not hard to just take him at his word (via the producers) that he’s unfamiliar with romantic love.

Jimin mentions that when he meets up with friends, they’re all feeling similarly flat. I wonder if that flatness is towards not being in a relationship or feeling uninspired with life and/or work? He goes on to say it’s not a sad or scary feeling, but it’s also not exciting. This could go for either concept (Love or Work) to be honest.

The MV

Initially with the MV,  I just saw Jimin dancing with girls trying to find the one but ending up alone (in line with the song). The only thing that I really had trouble processing was the billboard…

I’ve read through multiple analyses of the MV since my first viewing, and I’ve noticed a lot more details that are somewhat questionable.

Auto Calibration being the main one as it flashes on screen after Jimin dances with men and then leads into him dancing with women. This does give some queer vibes, and makes me interested in what “story” Jimin had in mind with WHO as the choreo also has similar vibes too.

Jimin mentioning people instead of just women as potential options when passing by is also interesting, especially when he has mostly talked about this album gender neutrally.

The billboard with SOMEONE’S EYES dropping after Jimin sings “Who is my heart waiting for?” does seem as though it's an answer for Jimin, or maybe others. Especially when WHO with NO QUESTION MARK and Keep Going are written on it. In my opinion, it does resemble Jungkook's eyes. But I find it hard to take it as a promotion of some sort when it quite literally interrupts the MV, seemingly for no reason, instead of being a poster in the back.

Then of course, there is the insane potential connection of Taeyang, someone Jimin is a known fan of and is now friends with, showcasing his then girlfriend (now wife) on a billboard in a MV….

The Choreo

Most of the choreo just matches with the lyrics, but there are some parts that I found interesting.

During a Chorus part Jimin joins up with SIX OTHER MEN. I don’t know if this is supposed to be a BTS reference or just formations. But what is the point of having SIX when there is only FIVE later for the girls vs boys part? Why not just keep the seven men (including Jimin) and have seven girls? Where’d the other guy even go?

Next in Verse Two when Jimin sings about “taking her places they ain’t found yet, putting it all on the line, and being that someone she can count on”, he dances with two men. Why? Would it not be better for him to do some sort of partner choreo here?

In the bridge, he repeats “who is my heart, heart waiting for?” as he passes by BOTH WOMEN AND MEN. Sure he only tries to match with women, but he’s a kpop idol and the song uses female pronouns, so that’s expected. I’m sure the male dancers were most likely included just to have it look better, but considering Jimin saying people when talking about it, the gender neutral version of the song, and that Jimin was involved with the choreo, it’s something to consider!

Jimin also keeps mentioning the choreo feeling like a short film or musical, which makes all the film (play, pause, rewind) details in the MV fit.

I am a bit disappointed that he, once again, warned fans about him interacting with women in the choreo. Even to the point of saying “moments that you might find uncomfortable” and “please don’t be too disappointed”

This is part of the reason I’m genuinely confused if this was to be some big “ARMY I’m dating/going to date!” announcement, because why would he care??? He mentions that “it is part of the grand scheme of things”, does that just refer to the story aspect of the choreo or is there more to it?

His conversations with his friends come up again, about how there are few instances to feel really strong emotions and him thinking “Should I start feeling more passion?” while making WHO, and that the writers of WHO worded the story he wanted to tell in such a lovely way.

The choreo has a lot of fun theatrical elements as he seems to want to express a lot of picturesque scenes, and the dance suits him while being simpler and fresh. But he’s still concerned about how to express the emotions for this song, as it isn't a sad song, but it does kind of become one towards the end.

Jimin’s Truth

With the amount of story elements, I’m considering the song being more of a way to describe his feelings about needing passion in his life than a detailed recount of his “failing love life”. It’s still his thoughts and feelings, but maybe expressed in a more digestible way for the audience.

If he is being up front about his romantic past, then I really do hope he finds his person, whoever they might be.

Park Jimin OF ALL PEOPLE deserves to love and be loved!

WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN FOR JIKOOK?

Being More Open

I know Jimin, and all idols, needs to be careful when talking about love. It’s why I’m so confused as to why this concept, and why now? Though with Jin stating that he wrote Falling for someone, maybe this is just part of BTS being more honest and open.

I do want to take Jimin and Jungkook’s words and actions seriously, however part of what has been said about MUSE and WHO from Jimin and his producers, does make me question if I (and the rest of us) were mistaken of what the nature of their bond is.

Why Does It Matter?

I think part of the reason that it's important to me to know if Jimin is legitimately saying he’s single, is that I do want to respect him and his words.

“So why were you shipping him with his bandmate?” 

Personally I’ve always left room for doubt when it comes to Jikook. It’s not everything I think about in terms of BTS, Jimin, and/or Jungkook. Nor is it the end of the world for me if they’re simply platonic friends. I just thought Jikook seemed like they were/are dating.

Now I’m a little confused on where I stand, and knowing what MUSE and WHO are about in relation to Jimin would help. I know you obviously can’t know exactly. But I’m hoping I’ll get something other than “Jikook is real! Stop doubting them! You’re projecting your internalized homophobia!” OR “Jikook isn’t real! Jimin is straight and looking for a woman!”

Random AYS Interjection

I did want to finish this before Are You Sure premiered because I didn't want to keep talking about this past then and really didn’t think I had that much more to say.

But as I was going through my ask, your response to me, your posts you linked, my notes on Jimin’s video, the new videos that were being uploaded, and other anons and bloggers opinions, I realized this was going to take longer than I thought.

Part of me was also curious if my thoughts on MUSE would change how I saw Jikook in Are You Sure. Honestly my surprise when I didn’t find anything that pointed to them breaking up or being just platonic, was nothing compared to seeing that my opinion was uncommon to quite a few in the Jikook Community….

“What about the Car Conversation?!?!”

OK???? What about it?

Honestly, watching people discover that Jimin and Jungkook were busy and missing each other (or at least quality time) in 2023 for the first time this August was interesting to say the least…

We could get into the abuse and bullying allegations, calling Jimin being anti romantic over things taken out of context or making it into some weird narrative that Jimin doesn’t love Jungkook as much or that he sees their relationship as the Devil, or the fifty other weird things some of y’all said on your "Jikook Supporter" blogs…

But this is about MUSE, so THAT RANT will have to wait!

Final Conclusion

I’m still confused, but I do think after reviewing things that there is more to MUSE than I think. Especially with stories and theatrics being involved in so much of the concept.

I really just want to know what MUSE is about. The misunderstanding thing was fun for like a couple days, now it just makes me anxious and stressed. But maybe it was supposed to be like this 😔

Thank you for actually responding to my first ask so nicely and being willing to have this discussion with me!

Sorry this response took forever, hopefully it's somewhat decent 😭

Hope you're doing well, and are having a good holiday!

— Nice Muse Anon 🎨

I'm going to cry. I typed this whole fucking thing up. And it got deleted. So here we go again 😭

Hi love, I'm going to do this in a bit of a direct response thing. Copy what you say in red and then reply to it and so forth. Here we go. It won't be EVERYTHING you say, just the parts I wanted to make a comment about....

But I refuse to keep this past 2024, so here's an gift for the holidays (or maybe not considering the word count 🫥)!

And yet here I am months later. Sorry!

Your first 3 opening paragraphs about homophobia and misogyny.... Hard preach!

IS MUSE A CONCEPTUAL ALBUM?

Rejecting WHO, because “he didn’t write it”, feels not only disrespectful, but stupid to do so. It’d be one thing if Jimin had clearly stated that he had no connection to the lyrics/story and just liked the song that was given to him (though this is still weird, because him liking the song and presenting it to fans is valid and important). But that’s not what happened.

Agreed

Yes someone else wrote WHO, but we’re literally told AND shown that Jimin was involved when they wrote it. That Jimin himself explained what he wanted to express through the song. Along with his further involvement with the MV and the choreo. If he is explaining his search for inspiration through the idea of romance, that is incredibly smart and endearing of him. It shows me how much his work and art matter to him. That he’s willing to work on bettering himself (even if I thought he was already amazing) to achieve even better results that he can truly be proud of.

Agreed x 2

Hearing that MUSE was born after Jimin was so excited to work on music, especially considering the darker topics discussed in FACE, makes me so unbelievably happy. The songs ending up as upbeat and hopeful, even romantic, really does make sense in that context.

It does make sense in that context!

“He’s a Korean Idol. He’s going to be portrayed as straight!” So why is Jimin not following that?

This is part of why he is beloved. Him and BTS. They do this all the time and queer or not, it's impactful and meaningful and special to so many people

It's true that conceptual doesn’t have to mean fake, but the question I’m often left with is “In what way is this album conceptual?” Is it his search for inspiration and excitement of his work through a romantic lens OR is it his search for his person through a made up love story?

Personally, I think it's option 1. People can have their own opinions though, no right or wrong answer. Some might even have other options they think it is

The idea of most of the album being love songs about a made up relationship/crush just to be like “I’m actually single and alone!”, does frustrate me a little. Like he’s an Idol, it’s already assumed that he’s single.

1000% fair and I can even agree a bit with that frustration. Mostly my frustration there is with the company and fans though that cultivated this environment for idols

Why is he releasing this in the military? I’d understand if he was planning on revealing a partner, but based on what Jimin, the producers, and WHO are saying, he’s single. So is he announcing that he’s looking for love once he’s discharged? Then we go back to it being assumed that he is already single… and not going to lie, that is a little strange to announce? Why make an entire album for that?

I don't think he is announcing anything exactly. Like it's not a release meant to be for an announcement. If that makes sense. He isn't trying to inform people he is single and/or ready to mingle. He is trying to share emotions and a story. Why during MS? Idk.

Why is Closer Than This on the album? I’m desperately hoping it’s not some sick way of saying “At least I got ARMY”..... and then what is Letter for?

Usually singles that are released before albums get put on the album. Personally I think that was a one off goodbye song for ARMY before the army. I don't think it actually has anything to do with the album concepts or themes at all... Lol it just got stuck on the album because of release times. But that's just me and what do I actually know 🤷‍♀️

What is letter for? Good question. There are soooo many theories lmfao

IS WHO HOW JIMIN ACTUALLY FEELS?

The Song

According to the producers, the song was born out of Jimin having trouble relating to a love serenade they were trying to write initially, and thus ends up asking himself if he can ever really love someone. With the song apparently being about the reality of feeling lonely and melancholy, and asking yourself where the person for you is , it does make me think that he hasn’t been in a long term romantic relationship for years, if it’s directly about Jimin and not just the concept of the song.

Fair enough friend. I disagree but that's totally fair and valid feelings to have

“He’s an Idol, of course he’ll say he’s single and doesn’t know what love is!” Ok, but why mention it at all?

Because with the concept and theme being what they are, it would be discussed to hell and back (low-key hello is us in this post) and it's "damage control" regardless on how I feel about that, it's most likely what it is. No matter how annoying

I could maybe see Jimin not being out to his producers (or more so with his possible relationship with Jungkook), but it’s also not hard to just take him at his word (via the producers) that he’s unfamiliar with romantic love.

I personally Don't form my opinions too much based on things that are second hand. I still take them into account for sure. But I don't put too too much stock into things that via someone else on behalf of any of BTS. Because really, they can just say anything. Now don't take this as me dismissing things said, because I'm not. I'm just clarifying for everyone that I form 85% of my opinions ONLY on things that are direct from Jimin himself and based directly on Jimins actions. Things are going to be influenced by personal bias always as well too

The MV

I think we are mostly just mostly on the same page with everything you said here

The Choreo

Again, mostly think we are on the same page about your thoughts here. Will just comment specially about....

I am a bit disappointed that he, once again, warned fans about him interacting with women in the choreo. Even to the point of saying “moments that you might find uncomfortable” and “please don’t be too disappointed”

Very fair and honestly same. Again, mostly in the fans and company that have cultivated that environment he feels like he has to operate in now. I do wish he would care less about it though.

This is part of the reason I’m genuinely confused if this was to be some big “ARMY I’m dating/going to date!” announcement, because why would he care??? He mentions that “it is part of the grand scheme of things”, does that just refer to the story aspect of the choreo or is there more to it?

Jimin just cares a lot and very deeply about everything that matters to him, which includes his job and his fans. As for the grand scheme comment, I personally think it's in regards to the story aspect of the choreo, but that's just me

With the amount of story elements, I’m considering the song being more of a way to describe his feelings about needing passion in his life than a detailed recount of his “failing love life”. It’s still his thoughts and feelings, but maybe expressed in a more digestible way for the audience. If he is being up front about his romantic past, then I really do hope he finds his person, whoever they might be. Park Jimin OF ALL PEOPLE deserves to love and be loved!

HARD AGREE!!

WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN FOR JIKOOK?

I know Jimin, and all idols, needs to be careful when talking about love. It’s why I’m so confused as to why this concept, and why now? Though with Jin stating that he wrote Falling for someone, maybe this is just part of BTS being more honest and open.

Between Jin saying he wrote falling for someone, and Joon with some of his songs and posts... And some other things and comments, I really really hope that they come out of MS feeling more free and giving less of a fuck about certain fans and their feelings about things. But only time will tell

I do want to take Jimin and Jungkook’s words and actions seriously, however part of what has been said about MUSE and WHO from Jimin and his producers, does make me question if I (and the rest of us) were mistaken of what the nature of their bond is.

Fair enough friend

I think part of the reason that it's important to me to know if Jimin is legitimately saying he’s single, is that I do want to respect him and his words.

Highlighting the respect part, because everyone should want to do the same

Personally I’ve always left room for doubt when it comes to Jikook. It’s not everything I think about in terms of BTS, Jimin, and/or Jungkook. Nor is it the end of the world for me if they’re simply platonic friends. I just thought Jikook seemed like they were/are dating.

Yes

AYS comments....

Honestly, watching people discover that Jimin and Jungkook were busy and missing each other (or at least quality time) in 2023 for the first time this August was interesting to say the least…

It really brings back up that whole media literacy thing I keep bringing up people's lack of and as well as people's lack of understanding of relationships in general (platonic and romantic) doesn't it. Lol

We could get into the abuse and bullying allegations, calling Jimin being anti romantic over things taken out of context or making it into some weird narrative that Jimin doesn’t love Jungkook as much or that he sees their relationship as the Devil, or the fifty other weird things some of y’all said on your "Jikook Supporter" blogs… But this is about MUSE, so THAT RANT will have to wait!

Always willing to have any kind of discussion with you lovely 🎨! Either through asks or DMs.

Your conclusions

I’m still confused, but I do think after reviewing things that there is more to MUSE than I think. Especially with stories and theatrics being involved in so much of the concept.

I agree

I really just want to know what MUSE is about. The misunderstanding thing was fun for like a couple days, now it just makes me anxious and stressed. But maybe it was supposed to be like this 😔

JIMIN PLEASE. YOU ARE KILLING US. And this is for sure how it's going to stay. We are getting NOTHING more from him 😭😂

Thank you for actually responding to my first ask so nicely and being willing to have this discussion with me!

Fucking always. But I feel like I didn't actually DO anything for you here and I'm so sorry! I wish I could be more helpful for you in a discussion. Let me know if there are things I can give a more in depth opinion on if I haven't already?? I enjoy talking with you and hearing your thoughts!

~ Storm⛈️